Rainbird made his next move two weeks later. Nathan Conroy had a passing acquaintance with a member of the President's cabinet, and had wrangled an invitation to a State dinner for himself and his wife. He crowed about it for two weeks prior to the event, until everyone was weary of hearing about it. Thus, Rainbird knew perfectly well that Lauren would most likely be on her own that evening. A quick call to the White House to verify when the dinner would start enabled him to time his next call, to the Conroy home.

Lauren was indeed alone, idly surfing the cable channels, when the phone rang..

"Nathan Conroy, please." A smooth baritone. The kind of voice she liked; it made her think of John Rainbird.

"I'm sorry, he's not available now," she replied, reverting to her prep-school inflections. "May I take a message?"

"Um, is this Lauren?"

"Yes. Who is this, please?"

"Lauren, you may not remember me. We met at the DSI library awhile back. John Rainbird?"

Lauren felt a grin spreading over her face. Her hand reached up and began to smooth her hair. "I remember you. How have you been?"

"Oh, just fine...sorry to bother-oh, wait a minute. Your dad is at a White House dinner, isn't he?"

"That's right. He said they wouldn't be back until late."

"Why didn't you go along?"

"I wasn't invited," she replied, her tone indicating that this didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Well, what are your dinner plans?"

She wondered if she was getting her hopes up. Could this possibly lead to a dinner invitation from John? Tonight? She felt her pulse quicken.

"I hadn't made any. There are leftovers in the fridge, I suppose..."

His next words made her heart sink. "Well, rummage around in there-I'll bet there's a nice piece of steak, or chicken, or hamburger, or something tasty like that..."

She let a cold note creep into her voice. "Yes, actually, we had some steaks for dinner last night and I didn't finish mine."

"Perfect. Do you have a dog?"

"Yes...."

"Well then, prove you're his best friend. Cut that steak into small pieces and treat him to a special dinner. I'll come by in about an hour and take you to a little place I know in Alexandria. If that suits you."

She resisted the impulse to stammer her thanks. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said.

"I'm glad. But do me one favor, please."

"Yes?"

"Don't dress up."

She kept her word and didn't dress up, picturing those casual clothes that looked so right on him. But she did shower, fix her hair and makeup, and try on several different shirts and pairs of jeans until she got the combination right. She was wrestling with a sandals-or-oxfords dilemma when headlights appeared in the driveway. She decided the sandals looked better and hurried to the door. She watched him stroll from the white Cadillac SUV, and again felt a strong surge of attraction. He was pantherlike in his movements.

Oh, she was going to enjoy this evening.

It was actually the first date she'd had in well over a year. Despite the affluence of the school and the community, there weren't that many opportunities. Part of the problem was the parents. All of them were prospecting suitable mates for their heirs, so any time you went out with anyone, you had to go through the smiling interrogation. It got worse when their parents met your parents. Her father never made a good impression; he was quite obviously "nouveau." The only alternative to this structured agenda was "hanging out." And kids in her social strata just didn't do that.

Another part of the problem was Lauren herself. She wasn't outgoing or vivacious enough to feel comfortable in a dating relationship. She was fine with a quiet one-on-one type of thing, but most boys her age weren't. If you were alone with them, they always made the wrong assumption, and things got awkward in a hurry. All in all, the TV made better company.

So she was glad of the opportunity to preen a bit, and welcomed Rainbird as he came into the glow of the floodlight.

"Did you feed the dog?" he asked with an expression of mock urgency.

"He gobbled the steak in fifteen seconds and then tried to eat the dish. He told me to tell you thanks. Would you like to come in?"

Rainbird grew serious. "If you're not ready, I'll just wait here, if you don't mind."

She admired his sense of propriety. Her mother would approve. But she had no intention of mentioning anything about tonight to her mother.

"Never fear, I'm ready," she said, snatching her purse from a chair near the door. "Let's
go."

***

Bristol's was a folksy coffee house in Oldtown, with big, tall booths in secluded corners, candles on the tables, and a succession of inoffensive performers, who sat and strummed old James Taylor or Moody Blues tunes. The menu was eclectic, with fondue as specialty of the house. You could sit for hours on end and talk, or you could avail yourself of a collection of board games.

Lauren couldn't remember a place that made her feel so comfortable. As they followed the hostess to a booth, she was conscious of how John stood out in a crowd...but realized that no one was paying them any mind. An extra bonus.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She wasn't, but didn't want to tell him, for fear he'd catch on to the fact that her stomach was filled with butterflies. "More thirsty than anything," she replied.

"All right if I order us some beers?"

"Sure," she said, so pleased at the adult treatment, it escaped her that she was more than three years under the legal drinking age...and had never even tried beer.

The server came by and John ordered a pitcher of something that sounded German. While they waited for it, he suggested several items on the menu, and her appetite began to creep back. By the time the drinks came, she was more than happy to order the chicken cordon bleu and Caesar salad. John requested spaghetti and meatballs.

He poured her a glass of beer and hoisted his in a toast. "To the end of school, and new beginnings," he said, briefly touching his glass against hers. She acknowledged the tribute with a smile and took a sip. It wasn't bad, and it did quench her thirst. And after she'd had some more, she was pleased to discover that it wasn't making her feel drunk. She'd heard about people with tremendous tolerance for alcohol and wondered if she was discovering something new and interesting about herself.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"It'll taste even better when the food gets here."

A moment or two went by, and Lauren found herself at a loss for words. John noticed and effortlessly took charge of the conversation.

"How do you feel about leaving high school?"

She realized she hadn't much thought about, being so caught up with SATs and applications. Was there anything to miss about it? Could the future be any more boring and mindless?

"Well, I wouldn't say I've gotten terribly attached to it."

"Why is that?"

She sighed. "It's hard to explain. I guess I don't fit in here. People are very materialistic. I've seen the way some people treat my dad, and it annoys me that people judge you on the basis of what kind of car you drive or who your ancestors were."

"I would say your dad keeps up rather well with the community standard. He plays a decent game of golf."

She offered a bitter sort of smile. "Yes. He took lessons! He thinks that will get him accepted. It kills him that people look down on him because he's Government. And the fact that my mom works. Most of my classmates' mothers don't. Half of them hang out at the school! They wander the halls in their tennis clothes-you'd think they had terminal nostalgia. It's pretty ridiculous."

He measured his words. "So, your father feels inadequate and keeps trying to compensate for that. What about your mother? Do you think she resents working, or does she have a career she cares about?"

"She wavers back and forth. It's incredible. Every other week, she makes fun of the stay-at-home moms, and then she turns around and gives my dad hell because of the work he does. They're-" she stopped, not wanting to air a load of dirty laundry.

"Would it help if I told you that most married couples have conflicts? The super-successful people on your block probably get ulcers over issues that wouldn't sound too unfamiliar. Half these people are very heavily in debt because they're borrowing on credit to keep up the lifestyle. It gets strenuous."

"I know," she answered quietly. "One of my classmates-his father committed suicide after he was audited by the IRS."

"Why do you think your mother disapproves of the work your father does? And don't worry, this conversation won't leave this table." Rainbird meant what he said-although there were a million ways to extrapolate any juicy tidbits and work them into his report on Conroy. He didn't think Lauren would tell him anything new anyway. His objective was to gain her confidence.

"I'm not sure. She doesn't talk about it. But-well, I get the impression that if my mom and dad were the only two voters, their votes would cancel each other out."

Rainbird smiled. The girl was clever. "I get it. They're on different sides of the ideological fence."

She brightened. "Hey-let me show you something neat. I'll be right back." She slid from the booth and helped herself to an orange from a decorative fruit display. When she returned, she seized her knife and carefully peeled the orange until she had a narrow strip. She reached into her purse and took out a pen. Rainbird watched, fascinated by the enthusiasm and concentration she showed, as she marked one end and then the other in small printed letters.

"Okay," she said, holding up the strip of orange peel. "Watch this. Over here on the left I've written Communism/Liberal/Left Wing. Got it? And now, over here on the right, Fascism/Conservative/Right Wing. Total opposite ends of the spectrum, right? Now watch." She took the strip she'd peeled and placed it back on the orange so that it wrapped around again.

"Check it out now," she said. Rainbird saw that the two political "extremes" were now next-door neighbors on the orange. "The only way you can stay away from these two extremes is to take a moderate political stance," she said.

"Your Social Studies teacher?" he asked.

"Yes and no. He's from Georgetown, teaching this semester. It's for college credit. But he makes it really interesting, and it helps me to understand my parents a little more."

"Thinking of taking a Political Science major?" he asked.

"No way! I just like learning these ideas. This made more sense to me than anything I'd learned in years. And I'll teach it to my children."

"You taught me," said Rainbird. "I'd never seen that before, but it does make sense."

She smiled, glad to have won him over, and happily sectioned the orange and shared it with him. He smiled back, but mentally, he was busy taking notes. Something Lauren had said-something he'd very likely be able to use in his report to Cap.

***

Two hours later, as they pulled up in front of the Conroy home, Lauren scrutinized the windows, hoping her parents hadn't arrived back early. She was satisfied that she'd beaten them back, though John had assured her that White House dinners weren't known to be hasty affairs.

"Would you like to come in?" she invited him, even though she knew all hell would break loose if their parents walked in and found him there.

"Another time, okay?" he countered, mentally promising to return to the house very soon...when Lauren wasn't home.

"Okay." She drew a long, happy breath. "Isn't beer supposed to give you a buzz? I drank half that pitcher and never felt a thing. Maybe it was the food. It was great."

"Only beer with alcohol will give you a buzz. That was alcohol-free."

"Oh, really?"

"You're three years from street-legal, my dear. And your father is licensed to carry a weapon."

She laughed and shook her head. "I don't know how my dad is at work, but at home he's totally harmless."

He escorted her to the door. "Thanks for a fun evening," he said.

"Yes. I hope we can do it again soon." There was a mildly awkward pause; she was clearly waiting for him to say or do something.

He opted for an innocuous squeeze of her hand, accompanied by deep, meaningful eye contact. "I'll be around," he said. Then he waited, smiling, until she had gone inside.

***

Rainbird was relieved to be alone with his thoughts. By nature, he was hardly the chatty type, and he was out of practice with small talk. But he did enjoy Lauren's company. She was like him in many ways-an introvert, for whom socializing was optional. He thought they might forge a workable bond before much longer.

But there was groundwork to be laid. He sped back to The Shop, again mostly deserted on a Friday night. Back to the library, where this time he was able to light up in peace. For Lauren's sake, he thought he might give up cigarettes entirely. He wasn't the addictive type. But there was time before he'd have to make that change.

The Shop shared a good bit of its databases with the National Security Agency, the State Department, and the CIA, so within 30 minutes, Rainbird had collected reams of information that confirmed his earlier suspicion. It was a mother lode of data, and it made him smirk to know how much the Justice Department would give...just to know they had it.

When he had what he wanted, he called Cap at home. It was late, but Cap was a notorious insomniac. The only place he ever slept well was church, which accounted for his regular Sunday attendance.

"We need to meet," said Rainbird. "My final report on Project Half Empty is ready."