Her voice failed her. Her left arm hurt like the dickens, but she couldn’t move it, couldn’t move any part of her body, didn’t really want to…her head was pounding…she cried out…voices came closer and surrounded her. Then warmth flowed through her veins, engulfing her completely, and she was out again.
The next day, she discovered her left arm was in a cast, from her left shoulder and curving down at the elbow to encompass her forearm. Her wrist and hand were free but largely immobile inside the cloth sling that crossed her chest and continued behind her neck. She said another prayer of thanks; her right arm was unharmed and ready to go back to work. She couldn’t miss too many days of school!
Her mother walked into the room and placed a vase of flowers on the ledge by the window. Gray light streamed in, so Athena assumed she’d been in the hospital for less than twenty-four hours.
“Mum.” That one word summed up all of her emotions.
Anna Butler came over to her bed and kissed her forehead, then in Italian fashion, both of her cheeks. Her mother, looking a century beyond weary, took a seat on Athena’s bed.
“How do you feel, figlia mia?”
“Fine,” she said drowsily. Looking at the various lines trailing from her right arm up to bedside dolly-contraption made her weary, but she strove to summon the energy to ask her questions. She needed to know! “The arm aches like, uh, like the devil but at least it’s not my right arm. I’d lose months of school work.” She sighed deeply. “Mum, tell me what happened after I conked out. Was Dan hurt?”
“Dan?”
“The guy I was with. He’s a pastiche painter. We met at the gallery. He came outside with me even though I told him not to. He was being a gentleman, a guy…”
“Oh yes, the young man. As far as I know, he wasn’t hurt, Max said—who, by the way, will be coming later today for your statement. Your version of what happened. He needs it for his report. Your father is very upset with Max and his security team, but the Ambassador was happy. Still, your father would never have approved of this operation, this luring of those Serbian thugs into the open. In theory, it sounded good, and it appeared he took every precaution. But anything could have gone wrong. And it did. However, it could have been worse. You and that young man could have been killed.” Anna broke off, her voice catching as she, too, suppressed her emotions.
Athena realized she’d held her breath for over a minute. She exhaled and continued to breathe deeply until her heart rate settled. A spurt of genuine pleasure darted through her. There was something about Dan that she liked very much. Much like the instant attraction she’d felt with Kas Skoros.
There was also the growing sense that both men were going to change her life in some way.
“Thank God! For Dan, I mean. Did you see him or speak to him?”
Anna shrugged with one shoulder, not so elegant, she’d said once, but it was the Italian way. It seemed to Athena that anything her mother did differently from the English or the Americans, was “the Italian way.” Her mother’s pride in her heritage always seeped through.
“See him, no. We got a call to come to the hospital. That young man wasn’t here, but he did call us this morning.”
“I’m so glad he wasn’t hurt—I’d never forgive myself. This arm—I can’t lose school time. I have a Western Civ mid-term on Friday and my painting of Venus is due right after Christmas break. And I need to start Alex Skoros’s portrait.” She didn’t mention her pastiche painting of Manet’s The Waitress. “Max said no one would get hurt. Wishful thinking, huh?”
Her mother’s eyes blazed her own brand of fury. “I knew you were planning something with Max and his team, but I didn’t know exactly what. Don’t ever do this again, ’Thena. These ops, as Max calls them, never go according to plan. Someone always gets hurt.”
“I was surprised—” Athena began. “No one fired a gun at me. So how did this happen?”
“Max said one of the fired bullets ricocheted off the sidewalk. A bullet one of the thugs fired.” Her mother sighed audibly and swallowed, then smiled warmly as if to erase the image in her mind of how close the bullet came to ending Athena’s life. “Don’t worry, the bone will heal and there shouldn’t be any nerve damage, according to the surgeon. You’ll have to do some physical therapy, but in time, all should be well. You can take your mid-term, dear, but everything else will have to wait.”
She stood up and walked to the vase of yellow roses that she’d set on the window sill. With one hand, she spread the long stems apart.
“Which reminds me, the Skoroses sent their best wishes for a full recovery, plus this bouquet of flowers. Athena, you don’t worry about school. The surgeon said you could leave the hospital tomorrow or the next day and resume your schedule. Only just slow down a little. Of course, your work at the coffeehouse is finished for the time being, at least for two months. You are not to worry about tuition costs or anything else.”
Athena’s mouth fell open. She’d forgotten all about her part-time job, partly because she’d focused so much on winning the pastiche painting assignment. She wanted badly to join Martin Larsen’s team of talented painters who earned a fifty percent commission! And she wanted to see Dan Grantham again. She wondered if, after last night’s attack, he’d ever want anything more to do with her.
“Athena, I called your boss, the manager of the store, to let him know. I told him you fell on some ice and broke your arm. Poor man, I think he’s had a run of bad luck of late with his employees.” She broke off when a nurse came in to adjust one of the IV lines and shoot a hypodermic of clear liquid into it. Painkiller, the nurse explained, then left abruptly.
Good thing, Athena thought, and not too soon.
“Mum, what about Christmas in London? We’re still going, aren’t we?”
“Of course, we wouldn’t miss Christmas with the Butlers. And Nonna and Giancarlo are looking forward to seeing us, too, in Como. Our flight leaves Saturday evening. All of the Embassy staff and their families have been ordered to fly on separate flights. As a precaution.” Her mother looked sad for a moment, then suddenly brightened. “You’ll be on orders to take it easy, but the doctor said flying shouldn’t be a problem.”
The significance of taking separate flights weighed on Athena’s mind. The foreign office wasn’t convinced the danger was over for diplomats assigned to the U.S.
“What about Tony, or whoever he was? Did they arrest him, too?”
Her mother came over, stroked Athena’s right hand, and remained silent.
“Tell me, Mum. They must’ve arrested him. They followed him that night after my class and discovered where he lived.”
Anna locked gazes with her daughter and removed her hand. “Max said they didn’t arrest him sooner, for fear they’d tip off the Serbians. When a security detail and two FBI agents arrived at his apartment last night—about the same time as the ambush—they found him dead. The Serbians were evidently disappointed in him.”
“They killed him?” The awful truth was slowly sinking in. Did her actions that night, when she refused to go along with Tony’s plans, prompt the thugs into punishing him?
Her mother’s eyes wavered, then returned. “Yes, but the less you know, the better.”
She was right. Athena didn’t want to know the full truth. The image would sear her brain for the rest of her life. It was better not knowing what had really happened to “Tony Grabowski,” but she was still sorry that they’d killed him. She would never know the kind of life he’d endured that propelled him into the criminal camp.
Athena said nothing for a while.
Intuitively, Anna steered the conversation away to another topic.
“This young man, this Dan Grantham, wants to visit you. Also, your friend Mikayla called and wants to visit. I told them to wait a few days. You need to rest now.”
A bubble of pleasure rose inside her at the thought that Dan still wanted to see her. He obviously didn’t blame her for what happened. As for Mikayla, her friend must be
wondering, What the hell?
“Rest? If only my mind would let me…I have so much to do…study for my mid-term…” Her eyes grew heavy before she remembered the painkiller in her IV. No use fighting it.
Powerful stuff.
****
She flushed the toilet and washed her hands at the sink. Thankful for having some use of her left hand, she noticed how swollen her palm and fingers were. The doctor told her the swelling would go down in a couple of days. Though showering with a plastic bag covering her cast was going to be cumbersome, she’d manage somehow. Two days after the BIG OPERATION, she’d weaned herself off most of the painkillers.
She let out a gasp. Emerging from the bathroom, she was startled to see Max standing by her bed. He held a box of gourmet chocolates.
“Brought you a change from hospital food, decadence in a box.” He gave her a rueful grin. “And an apology for how things went. Not bloody perfect as we’d planned, was it?”
Embarrassed at her exposure in her open-backed gown, she backed up to the bed and climbed in as demurely as she could manage with one arm. Max, dressed in another one of his disguises—a dark suit and tie and slicked down crew cut—helped her with the blankets. He looked like any proper attorney or insurance person.
“Thanks, Max.” She accepted his gift.
“Your mother said you were feeling much better. I spoke to her in the hallway just now.” He produced an iPad out of his attaché case and set it on his lap after sitting down. “I need to take your formal statement for my report, Athena, especially with an explanation for the presence of the young man. We took his statement at the scene but, as you can imagine, he was fairly shaken up.”
“I can imagine,” she quipped. “Yes, I’ll give you my statement, but only after you answer some questions of mine.”
He looked surprised but closed the iPad. “Go ahead.”
“I didn’t see everything that happened. I was kinda busy trying not to get shot and distracted by Dan being there.” She darted him a wry shrug. “Guess you can’t assume anything, can you? Those thugs, Max, did you get them to talk? Did they tell you everything you needed to know?”
“I’m afraid not. The two that survived, now in FBI custody, have clammed up tighter than a witch’s a—uh, well, let’s say the only thing we’ve learned is not what we hoped to hear.” He looked down, as if contemplating how much he should reveal. “As I told the Ambassador, and the others at the de-briefing meeting yesterday, all the Serbs would say is, there are others, another backup team already in country. Maybe it’s sheer bravado and bluster, but we don’t know for sure. Needless to say, we’re still on full alert.”
Her stomach had dropped to her knees, and she felt the blood drain from her face. The separate flights back to England for the holidays now made further sense.
“So this,”—she held up her casted arm—“was for nothing?”
When Max saw her reaction, he said, “Not entirely. The Embassy is buzzing with the news, how our security team and the FBI, with your assistance, of course, lured these terrorists into the open. Which provoked the bad guys to make a serious mistake. I have no doubt that you and your family will be receiving an invitation to the Ambassador’s residence for an unofficial dinner, shortly. He aims to honor you and your father and your roles in this whole counter-terrorist operation.”
Athena nodded. She was grateful for that bit of news, not the least because she knew that the honor would lessen her father’s fury over her role in Max’s operation. Still, the Embassy was in grave danger if there was indeed a backup team in place. An idea crept into her mind.
“Max, do you think—if there is a backup team of assassins—the Serbians were put in to do a dry run, a kind of dress rehearsal? I’m thinking, maybe they weren’t meant to succeed all along. Maybe just to test the extent of the Embassy’s security team.”
Max’s blue eyes narrowed as he stared at her. Her gaze didn’t waver.
“This is exactly what our best counter-terrorist analysts are theorizing,” he admitted. “What makes you draw that conclusion?”
She recalled a fleeting emotion, a sense of outrage and understanding that had passed into her mind when one of the hooded Serbs grabbed her. The man, who’d aimed at Dan and was shot and killed a second later by one of Max’s snipers, was skeptical and already suspecting they’d been set up as test-runners, sacrificed to a second team’s better plan.
“Just the way things turned out. When we get back after the holidays, Max, I’d like to help.”
He shook his head and stood up. “Absolutely not, you and your family have done enough, more than enough. Your parents forbid it, and so do I. We’ll do our job, and this time, the Americans will be involved every step of the way. They’ve got eyes in the sky and ears in the wind—”
“Yes, I know,” she said abruptly. “The NSA.” She took a deep breath. “What if there’s an insider in the Embassy? Can’t you get the FBI to subpoena phone records?” She recalled something Detective Ochoa had taught her during their last drive from the police precinct. “I think American cops call them LUDs. Local Usage Details. Telephone companies keep tabs of all calls made in or out. If someone in the Embassy has made unusual calls, can’t you zero in on them? Keep them under surveillance? That person would have to make contact with someone on the terrorist team, wouldn’t they?”
He studied her face a moment longer, then opened up his iPad. “I think you’ve been watching too many cop dramas on TV. The LUDs don’t work on burner cell phones. And the Embassy won’t allow the Yanks access to our phone records. Now let’s get down to brass tacks, Athena. I need your statement.”
She exhaled her breath. Oh well, it was worth a try. She absently tapped a finger against her hard cast, reminding her how far she’d come and how much she’d risked in this case.
“Okay, but let me just say, I know I can help. When we get back from Christmas holiday in England, let me help.”
“How?”
Her secret. She’d promised her father.
“I can’t exactly tell you—“
Max rudely tapped his wristwatch. “Haven’t got time for this. Now tell me in sequential order what happened that night, beginning from the moment I dropped you off at the gallery. Go slow. I’m not the world’s fastest typist.”
With a show of impatience, she huffed her assent and recounted every detail she could recollect from that eventful evening.
Meanwhile, her mind churned. Max would see. She wasn’t giving up on exposing those terrorists and their plot. If there was a way to help, she’d find it.
And keep her secret in the bargain.
Chapter Twenty
Anna found Athena in the attic, painting, by the dormer window. It was the day after Christmas, and the house was quiet. Her husband had taken Chris to a soccer match in north London, and they had enough leftovers of ham and roast beef to last a week. Trevor’s older brother, Terence, was a solicitor and a confirmed bachelor who, while they were roaming the world on Foreign Office postings, lived in the London townhouse and maintained the place.
The place being a three-story, four-bedroom-and three-bath restored Edwardian, with a full attic and basement. While they were away, Uncle Terence had a woman come in for a few hours each day to cook his dinner and do general housecleaning. The woman had the week off, for Anna didn’t like to share household duties with any other woman, not while she was in residence. She had her own fixed way and preferred to be the woman of the house while home in London.
Anna gazed affectionately at her daughter. Whenever the family was in London, the dormer window in the attic became Athena’s refuge. A refuge to escape with her art.
“Take tea with me, Athena. I have some things to share with you.”
Her daughter, still clad in her bathrobe and nightgown, her hair disheveled, and devoid of makeup, glanced up and groaned. Athena the artist, apparently didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Mum, I’m in the middle of—“
“’Thena, we need to talk and, with your father out of the house, this is a good time. Let’s take some air and walk to the village for tea. Remember the scones at Dorkers?”
Famous all over London for its variety of scones, all made with fresh fruit, Dorkers had long been their favorite place for mother-daughter tea. The village was actually the urban town center of Kensington, a quarter-mile away, north of Portobello Road, a quaint street from which their own street, Lime Court, veered. During their years of globetrotting, their once artsy-craftsy neighborhood had become one of the most gentrified, upscale areas in metropolitan London. Trevor said he was happy he and his brother Terence had bought the townhouse years ago, for he couldn’t afford to buy it now, thanks to the inflation of real estate in London.
Athena paused, her brush suspended in air.
“Dorkers? Haven’t been there since last summer.” Her attention turned back to her painting, the beginning of Alex Skoros’ portrait. “I just had the urge, the feeling that I needed to get this portrait done. ASAP, you know?”
“ASAP? What is that?” She couldn’t keep up with her daughter’s American acronyms.
“You know, as soon as possible. Because of his mother’s precog dream.”
Anna found a spot on the wall to lean against, remembering all too well her cousin Lorena’s precognitive dream. One of her two youngest sons would be killed in a car crash while driving in a car with his brother. Alex would be at the wheel when this tragic accident happened. That was the way Lorena had seen it. She’d first had this dream a year ago, and since then, had strongly advised—no, nagged incessantly—the two brothers to never be in a car by themselves with Alex at the wheel.
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