Whiplash

40

Breanna picked up the phone a split second after it started to ring.

“Breanna Stockard.”

“Jeffrey Stockard,” replied her husband.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Zen laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m waiting for a call.”

“An important one, I bet. You have your serious voice on.”

“All my phone calls are important,” she said.

“Even the ones from me?”

“Especially yours. It’s just — I’ve been waiting for you to call all morning.”

“It’s beyond morning. A half hour beyond,” he added. “I thought we were having lunch.”

“Oh, crap!”

Breanna looked down at her computer. The alarm noting lunch was buried under eight windows, half of which she couldn’t even remember opening.

“Guess it’s off, huh?”

“I forgot all about it. I lost track of the time. I’m sorry.”

“You need a secretary,” said Zen.

“I have a secretary.”

“Where is she?”

“Lunch.” Ms. Bennett had in fact reminded Breanna that she had an appointment before leaving.

“So: We having lunch, or not?”

“No. I can’t. I–I have to get something cleared up.”

“What you were working on last night, huh?”

“Something along those lines.”

Breanna wanted to talk about the situation but couldn’t — she and her husband had agreed that they wouldn’t discuss anything involving national security on her side, and party politics on his. While they occasionally bent the rules, Zen would have immediately ended the conversation if she began talking about the mission.

It was too bad. There was no one whose opinion she trusted more than her husband’s, especially when it came to dealing with the Washington bureaucracy.

“It’s all right,” said Zen. “I’m a little squeezed myself. I have an appointment with the President at one. Which means it’ll be about two when I get in there.”

“You’re seeing a lot of her lately. Should I be jealous?”

“Ha. I’m her favorite thorn. In the side or elsewhere. You going to be home for dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Because Teri’s thing is tonight.”

“Which thing?”

“Concert thing. Spring concert.”

“Oh right, right, right.”

“I’m missing a reception at the Korean ambassador’s home for it,” said Zen, as if this was the greatest sacrifice in the world. Zen hated receptions, and wasn’t very fond of the Korean ambassador, either. “So you better show up.”

“I’m showing.”

Breanna looked at the windows on the computer. She had a lot to do, but it was difficult to focus on any of it while the Whiplash mission was under way. She knew she had to separate herself — and yet she couldn’t.

Maybe it would be better to go over to Langley and work from there. At least she wouldn’t be checking the secure message system every few seconds, and looking at SpyNet, and checking the news…she could hook directly to MY-PID and get regular updates.

Her secure sat phone beeped. It was a call from Danny, asking for an update.

“Zen, I have to go,” said Breanna, barely getting the words out of her mouth before hanging up.