by Keith Yocum
How do they do it? he thought. Why would you want to do this for a living?
“Is he…?” Dennis said.
“You’ll need to wake him,” she said. “He’s heavily sedated.”
She left the room with her eyes lowered, as if participating in a religious ceremony.
Dennis looked down at his friend and instead of waking him walked over to the window and peered down at the alley as he had days earlier. The sun had furiously battled the gray, steel-wool clouds all day over London, but the clouds continued to win out.
The alley behind the hospital looked down on several brick buildings of varying ages. Dennis could see the alley open into the busy street to his left and watched pedestrians and cars whisk by, oblivious and uninterested in Fred’s plight.
He stood there for several minutes and finally turned and walked over to the bed.
“Hey, Freddie. Hey there. Can you hear me?”
Fred opened his eyes slowly and appeared not to be able to focus. “Hey, kemosabe,” he said.
“How you doing?”
“Comme ci, comme ça.”
Dennis smiled at his friend.
“So now you speak French?”
“Oui.” Fred smiled, but it was distorted as his skin stretched awkwardly over his cheekbones.
“You comfortable?” Dennis did not know what to say and felt stupid for uttering banalities.
“Whatever they’re giving me feels great. Only problem is that I sleep all the time. Don’t like that,” he mumbled.
“I’m sure it’s for the best,” Dennis said.
Fred closed his eyes and took a labored breath.
Dennis bent down in alarm and watched Fred’s nostrils, then his chest to see if it was moving. He could not detect the slightest activity and bolted upright.
“Hey,” Fred said suddenly. “Forgot.”
“You forgot something?”
“Yeah.”
“What was it? Do you remember?”
“Yeah.” But Fred kept his eyes closed and didn’t speak.
“Freddie.”
“Yeah. Got something for you,” Fred said with his eyes closed. “My friend.”
“Your friend?”
“My friend.”
“What about your friend?”
“You need my friend.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Who is he? Be glad to meet him,” Dennis said.
“He’s NSA in London. Not Menwith.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
Fred nodded, his eyes still closed. “He’ll find you. Very smart guy. He helped me find the Ukrainian. Told him to help you.”
“I don’t need help, Freddie.”
“Ha. Make me laugh.”
“Don’t bother with this stuff, please, Freddie.”
“Friend not supposed to talk to anyone. Do what he says. He’ll help you.”
“Sure.”
Dennis waited for Fred to continue, but he appeared to be asleep. He heard the door open behind him, and a young man in a white coat said in an American accent, “You’ll have to leave now.”
Dennis reached out and touched Fred’s pasty, hairless arm.
“You’re not supposed to touch him,” the man said.
“Fuck you,” Dennis said.
After several seconds Dennis turned and left the room, removed his protective clothing in an adjoining room, was tested for radioactivity by an older man and then walked down the wide hospital hallway.
After several steps he stopped amid the hospital bustle and did something he had not done in many, many years.
He turned to the wall on his left and hit it with his fist as hard as he could. He knew that if he hit a wall stud, which he’d done years ago, he’d break his knuckles. This time he hit plaster and felt nothing but satisfaction as the fist disappeared past his wrist in an explosion of sound and dust.
When he turned and continued walking, he did not notice the stares and silence that followed him.
Outside, he looked up and noticed the sun was not going to win; the day was going to remain cloudy, with a slight chance of showers.
CHAPTER 11
I don’t know, Cilla,” Judy said, sitting in her hotel room and cradling the phone while she put on a coat of maroon nail polish. “Yes, he said he will move to Australia, but he’s in some kind of trouble with work here, and he’s very unhappy. I forgot how moody he is. I suppose that’s not unusual when you’re separated for so long; you only remember the good things.”
“What are you going to do?” Cilla said. “Do you still want him to move to Australia?”
“Yes, I still do. I’m just nervous that he’s going to change his mind the moment I fly back. I don’t think he means to be this way, but his work here is so complicated. And he’s complicated.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I fly out in two days. I need to get back to work, and I miss my family. I called Trevor yesterday, and he finally visited his father in prison. I know it was difficult for him.”
“Hopefully it will help Trevor move on with his life,” Cilla said.
“I suppose,” Judy said, delicately twisting the nail polish cap onto the bottle with fingers splayed to prevent smearing. “Poor Trevor. He seems so protected and yet so isolated at the boarding school. I can’t wait for him to go to uni and have a normal life.”
“Just get home soon. I’ll treat you to a nice night out for dinner, and we’ll split a bottle of wine. Or two.”
Judy laughed and signed off.
My confused, moody Yank, she thought. Will he follow me to Perth? Is he lying to me or lying to himself? I wish I knew how men thought. They are a mystery to me, and even after falling in love, I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do, or why.
✦
The envelope was mailed to the hotel and delivered to the room by a bellboy.
“What is it?” Judy asked.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Dennis said, reentering the room. He held the oversized manila envelope up to the light of the window. “I can’t see into it. Strange to get something sent to me here. Has a stick-on label that was done on a printer. It’s my name and your room number. Who would know that I moved into your room?”
Judy stood up, walked over and took the envelope from Dennis. She shook it. “Seems like a letter or piece of paper inside. But I don’t think you should open it.”
“You think my Ukrainian friend is trying to finish the job?” Dennis said.
“Well, it’s at least a possibility,” she said. “Please don’t open it, Dennis. Give it to your folks to open.”
Dennis reclaimed the envelope from Judy and put it on the writing desk. They stared at it.
“Could be a poison or anthrax or something,” Judy said. “I don’t like it being here.”
Dennis sat down on the edge of the bed and continued to stare at the envelope.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
“My letter.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re considering opening it?”
He continued to stare at it, moving his head slightly every now and then.
“Dennis?”
He stood up and walked over to the desk, turned on the desktop lamp, picked up the envelope and held it to the light from the lamp. He shook it again.
Judy had seen Dennis like this before, and it made her uncomfortable. A year ago, when they had traipsed over the Western Australian desert in search of a hidden government facility, Dennis had often grown strangely focused, pensive and quiet. Those moments were often followed by what Judy took to be reckless behavior. Dennis often defended his impulsivity by referring to his instincts.
<
br /> Judy did not believe as strongly in the power of instinct; it was the most worrisome thing about his behavior, and watching him now she was reminded of it.
“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” she said quietly.
“If it’s my Ukrainian friend, he knows that I wouldn’t open something like this. It’s too obvious. On the other hand, the operating theory about the polonium is that we’re not supposed to know it was radioactive poisoning. So now that I think about it, it could be from Pavlychko.”
“I agree.”
“But I don’t think so,” he said.
“Dennis, I don’t mean to be the note of paranoia here, but is it possible that he found out you Yanks discovered that Fred was poisoned with polonium? And therefore his train of thought is that you would not expect it to contain poison since it was too obvious?”
“Perhaps.”
“In fact,” Judy said, standing up, “I think we need to get this room tested for radiation right now. My God, why didn’t I think of it earlier?”
“Hang on, Judy. I hear what you’re saying, but this just doesn’t work. I think this letter is something else. I can’t be sure, of course, but I don’t think we need to be alarmed.”
“But I am alarmed!”
“Yes, I can see that, and I don’t blame you. But I think I’d be making a mistake by turning it in.”
“God, you’d be making a mistake not to turn it in! Dennis, let’s get out of here. Leave the bloody thing here, call your folks and get this room tested. Let’s go, please.”
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Let’s both leave the room. I’ll call in and tell them that I need your room here tested for radiation because I’m just nervous or paranoid. That will be our backup test.”
“No, I’m paranoid and being sensible. You’re being reckless and silly.”
“After I make the call you get the hell out. I’ll take the envelope with me, go to a pharmacy and buy a mask, protective gloves, the whole works, and I’ll open the envelope outside, away from anyone except me, of course. It’s too light and flexible to be an explosive, and I don’t see any powder floating around when I hold it to the light. And I was told you need to ingest polonium to make you sick.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Judy said. “Listen, I know you feel horrible about Freddie. Hell, I feel horrible about the man, and I don’t even know him. But this is stupid.”
She stepped in front of Dennis and cupped her hands on both sides of his face.
“Look at me, Dennis. I’ve come a long, long way to find out what was going to happen to us. I feared the worst, but I was gifted with the best news in a long time. This capricious Yank I’ve fallen in love with has agreed to move to Perth. And now all of that is being put at risk because of your guilt. Or maybe it’s not the guilt — maybe it’s just your stubbornness. Or your ‘instinct,’ whatever that is. But please don’t do this. Don’t open that damn thing. Turn it over to your people. Let them see what’s inside. If it’s nothing harmful, then there is no problem.”
Dennis reached out, put his arms around Judy’s waist as she stood and tugged her body to his. She dropped her hands and felt him gently wrap his arms around her.
“I’m not doing a good job of protecting you,” he said. “Why is it that just when we get close to each other, things start to fall apart out there? In here, I feel great about you and us. But the out there is what keeps getting in the way. I feel like it wants to destroy us sometimes.”
Judy gently rubbed the back of his neck and let her eyes rest on the wallpaper three feet away. She focused on the simple repeating pattern of yellow and white lines.
He is going to open the envelope, she thought. He is correct. It is the out there that is ruining our relationship.
She slowly released her hands and stood back to look into those deep blue eyes.
“Do whatever you think is best,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. You want to open the envelope and risk your life, then do it here. Don’t run away. Take responsibility for what you’re doing. I’m not Freddie. I know what I’m doing. I can’t stand being away from you, more than I can’t stand your recklessness. Open the damn envelope here and now.”
“For chrissakes, Judy, what has got into you?”
“You have got into me, that’s what. Do you think I like being this way? Do you have any idea what you mean to me and how it’s driving me crazy that we can’t be together?”
She turned, leaped at the desk, snatched the envelope and ripped it open as Dennis tried to grab her arms.
They stared at the torn envelope and the folded piece of paper inside that Judy had tossed on the desk.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Dennis said softly.
“Me either.”
Dennis reached for the hotel pen and used it to clumsily move the folded paper around as if it were a dead insect.
The paper appeared to be a trifolded, cheaply printed brochure with some religious lyrics. At the top in red ink were the words: “Silence is kept, after which all stand with the choir.”
Underneath that sentence was the headline: Nunc Dimittis, followed by “The Song of Simeon (occasionally sung in Latin).”
And beneath the headline were lines of text, attributed at the bottom right to “Luke 2:29-32.”
Dennis pointed the pen to the first line of text, and they looked at each other. The single line of words appeared to be covered by a bright fluorescent yellow highlighter ink.
The line of text read: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.”
Dennis reached across the table for another pen, and using both like chopsticks, he flipped the brochure over.
The first page had a logo at the top showing crossed swords and “D” between the blades of the swords. Next to the logo were the words “St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
Below that was the headline “Evensong,” with an explainer: “Christian worship has been offered to God on this site for over 1,400 years. By worshipping with us today, you become part of this living tradition of prayer and thanksgiving. You are most welcome.”
The entire word, “Evensong” was also highlighted in yellow.
Dennis dropped the two pens and used his hands to open the first flap of the brochure.
“Don’t do that, Dennis!” Judy said.
“No, I think this is fine. I have an idea of what might be happening. See,” he said, pointing at the two open facing leaves of the brochure. They bent over for a closer look. Individual letters — not the entire word — were highlighted on both pages.
He picked up the trifolded brochure and quickly turned it over, looking at each page. It was a brochure from St. Paul’s Cathedral in London describing a recurring prayer service at the famous church. There were only a few highlighted words and letters.
“Judy, can you write these letters down?”
She took one of the hotel pens and pad of paper.
“The letter ‘n,’ the letter ‘o,’ the letter ‘v.’” He stopped.
“That’s it?” Judy said.
“Wait.” Dennis scanned the opposite page and noticed the citation at the bottom of the text from the “Magnificat.” It read “Luke 1: 46-55.” The “1” and the “4” were delicately highlighted.
“Shit,” Dennis said looking up at Judy. “November 14.”
“I’m not with you, Dennis.”
“This is a message.”
“What’s the bloody message, besides scaring the hell out of me?”
“I think the person who sent this is Freddie’s friend. You remember I mentioned that? This must be his friend who works for the NSA here in London. Look, the sentence he highlighted about ‘letting thy servant depart in peace’ is in reference to Freddie. And he wants to meet at Evensong at St. Paul’s on November 14, which is tomorrow. What the
hell is Evensong, anyway?”
Dennis pushed the brochure aside and opened his laptop. While he logged in and searched online for St. Paul’s, Judy picked up the brochure and unfolded it, reading every word.
“They must hand this out at Evensong,” she said. “This describes the service and the liturgy, including the music. Hey, you missed something.”
Dennis looked up from the computer.
“Here,” she said, pointing, “isn’t this word highlighted?”
Dennis took the brochure and held it close up. In the Nunc Dimittis, on the sixth line, the word “light” appeared to be highlighted.
“I think so,” Dennis said. “I mean, you can barely see it. But I think so.”
“What does that mean?” she said.
“I have no idea. The website says St. Paul’s has Evensong Monday through Friday at 5-5:45 p.m. So this guy is saying ‘Meet me at Evensong tomorrow evening.”
“What’s the part about the ‘light’?”
“Not sure about that.”
Judy spread the two-sided brochure out on the table. “And we missed this,” she said, pointing to the bottom of a page showing an image of a camera with a red circle and diagonal line through it. She read the text: “No form of visual or sound recording, or any photography, is permitted during this service. Please ensure that all mobile phones are switched off.”
She fingered the first word “no,” which was highlighted, and slid her fingertip along the rest of the paragraph to the highlighted words “mobile phones.”
“And what is this supposed to mean?” she said.
“I think it means don’t bring a cell phone,” he said. “If you think I’m paranoid about eavesdropping, you should see how crazy these NSA folks are.”
Judy looked at Dennis as he scanned St. Paul’s website. His face was taut and his blue eyes jumped around the screen as he navigated. She admired his intensity and laser focus but also lamented it; would he ever be able to show her that kind of intensity? Was he just some kind of attention deficit disordered adult addicted to the action who would always be leaving her for the chase?