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“Yes.”
“See? You did know.”
“Her name is Cecily. They have five children. I don’t know the children’s names or ages, but one of them is young enough to have been crying one of the few times Mrs. Malich called here looking for her husband and there’s a family picture on his desk but I don’t know how old it is so that doesn’t help with the ages. The children are boy boy girl girl boy. Debriefing over, sir?”
Cole realized now that she did have a sense of humor—but it was so dry that it came across as hostility. So he made another try at winning her over with wit. “It’s improper for me to discuss debriefing you, DeeNee Breen,” said Cole.
She either didn’t get the joke or it was a Pentagon cliché or she thought it was hilarious but chose not to encourage him.
“Miz Breen, I need to know the address and telephone number of Mrs. Malich.”
“I don’t have that information,” she said.
“They don’t give Major Malich’s contact information to the division secretary? What if the Colonel wants him?”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear,” she said. “Major Malich does not consult with me. He does not give me assignments. I take his messages and when he comes in to the office, I give them to him. I have never needed to tell him his wife’s address and telephone number. No one else has wanted it either. Therefore I do not have that information.”
“But you do have a phone book,” said Cole. “And a telephone. And an imagination. And some of your time is supposed to be used in support of Major Malich’s work.”
“You don’t even know what Major Malich’s work is.”
“But with your valuable assistance, Miz Breen, I will find out.”
“From his wife?”
“Now you’ve connected the dots.”
She reached under her desk and pulled out a phone book. “I have real work to do,” she said. “Assignments that are urgently needed for the ongoing projects of officers who actually work here and know what they’re doing. However, if you find out that information, I would be happy to record the results of your research so that I can answer this question for the next person to hold your fascinating position.”
“You have a gift for sarcasm, Miz Breen.” He took the phone book from her desk. “Please feel free to practice it on me whenever you want.”
“It takes the fun out of it, if you give me permission,” she said.
It took ten minutes to find out that Reuben and Cecily Malich lived in a housing development off Algonkian Parkway in Potomac Falls, Virginia.
Cecily Malich sounded cheerful on the telephone when he introduced himself as Major Malich’s new subordinate. Or whatever his job description was supposed to be.
“He gets a captain again?” she said. “How interesting.”
“It might be,” he said, “if I knew anything at all. Such as when he’s expected back in the office.”
“Why, hasn’t he been in lately?”
“I’ve been here three days and have yet to meet him.”
“Interesting,” she said.
“I don’t even have enough information for my lack of information to be interesting,” said Cole. “I hoped you could enlighten me about a few things. Like what we do here in this office.”
“It’s classified.”
“But I’m cleared to know it.”
“But I’m not,” she said. It was nice of her to leave off the “duh.”
“So you won’t help me? I just want to make myself useful to him, and I don’t know how I can do that if he doesn’t come in to the office. I’m not sure he even knows that he has a new captain assigned to him.”
“Oh, he knows,” she said.
