FRIDAY 1:26 P.M.

I felt a cold nose nudging at my ear. I opened one eye. Caesar gave me his best lop-eared look then snorted at me. I got up. Fed him. Fed me. Checked the weather. More plumes of lake-effect snow on the radar. Wind driven squalls of snow were expected especially near the lake where at least six inches or more might fall.

It was near 1:30 in the afternoon when I got to work. The wrestling and walking and sex had me aching in a number of spots.

Duncan was at his desk. I poured some hot chocolate, once again sat on the edge of his desk, and filled him in. He took notes as usual.

Jerry walked in halfway through, got a cup of hot chocolate, and perched on the other side of the desk.

Georgia swept in. Her designer boots were wet with snow. She sidled up to Jerry, pursed her lips, and in a stage whisper said, “The weather in Budapest is cold this time of year.”

Jerry made a point of inspecting the quite empty corners of the room, leaned over, and rumbled. “Cigarettes in Bangkok are free.”

Georgia waggled her eyebrows and shifted her eyes left to right and back again, a la Groucho, then said, “The name of your uncle on your mother’s side who eats fish in Ukraine on Tuesday is Fred.”

Without pause, Jerry said, “Putin is a creep.”

Georgia turned to me, “He’s a spy. He knows all the right passwords.”

“Well, there it is,” I said. “Mystery solved. We can all rest.”

When her winter outer clothes were settled into the closet on knit-covered hangers which she’d furnished herself, she slinked back over to me, opened her shoulder bag, and handed me the latest edition of the Sun-Times. The headline was in 72-point type and said “Winter.”

I said, “Hardly a news flash.”

She said, “Turn to page five and check the picture in the top left hand corner. Isn’t that the spy you went to bed with?” She swept to the chair, seated herself, and said, “You know how the first Bond girl dies in the movies?”

“All of them?” I asked.

“Most of them.”

“So?”

She thumped the paper.

I looked at the article next to the picture. It was my turn to do a double-take worthy of Groucho Marx. The headline said, “Terrorist Plot Foiled.” I looked at the caption. It was Abdul. I turned to the article.

Duncan and Jerry clustered around me.

Georgia tapped a well-manicured finger on picture on the front page. “Was this your boyfriend?” she asked.

“He grabbed my crotch.”

Georgia sighed. “You slept with him. Another dead one in a relationship with you. How’d you manage to conquer and lose this one?”

I said, “He came to the house yesterday. He said he was an FBI agent, but he wasn’t.”

Georgia said, “Was he worth it?”

I was stunned. “He’s dead, and I didn’t sleep with him. All I did was let him grope my cock. Is that deadly now too?”

“Apparently.”

I added, “You don’t complain when James Bond screws people. You don’t find it unrealistic in spy moves? What about when the Cary Grant character says to Eve Marie Saint spies are, “using sex like some people use a fly swatter?”

Georgia harrumphed. “That was dignity, suspense, and genuine humor.”

“What about when James Bond does it?” I asked.

“Well, you’re wrong. I do complain. I do find it unrealistic. Right now, in the middle of this case, I almost feel like I’m in a James Bond movie.”

Duncan said to Georgia, “I have a hard time imagining you even being interested in James Bond movies.”

“Perhaps that’s a fault of your imagination.”

Duncan smiled. “Or a fault in your persona?”

I nodded at Georgia. “Touché.”

Duncan asked, “You like the Bond movies?”

“I love all of them.” Georgia asked, “Have you seen any of the Mission Impossible movies?”

Duncan said, “Tom Cruise doesn’t turn me on.”

“I’m talking about the plots. We’re at least several car chases and car crashes and pointless plot twists and betrayals behind the most convoluted of them. Short of that, we’re ahead on logic compared to all the Bond movies.”

“All?”

“Have you seen them?”

“Most of them.”

Georgia said, “I dated a guy who had a fetish. The fourth viewing of Goldfinger was the proximate cause of the break up even though he did make the best chocolate chip cookies of any man I ever dated.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“This is real life. Nobody has sex with that many people.”

I said, “Somebody must.”

“You auditioning for the part?”

“No reason not to try.”

Georgia sniffed. “You are pretty enough, I guess.”

While we’d been bantering, I half listened, and read the article which was sparse on details citing national security reasons. It did say that he’d been found dead in the ultra-posh, newly-renovated St. Agnes Club for Athletes. One of the first structures built in the Loop after the Great Fire.

I tuned back into them and smiled. “A little sparse on the compliments these days.”

“Your ego doesn’t need a boost from me.”

“I told you guys what happened.” I thought back. What the hell was going on? Obviously something very serious and deadly. Now two dead bodies. This guy dying couldn’t be a coincidence. The odds were astronomical against it. Or had his buddies found out he was gay and executed him? I glanced back at the article. The Homeland Security spokesperson claimed he died when their personnel foiled a terrorist plot about which they couldn’t give details in case there were further developments which the spokesperson did or did not foresee. Gotta love clarity in a spokesperson.

Georgia said, “They usually don’t die this quickly.”

“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even have sex with him.”

Duncan asked, “Why haven’t they been here to question you?”

“I don’t know.”

Georgia peered at the picture. “He was hot.”

“And he’s dead,” Jerry added.

Georgia asked, “Do terrorists stay in luxury hotels?”

A collective round of shrugs ensued.

Duncan said, “I suppose they can if they want.”

I finished summarizing the case for Duncan’s notes, and added the bits Georgia hadn’t been here for.

When I was done, I summed up, “So far, each of these spy organizations or terrorist groups has been talking to or infiltrated by a geek from Vincek’s team. The geek squad guy has given each a different lie. And/or the right wing or terrorist group is really pissed and after them. So then each has been following a thread. But what’s Vincek’s game? And why come to me? Are we part of their plot or part of their salvation?”

Duncan said, “Maybe they don’t know. Maybe the plot is out of their control. This is a lot of elements to try to get running at once.”

Jerry shook his head. “All of these groups have been after them, and just all of a sudden showed up in Chicago in time for a blizzard?”

Georgia pointed an index finger at Jerry. “When you put it like that, it sounds less plausible.” Then pointed it at me. “But every scenario you’ve mentioned sounds implausible.”

Jerry said, “Use the old dictum from Holmes, whenever you eliminate the impossible, whatever else is left, no matter how implausible, must be the truth.”

“Yeah,” I said, “except we’ve still got a whole lot more implausible. We’ve got more to figure out. And the guy is our client, weird as that seems.”

Duncan said, “How do we know it isn’t the same guy?”

Georgia said, “I beg your pardon.”

I said, “You’re right. I’ve never seen all of these guys in one place. Maybe it’s just one or two guys.” It was my turn to point at Georgia. “You might not be the only disguise expert.”

“I’m the only one this good. Or I thought I was.”

Jerry said, “If it was fewer guys, it’s easier to buy the conspiracy. With seven guys, it gets unwieldy. You wind up with a lot of lies to remember.”

I said, “It’s just another possibility for us to consider.”

Georgia said, “I think your question is right. Why did he come to you, and why pay you so much?”

“The money is still in the account? They didn’t steal it?”

Duncan said, “It’s unbreakable.”

Jerry said, “Isn’t that what these guys do for a living, break that which is unbreakable?”

That stumped us all.

I said, “And now we have dead bodies. One of the gay geeks, Blake. That can’t have been planned. Their plans are unraveling and they’re scared?”

Duncan said, “It would explain why they’d come to you.”

“But they could have told me more of the truth.”

“Speaking of,” Georgia said, “You kind of slid over the part about your hunky cop. You did sleep with him? He is still breathing?”

“So far.” I changed the subject. “How was the surveillance at the club?”

“Long, tedious, and boring, like most surveillance, but I got to sing for a few hours.”

“Did anybody show up?”

“A few diehards.”

I asked Jerry about the sheik.

“I think he screwed the kid for five hours. None of us watched. Then they slept. We were bored. The usual.”

Duncan had procured for me a four-wheel-drive, all-terrain, everything vehicle to get around for the duration. Duncan’s good at finding impossible things at impossible times. He apologized for it taking so long. He said, “Everything was closed. I had to call in some favors.”

I told him not to worry about it.