THE BLUE PONY

by Karen Fayeth

“So I looked her square in the eye and said, ‘That’s not your job’ and took the file off her desk. It was so good,” Ferina said into her phone’s screen and laughed. Her wide toothy smile made Simon’s heart lurch.

From his hotel room in Prague, some four thousand miles away, over a private Periscope session running on spotty Wi-Fi, he smiled, and then his brow furrowed as the camera spun around, making him dizzy.

This wasn’t unusual. Ferina had a habit of firing up a Periscope session with her Bluetooth earphones for audio but forgot she was on video. An animated talker, she’d swing the phone around in her hand, or drop it in pocket or purse, sometimes setting it down and walking away. It both annoyed Simon and was terribly endearing.

Their Periscope sessions would last for hours, until one of them fell asleep or phone batteries ran out. He’d even attended one of her work meetings when she forgot to end their video session. He stayed on the call just to listen, but quickly got bored of the marketing team strategizing their client’s new ad campaign. Every day he got to see what she was seeing as she moved through life. He always knew exactly where she was. For example, right now he could see she was walking down Michigan Avenue, on her way to work.

“That must have felt so good,” he said, watching her world sway as she turned a corner. He could tell she’d entered a shop by the sound of the bell and what looked like a glass door opening.

Ferina dropped her phone into her gigantic purse and started digging around.

“What’s going on, babe?”

“Looking for my dry cleaner stub.”

“Back pocket.”

“Oh right!” she said, and when her hands withdrew from the purse, he could see the industrial tile ceiling of the Chicago dry cleaner. He muted audio and video on his side so her screen went dark, but he could still see and hear her.

While she was distracted with the shopkeeper, Simon picked up his burner phone and texted one word: Now.

***

“It’s two dresses and two shirts,” Ferina said. When the owner disappeared into the back she looked around the shop, eyes surveying the corners.

Something was off. It was taking the owner longer than usual, and she wasn’t running the clothes conveyer. Ferina told herself it was just too much coffee and not enough sleep. That thing she feared most? The thing that kept her on guard after years of training? It was in her past, right? Well, mostly.

She’d quit, but had it quit her?

It was a split second, a flash of an eye, less than a heartbeat. He must have been hiding in the little booth where you try on clothes for the alterations lady.

***

When Ferina came back to consciousness, she quickly assessed her situation. The steamy bleach-and-starch smell meant she was in the back room. Arms secured behind her back, one eye swollen. A few bruised ribs. He’d surprised her and she fought back, mostly in vain.

The gag in her mouth wasn’t tight, so she worked the cloth with her tongue, the way she had been taught. Clear a path for breath. She was going to need the oxygen.

Seeing her open eyes, he squatted in front of her. “Where is it?” he asked.

She took him in: Leather jacket, bald head, tattoo near his eye. Dietrich. She stared him in the eye and shook her head.

“Where is it?” he asked, more demanding this time.

She shrugged, so he reached down and ripped off the gag.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t run relay anymore. You know that.”

“Even if you’re out you’re in. No one quits. If you don’t have it, who does? This can go easy, or this can go...” He punctuated his sentence with a sharp blow to the side of her head.

Dark.

***

Simon heard the blow and winced. His face went back to neutral as he typed in the notes app on his phone that was synched with his inside guy. He heard the notes notification go off on the other end and shook his head in disbelief.

“What was that? Who has a phone?” Dietrich screamed, standing up, then looking hard at each of his three backup guys.

Miguel pointed at Ferina’s purse on the floor and raised his eyebrows.

Dietrich dumped the contents on the floor, digging through with the steel toe of his boot until he found it. Bringing his heel down hard on the phone’s screen, he bellowed, “I hate notifications! Only an idiot leaves them on. Miguel, stay here.” Dietrich strode from the room and out the back door. He needed a smoke to calm his nerves.

The screen cracked but the phone survived. Better yet, the camera was still connected. Simon could see some of the room and Ferina. Her face was swollen but it could be worse. He wished Dietrich had used a more delicate touch.

He picked up his own device and typed: Ask her for the Blue Pony.

This time he didn’t hear a notification, which meant Miguel had found a way to flip the switch on his hidden phone when Dietrich wasn’t looking.

Miguel’s face appeared onscreen, staring down into Ferina’s phone, hand giving a thumbs up. Message received.

Simon knew she had it or knew where it was. Or could get to it. Well, he wasn’t completely sure, but he’d taken the chance to get to know her. A little better than he meant to, anyway.

The Blue Pony or, rather, that information contained on that little blue USB key, was both Simon’s and Dietrich’s goal. For very different reasons.

***

Ferina was unconscious for only a few moments, but when she came back, she remembered where she was and kept her head lolled to the side, peering between her eyelashes. She saw the backup guy, the little one, give a thumbs up to her phone, and then she knew.

She thought, or maybe hoped, that Simon was an innocent little long-distance relationship. He was located in Miami, she was in Chicago. They saw each other once a month; it was good, easy, and romantic. Except now she was pretty sure he didn’t live in Miami. Her first real relationship in years, but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple. Maybe Dietrich was right. No matter how hard she tried to get out, she would always be a relay operative.

Anger, sadness, and betrayal all washed over her, and she suppressed every one. Strategy evolved in her brain.

Miguel had his back to her, typing on his own phone, and it wasn’t hard to drop him with a well-timed swing of her legs, then another well-placed heel kick to his face. She’d been working her hands loose from the duct tape binding them, and with Miguel out, she leaned her weight back between her arms and into her hands, which ripped the tape.

Grabbing Miguel’s gun from his shoulder holster, she greeted the first guy running in the back door with a bullet to the shoulder, the second took one in the thigh. Dietrich’s heavy boots made a distinctive sound on the pavement as he ran away. Ferina shook her head at his cowardice, then picked up her belongings from the floor, grabbed Miguel’s phone, and shoved it all back into her bag.

In Prague, Simon quickly disconnected from the Periscope.

Breathing hard, hearing sirens approaching, Ferina pawed through the clothes hanging on the conveyer. Her favorite little black dress was in there.

***

Back in her apartment, Ferina tore apart her handbag. She inspected every seam, pulled out every pocket, looked for wires, batteries, anything that caused the breach in her new life.

When she found nothing, she picked up her phone to check text messages and found one from Simon, “What’s happening? Did you get mugged? Call me!”

The worried boyfriend. How cute. She smirked and thought, Rat bastard.

Sudden inspiration hit and she took her broken phone in both hands and cracked it open against the edge of her desk, pulling the pieces apart.

And there it was. A small USB key, encased in blue plastic, nestled into some open space inside her smartphone.

So she was carrying, but didn’t know it. Or who put it there. That explained the note from Simon she found on Miguel’s phone about the Blue Pony.

She had no idea what was on that blue USB drive, but now she knew she had it. Whoever planted it on her, it was clear plenty of people wanted it. They had forced her back into the game without her knowledge or consent. If she was back in, then she was going to play her hand.

Right now, she held all the cards, and all the risk.

Time to ditch her life, again. It had been one good year. She’d miss Chicago.

***

From a hotel room in rural Costa Rica, her Wi-Fi puck had just barely enough signal to sustain a Periscope. She had a new name, new life, new location. And she still had the Pony.

Time to check in with her darling Simon.

The audio connected, but video stayed dark on both sides.

“Who is this? Ferina?” Simon demanded.

“Of course,” she coolly responded. “How’s Miami today? Enjoying the sun?”

“Thank God, I’ve been out of my mind! Where are you, are you okay, are you hurt? I saw that guy rob you or mug you or whatever and then my Wi-Fi cut off. I think your phone is off. I’ve been calling and calling.”

So he was going to play it this way, huh? Deny and divert.

“Simon, cut the crap. How bad do you want it?” She said, briefly turning on video, waving the small USB drive, then turning video off before he could get a clear sense of her surroundings.

“Bad enough. Look, I’m the good guy here. You don’t want Dietrich to get there first.”

“I don’t want anyone to get here if I can help it. Wanna tell me what this is? I haven’t been able to break the encryption, but I will.”

“It’s, uh. It’s a set of instructions. Sort of a...training manual.”

“Interesting.”

“For what it’s worth, this started as a job, but it became more than that. Ferina, I miss you. I love you. I know that breaks all the rules, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Let’s work together on this. Let’s join sides.”

“Sides? C’mon Simon, I have no side here. I want out. As a matter of fact, I was out, and got yanked back in. I don’t even have a network anymore to help relay this thing. I have no idea what this is, but I sure as hell don’t want it. I’ll find a buyer, just need to know what it’s worth. Tell me sweetheart, what are you willing to pay?”

“It’s more than money,” he said, hedging.

“Answer me.”

“I, uh. Let’s stop. Let’s work this through. Ferina, please, I love you and I know you love me too. Let’s not let that slip away.”

“No. Now is not the time for that. It’s too late.”

“I know, you’re right. We both could use some sleep. Let me see your face. Let me have sweet dreams.”

Ferina turned on the video and Simon turned his on too. They stared at each other across the miles. Many, many miles.

“By too late, I didn’t mean the time. Dobrou noc, příteli,” she said, with the smile of one who has a secret.

“Yes, good night, my…wait. Was that Czech?”

Ferina narrowed her eyes, staring hard through the camera lens with her Mona Lisa smile.

From behind Simon, a blackjack came down hard on his temple. He slumped toward his screen.

Another face appeared on her phone screen where Simon’s had just been. He was vaguely familiar. A mercenary with reasonable rates.

She’d met him once, in Paris, for a hand off.

“Dobrou noc,” Pieter said, then ended the Periscope.