Free Permanent Interests by James Bruno Page A

neatly wiped his mouth and placed his fork and spoon on his clean plate. With his sixth paper napkin, 70 JAMES
    BRUNO
    Innes caught a rivulet of grease before it reached his elbow.
    Molten cheese anchored his dish to the table cover.
    "Terrific chow, as always," Innes declared, smiling.
    "You bet." Speedy looked at his roomie with amusement.
    Innes was pulling the regular eight-to-five shift at the Ops Center. The watch officers rotate duty to even out the burden of night shifts and to give everyone the chance to work normal hours.
    Robin Croft had just placed on his desk the morning's take of telegrams from embassies, CIA stations and military commands around the world. She gleaned that which she felt was important, messages that Innes, in turn, would bring to the attention of the Ops Center Director or various Assistant Secretaries, perhaps after seeking additional or late-breaking information via secure voice communications or classified e-mail or FAX.
    Pawing through the take, Innes made a comment or asked a question about several of the items.
    "What's this about the French trade minister calling us names again? Somebody oughta fire that guy. Shred!"
    Innes held the confidential cable from Paris at arm's length, as if it were putrid, and unceremoniously dropped it into a burn bag.
    "And the Mexicans are massacring Indians again. They should be ashamed to be our neighbors. It's all in the papers anyway." Embassy Mexico City telegram number 13251 followed the French minister into the burn bag.
    Robin enjoyed Innes's sense of humor, a commodity sorely lacking in a building in which too many people took themselves far too seriously.
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    "I'll try to get the world to cough up some better news next time," she said in mock seriousness.
    "You can start with Bernard Scher." Innes puffed up his chest and set his mouth into a frown of grave pomposity.
    "What's the latest with the Terror of the Terrorists anyway?
    Has he gotten down to Sudanese kindergartens yet?"
    "Not sure. But people on the Hill aren't letting up.
    Senator Scofield announced late yesterday that the Senate would order the General Accounting Office to investigate the Mortimer case if the administration couldn't do it properly. And the Washington Times has another one of its scathing editorials skewering the State Department for being namby-pamby on the case."
    "Anybody from the IWG call me?"
    "Nope. Oh, I almost forgot. The secretary took a phone message for you from Embassy Rome." Robin handed Innes a yellow message slip. It said, "Please call: 'Colleen.
    02-595-003-291.'"
    Innes found an empty cubicle allowing privacy, and punched the number.
    "Hello? Chargé's office," came a chipper female voice.
    "Colleen?"
    "Bob?"
    "One and the same."
    "Guess what? I've been assigned to Bangkok. I'll be in the political section. It's a great job."
    "Oh, uh, sure. Congratulations." Innes wondered why she was calling him with this news. Bangkok. Hm. Great.
    Never see those gams again.
    "Yeah! And I'll be starting ten months of Thai at FSI."
    FSI was the Foreign Service Institute in suburban Virginia where U.S. diplomats underwent language study and other training.
    Innes sat up with a start.
    72 JAMES
    BRUNO
    "That's terrific. Show your face around here after you arrive. We can talk about old times. I know a great oriental night club."
    "Can't wait," Colleen replied hesitantly, playing along.
    "It'll be sooner than you think. I arrive this coming weekend. I'll give you a call then."
    Innes caught himself grinning ear to ear as he replaced the receiver. Then forced himself to ask why. A good new-found friend's coming to town, he tried to convince himself. It'll be very useful to get a firsthand readout on how the investigation is playing out in Rome. She's a fine young officer. I'll give her some helpful career counseling tips so that she can avoid some of the pitfalls I made, he thought unpersuasively. Innes was clearly struggling with himself.
    Alexander