Tess Geritsen - Call After Midnight

“I take it things went well in Basra,” said the old man.

“Yes. Minor delays, that’s all. And there were problems with the last shipment…the computer chips in the aiming mechanism…. One of the missiles failed to lock in.”

“Embarrassing.”

“Yes. I have already spoken to the manufacturer.”

They followed a path from the rosebushes toward the duck pond. The cold air made the old man’s throat sore. He wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck and forced out a thin, dry cough. “I have a new assignment for you,” he said. “A woman.”

Kronen paused, sudden interest in his eyes. His hair looked almost white in the sunshine. “Who is she?”

“The name is Sarah Fontaine. Geoffrey Fontaine’s wife. I want you to see where she leads you.”

Kronen frowned. “I don’t understand, sir. I was told Fontaine was dead.”

“Follow her anyway. My American source tells me she has a modest apartment in Georgetown. She is a microbiologist, thirty-two years old. Except for her marriage, she has no apparent intelligence connections. But one can never be certain.”

“May I contact this source?”

“No. His position is too…delicate.”

Kronen nodded, at once dropping the subject. He’d worked for the old man long enough to know the way things were done. Each man had his own territory, his own small box in which to operate. Never must one try to break out. Even Kronen, trusted as he was, saw only a part of the picture. Only the old man saw it all.

They walked together along the banks of the pond. The old man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the bag of bread he’d brought from the house. Silently he flung a handful into the water and watched the crumbs swell. The ducks splashed among the reeds. When Nienke was alive, she had walked to the park every morning, just to feed the ducks her breakfast toast. She had worried that the weak ones would not get enough to eat. Look there, Frans, she would say. The little ones grow so fat! All on our breakfast crumbs!

Now, here he was, throwing bread on the water to the ducks he cared nothing about, except that Nienke would have loved them. He carefully folded the wrapper and stuffed it back into his pocket. As he did this, it struck him what a very sad and very feeble gesture it was, trying to preserve an old bread wrapper, and for what?

The pond had turned a sullen gray. Where had the sun gone? he wondered. Without looking at Kronen, he said, “I want to know about this woman. Leave soon.”

“Of course.”

“Be careful in Washington. I understand the crime there has become abominable.”

Kronen laughed as he turned to leave. “Tot ziens, meneer.”

The old man nodded. “Till then.”

* * *

THE LAB WHERE Sarah worked was spotless. The microscopes were polished, the counters and sinks were repeatedly disinfected, the incubation chambers were wiped clean twice daily. Sarah’s job required strict attention to asepsis; by habit she insisted on cleanliness. But as she sat at her lab bench, flipping through the last box of microscope slides, it seemed to Sarah that the sterility of the room had somehow extended to the rest of her life.

She took off her glasses and blinked tiredly. Everywhere she looked, stainless steel seemed to gleam back at her. The lights were harsh and fluorescent. There were no windows, and therefore, no sunshine. It could be noon or midnight outside; in here she’d never know the difference. Except for the hum of the refrigerator, the lab was silent.

She put her glasses on again and began to stack the slides back into the box. From the hallway came the clip of a woman’s heels on the floor. The door swung open.

“Sarah? What’re you doing here?”

Sarah glanced around at her good friend, Abby Hicks. In her size forty lab coat, Abby filled most of the doorway.

“I’m just catching up on a few things,” said Sarah. “So much work’s piled up since I’ve been gone….”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sarah! The lab can manage without you for a few weeks. It’s already eight o’clock. I’ll check the cultures. Go on home.”

Sarah closed the box of slides. “I’m not sure I want to go home,” she murmured. “It’s too quiet there. I’d almost rather be here.”

“Well, this place isn’t exactly jumping. It’s about as lively as a tomb—” At once Abby bit her lip and reddened. Even at age fifty-five, Abby could blush as deeply as a schoolgirl. “Bad choice of words,” she mumbled.

Sarah smiled. “It’s all right, Abby.”

For a moment the two women said nothing. Sarah rose and opened the incubator to deposit the specimen plate she’d been working on. The foul smell of agar drifted out from the warm petri dishes and permeated the room.

“How are you doing, Sarah?” Abby asked gently.

Sarah shut the incubator after setting the plate inside. With a sigh she turned and looked at her friend. “I’m managing, I guess.”

“We’ve all missed you. Even old Grubb says it’s not the same without you and your silly bottle of disinfectant. I think everyone’s just a little afraid to call you. None of them really knows what to do with grief, I suppose. But we do care, Sarah.”

Sarah nodded gratefully. “Oh, Abby, I know you care. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All the casseroles and cards and flowers. Now I just have to get back on my feet.” She gazed sadly around the room. “I thought that coming back to work was what I needed.”

“Some people need the old routine. Others need to get away for a while.”

“Maybe that’s what I should do. Get away from Washington for a while. Away from all the places that remind me of him….” She swallowed back the familiar ache in her throat and tried to smile. “My sister has asked me to visit her in Oregon. You know, I haven’t seen my nephew and nieces in years. They must be getting huge.”

“Then go. Sarah, it hasn’t even been two weeks! You need to give it some time. Go see your sister. Have yourself a few more cries.”

“I’ve spent too many days crying. I’ve been sitting at home, wondering how to get through this. I still can’t bear to see his clothes hanging in the closet.” Sarah shook her head. “It’s not just losing him that hurts so much. It’s the rest….”

“You mean the part about Berlin.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll go crazy if I think about it much longer. That’s why I came in tonight—to get my mind off the whole thing. I thought it was time to get back to work.” She stared at the stack of lab books by her microscope. “But it’s strange, Abby. I used to love this place. Now I wonder how I’ve stood it these past six years. All these cold cabinets and steel sinks. Everything so closed in. I feel as if I can’t breathe.”

“It’s got to be more than the lab. You’ve always liked this job, Sarah. You’re the one who stands humming by the centrifuge.”

“I can’t picture myself working here the rest of my life. Geoffrey and I had so little time together! Three days for a honeymoon. That’s all. Then I had to rush back to finish that damned grant proposal. We were always so busy, no time for vacations. Now we’ll never have another chance.” Sighing, she went back to her bench and flicked off the microscope lamp. Softly she added, “And I’ll never really know why he…” She sat down without finishing the sentence.

“Have you heard anything else from the State Department?”

“That man called again yesterday. The police in Berlin have finally released the—the body. It’s coming home tomorrow.” Her eyes suddenly filmed with tears. She gazed down, struggling not to cry. “The service will be Friday. You’ll be there?”

“Of course I’ll be there. We’ll all be there. I’ll drive you, okay?” Abby came over and laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s still so recent, Sarah. You’ve got every right to cry.”