“Good morning.” Lund’s voice, relaxed and drowsy.
DeBolt blinked his eyes open. He looked at her and grinned.
“You didn’t sleep well,” she said.
“The fact that you know tells me you didn’t either. I guess we both have a lot on our minds.”
“I’m trying to figure out if that’s a pun,” she said, adding a smile of her own.
“Only in my case.”
They ordered room service, two full breakfast plates and a pot of coffee. They ate at the tiny coffee table, Lund in a cotton pullover, DeBolt in the clothes he’d arrived in. They talked about Kodiak and the Coast Guard until the pot went dry.
Lund picked up the phone and ordered a refill. She hung up, and said, “Tell me more about how you make this thing work. How do you interface with META?”
“It’s hard to describe. There was some awkwardness at first — still is, I suppose. Each day I learn new things, new functions. This visual display in my field of view, I guess it’s something like Google Glass, the optic device, only embedded in my right eye. The rest, the circuits and wiring — judging by my scars, I’d say it was all surgically implanted.”
She looked at him with concern. “That’s got to be unnerving, knowing you were put through such extensive surgery. But it raises some good questions. First of all, I see profound ethical and legal issues in what was done to you. That makes META an exceedingly risky proposition for whoever’s behind it. Then there are more practical matters — someone spent a lot of time and money to make this happen. There must have been research done beforehand, a surgical team with equipment and support. The flight that took you from Maine to Alaska. None of that comes cheap.”
DeBolt watched her face contort as she hashed through it.
“Yet if somebody went to all that trouble,” Lund continued, “it seems strange that you could end up alone in the cottage with that nurse.”
Two words rose in DeBolt’s mind. Option Bravo. He pushed it away, and said, “I’ve been giving that some thought. What if I was never expected to survive the surgery, but by some miracle I did? Maybe there was no contingency plan for that. It’s possible they told Joan Chandler to pull the plug on me, and she decided she couldn’t do it. Like you said — there are some serious moral dilemmas involved. I think maybe she took it upon herself to rescue me.”
“Did she ever imply anything like that?”
“Not directly. But I can tell you she had issues of her own. She had her demons.”
Lund seemed to consider it, then moved on by saying, “All right. So where do we go from here?”
“I have to ask again, Shannon — are you sure you want to get involved? Those men are still out there. I wouldn’t think less of you if you took the next flight back to Alaska.”
She met his gaze.
“Okay … maybe a little less. But I’d understand.”
“You know I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded.
Lund said, “There has to be a record of META somewhere. We’re just not looking in the right places.”
He pulled back the curtain and, much as he’d done in Calais, studied the scene outside. Bigger parking lot, busier road, a bustling port in the distance. The hotel’s row of flags — United States, Massachusetts, and Hilton in rank order — all snapped sharply in an unyielding autumn breeze. The sky had gone to gray, the next storm approaching.
“Fresh air?” he suggested.
“Fresh air.”
Lund dressed quickly, warmly, and they passed through the lobby entrance to take up the same path they’d walked last night. The morning air was cool and clean. A small crowd was gathered at a nearby municipal bus stop, and a pair of groundskeepers were trimming back the hotel’s sculpted hedges for the winter. In the distance DeBolt saw the same air and road traffic they’d seen yesterday, as hurried and raucous as ever. He ignored it all and set his eyes on Lund.
She caught him looking. “What?”
“I was thinking you’re attractive.”
“No I’m not. I’m plain.”
He burst out in an easy laugh. “Not for you to say.”
“Honestly — I’ve let myself go a little.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. People do sometimes.”
“Have you given up on men?”
“Is it that ob—” She stopped in midsentence. Lund grabbed DeBolt’s arm and twisted him to a stop. She pinned him with an accusing stare. “You know, don’t you?”
He frowned, knowing exactly what she meant. After a long and uncomfortable silence, he said, “I didn’t go looking for it, Shannon … but yes. I know you filed a restraining order against the guy you were living with in San Diego. Domestic battery charges were filed against him at about the same time, but they were eventually dropped because the anonymous victim left town and refused to pursue it.”
Her gaze dropped to the gravel path.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I made a lousy choice — he was a loser.”
“Definitely. But … I mean, I’m sorry I found out. It was none of my business. I search for information on people without knowing what I’m going to get. I don’t understand how this thing in my head works. I’ve never had any kind of class or tutorial — everything is trial and error.”
They began walking again, and both were quiet. A cool gust brought a clatter of cords clapping against the nearby flagpoles. She finally asked, “Are you doing it now?”
“What?”
“Getting information on me?”
He saw a slight grin, so he knew she’d gotten past his transgression. “No.” Then he laughed, and said, “Damn — it’s gonna be impossible to date again with this thing.”
“Is this your idea of a date?”
He cocked his head to one side. “I see your point. Running from a squad of assassins isn’t exactly dinner and a movie. But for the time being … let’s just say I’m practicing. How am I doing so far?”
“Terrible.”
“Would it help if I mentioned that I liked you the first time we met in Kodiak?”
“You never asked for my number,” she said.
“I gave you mine,” he countered.
“I was interviewing you as a witness. I had to be able to get back in touch for follow-ups.”
“See? You had an easy excuse to call me, but you never did.” He studied her more closely. The breeze caught strands of her short brown hair and swept them across her face. DeBolt thought she seemed a contradiction, delicate features that were somehow serious and resolute. Fragile yet unbreakable. He wondered if her defenses were still in place, a drawn-out response to what had happened in San Diego.
Lund said, “I think I mentioned it, but a couple of days ago I went to your apartment in Kodiak.”
“Why?”
“I was investigating.”
“Did I leave anything embarrassing laying around?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her, more curious than worried. She was grinning again.
“You have a wicked sense of humor.”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll bet you’re a good detective.”
“Usually.”
“I’m glad you didn’t see my first apartment in Kodiak — it was a room above a crabber’s garage.”
“Sound lovely. Sorry I missed it.” She pulled out her Marlboros, offered him one.
He shook his head. “Ask me again in a year.”
“Over a few beers?”
“Maybe so.”
She seemed to reconsider, then put the cigarettes back in her pocket without taking one herself.
“Am I a good influence?” he asked.
“Hardly.”
So engaged were DeBolt and Lund in one another, they never noticed the two groundskeepers. Both had edged considerably closer in the last sixty seconds. Nor did they realize that their work van, with its rakes and ladders on the roof, had moved nearer on the service road.