Natalia’s Game. Крейг Т. Бушар
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“If you don’t mind, Natalia, I’ll come to that later.” She gives me a half-nod, perhaps surprised, but also perhaps not.
She surprises me with her next question: “Are you married, General Thomas?”
I blink. “No, I’m not. And please call me Crew.”
“Why not? I’m sure many women have been interested in you, Crew.” She struggles a little to use my first name.
“I learned hard not to put someone I love in harm’s way. Marriage has never been an option. I can’t prioritize a woman before the national interest.”
Natalia isn’t put off. “How many times have you been in love?”
I admit the truth: “Twice.”
“That’s not many. What happened to the two girls?”
“They are dead. Both got in harm’s way.”
She stares wide-eyed at me, not expecting such an honest answer. I say, “What about you?” Like two dead women aren’t a big deal.
“What about me?”
“How many times have you been in love, Natalia? I’m sure many men have wanted you.”
“Never.” I take her hand as we walk. She lets me, brushing her thumb over mine to show her acceptance. We keep bumping shoulders.
“It’s rare, almost unique, that an intelligence operative rises to the level of general. Please tell me, how did you do it?”
I’ve never been asked this question. “I guess I never cared about the title of general. The bravest warriors were not generals. Neither were the greatest scientists, men like Einstein, Tesla, Hawking, and Andre Linde. ” She shows me a quizzical look.
“I made discoveries consistent with quantum physics and applied them. No one else could do that, so I moved up.”
My voice is clear, and my tone shows no stress. She notices.
“I see. What kind of things? I know I’m pushing the limits of our deal.”
“Yes, you are. But I’ll tell you anyway. I organized a military unit pursuing sound-and-light-wave mastery merged with energy generation. Over time, we figured out a technique to manifest, project, switch, and teleport. It’s the last frontier of covert intelligence.”
What? I’m speechless and puzzled. I can’t figure out why he is telling me this. We continue making our way through the sand.
He breaks the silence. “Tell me something special about you.”
“Like what?”
Well, let’s start with the basics, “Why did you join the SRI?”
“Do you want the true story? I should warn you that it’s not exciting.”
“Yes, please.”
“I thought long and hard about studying physics and applied to study at MIT in your country. They turned me down. It was more practical to stay close to home, so I worked my way through a Ph.D. in quantum physics in Bucharest. I understand everything you are telling me about the theories of projection and teleporting. Hearing from you that theory could be real is like catching lightning.”
She pauses for a moment, sighs, and continues, “I couldn’t afford to attend university and four years of grad school without the support of the SRI. I owe them a debt of gratitude.”
This is new news. The CIA was aware of an agent codenamed the “Queen,” but we weren’t knowledgeable of Natalia Net. The SRI had purged her records. A mole in Romania leaked her existence.
She wasn’t done. “To build strength and confidence in dealing with men, I practiced jiu-jitsu and earned a black belt. Later, the SRI trained me as a long-range sniper.
“My job description is fixing national security problems. They call me ‘the cleaner’ because I clean up their problems.”
I gauged her stress level as she speaks. She exhibits no stress. I ask her, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“More than one?”
“More than twenty.”
I’m holding the hand of a hit woman.
She casts her eyes toward me. “Do you still want to hold my hand?”
“Yes, if for no other reason than to keep you from pulling a knife or a pistol.” She laughs and lets go of my hand, diving into the water. I follow her in, grab her waist, and spin her around. I try to say something.
“Shhh,” she puts her index finger to my salty lips and then grazes them with hers. I kiss the corner of her parted lips as a cluster of stars palely glows above us. I have already decided I like this girl.
“Pure honesty is my way,” she says. “Do we still have a deal?”
Intertwined waist-deep in the water, I say, “It’s hard to believe you’ve never been in love.”
“Most men are dull. Some are egomaniacs. I like killing that type. Some lack moral fiber. Few of them are clean.”
She gazes over the lapping water, chin up, with blank eyes and a smirk. That look suggests that I can’t change her mind. I like that. She continues, “I remember my dad’s advice when I was little: ‘Natalia, all men are pigs. So the only question is, which pig will you marry?’ That moment made my transition easier. It gave me a subtle understanding of what I would deal with later – a lesson most girls never get. Men are weak. None good enough – at least so far.”
She holds onto me as the waves push us back and forth.
His accent, honesty, and how he looks at me – while listening – make him different. Thomas emphasizes important points by lowering his voice. This technique works; it makes me listen. He is subtly managing me. I know it, and I like it.
We navigate the stones below our feet, back to the sand, and continue our stroll. Is this guy real? His pulse reveals that he is telling the truth. He rarely blinks when answering a question and looks me straight in the eye, though not overtly. I notice he avoids speaking of himself unless asked a direct question. Good one. He returns my question with a question that scores answers. Tricky. He focuses on discerning my tone. Good one. He has a beautiful mind. That is attractive.
We make it another mile on the desolate sand to where the beach ends with a small cavern surrounded on each side by tall, smooth rocks – a cave designed by nature. I step inside and experience the feeling of wonder. The walls are approximately nine feet high and four feet wide at the entrance. An opening at the top allows the moonlight to glisten down moist walls. The ceiling angles lower toward the rear of what I now consider to be my place.
“This reminds me of a cathedral next to the sea,” says Thomas