Solomon's Sieve (18 page)

“That’s putting it mildly, but yes.”

“We will send someone to pick you up day after tomorrow at 7 am.” He scrabbled through the pile system on his desk until he withdrew a card. “If you need anything between now and then, contact Ms. Farnsworth in Operations. Her title should be Miracle Worker.” He turned abruptly and picked up a little parchment-colored book. “And read this.”

“All right.”

She looked down.
Field Training Guide.
Opening to the first page, she read the first indexed item out loud. “The plural of vampire is vampire.” She looked up at Monq. “Really?”

He smiled and opened the door for her. “Welcome home, Alice.”

Monty was waiting for her in the hallway.

“Dr. Renaux,” he said as he gestured for her to walk with him. He escorted her all the way to her car and never said a single word, but when she unlocked the car door, he opened it for her and grinned. As she drove away she looked in the rear view mirror and saw the kid wave goodbye.
Weird.

On the drive back to the city her thoughts turned to the beautiful and angry speed dater. Crossing the bridge she was thinking that the asshole had turned out to be a truthful asshole. It just proved that there was one universal constant that could be counted on and that was that life was strange. Good luck with
ever
getting her to call him “Sir” though.

CHAPTER 11

Jefferson Unit

As the migration back to Jefferson Unit began, even Rev was constantly amazed at Farnsworth’s seemingly superhuman ability to anticipate every need. When she was presented with surprises she couldn’t possibly have planned for, she managed to pull a Plan B out of her invisible magic hat. And so far as Rev could determine, if Plan A didn’t work out, you could bet your last dime that Plan B would.

Part of that genius was knowing her own limitations. When she knew she couldn’t do it all, she requisitioned an assistant. Director Tvelgar flew three candidates to J.U. for Farnsworth to interview. She awarded the position to a young Frenchwoman from the Le Triomphe Unite in Paris. Mademoiselle Bonheur was both smart enough to recognize the opportunity and ambitious enough to take advantage of it, which meant she was eager to learn from Farnsworth and had no trouble whatsoever with deference.

The size of the Operations Department had always been just barely big enough to function and that was only because Farnsworth was masterful at keeping an organized, uncluttered space. So Farnsworth confiscated a storage room next door and had the stored items taken to the unused space from where Kellan Chorzak had announced the Battle for Jefferson Unit during a raid by assassins. She felt safe in assuming that lightning wouldn’t strike the same spot twice.

She pulled workmen away from other projects in progress and gave them a maximum of three days to complete her changes. Knowing that she was in charge of scheduling, they had powerful motivation to please her.

They hung a plastic curtain before they began tearing out the wall, but there was nothing to block the noise. And work had to go on. The good news was that they finished ahead of schedule. The trainees who worked part time helped moved everything according to Farnsworth’s direction and a reconceived Operations Department was ready for business. She and Mlle. Bonheur both had desks that were counter height, built adjacent to the counter that separated Operations from walk-ins. They sat in ergonomic chairs as high as stools unless someone stood on the other side of the counter in which case they would stand and face the visitor.

One thing Farnsworth had not counted on was how different the environment would feel with additional estrogen present or how taken the boys would be with Genevieve Bonheur, the new Assistant to the Chief of Operations. After the third kid stood star struck upon seeing her for the first time, Farnsworth took a good look. The younger woman had a tight petite little body, big caramel-colored eyes, shiny mahogany hair cut into a chic Parisian bob and a ready smile.

Everyone soon learned that the smile was quickly replaced with spitfire when her name was mispronounced. If one of the knights or other personnel called her Genevieve
with typical English pronunciation, she would grab her triangular name plaque from the counter and point to her name, saying, “
Zhawn. Vee. Ehv,” slowly followed with, “Zhawnveyev,” spoken quickly. When the employee requiring assistance repeated it back correctly, her smile returned and all was well.

Thus it went until the day that Kristoph Falcon walked in to relay a request from the Lady Laiken. Mlle. Bonheur quickly slid off her chair to help the cutie that seemed to have ‘trouble’ written across his forehead with invisible ink.

“May I help you?” she asked with a French accent that the men seemed to find hypnotizing.

Kris stared for a second before glancing down at her name plate. “You’re new, um, Genevieve?”

He was captivated by the transformation. Her face scrunched into the cutest scowl he’d ever seen. “No!” She went through her routine, holding up the name plate as if to say, “You idiot. Anyone can plainly see it is
Zhawnveyev and not Jinaveev.”

With a sober expression that would challenge a judge, he repeated, “Jinaveev.”

After three such exchanges, she stomped her foot, which made the cute haircut bounce in a delightfully young and athletic way. She took a deep breath and determined to try one more time.

On the outside Kris appeared to be seriously trying to get it right. On the inside he was sure he had never been so entertained before in his life. On his fourth attempt, he caught and held her gaze and said, “Jin. Ah. Veev.”

She took the triangular name plate that she still held in her hand and cracked him on the head with it as she let out a stream of French that had the unmistakable tone and cadence of cursing, recognizable in any language. As soon as she realized what she’d done, she gasped and swung to look at Farnsworth with her face growing paler by the second.

“Ow,” said Kris, rubbing his head and laughing at the same time.

Farnsworth, who had observed the entire incident while pretending to be otherwise occupied, was exercising all the maturity she could muster to keep from rolling her eyes. Finally she interceded with an unmistakable tone of warning, “Falcon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked at Farnsworth momentarily attempting to cover the sheepishness vying to claim his expression.

Kris returned his attention to Mlle. Bonheur and treated her to a rare smile that was nothing less than dazzling. In perfect French, he said, “Mademoiselle Genevieve Bonheur, welcome to Jefferson Unit. I hope you will be happy here.”

Her eyes narrowed when she realized he’d been toying with her. “
Chieur
.”

He laughed, “I know what that means.” He turned to Farnsworth in mock outrage. “Do you know what she just called me?”

Farnsworth sighed. “State your business, Falcon. The playroom is Sublevel Three.”

“Yes, ma’am. Lady Laiken says we need enough exoarmor and helmets so that, in the event of attack on the facility, every person who might be called upon to defend would be outfitted. She said to tell you that includes
all
the trainees and some of the satellite staff who’ve had combat training.”

Farnsworth nodded.
“Tell her it shall be done.”

Falcon’s eyes twinkled. “Shall it be written as well?”

“What?”

“You know. Let it be written, let it be… Never mind. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

“Falcon.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“When the unit was attacked, weren’t you one of the ones who was left without protective gear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He glanced at Genevieve compulsively hoping that she might be impressed, but her smug haughty expression hadn’t changed even a little. He thought she was good for another reaction so he put his hand over his heart and blew her a kiss on his way out. As expected, her face went slack with surprise.

Kristoph Falcon walked away from Operations chuckling, his mood especially light considering how seldom he found things amusing.

As more and more newly transferred J.U. personnel reported for duty, Rev had enough knights on hand to get a rotation schedule underway. That was, after all, the business of the Hunter Division. With so much going on he found lots of excuses to stop by Operations and flirt with Farnsworth.

He began keeping a personal-best score of how many times he could make her blush per visit. The young assistant,
Zhawnveyev
, loved to see him coming. She’d become his biggest supporter, playing the role of silent cheerleader on the sidelines of the game he played with Farnsworth. When his efforts at being charming or seductively suggestive met with her approval, she would smile and nod. She was like a human date-o-meter.

Rev never failed to ask Farnsworth
to go out with him, even if he was there six times in a work day. And she never failed to turn him down. Until she didn’t. Unbeknownst to the Sovereign, Genevieve had been acting as more than a silent ally. Every time Rev left she found another way to respectfully phrase the idea that she thought Farnsworth would be crazy to continue being hard to get or that she thought they made a perfect couple.

“You work so hard. What is the trouble with having some pleasure in life as well? Few men would ever work so hard for the attentions of a woman in this century, especially when they are so charming and lovely as the Sovereign.”

“He’s too young.
” Farnsworth almost always responded with some variation on that theme.

“Pish. Pish. Pish. Ridiculous. In France such a thing would never stand in the way of love.”

“Love!?! I think you’re carried away.”

“It is not I who is carried away. He has his heart set on you. Can you not see this?”

“Genevieve, we have work to do. Don’t make me use the boss card.”

With that, or something like it, the issue would be set aside until the Sovereign’s next visit, which would usually be within two hours.

Then one day he didn’t come in at all. Genevieve noticed Farnsworth looking at the doorway and knew
she was wondering if she’d rejected his pursuit one too many times.

He was absent the following morning and early afternoon
. It was then that Genevieve delivered, or perhaps detonated, a perfectly timed question.

“I see now that Sovereign Farthing is wasting his time. Since you are so clearly not interested, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I try to ease his heartache.”

Genevieve controlled her features so that she looked as innocent as a lamb, but on the inside, when she saw the look on Farnsworth’s face, she was wearing a triumphantly wicked grin.

At two o’clock Rev came through the door with an armful of calla lilies and a big smile.

Farnsworth
accepted the flowers. When he looked at Genevieve, she smiled and nodded. “You said you like these?”

“I do. They’re my favorite.”

“I believe you, but it seems odd.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re beautiful, but colorless and you’re so… you know, colorful?”

“You think I’m colorful?” Farnsworth was a little taken aback because that would probably have been the last adjective she would have used to describe herself. Genevieve was beaming, thinking the man should have been French.

“Well, yeah. You don’t think so?” Her answer was to blush and bury her nose in the blooms. “I have to get back. Sifting through the reports of what’s happening in the field.”

“Oh.”

Did she sound disappointed? He thought she might have at first, but decided it was wishful thinking.

“So. See you soon?” He started to turn and leave.

“Wait!” She blushed again thinking that might have sounded just a little too forceful. Rev turned around and stepped back up to the counter. She dropped her eyes. “Don’t you have something else to, ah, ask me?”