There was no simple answer to his questions that day or the next, or the next. At the laboratory it was easy enough to get involved in his work, which was still complex and interesting. It was appreciated too.
“I cannot begin to say in words how happy I am with what you have done here,” Sonia Amarigho said. “And in such a short time.”
“It’s been easy so far,” Jan told her, spooning sugar into his tea. It was the afternoon break and he was seriously thinking of leaving after it. “Basically what I did was upgrade the old designs. But I see where some original work will be needed very soon, particularly on the comsat twenty-one, and that will not be the easiest job.”
“But you can do it. I have infinite faith! Now, to other matters. Social ones. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I think so.”
“Please be sure so. There is a reception at the Italian Embassy then and I think you will enjoy attending. The guest is someone you might enjoy meeting. Giovanni Bruno”
“Bruno? Here!”
“Yes. On the way to America for a seminar.”
“I know all of his work. He’s a physicist who thinks like an engineer… ”
“I’m sure you can think of no higher praise.”
“Thanks for asking me.”
“A pleasure. Nine o’clock then.”
Jan had no desire to attend a boring embassy party, but knew that he should not be a recluse. And if he got to talk to Bruno it might be worthwhile. The man was a genius and responsible for the whole new range of memory blocks. Probably wouldn’t even be able to get near him in the press of social butterflies. He must check his evening suit to see if it needed pressing.
The crush was just what he had expected. Jan had the cab drop him a street away from the embassy and he walked the rest of the distance. All of the beautiful people were there. The ones with rank and money and no ambition other than social position. They wanted only to be seen with Bruno, to have their faces appear with his in the social columns, to talk about it afterward to acquaintances with equal interests. Jan had grown up with these people, gone to school with them, and they shared a mutual dislike one for the other. They tended to look down their noses at his family because they had a tradition of working in the sciences. There was no point in telling them that this was because of Andrzej Kulozik, a distant and revered ancestor, a physicist who had actually worked on the original and successful development of fusion power. Most of them had no idea of what fusion power was in any case. Now Jan was enveloped by them again and he did not like it. There were many familiar and half-familiar faces among the crowd in the front hall, and when he passed his coat over to the waiting porter, his own face was also fixed in the cold and distant expression he had learned in prep school.
“Jan, that is you, isn’t it?” a deep voice said in his ear and he turned to see who was talking to him.
“Ricardo! A sight for sore eyes indeed.”
They shook hands warmly. Ricardo de Torres, the Marquis de la Rosa, was a not too distant relation on his mother’s side. Tall, elegant, black-bearded, and suave, he was about the only relative that Jan ever saw. They had been in school together and their friendship had even outlived that experience.
“Not here to meet the great man?” Ricardo asked.
“I was until I saw the receiving line for Professor Bruno. I’m not charmed in the slightest by the prospect of queuing for a half hour to press his gloved hand and hear him murmur a few words in my ear.”
“How forthright your brash, island-living race has always been. I, product of an older and more leisured culture, will join the queue.”
“Social obligation?”
“Right with the first guess.”
“Well, while you’re doing that, I am going to beat this lionizing crowd to the buffet. I hear the kitchen here is the best.”
“It is, and I envy you. For me there will be nothing but cold meats and bare bones.”
“I hope not. If you live through the scrum I’ll see you in there.”
“Let’s hope.”
It was perfect; Jan had had the display of food almost to himself. A few figures wandered in front of the lengthy linen-covered table, but were far outnumbered by the servers behind it. A swarthy, white-hatted chef sharpened his knife hopefully when Jan looked at the roast; his face fell when Jan went on. He could have roast beef every day of the week. Now he was more interested in the octopus in garlic, the snails, the pate with truffles. Filling his plate with delicacies was an easy matter. The small tables against the wall were still empty and he seated himself at one to get the utmost pleasure from his food without having to juggle it on one knee. Delicious! However, a little wine was very much in order. A servant in a black dress, carrying a tray of glasses, was passing and he waved to her.
“Red. A large one,” he said, his attention focused on his plate.
“Bardolino or Corvo, your honor,” the waitress said.
“Corvo, I believe… yes, Corvo.”
She handed him the glass and he had to look up to take it. For the first time he saw her face. He almost dropped the glass so she took it from his hand and placed it safely on the table before him.
“Sitalom,” Sara said, speaking very quietly. She gave him a quick wink, then turned and was gone.
Eight
Jan started to rise and go after her — then sank back into his seat. Her presence here could be no accident. And she certainly wasn’t Italian. Or was she? If she were the whole story about Israel had been a hoax. For all that he knew the submarine could have been an Italian one. What was going on? His thoughts chased themselves in circles and he slowly ate the plate of delicacies without tasting one of them. By the time he had finished, the room was beginning to fill up and he knew exactly what he had to do.
Nothing too obvious; he knew the dangers of Security surveillance better than she did. His glass was empty, getting another would not be compromising. If she had come here to contact him, he wanted her to know he was aware of that. Then, if she did not get in touch with him or give him some message, her presence was an accident as far as he was concerned. Italian or Israeli she was certainly an enemy agent of some kind. In this country illegally? Did Security know about her and were they watching her even now? Should he identify her for his own protection?
He rejected the idea as soon as it was formed. He couldn’t do that; whoever she was, she was also one of the people responsible for saving his life. Not only that — he had no desire to identify anyone to his brother-in-law’s branch of the service. Even if he could have done it safely, for if he identified her he would have to say how he knew her and the whole story of the submarine would come out. He was beginning to realize how thin was the layer of ice that supported the world he used to call normal. He had broken through it when he had been rescued, and had been sinking deeper and deeper ever since.
It took a moment to locate her, to push through the crowd and set the empty glass on her tray. “Another Corvo, if you please.” His eyes were upon her, yet she would not meet them. She passed the wine over in silence, never looking at him, turning away the instant he had taken it. So what was that supposed to mean? He was angry, feeling rejected. All of these charades just to be ignored! Or was it part of a more devious plan? The entire matter was beginning to disgust him and the noise and light was giving him a headache. Not only that but the unaccustomed spicy food sat like a weight in the pit of his stomach. There was no point in staying on here any longer.