Chapter 3 Maggie
Maggie
When Maggie and Declan walked out of the Cod Cove Resort, the waters of Penobscot Bay were bathed in the moon’s silvery glow.
They paused to admire the view from the hotel veranda, where a row of white rocking chairs stood empty and spectral in the moonlight.
After Dr. Stamoran’s somber keynote speech, with its images of pox-riddled skin and corpses stacked on pyres, it was a relief to breathe clean, fresh air, to enjoy this moment of tranquility.
Tonight’s lecture had merely reinforced what Maggie already knew: that the world was perpetually poised on the edge of calamity.
She and her friends had spent their careers in the CIA trying to anticipate and prevent just such calamities.
The weight of that responsibility, and the personal toll it had extracted from Maggie, was why she had walked away from the job almost two decades ago.
Now a new generation had taken on the battle, and they were welcome to it.
These young people might have dazzling new cyber tools and tech skills at their disposal, but the old threats remained.
Dr. Stamoran’s speech was a chilling reminder that it still took only a single madman to launch a global catastrophe.
“I’d say we’ve had enough doom and gloom for the night,” said Declan. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “God, I’m glad we’re retired. Now it’s just a nice walk into the sunset together, martinis in hand.”
In the semidarkness of the hotel veranda, she could not see his face beneath the sweep of black-and-silver hair, but she didn’t need to.
She knew every crease, every laugh line of Declan’s face.
They’d been friends for decades, ever since they met as new recruits to the Agency, but only recently had their friendship bloomed into love.
It still felt new and deliciously strange to hold his hand, to feel his breath in her hair.
To climb into bed with him. One was never too old for desire.
“Your place or mine tonight?” he murmured.
“Your place. Callie’s taking care of my chickens this week, so I don’t need to go home at all.”
“Or get up at the crack of dawn? Thank God.”
“No, we can sleep in late tomorrow.”
“And stay up late. Watch an old movie . . . carouse on the sofa . . .” He gave her a long, lingering kiss. “Et cetera.”
“I say we go straight to ‘et cetera,’” she whispered.
“I second the motion . . .”
The hotel door opened, and footsteps creaked onto the veranda.
“Oh,” said Lloyd. “You two are still here? I thought you left with Ben.”
Reluctantly, Declan and Maggie drew apart. “We’re about to head home,” said Declan. “Just, um, admiring the view.”
“Excellent kickoff to the conference, wouldn’t you say? Despite that last-minute emcee change.”
“Ingrid can do anything.”
“Except turn down a challenge,” grumbled Lloyd. “No one else wanted to step in on such short notice. And really, this sort of thing is in her wheelhouse. Assembling assets.”
“I think you mean speakers, Lloyd,” said Declan.
“Assets, speakers. It’s all the same. I just hope she doesn’t get talked into it next year.”
“This will all be over Sunday night,” said Maggie. “Then you two should go on a nice long vacation.”
“You’ll be here for tomorrow’s opening session, right? Nine a.m. panel with the doomsday trio. Ingrid’s going to be very annoyed if she sees any empty seats.”
“We certainly don’t want an annoyed Ingrid,” said Declan.
Lloyd gave them a weary salute. “Dinner on my own again. And I have a lovely coq au vin all ready to heat up.” He went down the veranda steps, then stopped on the lawn and turned back. “Say, would you two want to join me for dinner?”
Maggie and Declan looked at each other.
“It was just a thought. I’m sure you already have plans.” Lloyd sighed. “Good night, then.”
Maggie watched Lloyd walk away, a solitary figure receding into the darkness. She thought of him walking into his silent house. Imagined him sitting alone in his kitchen, dining solo on a meal he’d lovingly prepared for two.
“What do you think?” Declan whispered.
“Lloyd!” Maggie called out. “We actually don’t have other plans. Can we still come to dinner?”
“Absolutely!” In the dark, she couldn’t see Lloyd’s smile, but she could hear it in his voice. Instead of an intimate evening with Declan, it would have to be coq au vin for three.
But that’s what friends were for.