At the Summit Ch. 14

"I really like him already," Deborah said ironically.

"This message is to be distributed to all of the right-thinking men who love France and respect her women as mothers, sisters, or..." and Bernard smiled "... as lovers."

"We cannot, of course, trust our so-called female colleagues with this information. That is why you received...." Dean stumbled on the technical term "... special information regarding the security for this tape." Bernard paused.

"What you are about to see will help you to participate in the important event of our time... the most important event of our time," Dean corrected himself.

"We will need information from our bureaus in all parts of the world for this project. The leaders of women's political movements and government officials working on women's matters will be in Denver, Colorado for the G-7 Summit. While the press covers the world leaders and their shallow, posturing discussions, these women are to be meeting to strengthen their hold on society. As you know, many of the positions in our own Force Droit are now taken by women, and there are "men" who go along with that." He sounded as though he was going to spit when he mentioned "men" who went along with this incursion into the male world of intelligence work.

"In order to prepare for our operations in Denver, your cooperation is a ... necessity. We need information on the background of the women who will be representing their governmental and non-governmental.... organizations in... the Denver conferences. They will be listed as supporting the so-called "First Ladies" activities. With your information, we will be able to contact them individually and persuade them to delay their activities... persuade them by whatever means are necessary."

"That sounds cheery," Deborah interjected. Dean nodded his head. Cheryl's eyes flashed with anger as she realized how her Tony had fallen into that vague "whatever means" definition when this man's thugs had killed him.

Bernard paused for a moment, switching to a different sheet of paper.

"Some of you have questioned our leaders about this, some of you are very cautious and you... want to know how we will do this without creating a disturbance... without drawing attention to outside efforts such as ours directed against these meetings.

"By blending the efforts of several MEN of science..."

"He likes to say that," observed Cheryl.

"... we have developed a program that will permit us to control events..." he smiled "...by controlling some of the participants or removing them from the scene... by their own choice."

All in the B&B living room found themselves looking at each other with puzzlement. Why would someone choose to cooperate with these men? Dean realized it had something to do with the hypnotic control shown by Bernard over Maria, but he was not sure how that connected with this tape, or if it did.

"We have developed a diversified program, so that our actions will not be identifiable," Bernard went on. "Our resources around the world will be mobilized. Some delegates will simply miss their flights from remote places. Many will reach Denver, but here we will count on numerous actors. Diverse groups of demonstrators will be convinced of the need to appear at locations that will delay delegates. And, naturally, for key delegates, we will arrange special reasons to retard their arrivals. Selected persons in the Denver population are being prepared now for their roles. As well, some MEN of the Force Droit will be called upon to make the sweetest sacrifice for our noble cause, and I am sure that they will respond to the challenge with elan." The tape blinked to an end.

"Huh? The sweetest sacrifice?" Val raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Dean could think of no answer, except to suggest that they were all tired and needed to get to bed. There was no debate. Even with his head whirling from all the new information, he fell asleep easily. He did not hear the doorbell ring.

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LATER IN 1997

When I started to tell Sophia about the late night caller, she smiled and pointed out the time. Her appointment was coming up shortly. She rose to slip on her dress and make some last minute adjustments as she spoke.

"And, besides.... (she adjusted her bra) I am going to tell YOU the next part of the story!" Sophia had a Cheshire cat grin on her face now. Perhaps it had something to do with the way she had wriggled when she first coaxed me into resuming the tale this morning.

"How is that?" I was going to tell her the outline of what Dean had learned later from Val about the visitor.

"I spoke with Val the other day, and she filled me in on this part. I think that it will come out better with a woman telling the story." She looked at me in a way that indicated this was more than a mild suggestion-- and then it was time for a good-bye kiss.

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It was the sort of kiss that promises wonderful things. That and my curiosity as to what I would learn that evening made it hard to follow notes on my desk in regard to reports that the Russian woman who ran a hot dog vending cart was entrancing men with some special condiment and obtaining their VISA card numbers and expiry dates from them. According to the reports, she was either 65, 35 or 17 years old, had white, blonde, or henna-colored hair, and was seen intermittently at several locations. I had noticed myself that one hot dog vendor had a lovely way of wiping off the top of a soda can before presenting it to her male customers, another had a tender way of pulling up the bratwurst from its steaming tank, and a third always stopped to watch male customers squirt mayonnaise from the plastic squeeze bottle, but I could make no sense of all this information. I kept thinking about what Sophia might have to tell.

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"I had wanted to ask Val if she could share more of her point of view on the events surrounding the Summit Conference," Sophia explained. We were having an after-dinner drink in Jax. It was happily noisy around us, but Sophia leaned forward in an intriguing way, and I could understand her without difficulty.

"She told me much that matched what you have passed on from Dean, but she admitted that there were some things that she had not yet shared with him. Open as he was to women's involvement in his work, there were still times when he would show a paternal streak and fret. How she had dealt with that night caller was one of the things that she had not shared with him-- just had shared the information that resulted." Sophia paused and sipped her sherry. I sat silent, knowing that any interruption would make her feel as up tight with me as Val had felt with Dean.

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*** Val's Story - as told to and by Sophia

BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE

Just after Dean had headed for bed, the doorbell had been rung by a police officer who Val recognized as a novice colleague of her friend in Traffic. Perhaps, in another situation, Val would not have been on her guard, but this seemed strange.

He told her through the locked screen door that he had to talk with her about something very important, that he needed to come inside, it was too urgent to be overheard. A number of possibilities whirled through her head as they stood there for a moment. He might have seen her tender moments with his colleague and developed some weird fascination with her. Or he could be genuinely concerned about something. Or he could be working for the opposition.

The last thought sent her mind racing. If she refused to let him in, it would be safer, or at least force him to do something that would look a lot like breaking and entering. But if she succeeded in keeping him out, or called for Dean or one of the other women, he would leave without her finding out what his thinking was.

She held him at the door with some conversation and questions, while she tried to think of a plan.

"Just a minute, I have to find the key..." she lied. It was hidden out of sight of the door, but she went back into the desk in the study, rummaged around in a corner where she had long ago left an important piece of jewelry, pulled her t-shirt up, pinned the bauble on her bra (thankful that she was still wearing the Second Glance underwire that had so nicely held the attention of her friend from Traffic), picked up the key on the way back, and then re-emerged at the door.

"Come in," she murmured to the young officer. He smiled, too eagerly, Val thought, and stepped into the entry way.

"Sorry to bother you so late at night, ma'am," he said, just a bit too respectfully, "but I need to ask you to identify something." He moved in closer to Val without asking. "You must be the only one up right now, so I hope you can help us, huh?"

"Perhaps you will recognize this...." he said, as he pulled a shiny card out of his uniform jacket pocket. Val caught a glimpse of it before he could show her the intricate pattern printed on the card. She did recognize it, which he must not have expected, as the hypnotically appealing logo of the group known to the public as the Society for Social Expression, known to its graduates as the Society for Sexual Expression. She averted her eyes from it by looking deep into his, and miming a kiss. Her mind was on fire as she formed an idea for avoiding the potential enslavement that might be his plan if he was part of the Lepeniste conspiracy.

"I am the only one awake right now," she murmured, adopting a sensual tone, "and I would like you to come in." She let the words sink in. He must have been twenty years younger than her, but the effect that she obtained brought back flashes of fond memories of her days as an agent with Dean. He relaxed a bit, and she could see his subconscious mind interpreting her statement and manner as a primitive invitation for sex. Likely that was already on his mind, given his use of the card. She mimed another kiss.

"It would be easier for me to look at what you've got if we sit down on the couch in the parlor," she whispered, enjoying laying the double entendre on in a second helping.

"Of course," he said as she took his hand and led him to the Victorian red plush sofa. They sat down, with Val letting him see her noting his muscular build and tight butt, and he started to pull out the card again.

"Now, I do need to ask you to look at this." He was on a mission of some kind. Val took his free hand and placed it on her t-shirt, resting on her breast. He paused for a moment, entranced the old-fashioned way by visions of her proud softness-- and then collected his thoughts. "Really," he muttered, "you are very attractive, but I need you to look at this."

He started to show her the card again. Val responded.

"Isn't it warm in here?" Val grinned, and tugged her t-shirt out from under his hand and up over her bra. She hated the idea that she was throwing herself at him, but she was counting on male psychology kicking in. And soon, he would remember none of this.

The stunned young officer looked at Val's generous offering and could not keep his eyes off her or his mouth closed.

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LATE IN 1997

"Richard, I'm going to have to stop right now!" Sophia shout-whispered in my ear over the happy noise in the bar.

Now it was my turn to try to wheedle more of the story out of her.

"No!" she asserted as I began to plead. "I do know what happens next, and just thinking about it is making me VERY HORNY. I'll tell you the story in bed... in between." An unfortunate lull in the music caused a 20-something couple to raise their eyebrows, perhaps shocked to think that we Boomers would entertain such thoughts.

I knew Sophia's most urgent need, and we scurried diagonally across the intersection to our Oxford Hotel hideaway.

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More to come, as Val helps the officer unload his feelings.