"And who got the emails shutting down the project?"
Murali’s reluctant conversationalist ticked off another list. One more name was on it.
"And all of them went into the spam folders?"
"Yes, all of them. But they were clean. Even the one you made us hold onto for a week because you were underwater or wherever you like to be when you go dark. I do not understand why no training exercise or location team has ever located you. Do you spend a week underwater?"
Murali smiled. "You delivered my message, right?"
"I did. She was skeptical. I assured her it would be in her interest to go."
"You make it sound like David Copperfield meeting his uncle at the top of the tower with no floor!" Murali protested.
"That’s what you get for sending a complete unromantic to deliver a romantic invitation. I think she’ll come. She did that little thing where she chews on the inside of her cheek."
"I do envy you your eight years of observing her every charming …"
"If you don’t hang up, I’ll start a trace on you myself. Believe me – unless you really are underwater, I will find you. But first, what do you make of the lists?"
"I’ll make more of them when I have some time to think it over. Right now what I’m thinking is nonsense."
"You think nonsense like I talk romance. Never. Anxious to know what comes of your thinking."
"You’ll be the first to know."
***
After leaving the train Murali spent a night in a motel with an indoor pool. He begrudged the time spent finding one. Submerged was the only place where he never failed to find true clarity. He needed a deep and still state when thinking through the laptop security breach and what to do about Karin.
This time, however, all he could think about was the latter. Is she in danger? Have I put her in greater danger by insisting on the meeting at that house I leased from snowbirds in her hometown?
Surely those who had inserted the Spamalot Worm could already trace her. Surely they could follow her if she broke her homebody routine and went out on Christmas Eve. He knew she made her family visits at Thanksgiving and usually spent Christmas alone. Time to change that.
Murali surfaced and breathed for a few moments, glad he was alone in the pool. If people ever thought about identifying him as a spy, paying attention to how long he could hold his breath on the bottom of a pool would surely "out" him. Great. Now I’m not only becoming romantically obsessed, I’m paranoid. I do not have time for this. Focus!
What if Karin is the problem? A voice nagged him. What if she is the cause of the breach? Murali climbed out of the pool, dried off, and headed back to his room. This was the devil in his ear, but it was a question he had to answer.
He had two lists that differed only by one name. He had to discover the reason for that. He had to discern whether it was even important. Easy enough to say the guilty party slipped up. What if it was a deliberate misdirection? The Spamalot Worm creator was too clever by half. Surely clever enough to frame an innocent party while seeking to infect a supposedly infection-proof computer. Even ignoring the difference between the lists could be dangerous.
His mind twisted back to Karin as he stood in the shower. Was it wildly inappropriate to invite her to the house? They were not children. Still, should he have suggested a chaperone? Would he be upset if she showed up with someone else? Would she need to contact him to make certain of his intentions? Was it true that she even wanted or intended to come?
Murali dropped down onto his knees with water running hard over him. God, I have not been so full of conflict since I was a child. What is wrong with me?
A favorite Christmas song slid past his tumultuous thoughts. The second verse leaped to life in his mind.
Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from the Orient land.
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
"Serenity … that’s what I need. And only the light of faith can give it to me. Mother used to joke that I was going to be the wise man from Orient land … coming from India to point the world to Christ.
"I don’t want it to be a joke, Father. In all my trials Christ has been my friend. Don’t let me push Him away in this one. Light my heart with Your Spirit. Send Your Prince of Peace to me, and to Karin."
Four
Three envelopes had come in the mail containing two hundred dollars each. Karin didn’t know what to think. She had heard of anonymous "pay it forward" gifts. After the visit from Gerald Owens – he had told her only an address and time to meet the mysterious Murali Nanda – it was another too-big coincidence. Did one or the other of them send the money? Did Murali Nanda know what a desperate situation this cancelation of the Laptop Project had put her in? What else did he know about her? Was he spying on her?
Spying? Karin had been sitting at her desk staring at the latest mail delivery. Suddenly the whole thing clicked around in her brain … all the crazy conditions and security and general strangeness she had been putting up with but ignoring for eight years.
She got on her computer and started researching the think tank that had supposedly sponsored the project. It had a substantial online presence. It seemed real enough. It even had a list of students whose careers and continuing education it had facilitated. Murali Nanda’s name stood out on a list of about a hundred as a prominent but not otherwise special beneficiary of the think tank’s largesse.
However, Karin found no mention of anything like this Laptop Project. Nothing she could even connect with what she had been doing was indicated among its projects. Why would such a thing be kept confidential, secret, classifed? Unless …
"I feel like Lois Lane finding out Clark Kent is Superman," Karin groaned. "Am I crazy, to think this man I might be in love with is a spy?"
Karin pulled up images of Murali Nanda again. He was handsome, but no James Bond in size or physique, certainly. Mmmm … Maybe a Timothy Dalton or Pierce Brosnan Bond. She had always liked their passion. Karin shook her head. This is insane. If I am supposed to be an analyst for some spy network, why wasn’t I vetted and made to get security clearance?
It was just research for people’s jobs and degrees. This whole thing is making me so crazy and … and thinking this man can or would spy on me – or even is a spy – is just paranoid!
Karin stared at the notepad where she had written the address Gerald had given her. Two more days until the fateful appointment. Fateful? Or was providential a better word? Had God provided this man for her? It seemed he had grown to have similar feelings for her. In fact, for a long time she had hoped he would make some sort of declaration.
She had almost made one herself a time or two, but she was too old-fashioned. Why had he suddenly done it now, in conjunction with the submission of his Master’s thesis? Had he been avoiding impropriety, and was now free of that constraint, since they would no longer be working together?
She tried to remember bits and pieces of carefully-worded emails. His growing excitement had bubbled up again and again over the last year. "Almost there. I can’t wait. Going to start living again. Soon, soon things will be different. Got to have patience." Was she reading too much into these words? All she had was an invitation and an address. Maybe he just wanted to give her a glass of punch and say thanks and Merry Christmas. But he had a house! Right here in town! He lived here – only a few miles away, and she had never known it.
"Maybe I should bring along someone so I don’t seem like I think it’s a date. Or maybe I need a chaperone …"
Karin grabbed her hair and pulled. Now she was talking to herself. Out loud! She didn’t know what to think or do. Pushing back her chair, she sailed into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. "I should get my hair done. Should I get a new dress? Is this a real dinner date
?"
She groaned and went back to her computer, typing in 3327 North Poplar Street. The house was gorgeous – large, split-level, both rustic and modern in its features, with a large piece of land, it appeared. She remembered now that she had passed by it many times and wondered who lived there.
But … she dug a little deeper and found the owner name. Not even close to Murali Nanda. In fact, these people were very indiscreet – they had gleefully posted around on social sites that they were a retiree couple currently wintering with their children (and grandchildren) in New Mexico.
Why had he told her to go to that place? Was this a joke – or a real stalker, finally getting her to a deserted house where he could –?
Her computer signaled a Skype request. Karin was relieved to have something else to think about. The library had closed for the holiday today and she was surprised to see Gail appear on her screen.
"Hey, Karin, we were partying and all that Christmas cheer stuff, and I forgot to ask if you found another job," Gail said. "Or maybe I just didn’t want to spoil the mood. I know how bad the economy is."
"No, I haven’t found anything yet," Karin sighed.
"But they paid you for your projects you finished, right? Didn’t you say that’s how it worked – that you got paid by the job?"
"I guess there must be some kind of holdup …" Karin said. "I didn’t get anything yet, but I’m sure it’ll come."
"Well, believe me, I’d give them an earful, or an email-full, however you have to do it," Gail exclaimed. "Sweetie, you worked your tail off for those people. They owe you references or recommendations or something. I’ll tell you the truth, I even tried to email them back to say I thought they didn’t treat you right. You know that return address is no good? How do you contact them, anyway?"
"I just – I –" Karin froze. The confidentiality agreement she had signed forbade her to discuss anything related to the Laptop Project. But was she bound by that when they had dropped her like this? Maybe Gail could be a good advocate if they suspected her of any impropriety.
It was no use, though, since Gail no doubt had the same failed email address she had. The only contact she had. She felt foolish telling Gail she had no way of getting in touch with them anymore. No way … except by going to meet Murali Nanda.
"Oh, I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I know you had to promise never to tell a soul about your secret employers just to get the job," Gail said, after an awkward silence on Karin’s end. "I just wondered, since they did send me that email, whether they might respond to a co-worker who could give you a stellar recommendation. Well, I just wanted to check up on you. You are doing okay, financially, aren’t you?"
"So far so good. Thanks for caring, Gail. It means a lot to me. I guess I wasn’t very sociable at work. I’m sorry about that."
"Hey, we bookworms, we’re better with dusty tomes than people, right? I completely understand. We should get together sometime during the break, though. I’m afraid you’ll have a depressing Christmas, won’t you? What about we go out for a drink on Christmas eve? My treat."
""I – uh – I actually have plans on Christmas eve, Gail. Thanks so much for the offer."
"Oooh – I’m getting a vibe from the tone of your voice. Say … You’re not hooking up with that laptop security guy, are you? You sly thing. He never even talked to you all those years! But I heard he salted the sidewalk for you, and he went to find you and pick you up at that motel – and bought you Chinese! In fact, didn’t I see him stopping by your apartment building the other day? Do you have a secret admirer, Karin?"
"What? No! I would never hook up with anybody! I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I don’t know why Mr. Owens suddenly started doing those things. Believe me, he’s barely spoken ten sentences to me."
"Uh-huh," Gail said. Karin blushed at the smirk on Gail’s face and the tone of her voice. "You were the one who offered up the fact that he shouldn’t have known where you stayed the night of the ice storm. Maybe he did more than just pick you up in the morning."
Karin’s face heated up. "Please, Gail, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, since you’ve been so concerned, but I wouldn’t have gone out for a drink with you – I mean, to a bar or anything like that. And I would never go to a motel with a man I wasn’t married to."
"It’s easy to talk all sweet and innocent," Gail sneered. "But it sounds like you blew me off because you’ve got somebody whose company you enjoy more than mine. A secret rendezvous. Okay. I Get it. Hope you get your bell rung good, Sweetie. Sorry I wasted my time being nice to you. Merry Christmas."
The Skype session ended. Karin jumped up and paced the apartment. She hugged herself and tried to quiet her thoughts. Nothing doing. How could Gail think such things about her? Would other people question her character over these strange events?
Gerald – When did I start calling him Gerald? I don’t even know him! – had been seen salting the walk and coming to her apartment? She’d never thought anything about how that might look.
What if people learned about the mysterious envelopes of cash? What if they found out she was meeting a man she’d never seen before right here in town, at a private house? What if they saw her? This was impossible. There was no way she could meet Murali Nanda now, when her reputation was already suspect.
How could she not go, though? It wasn’t as if she could call him and cancel. A sudden inspiration struck her. She looked up the phone number for the Poplar Street address and called it. The phone rang and rang. No answer. No voicemail. Finally a voice said, Your party is not answering. Please try your call again later.
Frustrated, Karin ended her call and paced some more. The attention from Murali Nanda had all seemed so romantic and hopeful and … wasn’t the word that had popped into her head "providential"? She chewed the inside of her cheek.
God would never lead her into something that would make her the subject of gossip, would He? But hadn’t He already? Gail had sounded like she was going to spread this story around to anybody who would listen.
"Why is this happening, Lord?" she asked. "Have I been careless – indiscreet? I didn’t mean to be. I just thought – this man seemed so upright and – well – good – and Gerald was just a messenger, and maybe looking out for me, a little, because they were friends, or something. I don’t know what to think or do anymore. How can a person’s reputation be ruined when they haven’t done anything?"
You haven’t done anything yet – except spend money you got anonymously in the mail, and agree to meet a man you don’t even know, that accusing voice reminded her.
"Okay. Okay. I won’t go. Maybe this was all wrong anyway. Maybe it was dangerous and stupid from the beginning."
Karin shut down the computer and made herself a cup of tea. She turned on her stereo and knelt down to hunt for more CDs besides the one in the machine – I want nonstop calm and peace pouring out of that player! – A vocal Christmas recording began to play. She stopped hunting and rocked back on her knees, mesmerized.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
'Til He appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
"Christ saved my soul and cleansed me," Karin said. "He determines my reputation, not other people. Gail might be pining for gossip but I have a hope she couldn’t understand. I can’t help it if her own sin made her think the wrong thing. I don’t even know why she decided to Skype me and then start accusing me like that. She had no reason –"
Karin shut her mouth, started the CD over again, and sat down with her tea. This time she shed only a few tears, and, in spite of everything, they were happy ones.
***
Christmas eve was on a Friday this year. Karin had received a total of five envelopes of cash via the "pay it forward" envelopes. She had deposited most of it but had, in the end, opted to pay for a haircut and a new dress. She was almost positive the mon
ey had to have come from her "real" secret admirer, Murali Nanda. If worse came to worse, she could simply think of it as an advance on what the Laptop Project owed her.
A thousand dollars and a thousand theories danced in her head as she got ready for the meeting. Everything from the spy scenario to Gerald Owens as a really creepy stalker to the brief but dismissed notion that Gail might be playing a cruel prank on her. Karin did not want to give that possibility any place in her heart or thoughts. She had begun to dislike the head librarian a great deal, and wondered how she was going to be able to go back to work and face her after the disturbing Skype accusations.
"Murali Nanda is real. He is handsome, intelligent, accomplished, and he wants to meet me! And he loves God. I know he does! God would not let this happen if it wasn’t real and right and –"
The bathroom mirror image didn’t seem convinced. She chewed the inside of her cheek and fastened her second earring into place. She had gotten the pair of dangling snowflakes from her five-year-old niece last Christmas. They were just discount store items but she loved them because of her niece and because she loved snow.
Resolutely she got her coat and went down to her car. Snow started to fall but the appointment she had to arrange for a trade-down Monday haunted her and spoiled the anticipation of a white Christmas.
As grateful as she had been for the envelope money, it didn’t solve her financial problems. She needed ongoing work, not a well-intentioned but temporary boost. She hoped, if nothing else came of this evening, this very smart man she was meeting would have some ideas about how she could get another job as lucrative as the one that had brought them together.
The trip across town set her stomach to churning and she punched up Christmas music on the CD player to calm herself. It startled her to see the house on Poplar Street come into view so quickly. It was just a beautiful as she had remembered it. She still didn’t understand how he could be living there when it belonged to someone else. But the radio began to play "O Holy Night," and she took that as a sign that she shouldn’t turn around and drive back to her apartment.
Fall On Your Knees Page 3