FIFTEEN

Dalton was right about the Double Dutch Bus. Soft, fluffy chocolate ice cream with a generous chocolate ribbon. It tasted like a Kinder Egg with another, melted Kinder Egg mixed in. And no nuts. Nuts in ice cream were an abomination. As far as Alison was concerned, there would be no crunchy in her smooth, end of story. Paige had Rocky Road. Paige was a maniac.

They walked in silence, Alison enjoying her ice cream, Paige enjoying her ice cream with nuts. The op wasn’t over yet, but the evening had thus far provided a cavalcade of delightful shenanigans to reflect on. Truly a spectacular evening for all, but not everyone could enjoy it quite like Alison. For not everyone knew what Alison knew.

For example, not everyone knew that the Chariot assets from the Psychology Department relied on a SONAR system to monitor their Raja. Rockefeller had plenty of cameras, but they belonged to the university proper. It was actually a very difficult task to install security equipment in such a high profile space. For this reason, they kept it behind a hand dryer in the men’s restroom, which shared a wall with Altman. This particular restroom also had a well-stocked paper towel dispenser, so there was no reason to touch, question, or notice a hollowed-out hand dryer. And no one did, until the day that a quiet, unassuming student employee with a clipboard gave the controls a shot. He hadn’t been in a hurry that day anyway. During the gala, Teddy was able to make quick work of the device– not disabling it, but rather re-configuring it to a sensor that was far less likely to be disrupted. The salmon-tainted microwave in the Green Room at Leeds. A large strip of masking tape adorned that cursed microwave with a warning to those who would dare open it. It read “Peters cooks his nasty fish sandwiches in this microwave. You’ve been warned.”

Another fact of the night’s proceedings that not everyone knew was that The Lord Chamberlain’s very own Brian Ward had three and a half years’ experience in Marching Band, and took up the mantle again this very evening. His instrument: the concert cymbals. It was he who transported the Raja to its first hand-off in the central floor. It was he who rose to the center of attention atop the human pyramid. And he never took his hands off his cymbals. Instead, he escorted the Raja around in plain sight, displayed prominently in the bowl of his urinal costume, but with a small alteration: a little disguise. This was both a matter of professionalism as a musician and a test of Alison’s theory that there are certain objects that polite society likes to pretend simply do not exist.

One such object is the humble tampon. When a properly socialized eye makes contact with a tampon in public space, it averts itself with great urgency. So offensive is this item to our delicate sensibilities that we are compelled to look away. We are embarrassed at the very idea that another member of the privileged classes saw us even witnessing it. Look away, Lady Abernathy, for within that cotton is an implement of Mephistopheles! No, we mustn’t see that instrument of evil. That wicked witch’s wand. So we make it invisible. We look away, and refocus our eyes to the beyond, like it was an ex at the grocery store, or our friend’s weird dad. And so, when Brian Ward promenaded the prime objective through the gala, it was out in the open, albeit dressed in the sinister plastic that only tampons wear.

The Raja was then scooped up by none other than Paige Hall, who kept it in her clutch for safe keeping until the second hand-off. This was of course, in plain sight as well, neatly tucked into Alison’s awaiting armpit. When she moved the objective to the water closet, it was to disable its GPS device with the electromagnetic pulse emitter that she had pinned in her hair. The one that had been disguised as a black rose. When she heard the telltale click of the GPS sputtering out of commission, she stashed the Raja in the hand dryer for Paige to snag on the way out. This particular dryer was in perfect working order, and she didn’t really mind if the king had one last trip to the salon for a blowout before reaching his final destination.

There was one item of intelligence from this evening’s affairs that Alison did not know, and it panged at the corner of her mind. Who was the study bug in the cubes? She glanced at her phone for signs of communication from her gentleman’s gentleman. Blank. Except– in the reflection of the black screen, deep in the background, beyond the low shrubbery of College Street which they left behind over a block ago, she thought she saw something jiggly. And red.

“Jellybean!” shouted Alison as she took a hard left and moved into a run. It was their special codeword, just for the two of them, and it meant it was time to move on to Plan B. Paige, shocked by the suddenness and volume, launched her ice cream over her shoulder with a tremendous “EEK!” It’s always sad to lose a good cup of ice cream in battle. At least it was only Rocky Road. In case the reader is wondering, Alison had completed her Double Dutch Bus five minutes prior, as her ice cream journey was unimpeded by nuts.

After the minor fumble, Paige sprang into action, taking off to Alison’s immediate right, but not before making a tremendous lateral pass of her handbag to her dear friend. Alison caught it deftly and they split up, sprinting opposite directions into the night.

Alison opened her gait into a full sprint, vaulting over a bench as she rounded the corner of Prospect and headed towards Watson Hall, where she could safely deposit the objective. She was faster than Baker and she knew it. Still, she didn’t notice any of the telltale signs of being followed. She must have completely shaken him. Or worse: he wasn’t after her at all. As she started to slow her pace to reconsider her position, Dalton buzzed into her coms.

“Sir. I’ve managed to identify the asset studying in the stacks. It would appear to be one Nicholas Rodgers.”

Rodgers. Where had she heard that name before? Wait– is that? Duffel coat! That fink double crossed her!

“Okay, Alison, think!” she said to herself as she sputtered to a stop. If Baker and Duffel are both in pursuit and I’ve shaken them, then– I’m not the target. “Paige is!”

She snapped into a sprint, doubling back to Leeds, where she knew Paige was headed. It wasn’t even a question. Yes, she could complete the op, opening a pathway for a Footman victory. But only if she left Paige to the sharks. There was no point. No point in winning without her friend. What good is an expensive bottle of champagne or a carne asada burrito from Nico’s if you don’t have someone to enjoy it with? Better to celebrate a loss with your best friend than a win without her. As her feet pounded and her heart raced, she knew she had made the right choice. She was going back.

As she closed in on the gardens outside of the theatre, she could see Baker standing in the lamplight, arms folded, looking on at two kneeling figures in the shadows beneath an arch of primrose.

“Miss Ashe, kind of you to join us,” he said without moving as she approached.

“Jesus, Reed. Why do you have to talk like a movie villain?” she huffed as her flat feet slapped to a halt. As her eyes adjusted, she could now see Paige kneeling heavily on one knee. Nick Rodgers stood above her, twisting her arm behind her back in a wrist lock.

“You’re hurting me!” Paige cried, clearly in pain from the hold. Alison could now see a tear in the knee of her leggings and a streak of road rash where she had slid, or been slid, into this position. As Rodgers held her wrist firm, he put downward pressure on her, forcing her torn knee further into the concrete. Alison’s eyes darted quickly towards Paige’s pin. Still intact. That was something.

“She’s lying!” shouted Rodgers. “If I let up, she’ll do some kind of twisty gymnast thing and kill me.”

Paige’s face contorted in pain. Her eyes were welling up as she pleaded. “I won’t! Just let up a little! You’re– hurting– me!”

Reed turned his gaze toward Alison. “Maybe you should help your friend.” Alison took a step towards the melee, but Reed put up a finger to stop her. “No, not like that,” he said, calmly. “The Raja. Toss it here and you both walk free.”

Alison froze. There was a lot to consider here. Baker had proximity to Paige, who was down. If she took to combat, he could take her pin before Alison could even try to take on two enemy assets at once. Was there any way out of this? Could she get the Raja out of the bag and just toss the bag? Not cleanly. Could she go after Reed without risking Paige’s life? Maybe, but it would be messy and she could get hurt badly. The tree of possibilities branched out a thousand ways, and they all looked dark and uncertain. Except one. She breathed deeply and removed the figurine from Paige’s clutch. She made eye contact with Reed and tossed it– to Rodgers.

From the trajectory of the toss, Nick Rodgers needed to take a full step to his left to catch it, preventing it from shattering on the concrete. This released his grip on Paige and she rolled out of his proximity. All four assets shifted away from each other and held their palms out, an unspoken gesture to indicate that the transaction was complete and that the violence was over, for tonight.

“Good enough,” said Reed as he and Duffel backed away into the night. “Pleasure doing business, as always.”

When they cleared, Paige sighed and started a path straight home. She was limping badly. Alison moved to help support her weight, but she batted her away, crying, “Don’t touch me!”

Alison looked her friend in the eye. Both faces were dampened with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage a single syllable.

“I–”

“Do you have any idea how long you just stood there?!”

Alison stayed silent, mouth agape, trying to speak but nothing came out. Paige limped over to a bench facing Waterman Street and produced her phone as she sat.

“I’m gonna call a car. I need you to give me some space right now, okay?”

Alison could feel a huge cry coming, but quelled it for the moment so that her friend would know that she was going to honor the request.

“I understand,” she said, and walked away.

When Alison rounded the corner of Waterman and Thayer, she let it out.

Alison walked home, passing hallowed campus landmarks and beautifully aged Brownstones and perfectly trimmed oaks and sweetly lit gardens. Instinctively, she slipped in her earbuds and popped open her music app. Instead of her typical, thoughtful search for the perfect song, she just typed a “P” for Paige. Her top result was a familiar sketch of a dejected cheetah: the cover of Viva Last Blues by Palace Music. Her thumb hovered over New Partner for a long time before she could bear to select it. The slide guitars and brushed drums immediately brought dark clouds rushing into her mind. The strained lyrics and melancholy harmonies brought a rain that washed everything else away.

Well, I would not have moved if I knew you were here
It’s some special action with motives unclear
Now you’ll haunt me, you’ll hunt me
‘Til I’ve paid for what I’ve done
It’s a payment which precludes the having of fun

But you are always on my mind
You are always on my mind
You are always on my mind
And you were always on mind