A Small Town in Maryland

It was past dinnertime when Daria turned in at the front walk of her parents' house, slumped with exhaustion, both physical and mental. The walk from the school, where she'd dropped off the motor pool car, seemed longer than usual. It had been only Thursday afternoon she'd left here for school; barely three days, but it seemed like forever. She wasn't the same woman she'd been when she left. Woman, that was it. She'd left, a girl. Since then she'd danced with a handsome enemy agent, been shot at, saved the life of the President of the United States, and now had less than forty-eight hours to deal with whatever act of terrorism the Russians had planned for Tuesday. And, if it really was the destruction of the Capitol, then global chaos could easily follow if they weren't stopped.

That wasn't going to be easy, maybe it wasn't even possible, and if she failed people were going to die. Lots of people. Part of her wanted to crawl into her room, and not come out until it was all over. But it was a small part. She might not have much experience, but she had been trained for work like this, and she was in a position to make an attempt. That made it her responsibility to try, no matter how scared she was by the thought of people dying if she failed.

No, she definitely wasn't the girl she'd been, but she hadn't really changed that much. She'd always believed wrongs needed to be corrected, even if she'd sometimes had to be pushed into action by others. Now she was ready to accept the responsibility for acting herself. She'd already shouldered more responsibility than most adults half again her age, and, so far at least, she thought she had carried it well. It hadn't turned out to be that hard. Now it was merely a matter of continuing to accept that responsibility, and of doing her job. For the first time, she felt that she was an adult, something she had not felt simply from achieving her eighteenth year.

She faced the door of the house, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Of course, feeling like an adult and convincing her parents that she was one were two different things. Now that she was home, it would be back to being their little girl, no matter her age. They'd never accept the change in her without an explanation that she couldn't give. The discontinuity between the woman she thought she was now, and the girl she'd have to be at home was daunting. But she'd manage, they weren't demanding parents, and it was only until she left for college in a couple of months. Besides, said her training, it was good cover.

She opened the door, juggling her book pack and the shopping bag containing souvenirs of her trip. The bag contained mostly junk, trinkets she'd bought at the hotel gift shop to provide the illusion of a weekend spent playing tourist, but tucked in the bottom was a box containing the dress she'd worn Saturday night. She might never wear it again, but it was the only real souvenir of the trip. That had been a magical night, aside from the bullets, and one she'd remember for the rest of her life.

As she walked in, her mother, Helen, glanced up from the couch, where she was reading a legal brief. "Hi, sweetie, you're home earlier than I expected. How was the city?"

Daria managed a weak smile for her mother, leaning on the stair-rail. A little conversation now would pay benefits later in undisturbed time in her room. "Urban. The museums were nice, though, and the Kennedy Center was impressive."

Her mother seemed surprised, actually taking her eyes off the paper she was reading and looking over at her. "The Kennedy Center?" she said, doubtfully. "What were you doing there? I mean, did you go to a concert or something?"

Her mother's transparent attempt to cover up her surprise threatened to turn Daria's smile into a real grin. She suppressed it ruthlessly, too much humor would make Helen suspicious, and that would be more trouble than it was worth. "Not a concert. We bumped into Jodie, and she invited us to the Presidential reception for the Model Congress. It was a free dinner, so we went."

"Did you see the President?" her mother asked, approval of her daughter being social overlaying the surprise in her voice.

"His speech was cancelled. Some kind of terrorism scare in the city. Anyway, I'm beat. I've been walking for three days. I'm going to crash. See you in the morning?"

Helen looked back down at the papers she was holding. "Maybe. I may leave early to deal with this case. It's getting complex."

"Okay, see you whenever then. 'night."

"Goodnight, sweetie."

Daria climbed slowly up the stairs. Her leg muscles really were sore from all the walking, not to mention the jumping, diving, and general athleticism of the last three days. In the living room, her mother went back to her brief, apparently content that her duty as a concerned parent had been discharged.

When she reached the top of the stairs she could hear her sister, behind her door, talking on the phone to someone about clothing for an upcoming social event. Such a typical situation was reassuring. Armageddon might loom, but the Quinns of the world still only had to worry about color coordination. Now if Quinn could have seen her all dressed up Saturday, that would have been amusing. She walked quietly to her room, and closed the door behind her. Safe at last, her family rarely intruded on her privacy here. Her mother was the worst offender, and she had been neutralized for the evening.

Daria put the dress on a hanger in her closet, and dropped the bag with the other junk on the floor in there. She could sort it out later. She'd left anything suspicious, like her ID card and gun, in the trunk of the car at school. Her book pack she threw on the floor by her desk, so she'd remember it in the morning.

Then she sat on the edge of her bed, unlaced and pulled off her boots, and collapsed bonelessly on the bed. It was really too early to go to sleep, but she was too tired to move, and her thoughts had been chasing themselves in circles for hours. She needed a good night's rest before she could think clearly, but she really ought to call Tom.

The problem was Tom, or rather his father. As long as Angier Sloane was under suspicion, she needed to be circumspect with Tom. That was agency policy. But Tom was her boyfriend, or something like that, and she felt that not telling him about meeting Alex was tantamount to lying to him. But Alex wasn't just a QB from another school. A very handsome QB, she thought, then choked off that line of thinking, he was also a Russian Secret Service agent, and hence one of the things she shouldn't be talking to Tom about. And she'd probably never see Alex again, anyway. There, that was a nice bit of rationalization. But it still felt dishonest, and honesty and trust mattered. So she should tell Tom, but his father was under suspicion, and here we go around the circle again.

She pulled the pillow over her head, but darkness didn't help, it just removed distractions. Annoyed, she threw the pillow at the door and sat up. She had to call Tom. He'd be hurt if she didn't. She couldn't tell him about Alexei the secret agent, but she could mention that she'd danced with Mack's friend Alex the QB. That should be good enough to satisfy her conscience. Now there was only the problem of getting Quinn off the phone somehow. Or maybe not...

Daria levered herself out of bed and went to her book pack. There, in the outer pocket, was the cell phone Ms. Li had given her. She could use it for a personal call, she thought. And if Ms. Li really cared, she'd reimburse the agency for the call. This was important enough that a couple of dollars didn't matter. Heck, she had a regular paycheck now; she kept forgetting that. She dialed Tom's number, and waited while it rang.

"Hello, Sloane residence," Tom's mother said as she picked up the phone.

"Hi, Mrs. Sloane, this is Daria. Is Tom available?"

"Oh, hello Daria. Yes, he's upstairs. Just wait a minute while I call him."

Daria heard her set the phone down, and then heard her voice in the distance telling Tom to pick up his extension.

"Hey Daria, back from the city?" he said when he picked up.

"Yes, just now," Daria stopped, waiting for his mother to hang up the downstairs phone, then resumed: "it was quite the weekend. I even went dancing..."

Monday morning. Daria walked into the Principal's office with Jane in tow. Ms. Li looked up, puzzled, as Daria closed the door behind them.

"Good morning, Ms. Morgendorffer, Ms. Lane, what can I do for you today?"

"Angela," Daria said, "remember when you said you trusted my judgment?"

Ms. Li blinked, then nodded.

"Well, I needed some support Saturday night, so I recruited Jane. You could carry out your threat and jail me now, but I'm assuming you meant what you said about trusting me."

Ms. Li looked at the two of them for several seconds, unspeaking, with her lips pursed in a mild frown. Jane squirmed under her gaze, but Daria was immobile. Then Ms. Li sighed.

"I do trust your judgment, Daria, but you really should do things like this through channels. We're supposed to fill out the paperwork and train people before sending them out to save the President, not after."

Her chastising words were ruined when Ms. Li ended with a chuckle, and Jane looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Don't be so surprised, Jane, I don't always follow rules myself. They're important, but results are what matter. Saturday night the two of you, with some rather interesting help, rescued the President. Results like that forgive quite a lot of unorthodox behavior. We'll need you to sign the form that says we can throw you in jail if you tell anyone any secrets you've learned, but after that you can walk away from all this if you want. However, I take it that you want to continue your involvement?"

"Uh, yeah, at least until fall. I have to go to art school then."

"Yes, I know. I do actually pay attention to my students. Daria has college in the fall too. If you do well this summer, we can probably find some part-time work for you while you're in school, and have a full-time job for you when you graduate. Someone with a profession and legitimate credentials makes a much better field agent than someone with a false identity ever could, and an artist is an excellent cover for someone who needs to travel the world apparently at random, and poke their nose into strange places."

Jane seemed disconcerted by this. She opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, paused, and then blurted out: "You'd pay for me to globe-trot with a sketchpad?"

Ms. Li smiled. Reactions like this were her favorite part of recruiting. "Yes, assuming you pass the training, and I think you will. I'd been considering recruiting you after you left for art school anyway. You're intelligent, even if you aren't academically inclined, and as I said, artists make great field agents. Despite this weekend's activities, the work of the typical field agent lies in collecting information and reporting it clearly. It's not like the movies. You don't have to be an expert at obscure skills like baccarat, or even bridge, to do it. This isn't the world of James Bond. You have to be inquisitive, self-reliant, and capable of doing what needs to be done no matter how scared you are, but the actual work is fairly easy. If you have the right temperament it can be loads of fun, mixed with occasional terror."

"Okay," Jane said, "I can see that. I don't have Daria's knack for leadership, but I can think on my feet."

Daria wondered what Jane meant by that, she didn't have a knack for leadership, did she?

"Yes, and that's the most important ability. Besides, your family has an excellent history," Ms. Li continued, oblivious to Daria's thoughts.

Daria and Jane exchanged glances, then Jane said what was on both their minds: "My family?"

"Why yes, didn't you ever wonder how your father could afford to run around the globe with his camera for all these years without ever landing any major contracts or even having a gallery show? Your mother's pottery couldn't even pay for the airfare. And Penny's done some excellent work in Central America."

"Dad? Penny?" Jane was incredulous. "What about Mom?"

"No, the others in your family are civilians."

Daria leaned forward, and asked: "My parents?"

"Are just what they seem, ordinary people. Although I have my eye on your sister. If she goes into the right kind of design profession she could have an excellent cover for travel, and she certainly has the people skills needed. I've been watching her manipulate those other three girls, not to mention anything with a Y chromosome in town, ever since she arrived. She's a natural."

"So," Daria said, "is there anyone in this town who isn't a spy? Other than my parents, of course. I have this odd feeling I've just wandered into an episode of The Prisoner."

Ms. Li laughed, an unsettlingly happy sound from someone who usually possessed such a serious demeanor. "Hardly that, you've met most of our people already. For security reasons I can't tell you who the others are. We always let relatives know who else is on the inside; having family you can talk to provides a safety valve when the pressure gets intense. It's one of the reasons we like to recruit from within the same family as we did with Jane's. Just remember that need-to-know still applies to details, especially sensitive ones. What someone doesn't know, they can't let slip, or be forced to disclose."

"Why did you let me know about Jane's family, then?" Daria asked.

"Because you and Jane are going to be working together, so it's likely you'd find out anyway. And that brings me to our real subject: Angier Sloane. Daria, Glasscutter told me about her conversation with you. Have you told Jane about the Germans?"

"No, It didn't appear relevant, and need-to-know seemed to apply."

"Good, it did, until now. I don't know if it's relevant either, but we need to find out." She turned to Jane. "Jane, two weeks ago someone diverted some items in a shipment of weapons from a U.S. airfield destined for a NATO installation in Germany. The Germans, for reasons of their own, covered the theft up. We believe the missing items, which include a 155 mm tactical nuclear artillery shell, are still in the United States. What we don't know is if they are connected to whatever the Russian terrorists have planned for Tuesday in Washington, but it's certainly a possibility we can't afford to ignore."

The color had drained from Jane's face.

"You mean these people may have a nuke? Aren't there some fairly complex safeguards to prevent them from being used?"

"Not for artillery shells. The safeguards are on removing them from storage. The shells themselves need to be pretty simple. Unfortunately, the arming codes weren't as well protected as they should have been, and we're fairly sure someone made copies of them before the theft. With them, they have a bomb that will fit in a large suitcase, and will do nearly as much damage as the original Hiroshima bomb. Not a lot by modern standards, but enough to take out both the White House and the Capitol building if it were placed midway between them. We have people with Geiger counters crawling over the likely sites, but if they put it behind enough lead, or somewhere else, those won't help. We need to come at this from another angle: who is really behind this, and what do they want."

"Well," Daria said, "the President mentioned that his captors seemed to want him out of the city, so presumably the bomb is in the city, but why would they want him alive?"

"Exactly," Ms. Li said, "do you have any ideas?"

"Nothing that makes much sense. If the Legislative and Judicial branches were taken out, but not the Executive, there'd be chaos, but what would anyone gain? All I can think of is that someone who had influence over the President might hope to gain some kind of benefit in the absence of the two checks on his power, especially if using the Russians to set the bomb kicked off World War III. Angier Sloane's in finance, so I suppose he could benefit from a war economy, or simply being able to direct Federal procurement contracts to companies he owns, but that seems like a weak motive for genocide."

"Your analysis parallels mine. There are no good motives for genocide, but that never seems to stop people from committing it. Whoever is behind this, they have no hesitation when it comes to killing. We're looking at up to half a million casualties in the District between initial deaths and later ones due to blast or radiation injuries. Not to mention the number that would die worldwide if this caused us to launch a first strike against the Russians. The question is: does Angier Sloane know where the bomb is, or is he just an unwitting pawn who was used to set up the kidnapping. Heck, he might even be innocent. They could have just taken advantage of the location. Never forget that not everyone is guilty, and suspicion is not the same as proof. If you forget that, you'll soon have a police state, and I won't permit this agency to be a party to that. Nonetheless, he's our only lead, so we have to treat him as a suspect, and we don't have time to observe all of the niceties. I won't sanction stormtrooper tactics such as kidnapping him for interrogation without proof, but I'm not waiting for a search warrant if we have to move quickly."

"So, how do we find out how much he's involved?" asked Jane.

"I sent Glasscutter in to check his office last night. There were no incriminating papers in his desk or safe. But that's not too surprising. She also bugged his office thoroughly, but I'm not expecting to get anything out of that. Now we need to do the same to his house, but his security system there is too sophisticated for Glasscutter to take without more preparation time than we have. So, you'll need to do it, Daria."

Daria sat bolt upright in shock. She thought she knew where this was leading, and she didn't like it at all. "Me? If Glasscutter can't do it, how can I?"

"You don't need to break in," said Jane, in a quiet voice. She knew why Daria reacted so strongly to the suggestion.

"Precisely," said Ms. Li, missing Jane's tone. "You will go visit Tom tonight. His parents and sister will be at their club for dinner, there's an awards ceremony and she's one of the recipients. Several important businessmen from DC are coming down for it, and staying the night in local hotels. That's another reason we're suspicious of Angier: he's invited lots of his business friends who can't possibly care about his daughter's award. This seems like a ploy to get people away from the city before the blast."

This was as bad as Daria had thought. "So, how do I keep Tom from noticing me rifling his fathers desk?" she asked, tonelessly.

"We have some knockout drops. Just put one in something he drinks, and he'll sleep like a baby for hours. You can do your work, and leave, and he'll just think he fell asleep on you."

No, it wasn't as bad as she'd thought, it was worse. "I can't do that!" Daria yelled, slamming her fist on the desk.

Ms. Li was taken aback. "Why not? I'm not asking you to hurt him, just to make him take a nap."

"He trusts me. You're asking me to betray that trust." Daria spat the words out, anger and the sick feeling that Ms. Li was right, choking her voice.

"Yes, I am. But he'll never know, and the lives of hundreds of thousands of people depend on this, maybe more."

"It doesn't matter if he knows, I'll know. I'll never be able to look him in the eye again." Daria was nearly crying, and Jane reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"There's an alternative," she said. Both Daria and Ms. Li turned to look at her. Jane continued: "Daria needs to keep Tom busy. This Glasscutter person can go in and do her work. The Sloanes never set their home alarm before Mr. Sloane goes to bed at night, unless they're all out of the house."

"How do you know that?" Daria asked. "Tom never told me that."

"I'm not surprised, he'd never be able to explain how he knew. We found out the hard way one evening when I'd been in Tom's room fairly late, and he tried to sneak me out without his parents knowing. The alarms went off the minute we opened the porch door. Tom was as surprised as me. He didn't know his father set the alarm at night; he'd never tried sneaking out before. That boy lacks initiative."

"And what were you doing in Tom's room so late, huh?" Daria asked, with a smirk, glad for the change of subject, however brief.

"I take the fifth."

Ms. Li hurriedly returned to the issue at hand: "Okay, so Daria diverts him, and Glasscutter goes in. That works. Jane, there's nothing for you to do, but you can stand by in the support van in case something comes up. Daria, I've brought Fingers up from the city to run communications for this operation. We also have a couple of FBI agents on call, in case we need to make an arrest, and they've let the local police know, unofficially, that a most-wanted suspect may be in the county, so we can mobilize them in a hurry if we need firepower. Unfortunately, that's all the team I have to give you, we're stretched rather thin right now."

Daria sighed, resigned. Angela was right, this was no time for scruples. It was still a betrayal, but not as bad as drugging his drink would have been, and it was necessary. "I understand. I'll call Tom after school and suggest we rent a movie. That should be sufficient diversion. Anything else?"

"No," Ms. Li said, "I think that covers everything. Why don't you give Jane a tour of the basement, while I get her paperwork together?"

"Okay."

"Basement? I've seen the basement here. It's nothing special."

"Heh. Won't you be surprised," said Daria.

Daria sat on the couch in Tom's house. In the distance she could hear the rest of the Sloane family departing for their evening at the Country Club. They'd invited her and Tom to join them after the movie; apparently this was going to be an extended bash. She'd been non-committal, but from the look on Kay's face, Tom's mother knew it was a polite way of saying 'no'. Daria liked Tom's mother, but her relentless social drive was hard to take.

In the distance, the door closed, and she could hear Tom's footsteps in the hall. Daria settled back on the couch. She needed to relax. This was just another movie night with Tom. She'd done this dozens of times before. Tom could be fairly perceptive, and if she were on the verge of jumping out of her skin at every little creak of the house, he'd know something was wrong. The fact that she was using him to get at his father continued to eat at her. She'd resolved her conflict about lying to him regarding Alex, but this was just another lie, and a worse one at that.

Tom entered from the hallway. "There, I've sent them packing. They won't be underfoot until the Mercedes turns into a pumpkin at midnight." He dropped onto the couch, near Daria but not touching. He looked nervous. "Um, I had a little problem at the video store. They were all out of the three movies you suggested, and I couldn't find anything similar, so I settled for something rather different. I hope it's okay."

Daria wondered what he'd found. He obviously thought she was going to hate it, and she'd have to pretend to like it in order to avoid messing up the plan for the evening. The things she had to do for God and Country. "Well, out with it. I'm not going to know if it's okay until you tell me what you picked up."

"Yeah, um, here," he said, handing her a tape from a nearby shelf. The yellow cover bore a picture of a cow wearing boots.

"Top Secret," she read. She looked up at him, fighting to restrain an unlikely fit of giggles. Watching a tongue-in-cheek spy movie while a real spy searched the house. The irony threatened to overwhelm her self-control.

Tom mistook it for anger, and pulled away. "You hate it, don't you? I knew it was a bad choice, but Jane said once that you liked spy movies, and I thought I'd try something different."

Daria took pity on him, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "No, you idiot, I like it. I've seen it before, but it's still a good choice. Too bad Jane isn't here, she has a weakness for Chocolat Mousse."

A tinny voice crackled in her ear, from the bone-conduction speaker implanted in the frame of her glasses. It was Jane: "I'll get you for that, Cynic. By the way, Glasscutter is ready to make her move. Get the movie started so she can open the door without being heard."

Daria handed the tape back to Tom, in a much lighter mood than she'd been in earlier. "Okay, roll it."

Tom walked over to the VCR and stuck the tape in. As the scream of a locomotive whistle boomed from the speakers, Daria leaned back on the couch. The Sloanes spared no expense on their home theater; it sounded as loud as a real one. Glasscutter should have no trouble doing her job.

Tom sat down on the couch, and Daria leaned against him, snuggling into his shoulder as he put his arm around her. This was going to be easier than she'd thought.