Operation Barracuda

10

I keep a small amount of weights, a bench, and a punching bag on the lower level of my town house. The entire bottom floor serves as my library, office, and gym. I used to go to a real gym in Baltimore where a motley assortment of boxers, gang members, and toughs hang out. That was okay, but now I prefer to do my workouts at home.

I’m in the middle of bench-pressing on the lower level of my town house when the doorbell rings. The clock reads 8:30 and I wonder who the hell is at my door at this time of the morning. Then I remember — damn, it’s Katia. Today’s my birthday and I agreed to let her come fix breakfast for me. How the hell could I forget that?

I run up the stairs to the ground floor and open the door. There she is, looking marvelous. She’s wearing tight-fitting jeans and has a winter coat on — that’s all I can tell at the moment — but she’s done her hair and is wearing makeup, which is something she doesn’t normally do at the Krav Maga class. And here I am wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants.

“Katia!” I say. “Is it eight-thirty already?”

Her smile becomes a frown. “Don’t tell me you forgot, Sam.”

“No, no, I didn’t. I was working out and the time got away from me, that’s all. Come in, come in.” I don’t think she believes me but she doesn’t mention it again. I take her coat and see that she’s wearing a red cami with spaghetti straps. The thing accentuates her cleavage in a most alluring way.

Uh-oh, I think.

She has a grocery bag full of stuff. “Where’s the kitchen?” she asks.

“Right here,” I reply, pointing to the archway to my left.

“Oh, so it is. Nice place, Sam. You have all this to yourself?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Must be nice.” She puts the bag on the counter. “Okay, you go finish your workout, take a shower, and by then breakfast will be ready.”

“I’m done with the workout. Really.”

“Then go get cleaned up.” She bats her eyes at me. I get the hint; she doesn’t want me to watch her cook.

When I come back down after showering and dressing, the table in the dining room is set with two places and lit candles. She’s brought her own china and a bottle of champagne. In my spot there’s one of those stupid little party hats that reads BIRTHDAY BOY on it.

“Katia, this is beautiful,” I say.

“Sit down, big boy, and put on your hat.”

“Katia, I’m not going to wear that hat.”

She sticks out her tongue at me and goes back into the kitchen. I sit and put on the hat anyway, feeling like an idiot. When she returns carrying a tray of stuff, she sees me and laughs. “Oh, that is too precious for words.”

“Can I take it off now?”

“Oh, all right. I don’t want to snicker all through our meal.”

The breakfast is amazing. She serves omelets made with three different cheeses, peppers, onions, mushrooms, and spinach. We have bagels and lox. A side plate holds a variety of fruit. There’s fresh orange juice as well as champagne.

“Damn, Katia. I guess you’ll have to marry me,” I say facetiously.

“Is that a proposal?”

I don’t answer. Instead I hold up my champagne glass for a toast. She clicks my glass with hers. “Happy birthday, Sam,” she says.

“Thanks.”

And we begin to eat. Our conversation feels awkward at first. It’s like it usually is when we go out for coffee. There’s that underlying sexual tension I normally like to deny is there. She knows it’s there, too, but pretends that it isn’t simply because I’m not acknowledging it. We talk of the class, discuss some of the talented students, and eventually the subject turns into our respective careers.

“I’m pretty happy just teaching Krav Maga,” she says. “I never aspired to anything else. I’m probably too old to be a mother and too young to retire.”

“Can you make ends meet just teaching those classes?” I ask. “And by the way, you’re not too old to be a mother, if that’s what you really want.”

She shakes her head. “No, I am too old. I wouldn’t want to go through that in my late thirties. Having babies is something twenty-somethings do. And to answer your question, no, I don’t make ends meet just teaching. But I have some income in a trust that my father set up before he died. As long as I don’t go crazy at the mall once a month, I’ll do okay with what I make.”

I decide not to push the baby issue. “Where is your mother? Do you have siblings?”

“She and my younger sister live in California. San Diego. In fact, I’m going there in a couple of days. I meant to tell you. There’s no class next week. I’ll let everyone else know by e-mail. I’m gonna stay for about a week, I hope. I was thinking of maybe going up to the wine country afterward but I’m not sure. Or maybe L.A.”

“That sounds nice,” I say. “I could use a vacation, too.”

“You? Mister travel-around-the-world?”

“That’s work. Believe me, I don’t relax when I’m traveling.”

“Just what is it you really do, Sam? And don’t tell me you’re in goddamned sales. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“I am in sales. Sort of. International relations between the U.S. and companies that provide a lot of goods that Americans can’t get anywhere else. I guess I’m what you might call an information gatherer and troubleshooter.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You work for the government. That’s what you do.”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“Come on, Fisher. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re some kind of spy. You’re so athletic and fit. Most guys your age let themselves go. Not you. And you’re smart and seem so well traveled. You’re gone for sometimes weeks at a time. And you keep your private life incredibly secret. I don’t know a damned thing about you except that you have a daughter and that you’re better at Krav Maga than me.”

“I’m no spy, Katia. And I’m not better at Krav Maga than you.”

“Yes, you are, and you know it. You could have whipped my ass yesterday. You let me pin you.”

“Maybe I wanted you to pin me.”

She looks at me sideways. The candlelight makes her brown eyes sparkle.

“Yeah?” she asks.

I take a sip of champagne and attempt to keep my face expressionless. I now know this is it. My years of ignoring the opposite sex have come to an end. It’s high time I reenter the world of male-and-female relationships.

Our breakfast finished, I stand and hold out my hand. She smiles and takes it. I begin to lead her away from the table but she stops me.

“Wait!” Katia grabs the two champagne glasses and the bottle. “We might need this.”

I lead her upstairs to my bedroom. The bed isn’t made but she doesn’t complain. Katia sets down the bottle and glasses and turns to me. I take her into my arms and we kiss more passionately than we did at the studio, if such a thing is possible.

When we finally come up for air, the clock on my nightstand reads 1:30. We made fiercely primal love for at least an hour before falling asleep in each other’s arms. The lovemaking, for me, was a revelation. It had been a long time. I guess it’s one of those things you don’t forget, kinda like riding a bike. Well, Katia Loenstern is one hell of a ride. She rode me pretty hard, too. We must have slept for a half hour, then got to it again. You’d have thought I’d been celibate for a century. After chugging down the rest of the tepid champagne, we tried another position. Katia marveled at my stamina and I welcomed her enthusiasm.

It was the best morning — and best birthday — I’d had in years.

We contemplate taking a shower together just as my beeper goes off. That means I need to make a call to Lambert on my secure line downstairs in the office. I don’t want to do it. Damn it, I’m on vacation. I just returned from an assignment. It can’t be that. Not now. Not as I’m just beginning this with the first woman I’ve grown to like since—

“Does that mean anything?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to make a call. Downstairs in my office.”

She smiles sweetly. “Go ahead. I’ll just lie here and see if I can get my blood pressure back to normal.”

I touch her face lightly and kiss her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring some water,” she hollers as I bound down the stairs. Once I’m alone in the office, I make the call and reach Lambert at Third Echelon.

“Sam, thank God you’re there,” he says.

“What’s up, Colonel?”

“Meet me at the usual place in an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Why, you have something else going on?”

I want to tell him to take this job and shove it but I don’t. “I, uh, I’m a little busy.”

“This is priority three, Sam.”

Shit. That means it’s of vital importance. There’s no way I can weasel out of it.

“I’ll be there,” I say. We hang up and I climb the stairs to the kitchen. I pour two tall glasses of water and bring them to the top floor. Katia’s lying playfully under the sheet, giggling. As I enter the room, she exposes one long, shapely leg and flexes it in the air.

“You like?” she says in a phony European accent. “You vant?”

I sit on the bed and gently pull down the sheet. She has a cute, mischievous expression on her face.

“Here you go,” I say as I hand her the water. She sits up, exposing her lovely chest.

She downs the liquid quickly, exhales, and says, “So, you ready for round six? Or is it seven? I’ve lost count.”

“Katia, I have to leave. Business. I’m sorry.”

She looks as if I’ve slapped her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not trying to get rid of me?”

“Never. If I had my way about it, we’d never leave this room.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who make you breakfast on your birthday.”

I lean in to kiss her again. She lets me but the earlier passion isn’t there. Her feelings are hurt.

“Does this mean you’re going out of town again?” she asks.

“It might.”

“Sam, what is so important about your job?”

“I can’t tell you, Katia.”

“You do work for the government.”

I figure there’s no harm in her knowing that much. If we’re going to have a relationship…

“Yes. I do. But I can’t tell you what I do. Please don’t ask. All right?”

She considers that a moment and then says, “Okay. As long as you promise you’re not going to drop the Krav Maga class now.”

I laugh. “Of course not.” I hold out my hand and help her out of bed. “We can still take that shower if you want.”

“You bet. I don’t want to go home smelling like sex. My cat will go nuts.”

I precede her into the bathroom to turn on the water. I see her reflection in the mirror and notice that she’s writing something on the notepad I keep on the nightstand. She joins me in the shower and we spend a luxurious five or six minutes soaping each other and getting all hot and bothered again. We do it one more time, standing up in the shower stall as the hot water rains down on us.

Afterward, when we’re dressed, I notice what she wrote on the notepad. It’s her cell phone number and the words, I don’t give this number to just anybody. I smile and lead her downstairs.

“You let me know if you have to leave town, will you?” she asks.

“I promise,” I say. It’s the least I can do.