Natalia’s Game. Крейг Т. Бушар

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      I rise through the ceiling of the three-wall enclosure, leaving my body behind in a state of drowsiness. My senses explode with the sounds and rhythmic pulse of the earth. The moment has arrived. I desire to set Natalia free. With that desire comes freedom.

      As I scurry down the beach clad in nothing but a bikini, I hear the buzz of Einstein. Step by step, or lunge by lunge, I move as fast as possible on the soft, sinking sand. Last night…

      I stop, momentarily escaping my humiliating walk of shame. The whirring of Einstein is getting closer. I move quickly up the incline of sand to reach a flat surface that leads into trees. God, I wish I had a cover-up. Even my slip. I get to the trees, shaking my head. Would a slip look worse? Exacerbate the morning-after look? Yes, definitely. Amidst the hovering of Einstein, I eye the welcoming lap of waves and the sparkle of the morning water, and I wonder how long I can hold my breath. Could I hold it for the remainder of the journey back to the cottage? I roll my eyes. No, Natalia.

      Swim “laps” home, and tell them I was working on my backstroke? I hop over the sand, reaching another tree to hide behind. No, that won’t work. We don’t swim in the

      Black Sea for a reason; it’s not okay to be observed by enemies. It’s a lose-lose situation. I move as quickly as I can to cover, but knowing I am about to be discovered, filmed, and caught.

      It is time to save Natalia. I have a feeling this will not be the last time. My consciousness separates from my physical body on its way to finding her. I see the “falcon,” and it can’t see me; I float above it, observing, and descend to just above its flight path. The drone is at work, its cameras moving side to side, searching for Natalia, who must be frantic about returning to her cottage not filmed in a bikini. That sexy bikini. I see the camera’s lens is pointed straight ahead or down, completely disregarding its peripherals. A design flaw, but this doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t see me anyway. A small circuit board is embedded in the back of Einstein’s neck. I focus a beam of energy a few inches from the circuit. In less than a millisecond, it crackles, sputters, and the $20 million drone plummets into free fall, crashing into the rocks just off the beach, where it explodes, exposing its stomach. Mini-drones pour from it, broken.

      I circle the crash for pleasure, mimicking a falcon circling its prey in celebration of death.

      There is an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. The drone is closer than before, and I imagine getting reprimanded.

      Half naked. Oh, God. From this point on the beach, I can almost see my cottage, but there are no trees on the beach. It’s sand, sand, and more sand. I prepare to run faster than

      I ever have. This is not going to end well. As I take my first few steps, I watch with astonishment as the dreaded drone hurtles through the air. Downwards. Fewer than thirty feet away from me, it smashes on rocks. What the hell! I don’t care that the drone was after me. At a minimum, I’m mad at whatever rookie tech geek was responsible for the terminated flight – incompetence.

      I spot Natalia as my conscious being soars over the forest. She’s not running like before, no. She walks calmly but with a swagger in her hips and tension in her back and shoulders. She’s frowning. The tips of her hair sway with her movement. I want to chuckle; she’s annoyed with the finale of Einstein. Oh, Natalia. You are the one for me.

      Beyond her, guards are out in the dimmed light of 6:00 am. I take care of them, one by one. Three guards are down. They will wake up dizzy. “I desire her to be in her room.” The manifest is complete.

      I return to my cottage, ignoring the laser sensors. Once I’m inside, a sudden feeling of loneliness overtakes me. I want to see Natalia again as soon as possible, and this thought startles me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way.

      How did I get back so easily? What did he do? Exhausted, I step into my cottage, half expecting a welcoming committee in my living room. Thank God no one is here. Do they even know I was gone? A formal invitation to the SRI board meeting was placed under my door. I opened it with great anticipation. I’ve never attended such a meeting.

      I lie in bed for a few moments, sweating. What just happened? I can hardly remember the dash. I can’t get his touch or his voice out of my mind.

      After showering, I get ready for work.

      Friend or Foe?

      Presenting to the board of the SRI might be fun. Then again, it could drift in a very difef rent direction. I’m not sure how this crowd will take having an American CIA operative amongst them.

      Hidden behind the ofifce of the school’s Operations Director is a conference room with seating for eight. I wonder about Natalia. Is she invited? The SRI delivered a detailed meeting agenda to my cottage. In charge will be Eduard Raul Helsing, the Director General and Chairman of the Board of the SRI. Three other board members will be present: Brigadier General George-Viorel Voiculescu, Major General Ion Grecu, and Lieutenant General Dumitru Ponoru. Helsing is a Ph.D. political scientist, not a warrior. But, he oversees 12,000 agents, making the SRI one of the world’s largest intelligence organizations. That makes Helsing a player.

      Florin Oltean will be in attendance. He is the operations director who runs the place with an iron fist. Oltean is openminded, especially on topics of science. He has to be. He oversees active experiments with DNA manipulation, genetic improvement, and quantum techniques, all connected in some way with spying.

      Major Alina Balan will attend as the secretary. Her bio says she runs the national cyber security program. I’m not sure why she is the secretary, but I guess I’ll soon find out.

      The boardroom door opens, and a stunning blond with blue eyes and “physically gifted” walks out and greets me. I assume she is from Transylvania. Lots of slim blonds there. I like that thought. She wears a pin-stripe suit with a white silk blouse and a mid-length skirt, slit up one side, partially revealing her thigh.

      “Good morning, General Thomas. I am Alina Balan. Welcome to Romania. Your participation makes this meeting different from others we have had.”

      Her English accent is excellent. She looks me in the eye and extends her hand. I accept it. Unusual. She has long, delicate fingers. Her hand is relaxed and welcoming.

      When shaking hands with the opposite sex, Romanian customs dictate that touch is acceptable for only a couple of seconds. Alina holds my hand twice that long. Alina Balan is just a little too perfect. Too hot. What is her role here?

      We walk together into the boardroom. While I glance around, looking as casual as I can, it’s hard not to acknowledge what the room has to ofef r. It exhibits wealth not often found in Romania. The room revolves around a Harkness conference table, topped with a thick layer of glass decorated with a chiseled edge. The curved legs are painted bronze. After marveling over the table, I averted my attention to the displayed artwork. In one corner is a sculpture by Constantin Brancusi. Although abstract, the piece mimics a bird’s closed body. It rests on a piece of white marble. I hide a smile, thinking about the morning’s events and how I’d destroyed their prized falcon.

      Surrounding the entering generals, the walls house Spoerri and Luchian – famous Romanian artists – artwork and an engraving by Albrecht Durer. Durer was the German artistic genius who trained under Da Vinci and later wrote Europe’s first advanced mathematics book.

      I shake each general’s hand, trading formalities, and turn toward the door, wondering if a certain brunette СКАЧАТЬ