by Robert Graf
His tone was light, yet she caught a hint of jealousy. She placed a finger on his lips. "You, my love, have nothing to be jealous of. Isaac is a very dear friend, let me emphasize, friend. Ian is strictly business." And he's going to be mad as hell when she got back. Which got her thinking: Was he just doing his professional best or was there more?
"That's a lot to digest, and speaking of food, let's do breakfast. I'm famished."
She traced her finger down his neck, chest, stomach, and groin, and felt him stir. She kissed him, "There's no rush."
After a leisurely breakfast at Denny's, with Alex driving her car they headed south on I-5 to Lake Shastina.
"You'll love the peace and tranquility. Wait ‘till you see how Mt Shasta dominates the horizon. You’ll understand why the Indians worshipped it. We'll rent a boat, sail around the lake and basically do nothing."
She wasn't sure about the sailing part, but was content to let him do all the planning. Being able to simply relax and be with Alex was everything she had hoped for. Once on the lake, sitting next to him, she listened to the waves slap on the hull while gazing at white-blanketed Shasta towering on the horizon. She didn't want the day to end.
"I'm going to get a boat like this. I haven't had this much fun in years."
He laughed, his face lit by the sun reflecting off the lake, as he watched the sails tauten in the chilly breeze. "That'll make two. I have one at home that I don't get to use often enough."
"I never asked. Where's home? In fact I know nothing about you. Tell me everything."
"That's a tall order. I don't want to bore you, but here goes. When I'm home I live in a suburb east of Sacramento called Rancho Cordova. The house is two stories with three bedroom and two baths. The extra bedrooms are for guests, meaning my daughters and their friends." He frowned. "At first I had a problem with them bringing boyfriends and girlfriends home, but we talked things out, and all is well."
She couldn’t imagine that conversation. "What are their names, ages, give me the details."
“Elise is the elder at twenty seven, and Lynn is twenty five. Elise is the artistic type. She lives in the City and somehow makes a living as a portrait artist. Lynn just passed the state bar exam and is working for a non-profit something-or-other in Sacramento. My ex, Pat, I hardly speak to except whenever the girls need money. She lives in southern California and has a realty office in Riverside."
He sounded sad as he spoke of his ex. Must have been a painful episode. "I'm guessing your work had a lot to do with your divorce."
"Unhappily, you're right. She resented me being away so much, especially when the children were young." His eyes got that far-away, unseeing look. "When I'm not in the field, and that's not often, I have a small office in Sacramento where I prepare maps and reports."
Will that be a problem? Don't get ahead of yourself, enjoy the moment.
He gazed at her curiously. "You never said, but do you have children?"
She felt the old familiar pain. "No, I can't have any."
His mouth tightened in sympathy "I'm sorry, Ann. I didn't know."
"It's ancient history. Will you let me steer?"
"After we dock. It's tricky changing place underway, and you don't know how to react. The water's too cold for swimming."
"I'll hold you to that."
They had a leisurely lunch outdoors on the veranda of a golf club overlooking the lake. They strolled on the gravel beach before sailing back to the boat launch with her at the tiller. By then she was thoroughly sun burnt, her hair in a tangle, and exhausted. All in all, a glorious day. Alex drove back to their motel on a narrow, winding county road, avoiding the semi traffic on I-5.
They showered together and made slow passionate love before having another spicy, exceptional, dinner at the Puerto Vallarta. Afterwards at the motel they lay in bed and talked and made tentative plans before drifting off to sleep.
[Wednesday, San Francisco]
Ann shut the door and gingerly sat in the same uncomfortable chair fronting Ian’s desk. She’d become convinced that was by design, probably some management consultant’s brilliant idea.
Ian turned from gazing out his window and regarded her. "That's quite a sunburn. Been out riding your bike?"
"Yeah. What’s up? Hooper hasn’t left any messages."
"No, in fact he wants you for a project of some sort with NASA. Anyway he'll see you later. He blames me for the guards' deaths and now your husband, and I can't say he's wrong. I've offered my resignation, and he's accepted it, effective as soon as the FBI finishes its investigations."
Ian’s announcement dismayed her. "You're running away and leaving me?" Dismay turned to anger. “I thought we were a team, or have you forgotten?”
"I'm too old for this shite," he answered with a tired grimace.
She calmed down. What was the point of being angry. "I've considered resigning, but right now Global is the only game in town." She leaned forward. "Ian, I must understand how this impossible ability works if it's the last thing I ever do!"
"Right. That's why Hooper wants to chat with you. Looks like hell, but yes, he’s back.” He grinned. “He kicked Patel out of his office.”
"What about Farid?"
"Nothing. I called his brother. He’s extremely upset. Did you know his brother was arranging a marriage for Farid? I fear this is headed for a bad end."
Poor Farid. All the guilt she'd shoved away came flooding back. "What do you think?"
"Either he's dead or wherever Clio is. My hunch is the bastards who killed your husband have him. I told the FBI as much, and they didn't even thank me. I'm ready to tell them to piss off."
When Ian left, there'd be no one she felt any attachment to, except for Farid. "Who will replace you?"
"I've recommended Allan, even though he may be too inexperienced. Please don't mention that to anyone."
She stood. "Is Hooper in?"
"He's expecting you."
Ann stepped out into the carpeted hall and walked down to Hooper’s reception area. The same gray-haired, thin-faced woman was ensconced at her desk, guarding the gate. "Hi, Linda, I believe Mr. Hooper is expecting me."
She regarded Ann with a hostile expression. "I'll see, Dr. Grey."
Ann frowned, puzzled by the hostility.
Linda glanced at her tablet. "You may go in."
Ann pushed open the polished wood door, stepped through and stared. Ian was right. Hooper, seated at his expansive desk, was a ghost of his former self.
"Dr. Grey, please be seated," he said, his voice lacking force.
She sat and blessed her foresight to dress in her dark blue business suit.
"Please accept my condolences on your husband's death. It was a terrible tragedy and a great loss."
"Thank you." Loss for whom? "Ian mentioned something about a project with NASA?"
He steepled his fingers. "Ian suggested I speak with a Dr. Toffler at NASA. Toffler confirmed NASA verified your claim." His mouth curved in a smile though his eyes didn't match his expression. "NASA is impressed with your assistance in saving their ship and wants to engage you as a long-term consultant investigating your discovery. You'd be paid your normal salary, and all living expenses would be picked up by NASA."
The offer stunned her. Everything she'd wanted handed to her. What was the catch? She'd have to live in Houston? What about Alex? "That's tempting. How long is long-term?"
"Think of it as a sabbatical. It could last a year, though we didn’t go into detail. I told Toffler I'd talk it over with you. From my perspective it's ideal. Whatever you and NASA discover will be shared. Marketing thinks it would be a public relations bonanza."
An image of online ads screaming "Did he cheat?" flashed across her mind. "You told marketing?"
He shook his head. "Not in so many words. They only know there are new capabilities engineering is just now uncovering. I may have you work with them once you've had some time with NASA."
"Did Toffler say anything about th
e ship's chances? Will it get back safely?"
Hooper hesitated. "I asked the same question, but he was most cautious. He did say a ship was being readied to bring repair parts but didn't elaborate. I got the impression he was guardedly optimistic."
She remembered the wall screen depicting the tiny speck of the ship in the immense blackness of space and shivered. "I pray it works."
"I'll have legal draw up a consulting agreement with NASA. You can review it, and we'll go from there." He glanced at his tablet. "Unless you have further issues, I think we're finished for now."
Ann murmured something polite, turned and left. Linda didn't look up, and Ann didn't feel like starting a conversation. She returned to MacDougal's office. What had she learned? At face value Hooper just wanted to sell more EntComs. Yet he never touched on the implications of her discovery. She’d give a lot to know what he thought. Ask Ian; forewarned is forearmed.
Ian looked up from his desk as she closed the door. "Well, what did he offer?"
"A sabbatical working with NASA. It’s almost everything I could ask for.”
“But…?”
“I’d be under NASA’s thumb and answerable to Hooper.”
Ian shrugged. “You have to pay the piper.”
Change topics. “Linda seemed unhappy with me.”
“She was at Doug’s funeral.”
And Ann was with Alex. She didn’t pursue it. “Remember Hooper’s tests in Petaluma?"
"Right, Press is on the Board."
She knew that. "What about the Kraft woman, the daughter?"
MacDougal leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "Some things never change."
More of that male know-it-all. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Roger wasn't the Board's first choice for CEO, Patel was."
Her irritation grew. "So?"
"Patel funded a scholarship for Kraft."
Oh, that poor woman. “Does she know?"
"About the scholarship, yes, it was all above-board. The other?" He shrugged. "I don't know." His expression grew tired. "Office politics can be nasty, and that's another reason why I'm resigning."
Were there any skeletons in her closet? None that mattered. "I admit to being too involved in my work to pay much attention to the politics, but am I too naive?"
"Weeks ago I'd have said no. Now with the attention that's being focused on you, that's not tenable. If I hear anything, I'll tell you. What are you going to do now?"
Hooper hadn't mentioned anything other than NASA, so? "Talk to family about a memorial service, and after that I don't know."
“Be careful, Ann.”
She left.
[Thursday, London]
Plasket glared at Swales, his face contorted in rage. "You've gone too far."
Swales was tempted to play the innocent, but he'd already written Plasket off. He kept his polite non-smile in place. "We had an arrangement which you ignored, so I made other plans. I think its better this way. Don't you agree?"
Plasket opened his mouth to retort, then abruptly closed it and remained silent for long seconds. His face reverted to its usual disdainful expression. "I see. The elections are upcoming; I think I'll support someone a bit more amenable to my interests."
How disappointing, such puny threats were beneath him. He supposed Plasket had to attempt to somehow keep his dignity. However..."I agree, you should always act in your own best interests. You might recall a young man of your acquaintance several years past who met such a tragic end. There were several irregularities that were never explained to the relatives' satisfaction, but that could be remedied."
Plasket's face paled, and the window vanished.
Swales gazed at his California vulture with its enigmatic expression. We always win in the end. Now for a truly vexing problem, what to do with the American engineer? The machine had been moved and reassembled and was now in working order. He could afford to keep the engineer for awhile after learning how to use it, and after? Well, it was always best to minimize your exposure. MacDougal never did understand.
He brought up the file of critical topics his campaign manager was investigating:
What is the source of the infusion of cash to Labour's general fund?
Why did Clayton decide not to run for Mayor of London?
Which seats were crucial to form a majority government?
Which seats should he sacrifice to form a majority?
And so on. Many were about money, and usually he could only infer the sources. But now with the prototype’s magical ability he could pinpoint them. He smiled; this general election would be different.
[Thursday, Petaluma]
After a tedious morning cleaning house, Ann treated herself to lunch at the deli on Main, then went for a leisurely stroll along the river in the chilly sunlight before returning home. She finished cleaning and began catching up on her technical journals. Had she been too hasty in declining Balsamo’s offer? Just how much real freedom would she have had once settled in the Vatican?
She had a skimpy dinner of warmed-over Chow Mein and the last Tsingtao. She yawned, ready for an early night.
Her phone chirped. “Go away,” she muttered, but picked it up.
Alex’s grinning face appeared. “Women are fickle, roses are red, and I’d love to tickle you in my bed.”
“Alex!” She laughed, “cute, but no cigar.”
“Happy Valentine’s day.”
Valentine’s? Today?
“You forgot, didn’t you.”
“Yes, too much on my mind. Where are you?”
“At our favorite motel finishing a take-out burrito.”
And she was home alone, not very romantic. “Old Chow Mein for me. What a pair we make.”
“Speaking of pairs, I may be free this weekend.”
“But you’re in Yreka, and I don’t want to drive up again.”
“I’ll figure something out. Anyway, let’s talk Friday.”
Tickle? She got a warm feeling in her belly. “We could celebrate a belated Valentine’s day.”
“I’d love to. ‘Till Friday, good night, Ann.”
She put the phone down. Just how big a problem was this distance issue going to be? She pushed the thought aside; one day at a time.
[Friday, Petaluma]
Wrapped in her comfortable robe, Ann sipped her coffee and moodily stared out the window at the rambling rose. Was that a bud? It wasn’t even spring yet.
Dealing with Jon's family under normal conditions was trying enough, but yesterday had nearly sent her into a screaming fit. She could forgive his mother’s crying and hysterics, but not his father's accusation that she was to blame for his death. At that point she dropped the idea of letting his family decide on memorial details and disconnected, shaking with anger.
Her parents had been very sympathetic, offering to help in whatever she needed. From them she learned that a funeral home could provide everything, from picking up Jon's body, cremation, arranging for a memorial service and any legal paperwork. She had no idea things were so complicated. Dying was simple, but the legalities?
She followed their advice, searched Petaluma listings and selected the first one, Adobe Creek Funeral Home. Its Web page showed a picturesque layout with white painted fences and leafy trees and a building with a Spanish-style tile roof. She left everything up to the kindly owner, Jeff Landers. He gently reminded her that she should prepare an obituary and that a eulogy was customary. A date and time could be set once Jon's body was released. There would be no viewing; she couldn't bring herself to do that, just a cremation.
Absentmindedly she sipped her coffee. What was she going to do with the ashes? Her phone chirped, and she glanced at it. Hooper! She picked it up.
"Dr. Grey, how are you this morning?"
Alarm bells rang, he’s being polite. "I'm fine sir. How may I help you?"
"Our Sales VP came to me with a most intriguing request. She received an RFQ for an EntCom system from of all places the Vatican. Your name
was prominently mentioned as the reason." He coughed. "Could you explain ?"
She listened in amazement. Isaac, what have you done? "That's astonishing. I've had a few discussions about the EntComs with an old college friend who's a Jesuit. He's in a low-level position, hardly one to instigate a multi-million dollar project. What are you going to do?"
"Provide a quote, of course. I had put a hold on production, but now that NASA and others are aware of its peculiarities, I see no merit in waiting. The more we sell the happier the Board and our share-holders are. Anyway, Sales is so thrilled to get another order she wants to give you the standard commission, and I agreed."
Sales commission? "I don't know what to say."
"You can thank her when the order is finalized, and we receive an advance."
Remember Ian's warning. "I certainly will, but I'd like to see that in writing, if you don't mind."
The scowl returned. "As you wish. The second reason I called is there should be a draft of NASA's consulting agreement in your email. Please review it, and get back to legal with any issues."
"I can do that. Anything else?"
"Not immediately. Have a good day."
If that didn't beat all. Despite looking and sounding weak, he’d been polite. Maybe getting shot changed his attitude. What was the VP's name, anyway? She'd have to look it up, and that reminded her she'd done nothing about the FBI request to review old talks and discussions for any hint of hostility. What about Isaac? She glanced at the kitchen clock, nine here so six in the evening his time. Try it?
She found his code in the address menu and tapped it.
Isaac looked tired, but perked up when he recognized her. "Ann, how are you?"
Good question. "Coping. I'm making arrangements for a memorial service."
"You have my sympathy. I did say a prayer for his soul."
She didn't know how to respond. "Thank you. I was just informed you've sent an RFQ for an EntCom, and that I'm somehow responsible. Why did you do that?"
