EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📗

and pressed with silver cufflinks. Anna was talking on her phone when she opened the door and waved me in with a smile, wearing a red cocktail dress and white high heels. I had turned off the location function on my phone, to avoid anyone linking me to her building.

Her condo in Clarendon suggested a combination of empowered single woman and wealthy pedigree to mitigate her transition to adulthood, judging by the opulent marble floor and artwork on the walls. I waited in the foyer as she finished her call, put on her pendant earrings, and grabbed her white clutch. She moved close to me, and I resisted the urge to inhale.

She offered her cheek for a kiss and raised her eyebrows as a signal to go.

In the intelligence business, we often hold meetings in discreet venues where our sources won’t know anyone or be recognized. Although Clarendon boasted many good restaurants, it was a younger crowd and I didn’t want to have an awkward moment if Anna had to explain to friends why she was out on the town with an older man, so I opted for a steakhouse in Arlington.

I had been there a few times over the years during short stints at the Pentagon.

This was the kind of restaurant with white linen tablecloths, waiters in black suits, and a dessert tray that rattled as the wheels rolled along the tiles. I wasn’t the first D.C. powerbroker to bring a young woman there. A few heads turned as we followed the waiter to the table, but Anna was too elegant for anyone to think she was a professional.

I helped Anna with her chair and sat to greet the waiter as the onlookers returned to their dinners. I asked for a Scotch on the rocks, Anna asked for a glass of Prosecco, and we opted for a bottle to share. “So, you want to work for Cyber Command?” I asked in a professional tone. “What’s your background?”

“I studied computer science at Stanford,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now I’m finishing my Ph.D. in computer science at Georgetown, with a focus on cybersecurity.”

I nodded, impressed and also amused by how she downplayed her pedigree. I could only imagine how the other computer science students reacted to her. Call me a rocket scientist, but something wasn’t adding up. Women who looked like Anna didn’t study computer science or aspire to work for the Pentagon. “You’re working as a contractor in the Pentagon?”

“Short-term gig,” she said, “until my security clearance gets approved and I finish my degree.”

“Are you hoping to get hired by the Department of Defense?” I asked. “Who’s processing your security clearance?”

She paused. “Most of my work has been with the J6 in the Pentagon, but I told them I was interested in the Intelligence Community. They said my security clearance might be delayed because of my overseas travel.”

“Possible, but most agencies would be tripping over themselves to hire someone like you. I could probably get you a job at Cyber Command, like yesterday.” The only question was whether the job would be commensurate with her advanced skills.

“Really?” she said as the waiter arrived with our drinks.

We clinked glasses and sipped. “That would be great,” she added.

We maintained the professional tone throughout dinner, without a hint of flirting, aside from eye contact. I detected a friendly smile, but if I had to guess, she was still networking to get a job out of me, which was a relief. We discussed my career and family, including the ritual display of photographs on my phone, like I had with Jewel.

For completely stupid reasons, I felt nervous discussing my family, as if I was somehow closing doors with her. I shouldn’t have worried, though; only a confident woman could praise another woman’s beauty. She was right: Beth was beautiful.

From the limited details she provided, my sense was that Anna lived a charmed life, worked hard, and had a vision for where she wanted to go. Men would be putty in her hands every step of the way. I was pleased when she ordered a prime rib, medium, and finished it like a champion. She added a glass of Barolo and passed on dessert while we finished the Prosecco. I made no major missteps, but recognized that I needed to brush up on my fine dining etiquette.

As we walked to the car, the inappropriate visions returned. The flow of her dress and her confident stride were dazzling, and I resisted a temptation to caress her back as I opened the passenger door. “Big day tomorrow?” I asked.

She looked up. “The fun’s over?”

“Of course not,” I said. I closed the door, thrilled, and terrified. I busied myself with starting the engine and buckling my seatbelt, then checked my watch. “It’s too late for a movie. We could grab a drink and continue discussing your career options.”

I put the car in reverse and looked over my shoulder to avoid eye contact during the silence.

“I hope I’m not imposing,” she said with an innocent tone that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing, or that her mind hadn’t caught up with her natural talents.

It’s amazing how our own thoughts and intentions shape the meaning of what other people say. Her words were innocent enough, but it took the mind of a hound like me to think she was opening the door for something more. The reasonable decision would be to find a nice bar in Clarendon near her condo, have a nightcap, and wish her well, but I somehow decided that it was a better idea to take her to the lobby bar of my hotel in Crystal City.

If things were truly innocent, I would take her home without saying it was my hotel.

If there was a miscommunication, I could apologize and say I needed to get something for work. And if things went well—well, I didn’t want to think about it, but I was.

The bar was mostly empty. We discussed the ins and outs of the Intelligence