Yes. He would walk through the city, and try to ignore the Western bastardizations as best he could…
19
Some restaurants you went to for the food, some for the ambiance. A few you went to in order to see or be seen. This one had it all — the chef, Antonio Cavelos, was a master in the kitchen. The decor was low-key, subdued, and with enough sound-absorbing material in the walls and ceiling that the place was relatively quiet, even though it was packed. There were dignitaries ranging from U.S. senators to ambassadors to movie stars. All of whom were interesting, though not, Thorn thought, as interesting as the woman sitting across from him.
“So, what do you think?” he asked Marissa.
“Tony can cook, no questions. Best eggplant parmesan I’ve had outside the old country.”
“Go there a lot? Wait — that’s classified, right?”
She smiled. “So, Tommy, how’s your love life?”
He blinked. This was a new area of conversation for them. “What love life?” he asked. “I haven’t had a date since you and I went to that charity thing in New York.”
“That wasn’t a date. We were working.”
“See?”
“Poor Tommy. Spending his evenings all alone.”
Where was she going with this? “I’m used to it,” he said.
She smiled. “How’s work?”
He paused, unsure whether he was glad she had changed the subject. “The usual. Well, except for us being taken over by the military and given a new mission which we don’t seem to be accomplishing at the moment.”
“Well, as Dylan said, the times they are a-changin’.”
“Was that before or after he started making commercials for Victoria’s Secret?”
“Waaay before. And how is that for you?”
He shrugged.
The waiter materialized, holding the dessert tray. He smiled as he lowered the tray.
“Which one has the most fat, sugar, and calories in it?” Marissa asked.
“The triple-chocolate cream cheesecake.”
“We’ll have two of those,” she said. “And coffee, not decaf.”
The waiter smiled again and moved away.
“Seriously, Tommy.”
“The jury is still out. So far, it’s been hands off, but that’s because they really need us. The military has a different approach to life than civilians. We’ll see how it goes.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “Are you thinking about walking if things don’t go your way?”
She had a way of putting her finger right on things. More than once, she had looked at him and nailed down exactly what was going on in his mind.
“I didn’t sign on to be somebody’s lapdog. I’ve been around too many people who think that everybody who works for them needs to be micromanaged. If I’m hired for my skills and abilities, then I expect to be able to use them without somebody not as good telling me how to do my job.”
“Too rich to put up with that crap, huh?”
“In a word, yes. One of money’s biggest perks is, you don’t have to work with jerks and idiots if you don’t feel like it.”
The waiter returned, bearing coffee and chocolate cheesecake.
“Lord, that was fast,” Marissa said.
“The best people get the best service,” the waiter said. “Tony’s rule.” He smiled at Marissa.
“Lucky I’m with her,” Thorn said.
“Yes, sir, very lucky.”
The coffee, freshly brewed, and probably from beans roasted in the back and ground minutes ago, smelled wonderful. And the cheesecake looked as if it would make you gain five pounds before you touched it with your fork.
Marissa took a big bite of hers, and moaned. “Better than sex,” she said. “Mmmm.”
Thorn took a bite of his own cake. Way too rich. Thousand calories in the piece, easy.
“C’mon, Tommy, when I give you a straight line like that, you’re supposed to run with it.”
“Oh, sorry. What’s my line?”
“You’re no fun.”
They had another bite each. Thorn sipped at the hot coffee. Excellent brew.
“There are some smart folks in the service, contrary to the old claims about military intelligence being an oxy-moron,” she said.
He waited for her to take another big bite before saying, “Where’d a sweet young CIA op like you learn a word like that?”
Before she could swallow enough of the cake to slap him down, he continued, “I know they aren’t all third- grade dropout hawks. I just don’t do well with somebody looking over my shoulder. If they leave us alone, no problem.” He paused, then said, “Abe Kent is happy, though.”
“Oh, yeah, back in the Corps. How’s he doing?”
“He’s a good man, but he had a nasty experience recently.”
He told her about Kent’s trip to Nebraska, and the run-in with Natadze, the classical guitarist hit man. She knew who he was, of course, having been a part of the Cox investigation, and her clearance was at least as high as Thorn’s, probably higher.
“Interesting,” she said, when he was done. “Nobody likes a loose end after things are supposed to be wrapped up tight. I got the idea that the colonel was pretty methodical. I’d put money on him eventually running Natadze down.”
Thorn nodded. “Jay Gridley had a little scare, too. His baby son got sick. Boy is in the hospital, but it looks like he’ll be okay.”
“That’s good.”
There was a moment of silence, one gravid with… something.
“I’ll be buying dinner tonight,” she said, her voice quiet.
He started to smile and treat it as a joke — dinner would set them back maybe three hundred bucks, more with the wine — but he stopped. “Why would that be?” he said, his voice as quiet as hers.
“Because I don’t want you to think that buying me a nice dinner is why I’m going home with you tonight.”
Thorn’s mouth suddenly seemed very dry. He couldn’t find any words.
She smiled. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I hope,” he managed.
She laughed.
Thorn woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. A moment later, Marissa came into his bedroom, wearing a thick and fluffy bathrobe he’d gotten at the Tokyo Hilton years ago. She carried two mugs of steaming coffee.
“Hey,” she said.
“Yeah, hey, yourself.”
Her hair was damp, she must have showered. He’d slept through it. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him, handing him one of the cups as he sat up.
No surprise he hadn’t heard the shower running. After last night, he’d have slept through a bomb going off in the front yard.
He sipped the coffee. It was good.
