by Bunn, Davis
Fiona buzzed her phone. “You have a visitor.”
“I’m supposed to be on break.”
“This is definitely not a patient.” Fiona sounded remarkably cheerful. “Shall I send him up?”
“No, no. I’ll be right down.”
As she exited her office, Elena saw a man standing at the reception desk with his back to the stairway. Fiona was smiling at him, her face illuminated with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. Elena was midway down the stairs when the man turned around.
The sight of Antonio standing there froze her on the spot.
“Hello, Elena.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You needed me. I came.”
Fiona sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to hear a handsome gentleman say those words to me.”
Antonio smiled at the receptionist, then again at Elena. “I hope it was right, my coming like this.”
Elena found her eyes burning again. “It’s better than right. It’s wonderful.”
Elena led him back upstairs and into her office. She smiled uncertainly over his compliments about the room. She felt shy now that they were alone but did not know why. She wanted to hold him and was ashamed of herself for thinking that. What would friends do in a time such as this? She stood as close to him as she could, hoping he would reach across the impossible distance between them. She could smell the stale fragrance of travel on him, airplanes and terminals and taxis. He was perhaps four inches taller than her own five-eight, which meant she would need to lift herself up slightly on her toes to fit her face in snug beside his. She saw how Antonio bore dark stains in his gaze. She realized that he was not going to reach for her, and the knowledge left her sad.
He said, “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“It is a professional question. You as a counselor might be able to help me understand.”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
“Perhaps we should sit, yes?” When they were settled on the sofa, he went on, “For years I have felt as though I carried two hearts. One for the outside world. Another for myself. Even my daughter was so affected by my sorrow that I hid from her as well. Or tried to. But it finally was too much for her. So she ran away. Of course she does not call it that. She claims to be studying music in New York. She plays the cello. I did not point out that the finest professors of cello were in Europe. We maintain a certain peace, even though we both know I drove my own daughter away. It is perhaps too Italian a compromise for most people to accept. But I believe you will understand when I say this is far better than her remaining close and being forced to avoid me and make excuses for why she cannot come home.”
“I understand perfectly,” Elena said. “Your daughter sounds very wise.”
“She is, yes. In this and much else she takes after her mother.” He studied her with a gaze that left Elena feeling as though the years of protective barriers were gradually evaporating. “Ever since you first appeared in my office, I feel as though my two hearts are in conflict inside my chest. One still grieves for Francesca. The other whispers things to me that I almost wish I do not hear.”
Elena wondered if he noticed her flutter of nerves, or how they turned her heartbeat to that of a hummingbird.
“You understand this, yes? Of course. I am wondering, is such a thing possible? Can I truly hold two hearts? Two directions? Two different courses for the same life?”
Elena replied slowly, “Before I left for Rome, my pastor told me that I faced very great changes and even greater opportunities. If only I would be willing to …”
“To what?” When she did not respond, he pressed, “Perhaps this message was as important for me as for you, Elena.”
“To open myself to change. I thought he meant, accept the danger and the responsibilities. Not …”
“This.”
Elena nodded slowly. Whatever it was. This.
They had a quick meal at a Lebanese deli off High Street, a place Miriam had first taken her to years ago. The food was authentic and the atmosphere vibrant. Antonio listened as she described her confrontation with the young woman, then urged her not to return home that night. Elena found herself grateful for an excuse not to drive back to her lonely house in the dark.
They returned to the office. Antonio waited downstairs in the empty reception area while Elena saw to her final appointment. They then walked together to the Randolph Hotel, a stone bastion facing the newly renovated museum. As they climbed the hotel’s central stairs, he asked, “Are you sorry I came?”
“No, Antonio. I’m very grateful.”
“You haven’t spoken a word to me since dinner.”
She forced out the words: “I’m afraid my director will order me to leave the practice.”
He showed no surprise whatsoever. “Last week your offices were bugged, is that not what you told me? Then Monday you fly to Rome on some mysterious errand. Last night your home was broken into. Today someone entered your office and threatened you. Your director must be thinking about what happens tomorrow.”
Elena leaned her head upon the doorsill. Having her fears discussed in such calm tones only made them worse.
Antonio went on, “You have become involved in some project that goes far beyond merely treating a patient. Your director must fear it will escalate even further. He will worry if this might become a threat to others.” Antonio waited for a couple to pass them, then said softly, “I feel responsible for your troubles.”
“You? How?”
“Perhaps if you had not gone to Rome, if Carlo had not—”
“Antonio, you’re not to blame for anything.”
He was clearly not convinced. “Rest well, Elena. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Elena went inside, washed her face, and used the toothbrush supplied by the receptionist. She lay on the bed, cut off the lights, and stared at the ceiling. The prospect of losing her position left her insides frozen.
She heard movement in the room next to hers. The floor creaked as someone moved about. She heard the murmur of a man’s voice and knew Antonio was on the telephone. She wondered who he might be calling at this time of night. She was certain the conversation had to do with her. The sound of his voice, and the knowledge that someone was concerned for her, gave her the ability to push her worries and fears aside. Elena reached behind her and touched the wall. She fell asleep that way, her fingers resting upon the space between them.
23
THURSDAY
Elena rose early, so she would have time to drive out to her home, change clothes, and apply fresh makeup before going to the office. She sipped a cup of room-service coffee and watched the dawn light strengthen. She was wondering if she’d dare call Antonio’s room when there was a knock on her door. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Elena.”
When she opened the door, she found him dressed in a tailored navy suit. “I heard the room-service waiter and was hoping I wouldn’t be disturbing.”
“I was just going out to the house.”
“Bene. Excellent. Let me make a quick call and then I will join you, if that is all right. There are things we need to discuss.”
She followed him downstairs, where he urged her not to check out. Elena complained, “This place is too expensive to be a long-term solution.”
“Leave that for the moment, please.”
Elena found herself somewhat disconcerted by his brisk manner. “What’s going on?”
He motioned toward the front door. “Please. We must hurry.”
“I don’t see what …” She exited the hotel to find a gray-suited man holding the door to a dark Mercedes sedan. “Is that yours?”
“It is for both of us.” He gestured impatiently. “Please, Elena. The clock is running with or without us.”
When they were settled and the car pulled smoothly away, Antonio said carefully, “Last night I phoned a friend within the international financial community. He was hosting a visiting of
ficial from Washington, so I spoke with his wife. Her name is Sandra Harwood.”
Elena stared at him.
“I did not ask her anything. I simply told her what had happened. The dreams. Your visit. And then the break-in at your home.” Antonio glanced at the driver, then back at her. “Of course I was taking a risk. But the little you said in Rome suggested your other experience had to do with someone within the international financial industry. Someone in a position that perhaps was related to the commission I have been asked to chair. Sandra then told me of her own experiences, and I knew I had been right to make that call.”
“I’m not certain I feel comfortable with that, Antonio.”
“Please, there is time for all this later. Right now I ask you to listen carefully. Will you do this?”
“All right.”
“I then spoke with her husband. We are more than friends. Lawrence and I share many of the same concerns. We also, the three of us, feel responsible for the dangers you have been placed under. And for the threat that you may face in possibly losing your position.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Lawrence and Sandra have both agreed that we should work together on this. And that you are a vital part of whatever happens next. They are coming to Oxford this morning.”
“Antonio, it’s very kind of them to want to help. But a meeting would actually be counterproductive. If Jeremy hears a patient has discussed clinical issues with other people I know, and with my seeming approval, he would dismiss me outright.”
“We understand this. And we are not gathering to meet with your director. This has gone far beyond that point.”
“What is going on, Antonio?”
“One of two things.” He glanced again at the driver. “If you wish, we will simply ensure that your position here is secure. Or, if you prefer, we will take the first steps toward a new future.”
A sudden surge of fear gripped her chest. “If I want.”
“Yes, Elena. Of course. This is all about you. We have made our decisions. We are moving forward. Lawrence is accepting the chairmanship of the American commission. I am doing the same in Europe. The question now is, do you want to be a part of what is about to happen? If not, we will be disappointed, but we understand.”
She felt as though the final threads connecting her to her comfortable existence were being plucked away. She licked her dry lips and tasted the sudden coating of fear. “Would you really? Understand, I mean.”
“How could we not? Perhaps your work with us is done. If we publicly step away and are seen to do this by the watchers we have drawn into your universe, then hopefully you will be able to return to your life and work. And do so in safety.”
Elena started to ask what the next stage would entail. But she could see the answer there in his eyes. If she did not accept to be a part of it, what difference did it make? For her own safety, it was better she did not even know.
The word lingered in her mind. Safety. She had known a safe and comfortable existence for so long, she took it for granted. It formed a simple pattern to her days. It would define the rest of her life, if she chose.
Suddenly she wanted nothing else.
Elena closed her eyes. She could not make this choice. The lure of safety was too great. Her prayer was a very few words. Show me, Father. Give me the wisdom and the strength to see beyond myself.
She remained as she was. Silent. Eyes shut. The car rocked and slowed and started forward again. Accelerating around one curve after another. Traffic whooshed by. She waited.
And suddenly realized that God was waiting with her.
The silence was as complete a response as she had ever known. The choice was hers.
When she opened her eyes, the car was on the final approach to her house. “All right.”
“You are with us?”
“I don’t know what good I can do, but yes.”
Antonio sighed and released a tension she had not noticed until then. “I am glad, Elena. Very glad indeed. We are soon going to come under attack.”
“From where?”
“I have no idea.”
A sudden desire to retract her offer left her clenching the seat between them. “Then how can you be so certain?”
He faced her then. Somber, determined, focused. And frightening. “Because I know our enemy.”
Two other cars were pulled up in front of Elena’s home. She would have recognized the black Mercedes bulletproof limo even if Sandra Harwood had not been leaning against the front fender and there weren’t two bodyguards stationed by the car. The rear door was open. The ambassador spoke into his phone, papers spread across the seat and a little fold-down table. Lawrence Harwood watched her emerge from the car, spoke into the phone, slapped it shut, and pushed the table up so he could slide from the car. He walked toward them, his wife stepping up alongside him.
Lawrence Harwood said, “Good morning, Dr. Burroughs.”
“Mr. Ambassador.” She gave the woman at his side a tentative smile. “Hello, Sandra.”
Lawrence looked at Antonio. “Did you ask her?”
“I told you I would, and I did.”
The ambassador looked back at Elena. “Have you reached a decision?”
The day matched the man. The sky above was iron-hard and forbidding, the wind cold. The new leaves on the maples framing her front lawn flickered in minty defiance. Lawrence Harwood was every inch a man accustomed to wielding power. Elena struggled to keep the fear and tension from her voice. “I will try to help you. But I have no idea what further assistance I can give. If any.”
“None of us are certain of anything,” Antonio said.
“You understand there may be danger,” Harwood said. “We can offer you all the safety in the world. But history shows that a determined opponent can breach virtually any security.”
“Lawrence,” Sandra protested. “You are frightening her.”
“I intend to. This is serious business.”
“I am already frightened,” Elena replied. “But I can’t just walk away from what feels like God’s will.”
He studied her a long moment, then gave an abrupt nod. “Very well.”
Antonio said, “Perhaps we should continue this inside.”
As they walked toward her front door, a figure stepped from behind her house. Elena recognized the security agent, Nigel Harries. He gave her a friendly enough smile as he said, “Everything looks fine, Dr. Burroughs.”
“Thank you.” Elena remained unsettled by his presence as she unlocked her front door and ushered them inside. “Would anyone like coffee?”
The ambassador barked, “No time.”
Sandra chided, “Lawrence.”
“My dear, you know perfectly well—”
“Our schedule is more than adequately laid out.” She turned to Elena. “Why don’t you go change and let me play hostess.”
“Yes. All right.” She waved vaguely at the kitchen. “Everything should be easy to find.”
Sandra Harwood revealed a very warm side to her nature. “I’m so glad you agreed to help us.”
Elena changed clothes, brushed her hair, and applied fresh makeup, hurried along by the unfamiliar rumble of voices in her living room. She reentered the hallway to find Nigel Harries inspecting her security alarm with a magnifying glass. He asked, “Did you change the codes since the break-in, Dr. Burroughs?”
“No.”
“Might bear thinking about.” He cast her another brisk smile. “Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Very well.” It was one thing to discuss such issues in her office. But standing here in her foyer, the walls still smudged with fingerprint powder, left her feeling somewhat violated.
“I’d also like to wire your alarm system into the local police station, if you don’t mind.” He slipped the magnifying glass into his pocket and used the screwdriver implement on a pocketknife to attach the plastic face. “This lot knew what they were doing, right enough.”<
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Antonio appeared in the doorway leading to the living room. “What makes you say that?”
“They broke in using either previously obtained keys or in the company of a master lock-breaker. There’s not a scratch I can find on any of the doors. I’d say their aim was to get in and out unnoticed.” He used his screwdriver to point at wires. “There are scratch marks on the appropriate wirings where they attached the alligator clips. They were hurrying at this point. Keyed in a scanner, ID’d your code, turned off the alarm, then put it back on again before leaving. Very crafty, your fellows.”
Sandra Harwood appeared behind Antonio. “Coffee’s ready.”
“Take a seat here at the table, if you would, Dr. Burroughs.” Nigel Harries seated himself beside her, opened his briefcase, and pulled out a manila file. “Now, I understand the individual who raised your alarm at the office was female.”
“That’s right. In her late twenties or early thirties.”
His file contained a selection of photographs taken at a very odd angle. “See if you can recognize her among any of this lot.”
“What are these?”
“All the females who entered your office yesterday. Don’t worry. We positioned the camera on the side of the next building, the one that was broken into, with their written consent. So there’s no need to inform your director of our little surveillance.”
Actually, Elena felt certain she should inform Jeremy. Yet every such additional issue raised the prospect of losing her position.
Many of the women were not identifiable, as their heads were down, or they wore hats, or had turned away to speak with someone. Elena was about to say as much when she turned over the next photo and said, “That’s her.”
“You’re certain, are you.”
“Positive.” She felt the same chilling impact as the first time she saw her. Elena turned the photo over. “Without the slightest doubt.”