The clock above the check-in desk at the Oberoi Ramada said it was quarter to six. The two groups that comprised Monica's Disciples had another fifteen minutes before they'd be expected at the long table at the lobby's center.
Viral's conversation with Gyn had reframed his perspective of the circumstance in which he found himself -- not the circumstance of the FBI/CIA shadow recruiting him into an ambiguously sanctioned joint intelligence op, cause that sht was still weird as hell -- but the circumstance of holding on his shoulders the responsibility to do the bidding for his group. Though his team and the Fear Mongers were of the same...operation...Smooshy, et al., had tasked Viral with the job to, in a way, spy on their opponents.
The presentation given by Ankur, Helen, and their group had gotten Viral and his team members, especially Plank, convinced that Monica had set them up for a psychological test to evaluate the resilience of the human mind when placed under completely unfair expectations. Viral had considered trying to explain to the group, from his experience as the son of two high achieving Indian parents, that mental frailty was a construction of the West. However, then he remembered Monica's professed interest in his father's research, and Viral concluded that Monica could very well have been working to institutionalize the psychic abuse of Indian parents. He agreed to ask her, on his group's behalf, to make public the protein sequences that Ankur had acquired of Covid-19 from the Chinese Communist Party-controlled laboratory in Wuhan.
Viral approached the bistro that splayed from the north end of the lobby. The copper lip covering the threshold from marble to carpet reminded Viral of the off-strip casinos he'd visited in 2009 for Chodha family reunions. Since few of his parents' relatives could match his parents' joint income reunions with other Chodha's were a break from the usual luxury to which Viral had become attached during vacations with his folks. The Oberoi Ramada had a whiff of solemnity to it beneath its decaying elegance, like the Overlook during an off-season.
The number of television screens took Viral by surprise upon entering the David Blaine Bistro and Pub. He'd never heard of the street illusionist's foray into chain dining, but he'd also never heard of an Oberoi chapter of the Ramada Inn. He decided some things were above his paygrade. But the visual noise of the televisions took all the focus he could muster to cut through their clutter. Squinting and standing on his tippy-toes in Jaxon's shoeless Tim's, Viral scoured the shadows for Agent Monica Treyna.
He heard her before he saw her. Her honking laugh drew his eye in time for him to see her catch what looked like Chardonnay erupting through her nose. Beside her at the square table covered by a white, cotton table-cloth sat the Highway Man still in his oxidized avocado uniform.
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As Viral walked up to their table he considered what the best approach would be to begin his query. Because he hadn't spoken directly with the Highway Man before, he thought it felt natural to address Monica directly. The chauvinist in him, however, wondered how the chauvinist in the Highway Man would react to a woman being addressed before --
"V-dog! What's good, my ni----?"
Viral froze. He wasn't sure about Monica's racial makeup so he abstained from passing strong judgment on her use of the epithet, but he as an Indian definitely did not feel comfortable to be included in the exchange. The greeting rocked him and he lost the balance of his opening tact.
"Oh, um, uh -- me? I was just -- I know it's not --"
The wet slurp of Monica's daiquiri interrupted his speech and train of thought. The Highway Man next to her chewed a black, plastic straw through a smile that ended in two dimples as severe as the craters on the moon. He was so beautiful, Viral noticed, that he felt a rage rise forward in his loins. He had never felt the impulse to wrestle a man; he had never even wrestled in his life, yet something about this man, this -- Avril, his nameplate said -- spoke to Viral about grappling in the sun.
The clap of Monica's hands together brought Viral back to the moment. "What was it we could do for you?" she asked him. Viral felt he heard the markings of a slur, this time speech not race related.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your guys', um, dinner --"
"No worries about it little man. Just tell the pretty agent here what's on your mind," the browned avocado Patrolman said. His easy charm only made Viral's drive to pin him (to be pinned by him) to the worn, purple carpeting stronger.
"Sure, yes, of course," Viral said. "I just wanted to bring up that my group, our group, feels like we may be at a disadvantage because of the Fear Mongers' access to resources directly from Wuhan." He tried not to suck air to catch his breath too quickly after laying out his point.
While she wiggled her arm like a noodle to catch the server's attention for another round Monica asked Viral what, specifically, he meant by disadvantage. "You guys have 2 more members. That's like, twice the amount of brain power."
Reflexively, Viral wanted to argue, but at a ratio of 7 to 4 Viral's group did nearly have a 2x advantage. "I mean Ankur and Helen's access to the protein codes for the virus' spike put us at a disadvantage. Without access to those records it'll take us days to catch up, provided we can even get a sample we could study," Viral said.
Avril, the Highway Man, spoke, "I hope I'm not out of line here," he began while Viral noted with his body language that he was, "But seems to me like Ankoor and the Korean girl and their team just got them a competitive edge. That doesn't make it unfair, does it?"
After Monica got the attention of the server, she sucked the inside out of a taquito app. "Lavigne's got a good point," she said to Viral. "I don't see how you want me to make things more fair by tying one of their hands behind their back. How's that going to speed up innovation?"
Viral looked toward the heavily tinted windows at the side of the bistro to allow his mind to pivot from Monica's argument. The black glass reflected an image of Wolf Blitzer speaking above a news ticker running in reverse. Viral couldn't make out the words before a jalapeno struck him in the eye.