Drmtsi.
“Right,” said Lefkon. She rubbed her temples. “And you came from Kpr…Krt…”
“Krpshtskan,” said Vrsk.
“Right, you came from there to here for what purpose?”
“Touristism,” said Vrsk. “We are tourists.”
“I see,” said Lefkon. “And are there any particular sights you’re planning to see?”
Vrsk thought about this. “No,” he said.
Lefkon rubbed her temples again. The smal room was starting to fil with an unpleasant aroma. As she watched in horror, Drmtsi reached into his pants and pul ed out a greenish blob that smel ed like a ful Dumpster on a hot day. He thrust this toward Lefkon.
“Smerk?” he said.
“Is tradition,” said Vrsk.
“No, thank you,” said Lefkon. “Please wait here.”
Lefkon spent the next several hours on the phone with officials at the State Department, the CIA, the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security. Eventual y it was determined that Drmtsi was, in fact, the fourth vice president of Krpshtskan, and that he and Vrsk would be admitted to the United States as diplomats. But it was also agreed that, because so little was known about Krpshtskan, and because the two men were so vague about the purpose of their visit, their activities would be closely monitored.
It was late afternoon when Drmtsi and Vrsk left the airport. They went to the taxi line, waited their turn, and got into a cab. The driver got one whiff of his passengers and immediately rol ed down al four windows.
“We go to Hubble Middle School, please,” said Vrsk.
“Where’s that?” said the driver.
“Is near to Washington,” said Vrsk.
“A lot of things are near Washington,” said the driver.
“Yes,” said Vrsk, “but we only want to go to Hubble Middle School.”
The driver sighed, then radioed his dispatcher, who looked up the school and told the driver the address. The driver wrote it down, then said to Vrsk: “That’s Maryland. You got money for the fare?”
“Yes,” said Vrsk. He showed the driver one of the one-mil ion-purd bil s. It featured a picture of Grdankl the Strong wearing a traditional Krpshtskani fur headpiece. He looked like a man whose scalp was being attacked by a raccoon.
“What kind of money is this?” said the taxi driver.
“Is purds,” said Vrsk.
“Purds?” said the driver.
“Purds,” said Vrsk.
“I don’t take purds,” said the driver.
“What about gold?” said Vrsk, showing the driver a coin.
“Gold is good,” said the driver.
“Hal e Berry,” said Drmtsi, to be part of the conversation.
“She’s good, too,” said the driver. With that, he put the taxi into gear and eased away from the curb. Traffic was heavy; it was rush hour. Neither the taxi driver nor his two tired passengers paid any attention to the white government-issue Ford sedan that began moving when the taxi did and was now fol owing about one hundred feet behind.
D ANIELLE PRESCOTT MARCHED PAST the secretary into the large, modern office of her husband, Tim, and took a seat without asking if she was interrupting. Which, in fact, she was: Tim was on a conference cal with some men in Taiwan who were about to pay Tim’s company, PresTech Industries, fifty-three mil ion dol ars to build a surveil ance satel ite that could count the dimples on a golf bal from space. Although that probably wasn’t what they planned to do with it.
“Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” Tim said into the phone. He pressed the MUTE button. “Dani, you can’t just…”
“Where’s the thingie?” she said.
“The thingie?”
“The whaddyacal it,” Daniel e explained. “The computer thingie. For Harmonee’s project.”
Tim quickly rose from his desk, crossed the office, and closed the door.
“Dani,” he said, “this is not something we should be discussing here.”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Harmonee needs the thingie tomorrow.”
“Yes, and I wil —”
“So I thought I’d just pick it up now, since you might forget.” Daniel e checked
“Right,” said Lefkon. She rubbed her temples. “And you came from Kpr…Krt…”
“Krpshtskan,” said Vrsk.
“Right, you came from there to here for what purpose?”
“Touristism,” said Vrsk. “We are tourists.”
“I see,” said Lefkon. “And are there any particular sights you’re planning to see?”
Vrsk thought about this. “No,” he said.
Lefkon rubbed her temples again. The smal room was starting to fil with an unpleasant aroma. As she watched in horror, Drmtsi reached into his pants and pul ed out a greenish blob that smel ed like a ful Dumpster on a hot day. He thrust this toward Lefkon.
“Smerk?” he said.
“Is tradition,” said Vrsk.
“No, thank you,” said Lefkon. “Please wait here.”
Lefkon spent the next several hours on the phone with officials at the State Department, the CIA, the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security. Eventual y it was determined that Drmtsi was, in fact, the fourth vice president of Krpshtskan, and that he and Vrsk would be admitted to the United States as diplomats. But it was also agreed that, because so little was known about Krpshtskan, and because the two men were so vague about the purpose of their visit, their activities would be closely monitored.
It was late afternoon when Drmtsi and Vrsk left the airport. They went to the taxi line, waited their turn, and got into a cab. The driver got one whiff of his passengers and immediately rol ed down al four windows.
“We go to Hubble Middle School, please,” said Vrsk.
“Where’s that?” said the driver.
“Is near to Washington,” said Vrsk.
“A lot of things are near Washington,” said the driver.
“Yes,” said Vrsk, “but we only want to go to Hubble Middle School.”
The driver sighed, then radioed his dispatcher, who looked up the school and told the driver the address. The driver wrote it down, then said to Vrsk: “That’s Maryland. You got money for the fare?”
“Yes,” said Vrsk. He showed the driver one of the one-mil ion-purd bil s. It featured a picture of Grdankl the Strong wearing a traditional Krpshtskani fur headpiece. He looked like a man whose scalp was being attacked by a raccoon.
“What kind of money is this?” said the taxi driver.
“Is purds,” said Vrsk.
“Purds?” said the driver.
“Purds,” said Vrsk.
“I don’t take purds,” said the driver.
“What about gold?” said Vrsk, showing the driver a coin.
“Gold is good,” said the driver.
“Hal e Berry,” said Drmtsi, to be part of the conversation.
“She’s good, too,” said the driver. With that, he put the taxi into gear and eased away from the curb. Traffic was heavy; it was rush hour. Neither the taxi driver nor his two tired passengers paid any attention to the white government-issue Ford sedan that began moving when the taxi did and was now fol owing about one hundred feet behind.
D ANIELLE PRESCOTT MARCHED PAST the secretary into the large, modern office of her husband, Tim, and took a seat without asking if she was interrupting. Which, in fact, she was: Tim was on a conference cal with some men in Taiwan who were about to pay Tim’s company, PresTech Industries, fifty-three mil ion dol ars to build a surveil ance satel ite that could count the dimples on a golf bal from space. Although that probably wasn’t what they planned to do with it.
“Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” Tim said into the phone. He pressed the MUTE button. “Dani, you can’t just…”
“Where’s the thingie?” she said.
“The thingie?”
“The whaddyacal it,” Daniel e explained. “The computer thingie. For Harmonee’s project.”
Tim quickly rose from his desk, crossed the office, and closed the door.
“Dani,” he said, “this is not something we should be discussing here.”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Harmonee needs the thingie tomorrow.”
“Yes, and I wil —”
“So I thought I’d just pick it up now, since you might forget.” Daniel e checked
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