Check Mate (24 page)

"Want to know where we're spending our honeymoon?" he asked, a devilish grin on his face.

"Oh, Jake, please tell me it's not Paris or Hawaii or—"

He kissed her to silence her, then said, "How does a very private cottage outside the fishing village near the cove sound to you, Mrs. Ingram?"

"Oh, Jake, you're not kidding, are you?"

Using his index finger, he drew an X across his chest. "Honest to goodness and hope to die if I'm not telling the truth."

"I can't think of anything more romantic than a tiny cottage overlooking the sea and just the two of us alone for a whole week."

"Make that two weeks."

"Oh, Jake you're so good to me."

"Sweetheart, that's easy to do when all you seem to want is me."

"You got that damn straight, mister! You're all I want. All I'll ever want."

They both laughed; and before their families and guests bombarded the pavilions, they hurried to cut their wedding cake.

***

Two months later, sometime shortly after seven in the evening on a rainy Thursday, a government official in Washington D.C. sealed Henry Bloomfield's notes on genetic engineering into a large expandable file folder, identical to others used by various government agencies. He buzzed for his assistant who entered his office.

"You know what to do with these," he told her.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll lock up," he said. "After you've delivered the package, go on home and spend time with your family. And tell your husband I apologize for having kept you so late."

"Yes, sir, thank you. And I don't mind staying late once in a while."

The young assistant, the wife of a D.C. policeman and the mother of twin toddlers, gathered up her purse and sweater in one hand and carried the large file folder in the other, then she walked out of the office and headed for the elevators. She punched the Down button and within minutes, alone in the elevator, she hummed a familiar tune as she descended to the building's basement. She marched down a long, narrow corridor, unlocked a door to the left and entered a massive room filled with row after row of filing cabinets. She searched the rows, looking for the "B" cabinets.

When she finally found them, she had to use a step-stool to reach the highest cabinet. Efficient to a fault, she made sure the file was placed correctly in alphabetical order. Bloomfield. She wondered just who or what Bloomfield was. Of course, it didn't really matter. If the file had been of any importance at all, her boss wouldn't have had her bring it down here. These were the old, worthless files, of no interest to anyone.

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