John Ringo - Cally's War

“Yes, sir. I just got in from dinner, sir.”

“Trifle late, isn’t it?” He seemed to be waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Yes, sir. I worked a little late getting things in order, sir, and then I had some shopping to do.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, if you’ll just nip by the office and bring that file over, Captain. Thank you.” There was an audible click as he ended the call.

She glared at the phone for a minute. Is he for real? And of course he just assumes I know where he lives. It’s not like he couldn’t have called my PDA and reached me right off. The real Sinda Makepeace may have gotten the better end of this deal. And I know better than to slip out of character, even in private, dammit.

It was actually no trouble to find the general’s quarters. The base directory had no problem with telling his secretary where he lived.

It also didn’t take very long to get there, since it was a Tuesday night and in the middle of a shift. Transit car traffic was minimal, and the MPs on duty at the transit station that serviced brigade headquarters were surprised to see anyone coming in so late, but passed her through after a quick look at her ID.

Moments later, she tucked the file into a manila envelope, passed the MPs on the way out and caught a transit car three levels down.

The corridor that housed Fleet Strike general officers was not institutional green. Nor were the doors battleship gray. The cream walls and Wedgwood blue doors were set off by a strip of wallpaper across the top of the walls that had been designed to convey the impression of crown molding. The charcoal gray carpeting was thick and gave softly under her feet. In all, it reminded her of images she’d seen in movies of the sort of prewar hotel that catered to business travelers who were on a budget but did not want to feel they were staying in some cheap dive.

Suite G one-oh-three was about fifty meters from the transit car doors. It had the standard electronic lock and a little glowing button in a brass plate cast in curlicues that might have been stylized leaves.

“Captain Sinda Makepeace to see General Beed, please,” she announced clearly to the door. Nothing happened. She waited, and then announced herself again. Still nothing. He couldn’t. They wouldn’t have… What the hell, I’ll try it. She pushed the button and immediately heard a ringing tone from inside the apartment. They must have actually drilled through the Galplas to install that damned thing.

As the door slid open, she caught a distinct whiff of men’s cologne. Beed was just inside the doorway, but he didn’t move to take the envelope from her.

“Ah, good. You have it. If it won’t be too much trouble, why don’t you come in. I may need you for a couple of things. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir. Of course there’s no problem, sir.” She stepped inside the door and it closed behind her. It may have been phrased like a request, but she knew an order when she heard one. Besides, he was a safe way to get rid of some excess hormones while furthering her mission. A good deal all around.

“I didn’t really need the file.” He met her eyes and held them as he took the envelope from her and tossed it onto a small table just inside the door.

“I didn’t really think you did, sir.”

“Quit sirring me, Sinda. In public, yes, but… Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Only if it’s not local, thanks. If the air does that to coffee beans, I’d hate to think what it would do to a poor, defenseless grape.”

“It’s up from Earth. A nice California chardonnay. You’ll like it.” He led her out of the foyer into the living room. On the coffee table was an ice bucket and a chilled bottle of the wine, with two glasses. He uncorked and poured it smoothly, handing her a glass and saluting her with his own. He was right. It was crisp and cool.

“Excuse me for asking, but where is Mrs. Beed this evening? And if I don’t call you ‘sir,’ what do I call you?”

“My friends call me Bernie. And Mrs. Beed has her movie night with some of the other wives. They grab a drink together afterwards. She won’t cross the threshold before oh-one-hundred at the earliest.”

“I — I haven’t done this much.” She took a largish gulp of her wine and dropped her eyes.

He set his glass down, taking hers and setting it beside the other, then stepped forward until he was nearly touching her. He cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her lingeringly.

“I think I’m going to enjoy walking you through it,” he said.

His breath tasted like peppermint and his mustache tickled her lip as she ran her hands up his chest to twine her arms around his neck. His hands were playing with her breasts and her breathing started to quicken and she pressed closer, up against him.

Then his hands were at the seal of her silks, parting the front of them to show the white lace of her bra. One hand slid around to the small of her back, pressing her closer still, while the other kneaded her breast. She arched against him, clutching her fingers in his hair as he traced a line of kisses along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone as she clutched at his back. Okay, this isn’t going to be so bad. Umm… mmm… good spot.

“Not here,” he murmured against her skin. She let him take her hand and lead her back down a hall to a bedroom. It smelled faintly dusty, like a guest room, and everything in it was too neat and too perfect. And too feminine. A master bedroom for a couple would never have a pink flowered bedspread. She tilted her head up to kiss him again while he slid the silks off her shoulders, freeing her hands to grab his hips. She wiggled slightly and her uniform slid down to pool at her feet. She fumbled a bit with the catch on his uniform before getting the pressure seal open, so she could slide her hands in and press them flat against the heat of his back.

She moved with him as he eased her back onto the bed, lying on top of her, but considerately holding his weight on his hands and toes. As they kissed, she helped him get his uniform out of the way as he slid a hand under her to unclasp her bra. After it was out of the way, he sat back for a moment to look. Men always liked to look. She gave him a smile and reached out to pull him back down. His chest was smooth and hairless, as was his jaw line, and she wondered for a second whether he used depilatory foam on it, before deciding that she didn’t care. A good lay was just what the doctor ordered, and so far this looked like it was going to turn out to be a good lay.

Afterwards, she helped him change the sheets and remake the bed. She thought it would be a dead giveaway, but when he took out the clean set of sheets, they were identical to the ones that had just come off.

“Won’t your wife notice the extra sheets in the wash?”

“Not a chance. I’ll have them clean and put away in no time. I don’t completely shun modern technology, Sinda.”

He seemed a bit uncomfortable as the afterglow wore off. Edgy, as if he didn’t quite know what to say to her. She made her excuses and left. No use trying for pillow talk with him in that mood. Maybe next time. She had gotten at least part of what she came for. That was something. Tea and sympathy at the office, make him comfortable. Meanwhile, she had that cube to scan on the off chance that something worthwhile was buried on it. The problem was that the general could be working with anybody, so everything had to be checked.

And, of course, she had to check in. In the old days of humans versus humans, an in-person meeting was the most dangerous thing there was for an active agent. The Bane Sidhe’s experience knew better. The expertise of the Darhel at electronic wizardry had led them to conclude thousands of years before that face-to-face meetings were the best security there was. While it was possible that human electronic information warfare would surpass the Darhel’s in time, it hadn’t to date. As a result, critical information was sent electronically or over the airwaves only when there was absolutely no other alternative.