by Robert Graf
She was in no shape to match wits with a reporter. "I just had a memorial service for my husband, and I'm not in the mood for an interview."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but this won't take much of your time."
Pushy bastard. "You'll have to come back later, say Monday, but call ahead. Good night." She closed the connection, brought up the Viewer on Alex’s tablet and selected the front cam. The wide-angle image showed Collette, with her back to the house, arguing with the reporter. No sound, but she could guess by his body language. More arm waving before he retreated down the sidewalk to an older hybrid, and drove off.
She quit the Viewer and sipped more wine. "Well, you heard."
"What are you going to tell him?"
"The truth, as much as I can. It's getting too complicated, I have no idea who knows what or when they knew it anymore, not that I ever did."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Of course."
"Make an outline, a time-line summary of what you know and when you knew it, and keep it encrypted."
Obvious, why hadn't she thought of it? She always kept a notebook with her research results. "Thank you, want a job as my secretary?" she asked, half serious. She finished her spaghetti and wine. "That was good; I don't remember ever having that kind of sauce." She yawned, she was exhausted. "I'm for bed. Are you up to it?"
He grinned. "Not yet, I still hurt, and my ribs are sore, but soon."
She blushed and kissed him. "Get your strength back, you'll need it."
[Sunday, Petaluma]
Ann awoke, fuzzy headed from too much wine. She rolled over; no Alex. She struggled out of bed and into the shower where the near-scalding water eventually brought her to a semblance of well being. She toweled dry, dressed in sweats and slippers and trod into the kitchen. "Morning," she mumbled, sitting at the table.
Alex, in jeans and a plaid shirt with a pinned-up sleeve, poured a cup of coffee and placed it before her. She gratefully took a long swallow and another, relishing the hot black liquid’s caffeine jolt. "When's your daughter showing up?"
"Before lunch," he answered, awkwardly slicing a banana one-handed and dropping the pieces on their Cheerios. He sat, and they ate in silence.
"So, we feed her?" Ann asked, pouring a second cup of coffee.
"Is that a problem?"
Ouch. "Sorry, do you want to take her to lunch?"
"I'm not ready for that. She’s mostly a vegetarian, except for fish."
"I have no experience with vegetarians; you figure out a shopping list, and we'll get it delivered. Meanwhile I'm going to follow your advice and create a 'Dear Diary'." And write an ‘attagirl’ letter for Ellen.
"I'll see what's new in your rumor department."
After brushing her teeth she settled into a chair at the kitchen table. She noted a new rose blossom and admired its scarlet petals. Must be the abnormally warm weather for this early in the year. But that was the new norm. Even the Arctic icepack had disappeared.
She powered up her tablet and composed a letter to O'Connor praising Ellen’s professionalism during the harrowing events at the hospital. That easy task done she began her 'Diary'. Half an hour later she was totally confused. She’d jotted down events she was reasonably sure about, yet their sequence wasn't at all clear.
"Alex, can you show me how to read a phone log?"
He looked up from his tablet. "You didn't delete it?"
"I forgot, but if links and dates are in there I can reconstruct some of my timeline."
"Go to your Call menu and find Recent Calls or Call Log."
She found Recent Calls, tapped it, and a new menu appeared: Read, Edit, Delete, Send. She chose Read and rows of numbers and letters appeared. She studied the list, hungint for something recognizable. Date and time were obvious. “What were the integers separated by S or R?”
"The S, R stand for Sent, Received," Alex explained peering over her shoulder.
She pointed to the first integer. "And that?"
"Elapsed time in seconds. The long one at the end is the lat/long of the transmission tower."
"How long does the log run?"
"I don't know, it's a circular file so it never really runs out, just eats its own tail."
She was appalled. There were weeks of information, and the FBI probably had it. "Holy crap, anybody could read this, it's scary."
"Oh yeah, many's the criminal that's been caught, not to mention cheating spouses."
"Can this be hacked?"
"Sure, been done ever since the first cell phones. See why I wanted you to delete it?"
"I had no idea. I'll delete it as soon as I finish."
"Good," he said, resuming whatever he was doing on his tablet.
An hour later she had a working time-line. She'd done her best to fill out the Who, What, When, Where, Why columns, but many were blank, especially Why. What else? Backup of course. She sent the log to her private email account then deleted everything. She resumed work on her Diary.
The wall clock showed 10:11, better get food. "Do you have a grocery list?"
"Yeah, now what?"
"Search for 'Safeway, Petaluma' and go to the Home Shopping Service link." She pointed to the scratchpad. "That's the account number. I'm going to make myself presentable." She hurried into the bedroom, donned slacks and a decent pullover and returned.
"Food's on its way," Alex told her. "Now, want to see the latest?"
"I suppose."
He scrolled down his screen and selected a link. "Check this out."
She sat next to him and scanned the screen: "FBI ARREST JUPITER SHIP SABOTEUR," screamed the banner. Her pulse rate shot up as she read the article: "Quentin Orloff, a member of the little-known, well-financed anti-space exploration group Omega apparently acted alone. A respected, senior metallurgist with Precision Engineering, in charge of custom parts manufacturing, he substituted flawed components for Pratt Whitney's innovative engines installed on NASA’s Jove Explorer. Pratt Whitney's CEO, Lawrence Hampton, when reached by ABC News, expressed disbelief. "We've worked with Precision Engineering for years, it's hard to believe". Dr. Toffler, Assistant Director at NASA's Houston Space Center said, "I'm relieved the saboteur was caught but am saddened anyone could stoop to murdering members of our community". FBI agent Nathaniel Johnston in charge of the Houston office declined to elaborate other than to say Orloff would be arraigned in a few days."
Ann glanced at Alex who watched her with ill-concealed amusement. "What's so funny? This is fabulous, they caught the murdering bastard."
He leaned toward her and kissed her. "You are. Watching your expression change from amazement to frowning to I-don't-know-what. Love it."
She put aside her momentary resentment, mollified. "Glad you find me so amusing. Now, is this creep the bomber?"
His expression turned thoughtful. "I'd guess not, certainly not from what little the article had. Too bad there's no photo you could compare to the Honda driver. Those anti-space wackos advocate not wasting money on foolishness like NASA; this guy is an extreme case." He hesitated. "Having said that, the Unabomber was a loner. Remember him?"
"Vaguely. He was some sort of Luddite nut."
"Maybe your FBI buddy will tell you?"
Her phone chirped, and guard Peter’s face appeared. "Dr. Grey, there's a woman here claiming to be Mr. Baxter's daughter. Should I let her approach the house?"
"Yes, it's all right, and we expect a Safeway delivery within the hour."
"Very good." The connection shut.
"Your daughter's here," she said, bracing herself for another inquisition.
Alex got up and strode out into the living room. She heard the front door open and shut, and strained to listen.
"Oh my God, Dad." Silence. "It's a damn good thing you warned me beforehand, I would have freaked out."
"It's good to see you, Elise. How's the painting life?"
"Fine, now where's this woman?"
"Come on, I'll introduce you."
Ann stood as Alex appeared followed by a long-haired brunette, nearly as tall as her dad, with the familial piercing blue eyes and facial features. She wore a loose white blouse, a brown skirt and ankle boots.
"Elise, this is Ann Grey. Ann, this is my daughter, the artist."
Ann forced what she hoped was a disarming smile and extended her hand, "Pleasure to meet you."
After a moment's hesitation and a frown from Alex, Elise extended her hand and tentatively shook Ann's. "Pleased to meet you," she said, with a suspicious expression.
Ann gestured toward the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea or water or..."
"Tea is fine," Elise answered, arranging herself on a stool.
"Alex?"
He remained standing. "No thanks, maybe later. So, Elise, have you spoken with Lynn?"
"Yes, right after we talked." Elise stared at Ann who gazed back with a polite expression. "I did a search on Dr. Grey. Did you know her husband died just two weeks ago?"
"Of course. Ann held a memorial service for him yesterday." He held up his hand, forestalling her reply. "Before you say something we'll both regret, they were in the process of getting divorced."
Ann had kept her silence, but this could go no further. "The reasons for the divorce are personal; suffice it to say problems were too great to repair." She handed a cup to Elise, took one for herself and sipped from it.
Elise started to say something, instead sipped her tea. "Dad, how long before the face bandage and arm cast come off?"
"The doctor will evaluate my face in another week; the hand will be three weeks longer. I'll need physical therapy for the hand and skin grafts for the hand and face. It will be a few months for a full recovery."
"Is the guard in front the only security?" Elise asked.
Why is she asking? Alex already told her. Testing, are we? "No, the house is connected into an alarm system, and there are webcams throughout the house and outside. When we go anywhere we're accompanied by plainclothes guards."
"Why the bombs?"
Bombs? Slip-of-the tongue or did she know about the car bomb? It was in the local papers. "As I told your sister, someone is trying to destroy my communication device and anyone connected to it. Why is a mystery. The FBI is investigating." She paused. "Just this morning there was a news item that the FBI caught the guy who sabotaged NASA's Jupiter ship. It's unknown at this point if he had anything to do with the bombing."
"Well, that's something," Elise said, clearly not impressed.
"Can you stay for lunch?" Alex asked, "I ordered some of that pasta salad you were so fond of."
Elise glanced at the wall clock. "That sounds great. I do have a sitting this afternoon and dare not miss it."
"What's a sitting?" Ann asked, genuinely curious.
"I do portrait paintings, and a sitting is a painting session."
"You don't work from photos?"
She shook her head. No way. I need the live person in the right light to get all the nuances." She grinned. "You'd love this one, Dad. She's a beautiful black woman, and she wants a portrait of her nude."
Ann watched in amusement while Alex fumbled for a response. "I'm sure you'll do an excellent job."
Not bad, not brilliant, but adequate. "Is there a lot of demand for portraits?" Ann asked.
"Enough to pay the rent. At first it was tough going, though in the past few years I've established a good reputation."
The door bell dinged, interrupting them. "Groceries," Ann said, rising. "I'll get them." She hurried to the front door and opened it. The current guard, Peter, stood behind the deliverer, this time a young woman. "Put the bags in the kitchen, please," Ann said, stepping aside.
Alex and Lynn quit talking while the Safeway woman placed the bags on the counter. Ann gave her five ones from the change jar and let her find her own way out. “I’ll get the dishes,” she said, opening the dishwasher, “If someone could open the cartons.”
When all was ready, Ann placed a carafe of iced-tea on the table. They sat and helped themselves to the various choices.
Maybe this will turn out well, Ann thought. That hope vanished when Elise asked, "Are you going to tell Mom?"
"About what?" Alex replied, clearly uncomfortable, "You know we don't talk. She has her life and I mine, I prefer it that way."
"But your injuries," she said, glancing at Ann," and Ann are major events. She'd be more than interested."
At least she didn't say "Dr. Grey."
Alex sighed. "You'll do as you wish, you always have."
"I don't tattle, Dad. If she asks about you I'll tell her."
Time to barge in. "Elise, I want to commission a portrait of your father once he's completely well."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "I've never done one of him. Dad, would that be OK?"
Ann riveted her attention on Alex who stared at her in astonishment. She reached across and took his hand. "Please?"
"Yes, on the condition you paint one of Ann for me," he answered, squeezing her hand.
Silence ruled while Ann held his gaze and smiled.
"You're both serious, aren't you," Elise said, breaking the silence. She glanced at the wall clock. "I do have to get back," she said rising. "Can I hug you?"
Alex released Ann’s hand and smiled. "Be gentle" he answered, holding out his good arm. They hugged and stepped apart. Elise held out her hand. "Thank you for lunch and thank you for taking care of Dad."
Ann shook her hand. "Please visit when you can."
"And you. I'll show you the studio."
Elise took her father's hand, and they walked out of the kitchen. Ann heard the front door open, muffled conversation, and the door shutting. Alex returned and stood, watching Ann. "Well, that went better than I expected. She's always had a will of her own."
"You're lucky having two wonderful daughters. I envy you." The old ache rose in her heart, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.
"We've had our ups and downs, especially when they were teenagers. Thank God those years are past."
"I'm going to concentrate on how to use the prototype once I've got it back, assuming I can get it working. What are you doing?"
He frowned. "That's a problem. I've never been very good at sitting still. For the last several years field work has kept me fully occupied."
"What did you do on vacation?"
"Fished, sailed my boat, rode my bike, activities I can't do for a while. I enjoy reading, but those books you gave me on quantum mechanics are slow going. I’ll call the office tomorrow and see if there's something I can do online to at least keep in touch."
This could get to be a serious problem. "How about you take over cooking? When I get into a project, I tend to forget everything else."
He gave her a skeptical glance. "The absent-minded scientist? Give me a break."
She blushed. "It isn't funny. There's a practical side to the suggestion. You're recovering from serious injuries, and your diet plays an important role in your healing."
He rubbed his chin. "That’s an idea. Agreed, I'll play chef, but you'll have to help when I need two hands."
"Sure, you did well with the spaghetti. Later we can download a movie, something I haven't done for weeks."
“OK. I need to rest,” he said and kissed her before leaving the kitchen.
While Alex napped, Ann spent frustrating hours searching German physics websites for any clues to fact-checking. All she found were references to Lügendetektor, a dumb polygraph. She finally gave up in disgust.
Alex prepared more spaghetti. Ann helped with the salad, hoping he’d try something else, but having made the deal, she couldn’t complain.
Later they sat on the couch and searched online for a movie. Alex insisted on High Noon. “One of the best westerns, ever.”
She didn’t argue, though she didn’t care for westerns. She snuggled against him as Tex Ritter’s voice filled the room. When it ended and the theme song faded, she turned to him, but he was asleep,
his head lolling back on the couch.
She switched off the TV, debated whether to wake him, then grabbed a blanket from the spare bedroom and covered him. She kissed his forehead. “Good night,” she whispered.
[Monday, Petaluma]
Ann's phone chirped, disturbing her study of Everett’s original paper on many worlds interpretation. Sighing in frustration, she picked up the phone. No visual? "Hello?"
"May I speak with Dr. Ann Grey, please?"
"Speaking."
"My name is Robin Cox with the American embassy in London. Under-Secretary Bolton has tasked me with getting your equipment shipped. For international items we use DHL. They came by this morning and gave us their estimate: 2,500 Pounds Sterling."
"What's that in dollars?"
"At today's exchange rate, $3900."
Ouch, but so what? "I'll have my bank wire the funds to your account."
"Excellent. I'll have them package it up in the morning. I'll notify you when it's shipped."
"Thank you, Mr. Cox."
"My pleasure. Good day."
Frustration morphed to excitement. At last she could get back to research. But a sobering thought cooled her enthusiasm. Beside the embassy, who else would know about her prototype? She brought up her list of possible suspects:
Me and Alex
Jon's moon girl
Global – MacDougal, Farid, techs, Hooper, Patel?
MacDougal's M.P. Swales (drowned) and Jon’s killer
Farid's brother and his friends, lab bombers?
NASA – Morito, Toffler, Strang, Flight Control, Jove Explorer crew
Pratt Whitney –engineering VP, CEO, others?
Vatican – Isaac, his Cardinal boss, Curia?
FBI – Winslow, Drew, assistant director, Houston office?
She dismissed the FBI and Hooper. She’d never told NASA and she doubted Farid told his brother; that left whomever Swales told. How would he, or she, find out? Bribe someone at the embassy? It wasn't inconceivable considering the operations mounted to steal it and the kidnappings. She'd tell O'Connor but not Ian. She wanted to kick herself; Global's engineering VP knew. So? Who would he tell? No, the British side was the problem.
