forty-one years old.” He rattled on about
education, scholarships, and a long list of professional accomplishments. “He
succeeds when just about everyone else has given up, but it takes months
longer.”
The hirsute man handed her a stack
of photos in a file labeled “Peace Pipe.” Tom had a narrow, clean-shaven,
unassuming face that made his thick glasses stand out all the more. Some of the
photos dated back to his Oxford days.
She smiled. “Does Tom have any
skeletons I should know about?”
“His only known vice is smoking a
meerschaum pipe in his study. He wife left him years ago because he was never
home. There was always another international emergency more important.”
“Hobbies?”
“Chess, stamps, orphans in Africa, and beekeeping. He claims it’s very calming.”
“Do you have the Golden Ticket I
asked for in case he needs proof?”
“Trench Coat didn’t authorize that.”
She blew out a cleansing breath and
let the anger go. “We’ll improvise. Have you scanned his office for bugs?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I have to assume the Fossils know
where I’m going today and have the place under surveillance.” On a whim, she
asked, “Do you know the song ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles?”
“I only know one song by them, Mum.”
“Sing it,” she ordered with her
eyes closed.
He gave a rendition of “Blackbird”
in a pure tenor that spoke of years of suffering, but the song also radiated
encouragement. If this man could persist in the face of everything life had
thrown at him, she could make it through one meeting.
When he finished, she sighed. “You
should do that for a living.”
“You think I’d get respect?”
“Better, I think you’d get laid
every concert,” she offered. While he was still reeling from the odd
discussion, she asked, “Is there a park around here where they play chess?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said pulling out
his phone for a search. “The closest chess club is a café near Luxembourg Park, very popular with the pensioners.”
“Phone him and change our meeting
to the café.”
Chapter 14 – Of Cabbages and Kings
Jez managed to bribe a table from one of the wrinkled
retirees with a kiss on the cheek and the promise that he could watch her play.
She ordered a pot of Frangelica, the subject’s favorite coffee.
When he arrived, Pierson seemed
even more caricatured than his photos and was not in the least active. He waved
to a few other customers, calling them by name. Then, he shook her hand,
pleasantly surprised by her appearance. “To what do I owe the privilege,
Mademoiselle Johnson? Your secretary was a trifle vague. You have confidential
information which may affect my negotiations?”
She gestured for him to sit and
offered him a cup of coffee. “Mr. Pierson.”
“Call me Tom.”
“I’m Jezebel, Jez to my friends. I
thought we would play a few games of chess while we discuss a theoretical
issue.”
He wrinkled his brow. “To what end?”
“I want to convince you to come
work for me.”
He blinked nervously. “I am, as far
as I know, still employed. What could possibly be more important than resolving
the current crisis in the Middle East?”
She smiled. “That conflict will
rage on long after you and I are gone. I am offering you a chance to make a
difference in a new field, unprecedented in history. Within five years, my
company intends to have a private colony in space. I will need your help
negotiating with the UN and drafting the moral code we will live under.”
Tom burst out laughing. The
laughter continued until he saw that her face was serious. “You’re not joking?”
“I have resources at my disposal
you couldn’t dream of, including billions in backing. We’ll succeed with or without
you, but my job would be much easier with your assistance. I need someone I can
trust to delegate to.”
“Why a diplomat?”
“I need someone who knows people
and nations at a fundamental level, someone who can build
education, scholarships, and a long list of professional accomplishments. “He
succeeds when just about everyone else has given up, but it takes months
longer.”
The hirsute man handed her a stack
of photos in a file labeled “Peace Pipe.” Tom had a narrow, clean-shaven,
unassuming face that made his thick glasses stand out all the more. Some of the
photos dated back to his Oxford days.
She smiled. “Does Tom have any
skeletons I should know about?”
“His only known vice is smoking a
meerschaum pipe in his study. He wife left him years ago because he was never
home. There was always another international emergency more important.”
“Hobbies?”
“Chess, stamps, orphans in Africa, and beekeeping. He claims it’s very calming.”
“Do you have the Golden Ticket I
asked for in case he needs proof?”
“Trench Coat didn’t authorize that.”
She blew out a cleansing breath and
let the anger go. “We’ll improvise. Have you scanned his office for bugs?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I have to assume the Fossils know
where I’m going today and have the place under surveillance.” On a whim, she
asked, “Do you know the song ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles?”
“I only know one song by them, Mum.”
“Sing it,” she ordered with her
eyes closed.
He gave a rendition of “Blackbird”
in a pure tenor that spoke of years of suffering, but the song also radiated
encouragement. If this man could persist in the face of everything life had
thrown at him, she could make it through one meeting.
When he finished, she sighed. “You
should do that for a living.”
“You think I’d get respect?”
“Better, I think you’d get laid
every concert,” she offered. While he was still reeling from the odd
discussion, she asked, “Is there a park around here where they play chess?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said pulling out
his phone for a search. “The closest chess club is a café near Luxembourg Park, very popular with the pensioners.”
“Phone him and change our meeting
to the café.”
Chapter 14 – Of Cabbages and Kings
Jez managed to bribe a table from one of the wrinkled
retirees with a kiss on the cheek and the promise that he could watch her play.
She ordered a pot of Frangelica, the subject’s favorite coffee.
When he arrived, Pierson seemed
even more caricatured than his photos and was not in the least active. He waved
to a few other customers, calling them by name. Then, he shook her hand,
pleasantly surprised by her appearance. “To what do I owe the privilege,
Mademoiselle Johnson? Your secretary was a trifle vague. You have confidential
information which may affect my negotiations?”
She gestured for him to sit and
offered him a cup of coffee. “Mr. Pierson.”
“Call me Tom.”
“I’m Jezebel, Jez to my friends. I
thought we would play a few games of chess while we discuss a theoretical
issue.”
He wrinkled his brow. “To what end?”
“I want to convince you to come
work for me.”
He blinked nervously. “I am, as far
as I know, still employed. What could possibly be more important than resolving
the current crisis in the Middle East?”
She smiled. “That conflict will
rage on long after you and I are gone. I am offering you a chance to make a
difference in a new field, unprecedented in history. Within five years, my
company intends to have a private colony in space. I will need your help
negotiating with the UN and drafting the moral code we will live under.”
Tom burst out laughing. The
laughter continued until he saw that her face was serious. “You’re not joking?”
“I have resources at my disposal
you couldn’t dream of, including billions in backing. We’ll succeed with or without
you, but my job would be much easier with your assistance. I need someone I can
trust to delegate to.”
“Why a diplomat?”
“I need someone who knows people
and nations at a fundamental level, someone who can build
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