The threat the man made was real, but she also recognized the conditionality of the threat. If she didn’t screw up she stayed alive. With her out of the way the men went about debating the odds and ends of their plans. As they talked she pretended to understand. She did understand, and that was what really scared her. The plans these men were making didn’t involve narcotics, though narcotics were mentioned, there was a lot of illegal, unlaundered, money, that had to be scrubbed, and there were certain foreign dignitaries who needed to be coddled. None of that scared her. What terrified her was the content of the primary deals. Someone had gotten their hands on an old disgruntled Soviet nuclear physicist, and somewhere someone had a stockpile of heavy water, and another one of these people had gotten his hands on some uranium 235. Sure uranium 232 hearkened back to 1945 and guys like Robert Oppenheimer, and Enrico Fermi, but even primitive stuff like that had killed a quarter. He had powerful shoulders and big biceps, carrying his clubs up the steps as though they were a toy set. The blond lugged everything up the steps and stopped dead, he whistled! Was it the subdued lighting around the bar, or the coloured underwater pool lights reflecting on gentle ripples, or, I looked down, and realised the night air had prolonged my stiffened nipples, they were too long and I had no way of hiding them! “Hey Jed, you didn’t tell us about this”, looking straight at me. Jed motioned them to the bar and I slipped behind to get drinks, lucky for me they did not see the surreptitious wipe of the stool with my hand. Jed started the introductions. Stuart was the blond whistler and the other was Louis, a black American who never took his eyes off me. I immediately warmed to him and it was Jed’s voice that broke the connection with, “Yammas”, lifting his glass to theirs. “I hope you had a good journey”. “This is ‘Girl’, at least that’s her name while she is here, she missed.
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