“They send the green checks. That’s supportive.”
He changed direction and Sanjay followed, glad their new course terminated in a Starbucks just off campus, where they ordered in the Seattle dialect of lattes and breves and decaf no-whips and sat in a corner with the resulting concoctions. The conversation veered from the mundane back to the Cascadia Subduction Zone.
“You know,” Doug added, his bravado and fury diminishing, “I like winning, and what hurts is that right now being right feels an awful lot like losing.” He paused, uncharacteristically focusing on his cup for a while. “Why is that, Sanjay? They all want to ignore the possibility I could be right. Even as we sit here, that turkey Walker is out there pounding the crap out of his island as if no one had warned him. Like some annoying little brat harassing a dog until it reaches the breaking point and eats him.”
“At least, you think it’s a hair trigger.”
“I wake up at 3 A.M., Sanjay, knowing I’m right and scared to death I’m going to be proven right. And yet, who’s listening? If Walker’s greed ends up triggering a hundred-billion-dollar earthquake I’ll be able to sit atop the rubble and shout, ‘I told you so!’ but all our efforts in the meantime have been useless.”
“Doug, I think you need a reality check. There was never any way you or your paper were going to generate enough credibility to stop a hundred-million-dollar project on the basis of an unproven theory that not even the USGS endorses.”
“I know it. I flatly refuse to accept it, but I know it.”
“Besides, most of the construction on Cascadia Island is finished. They open this weekend, and, so far, the locked part of the subduction zone is still locked.”
Doug Lam nodded thoughtfully as he sipped the last of his drink. “That’s true, and that’s encouraging. I want to be wrong about this.”
“Good.”
“But I’m not.”
“What are you going to do about the university’s ultimatum?”
“Wasn’t really a thrown gauntlet. More of a warning. I don’t know.” He sighed and grimaced. “I think I’d rather just spend my days in the field and teaching in a junior college than undergo the professional lobotomy they’re demanding.”
Sanjay checked his watch. “Sitting on a bench waiting for one’s leader generates hunger. How about joining Sondra and me for dinner?”
“You know she hates last-minute invitations. She’s very gracious, but I imagine you’re on the couch for at least two nights afterwards.”
“Three, actually, but that’s all right. I’m the man of my house. I rule, and sucking up to the professor is worth it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a real professor…” He checked his own watch. “Oh, jeez, I’ve got to pick up Jennifer for dinner in less than an hour.” He stood. “Tell Sondra I appreciate her husband’s invitation, but I’m taking a rain check on intruding, so she doesn’t have to sleep alone tonight.”
“I wish you the same delightful fate,” Sanjay smiled as Doug headed for the door with a wave and walked back to get his bike. It was a short ride to his floating home on the south side of the Montlake Cut, across from the university. He wheeled into the tiny parking lot ten minutes later and paused to admire his well-polished but ancient fire-engine red Austin-Healey, which spent most of the weekdays sitting beneath a tarp. It was mechanically cantankerous, but no amount of cajoling could interest him in buying a new car, and he rather enjoyed the reverse snobbery of his chosen wheels—even if it did eat batteries and consume more money than having children.
“At least make it an Aston-Martin, like Bond,” Jennifer had teased.
As soon as he’d finished a quick shower and dressed in his only business suit, Doug double-checked himself in the mirror and decided to sit and meditate a few minutes on the waterside deck of his floating house, focusing on the evening ahead. He was well prepared this time, and the small jewelry box containing the present he’d bought for Jennifer was safely stowed in his coat pocket. The thought of her reaction when she unwrapped it made him smile.
Darkness had already descended over the Seattle area and the twinkling lights and gentle reflections from the water between his floating house and the Seattle Yacht Club across the way were entrancing. He opened the sliding door and strolled outside, breathing the cool, humid air. Maybe, he thought, he should have planned to bring her here and cook dinner on the deck tonight.
No, he concluded. The fifty-degree temperatures would have chased us inside anyway. The Space Needle is better.
And there was the uncomfortable history of the last dinner they’d had together on his deck, a wonderful evening that had turned sour when he overreacted to a casual question about Deborah, his estranged wife, and when he planned to change his separation into a divorce. They’d smoothed it over in the following weeks, but he knew she was still upset and trying not to show it. She didn’t understand, and he couldn’t explain it to her. At least not yet.
Doug got to his feet and entered the living room, sliding the door closed behind him before heading for the car, hoping the subject could be avoided for at least one more night.
PLEASANTON, CALIFORNIA
A small, insistent electronic alert cut through the tense quiet of the Lacombe residence for at least the tenth time in the past few hours, prompting Senator Ralph Lacombe to reach for his beeper. The two police officers monitoring the recording equipment set up on the three family phone lines glanced over, but rapidly returned their attention to their magazines, trying, out of deference to the distraught family, not to look as bored as they were.
The senator got up and walked down the hall to his study, quietly shutting the door behind him. He quickly sat down at his computer and put on a headset, following the instructions on the screen of his beeper.
Dad, show this to no one else for now. I’m okay and by myself but had to leave town and hide quickly. Go to a computer no one is monitoring and send a digital message to my beeper, 12345, with your headset on. I’ll use the web phone to call you when I get it. D
He entered the numbers in a message form and sent it, drumming his fingers for several very long minutes until the web phone alert screen popped up.
“Diane?”
“Dad. It’s me.”
“My God, I’ve been terrified! What the hell is going on?”
She told him about discovering the break-in.
“Someone’s after me, Dad, for proprietary information I took from Chadwick and Noble.”
“What are you talking about? The police are all over this, your face is on all the TV channels, and I’ve got a duty to tell them you’re okay at the very least.”
There was a long hesitation on the other end. “Okay, tell them I’m not kidnapped or dead or anything.”
“They’ve arrested that fool boyfriend of yours, thinking he killed you.”
“Don?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend, Dad, but he didn’t do anything. Tell them to let him go. I don’t know exactly who I’m hiding from, but I do know it isn’t Don.”
“They’ll want to talk to you. What’s that noise in the background?”
“Don’t ask, Dad. And, yes, they’ll want to know where I am, and I can’t let anyone know, even you, until I’ve figured this out. I’ll send you a FedEx package in the morning, and in case they don’t believe you, I’ll include a signed statement confirming I’m alive and well and Don’s innocent. I’ll write part of it on tomorrow’s San Fran Chronicle, and there will be a duplicate CD in there. Please don’t show it to the police. It’s just for you to keep safe for me.”
“Diane, what does this involve?”
“I can’t tell you, Dad. Not yet.”
“I got a call earlier today from your supervisor, Jerry Schultz, wanting to know if I’d heard from you. He sounded more panicked over company materials you might have with you than whether you were okay.”
“Schultz called?”
“Yes.”
“I guess
somehow I’m not surprised. Don’t tell that weasel anything.”
“I didn’t know anything to tell him. But, Honey, is it anything I’m involved in as a senator?”
“Not directly, Dad. But you said yourself, everything in politics is a political problem. That’s why I can’t tell you. I wish I could.”
“Okay. I’m not sure I understand that, but I do understand you don’t want me to ask anything more.”
“Right.”
“Do you need money?”
“No.”
“What can I do, then?”
“Call off the police and just trust me. I’m working this out. And if you get any other packages from me besides tomorrow’s FedEx, just store them, don’t open them.”
“I will. When can you check in again?”
“I don’t know. I’ve gotta go now. I love you.”
Chapter 5
SPACE NEEDLE RESTAURANT, SEATTLE 8:40 P.M.
Jennifer watched Doug’s smile evaporate as a ripple of fear shot through her. Why had she suddenly changed her mind yet again? The question she’d asked him had chilled the evening.
Her eyes were on the empty jewelry box in front of her, the stunning necklace it had contained looking elegant around her neck.
But her appreciation had been muted.
The dinner and wine and conversation had been comfortable and memorable—the shimmering Seattle nightscape orbiting steadily past the windows of the landmark revolving restaurant—until the words had burst through her previous decision to wait.
“Doug, about Deborah…”
“What about Deborah?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows at the intrusion of his estranged wife into their evening.
“I’m sorry, but I really need to be sure you’re intending to divorce her. I mean, you’re not going to let it go on like this forever, are you?”
His eyes found hers again after an unhappy sigh, his tone all but condescending, as if he’d grown very tired of explaining an obvious fact to a simple mind.
“Yes, Jennifer. The separation will become a divorce. I’ve told you that. Why is this bothering you so?”
“I guess I just don’t understand the perpetual delay, you know? I love you, Doug. Very much. But I wonder if you’re just stringing me along and… and want things to go on like this forever.”
“Absolutely not! Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because I feel like your mistress at times, or worse, and I don’t like that feeling.”
“Honey, you’re anything but a mistress. I mean, I’m legally separated for God’s sake! The divorce is just a formality.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Of course!”
“You’re sure you’re not having… second thoughts?”
“No!”
“Because… if you are, after all those years you’ve spent with her, I’ll back away.”
He reached across the table for her hands, almost knocking his wine goblet over in the process.
“Jen, look. You have my word that the marriage is over.”
“All right,” she replied, trying to smile, though the answer had done nothing to assuage her fears.
“Honey,” he continued, “what in the world is this really about? Your biological clock? A wedding thing? I love you, I’m totally committed to you, we’re together most of the time when we’re not working, so why tonight, for God’s sake?”
She withdrew her hands, stung by the trite accusation, her eyes on the table. “Don’t belittle my reasons, Doug.”
“I’m not, but… but I’m frustrated with this subject.”
“So am I.”
“Jen, it’s not like it’s been five or ten years.”
“No, but people who are ending their marriage eventually file for divorce. There’s some reason you haven’t, and I don’t understand it, and frankly it scares me.”
“Why? Tell me why it scares you.”
“Because this is the one subject we can’t discuss without your getting upset, and that’s not good. And because I think you may be in a kind of marital purgatory, and I can’t live there with you.”
“Jennifer, this is nuts!”
She looked him in the eye for the longest time and he met her gaze with a steadiness and intensity that moved her. She fought the urge to look away. “Doug, I’ve been agonizing about this for months. But the truth of the matter is, we can’t possibly walk into a future together until you close the door on the past, or at least explain to me why you’re waiting. If you want us together and you want the family I want, with kids and Christmas and Suzuki recitals and teacher conferences…”
His tone was soft, but she could feel the consternation behind it. “Not just yet. But soon.”
“Why, Doug? That’s all I need to know. A good reason.”
He was shaking his head, his eyes on the skyline and avoiding hers. “I don’t want to go into it.”
“See… that’s what I mean.”
“There are good reasons for going slow.”
“And I can’t be trusted to know what those reasons are?”
“It’s not a matter of trust.”
“I think it is,” she said quietly. He’ll never understand this, she thought. I’m living with the constant presence of his wife and he’s blind to it.
A long silence stretched between them to the threshold of embarrassment.
“Okay,” she said. “Let me try to explain the other part of this, the part I don’t think you understand.”
“Please do!” There was a hint of anger crossing his face like a reflection. “Apparently, you’re speaking in some strange female dialect that males aren’t biologically equipped to understand. So please explain it to me in English.”
She ignored the barb, needing desperately for him to grasp it. “Doug, yes, you’re legally separated, and you say you’ve got good reasons for going slow, but there are three people in this relationship. Three.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t. Deborah can still get you to jump with a single phone call. You’ll drop anything and run to help her or take her somewhere, and it’s harder on me every time. She’s still a big part of your life and I can’t even begin to guess the reason for all her calls. Are you fixing things around the house? Warming her…”
“No!”
“Well, how do I know? You… you even measure your world, and mine, by reference to your years with her. You’ve got one foot in a dead marriage and one foot in our relationship, and a girl gets tired of sharing her bed. I’m never in control. She is.” Her voice was getting more forceful. Being intense always meant more volume, but controlled volume. Always controlled.
“I do not jump when she calls.”
“Yes, you do, sweetheart. I know you don’t see it. But when you’re jumping, I’m jumping, too. Like we’re both some kind of marionettes dancing on the end of a line.
“Jen…”
“As much as I love you, I can’t spend my life like this, being jerked around.” Tears were gathering like distant storm clouds, but she forced them back. “Let me give you an example. Two weekends ago when we were in the San Juans, I counted the number of times I heard Deborah’s name. How many would you think?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” he said, the irritation openly spilling into his tone. “Five? Six?”
“Try sixty-three times in two days. Some were stories of your past, and that’s completely legitimate, but most were like, ‘Deborah and I went here,’ or ‘Deb always hated those.’ Every time I’ve tried to gently get into this subject, you run from it, or give me some gift you think will dazzle me. If you really want to give me something, Doug, give me you.”
“Or?” he said, his voice dead serious.
She simply shook her head without replying, tears glistening in her eyes, a fact that made her angry with herself: the ultimate female breach of composure.
“Jen… look, do we really have to do this tonight? Couldn’t you corner me some other time when th
ere isn’t a great evening to ruin?”
“I’m truly sorry, Doug. I had decided not to bring this up tonight.”
“Then why did you?”
The question chilled her. Having pushed him away with the truth, she suddenly felt desperate to pull him back, and she pulled a plastic card from her purse and slid it across the table to him as he looked at it with dawning recognition.
“Is… that a Breakwater card key?” he asked, his interest suddenly piqued and his tone more cautious.
She nodded, watching his expression soften with the beautiful memory of the first time they’d made love—an amazing night in the same waterfront suite at the same hotel. “I thought,” she said, “that we could do an anniversary thing and just sink into a beautiful night of lovemaking with the ships and ferries gliding by, and room service in the morning.”
“That sounds idyllic,” he said. He hesitated, his eyes on the table for a long time before looking up at her. “Jen, I am listening to you. But you need to trust me. I have reasons for going slow that I’m just not ready to discuss, but they’re nothing you need fear.”
She sighed and tried an unconvincing smile. “I guess we should talk about it later. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” He took a deep breath as if arriving at a momentous decision and reached across the table to take her hands as he locked eyes with her again. “Okay, look, there is something I’ve wanted… needed to tell you for the longest time, but… when you’re not at liberty to divulge something that affects someone else…”
The loud, insistent beeping of his pager interrupted. He reached for it quickly, trying to keep a look of relief off his face.
“What is it?” she asked as he scanned the tiny screen.
“It’s my computer alert program. I’ve got to go to the lab. An earthquake has happened somewhere in the world,” he said.
“Oh, Honey, no!” she replied in dismay. “Not now. Please finish what you were starting to tell me.”
He looked embarrassed. “Let’s wait ’til later when we have more time. Right now,” he glanced back at the beeper, “with the extreme danger along our subduction zone, I need to get in there quickly.”
Saving Cascadia Page 4
