Spy Mom (36 page)

As the words pass my lips, I suddenly understand my evolution. For all those years, it
was
a game. I was Agent 26 of the United States Agency for Weapons of Mass Destruction, and my job was to win the game. But now, right here in the front seat of my environmentally friendly car with my fake nanny and my son, I am just a mom. And that is far more important than anything else I've done before.

“It's all about survival,” I say again. Pauline nods solemnly. She is already rehearsing the stories she will bring back to the Agency if she lives through this.

We cross the Golden Gate Bridge. The sun dances on the blue-green water. Curls of fog are starting to form out on the horizon. A steady wind pushes and shoves the car as we cruise off the bridge into Marin. The sharp hills that comprise the Marin Headlands are covered in a dense scrub that, if you get close, smells like soapy water drying on hot pavement. The beauty of these hills is not their lushness, but rather in the starkness of the land as it meets the sea. The water, having traveled thousands of miles, finally crashes into a barrier that won't yield. Frustrated, it keeps coming, pounding the coastline day after day, somehow knowing its relentlessness will eventually pay off.

A few minutes later, we are snaking up the back of the Headlands. There are no other cars as the fog begins to push in earnest over the land. I pull over to the side at the bottom of a steep hill.

“Okay, Sausalito, ice cream, do not come back until I call. Understood?”

“Yes,” says Pauline.

“If anyone suspicious comes along, if Theo is threatened in any way,” I say quietly, “don't miss.”

Pauline swallows. I can almost feel the dryness in her throat. “I won't,” she says.

I hand the keys to Pauline. I give Theo a big kiss.

“Mommy will see you in a little while, baby. Pauline is going to buy you an ice-cream cone and you can get something in the toy store too. Okay?”

For the first time, Theo looks like he might not be down with this plan.

“I want to go with you,” he says, pursing his lips.

“How about you get a sundae with whipped cream and extra cherries?”

“Oh. Okay,” he says, his face relaxing. I kiss him again and slam the door.

“Go,” I say. Pauline pulls away. My hands are shaking. I have nothing more than my gun with three bullets tucked into the back of my pants and Blackford's precious piece of lily hidden in my shirt. I find the beginning of the footpath that will lead me over this hill and right to a spot where I can look down on my ultimate destination, the lighthouse.

“What on earth were you thinking, Sally?” I ask myself. “Another great plan. It would be less isolated if you were dropped out of an airplane in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. At least there you'd have the whales to keep you company. Wait a minute. Did I just call myself Sally? Okay, now I'm really mad.”

There is a cold wind being pushed in front of the fog and I shiver. Beyond the next set of hills is the ocean; the salty air feels good in my lungs. I take a few deep breaths and start hiking up the trail toward the Point Bonita Lighthouse and my date with destiny. If you believe in that sort of thing, of course.

By the time I reach the top of the hill, the fog is coming strong and steady. Its cold fingers reach out and run through my hair, around my face, making me wish for a thick fleece jacket and a hat. I start down the hill, the dry red clay slipping under my feet like ball bearings. When I finally reach the bottom, the parking lot for the lighthouse is empty.

I walk around the gate blocking entry to the trail and begin making my way down the steep concrete path. I duck through a tunnel blasted out of the rock and finally step onto the suspension bridge leading to the actual lighthouse. The bridge is old and wooden. It sways precariously in the wind. There is enough space between the railing slats for a small child to slip through. Probably not a great destination for Theo, I think, although he'd think it was cool. I give myself a mental slap on the face. Focus.

The foghorn wails and goes silent, wails and goes silent. The light atop the lighthouse flashes, warning sailors to steer clear. Not a bad idea, all things being equal. Seventy-five feet below, I can barely see the waves crashing on the rocky coast.

When I look up, I see Simon Still, standing on the far side of the swaying bridge. He has the Magnum in his hand, but it is pointed, for the moment, at the ground. He walks toward me slowly, trying to maintain his balance on the wobbly bridge.

“I need whatever it is he wants, Sally,” Simon says. “It's a matter of national security, as I'm sure you know. You are obligated to hand it over to me. As a citizen of this great country of ours.”

“Did she tell you?” I have to ask even if I know the answer.

“Of course she did. She's Agency first, Sally, like you used to be.”

For whatever irrational reason, I feel disappointed that Nanny Pauline gave me up yet again. Will I never learn?

“Hand it over,” Simon says.

“Oh, enough with the bullshit, Simon. I'm still mad about the beach. You were going to shoot me.”

Simon shrugs. “Roberts is good. He would have missed you.”

“That's not the point,” I say.

“I need it,” Simon says again. “Don't make me do anything uncomfortable, Sally.”

“Do you even know what it is? No. I didn't think so. It's the Death Lily, Simon. The one you were so sure didn't exist. And you know what makes it even funnier? I'm actually responsible for it being here in the first place. If I had taken your advice, I would never have bothered to save Roger in that goddamn jungle and then we could have all stayed home today and watched the World Series or something.”

Simon looks confused. “The Death Lily?”

“Yes,” I shout. “How many times do I have to say it? The. Death. Lily.”

“Well, I guess I'm going to need the Death Lily, Sally. Hand it over.”

Suddenly, we hear the chirping of crickets. For a split second, I think we are actually going to experience a plague of locusts on top of all our other miseries. But no, it's my cell phone. Will's number flashes across the screen. And of course I answer it because wouldn't you do the same if you were in my shoes?

“Hi, baby,” I say.

“Where are you? Sounds loud.”

Hell. I'm in hell. Send me a postcard, will you?

“Walking to Twenty-fourth Street. You know how the wind is out here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Great. Sure. Why do you ask?”

“You sound a little strange.”

“It's the wind.”

Simon is making “cut if off” signals with his hands. I turn my back to him, holding on to the bridge railing to keep steady.

“Anyway, can you pick up my suit at the cleaners? That black one? I need it for tomorrow and I don't think I'm going to get home before they close.”

“Yup, sure, you got it, not a problem. Okay? Great. Gotta go. Love you. Talk later.”

I hang up in time to see Blackford emerge from the fog on the other side of the bridge. Suddenly, I'm not so keen on the symbolism of being on a bridge trapped on one end by Simon Still and on the other by Ian Blackford.

“There's a sign over there that says only two people on this bridge at one time,” I say. “Somebody better get off.” They both ignore me, focused only on each other.

“Simon, old pal, I've missed you,” Blackford says. He grins like a lion eyeing his prey.

“And I you,” Simon says. Simon's gun is aimed at Blackford. Blackford's gun is aimed at Simon. I feel left out.

“Well, this is nice, don't you think? The three of us again. Kind of like old times,” Blackford says.

“Great. I'm freezing,” I mutter, sinking down to a sitting position on the bridge. “Why don't you two hurry up and shoot each other so I can go home already?”

They appear to be considering all options.

“The lily, Sally,” Blackford says, edging closer to me. “Remember what we talked about. Now reach in your pocket slowly and take it out.”

“If you reach in your pocket for that flower, Sally, I will shoot you in the head,” Simon says quietly from right behind me.

So here I am, stuck between a rock and a hard place. What do girls like me do in situations like these? Good question. I used to sing lullabies to Theo when he seemed intent on staying up all night screaming, and it always soothed his inner beast. But right now, the only song I can think of is “Baby Beluga” and that seems oddly inappropriate.

“The lily, Sally,” Blackford repeats.

“For God's sake, can't we all at least agree that we'll call me Lucy? That is my name now. There is no more Sally Sin.”

“I don't want to shoot you, but I will.” I turn to Simon, right behind me.

“I heard you the first time,” I say. “That is not really something you need to repeat.”

There was a day not too long ago, an ordinary Saturday evening, when Will and I sat at the kitchen table watching Theo race his cars around the kitchen with wild abandon. We weren't talking to each other, we were simply watching the little blond head bob and weave around the chairs and under the table. On Will's face was a look of peace, a serenity that I immediately understood and felt myself. This was all there was. This was all there need ever be. When I exhaled, thirtysomething years of frantic living disappeared and were replaced with only the here and now.

With that ordinary Saturday evening in my mind, I shake my sleeve. Simon and Blackford watch me intently. I wiggle my arm and rotate my shoulder and, finally, the little cube of poison lily slides down my arm and into my hand. I hold it up between my fingers.

“That night in the jungle, it was so dark I couldn't even tell you what color the flowers were,” I say, “but I remember the smell. Never would forget that smell.” Blackford takes a step toward me. He eyes the cube, the anticipation burning in his eyes. He holds out his hand. Simon cocks the Magnum. The barrel is inches from my head. Both men are focused on the resin, like dogs on a single bone. I think at any moment, they might start barking. This thought makes me laugh.

“What's wrong with you, Lucy?” Simon asks. Now I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.

“Just
look
at us,” I say. “What a mess we make of everything.” As the laughter fades, I plant my feet on the rickety slates of the bridge and I throw the last remnant of the Death Lily up into the sky, out toward the ocean. I see it in slow motion, sailing higher and higher into the foggy air. Simon and Blackford lunge forward over the edge of the bridge, hands extended like receivers after a Hail Mary pass.

I duck down and dodge around Blackford. The bridge trembles and weaves as I race off it and on to freedom.

Now, my plan would have worked. I would have hoofed it off that bridge and back to my nice, kind of normal life, if the world wasn't a totally fucked up place, which it is, as I'm sure you've figured out by now. Instead of escaping, I trip over an uneven slat of bridge and land flat on my face. The Colt falls out of my jacket pocket and over the side. I grab for it, but it is too late. It disappears into the fog. Gone. Before I can get back on my feet, I hear the cock of two separate guns close to my head. I guess no one caught the lily.

“You'd better tell me that was a fake,” Blackford whispers, his voice a little unsteady. He cannot believe I would have the nerve.

“You'd better, Lucy,” Simon adds.

“Wow. Are you two agreeing on something?”

“Mommy?” Again the slow motion, the distinct sensation that time has stopped moving. We all turn to stare as Theo comes through the fog and onto the bridge.

Nanny Pauline stands behind him with her hands clasped behind her head. The Blind Monk stands behind her, his machine gun aimed at her back. I feel a sudden wave of nausea as I try to stand up.

There are so many guns. This is not good. I lock eyes with Theo, who looks confused and frightened. If I live a thousand years, I will never forgive myself for that look of fear.

“Theo, look at me, look only at me.” He nods his head. “It's going to be fine. I promise.” He nods again, clutching his dirty stuffed lamb.

I look at Simon. Despite losing the lily, he is smiling—grinning, actually. For him, this is better than Christmas morning.

Blackford doesn't look quite as happy. “I told you to wait for my signal,” he growls at the Blind Monk.

“You have lost your way, my friend. You have lost your vision. I can save you.”

“You work for me, remember? And I'm not paying you to save my soul.”

“She is toxic,” the Blind Monk says, pointing at me. “Worse than the Death Lily for you. Clouds your mind. We get rid of them all today and we finish our business as we planned.”

Blackford refocuses his attention on me. There is nothing but fury in his eyes. Maybe the Blind Monk's plan sounds pretty good all of a sudden?

And rather than shooting them both and calling it a day, Simon Still stands there as if he has grown roots. He appears to be enjoying the dialogue.

Now what?

“That was the real lily,” I say, in case they think I have the actual one in a safe-deposit box down on California Street. “It's probably in the belly of some really stoned sea lion already.” The crickets are chirping again in my pocket. I don't answer, the outside world seeming suddenly surreal.

Of all the people in the world on whom to take a leap of faith, Blackford is pretty low down on my list, especially now that he is really mad at me. But at this moment, I bet my only child's life on the sole reason Blackford never killed me, something I've never admitted even to myself. And that is, despite his best efforts to feel otherwise, Ian Blackford is in love with me.

Since being shot in Budapest, Simon's lungs aren't what they once were. As I'm yelling about sea lions, I grab Simon's shoulders and fire my knee into his right lung as hard as I can. He gasps. I grab the Magnum, heavy in my hand, as he starts to double over. In a split second, I bring it up on Blackford, right in his face. Then I move it to the Blind Monk and back again to Blackford with quick jerky movements. Simon collapses at my feet. I dig the heel of my shoe into his back. He grunts.