Sharon is immediately flustered. Unnerved by the contrast between her own frumpy outfit and the model’s sparkling attire, she’s shaking her head before the woman has a chance to launch into her spiel.
“Would you like to sample Chanel’s latest eau de toilette, ma’am? It’s quite a lovely scent. I think you would enjoy it.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then please take a coupon for a free sample,” she holds out a small card. “It’s redeemable at our store on the middle level.
“No, thank you,” Sharon says, waving her hands in front of the woman, hoping she will evaporate.
“I’ll take it for my wife, thank you,” Howie says, reaching for the card.
“I hope she enjoys it, sir,” the model says, flashing him a hundred-dollar smile and sashaying off.
“Don’t you know the old expression—never look a gift horse in the mouth?” Howie says, turning the card over and examining it.
“I never knew you liked women’s cologne,” Sharon says.
“I just wear it on weekends. C’mon,” Howie says, taking Sharon by the arm.
“Where are we going?”
“To get our free sample.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Sharon fusses as Howie pulls her along through the throngs. Up the escalator to the second floor, it’s broken-field running, weaving this way and that through the swarm of shoppers. With his hand tightly gripping Sharon’s, Howie feels like he’s tugging along a cranky kid as he dodges the oncoming ranks, both of them bumped and jostled by the bargain hunters with their overloaded bags.
“There it is,” Howie says, seeing the sign for the Chanel store ahead of them. Inside, he heads for the nearest counter.
“Excuse me,” Howie says to a saleswoman, waving his coupon. “I’d like to collect my free sample.”
“Certainly, sir,” she says, taking the card and handing him a small bottle of eau de toilette along with a handout. “And with it you get a hundred free minutes of cell phone time when you buy a new Cingular phone. The details are in this pamphlet. Cingular is downstairs just on the other side of Saks.”
“Thank you,” Howie says to her. As he steers Sharon out of the store, he tells her, “A hundred free minutes, let’s go check it out.”
“I thought men didn’t like to shop.”
“We’re not shopping, we’re following Winn’s cues.”
“A damn scavenger hunt, that’s what it is.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Traipsing around a jam-packed mall in clothes I’ve been wearing for three days is not my idea of a party.”
“It will only take a few minutes.” He’s hoping Winn won’t drag it out much longer as Sharon’s starting one of her slow burns.
Down the escalator, past Saks, “There it is,” Howie points. “C’mon, let’s check out the new phones.”
“Just what we need,” Sharon snorts. “A phone we can’t use.”
In the Cingular Wireless store, Howie holds the folder up to a salesman and says, “I’d like some information on this offer.”
“Yes, sir.” As he takes the folder from Howie, his cell phone buzzes. “Excuse me a second,” he says as he takes the call. As he’s listening, he gives Howie a quick once-over, nods, then hands him the phone.
“I think this is for you, sir,” he says as Sharon gawks at him, her mouth dropping open.
Howie lifts the phone to his ear and is relieved to hear Winn’s voice on the other end.
“Okay, see you in a couple minutes.” Howie hands the phone back and thanks the salesman.
“Don’t tell me that was Straub?”
“He said the coast is clear.” Hooking Sharon’s arm and leading her out of the store, he tells her, “C’mon, we’re going shopping for a bridal gown.”
Sharon feigns a shocked look. “But we’re not even engaged.”
Two men in dark suits stand at the entrance. Both have Central Intelligence Agency written all over them. They nod at Howie and Sharon as they hold the door open. Except for a matronly looking saleswoman who gets up from behind a desk to greet them, the bridal salon is empty.
“Welcome to the Neiman Marcus bridal salon. May I help you?” she asks.
“Yes, my fiancée would like to try on some gowns.”
“May I ask when you’re planning the wedding?”
“In the spring,” Howie says. Sharon’s rolling her eyes. “It’s going to be a May wedding.”
“I’m sure it will be beautiful, so let me see what I can do to help,” she says, eyeing Sharon up and down. “You appear to be a size eight, dear.”
Bewildered, her head spinning trying to make sense of the situation, Sharon stammers, “Uh, no. You’re very kind, I’m more like a ten. Sometimes twelve, it depends.”
Sharon whispers, nudging Howie with her elbow. “I’m not trying on any damn dresses.”
“Be a good sport, just play along.”
“Please come into our fitting room and make yourselves comfortable,” she says, ushering them into a smaller fabric-walled space, chandeliers overhead, a couch in the middle and mirrors on three sides.
“Will this be an afternoon or evening wedding?”
“Afternoon,” Howie answers. “If we’re lucky, a beautiful spring afternoon.”
Sharon is looking at Howie like he’s lost his mind.
“I’ll be right out with some things for you to try on. Just give me a minute,” she says, closing the door to the salon.
“Howie, what the hell is going on here?”
“We’re in Winn’s hands, you play by his rules.”
“I’m worried. I wish we’d brought Mark along.”
“Winn’s email specifically instructed us to leave him at the motel, and assured me he’d have people watching him. No way he’s going to let anything happen to Risstup.”
A door suddenly opens and a man dressed in a tweed carcoat and green felt hat steps out, announcing, “So this is the lucky couple—”
From Howie’s description, Sharon recognizes him immediately.
“Winn, good to see you, buddy,” Howie says, standing and giving Winn a hug—one of those brief clasps, more a series of quick pats than an embrace, which men do so they don’t act too intimate. “I’m glad you brought us in, things were getting hairy out there.”
“I can believe it,” Winn says. Straub is short, Howie has a good three inches on him. Sharon quickly sees the resemblance to the famous actor and Straub’s personable manner immediately puts her at ease.
Noticing Howie’s condition, two-day growth, rumpled clothes, he says, “Boy, you could some cleaning up—a little down at the heels, buddy.”
“We haven’t had much spare time. Winn, I’d like you to meet Sharon Thorsen, my partner in this adventure.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve certainly heard a lot about you,” Straub says as he shakes Sharon’s hand.
“I’m sorry I look such a mess,” she apologizes.
“Not to worry, we’ll take care of that. Please excuse all this silliness but the bridal salon turns out to be the easiest place to secure in the entire mall.”
“Pretty neat treasure hunt you put on for us,” Sharon says.
“Wait’ll you see what else I have in store. C’mon, follow me,” he says as he turns back to the doorway. “We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll explain later.”
“Where are you taking us?” Sharon asks.
Holding the door for Sharon and Howie, he explains, “We’ve secured an area in one of the store’s workrooms. Nothing fancy but it suits our purposes.” They follow Winn down a long corridor and around a corner. Winn stops at a door guarded by two twentysomething men with short haircuts and dark suits. They stand stiffly against the wall, both sporting earpieces, the transparent cords spiraling down into their collars. Straub can see the black nylon strap of a holster under one man’s coat. As Sharon and Howie walk past them, the men’s eyes follow but do not say hello.
“Come on in. Welcome to CIA—Tysons Corner Division,” Straub says as he holds the door open for them. It’s a nondescript office, a receptionist sitting behind a desk and an attendant in a pink smock standing off to one side. “Young lady, I know the past week’s been pretty rough and tumble for you,” he says to Sharon. “So while Howie and I catch up on things, I thought you might enjoy a personal makeover, courtesy of Neiman Marcus.”
“You know how to get to a girl’s heart, Mr. Straub,” she says.
“Call me Winn. After what you’ve been through it’s the least we could do.”
The lady in pink steps forward. “Please come with me, Ms. Thorsen,” she says, motioning to an adjoining hallway.
“See you boys later,” Sharon waves goodbye. “And don’t go planning anything behind my back.”
“Let’s sit down in here,” Straub says, opening the door to a small conference room off to the side of the receptionist’s desk. “Anything I can get you? Soda or water, coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Howie sits down at the conference table catty-corner to Straub.
“Sharon Thorsen is one impressive lady.”
“You wouldn’t believe what she’s pulled off in the past week.”
“I’m sure. But she’s going to have to sit out the next phase.”
“You’re going to have a fight on your hands.”
“She’s a nurse, Howie, she can’t play in this league.”
“What makes you think I can?”
“We’ll talk about that later. In the meantime, I have a surprise for you.”
Howie hears a door open behind him, then a sudden wail of shock and delight from a voice he immediately recognizes.
“Howie!” he turns just as Sylvie rushes into his arms, throwing herself against him, showering kisses all over his face and neck. Howie hardly notices Grace, who saunters in behind Sylvie, head cocked, scowl on her face, looking bent out of shape.
“Are you all right?” Howie can feel Sylvie touching him all over as if she’s trying to make sure he’s in one piece. “I was beside myself when Winn told me what happened in Front Royal.”
Howie darts a glance at Winn, he shrugs his shoulders as if to say, I couldn’t help it. “I’m going to leave you folks alone for a while. I’ll be back,” he says, ducking out of the room and quietly pulling the door shut behind him.
“I’m okay, I’m fine.”
“You’re damn lucky, that’s what you are, Daddy,” Grace chimes in. Howie knows he’s in for a long afternoon.
“This has been the longest week I’ve ever gone through in my entire life. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, look—” Sylvie says, leaning back from him and hooking her thumb in her waistband, flapping it back and forth. “I’ve lost six pounds.”
“You look great,” Howie says, giving her another kiss then taking her hand in his and sitting her down on the sofa next to him. “And Grace, you too.”
Sylvie’s all over him, arranging his hair, straightening his collar. “Have you been eating? You look like you’re wasting away.”
“We’ve been busy.”
“Has this nurse been cooking for you, what’s her name?”
“Sharon Thorsen. We mostly eat carryout, no time for cooking.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“She’s getting a makeover right now.” Howie tries changing the subject without appearing obvious. “So Winn has been taking good care of you?”
“You’ve been with her for an entire week. I want to meet her.”
Howie can tell Sylvie isn’t backing down. “We’ll arrange that. So how’s life at Camp Peary, Grace?”
“Just dandy—if you enjoy being in prison,” Grace snorts. “If it wasn’t for a couple hunk CIA agents down there, I would’ve busted out days ago.”
“We’ve been going bonkers. They won’t let us leave our cabin. Neither Grace nor I are very good at being cooped up. Howie.”
“I’m sorry, but under the circumstances, it’s the best—“
“Bullshit, Daddy. We are virtual prisoners, sentries all around us, no contact with the outside world except for that bogus phone connection Straub gave us where we can only talk to him. Christ, they might as well be pushing our damn food in through a slot.”
“What do you hear from Bridey and Donald?”
“Your pal Straub has them under his thumb, they’re being watched day and night.”
“At least you’re all safe.”
“Yeah, but you’re not. Straub’s got you running around looking for lost nukes with the whole world chasing you. People burning down your motel, blowing up your car.”
This is the first time Howie’s heard anything about his car, but he’s not about to start asking questions about it.
“Howie, you’ve got to stop this craziness. Grace and I have made up our minds. You’re coming home right now.”
He tries to act nonchalant, breezily saying, “I’ll be back soon, we still have a few things to take care of.”
Grace is going for the jugular. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, things to take care of?”
“Just a couple, you know, finishing touches.”
“You’ve found the bomb then—that’s all taken care of?” Sylvie fumes.
“More or less—” Howie nods, but not convincingly enough to cool her down.
His wife’s eyes sizzle, Howie knows that’s not a good sign. Grace has her hands planted on her hips, ready for a fight.
“You haven’t, have you? You’re still chasing the damn thing!”
“Daddy, when are you going to realize that hunting for lost bombs is not good for your health?”
“Guys, please, in a couple more days it will be over, I promise.”
“Howie, I’ve had it up to here with your promises. You gave me your word you wouldn’t go sticking your nose into this mess, then you do. I saw your car right there on TV, blazing away on the national news—how do you think that makes me feel?”
“Three more days is all I ask.”
“No! Not one damn day more,” Grace declares. “I don’t want you coming back in a bag. Can’t you understand?”
“That’s not going to happen.” Howie stands up and slowly turns around to face down his wife and daughter. “Okay, look. Since you two aren’t listening to reason, let me outline the situation for you. A ghost program at the Pentagon is trying to run me down because I know something I shouldn’t. So it isn’t a question of going home or stopping what I’m doing. I don’t have any choice but to keep on.”
“What do you mean you don’t have any choice?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you? Either I follow this thing through or my life isn’t worth a damn. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is. Now Winn’s backing me up on this—”
“Oh, I bet he is.”
“We’ve been in touch every day, he’s watching out for me.”
“Of course he is, because he’s using you. He’s dying to unmask this Pentagon program and he’s putting you at risk to do it. Don’t you see that?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“And a damn sight more dangerous too.”
“Just three more days and I’ll pack it up and come home. Monday, okay? Is that too much to ask?” The door opens. Howie looks up.
Sylvie whirls around, it’s Winn Straub standing in the doorway. “Speaking of the devil,” she says, not making the least attempt to be diplomatic.
“I wish I could give you guys more time, but we’ve got work to do.” Winn is looking down at his watch.
Grace says, “Time to ship the wife back to prison again, huh? Let her have a few minutes with her husband then send her back to solitary.”
“I’m sorry. But given the circumstances—”
“Spare us, Howie already gave us that given the circumstances crap.”
Sylvie is glaring at Straub. “Does your wife have any idea what you’re up to?
“No, she doesn’t.”
&n
bsp; “I guess she’s the lucky one then. Keep the little lady in the dark so she won’t upset the apple cart.”
Howie stands up, takes both her hands in his and pleads, “Sylvie, please, it’s going to be okay, I just need a little more time.”
“And then what?”
“Then we can put all this behind us.”
Grace counters, “Don’t let him off the hook, Mother. We had an agreement.”
Sylvie pauses a minute. Then says, her voice firm and resolute as if she’s drawing a line in the sand, “I want to meet the woman—the nurse. I’m not leaving until I do.”
“I’ll get her,” Straub says, hustling back out the door he came in, happy to get out of the line of fire.
When the door clicks shut, Sylvie moans, “Jesus, Howie, why couldn’t you have just left this whole thing alone? Why did you have to go and stick your fingers into it again? It makes me so damn angry.” She can’t hold back the tears, throws her arms around him, blubbering and sobbing. Howie lets her have a good cry, holding her until he hears the door open behind him.
“Excuse me,” Winn Straub says. Howie and Sylvie turn to see Winn ushering Sharon Thorsen into the room. Howie hardly recognizes her. Wearing a bright magenta smock, even with her face half-madeup she looks like a new woman, five years younger, smiling, glamorous and radiant.
“You must be Mrs. Collyer, I’m Sharon Thorsen, good to meet you, and you’re Howie’s daughter, Grace,” she says, stepping forward and holding out her arm, shaking hands with both of them. “Please, excuse the way I look. I’m in the midst of a makeover.”
Sylvie daubs her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’m afraid I’m not much to look at myself.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Collyer. All your husband does is talk about you.”
Sylvie’s eyes brighten, the hint of a smile glints on her face. She waves Sharon’s compliment away with her hand. “Don’t be silly.”
“I mean it.”
“I appreciate you looking out for him.”
“On the contrary, he’s been taking care of me. I’m just along for the ride.”
“That’s not what Winn says.”
“I do my best.” Sharon cocks her head and winks at Sylvie. “If you don’t mind me telling you, sometimes your husband can get a little pigheaded.”
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