Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

After his car was cleared by the security guard who checked Dan’s name against his list of expected guests, Dan read the unit names on each of the buildings and parked the car next to the one marked Esperanza. Nicole answered Dan’s buzz almost instantly, smiling warmly and offering to shake his hand. She closed the door behind her, and together they descended the one flight of stairs and walked toward his car.

Like a schoolboy getting ready for his first date, Dan had wondered what he ought to wear. He and Nicole hadn’t discussed it, and he hoped his slacks, sports coat, and buttoned-up, open necked shirt wouldn’t be too casual. He was relieved to find Nicole informally dressed as well, and pleased to see that she apparently knew the vagaries of weather they might encounter in the city, since she was carrying a jacket on her arm.

Remembering her in a navy-blue business suit from their first encounter under the bridge and her professional demeanor, Dan now saw her in a different light, relaxed, jovial and in fact, beautiful. Since their previous meeting, Nicole had cut her dark hair and was wearing it in an attractive, shorter style that flattered her face. Flat shoes, for walking, he assumed, and a long-strap purse completed her outfit, which Dan found flattering to her athletic body. While opening the car door, Dan caught a whiff of the pleasant, subtle fragrance she was wearing and wondered what it was called. He stifled a passing thought. Beautiful or not, does she carry a pistol in her purse?

It was only a six-minute drive from her apartment to the BART station, where, after a short wait, they caught the next train to San Francisco. At eight o’clock in the evening, the commuter rush was over, and the train was nearly empty with only two other couples sharing their car. Initial chitchat consisted of comments mainly about Nicole’s apartment complex and Dan’s condo in Davis. They were silent as they passed though several above-ground BART stations on the Oakland side, with passengers entering and leaving at each stop. Dan watched Nicole’s reflection in the train window until her reflection smiled at him, and he became aware that she was familiar with his surveillance technique.

“Caught me.” He laughed. “But I presume, based on your acceptance of this dinner offer, that I am neither a suspect, a material witness, a person of interest, or even an investigative source any longer.”

Nicole looked at Dan for a moment, a smile growing on her face. “Whether you are a suspect, or just suspect, has yet to be determined. I seldom make snap judgments, Mr. Rawlings.”

“Nope, you agreed. It’s Dan.”

“Okay. So, Dan Rawlings-Rumsey Valley, Woodland High School, UC Davis, and Stanford Law-with honors, no less. Very impressive.”

Dan looked at her with surprise, and Nicole smiled all the more. “I confess, I’ve done my homework. All in the performance of my professional duties.”

“Of course,” Dan allowed. “Reciprocity, if you please,” he prodded.

“Norwalk, Connecticut; a B.A. from Vassar in English literature; an M.A. in psychology from Northwestern, and then Columbia Law. Straight into the FBI afterward.”

“That’s a rather impressive bio, Nicole. But why-”

“Why the FBI?” Nicole interrupted, then snapped, “Why not?”

Taken aback, Dan retreated. “Excuse me if I was intrusive; I didn’t mean to be.”

Dan could see Nicole was embarrassed by her sharp response to his question.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I just hear that question all the time. In one fashion or another, it’s ‘Why would an intelligent, attractive woman choose the FBI?’ and I guess I’m tired of it.”

“I can understand that.” Dan laughed. “The intelligent, attractive part, I mean.” The lights on the train flickered briefly as they entered the tunnel, and their ears popped as the train dropped down under San Francisco Bay.

Nicole continued, changing the subject. “When I was first assigned to work in San Francisco, I was told that the minutes spent under the Bay while commuting to work were the most dangerous I would encounter. I guess that’s right. If the so-called ‘Big One’ were to occur while we’re under here, there would be no hope of getting out alive. I kind of count the minutes I spend under the Bay as the sacrifice I make for being able to live in such a beautiful place.”

Dan thought of the newspaper report he’d read of her instant response to the hostage situation, feeling that being in the line of fire from bank robbers was certainly more dangerous than riding BART under the Bay.

“Have you seen much of California?” he asked.

“Mostly the cities, and usually on business. Al and I. .” she paused and lowered her eyes. “. . Al and I used to take turns driving to assignments so the other could take more time to view the scenery. Al was from Iowa, and while he’d been with the Bureau for fifteen years, he’d only been in California about six months longer than me.” After a pause, she added, “He used to beg me to get take-out when we were out of the office so we could sit in the car by the ocean while we ate lunch. He was awed by the majesty of the ocean.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence until the train exited the tunnel on the San Francisco side of the Bay and stopped at the Embarcadero Station. At the Beale Street Station they got off and made their way up to Market Street, beginning the fifteen-minute walk to Chinatown.

At The Empress of China, on the sixth floor of the building, the maitre ’d found Dan’s reservations and seated the couple at the table Dan had requested, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Full dark having descended over the city, the lights on the bridge glowed brightly over the dark expanse of the entrance to San Francisco Bay. It was a spectacular view, and Nicole and Dan gazed at it without speaking while a cadre of waiters scurried about, working to change the settings on the table.

When he could do so unobtrusively, Dan continued to steal glances at the very attractive woman seated across from him. He hadn’t noticed it before, but she was wearing a pair of small silver earrings and a matching thin necklace. The jewelry caught the light from the candle on their table, and the glint framed her face nicely as she sat looking out the window, resting her chin on her folded hands.

Dan was taken-not only by her beauty, but by the way she carried herself. At their previous meetings-at the murder scene, the National Guard Armory, the funeral, and the restaurant-she had been thoroughly professional. Cordial, maybe, or perhaps a bit aloof, especially in General Del Valle’s presence, but each time professional. So far this evening, she had been considerably warmer and more open. He was intrigued by her personality in that she was very self-assured but not arrogant. It was a combination Dan found fascinating. It was very pleasant to sit across from her and to contemplate having her for a dinner companion. He congratulated himself for acting on the impulse to telephone her.

After placing their order, they sat in silence, continuing to admire the view. Finally, Dan said, “So, where did you grow up?”

“New England. My father was a captain in the Connecticut State Police. When I was fifteen, he was killed by a young kid with a shotgun who was trying to rob a bank. Dad was only forty-three and had a wife and three children. The kid got five to twenty and was back on the street in seven years. I hadn’t even graduated from college yet, and he was out, doing his thing again. He was killed two years later in a drug deal-ironically, by a shotgun wielded by one of his partners.”

Dan listened quietly. Following her explanation, Nicole unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap. Reaching across the table, Dan gently placed his hand over Nicole’s, and she turned her palm up, underneath his hand, clasping his fingers as she offered a small smile. With their fingers interlocking, Dan briefly remembered that despite his wife’s death-a fact he felt Nicole’s background check must have disclosed-one outward symbol of his previous life remained: his wedding band was still on his finger. They sat for a moment, each looking at their clasped hands, until they were interrupted by three waiters, a particular affectation to the Empress of China, which made their establishment present a restaurant of first order.