The Mole
“We think he got on another plane,” came the voice.
“Which plane?”
“There were at least twenty boarding and that’s assuming he didn’t go to a different concourse.”
“So, he could be anywhere?”
“Yes.”
Pilgrim 3 hit the red icon that ended the call. “God, I miss slamming down phone receivers!” she shouted. This interjection alone was enough to bring Montag 5, the most physically imposing and loyal member of Pilgrim 3’s inner circle, into her office.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“Our esteemed president has flown the coop and slipped through our fingers and is off to God knows where.”
“I’m sure it’s an innocent trip,” said Montag 5. “He’s probably going stir crazy down there.”
“He’s been loving it!”
“But still…”
“If it was an innocent trip, he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble to elude our surveillance.”
“Maybe he has a girlfriend.”
“I don’t think Calvin 4 has ever had a girlfriend,” said Pilgrim 3.
“A boyfriend then?”
“He’s up to something, I can feel it,” said Pilgrim 3. “Tighten security in the club. Who’s on the big board this afternoon?”
“Valentine 6.”
“Do we trust her?”
“She’s too green not to trust,” said Montag 5.
“Peek in there once in a while,” said Pilgrim 3. “Keep her on her toes.”
In the basement of the Paradox Club, Valentine 6 wished she could check her messages.
She had been worried about Calvin 4 ever since she had called the president that morning on her burner phone.
She had received an encrypted email just after eight a.m.: Mother is doing better.
Thanks for the card. That meant to contact Calvin 4 as soon as possible.
She had felt honored when Calvin 4 had stopped by her apartment one night several months ago and asked if they might chat for a few minutes.
She had only been a member of the club for a few months, and the legendary Calvin 4 wanted to have a tête-à-tête.
She had spent enough time at the club to know that Calvin 4 was a towering figure in the organization.
Though now he was essentially president emeritus in all but name, he had scores of loyal followers, earned over decades of service.
Even though Valentine 6 was not yet privy to the whole nature of that service, she had heard enough about Calvin 4 to hold him in high esteem.
She had even heard whispered in one of the members’ lounges a story about Calvin 4 presiding over something called the Great Debate—some sort of conflict between a former member and Pilgrim 3 that threatened to tear the club apart.
And now he was sitting at her kitchen table, sipping a cup of decaf.
“Have you heard of the Great Debate?” Calvin 4 asked.
“Only snippets. Someone said you kept the club from splitting apart.”
“A bit of an exaggeration. Would you believe me if I told you that what we do at the club can have ramifications for all of humanity?”
“From what I’ve been told so far, that wouldn’t surprise me,” said Valentine 6.
“And would you believe me if I told you that if Pilgrim 3 has her way and does what she was accused of aspiring to do at the Great Debate, those ramifications could be extraordinarily dangerous?”
“To be honest, I never really liked Pilgrim 3,” Valentine 6 said. “She seems too fond of power. And of herself.”
“Precisely,” said Calvin 4. “I had you pegged as perceptive at your first meeting, and I wasn’t wrong. Now, I’m about to go into something called retirement, and I’d like to have some chance of enjoying it. But I can’t just leave the club in the hands of Pilgrim 3.”
“Of course not.”
“I need someone to keep an eye on things for me. Someone who can contact me if certain things happen. And someone I can contact when I need information.”
“You want me to be a mole,” said Valentine 6, leaning across the table and whispering the last word. She felt a jolt of excitement. She had not even been a member for a year, and she had been handpicked as personal spy to the president.
“Are you up for it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Valentine 6. “You’ve come to the right person. Now, tell me exactly what events I should be looking for.”
That had been a little over four months ago. She hadn’t had another conversation with Calvin 4 until this morning.
“I need to take a trip,” Calvin 4 had said when she called back.
“I’m leaving later today, and I’m sure Pilgrim 3 will try to have me followed.
Text my burner from yours every four hours when you can.
I need to know anything you hear about me or about two people named Tess Maxwell and Vivian Harbottle from anyone at the club.
I also need to know if we get any red lights on the big board while you’re on duty.
Text the word avocado if nothing happens, but as soon as you hear anyone talking or you see a red light on that board, text peaches, and call me as soon as you can. ”
“This sounds very cloak-and-dagger,” Valentine 6 said. “Are you sure you’re safe?”
“I’m not sure at all,” Calvin 4 said. “That’s why I need you to watch out for me.”
Valentine 6 had haunted the halls of the club all day, drifting in and out of its various lounges and eavesdropping wherever she could, but she heard nothing about the president or about Tess Maxwell or Vivian Harbottle.
At five, she began a shift in the basement, where she was certain to hear nothing.
The lights on the board glowed green and the machinery gave off a low hum.
For the first time since she had started in the basement, Valentine 6 actually paid attention to the big board.
Her iPad stayed in her bag along with her burner phone as she stared at the lights.
What would happen if one turned red? What, exactly, did it mean?
Valentine 6 was only a level two club member, and while she understood the basic purpose of the club, she was not yet privy to specifics.
To make it to the next level, she had to devote five hundred hours of service to the club.
She worked four-hour shifts several times a week watching the big board and was only a few shifts away from getting her five hundred hours.
As she stared, glassy-eyed, at the lights, she wondered what would happen if one of them turned red when she was not on duty?
Would the light still be red when she arrived for her next shift?
By then would it be too late to warn the president?
Or did Calvin 4 have other moles besides herself?
For the first time in her four hundred fifty hours in the basement, Valentine 6 felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back.