Pop Goes the Weasel

truly silly communiqué about the government’s absurd ongoing commitment to human rights. The foreign secretary had rather bombastically proclaimed that Britain would support the international condemnation of regimes that violate human rights; support international bodies involved in the cause; and denounce human-rights abuses, blah, blah, blah , ad nauseam.
    He glanced through a few of the computer games he enjoyed when he was uptight like this — Riven, MechCommander, Unreal, TOCA, Ultimate Soccer Manager. None of them appealed to him right now; nothing did.
    He was starting to crash, and he knew the feeling. I’m going down, and there is only one certain way to stop it: play the Four Horsemen .
    To make matters worse, it was raining and woefully grayskied outside. The city of Washington, and also the surrounding countryside, looked forlorn and depressing. It sucked. Christ, he was in a bad mood, even for him.
    He continued to stare east across Massachusetts Avenue, looking into the trees bordering a park dedicated to the pacifist bullshit artist Kahlil Gibran. He tried to daydream, mostly about fucking various attractive women currently working at the embassy.
    He had called his psychiatrist, Boo Cassady, at her home-office, but she was about to start a session and couldn’t talk for long. They agreed to meet after work: a nasty quickie at her place before he went home to face Lucy and the sniveling brood.
    He didn’t dare play Horsemen again tonight. It was too soon after the nurse. But God Almighty, he wanted to play. He wished he could take somebody out in some very imaginative way, right there inside the embassy.
    He did have one excellent thing to do today — saving it until now — three in the afternoon. He had used the dice already, played a bit of Horsemen, just to help him make a personnel decision.
    He had called Sarah Middleton just before lunch and told her they needed to have a chat and could she stop by his office, say at three?
    Sarah was obviously tense on the phone and told him she could do it earlier, anytime, at his convenience. “Not busy, then, nothing much to do today?” Shafer asked. Three o’clock would be fine, she answered hastily.
    His secretary, the bestial Betty formerly from Belgravia, buzzed him promptly at three. At least he’d finally gotten through to her about punctuality.
    Shafer let her buzz him several times, then picked up the phone abruptly, as if she’d interrupted him at something vital to security.
    “What is it, Ms. Thomas? I’m extremely busy with this communiqué for the secretary.”
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shafer, but Ms. Middleton is here. You have a three-o’clock appointment with her, I understand.”
    “Hmmm . Do I? Yes, you’re right. Can you ask Sarah to wait? I’ll need a few more minutes. I’ll buzz when I’m ready to see her.”
    Shafer smiled contentedly and picked up a copy of The Red Coat , the embassy’s employee newsletter. He knew Betty hated it when he used Ms. Middleton’s Christian name: Sarah.
    He fantasized about Sarah for the next few moments. He’d wanted to have a go at Mzzz Middleton from their first interview, but he was too careful for that. God, he hated the bitch. This was going to be such fun.
    Schafer watched the rain hammer down on the traffic crossing Massachusetts Avenue for another ten minutes. Finally he snatched up the phone. He couldn’t wait a minute longer. “I’ll see her now. Send Sarah in.”
    He fingered his twenty-sided dice. This could be fun, actually. Terror at the office .

Chapter 17
    THE LOVELY SARAH MIDDLETON entered his office and managed a cordial look, almost a smile. He felt like a boa constrictor eyeing a mouse.
    She had naturally curly red hair, a moderately pretty face, a superior figure. Today she wore a very short suit, a red V-necked silk blouse, black stockings. It was obvious to Shafer that she was out to catch a husband in Washington.
    Shafer’s pulse was beating hard. He was aroused by her, always had been. He thought about taking her, and very much liked that phrase. She didn’t look as nervous and unsure of herself as she had recently, so that probably meant she was really scared and trying not to show it. He tried his best to think like Sarah. That made it more fun, though he found it a real challenge to be as squirrelly and insecure as she would surely be.
    “We certainly needed the rain,” Sarah said, and then cringed before the sentence was even