“You’re being given vitamins?” asked Harvath skeptically.

“The doctor prescribed some stuff that first day we got here. Remember when I had the physical? I think you had arts and crafts,” said Meg, giggling.

Harvath didn’t want to alarm her and so smiled and asked, “Can I see the vitamins you’re taking?”

“Nope,” she said as she took another long swig of beer.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have any on me. They give them to me at breakfast in the morning. I think that’s why Morrell is so adamant about me not being late. There’s always one of the doctor’s assistants there.”

“I’ve seen him. I just figured they were checking in to make sure you were feeling okay.”

“Yeah, he does that too. Asks a lot of questions.”

“Questions like what?”

“Like do I feel happy, sad, angry…You know, things like that.”

“So it’s more emotional than physical?”

“They ask physical questions, but for the most part, it’s emotional.”

“Interesting,” said Harvath, letting the subject drop, but not before asking, “Would you mind doing me a favor tomorrow?”

“Sure, as long as you agree to do me one.”

“What do you need?”

“Hand me another beer.”

Harvath laughed and popped the top on another Corona.

“How come you don’t have any limes for these?” asked Meg.

“That’s what we get for ripping off someone with no class.”

Meg started laughing again. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to palm your vitamins tomorrow.” Harvath gathered up a handful of bottle caps and began to show her. “Lift your hand to your mouth and pretend to pop them in-”

“I know what palming is, Scot, but why? Is there something wrong with them?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just bring them to me tomorrow so I can check them out.”

“Fine. Consider it done. God, this beer tastes good.”

“Twice as good since we didn’t have to pay for it,” said Harvath.

By the time they made it to Morrell’s room, both Scot and Meg were feeling no pain. They short-sheeted his bed and removed all but two of the bed frame supports, and in a fit of sophomoric genius, decided to take all of the left shoes from his closet and scatter them around the Point.

When they finally made it back to their rooms an hour later, they knew there might be hell to pay, but neither of them cared. As they said good night, Meg wrapped her arms around Harvath. She planted a deep kiss on his lips and Harvath did nothing to pull away. This time, it was Harvath who finally broke their embrace, and Meg retreated into her room and locked the door for the night. It was the best she had felt in she couldn’t remember how long. While she fell asleep smiling, Harvath took a long time before drifting off, worried that things between them might be going too far. They had been at the Point for only a little more than a week, and there was no telling how much longer they would be working together. He couldn’t let anything develop between them that might jeopardize the operation.

38

At breakfast the next morning, Meg Cassidy’s slight hangover from several Coronas and way too many M amp;M’s didn’t do much to improve her mood. When the doctor’s assistant doled out her vitamins, Meg palmed them just as Harvath had asked, and returned with them to the table.

Scot looked through the multicolored tablets and shook his head.

“What is it?” asked Meg.

“You’ve heard of better living through chemistry?’

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, this is better soldiering through chemistry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but these aren’t all vitamins.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m no pharmacist, but I’m pretty sure I recognize one of these little guys.”

“Which one,” asked Meg as she leaned in and stared at the pills in Harvath’s hand.

“This one,” he said as he rolled an oblong capsule off to one side of his palm. “They call them Unkies.”

“What the hell’s an Unkie?” asked Meg as she rolled the pill around with her finger.

“You know how they say, ‘The Lord loves a workin’ man’? Well, we used to always say ‘Uncle Sam loves a fightin’ man.’ Some adjunct of the Special Operations community a ways back came up with an anabolic steroid derivative which was supposed to safely increase strength and stamina, but had the nasty side effect of putting a mean edge on people’s tempers.”

Concern was etched across Meg’s face. “Were there any other side effects?”

“Like regular steroids, they could mess up your complexion with acne and that kind of stuff.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“You know what?” said Meg, anger sliding into her voice. “I’m getting pretty sick and tired of people deciding what Meg Cassidy should and shouldn’t worry about. I want you to tell me, right now, what the other side effects were!”

“Don’t get pissed at me. I didn’t prescribe these.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Fine. The biggest side effect was that your testicles could shrivel up,” said Scot as he wondered how that one was going to sit with Meg.

“So there are potential reproductive side effects?”

“As far as I know, only if you have testicles,” said Scot, trying not to laugh.

“You think this is funny? This is not funny. This is my body we’re talking about here. I didn’t give any of these goddamn CIA mad scientists permission to monkey around with my body. What the hell are they thinking?”

“I think they’re thinking they want you a bit more aggressive.”

“Aggressive?” repeated Meg, her voice now incredulous.

“They want you to be a real eat-glass-and-drink-gasoline kind of gal. They don’t want you falling apart crying on the battlefield if things get tough.”

“So are you telling me you support this?”

“Absolutely not,” said Harvath in all seriousness. “No one but you has a right to decide what goes into your body.”

“You’re goddamn right,” said Meg. “What is it with you men?”

“Hey don’t lump me in there again.”

“Oh, who cares? You’re all the same, always trying to control women’s bodies!”

Meg was reaching critical mass, and just as Harvath was attempting to calm her down, Rick Morrell entered the lodge. He was fuming, obviously intent on a heated confrontation over the pranks that had been played on him the night before. Little did he know that Meg was even hotter under the collar than he was. Before Harvath could stop her, she jumped from the table and made a beeline straight for him.

“Get out of my way,” said Morrell as Meg approached him. “My beef’s not with you, it’s with Harvath.”

“You’d better think again, mister. Your beef is most definitely with me. Just who the hell do you think you are?”

Morrell had obviously never been confronted by an extremely angry woman before. He had no idea how to handle the situation. If Meg Cassidy had been a man, it would have been easy, but she wasn’t. So, Morrell did what most men normally did in a situation like this and just stood there with his mouth agape and a stupid what’d I do? expression on his face.

“Do you get off on controlling people? Is that what this is all about? Is it?” railed Meg. “You have got to be the ultimate micromanager, you know that? I’ll have you know that I am NOT one of your operatives, and I will not-”

Morrell, having recovered some of his sense of dignity interjected, “Why don’t you just calm down?” BIG mistake number one.

“Calm down? Calm down?” screamed Meg, even angrier now. “Of all the arrogant, chauvinistic…You just snap your fingers and expect little ole me, the woman, to just do as you say. Is that it?”

“Ms. Cassidy, I don’t know what the problem is-”

“The problem appears to be that I’m not aggressive enough for you. Is that it correct? Is that what the problem is here, Mr. Morrell?”