“Twins?”
“Identical. I’m not seeing double. I have perfect eye-sight.”
“That’s a new one.” Officer Douglas pursed her lips in thought. “From your description, he-I mean, they, sound handsome.”
“I suppose so, in a sick stalker sort of way.”
The officer leaned forward onto the table.
“I could not say this if I were a male officer. But men might stare at you simply because you are an attractive young woman.”
At thirty-six, Cait was old enough to know that men found her physically attractive. She was aware, too, that a good-looking woman who had advanced to her level in academia would always be subject to envious whisperings. During her work hours, however, she tried her best to keep a low profile — she had her long hair up, wore functional glasses, hid her figure with practical but unflattering clothing, and used a minimal amount of make-up.
Some attributes were impossible to minimize. She was tall and willowy, with slightly more bust than she preferred. Her eyes were the color of a gentian flower and framed with long lashes. She had white, even teeth and a flashing smile. Had she been true to her California girl roots, her raven hair would have been dyed the color of honey, and her creamy white skin burnished with a surf bum tan. Still, even without those trappings, Cait could walk into a roomful of beautiful blondes and draw every eye in the house.
Cait dismissed the officer’s suggestion. “Are you advising me to make myself less attractive?”
The officer frowned.
“Let’s try another avenue. You said this attention started a month ago. Was there anything going on in your life, any change in a relationship or something that happened at work about then?”
“No,” Cait said with a shake of her head. “Nothing like that.”
Cait hoped the officer didn’t hear the tic in her answer. She was well aware, though, that the surveillance began after she had sent the letter to the State Department. The officer droned on with more inane questions. Finally she sat back in her chair and pinched her chin.
“This is a tough one, Dr. Everson. I have a daughter, so I’m sympathetic. But there isn’t a lot I can do at this point. No crime has been committed. There’s no evidence that one will be committed. All you have is a feeling these guys are looking at you. I need more than that to go on.”
Cait kept her anger in check and said she understood the dilemma. She agreed to keep a journal detailing time, place and nature of the stalking incidents. The officer gave Cait her cell phone number to call if she had further questions. After she left, Cait cursed her naiveté for assuming the police would help her. She walked across campus and was glad to get back to the sanctuary of her office. As she sat at her desk going over the fruitless meeting in her mind, a knock at the door almost sent her tumbling out her chair.
The door opened a second later and a face peered in.
“Are you busy?”
“Never too busy to chat with you, Professor Saleem. Have a seat.”
The man who stepped into her office and took a chair was in his mid-fifties. He wore a misshapen autumn brown corduroy jacket, relaxed fit jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and mismatched yellow tie. Dark eyes peered out from behind owlish round plastic eyeglasses that enhanced his academic look.
The history department sought out non-American faculty to provide depth and global perspective, and in keeping with such policy, Professor Saleem was on loan from a Pakistani university. He and Cait exchanged some campus gossip, but at one point he removed his glasses and leaned forward in his chair.
“I’m curious, Dr. Everson. Has the State Department replied to your letter?”
“Not a word,” Cait said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I guess they’re too busy to pay attention to a lowly history professor.”
He pondered her answer. “Do you think it would have helped if you were more specific with the location of your discovery?”
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference.”
“Perhaps not, but it would give you credibility. Unless you think you’re wrong.”
“Not at all. I’m so close I can taste it. I just need a little more time.”
“I’ve got good cartographical background. I may be of help.”
“Thanks, Professor. But I want to be sure. In the meantime I’d prefer to keep my theories to myself so as not to attract enemy fire.”
“I understand. Good luck then.” The professor rose from his chair. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You can help in one way.” She tapped the folder on her desk. “I’ll be working late tonight on some written exams. Would you let the security guard know I’m here?”
The professor said he would be glad to. After he left, Cait began to read. She was near the bottom of the pile when she heard a knock on the door.
A voice said, “Security. You okay in there, Professor?”
Cait glanced at the wall clock. It was past eleven-thirty. “I’m about done. Would you walk me to my car in about five minutes?”
“I’ll check the rest of the floor and come back for you.”
Cait was about to shut down the computer, but she had another thought. She called up a file that contained a number of satellite photos. She went over the photos, zooming in on an image that showed a lake shaped like a figure eight. Using a crayon from her tool bar, she drew a circle at the edge of the lake.
She sent the file as an email to the State Department and a copy to Professor Saleem with a quick note:
“Taking you up on your offer to help. Let’s talk about this.”
Minutes later, the guard escorted her to the parking lot where she had left her Honda. And less than a half an hour later she was pounding breathlessly along an Arlington street in fear for her life.
Now, as she sat in the safety of her apartment, she still felt terribly vulnerable. Gradually, though, she grew angry at the unwanted violation of her life by a couple of freaks. Her fear changed to determination. She tossed down the rest of her Cosmo and placed a phone call.
A male voice answered. “Yes?”
“I need your help,” she said. “Someone is after me and I want a place to hide.”
“It is always a pleasure to see you, but it’s a long way and it could be dangerous,” the voice said, speaking English with a slight accent.
“It’s safer there than here,” she said.
“When?”
“Now.”
“I’ll make arrangements.”
Fifteen minutes later the phone rang and the voice said, “Fly to Zurich and my friends will take care of you.” He gave her a name and number, which she jotted down.
She thanked him and hung up. Then she sent an email to the university saying she was taking a leave of absence to deal with a family matter. She got on her computer and found a first class seat on a Swiss Air flight leaving the next morning. She almost gagged at the cost, but it was the only space available. Next, she packed her biggest suitcase, mostly with field clothing and gear. Then she slept for a couple of hours. When her alarm clock sounded, she got up, showered, and dressed in comfortable traveling clothes.
An officer knocked on her door around eight to check on her.
She told him that she had decided to stay with friends and asked the police to stay a while longer while she called a taxi. As she walked out to the taxi with her bag she couldn’t help reflecting on the craziness of her situation. Her peaceful life had been turned topsy-turvy and she was seeking safety in one of the most dangerous places in the world.
Afghanistan.