“Assuming I survive the thousand falls that await me. How do I use the bathroom without ending up in the urinal?”
“I could strap a board to your ass.”
Focusing his thoughts, he walked with a slow, steady cadence to the elevator.
The Collaborative Human Immersive Laboratory, known as CHIL, was an enclosed motion-capture suite located next to Lab-3. Created by Lockheed-Martin, CHIL utilized virtual reality to allow production designers and engineers to test the components of a satellite in a computer-generated world where they could duplicate the frigid conditions of space.
Adam found Dr. Jessica Marulli inside the “cave,” dressed from head to toe in a black and orange trim nylon body suit adorned with silver sensors. With her eyes concealed behind a head-mounted display, the aerospace engineer had morphed into her own personal avatar, moving through a virtual world only she could see.
She paused, sensing his presence on an internal display. “Adam?”
“Sorry to bother you. General Cubit just informed me that you’ll be working at Lockheed the entire month of August and through the fall. When were you going to tell me?”
“It’s not my place to tell you. This is a highly-classified project. Things don’t filter down in the usual manner; you’re either in the loop or you’re not. When Central Command wants me I have to go. You know the deal.”
“It doesn’t mean I have to like it. With you gone that long, I’ll need to bring in another chief engineer. It’s not like I’m hiring a substitute math teacher.”
Jessica removed her helmet, shaking out an entanglement of blonde curls. “And here I thought you were upset because I’ll be gone for so long.”
Adam looked around, wondering if there was anyone in the control room.
“It’s just us,” she said, reading his thoughts. “I told Khrys King she could leave early; it’s her kid’s birthday.”
“And it’s our anniversary. Are we still on for dinner, or do I need to okay it with the general?”
“Actually, I’ve got another /three hours in here. Is there any way we can move the reservation back to nine?”
“On the night of the inauguration? They’re booked solid.”
“So we’ll skip Chen’s. Let’s go to Tosca’s, my treat. Call Maria, she’ll squeeze us in.”
“Italian? I was really in the mood for Chinese.”
“I thought you had Chinese for lunch? And the traffic’s going to be crazy. Why don’t we just order takeout?”
“Takeout… yeah, whatever.” He reached into his left jacket pocket. “I saved the fortune cookies from lunch. Will that work?”
“Adam, you shouldn’t bring food into the lab.”
“Pick one.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Just humor me.”
She rolled her eyes and then pointed to one of the cookies. “You’ll have to open it for me; I’m not taking off these gloves. And don’t get any crumbs on the floor or Dr. Mastramico will blame me.”
He pulled off the partially opened wrapper and cracked open the stale cookie, passing her the fortune.
She gripped the message in her cyber-gloved fingers, turning it right-side up. “What is this?”
“What does it say?”
She looked at him, unsure. “Is this real?”
“I don’t know. Are you having an affair with the chef at Chen’s?”
“Adam—”
He handed her the felt-covered box.
Jessica took it, her gloved hands shaking. “You were going to do this tonight at dinner and I ruined it, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay.”
Using her teeth, she pulled the gloves from her hands and opened the box, her eyes tearing up. “Oh my God—”
“I know it’s small. Maybe you can use your visor to create a larger virtual diamond.”
“Shut-up.” She placed the ring on her finger. “It’s perfect. And yes, I will absolutely marry you. Yes, yes, yes.”
She leaned in awkwardly and kissed him, careful not to make contact with the silver sensor balls adhered to her body suit.
Instead of pulling away, she continued to rest her forehead against his. “I love you, Adam Shariak.”
“I love you, too Jessica… Shariak.” Adam smiled.
“Jessica Marulli-Shariak. My father would disown me if I gave up our family name.”
“I accept the terms of your surrender. I’ll call Tosca’s and see if they can get us in around nine.”
“Forget Tosca’s.” She placed her headpiece on the floor, then unzipped the nylon bodysuit and carefully slipped out of it, revealing a crimson bra and matching silk panties.
“Take off your clothes; we’ll screw first and eat dinner later.”
2
There are many perks associated with being a former U.S. president, among which is having American taxpayers pick up the tab on your office space after you leave the White House. The most expensive lease was George W. Bush’s 15,678-square-foot Dallas headquarters, tallying $701,636 a year in rent. Bill Clinton’s Harlem office ran a more modest $399,931 annually, though he had moved out in 2011 in favor of a midtown Manhattan address.
The Clinton Global Initiative, one of a dozen foundations set up by the former president and his team, occupied 30,000 square feet on the 42nd floor of the Time-Life Building. Two more floors were subsequently leased by Hillary Rodham-Clinton leading up to her presidential run in 2015.
Established in 2001, the Clinton Global Initiative targeted a variety of causes, including AIDS, obesity, poverty, and global warming. Despite raising hundreds of millions of dollars in donations, the organization often struggled to balance the conflicts between the philanthropic goals of the former president, his money-making interests, the political ambitions of his wife, and the ever-increasing involvement of their daughter, Chelsea.
In the wake of Hillary’s failed presidential campaign, Bill’s agenda involved seemingly endless meetings with the foundation’s attorneys and accountants in an attempt to resolve a myriad of post-election matters.
When the morning session with the Board of Trustees threatened to drift past noon, Clinton excused himself for a scheduled conference call.
Lisa Ann Hughes looked up from her desk as he entered the waiting area of his private office suite. “He’s waiting for you inside. I know — hold all calls.” She handed him a large plastic Styrofoam cup with a straw. “I ordered you a protein smoothie.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” He drained half the cup, then entered his office to find an old friend waiting for him.
Joseph G. Rangel was a former White House counsel whose friendship with William Jefferson Clinton stretched back decades. Well-connected with corporate executives and A-list celebrities, as well as government and military officials, Rangel preferred to operate in the shadows rather than the glare that seemed to follow the ex-president everywhere.
Built like a wrestler, the squat, muscular man rose from the cream-colored leather sofa to greet his friend, a dossier held in his thick left hand.
Bill Clinton gave Rangel a warm embrace. “We don’t have much time; I’ve got a call with the Cuban ambassador at one. Is that him?”
“That’s our guy.”
Clinton took the file and settled himself in his favorite easy chair. Retrieving his reading glasses from a breast pocket, he opened the dossier, quickly scanning the information.
“Captain Adam Shariak, United States Army, retired. Apache helicopter pilot and trainer. Wounded during combat operations in Iraq… purple heart… the requisite security clearance for being a captain in the Armed Forces. Defense Sciences… managing director at Kemp Aerospace — why him? What’s so special about Adam Shariak?”