“Not bad,” said Zen.
“Why are you going to the NATO meeting?” asked Breanna.
“Your President needs someone she can count on.”
“That’s you?”
“Not really. But Tompkins can’t go. She sure can’t send someone from the other party. And we need someone important there. So that leaves me. I suggested it,” he added, shrugging.
“Jeff — there have been threats.”
“Yeah, I know, Bree. There’s always threats. The security people will do a good job.”
Breanna took another sip of the champagne, a deeper one this time. She had thought the days of worrying about her husband were long over.
“I don’t…” she started.
The words died on her lips. What was she going to say? She didn’t want him to go? But she couldn’t prevent him.
“There are always intelligence reports about people who want to break these things up,” said Zen. “Remember last year, the OPEC meeting? The CIA was convinced there was going to be a bomb attack. Nothing happened. Nada.”
“I know.”
“Come on. Let’s go sit inside. Bring the bottle.”
Breanna watched as Zen carefully positioned his glass between his useless legs and wheeled himself toward the living room. How much different would their lives have been if the experimental operations had been a success? she wondered.
How much different if he’d never had the accident?
Breanna sat in the green chair opposite the fireplace, wondering how much to say. Zen turned on the music, sliding the volume low to make sure they didn’t wake Teri. He fiddled with the control screen, bringing up a play list of jazz that included most of her favorites.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said when he turned back around. “I want you to stay home.”
“I’m sorry, babe. It’s too late for that.” Zen took a sip of his champagne. His casual smile was gone now; he looked as serious as if they were back at Dreamland, outlining a mission. “What’s up?”
“I think it’s dangerous.”
“Something else is bothering you. Something big.”
She’d never been able to keep secrets from him. Breanna drained her glass, then reached for the bottle.
“The intelligence is very good,” she told him. “The Russians want the meeting disrupted.”
“So? They going to bomb it?”
“We believe they hired a group of assassins to disrupt it. They’re pretty nasty folks. The idea would be to kill some of the ministers, and make it look like a terrorist attack. Or simply to stop the meeting from taking place.”
“Hired assassins?”
“It’s a group called the Wolves. Have you heard of them?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Not necessarily. Whiplash is involved.”
“Oh, really. Why wasn’t the oversight committee notified?”
“No action was endorsed. This is being undertaken as part of a joint task force project lead by the CIA. There’s an NSC finding.”
“A thin white sheet of paper to cover everyone’s behind.”
“Are we talking as husband and wife, or senator and Tech Office head?”
“Both. What’s Whiplash’s involvement? You’re providing security?”
“Not necessarily, Jeff. Don’t ask me.”
“Don’t ask you?”
“I have to draw the line.” Breanna got up.
“Whoa, whoa, what do you mean, you have to draw the line? Wait just a second there, Bree.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said defensively, even though she had started for the kitchen.
“Tell me about what you’re doing,” demanded Zen.
“I can’t, Jeff. You know that. There’s a line.”
Zen took one of his exaggerated, I’m-holding-everything-in deep breaths.
Breanna hated when he did that.
“You’re not talking to a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee,” he said finally. “You’re talking to your husband.”
She remained silent.
“All right, so the Wolves are assassins,” said Zen. “Why should I be more afraid of them than run-of-the-mill Russian spies?”
“You shouldn’t,” she said.
“Good.”
Zen took another sip of his champagne, a bigger one this time.
“Should I be worried?” he asked.
“I don’t think you should go.”
“Because of the Wolves.”
“Just because. Just because.”
Zen let it rest for a while, drinking silently. But he knew there was more to her concern — Breanna didn’t worry easily. She’d show concern over his missions back when he was in the service, but she didn’t show outright fear.
She’d never, ever, told him not to do something.
He brooded on it through another glass of champagne. How far should he press? And was he pressing as a matter of national security or as a concerned husband?
Both.
“Well, I don’t want you to break the law on secrecy,” Zen told her after he refilled both of their glasses. “But you can’t just let that hang out there and not expect me to ignore it.”
“You should ignore it.”
“What’s bothering you, Bree?”
“Jeff — there’s more to the Wolves than I can go into right now.”
“More than I can get in a security briefing?”
“I’m sure you can get a full briefing if you go through channels. You’re on the intelligence committee.”
“How full will the briefing be?”
“Oh, Jeff.”
It stayed there, simmering for the next half hour. Breanna felt the pressure building inside.
She couldn’t keep a secret like this from her husband. Not now. Not under these circumstances.
And yet she felt as if she had to.
If he hauled her before his committee, what then?
That would be silly and petty. Ridiculous.
The bottle of champagne was empty. It was still early, but she decided she would get ready for bed.
Zen caught her arm as she rose.
“Hey,” he said. “What?”
“Jeff…”
She
“This is between you and me, do you understand?” she asked. “Husband and wife — not senator.”
“Go ahead.”
“We think they’re enhanced.”
