Korsakova took a step back from the kiosk screen, her eyes
lingering from afar on the word "catastrophe," then stepped forward
once again to hurriedly delete the message. She logged off, then
scurried into the crowd and down the terminal thoroughfare.
############
"Thanks for coming."
Korsakova smiled just before an enormous wave broke over
both man and woman and drenched her long blonde hair, which until
that moment had remained perfectly dry. "Anyone who quotes
Bacon is worth meeting," she replied after running her hands through
her soaked strands. She looked back at Miami Beach and waved at a
couple seated in a pair of adjoining chairs. "Veronica's boyfriend
used to be in the Federal Security Service." Korsakova's two fellow
Russians both waved back, she with a smile and he with a scowl.
Bettmann waved as well, before another wave lifted him
toward the deep blue sky. "Note taken. How'd you know it was me?"
Korsakova spread her arms and giggled as yet another wave
passed underneath them. "You're the only one I could think of who
would refer to me as Misses Korsakova."
Bettmann ran his hands along his soaked scalp. "How could
that set me apart?"
"I've never insisted on being addressed as 'Misses,' certainly
not since my divorce, except when I've sensed a certain CIA agent,"
Korsakova's eyes clouded for a moment in searching thought, "'hitting
on me,' as you Americans say."
Bettmann went blank as he considered her explanation, then
became the object of his companion's laughter as a wave caught him
by surprise and inundated him with seawater. He sputtered when
the ocean sank to below his shoulders, then laughed along
with her. "So you're not married after all, then?"
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