“You said it,” Will agreed. “I thought we’d have months to piss each other off.”
Will moved, and Gaia thought he might touch her, but he didn’t—he just changed his position on the wet ground. They looked at each other.
“We were just getting started,” Will said.
Gaia nodded.
“Look, I’ve got a train,” she said in a voice that came out hoarse, like a whisper. “I have to get ready.”
“Right,” Will said as they both stood up. “We’ve all got some kind of drill at the shooting gallery in an hour. But winning won’t be any fun without you there.”
“With me there, you’d lose.”
Will chuckled. “Good-bye, Gaia,” he said. Then he quickly turned and walked away into the rain.
THE SOLDIER’S GUN
Gaia wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but the next thing she knew, she was running. She had some time before the train left, and she figured she could get a cab to take her to the station. In the meantime she didn’t want to sit still—she wanted to run.
Now she was on the road, the long two-lane blacktop that led into town. The road was soaked, its yellow meridian line shining in the rain. Gaia splashed through the wide puddles, soaking herself to the bone, diverting into the sand-packed road’s edge as cars roared by, their headlights shimmering through the rain.
It doesn’t matter if I miss my train, she told herself. I don’t really have anywhere to go.
It didn’t take long for Gaia to get up to a respectable speed. Soon her legs were pumping in their old rhythm, her breathing was labored, and she didn’t have to think anymore. Wet telephone poles passed and rusted green metal signs for Virginia’s numbered state roads.
Looking up, Gaia realized that she was almost in town. On her left she could see the mowed field with the World War II memorial approaching. The bronze statue of the infantryman was shining with rainwater, protruding above the wet trees that surrounded the field.
A figure stood next to the statue. Gaia couldn’t see the person clearly. Only the bright yellow rain slicker the person wore. Running closer, Gaia peered over, wondering what the person was doing. As she watched, the figure reached up and placed white roses in the barrel of the infantryman’s gun.
Gaia left the road, slowing to a walk as she crossed the muddy, sodden field, moving toward the statue. Lightning flickered as she got closer, seeing the gray granite pedestal that the statue rested on. Her lower legs were soaking wet now as she walked through the grass. The thunder rumbled across the sky and the figure turned. Gaia realized it was a young woman—a woman with long blond hair. Up close, Gaia saw that she wasn’t as young as she’d looked from a distance; there were lines of care in her plain face.
“Oh my Lord, you’re soaked,” the woman said. Her voice was fairly high but sweet and pleasant. Gaia saw that she wore small silver earrings. Her eyes were green. “Haven’t you got a raincoat?”
“I don’t mind,” Gaia said, walking closer. “I like running in the rain.”
The woman made a face, as if to say, It takes all kinds.
“The roses are pretty,” Gaia said, pointing. “I’ve seen them before, driving by. I wondered who put them there.”
“Guilty,” the young woman said, raising her hand. She held it out to Gaia. “I’m Ann Knight.”
“I’m Gaia Moore,” Gaia said, shaking hands.
“What a pretty name,” Ann said. “Glad to know you, Gaia. You don’t mind if I finish this, do you?” She held up the roses she still had in her hand. In the dim, rainy height the white petals seemed to shine.
“Go ahead,” Gaia said. “Do you do this every day?”
“Every day,” Ann said, standing on tiptoe to carefully put the last of the flowers into the bronze soldier’s gun barrel. “I’ve been doing it for years now. My husband was a United States Marine—he was killed in Kuwait after Operation Desert Storm.”
She lost the man she loved, Gaia thought heavily. And she never got past it.
“So every morning and every afternoon, rain or shine, I put flowers in the soldier’s gun,” Ann went on. “I live right there—I grow the roses myself.”
Ann pointed, and Gaia turned and looked across the road, where a small, shingled frame house stood near the highway. There was a bed of white roses in front of the house. On the porch, shielded from the rain, a young boy was swinging on a porch swing. As she watched, the boy waved—and beside her Ann waved back.
“Isn’t he great?” Ann said. “That’s my son. He never knew his father. When he’s a little older, I’ll tell him the whole story.”
The little blond boy waved again. Gaia waved back.
“Your boy’s beautiful,” Gaia told Ann. “I’m sure your husband would be proud.”
“Thank you,” Ann said.
Is this what’s going to happen to me? Gaia wondered. Just stuck in a state of permanent mourning? My mother, Mary, Jake … Is that why I’m doing this? Why I’m wrecking this? Destroying it and running away?
Gaia’s cell phone rang.
“I’m sorry,” she told Ann. “Just a second. Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” It was Catherine’s voice, broken up by dropouts and static. “I’ve got your bags in the car—I’m ready to take you into town to the train station. I’ve been driving around looking for you.”
“I’m in town,” Gaia said. “I went running. I’m at the memorial park at the end of the road—you remember?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Catherine said impatiently. “End of the road, huh? Wait there—I’ll see you in five minutes.”
“You want to come in and have a cup of coffee, Gaia?” Ann asked when Gaia had put her phone away. “You’re welcome. I’ve got some cookies, too.”
“No, thanks,” Gaia said. “I’ve got to go. I’m leaving town.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ann said. She reached to shake hands again. “I’m glad we met.”
“Me too,” Gaia said. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Sam.”
“That’s—” Gaia had to clear her throat. Her first boyfriend was named Sam. “That’s a good name.”
“Bye now,” Ann said. Gaia stood by the bronze statue and watched as Ann crossed the field, her yellow slicker shining in the rain.
MYSTERIOUS TALK
The headlights on Catherine’s Altima shone through the mist, coming closer as Gaia stood in her soaking wet sweatshirt and running shoes by the side of the road. Ann and her son, Sam, had gone inside across the road. The rain was easing up—it might stop soon, Gaia thought.
Catherine pulled over, waiting for Gaia to circle to the passenger seat. The windshield wipers were grinding loudly back and forth. Gaia got into the car and slammed the door.
“You’re all wet,” Catherine complained.
“Sorry.”
Gaia was nearly shivering—Catherine had the airconditioning on. Behind them, in the backseat, Gaia saw all of her luggage.
“Thanks for getting my bags,” Gaia said.
“Don’t mention it.” Catherine was hunched forward, peering through the wet windshield. “I’m going to have a hell of a time finding the train station. Where are you going, anyway?”
“Ohio,” Gaia said. “At least to begin with. What’s this?” There was something pressing into her back from the seat. She reached behind herself and pulled it out. It was a thick black plastic folder.
“What? Oh—nothing. Just the crime scene photos,” Catherine explained. “They just arrived over in the crime lab. From the game. Those are all the pictures of Kaufman’s apartment.”
Gaia started opening the folder. There was no reason to do it—it didn’t make any difference anymore—but she found herself leafing through the photographs.
“This sucks,” Catherine said. She looked over at Gaia as she drove. “You realize that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
Everyone’s in a bad mood, Gaia thought miserably. But
can I blame them? Look what I’ve done to them.
“Oh, and Kim says good-bye.”
“Thanks,” Gaia said. She didn’t want to think about it. “Tell him good luck with the game.”
“Yeah—there’s just the three of us now,” Catherine said gloomily. “I don’t really like our chances. I mean, all Bishop’s mysterious talk about ‘seeing what isn’t there’ and everything; I still have no idea what to do next. There’s nothing at either crime scene except—”
“Wait,” Gaia said. “Just a second.”
She was looking at one particular photograph—a wideangle color image of Abe Kaufman’s bathroom. She remembered standing there with Will not that long ago, looking at the pictures on the walls, the empty medicine cabinet, the porcelain sink. Closing her eyes, she was standing there again, hearing Will’s voice next to her, smelling that nameless medicinal aroma in the air.
Seeing what isn’t there.
“Turn the car around,” Gaia told Catherine.
“What?” Catherine stared at her in complete confusion. “What are you talking about? We’re almost to the train station.”
“Catherine, come on—turn around. We have to go back to the base.”
“Why?”
“Do you have the victim’s insurance records?” Gaia asked urgently. “They’re part of the case file, right?”
“The insurance records?” Catherine squinted as she drove. “Sure, but—”
“Then turn the car around,” Gaia insisted, grabbing Catherine’s sleeve. “Take us back as fast as you can.”
“Why?” Catherine said. She was slowing down and looking at the traffic, trying to find a place to make a U-turn. “To do what?”
“To win the game,” Gaia said.
as far as the train takes you
DOOR TO A TOMB
Catherine was completely confused, and she didn’t mind admitting it.
Here they were, early in the evening—at almost exactly the time that they were supposed to be at the train station, saying good-bye. And instead they were storming across the Quantico base’s courtyard toward the administration building.
The rain had stopped, and the courtyard was brightly lit by a row of floodlights on metal poles, like a parking lot. She and Gaia cast multiple yellow shadows on the wet concrete as they walked.
This is so crazy, Catherine told herself again. Catherine had gotten the bad news about Gaia from Will and Kim, who had come upstairs to tell her hours ago.
“Come on,” Gaia said. She was carrying the black folder of photographs and a thick sheaf of papers she’d picked out of Catherine’s copy of the Hogan’s Alley game case file. Catherine didn’t understand what was so important about the victims’ insurance records, but Gaia had refused to take the time to explain.
“Do you know what you look like?” Catherine asked as they barreled into the admin building’s lobby. Gaia was a fright. Her wet, tangled hair hung over her forehead like a janitor’s mop. Her sweatpants were soaking wet, their cuffs painted through with green grass stains. Her running shoes were black with caked, drying mud. Only her hands were dry—they carefully cradled the documents she’d gotten from Catherine’s file.
“I can’t help that,” Gaia said absently. “Come on—let’s go.”
“Can I help you?” the guard in the lobby of the administration building asked.
“We have to talk to one of the administrators,” Gaia told him. She had handed over her own FBI trainee badge when she was expelled, so Catherine had to show hers.
The guard was shaking his head. “There are no unauthorized—”
“This is a Quantico Code X matter,” Gaia told him in a severe tone of voice. “Do you understand? Straight to the top. Call Agent Malloy if you want, but you really don’t want to be obstructing this.”
Code X? Catherine had no idea what Gaia was talking about, but she tried her best to look official.
The guard looked back and forth between them.
“All right,” he said grudgingly, turning a clipboard around and handing over a ballpoint pen. “Sign your name and time of arrival. But if I find out you’re abusing a Code X, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Catherine had barely scribbled her name. Gaia grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, past the guard and into the nearest open elevator. After a maddening pause, the elevator doors rolled shut.
“‘Investigation is about what you don’t see,’” Gaia told Catherine as the elevator rose. Catherine realized she was quoting Special Agent Bishop—somehow Gaia was getting it exactly correct, word for word. “‘Don’t be fooled by distracting foreground details; concentrate on uncovering the hidden truth that lies beneath the world you observe.’”
Ding! The elevator opened. Gaia stormed out, hurrying down the carpeted corridor, following the wall signs until she got to a wide metal door.
Bishop, Jennifer, G44, the nameplate on the door read.
Gaia didn’t bother with knocking—she just twisted the chrome knob and pushed open the door.
The office was smaller than Malloy’s but still pretty big. It had a deep brown carpet. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with brown fabric bulletin boards on which dozens and dozens of index cards in all different colors had been tacked. There were stacks of file folders on the floor in neat rows and other folders on the black leather couch that spanned the center of the room. Agent Bishop was sitting behind her own oak desk, a white FBI mug of coffee beside her, typing at her computer. She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened in surprise—and then narrowed as she recognized Gaia and Catherine.
“How did you get in here?” Agent Bishop demanded. “By breaking more rules, I’d imagine.”
“Please,” Gaia said, stepping forward. “Please, Agent Bishop, if I could just have a few moments of your time—”
Bishop was already shaking her head. This isn’t going to be easy, Catherine thought, seeing Bishop’s face. There wasn’t a shred of sympathy or kindness behind those tortoiseshell glasses. “Not a chance,” Bishop said severely. “No trainees should be in this building unless summoned, and you, Gaia Moore, shouldn’t even be on FBI property.”
“‘End of the day,’” Gaia argued urgently. She was clutching her folder and papers in both hands. Her wet hair flew haphazardly around her head. “He said ‘end of the day’—I’m still allowed here for few more hours. If you could just listen to me … I’ve figured out something important.”
Let her talk, Catherine found herself thinking. She could hear something in Gaia’s voice—some kind of desperation or finality—and she wasn’t sure Bishop was catching it. The sound frightened her. Just let her talk, Ms. Bishop—that’s all I ask. Expel her if you must, but don’t humiliate her.
“It’s too late,” Agent Bishop said. She stood up, her short red hair swinging against her cheeks as she stepped around her desk. “I’m sorry, Gaia. Really, I am, but we’ve been through this. The Quantico training program has very clear rules, and they must apply to each trainee equally. Otherwise they have no value. In fact”—Bishop looked at Catherine as she kept moving toward her office’s smooth metal door—“I’m surprised that you would let yourself get pulled into this, Catherine. If you’re going to ruin things for yourself, Gaia, that’s your affair, as sorry as it makes me. But there’s no excuse for dragging another trainee down with you.”
“She’s my friend,” Gaia said.
That’s right, Catherine thought, with a sudden burst of feeling that surprised her. That’s right, I am.
“But you don’t understand,” Gaia persisted. “Please, this is different. It’s not about me—it’s about being an agent, about solving crimes. I’ve finally figured out—”
“‘Being an agent,’” Bishop said sharply, her hand on the open office door, “is about following orders and obeying regulations. Something you’ve already demonstrated that you don’t understand. And it’s something you seem to be forgetting, Ms. Sanders. Now get out of my office before I have you taken out—and yo
u won’t like the consequences of that one bit, I assure you.”
“Don’t you remember California?” Gaia asked Bishop. They were both halfway out the door, and Gaia had turned back, making this final plea. To Catherine, she was sounding more and more like a young girl or a high school student and less like an adult. “Agent Bishop, don’t you remember what you told me about taking a chance—about changing my life?”
“Good-bye, Gaia,” Bishop said. She was tapping her fingers on the edge of the door. “Please, let’s part on good terms at least. Let’s not have a fight.”
Gaia sighed. Catherine saw her shoulders sink under her rainsoaked sweatshirt, and then she turned and walked out of the office. Catherine followed, and the metal door swung shut behind them. To Catherine, it sounded like the door to a tomb.
LIKE SLEEPWALKING
Gaia took a step away from Agent Bishop’s door. It felt like sleepwalking. She was still holding the Hogan’s Alley papers and folder in her hand, but she had nearly forgotten what they were—she knew they were supposed to be important or have some kind of value on some past life of hers, but in that moment she couldn’t really remember why.
She and Catherine were in a wide, gray-walled corridor on the top floor of Quantico Administration Building A. The corridor widened out into a waiting area with padded chairs and a big plate glass window a few yards away. The rain-speckled window showed the same dim gray view they’d gotten used to all day.
What happens now? Gaia thought distantly. It was strange—she was trying to collect her thoughts and focus on what was important, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything important. It was kind of soothing, in a way. It was restful. With nothing important to care about, she could give in to a peaceful feeling. None of this really matters, anyway, she told herself, taking another step forward. It was like a weight lifting off her. I’m not really sure what does matter.
What she really wanted to do was go to sleep. Her legs ached after her long run—she suddenly felt the burn in her calves and thighs that she’d been ignoring up to now. And her body was cold and dirty. A hot bath and then sleep. Long, peaceful sleep now that there was nothing to worry or care about.
Kill Game Page 18
