Vixen 03 Part 37

"I know."

"We parted company only last month in Africa," Felicia said as if Loren had not spoken. "I wonder if my life has been one big downer, chasing after every liberal cause that pops on stage, taking up with any stud who promises to save the human race."

Loren motioned to the waiter to bring them two more drinks. "You can't blame yourself for believing in people."

"I haven't got a h.e.l.l of a lot to show for it. Every crusade I've ever joined, I screwed up."

"I don't mean to pry, but did you and Lusana have personal differences, or was it political?"

"Strictly personal," Felicia said. She felt her chest tighten as Loren circled the bait. "I no longer mattered to him. His only love was his fight. I think at first, deep inside him, there was a feeling for me, but as the struggle expanded and his pressures grew, he became distant. I know now that he had taken all he ever wanted from me. It was as though I was as expendable as one of his soldiers on the battlefield."

Loren saw the tears start to come to Felicia's eyes. "How you must hate him."

Felicia looked up, surprised. "Hate Hiram? Oh no, you don't understand. I was unfair with him. I let my own desires stand between us. I should have been patient. Perhaps when his war to give majority rule to blacks in South Africa is won, he will look upon me differently."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. I know his history. Lusana uses people like the rest of us use toothpaste. He squeezes every dab and throws away the empties."

An angered frown crossed Felicia's face. "You only see in Hiram what you want to see. The good outweighs the bad."

Loren sighed and leaned back as the waiter brought their second round. "It's wrong for old friends to argue after being so long apart," she said softly. "Let's change the subject."

"I agree," Felicia said, her mood changing. "What about you, Loren? Are there any men in your life?" . "Two, at the moment."

Felicia laughed. "It's common Washington gossip: one is Phil Sawyer, the President's press secretary. Who's the other?"

"He's a director at NUMA. His name is Dirk Pitt."

"You serious about either one of them?"

"Phil is the sort you marry: loyal, true blue, sets you on a gilded

pedestal and wants you to be the mother of his children."

Felicia made a face. "He sounds perfectly mundane. What about this Pitt?"

"Dirk? Sheer animal power. He makes no demands; he comes and goes like an alley cat. Dirk can never be truly owned by a woman, and yet he's always there when you need him. The lover who turns you on but won't stand still long enough for you to grow old with."

"He sounds more my type. Send him my way when the affair crashes." Felicia sipped at her drink. "It must be tricky, maintaining your political purity in front of the voters while seeing a lover on the side."

Loren's cheeks turned crimson. "It is difficult," sRe admitted. "I never was very good at intrigue."

"You could say to h.e.l.l with what people think. Most women do these days."

"Most women are not members of Congress."

"The old double standard again. Congressmen can get away with anything as long as it doesn't show up on their expense account."

"Sad, but true," said Loren. "And in my case, I represent a district that is heavily rural. The voters still believe in the Sears catalogue, Coors' beer, and the Eleven Commandments."

"What's the eleventh?"

"Ttiy Congresswoman shalt not screw around if she expects to win the next election."

"Where do you and Pitt meet?"

"I can't take the chance of a male's being seen leaving my apartment along with the milkman, so we meet at his place or drive to some little out-of-the-way country inn."

"You make it sound like a bus-stop romance."

"As I said, it's difficult."

"I think I can eliminate all the bulls.h.i.t for you."

Loren looked at Felicia quizzically. "How?"

Felicia fished in her purse and came up with a key. She pressed it into Loren's hand. "Here, take this. The address is taped to the top."

"What is it for?"

"A pad I leased over in Arlington. It's yours anytime you get h.o.r.n.y."

"But what about you? I can't expect you to get lost on a moment's notice."

"You won't be imposing," Felicia said, smiling. "I'm the houseguest of a dude across town. No more protests. Okay?"

Loren studied the key. "G.o.d, I feel like a hooker."

Felicia reached over and folded Loren's hand over the key. "If just

thinking about it gives you a deliciously obscene feeling, wait until you

take a shot of the upstairs bedroom."

"What do you make of it?" asked Daggat. He was seated at his desk. Hiram Lusana stood across the room and leaned over a high-backed chair, his expression anxious.

Dale Jarvis, director of the National Security Agency, pondered a few moments before answering. He looked up with a friendly, almost fatherly face. His brown hair was streaked with gray and he wore it in a crew cut. He was dressed in a tweed suit and the large red bow tie beneath his Adam's apple drooped as though it were melting.

"My guess is that this Operation Wild Rose is a game."

"A game!" Lusana rasped. "That's c.r.a.p!"

"Not really," Jarvis said calmly. "Every nation with a sophisticated military establishment has a department whose function is solely to dream up what is generally referred to in the trade as 'feasibility games.' Improbable schemes, ultra crepidam, beyond the depth or grasp of likelihood. Strategic and tactical studies invented to combat unforeseen events. Then shelved against the unlikely day they are dusted off and put into action."

"And that's your opinion of Wild Rose?" Lusana asked with a certain acidity.

"Without knowing all the details, yes," answered Jarvis. "I daresay the South African Defence Ministry has contingency plans for phony insurgent raids on half the nations of the globe."

"Do you really believe that?"