Free Last Days of the Condor by James Grady Page A

cup.
    She’d seen him before—one of five Senate staffers in that morning’s meeting with Sami, the two spy agency execs, and a Senator from each political party. And her. For the CONFIDENTIAL-level briefing about Paris. Then he’d been sent out with the other Senate staffers, with Faye and Sami still in there as the quorum of two Senators got briefed on America’s spies’ TOP-SECRET version of blood on le rue de cobblestones .
    Et moi, thought Faye.
    She looked at that Senate staffer. Just a guy, tall, blond, gray suit. Her age.
    Fuck him, fuck the doctors, I need coffee.
    He didn’t retreat when she put a dollar bill in the Styrofoam cup by the coffeepot, filled her own Styrofoam cup. Indeed, he came closer, and fuck trusting the Committee’s metal detectors, she eyeballed him for a hidden weapon, saw his cup contained only water.
    Over the burn of long-heated coffee she had to admit he smelled good. She was drenched in nervous sweat, hoped the perfume she seldom wore covered that with a scent of lilacs. He sent a bespectacled nod to the Senators and spy execs in the fishbowl.
    â€œSo,” he said, “after I left, what did you guys talk about in there?”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œI know you’re CIA so I had to say something that would shock a real response,” he told her. “Because if talking about what’s really going on is out, we have to resort to some kind of disembodied chatter where I start out asking you safe things, like which camp were your parents, Rolling Stones or Beatles.”
    â€œThat’s your chatter?”
    â€œI was hoping for our chatter, but yeah . What else can I say to you?”
    â€œAre you hitting on me?”
    â€œIf I tried to hit you, you’d break my arm in like six places.”
    â€œProbably only two.”
    â€œThanks for your restraint.” He shrugged both hands into the air and smiled with his blue eyes. “And while I’m not hitting on you, per se, the intent is clearly growing.”
    â€œPer se?”
    â€œSorry, I talk like that sometimes when I’m nervous.”
    â€œI make you nervous?”
    â€œSince the moment I saw you.”
    â€œThis oughta be good.”
    â€œIt’s the way you stood— stand . You’re here. Stepping right up and taking it. And true to that. Whatever it is.” He waved his fawn-suited hand. “Blew me away.”
    â€œSo you decided to recruit me.”
    â€œThere’s an idea. Do you play Ultimate?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œUltimate Frisbee. Like soccer. Only with plastic discs. A stoner sport.”
    Faye said: “So you’re a stoner? And think I am?”
    â€œI’m a randomly drug-tested federal employee. Yesterday is gone if not forgotten.
    â€œIt’s a simple game,” he said. “You toss, you catch, you run. No contact.”
    â€œRules,” she said.
    â€œHonor code,” he replied.
    â€œSounds like a pastime for sophomores.”
    He nodded to the fishbowl where Senators frowned to show they were serious. “I spend all day up on this hill chasing back and forth after whatever gets thrown into the air by them, so getting to catch and toss something real while running in what passes for clean air … Yeah, that feels pretty good. And I’m a long way from being a sophomore.”
    â€œWhich way?” Don’t stare at the fishbowl!
    And he laughed. Just … did it . Laughed. Out loud and in the open.
    Said: “Some days that’s open to debate.
    â€œYou should come,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMore or less seven o’clock tomorrow night unless we get a freak September storm. Down on the Mall, the grass alongside the east wing of the National Gallery.”
    â€œYou want me to play?”
    â€œI want you to give you the chance.”
    â€œYou’re all heart.” She gulped the bitter coffee. Tossed the white cup in the trash,