Life Before Project Iceworm - mini mission story continued

Chapter 3

They had Natasha locked in a waiting room guarded by two secret service looking blokes – black sunglasses, earpieces and all.   The two outside didn’t give us a glance but the couple inside stood straighter, trigger fingers twitching.  The room was 1980s drab, with faux steel reception seating bolted to the floor through factory #3345 carpeting.  The rows of matching chair clothe must have been discarded from a local DMV.  Entering the room, to my right, cross-legged atop of an innocuous foam cushion was a figure folded over itself, with hands on the back of the neck and fingers tightly knitted together.  The posture was so twisted and seemingly uncomfortable that I could only assume the figure had to be either a ballet dancer or a yogi.  She lifted her face to us as we got closer and I realized it was the latter – that was a face of a Russian ballerina whose depression is so entrenched that she forgot that she could eat normally now.   Her passport likely said she was 35 or 40 but her resting sad face pushed that number to 60 – in Russian years.  But getting even closer, I saw those cool, steely blue eyes, fierce and determined.  She may be frightened, overwhelmed even, but she knew her endgame.  Before we were nearly upon her, a low growl came from between painted red lips, “Where is my son?”

A mini mission story

Just like when she was writing The Roswell Discrepancy, my biographer occasionally likes to highlight the stories that don't or won't make it in the books.  This is one that, on a timeline, is between The Roswell Discrepancy and Project Iceworm, which is due out in the fall of 2018.  For those who have read the book and other stories from this site, the first two paragraphs may be redundant but please bare with me as I welcome newbies to the world of the Glamorgan Progeny.

UPDATE: I did some editing to the original portion that was posted and then added another section to the story.  Look for additional sections over the next few weeks.

MINI-MISSION #19

1.

I couldn’t wait to see my husband.  It had been a long, cold semester in this flat – really nothing more than a grad student hovel decorated in masculine minimalistic chic.  But, I cleaned up for tonight and threw up some goofy Christmas lights on Hannah’s, one of my fellow rabbinical students, suggestion.  I told her that I needed to get laid (“laid real good”) and tell him something, something really important.  She giggled then asked if I was pregnant and if so, was it our “terribly hot” Prayer and Interpretation teacher?  No, and . . . well . . ?

BiPositive Episode 23 – It's All About Sex