The Archimedes Effect

follow it up.

“How about you?”

“Marissa is planning the wedding. I’m supposed to go meet her grandparents soon.”

“Congratulations, sir.”

“You’ll get an invitation, if they ever get a date set.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

Both men grinned.

“You ever married, Abe?”

“Long ago. She passed away a few years back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” A beat, then: “Any luck on the Army base break-ins?”

Thorn shook his head. “Nope. I just left Jay Gridley. He was running off to check on something. General Hadden is really unhappy.”

“In his shoes, I’d be, too,” Kent said. “He lobbied hard to get the newer, smaller, high-tech bases built and running. Trying to bootstrap the military into the twenty-first century faster. That somebody was able to bust into a couple makes him look bad. Not a good idea to make the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs look bad.”

“I hear that.”

Blue Parrot Cafe

Miami, Florida

“You’re a woman,” the man said. His incredulous tone of voice was probably the same he’d have used to say, “You’re a dog.”

“Yes,” Lewis said.

“Your master sent a woman.”

Lewis had figured that he’d be one of those—a lot of the fundamentalists were. He was offended, of course, even though she wore a scarf covering her hair, along with dark glasses and a long-sleeved and modest dress, so he wouldn’t be further offended by any display of skin.

They sat at a small round table at the Blue Parrot, a tiny, mostly outdoor cafe in Miami—no way she would meet somebody like him in Washington, or even as close as Baltimore. The day was warm, the air damp, and her clothing wasn’t particularly comfortable. At least the table’s umbrella kept the direct sun off her. It was winter in the rest of the country, but down here, you could lie on the beach and cook. Had she been here for pleasure, she’d be wearing shorts and a halter top, and plenty of sunblock. She could see why so many people retired to this state. Snow three feet deep in Chicago, and people running around in thongs in Miami—old bones might prefer the heat.

The man—maybe forty, tall, dark, with a thick moustache—used the name Mishari Aziz. He wore a dark red Hawaiian shirt, white linen trousers, and sandals, and was certainly better dressed for the climate than she was.

“Mr. Aziz, it is said that a man looking for wolves will walk past a fox.”

Aziz blinked at her, as if astounded she could speak. If that line wasn’t in the Koran, something like it probably was.

He was a fanatic, but not stupid. He took her point. “Ah, yes, perhaps that is wise.” He didn’t trust women, but he was the buyer and not the seller. If he wanted to deal, he had to deal with her. Let him think she was a pawn pushed by a man, if that would put him at ease.

He sat on the aluminum chair across the table from her.

“Tell me,” he said. It was a command.

“My employer can deliver any of a number of Army bases—codes, guard routines, all the security measures in place. Included among these are some with nuclear weapons on hand.”

She saw a fanatical light flare in his eyes.

“A careful seeker will have seen examples of our ability to invade the Army’s bases at will.”

“Oklahoma and Hawaii,” he said.

They were paying attention. Hawaii was hardly past. “Just so.”

He leaned back in his chair and affected a posture of skepticism. “Blowing up garbage cans and knocking down doors? Not impressive.”

“Mr. Aziz, do you know the saying about the dancing bear? It’s not that he dances well, but that he dances at all. Our operatives were able to penetrate the Army’s defenses—they could just as easily leveled a barracks full of soldiers or stolen whatever they wished. That is what we are offering.”

“You could have struck a blow—”

“You can strike a blow,” she said, cutting him off. “We are businesspeople; we do not concern ourselves with politics.”

His jaw muscles flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, especially by a woman, nor did he like people who didn’t take sides—especially his side. But she had something he wanted. He would swallow his anger.

“The amount of money you are asking for is great,” he said.

“One must consider what one is buying. For a working atomic weapon, ten million is not such a great amount.”

“You are not selling such a thing.”

“We are selling the key to the store wherein it resides, and a map of the pitfalls between it and the man who wants it. The rest is up to you.”

Aziz nodded to himself. “My backers will require another demonstration.”

“What will it take to convince them?”

“Something substantial. Entry, and acquisition of a thing of material value.”

“We aren’t going to deliver a nuke.”

“That will not be necessary. But they would see you recover something more heavily guarded than a trash can.”

“We can do that.”

“When?”

“A few days, a week, it depends.” She stood. He came to his feet, too. “You will see evidence of it when it happens, and we will contact you as before.”

She didn’t offer to shake hands. Neither did he.

As she left the Blue Parrot, Lewis knew she would be followed by Aziz’s operatives. She didn’t bother to look for them. She hailed a taxi, and told the driver to take her to the Dolphin Mall.

It was a bit of a drive, and she smiled to herself as they headed that way. Of course Aziz would have her followed. Knowledge was power, and if he could track her, perhaps it would give him leverage.

The mall, a few miles west of the Miami International Airport, was a huge place, hundreds of stores, a million and a half square feet. If she couldn’t lose a tail there, she didn’t deserve to be playing this game.

She enjoyed the air-conditioning in the cab. This dress, plus what she had on under it, was passing warm.

Finally, they arrived. She paid the driver and entered the mall. It was crowded, even on a weekday— shoppers, elderly walkers, mall rats. She walked purposefully to Lace and Secrets. She had been here to check it out before the meeting with Aziz. He would not have brought a female op to their meeting because he would not have considered the idea that he was going to meet a woman. A man alone in a woman’s lingerie shop wasn’t exactly rare, but he’d stand out. The help would be all over him—if the op was stupid enough to come into the place.

She browsed lingerie until she spotted her tail. A short, young, swarthy man with a moustache stood by one of the benches outside the store, pretending to look at a newspaper. He wore a white shirt and gray trousers. A few meters away, a second man, cut from the same cloth, pretended to be talking on a pay phone.

Both kept stealing quick looks at the shop.