If and When

The turbulence on the military transport is making her sex rub against her seat, and the men's stares aren't helping.

Evangeline avoids their eyes—shrouded by helmets and visors but still as piercing as the bullets in their guns. While they check out her body, she checks her watch for the hundredth time. Thank goodness. In a few minutes, she'll be there: at the base. On the ground. In the field.

She chooses to ignore the friction against her sex. She also chooses not to hold the men's staring against them. Have a little empathy, she reminds herself. They've likely been away from home a long time. She can only imagine how hard things must be for them. Very...hard. She pushes the thought out of her mind.

She self-consciously shuffles the papers in her lap. She shouldn't be worrying about the sexual tension in the plane. She should be worrying about the geopolitical tensions in the region, which are about as high as they get. They've got a population under significant stressors, an adrenalized civilian militia, and a local government that isn't used to anything but power.

The top brasses back home have been making plans behind closed doors. She doesn't know it, but they've spent the last six months arguing over whether to place their bets on peacemaking or make a move when they have the chance.

Eventually, internal conversations aligned on attempting negotiations, and with the begrudging agreement of the head of defense, they dispatched their most expert (and, according to some, expendable) negotiator. Her.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

They land on the airstrip. She fumbles with her seat harness, which is annoyingly good at keeping her immobilized.

A man leans close to her. He's trying to get a closer look, but she rationalizes that he's just making sure she can hear him over the noise of the airplane. "Need a second pair of hands?" he asks.

"Or more?" jokes another.

All the men snigger as they start to traipse off the plane.

"No, thank you," she says in as polite a tone as she can manage while wrangling with the buckle. She finally wrests it loose. She carries her folder and follows them out into the gaze of the bright desert sun.

As she walks, she spends a good ten seconds getting adjusted to the light, and when she can finally open her eyes without squinting, she realizes that two new men are walking beside her. The one on her left is dressed in a dark uniform with a rainbow of badges and patches, and the one on her right wears camouflage. She looks up at each of them and smiles warmly—it's a well-practiced tactic of hers, as is waiting for the other person to speak first.

"Miss Hoy!" bellows the man to her left. His voice is booming, not unlike that of the airplane of which they're just getting out of range. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"General Wright?" she asks, switching her folder to her left hand and offering her right hand to him.

"You can call me Wyatt," he says. He shakes her hand vigorously, his gaze roving over her body. Sore eyes they must be. She pretends not to notice and doesn't let her smile falter for a second.

The general indicates the man to her right. "This is your PSD. He's been assigned to accompany you any time you leave the perimeter."

"PSD?" she asks the PSD.

"Personal security detail, ma'am," the personal security detail says.

"A.K.A., your slave," the general laughs.

"What may I call you?" she asks, offering her hand to the PSD.

He looks her in the eye and grasps her hand more than shakes it. "Travis."

She smiles, and she doesn't have to pretend this time. Travis. When she was a child, her parents got a puppy for her and her siblings. She immediately named it Travis, even though the dog was a girl. After a quick risk analysis, she forms the professional opinion that she should not tell him that story.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Over the next few weeks, Evangeline alternates between getting her bearings around the base, participating in briefings, and reading and writing reports.

Ussef Bukhari. That's the man she'll be working with—or as the general says, locking down. He's a local figure: part unelected official, part celebrity, complete powerhouse. None of their plans can move forward until they win Bukhari's allegiance.

Once the jet lag wears off, Evangeline is back at a hundred percent. Maybe more, now that she has to be on her guard in a war zone. It's amazing how quickly a person can get used to restrictions. It's not like her conditions are terrible. She can take hot showers (communally), and the food isn't half bad (though she couldn't call it half good). She even has her own quarters.

But the toughest part about entering any new environment is the loneliness. Thankfully, she's not the only woman here. And occasionally, she sees the familiar faces of the men who flew in with her, but for reasons she can't explain, they're no longer taking much notice of her. She almost wishes they'd go back to being too friendly. Travis will answer her smiles with a nod, but nothing more.

Wyatt is the person she sees the most. As the general of the base, he must have a plethora of responsibilities. So it always surprises her when he spends so much time chatting with her after briefings.

"How are you holding up?" he asks one day.

"Quite well," she says. "How about you? Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Just keep brightening the place up," he says.

The compliment makes her smile.

"Anything you need, Miss Evangeline?" he adds.

Reciprocation. Not always effective on Wyatt's type, but she's glad it worked this time. "Thank you for asking," she says. "I wanted to see about visiting town. I've familiarized myself with the intel on the layout and considerations, and getting a live reading of it would be helpful as I prepare for next week's engagement."

He pauses and looks at her thoughtfully. "You want to do recon," he says. "It's dangerous, but if you think it'll help the mission, I'll make it happen."

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Evangeline sets down her lunch at the table with the other women, most of whom are military.

"Those boys get to you yet?" one of them jokes.

"Do I want to know what you mean by that?" Evangeline smiles at her.

"You get to them yet?" asks another woman.

"I'm afraid my flirting abilities have reached their limits. When I came here on the plane, they were all so eager, but now they'll barely look at me."

"Oh, Ev," a woman says. "I thought you were supposed to be good at reading people."

At that moment, they all stop talking and look at someone behind her. She turns around. It's the general.

"Got you an extra," he says, grinning and reaching over her to put a bread roll on her plate. "Come by my office at sixteen hundred and we can talk about the plan."

She smiles and nods, but she's at a loss for words.

All the women hold their breath until the general is out of sight. Then they burst into giggles.

"Man, you are so red," one of them tells Evangeline. "Better get that under control, Miss Pro Negotiator."

"Get it now?" says another. "There's your flirt-interference. No man here will go against him."

She doesn't say anything. She's relieved when the conversation turns to other topics—what their family members said in their letters from home, what they think the key turning points in the conflict will be, what they'll do once it's all over. But even as she joins in the discussion, the incident with the general doesn't leave her mind.

It's true, the times she's worst at reading people are the times those people have crushes on her (and every time, she finds out when it's too late). She's always been confident in her skills but never in her looks. As a result, she can be both an accomplished professional and an insecure mess. Any time men give her the slightest sexual attention, including here, she assumes that it's only because of who they are and not who she is.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

She leaves the general's office. He's arranged for her to visit town the next day. She'll have a low-profile contingent, just a translator and her PSD, arms concealed.

On her way back to her quarters, she passes by a doorway and notices someone outside. It's Travis. He's squatting down and holding something out to a large dog that looks like it was born from the sand.

She walks quietly to the doorway and watches them. Both the dog's cautiousness and his gentleness tug at her heartstrings. The dog slowly approaches, gingerly takes the offering in its mouth, and scampers away.

Travis stands up, and his eyes follow it until it disappears behind a distant barrier wall.

He turns around before Evangeline has a chance to pretend she wasn't watching.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately. "I hope I didn't scare the puppy away."

"No worries," he says. "The puppy will be back."

She smiles. "Do you have any dogs back home?"

He shakes his head. "But if I get back home, I will."

If? The word pricks her heart. "What else will you do when you get back home?" she asks. When. She hopes her use of the word will influence him.

"I try not to make plans," he says.

"Why not?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who's smart enough to make plans?" he jokes with a straight face.

She laughs and hopes he was, in fact, joking. "Of course you do," she insists. "How about just one more thing? One plan to look forward to?"

He looks at her with an unreadable expression. "If I don't have hopes, they won't get broken."

She searches his eyes. "That must mean you're the kind of guy who's smart enough not to make plans."

The sadness on her face stands out to him like a flare. He feels guilty. He didn't mean to make her so sad.

"Tell you what," he says. "I'll think of one."

When she smiles at that, he feels better.

He gives her one of his salutational nods and walks past her into the building.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

The road to town is barely a road, though once they get close to their destination, she sees that the town is much more of a city than she expected. It has plenty of cars, multi-story buildings, and telephone lines with their obscure but functional order. At the same time, it's filled with the enchanting richness of a culture that has thrived on this land for thousands of years. She sees as many livestock as vehicles (and some livestock that are also vehicles), along with vast structures that seem to be made entirely out of fabric. Most striking of all are the people. She can see them gesturing, laughing, arguing, and in some cases, dancing.

One thing this city definitely doesn't have is stop signs. The translator drives them with calculated mania through bustling intersections. From her position in the middle of the back seat, Evangeline looks in wonderment out the window.

Travis is sitting to her left, and he catches her eye as he surveys the windows.

"Travis, isn't this place amazing?" she says.

He nods. He's amused by the look on her face. She really wears her heart on her sleeve.

"I want to get out," she says.

"That's not a good idea, ma'am."

"Please, call me Evangeline." She touches her hand to his arm. "Tell me honestly, what do your instincts say about the threat level at this moment?"

He looks outside. Honestly, it's not that bad.

"Just for a few minutes," she smiles.

She must be good at what she does, because he definitely can't say no to her.

There doesn't seem to be any place to park, which means everywhere is a place to park. The translator stops the car in as good a spot as any.

"You will like the market," the translator says to Evangeline.

"I'm sure I will!" she smiles. "Have you been here before, Hamza?"

"Many times," he says. "It reminds me of the one of my home."

Travis gets out of the car first. He does a quick assessment of their surroundings. From the open door, Evangeline can hear the lively symphony of the city. Travis nods for them to get out of the car.

They walk to the market. Travis stays close to Evangeline's right.

They don't look much like locals and probably couldn't if they tried. The people they pass fall quiet and stare curiously at them. It's as if the three of them are creating a sphere of silence. But after a few minutes of them being pretty boring, people seem to get used to their presence. The world carries on around them.

"Ooh, look at those," she whispers to Travis as she points to a display of candied fruit. "Don't they look delightful?"

She smiles at him, but he simply gives her one of his slight nods. His expression is as concealed as his weapon. She expected as much, but it won't stop her from trying. Even in the short time she's observed him, she can tell he's an honorable man.

"What's good to eat?" Evangeline asks Hamza.

"Much," he replies with a smile.

Hamza goes up to a market stall, and Evangeline and Travis follow. Hamza banters with the stall owner, and a minute later, he turns around holding a paper box filled with a variety of savory pastries.

Evangeline takes some money out of her pocket. In her best attempt at the local language, she asks, "How much?"

The owner smiles and says something.

Hamza explains, "He says it's a gift for the angel from afar."

She laughs and gives the owner a warm smile. "Thank you so much," she says to him.

She puts the money back into her pocket. Then she senses Travis tense. She sees the stall owner's awestruck expression and follows his gaze to her right. A man is walking towards them, accompanied by two other men who look like they must be bodyguards. Travis stands fiercely between them and Evangeline.

The man points at the pastries and says something directed at her. She interprets from his tone that he's being humorous.

With a hint of reverence in his voice, Hamza translates, "He says you don't want the round ones. The triangle ones are the best."

She smiles. "Would you like a triangle one, Mr. Bukhari?"

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

"You saw Bukhari?" exclaims the general. He swiftly stands up from his desk. "Debrief. Now."

"We saw him, met him, and had a bite to eat with him. Now he's invited us to his home," Evangeline says.

She stands before the desk. Travis and Hamza stand a few paces behind her.

"Did he ID you?"

"He knew our roles, but he didn't know our names until we introduced ourselves."

"Goddamn," he says. "You're a lucky girl, Evangeline. He could have ordered you all dead."

"I do count myself lucky," she says, "because I found him to be as civil as you or I."

"What does he want?"

"The same thing we do: peace. Of course, it will take a little more time before we agree on how to get there."

"Let me guess. The ends justify the pain and suffering?"

"I think I can work with him."

"You better work more than think. The whole deal is counting on you."

The general turns to Travis. "Cludis? Anything to add?"

"No, sir," Travis says.

The translator steps forward. "If I may," he says diffidently.

"Go."

"In our language, we have polite and not so polite ways to speak. Mr. Bukhari was being very polite with all of us," he says.

"Fuck that," the general says. He turns back to Evangeline. "What else do you have to say for yourself?"

"Next week, we should begin negotiations in Mr. Bukhari's home instead of at the consulate," she says. "And we should respect his privacy until then."

"That what they teach you in negotiation school? Trust stupidly?"

"You're a capable general, Wyatt. Consider my advice as just one part of your decision-making. Ultimately, I trust your judgment."

"Then you know what's good for you," he says. "All of you, dismissed."

Outside the office, Travis stops Hamza. "Can I shake your hand?" he asks.

Hamza accepts the handshake and smiles. "A good day!" he says.

Hamza leaves, and Evangeline and Travis walk together away from the office.

Travis says, "He's right, you know. Bukhari could have taken us out."

"And he didn't, and now the engagement next week will be not a business meeting but a reunion between friends," she says.

He walks close to her right, even though he doesn't need to cover her while they're on the base.

"You impressed me," he says. "You weren't scared at all."

She laughs. "Travis, I was terrified."

"No way," he says in disbelief. He thought he could read her like a book.

"Yes, really," she says. "I thought to myself, 'I'm about to be headlines'," she says, touching her hand to throat. "I'm glad you were there. If you weren't, I don't know what I would have done."

"Why didn't you tell me you were scared? I could have gotten you out of there."

"You were already on the defensive—thank you for that, by the way—" she briefly touches her hand to his arm "—and I figured that showing fear would have been the opposite of deescalating. So I channeled my fear into enthusiasm and used the opportunity to make a new friend."

"Damn," he says. "You're really something."

She smiles playfully at him. There's the face he knows how to read. She asks, "A good something or a bad something?"

He thinks for a second. "You're something else."

She laughs and pushes at his arm. Instead of managing to move him, she bounces off of him and stumbles. This makes her laugh even more.

She looks at him and catches him smiling a little.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

The following week, initial negotiations—at Ussef Bukhari's home—go smoothly enough that they can continue over the next few weeks. His home is not just a home; it's a mansion, perched on a luxurious and heavily guarded estate. Each time, Bukhari welcomes Evangeline and her party, which consists of various authorities and diplomats who are mostly just there for the handshakes.

On every one of Evangeline's outings, Travis walks by her side or stands behind her as she conducts her meetings. Travis never lets down his guard to potential threats, but as he spends more time with her, he can feel himself letting down his guard in a different way. She talks to the big dogs using words he can't spell, but she treats him as an equal. He's not used to that at all. And when she smiles at him, it makes him feel alive, like he can do anything. Sometimes he forgets that protecting her is his job, because he starts to feel like protecting her is his purpose.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

"General," Travis says as he walks into the office. He stands at attention.

The general walks around his desk and stands right in front of Travis. He looks him dead in the eye and says, "Are you fucking her?"

Travis maintains his neutral expression. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Listen, Cludis. You're a big boy. I don't care what smash and tackle goes on between two sane adults, as long as neither of those adults is Evangeline."

"I would never touch her," Travis says. Did the general really think he would compromise her like that?

"Never is right," the general says.

The general returns to his seat behind the desk.

"I've seen the way you look at her. Give it up. She's about a million leagues out of yours. You're even dumber than you look if you think she'd settle for a grunt like you."

He stifles his anger and simply says, "Yes, sir."

As he leaves the office, the general's words stick to him like barbed wire. They hurt because they're right.

• ⚙ ☸ ❂ ☸ ⚙ •

Evangeline is drying off in the showers.

Her friend Kate walks in.

"All right, fess up," Kate says.

"To what?"

"You're fucking him, aren't you."

"Wha—!" Evangeline huffs indignantly. She stands up from the bench.

"I'm sorry, Miss Manners. 'Screwing' him," she says, miming air quotes.

Evangeline laughs. "I don't know what you're talking about."