Chapter 37

At that moment the door opened and a distinctive aroma filled the room. The smell, closer to a stench than anything pleasant, was so intense it made your eyes water the first time you experienced it. I had experienced it many times and still couldn't quite get used to it.

"Hello, Gertie. It's been a while."

"Hello, to you too, Mr. Sampson. I see you've been up to your usual stunts. Rescuing fair maidens now, are we?" came the booming response.

I was still sitting. I tilted my head back to look up at an enormous block of a woman who was smiling warmly down at me in a motherly fashion. She was as large as her unique perfume was intense. There was nothing small about her.

As far as I knew, there was still a sizable reward open in the NIH labs for anyone who could duplicate the odor of her stench and make an antidote. God knows why she insisted on bathing in the stuff. She was an intelligent woman, a world-renowned medical researcher. She was published in more than one field, she had a likeable personality. She just smelled. It was rumored that certain airlines had banned her from flying with them. She caused too many customer complaints.

She was accompanied by an officious lab coat; the local hospital administrator, was my bet. He started right in on me.

"Yes, Mr. Sampson, I demand to know what is going on in my hospital. Will you please explain to me what you did to this young juvenile and why you were carrying her naked though the streets? What is your relationship to this black fellow and what were you two planning on doing to her? I have several important questions I would like to have answered, mister. You're going to be in real trouble if I don't get the truth I'm after and I'm talking criminal charges, here. Your accomplice here has been particularly insistent in trying to leave. Why? I want to know what's going on and right now!" he ended emphatically.

"And you would be... ?"

"Carl Jones, Assistant Administrator."

"Well, Mr. Jones, in the first place, you'd better get a lawyer real quick. I don't take kindly to insinuations, aspersions or allegations, especially the kind you have just made about my friend, this 'black fellow, ' as you called him, and me.

"Now, I'm sure that Dr. Schwartz here will put you into contact with some nice government people who will satisfy your curiosity as to who I am. Of course, that would be after you prove to them that you have a security clearance capable of handling that information, which could take several years of their asking some very personal questions. In fact, I'm sure those same government people would be happy to bring several of their nice friends along who will have questions of their own for you about your tax records for the last 25 years."

I stood up for effect. I don't think the pompous little snot knew how big I was.

"Now then, I would suggest you leave before I really get mad."

He was actually preparing to spout off again until I mentioned the IRS. Blanching, he left the same pallid color as his lab coat.

When the door was shut Gertie said, "Done with your usual light touch, Sampson. Oh, by the way, we don't use the IRS to threaten the populace anymore."

I looked at her, an expectant smile on my face. I knew a punch line was coming.

"Uh-uh. Now we threaten them with the INS, ATF, or Janet Reno. They go in with machine guns and point them at your children."

She said this with such a straight face that, had I not guffawed, Mac would have taken her seriously. Gertie always was the one person who could be relied on to have the latest sick government humor. As with most sick jokes, however, there was entirely too much truth in her statement.

"Excuse me, are you really Dr. Gertrude Schwartz of NIH?" asked Simone from the bed.

The huge lady turned her considerable attention to the girl in the bed. "Yes, I am, child. Do you know me?"

"You wrote a book, 'The Dynamics of Hemoglobin Under Physical Stress' published in 1985."

"Yes, I did," Gertie said with surprise. "How did you know?"

"I read it," she stated simply. Simone could see the disbelief in Gertie's face. I knew if it was Gertie's book, it was undoubtedly a very thick and very technical book. Simone continued, "There were only four typographic errors. I thought it was very well written."

"Well, thank you, I think. And there were only three in the text!"

"You misspelled Claude Coutier's name in the references. That was the fourth one. So you are correct in saying there were only three in the text," said the girl.

"Dr. Coutier is an arrogant sycophant," Gertie muttered.

Simone giggled, "He said nearly the same thing about you! Only in French, of course."

Gertie sat on the edge of the bed, fully taken with this amazing young girl. "You know Claude?"

Simone nodded, "I knew him. We corresponded until he died last year. I had written to him to ask him if he thought your radical theories were correct, as they differed so much from his. He grudgingly admitted to me you were most likely correct. Did you know him, Dr. Schwartz? He would never say why he had such strong feelings about you."

I had never seen the big woman this vulnerable. She was as tough as they came, solid and dependable. I had leaned on her for strength more than once after returning from a hard mission. This young girl had her near tears.

"Yes, I did know him, long ago at the University. Very well, in fact. He and I were engaged. His mother didn't like me and we, he..." She didn't say what, but it was clear.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Dr. Schwartz. I did not mean to bring up sad memories. I know he would have liked it that you did it on purpose, as a joke on his mother. He said many nice things about you in his letters, like he missed talking with you. I can see why he loved you."

Gertie sat quietly for a moment, alone with her own thoughts. She wheeled on me suddenly.

"I hear one word of this from anyone, mister, and I will draw so much of your blood for lab tests at your next physical you'll blow away in a puff. Understood?"

I nodded, suitably threatened. My lips were sealed. For now.

With that, Gertie was back to business.

"What's his clearance?" she asked me, nodding her head at Mac.

I looked at Mac. I shrugged.

"I don't know. What do you think, Mac? 410 feet? 415?"

He snorted, Gertie just looked puzzled.

"Mac is my oldest and closest friend, Gertie. From before my Agency work. He, uh, he is a ball player. Baseball. Gertie, this is Mac Washington, third baseman for the Yankees. Mac, Gertie, my own personal government doctor."

They shook hands, then Gertie's eyes widened in sudden recognition. "You! You're THAT Mac! You're the one who showed up out of nowhere and cost me all that money in the Orioles game. Damn! Nobody can move that fast on the bases. You must have stolen four or five bases that game alone!"

Mac grinned, taking the praise, tainted as it was, in stride.

"Gertie, you continue to amaze me. I didn't know you followed baseball. And betting? Does the Agency know about that?"

She glared over at me.

"Screw you, Mr. Sampson. It was a $10 bet with the director that went to double or nothing when Mac got walked. He was an unknown who had just been moved up from some hick Triple A club to replace that injured player, what's 'is name. Who was I to know he could run like the wind? Besides, $20 won't get you a hot dog and a beer there, so shove it. We went to the game on official business, too. Maybe one of you will tell me, since we're on the subject, why do they call you two 'The Twins?' That name kept coming up in some of your old teammates' interviews."

She turned to Mac. "It's an honor to meet you in person. Excuse me for not recognizing you, Mr. Washington. I didn't recognize you without your tight pants..." For the second time she stopped short, not finishing what she was saying. It was a most unusual occurrence.

As much as she blushed when she realized what she had just admitted, that she had only looked at his butt during the game, Mac and I were still trying to recover from her sudden unexpected question about our nickname. The reason for the name was rather personal and, thank goodness, our teammates, though truthful about the name, had had the loyalty to conveniently forget the reason for it. I gave her the standard bullshit answer we told anyone who asked.

"Well, it started out when we were in high school. He would get a hit, I would get a hit. I would pitch a no-hitter, then he would. Whatever happened to one of us, happened to both of us. Ergo, 'The Twins!'"

Gertie looked at me carefully. She knew me too well. My answer had been too pat, too prepared. "Is that your final answer?"

I nodded.

"Bullshit."

I shrugged. Take it or leave it.

Shaking her head in resignation, she finally got on with why she had come in to the room in the first place.

"Well, first the good news. You, Mr. Sampson, are as healthy as a horse. As usual. Even that little scratch on your arm should heal nicely. That is due in large part to me, as you well know."

With that prognosis she dismissed me from her realm of concern. I was uneasy to get off so lightly with her.

She looked over at Simone for a moment.

"More good news is that the girl did not catch anything particularly nasty from her ordeal. I did have to use some, er, new things for a few of the bugs she had in her system. You will have sign some, um, release papers for her before I can let you leave."

Something told me we were very lucky to have this good doctor on our side.

I knew more than a little bit about her 'new things, ' as she called them, having been the recipient of a few of them before. It was in large part the reason for her continued interest in the state of my health, or that I had any health at all for her to be concerned about. More than once I had heard the term 'the guinea pig' used when someone asked for my medical chart, especially after she had patched me up after a mission. I had a feeling the same label now applied to Simone. Knowing Gertie, well, I trusted her to use her best medical judgment, which, come to think of it, was about the best in the world.

She hesitated for a moment, thinking and phrasing as I had seen her do before when she was really serious. When she spoke, she spoke directly to Simone, as if Mac and I weren't there.

"Young lady, I do not know who you are or where you come from or why you are not more affected than you are by what you have been through. From the state in which you arrived and the company you arrived with, I have a very good idea of exactly what you have gone through this past couple of days. I saw the pictures they took of you when you came in, I have read the physical exam notes from the emergency room doctors and I have seen the lab tests. I have also seen the results from the samples I sent to my lab. I know many things."

Gertie seemed overcome with emotion, all choked up. She pointed over at me. I thought I was a goner.

"I know this man. I know he did not do this to you. If anything, he is probably responsible for saving you from the people who were doing it to you."

Simone nodded her head in agreement. Gertie had her rapt attention. Mine, too.

"I cannot imagine what would make one human being treat another in the manner these people treated you. I cannot fathom what would make a grown man think he could treat a beautiful young woman in the manner these men treated you. Not even among the most uncivilized of peoples does this behavior exist. Only rarely does it occur in the animal kingdom. I am beyond myself with outrage. I ask you, I beg you, just give me one name, just one, of one of the men who did this, and I will make him suffer for what he did to you. He will beg me to let him die. I swear to you, I will do it."

Simone shook her head. She didn't know their names. Gertie misunderstood her, but, knowing me, guessed correctly what had happened.

"You can't tell me, can you? They're dead, aren't they?"

Not waiting for an answer, she turned on me again.

"Judge, jury and executioner?" she accused bitterly.

I shook my head softly and held up my injured arm.

"One Uzi and two knives. Self-defense."

She snorted. "With your special training, that was hardly fair odds..."

My alarmed look stopped her before she breached any more major government secrets. I pointed to Mac, who was staring wide-eyed at her careless slip that I had had special training. I had never even hinted to him what I had done after I left Triple A ball other than I was working for the State Department. He thought I worked at the embassies or something. I never really said.

Gertie, who had been nearly beside herself with rage at the brutality of what Simone had been through, forced herself to calm down. When she was back in control, she turned back to the girl.

"Simone, dear, I was prepared for you to be traumatized and emotionally battered from your ordeal. I was looking for you to be totally withdrawn and sullen, bitter and hateful. A normal person would feel that way. I was expecting to have to recommend years of psychiatric help and counseling for you.

"But what do I find? A caring, sensitive, intelligent, composed young woman. You reached out and touched my heart with a fond memory. You had the sensitivity to understand the love that old bastard and I had for each other, two misshapen human beings that no one else could love. You are truly an extraordinary woman.

"I would be pleased if you would keep in contact with me. I would love to get to know you better as a person, to watch you grow, to help you be even more than you are now, if even in some small way. It would be a privilege. Besides, latent repercussions of these events may crop up later on. Rather than have to re-educate someone new, I would be pleased to keep in touch with you."

I nearly fell out of my chair. This was the woman who had practically single-handedly re-invented the rehabilitation program for traumatized agents. There were today several active agents who, prior to her program, would have had to be, well, put down, myself among them. We could be a lethal bunch when we got out of control. For her to offer to look after Simone after the trauma she had been through was more than I could have hoped for. It also indicated something of the intensity of the trauma Simone had been through.

Simone's experience was, in many ways, the same type of torture and degradation experienced by captured agents. Simone's apologies earlier of her inability to resist because of the cold and hunger had reminded me of similar apologies I had made myself. We all had a breaking point. When we reached it, we all felt it was due to our weakness, a failure on our part. Gertie was right. Simone needed more than my help for this.

I lost my head. I stood up and hugged Gertie, I was so overcome with emotion. She tolerated it briefly, then set me back down rather forcibly in the chair.

"Don't go soft on me now, Mr. Sampson. She's going to need your help, too. I assume, somehow, you're in some manner responsible for her? God help her."

I almost wished I were back in the agency. Almost. I had so many things I could hold over her head from just this afternoon, I could have owned her departmental budget. Her former lover, betting with the director, watching Mac's ass, her careless slip about my training, oh, so many things. I could have had any assignment I wanted. But, then, that was the trouble. I didn't want any assignments, anymore.

"Yes, she is the daughter of my, uh, fiancée."

I saw Simone watching me to see how I would portray my relationship with her mother. I thought I should reassure her of the permanence of her situation with me. I forgot about Mac.

"What!" Mac burst out. "Did you and Sally break up? Holy Shit! CeCe's going to have a cow!"

"No, Mac. We didn't break up. Sally and I are still going to get married. Too," I added weakly.

My position of superiority with Gertie had just been eroded to nothing. I could see from her incredulous expression that she was eating this up and just waiting to hear my explanation. From her prior experience with me, she knew to expect a doozy.

"But, but, that's illegal," blustered Mac.

"Multiple partner marriages are an accepted practice in 37 different cultures," piped up Simone from her pillow.

She was on my side, at least. She wanted to get her mom married off and safe. I wanted to change the subject.

"And just how many of those 37 cultures are in the US of A, Miss Smarty-pants," howled Gertie, now shaking with laughter.

She was really enjoying this.

Turning to me, she said, "Which wife will you be bringing with you to the festivities in Washington the week after next?"

I looked at her blankly.

"Oh, right! You haven't heard, yet. The President thought it would be nice to have a quiet bash or two - complete with photo ops, mind you! - for all the hidden soldiers that keep this country safe for democracy. To protect the actives, the agency PR guys are pulling in every coherent inactive agent they can find and you, Mr. Sampson, are at the top of their list. A very short list, too, sadly. Since the festivities will be at the same time as your next scheduled physical..."

I groaned at the thought of another 4-day stint as a rat in her laboratory.

" ... I have already taken the liberty of RSVPing for you and the Mrs. Maybe I should specify a table for three... ?"

She was really enjoying herself. If laughter was the best medicine, Gertie Schwartz, MD, PhD, was a very healthy woman at the moment.

Simone, however, remained fixed on the problem that had been staring me in the face ever since I realize what it was Sally was really asking me to do with her and Nicole. What she said next was like a thunderbolt, a revelation. The answer was so simple, it just might work.

"But, it's only illegal if they file the papers with the courts, isn't it. I mean, they could still pretend or something, couldn't they?" she asked simply.

I don't know about the others, but I just sat and stared at Simone, my angel. All I could think of was that quote 'And a child shall lead them... '