this was so and asked, "How do you think it'll go?"
"Frankly, it's going to be an ordeal for him, for you, and the kids. When it comes to espionage cases, the government leaks everything. It's like the bureaucrats feel some obnoxious compulsion to tell the American people exactly what kind of disgusting bastard they've caught."
She closed her eyes and looked pained. "I've seen it before. I'm trying to prepare myself."
Truthfully, there was no way to prepare for this, however, I moved on and asked, "What are they telling you at work?"
Regarding this particular question, the day after we graduated, Mary disappeared into that big CIA training facility down by Quantico, Virginia, to begin the career Homer had tried to derail with his fruitless pimping. I never understood why Mary was so intent on becoming Jane Bond, however, she was the kind of model candidate the CIA dreamed of attracting--smart, polished, adaptable--and its recruiters had likely promised her a world of bullshit. Over the years I'd heard she was doing quite well, however, her world was as much smoke and mirrors as mine, so I had not a clue what she did.
She leaned back in her chair and released a big gust of air. "They haven't told me anything. They can't. I'm the Moscow station chief whose husband is accused of working for the Russians. It's a terrible predicament for everybody."
Oh my. Trying to hide my stupefaction, I asked, "The station chief?"
She nodded as I tried to absorb this news. Needless to say, this presented a whole new array of potential problems. I settled for, "So you haven't been canned or anything?"
"Not yet. I've been reassigned to a management job here in Langley without access to anything even remotely sensitive. They'll keep me packed in mothballs until this thing is resolved, then they'll quietly pinkslip me."
She explained this matter-of-factly, as though it was just the way things worked, and why worry about it. Actually, it left a great deal to be worried about. In reply to my stare, she said, "I know . . . it's going to be the bombshell when it gets out. I'm not looking forward to it."
I pondered this a moment, then asked, "Did you have any inkling it was going down?"
"I'm his wife, Sean. I was the last person they'd say anything to."
That obviously made sense. I asked, "Did the two of you . . . uh. . ."
"Share things?"
"Exactly."
"He had a Top Secret, SCI clearance. He was the military attache, which is an intelligence job, and I was the station chief. Leads, sources, discoveries, you name it--I held nothing back."
"Mary, I advise you to get a lawyer."
"I know. I'll be interviewing several over the next few days."
"Have you been interrogated?"
"Formally, no. I've had a few sly queries from my boss, the deputy director for intelligence, but nobody has yet sat me down for a rigorous grilling. They'll get around to it, though."
Indeed, they would. "Don't say anything. As his wife you're protected from testifying against him. Not to mention, you need to keep as much distance from this as you can."
"I'm not sure I can sell them on that. He's my husband. I'm in this up to my eyeballs."
"Legal distance, Mary. There are all kinds of possible avenues of culpability in this. Get that lawyer quickly, and if they try to question you in between, politely refuse to answer anything."
She nodded, but with an amused expression, I suppose because it's a bit awkward to get legal advice from a former lover. I recalled the warning about mixing business with pleasure, however, this was old pleasure mixed with new business so perhaps it did not apply.
I asked, "Are you mad at him?"
"Truthfully, I'm furious. I can't believe this happened. Maybe it's not his fault, and I keep trying not to blame him . . . I can't stop myself. I need someone to be mad at."
"It's natural, and you'll get past it. Say he actually did it, got any idea why?"
"Not one, Sean. Everything was going so well. We had a good life . . . we both loved our work. Did you know Bill was on the two-star list that's about to come out?"
I didn't know. "Was" would be the operative verb, however, as some guy was probably at that very moment seated in a back room putting a match to that list. The Army tends to be very grouchy about these things.
I walked across to where she was seated, bent over, pecked her cheek,