by Kathryn Wise
“Pardon me, madam. Is there anything else I can bring you?” Jai asked.
“Oh no, thank you. This is wonderful,” Rachel said. He nodded toward Amir and disappeared to the front of the tea room.
Amir poured hot water into each of the cups, intermittently sneaking a peek at Rachel, waiting for her response. “I recommend this special blend. It’s both soothing to the throat and pleasant on the palate. May I?” Amir asked before putting the infuser into her cup.
“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.” Rachel’s head swirled with memories, impressions, and fuzzy images. She was missing something. And then a question
“Amir, do you know me?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, you’re Ms. Wheaton,” Amir said.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m asking if you know me. If you know me from before,” Rachel said.
His face changed, resigning to the inevitable.
Amir sighed. “Yes, Rachel.”
Rachel trembled, her skin tingling. “I remember the first morning I talked with you at The Kimberly. You called me by my name. A slip of the tongue?”
“That was a mistake, but I was overwhelmed at seeing you again. You were such a smart and vibrant girl, so sensitive and intuitive. Just like your parents.”
Rachel’s heart began racing.
“I was there, in Jerusalem. Syed was there, working with your parents. We were friends, all of us.”
Rachel’s memories tried to push their way into her thoughts, but she’d repressed them so long, she’d forgotten how to let them in. Since her arrival at The Kimberly, she’d felt there was something familiar about him. But now the emotions came rushing in. She and Amir had some sort of timeless bond. Just looking at him told her that. His eyes held the knowledge of a young girl’s devastating loss; a loss that he’d suffered too. It was the kind of bond forged in a moment that could never be erased despite the passing of so many decades since.
“I grew quite fond of your family. And you…well, you were special. I’m so sorry…”
“You know, I knew it. I mean, I didn’t really know it in my head, but I knew it in my gut.”
“I knew you recognized me, but you didn’t seem to remember from where. It was a long time ago.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. It was all so personal, but she had a job to do. How was she going to get through this with a clear head?
“Amir, how are you here? Now? Why are you here?”
“Rachel, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that some really strange coincidences occurred to get me here. It almost felt like divine intervention. There’s really no other explanation for it. I left the Middle East years ago, but Syed and I stayed in contact. For several months I heard nothing. I was living in Salisbury at the time when Syed’s wife called me one night, frantic. He’d gone missing the day before. She was afraid and asked for my help. I’ve been trying to find and bring him home ever since.”
“Two years? You’ve been looking for him for two years?” Rachel asked, trying to put the timelines together in her mind. The information she’d gathered from the acquisitions research fit with what Amir was telling her. It’s possible Syed was pulled into the pre-acquisition effort. Maybe against his will?
“Yes. I was brought here by a ‘Mr. Randal.’ I’ve not met him in person yet, but I feel like he’s always near by.”
“What do you mean, ‘near by?’”
“I’m not sure. It’s as if he’s not quite here but then he’s always here. I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just that, well…the way things go…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s beyond coincidence. Anyway, I know Syed is here in New York, working for the company you’re interviewing with. I’m hoping you’ll connect with him,” Amir said.
Amir lifted the tea to his mouth for a sip. Rachel noticed a tremble in his hand. His face was flushed.
“Amir, I wouldn’t say no to you. Of course, I will help,” Rachel said. Already her wheels were spinning, sorting what Syed’s presence might mean going forward. “I have something to tell you. I probably shouldn’t, but it seems to be the next thing.”
Amir leaned forward, listening. Rachel began. “I’ve done some research on the business activities conducted by Virtual Life over the last 18 months. There was an acquisition of a company based in Jerusalem. It happened around the same time you say your friend Syed disappeared. I suspect the company was either owned by Syed or he played a prominent role in its operations. So far, I haven’t been allowed to ask any specific questions of individual executives, but that all changed today. If I accept the job offer with Virtual Life, I’ll need a team. Today I received approval from the CEO to interview internal candidates for the team…and I requested that Syed Haddad be put on the list.”
“Oh my, Ms. Wheaton…Rachel. That’s wonderful-,” Amir started.
“But wait. There’s a problem. Syed had an episode yesterday during the first interview.”
“What do you mean ‘an episode'?”
“At one point I was given the floor to ask a question about the acquisitions. I’d barely gotten my first question out and Syed became agitated and started perspiring. He had to take his jacket off. Then he started having trouble breathing. I know because Virtual Life has this crazy sound system that picks up every breath, whisper, or word uttered within the space, amplifying it over some kind of PA system. It was weird. I watched him, expecting someone to come to his assistance, but no one else paid any attention. I eventually had to say something, and when I did, Syed was forcibly escorted out of the room. The whole incident really shook me.”
“Oh my gosh.” Amir looked worried. “Syed has had respiratory and autoimmune system issues since his late twenties. Maybe he’s ill,” Amir said.
“Maybe so. Today when I asked that he be included on the list of interviewees, I was told he’s still unavailable and that he’s being considered for a transfer of some type. It felt like a phony story to keep me from gaining access to him.”
“We need to find him, and soon,” Amir said. “The last time I talked…”
“Amir, I’m banking on Mr. Trader’s commitment to allow Syed to interview for a team member role. If Trader keeps his word, I’ll be seeing Syed very soon.”
Rachel realized she’d cut him off, but he was too polite to interrupt her. “I’m sorry. You wanted to say something. Tell me more. You’ve talked with him?” Rachel asked.
“Just two times. The first time he called, he wanted to tell me something, but before he could, another call came in on his line. He put me on hold and when he came back, he was different.”
“Different?”
“Uh huh. Tentative. Afraid. He was very terse toward me, which isn’t like him. I was taken aback by the change. I regret not having the presence of mind to question him. By the time I recovered, he’d already hung up,” Amir said. He looked dejected. “If only I’d been quicker, I might have been able to find out where he was.”
“But you talked with him a second time?”
“I did, but it was different. He called me again - it was from an unknown number - and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He was whispering. I heard people in the background…other voices…a woman’s voice. And a man, but there seemed to be other noises too, like he was in some kind of common work area.”
“Like a cubicle farm?” Rachel asked.
“A cubicle farm?”
“That’s what I call it. It’s usually a large room with rows of rectangular work spaces divided by partial walls. Each cubicle has a workstation and a chair, and not much else. Maybe a few overhead bins. There’s really no way to have a private conversation. Visual privacy is minimal, especially when people walk the hall and look over the wall into your workspace. That means that even though there could be a hundred people packed into a small space, it’s usually pretty quiet because they don’t want their conversations to be overheard. The only other sound is from the keyboards clicking, chairs moving…those kinds of things. Did it soun
d like that kind of a space?”
Amir was staring at Rachel like she was speaking Martian. “Wow…I’ve never seen one, but I guess it could have been a ‘cubicle farm.’”
“I’m guessing Syed called you from Virtual Life. During either of those calls, did he mention where he’s living? And with whom?” Rachel asked.
“I asked him. It was on the first call. He wouldn’t answer me. Something about not wanting me to know too much. It was unlike him. We’ve always been open with each other. My stomach churned as I listened to him, like my instincts were trying to tell me something was wrong. I wondered if he was lying, or playing a role. Does that sound strange?”
“No. That doesn’t sound strange. I get the feeling that most of the people at Virtual Life are playing roles, whether they want to or not.”
Amir looked lost. “Rachel, what do I do now?”
“I’m not sure, Amir. We’ll need to wait and watch.” Their eyes locked, now joined together in a common pursuit.
Chapter Five
A Sighting
Jai came back to the table. “Is there anything else I can bring you this morning?”
“No. Thank you, Jai. The tea was exquisite as usual,” Amir said.
“As you wish,” Jai said.
Rachel’s ears perked up. “As you wish”…there’s that little phrase again.
“I bet he’s a good server. Seems experienced. Gosh, it feels like we’ve been here for hours. Don’t you need to be back? What time is it anyway?” Rachel asked.
“Time? Let’s see. Oh…I don’t have a watch. That’s weird. How could I forget that?” Amir looked past Rachel. “And I don’t see a clock. Why don’t you go ahead without me? I’ll take care of the tab.” Amir said. “I want to pick up some tea to take home anyway.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll be at the hotel until mid afternoon if anything else comes up, okay? Don’t hesitate to ring the room.”
“Thank you, Rachel. I won’t hesitate.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’m so grateful…” Amir hung his head, trying to hold back the emotions.
“It’s all right. I’ll see you later. And…be careful,” Rachel said.
“I will. You be careful too.”
Amir headed toward the front counter while Rachel walked to the exit. She hoped she still had time to recharge before catching a cab for Tribeca. The walk back to The Kimberly would give her a chance to think. She was tempted to sort through the implications of what Amir had told her, but knew it would be more productive to take a break and give her brain a rest.
Rachel waited for an opening in the crowd before stepping out onto the cement sidewalk.
Uhmph!
Shoved by an oncoming shoulder, her body suddenly spun round and headed down. The next thing she saw was the cracked concrete sidewalk speeding upward towards her face. The reflexes kicked in, her hands hit the pavement, and she let herself down.
“Oh my goodness, Miss. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” It was a man’s voice. Someone grabbed her upper arm and lifted her to her feet, but when she looked, there wasn’t any one there, only a dense crowd; too dense to detect the person who shoved her. She froze and waited, watching, knowing that whoever it was, he would look back.
Suddenly, all went quiet, as if someone had turned the sound off. Pedestrians walked in slow motion, the women’s hair bouncing up and down like in a Breck commercial, and the men’s pant legs flowing back and forth with each step. The faces of the oncoming went gray. The backs of those walking away were now only shadows. And then up ahead, maybe 50 yards or so, a glow rose above the crowd. As Rachel followed the path of light with her eyes, the crowd parted to reveal a single man who’d paused to turn and look at her. The light was too much.
Uh oh…
Blinded, Rachel froze, wondering if she was having some kind of hallucination. Then her sight returned just as suddenly as she’d lost it. The man was still standing among the slow moving shadow people, the only source of light in the midst of the darkened crowd. He seemed staid. No smile. No nod. Rachel felt fear, but she wasn’t afraid. It was a feeling of awe.
She thought she knew his face, but couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before. Replaying the scenes of the past 48 hours, she searched the peripheries of the rooms she’d been in, people she’d noticed on the streets, and guests loitering in the hotel foyer. Nothing. Did the man run into her on purpose? She needed to know.
“Hey! Sir…hold up! Sir!” Rachel shouted, getting no response.
Time suddenly switched to a normal tick, the crowd converging once again and blocking her view. She thought to chase him down, but something stopped her, a momentary paralysis. Faces from the past few days streamed through her mind. And then…
He was in the Virtual Life conference room. But…was he at the table? I don’t see him at the table.
Rachel moved out of the flow of foot traffic and stood under a storefront canopy, searching through the crowds up and down the street, trying to catch another glimpse of the man. By then the swarm of pedestrians had completely blocked her view. She noticed a clock in the storefront windows.
11:00 am.
“11:00? That’s not possible,” she whispered to herself. How could so little time have passed given the long tea break with Amir? Maybe their talk only felt like a long one because…well, she didn’t know why. In any case, it was only 11:00 am. She had plenty of time to recharge before her trip to Tribeca. Maybe Grayson would be able to place the man.
Her legs were wobbly and her hands kept trembling. “Okay, I’m a little freaked out,” she muttered under her breath.
A ferocious wind came up as she turned west on E. 50th, blowing a frigid gust right through her skin, and probably the skin of every pedestrian in her lane of traffic. She shivered uncontrollably, kicking herself for not grabbing the overcoat off the chair in her room. Or her pistol for that matter, although she didn’t have the key case on her person. Dennis was out of the picture and the key was hidden away, secure for now.
Looking up to see how much further she had to walk, a wonderful sight came into view.
I don’t believe it. Is that Charles?
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rachel said. “Are you guys clairvoyant, or what?”
Charles chuckled. “No, not at all, Ms. Wheaton. I noticed the temperature had dropped and thought you might need your coat. I hope you don’t mind. I let myself into your room to retrieve it,” Charles said.
“Are you kidding? I love how you guys take such great care of me. It’s almost uncanny, isn’t it?” Rachel slipped the coat on. “Ah. Much better. Let’s go…it’s cold out here!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Charles said.
Chapter Six
Portals
The late morning sun streamed through the freshly cleaned windows, casting a warm light on the overstuffed chair. She grabbed her ebook reader for the first time since arriving in Manhattan, hoping to discover a sparkling word. Her perspective had taken a beating over the past 36 hours; too many memories pushing to rush in, dragging with them another voice accusing her of an inherent unworthiness. Beating them back left her exhausted.
Rachel sometimes wondered why her life had gone as it had. She never wanted her spirit to grow brittle, but the weight of grief she felt about losing her parents was wearing. She’d found a little solace in work: school and career becoming her drugs of choice. They were the only all-consuming “productive” distractions that kept her mind busy with the here and now while moving forward with her life. But that had only taken her so far.
There were still imbalanced days; days like the past two when the intensity of her assignment, the rush to beat time, and the need to bring order out of chaos eventually drained her, narrowing her perspective and blocking out the broader view. Her old mental patterns were gathering strength: the willfulness, the self-determination to prove her worth, and the intense need to drive things to a final resolution. She had noticed a weariness comin
g on. The best thing for her to do was to stop and be still, allowing herself to recharge and let the seemingly irrelevant re-enter the span of her attention.
Rachel closed her eyes, accepting the muffled sounds from the street below, comforted by the warmth radiating through the windows. The anxiety faded, bringing calm like a gentle wave that dissipates and ebbs onto an undisturbed beach.
Forty-five minutes later she opened her eyes to a new start. The first book in the e-reader would be fine.
There was a sparkle.
“…Something catches your attention—some Paul Simon tune, the way the sunlight moves on the floor lengthening the shadows, the earthy smell of espresso—and a trapdoor opens to the world that runs below the surface of your life. You fall through. Two seconds pass between that moment and when the barista starts snapping his fingers in your face, but you wake up a lifetime later. This sort of thing also happens in the deep doorways outside shops in Boston, in huge wooden wardrobes, in museum paintings and looking glasses—portals, all of them, to kairos.”2
“Elevators too.”
The thunderous pounding on the door awakened Rachel from what had felt like an eternal second. There were only a few who knew she was there and even fewer who knew her room number. It couldn’t be Grayson; he was at his apartment in Tribeca.
The clock said 12:45 pm. She was hungry. Could it be room service? The two dapper fellows downstairs had done well when anticipating her needs before, so why not now? She tiptoed across the room, not wanting to make any noise that might give her away. The door’s peep hole was placed below eye level, a good thing. She might be able to get a look without notice.
A brilliant red filled the fish-eyed glass, someone’s suit jacket in a shade too bright for a bellhop. Stepping back slow and silent, she turned toward the bedroom. Four more demanding knocks rang out. A hotel staff person wouldn’t do that. The house phone sat on the nightstand just inside the bedroom. Rachel pressed the “Concierge” button and waited, hoping Amir would pick up.