“You sound different when you describe Rhian’s life,” I noted. “Happier, I guess.”
“It wasn’t a life of adventure,” she said, “but it passed by the way it does for most people, and I have few negative moments from it now.”
“So, you met Owen Thomas and…”
“He was full of fun and we spent a lot of time laughing,” she continued. “So, it was no surprise when he came to Aberystwyth a month later. The courtship was brief, at least by standards of the day, and we were married in the spring.”
“He moved up from Bristol?”
“I moved,” she corrected, “and we took a small house near the channel where the ships pass by. Our children were born there, and we stayed in Bristol until he was transferred, first to Chepstow and finally to Pembroke after he was promoted. That’s where we lived until…”
“When?” I asked softly.
“1932,” she replied with a sad smile. “I was fifty-three, and that’s where the moments end. I found my obituary in a local Pembrokeshire historical archive of news and events a few years ago.”
“That’s pretty young, Aline.”
She looked at me and nodded.
“Pneumonia.”
“And your children?”
“William and Charlotte,” she answered. “Willie was wounded at the Somme in 1916, but they couldn’t stop the bleeding; he died in a field hospital.”
Aline’s voice was low and deliberate as she recounted the death of another son. I waited in silence until she recovered and told me about her remaining child.
“Charlotte met and married the son of Owen’s colleague on the railway—Glyn Jones—and they lived in Swansea the rest of their days. She had two kids as well, Anne and Anthony. They moved away to England and volunteered during World War II.”
“Did they have children?”
She shook her head slowly, and the predictable end brought a tear from her eye.
“Anthony was killed in North Africa in the battle for Tobruk; Annie died when her building collapsed during the London Blitz. Charlotte lived into her eighties, and they buried her beside Glyn. It’s a bit of an irony,” she said through a sudden smile, “but their cemetery isn’t far from where the hospital I was born in this life stands today.”
At last, she finished the on-again-off-again process of acquainting me with each of her six previous lives. It still sounds strange to speak of “previous lives” with so nonchalant a tone, but I’ve learned to shift my perspective to what is instead of dwelling on what I once believed cannot be. As we huddled beside each other against a growing wind, there was only her life as Aline still standing, and the decision from a faceless bureaucrat in London would steer us toward that next path together.
We returned to the conference room to find Burke nodding and smiling into his cell phone. He disconnected and waited as Berezan followed Halliwell to their places opposite ours. Mo and the life sciences crowd were gone (on Burke’s instructions, we presumed), and he clasped his hands together dramatically.
“It would appear our Minister has rejected Gregory’s fervent plea for regaining control, and she has authorized us to continue with the original agreement.”
“What are the conditions, Alan?” I asked. “We need the specifics so there won’t be any misunderstandings.”
He knew I meant the disaster in Aline’s meadow, but his wave of assurance made it clear he and Halliwell had won the battle and Hurd was out of the picture.
“Gregory is prone to rash decisions, but he is also a shrewd politician; there is far more to lose by further intrusions than by leaving it alone, and he is most certainly aware of that cost. There will be other challenges, and his interest in our enterprise will return to the corner where it belongs.”
“There are administrative details to arrange,” Aline noted suddenly. “Evan and I will need some time to prepare before we go.”
“I understand,” Burke replied. “The Minister’s expectation is that you will be off on your extended tour within a month and also that your return will necessarily include perhaps a brief, discreet conversation with myself or the colonel.”
“You have our numbers,” Aline answered, “but you told Evan there would be no more contact between us.”
“A mere operational detail, Aline,” Burke said with his customary smirk. “And only so that we can assure you the coast is clear, shall we say?”
“Then it is time for us to say goodbye,” she replied.
“Your plane will be ready shortly, but I believe Mo would like to make a final inspection to satisfy herself your health has not been compromised by this interview series.”
“I feel fine,” Aline answered.
“It would make things easier for Mo if she could check off the item from her collection of process checklists; it shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”
I watched Aline closely with the hope Burke’s request was genuine and not contrived to a darker purpose. She watched Burke, too, but finally she nodded and Halliwell led her to the medical lab.
It felt awkward as hell, standing between Burke and Berezan in silence. After a moment or two, Berezan tossed a leather folio he carries everywhere onto the desktop.
“We can provide you all the contact information for our embassies and consular offices in the event you need help at some point.”
I didn’t need Aline’s special abilities to recognize the dismissive tone in his voice.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said in reflex.
“You are still a citizen of the United States, remember.”
“I never forgot, but it makes me wonder why you think I need to be reminded?”
“This isn’t a frivolous romp with your girlfriend, Mr. Morgan; your actions can have consequences.”
“They’ll call if they need us,” Burke interjected quickly, and Berezan aimed one final glare at me as he walked from the room with the purpose and stride of one late to a meeting. Burke sat on the table and looked at me for a moment. I thought we might return to the painful silence, but he removed his pocket handkerchief to refold while he made a final point.
“She is quite mad, you know.”
Just as Aline knew he would, Burke held me back to warn me away from what he could see as only a looming disaster.
“We’re all mad, Alan.”
“Perhaps we are,” he continued without a pause, “but we don’t face the horrors Aline can inflict so intimately as you.”
“I think I’ll be okay, but thanks.”
Burke stood, and I noticed his usual smirk was gone.
“She is the most dangerous person I have ever met, and after you go, there will be no one who understands that ability; there aren’t any doctors who can look at what’s left of you and diagnose the real cause of death.”
I listened, but it was obvious the words would never be enough. Burke offered a last caution and warning that Aline would be my downfall if I didn’t separate from her and soon. I know he truly was acting in what he thought was my best interest, but he did so without knowledge of who and what Aline really is.
“I’m not leaving her, Alan.”
He closed his eyes and smiled in resignation and the matter was closed. A moment later Mo returned with Aline, and we gathered our things. There were no speeches or offerings of gratitude; Burke and Halliwell shook our hands and handed each of us their cards with a standing invitation to call should the need arise.
We nodded and followed to the usual RAF van and a short ride to the transit line where our blue-and-white King Air waited in its chocks.
AFTER A DAY or two to recover, we went into Llangollen and sat with Jeremy for a while. Our sudden departure was a surprise, but he knew enough to understand our circumstance was created the day Andre Renard came to town, and I was grateful he thought enough not to ask about it. In the morning on the following day, contacting Vienne became the final task to be accomplished. I couldn’t tell her why and I felt the grinding, persistent guilt of k
nowing whatever excuse I made would be an outright lie. There would be time, Aline reminded me, and one day we might be able to tell and show her all the things she couldn’t know—the things no one should know.
Burke made it clear contacting friends or family would be a mistake since it was likely his colleague agencies could be called upon to monitor our movements and perhaps pry their way into our phone or e-mail conversations to ensure compliance. Maybe after a month or two at the very least, he said, when distance and deniability would make the whole story sound absurd, but certainly not before.
We wasted no time finishing up the preparatory work because, Aline insisted, the last days before departure should be spent enjoying our time in the trees and the fondness of where and how we first met. Jeremy gave us a checklist the property management people had sent, and we followed it to box up our things and remove any chance of fire by clearing away loose items, leaving electrical outlets unused, and tidying up the way anyone does when they leave home for a while. I wondered if it was like that for Damon when he went across the world to one lonely dig or another, but the likelihood did little to slow the clock as our moment edged closer. Aline used it as a good excuse to shed unwanted junk, and when we finished barely a week later, it was time to make the calls to our friends and family.
The shop was left in Margaret’s charge and Aline signed over temporary power of attorney so she could run the place as she saw fit. It was amusing to see her reaction, moved by a sense of romance in the belief Aline and I were going away only to cement our relationship and see the world together. It had never occurred to me before, but there was something of the truth in what she said, and I decided to borrow the notion when I called Vienne.
We chatted for a while about ordinary things, but she had a fit when I told her our route wouldn’t pass through Montreal for a while. It wasn’t possible, at least in the short term, but Aline bailed me out by assuring Vienne our path would bring us through North America on the way home. Vienne was satisfied with it, but mostly she envied our spirit of adventure and dizzy abandon to do what most would never consider when held back by careers and kids.
The illusion was suitable, and we left her with a cautionary note the places we intended to visit were far enough off the beaten path that regular contact was unlikely. But suddenly, and for no reason I could think of, Aline told her we intended to stay a while “where the freeze-dried mummies live.” Vienne laughed at the cryptic message because she knew we meant the coastal Chilean city of Antofagasta where Damon spent time unearthing artifacts, but at least she had one place on the map where we could be found.
We spent more time walking through the trees to get in all we could before it was time to go. The melancholy and sentimental tug wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be, and Aline’s notion of adventure in faraway places gave us a new and positive reason. With the interviews behind us, she said, it would be just us and the world so we might as well enjoy it.
I don’t worry one of the underlings will be instructed to track and report our movements because those same officials—the “suits”—want us to go away; they need us to disappear for a while and stay hidden until time has passed and the turmoil has been forgotten. People who oversee Burke and the things his section does, including those who visit Downing Street without an invitation, can never know about this. And anyway, Burke, Halliwell, and even Hurd know better than to plan otherwise because their own failures and two dead soldiers would be exposed to the scrutiny of their masters and oblige uncomfortable explanations.
Our extended absence will be filed away with similar stories of others who went temporarily off-grid in search of a simple life; two more who shunned the modern—or became fed up with it—looking only for privacy and a chance at the quiet calm of anonymity. After we go the truth will stay hidden, there won’t be further violence, and Burke’s team will have the information they think will give them an edge in an increasingly dangerous world. We’ll return after interest fades and the Minister’s colleagues move on, having never been fully briefed and happy in their ignorance. Both sides win and our long vacation on the other side of the world will shut off the valve and let the bad dream end.
Mob snitches have witness protection programs to give them second lives. Corporate burnouts find counterculture havens in northern California or Vermont to help them deny who and what they tried so hard to become. Neither scenario applies to us because we’re not escaping the twenty-first century to a smoke-filled teepee or thatched hut on a Micronesian island. The reasons most people disappear willingly have nothing to do with this, but it brings another problem: with few exceptions, we can never tell family and friends the truth and the reason why we went away.
Burke made another fervent plea that we reveal none of it to anyone for the rest of our lives, but I think he knows better. We did agree to make up suitable lies that no one will think to challenge—a desire to travel and spend time with only each other, for example. They approved, but for Burke and Halliwell, it’s more important the secret will hold long enough for them to get enough distance from us so that plausible deniability can take root and grow.
In the evening before our first flight among many to places we’d always wanted to see, Aline and I walked to the spot where two birds had drawn my attention where she stood alone in the trees in those first days. We didn’t say much as the wash of memories that belong only to us wandered by in a parade of fond images. She was so quiet, and I thought it was only sentiment and the emotions of our departure holding her in silence.
“Did you hear Burke’s play?” I asked, only to spark a conversation. “He gave me the warning speech, just like you said he would.”
“I didn’t have to hear it,” she answered.
“No, I guess not.”
She turned to face me, pulling me close for just a moment.
“After all this, and the things you know today, would you leave?”
“What would you do if I did?”
“I wouldn’t permit it,” she answered bluntly.
I felt the tingle up the back of my neck once again. Despite my commitment to her, Aline made it brutally clear there would be no going back. It sounds strange, but understanding where she stood didn’t bother me. I had learned to feel her probes, and I knew they were no longer inside guiding me. Instead, I felt only the quiet satisfaction of knowing our future was secure.
“Burke said I would figure it out someday, and it would open a window to get away from you; he told me to watch for the little signs your control over me is growing. On that day, he said, I will either leave you forever or die suddenly, never knowing the reason why.”
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“Can’t you hear my thoughts?”
“I want you to tell me.”
“I think he believes.”
“I asked if you believe him.”
Aline’s voice was changing again, softer but with a subtle change in pitch.
“I know it’s hard for you to say or even to think it, but Burke understands; he knows I’m not the good and proper girl, Evan. He looks at me and sees a corrupted mind—disconnected, perhaps, but willing to kill.”
“I know you’re not insane, but he’s right about the rest of it.”
“And yet you will stay,” she said evenly and without emotion; “that is something you have decided and with no help from me.”
“So it would seem, but we both know it was never that simple,” I replied. “Still, love is a weird thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s not weird,” she said, and I could hear the odd echo behind her voice return.
“How would you characterize all this?” I asked.
“Love is just a pleasant word to describe the calmer parts of our animal desires and needs, don’t you see? Love means there is no one else for me…and no one else for you. Not ever.”
She placed her hand very gently against my cheek, and I bathed in the blue of her eyes—the sound of her voice.
�
��We belong only to each other now, Evan; we do because we cannot stand to be apart and that is why you stay—it is why I will never have to force you.”
“Is this Aline speaking, or is it Tegwen?”
“Yes.”
IT’S been a while since I dredged this up from the “double-secret probation” folder in my laptop, but this morning’s news demands it. We left home in the middle of November last year, and today is June 10, which puts us right at the seven-month point. It wasn’t a huge surprise when Burke finally called this morning. We thought he might last month, but it wasn’t a disappointment when he didn’t.
We’ve been in Bunbury on the southwestern coast for three weeks, which pretty much wraps up our two-month Australian experience. For the record, our luxury exile started with a week-long visit with Aline’s cousin in Windhoek (long plane ride). We went from there to Durban and a brief tour of South Africa because I’ve always been fascinated by the Boer Wars, and I just wanted to see where all that history and turmoil happened—Kitchener and a very young Winston Churchill. Cape Town was nice, but we didn’t care for Pretoria or Joburg.
Aline wanted to meet up with her parents in Trieste, and then goof around in the eastern Mediterranean. We agreed the lack of political stability makes it a needless risk and so we bypassed it all and decided to confine most of the time to south of the equator and catch up with her mom and dad on the way back. We flew from Johannesburg to Sao Paulo then on to Buenos Aires, and it became our temporary base of operations while we wandered around coastal Argentina and a bit of Patagonia. There’s a sizeable Welsh population there, which was surprising to me, but it made Aline happy. We tried a few days in Rio, but the charm wore off quickly when we discovered how violent the place is after dark. Aline declared it a bust because “any place that cordons itself into battle zones when the sun goes down is a waste of time and money.”
The Seventh Life of Aline Lloyd Page 38
