Zero History

But okay right now. Okay so far. His breathing beside her.
Beneath her pillow, the iPhone began to vibrate. She slid her hand under, cupped it,
considered the option of skipping the call. But these were not times for skipped calls.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?” It was Milgrim.
“Garreth’s sleeping.”
“Sorry,” whispered Milgrim.
“What is it?’
“It’s complicated. Someone needs to speak with Garreth.”
“Who?”
“Please don’t get the wrong idea,” whispered Milgrim, “but she’s a U.S. federal agent.”
“That’s as wrong an idea as I’ve heard in a while,” said Hollis, forgetting to whisper.
“What is?” asked Garreth.
“It’s Milgrim.”
“Give him to me.”
She covered the phone, realizing she had no idea where its microphone might be, or if
covering it would help. “He wants you talk to a U.S. agent.”
“Ah,” he said, “the odd bits emerge now. The localized high-pressure zone of weird
begins to manifest. Always does. Give me the phone.”
“I’m scared.”
“Makes perfect sense.” He reached over, squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Phone,
please.”
She handed him the phone.
“Milgrim,” he said. “Been networking, have we? Slow down. Does she have a name?”
And she heard a pen on paper as he wrote in the dark, something he was very good at.
“Does she? Really? She put it that way herself?” She felt him prop himself on the
pillows. When he opened the laptop, its light was light of some weird and other moon. A
lucky one, she hoped. She heard him begin to type, with one hand, while he asked
Milgrim questions, brief ones, and listened to longer answers.