They followed Clyde back to the visa section, where he opened the door and waved them through to the lobby without another word. As the door swung closed, Alla stopped to place the letters and passport into her purse.
Gage overheard a well-dressed, elderly American woman complain to the clerk behind the bulletproof glass that she’d already waited fifteen minutes past her scheduled appointment time with Clyde. Gage reached into Alla’s pocket and pulled out the paperweight, then walked up to the woman.
“The consul general asked me to give this to you to apologize for the wait.” Gage handed it to her. “Be sure to mention it to him.”
Alla covered her mouth as they left the consulate, stifling her laugh until they reached the sidewalk.
“What was wrong with that man?” Alla said, giggling, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.
Gage then noticed the loveliness that other men saw in her, then felt a sadness born of the fear that she’d never grow old with the kind of man she deserved because she’d always be looking past him toward the Matsons of the world.
“Maybe Clyde was offended that we went around him to Washington,” Gage said, holding out his hand to hail a cab, “or maybe it’s that he knows something.”
Gage made flight reservations for the following afternoon as the taxi drove them toward Mickey’s house in the suburbs. They stopped in long enough for Gage to assure himself that Mickey was recovering and so that Mickey could gloat about having been right about Alla from the beginning-though for the wrong reasons-and could get a closer look at the woman who’d made his old heart flutter.
From there, it was on to Matson’s flat in Kensington.
“Let’s make this quick,” Gage said as they entered the lobby.
The diminutive doorman greeted Alla by name. “I hope you had a wonderful trip,” he said, “this is the longest you’ve been gone.”
“Actually, I cut the trip a little short.”
“A shame. Mr. Matson seemed quite worried when he left a few days ago. I hope everything has returned to normal.”
“Yes, it has. Thank you.” She glanced toward the street. “Has anyone come by for me in the last few days?”
“A Russian gentleman. He said he was a friend who happened to be in London. He didn’t leave his name.”
“Did he ask for Mr. Matson or just for me?”
“Just you.”
“What did he look like?” Gage asked.
The doorman looked at Gage, then back at Alla.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“A very large man. I do say, a most unfriendly-looking friend.”
“Has he come back?”
“No. We’ve looked in on your flat every day just to make sure he didn’t decide to check for himself.”
“If he inquires again, tell him I haven’t returned to London and you don’t know when I’m expected back.”
Gage withdrew a couple of ten-pound notes from his wallet and handed them to the doorman, who slipped them into his pants pocket.
The elevator deposited Alla and Gage on the eighth floor, across the hall from the penthouse door. After Alla unlocked it, Gage stepped into the flat, where he found himself time-warped back to an early nineteenth-century London sitting room.
“Was this Matson’s idea?”
She nodded. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
Alla set her purse on a Regency mahogany writing table, then turned back toward Gage, who was standing just inside the threshold. She followed Gage’s eyes, which were focused on a highball glass resting on a pedestal secretaire. He walked over and picked it up, revealing a white water ring on the forty-thousand-dollar piece of furniture.
“He’s not coming back,” Gage said.
Alla walked across the room and through an open door. She returned moments later. “His clothes are gone.”
They searched the apartment, collecting phone records, airline ticket stubs, and notes on scraps of paper. Gage stuffed them into a paper bag while Alla packed.
“Is there anything else you want to take?” Gage asked, as Alla carried a battered brown suitcase toward the door. “I imagine this place will be seized by the UK government. You may never get back in again.”
“Nothing here ever really belonged to me. I’m just taking what I came with.” She sighed as her eyes swept the apartment. “Sometimes life is completely absurd.”
They rode in silence back to the hotel.
“I think I need to be alone for a while,” Alla said, as they walked down the carpeted hallway toward their rooms.
“That’s fine. Maybe we’ll meet for dinner this evening.”
Alla slipped her key card into the lock and pushed open the door. She paused, then turned toward Gage and looked up at him with searching eyes.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked.
Gage knew the answer, but responded with a question. She needed to say it for herself to make it real. “What do you mean?”
“My husband. Stuart. They were the same greedy, conscienceless men and I didn’t see it.” She looked down, frowning. “That’s not true. I refused to see it. Stuart started to emerge from the clouds of my juvenile imagination and I looked away. I should’ve gotten out of this when he came back here after SatTek went public.”
Tears formed in her eyes as she looked up again. “I’m really no different than him. A self-deceiving little rat. You must think I’m pathetic.”
“No, not at all.” Gage was tempted to wipe away the tears, but held back, fearing that she’d seek salvation in him, rather than in herself. “You do the right thing when it affects others. You just seem to get lost when you try to create a world you can be happy in.”
“But what am I supposed to do?”
“I can’t tell you how to live. All anybody can do is try to think about what they’re doing, and not lie to themselves. Beyond that, I have no other answer.”
CHAPTER 76
Special Agent Zink was waiting near the customs scanners when Gage and Alla walked from passport control in the international terminal of the San Francisco Airport late the next afternoon.
“Don’t say anything,” Gage told her, “except your name. You can show him your passport and the copy of the letter if he asks. Nothing else.”
Confusion, verging on panic, flashed in her eyes. “But aren’t you required to talk to the police here?”
“No. Name, passport, letter. That’s all.”
Gage and Alla handed their customs declarations to a uniformed agent, who directed them to the green line and toward the exit. Zink stationed himself in their path as they approached the automatic doors.
Zink pulled his shoulders back. “I need to talk to your friend, Gage.”
“Sorry, we’re late for an appointment.” Gage took Alla’s arm and stepped to Zink’s left. “Why don’t you give me a call next week, I’ll see if I can fit you in.”
Zink moved over to block them. “You’re forcing me to pull rank.”
“Pull rank? I’m not in your chain of command, and neither is she.”
“She can talk to me now,” Zink said, “or I’ll subpoena her to the grand jury.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
“You’re verging on obstruction, Gage.”
Gage held out his hands as if waiting to be cuffed. “Take your best shot.”
Zink reddened. “In time.” He looked at Alla, then back at Gage. “Where’s she staying?”
“It’s on her arrival card, go take a look.”
Gage fixed Zink in place with a forearm in front of his chest, then signaled Alla to precede him to the exit.
“You don’t like that guy,” Alla said as they emerged into the arrivals hall.
“He’s a lousy investigator and a snake. He got into the FBI during the height of the cocaine epidemic. Back then they took anybody who knew what crack looked like. Now they’re stuck with him. Even worse, he’s badged his way out of a DUI and a prostitution arrest.”
“What’s badged?”
“It means he used his badge, used his position as a federal agent to talk his way out of being arrested.”