Natalia’s Game

In a peaceful frame of mind, the woman whispered just one word: “Chanel.” Did she just say her name?

I’d become hungry and thirsty and had the beginnings of a cramp in my calf. Something tried to pull me to the door. What’s happening? Suddenly, the woman in bed paused, snifef d, and scanned the room.

She stared in my direction and spoke gently in Romanian. “Natalia, you have stayed too long. For you, time in the future moves faster than in the present. At the five-hour mark, your body, wherever it is, will run out of nourishment, and you could perish. Tell no one of this day, lest you risk your future. Trust Thomas and protect him like a lioness would defend her cub. Defeat his enemies, or they will defeat you.”

She couldn’t see me. How did she know my name or even if I was there unless it was a memory? I wondered, Is that me five to seven years into the future? Is that baby mine? And who is Thomas?

My body felt weak, which made no sense because I wasn’t in my body. Intuitively, I knew my time was up. A grayish cord pulled me to the onyx square. Was this the silver cord? The moment I stepped onto the square, the tunnel instantly disappeared upwards. The cord pulled me forcefully to my inert body in the medical clinic.

“Natalia, Natalia, are you ok?” I open my eyes to Florin Oltean.

“I’m fine,” I said, sitting up and stretching as if nothing had happened. “Are we done for today?” Was it a dream? In case it wasn’t, I’m not sharing what I saw. The parapsychologist stopped crying and hugged me. I felt myself stifef n; I don’t like being hugged, let alone by someone with whom I don’t have an emotional connection. Thank God, she released me after an excruciatingly long few seconds. “Natalia, you were unconscious for almost five hours. Your heart rate fell below thirty, and your blood oxygen is dangerously low.” The beautiful woman in the bed warned me of this. Or did I warn me? The parapsychologist again checked my indicators, which were again normal.

Oltean shook his head in amazement. “What did you see?

I knew the SRI doesn’t want someone who can predict cards. They want a covert agent who can predict the future on the killing field. That being the case, I’m not going to take psychedelic drugs to help them. The experiment is over.

Filled with joy and more than a tinge of sadness, I answered Oltean, “I’m sorry, I became lost in a state of nothingness.”

Returning to work in Bucharest, I could think of nothing else. Who was the woman? Will Chanel be my daughter? Who is Thomas? My mind went haywire, and I started to doubt myself. After all, an assassin can’t have a family.

My phone rang a few weeks later, and I was “invited” back to the school to entertain a VIP American visitor, General Crew Thomas. I didn’t have to be told about this man; Crew Thomas is a legendary American spy. When I heard his name, I jumped at the chance.

Only then did it strike me, and on a magnitude approaching that of an earthquake: Could this be the “Thomas” mentioned in my OBE by the beautiful woman in the hospital bed?

A Summer Dusk

The school’s campus is old-fashioned “Soviet.” There are roughly twenty private cottages, with ample spacing, within a wooded area surrounded by a tall spiked fence; a comfortable dining facility, classrooms, and labs sprawl across a ten-acre medical complex. No outsiders welcome – or allowed. Perhaps because of my test scores, I have a cottage close enough to the sea to hear waves lapping. And, I’m given special privileges to move around. The parcel of fenced-in land which contains the school has defined boundaries, and guests need approval to leave. On-property mingling is discouraged but allowed, as some classes require multiple students, and the dining hall is open 24/7. There is little to do, no televisions in the rooms, and no cell towers close to the property.

My orders this week are to gain the trust of the American general, who I suspect may one day father my daughter. At least predicted so by the beautiful woman in my dream, who might have been me in a hospital bed five years from now. That’s a lot for a simple girl to digest. Good thing I’m not a simple girl.

Sun Down

As I sit on my porch, the sun disappears below the treetops. Stars spring forth as the few lights on the ground aren’t strong enough to dim them. I find it peaceful. No one in Bucharest can reach me. I feel a lightness of being and the joy of doing something for my country and maybe something for me. It’s time to get ready for my guest.

After I first met Thomas this morning, I invited him to my cottage for a drink or a walk after dinner. Staff members whispered when they learned that an American was on-premises. Wasn’t it only a couple of decades ago that we were trying to kill Americans? Now, one right here in the compound? That man is about to arrive at my cottage. I glance at my attire in the mirror. Is it too little? A knock at the door. My head snaps. Straightening my shoulders, I invite him in. Thomas finds me in a black slip, standing next to my bedroom door. Might as well capture his attention. As he enters, I snap his photo with my cell phone, then pull on a thin, long, black dress and zip it up the front. “Whoa there, Princess. I thought cell phones and photos were a no-go on your campus.” He doesn’t even mention the slip.

“You’re right, General. We don’t want to aid facial recognition software, do we.” I put away my phone without deleting the photo. No cell towers within miles of the school, and satellite coverage is sketchy. He knows I can’t send it. He’ll probably see how the night goes.

It’s Never Too Soon

This woman is something else. The outfit, the curves, and the way she stands there unabashed take my breath away. I ask myself: Have I ever met an American girl who introduced herself as smoothly as she did? The answer is no, of course, which leads me to wonder what else she may be capable of pulling off. Of more importance, she is the one – the “10” from five years ago in the Epoque Hotel. I can’t get that out of my head.

* * *

I let my eyes roam Thomas. Tall, lean, dark hair mixed with gray, reasonably attractive, but much older. He’s got khakis, no belt, a golf shirt, no socks, and Prada walkers. So American. I notice his black onyx ring with a diamond in the middle. Black onyx! Can it be? It’s him.

My intuition is that Thomas is a loner. Being a loner is a necessary condition to excel and survive in our line of work. When we spoke, he seemed confident but shy. He’s pleasantly unlike the unsophisticated men I’ve dealt with in Romania, Eastern Europe, or even Moscow.

Sitting on my couch, he leans in and says, “I’m not clever enough or young enough to engineer a pick-up line for someone half my age. You’re more than a translator. How about telling me why you’re here, Natalia.”

I sit, “Okay, if you are willing to reciprocate and tell me why you’re here. I’m an ofifcer, and you are a general. That deal favors me.” The game is on.

He chuckles. “With your beauty and negotiating skills, you might become a general. We have a deal. But how will you know if I’m telling you the truth?”

“Easy. Tell a lie to me, and that old body of yours will give you away.”

He laughs, “Keep up with the humor, and I’ll tell you just about anything.”

“Liar.”

“What exactly do you do for the SRI?”

“Nothing like getting to the meat of things quickly, General.” Being semi-serious, I say, “Is that how you are with women?”

“That’s how I am with everyone. But the answer to your question is yes.”

“Fair enough. My day job at the SRI is cleaning up problems. Two months ago, I was here undergoing the quantum physics aptitude tests. They told me I’m a lucid dreamer with paranormal potential. I had to tell the dummies that lucid dreaming is proven science and backed by the laws of physics. All that paranormal stuff is a waste of time.”

“There are many lucid dreamers.”

“Yes, but not with the rest of the package.” I am being sincere.

“Natalia, tell me about your dreams.”

Should I be honest with him? Maybe. After all, he is Thomas, the man of my dreams. I cross my arms, acting stubborn for no reason. “I can perform cognitive functions during my dreams.”

“And?” he says. His tone suggests he knows more than he is letting on. “What kinds of cognitive functions”’ I hold his eye contact, blinking slowly and buying myself time.

“Mathematical functions,” I say. “Sometimes more.”

He inches towards me, his eyes piercing. “What else?”

I do not break. The air between us grows hot. I break. “Decisions. Sometimes they change the course of my dream. I can have conversations with others inside a dream. The staff here seem to find that significant.” He nods, satisfied. I’m flustered but keep a straight face.

“Good enough,” he says, “but that makes you one-in-a-thousand, not a one-in-a-million. I won’t comment on your looks. Adding that to the equation might put you closer to one in a million.”

With a straight face, I admit, “Flattery will get you everywhere. Tell me, in your country, doesn’t such a statement set you up for a sexual harassment claim? I noticed how you looked at me today. Thank you, by the way.”

“Natalia, we aren’t sitting on a couch in my country. we are next to your bedroom in Romania. And did I?”

He is testing me. Flirting. I am not used to this, but I play along.

“Notice me? Yes, I think you did.”

He says, “Hmm. Might that be because I appreciated your English skills, your elevated IQ, or that body? Or might it have been because you couldn’t take your eyes off me? I suggest we talk about it now.”

“General, why… now?”

“Because there is no time like the present. It’s not every day a woman I don’t know introduces herself beautifully half-dressed. I liked it.”

“My choices were limited. I didn’t bring a lot of clothes with me,” I say, trying to maintain a straight face. For me, Thomas is refreshingly not Romanian PC.

I continue, “Since you seem to have a special ability to make me comfortable, I’ll tell you more about my dreams.”

“Okay.”

“I can see events in the future.”

He’s in. Thomas stares at me. “That would make you one in a million. How often do you have a predictive dream, Natalia?”

“I told the staff that it’s happened a few times. But, in truth, it happens often. My last one was thrilling and scary. I’m not talking about it, especially to you.”

He doesn’t give up. “What kind of future events can you see?”

I’m not mentioning Chanel, that’s for sure.

“It depends. When I’m relaxed during the day,I see pleasant things in the future at night. When stressed during the day, I’ll dream about whatever problem I created or cleaned up. That can become a bad dream or even a nightmare. In my job, I deal with situations involving violence. Enough about me, General. The SRI could terminate me for sharing that information. By the way, I debugged my cottage the moment I arrived. I always do. They think I’m special, and they allow it. Your turn.”

“I can hear the waves. I suggest we take a walk on the beach, and we can talk more there.”

Fraternizing with Americans is risky, and the beach is outside the perimeter, making it a forbidden zone. Yet I know I can learn much from this man if we spend time alone. “Please give me a minute.” I disappear into my bedroom.

I return wearing a blue bikini and nothing else.

* * *

She doesn’t have a tan line – what an incredible physique. Brushing my arm with hers, she goes outside. Is she always this impulsive? One of my rules in life is: It’s never too soon. So out I go, knowing that “too soon” tonight could get me in trouble.

On the beach, a few minutes later, she is a natural. She’d be a star on 5th Avenue or the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Natalia doesn’t waste time in the sand. Instead, she splashes her way through the shallow water. Not a ditsy move. She has a purpose.

“Hurry up, old man. Violating the perimeter will trigger laser sensors; they don’t extend into the water.” She’s something else. I take off my pants and shoes, hide them nearby, jump in, and swim with her a quarter-mile around the boundary. A quarter-mile in the water for me is a challenge. I suck it up.

Out of breath and back on the beach, she squeezes the water from her hair. “Are you okay?” She takes my arm, and we walk. American girls typically don’t take a man’s arm. Neither do the Asians. The Europeans do, and so do the Russians. I like the feeling; it allows me to relax. The bikini doesn’t hide much, and I know that pressing against me makes it easier for her to determine my heart rate. Natalia is a pro, a stunning pro.

“So why did you come here, General Thomas?”

“I came for two reasons. First, to attend the SRI Board meeting tomorrow and provide my perspectives on the state of the World Order. I guess they are looking for outside opinions to validate their plan.”

“And the second reason?”

That’s controversial. To be discussed later, when the only thing coming between us isn’t a bikini and water droplets clinging to her skin.

“If you don’t mind, Natalia, I’ll come to that later.” She gives me a half-nod, perhaps surprised, but also perhaps not.

She surprises me with her next question: “Are you married, General Thomas?”

I blink. “No, I’m not. And please call me Crew.”

“Why not? I’m sure many women have been interested in you, Crew.” She struggles a little to use my first name.

“I learned hard not to put someone I love in harm’s way. Marriage has never been an option. I can’t prioritize a woman before the national interest.”

Natalia isn’t put off. “How many times have you been in love?”

I admit the truth: “Twice.”

“That’s not many. What happened to the two girls?”

“They are dead. Both got in harm’s way.”

She stares wide-eyed at me, not expecting such an honest answer. I say, “What about you?” Like two dead women aren’t a big deal.

“What about me?”

“How many times have you been in love, Natalia? I’m sure many men have wanted you.”

“Never.” I take her hand as we walk. She lets me, brushing her thumb over mine to show her acceptance. We keep bumping shoulders.

“It’s rare, almost unique, that an intelligence operative rises to the level of general. Please tell me, how did you do it?”

I’ve never been asked this question. “I guess I never cared about the title of general. The bravest warriors were not generals. Neither were the greatest scientists, men like Einstein, Tesla, Hawking, and Andre Linde. ” She shows me a quizzical look.

“I made discoveries consistent with quantum physics and applied them. No one else could do that, so I moved up.”

My voice is clear, and my tone shows no stress. She notices.

“I see. What kind of things? I know I’m pushing the limits of our deal.”

“Yes, you are. But I’ll tell you anyway. I organized a military unit pursuing sound-and-light-wave mastery merged with energy generation. Over time, we figured out a technique to manifest, project, switch, and teleport. It’s the last frontier of covert intelligence.”

* * *

What? I’m speechless and puzzled. I can’t figure out why he is telling me this. We continue making our way through the sand.

He breaks the silence. “Tell me something special about you.”

“Like what?”

Well, let’s start with the basics, “Why did you join the SRI?”

“Do you want the true story? I should warn you that it’s not exciting.”

“Yes, please.”

“I thought long and hard about studying physics and applied to study at MIT in your country. They turned me down. It was more practical to stay close to home, so I worked my way through a Ph.D. in quantum physics in Bucharest. I understand everything you are telling me about the theories of projection and teleporting. Hearing from you that theory could be real is like catching lightning.”

She pauses for a moment, sighs, and continues, “I couldn’t afford to attend university and four years of grad school without the support of the SRI. I owe them a debt of gratitude.”

* * *

This is new news. The CIA was aware of an agent codenamed the “Queen,” but we weren’t knowledgeable of Natalia Net. The SRI had purged her records. A mole in Romania leaked her existence.

She wasn’t done. “To build strength and confidence in dealing with men, I practiced jiu-jitsu and earned a black belt. Later, the SRI trained me as a long-range sniper.

“My job description is fixing national security problems. They call me ‘the cleaner’ because I clean up their problems.”

I gauged her stress level as she speaks. She exhibits no stress. I ask her, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Ummm, yes.”

“More than one?”

“More than twenty.”

I’m holding the hand of a hit woman.

She casts her eyes toward me. “Do you still want to hold my hand?”

“Yes, if for no other reason than to keep you from pulling a knife or a pistol.” She laughs and lets go of my hand, diving into the water. I follow her in, grab her waist, and spin her around. I try to say something.

“Shhh,” she puts her index finger to my salty lips and then grazes them with hers. I kiss the corner of her parted lips as a cluster of stars palely glows above us. I have already decided I like this girl.

“Pure honesty is my way,” she says. “Do we still have a deal?”

Intertwined waist-deep in the water, I say, “It’s hard to believe you’ve never been in love.”

“Most men are dull. Some are egomaniacs. I like killing that type. Some lack moral fiber. Few of them are clean.”

She gazes over the lapping water, chin up, with blank eyes and a smirk. That look suggests that I can’t change her mind. I like that. She continues, “I remember my dad’s advice when I was little: ‘Natalia, all men are pigs. So the only question is, which pig will you marry?’ That moment made my transition easier. It gave me a subtle understanding of what I would deal with later – a lesson most girls never get. Men are weak. None good enough – at least so far.”

She holds onto me as the waves push us back and forth.

* * *

His accent, honesty, and how he looks at me – while listening – make him different. Thomas emphasizes important points by lowering his voice. This technique works; it makes me listen. He is subtly managing me. I know it, and I like it.

We navigate the stones below our feet, back to the sand, and continue our stroll. Is this guy real? His pulse reveals that he is telling the truth. He rarely blinks when answering a question and looks me straight in the eye, though not overtly. I notice he avoids speaking of himself unless asked a direct question. Good one. He returns my question with a question that scores answers. Tricky. He focuses on discerning my tone. Good one. He has a beautiful mind. That is attractive.

We make it another mile on the desolate sand to where the beach ends with a small cavern surrounded on each side by tall, smooth rocks – a cave designed by nature. I step inside and experience the feeling of wonder. The walls are approximately nine feet high and four feet wide at the entrance. An opening at the top allows the moonlight to glisten down moist walls. The ceiling angles lower toward the rear of what I now consider to be my place.

“This reminds me of a cathedral next to the sea,” says Thomas as we enter. “I suggest we stay here.”

We are alone in the violet shadow of these rocks, and I am comfortable.

Cathedral by the Sea

I lie on the sand, with a full moon filling the open area above. Full moons sometimes make me crazy. The light illuminates my curves. I am aware of his scent, which is sweet. There isn’t much more of my body for him to imagine. But what he can’t see, he probably wants to see.

Perhaps I should have worn more. Too late.

At this moment, I think of my dad.

“An American, Natalia?” he would no doubt say. “Do you not remember what I warned you off? Trust no one – only yourself.”

I look at Crew sideways. Will I ever be able to trust this pig? My occupation demands that I not, because things could get crazy. In an instant, my mind switches, and thoughts come faster and more robust than the lapping waves. What should I allow General Crew Thomas to do to me tonight?

Out of my mouth flies the words, “For the rest of the night, I want you as close as you can be without touching me. Can you accept this?” OMG, why did I say that?! Unfazed, Thomas says yes, and more quickly than I expected. Oh no, he’s winning!

* * *

Perhaps with another woman, I might have tested her will. Instead, I lie next to Natalia, staying within an inch – toes, hips, breasts, lips, all without a touch. “Good enough?”

“You are good.” Game on. I am not about to touch Natalia again. She rolls over onto her back, staring at the moon, arms stretched above her head, thighs and knees together, casually resting in the other direction. I try to ignore temptation.

“Have you ever had an out-of-body experience?” I ask her.

What? “Perhaps. What about you, Crew?”

“Yes, I’ve experienced O.B.E.” We watch together as a comet lights the sky above us and changes the conversation. Natalia is tired of talking, and she hasn’t pledged anything. She climbs on me and presses my shoulder blades to the ground, legs straddling my waist, her eyes intense. The top of her bikini falls to the sand – feelings as ancient as prehistoric people experienced flood my body.

* * *

His mind can’t overrule this; his pledge is history.

* * *

Waves rhythmically land a few feet outside the walls. Natalia scrapes the deepest and darkest of my needs. But I must learn more.

“There is a rumor at Langley that the Romanians have a beautiful agent code-named ‘Queen,’ one with lucid dreaming capabilities. Is that you?”

“Glad to hear that I’m being called beautiful. You did your homework. We have a mole. Yes, that is me. What are you going to do about it?”

Natalia stretches out and lays her breasts on my chest. She is about my height, so it is a comfortable fit. She kisses me again. I wonder why she is attracted to someone much older. The answer must be complex. Her life has been a daily cauldron of pressure with life-and-death consequences. She has nightmares and longs for a man she can trust – someone who can make decisions so she doesn’t have to.

* * *

I need a man who will treasure me, despite my imperfections. He attracts me in every way.

I’d read about Anna Grigorievna Snitkina, the wife of Russia’s famous author and philosopher, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and admired her. When Dostoevsky was forty-four, he fell in love with Anna, and they began living together. Anna was nineteen. Dostoevsky carried heavy burdens from his life – prison, hard labor, exile, gambling debts, and the pain of epileptic seizures. With depth and strength of character, Anna turned his life around. She committed herself to his legacy after his death at age sixty. It’s not like I’m a Lolita, but the age of Crew Thomas does matter to me. It makes him more interesting.

“Natalia, you asked me not to touch you. I’m trying my hardest here.”

“You’re trying too hard. I have another three questions for you since all you are doing is feeling my half-naked body. Answer them, and it will be a fully naked body.”

Crew rolls me onto my back and straddles me the same way I had him. The contact point is electric. He says, “What are your questions? You’re the one who took off your top. Not me.”

“Crew, which abilities do you have?”

“Pretty much all of them.”

“That’s impossible. Precisely which ones do you have?”

“I can manifest, astral project, switch, and teleport in the here and now, but not into the future – without a lucid dreaming partner.

“Impossible.”

“It is possible. I’ve done it many times.”

“Let’s say, for the moment, I believe you. Can anyone else in the world do what you are suggesting?”

“Yes, there are two others, but they aren’t as good as me.”