“There just ain’t nothing sacred anymore,” Sally said. “You can’t tell them no? After all this time? You’ve been working for them now for seven, eight years. They put you through the wringer every time. You can’t tell them you’ll be along after church?”
Cal shook his head sadly. “You know how it is, Sally. This job, this thing I do, this is what pays for Winston’s schooling. Pays for our house here on base, all the things we’ve been able to do since I left the Firestone factory. Ain’t no more third shift, getting all dirty and sweaty. You ain’t gotta work a job and take in laundry to make ends meet.”
Sally walked over and started helping Cal button his shirt. “I know all that, and I’m proud of you, really I am. You’ve done right by us, and you’re doing right by your country, too. But even when you come back looking like that rough-and-tumble teenager I met back in the day, I see what’s going on, Cal. Your eyes. How long you think you can last doing what you do for them?” She held up her hand to forestall the forthcoming protest. “I know. I don’t know what they have you do. But I know enough. And I know that making sure you’re right with Jesus is more important than ever because of that. You know it well as I do.”
Cal sighed and smiled and let Sally tie his necktie for him. “How many years is law school again?”
“Three. Two to go after this year.”
“All right. Two more. And I got two more after that on my ten years here. After that, maybe it’s time to see about moving on. Maybe I get a pension or something. Or we can just find a nice quiet place to work and live, without any of that stuff that’s happening down South right now.”
Sally’s face brightened. “You mean it?”
Cal gave her a quick kiss as she finished tying his tie. “You bet I do. Winston will be out of school, probably being some hot-shot lawyer somewhere. We’ve been able to save up quite a bit, too. But right now, baby, I have to go work.”
Sally stepped back and nodded. “You gonna be back when I get home from church?”
Cal shrugged on his dark suit jacket. “I don’t know. Depends if this just a meeting or if we’re heading out. I’ll try to be here either way, but if not, I’ll be sure to leave word.”
“I know the drill,” Sally said with a sigh. “I best get going if I’m going to make it to Saint Paul’s on time. I’ll tell everyone you’re on duty again, and try to keep those church ladies from being too nosy.”
Cal chuckled and kissed her again, feeling her body stiffen slightly. She was upset, of course. He wasn’t pleased either — what was with all the decisions and meetings coming down on Sundays anyway? Didn’t anybody in Washington ever take a weekend? Maybe go play some golf like good white people do?
Sally offered to drive Cal into the base proper — they lived in a little cluster of homes for officers and high-ranking enlisted men just inside the outer perimeter — but he waved her on to Boise and started walking, pulling his coat around him as he went. It was warm for that time of year — a relative term when the temperature was maybe forty degrees and the wind off the mountains cut like a knife. But it had been more than three years since they moved, and he was getting used to the mercurial Idaho weather. Honestly, he was getting to like the cold. The South he knew as a child was always hot and sticky and unpleasant. And full of crackers all too eager to send calls of “nigger” and “boy” his way. Maybe some of the folk in Idaho stared a bit too long, maybe they were a little too short with their words, but it was a damn sight better than Memphis. Cal had heard some good things about Seattle and San Francisco from some of the young black men at the air base. Maybe they’d move there.
Cal’s attention was pierced by a car horn, and he turned to see Frank Lodge rolling up in his latest car — a 1952 Buick with enough chrome to blind a man. Frank did like his cars. “Jesus, Cal, it’s freezing. Get in!” Frank called.
With a smile, Cal jumped into the passenger seat and rubbed his hands vigorously. “Thanks, Frank. How was Moscow?”
“Colder than this,” Frank said, pulling away toward the base proper. “I imagine we’re about to find out what’s next with all that. We missed you there.”
“Well, a black man gonna stand out pretty good in the middle of Red Square,” Cal said with a chuckle. “Only so many times I can play an ambassador to some African country nobody ever heard of. Did much better down in Guatemala, Caribbean, Egypt. Places like that.”
“It’s getting tougher for all of us,” Frank said. “Spent five hours in the airport before they allowed us to board. Lots of questioning. Thought they’d snag us then and there.”
“Why you think they didn’t?”
Frank could only shrug, but Cal knew the worry lines on his face all too well after what they’d been through together. “We were traveling with some other folks from State and Defense, heading home for leave. They probably knew they’d create a ruckus. And I don’t think Beria wants to do that quite yet. His to-do list has a lot more on it before it gets to us.”
Cal nodded. “He wants the whole country, doesn’t he?”
“Yep, near as we can tell. Figure Danny’s gonna tell us all about it. How’s Sally?”
“Oh, she’s fine. Upset I’m missing church again. It’s a good life here, but it’s hard for her when I’m off on assignment. Wondering just how much more I’ll have to do before I can hang it up.”
This earned Cal a raised eyebrow from Frank. “I’ll be real interested to see what they say to that, too. We haven’t been around long enough for anyone to retire from the program. I sure as hell hope they let you.”
“Me too,” Cal said, grimacing as Frank pulled into one of the base’s nondescript office buildings that served as MAJESTIC-12’s headquarters. “It’s gonna be prickly, I imagine, when it comes time. I ain’t told Sally that, but I gotta wonder if they’re really gonna let any of us just leave.”
Frank parked and turned to put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “You know we’re behind you, Cal. All of us.”
Cal smiled sadly and nodded. “Hope it don’t come to that.”
The two men got out and hustled toward the entrance, where a pair of M.P.s stood sentry. Both Variants flashed their identification, and while one of the airmen gave Cal a quizzical look — the boy seemed new to Mountain Home — they entered without difficulty. The new ones always wondered why a black man would be allowed into sensitive areas of the base, something Cal was used to, even if he never quite accepted it. At least this time nobody had to give anybody a dressing down just to get in the damn door.
Inside, down two flights of stairs into a subbasement, past another pair of sentries and down a harshly lit corridor, the rest of the Variants had begun to gather in a small lecture room. Danny was up front, going through notes, but paused to give Cal a hearty hello and handshake. Maggie rose from her seat up front to give him a hug; he returned it gratefully, but noticed she was looking worse for wear, pale and sleepless. He imagined something had gone down in Moscow, and made a mental note to have her over for dinner if and when he could. Cal always worried after Maggie, what with her ability and its side effects and all. In the years he’d known her, she’d become more and more distant. Detached. Alone. His heart ached for the poor girl, but Maggie remained stubborn as a mule about it, only going to see the assigned MJ-12 shrink because they made her.
Mrs. Stevens was there too, and Cal got a hug from her as well. Lovely lady, Rose Stevens. Still sort of on the back foot after her divorce three years ago, but seemed to be recovering. Still kind, sort of like the program’s mother hen, always looking after the others. She was also a certified, one hundred percent genius — that was her Enhancement. She’d been a housewife prior to 1946. Now, she could make Einstein dizzy. She’d become the group’s quartermaster and chief researcher, creating spy gadgets and gear for missions, but also leading the research on the strange vortex of white light created after Hiroshima that had somehow given them all their Enhancements.