Sigma One

by Hutchison, William

  Burt, however, wasn't there to greet or reject her. Instead, as Debbie continued to rap on his door, over two hundred miles away, he and Amanda were checking their rental car into Hertz at LA International Airport. They were on their way to Washington, and neither of them gave a moment's thought to Debbie as she continued to knock on his door for ten more minutes before she left, frustrated. On the way home, ignoring her previous concern with how tight her jeans felt and feeling very sorry for herself, she devoured half of the apple pie her mother had made for him.

  Burt was oblivious to Debbie's hurt, and as she was fighting off the tears just long enough to make it home safely in between gulps of syrupy apple pie filling, he was sitting back in his comfortable first-class seat and staring dry-eyed out the window. As he did, the plane banked slowly left and continued its climb giving him a beautiful view of the bike path which runs along the beaches between Malibu and Torrance, and passes directly under the departure path from LAX. As he continued looking down, two skaters, appearing like ants, slowly moved along that ribbon of concrete, but were quickly obscured as the plane moved higher through the wispy clouds.

  The view gone, Burt turned from the window and looked at Amanda, and it was only then that he began to think of Debbie. He had thought little about her since the previous night, having been absorbed with his prospects of obtaining the research post Amanda had promised him. But as he stared at his benefactress, he remembered all that he had recently been through and how, had it not been for Debbie's quick actions in the cafeteria, he might not even be alive let alone flying across the country to fulfill his dream of being able to help his brother. As soon as the realization that he had treated Debbie far worse than he should have by leaving without a word, a wave of guilt swept over him and he turned his head away and closed his eyes momentarily. He then leaned over and nudged Amanda who was staring straight ahead.

  "Amanda?" he queried.

  She turned to him with an icy stare. "Yes," was her brittle reply.

  Burt paused before continuing. "About last night," he said.

  She interrupted him. "What about it!"

  He waded in deeper, already in over his head, but unable to stop."I'm sorry I led you on."

  "Led me on? Led me on?" she repeated staring holes through him. "You wine me and dine me and then offer to stay the night and then while I'm in the bathroom getting ready for you so that we could be together (her anger wouldn't let her say 'make love') , you leave. And to top it off you come back today and expect me to act like nothing's happened!"

  "I, ...... I...." Burt interjected in his defense, but was cut off.

  Amanda continued her tirade. "You didn't lead me on. You practically ...educed me and then you dropped me. How do you think that makes me feel? If you weren't so God Damned important to the project, I wouldn't have even agreed to see you today, much less extend my organization's offer to have you come back and continue you research at our expense. Now if you don't mind, I'm rather tired and even more than that, I'm upset. So if you would please leave me alone," she sniffled, "I'd appreciate it!" She then abruptly turned her head away to hide the tear which was streaking her cheek, squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep. Inside she felt almost as bad then as the night Pat had walked out on her before her trip west and now all she wanted was to be left alone.

  Burt continued to stare at her and waited for a reply, but she was steadfast in her denial of his existence. It was too bad, too, she thought at the time. She was really beginning to like him. "After all," she told herself before she finally gave in to his suggestion to go to bed with her, "Burt was single and not nearly so old as Pat." However, when Burt walked out just like Pat had, Amanda found herself having ever increasing self-doubts as to whether or not she'd ever find the right person. And now, faced with the prospect of having to fly for six hours seated next the man who was the reason for her feeling so bad, she felt simultaneously angry and bitter which was why she was pretending to sleep and continuing to ignore him.

  Burt didn't know how to respond to her anger, so he just sat there in stunned silence, feeling almost as bad as she, although for entirely different reasons. He felt bad he'd let things go as far as they had the previous night. Now in a more sober frame of mind and not under the influence of the personality altering chemicals that had flowed through his veins as a result of linking the previous day, he couldn't help but question how he'd allowed himself to make such a mistake as he did when he asked her if he could spend the night with her. He must have been out of his head and as he sat there he tried to recall just when he began to feel strange. He remembered vividly how they had eaten dinner and stared at the boats moored in Morrow Bay Harbor, the romantic sliver of the new moon as it rose over the ocean, the soft music, the dancing, and, of course, the wine, a lovely Chardonnay from Sonoma county. Was it the wine that got to him? He didn't think so. Finally, he remembered. It was at the hotel, after they had gotten back from dinner. It was then that he had gotten another massive headache as he sat on her bed waiting for her to come from the bathroom. But that's the last thing he remembered until he was already halfway to Los Angeles where he felt like the his old self again, that is, the self he was before linking.

  Burt felt schizophrenic. One minute he was feeling like a playboy; the next, like a self-conscious high school student on his way to the prom. As he sat there thinking about the previous night, he was sure the blackout spell he'd experienced was somehow connected to his linking, but he had no proof. He knew one thing for certain though, he didn't like the feeling of being out of control one bit, but he was powerless to stop the fits. Were it not for the importance of his trip to Washington to help his brother, he doubted he'd ever have agreed to go especially with a lady who, at the present moment, it was obvious would rather see him dead than seated next to her. But the offer Amanda had made him was irresistible, and in spite of the fact that he was still feeling slightly strange inside and knew it would be better for him to be seeing a doctor that day as a result of the recent blackout than doing what he was presently doing, he had put his own self-interests aside for the sake of his brother and agreed to go East.

  As he looked out the window across Amanda whose jaws were still clenched in anger, clouds were beginning to cover more of the beautiful L.A. basin. It was late November and a Pacific high out over the ocean had weakened and had sucked up moisture from the Baja Peninsula and, with it, brought the thick layer of clouds which were obscuring his view and which in turn were causing the cooler temperatures that evacuated the beaches. The sight of the clouds and the recollection of the weather forecast made him wonder how much colder Washington would be and how much cooler Debbie would be when he finally called her. With that thought in mind, he took one last look at the coastal mountains before laying back to rest, but his conscience wouldn't let him off that easy, and just before drifting off to sleep, Debbie's face flashed across his mind, and with this, another pang of guilt engulfed his heart as he remembered his near betrayal of her.

  CHAPTER 27

  While Amanda and Burt flew east toward Washington, Pat Huxley had already been to his front door and had gotten his morning paper, the Washington Post, and was seated peacefully in the study reading when Alice came bounding down the stairs. It was eight-thirty, Sunday morning, and had it not been the weekend, she would have already been at school at this hour. But Pat wasn't that lucky, and his peaceful morning reverie was suddenly broken when he heard her rumble down the stairs just as he finished reading an article which eulogized General Kurt Lassiter. Pat had a broad smile on his face when he realized a major threat to the NSF was gone and he continued to stare at the picture of the general standing in front of the Pentagon addressing war protestors as his daughter approached him.

  Alice saw him smiling as he looked up from his paper and mistook that the smile was meant for her so she returned it and ran up to him.

  "You in a better mood than you were last night, Daddy?" she asked innocently. The previous night during
dinner, he had become very quiet and afterwards, she could hear him and her mother fighting--something they did a lot more often since the hearings than they used to. Their fighting made her sad and, as is often the case with families in conflict, made her feel somehow that she was the cause of their problems. The days and nights of constant tension she was forced to endure were beginning to have their effects on her. In the past two months, since the hearings when it all started, she had lost nearly eight pounds (something a twelve year old could ill-afford to do) and had been sick with a cold twice. Neither she nor her father, however, correlated the fights with her state of health. Her mother, Sarah, on the other hand, had. And it was that subject she and Pat had been discussing the previous night and to which Alice's current question was directed.

  Pat looked at his daughter, still smiling, but miles away and not

  answering.

  "You in a better mood than last night?" She repeated her question. "Huh, Alice?" Pat looked over the paper as she ran up to him.

  "Are you happy to see me, Daddy?" She asked again as she sat down at his feet and hugged his leg.

  Pat looked down and folded the paper placing it in his lap. He then put his hand on her head and spoke. "Of, course I am, punkin."

  "You're not mad at Mommy anymore are you?"

  The question stung. She had obviously overheard their argument even though he had tried to keep his voice down to avoid upsetting her. He had to answer. But what should he say? Should he lie? A lie would probably go unnoticed. But what damage would it do later? He didn't know, but he decided it was the easiest way out, so he did.

  "I'm not mad at Mommy, punkin." (He was for being accused of being the cause of her weight loss.) As he said this his smile faded into concern as to whether she would believe him or not. He tried to hide that concern by looking away.

  Alice squinted her eyes, not sure why her daddy was lying, and continued her questioning. "Well why were you two fighting last night? It wasn't anything I did was it? I cleaned my room and last night I didn't watch any TV. I just did my homework like you and Mommy asked." It was at that point she cried and big crocodile tears rolled down her sunken cheeks.

  Pat looked down at his daughter, splay-legged, seated next to himon the floor, hugging his leg. He could see that her spindly legs which were thrust out under her bathrobe were far too thin. The way the sun was streaming in from the window verified that. The sharp ridges of her shin bones actually cast a shadow. Her mother was right! Their arguments were taking their toll. He let his eyes travel to her face, and here too noticed the thin lines of dark circles under her eyes be-lying her age. It was this sight which made him know how poor a father he had been since the hearings . It was those dark circles under his only daughter's eyes too, that represented the circle of despair that he had allowed himself to be drawn into. Noting the tears on her cheek, he too began to weep unable to hide his concern any longer.

  Quickly, he wiped his eyes before she could see him. He then reached down, picked her up, and sat her down on his knee. Her lightness was further damning evidence of his neglect. Then he spoke, lying again.

  "Mommy and I weren't fighting last night, punkin. We were just discussing some grown-up things."

  An eight year old perhaps would have believed him. But Alice was twelve and wasn't going to let him off that easily.

  "What things?" she asked as she looked directly into his eyes.

  "He looked aside, unable to meet her glare. He hesitated, then answered. "Just things sweetheart. They don't concern you, though, so don't worry. They just have to do with my work." He often used this dodge when he didn't know what to say. He hoped this time it would work as it had in the past.

  Alice let out a huff, realizing that when he said 'it had to do with work' that her chance of finding out what the problem between her parents were was over.

  "Daddy, you work too hard. Why don't you stay home with Mommy and me next week? Pleeeease?" She pleaded as she looked up.

  "I can't punkin. I've got a very important meeting coming up right before Christmas and I just can't afford the time off."

  "You sure?" She was pouting.

  "Positive."

  Alice tried one more time. "You sure you're not mad at Mommy or me?" He forced a smile. "I'm sure honey. Now why don't you run out to the kitchen and I'll be in shortly. We can make Mommy breakfast and serve her in bed. If we're quick, I'll bet we can catch her before she wakes up."

  Alice reached over and hugged him and then got up from his lap and ran into the kitchen. As he sat there, soon he heard the familiar sounds of pots and pans starting to rattle as Alice got things ready.

  Pat picked up his paper again and the original smile returned to his face. The fact that Lassiter was now out of the way helped minimize, but not entirely eliminate, his personal problems. He never once suspected that the Senator had been responsible for this good fortune, but that didn't matter. Good fortune was good fortune, and he liked that!

  But just as Pat put the paper down again and was walking toward the kitchen, the phone rang and shattered the pleasant feeling he had built again after re-reading the article. He picked the phone up after the first ring.

  "Hello," he said gruffly into the receiver. Radcliff spoke. "Pat we need to talk right away."

  "About Lassiter? I read the paper." He wondered what was so urgent.

  "I read the paper too," Radcliff replied.

  "But it's not about him. Walker has some bad news. Can you meet me in half an hour at my office?"

  Pat didn't hesitate. "I'll be right over," he said and then slowly put the phone down. The fact that Walker, the agent who discovered Karmarov and bought a stay of execution for SIGMA ONE, had bad news was all he needed to hear.

  Pat was dressed in five minutes and standing at the front door when he called out to the kitchen. "Gotta go," he yelled in the direction where Alice was getting her mother breakfast. "Tell Mommy I'll be back when I can," he added stepping forward half a step and then stopping in the middle of the doorway frozen to the spot with guilt.

  No answer.

  "Alice," he called again.

  Still no answer.

  Pat hesitated at the doorway torn whether to go to the kitchen or to simply turn , get into his car and drive off to meet Radcliff and deal with his daughter's anger later when he got home. His conscience got the better of him, and he turned and strode into the kitchen.

  Alice was standing at the counter, her back turned to him when he arrived.

  "Punkin, didn't you hear me call?" Pat asked approaching her from behind. When he reached her he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

  She stiffened to his touch.

  When he finally turned her all the way around so she was facing him, Pat could see new tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face was flushed and a deep frown was set in her young face.

  He reached under her chin and lifted it. "Punkin. I'm sorry I've got to leave. But Senator Radcliff just called and he has something important to tell me. You understand, right?"

  She didn't. She didn't even know who the Senator was. He was just a name. In all the years that her father had worked for him, he had yet to visit them. Sure, he had sent gifts to her on her birthday and on the holidays, but that was just his way of buying them off. She hated the senator. He always ruined things for her. Now here he was again, ruining the breakfast they had planned for her mother.

  Alice spoke up, bitterly. "Why couldn't he just tell you what he wanted to tell you over the phone. (She had no concept of security or espionage or any such thing nor would she have cared about it if she did. She was just hurt.) "Why do you have to leave now? What about Mommy? We were going to make her breakfast. Doesn't that mean anything? Don't you care?"

  His daughter's words cut him to the quick. He knew there would be no use trying to explain that there were some things he couldn't talk about. They had gone over all that before, but he had to try once again to set things right. For some reason, he couldn't exp
lain it, it was very important he show his daughter now how much he loved her, and that he wasn't doing anything to hurt her intentionally.

  He kneeled down and reached for her. As he did she recoiled, but on further coaxing, came to him begrudgingly.

  "Punkin?''

  "Uh, huh . "

  "You know there are some things I can't talk about, right?"

  "Uh, huh."

  He hugged her.

  She pulled back slightly, still hurt and knowing he was going to desert her no matter what she said.

  "And you know there's nothing in the world I would do to hurt you, right?"

  She didn't answer him.

  Pat saw she didn't like what he was about to do but was unable to stop himself. He had set his priorities and right then, finding out what Radcliff had heard from Walker outweighed any concern he had for Alice. he knew he would just have to let her be and make it up to her when he got back. With this, he got up and moved toward the door and, on reaching it turned back and spoke. "Well anyway. I won't be gone long. I promise." she moved forward toward him and when close enough, he reached down and gave her a half-hearted, apologetic hug.