Ill Wind Part 8

She remained silent, without the usual cooing, gasping sounds he expected. Rather than letting it deter him, Mayeaux took it as a challenge. What was her name? Tina . . . Tanya. Tanya. Great name. It made him as h.o.r.n.y as a fallen priest just thinking of it. Great name. It made him as h.o.r.n.y as a fallen priest just thinking of it.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her pantyhose and slid them over her hips, her b.u.t.tocks, lingering on the warm skin with his fingertips. He felt sweat tracing a damp line up his spine, in his crotch. She arched herself, giving him room to work with his hands.

Tanya wore a slick peach-colored dress that slipped up nicely. Mayeaux pushed it out of the way and rubbed his fingers on the mound between her legs, rapidly growing impatient with the fabric of her pink cotton panties. He slipped a finger under the panties, tickled the crisp pubic hair for a moment, teasing her. The strong musk of her arousal drifted to his nostrils, bringing back a memory of that first time he'd ventured into the French Quarter. His pulse felt all watery with excitement. He slipped his middle finger inside.

"Oh!" she said. Finally Finally. The young speech writer glanced at him, then looked away.

This was a lot different from when Mayeaux had been much younger in New Orleans, cruising down Bourbon Street alone at night, gawking at the wh.o.r.es and the transvest.i.tes. He remembered s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a dozen different women in humid and musky upper-level apartments, with the drapes open and the sounds of competing jazz bands drifting in from the street. Back then, he had to do a lot of work to get laid, but now the women came to him. One of the little bonuses of being the senior member of the House. He had to be grateful to a system that could do this for him, simply because he came from a state with no term limitations. And the best part was, his own wife let him get away with it. It was part of their agreement.

Tanya arched back on the table, closing her eyes and tilting her chin in ecstasy. Stretching her arms above her head, she ran a tonguetip in a slow circle around her lips. She had fawn-colored hair, long with subtle curls held back by barrettes. Her crotch hair was full and tan.

"Hold on for a Louisiana hot link with the works," Mayeaux said, chuckling. Tanya didn't seem to notice, and he didn't give a c.o.o.n's a.s.s. He had powerful const.i.tuents; he had already set himself up for life with enough pork-barrel projects in Louisiana that he could ease into a lobbying job at the end of his term. He did not intend to get reelected; he just meant to get his well-deserved reward before he left office.

Unbuckling his belt, he pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees. He grabbed Tanya's hips, positioned himself, and pushed inside her without further foreplay. He had a meeting in ten minutes.

Mayeaux began pumping, and Tanya raised her legs further, opening herself wider for him. They both breathed harder. Her bare skin squeaked on the polished wood surface of the table. He grinned to himself, knowing that the Joint Chiefs would sit down at the same table in another hour. If they asked, he could convince them that the damp stains on the table were doughnut frosting. He wondered if they'd be able to smell the s.e.x.

Mayeaux kept himself in shape, and he did a good job in bed-or on the floor, or on the conference table . . . . But none of these sweet young things would look twice at him if he was an insurance salesman, a grocery store manager. The women in the Beltway knew how to advance their careers.

Power was such an aphrodisiac.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mayeaux noticed a brief, odd expression on Tanya's face, a hint of boredom. She knew how to play the game-he had explained it to her in perfectly clear terms; it was part of the post-Anita Hill era. He just hoped Tanya didn't give him some disease. At least after his vasectomy he had no worries about being slapped with a paternity suit.

His escapades were becoming legendary, like JFK's. He kept trying to push the limit, but somehow the boundary moved one step farther away for each indiscretion he committed. The media liked him, too; they seemed amused rather than outraged.

Thrusting over and over again, Mayeaux ground his hips against Tanya's, holding tight to her waist to keep her from sliding across the table.

The door to the Speaker's office popped open. His chief of staff Franklin Weathersee stepped inside. Mayeaux cursed himself for forgetting to lock the door. Weathersee glanced at the spectacle on the conference table, then calmly stepped back out of the room.

Tanya gasped in shock and scrambled away, rolling off the table. Mayeaux fought back the urge to laugh. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her pantyhose, pulling them up and yanked the smooth peach fabric of her dress back into place. As she brushed back her hair, Mayeaux thought he saw a look of relief on her face.

Mayeaux buckled his pants and turned to call through the door. "Dammit, Weathersee, couldn't you knock?" But he could never be angry at Weathersee-the man had saved Mayeaux's b.u.t.t too many times in the past.

The door inched open. "Sorry, sir." Weathersee dropped a stack of papers on the floor. "These are the briefing materials you wanted in preparation for the trip to Kirtland Air Force Base. It's for the Tech Transfer Act." Poking his head into the room, he glanced at the speech writer, then back at Mayeaux. "And whenever you're finished here, sir, Vice President Wolani is on the phone for you."

Without a word, Tanya fled past him. Mayeaux scowled, but looked admiringly at her a.s.s as she went out. He wondered when they would be able to finish what they had started. Or, if not with her, he'd get somebody else.

For now, he'd just as soon have kept the Vice President waiting.

Chapter 17.

After spending the morning in jail, Todd didn't mind the long drive to Alex Kramer's house, as long as he could keep the window rolled down and the fresh air blowing in his face.

A load of c.r.a.p had come down since that morning, and the rolling Marin foothills calmed him. He turned up the radio, tapped on the wheel, and sang along with an old Willie Nelson song. He was ready to unwind at the Oilstar "victory party" at Alex's home. By spraying Prometheus, Todd had turned on the light at the end of the tunnel.

As expected, Oilstar bailed Todd and Alex out after only a few hours in the Contra Costa County jail. Oilstar lawyers had been prepared and waiting. By early afternoon, Emma Branson had gone on TV, railing at the interference from do-nothing government agencies.

Todd had never been in trouble with the law before, and having an arrest on his record really ticked him off; but once the charges were dropped, his sheet darn well better be clean. He'd placed an awful lot of confidence in Kramer's microbes.

Unexpectedly, he came upon Alex's ranch house, half-hidden in the tall trees; he braked quickly in his Ford pickup, coming to a dead stop in the road before turning right into the long gravel driveway. Among the cars parked on the lawn and in the drive, no vehicle looked more than three years old, and there were more foreign cars than American ones. He shook his head. These same mineral-water-drinking lamebrains complained about America's economy and then handed their buying dollars to some German or j.a.panese car company.

Getting out of the truck, he jammed his cowboy hat down on his head. As he crunched up the driveway, he glanced at the split-rail fence extending along the one-story ranch house; a small barn stood just around the corner. He took a deep breath. The familiar damp, musty smell of manure told him Alex kept horses. Not what he expected from the quiet scientist.

One of the secretaries from the bioremediation offices answered the doorbell. Not a secretary, he corrected himself; in California, the women called themselves 'administrative a.s.sistants.' She wore lots of makeup and was dressed to kill. He wondered what she would look like in jeans.

Todd didn't have time to say anything before she waved him inside. "Hey, everybody, our other convict is here!"

Pianos and violins played snooty cla.s.sical music on the stereo. People milled around the main living room near a small wet bar where they served themselves. Prepackaged hors d'ouvres sat out on a table: crackers, cut vegetables, cheese. A sliding gla.s.s door stood half-open, leading to a patio and the back yard. Other people chatted and laughed in the kitchen, leaning against the tile counters. From their dress, Todd supposed the guests had stopped by on their way home from work.

He hadn't yet seen the host. He wondered if Alex lived alone in such a big place. Somehow, this did not strike him as a bachelor pad. Even with all the gathered people, the sound of the music, the conversations, the house felt . . . unused, as if it had been closed up for a long time.

Todd got himself a bottle of Coors from the small wet bar and stood nursing it, slos.h.i.+ng the foamy taste around in his mouth. He stood by himself in between other conversations, looking at all the people he didn't know. He tried to smile as he shook hands, accepting congratulations for getting the work done and for bucking the system. Trying to escape further conversation, he wandered down a narrow hall.

Someone squeezed past him to the bathroom. Poking around, he opened the door to a closed room. Medals, newspaper clippings, and a battle streamer hung on the wall, just above the photo of a young man in a starched Army uniform. Other pictures surrounded the memorial-Alex himself standing by the boy in hiking gear, the boy crouched by the ocean holding an abalone sh.e.l.l.

An adjacent wall featured a young girl. Photos of her at various ages were arranged in a circle: a ballerina, a Pioneer girl, a high-school cheerleader next to her mother-everything a proud and loving father would put together . . .

Todd's musings were interrupted by a loud voice and a slap on the back. "Cowboy Todd! Come on, loosen up, celebrate!"

Todd turned to see Alex's big-mouthed deputy, Mitch.e.l.l Stone. "Mitch, how are ya?" He wondered if Mitch had gone to some expensive college to learn to be such a horse's rear-end.

"Just friggin' great." Mitch hung an arm around Todd's neck. A fruity wine-cooler smell surrounded the man, mixed with the aroma of cheese dip. Mitch took a sip from the gla.s.s he held in one hand. "You know, the way things are going, we're going to owe you a lot more than that consulting fee."

"How's that?"

"You made us heroes!" Mitch roared. Todd couldn't figure out what was so funny. "It's a great day for the future!"

Todd squirmed out from under Mitch's arm and steered him into the hall, closing the door behind them. He wondered about the pictures-who were those people? The displays of Alex's . . . children? . . . made him uncomfortable. He wanted to protect Kramer's privacy.

"Give the bug time to work, Mitch, before you-"

"h.e.l.l, I saw it with my own eyes. It can't can't fail." He raised his gla.s.s to Todd; it held a peachy drink with tiny bubbles rising to the top. fail." He raised his gla.s.s to Todd; it held a peachy drink with tiny bubbles rising to the top.

Todd held up his half-full bottle of beer. "I think I'll get a refill. See ya!" He escaped before Mitch could articulate a reply. He hurried down the hall back to the crowded room, hoping to lose himself among the fifteen or so people. Todd wished for some Outlaws, or Charlie Daniels, or any country music, but the foot-stompin' beat might stir things up too much.

He thought about going to the patio, maybe take a look at the horses, when he spotted Alex Kramer standing alone outside, leaning on a porch rail and holding a drink. Alex had a bemused look, holding his folded eyegla.s.ses in his hand as if pondering a secret joke. Squinting into the distance, he studied the rolling hills behind the house. He barely seemed aware of his own party.

Todd started toward the sliding gla.s.s door when he b.u.mped into someone backing away from the bar. A plate fell to the floor. "Gosh, I'm sorry!" Todd said, looking at the pet.i.te woman stooping down to pick up spilled munchies. She wore a bright red blouse and black pants.

"I didn't expect you to be a ballerina wearing those cowboy boots," Iris s.h.i.+kozu said, then s.n.a.t.c.hed her gla.s.s from the floor. "But I would hope for a little bit of coordination."

Todd glanced down at his large boots with a mixture of embarra.s.sment and anger. "Who backed into who?" he asked, bending to help her.

Iris brushed a hand across her face to move the strands of jet black hair that had fallen across her eyes. "I think I can handle the ma.s.sive task of picking up these crackers by myself." Then, as if reconsidering, she gave a slight smile. "You could go get me another plate of food."

Relieved to do something, and also to be away from further sarcasm, Todd made his way to the food table. He set down his half-empty bottle of Coors, picked up a paper plate, and started to grab potato chips, salami, dill pickles, olives. He suddenly stopped. Iris did not strike him as a potato-chip-and-salami type of person. In consternation, he looked at the food, trying to think of what she might prefer-he didn't have a clue as to what Tofu looked like. Well, how about olives? No, probably too much salt. He settled for fresh carrots, celery, cauliflower, and broccoli; looking at the other selections, he picked a few crackers-those must be safe, they looked like whole wheat-a deviled egg, and an artichoke heart.

He took the plate back, but Iris was nowhere to be found. The thought crossed his mind that she might have ducked out, just to make a fool of him. Then the plate was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand.

"I'd better take that before you spill it," Iris said.

Before he could stop himself, Todd growled, "What did I I do to put a chip on your shoulder? And where where you hiding?" do to put a chip on your shoulder? And where where you hiding?"

Iris recovered from her surprise with remarkable speed; a grin spread across her face. "Well, well. The cowboy can think for himself. But I believe you're jumping to conclusions." She held up a damp dishrag in her free hand. "I was just getting something to wipe up the mess on the carpet."

As she bent down, Iris knocked over the white wine she had set on the gray-blue rug. "Oh, c.r.a.p." She picked up the clear plastic cup and dabbed at the seeping damp spot. Todd grabbed a handful of paper napkins and knelt to help her blot up the stain.

"You wouldn't make much of a ballerina yourself," he said.

She gave a low laugh. "Touche."

When they had mopped up as much as they could, Todd straightened. Iris brushed back her hair and was silent for a moment before she finally said, "I'm going to get another gla.s.s of wine. Want a beer?" It seemed to take an effort. "Then you can help me eat some of these carrot sticks."

Todd blinked. "Sure."

They went to stand by the sliding gla.s.s doors to the patio. A panoramic view of the Marin hills spread out in the late afternoon. The horse corral took up most of Kramer's back yard. A thicket of Ponderosa pine started fifty yards from the house and spread up the hills.

Iris spoke first. "You know, before this oil spill people would have lynched you for even suggesting the idea of spraying Prometheus microbes in a populated area."

He shrugged. "You do what you have to do. In an emergency, you can't just sit around and wait for committees to sort everything out." He nodded toward her. "I appreciate your help."

"I wasn't there to help you. I was representing the state's interests."

"Right." He sipped his beer and looked around. After a moment he said, "Know anybody else here?"

Iris shrugged. "I recognize a few of the scientists, but I don't really pal around with oil company employees."

The silence was awkward for some seconds before Todd spoke again. "So what do you people see in California? You don't really like it here, do you?"

She seemed to think over her answer. "I enjoy my work."

"I didn't ask about that."

She glanced up. "In my line of work, you go where the jobs are. We can't all live in Texas, you know."

"I'm from Wyoming, not Texas. But we wouldn't want the crowds, anyway."

They spent the rest of the hour talking. Although she attempted to come across as tough as nails, Iris opened up once Todd steered her away from talking about academia and her Stanford connections.

By the time he finished his third beer, many people began drifting away from the party to get home for dinner, as if at some secret signal. Todd didn't want to leave, but he began to grow more self-conscious as he saw others departing, calling goodbyes to Alex until he and Iris were the only two left. Outside, the sunset flashed diffusing colors across the sky.

Alex stepped back through the gla.s.s patio doors, looking around as if checking to see whether it was safe. Todd and Iris both looked up at him. "Excuse me." Kramer smiled sheepishly. "I'm not usually fond of c.o.c.ktail parties, but my wife hosted them sometimes. She must have been better at it than I am-people never used to leave before midnight."

Iris drew herself up. "Well, I've got quite a drive back to Stanford. Thank you for inviting me, Dr. Kramer. Glad we had a chance to talk, Todd."

"Me too." He was quiet for a moment. "Uh, look. How about grabbing some supper? All I've eaten is rabbit food tonight: celery, carrots-"

"I've really got to get back to the lab before heading home." She hesitated. "Some other time?"

"Right." Todd tried not to let his disappointment show, but at least she hadn't blown him completely off. He didn't know any of the restaurants out here anyway-and if he found one, they probably served only California cuisine, where a plate of diced eggplant and bean curd next to a boiled new potato and a sprig of steamed broccoli pa.s.sed as a meal. He'd like to show Iris a good steak house, but then she probably didn't eat meat.

Todd wasn't sure why he felt drawn to her. She was at least fifteen years younger than he, shorter by over a foot, and had a sharp tongue-nothing like the women he was used to dating, who were impressed by rough-and-tumble oilmen. He stared at her as she gathered a black sweater and waved briefly at him. Todd watched her open the door, and debated following her. He knew he was bad at picking up on signals. Maybe if he asked again-no, she would probably just turn him down. She closed the door behind her, leaving Todd feeling awkwardly alone.

Alex looked at him, then glanced away. He struck Todd as a lonely old man. "Come on outside, Todd," Alex said, "and I'll show you the stable." He drained his wine gla.s.s and struggled to his feet from the sofa. The sound of horses came through the open patio doors. Everything seemed serene and peaceful out here. It reminded him of his parents' ranch.

Todd thought about the horses, but not wanting to invite himself, he controlled the eagerness in his voice. "Well, haven't I overstayed my welcome? I ought to get back to my condo-"

"Nonsense," said Alex. "It's not like there's anybody around here for you to bother." He brushed his hand over his neat iron-gray beard and gave a weak smile. "You helped me a lot today, so stay a while. Let's go check the horses."

"Are you going to ride?"

Alex thought for a long moment. "Why not? It'll be dark before long, but they know their way around here. It'll only take a minute to saddle them up."

Todd followed him out of the house to the corral. Dry gra.s.s crunched beneath their feet. Alex held open the gate, but as he tried to yank it shut, he hung his head as if he had just felt a wave of sadness. Todd pulled the gate shut himself. "You okay, Alex? You don't look so hot."

"I'm fine." Alex shuffled to the stable, as if embarra.s.sed that Todd had noticed his momentary lapse.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Todd approached the two horses. Who would have thought the scholarly introvert kept horses? "How long have you had them?"

It took a moment for Alex to answer. "My daughter Erin was wild about horses. Got her a pony on her eighth birthday, and when she was fourteen I gave her that chocolate quarter-horse over there, Stimpy. I guess it's been four years, now. We used to take them out a couple times a week."

"I didn't think of you as the riding type."

Alex fumbled in his pocket for a sugar cube and approached the nearest horse, the palomino; he held a bit and bridle in his other hand. "This used to be a large part of my life, but I haven't had much time lately. The horses probably need the exercise as much as I do." The palomino nuzzled Alex's hand, and the sugar cube disappeared. Alex quickly bridled the horse and held the reins out to Todd. "This is Ren, my horse. Go ahead."

"Do your kids still ride much? I think I saw their pictures in one of the rooms."

Alex froze, then answered in a hollow, curt voice. "Both Erin and Jay are dead."

Todd squirmed, feeling as if he had shoved his cowboy boot into his mouth all the way up to the heel. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know."

"It's all right. I'm over it now," Alex said in a controlled tone that contradicted his words. "I'm just glad you're here to help exercise the horses."

They saddled the two mounts in an awkward silence, then Todd swung up onto the palomino. Alex seemed protective of his daughter's mount.

Ren felt poised beneath Todd's legs, ready to respond. The feel of the horse beneath him awakened memories. He had spent much of his younger years riding, comfortable with his own horse, working hard on the ranch. He had forgotten how much he missed it, how little time he had to do what he liked while he ran around the world fixing Oilstar's emergencies.

He let Alex take the lead. The two rode across the sprawling back fields and along a path into the trees. With the approaching dusk, everything shone with a soft glow. The air carried a heady, damp smell of gra.s.s and pine. The horse made soothing noises as it breathed, rustling through the gra.s.s.

"This is nice, Todd," Alex said. "I haven't gone out for a ride since this Zoroaster Zoroaster mess started." mess started."