Sidney jogged the monumental route in DC. She checked her watch and heart rate. She was thirty minutes into the run, and her thighs and legs were starting to burn.
Thirty more to go.
It was Saturday, mid- morning and the sun almost warmed the fall air. She hated running when it was cold. She didn't like getting up early either, not on Saturday. There were other tasks at home she liked to do. But today was different. This wasn't her usual route or scene. She had another meeting. Her former boss wanted to meet. Outside the office. Privately. First time for everything. Wiping the sleeve of her gray hoodie across her brow and picking up the pace, she passed two joggers, older, wearing 80s Adidas leisure.
She smiled as she ran by. They probably moved much faster thirty years ago. She jogged by several people, strollers, tourists. It wasn't the best time to run, but she liked the extra work that came with running through the slow masses. She picked up on things. A man sitting on a bench wearing a leisure suit and winding his watch. A group of older women walking at a brisk pace and laughing. One had purple leggings on. Another straightened her red wig from time to time. She weaved her way around the reflecting pool three more times. Her lungs labored, and her feet burned. She checked her time, pushed on, passed the World War Two Memorial and sprinted across the street toward the Washington monument, where she slowed to a walk. Hands on her hips, she strolled toward the monument until she saw a man sitting on a bench, waving.
Sid! Sid!
Soaked in sweat, she trotted over. He stood up and opened his arms wide. He was as tall as her, broad and heavy, balding with a handsome smile on his face. She stopped short of him.
I'm soaked in sweat.
It's alright, he said in a comforting voice, I have my rain coat on. Come here.
She sighed and moved her way towards his arms, which braced her in a bear hug, taking more wind from her. Easy now, Ted. She patted his back. Sorry. He released her. He was still smiling. I've missed my favorite trooper. It's been a while. He clasped her hands and held them tight. You look great.
So I do, she said, brushing damp hair from her eyes. You look great yourself. He patted his stomach. Maybe twenty, thirty, forty pounds ago. He lumbered back to his seat and sat down with a groan. He patted the bench. The desk and meetings are killing me. Are you sure it isn't the burger's and french fries? She took a seat.
It's those buffets at the lunch meetings, I swear it. Marge keeps me on a strict diet. He scratched the top of his head and squinted one eye. But that diet's not very tasty. Salad, salad, and more salad. I try, but I can't figure it out.
Maybe you should start running again, like you used to. Ah, he nodded. I miss that. Well, your company, not so much the running. His full name was Ted C. Howard, and Sidney still didn't know what the C stood for. He was the first assistant director she'd work for. Over fifty years old now, Ted still had the thick- set frame of his football days that he always loved to talk about. He was a good man. Energetic. A good mentor. He'd taught her a little about everything, and a lot about little, when he started to ramble. He was like family. An uncle of sorts.
So, how was Alabama? he asked.
Hot.
Good country, down there. he said. Good fishing. Nice people.
Not where I was, she said, smiling. She bent over and redid the laces on her shoes. But I'm sure you'd find good company.
True, he said. Did I ever tell you about the last time I was down there? I was about thirty nine- and...
Ah crap. Here we go. Cut him off before you end up in tomorrow.
Yes, you told me, she interrupted. Maybe Ted had told the story, and maybe he hadn't, but she was pretty sure she'd heard them all. Some of them two or three times, as he'd told them to other people when she was around.
What's this about, Ted?
Oh. He seemed disappointed. How'd your interview with Mister Smoke go?
Cocking her head, she looked him in the eye. You know about that? All she had told him was that she'd come back from Alabama. She hadn't mentioned anything about anyone she'd met.
I spoke with Warden Decker. We go way back.
Of course you do. Ted had a catalog of contacts. He had success. If he wanted to know something, he'd find it. And does your office have any interest in my case?
I thought you were handling more of the boarder cases. Ted reached into the pocket of his navy trench coat and pulled out a paper bag. It was full of nuts. He tossed one to the nearest squirrel that was skirting by.
I'm not keeping tabs on you, Sid, but I have checked up on you from time to time. He flicked another nut out.
But this was different. A little bird dropped me a wire of peculiar interest. I felt compelled to look into it.
And?
The Black Slate. I know a little something about that. The creases deepened over his eyes. I don't like the idea of you working on this. The way they're going about it is peculiar. It seems..... dangerous. Ted had never been like this before, and they've navigated some dangerous waters.
Why the concern now? Dangerous part of the job. You told me that.
He laughed. I think that's a quote from a movie. It's true, but probably much shorter and more eloquent than I would have put it. He flung out a few more nuts where many squirrels had now gathered. Don't take me wrong. You're as fit to do this as any. If I was in the field, I'd want a piece of action too. He groaned. Don't ever get promoted, Sid. They anchor you with cinderblocks to the desk. I should have been a cop. Did I ever tell you- She grabbed his shoulder. Back to Black Slate, please. John Smoke? You wanted to talk about him.
Yes, John Smoke. Now that's a odd one. A good candidate on the surface, but all the paperwork below the surface is blacked out or missing.
You mean I didn't get the entire file?
You got enough. I got a little more. That's why I talked to Warden Decker. He pointed at the squirrels. Look at them. I haven't done this in years. Crazy little rodents. I met a man once who had a squirrel living in the hood of his hoodie. It was after Hurricane Hugo hit Charleston. Construction guy. One of the strangest things I ever saw. He turned and smiled at her. In a good way.
She stared at him.
Sorry. He flung the rest of the nuts aside and dusted his hands off. Truth. Warden Decker likes the guy. But, we aren't the only people taking interest in him. Decker clammed up when I prodded him. Leave me uneasy.
Well, Smoke has neither accepted nor declined my offer, so maybe there's nothing to worry about.
Interesting, but I assume he'll take it.
Why's that?
I just have a feeling. That said, be careful. I did some deeper research on similar projects like this that failed. The Black Slate is marred with dark history. They've tried mercs, bounty hunters, and others of their ilk before.
And what happened? It didn't work out?
They're dead. Some, not to mention many of our agents - who aren't even in that file you were totting- are gone without a trace. He peered up at the Washington Monument. I don't like this, Sid. Just use extraordinary caution. He got up and extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up with ease. I'm serious. He patted her shoulder and started to walk away. He stopped and turned. Say, how's the Hellcat doing?
Unable to contain her smile, she said, Doing great.
Hah. You stole from me. I'll never forget that. Moving on, he waved. Call me if you need anything.
Good seeing you, Ted. And thanks. I think.