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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

SUNSHINE, LOLLIPOPS, AND RAINBOWS

 

“Julia, if you're fishing for information, you should know that Ian is a patient in this ward, and that Vickie is his therapist.  We take his right to privacy quite seriously.”

 

Rita was staring hard at the private eye, and Vickie was glowering.  When it came to Ian Grady, both women were extremely protective.

 

“I'm sorry, Rita … Vickie … but I came to share information, not solicit it.  Is there any chance that you could ask Sarah to join us.  What I have to say concerns all three of you.”

 

“Call her.”  Vickie made it an order.

 

Rita picked up the phone and dialed; she knew the extension by heart.

 

“We have a problem here,” she said when Sarah answered.  “Can you come up ASAP?”

 

“On my way,” she simply replied.  Pausing only to collect Vickie's diaper bag, Sarah headed for the elevator that would take her to the seventh floor.  With the six digit code committed to memory, she could let herself in.

 

For her part, Vickie got up and went out to the foyer to collect another chair.  Dragging it in, she grumbled that Rita needed a bigger office because she was getting tired of moving the furniture around.  It was an old joke, but it didn't lighten either woman's mood.

 

.  .  .  .

 

During term, the basement level cafeteria in the Student Union was packed at lunch time, but a keen eyed sociologist would have observed that there was nothing random about the seating pattern.  Foreign students kept to themselves, with the Korean and Japanese students being conspicuously clannish-- but no more so than the refugees from Fraternity Row.    There was no sign on the table reading RESERVED FOR ZETA ALPHA PI, but first year students quickly learned to give ZAP a wide berth.

 

On this particular afternoon in late November, four members of the sorority were holding court …

 

“Look, Jan, it's not like we're asking you to rob Fort Knox or something.  It's just a few, lousy diapers!”

 

Tippi couldn't figure out why Janis Marsden was so reluctant to take advantage of her position as a candy striper at the hospital.  She was keen to rob the diaper service, so breaking out into a sweat when pushed to explore the housekeeping department and grab a couple of samples didn't make a lot of sense.

 

“That's right,” Melanie chimed in.  “I mean, really, you're just a volunteer, right?  So, even if you get caught, it's not like they can fire you.  They'll just give you the boot.”

 

“But they could … they could arrest me,” Janis protested.

 

“Over a couple of lousy diapers?”  Cindy snorted.  “Come on!  And besides, all you'd have to say is that it's part of your initiation.  Everyone knows that the Greeks are big on doing weird stuff.  Hell, once they hear that a sorority is involved, they'll probably help you carry the stuff out to your car!”

 

“She's right, Jannie.  If anybody questions you, just tell them that it's a sorority prank, and that you'll return them later.”  Tippi was patting Janis on the arm, trying to give her a little Dutch courage.

 

“All right.”  Janis was ready reluctantly to agree with her sisters.  “I have a three hour shift this afternoon, starting at three.  If I have any free time, I'll wander down to housekeeping and look around.  But I'm not making any promises!”

 

“That's okay, Jannie.”  Tippi continued to pat Janis's arm, and her voice was soothing.  “Just do the best you can … and, if you do find the diapers, this bag will come in handy!”

 

Tippi slipped Janis a vinyl bag that was folded up so tightly that it would slip into her pocket.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah paused in the doorway, taking in the scene.

 

“Sarah, this is Julia Canon, Priscilla's mom.”  Rita reacted quickly to the confused look on Sarah's face.  “Julia, this is our colleague Sarah Haikonnen … Professor Grady's fiancee.”

 

Julia stood up to offer Sarah her hand.  Sarah took it, but the introduction did nothing to erase her puzzlement.

 

When both women sat down, Rita explained that Julia had requested her presence.  The detective wanted to talk about Ian, and to do so with all three of them at once.

 

Julia decided to start with Vickie, and their visit the previous afternoon to the Lullaby Diaper Service.

 

“Doctor Robinson … um … Vickie … do you remember the tracking device that Priscilla gave me yesterday afternoon?”

 

“Sure.  But it's one of Ian's toys … something that he bought in Chicago.”  Vickie doubted if either Rita or Sarah had seen this side of Ian's personality.  “He loves to tinker with gadgets,” she went on to explain.  “He said that he's got a whole drawer full of them at the office.”

 

“I'm sorry, Vickie; there's no easy way to say this, but he was lying.  I examined that 'toy' carefully, and I can assure you that he didn't buy it in Chicago or anywhere else in the country.  It's state of the art-- at a guess, maybe two to three years in advance of anything that you'd find on the shelves of the most sophisticated electronics shops not just here but worldwide.  It's government issue.”

 

“You're sure about this?”  Rita's tone was sharp.

 

“Very.  And it gets worse … a lot worse.  I asked my husband to run a background check on Professor Grady, and early this morning he did so, tapping into a federal data base that is a resource used by police nationwide.  Within minutes, the Chief of Police received a call from the FBI's Deputy Director for Counterintelligence, ordering him to cease and desist.”

 

“WHAT?”  Sarah was on her feet, looking absolutely stunned.

 

“Three possibilities come immediately to mind,” Julia continued calmly.  She paused only long enough to allow Sarah to sit down.  “The first is that Professor Grady is in the Witness Protection Program, and Herb's query set off an alert.  This seems unlikely, however, because Priscilla tells me that Professor Grady travels all over the world, and has been doing so for years.  People in the program do not travel; the risk of being seen by someone searching for them is too great.  Have any of you seen his passport?”

 

“I made a copy of it for my travel agent,” Sarah said defensively; “to make sure that he could leave the country for our honeymoon.”

 

“Did you happen to leaf through it?”

 

“I did,” Vickie confessed.  “We all did.  Amy … Ian's departmental secretary … she said that it makes for interesting reading.  And she's right.  He's been in countries that I've never even heard of.”

 

“And how did a graduate student who is now a poorly paid Assistant Professor pay for all the plane tickets?  The hotels?”

 

“Ian's an only child whose parents were killed in a head-on crash when he was nineteen, so he must have been the sole heir to their estate.”  Sarah nodded her head, thinking about it.  “Then there's his military pay, and don't overlook the scholarship and grant money that he's probably been bringing in ever since he entered graduate school.”

 

“These sums can be substantial,” Rita interjected.  “Both Vickie and I covered a lot of our medical school bills with grant money.”

 

“Vickie, Priscilla overheard you say that he has been in Timbuktu, right?”

 

“Right.  We're all curious about that.”

 

“As well you should be.  Timbuktu is in the western Sahara, a country called Mali.  What is a Professor of East Asian Languages doing in Mali?”

 

No one responded, and the silence lingered for several seconds.  Finally, Vickie looked up.

 

“You think that he's a spy don't you,” Vickie said accusingly.  She was seething, but she didn't know whether it was Julia or Ian that had triggered her anger.  Perhaps it was both.

 

“An intelligence officer,” Julia corrected, “operating in deep cover.  It's the one explanation that covers all the bases … and then there are his students.  Priscilla described them in detail, and Herb raced over to campus this morning to sit in on his class and check them out ...”

 

“So much for 'cease and desist', Rita murmured.

 

“He was evaluating the students, not Professor Grady!  And at least some of them are what the police have nicknamed 'Stepford husbands'.  Do you remember the movie … Stepford Wives?”

 

“Sure,” Sarah shrugged.  “We've all seen it.  It's a crock.”

 

“Well, we're talking about something similar.  The alphabet agencies operate a training program at Quantico, and the finished products all look alike, talk alike, dress alike, think alike … it's surreal.  Think Hymie the Robot, and you're there.  Then some of them move on for advanced training.  Some of the Ivy League schools are notorious factories, and in the person of Professor Grady, it looks like the feds have set up shop here in the Twin Cities.  He's equipping these young people with a skill set that they can use on overseas assignments.”

 

“So?”  Sarah was becoming impatient.  “Ian's a teacher, Julia, and from everything that I've been able to gather, he's a darned good one.  His students are lucky to have him as an instructor.  And as for him being a spy … the idea is ludicrous.  He's incontinent, Julia; for God's sake, he wears diapers 24/7, and he uses them for everything!  Your daughter?  Have you talked with her about this?  On campus, she's his caretaker-- she's changing his poopy diapers three or four times a day, feeding him his bottles ...”

 

“Bottle feeding him?”  Julia was incredulous.

 

“It's part of his treatment,” Rita offered.  “But that's all I can tell you without violating his right to privacy.”

 

“Yesterday,” Vickie cut in, “walking through the hospital to get to Sarah's office?  He collapsed, Julia; if Priscilla hadn't caught him, he would have ended up on the floor!  He has a cane, but he's too stubborn to admit that he needs it.  In part it's simple male pride, but there's also a scared little boy inside Ian who thinks that we're going to abandon him if he admits that he's disabled.  Well, we're not going anywhere.  Right now, the battle that we're fighting is to get him to understand that there's nothing shameful or dishonorable about needing to depend on others ...”

 

“His vulnerability is a big part of his charm,” Rita observed.  “And we all love the way he makes no attempt to hide his diapers … shrugs them off as no big deal.  Vic's right.  It's the cane that's holding him back, not the diapers.  His deepest fear is that he's going to end up in a wheelchair.”

 

“I'll concede that it's hard to view a man with Ian's disabilities as an agent in the field,” Julia replied.  “But the tracking device isn't going away, and neither is this morning's phone call.  I'm sorry, but there it is.  There is more to Professor Grady than meets the eye, but what the three of you do with the information I've conveyed is strictly up to you.  Rest assured, however, that my husband and I are going to have a serious chat with our daughter.  He has charmed her off her feet, and the idea that he's done so by pulling the wool over her eyes doesn't sit well with either of us.”

 

Julia stood up, excused herself, and walked out of the office. 

Sarah stood up just long enough to shut the door, then resumed her seat.  The three women looked at one another, neither of them sure of what to say.

 

“She's right, you know.”  Vickie was the first finally to speak up.  “All the entries in his passport that have nothing to do with the courses he teaches.  And he was in military intelligence.  The truth has been staring us in the face for the last couple of days, and none of us have wanted to go there.  God!  I can see it now … he'll come home from the office someday, pack a bag, and tell us he's got to fly somewhere on business that he's not free to discuss.  It will all be top secret, which is a just a fancy way of saying a great, big, fat lie.”

 

“Pack a diaper bag.”  Rita was reminding them both of the absurdity of it all.

 

“We've got to get to the bottom of this,” Sarah concluded, “but no matter what we find out, Ian isn't going anywhere without our permission … period, end of story.  So, here's what I suggest: Rita, when you have your heart to heart tomorrow afternoon, bring up the question of having children first.  If he says 'yes', then bring up his passport, and get him to agree that wandering all over the world this way has to stop.”

 

“That's clever,” Rita mused.  Then she looked up.  “But what if he says 'no'?” 

 

“One way or the other, I'm going to have a baby … maybe two babies.”  Sarah's tone was determined, and now she was staring at Vickie, challenging her.  “Does my baby girl need her diapee changed,” she cooed.

 

“Yes, Mommy,” Vickie smiled.  “My diapee is very wet.”

 

“Then I'll change you, Sweetheart, while auntie Rita warms up your ba bas.  Then she can feed you while I get back to work.”

 

Vickie scowled, but chose not to object.  She was ready to accept that breast milk and poopy diapers were the price that she would have to pay for falling in love.  She wasn't happy about it, but she also accepted that she would now become Sarah's baby girl for real.  As she had said to Julia only minutes earlier, she wasn't going anywhere.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Let's check your diaper,” Priscilla suggested as she shut the door behind her.  It worried her that the hallway had been empty when they returned to Ian's office.  If the recruiters backed off, she would soon be forced to return to her normal duties.

 

Ian wordlessly hung up his coat, then turned around with his arms spread wide.  He knew that Priscilla enjoyed undressing him, and he enjoyed letting her do it.

 

She eased his trousers down to his ankles, then unlocked and lowered his diaper cover.  She took her time sliding the vinyl baby pants down his legs before addressing the heavy cloth diaper.  She awkwardly twirled him around so that she could peek inside the fabric.

 

“Not poopy,” she commented.  She was surprised to discover that she was a bit disappointed.  Then she turned him around again, and firmly clasped the diaper where it covered his loins.  The intimate act no longer embarrassed either of them.

 

“You're wet,” she noted, “but this diaper can hold a great deal more.  I'll change you at the end of your office hour.”  She pulled the vinyl pant back into place, but left the diaper cover where it lay.  She was acutely aware that the heavy canvas cover and trousers gathered around his ankles effectively immobilized him.

 

“God, how I love babying you,” she whispered.  They were standing very close, staring deeply into each other's eyes.  Impulsively, she clasped her hands behind his neck, and inched closer.  Ian never wore cologne, but the faint smell of baby powder surrounded him.

 

She loved it.

 

Priscilla was acutely aware that the minutes she would have Ian all to herself were falling away, perhaps never to be experienced again.

 

Ian gently wrapped his arms around her waist, and drew her still closer.  They stared at one another for what felt like eternity, and then they kissed-- a deep kiss that lingered as Priscilla's hand drifted lower, searching for and finding Ian's cock.  She rubbed her fingers up and down, sensed it straining against the heavy fabric pinned around his waist.  She knew that, if she removed his baby pants and diaper, he would be ready to enter her. 

 

Priscilla found it hard to breathe, air coming to her in stolen gasps.  She could feel her panties getting wet, and wondered if Ian could taste her scent.  It surrounded them, competing for primacy with the baby powder.

 

“I could say that I want to scalp you, because I've never done it before.”  She was whispering into his ear, the words coming out in staccato fashion as she kissed his cheek and nibbled on his ear lobe.  Ian was silently kissing and nibbling on her neck, his touch causing her nipples to harden.

 

“But that would be a lie.”  The words came out in a rush, falling down the slope into a moan that hung in the air.

 

“I want to make love to you,” she breathed … “I want to make love to you here and now because I may never have another chance.”

 

“There's no scalp unless you take a picture,” Ian murmured as his fingers began to unbutton her blouse before moving on to her bra.  “And we don't have a camera.”  He was kissing her shoulders as his hands set her breasts free.  One by one, he took her hardened nipples into his mouth, teasing them with his teeth.

 

Priscilla's hands were clinching his shoulders, her fingernails raking his skin, marking him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

 

Ian slid to his knees before her, his fingers attacking her belt.  He pulled trousers and panties down in one fluid motion, then leaned forward deeply to inhale her scent.  He began to lick her, thankful that she was shaven, his tongue searching for and finding the nub.  He could feel it hardening beneath his tongue as he tasted the juices flowing out of her.

 

“We don't have much time,” Priscilla breathed.

 

“You need to mount me,” he somehow managed to whisper as his tongue continued to drive her wild.

 

Blindly, Priscilla's fingers stumbled across the top of the filing cabinet, finding and grasping his changing pad.  She pulled it to her.

 

“Wait,” she commanded.

 

Ian obeyed.  Obedience to the commands of a woman in the throes of love went to the very heart of who he was as a man.

 

Priscilla kicked off her shoes, her trousers somehow following, but it pleased her that Ian's legs were still imprisoned by his clothing.  It was only with her help that he was able to stretch out on the mat.  Unbidden, he lifted his ass so that she could once more remove his baby pants, and then, one by one, glorying in the moments, she opened the diaper pins, finally letting the damp fabric fall around him.

 

Ian's cock was rigid, pointing straight up into the air.

 

Priscilla touched the tip with a lone finger, her eyes taking in the bulk of him.  Lowering her head, she took him into her mouth, and ran her lips up and down his shaft.

 

Ian stifled a moan, uncertain whether there was an audience gathering just beyond the door.  “I can't hold on much longer,” he warned, his hands slapping the floor, giving voice to his frustration.  He wanted to make love with Priscilla, wanted the moments they shared to stretch into infinity.

 

She mounted him, gently, watching his eyes, remembering how he had collapsed into her arms just the day before, so helpless.  There was so much pain there.  Ian needed far more than sex, she realized, and far more than love.  He needed tenderness.

 

Ian used his hands to steady Priscilla's hips.  She took control, using her muscles to set the rhythm, moving up and down, holding him tight, guiding him deep inside her.  Her eyes closed and she ceased to breathe, her lips parting, and a deep sigh escaping as she came.

 

She could feel Ian arching his back beneath her, saw his eyes close and his mouth open.

 

He came with a moan that somehow signaled regret, but she could feel the warmth of his seed exploding inside her, thrust after thrust as his cock emptied, filling her with the possibility of new life.

 

Priscilla was not on the pill, her one contraceptive sitting inside a case, at the back of a dresser drawer in her bedroom.  Others might have called her careless, reckless, even selfish, but she would have disagreed.  This was not her first time, but it was the first time that she had made love.

 

“Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,” she whispered, locking the moment into her forever memories.

 

“Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,” Ian agreed.  He reached up to caress her cheek.

 

Looking down into Ian's eyes, seeing the gentleness that so defined his nature, for the first time in a long time, Priscilla was truly happy.  She had no regrets, none whatsoever.

 

FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE

 

“You need to open the window and air this place out,” Priscilla giggled.  “Believe me, any coed who walks in here when I open the door is going to know exactly what we were doing!”

 

After refastening his diaper and standing up, Priscilla had helped Ian to his feet, his ankles still trapped in his baby pants, diaper cover and trousers.  She had hastily pulled up the pants and cover, checking only to make sure that there was no fabric peeking out before locking everything back in place.  Leaving him to finish dressing, she had stowed his changing pad, then poked around in his diaper bag until she found the wet wipes.  She folded a couple into a makeshift tampon, and pushed it into her vagina.  When she was satisfied that the plug would hold, she quickly redressed.

 

“Turn around first,” he said.  When she did so, Ian held up a mirror that he kept in one of the desk drawers.  “First time it's come in handy,” he laughed.  Priscilla got to work on her lipstick before doing battle with her hair.  “Do I look halfway presentable,” she finally asked.

 

“You're glowing … absolutely glowing.  And every coed out in the corridor is going to take one look at you and know exactly what we were doing.”  Ian turned around and opened the window.  Cold, winter air streamed into his office, instantly chilling it.

 

“You look pretty happy yourself,” Priscilla grinned; “it's good to see.”  Then she turned serious.  “Ian, I want you to know that this wasn't planned, and I'm not going to make any demands.  You are a very, very special person, and you've made me very happy.”

 

Ian circled the desk, clasped her hands, and pulled Priscilla close.  He kissed her affectionately on the cheek before hugging her.  “I have to be the luckiest guy on the planet,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her again.  “Now, Sarah has said something about hiring a full-time nanny to shepherd me around campus.  If Marilyn can finagle that big pay raise she's talking about, how would you like the job, complete with room and board?  The fringe benefits would be competitive.”

 

“Hmm … I wonder what my Chief would come up with as a counteroffer; he would have to get really creative to match your fringe benefits!”  Priscilla's fingers were lightly dancing across the top of Ian's heavily diapered crotch.  “After your office hour ends, let's explore the matter over a late lunch.”  She was stroking the front of his diaper with much greater force.  “There's a deli right across the street from the hospital … right below Mom's office, that does a mean pastrami.  Think you might be hungry?”

 

“Starved.”  Ian grinned as he took her hand and pressed the fingers to his lips.  “But there might be a slight delay.  “I'm expecting an important call about that time.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Janis Marsden stood stock still just inside the giant double doors, her mind grappling with the vastness of the space in front of her.  The placard on the outside had been innocent enough, but MEDICAL SUPPLY STORAGE ROOM didn't begin to describe what she was seeing.  For all intents and purposes, she was standing inside a warehouse; she guessed that it took up fully a third of the basement level. 

 

Pushing the empty cart ahead of her, she tentatively approached the long counter directly ahead.  Her supervisor had assured her that any of the hospital's inventory specialists would be happy to assist her.

 

After her last class, Janis had dashed back to the house, but only to collect her car.  Candy stripers might have been at or near the bottom of the hospital's professional hierarchy, but she was still an employee and she took pride in having a hospital parking sticker affixed to her windshield.

 

She had come in early, and after changing into her uniform, had immediately reported to her shift supervisor.  She had devised a plan to track adult diapers to their source, but it was a plan born out of her curiosity as to how the hospital actually functioned.  Accustomed to the organized chaos of a sorority house, Janis was fascinated by the precision with which the various wards operated.  When she opened a drawer or a cabinet door, every supply that she was tasked to collect was waiting, and as if by magic, everything that she took would be resupplied overnight.

 

She had asked her supervisor how it all worked, and as she had hoped, she was soon wheeling an empty supply cart to the freight elevator, shopping list in hand.  The best way to learn, she had been told, was to jump through the hoops.  But her boss had been considerate; mindful of the distance that Janis would have to wheel the cart, and knowing just how heavy some supplies could be, she had limited the list to linens.  First time out, she would be retrieving sheets, pillow cases, washcloths, hand towels … and adult diapers.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Priscilla didn't know what to expect when she flung the door wide open, but she was not at all surprised to find Marilyn Marsden waiting for Ian to get his afternoon office hours under way.  She made note of the slender briefcase in her hand, and then did a double take when she realized that Marilyn was idly chatting with a couple of the coeds once again camping out in the corridor.

 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she announced, “and thank you all for coming.  Missus Marsden, do you bear good tidings?”

 

“I do,” she said, although she was frowning.  The normally taciturn officer was in a very good mood; indeed, Marilyn would have called her bubbly.  And then she took note of Priscilla's slightly disheveled appearance, and smiled knowingly.  She expected to find the professor equally unkempt-- two young people who had just acted upon their feelings for one another.

 

“I have a document for him to sign, and it requires a witness.  If you will?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

Marilyn entered Ian's office, with Priscilla hard on her heels.  She shut the door firmly behind them.

 

Marilyn shivered, took note of the open window, and started to laugh.  She sat down, and placed her briefcase atop the desk.

 

“Ian, you can close the window now, and for future reference … have you heard of air fresheners?”

 

Ian took her suggestion, plopped down in his chair, and winked at Priscilla.  “I told you that we wouldn't fool anyone,” he crowed.

 

“Are we that obvious,” Priscilla sighed.

 

“Well, it would help if you both took a minute or two to tidy up your appearance … and coming down off Cloud Nine would also help.”

 

“Do you know those two girls,” Priscilla asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

 

“I do,” Marilyn repeated.  “They are in Zeta Alpha Pi, along with my daughter Janis.  Joyce Wiggins is a legacy; her mother and I waited tables together in a burger joint in the Village when we were students here.  Melanie Wilson's father operates a large farm outside Zumbrota … wheat, soybeans, dairy cattle-- the usual mix.”

 

“ZAP is forever poised on the edge of academic disqualification,” Priscilla amplified for Ian's benefit.

 

“And my daughter isn't helping,” Marilyn lamented.  “She's spends far more time dreaming about collecting scalps than she does hitting the books.”

 

“She has lots of company,” Priscilla noted, shaking her head in wonder.

 

“It would be more interesting if the student newspaper published a weekly scorecard,” Ian suggested.  “We could probably find a bookie to organize a pool; the paper could update the odds in each issue.”

 

Priscilla rolled her eyes.  “Ian please … pretty please … keep that idea to yourself!”

 

“Your wish is my command,” he replied as he licked his lips.

 

“Down to business,” Marilyn said in her, best businesslike tone.  “I've drawn up an agreement.  Per your wishes, I ran it by Sarah first.”  Marilyn opened her briefcase, pulled out the file, and laid it in front of Ian.  “It won't take you long to read.”

 

Ian opened the folder, glanced at Sarah's note, and snorted.  He silently passed the memo to Priscilla.

 

Ian

 

Sign this.

 

Sarah

 

“A woman of few words,” Priscilla giggled.

 

“She has him well trained,” Marilyn observed.  “Ian, this makes me your agent.  I'll draw up a standard contract and run it by Sarah on Friday.  The two of you should take

the weekend to read it over.  Wait to sign until your office hours on Monday so that Priscilla can witness it, and then we're off and running.  I flat out guarantee you that by Friday of next week you will have from three to seven firm corporate offers in hand.”

 

Ian signed the document without further ado, and Priscilla witnessed it.

 

“They will also need to hire Priscilla; I'm not going anywhere without my nanny … er, I mean … caretaker.”  Ian and Priscilla both laughed.

 

“Hopefully, you won't be going anywhere,” Marilyn said emphatically.  “And we can always try and have Priscilla permanently assigned to you as part of any retention agreement.  Now, let me ask Amy to make copies of the Memorandum, and we can get the ball rolling!”

 

Marilyn took her leave, but she was considerate enough gently to close the door behind her.

 

“Down to business, Officer Canon; down to business.”  Ian lightly rapped his knuckles on the desktop.  “Please show the first scalp hunter in!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

It turned out to be easy.

 

The clerk at the desk handed Janis a xeroxed copy of the floor plan, and then checked off the aisles and bin numbers that she would need to visit to collect the supplies on her list.  She gave him a copy, which he compared with her original, running his finger down the column of figures item by item.  He recommended that she start with the pillow cases because they were the lightest, and save the towels and diapers for last because they were the heaviest.  This would ease the strain on her arms as she pushed the increasingly heavy cart from aisle to aisle.

 

Janis asked whether he would be going over the cart to make sure that she had the count right, and he just laughed.  It turned out that it was rare for the count to be exactly right because sheets and pillow cases were difficult to separate, and it didn't really matter anyway: everything would eventually end up in the laundry, and after being folded, back in the appropriate bin.

 

It never occurred to the clerk that anyone would steal something like adult diapers.

 

Janis gaped when she saw the bin.  It was wide and deep and high, and filled with the huge, thick diapers that Tippi had described.  There were dozens of them … scores … no, hundreds.  It was just like the other bins that she tackled.  Patient care dictated that the hospital stock everything in superabundance, never risk a shortage.

 

Janis had worn a dress to work, and left a backpack in her locker with four diaper pins in the smallest pocket.  Her plan was simple: smuggle a dozen extra diapers out of the warehouse and stash them in her locker.  When her shift ended, she would stuff two of the diapers into her backpack, and wear a third under her dress.  Dumping them in her trunk, she would hurry back upstairs to make a second run.  If anyone stopped her, she would claim to have forgotten something in her rush to get back to the sorority house in time for dinner.

 

Studying the map with care, she finally located an item that was not on her list, but vital to her mission.  Leaving the cart in front of the bin where she finished up by loading the hand towels, she hurried across the floor in search of the vinyl pants that their pigeons would be wearing over their diapers 24/7.  She grabbed a dozen in various sizes, and stuffed them into the deep pockets of her pinafore.

 

Janis' plan went off without a hitch.  When she got back to her car after her second run, she decided not only to wear the diaper back to the house but to don a pair of the baby pants as well.  She was curious to find out what the infantile garb felt like against her skin, and whether the bulge would be visible through her dress.

 

The bulkiness of the diaper surprised and delighted her.  It forced her legs so far apart that she could only waddle like a toddler.  Driving back to the house, she fantasized about seducing one of the pencil pushers in the math department, getting him into one of these giant diapers, and turning him into her slave-- her diaper slave.

 

.  .  .  .

 

 Ian was happily conversing with his fourth coed when the telephone rang.  Instinctively wary of recording devices, he stared at the phone for a long moment, the look of a man gazing down upon a deadly serpent.  Reluctantly, he picked up the receiver.

 

“Street, it's Donnie.  I'm ready whenever you are.”

 

“Give me a moment.”  Cradling the phone against his chest, Ian apologized to the young lady for the interruption, but asked her to wait outside.  When she left, he called out to Priscilla to shut the door.  She did so, but her curiosity was apparent.  She had never seen Ian take a call in private.

 

“Go.”

 

“Your bride to be is a solid citizen, but I'd take care around her mother.  She has used her credit cards to make some purchases from pretty kinky outfits.”

 

“Makes sense.  Sarah has some toys of her own.”

 

“Let's not go there.  Not much in Robinson's file, but Lessing praises her to the skies … says she has a remarkably intuitive feel for human behavior.  We've got quite a bit on Stevenson, from various sources … good at her work … real gravitas in the courtroom … reliable.  Pretty much the same thing with Marsden … professional, with first class negotiating skills.  You've picked a winner there.”

 

“What about Amos”

 

“Interesting guy.  A good soldier who really maxed out his R&R's.  Solid team player at the hospital, but terrorizes pinball machines all over south Minneapolis.  The cops down there hold him in high regard, and seem to spend a lot of time looking the other way.  In short, a head case, but good to have on your side.”

 

“My sentiments exactly.  I'm good with any guy who'll play by Hong Kong Rules.”

 

“Drink 'em under the table, Street … which brings us to Sergeant Canon.  Usual career for a guy with twenty plus in the ranks.  Not a genius but methodical … think Joe Friday.  The wife's the one to watch out for.  Julia's a digger, with an irritating habit of hitting ground zero.  We do not want her looking into your recent history.  Am I making myself clear?”

 

“Copy.”

 

“Got a plan?”

 

“Priscilla.  As if my life isn't complicated enough, there's a strong mutual attraction.  Trust me … if Julia starts pushing, Priscilla will push back.”

 

“Wonderful.  Geesh, Ian, are there any other women crawling around the premises that we should know about?”

 

“Well,  there's Suzie Marshall, who's Vickie's arch rival, and Harriet Belmondo, who runs the diaper service ...”

 

“Enough, already!  I swear to God, if you ever turn up with a knife in your back, it's gonna be Murder on the Orient Express all over again.  Honestly, Ian, how do you do it?”

 

“Puppy dog with a limp and big, sad eyes?”

 

“Must be the case.  And keep in mind that there's still another lady out there who turns into a puddle of goo at the mere mention of your name.”

 

“Irina?”

 

“Your office hours end at three.  Clear the decks, and close the door; she'll give you two minutes grace.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“So, who's changing me?”  Vickie had casually strolled into Rita's office, and she was deliberately nonchalant.

 

“Sarah's letting me do the honors,” Rita said as she looked up from the patient file that she had been reviewing.  “Don Phillips,” she indicated as her hand swept across the open page.  “Marge is making progress, slow but steady.  He's fully verbal, and she estimates that he's processing at the level of a six year old.  In another couple of weeks, he should be ready to start talking about his wartime experiences.”

 

“Are you planning to play Ian's tape for him?”

 

“John will make the call, so we'll discuss it at Lessing's Folly on Saturday.  You'll be happy to hear that this should be a short session.”

 

“Good.  We may need some time to finish up in Ian's apartment.  Still expecting the movers around one?”

 

“Between one and two.  We should have plenty of time to finish up and get home to prepare for the Circle.”

 

“Speaking of the tape … plan on staying late next Wednesday.  I called Mark, and he's driving over around five to listen to it and give us his opinion.  He wants to meet Ian and Amos as well.”

 

“And Mark is ...”

 

“My lawyer friend … you know, the one who specializes in patents?  He thinks this is actually a copyright issue, and since we're dealing with obscenity, we have to prove that the recording has scientific value.”

 

“Shouldn't be a problem,” Rita shrugged as she closed the file and stood up to retrieve Vickie's changing mat and diaper bag.  “Want to get the door,” she suggested.

 

Vickie stifled a laugh as she eased it shut.  “This should be fun; auntie Rita is going to change my diapee for the first time!”

 

“Two babies.”  Rita let out a theatrical sigh.  “Well, you can undress yourself.  I want everything off except the bra.”

 

Vickie kicked off her shoes, tossed her blouse onto Rita's chair, and slowly dropped her trousers; she pushed them out of the way with her toes.

 

Rita unlocked Vickie's diaper cover, and ordered her to remove both it and her baby pants.  When she was ready, Rita patted the back of the diaper, and then peeked inside to make sure that Vickie hadn't messed herself.  She was relieved to find that she was clean, but she was struck by how wet the fabric was.

 

“Vickie, this diaper is pretty wet, and you were just changed a couple of hours ago.  Are you losing control already?”

 

“Come on, Rita, there's not much point in holding it, is there?  Not when I'm going to be diapered 24/7.”

 

“True.  Is it … um … uncomfortable?”

 

“Not really … kind of like a damp bathing suit.  Once you get past the fear of telltale leaks, it's not bad at all.  Plus, it's convenient … no more running to the bathroom half a dozen times a shift.”

 

“Right.  Down on the mat.”

 

Vickie dropped to the floor, and made herself comfortable.

 

Rita collected the four pins, and the diaper fell open.  For the first time, she saw the set of baby diapers that Sarah had inserted as stuffers to give Vickie's diaper greater absorbency.

 

“You're supposed to unpin the baby diapers, then drop them into the pail with the adult diaper,” Vickie advised.

 

“Lift up, then,”

 

Vickie raised her hips, and Rita slid the pee soaked diaper out from under her.  She separated the various cloths, and tossed them into the diaper pail.  Then she ordered Vickie to pull her knees up to her chest so that she could clean her diaper area with baby wipes.

 

“Nothing to it,” Rita noted as she vigorously wiped Vickie's ass.  She wanted to make sure that there was no poop in the folds of her skin.  “But you do have a bit of a diaper rash; we need to change you more often.”

 

“Baby powder, please-- and lots of it!”

 

Rita slid a fresh hospital diaper under Vickie's bottom, and applied the baby powder generously.  The four pins tightly secured the thick fabric around her waist, then Rita muscled Vickie's baby pants into place, and finished up with the heavy canvas diaper cover.  She slid the lock partway home, waiting for Vickie to object, but she remained silent.  Shrugging, Rita firmly pushed the lock home, and heard it click into place.

 

“Okay.  Get dressed, and we'll rendezvous with Sarah in the parking ramp.  You'll need another diaper change before you go home, but that one will have to last until you come in tomorrow morning.  If you're poopy, visit Sarah; if you're just wet, see me.  Who knows?  If I'm in a good mood, I might just let you sneak off to the potty to go poo-poos before I get you dressed for the day.”

 

“And if mommy Sarah checks to see if my diapeee is dirty?”

 

Rita sighed heavily.  “You're right.  A change of plans … from now on, you'll be using your diapers for everything.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian ushered the last of his students out the door with a couple of minutes to spare.  There were only half a dozen coeds still camped out.

 

Priscilla handed Ian an envelope with a copy of the memorandum that Marilyn had passed her before leaving for her own office.  “No unwanted visitors in the last hour,” she reported.  “It looks like things will get back to normal by the end of the week.”

 

“Pity, that,” Ian grinned; “I've really enjoyed the attention.”  He smiled warmly at the young women, knowing that they had all chosen to stay until the end of his office hour, lest some devious poacher bushwhack him at the last possible moment.

 

“One more phone call,” he said, “a quick diaper change, and then we can take off.”

 

As he reentered his office, Ian started to shut the door, but he paused with his hand on the jamb.  He looked at Priscilla-- really looked at her-- thinking about what lay just ahead, thinking about a conversation with Rita now just twenty-four hours away, thinking about the gathering of the Circle on Saturday night.  He was walking through a minefield of secrets, some of which must remain hidden and some of which could be shared.

 

But the difference between 'could be' and 'should be' is immense.  I need help …

 

“Ian?  Are you okay?  You look like you've just seen a ghost.”  Priscilla reached out to grasp his arm and give it an encouraging squeeze.

 

“In a manner of speaking.”  He smiled weakly, and he felt so lost.  It was one thing to know what to do, another to know how to go about it.

 

“Priscilla, I don't know how this phone call is going to go, but I would trust Irina with my life.  In fact, I've done so … more times than I can count.  She has my best interests at heart, and I expect her to ask some pointed questions that will take us back to Viet Nam-- to the worst moments of my life … painful, ugly moments.  I need to share some of this with Sarah … with all three of them, because if we go ahead with this crazy plan of ours, my past will feed into their future.  The thing is, I'm not sure how much to tell them, nor how to go about it.  I need help, so I'd like you in on this conversation, and afterwards to give me some advice.  But I've got to tell you that some of this will be really, really hard to hear.  Don't do this unless you've got a strong stomach.”

 

Priscilla smiled encouragingly, and squeezed his arm a bit harder.  “Ian, you've already said the three magic words.  Of course I'm going to help you.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Shortly after three, Julia pulled into the high school parking lot.  It was directly across the street from Ian's apartment complex; in fact, the school driveway was directly opposite the row of cars in front of his building.  She found a slot in the second row that gave her an unobstructed view, but her beater blended in well with the assortment of aging vehicles that surrounded her.  Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

 

Julia hated stakeouts.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“So, where are we headed,” Vickie inquired.  The three of them had piled into Rita's car, which was the largest, newest, and most comfortable of the three cars at their disposal.

 

“The mall.”  Sarah had let her fingers do the walking.  “It's anonymous, and the maternity shop has a variety of breast pumps to choose among.  We should be able to get in and out without anyone at work being the wiser.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

The phone range, and Ian answered it cautiously.

 

“Privet, Tovarishch!  Kak pozhivayet moy lyubimyy ne takoy uzh I sekretnyy Sekretnyy Agent?”

 

“Starshe,” Ian laughed; “vozmozhno nemnogo mudreye.  Moy lyubimyy General nu?”

 

“Khorosho.  Spasibo.  But we must speak English, Ian; your Russian is kulturnyy, whereas I am but a peasant from the steppes.”

 

“I did not know that Moskva is so far to the east,” he teased.  “Irina, I have someone with me, so let me put us on speaker phone.”

 

“Irina, allow me to introduce Officer Priscilla Canon of our university police department.  She started out as my bodyguard, but now that she changes my diapers, I think of her as my nanny.  Priscilla, this is Lieutenant-General Irina Orlov of Soviet military intelligence.  Over the years, we have shared some interesting times.”

 

“You ...you … you speak Russian?”  Priscilla was dumbfounded.

 

“Better than I do,” Irina laughed, “and I am Moskva born and raised.  Now, tell me Priscilla: who is trying to kill my beloved Ian?”

 

NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART

 

“I … I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time coming to grips with this.”  Priscilla felt dizzy, incoherent thoughts swirling around in her brain with the force of a category five hurricane.  “Aren't you two enemies?  How … how is this possible?”

 

Irina laughed, and it was heartfelt.  She had had this conversation many times, and in more than one language.  “My Dear, we are professionals, and as such we try not to make life too difficult for one another.  But Ian and I are also friends.  A long time ago, he saved my life, and for a Russian, this is a very big deal.  We believe that, if you save someone's life, you are forever responsible for them.  But it also means that my family has a life debt … what we call 'a debt of honor'.  When Ian comes east, he is under my family's protection, but he is careful never to abuse our friendship.  Do not think of him as a spy, for he is not.  No.  He is the one honorable man in a dishonorable profession.  Now, I ask again: who is trying to harm my Ian?”

 

“Calling her my bodyguard?  Sorry, Irina; it was a figure of speech.  There are many refugees here, and the hospitals all need someone who speaks Khmer, Lao, and Vietnamese.  I'm it.  I have been helping one hospital, and the others have found out.  Now, there are recruiters offering me a lot of money to quit the university and work for somebody else.  Priscilla is here to keep order.”

 

“They are offering you money?”  Irina snorted derisively.  “Milyy, you care less about money than the people in my government, and they are good Communists!  Ridiculous!”

 

“Milyy,” Priscilla mouthed.

 

“Sweetheart,”  Ian mouthed.

 

“Oh.”  Priscilla didn't quite know what to make of that!

 

“And now she is your nanny?  Milyy, you never called me 'nanny' when I was changing your diapers!”

 

“You changed his diapers,” Priscilla screeched.  “But you're a general,” she managed to add before her voice trailed off.

 

“A general who knows how to change a diaper,” Irina chuckled.  “And changing my Ian was great fun”

 

“Did you sleep with him?”  Priscilla blurted out what she really wanted to know.

 

“Uh … Pris,”  Ian cautioned, “this call is being recorded; half the world is probably listening in.”

 

“The question stands,” Priscilla hissed.  “Did you sleep with him?”

 

“No,” Irina lamented; “both governments would have been embarrassed if an American agent and a Russian general became lovers … and I am not a honey trap!”

 

“Honey pot,” Ian corrected; “you are not a honey pot, and you do not set honey traps.”

 

Priscilla looked at him for an explanation.

 

'Using sex to set someone up for blackmail,” he whispered.

 

She nodded.  That, at least, was easy to understand.

 

“Da … thank you.  But when it comes to women,” she added coquettishly, “my Ian always comes to me for advice.”

 

“An older woman ...”

 

“We are the same age,” Irina laughed.  “Milyy, ona zaviduyet.  Ty tozhe spish's ney?”

 

“Ian?”

 

“She thinks that you are jealous, and she is very politely asking if we are lovers.”  Ian said this loud enough for Irina to overhear.

 

“Da,” Priscilla cut in before Ian had a chance to answer.

 

“I do not understand.  Ian, Donald told me that you are to marry … a nurse named Sarah.  But he also said that you will be living with Rita and Victoria, and sleeping with them too.  And now I discover that you are sleeping with your nanny.  Is this an American custom, or did it only start with this feminist revolution of yours?”

 

“American women are very liberated,” Ian conceded, “although few drive tractors.”  This was an old Soviet joke, which he was sure would pass right over Priscilla's head.  “But they are very bossy.  I am the mule who plows their fields.”

 

“And do you like pulling the plow?”

 

“Yes, but the harness is uncomfortable.  I want Sarah to make a harness just for me, not buy one in the store that fits poorly.”

 

“I understand.  You should not marry until the harness fits well.  An unhappy mule will not plow deep, and the seed will fail.  The angry farmer will sell the mule, and an animal twice sold may not find a buyer.”

 

“The mule is stubborn by nature.  The farmer must find its limits, and respect them.”

 

“This mule will not lack for buyers.”  Priscilla had caught on to what they were talking about.  “There are many interested parties, but the owner will not sell.  It will take time, but they will become a team.”

 

“I see.”  There was a pronounced pause while Irina thought it through.  “Then we come to the heart of the matter-- marriage, and children.  Your diapers do not drive the women who care for you away, and your injuries are less than they see in their work.  No, it is as Donald said to me when he called: have you come to terms with the past, or does Nguyen still haunt your thoughts?”

 

“I have let go,” Ian thoughtfully admitted.  He had given an enormous amount of time to this very question.  “And you were right.  I was not honest with Emily, and not honest with myself.  I treated her terribly.  It was too soon.”

 

“And children?  Have you discussed this?”

 

“Not yet … tomorrow with Rita, and on Saturday with everyone.”

 

“And are you ready, Ian?  Ready to have another child?”

 

“Yes.”  He let it go at that.

 

“Wait … what?  Ian?  Ian, what … what are you saying?”  Priscilla was suddenly struggling to breathe.  It felt as if an invisible hand had taken hold of her heart, and was squeezing the life out of her.  Whatever she had been expecting, this was not it.

 

“She does not know?”  Irina's voice was sharp, her tone openly accusing.

 

“I've told no one.”  Ian's tone was just as understandably defensive; he was acutely aware that they were entering the minefield, and that the world as he knew it was about to blow up.

 

“Ty ne smohesh' eto sdelat'!  Ty dolzhen skazat' im!  Anyone who would bear you a child must know the cost!”

 

“I know.”  He was bone weary, his thoughts bankrupt.  He had no idea how to begin.

 

“Ian, listen to me.  Talk to Priscilla.  Talk to her directly.  You cannot hide from this, and she is a police officer.  She has seen tragedy, and can help you.  But have faith in your loves.  They too have seen much tragedy.”

 

Irina was right, Ian thought; it was somewhere to begin.  Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he took the plunge.

 

“Pris, do you remember what I told you this morning about Studies and Operations Group … how we were not in the chain of command?”

 

“Yes,” she responded tentatively.  Priscilla felt as if she was mired in quicksand.

 

“And how I had Vietnamese soldiers in my unit?”

 

She nodded.

 

“We did not operate out of a military base.  Instead, we used a village that was home to two brothers in my unit … Minh and Quy.  They were experienced noncoms, and very good soldiers.  They spoke little English, so we communicated in Vietnamese.  Over time, we became close friends-- so close that Minh and Anh asked me to be present at their daughter's baptism, and to become Thu's godfather.  It helped that we were all Catholics, and took Mass together.  A parish priest visited us regularly.”

 

Ian reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet.  He laid it on the desk, but did not open it.  He caressed the worn leather with his thumb.

 

“I was all of twenty-two years old and far from a home that, with my parents gone, seemed not only distant but unreal.  Viet Nam felt much more like where I belonged, and Minh and Quy had a sister a year younger than me.  Nguyen was beautiful, but there was a grace about her that is hard to put into words, and her smile warmed a place in my heart that I did not know was there.  She was my first love, and with her family's permission, I courted and in due course married her-- a Catholic wedding, with our parish priest presiding.  The army put up a lot of roadblocks to keep young guys from marrying Vietnamese girls, so I was lucky that I was no longer in the chain of command.”

 

Opening the wallet, Ian removed his driver's license to reveal the photograph concealed beneath.  He handled it lovingly.

 

Priscilla's eyes grew large and luminous as she realized what Ian was holding.  Her breath caught in her throat.

 

“About a year later, my daughter was born.  This is my family, Pris … Nguyen and Linh.”  Ian handed her the photograph.

 

Priscilla silently accepted it, but her eyes never left Ian's face.  His eyes were soft and filled with love, but then another thought slipped into place, and she could register his pain.  She did not need to hear him say it to know that she was holding tragedy in her hands.  Finally, she looked down.

 

Ian was sitting atop a brick wall, holding the baby in his arms, with his wife standing beside him, her arm casually draped over his shoulders.  They were both smiling at the camera.  Nguyen, with her silken black hair falling below her waist, was exquisitely beautiful, and Ian was young and happy. 

 

So young, she thought, so very young.

 

“I was wounded again late in sixty nine … my third Purple Heart.  Not a threat to life and limb, but enough to earn down time for both me and the unit.  R&R, maintenance, resupply-- and a chance to be a husband and father in real time, not just stolen moments.  But it didn't last: it couldn't, not with the war expanding deeper into Laos and Cambodia.”

 

“Go on,” Priscilla encouraged.  Lost in his memories, Ian had gone silent for several seconds.

 

“In March of seventy, we shot down a Soviet helicopter over Laos, and captured the pilots unharmed-- Irina, and Sergei Federov.  They weren't supposed to be there … we weren't supposed to be there … and there was nothing in the manual telling me what to do.”

 

“He interrogated us,” Irina put in, “in Russian.  But we were pilots, not engineers.  It was easy to play dumb because we were.”

 

“Anyway, in the end I hoisted Irina onto Toby's back, told Sergei to tag along, and off into the jungle we went.  I left them outside a Laotian village under Communist control, and returned to the war.  Just another day at the office.”

 

“Sergei and I were debriefed in Moskva, and we told everyone about this young officer commanding a unit in the jungle-- a young officer who spoke Vietnamese and Lao, Khmer … and fluent Russian.  No one would have believed us except for Toby because everyone knows that Americans cannot speak any language but their own.  Ah, but there were stories being told, stories about an American who rode into battle on an elephant, with a huge snake around his shoulders.  This was our confirmation, and our intelligence services opened files on the soldier code named Dvarapala … you would say 'demon warrior'.  But I knew him as Ian Grady, and for years I watched for him, hoping that he would come east.  And when he did, I went to him, only to find him wearing a diaper and depending on a cane.  At first, I pitied him, but he would not allow it.  Instead, he asked for my help, telling me the terrible story that you have yet to hear-- a story that I brought back to Moskva and told to others.  And so began the operation we call Velikyi Poisk-- 'The Great Search'.”

 

“Searching for what”  Priscilla flinched, knowing in her heart that she had asked the wrong question.

 

“For my daughter.”

 

Oh God, no!!!

 

“About three months after Irina and I said our goodbyes, we were in the field at the tail end of a high risk mission.  We pulled it off, despite being in intermittent contact with an enemy force that had us heavily outnumbered, but we missed our extraction window because of bad weather.  We were on our own for the next forty eight hours, and when the choppers and gunships finally did show up, we were caught out in the open in an intense fire fight.  We took casualties …”

 

Ian took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

 

“I lost both of my brothers in law.  I spent the next nine months in hospital, afraid for my family, trying to get better so that I could go home.  I knew that our unit had been disbanded, but other than that … nothing.”

 

“Not knowing,” he whispered; “waking up every day, not knowing … that was hard.  How trivial the diapers seemed in comparison.”

 

Priscilla reached across the desk to grip Ian's hand.  She wanted to comfort him, but well knew how pointless words were at moments like this.  She could only hope that her touch would somehow reassure him that he was not alone.

 

“When I left Hawaii, my first stop was DC, where I learned that after finally getting back on my feet I had been relegated to a desk … condemned to become just another Pentagon pencil pusher.  I resigned my commission on the spot, and made my way out to Saigon on my own.  Getting home was easy, but the village was empty … a literal ghost town-- well, except for Pete and Toby.  They were still there, growing fat on rats and rice grass.  I moved them to a rubber plantation that belonged to a friend, and then I went looking for answers.  First stop, Saigon.”

 

Ian let out a deep, frustrated sigh.  “I expected to find that the village had been relocated to somewhere in the Delta; they'd done it before.  But when I made the rounds, all I got was blank looks.  Nobody knew what had happened, or so they claimed.    So, I chased down some of the guys … the ones who had written to me in hospital.  They all swore that everything seemed normal when they left for reassignment.  That's when I started to panic, or as Donnie so eloquently puts it, that's when I lost it.  I braced the members of a very well informed club, and believe me, I pushed them really hard.”

 

“Nothing.”  Ian was speaking in a dull monotone, and Priscilla was struggling to hold back her tears.  She sensed how this terrible story was going to end.

 

“At some point, I lost hope.  I figured that the VC had massacred everyone in the village to send a message, or maybe the Buddhists were starting another round of Christian persecution.”

 

“But Buddhists are supposed to be non-violent!”  Priscilla was utterly shocked by what she was hearing, her emotions becoming more tangled by the moment.

 

“Tell that to the hundred and eighteen martyrs who have been beatified by the Church.”

 

Ian's anger flared for a fleeting second, then died away.

 

“It came down to closure.  I couldn't leave until I had hard, tangible evidence that my family was dead.  With nowhere else to turn, and knowing that Donnie was still in country, I tracked him down, only to end up back where it all began-- in Hue, at the Huong Giang hotel.  He … he had photos.  Nothing disturbed, the bodies still on the ground.  Some were hard to identify … the rats ...”

 

“Oh God,” Priscilla moaned.

 

Far away, Irina flinched.  This was the story she had told to her father and to her colleagues-- the inconceivable horror of war known only to those who had been there.

 

“I found Nguyen, Anh, my parents-in-law, but not my daughter, and that's when we stumbled upon the truth.  Donnie was emphatic: there had been no infants or small children among the dead.  They had vanished, the youngest victim being maybe five years old.  But Donnie didn't know that I had married … had a daughter.  That changed everything.  Until that moment, he thought that the children had been taken to be adopted out or trafficked, which is still a possibility …”

 

“Sergei is using his connections in the arms trade to penetrate the trafficking networks,” Irina interrupted.  “Often, the same people are involved in both operations.  But this becomes much more difficult when the children mature.  Prostitution across borders is a vast industry, and in many countries it is protected by the police and the politicians.”

 

“But for the first time, Donnie and I had seriously to consider the possibility that we were dealing with a state actor.”

 

“I don't understand,” Priscilla hesitantly admitted.

 

“Priscilla, there is no one in my country with Ian's gift.  No one.  Do you understand?”

 

“No.  I'm sorry, but I don't get it.”

 

“He may well be the only person in your country with this talent as well.  What if his children inherit this ability?  Their value would be beyond measure, yes?”

 

“So … so you think that someone knew that Ian had a child, and murdered an entire village to steal her?  Only they didn't know which child, so they took them all?  Is that what you're saying?”

 

“Da.” Irina firmly believed that this was the answer to the mystery.  What she could never say over the telephone was that she had developed a theory that fit all the facts, although she had no hard evidence to support it.

 

Ian nodded in agreement.  “Donnie understood the implications, Pris; in the wrong hands, with time and training Linh could be forged into a very dangerous weapon.  So, we cut the obvious trade: I placed my language skills at Langley's disposal, and in turn the Agency uses its resources to search for her.  This has been going on for eight years now.”

 

“And Irina helps you because you saved her life, and she owes you this 'debt of honor'.  It was a statement, not a question.

 

“Correct.”

 

Well, I know who I want to find your daughter, and it damned well isn't my government!  Besides, damn it, I like Irina!

 

“And now you're caught up in this as well.  I'm sorry.”

 

“Caught up how?”  Priscilla was once more lost in the depths.

 

“You just admitted that we have slept together, on a call that's being recorded and will be reviewed by some very powerful people.  Priscilla, any woman of child-bearing age who sleeps with me is going to have a security net thrown over her.  This is what Sarah, Rita and Vickie have to think about-- the consequences of sharing their lives with a guy who has been under Agency scrutiny since age eleven.  At first, the net will be light, but the net will tighten if one of them becomes pregnant, and a very tight net will protect the baby from birth.  The Agency will not permit another child to slip through its fingers.”

 

“I haven't met Rita, but Vickie loves you, Ian, and for sure she's not going anywhere.  Remember, this is a woman who fought for you with a turkey drumstick.”

 

“I do not know this story,” Irina laughed; “is it good?”

 

“Oh, yes!   A patient attacked Ian at Thanksgiving dinner, and Vickie leapt across the table to defend him.  She was holding a drumstick, and used it like a cudgel to beat him off!”

 

“Wonderful,” Irina clapped; “wonderful!”

 

“And again, Sarah strikes me as a very tough cookie.  No one is going to intimidate her.”

 

“Milyy, it is after midnight, and I must go.  I think that you are ready, both for marriage and children.  If you need my help on Saturday night, I will be home.  Call anytime after your ten o'clock.  But I want to meet with you soon … Athens would be best.  We have much to discuss.  Do svidaniya, Priscilla!”

 

“Do svidaniya, Irina!” 

 

Ian disconnected, but he was looking at her curiously.

 

“I remember it from some movie or other; that and da are the only Russian I know.  Now, you're overdue for a diaper change, and the deli awaits, if you're still up for it.” 

 

Priscilla was making an effort to keep it light, but she was worried about Ian's state of mind.  What he had just suffered was a level of trauma that police rarely encountered outside the morgue.

 

Ian walked around his desk, and reached out to clasp her hands.  He had his game face on.

 

“Thank you for being here, and for keeping it together.  I know this wasn't easy for you.  And the deli sounds great … real food at last!”

 

He mustered a grin, but it didn't fool Priscilla for a second.  She squeezed his fingers a bit harder.

 

“You did well, Ian, and if you think of it as a dress rehearsal for Saturday night … yes, it will be hard, but do not underestimate the strength and resolve of the people you love.  There are a few details that would be best omitted, but otherwise, tell the story as you just told it to me.  I promise you that it will end well.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Are we, uh, are we really going to do this?”

 

Wide-eyed, Vickie was staring at the breast pump, trying to imagine her body hooked up to this ridiculous Rube Goldberg device.  At the moment, it was cheerfully chugging away, the store owner having activated a floor model to demonstrate how it worked.  The middle-aged lady, whose gray hair and ample bosom screamed Meemaw, had assured them that the experience would be pleasurable because, rather than constantly suctioning, the machine perfectly mimicked the rhythm of a hungry infant at the breast.  She had then excused herself to attend to a nervous looking teenage boy who had come in by himself, and appeared on the edge of a nervous breakdown in the diaper aisle.

 

“I mean, really, this monster weighs over twenty pounds.  We're not exactly going to haul it around the living room while we get on with the vacuuming.”

 

“It would be a good time to catch up on our reading, maybe watch a little TV” Rita commented.  She was trying to look on the bright side, but like Vickie, she was having a hard time imagining her body being tethered to this monstrosity for weeks at a time.

 

'It's just not practical,” Vickie lamented.  “I mean really.  No break between sessions to last more than five hours for the first two months?  Doing it for fifteen minutes every two hours for a seventy two hour stretch?  And pumping both breasts simultaneously?  Are you kidding me?  How are we supposed to work, never mind sleep?”

 

“I'm going to do it,” Sarah countered, her expression a study in grim determination.  “And I agree with her ...”

 

Sarah nodded in the direction of the store owner.  They could hear her asking the boy his name and age.

 

Tommy was fourteen.

 

“And do you need diapers for bedwetting, or wear them both day and night?”  In the quiet of the store, they could all hear the conversation unfolding two aisles away as if it were taking place within arm's reach.

 

“... that we each need our own machine, or rather, machines-- one for home, and one for the office.”

 

“Expensive,” Vickie observed.

 

“We can afford it,” Sarah sneered.  She was letting Vickie rattle on, but she had already decided that they would be leaving the store with six breast pumps and associated appliances, and that they would be attending one of the upcoming night classes teaching how to keep the pumps germ free and the milk that they would express safe and sanitary.

 

Tommy was nervously explaining to the lady that he was a bed wetter, but he confessed that he still had daytime accidents as well, and that his parents insisted he be diapered for car trips, the movies, church, and family gatherings.

 

“Poor kid,” Vickie whispered.  “I didn't get out of nighttime diapers until I was nine.”

 

“I think that at your age we should be looking at adult diapers,” the lady observed.  “And are you using rubber pants, or baby pants?”

 

“Baby pants,” he said in a subdued voice.

 

“I see,” she mused.  “Do you know what brand you wear?”

 

“I have them on,” he cringed.  “Mom made me wear a diaper to make it easier for you to help me.”

 

“That was smart.  I tell you what.  Let's go into the storeroom; you can undress, and I'll take your measurements.  Adult diapers come in different sizes, and you will probably need baby pants with a wider crotch to protect against leaks.  Your new diapers will be much bulkier than your old ones, but they will protect you a lot better.  Won't that be wonderful?”

 

“Thank you,” he said politely.  He meekly followed the Meemaw into the storeroom.

 

About a minute later, she returned to check on her three female customers.  She was curious about their interest in breast pumps, since it was obvious that their pregnancies could not be far advanced.

 

“So, what have you decided,” she asked cheerfully.

 

“We'll need a half dozen pumps total,” Sarah indicated.  “Plus all of the accessories … and we'll need to sign up for a class sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

 

“Wonderful.  And I'm sorry that I had to wander off.  Two or three boys like Tommy there come into the store every week.  Entering puberty, they need to make the transition to adult diapers, but the poor dears are always so embarrassed.  And their baby pants are never big enough to cope with the extra bulk.”

 

The keen eyed store owner shrewdly appraised Vickie's rear; the bulk of the woman's obvious diaper put anything in her store to shame!  “I cannot help but notice your diaper, Dear; it must be very absorbent, but is it comfortable?”

 

Vickie instantly turned crimson with embarrassment, much to Sarah's delight.  Even Rita was amused.

 

“She's wearing one of our hospital diapers,” Sarah hastily cut in, “along with baby pants and a canvas diaper cover.  This is what she uses away from work, but at the office I keep her in a thinner adult diaper from a local diaper service.”

 

“Lullaby?”

 

“Yes!  Do you know it?”

 

“I do, indeed.  You should have a peek at our adult diaper line.  I guarantee you that our diaper is superior, both in terms of absorbency and wear.  And it would only be slightly more visible to the naked eye.  Reducing the number of times you have to change her at work is a good trade off.”

 

“Do you hear that, baby girl?  Would you like to look at some new diapees?”  Sarah was cooing in the singsong way that mothers worldwide adopted when addressing their babies.

 

“She's your baby,” the lady asked.  This was getting more and more interesting.

 

“She is,” Sarah confirmed.  “And what do you call me, baby girl?”

 

“Mommy,” Vickie whispered.

 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” the lady snickered, “but I didn't hear you.”

 

“Mommy,” Vickie repeated in a much louder voice.

 

“And who is this nice lady,” Sarah asked as she pointed at Rita.

 

“Auntie Rita,” Vickie said, making sure that her voice was loud enough that she wouldn't have to repeat herself.

 

“She's very well behaved,” the lady commented.  “You have done a good job raising your baby girl.”

 

“Oh, she's often a brat, I assure you.  I wish I could find a pacifier for her, but she's such a big baby that I've had no luck so far.”

 

“Well, then, this is your lucky day.  I keep a stock of pacifiers for older children, including teenagers.  I was just about to get one for Tommy before I change him; would you like to check them out?”

 

“Absolutely!  Sometimes she's so cranky … a nice pacifier is just what this baby girl needs!”

 

“My pleasure.  Here, let me direct you to our adult diaper line.  The stock is below the counter at the end of this aisle, but I always keep one on the counter for customers to examine.  Why don't you look them over while I fetch the pacifiers.  Then, you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes while I take Tommy's measurements and select the right diaper for him.”

 

The lady pointed at the display, but kept walking to the back of the sales counter.  She was back a moment later, with several pacifiers in different colors.  Sarah instantly picked out a large pink one, and waved it in front of Vickie's face.

 

“Open up, baby girl; here's your new binkie!”

 

Vickie opened wide, and began instantly to suck contentedly on her new paci.  It was so easy to make Sarah happy, and to her surprise she discovered that she was really enjoying the attention.  The pacifier was actually quite soothing.

 

The lady reached under the counter, and took three adult diapers in different sizes off the various stacks.  She then excused herself to go diaper her customer, but not before inviting Sarah to bring Vickie back to the storeroom once she was finished with Tommy.  As long as the diaper on display did not touch the baby's skin, she explained, Sarah was free to try the various sizes to get the best fit.

 

Sarah was delighted to accept the lady's kind offer, and she asked in return whether they could help with the boy's diaper change.

 

“That would be very embarrassing, but what would really help is to let him see your baby's diaper.  If he knew that there were even bigger babies wearing diapers, it would make the transition to adult diapers a lot easier for him.”

 

“We'd be delighted to help, wouldn't we baby girl?”

 

Vickie nodded while she kept sucking on her new binkie.

 

“Then give me a moment to lock up the shop, and the four of us can all retreat to the storeroom.”  The lady stormed off to the front, locked the door, and turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

 

“Now,” she said when she returned, “let's go so how Tommy is getting along.”

 

First knocking on the door and opening it just enough to check that Tommy was still wearing his baby diaper and baby pants while being otherwise undressed, she flung the door open and led her three female customers into the room.

 

Tommy's eyes widened in shock when he saw the pretty lady, whom he guessed was a bit younger than his mother, happily sucking on a big pacifier.  He turned to the store owner, his look more confused than concerned.

 

“These ladies have offered to help us sort out your new diapers,” she explained.  “And this nice lady wants to show you her diaper, which is much, much thicker than the one you will be wearing.  We all thought that you would find your new diapers less threatening if you saw what a really thick diaper looks like.  And here ...”

 

She reached into one of the pockets on her dress, and brought out another pacifier, this one in baby blue.

 

“I thought that this might help you as well.”  Like Sarah, she waved it in front of Tommy's eyes, and like Vickie, he opened his mouth to accept the gift.  He began sucking without conscious thought.

 

Sarah unfastened and lowered Vickie's pants, revealing the canvas diaper cover underneath.  She took the key out of her pocket, and unlocked the cover, but left it in place.

 

“My baby girl sometimes tries to take her diaper off without permission, so I keep this locking cover in place at all times to keep her from doing so.  I hope that you don't give your mommy a hard time about your diapers, Tommy, because if you do ...”

 

Sarah paused to lower Vickie's cover, exposing the pink baby pants hiding beneath.

 

Tommy's eyes widened when he saw the pink vinyl covering, and he began sucking madly on his pacifier when he grasped how thick this big baby's diapers really were.

 

“... if you do,” Sarah continued, “your mother can put you in a much thicker diaper like this one, and get one of these covers to keep it locked in place.  Then all of your friends would know what a big baby you really are.  You wouldn't like that, would you?”

 

The boy nodded vigorously, and then blushed when he realized that he was wetting his baby diaper.

 

“So, are you going to be a good boy for your mommy, and wear your diapers like she wants you to?”  Sarah's voice was syrupy.

 

The teenager again nodded vigorously in agreement, as his pee continued to flow unabated.  It was a good thing that his mommy had folded a couple of baby diapers up, and inserted them to act as soaker pads.

 

The lady took note of the boy's discomfort, and guessed correctly that he was having an “accident.”

 

“You didn't bring a diaper bag with you, did you?”

 

The young teen shook his head, and looked down in shame.

 

“That's all right,” she soothed; “I have a diaper pail here that we can use.  Give me your number, and I'll call your mother to come pick you up.  If you need to poop, go ahead and use your diaper; I'll clean you up, and spare your mother the trouble.  It must be very hard on her, having a boy your age still in diapers.”

 

Tommy's head hung in shame, and he started to cry.

 

Sarah stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the big baby, hugging him close.  “It's all right,” she said consolingly as she patted his back.  “You can't help it, and I'm sure that your mother doesn't mind caring for you.  Now, give your Auntie Sarah a big hug.”

 

The boy did so, burying his head in Sarah's shoulder, his tears flowing freely.

 

Vickie was sucking frantically on her pacifier, overcome with jealousy.  Mommy Sarah had never hugged her this way!

 

When they were leaving the shop, with new diapers for Vickie and the half dozen breast pumps, Sarah's baby girl refused to let go of her pacifier until mommy threatened her with a public spanking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

              

 

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