“Thank you, Sara. I can’t do this any more,” Ruth whispered “He always said I was the strong one, but I’m not.”
The three women, linked in sorrow, stood frozen in place as the rabbi came around the gaping hole to cover Ruth’s hands. Like reeds in a basket, Cass and Sara wove their arms across Ruth’s back in support. Minutes later, the three of them walked back to the funeral home’s limo.
“You’ll come back to the house?” Ruth asked.
“Of course,” they said in unison.
“You’ll be sitting Shiva?” Sara asked.
Ruth nodded as tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
“We’ll both visit throughout the week. You’re not alone, Ruth,” Cass said.
She looked up with a question on her lips then shook her head and leaned into the leather seat as the funeral director shut the door.
***
On Thursday afternoon, Ruth’s house looked dark. Sara rang the doorbell and listened for sounds of life. After a long five minutes, Ruth opened the door, dressed in black with a white handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her face was solemn, but the tears were gone. “Come in, Sara, come in. I was just thinking about you.”
“Really?” She didn’t know how to approach her neighbor without the polite barrier of Cass and the other mourners from the burial. As scant as the gathering was, it gave credence to the normal process of the funeral ritual. Ruth truly was in mourning; Sara was not exactly sure for whom.
“Thank you for what you did in the house,” Ruth said after another silent moment. She offered Sara a seat on the sofa they moved two days before. Sara should have checked beneath the cushions when she had a chance.
“It was nothing. Cass and I tried to put everything back the way it was.” Her eyes roamed around the room. Other than the shrouded grandfather clock, the room appeared normally lived in. A short stack of newspapers filled the seat of the recliner where Oscar supposedly took his last breath. A best seller sat at an angle on the corner of a scarred coffee table, a book mark protruding from its middle. A lace doily framed the obsidian bowl of a dish garden – a condolence gift from Cass and Sara.
Ruth interrupted her muse. “You knew what to do.”
“I believe you know who I am, Ruth. I may be the new neighbor on the block, but I suspect a lot more than you think.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you do know,” she said.
“I believe that’s my line. Who are you, Ruth? Or is that really your name?”
“I am Ruth Obermeyer, a survivor of the Holocaust. And, you are a descendent of the same atrocity.”
“Whom did we bury yesterday?”
“What is it you want from me?” Ruth finally asked without answering Sara’s question.
Sara watched dust motes travel along the late afternoon sun rays from the bay window behind her.
“Answers to some very bizarre coincidences.” Sara was pushing, and she was embarrassed by her own lack of diplomacy. “The man who died yesterday, were you really married to him?”
“Yes.”
“Was he Oscar Obermeyer, Alfred Carmody, Charles Johnson...or someone else?” She watched Ruth’s face for lies. Dad always said you could tell a lie from the truth by the expression in a person’s eyes. She was good, just a slight twitch in her eyelid. “Did you kill your husband, Ruth?”
“Oh, God, no; I loved him. The Nazi’s killed him sixty years back. He just refused to take a last breath until two days ago. His haunted spirit refused to let go. I hung on because my spirit was gone from the moment they yanked me from my mother’s arms, marched her away, and gassed her. For decades I begged God to take me, too. But, He had other plans for me. I survived Dachau and fled south after the war. Oscar survived Auschwitz and found me in Israel just after its independence. Most of us in those early days were survivors. He was my anchor and I followed every crazy idea he had. He swore for the rest of his life he would find and eliminate every effort to recreate the third Reich. And that’s what he did. At first, we worked with other survivors in secrecy. Then we were recruited to work as undercover agents for Mossad.
“A few years ago, we retired from active service and moved to New York. We occasionally do, did, odd favors for the organization.”
“Moving next to me was one of those favors?”
“You moved here after we did. We were here to listen in on any conversation your neighbor had.”
“Cass? She has nothing to do with any of this.”
“She is your friend, your confidant, as you will. Her son was close friends with yours, your son, who joined a Nazi cult!”
Her accusation stung. Sara turned the color of a ripe tomato. She could feel it in the heat of her face. “Nothing is as it appears, Ruth. Nothing!”
“I am fully aware of that. I was not sure how much of this you already knew. Your son was a mole for the American government, wasn’t he?”
“I can’t answer your question. How do you know, Jonathon Pierce?”
“He’s a friend. I can tell you no more.”
Sara watched her stand and walk to the door.
“I believe your visit is over. Thank you for your condolences.”
Sara turned to her at the door. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Ruth. Nothing I say can bring Oscar back to you.”
Ruth nodded and Sara walked out the door. Tears clouded her vision; she stumbled on the first step and grabbed the banister.
Ruth whispered from behind, “As nothing I do can bring back your son.”
***
Pushing herself through Friday was not helping. Sara still felt like crap. Folding over her tender stomach she laid her forehead on the desk and tried for five minutes of relief. A knock on her door defeated her attempt. Before she could respond, Jonathon was half way to a chair beside her desk.
“This better be business related, Jonathon.”
“You look like a green cowboy the morning after his first night in a bar.”
“Don’t shout.” She tried to lean back so that the chair supported her head. “How important is it that I attend this thing?”
“I’ll make your apologies. Shouldn’t you be over this bug by now?”
“I would think so. You need any additional information from me?”
“The San Francisco report if you have it ready.”
She pointed to the stack of gray bound reports on the corner of her desk.
“Did you touch any of this?” he stood and leaned down to pick up the stack. “I don’t want any of the department heads to catch what you’ve got.”
“How do you think the stack got there? I can’t wave my magic wand and make things happen. If I could, I’d make this bug disappear from my body.”
He sat back down and leaned forward staring at her.
“Are you sure it’s the flu? I mean flu season aside, maybe you ate a bad batch of meat laced with e-coli.”
“How come you’re being so nice to me?”
“I can’t win with you, Sara. You bitch when I’m tough on you and you bitch when I try to be nice. I told you I was sorry for the misunderstanding in Chicago. I was fed erroneous information and acted on it instead of trusting my instincts.”
“Let me guess. The barracuda called to spread malicious gossip in an attempt to get my job after she failed to get Mr. Farrell to play games with her.”
“That was part of it.”
“What did she do to get even with Matthew?”
“I understand he was called back to Washington. Have you heard from him?”
“Not lately. I thought he was coming back midweek; something must have come up since he didn’t show.” She looked down at her watch. “Don’t you think you should scoop up the germ pile and get out of here?”
“You should head on home. You’re not much good to us in this condition.”
“Gee, thanks boss. Nice to know I’m not needed.” He opened his mouth to rebut and she shook her head, which was a mistake. Every hair follicle began to scream. “I’m ou
t of here. I just need to make one call. Get Louise to spray some of her disinfectant in here after I leave.”
“I’ll see you on Monday,” he said on his way out.
Sara reached for the phone and took as big a breath as she dared. “Ron, how are things going down there?”
“Who is this?” he asked.
“It’s Sara.”
“This doesn’t sound like you. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just the flu. Why didn’t you call me after Monday night’s meeting?”
“I took care of business like I should have in the beginning. It’s all in the hands of professionals, Sara. It’s done. You’re out of it.”
“Did you meet with an older man introducing himself as Charles Johnson? Did he have a British accent?”
“What is this thing you have for Brits? He did give that name and I saw his identification. It was an exact match. There was no accent. He was as American as the Bronx can make him.”
“Ron, he was an Israeli operative. He intercepted your call. The FBI never got it.”
“That’s bullshit! Stay out of it, Sara, I’m warning you.”
“Such foul language, you should be careful what you say over the phone. And, Ron?” she waited just long enough. “Charles Johnson, alias Oscar Obermeyer, is dead. We buried him on Wednesday.”
CHAPTER 34
Sara’s silence had been nagging at him all week. Matthew pulled into her drive on Friday evening and threaded his way through a collage of fall colors. Pumpkins and large pots of chrysanthemums almost obscured the steps to her front door although the trees had been bare for weeks. He pressed the button beside her door and listened to the chime. Two minutes was too long to wait. He knew she was home. He saw lights on through the front window. He pressed the doorbell again and just as he thought he was going to have to break in, she opened the door with a wet piece of terrycloth pressed to her lips. Her eyes were sunken with dark semi-circles draped below them and her hair was stuck limp to her forehead.
“Hi, beautiful.”
“That’s not funny, Matthew.”
He walked through the living room into the dining area. “New painting?” he asked gesturing to the large canvas hanging on the wall behind her table.
“It’s from Jordie. What do you think of it?”
“You can’t just glance at it and know it. Jordie has a wonderful talent. Do you know the location?” he asked.
“Odiorne Point and some other places.”
He studied it a few minutes more. “A memory of friends?”
“When they were little, Cass and I took the boys to that park and watched as they played pirates among the rocks and through the trails. The boys had wonderful adventures there. Then when they grew up there was Stacey.”
“What is that disk with the pole running through it?”
“It’s the old air shaft down into one of the bunkers. It’s all blocked up with leaf debris and rodent nests. The boys used to hide pirate treasure in it.”
He stared at the air shaft, almost totally covered in foliage. Carl, is it this easy?
“I expected you earlier this week. Would you like something to eat?” Sara stood with her arms crossed over her stomach unaware of the washcloth dripping onto the floor beside her feet.
“How long have you been sick?”
“I thought you were on your way north when we talked on Tuesday. What took you so long?”
He took three steps forward, effectively pinning her to the side of the fridge, and lifted her chin with a finger. “How long?”
“It’s just the flu.” She tried to move out of his grasp.
“Sara?”
She shrugged her shoulders, “Monday.”
“Have you been tossing for five days?”
“Unfortunately that is part of the process.”
“But not for five days. You’re dehydrated; a soft breeze could knock you over.” He walked her over to the sofa and gently set her into it.
“I had thought to take you to dinner. We’ll eat in, instead.”
“It would be easier and less painful to just skip the middle man and dump the food directly into the toilet. It saves wear and tear on my stomach.”
“Sara, you have a choice: either I make you some soup and tea, and maybe juice, and you drink it like a good girl; or I take you to the hospital, get you hooked up to an IV and pump the liquids into you. You call it, love. Those are your only two choices.”
“You know, Matthew, you can be a real bully sometimes. There’s a can of chicken noodle left in the cupboard.”
While he searched for the soup, he asked, “Did you talk to your neighbor, the Jewish lady?”
“I paid a condolence call on Thursday.”
He dumped the can of soup into a pot and stirred in a can full of water. Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel he walked back into the living room. “And?”
“She wouldn’t tell me how she knows Jonathon, but she did tell me she and her husband were survivors of the holocaust and that they worked with Mossad. She says they were retired, but occasionally do a small task when asked by their government. Did you know they’re Israeli citizens?”
“Not until Wednesday. She knows Jonathon Pierce?”
“He was at the cemetery. Matthew, how could a man so frail fly to Chicago, intercept you, run down the mayor’s son, then fly back here and pretend to be an FBI agent convincing enough for Ron to spill his guts. Then the very next morning turn up dead?”
“Your husband’s gullibility aside, I don’t know, love. I do know the man who stabbed me with an umbrella last week, has the same image as the artist sketch in the Chicago papers. This same man was seen going into and leaving your husband’s house late Monday night. He was followed back to the house next to yours where he parked in the garage and did not come back out.”
“If you weren’t there, how can you be sure?”
The tea kettle whistled and he walked back to her kitchen returning with two steaming mugs and a glass of apple juice. “I’m sure because my bird dog is reliable and his camera has a date and time feature. Now sip your juice, and let the tea cool down a bit while I get the soup into bowls.”
“It’s not going to work, Matthew. I’ve tried this before – as soon as my nose smells the food, my stomach revolts.”
He walked back into the living room and sat on the recliner beside her. “Are you sure this is the flu?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Sara, but could you be pregnant?”
“It’s only been a week for us. It’s been ten months since the last time with Ron.”
“What about...?”
“That’s sick, Matthew. I was unconscious.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Not to me!”
“Okay, okay. Eat your soup.”
***
The boss man walked down the dark hall on the sixth floor of the Starr Shine building. A faint light illuminated the offices of finance. He walked in silently. A light spilled into the corridor from the corporate comptroller’s office. She was supposed to be home with the flu.
He pushed the door open wider. “What are you doing here?”
“Damn, are you tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
“I said what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be on this floor. When I got you this job, it was with the understanding that you remain in the club. You get caught anywhere else and I’ll let them hang you.”
“I just came down to retrieve the glass from her desk.”
“What does that have to do with the fitness club?”
“I’ve been providin’ nutrition shakes for the people who skip lunch to workout. Two of your ladies usually spend their lunch break doing laps. The shakes are very popular, you should try one.”
The boss man walked over to the desk and picked up the half empty glass. “It doesn’t look like she’s too keen on it. She left half of it behind.” He lifte
d it to his nose and sniffed. “Smells like apricots.”
“I call it apricot freeze. Ice cold you can’t taste the bitterness.”
The boss man tipped the glass sideways and dipped a finger into the pink liquid. About to raise it to his lips, he was halted by Otto’s next sentence.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The first symptoms will be flu-like. Within a week you’ll do anything to remove the pain knotting in your gut. In ten days you’ll tell me anything to get release.”
“Fuck you, Otto. You found the cylinder!”
“Nope, this is the prototype that failed. I kept a vile of it when I toured the plant back in January. It’s only got enough in it to work on one, maybe two people.”
“How many have you poisoned with it?”
“Oh, just your little Mourning Dove. I figure she’ll be ready to tell me anything I want with three more days of this stuff. Everyone else is getting an instant breakfast with a scoop of fattening ice cream blended in.”
“Are you telling me Sara Stafford’s flu all week is poisoning from the very product we think her son has hidden?”
“Not quite, this original formula has some quirks in it. The cylinder Carl stole from us is tasteless and lethal in twelve to twenty-four hours. We have to find it and the disk in the next four days or our Middle East contacts will obliterate their next target.”
“And do you know what that target is, Mr. Fountain of Information?”
“I intercepted a communication yesterday, boss.”
“Well?”
“The new Starr Shine satellite scheduled to launch on the 19th will never make it out of the atmosphere. Pieces of it will fall over most of the southeast, the Bahamas’ and Bermuda. I’ve been told it’ll be radio-active.”
“You’re bluffing. I heard nothing about this. I’ve got listening devices on all possible contacts.”
“I intercepted two that were supposed to come to you. You should spend more time in your office.”
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