Thalma made do by running, wrestling with the dogs, and on the third day home finally surrendered to Maggie's pestering to get together by agreeing to play Frisbee golf at the community park. It was fun, but Mark longed for something more physical - to bump bodies, exert his strength, to hear the gnashing of teeth and the cries of tribulation from his opponents. Thalma found his thoughts disgusting, but not without a small, perverse thrill at the idea of actually fulfilling his base desires.

  "What's with you, today?" Maggie was looking a little worried as Thalma whipped a Frisbee into a nearby basket with enough force to gouge its side on the chains. "Did you take a testosterone shot this morning?"

  Thalma made a note to rein Mark in. "Just feeling restless, I guess."

  "If it's any consolation, Operation Vaccine Bullshit Part Deux should be coming up in a day or two. Murphy hears that the WSGI 'persuasion event' in Seattle is a go. So it's gonna be up to little ole me and you to put the kibosh on that."

  "Any more word on what's in the CDC files?"

  "Murphy said that so far they seem to be every bit as damning as they thought they'd be. Faked data, admissions that the correlation between MM2 and autism "won't go away" and even a section about paying off some scientists to forge a new study that will whitewash the vaccine's side-effects. What we don't know much about is WSGI's plans in Seattle. The indication is that they're going to inject a really strong measles or mumps or even rubella strain into a few of the kids whose parents chose to exempt them from vaccinations."

  "Then when those kids get sick and infect others," said Thalma, "they'll blow it up into a national tragedy that could be solved if vaccines were mandatory."

  "Yup. And when Washington, Oregon, and maybe other states pass mandatory vaccine legislation, orders for the MMR 2 and other vaccines will go through the roof."

  "And Merck, GlaxoSmithKline, and Pfizer feed at the trough."

  "Nice world we live in, huh?"

  They played through to the final, 27th hole.

  "Wow, that's some Frisbee golf course," said Maggie, swiping sweat from her forehead. "That had to be more than a mile long."

  Thalma nodded politely. It had been fun, but the 27 baskets had barely put a dent in her body's ache for hard exercise. They walked back to their cars. Maggie dug out some bottled water for both of them from her cooler and they leaned against her van.

  "Does Murphy have a list of the most likely targets?" Thalma asked, feeling a slight annoyance that Murphy had apparently chosen to funnel all his communiqués through Maggie. But she supposed it made sense not to waste time with duplicate messages, and he didn't know Mark that well.

  "He emailed me a list. Over four thousand exempted kids in the Seattle area."

  "Really? That many people are skeptical about vaccinations?" She smiled and shook her head. "Do we know who the WSGI agents are?"

  "Not yet."

  "What if one of the infected kids dies?"

  "That would only make their plan work that much better, right? Who's going to fight legislation when children died?"

  "Damn, I would really like to get my hands on those sick pieces of shit." Thalma finished her water bottle and crushed it in one hand.

  "You know I used to work for those sick pieces of shit."

  "I know. I used to work for some pretty sick bastards myself."

  The way Maggie was staring at her made Thalma realize she might've said too much, but on second thought she couldn't see anything that linked that to Thalma.

  "Thalma was a WASP. Were you in the military, too?"

  "I was at West Point. They threw me out for being a straight gay."

  Maggie laughed. "Thalma told you all about me, I take it. She tells you everything, doesn't she?"

  "Pretty much."

  Maggie continued to study her, but then appeared to halt whatever she was thinking with a shrug. "What are you up to the rest of the day?"

  "I thought I'd go home and work out." She smiled at her. "Hard."

  "I could use me some working out, too." She flexed her right arm, pinching her bicep. "My muscle tone's going to hell."

  Thalma regarded her arm and shook her head sadly. "I think you've let it go too far to save."

  Maggie threw a punch that landed solidly on Thalma's shoulder. She withdrew her fist, shaking it and wincing.

  "Damn. What the hell are you made of anyway? Obviously the same stuff as your sister."

  Maggie followed Thalma back to the house. Plato greeted her with a skeptical glare, but soon followed Socrates' friendly lead by allowing her to scratch under his chin.

  "I still can't believe you tamed this monster, and that he gets along with your Rottie. You'd think one of them would've eaten the other by now."

  "It's strange, but it's almost as if it was love at first sight. That's not supposed to happen with two super-dominant breeds – especially two strange males."

  "Maybe they're gay, too?"

  Thalma laughed. "I haven't seen any evidence of that. Thank God."

  Down in the gym, Thalma slapped two pairs of 45 pound plates on the bench press bar and starting shoving out multiple bench presses, Mark's body hungry for the weight. Maggie performed squats, watching Thalma with an amazement that soon verged on horror as Thalma racked up the weight to the point where the Olympic bar started to bend.

  "Seriously? No spotter?" Maggie asked in a strangled voice. "I'd offer to help, but I couldn't do anything with that weight."

  Thalma cradled the bar. She'd never worked out seriously as Mark, and it was eye-opening. In this body she'd already exceeded her maximum press by sixty pounds.

  "What happens when you don't make the final rep? How do you get it off your chest?"

  "I'd just rest until I can press it."

  "Rest? With – what, eight hundred and something pounds on your chest?"

  "When you put it that way, it sounds almost frightening."

  Maggie chuckled but didn't return her dry smile. Thalma took her place at the squat rack as Maggie moved to the pull-up bar. Weight plates accumulated on the squat bar at an even faster pace. For the next hour, Thalma moved non-stop from one brutal exercise to another, ending with overhead dumbbell presses. Maggie stood off to one side, sipping bottled water and shaking her head.

  "Do you ever get tired?"

  "Eventually. I mostly get hungry. Which I am right now."

  "You do realize you're doing world-class lifts? And you're – what? – one-eighty, maybe one-ninety?"

  "A bit more than that." Even in Mark's body, Thalma still felt self-conscious about her weight.

  "Really? Let me try something?"

  Maggie didn't wait for her answer before moving in and swooping her up in a bear hug. Veins popped in her forehead as she lifted Thalma a few inches from the floor.

  "Jeez," she rasped. "You're just like her. Lead in your bones."

  Mark's hormones were going into overdrive again. All the hard exercise hadn't quelled his "man-instincts." If anything, it had whetted his appetite for physical contact. Which Maggie was providing in abundance at this moment. Her arms cinched around her waist, soft breasts crushed against her groin – the fact that she was strong enough to lift Mark off the floor – made for a heady brew of temptation. She thought of Louis, and was startled by the image that burst in her head: Louis - her beautiful, young, long-haired, slim-bodied Louis with his soulful golden-brown eyes – now looked like some wussy little boy-man in her mind. Her deep love was still there, but it seemed troublingly transformed into what one might feel for a younger brother.

  It's Mark, Thalma chastened herself.

  "Dude," said Maggie, dropping him to the floor and backing off a step to survey the bulge in Mark's shorts. "You so need to get laid."

  Thalma acted without thought – all primal impulse – sweeping Maggie off her feet and onto the sparring mat. He reached for her gym shorts, but she was already wriggling out of them. Thalma unsnapped her own shorts, releasing the monster within.

  "Oh, shit," Maggie muttered, eyes riveted. "This is going to hurt."

  Only as she kneeled down did Thalma realize she didn't know what she was doing - that she'd never had sex with a girl – neither in her own nor in Mark's body.

  But then Maggie grabbed hold and steered him in with a moan that exploded into a shrill cry, and Thalma – surrendering completely to Mark – entered an exquisite but alien paradise.

  THALMA HAD a day and a half to think about what had happened in the basement before they caught the flight to Seattle, but time didn't lend any clarity to her/his viewpoint. For whatever it was worth, Maggie seemed as confused and disturbed as Thalma was. First, what they'd done had left her bruised, battered, and even a little bloody – and wondering how "guy curious" she truly was.

  Thalma's perspectives ebbed and flowed between hers and Mark's like tides under a demented moon. She'd think she had a firm judgment as Thalma only to lapse into Mark's "male-think." Which was, she was coming to believe, more feeling than thought. Where Thalma was contemplative and measured in her decisions, Mark tended to follow his instincts. He couldn't really feel guilty about Louis because, well, Louis was just another guy. Why would Louis care about what Mark did?

  Now, flying to Seattle, thoughts of her mom surfaced with more force than they had in years. The last time Thalma had seen her was at 24 after breaking up with Zeb Marion and showing up at her doorstep half-drunk.

  She'd expected her mom to finally offer her the love and support she'd so callously withdrawn when Thalma had decided to join the Army. But her mom hadn't softened at all. If anything, she'd grown more bitter over the intervening years. Their reunion had ended with a shouting match and Thalma stomping out the door promising to "never bother you again!"

  She leaned back in her passenger seat with a rasping breath and closed her eyes.

  "Feeling guilty?" asked Maggie, flipping through a magazine beside him.

  Thalma took a few moments to drag herself back to the present. "Maybe a bit."

  "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're much better suited to your partner than me. No offense, but you made me remember why I prefer women."

  "It was that bad?" Thalma's relief battled with Mark's male ego.

  "Man, you're an animal. And I don't mean that in a good way." She lowered her voice as some middle-aged guy across the aisle gave us a smirking look. "You didn't seem to know you were with someone who's made of flesh and blood. Is your partner made of steel like you?"

  "No."

  Thalma thought of how gentle she'd learned to be with Louis. That lesson seemed to have escaped Mark.

  Maggie closed her magazine and tucked it back into its flap. She opened her laptop. A Google map of Seattle filled the screen. She zoomed in on Gerald Ballard Elementary, the school Murphy's people believe would be the site of the planned epidemic. One of Washington State's most prestigious schools, Ballard Elementary boasted a 97% math and reading proficiency rating and a student body of 748 kids from predominately middle to upper-class neighborhoods. It also boasted a state-leading 14% vaccination exemption rate for the last five years. Some commentators had described it as "ivory tower," and "a residuum of white privilege." One editorial speculated that the parents believed their kids ate such wholesome diets that inoculation for disease was unnecessary.

  The perfect target, Thalma thought. A bunch of spoiled, rich kids who believed they were too good to be struck with working class infections or diseases. Their comeuppance should strike a satisfying chord among the less privileged and vaccine-pushers alike. People would also be more likely to empathize with a group of pretty, happy kids, so full of promise and life. Thalma could see the national headlines, the photos, the heartfelt interviews. After a respectful but brief interval, some angry state senator with a large pharmaceutical check in his back pocket would pound the podium and demand laws that would prevent another similar tragedy. Soon he'd be echoed by other similarly compensated state legislators, with a crooked Congress close on their heels. It would become a cause celebre.

  The only other thing they knew was that the WSGI operation was set to commence within the next week or two. Murphy and his people had a few suspects, but Thalma and Maggie would play a vital "eyes and ears and boots on the ground' role.

  The United Airlines flight landed in the Seattle–Tacoma International Airport midday. She and Maggie drove their rental Infiniti to the Four Seasons Hotel looking out on Puget Sound and Elliott Bay. Salt sea breezes mixed with the smell of rain, mildew, and possibly seaweed. Small touristy shops and ethnic eateries abounded. Well-to-do people and shiny late-model cars bustled about. Thalma was reminded of San Francisco.

  In Thalma's room, they had a large shrimp and seafood lunch and examined the list of possible inoculation candidates among the 105 vaccine-exempted children.

  Three families jumped out: two with fathers who worked in Synthatalle, a biotech firm that, while largely unknown to the public, was a leading developer of experimental vaccines and general pharmaceuticals. One mother worked for Complegen, a local biotech company. Murphy's main suspect was the Albright family. Ken Albright, a research scientist at Synthatalle, had recently married Diane Fall, acquiring an instant family in Diane's three children from a previous marriage. The obvious question – How could someone inoculate their own child with a possibly dangerous disease? – was somewhat addressed by Albright's role as a new stepfather. Murphy and Co. were taking a very hard look into Dr. Ken Albright's life, but their predominant theory was that WSGI would be using an unknown and untraceable third party to infect the targeted kids.

  Maggie cast a troubled frown at the waters beyond their fifth story windows. "To me, the important thing - besides saving kids' lives, of course - is proving it was a false flag. Once the public is aware of that, it will be much harder for the WSGI or any other evil organization to pull off this kind of bullshit."

  "Louis says that if people knew the truth there would be a revolution. I think he's being a little over-optimistic." Thalma's smile was scornful. "What people care about the most are food, security, entertainment, and whatever celebrity is getting divorced. They don't care about being ruled as long as their owners give them bread and circuses."

  Maggie stared at her. "Wow. Mr. Cynic. I guess you don't share your sister's idealism."

  Thalma's scornful smile fell away. A second's introspection identified that sentiment as part of the small but growing divide between Mark and herself. His attitude was like a wet blanket on the things she was passionate about, and what mattered to her dampened his own passions. Right now she sensed he was more concerned about "getting some" from the girl across the table than the plight of Seattle schoolchildren or the bigger issue of evil versus good.

  I'm the one in control, she thought, while stealing a glance at Maggie's long legs under the table. As if noting the glance, Maggie frowned and gathered her legs up under her chair.

  "I'm tired of sitting," Thalma announced. "Maybe I'll take a run. I wonder if they have a decent gym nearby."

  "There's a gym in the hotel, but it's probably a joke."

  Thalma drummed her fingers on the table and then stopped herself – I don't do restless stuff like that – and gazed into Maggie's large brown eyes that were so similar to Louis's. Except larger and...well...sexier. A lot sexier –

  Thalma slapped that thought down. But a significant part of Mark's body did not descend with it.

  Stop that shit! You don't like women! She tore her eyes away from Maggie's.

  "I think I'll go for that run," she said, backing away from the table. She started to rise, but decided she'd better chill for a minute. Maggie regarded her with heavy-lidded eyes and a world-weary scowl.

  "Can I ask you something?" she said.

  "Uh, what?"

  "Can you be gentle? Can you take it slow?"

  "Sure." Thalma swallowed as eager hormones burbled. "Of course."

  "No, I'm serious. Are you capable of that? Because I'm still sore from that time in the basement."

  "I'm sorry about that. I got a little carried away. It had just been a while."

  Maggie nodded, her eyes remaining skeptical. Seconds dragged by. Thalma resisted the urge to wriggle.

  "Okay," said Maggie.

  She got up and walked around the table. She motioned for Thalma to stand. They stood a few inches apart staring at each other.

  "This is how it will be," said Maggie. "It's going to be my rules. You will do exactly what I tell you to do."

  "All...right."

  "We'll start with kissing." She leaned up and kissed the corner of Mark's lips. "Slowly, gently. Do not grab me. Do not throw me anywhere. Just kiss, until I say otherwise."

  "Okay," Mark groaned.

  They kissed. Eventually, she said otherwise.

  THALMA KNEW something had to give when she nearly ran over a homeless man that evening as she sprinted along the wharf outside their hotel. This big, bearded Grizzly Adams look-alike shambled out in her path thrusting a cup at her face, and for the space of one breath she – Mark - considered plowing into him.

  It got worse when Mark stopped in a bar and a pair of young women starting hitting on him. He didn't do anything but simply stare at them from across the bar and imagine. And then one of them had the server bring him a beer and they came over to his table, telling him he had beautiful eyes. The next thing Mark/Thalma knew, they were up at his room and doing everything he'd done with Maggie only a few hours before. Except this time he did things at his pace, and they begged him to be rough –

  He?

  She, goddamn it!

  Thalma clamped her hands on her head – hands still smelling of their bodies – and decided: That's it. This is as far as it goes.

  She hadn't injured the homeless man or the girls, but she could've. Especially in Mark's form she was capable of killing someone without meaning to. Maggie's sexuality had warped him into a sex-crazed beast. He was far too distracted to function. It was more than just jeopardizing the mission; her basic nature was at risk. Maybe now, with his sexual urges somewhat sated, Thalma was ascendant, but believing she could control Mark was like an alcoholic believing he could drive safely drunk. Time to end this before things truly got out of control.

 

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