She was more attractive on the phone than she was in person, as I recalled - but I respected her for her mind and ruthless political skills, not her body. Ours was a mental relationship.
We'd had a brief fling in the early '80s, but the Falkland Islands thing had torn us apart. We'd barely spoken since. Why had she come back after all those years?
"Look Maggie, I've given up international politics," I lied, hoping to keep her from messing up my life once again. "I'm doing Unix system administration full-time. Whatever it is you're looking for, I don't think I'm it."
There was a brief pause; she hadn't expected this... but had I fooled her?
A rich laugh danced through the receiver. "Daaahling, you've always been such a joker. Trust me, you'll want to be in on this." Apparently, she wasn't fooled. Or she was doing a darn good job fooling me that she wasn't fooled.
"Oh, yeah? What's it to me? I've got backups to do, and hell to pay if I can't get this system running in the morning."
"You may have noticed that your power is out?"
I said nothing; she knew the answer.
"Well if you want to know why, you'll have to meet me. The old warehouse, in twenty minutes. Dress warmly." The line went dead, and so did the feeling in my extremeties. If ol' Maggie Thatcher was back in action, there was something big doing down.
I checked the backup - another hour to go, and the generators were holding. I decided to _________________ |
