Geistmann Redux: John Robinson Investigates, Chapter Twenty-Two

By Ron Singer

Chapter Twenty-Two
Chisinau, Moldova. Sunday, June 15, 2025

Robinson felt at loose ends. Realizing that S-O would be more likely to come up with the "new ways," he suggested they remain in the conference room for a tete-a-tete (or "brain-a-brain"). "Anyway," he said, glancing at his smartphone, "it's only 11:30, too early to think about lunch."

So they remained at the big table, and talked for about forty more minutes. Robinson began this part of the discussion by asking Patsy for her take on the Pegasus question, to check if his guess had been correct.

Parts of her elaborate reply surprised him. "I was sure, John, that you noticed my non-response to that one just now." She winked at him again. "Well, Mr. Subramanian may have access to a P/Phantom kit of his own. I mean, India has one. Besides, it's been six years since the Bureau secretly bought the system, which is made by an Israeli outfit called 'NSO.' So the putative reason we can't use P/Phantom to bug Mr. Subramanan's SMS, his What's App, or whatever, is because we 'don't have a P/Phantom.' She came up for air.

"As for using it against Putin, as Diodur suggested, that's also a non-starter. Three years ago, Israel blocked the sale of P/P ... "(She looked momentarily embarrassed, and Robinson remembered "Patseis Patsy" saying that some of her intimates called her by those initials.) " ... to Ukraine, because they, the Israelis, didn't want to poke the Russian bear. Which explains why the system probably hasn't been used on Putin." (In a nutshell, S-O had just explained one of the geo-political factors Robinson had thought were "above his pay grade.")

She nattered on. "Besides, everyone already knows what goes on in Putin's troglodytic brain." (Was that a real word? S-O was full of surprises.) "He wants to be Czar of All Russias. He thinks he's Peter the Great, or maybe Catherine, but he's really more like Nicholas the First, the incompetent who botched the Crimean war, then cracked down on everyone else." (Another surprise: S-O knew some history!)

When she had said all that, in order to return to present concerns, Robinson asked several leading questions, which elicited technical replies. Some of the names and terms she tossed around were new to him, but some he remembered from the mini-opera fifteen days ago, after his office at the CTU library had been blown up:

—IT crowd-sourcing ("the tactic we just tried, the fake funeral!")
—Software to steal his credit card, and other personal, info. ("I mean, how does he pay for his stuff, the drones, bombs, etc.?")
—Unlock his phone. ("I mean, they unlocked the un-lockable iPhone 55.")

"Plus," she added, "Uncle has lots of other gadgets that can do pretty much the same job Pegasus does."

This was followed by a welter of jargon spewed out so fast that Robinson could barely catch the names and terms, let alone the explanations: "Citizen Lab, Blast Door, Project Zero, Qua Dream, malicious code, zero click, data exfiltration," etc. etc.

Robinson had read that many cyber-techies on both sides the law lacked normal communication skills. His ersatz diagnosis of S-O was that she suffered from A.D.D. The gist of what she spewed at him was that, even short of P/P, they could draw from an arsenal of technical devices, to attempt to accomplish what Fedoruk's fake-funeral plan had failed to accomplish.

By the time Patsy ran dry, it was 1210 hours. They learned from Fedoruk's office staff that he had just left the Embassy for "parts unknown." When they began to think aloud about where to go for lunch, his secretary, a middle-aged Englishwoman who reminded Robinson of James Bond's Miss Moneypenny, suggested that, "given current conditions, the Embassy cafeteria might be your best bet." She also promised them a ride back to the safe house, or wherever else they wanted to go, when they had finished eating.

The cafeteria turned out to offer an array of American mainstays, some of them locally inflected. Robinson chose mac and cheese, and Patsy opted for the caesar salad. Both went with iced tea, and both forwent dessert. There was a brief tussle over who should sign the chit; Robinson prevailed. Then, the promised car, a replica of The Tank, brought them to their building, where they parted, each to their own room, where S-O said she had "all her stuff," and where Robinson planned to read and take a nap.

An hour later, just as he was beginning to nod off over a dull new book, there was a tap at his door. His heart skipped a beat, and he tried to make a quick decision. His first thought was Judy's pronouncement that their marriage was essentially over.

"Just a minute," he said, nervously straightening the bed, and finger-combing his hair. When he opened the door, S-O stood there, wearing the same jeans and t-shirt she had worn since morning. She looked as nervous as he felt.

"Can I come in for a few minutes, John? I need to cuddle. It's been a stressful day."

He stood aside and, when she flopped onto the single bed, he was unsure what to do next. Should he start to undress, or what?

S-O must have sensed his uncertainty, because she said, in a squeaky voice, "No, no, John! Just a cuddle. I meant it."

"But ... but ... " he spluttered.

"Don't worry," she said, "we're doubly protected."

What did that mean? "Look," she explained, "you're a married man, and I'm, well, I'm not sure, but I think I'm mostly gay. At least, I haven't been with a guy since my Mexican airport bandit."

So he squeezed in next to her, and they snuggled. An hour later, when he woke up, his arm had fallen asleep, but she was not even stirring. He cleared his throat loudly, and she woke with a start, almost shoving him off the narrow bed.

Trying to regain his composure, Robinson assumed a false-jolly tone. "Sufficiently cuddled, Patsy?"

"Yes, thanks," she said with a loopy grin. "We're friends now, John. You can start calling me 'Pee-Pee.' But no urination jokes."

Jumping from the bed, and not knowing what to do next, he extended his right hand. With an ironic little smile, she grabbed it, and pumped it up and down half-a-dozen times.

"Peace, John,"she said.

"Peace, P-P."

And that, for then, was that!