Sixty days and counting - Kim Stanley Robinson [13]
Which was a hard thought to recover from; and Diane saw that his mood had changed. Quickly he suggested they warm up over drinks.
They retired to a bar overlooking the confluence of the creek and the river, on the Georgetown side. They ordered Irish coffees. Frank warmed up again, his sudden stab of dread dispelled by Diane’s immense calmness, by the aura of reality that emanated from her. It was reassuring to be around her; precisely the opposite of the feeling he had when—
But he stayed in the moment. He agreed with Diane’s comment that Irish coffee provided the perfect compound of stimulant and relaxant, sugar and fat, hydration and warmth. “It must have been invented by scientists,” she said. “It’s like it’s made to a formula to hit all the receptors at once.”
Frank said, “I remember it’s what they always used to serve at the Salk Institute after their seminars. They’ve got a patio deck overlooking the Pacific, and everyone would go out with Irish coffees and watch the sunset.”
“Nice.”
Later, as Frank walked her back up through Georgetown to her car, she said, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining my advisory staff. It would be an extension of the work you’ve been doing at NSF. I mean, I know you’re planning to go back to San Diego, but until then, you know…I could use your help.”
Frank had stopped walking. Diane turned and glanced up at him, shyly it seemed, and then looked away, down M Street. The stretch they could see looked to Frank like the Platonic form of a Midwestern main street, totally unlike the rest of D.C.
“Sure,” Frank heard himself say. He realized that in some sense he had to accept her offer. He had no choice; he was only in D.C. now because of her previous invitation to work on the climate problem, and he had been doing that for a year now. And they were friends, they were colleagues; they were…“I mean, I’ll have to check with my department and all first, to make sure it will all be okay at UCSD. But I think it could be really interesting.”
“Oh good. Good. I was hoping you’d say yes.”
The next morning, at work his doorway darkened, and he swung his chair around, expecting to see Diane, there to discuss their move to the Presidential Science Advisor’s offices—
“Oh! Edgardo!”
“Hi, Frank. Hey, are you up for getting a bite at the Food Factory?” Waggling his eyebrows Groucho-istically.
“Sure,” Frank said, trying to sound natural. It was hard not to look around his office as he saved and shut the file he was working on.
On the way to the Food Factory, Edgardo surreptitiously ran a wand over Frank, and gave it to Frank, who did the same for him. Then they went in and stood at a bar, noisily eating chips and salsa.
“What is it?”
“A friend of mine has tracked down your friend and her husband.”
“Ah ha! And?”
“They work for a unit of a black agency called Advanced Research and Development Agency Prime. The man’s name is Edward Cooper, and hers is Caroline Churchland. They ran a big data-mining effort, which was a combination of the Total Information Awareness project and some other black programs in Homeland Security.”
“Wait—she didn’t work for him?”
“No. My friend says it was more like the other way around. She headed the program, but he was brought in to help when some surveillance issues cropped up. He came from Homeland Security, and before that CIA, where he was on the Afghanistan detail. My friend says the program got a lot more serious when he arrived.”
“Serious?”
“Some surveillance issues. My friend didn’t know what that meant. And then this attempt on the election that she tipped us to.”
“But he worked for her?”
“Yes.”
“And when did they get married?”
“About two years before he joined her project.”
“And he worked for her.”
“That’s what I was told. Also, my friend thinks he probably knows where she’s gone.”
“What!”
“That’s what he told me. On the night she disappeared, you see, there was a call from a pay