Dimitri just scowls, rocking back on his pillow to see Mac’s face, like he can sense the other shoe about to be dropped as well.
“From thebottomof my heart. I mean, your ass really took a pounding… you really took one for the team.”
Dimitri makes a dismissive noise.
“Don’t think he likes being the butt of the joke,” I muse loud enough for Dimitri to hear, grinning over at Mac as we exit the pool house.
“You know, I was going to use that one, but it felt a bit too easy—like going in through the back door.”
“Kozye yaichko,” Dimitri calls after us, though it’s unclear which of us is the goat testicle this time.
Still turning over this new information, I grab my lunch, salute Mac on his way up the stairs, and head for my office. Stepping through the threshold into the nerve center of our operation is like being able to take in my first deep breath all day.
Dimitri wouldn’t dare fiddle with the thermostat in here, but the room sits consistently around two degrees warmer than the rest of the house because I’ve filled it with enough computing power that the system can’t keep up. I don’t mind—I like it warm. It’s never completely dark, either, due to the blinking lights of dozens of single-board computers. The scent of ozone from electricity consumption is as familiar as it is comforting.
The entire space is comforting, in fact. It’s decorated all in warm tones, with a soft rug, light-blocking curtains, and a plush sofa where I sometimes catch a nap. Sleep doesn’t come easily to me and I’m usually in front of the screens later than I ought to be, so there’s also a top-of-the-line office chair that’s perfectly formed to my body and a mini fridge kept well stocked with as much on-demand energy as a bloke could want.
I retrieve a cold can and crack it before sitting at my desk. It takes a password, a secondary password, a multifactor authentication, and a custom-built fingerprint scanner in my mouse to unlock my private screens. When I’ve gone through the motions, I see that there’s a message fromherin the IRC. I shouldn’t—I have a million other things to do—but like an addict, I can’t resist. Taking a sip, I open the window.
mermaidav:I have this fantasy…
The liquid slides down the wrong hole. I cough, wiping my lips, and place the can securely beyond the keyboard so I don’t knock it with my elbow in my haste to get my message out.
SpyderMan: Involving a handsome spymaster, no doubt.
mermaidav: lol how’d you know? Actually, this time I was being a bit more philosophical. I have this fantasy about having no responsibilities. No one to answer to, no one to show up for…
A fairly common fantasy these days, especially for those bearing extra responsibilities. Not for the first time, I wonder who she has in her life. And, more jealously, if there’s some twat out there adding weight instead of lifting it.
If she weremine… I’d treasure no possession more.
Fuck. I hate this feeling. I’d giveanythingto know more about her. I’ve almost offered it, in fact. I’ve had a draft saved in my email for months now addressed to Vinnie, the guy who vouched for her months ago. It’s an exorbitant seven-figure bribe in exchange for information about her identity and his silence. I’ve almost sent it half a dozen times.
But that’s not how this works. She deserves her anonymity—it’s an unequivocal promise I’ve made to my spiders, an implied contract with everyone who agrees to sell me secrets. One of my iron-clad rules.
Still, I can’t quite bring myself to delete the draft.
SpyderMan: What would you do?
mermaidav: Don’t laugh.
SpyderMan: I wouldn’t dare.
mermaidav: Well, I’m 50-50 on disappearing into the woods to become a forest witch who befriends crows and inspires an equal amount of respect and fear in the locals… Or… I kind of want to have, like, a homestead. Be self-sufficient. Maybe get some chickens and goats, maybe start a cat rescue.
SpyderMan: Hmm… I doubt the woods have fiber optic internet.
mermaidav: Ha! Good call. I’d sacrifice a lot for my dreams, but I draw the line at symmetrical upload/download speeds.
Warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward as I shake my head with a grin. We just… get each other. She gets me—everything from her humor to her need to be wired in.
SpyderMan: Precisely. I say, go for the homestead.
mermaidav: See, this is why I like you. You don’t tear down my dreams. Love a man who can roll with the vibe.
SpyderMan: So what I’m hearing is, I’m the man of your dreams.
mermaidav: Lol! You’re too fun to flirt with. You’re going to ruin me for anyone else, you know that?
