He cocked his head to one side and gazed at the machine with admiration. In addition to the wonders it could do to the human brain, it was just so pleasing to look at. The dials and knobs were so prettily placed, and so functional. He had never felt more proud - all his hard work was about to pay off. There was not an scientist, psychologist or engineer in the world, who upon seeing him at work with the machine, could deny his genius. Although he would likely never witness the admiration of his peers, it didn't really matter - he was going to be a very rich man, and he would be highly regarded in an exclusive circle. A deal with the Soviets was all but made and they were going to be eternally, financially grateful to him. In the presence of the unbeatable team of this machine and this man, no secret was safe inside the brain of any human being. Granted, their subject was demonstrating a few unfortunate side effects - but the results were nonetheless spectacular, and of course the Soviets weren't particularly interested in the well being of the subject anyway.

It needed a name, he thought. Something dramatic, descriptive, with just a hint of menace. Perhaps - that name he came up while cooking dinner last week - yes - he would call it The Tenderizer.

---

Jaime went through this every night. She tried not to hang around the phone, but worried if she went out she would miss his call. Then just as she began to wonder if she should go ahead and call and interrupt him in the middle of whatever international crisis he was dealing with - the phone would ring, as it did tonight.

She grabbed the receiver, wishing she didn't feel quite so much like a lovesick teenager.

"Hello?"

"Babe." Oscar's voice was warm, intimate.

"Hi." she sighed, smiling.

"How are you?"

"Better now." she replied. "I miss you. A lot. How long has it been?"

"Four days and...nine hours. I miss you too." he said quietly. "In fact I miss you so much I've come up with an idea - how would you like to come to London with me?"

"London?! With you? Are you kidding?" she exclaimed, her heart leaping.

He sniffed. "Well..."

"What's the catch?" she interrupted.

"What makes you think there's a catch?"

Because you always sniff when there's a catch."

"Is that so?" he replied, sounding annoyed his own transparency, "Yes, there's work involved." he admitted. "Now would you like to hear about it, or do you just want to refuse outright?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I want to hear everything."

"I don't know if you're aware of this," Oscar began, switching into his formal OSI mode, "but we've worked with MI6 since the Second World War - that's the British Secret Intelligence Service, in case you didn't know. We share a certain amount of intelligence and have worked on several projects together, with some success. It's become clear over the last six months that there's a double agent in the organization and that classified information has been leaking to the Soviets. MI6 has set up numerous traps that have so far come up empty. They believe that the mole is our OSI liaison - a guy I sent over fifteen years ago, by the name of Robert Brooks. He's a good man and I'm reluctant to believe he'd sell us out, so I want to go over there and see what's going on for myself. Brooks has no idea he's under suspicion and we'd like to keep it that way, so we're setting up a decoy project to discuss with MI6."

"So where do I fit into this?"

"Well," Oscar said, sniffing again, "Brooks never could resist a tall, cool beauty."

"Are we talking about you or me?"

"Very funny. He has no difficulty resisting me, believe me."

"I see. I get to be bait."

"Well, partly, yes." Oscar said, sounding uncomfortable. "They've got an MI5 man on him right now, a senior agent named Peter Tillicott. He's an acquaintance of Brooks, and has in recent months gotten closer to him, but hasn't uncovered much of anything. "I'm hoping that with your beauty, intelligence, discretion, and horse sense, we just might get somewhere with this thing."

"Gee - resorting to flattery - you must really be worried I'm going to refuse." Jaime wondered for a moment just why it was so much fun to tease him. She simply couldn't resist.

"I mean every word of it." he replied, sounding offended. "Babe, I just want to size the situation up - and I want to make sure MI6 isn't using Bob as a scapegoat. But anyway, it's a very light duty job - hopefully more fun than work."

"Honey," she frowned, "isn't the Secretary going to take exception to you flying me to London because of my looks and my horse sense? Aren't we on thin ice with him already?"

"Well..." Oscar cleared his throat. "I thought that I...would...pay your way."

"Oscar - I can pay my own way!" Jaime protested.

"I know you can, Babe. It's just that I make a lot of money that I never spend, and it would make me happy to spend it on you."

"Hmm." she replied.

"So... is that... a no?" he asked, with apprehension.

"Oh gosh, Oscar, no it's not a 'no'!" she replied earnestly. "I would love to go to London with you."

He sighed with what she took to be relief. "I do have yet another ulterior motive." he added.

"Well, there's a surprise."

"I'm hoping we can show the Secretary that our partnership is an asset rather than a liability."

"Now that's a project I can get behind." Jaime replied warmly.