Olen Steinhauer - The Nearest Exit

Milo wished Gloria Martinez all the joy in the world before stepping out onto the busy sidewalk. They’d returned all the items he’d given up three months ago upon his arrival-keys, phone, and a wallet with fifty-four dollars-as well as his iPod. No driver’s license, no passport, no credit cards-all his Milo Weaver documents were in his Newark apartment.

He didn’t go to New Jersey. Instead, he took the F train to Fifteenth Street-Prospect Park and then walked to Garfield Place. He reached the door by three, and though he had a key he didn’t use it. He settled on the front steps and sipped some water he’d bought on the way, watching young professionals heading back home. He tried to listen to more Bowie, but the battery in his iPod was dead.

He thought what anyone thinks when one life has ended and another is about to begin. He wondered what shape the new life would take. Not the practicalities, but this other part, the part that lived on the third floor of the brownstone behind him. The part of his life that had provoked him to make dangerous phone calls on his way to commit art heists.

He hadn’t forgotten anything, and Senator Irwin’s threats were still on his mind, but all fears lose their malevolence over time. It can take decades, a few months, or in Milo’s case just a few days. Milo had no interest in taking on the senator. He had what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to do anything to risk losing that.

They arrived a little after six, and while Stephanie threw herself into him and began a lecture on the dangers of him sitting out in the cold-a regurgitation of one of her mother’s speeches-Milo watched Tina for signs. She locked up the car and came around with a wary look. “Something wrong with your nose?”

“I’m accident-prone.”

She nodded as she approached. “When’s the flight out?”

“I got sick of airports.”

She watched him run his fingers through Stephanie’s hair. “You here to break our hearts?”

They ordered Thai takeout and ate in the living room without turning on the television once the whole evening. School was treating Stephanie roughly, it seemed, and later Tina said the teacher blamed her declining grades on their separation. “Half America’s marriages are broken, and this is the best she can come up with?”

“Let’s go meet with her this week. Together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tina answered.

That’s when the reality of his return to family life hit Milo with the strength of one of Heinrich’s blows. Plans for the future. Responsibilities. It wasn’t freedom he’d been wanting all this time, just a different kind of obligation. Later, after Stephanie was in bed, he even said, “What about Dr. Ray?”

“She tells me she’s kept our Wednesday slot open. You up for it?”

“Absolutely.”

“You know?” she said after a moment.

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s almost as if you never left.”

She didn’t mean it literally-she and Stephanie had, after all, spent half the evening catching him up on the things he’d missed-but in terms of the ease that filled the apartment his first night back, it felt to her as if it were a year ago, before things had begun to go wrong.

Saying all that made her self-conscious, so she pulled back again. “I know, it sounds corny. And really, it’s probably just the initial glow. Tomorrow we’ll be back to the same ol’ same ol’.”

After they made love in the wide bed that felt like a decadent luxury after months of hotels, and he had vaguely explained away the cigarette burns on his arm, Milo went to the kitchen, naked, and poured two Merlots to take back to the bedroom. On his way back, he noticed a thick manila envelope on the table beside the front door. Across it, in black marker, was milo. He checked the door, but it was locked. He opened the envelope.

As they drank, Tina wiped a drop of wine from her breast and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, then thought better of it. Lies had ruined things, and he’d had enough of them. He went to get the envelope and showed it to her. “Seen this before?”

“No. Should I have?”

He rubbed his eyes; his father had placed the envelope while he and Tina were having sex. “It’s from Yevgeny.”

“Looks like work to me.”

“Just something of interest.”

“Well, don’t wait for me.”

“What?”

“You obviously want to dig into it right away.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Not often enough,” she said, then kissed him.

He left her to sleep and went to the living room with his Merlot and a square of the Nicorette he was beginning to suspect had become his new addiction. He opened up the manila envelope and began to read about the life and times of Xin Zhu.

“Glad you made it, Milo,” Dr. Bipasha Ray said, showing off a radiant smile he suspected was not entirely honest. They all shook hands, and despite the chilly damp outside Dr. Ray padded to her chair in bare, manicured feet. The pleasantries were dispensed with quickly, beginning with “How has it been between the two of you?” When they both agreed that the last two days had been like another honeymoon, she pursed her lips and said, “Very nice.” She didn’t have to point out that anyone in the world could last two lousy days.

“So, Milo. Anything you can say about where you’ve been these last few months? The few times Tina and I met, she didn’t seem to know.”

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” he said with a banal smile, but Dr. Ray didn’t seem to find that funny. She was one of the few therapists the department had cleared for staff use, but she’d never had much patience for Company humor, particularly when it utilized the threat of death. “No, I just mean that all I can say is I was moving around a good bit. Working here and there.”

“Working too much to call and check in with your family?”

Milo looked at Tina, who had no expression at all, then back at Dr. Ray. “No, actually. It’s against the rules. It’s not safe to call your family when you’re working undercover. You place them and yourself in unnecessary danger.” He decided against mentioning that he had tried to call a few times.

“Of course,” Dr. Ray said, then brushed at the knee of her jeans. “Does that mean you were in real danger?”

“No, no. Just a figure of speech.”

Dr. Ray nodded, smiling. “Milo, some months ago you were telling Tina that you thought these sessions weren’t the way to take care of your marital problems. Could you expand on that?”

“I’m not sure I said that.”

“You did, hon,” said Tina. “I said I thought it was helping, and you said you didn’t.”

This was starting to feel like an ambush. “Okay, maybe I did say it.”

“So, what did you mean by that?” asked Dr. Ray.

Milo rubbed his arms. The room was vaguely chilly, and he decided that if they wanted to ambush him, he would open himself up to it. He would, for the moment at least, trust that honesty was the path of rightness. He said, “What I meant was that I hadn’t been entirely honest. During those sessions, I mean.”

“What?” That was Tina.

“It’s not so uncommon,” Dr. Ray said generously. “What matters is that you’ve admitted it aloud, and we can move ahead in a more constructive manner.”

Tina said, “Have you really been lying here?”

“Not lying. Just not always opening up completely.”

“Tina, Milo may have good reasons for drawing the distinction.”

“Yeah-to save his own ass.”

“I’m not saving my ass, Tina.”

She didn’t believe him. Their drive here had been pleasant and light, and he wondered if she, in turn, had been dishonest with him, knowing that she and the good doctor would be setting him up. She said, “Just don’t tell me you’re protecting national secrets by lying in couples therapy. How much time has to pass before your life stops being classified, huh? It never occurs to you that by then it might be too late.”