Nowhere to Run

by Mary Jane Clark

  Gavin exited Saks Fifth Avenue and walked the several blocks north, cursing Marguerite for the substantial charges he had been forced to make to his credit card. The giant electronic snowflake hung, already lit, high above the intersection of Fifty-seventh Street, announcing to the well-heeled consumers pounding the sidewalks that the Christmas consumption season had begun.

  He wore his newly purchased pin-striped suit, having shipped the one he’d been wearing for days to his home in Connecticut, since he didn’t want to carry it with him. Gavin realized now that that could have been a mistake. If Marguerite took in the package, she would have a fit when she opened it, crazed that it might be contaminated. Perhaps she’d even throw it out. The thought of that made his stomach tighten. That was one of his favorite suits, bought on his last trip to London.

  As he turned west on Fifty-seventh, Gavin looked at his reflection in the plate-glass windows. A tall, distinguished-looking, gray-haired man striding purposefully toward his destination. Not a sniveling, henpecked husband!

  He was going home tonight, whether Marguerite wanted him to or not. But first he had to get into the office and check his e-mail to see if dinner was on with Lily, and he wanted to see if there were any new developments with Wellstone and the SEC investigation. If anyone asked, he was going to say he still didn’t feel well but he had some things that just couldn’t wait, the implication being that he was devoted to the job, no matter what.

  He wasn’t concerned about anthrax exposure anymore. He had started his Cipro.

  Chapter 106

  Yelena crafted the message herself, hoping the news would help allay the fears in the Broadcast Center.

  FROM: YELENA GREGORY

  TO: ALL PERSONNEL

  THE NASAL SWAB RESULTS ARE BACK AND, I AM DELIGHTED TO REPORT, NOT A SINGLE CASE OF ANTHRAX EXPOSURE HAS BEEN FOUND. WITH THIS HAPPY NEWS, I HOPE THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WILL BREATHE EASIER. AUTHORITIES ARE CONTINUING TO INVESTIGATE THE DEATHS OF OUR COLLEAGUE JEROME HENNING AND FOOD-SERVICE WORKER EDGAR RIVERS. WE HAVE EVERY CONFIDENCE THAT THE POLICE AND FBI ARE USING THEIR CONSIDERABLE RESOURCES TO SOLVE THESE CASES, AND KEY NEWS WILL CONTINUE TO COOPERATE TOWARD THAT END.

  DR. JOHN LEE, FORMER KEY NEWS CORRESPONDENT, HAS BEEN TAKEN INTO CUSTODY FOR HIS ALLEGED CONNECTION TO THE ANTHRAX THAT KILLED JEROME HENNING.

  MEANTIME, PLEASE LET ME THANK ALL OF YOU FOR THE PROFESSIONALISM YOU SHOW EACH AND EVERY DAY, AND PARTICULARLY AT THIS DIFFICULT TIME. KEY NEWS REMAINS THE LEADER IN THE BROADCAST NEWS FIELD BECAUSE OF THE INTEGRITY AND TALENT OF ALL OF YOU.

  KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK DURING THIS DIFFICULT TIME.

  Chapter 107

  Lauren came home from the pharmacy and, with resolve, swallowed the first of the pills. She switched on the television and caught the rest of Oprah, marveling as always at how a young black woman, with no connections to speak of, had managed to build a multimillion-dollar communications empire. If Oprah could do it, so could she, or at least come pretty damn close.

  Inspired, Lauren rose from the sofa, went to her desk, and tapped at the computer keys, signing on to collect her e-mails at home.

  As she read Yelena’s message, she wondered if she should have bothered with the Cipro. But experience had shown her that the corporate line wasn’t always the whole truth. Sometimes management would say whatever was necessary to further its own agenda. Yelena would naturally want to reassure the staff so they would keep on working.

  Lauren decided she was glad she had gone ahead and started the powerful antibiotic. She was determined to survive this mess at KEY. Survive and come out on top.

  Chapter 108

  The anthrax-laced tissue hadn’t found its intended mark.

  Annabelle Murphy was walking around the Broadcast Center healthy as could be.

  With her knowledge of what was in Henning’s manuscript and her ability to re-create her own version of it if she wanted to, Annabelle was an unacceptable threat.

  There was too much at stake here.

  The decision had already been made to eliminate Annabelle. If the anthrax hadn’t worked, another, more immediate method would have to be found.

  Chapter 109

  Annabelle was exhausted. She’d been up since 4:00 A.M., after getting to bed late the night before. The afternoon had been spent getting her part of things finalized for the Tuesday morning show at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Constance and Harry had provided the old photographs of their ancestors, who had been among the 12 million immigrants who approached America’s “front doors to freedom,” searching for personal liberties and dreaming of economic opportunity in the United States.

  The producer’s job was to fashion two, ninety-second packages, explaining the ethnic background of each of the KTA hosts, the history of their families, and their pursuit of the American dream. As Annabelle searched the Ellis Island Web site for material, she vowed to ask her mother about their family. It would be nice at some point, if she ever had the time, to put together something like this for her own children about their family’s roots in America.

  She wrote up the scripts, faxed copies to Constance and Harry at home, and took in their narrations over the phone line. She left the recorded tracks and the video of the still pictures along with some very old newsreel footage taken in the great, echoing Registry Room at Ellis Island, which Wayne had dug up for her with one of KTA’s best videotape editors. Leaving everything in expert hands, Annabelle could go home with confidence. She wanted to get downtown as soon as she could. Though Mike had sounded fine when she finally reached him to tell him that her anthrax test had come back negative, what if it all became too much for him?

  By instinct, she headed to her office before remembering that it was still sealed shut. She turned in the direction of Constance’s room, where she had parked her jacket and other belongings. Wayne Nazareth met her in the hall. He looked pale.

  “That file video you found is great, Wayne,” she greeted him. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Good. I hope it helps,” he answered. “You going home now?”

  “Yes. I have to be out on Ellis Island very early in the morning.”

  “Me, too. See you there, Annabelle.”

  Annabelle’s eyes followed him as he walked, hunch-shouldered, down the hallway.

  Annabelle popped her head into Beth Terry’s office on her way out of the building. The unit manager was eating a large slab of chocolate cake. So much for that diet of hers.

  “Okay, Beth. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going home.”

  “I’m almost finished here too,” Beth responded, hastily wiping her mouth with a napkin, looking a bit embarrassed. “I just have to check that the remote lines are all ordered.”

  “Good. I’ll be in at five.” Annabelle turned to go.

  “Annabelle?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry about what I said to you before about Jerome. That wasn’t right of me. I know you cared about him, and I know he cared about you. Very much.”

  “That’s all right, Beth.” Annabelle was tempted to say more, to see if the woman wanted to talk about her own relationship with Jerome. But Beth bent her head down, intent on the cake on the paper plate.

  She had the strangest feeling as she walked toward the subway at Columbus Circle, as if she were being followed. But each time Annabelle turned to look behind her, the people on the sidewalk were different and none of the faces was recognizable.

  She waited on the platform for just a few minutes before the Number 1 train lumbered into the station. Annabelle stepped onboard along with the hordes of rush-hour riders. The rhythmic clatter of the subway car on the metal tracks lulled her as it traveled beneath the city streets. She mustn’t fall asleep. She didn’t want to miss her stop.

  Annabelle got off at Christopher Street and climbed the stairs to street level. The cold night air felt bracing and good.

  She stopped at their favorite Thai restaurant and ordered some chicken satays with extra peanut sauce fo
r the twins and two orders of num-tok beef because she and Mike loved the hot chilies and lime. Takeout again, but the kids would be thrilled. She was just too tired to think about cooking tonight.

  As Annabelle left the restaurant, she felt glad that they lived in Greenwich Village, where everything was so convenient. All they needed was in walking distance of their apartment. Grocery, newsstand, dry cleaner, drugstore—and every kind of eatery imaginable. She was waiting with all the others returning home at the end of the workday for the light to turn at the corner, lost in her reverie, when the strong arms came from behind, pushing her into the path of an oncoming bus.

  The sound of screeching brakes sliced through the night air.

  “Oh my God,” screamed an elderly woman on the sidewalk.

  Annabelle felt herself tumbling forward, sliding toward the bus. There was absolutely nothing she could do. The kids. Mike.

  It happened in just a few seconds, but there was an excruciating slowness to it all. It was coming at her. What would it feel like?

  In that last moment, Annabelle realized she might have a chance if she fell to the ground and rolled under the body of the bus, between the wheels. The bus might go right over her.

  She aimed and dove to the macadam, closing her eyes, waiting for the impact of the giant steel vehicle. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring up at a dark mass of pipes and fittings, the underbelly of the bus.

  The crowd gathered quickly.

  “Are you all right, lady?” asked the ashen-faced bus driver, squatting down to peer at her.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  Slowly, Annabelle slid, caterpillarlike, from beneath the bus. The driver reached out to her, helping her rise to her feet. Annabelle could feel his hand shaking, or was it her own?

  “Thank God, you’re all right,” he whispered.

  In the bus lights, Annabelle caught sight of the steaming chicken satays strewn over the road. She began to take stock. Her slacks were torn, and she could feel that her knee was cut. The palms of her hands were scraped raw. But, miraculously, nothing else seemed to be damaged.

  Someone returned her purse and knapsack. Another Good Samaritan insisted on walking her the rest of the way home, very, very slowly.

  Huddled in a storefront doorway, the attacker watched as the crowd dispersed.

  Chapter 110

  It was grilled-cheese sandwiches and Campbell’s tomato soup for dinner that night. Mike did the cooking while Annabelle lay on the sofa. He brought her a mug of hot soup and a couple of Tylenol.

  “Take these,” he urged. “I never thought I’d say this, but let’s leave this city. I hate it here. Let’s go somewhere nice and quiet, where planes don’t fly into buildings and people don’t get pushed under buses.”

  She swallowed the tablets obediently, chased them with the creamy soup. The warm liquid felt good going down. The thought of living in a peaceful little town was very attractive right now.

  “I don’t understand why the police weren’t called, Annabelle,” Mike pressed.

  “There really wasn’t any need to, Mike. I was all right.”

  “But you think someone pushed you in front of that bus.” He was looking at her incredulously.

  “I don’t know,” said Annabelle, pausing to take another sip of soup. “The more I think about it, maybe I was just jostled by the crowd. I can’t be sure that someone pushed me.”

  “And you can’t be sure you weren’t,” Mike insisted. “With all that’s been happening around you, I think you have to call the police and report this. If you don’t, I will.”

  “All right. I will. I will.”

  “Good.” He handed her the cordless phone. “You do that, and I’ll give the kids their baths.”

  “Daddy, look.” Thomas held out his hand.

  Mike wiped away the soap suds. “What, Thomas? I don’t see anything.”

  “Next to my boo-boo, Daddy. There’s a bump next to it.”

  His father bent down close to inspect the small finger. “It looks like the cut is healing fine, Thomas.”

  “But it itches me,” the boy whined.

  “Honey, maybe you’ve got a little bug bite there, but it’s nothing to worry about. Now, come on, let’s get you dried off and into your pajamas.”

  Tuesday

  November 25

  Chapter 111

  “What? Are you trying to win a medal for Martyr of the Year?” Mike had turned on the light and was sitting up in bed watching her get dressed.

  Annabelle uttered a heavy sigh. “Don’t give me any grief, Mike. I’m not in the mood.”

  Now that was a role reversal. These last months it had been Mike doing the snapping at her. It felt liberating to let loose with her own exasperation for a change.

  Her body ached, and she winced as she pulled her panty hose over the bandage on her knee. It suddenly occurred to her that it was going to be freezing out there in the harbor today. She pulled off the stockings and rummaged through the dresser, looking for a pair of thermal leggings to wear under her slacks.

  “Annabelle. It’s all right to take a day off once in a while. You slid under a bus last night, for God’s sake. If Linus Nazareth doesn’t understand that, then you should be looking for another boss.” There was anger in his voice.

  She spun to face her husband. “Linus Nazareth wouldn’t care if I’d been hit by the bus. All he cares about is his show. And as for looking for another boss, if you hadn’t noticed, Mike, jobs are hard to come by right now. It’s brutal out there, and this family needs my job to survive.”

  Annabelle regretted her words the minute she stopped speaking. The wounded expression on Mike’s face wasn’t worth her momentary release.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered, going to the bed and sitting down beside him.

  “No, you’re right. I haven’t been holding up my end of things,” Mike said quietly. “I’ve let you and the kids down.”

  “Oh, Mike, please don’t feel like that. You’ve been through so much, sweetheart. Because you’re such a dear and decent person, your system just couldn’t take it. And, you know, honey, you’re not the only one that’s reacted this way. Lots of people are in the same boat.”

  Mike bit his lower lip and stared down at his hands. “But I am feeling better, Annabelle. Maybe I’ll be able to go back to the job soon.”

  With tenderness, Annabelle kissed him on the cheek. “I know you will, Mike, when you’re ready. And if you decide that you want to change careers, leave the fire department, leave New York City, that will be fine too. I’ll support you in whatever you want to do. But, in the meantime, we have to pay our bills. Let me go do my job.”

  Annabelle uttered an oath as she searched the closet.

  “What’s wrong?” Mike asked.

  “I can’t find my black wool slacks.”

  “They aren’t there, Annabelle.” He had forgotten to tell her.

  “Oh, did you drop them off at the cleaners?”

  “No,” he defied her. “I threw them out.”

  She looked at him in puzzlement.

  “I threw out the things you wore last week.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. I wasn’t going to take any chances with anthrax.”

  Annabelle had neither the time nor the inclination to get into another argument with him. Exasperated, she turned back to the closet and picked out something else to wear.

  Chapter 112

  It was a cold, dark ferry ride to Ellis Island. Whipped by the damp wind, Annabelle started by standing alone on the deck outside, contemplating Lady Liberty in the quiet harbor. But after a few minutes she moved inside to watch from behind the windows. It was going to be a long day, and she knew she should conserve her energy.

  The plan was for Harry Granger to report from the Statue of Liberty while Constance would be stationed at the Ellis Island Immigration Museum. Annabelle was relieved to see that Constance was already on the boat. She
took a seat beside her friend, holding out her scraped palms and explaining what had happened on the way home from work the evening before.

  “Mike insisted that I call the police, though I’m not even sure I was actually pushed.”

  “Well, Mike was right.” Constance was adamant. “What did the police say?”

  “They took down the information, but I didn’t get the impression there was anything much they could really do about it. I didn’t have a description to give them, and any eyewitnesses at the scene were long since gone. Unless somebody comes forward and says that he or she saw someone push me, the cops really don’t have anything to go on.”

  The ferry let them off at the entrance to the island. As Annabelle approached the majestic Main Building, with its tiles and turrets and copper domes, she tried to imagine what it must have been like to be an immigrant here. To arrive at this place after a long ocean voyage, carrying everything you had in a battered satchel, unable to speak the language of the new country. What complex and conflicting emotions there must have been. Leaving your homeland and the people you loved behind while looking forward to a better life in an unfamiliar America.

  Annabelle and Constance entered the Baggage Room, the point where the immigrants first set foot into the Main Building. Beth Terry was waiting amid the period baggage displayed around the room.

  “You’ll probably want to take a walk around,” she suggested, handing Constance a packet of information, “and familiarize yourself with the place.”

  “What do you need me to do?” asked Annabelle.

  “We’re in good shape right now. But when the guests arrive, you’ll be in charge of escorting them.”