With the views out the big windows, there was no need for art on the walls.
“This is amazing!” Jeremy had found his workbench. She’d doubled its size and added drawers below and cubbies above. The tool cabinets sat off to either side and she’d updated all of the equipment to a full digital test suite and a high-speed computer for modeling aerodynamics.
Mike ran his fingers over the top-of-the-line Breville Oracle home espresso machine and the matching Grind Control grinder-brewer as he inspected the kitchenette with a soft smile. Then, with a sigh of relief that Miranda was fairly sure was happy, he settled slowly into the vintage cordovan-leather Chesterfield wingback armchair she’d found for him.
Holly plunged into the oversized deep-cushioned armchair next to him and propped her boots on the stout teak coffee table. Her chair was centered directly across from the big-screen television that could run simulations from Jeremy’s bench, or movies.
Her own teak rolltop desk sat just to the side of the big windows so that she could watch the planes while she was working.
She could feel Jon come up behind her after rolling the Air Force C-21 into the hangar. He slid his hands around her waist from behind and laced his fingers as she laid her hands over his.
“Pretty nice digs you have here,” his whisper tickled her ear.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t yet know him well enough to get the right kind of chair for him. For now, he’d have to share one of the couches with either her or Jeremy.
69
Too exhausted to fly home, Miranda had opted to stay at the team’s Gig Harbor house. Holly had insisted on sleeping out on the couch so that she and Jon could have the privacy of a bedroom.
Despite the harrowing two days and the long morning and afternoon just catching up with events, Miranda lay wide awake at midnight.
Jon slept soundly beside her.
He had gone to some trouble to prove that he liked her in her NTSB clothes, liked taking them off her before introducing her to several new experiences in the shower, and then finally liked helping her to slip on her nightgown. She no longer needed him to explain that each was good but different; he’d proven his point with precise demonstration and a most enjoyable thoroughness.
Though her body was very well sated, she was unable to stop the whirl of her thoughts. Slipping from his arms, she went into the bathroom and once more changed.
As she eased out through the bedroom’s darkness, Jon spoke up softly.
“I thought it was the guy who was supposed to slip away in the middle of the night.”
“They are? Why would they do that?”
Jon’s voice was thick with sleep and a soft laugh. “To avoid attachment? Utter stupidity? As for me, I like the idea of waking up with you.”
She was fairly sure that she was right in imagining his smile even though she couldn’t see it.
“Where are you going? A walk in the moonlight? Do you want company?”
“I’m not sure. The moon set over an hour ago. And no.”
“Well,” she could hear him shift in the sheets. “That certainly puts me in my place.”
“There’s just something I have to see, I think. Goodbye, Jon.”
“Hold it. Wait!” His shadow rose from the bed and stepped up close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell the curious scent of him that she couldn’t put words to despite several attempts.
“Is that like a goodbye-goodbye or a goodbye-until-I-see-you-next-time goodbye?”
Another one of those words with situational meanings. She really wished she could rewrite the English language and eradicate them all permanently.
“Are you asking if we can have sex again in the future? Yes, Jon, I’d like that very much.”
“No. I wasn’t asking that.”
“Oh,” Miranda could feel herself wilt a little inside.
“I was…” Jon paused, then laughed. “Okay, yes, I’d love to have sex with you again. I also like you, Miranda, very much. I’d enjoy spending more time with you.”
“Oh, okay then.” She’d like that too. “I’m going to go now.”
Without any more confusing words, he pulled her hard against his bare chest and held her tight. Her nose was slightly crushed against his breastbone, but the rest of it felt very nice and she let herself be held. After a moment, she realized that he would want to be held back so she slipped her arms around him. They stood that way for a long minute with his cheek on her hair and her nose smushed against his breastbone.
Now she knew what urge had driven her from the bed, and where she had to go.
70
Miranda wasn’t sure where Holly had gone. Her sheets were still on the great room couch, but she was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t easily imagine her being in Mike’s room, but his door was closed and Mike usually slept with it cracked open.
All the cars were still out front, so, however much Holly had declared it to be impossible, Mike’s room was where she must be.
To get to the airport, Miranda borrowed Holly’s Corvette—which was almost as fun as a jet—and was soon racing her F-86 Sabrejet east across the country at just below the speed of sound. She flew high, at 45,000 feet, and caught up with the sunrise shortly before descending into Washington, DC.
A taxi delivered her to CIA headquarters and the pass issued by Vice President Clark Winston, when he was still the director here, gained her admittance. She only ever visited two places at the CIA.
The first was the Memorial Wall. Rows of simple silver stars, each smaller than her palm, were mounted on the white marble. Each represented an unnamed agent killed in the line of duty; one that could not be acknowledged in normal ways for security reasons.
Director Winston had pointed out which stars were her parents—dead on TWA 800. They’d been undercover to plan the earliest expansions of US drones for clandestine operations into the Middle East theater. Their acknowledged employment by the CIA would have caused problems with the Israelis and Arabs alike, so they’d received stars despite dying on a domestic disaster en route to that task.
She rubbed her fingertips along the edges of both stars, but couldn’t feel her parents. She didn’t know the CIA agents that her parents had been—a role she hadn’t even known about until last year. They weren’t here. Now that she understood that, she’d never have to visit this spot again.
The pass from Clark also permitted her entry into the central courtyard, a small parklike area that lay between the Old and New Headquarters Buildings. Most people hurried down the connecting corridors to either side that linked the two buildings and formed the east and west boundaries of the courtyard. Perhaps at lunchtime on a sunny day there would be people here.
Just past sunrise, the area was empty.
The courtyard had two broad paths, a fountain, and areas for comfortable seating.
But for her, the courtyard was dominated by the sculpture tucked out of the way in the northwest corner.
Miranda turned left and followed the broad path to Kryptos.
The enigmatic bronze sculpture held a significant role in her past. It stood eight feet high and sixteen long. It was in a horizontal S shape, like a rippled piece of paper stood on edge. Its entire surface was cut out in hand-sized letters through the thick bronze. Four panels, each of which contained a secret code.