After the meal Sofie helped Evan clear up, and Mrs. Howell went to work on the computer. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Evan said. “I think we ought to call in at the office.”
It was the first Sofie had heard of it. When she turned an inquiring look to him he touched his finger to his lips in a gesture for her to say nothing. She trusted him.
When he went upstairs, returning in a short while in a pair of leather trousers, a leather jacket and biker boots that made her salivate, he grinned. Damn him, he knew exactly what she was thinking!
He handed her another jacket. “We’ll go on the bike. It’s quicker.”
Filled with doubt Sofie had to ask him. “Should I leave?”
He took Sofie’s hand. “You can stay here if you feel safer. I’d rather have you with me. Do you really think you’re in danger?”
“No, not on a trip like this. We can go door to door.”
Unable to resist the challenge in his eyes, Sofie grinned. “All right.”
Bidding his mother goodbye he took Sofie out of the apartment, the first time either of them had set foot out of the apartment in days, apart from Evan’s quick forays to buy fresh groceries.
He explained the reason for his sudden decision. “We should tell Cristos about your dream, and show him the marks while they’re still there. They’re fading fast, did you notice?”
She had, but had no way of explaining the phenomenon. Last night the marks had been red and angry, and she’d been sure they would leave livid bruises behind, but they had faded much more than they should have done, taking the strict laws of science into consideration.
The building had an underground car park. Evan went first, and led the way to a gleaming black Suzuki. He unlocked the box at the back and handed her a helmet. “Quicker in the city. I have a car, but on this we can go door to door. It’s safer.”
“You really think I need to worry.”
He glanced at her, strapping his helmet tightly under his chin. “I don’t know, but I don’t intend to risk it.”
“If we’re allowed out now, I’d like to take the whistle to Archie later. I don’t want to give him any excuse to bug me.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You’re probably right. I’ll take you.”
“Thank you.”
He got on the machine and turned the key, gunning the engine into life. “Have you ridden one of these before?” He had to shout as the sound filled the enclosed space.
“Yes, but not a monster like this,” she called back.
He waited until she was settled behind him, her arms clasping his waist, before he rode off.
The journey was interesting. Evan was obviously at home on the machine, driving with bare inches to spare between the stationary vehicles. At first nervous, Sofie soon settled back to enjoy the ride, confident in his ability to get her to his office safely.
Fifty-Seventh Street was fashionable and busy, full of hotels and swanky shops. Evan stopped at the side of a tower block near the CBS building, where a barrier prevented transport entering. He found his ID and turned to Sofie. “Have you got your FBI ID?” She found it in her purse and handed it to him, following his suit when he took off his crash helmet, so the security man could examine their faces against the photos. He consulted a list before he let them through, giving them tags to wear. “Cristos will have left clearance for you. I said I’d come in, and bring you, if you wanted to come,” Evan told her. He passed through another checkpoint before parking the bike.
They left the helmets in the lock box and took the elevator. “I never realized the CIA had an office here,” she remarked.
“Some office space they had no use for,” Evan said shortly. “They let Cristos use it because it’s far enough away from Head Office not to embarrass them.”
Sofie was still laughing when the elevator drew to a halt.
Sofie knew this environment. Glass paneled offices, with a central area of desks, containing monitors and papers, the occupants glancing up as they passed. No one greeted Evan but quite a few stares followed him as he led the way to an office in the corner of the building.
A brief knock and a “come,” and they were inside. The office looked reassuringly normal, a large mahogany desk on the carpeted floor, a few filing cabinets at one end, and a more casual seating area at the other. No crystals, tarot cards, or scrying mirrors, she was relieved to see. Knowing her clichéd response was probably usual in this place, Sofie hid her reaction and took Cristos’s hand when he held it out in polite greeting.
They sat in front of the desk, and waited while Cristos tapped out a brief instruction on his computer. “You’ve come to report in, or something else? You should have called, Howell, or arranged an online conference.”
Evan wasn’t abashed by the mild reprimand. “Do you really think Sofie’s in danger?”
Cristos regarded him closely through narrowed, pewter eyes. “I don’t like to take chances.”
“We’ve been stuck in that apartment for days. If Sofie didn’t need a change of air, I did.” Cristos shrugged. “We do have something to tell you. I don’t know how significant it is.” Cristos’s look of keen interest sharpened. “Sofie had a dream last night.” He turned his head and smiled at her.
Sofie told Cristos about her dream, keeping it as calm as she could manage. When she wavered at one point she felt Evan’s reassuring presence, and took strength from it. She’d been more distressed than she cared to admit. At the end of her recitation she pulled back the stretchy top enough to show Evan’s boss the marks on her neck.
He stood up and came out from behind his desk to take a closer look. “You should have taken photos,” he snapped. “They’re fading fast.”
“She was extremely distressed. Her needs were more important,” Evan replied unrepentantly.
“Nevertheless, this is the kind of evidence I need to show the authorities there is some truth in what I say. Properly signed and witnessed this kind of evidence is invaluable. I want your account written down, Dr. Adams, just as you told it to me. You may use my computer.”
So Sofie moved to the other side of the desk and typed her experience up, just as she remembered it, but without the more personal conclusion to the episode. When she’d finished she sat in Cristos’s chair and picked up the coffee someone had brought. “Well?” Evan demanded. “What do you think?” He looked anxious, a slight frown between his black brows.
“I think,” Cristos said, steepling his fingers under his chin and regarding Sofie with a penetrating stare, “Sofie is at more risk than we thought. I’ve come across this before, the ability to project violence in a dream. It’s a devastating weapon. One the Agency would love to utilize, but people who can use telekinesis in a dream are both highly skilled and rare. There is one I know of.”
“If you only know one, it’s so rare it’s off the scale,” Evan commented. “Could it be this person?”
Cristos shook his head. “He’s dead. You have to have the ability to do this, and the skill to use it. Someone who can do this is powerful and dangerous. No door can hold him out.”
“What can we do?” Sofie didn’t like this. A month ago she would have dismissed the whole thing with laughter, but it had happened to her, and she could no longer deny it. The marks were there.
“First, you must not sleep alone. There must be someone nearby to wake you if you dream. Wake and the spell should be broken. Do you want me to assign a female agent to you?”
“No need for that.” Evan’s voice came firmly. “I’ll do it.”
Cristos glanced from Evan to Sofie, and waited for her nod of assent. It was the second time today she had blushed, which made it twice this decade. “Do you think it’s Archie?”
“Do you?” Cristos shot right back.
“Not the Archie I was engaged to. But he’s changed. When I look at him I see someone different, someone I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“I can,” came the director’s
reply. “Possession. Your Archie could be possessed.”
This time Sofie did laugh. “Archie? I don’t think so. And he’s not my Archie any more.”
“Don’t discount it.” Cristos thought, pressing his fingers against his lips in a gesture Sofie was coming to realize was characteristic. “But it’s not the only explanation. Someone could be using his face, to disguise themselves. It used to be called a ‘glamour.’ Considering what you’ve told me about Archie, I still think that’s the most likely explanation. Archie Hamilton has never shown any signs of psychic ability. Did you know he’d been tested?”
Startled, Sofie shook her head. Cristos smiled. “It was when he was at university. He volunteered to be tested for psychic ability, as many students did, for the fee offered. What he didn’t know was that the results went into a database, which comes to this office. There was no evidence of any psychic ability at all, and we test for false results. It’s pretty comprehensive. So I think we can discount his involvement and look elsewhere.”
Leaving the office an hour later, Sofie felt bemused by the information offered her so matter of factly, as though it was a provable fact. “You have to come here with an open mind,” Evan explained. “I came here a computer geek, but I learned there were more things than I had ever dreamed of.”
“Horatio.”
He frowned at her. “Excuse me?”
“Hamlet. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
His brow cleared. “Oh”
“What do we do now? Are we going back to the apartment?”
“Not immediately.” In the elevator he punched the button, then turned to face her. “I thought you might like some lunch. I know a little restaurant not far from here, I think you might like. Do you like Italian food?”
“Love it.”
He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Then that’s settled. A long lunch, then a trip to the Met to get rid of that whistle. Then home.”
“And?” She prompted, a wicked smile curving her lips.
“That all depends on you,” he said in an intimate tone that made her toes curl.
Chapter Ten
Outside the Met, Evan couldn’t find anywhere to park the bike. He didn’t want to go into the car park, as it was near closing time and he didn’t want to be locked in. “I’ll go ahead,” Sofie told him. “The place is still full, so I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned, “I don’t like the idea of you facing Archie on your own.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips and then transferred them to his. She couldn’t get near him in the visored helmet. He bit the tip of her finger in a playful nibble. “All right, but I’m coming in after you if you’re not back out here in twenty minutes. Keep your cell phone on.”
“Sure.”
Sofie took one look behind her before entering the great museum.
She’d been here before. She couldn’t have lived in New York for more than a few days without visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Part of her envied Archie, getting a job here, talking to other academics every day, being able to pursue studies part of her would never leave behind.
Archie worked in the Medieval Art section, curator for the fragile wooden religious sculptures; a subject he’d made his own in his doctoral thesis. Sofie stopped at the main desk and asked for him. The assistant made a call. “He says to go right up,” she said, giving yet another Visitor’s Pass to match the CIA one she’d worn earlier. She pinned it on, reflecting ruefully that she would have pinholes in her top, and it had been one of her favorites. The guide grabbed a map of the Museum and sketched a route for her in pencil.
Sofie followed the route, resolutely keeping her eyes away from the treasures on display. If she stopped to examine them, she would be lost. Perhaps she could come here with Evan one day. From their conversations over the last week she knew there were some aspects of art he appreciated, so she wouldn’t bore him to tears, bringing him here. If she did, she would have known she’d chosen the wrong man. If she chose him at all. It seemed as if they’d chosen each other. From the moment they’d met it had seemed inevitable somehow.
Not that they had taken the ultimate step, though they had come close that morning. Sofie felt the warmth at the juncture of her legs when she remembered how good he’d felt, how his kisses could heat her right through. Hastily she pushed her thoughts away. After the leisurely lunch they’d both shared it would have been wonderful just to return to the apartment and make love. Later. When she’d done this one thing.
Her thoughts proved her undoing. Sofie came to and realized she was lost. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
The Met was huge, like the British Museum and the Victoria and Albert rolled into one. Someone had said that the V and A had forty miles of display shelves. No wonder it made visitors’ feet ache. She wished she was there now. Sofie knew the great Victorian museum well, and was unlikely to lose herself there.
She heard the disembodied voice on the speaker announce the museum was about to close. Her visitor’s pass should take care of that, but she had no desire to linger.
Ten minutes wandering found her in the section devoted to European Sculpture, and she realized she was close. Eighteenth century figures, some life sized, some larger, pieces of time frozen in marble, loomed over her as she passed. Archie had offered to meet her in ‘his’ section when she’d called him earlier. Passing through she saw his familiar blond shock of hair. He was talking to a couple of visitors. When she drew close she heard him discussing one of the Madonnas. “It’s in limestone, so it was a prestigious work. Late in the period, about 1420.” Trust Archie to settle on the dry historical details.
The sculpture was breathtaking, an intimate study of a mother and child. The Madonna was lost in love for her baby. She had an open book on her lap, and was teaching the child, but her hands, tender and careful, spoke of her care. Sofie fell in love with the work. She’d seen it before, but it was one of the works that spoke to her through time, the miracle she searched for in all her studies. Her period of specialism was much earlier, but the grace and skill of this sculpture made her want to know more.
Too late now. She was entrenched in the Dark Ages, the age of mystery, war and destruction, not this elegant, sophisticated time.
Archie turned and saw her. He extended his arm in welcome, as he always did, but this time she didn’t go and stand within its circle. The visitors drifted away, and she went forward, reaching into her purse. She wanted this over with.
“It’s nice to see you here, Archie.” Part of her meant it. Archie fitted in here, and she hoped it would make him content.
“You should be here, too,” he said, his voice an intimate murmur.
Sofie stepped back in an effort to stem the intimacy. She intensified her search. “It was here a minute ago,” she said. “I touched it when I came in, to make sure I still had it. I’m sorry I kept it, but I forgot what with – everything else.”
A man approached them, and Archie introduced them so she was forced to abandon her search. It was Archie’s boss. “Dr. Hamilton has told me about you. It would be a pleasure to see more of you, Dr. Adams. He says you’ve made a special study of alphabets of the period.”
Sofie shot a dark glance at her erstwhile fiancé. “I studied the stones you often find in graveyards in England. They’ve usually been taken from another place, and used in constructing the churches. It’s interesting that the early Christians used pagan stones and it seems to have been done deliberately. But to call the runes alphabets might be stretching a point. They often seem arbitrary, and they differ from one area to another.”
“Did the creators see them as powerful?”
“Undoubtedly.” Ten minutes later Sofie spotted Archie’s self-satisfied grin and knew he’d managed to distract her from her purpose. The room was almost empty now, the visitors being ushered towards the door by the curators, firmly but q
uietly, so she hadn’t noticed before. She brought her narrative to a halt. “I brought something for Archie, something from the Tintagel dig, but I seem to have mislaid it.”
Archie’s grin changed to a frown. “Are you sure? Did you come straight up here, or did you stop on the way? I’m sorry, but English Heritage is insisting that we find it.”
“Excuse me.” The man she’d been talking to left in the direction of a private door.
Sofie sighed. She bent down and upended her purse on the wooden floor, anxious to find the whistle. The second time she had done it in two days, but there were no condoms this time. She’d given all of those to Evan.
The whistle wasn’t there. She rummaged through the items, but it wasn’t there. She stuffed the things back and got to her feet, to find Archie, alone now. “I must have dropped it. I checked it when I came in, so it has to be here somewhere.”
“Unless someone’s picked it up.” Archie’s mouth firmed into a disapproving line. “Let’s retrace your steps. Maybe we can get lucky and find it.”
There was nothing else to be done. Sofie reached for her cell phone to call Evan, but couldn’t get a signal. “There are some blind spots in here,” Archie told her. “Try again later.”
They passed through into the European Sculpture department. “Where did you go?” Archie demanded. Sofie told him as best she could. Archie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Come on then.”
Walking slowly, ignoring the treasures on display Sofie looked only at the floor. She saw nothing, then a screw of paper distracted her. Archie’s voice came softly from her left. “Won’t you let me make it up to you, Sofie?”
“Make what up?” She didn’t understand his question at first, because she was so intent on her search, but then she looked up. A large marble stature dwarfed Archie, towering above him on its plinth, the figures twisting in their own particular agony. “Oh. No, Archie. Your behavior that night wasn’t all of it. I’d known it was over for some time, and that just confirmed it.”
“What did I do wrong?”
He sounded so lost she knew she had to tell him. He needed to move on, and without knowing he might not find it possible. “It had been dying for some time, Archie. I’m sorry. You were so good to me when I lost my father, but Archie, we couldn’t have based a marriage on that.”
Lynne Connolly Page 10
