“Who is the woman that filled in the negligee in your bathroom?”
“No one special,” he blushed at the admission. “Is he important to you?”
“Trying to have your cake and frosting, too?”
“What?”
“Ignore that, I heard the phrase a while ago. Who is she?”
“It’s over. The nightgown is gone.”
“I know, I checked.”
“Is there a masculine robe on the back of your bathroom door?”
“I live with Leonardo, no one else.”
“Who is Leonardo?”
“Stacey’s cat.”
“I wondered where he got to. Jordie said he created quite a mess at his studio.”
“Well, for the next two weeks he’s keeping you company.”
“No way!”
“Yes, way, I can’t leave him alone for that length of time. Before you ask, Cass owns an alpha male. It would be impossible for the two of them to share the same quarters while she’s at work.”
“Where is this monster now?”
“Leonardo is in the den, sleeping in a kitty tote. He’s not used to stairs, but I suspect he will come up to see you sometime in the night. Try not to scare him.”
“Oh, goodie!”
“You want my help; you got him. Take it or leave it.”
“All right, I’ll cope…somehow.”
“I’m going downstairs and try to catch up on my reading. Anything else you need before I go?”
“I’ll holler if I need you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She left the room and headed down the stairs just as Leonardo was climbing up. “Hello, pretty boy.” She reached down to pet his head. He passed her full of feline arrogance.
Just as Sara got to the doorway of the den she heard, “Oh my God! Sara, get this monster off my bed!”
“Ron, make friends!” There was a God, after all.
***
Sara was more exhausted than she’d been in a very long time. Before she could rest though, she began clearing space to work, organizing the mountain of paper on Ron’s desk. After an hour of sorting and stacking, she was finally down to the keyboard and the desktop. Sliding the monitor to one corner, she pushed the keyboard back against it. It was as wobbly as a three-legged table. She lifted it to collapse the back feet and found a brass key ring with a single small key and oval medallion attached. Two rows of raised letters were embossed across it with a small rectangle below them. She pulled the desk lamp forward and tilted the medallion into the light. The language wasn’t English. It was German. GEHEIME STAATSPOLIZEI, then the number 84.060 etched into the raised rectangle below the words. She’d read that phrase before, old German secret state police. She flipped the medallion over.
Bile filled the back of her throat. A roaring surf surged inside her head, her heart pounded against her ribcage. She placed the medallion back on the desk and pushed back. God have mercy. The sign of evil incarnate was emblazoned on the backside of the piece of brass. An eagle, wings stretched the length of the metal disk, held a wreath in its talons. The symbol that terrorized Europe sixty years ago screamed back at her, pulsing in her brain. For a moment she stopped breathing. Then her nostrils flared and she inhaled. It even smelled of death. How did it get here? What did it mean? Sara moved it around with the tip of a pen, loathe to touch it again. The lettering below the swastika was M 9/99, a membership date?
“Ron!” she looped a pen through the key ring as if touching it again could contaminate her.
“Ron!” she shouted again, walking up the stairs with the symbol of her grandparents’ and great grandparents’ torture and destruction dangling before her. She remembered stories told to her when she turned twelve, stories of medical experiments on Aunt Sophie and Grandma Sara, her namesake, screams coming from the surgical building, the scent of burning flesh and decaying feces that haunted her grandmother until her death.
“Ron!” Again Sara shouted his name. “I want answers! I want them now!” The hysteria penetrated every fiber of her being. Not since Carl’s death had she felt this unhinging. She turned into Ron’s bedroom. He was struggling to maneuver past the bed covers with his crutches.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He looked down at the object dangling from the black and white papermate pen in her hand and closed his eyes.
“Put it down, sweetheart. Put it down and come to me,” he hobbled around the end of the bed.
“Why?” She reached out with her hand, the pen pointing to the man she thought she knew. “Why?” The pen and key chain dropped to the bed and she raised her hands to cover her face. The brass smell was on her hands. She walked to the bathroom and emptied her stomach. Afterward, she tried to scrub the stench of the Nazi medallion off her hands. For a very long time she stood at the sink lathering, scrubbing, rinsing, lathering, scrubbing, rinsing.
“Sara, come sit down and I’ll tell you what I know about the medallion.”
He was standing in the doorway. She couldn’t look at him. She continued washing the contamination from hands already red from the scalding water. “Please, Sara? Dry your hands; you’ve washed enough. Come and sit. When I stand like this my leg throbs. Please, come and sit.”
“I can’t.”
“I removed the key chain. You don’t ever have to see it again. Please, come.”
After another moment of silence she turned around. His brown eyes were filled with sadness, glistening with tears. “Come.”
They moved to the bed and sat. Silence filled the room as Ron adjusted the pillows behind his back and propped his right leg on a mound of covers. “I was going through Carl’s things and found the key chain.”
“No!” She denied Carl’s involvement shaking her head.
“It explains a lot, Sara. Why he was so secretive, why he isolated himself, why he took his life.”
“No, damn it! He didn’t die by suicide! How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Sara, it was suicide. The police have evidence and a note. Just bear with me here. The key chain was not the only thing in his possession linked to this group. There were printouts, two that I still have on my desk. Did you read anything on that desk?”
“No. I just organized it all by type and date. I have enough of my own reading to do.”
“There were pictures, what looks like an initiation into the group.”
“No.”
“Sara, I’m not making this up. There was a Nazi flag folded neatly in his steamer trunk with a file folder filled with printouts and pictures. At the bottom was the key chain. It had three keys on it. The one that remains I’ve yet to identify, the other two were for his apartment and his car. I’ve been trying to find out why he would join this group, but it takes time. I’ve run into some stumbling blocks. The reason the key chain and printouts were on my desk is because I’ve been surfing the net to research the Nazi group. You would be surprised how much is out there. Some of it isn’t good; hell, most of it isn’t good.”
Sara shook her head in denial. “There has to be another answer. I’m going to find it. He didn’t kill himself. I know!”
“How do you know?”
“I know in here,” she pointed to her right temple. “I know here,” she cupped the soft belly over her womb. And in a very soft voice she looked into his eyes and jabbed her thumb into the left side of her chest punctuating each word, “I...know...here.”
***
Downstairs Sara was livid.
Okay, Carl, where are you! Pacing from one end of the first floor to the other, she called out in her loudest boy-are-you-in-trouble-now thought.
Damn it, Carl! I know you’re here. Both of your parents are in this house; you can’t be anywhere else. Talk to me! She paced back into the den and slammed the door.
Mom, you’re shouting. I can hear you fine. Calm down.
Calm down? You want me to calm down? You tell me why you carried a Nazi key ring! How could you with our family history? How could you w
ith the set of standards we have always lived by? What the hell is going on!
Sit down, Mom. Please.
His voice echoed inside her head.
I guess it’s time to confide. You have to promise me, not even to Cass, will you share what I have to say.
What about your dad? He’s right in the middle of this, too.
He’s not going to believe you. To him I no longer exist.
Sara folded into the computer chair and inhaled, breathing out in slow resolve. Tell me what you were into, she thought calmly.
Do you remember when I spent my first year in Amsterdam doing post graduate work?
Go on.
That last summer before I left, when I was working for Granddad in DC, I was approached to work as a mole for the CIA. After training, I was told to infiltrate a radical group while I studied in Amsterdam, earn their trust and pass on information. I was young and impressionable, cocky about the assignment. I bought into the idea and agreed.
Are you telling me you agreed to become a member of the Nazi Party?
She stood again and paced the ten-foot length of brown carpet in the center of the den running her fingers through her hair.
I agreed before I realized what group they were asking me to infiltrate. I spent years admiring the ability of our family to actively work for the good of our country, following Granddad in the capital, traveling to Europe to visit Great Grandpa, the Ambassador. This was my way of adding to the dedication of my heritage. It wasn’t until later when I realized I would not be able to share my work with anyone but my contacts within the agency, and then only on a need to know basis, that’s when the shine went out of the assignment.
I reasoned with myself I was going to get some payback for the destruction of my family. I couldn’t tell you and Dad. I just had to pray neither of you would ever find out.
You met Stacey in Amsterdam. Was she involved?
She was a member of the group. At first I used her to gain admittance. She and her cousin had been recruited. When she realized the danger she was in, she told her cousin she wanted out. He told her entrance into the group was a one way deal.
Carl’s voice stopped echoing inside Sara’s head. And?
He was right.
Last year, the group kidnapped a chemist who was working on a new chemical weapon. They had him holed up in Toronto in a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse. Meanwhile, one of their leaders was in secret meetings with a member of Al Qaeda. The formula was being perfected. Al Qaeda was willing to pay a very large sum of money. The group knew better than to give up the formula. They would hold onto it, and sell only the product.
“Oh my God!” Shaking her head in denial, for the second time that night, Sara felt herself become unhinged. Her heart beat an anvil chorus in double time. She felt like she was in the middle of a James Bond movie. This is unreal, Carl.
Unfortunately, it’s not.
Stacey was killed because she wanted out, wasn’t she?
She was killed because I stole the formula and eliminated the source before the product could go into production. She was supposed to get it back. And, she didn’t.
What do you mean by eliminating the source?
Dad is investigating my involvement. He has to stop. It will get him killed.
You didn’t answer my question.
Don’t go there, Mom.
She shook her head in denial again. What about Jordie? His mom would be devastated.
Jordie hasn’t a clue.
He fell in love with her.
I know. She wanted out. She told me she just wanted an ordinary life.
When was that?
After she died.
Is she still with you? Can you talk to her?
I could feel her essence as her spirit passed, her thoughts a whisper on the wind.
What can I do to help?
You can’t, Mom. The more involved you are the more danger you’re in. I’ve hidden the formula. And the sample. I pray they won’t find it.
Why didn’t you destroy it?
I didn’t have time. Be careful who you speak to and what you say. There are bugs everywhere. The agency is listening, the group is listening, and I am not a hundred percent sure that the terrorists aren’t listening.
What do you mean?
The formula is on a disk. Everybody involved wants it. There’s a leak in the agency. I don’t know who. There’s only one person I trust beside you. But I can’t make contact.
Who? Maybe I can be your contact.
It’s too dangerous. I told you, Mom. Bugs are everywhere and I’m not sure who owns what.
“Is this house bugged?”
This house, Dad’s office, your house, your office, your car, maybe more, that’s why it’s important to only think any conversation you have with me.
Sorry, I forgot. Who is the other person you trust? Maybe I can lead him to the disk.
I can’t tell you where it is. It’s too dangerous.
Don’t you trust me, son?
I don’t trust the people who might get to you.
Oh. Who is this other person? I need to know who is safe, and who is not, if I’m going to stay safe.
You have a point. Let me think.
Carl, what about Matthew Farrell? You mentioned before he was a good guy, but some of his associates were not.
How much do you know about Farrell?
He works for the government in communications. He’s working with Starr Shine at the moment as an advisor on an R & D project. It’s star wars stuff. He apparently is friends with my boss, Jonathon Pierce, and Robert Starr. Why?
It’s important you remember there is a leak in the agency. Matthew Farrell was my contact home. I trust him. What he’s doing at Starr Shine is probably a cover. I don’t know his contact up the chain of command. There would be one, maybe two, in the channel to the top. Jonathon Pierce sometimes helps the agency but I don’t believe he’s a member of the team. Robert Starr I’m not sure about.
You’re telling me Matthew Farrell and Jonathon Pierce work for the CIA?
Farrell for sure, Pierce on occasion.
I wondered why I was hired so quickly. They’re watching me, aren’t they? It has nothing to do with my capabilities as an accountant, does it?
I suspect they wouldn’t have placed you in that position without your ability to do the job.
So this is just a game to them. A spy game called ‘Watch Sara, Find the Disk.’ They’re all connected. They have to be.
Who are they, Mom?
Matthew Farrell, Jonathon Pierce, Robert Starr, Marilyn Margeson, Louise, Steve, who else is involved, Carl?
Tell me about these other people. Who are they?
Marilyn Margeson, from the employment agency, steered me straight to Starr Shine as if she were under orders to do so. They conveniently pushed out the former comptroller to create the spot for me. Now he’s dead. Louise and Steve work for me in the office, within earshot. Jonathon is always trying to be more than a boss. He calls it mentoring; it looks more like an attempt to get me in b...I pushed him away and, oh my God!
Matthew Farrell is the second team. I remember now where I saw his eyes before. At the pool in Portsmouth, he was watching me swim. He had a beard then, mirrored sunglasses, and a baseball cap. The next morning he walked passed my room without the glasses and I saw his eyes. He was at Stacey’s funeral, too. You saw him there. He’s been sent to follow me, hasn’t he?
He’s still looking for the disk and the hit man who got me. You and Dad have all my things. I guess they figure one way or another you will find what they’re looking for. If they are on top of you, they’ll know it.
I’m going to be sick.
Mom?
Do you know who killed you?
The same person who killed Stacey.
You’re not going to tell me, are you? If I need to, can I trust Matthew Farrell?
I wish you could just stay out of it, Mom, but, now this. Too much has happened.
>
What do you mean, ‘but, now this?’
I don’t believe in coincidence. Get Dad to stop investigating. He’s been warned.
Carl, what do you mean?
Silence filled her head.
Carl?
He was gone again just like that. Sara knew it. She was certifiable.
CHAPTER 19
Matthew knocked on Sara’s door jam and walked into her office. He looked so sure of himself, easing into the closest chair beside her. She’d spent the whole day suspicious of every move any of the employees made. She’d tried to focus on this moment, how to act, what to say. He sat there with a bland smile on his face like a male version of the Mona Lisa.
“We need to talk about the Chicago conference. How about dinner?” he asked. “I tried to catch you at lunch, but Steve said you had already gone to the pool with Louise.”
“I’m expected at home.”
“Leonardo?”
“You know more than that.”
“Ah, yes. Playing nursemaid tonight aren’t you?”
“Look, I’ve had just about enough of the cat and mou…” She stopped at mid-sentence when he raised his right index finger to his lips. He pulled a pen from his pocket, grabbed a square of notepaper from her desk and wrote: ‘Not here, we’ll talk later at the restaurant.’
Sara mouthed the words, “I have to go home.”
Crinkling a plain piece of copy paper from her fax machine, he whispered in her ear, “After dinner. I know you aren’t expected until then.”
So, one of the bugs at Ron’s place was his. She wasn’t surprised. “I’ll get my coat.”
Out the front door of the building Sara headed for her car but he grabbed her arm and steered her to his black SUV with tinted windows. His grasp was not enough to bruise but strong enough to mean it. The door lock chirped and he opened the passenger door for her. Buckling her seatbelt out of habit, she waited for him to enter the vehicle.
He slid into the driver’s seat and leaned over as if to kiss her, but she pulled back. He whispered in her ear instead, “It isn’t safe in here, either. Wait ‘til we get to the restaurant.”
She nodded and wondered whether it was a good idea to trust him. Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should say something so whoever was listening would know she was here and have a clue to where her body could be found. He started the vehicle and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. To her surprise he reached down to the CD player below the dash and his car filled with the tinkling sound of a Chopin sonata. Within minutes they pulled into a small shopping center where he pointed to the Subway restaurant across the parking lot.
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