T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

Anna smiled her down the aisle. “You see? Already you know where you belong.”

Still more people kept pressing in behind her. Jackie spotted a pew near the front. The Bible reading started, each passage translated twice. An Arab woman sat to one side of her, a bulky man in a tight suit to the other. The singing began, a chant beyond time and space, one almost too soothing for her own good. The choir stood to her left, a few young people who chanted one line and then were echoed by the packed congregation. The responses were great wellsprings of music, free verses of gentle might. Jackie picked up the leaflet with the English words but was afraid to read them. The music alone was already too much.

Suddenly she was crying. She did not know why, or even for whom. There was no space for reason, scarcely any for breath.

A hand reached over and patted her shoulder. Roughly she shook her head. The hand retreated, then returned, but only to drop a tissue into her lap. Apparently tears were not new here, nor the desire for solitude in the midst of many. She had heard of tears that held a cleansing, a gladness. And always discounted such words as bitter fable.

Jackie straightened and used the tissue to wipe her face. She never cried. It was a luxury she could not afford. Which was why these easy tears frightened her so. She sought strength from the incense-laden air, rose, and headed for the door. For a moment she wished she had never heard of Rome.

Jackie searched the overhead signs for the bus to Reagan National Airport and tried to ignore her throbbing wounds. The prospect of seeing Shane again kept her moving forward, glancing at her watch, calculating how much time she had before her connecting flight to Orlando. Which was why she did not see Esther until the woman stepped forward and said, “Let me have that, dear, and sit yourself down.”

Jackie did not want to meet the woman’s gaze. There was no place here for yet more tears, be they from weariness or pain or what lay ahead. She buried her head in Esther’s shoulder and gripped as hard as her wounded shoulder permitted.

“Are you exhausted?”

“Tired, yes. Sleepy, no. All I’ve done for two days now is doze.” She let the older woman ease her down into the wheelchair held by Carter Styles. She smiled at the carrot-headed man. “I really don’t need this.”

“Indulge me.” Esther took hold of her trolley and led them over to a relatively quiet corner, where she lowered herself into a seat. “Can we see to one other matter before we take you home?”

“The answer is yes, but I’m headed for Orlando.” She checked the concourse clock. “I’ve got just over three hours to make it to National. Everything leaving from here was full.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You can’t.”

“I have no choice, Esther.”

It was Carter who asked, “Hayek?”

“I might have a lead,” Jackie confirmed.

Esther rubbed hard at the lines compressed into her own forehead. Carter slipped into the seat beside Esther and leaned forward until his belly rested upon his thighs. “We’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

“I’m starved for the good.”

“Tell me. Okay. First, Graham is better. Not great, not even good. But back among the living.”

“Probably as good as he’ll ever get,” Esther added.

“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” Carter took hold of the older woman’s hand and said to Jackie, “And we instituted legal action against the newspaper, the one that ran the story about Graham. Our lawyer’s done some background research. Turns out the paper has a new minority shareholder. Some foreign bank.”

“Let me guess,” Jackie said. “Banque Royale of Liechtenstein.”

“Right first time.”

“They owned the plane that took Valerie Lawry down to see Hayek.”

Esther said, “You might as well tell her the rest.”

Carter took time to shape the words. “The Congressman and Senator Trilling were ambushed coming back from what we thought was a secret conference outside Cairo. They’re both okay, but Congressman Bryant’s sister was killed. And our friend Nabil was wounded.”

“They’re calling Wynn’s flight,” Esther said, using first the seat, then the back, and finally Carter’s shoulder to push herself upright. “You can tell her the rest on the way.”

When they started back across the concourse, Jackie found she could not abide being seated in that wheelchair. No matter how nice it felt to rely on the strength of others, her skin crawled at how people carefully avoided looking down at her. She had spent a lifetime depending on no one but herself. “I’ll walk.”

Carter merely helped her up, then rolled the chair aside and matched his stride to her own. Esther continued to push her trolley. But when they came within sight of the international arrivals gate, Carter said, “Let’s stop right here.”

“What is it?”

“Cameras at ten o’clock. I don’t believe it. Look who’s pushing through to greet the Congressman.”

Jackie spotted the familiar face. “Is that Governor Wells?”

Carter offered, “There was a White House meeting of southern governors yesterday.”

“He couldn’t possibly be using this as a photo op,” Esther said. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Wynn emerged through the sliding doors like a man stumbling from his own tomb. Eyes wide but seeing nothing, he lurched forward on unsteady legs. When the first camera flashed, Wynn’s entire body recoiled.

Grant Wells stepped forward and hugged Wynn. In a flash of assimilation, Wynn took in the entire tableau. Instead of pushing himself away, however, he gripped Grant harder. But not in sorrow. His features stretched so taut the blood was squeezed out, turning his face into a feral mask. His lips drew back fully from his teeth, so that he appeared ready to bite Grant’s head off.

Jackie saw Grant’s muscles contract and realized the governor was trying to break away. Wynn held him fiercely in place and kept whispering into his ear, twisting slightly so that Grant’s head shielded his own from the cameras. The side of Grant’s face came into view. The governor looked ill. He heaved harder, a convulsive jerk, and broke free. Wynn ducked his head and shoved through the crowd. The governor stared after him, still cringing.

Jackie walked over so that she fell into step beside him. “Slow down a little. I can’t move that fast.”

Wynn looked as if he had aged fifty years. “They got you too?”

“Back and leg. I tried to call and warn you.” When he continued to barrel through the throng, she said, “I have information you need to hear.”

A reporter appeared at Wynn’s other side. “Congressman, could we please have a statement about-”

“Not now. Call my office.”

“Our embassy in Cairo claims it was the work of terrorists-”

“I said, not now.” Then he saw Esther and Carter. He found enough strength to snarl, “Don’t either of you come near me.”

Esther began, “I just wanted to say how sorry-”

“Save it.” To Jackie, “Come on.”

She took the trolley from Carter and tried to match Wynn’s pace, though his elongated steps stretched her leg until the wound shrieked. “I’ve got to catch a flight from National.”

“I’ll drop you off.” Wynn hurtled through the doors, not bothering to check for oncoming traffic, ignoring the indignant horn and squeal of brakes. He aimed for the line of limos like a man on a mission. Once there he talked a language they clearly understood, because one driver leaped forward. When Wynn pointed back at Jackie, the driver raced over to take her trolley.

When she slipped inside, however, the anger and the energy were gone, and she found instead a man who shrank away from her and the surrounding world. “I’m so sorry, Wynn.”