It was raining in Washington—no surprise for October—but Ren would be damned if he used the bright pink umbrella currently tucked under his arm. He was very evolved when it came to most things female, but his reluctance to use the fuchsia dome did have more to do with its girliness than, as he mentally justified it, with his natural aversion to standing out. He didn’t really understand why Twitch had felt this obligation to return the darn thing. It was an umbrella. Weren’t they disposable? Nevertheless, Twitch suggested he return it when Ren mentioned he was submitting an adjunct brief for an obscure land-use case being argued before the Supreme Court. After the Fifth Circuit Appeals Court had overturned the District Court’s ruling on a Wildlife Sanctuary in the Louisiana Bayou, the Supremes had decided to hear the case, no doubt realizing its bearing on relaxed land-use restrictions on less invasive alternative energy sources.
Ren taught a course at Columbia called Environmentalism and the Economy. While his concern for the planet was profound, Ren knew first-hand that environmentalism was a cause ripe for manipulation by profiteers and people with less than altruistic motives. Like everything in his world—shadow and light.
Ren found the building and hit the buzzer for 2B (“or not to be” flashed through his mind and he chuckled) and waited. He looked up at the functioning security camera and waved the pink umbrella. After a long minute, the door chimed open. The building was very nice, no doorman, but clean and well-maintained, with plexiglass double doors at the entrance and a well-lit lobby with residents’ mailboxes and a small sitting area. In other words, a dump by patrician Georgetown standards.
Outside 2B, he knocked softly and waited. Sofria Kirk, he mused, what an incongruous name. The given name so flowery and melodic, the surname so sharp and curt. She must have very interesting parents. Movement on the other side of the door alerted him to her presence. She was checking the peephole. Then the door opened a crack with the safety chain still in place.
“Sofria? Twitch sent me to deliver this.” He waved the stupid umbrella. Again. “I can pass it through the crack if you like.”
Sofria’s mass of ebony hair was secured on her head in a bun that had morphed into a crooked ponytail. She seemed to gather herself while she blinked up at Ren, staring at him through dark-framed glasses that looked like something a dad in a 1950s TV show would wear. She closed the door, and while Ren knew she was unlatching the chain, he wondered if she had just retreated to her bedroom and left him out in the hall.
The door opened and there she stood. Ren had to remember to breathe. She wasn’t super tall, just above average, but in the cutoff jeans and bare feet, her cocoa legs went on for days. God, she was breathtaking, not a traditional beauty—exotic, but not foreign. Everything about her, from her vintage Coney Island T-shirt to her toe ring screamed American. Why was that toe ring making him crazy? She was nervous and scrunched the scarlet toes of her right foot on top of her left, drawing his eye to the little band of silver. Her wide, whiskey-colored eyes darted around as if someone might be in the apartment or spying through the window. Then she held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
Ren complied. She hurried over to her office, which was once a dining nook, and set the umbrella on the desk. She unscrewed the handle and retrieved a flash drive from the hollowed-out center. Then she inserted it into her laptop and booted it up. All while Ren stood there with a what the fuck is happening look on his face. He inched closer to stare over her shoulder at the screen, where animated pigs were dancing in a kickline. Sofria clapped with glee.
“I’m sure it’s none of my business....”
“Twitch is helping me. I’m just an analyst, but I’d like to have some skill in fieldwork if the need ever arose.”
Understanding dawned. “Ah, it’s all very clear now. A few things to think about....” Sofria gave him her full attention.
“You need to know for a fact I am who I say I am. If you don’t know your contact, you need to make sure you’re meeting the right person.”
“So, like a code word?”
“Or an ID.”
“I like a code word. Very Graham Greene. What else?”
“Well, and it’s a small thing, your front door is wide open.”
“Oh my God!” Sofria rushed to slam it shut. “I’ll never be a spy.”
“You know they don’t use that term.”
“I know. I know. ‘Field agent’.” She air quoted it for some bizarre reason, and Ren had to chuckle.
“Probably not, but you should always be striving to improve.”
Recognizing the familiar phrase, Sofria turned and really looked at him for the first time.
“Professor Jameson?”
Ren’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t recognize the starry-eyed student staring up at him.
“Yes, but you can call me Ren. I work with Twitch. I don’t remember you from my class.”
“I took it last year. I wasn’t officially enrolled, so I sat in the back.”
“Which graduate program were you in? Or were you a Ph.D. candidate?”
Sofria looked a bit chagrined. “Undergrad.”
Holy shit. Ren was ogling a teenager. Well, not literally, but close enough. Ren cleared his throat and backed towards the door. “Well, the CIA must have grabbed you up as you walked off the stage with your diploma.”
“They actually grabbed me up after my sophomore year.”