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Authors: Paul di Filippo
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ever once thought of me as a potential partner. To tell the truth, Nadya was rather asexual. Knowing her history—which I found I could now think of without unease—I could see why.
Once I thought: If life had been this easy with Ruth—
In the middle of this inexplicably idyllic period, I was paid another visit by Dick Rangley, the NSA man. For a second time, he caught me at the office.
“How’s Zaid?” he asked after the standard preliminaries.
“Fine, no trouble. He’s been invisible as far as Pm concerned.”
Rangley studied his shoetips, before looking at me. “The ceremonial signing is less than a week away. But Zaid’s balking. He says he won’t go to Washington until he gets his missing wife back.”
I think I kept my voice level. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing—I hope. I just want you to keep your eyes open for her.”
“Listen, Dick. Would you really hand over this woman to Zaid if you found her?”
Rangley hesitated. “Leon, to me Major Zaid is an ignorant prick who mistreats his wives. But to the country—your country and mine—he’s an invaluable ally who must be kept happy. To answer your question: Yes, I would hand her over.”
Rangley spoke so vehemently, that once again I wondered what made the reunification of these two poor, non-pivotal states so crucial.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
On what was to be our last night together, Nadya seemed rather preoccupied. I was forced to play against the Atari, leaving her to work out her troubles alone.
At last she spoke.
“Leon. There is something I have not told you.”
I shut off the machine. “Yes?”
“The Major does not want me back just for myself. There is also what I know.”
I braced myself, not entirely sure if I wanted—or needed—to hear this secret that Ruth had intuited. But in the end I didn’t stop her.
“There has been a discovery in my sister country. Oil. A lot of oil. Off the coast of South Yemen.”
Suddenly, Rangley’s concern made sense. “Let me guess the rest. The Russians don’t know that the client state they are about to give up possesses this oil .…”
“That is correct. You see, it was all done on computers. Nobody even goes near South Yemen. Some big oil company just takes all the old hydrophone data from previous surveys and runs it through some special new software that reveals overlooked deposits. Just like that, Yemen goes from nothing to hot shit.”
“You could put it that way, I suppose.…Well, what do you intend to do with this information?”
“Nothing. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks.”
“You are very welcome.”
Everything happened so fast, the day it all blew up, that I still find it hard to order events.
The first thing that morning, after my usual meeting with Tanager, I handed him an envelope.
“Burt, if anything should happen to me, I want you to make sure this is mailed “
Tanager looked at the address of a reporter I knew at the LA Herald-Examiner . Then he looked back to me.
“Okay,” he said, and left.
That was the best thing about Tanager. With that one word, I knew it was good as done.
Around one, my phone rang. It was Ruth.
“Leon, I just got home.”
I didn’t ask where she had been all night, although I was surprised to find that I wanted to know. But her next words drove such trivial thoughts completely out of my head.
“My apartment’s been ransacked. Nothing’s missing but your photo.”
“Okay, don’t worry. I’ll call you later.”
On the way home, all my mind would keep revolving was the fact that Ruth still kept my picture.
Al-Qasiri was already there. I found him sitting negligently with his legs crossed. The creases on his trousers were as sharp as he undoubtedly kept the blade of his dagger. He held a pistol on Nadya, who sat opposite him with a stony expression.
“Mister Deatherage, we expected you. Please be seated next to Mrs Zaid. I have already phoned the Major, and he
Once I thought: If life had been this easy with Ruth—
In the middle of this inexplicably idyllic period, I was paid another visit by Dick Rangley, the NSA man. For a second time, he caught me at the office.
“How’s Zaid?” he asked after the standard preliminaries.
“Fine, no trouble. He’s been invisible as far as Pm concerned.”
Rangley studied his shoetips, before looking at me. “The ceremonial signing is less than a week away. But Zaid’s balking. He says he won’t go to Washington until he gets his missing wife back.”
I think I kept my voice level. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing—I hope. I just want you to keep your eyes open for her.”
“Listen, Dick. Would you really hand over this woman to Zaid if you found her?”
Rangley hesitated. “Leon, to me Major Zaid is an ignorant prick who mistreats his wives. But to the country—your country and mine—he’s an invaluable ally who must be kept happy. To answer your question: Yes, I would hand her over.”
Rangley spoke so vehemently, that once again I wondered what made the reunification of these two poor, non-pivotal states so crucial.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
On what was to be our last night together, Nadya seemed rather preoccupied. I was forced to play against the Atari, leaving her to work out her troubles alone.
At last she spoke.
“Leon. There is something I have not told you.”
I shut off the machine. “Yes?”
“The Major does not want me back just for myself. There is also what I know.”
I braced myself, not entirely sure if I wanted—or needed—to hear this secret that Ruth had intuited. But in the end I didn’t stop her.
“There has been a discovery in my sister country. Oil. A lot of oil. Off the coast of South Yemen.”
Suddenly, Rangley’s concern made sense. “Let me guess the rest. The Russians don’t know that the client state they are about to give up possesses this oil .…”
“That is correct. You see, it was all done on computers. Nobody even goes near South Yemen. Some big oil company just takes all the old hydrophone data from previous surveys and runs it through some special new software that reveals overlooked deposits. Just like that, Yemen goes from nothing to hot shit.”
“You could put it that way, I suppose.…Well, what do you intend to do with this information?”
“Nothing. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks.”
“You are very welcome.”
Everything happened so fast, the day it all blew up, that I still find it hard to order events.
The first thing that morning, after my usual meeting with Tanager, I handed him an envelope.
“Burt, if anything should happen to me, I want you to make sure this is mailed “
Tanager looked at the address of a reporter I knew at the LA Herald-Examiner . Then he looked back to me.
“Okay,” he said, and left.
That was the best thing about Tanager. With that one word, I knew it was good as done.
Around one, my phone rang. It was Ruth.
“Leon, I just got home.”
I didn’t ask where she had been all night, although I was surprised to find that I wanted to know. But her next words drove such trivial thoughts completely out of my head.
“My apartment’s been ransacked. Nothing’s missing but your photo.”
“Okay, don’t worry. I’ll call you later.”
On the way home, all my mind would keep revolving was the fact that Ruth still kept my picture.
Al-Qasiri was already there. I found him sitting negligently with his legs crossed. The creases on his trousers were as sharp as he undoubtedly kept the blade of his dagger. He held a pistol on Nadya, who sat opposite him with a stony expression.
“Mister Deatherage, we expected you. Please be seated next to Mrs Zaid. I have already phoned the Major, and he
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