State of War

18

Alex Michaels was in the garage, beginning another light workout. It was almost eight o’clock. Toni was bathing the baby, and Guru was cooking supper. Alex had to admit that the old lady’s Indonesian recipes had been pretty good, so far, at least.

Michaels was still stretching when Guru stuck her head out and said, “Telephone for you.” She tossed the portable unit to him. He caught it and thumbed it on.

“Alex Michaels.”

“Alex. Cory Skye.”

Calling him at home? “What can I do for you?”

“I came across some information you might want. Nothing illegal or immoral or anything, but possibly of some use to you.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” he said. “You can upload it to my computer—”

“Um, no, nothing in writing, I’m afraid, it’ll have to be from my lips to your ear, and even then, you didn’t hear it from me. Why don’t we meet for a drink? It won’t take long.”

Michaels felt a chill frost his spine. Was it just his imagination, or did this seem a little too coincidental? A beautiful lobbyist calling him at home to set up a circumspect — some might even say clandestine — meeting?

And she was beautiful, no question about that.

“I have a dinner at ten, I’m afraid,” she continued, “so we’ll have to make it a quickie.”

His chill turned into goose bumps, and he felt like Toni — or maybe Guru — had just kicked him in the belly.

Of course, he could be wrong. It could be absolutely innocent. The term “quickie” could mean nothing more than a short meeting, people used it for that all the time. But something about the tone of her voice told him that if he went to meet Cory Skye for a drink and a quickie, he was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be much drinking going on…

He wasn’t tempted. He’d been down that road, and even though he had never actually cheated on Toni — or on Megan before her — he had come close enough to know that he just wasn’t interested in that.

Besides, he wasn’t gullible enough to imagine even for a moment that the beautiful Ms. Corinna Skye was interested in him for himself. If the signals he was picking up were accurate — and Alex was very aware that he could simply be misreading her words — then he was certain it had nothing to do with his own personal magnetism and everything to do with the fact that he was the head of Net Force and the lead defendant in CyberNation’s lawsuit. Given what Tommy Bender had said about Mitchell Townsend Ames, Alex had no trouble imagining what that cutthroat lawyer would do with photos of himself and Corinna Skye.

And so he said, “Ah, I’m sorry, but I’m really tied up this evening. Maybe you could come by the office tomorrow?”

There was a short pause.

“Ah, well, of course you’re busy, it was just a last-minute thing, no problem. I was hoping I could work you in, but I understand. I’ll drop by your office.”

“That would be fine. Any time.”

“I’ll take you up on that. Good night, Alex. I’ll see you soon.”

Her voice must have dropped an octave on that last part.

He hit the disconnect button and dropped the phone onto his workbench. Then he pulled out his virgil — he had it clipped to his waistband even while he was working out — and sent a quick memo regarding the phone call to his files at the office. Corinna Skye’s phone records would show a call from her phone to his house; he wanted an answering memo on file in case Mitchell Ames tried to make something ugly out of it.

Corinna Skye. For a moment an image of her filled his mind. Then the image changed, morphing into Toni at work, and Alex felt himself smile.

No, Corinna Skye had nothing to tempt him with. He was happily married, and he had everything he wanted and needed right here. Everything.

While Alex read the boy a story — something about not teasing weasels — Toni watched him from the bedroom doorway, smiling. Her son laughed at his father as Alex read part of the book, doing voices for the characters.

“Again, Daddy, again!”

“Well, okay. But this is the last time.”

Guru appeared behind her, ghostlike.

“Baby is happy with his father.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Toni said, turning to look at her old teacher.

Guru had a funny look on her face. “Something wrong?” Toni asked.

Guru nodded. “My second grandson called from Arizona. My great-grandson David, he’s twelve this year, is sick. Summer cold.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Guru nodded. “He has never been a healthy child, David. Has bad lungs, even in the desert. He catches every bug that passes by. Not like our baby here, who is healthier than a water buffalo.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Toni said.

“Yes.”

They both watched Alex read to their child. For Guru was as much his great-grandmother as Toni’s real grandma was. No question.

Ames walked into the restaurant at ten P.M., crossing the threshold just as the sweep second hand on his watch touched the twelve. Perfect.

He saw Cory standing at the bar to his left. She saw him come in and waved at him.

He went over to stand next to her. “Been here long?”

“Nope, just got in. They haven’t even had time to bring my drink yet.”

Even as she spoke, the bartender came toward them, bearing a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Veuve Cliequot Private Reserve okay?” she said. “Twenty aught seven?”

Ames smiled. Twenty aught seven was a good year for champagne grapes. The Veuve reserve went for what? A hundred, one-fifty a bottle if you bought it by the case. Probably twice that in a restaurant. If not the absolute best, it certainly wasn’t something you’d use to make mimosas with.

The bartender set the glasses down, poured a taste for Cory, and, when she nodded that it was okay, filled both glasses. He left, taking the bottle with him.

The hostess came to get them before the second sip of the wine, which was crisp, dry, with a hint of apple — Ames knew that much of the jargon. The rest of the bottle was waiting for them in an ice bucket at their table.

He looked around. Nothing fantastic insofar as decor, but the service so far was good, and the place was still filled with patrons this late in the evening. A beautiful woman, nice restaurant, good champagne. Definitely a promising start to the evening.

“So, tell me about your day,” she said.

He shrugged. “The usual. Gadding about, taking depositions, talking to clients, stroking a few political powers.”

“How is the suit against Net Force going?”

He sipped his champagne. “Right on schedule. Bureaucrats are easy. These have a decent lawyer, Harvard man, smart, but they always leave such paper and electron trails you can follow them blindfolded in the dark. It’s a slam dunk.”

She smiled over the rim of her glass. “Does being a doctor help more with being a lawyer, or does being a lawyer help more with being a doctor?”

“About the same. Saves me having to hire one or the other without some idea of what they know. But enough about me. How was your day?”

She dipped her fingertip into the champagne, then rubbed it gently around the lip of the glass. The stemware emitted a clear, bell-like tone. She stopped. “Sorry. Bad habit. That’s how you tell if it’s good crystal, the tone. This is pretty good.”

“We all have our little habits,” he said. “Do you know about toilet lids?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s customary to stamp the date of manufacture into the underside of ceramic tank covers. So if you are in a house, and you want a quick check to see how old it is, you just look under the toilet tank’s lid.”

“What if it’s a replacement?” she said.

“It’s not a perfect system,” he said, “but if the date under the lid is, say, ‘November 1, 1969,’ then you know the house is at least that old. Could be older, but unless it was built before indoor plumbing, it probably isn’t any newer than that date.”

“Ah. Good to know.”

“A real estate agent showed it to me. If somebody is trying to sell you a house they claim is twenty-five years old, and the toilet was built thirty years ago, chances are likely they are lying.”

She laughed, took another healthy swig of her champagne.

“Am I missing a joke?”

“Not at all. We’ve been sitting here for two minutes, and already we’re having a deep philosophical discussion about bathroom plumbing.”

He laughed. A sense of humor, too. Ah, he was going to enjoy this conquest. “But let’s get back to your day,” he said. “We’ll always have Kohler… ”