Alex considered her words, inspecting each one. Was she really so mercenary or was she working an angle?
Alex stood up. “Would you mind if we walked and talked, Ms. Billings?”
CHAPTER 24
After leaving Alex, Anne walked for a time until she grew cold, and then she waved down a yellow cab at West 106th Street, instructing the driver to take her to The Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue. It was time to visit the area around the famous Egyptian obelisk in Central Park, where she’d been found; the place she’d appeared after time traveling.
Constance had offered to take her there days before, but Anne had refused, feeling frightened. Now she was ready, and she wanted to see it. Maybe it held secrets. Perhaps if she walked the path, searching the area, she might receive some fresh illumination. It might shake loose an image or a memory. She even entertained the wild possibility that she might find an invisible doorway or a time portal that would send her back to 1944. She’d read about those on the internet.
Anne had left Alex about twenty minutes before, declining a ride, not wanting to spend another minute with the man. It wasn’t that he’d made any romantic overtures or been insulting. On the contrary, Alex Fogel had been the perfect gentleman, the ultimate professional.
For her part, she’d managed to keep herself together and project an air of renewed strength, leaving him with the impression that, even though her mind wasn’t completely made up, she was open to the possibility of his conducting a formal interview.
Despite his mounting eagerness, Anne sensed he hadn’t been thoroughly convinced by her performance, and they had played a game of cat and mouse.
“I hope you won’t be insulted, Ms. Billings, if I’m not completely convinced that you’re ready to sign on to this.”
“And you shouldn’t be convinced,” Anne had said, not wanting to give in too quickly. Her goal was to stall him. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I need a little more time.”
They were walking along Third Avenue as traffic thickened and horns tooted, and snow flurries drifted down.
He’d given her a side glance. “I hope you won’t try to run away. If you do, I will find you. I want you to sign onto this voluntarily but, if you don’t, then I’m willing to take whatever steps I must. The truth is, Ms. Billings, exceptional opportunities like you don’t come around more than once in a lifetime, if that.”
His words brought a little shiver rippling up her spine, but she’d kept up her calm act, speaking casually. “And where would I go? I don’t have any family or friends, other than Constance and Leon, and I don’t have any identification.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’d be willing to bet that you’re smart and resourceful. You have a will, and I’m sure you could find a way.”
“You overestimate me. I’m lonely, confused and, quite frankly, very weary. It’s becoming clear to me that I’m going to have to start a brand-new life in this time… in this world.”
Anne saw that Alex liked the sound of that.
They had stopped at Alex’s black SUV. “Once the interview is approved, and we move on to the next phase of the investigation, I’ll be able to help you with that. We’ll find you the perfect place where you can start fresh, with all the resources you’ll need for a happy life.”
Anne had forced her lips into a pleasant smile. “How lovely that sounds.”
But Anne had no intention whatsoever of living anywhere except in England. There, she would search the past and try to learn what had happened to her parents and Tommy.
“Are you going back to Leon’s apartment?” Alex asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I’d like to walk and think. It will do me good.”
“Can I give you a ride anywhere?”
“No, thank you.”
He gazed directly into her eyes, boring into her, searching for truth. “You say you need more time to think about it. How much time do you need?”
“Two days. I have the phone number you gave me. I’ll call you in two days with my answer.”
That’s where they’d left it.
AFTER STUDYING HER MAP of Central Park, Anne left the taxi on Fifth Avenue at East 79th Street and entered Central Park, walking past the Group of Bears statue and a playground. She continued on the footpath which skirted the south side of the museum, going through the stone Greywacke Arch and turning right. When the Obelisk came into view, she slowed her pace, feeling a rising sense of foreboding. She approached it cautiously.
Anne stopped, turned the collar of her coat up against the busy wind and moved ahead. She’d done her homework and knew that the Obelisk, also known as “Cleopatra’s Needle,” was the oldest man-made object in Central Park and the oldest outdoor monument in New York City. It was more than three-thousand years old and stood sixty-nine feet high.
The Obelisk was part of a pair. The second was in London, on the bank of the Thames River, close to the Embankment underground station. Two large bronze sphinxes lay on either side of the Needle.
She had read that the two Obelisks had been commissioned about 1450 BCE to commemorate Pharaoh Thutmose III’s thirtieth year of reign. Each Obelisk had been carved from a single slab of quarried rose granite. Egypt had gifted the London Obelisk in 1871, and the Obelisk to New York in 1881.
The monument was surrounded by magnolia and crabapple trees, which Anne thought would be lovely in the spring. The paved terrace had benches arranged in a circle around the Obelisk, and because her feet hurt, she sat on one of the benches, feeling the cold seep into her bones as she replayed the conversation she’d just had with Alex Fogel.
She had to escape New York, and soon. She couldn’t let him trap her, and trap her, he would. There was steel purpose in his eyes, and she’d sensed a gnawing determination in the man that terrified her.
The thought of being trapped turned her stomach to acid, as if she’d taken poison.
Despite the cold, Anne sat with her agitated emotions and cast her eyes about the area. She’d been flung into 2008 somewhere near here. With desperate hope and out of urgent necessity, Anne’s mind turned to considering improbable things, wild things. Perhaps there was a time doorway or secret passage near the Obelisk that would send her back to 1944… send her back to Tommy and her parents. Events she would have once thought impossible now were reality, so why couldn’t there be a time tunnel or portal that could shoot her back to where she’d come from?
Anne breathed shallowly, willing it to be so; willing some extraordinary crack in time to appear suddenly before her, like a shaft of lightning, so she could dart into the light and fly back to 1944.
On her feet, she circled the Obelisk, her every nerve on alert. She circled it three times, but nothing happened. Undeterred, she left the terrace for the grass and began to pace, searching for a sign, for anything that might feel unusual; for anything that might seem out of place; for any radiant, pulsing light.
When a couple looked on curiously, she didn’t notice them. At first, she walked at right angles to the Obelisk; then diagonally, taking brisk strides, her every sense awake, her eyes probing. When three children ran by, she ignored them. When tourists paused to study her, thinking she was involved in some odd ritual, she looked away from them, oblivious, a touch of panic growing in her eyes.
A mounting desperation nudged her on until the wind burned her cheeks and she grew tired, and the folly and futility of her quest became sadly obvious. In defeat, she trudged back to one of the benches and sat. Waves of despair cruised over her, heating her one minute and chilling her the next.
She reached into her purse for the cell phone Constance had given her, a RIM Blackberry Curve. Anne had only used it twice, both times to call Constance. She stared at the thing, a wonder and a miracle, like the computers of this time, like nearly everything of this time. Why was she feeling repulsion for all these modern do-dads, so her father would have probably called them? There was too much information crashing in at the touch of a button or the cl
ick of a mouse. There was too much noise and talking static.
Anne was about to call Constance and bring her up-to-date when she stopped, struggling with the phone to find Leon’s number. She thought he should know that his uncle was on to him.
She touched the speed dial and waited as the phone rang twice. Leon’s voice was loud. “Anne? Is everything okay?”
Anne shut her eyes, turning away from two heavy men who were studying the Obelisk. “Your uncle is on to us.”
“What?”
She explained everything, finishing with, “After I left him, I took a taxi to the Obelisk in Central Park. That’s where I am.”
Leon’s voice was high and strained. “Oh, man… that’s so messed up. I mean, no way. I mean, you shouldn’t have left the apartment. No way you should have left. Did you wear the blonde wig?”
Anne’s voice held frustration. “Yes, Leon, for all the good it did. He knew I was staying with you.”
“Oh, wow… I didn’t know…”
“Leon, I have only two days, and maybe not even that, before he wants me to be, as he put it, interviewed, which actually means locked up in some secret place and put under a bloody microscope, so to speak. Interrogated like I’m some criminal. I’ll never get out and back to England.”
“I’ve got to think,” Leon said. “Did you call Constance?”
“No. Constance can’t get me a passport, Leon, and I don’t want to alarm her. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but can you please call your friend and tell him it’s imperative that I get that passport now? I don’t trust your uncle, Leon. I know he’ll be watching your place and he could come storming in at any time and take me off to God knows where.”
Leon sputtered. “Okay, okay. I’ll call my guy. I’ll call and tell him we’ve got to have your passport, like now.”
“I’m not going back to your place, Leon.”
“What?”
“I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”
“But where?”
“I don’t know where, but someplace where your uncle can’t find me. I’ll figure it out. When you get the passport, call me. I’m cold to my bones, Leon. I’m hanging up and finding someplace to warm myself. Please, hurry with the passport.”
CHAPTER 25
Anne sat on the edge of the hotel bed in darkness, listening to the sounds of the city below; the murmur of traffic; the car horns; a siren passing; the unnerving, chopping blades of a helicopter. They sounded like violence and made her think of the war.
She struggled to control her emotions, fighting tears one moment and letting them come the next. Finally, she mastered them, vowing to stop crying and come up with solutions.
Once she’d arrived in her room, she’d pulled off the wig and tossed it into the wastebasket. Next, she’d made the dreaded call to Constance, explaining what had happened. Predictably, she’d gone into a rage, cursing Leon, cursing Alex Fogel, and cursing herself for letting Anne go.
“Where are you, Anne?” she demanded.
“I don’t know, some hotel in the West 60s. I was so cold and scared. I just walked in, booked a room and paid with the credit card you gave me. I’m sorry I keep spending your money.”
“I don’t give a damn about the money, Anne, I care about you. Get in a cab and come back here.”
“Constance… I can’t. I don’t want that man knowing where I am.”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll call Senator Arlen Paxton and put a stop to this right now.”
“That won’t stop him,” Anne said. “I saw it in his eyes.”
“Well, I have a handgun and, so help me God, I’ll use it on him if he tries to break into my place. Now come back to me, Anne. It sickens me to think you’re alone in some sleazy hotel. I want you where I can protect you.”
Anne stood in the center of the snug room, one thought tripping over another. “I just don’t know, Constance. I don’t want you involved with this anymore. I truly believe Leon’s uncle is dangerous.”
“Believe me, Anne, if he gets in my way, I’ll take care of him. Now, get out of there and jump into a cab.”
Anne felt resistance. “I don’t know. I think I want to spend the night here, alone. I need time to think.”
Constance sighed into the phone. “Anne… listen to me. Once we get that passport, we are off to the airport. You’ll never see that man again.”
“He will follow us.”
“I don’t give a damn if he does. Anyway, I have an idea about that. I’ll share it with you when you get here.”
Anne moved toward the two windows, pulled the cord and parted the heavy beige curtains that looked out of her tenth-floor window. There were shadowy buildings nearby and, in the distance, the shiny lights of New York.
“I’ll stay the night, Constance. Just one night. As I said, I need to be alone. Please understand.”
“I think you’re being foolish,” Constance said with irritation. “But if that’s what you want, then so be it. In the morning, get here as soon as you can. I have a feeling we’re going to have to work fast.”
After hanging up, Anne remained still. The darkness seemed alive, with roaming ghosts from her past. Was that her father in the corner? Was that wheezing sound her mother breathing? Was Tommy hiding behind the curtains, playing peek-a-boo, snickering at her?
On impulse, she snatched up her purse and left the room, pausing in the brightly lit hallway to finger-comb her hair and ensure she had the smart card to open her door.
She was the only person in the elevator, and the overhead light seemed to pour down on her like a noonday sun. At the lobby, she left the elevator, took a bracing breath and glanced about cautiously, not seeing anyone suspicious.
The hotel lounge was a cozy room, with a long mahogany bar and a row of red leather, padded barstools, illuminated by hanging, amber lamps. Several round tables were occupied, and the music emanating from overhead speakers was soft rock.
Anne had never sat at a bar alone. In pubs back home, she’d either stood with friends or taken her pint to a table. She had no idea what the protocol was. Was it proper to sit on one of those stools? All the tables were taken, and she spotted a woman alone, perched on a barstool, scrolling through her cell phone.
Two middle-aged men in suits were lost in conversation and, at the far end, a young man in stylish clothes was bent over a mug of beer, his troubled expression suggesting a bad day at the office.
Anne took a chance and sat on the stool closest to the lobby. She relaxed a little when no one seemed to notice or care.
When the thin, attractive bartender stepped over, she was taken by his thick dark hair, pushed up and spiked. It was an odd hairstyle, she thought, but appealing. She quickly took in his fine, handsome face, his friendly eyes, and the black shirt and dark pants that made him a bit fetching. He was a momentary, pleasant distraction, and Anne was grateful for it.
“Hey there,” he said, lightly. “What can I get you?”
She met his eyes and smiled. “I guess I’ll have a pint of something.”
“A pint?”
“Or whatever you have.”
“How about a cold mug of pale ale, or an IPA?”
Anne raised her shoulders. “I don’t know. The pale ale sounds lovely, thank you.”
“You have a great Italian accent, there,” the bartender said, with a playful wink.
“Italian?” Anne exclaimed with an arched eyebrow.
“Just a stupid joke. Are you from London?”
Why did the question sound strange to her? “London… Yes, well actually, I’m from Stratford, a district in the East End of London. Do you know London?”
“No, not really. I was there once on a high school trip, but I don’t remember much except Big Ben and the Tower of London.”
Anne felt a sudden nostalgia for her country, and she turned reflective. “It’s a lovely place, with nice people and good pubs.”
“I went to a pub or two, but I was underage. An older buddy of mine orde
red me a pint, and it nearly knocked me on my ass. I guess I was used to Budweiser.”
Anne smiled. “Yes, the ales can make you a bit wobbly if you’re not used to it.”
“And that pint was pricey, because he made me pay for it.”
“Really? When I left, a pint cost about one shilling and sixpence.”
The bartender cocked his head as if he didn’t hear correctly. “Shilling?”
“Yes, but that was…” she stopped, suddenly remembering where she was and what year she was living in.
“But the shilling isn’t used anymore, is it?” the bartender asked.
Anne forced a nervous smile. She had no idea what the currency was, and she had the irrational, fear-driven thought that he’d find her out and call the police. “Well… of course things have changed. Things always change, don’t they?”
The bartender searched her face for signs of a joke. He didn’t see it and stepped back. “I’ll just get that draft for you.”
The bartender soon returned with a cold mug, the head foaming. “Here you go. Sorry, but it costs a little more than a shilling, not that I know how much a shilling is worth.”
Avoiding his eyes, she handed him her credit card. “I’ll just have the one.”
After Anne signed the credit card slip, the bartender remained, a curious glint in his eyes. “Are you traveling on business?”
“No,” she said quickly. Then softer, she said, “I mean, no.”
“Are your folks over there, in England?”
Anne took a sip of the beer. It tasted good, so she drank more, needing to ease her rattled nerves.
“Yes…”
“I’m from Denver,” the bartender said.
To hide her ignorance of not knowing where Denver was, Anne took another generous drink. “Do you miss it?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sometimes you miss your real home, don’t you?”
Anne nodded, feeling the truth of his words flow through her until a pang of sadness lowered her eyes.
Time Stranger Page 13
