– Oscar Wilde
Nan Dawkins tossed and turned in the bedroom of their town house in Reston, Virginia, dreaming intermittently of riding in a car with James at the wheel. She had a vague sense that they were headed toward the beach, windows open, wind carrying the scent of orange blossoms swirling around their faces. She thought in that moment that they were as close as two people could possibly be. He turned to her with such openness and clarity that they seemed to be reading each other’s thoughts. The intimacy frightened her, so she looked away.
The next moment she was awake, staring at the face of the clock and trying to comprehend what it meant. It read 5:32. The trees outside the window were still. The half-moon she had noticed earlier was no longer visible. A lone bird perched on a branch, asleep.
Seeing the empty place beside her on the king-sized bed, she remembered the situation, looked at the clock again, and reached for her cell phone. Still no message from James.
The feeling of dread she had experienced earlier that night returned, worming its way down her neck into her shoulders, arms, and chest, as though it had been waiting and gathering strength. She wanted to look in on their daughter, thinking the sight of her would be reassuring.
She turned on the light by her bed, pulled on the teal silk robe James had bought her for her birthday. Despite his awkwardness, he was always good at picking gifts.
She noticed her laptop recharging on the top of her dresser and stopped. Opening it, she logged in her password and waited for her e-mails to load. Among the various offers of discounts and services, she saw one from jp227@gmail.com-James’s personal e-mail account. No subject.
Holding her breath, Nan opened it and read:
Dear Nancy:
I need some time to myself, so I will be away for a period of time. Don’t expect to hear from me. I’m safe and I don’t want you to worry. I’ll return home when I’m finished.
Love,
James
Her hands trembling, she read it again, and then a third time. The message struck her as oddly formal and didn’t sound like James at all. For one thing, he almost never called her Nancy. It was always Nan, or in an intimate moment his pet name for her, Bird.
Second, there was no mention of Karen. Third, what did he mean by “when I’m finished”? Didn’t that imply that he was working on something?
She read it again. There seemed to be a disconnect between the phrases “I need some time to myself” and “when I’m finished.” As a detail person, she noticed things like that. The sequence of logical thinking was important. Why would James need time to himself, when he always carved out plenty of that in his life and Nan was almost always willing to give it to him? She wasn’t a nagging, needy wife.
The only possible explanation could be his job. He was a senior engineer at UTC Aerospace Systems, which worked almost exclusively on highly sensitive contracts for the U.S. government agency DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), a branch of the Department of Defense.
That’s the reason the two Homeland Security officers had visited her earlier. James rarely talked about his work, except in general terms. The idea that his research into guidance systems yielded products that were used to kill people sometimes kept him up at night. He had told her about nightmares he had centered on schools and children’s hospitals hit by laser-guided missiles and bombs. Bleeding, screaming boys and girls being carried out, some missing limbs.
Thinking that maybe his sudden disappearance was somehow related to his job, Nan waited until after seven, again called James’s best friend, Kevin, and invited him over for breakfast. A very eccentric and brilliant man, Kevin lived alone in a big house crammed with junk since his wife had left him five years ago. He and James shared the same adolescent sense of humor and obsession with mathematics and science.
To Nan’s mind, Kevin was even more emotionally shut off and socially awkward than her husband. It’s not that she didn’t like him; he just didn’t know how to behave like a normal human being. He seemed happy but dressed oddly, often ignored his personal hygiene, drove a disgusting ’88 Mercedes, and almost always carried around a video camera, which he used to record people and conversations with no regard to how intrusive it was. Despite these things, Nan had learned to appreciate Kevin’s sensitivity and intelligence, and his devotion to her husband.
So she showered, dressed, woke up Karen, took her to a neighbor’s house, and returned home before nine, when Kevin arrived with a Sony MC Series Camcorder on his shoulder.
“Put it away, Kevin,” she said at the door as she shielded her face with her hand. “I don’t want to be filmed.”
“Come on, Nan. You’ve got such a pretty smile.”
“If you don’t put the camera down and turn it off, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Gee, Nan. Where’s Jimmy?”
Kevin was the only one who called her husband that. Now he set the camcorder on the table with the red light still on and a mischievous look on his face.
“Turn it off!”
“Gosh, Nan,” Ryan said with a grin, “you know all my tricks. Where’s Jimmy? Where’s that rascal?”
She placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Milk and sugar were already on the table. Turning back to the stove to pour the batter, she said over her shoulder, “James still hasn’t returned from Switzerland. You know that already.”
“Yeah, but I thought…” His voice trailed off as pancakes sizzled.
“He’s still not back. Nobody’s seen him since the presentation Thursday night. This morning I received this e-mail.” She handed him a printout.
Kevin groaned and shook his head as he read. “Oh, no. No, that’s not Jimmy. No…”
“I don’t think so, either.”
When she slipped a plate of hot pancakes in front of him, Kevin stared at them without moving. He said, “I don’t know what you want from me, Nan. Maybe I shouldn’t be here if Jimmy isn’t here,” and started to get to his feet.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re his best friend. I need your help. Sit down!”
Kevin sank back into his seat, deep in thought. “Yes, Nan, you’re right.”
“Is there something going on at work that I should know about?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is that the real reason he went to Geneva? Work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you people work on things you’re not supposed to tell me about. I’m asking if maybe James is related to that.”
“No, Nan, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“Because two officers from Homeland Security came here last night and asked me some questions.”
“They did? Oh, no…” Looking agitated, Kevin stood and started to pace beside the table. “I’m starting to feel uncomfortable, Nan,” he said. “Very strange. Do they think Jimmy stole sensitive information?”
She stepped in front of him and blocked his path. “Stole what for whom, Kevin? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. For, like, another country?”
She followed him and his camcorder to the front door. “Kevin, you know my husband as well as anyone. Would James ever do anything like that?”
“No, I don’t think so. But you never know.”
In the dark Crocker sprinted down the steps to the promenade with Cyndi’s smiling face in his head. Hundreds of curious people crowded the walkway to stare at the darkened strip. Tall, unlit casino hotels loomed like ghosts. Police sirens wailed in the distance.
The crowds hindered his progress, so he hopped the waist-high barrier and ran alongside the stalled oncoming traffic. Las Vegas Boulevard had become a parking lot and provided the only light. He juked around stalled taxis, limos, and tourist minivans and through the snarl in the Flamingo Road intersection, oblivious to the gently falling rain and exhaust fumes. A car horn blared to his left and a gray-haired man leaned out. “You trying to get killed, dumbass?”