"They're shutting down the roads."
"Yeah. The I-10 is backed up. I thought that might be about you."
"I can't get to where I need to go by myself."
"So you need a driver?"
"Basically. But I think…"
She interrupts me. "Let's go."
"Laney… I can't ask you to do this."
"You can't stop me." She's already standing up and shoving things into her purse.
"What if I'm lying?"
"I'll tell them you threatened to kill me. Meet me outside."
"What about your brothers?"
"My aunt is coming over. Worry about her."
Two minutes later she slides into the driver's seat of her van. I'm trying to decide if I should be a passenger or hide in the back.
She tosses me a pair of reading glasses. "I took these off the counter."
I put them on and check my reflection in the visor mirror. "What do you think?"
She takes them off my face and tosses them into the back. "Too intellectual. You look like you might know how to fly a spaceship, or try to nail UCF coeds by getting high and talking about social justice."
"Heh, that's half true. I'm just not sure how to get through the checkpoint."
"I got that covered. If they stop us I'll play some death metal. In this crappy van, they'll assume we're just white trash."
"Here's to stereotyping."
"And my angsty teenage years."
54
Small World
We were waved through a roadblock on the I-5 and thankfully I never had to endure Laney's full playlist.
On the way, I texted the number Tyler gave me before he was killed and received very specific instructions on getting to Markov's house behind the gate in an already gated community on a remote corner of Walt Disney World property.
We had to go through three private security checkpoints to get here. Markov had pre-arranged everything so all I had to do was introduce myself as Mr. Stone and we were waved through without having to show a driver's license or even let my picture be taken.
Laney twice jokingly suggested we make out so we looked like a couple. At least I think she was kidding. Under different circumstances…
At the last gate at the edge of a driveway, a man dressed more like a valet than an armed guard — although I could spot two weapons on him — steps out of a small stone guardhouse, inspects our van then lets us through.
Another man, college-aged and dressed in a polo, is waiting for us outside the front door.
It's a mansion, but not a massive one. Aside from the extra security features, it's just like the others in the reclusive neighborhood.
"Hello, I'm Brian," says Markov's assistant. "If you can follow me in, I'll let him know you're here."
I hold Laney's car door open for her, but she doesn't need any more help than that.
Brian takes us through the foyer into a spacious living room filled with Disney memorabilia. It has the tasteful look of a gallery, more than a children's playroom.
After getting us two bottled waters, Brian leaves us alone.
"So who is this guy?" asks Laney.
"I guess you could call him a spymaster."
She takes in the decor. "Man, I should think about becoming one."
"I'm surprised you haven't been hired to be a lobbyist for some aerospace company."
"Those blood-sucking corrupt jackals? Cost plus contracting is why we're not on Mars."
I guess I struck some kind of nerve. "I see."
"Besides that, I don't have a college degree."
"You should finish that." I reply, then realize she's heard that a thousand times and has a lot more to deal with in life than I do. I get the sense that her father was never around and her mom has some kind of illness.
"Or find someone else who has a better use for your skills," says a booming voice from the hallway.
We look over and see a short elderly man using two canes to maneuver himself into the room. Dark hair and beard, robustly-built, he reminds me of a dwarf from Lord of the Rings.
Markov notices Laney's crutches resting by the couch. "Ah, another quadruped like myself."
"Four legs good, two legs bad," says Laney.
Markov smiles and takes the chair opposite us. "What an appropriate quote given the circumstances." There's a faint Russian accent, but his enunciation sounds more like an Oxford professor.
I look at Laney, not sure what I missed.
"Animal Farm," she says. "By George Orwell, an outspoken critic of Russian politics."
Markov raises a finger, "Yet an ardent socialist himself, who had difficulty dealing with how the use of force to control one aspect of human behavior would inevitably lead to trying to control other aspects and ultimately lead to totalitarianism."
He waves his observation away. "But we are not here to discuss politics of that nature. We're more concerned with the nuclear weapon a hundred miles over our heads."
"Two-hundred and thirty," corrects Laney.
"Yes. I should be more precise around you. I read some of your blog posts."
"You did?"
"When you were at the front gate."
It would figure that the old spymaster would have his tentacles everywhere.
"So you're like a spy?" asks Laney.
"I'm an old man people sometimes ask questions, then promptly ignore. Usually for the better."
"So you know the situation and what happened to Tyler and his father?" I ask.
"Yes. Tragic. Very tragic."
I take the black square and set it on the table. "Well, I brought this. Can you clear things up now?"
"Mr. Dixon, I left the magic wand that does all that in my other jacket pocket. Things are very complicated."
"Yes. Yes, they are. But right now I've got a target on me and can't take a piss without worrying a Russian kill team or a renegade US agent is going to murder me."
"And yet, you find yourself in the delightful company of an attractive and intelligent young woman. I always thought that was a trope of action movies. I'm beginning to think there's some kind of pheromonal effect at work."
"Chicks love a bad boy," says Laney. She slaps my knee. "You don't get any badder than this one right now."
"Indeed." Markov calls to the other room. "Brian, would you take this device and call our friend in computer forensics at the National Air and Space Intelligence Center?"
Markov's assistant materializes and picks the square up off the table. I feel a strange separation anxiety as he walks out of the room.
"Is that… safe?"
"With Brian? I should hope so. He's actually Lieutenant Brian on loan from the Office of Naval Intelligence. We need to make sure it is what you say it is."
"Why would I lie about that?"
"Good question. But apparently you were in the custody of a renegade DIA agent for several hours. Anything is possible. I'm a cautious man."
"Living in Disney World."
Markov smiles. "They have the best, non-invasive security in the world. And I'm quite fond of the place. When I was a boy I used to watch Disney cartoons in a basement in Leningrad, afraid the KGB would bust in at any moment. When I saw a film reel of Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color introducing Disneyland, you can imagine the effect it had on a boy living under a frozen tyranny. Ah, I've digressed. Mr. Dixon, I believe you. I just need to make sure the facts agree with my assessment. I've made that mistake too many times."
Brian steps into the archway and nods to Markov. "It checks."
"And there we go," says Markov. "This little square our friends risked their lives to retrieve is what we are afraid it would be. And soon, within days, the crew of the K1 will have another. If they don't improvise before then."
"I heard there's a rocket already on the pad at Baikonur," says Laney. "People thought they were doing a satellite launch in three weeks but the schedule got moved up. Which is weird, because I heard from a friend at Moscow Polytechnic they're still inspecting the telescope mirror for one of their payloads."