by Robert Graf
Ian grimaced, was this bloke an accountant? "I'm sure they gave you an emergency number. Use it."
"All right. Anything else?"
"No, good night." He disconnected and yawned. What next?
[Saturday, Vatican City]
His Eminence, Cardinal Claudio Balsamo, Prefect of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, stared at the answers to his ten queries. He'd marked correct answers in blue, incorrect in red. Ten accusing blue slashes stared up at him. Dear God, he prayed, give me strength. The thing is Satan’s own. His first impulse was to edit the results, to mark several in red. But that would change nothing. The L'Osservatore Romano lay on his desk. In bold letters the headline announced: Jupiter Mission Launch on Schedule, Science Community Holds Breath.
The Curia had met three days ago. It was his turn in the chairmanship rotation, and he'd said nothing. And now? His choices were simple: Do nothing or reveal the dicovery to the Curia Congregations. The headline convinced him he had no choice.
Brother Isaac? He could order him to take a vow of silence, but would Isaac obey? He'd taken his Jesuit vows but not the final vows to hear Confession. Many Jesuits didn't. If Isaac didn't obey would he be believed?
Balsamo shook his head. All that speculation was irrelevant. The Jupiter mission trumped everything. He would invoke an urgent meeting for Wednesday next and lay out what he had found. He brought up his appointment calendar, selected the notification menu and tapped All. He hesitated, aware of an invisible line he was crossing. He tapped Send.
[Sunday, Yreka]
Ann accepted the key-card from the Best Western clerk, then returned to her hybrid. The drive up I-5 had been boring and long. The entire time she brooded about the lab's destruction. She was tired and depressed and needed a drink and food, but where? There was bound to be a list of restaurants, probably fast-food joints, in the room. She grabbed her overnight bag just as an orange Caltrans van pulled into the adjoining parking place.
The cab door opened. A slender man, about her height but older, in khaki work clothes and a white hard hat stepped out. He smiled.
She managed a weak smile, closed the door and walked to the stairs. She felt his gaze but didn't look back.
Once in her room she relieved her overfull bladder and washed her face. Her eyes had dark circles under them, her expression radiating worry. She tried smiling; the reflection didn't improve. Back in the bedroom she sat at the tiny desk and opened the Guest book to the restaurant listings; no surprise there, just chains of some flavor or other. One name caught her eye, Puerto Vallarta Family Restaurant. The map indicated it was just a few blocks away, and the exercise would do her good.
She glanced out the window. The setting sun outlined the Caltrans worker as he climbed the stairs. Probably on the second floor for the same reason she was, less road noise. She donned a light jacket, stuffed her wallet in her purse and left.
The walk along the Sunday-quiet street in the lengthening shadows helped to clear her mind. By the time she reached the salmon-colored building she was looking forward to a drink and a spicy meal. She pulled open the front door and stopped, taken aback by the din. The dining room was packed with families chattering, laughing, and eating. The dominant language was Spanish with an occasional English speaker. The matronly, grey-haired woman at the “Wait To Be Seated” sign smiled at her. "Just one?" she asked in a marked Mexican accent.
"Yes," Ann answered. She hated that phrase; it made her feel as if something was wrong with her.
The woman studied her list. "The wait's at least a half hour, I'm afraid." She pointed to the back of the room. "We have a couple empty places at the bar."
Ann looked to where she pointed. A wooden counter backed by an impressive array of bottles and racks of pies stretched across the back wall. All except three of the stools were occupied by couples. She almost turned away, but she was hungry, and the smells were enticing.
"That's fine."
The woman handed her a menu. "Enjoy."
Ann weaved her way through the crowded tables and took the seat at the end of the counter. Behind the counter a young woman with lustrous black hair, in a filled-out white peasant blouse and black pants, smiled. "May I get you something to drink?"
"A margarita, please, no salt."
While the bartender prepared her drink, Ann glanced around at the other customers. As she had guessed, the counter was popular with couples, most much younger than her. Families, some of them three generations or more, occupied most of the tables. She estimated about fifty to sixty people, not counting the eight at the bar.
The bartender placed a frosty glass in front of her beside bowls of salsa and tortilla chips. "Whenever you're ready to order, just wave."
"Thank you." She took a sip, and another, enjoying the icy coolness of the lime-flavored tequila. She scooped some salsa with a chip and munched on it; she was in no hurry. She opened the menu.
"Excuse me, mind if I sit next to you?"
She twisted around to see the speaker. It took a second before she recognized the Caltrans man, now dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. He was maybe mid-fifties, his tanned face wreathed in wrinkles, topped by brown hair streaked with silver. "Of course not," she answered. "Place is rather packed."
He sat next to her and smiled. "It always is on Sunday. I don't mind, it has the best food around here." He beckoned to the bartender, "The usual, Julia." He turned back to her. "I come here whenever I'm in town. How did you pick it?"
She sipped her margarita. "Just lucky. You seem to know the place, is there anything they do that's special?"
His blue eyes regarded her. "You like spicy?"
Julia plunked down a frosted glass and a bottle of Negra Modelo. "Here you go, Alex."
"Thanks," he replied, filling his glass. "Cheers," he said and took a long swallow.
So his name was Alex and no ring. She hadn't worn hers for what seemed ages. She pushed the bowls of chips and salsa towards him. "I'm Ann, and I do like spicy."
He grinned. " I'm pleased to meet you. As you heard, I'm Alex." His eyes twinkled. "I recommend the prawns Colorado."
She beckoned to Julia.
"Ready to order?"
Might as well follow his advice. "The prawns with Colorado sauce, a house salad with cucumber dressing, and a Negra Modelo, please."
Julia tapped commands into her tablet. "Alex?"
"Chili verde with pork, extra tortillas, and another beer."
She tapped more commands. "It'll be a little bit, we're quite busy."
He took a bite of chip with salsa. "So what brings you to these here parts?" he asked, imitating a Texas drawl.
Ann grinned. The evening was turning out better than she'd expected. She could almost forget about the recent disasters. "Just passing through," she replied, trying to imitate the same accent but failing miserably. "And you?"
He smiled. "I'm a surveyor for the state highway system. I travel a lot, and lately northern California has been my stomping grounds. May I ask where you're bound for?"
Her first instinct was to make up a story, but why bother? Anyway, she was a poor liar. "A town in Oregon called Philomath. Ever hear of it?"
He shook his head. "Fraid not. What's it near?"
"Corvallis."
"I'm being nosy, so shut me up if you don't want to discuss it, but what's there?"
MacDougal, Ian, would scold her, and so? "I'm a physicist, and my company has a research facility there." She paused. "I'm told it's quiet, which appeals to me."
His gaze sharpened. "A real-life physicist and pretty to boot. I've never met one."
Ann blushed, as if a high-school girl on a first date. Maybe the margarita was getting to her. "I don't have two heads."
It was his turn to act embarrassed. "I apologize; it just seems so exotic somehow."
He had no idea. "Surveying must be pretty technical. Don't you guys use lasers and such?"
"Oh yeah, and GPS, and geoids.” He glanced up. “Dinner’s served."
Julia gingerly placed their plates down. "Careful, the plates are hot. Beers coming right up."
Alex grinned. "Provecho." He began spooning the chili into his mouth, helped along with bites of tortilla.
She speared a prawn with her fork and bit into it. Spicy, delicious flavors swamped her taste buds. She settled in to eat.
Long, delicious minutes later, Ann finished the best meal she'd eaten in weeks. She pushed the plates away and sipped the last of her beer. She was tempted to have another, but already felt buzzed. "That was excellent. Thank you for the recommendation," she said and meant it.
Alex finished his beer. "De nada."
Julia picked up their plates. "Dessert?"
Ann was stuffed. "No, thank you, just the check," she answered, handing over her credit card.
Julia returned with their electronic checks. Ann chose a generous tip and scrawled her signature..
Alex glanced at his electronic check, then laid several bills on top.
The restaurant was still noisy and packed. "Does it ever quiet down?" she asked, getting up.
"Not 'till later. It really is a popular place," he replied, standing. "May I escort you back?"
She hesitated, tempted to see where events might lead. Her unhappy, troubled mood had receded, and it wasn't all due to the meal and drinks.
She smiled. "Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but no, I'll be fine."
His face registered disappointment. "Next time."
She wove her way through the maze of tables and out into the cool night. It was full dark; no moon, stars visible above the few street lights, crickets chirping. An occasional car zipped past, headlights outlining the closed businesses. The Best Western sign beckoned from a few blocks away. She strode down the sidewalk, anticipating a good night's rest.
Two young men in dark t-shirts and baseball caps stepped out from the shadows, blocking her. They stared at her from unblinking brown eyes. One, with a mole on his cheek, grinned at her, showing white teeth, "Nice evening, no?"
Ann stood rooted in shock, her warm, comfortable mood shattered. A woman's worst nightmare stared at her, suddenly all too real. "Yes," she stuttered. "Please, let me by."
The speaker half-grinned. "You really shouldn’t be out by yourself at night."
His companion leered at her, "Hey, chica!"
She whirled to run and bumped into a third man. He shoved her backward. She stumbled, dropping her purse and nearly fell.
The speaker with the mole grabbed her wrist and yanked her up, pulling her to him. She didn't resist, just went with him and punched his face hard with her fist.
"Putah!" he yelled and jerked backwards, off balance, but didn't let go. She surged forward and hammered down with her fist on the arm holding her. At the same instant she twisted her captive hand around, grabbed his arm and dropped to her knees, bringing her full weight on his arm. She slammed him head down on the concrete with a sickening thud.
He lay still.
Ann tried to stand, but her knees wouldn’t support her.
The attacker’s companions stared, their mouths open. One pulled a knife from his pocket, then froze as a furious voice yelled, "Halt, motherfuckers!"
Ann glanced up to see Alex, arms extended, a semiautomatic in a two-handed grip, his face contorted in cold fury.
The would-be muggers fled into the darkness.
Alex lowered the gun, walked over, and one-handed helped her up.
She shakily stood and wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her with his free arm. They hugged in silence until she stopped shaking. A few cars passed, briefly illuminating them; none stopped.
"I was terrified," she confessed, her face pressed against his chest, her heart thudding. "I tried to run, but he grabbed me." She lifted her head and studied the crumpled form. "Is he dead?"
Alex slid the gun into a holster at his back and covered it with his shirt. "Do you care?"
She pulled back. "I've got to know." Despite the pain she bent down and placed her fingers against her attacker's tattooed neck. She felt a faint pulse and smelled a strong odor of tobacco and liquor. "He's alive."
"What do you want to do? Yreka doesn't have a police department."
No cops? "I don't know. What do you think?"
"It's not my call.” He glanced at the body, expressionless. “Consider this: At best you would have been gang-raped, maybe murdered."
She gazed into his blue eyes, one moment warm and inviting, the next icy cold. "Leave him. If he lives or dies, it's up to the fates." She grasped his arm. "Can I lean on you?" she asked, hating to feel so weak, "It's my knees."
He picked up her purse and slid his arm around her waist. "My pleasure."
In that awkward position, she limped to the motel. She had to hang on tight while they climbed to the second floor.
"Which room?"
"I'm in 217."
At her door he held her purse while she fished around for the key-card and unlocked the door. Alex helped her inside and flipped the wall switch. Light from overhead fixtures flooded the room. "I have a first aid kit in the truck."
Ann stumbled to the bathroom, sat on the toilet and carefully removed her jacket and shoes. She stood and studied herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, with dark circles under her eyes. Her hand and her knees throbbed painfully, but she was alive. She fumbled in her toiletry bag, found the Tylenol and swallowed two tablets, then turned on the cold water and held her hand in the soothing stream.
She heard the door shut.
"Ann?"
"In here."
Alex walked in clutching a liquor bottle in one hand and a white metal box, embossed with a red cross, in the other. He glanced at her hand and whistled. "That must hurt. We should check out those knees, too." He put down the bottle of Korbels and first aid box. "First we need a drink." He unwrapped two glasses on the sink, poured two fingers of brandy into each, and handed one to her.
He raised his glass. "To a brave and lovely woman."
Ann blushed and sipped the brandy. The fiery liquid cut a path down her throat to her stomach. "That's good stuff," she gasped. She pulled her hand from the cold water and sat on the toilet.
"I'll get some ice," he said, grabbing the ice bucket and hurrying out.
Ann felt dizzy and shaky. She lowered her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. She didn't move until she heard the door shut again.
A hand rubbed her shoulder, "Are you all right?"
She sat up. "Just a little dizzy."
He soaked two wash cloths in cold water and laid several ice cubes in each before rolling them into small logs. "Let's see those knees." He grinned "Off with your pants."
"You say that to all your women?" she asked, slowly standing.
He didn't answer. Instead he lowered his head and kissed her. She met the kiss with open mouth, savoring the taste of brandy mixed with his sweet breath. She pulled back first, then put her arms around his neck and kissed him again, a long, deep kiss.
She stepped back, shaken. "Right, the pants.” She, fumbled with the button, pulled down the zipper and sat down on the toilet. "Help me." She winced as he gently pulled each pant leg off, revealing swollen purple bruises dotted with blood.
"Jesus, Ann. We should get you to a doctor.”
She didn't want to go anywhere. "Hurts like hell, though nothing's broke. Just clean them and put on the ice packs."
"You sure?"
"Please."
"OK, but not here, let's put you on the bed. Lean on me."
"You romantic devil." She grabbed his arm, putting her weight on it. She shuffled from the bathroom to the bed where she stretched out. "Where's the booze?"
"First let's clean those knees."
He gently washed each bloody bruise with disinfectant and gauze pads before putting on the ice packs. She tried to not cry out, yet couldn't help whimpering.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ann," he said after each application.
Finally he finished. The
cold from the ice numbed her knees. She sipped the brandy and lay back. That plus the Tylenol made her drowsy. She patted the bed cover next to her. "Lie next to me, please."
He grinned. "Should I take off my pants?"
A warm tingling feeling that had nothing to do with the brandy spread through her. "I'd like that, but I'm in no shape to do anything about it."
He removed his boots and lay down next to her. He slid his hand behind her head, rubbing her neck.
She felt her knotted muscles relaxing. "Ahhh, that feels good." She felt his breath on her cheek. "Is this bundling?"
"I have no idea. I've got to ask, how did you take that guy out? I've never seen anything like that."
Did she want to tell him? "Once upon a time I practiced Aikido, but that was years ago. Use it or lose it I always believed, yet my body remembered even though I was scared shitless. I'll tell sensei if I get the chance." She turned toward him and found his eyes boring into hers. "You some kind of undercover cop?"
He laughed. "No. The state in its wisdom gave me a weapon because I use valuable equipment; theft is a big problem. Tonight was the first time I ever drew the gun for real. But I couldn't shoot."
"You didn't want to?"
"Oh yes I did. You were in the line of fire." He sat up and removed the soggy ice packs. "I'll dry this and put on a loose bandage."
She lay back as he worke, and felt herself drifting off to sleep. "Promise me you'll leave your link code?"
As if from a distance he answered. "Yes, Ann. This isn't over."
She smiled and went to asleep.
[Monday, Yreka,]
A truck’s loud exhaust woke Ann from a troubled sleep. She felt confused and couldn't understand where she was. Her bladder insisted she get moving, now. She started to swing her legs out of bed, but the sharp pain from her knees stopped her, a painful reminder of last night. She shuddered at the memory.
She carefully stood and cradling her throbbing hand shuffled to the bathroom. Minutes later, much relieved and back in bed, she glanced down at the bedside table—a hand-written note! She picked it up:
