then went on. “I haven’t met anybody I could get serious about.”
Zuri nodded understandingly. “Same here. Men seem to get scared of a woman who has an IQ higher than theirs.”
His smile came back. “So what’s your IQ?”
“One forty-two,” she answered immediately. “Yours?”
“Not that high.”
“How high?”
The smile widened. It was a good smile, she thought. Warm. Jamil said, “One thirty-eight.”
She leaned back on the thinly padded bench and said, “Well, that’s within the statistical margin of error. We’re practically on the same level.”
“Yeah.”
She felt herself smiling back at him. “Do I scare you?”
“You? No. Why should I be scared of you?”
“Because I’m as smart as you are.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Because I might be your boss.”
“Huh?”
Zuri hadn’t really thought about it until the words popped out of her mouth.
“How’d you like to work in the National Security Advisor’s office? With me?”
Jamil’s face clearly showed surprise. And a good deal of uncertainty.
She continued. “I mean, the Secretary of State is pissed with you. She’s got a mean hatchet, you know. You could use a new job.”
He said slowly, “But if there’s a change in the White House next November…”
“There won’t be. We’ll have five years together.”
“You mean it?” Jamil asked.
“I sure do.”
He nodded. “You’re certain? I mean, you’re not just doing this because . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I’m not doing it because I feel sorry for you, or because of anything except I think you’re damned smart and I need somebody in my office who’s as smart as I am.”
“Oh. I thought you were doing it because you like me.”
“That too,” she admitted.
Minutes later they left the diner. The streets were still wet from the earlier rain. Hardly any traffic. No taxicabs in sight.
“It’s after midnight,” Jamil muttered. “And my car’s over in Langley.”
Zuri Coggins slipped her arm in his. “That’s okay. My apartment’s within walking distance. You can stay the night at my place.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then disengaged his arm and moved around her to be on the curbside of the street. “A gentleman always walks on the curbside,” he said, quite seriously.
“Sure,” she retorted. “The muggers always hide in the doorways.”
They both laughed and started down the street into the new day.
It was pouring rain as they jumped, one by one, down the inflated chute that extended from ABL-1’s forward hatch to the puddled concrete of the runway.
This isn’t going to be good for my back, Harry thought as he waited behind Monk Delany and the others of his team. Three of the Air Force crew had already slid down the chute; Wally Rosenberg was next.
“Off I go into the wild blue yonder,” Rosenberg wisecracked. He jumped from the lip of the hatch, hit the chute with his rump, and slid down into the waiting arms of a team of Air Force noncoms.
Harry saw a quartet of Air Police down there in white helmets and sidearms. Waiting for Monk, he figured.
“Will you be okay?”
It was Colonel Christopher, waiting last in line. “I can do it,” Harry said.
“I heard you had a bad back,” said the colonel. “Who told you that?”
In the shadows of the hatchway he could see a smile light her face. “I have my sources,” she said.
Taki Nakamura squealed as she jumped. Monk was next, big and lumbering. Now Harry stood at the lip of the hatch.
“Don’t make a big jump,” the colonel advised. “Make it easy on yourself.”
Unconsciously, Harry closed his eyes as he jumped. He felt his heels hit the inflated chute, then his rump. He expected a flare of pain but he felt only a tweak. He slid to the bottom on the rain-slicked chute and was grabbed by the Air Force noncoms, who helped him to his feet.
Squinting in the pelting rain, Harry saw that the Air Police were walking Monk off to a waiting Humvee. Turning, he watched Colonel Christopher slide down the chute. She got to her feet almost unaided.
“Nothing to it,” she said to Harry, grinning.
She’s really pretty, Harry thought. Kind of tiny, like a pixie. Really pretty.
The colonel turned to look back at the wreckage of ABL-1. Harry stepped up beside her, already soaked by the cold rain.
The plane was resting on its belly, slightly tilted. The left wing had ripped off and was resting several hundred yards down the runway, flames flickering from its root, where it had torn off from the fuselage. The pouring rain was pelting the fire, keeping it down as a dozen or so firefighters sprayed the whole wing with fire retardant.
ABL-1 ‘s fuselage looked to Harry like a stranded whale, resting on one side, its right wing angled defiantly against the thick gray clouds scudding above.
“We can salvage the COIL,” Harry said.
The colonel looked up at him. “They’ll build a new plane. More than one.”
“Damned right.”
“Your back okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
She gripped his arm lightly. “It’s been a helluva day. There’s an interrogation team waiting to debrief us.”
Harry thought about Monk and nodded.
One of the noncoms came up to them and pointed to an unmarked minivan standing a dozen yards away. Taki, Angel, and Wally Rosenberg were getting into it, together with the Air Force crew members. “Your transportation, ma’am,” she said to the colonel.
Karen Christopher tugged at Harry’s arm. “Come on, buddy, our chariot awaits.”
He let her guide him toward the minivan.
“After the debriefing’s finished,” said Karen Christopher, “I’m taking you to the officers’ club and buying you a drink, Harry.”
He felt pleased. Very pleased. And flattered that this good-looking and very competent woman liked him. I’ll have to go through with the divorce, he said to himself. I’ve got to get on with my life and let Sylvia get on with hers.
With a final glance over his shoulder at what was left of ABL-1, Harry ducked into the minivan, ready to face whatever was waiting for him in the future.
