“Were you able to get hold of your family?”
“There’s just the girls. They were still out. I left another message.”
“Ah. Well, at least they won’t worry.”
Her smile was as lopsided as his. “I just hope somebody remembers they have to pick me up at the airport.”
“You’ll probably be able to get them in the morning.”
He was moving toward her, moving toward the door. She stepped aside to let him pass, every muscle, nerve and sinew groaning in protest. Close to her he paused…intolerably close, close enough to touch, close enough that she could hear him breathing, breathing as if he’d just been running hard. Her eyes found and clung to his mouth, and though she fought it desperately, of course the memories had to come, too. Tormenting memories of how it had felt on hers, the way it had tasted.
“Well, thanks again for the toothpaste. See you in the morning. Seven o’clock, right?”
“Right”
‘“Night.”
“Good night.” It was almost a gasp, as if she’d been in desperate need of air.
And then he was gone, and she slid the security chain into place and leaned against the door, limp and exhausted, trembling, wishing to God she could cry.
Twenty-one years of a bad marriage, five years divorced…I thought I knew what loneliness was. Dear God, I thought knew.
But lying in bed that still, dark night, with seabirds calling in the marshes and Tom lying near enough to touch but for a few cruel inches of wall, she understood that she’d only begun to know real loneliness. Only begun.
They left the island in a single-engine Cessna, lifting into a lovely pink and lavender haze that reminded Jane of cotton candy. She did not get airsick; in fact, she enjoyed the flight so much she thought she might even decide to take flying lessons. After this, she was definitely going to need something exciting and new in her life. Something big enough to fill a void created by a man she hadn’t even known existed until two days ago. Except she was very much afraid there wasn’t anything in the world big enough to fill that particular void.
Tom had very little to say to her that morning, brooding in silence on the flight to Greenville while Jane chatted with Fritz, the pilot, a serious young man with a blond crewcut and a military manner who somehow seemed too American to be with Interpol. She wondered, but didn’t ask, if he might be FBI. In any event, by the end of the flight he’d warmed up and softened enough that he gave her the names of two people he knew of in North Carolina who might be willing to teach her to fly. He’d have taught her himself, he said, except he was a little too far away for her convenience.
“Wasn’t he nice!” Jane said to Tom as he walked her to the terminal, Fritz having stayed with the plane, which was idling on the tarmac.
His only reply was an ambiguous grunt, which she didn’t try to interpret. She was determined to keep herself cheerful, the tone of their leave-taking casual and light. Which had proved to be easier than she’d expected, because after the trauma of the previous evening she felt quite numb. She felt that she’d learned a valuable lesson, and that never again would she allow herself to be so vulnerable. So needy. Never again.
“Did you manage to get hold of your kids this morning?” Tom’s voice was like a truckload of gravel-about normal, for him.
“Oh, no,” she said politely. “But that’s all right. I didn’t want to disturb them on a Sunday morning until I knew what flight I’d be coming in on. I’ll buy my ticket first, then call. By that time, they might even be up.” She said it with a smile, inviting him to join her, but his face remained somber.
“So,” he said, “you sure you’ll be okay? Anything you need?”
“Quite sure. Thanks for everything.” She stuck out her hand, and though he looked momentarily startled, he took it. Steeling herself against the warmth of his grasp, she said brightly, “Listen, good luck. I hope you find…the whatever-it-is you’re looking for.”
“Yeah,” said Tom, “me, too.”
“Well, so long.” She managed not to add, “It’s been fun.”
“See ya.”
No, thought Jane. We both know that you won’t
She watched him walk away, and the numbness held. She turned and began to make her way toward the USAir ticket counter, and it occurred to her suddenly that Tom still had her toothpaste. Well, of course, it was Connie’s toothpaste, actually.
That was when her legs got wobbly, and she had to go and sit down for a while and wait until the trembling stopped.
Hawk had never liked FBI headquarters much. Something about the long, polished corridors and closed doors, and so many improbably fit and unsmiling people gliding silently and efficiently about their business made him think of some futuristic society where all the people had become machines. He wasn’t sure why that was so; most of the FBI agents he was personally acquainted with were okay people.
Devore met him at the security station. “I thought it would be simplest to meet here,” he said by way of a greeting as Hawk pinned an ID tag to the front of his shirt. “We will have the results of the fingerprint analysis directly from IAFIS the moment they are available,” he said, referring to the FBI’s extensive fingerprint data bank.
“Fritz delivered the sample okay, then. I assume,” Hawk drawled. It hadn’t made him happy, letting that tube of toothpaste out of his sight.
“Approximately one hour ago.” Devore looked at his watch. “Meanwhile, they are expecting us upstairs-come.” His wheelchair hummed softly as he led the way across the foyer to the bank of elevators.
Andreas Devore was Belgian, a large-boned, gaunt man with shaggy hair, an aristocratic nose and a long, rather cruel mouth women found attractive. Before the helicopter crash that had broken his back and mottled his skin with burn scars, he’d been one of Interpol’s best field agents. Now he headed ATDI-the Antiterrorism Division’s Washington bureau-and acted as chief liaison between ATDI and DECCA-the FBI’s Development of Espionage, Counterintelligence and Counterterrorism Awareness. But Hawk had no doubt that Andreas Devore still knew more about how to play the game than any man alive. He’d learned a lot from him. Especially patience.
The DECCA coordinator was waiting for them in the doorway to his office. He ushered them across the hall into a carpeted meeting room furnished with a large polished table and a dozen or so comfortable chairs. On the other side of the room, windows looked down on the old Ford’s Theater, but Hawk wasn’t interested in the view. One of the four chairs drawn up to the table was already occupied by a young man wearing a mediumgray suit and starched white shirt, and a maroon tie with silver stripes. His eyes were black as bullet holes, and he had the nose and bearing of an Arab prince.
“Our field agent on the case,” the DECCA coordinator said, beginning the introductions.
“We’ve met.” Hawk managed to keep his face impassive as he leaned across the table to shake Aaron Campbell’s hand.
“Well,” said the coordinator briskly as he took the chair at the head of the table, “let’s not waste any more time. Just to recap, so we know we’ve all got the same information up to this point.” He picked up the file in front of him, set it down again and laced his fingers together on top of it as he gave everyone at the table his eyes in turn.
“On March fifteenth, our agents in Kuwait received a, uh, communication purporting to be from Jarek Singh, who, as you know, was an Indian computer expert reported missing and presumed kidnapped from his home in Cairo at the end of the Gulf War.”
Devore said, “Ours came to our bureau in Ankara.”
“They were apparently identical. We know Scotland Yard, the CIA and the Israelis each got one, too. We don’t know how many others. In the. uh, communication-” which Hawk knew had come via computer, in the mysterious and incomprehensible manner fully understood only by hackers and wizards “-Mr. Singh claims to have been kidnapped by agents of Saddam Hussein and forced to design and program the security system for an elaborate secret facility built as a hideaway for Hussein’s stockpile of chemical and biological weapons. Most of which, as you know, did not turn up during our inspections after the war. We know they existed. Where are they now? Mr. Singh claims to know exactly where, as well as how to circumvent the facility’s security system, and has offered this information to the highest bidder. Unfortunately-” he paused as Devore coughed and shifted in his seat “-we have reason to believe this offer was also made to some very undesirable and dangerous bidders.”