“Property management assured me they’ll have the glass replaced by tomorrow.”
She smiled. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” She leaned in suddenly and embraced him. When he was slow to react, she pulled back. “Good night, Mr. Coe,” she said, still smiling.
“Good night, Ms. Hunter.”
She walked to what he assumed was her bedroom, and closed the door. Coe waited a moment and then undressed, changing into his pajamas. He lay on the sofa and turned out the light. He lay silently thinking about Ms. Hunter, wondering what she had on beneath the robe. There was no denying he was excited by her. In just a week, he’d become less enthusiastic about Janeiro. First the intrigue, then the threat on his life—this was not his reality. He imagined breaking it off with Janeiro, leaving her to her own world, severing ties with Steele. Maybe he could go to Mitchell and Lyme and tell them he’d been approached by Steele, perhaps become a double-double agent. The idea of staying loyal to Quantum was an attractive one. He imagined instead how it might be to share Ms. Hunter’s love, her loyalty to Quantum—how it might be to secretly be with her. She was flesh, blood; she was here.
She was in the other room.
Was she laying in bed thinking of him? Was she imagining how it might be to love him, be loved by him—how it might feel the first time he entered her?
He fell asleep with these thoughts and with the irresistible sense of her in the next room—a sense that she wasn’t sleeping at all but also lying awake, perhaps thinking the same thoughts. It was some time during the night, in the din of her apt with its smart appliances and automated climate control tirelessly adjusting the heat in response to their body temperatures, when he awoke to find her standing naked over him. In the darkness, he could faintly discern the features of her body that were only hinted at beneath her business suits. She said nothing. She did not move. She just looked over him with the vigilance a guardian angel who’d traded in her wings for wing-tip shoes. Her stoicism caused him to freeze and he held her glance for as long as he could. After a protracted moment, she turned and without a word, returned to her room and quietly shut the door.
Coe was uncertain what to do. If she were inviting him into her bed, he was certain she would have let the door open. He lay for some time, thinking about the incident—confounded by what he had saw—retracing the lines of her body in his mind. Finally, he convinced himself he had had some sort of lucid dream and it was enough to settle the dull aching that had begun to overtake him. He eventually fell back to sleep but to his disappointment, he did not dream of her. In fact, he dreamt of nothing at all.
He awoke to morning light flooding the room and the smell of frying bacon. He followed the smell to a narrow galley kitchen where he found Ms. Hunter still in her robe, standing over the stove, turning over the bacon strips sizzling in a pan. She turned slowly when he entered. Her face was expressionless.
“Smells good,” he said.
“The real thing,” she said. “I’ve been saving it in my freezer for—”
“I haven’t had real bacon since I was a child,” he said.
“Mr. Revis loved bacon.” She paused after she said this and took time to tend to breakfast. “We were in love.”
It should have surprised Coe, but it didn’t.
She was careful what she said after her admission. “Do you prefer it crispy or chewy?”
“It’s been so long—”
“Mr. Revis preferred it crispy.”
“Any way you prepare it will be fine.” He thought for a moment. “Did you always call him Mr. Revis?”
“Quantum prefers we maintain a formal—”
“We’re not at Quantum. We’re in your kitchen.”
“I called him Collin.”
Coe spied a pot of fresh coffee on the automated maker. “May I?”
“I made it for you,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s synthetic.”
He poured himself a cup. “What did he call you?”
“Delly.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“It’s short for Delilah.”
“It’s pretty.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way—”
“They come from a box.”
“Scrambled is fine.”
“I’m telling you this because I trust you won’t go to the company about it.”
He looked at her.
“About Mr. Revis—about Collin and I.”
“Yes, of course. Your secret is safe.”
He sipped his coffee. She removed the pan from the stove top, carefully scooped equal amounts of eggs and bacon onto two plates. “Medium-light,” she commanded the kitchen. “Toast.”
It took only a moment for the toaster to turn out four slices of perfectly browned toast. Nearly all toasters were equipped with a sprayer that coated it with butter, but Ms. Hunter instead brought the toast to the table and buttered it herself.
“I prefer the personal touch,” she said.
She cut the toast into four triangles and placed it neatly on his plate. Then she sat and they ate breakfast.
We combine economic success, social responsibility and environmental protection. Through science and innovation we enable clients in all industries and all walks of life to meet the current and future needs of society. Our products and system solutions contribute to conserving resources, ensuring future generations and helping to improve quality of life. There’s only one. (A multitude of faces, nationalities, genders, and races flash across the screen). There’s only one. One. One. One. One. Quantum. Quantum. Quantum. Quantum. (In unison) There’s only one. Quantum...
Mitchell asked Coe to the conference room. When he arrived, he found Mitchell seated at the head of the long table, with Lyme and Ms. Davenport flanking him on either side. Lyme nodded to Coe and gave a half-smile; Ms. Davenport did not look up from her notepad.
Mitchell said, “We’ve decided it best that we have these briefings with you daily until the Steele mole is found.”
“I don’t understand,” Coe said. “Yesterday you said I would only answer to you—”
“Mitchell is my subordinate,” Lyme said. “It’s implied, if you answer to him, you answer to me.”
Mitchell acknowledged Lyme’s explanation with a nod.
Lyme said, “This must be a difficult adjustment for you, Coe...and I do apologize. I realize you’re having to cope with a new position, a new city—in essence, a new life. Now, you’ve been thrown into this on-going intrigue of which you’re frankly—and let’s be frank—landing on top of a mess that begun before you ever even entertained thoughts of a promotion, I’m sure.”
Coe smiled nervously.
“I know I kind of sprung this new assignment on you rather abruptly yesterday,” Mitchell said, “And then sent you on a wild goose chase with little or no direction or instruction—”
“The Quantum way,” Lyme said, cynically.
They all shared a laugh at the inside joke—or rather, Lyme and Mitchell did; Ms. Davenport did not break character. Coe had begun to wonder why she was even at the meeting, when Mitchell addressed her presence, as if reading Coe’s mind.
“It’s no secret Ms. Davenport was instrumental in uncovering Revis’s involvement in the prior corporate espionage plot by Steele against Quantum. She’s got a nose for sniffing—”
“Bullshit,” she said, flatly and without so much as a hint of humor.
Lyme smiled.
“She’s got a nose for bullshit,” Mitchell said, also smiling.
“You’ll continue to work the Bruges file with Ms. Hunter,” Lyme said. “Have you found her acceptable?”
Ms. Davenport made an audible grunt but did not look up.
“Yes,” Coe said. “She’s very professional.”
“Good,” Lyme said. “As far as Ms. H
unter is concerned, your entire focus is on the Bruges file. Is that clear?”
“Is there a concern regarding Ms. Hunter?” Coe asked.
Mitchell and Lyme exchanged glances; Ms. Davenport looked up. “No,” they said in unison.
Coe said, “I mean, it would be beneficial to me if she—”
“Out of the question,” Ms. Davenport said in a loud voice before saying quietly to Lyme, “I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Ms. Davenport is right,” he said. “It’s better that the details of this operation be limited to the people in this room.”
Coe said nothing. The seething in Ms. Davenport’s voice still echoed in his brain. He realized he was standing all this time. No one had permitted him to sit. Finally he said, “Is that all, sir?” in the general direction of the trio.
Mitchell looked at Lyme and shook his head. “We understand there was an incident at your apt last night.”
Coe cleared his throat. “That’s right. A bit of a shooting. Clearly a random act. Something no one’s immune to in city life. I’m certain it was a case of mistaken identity. Maybe meant for the prior tenant even. The police seemed to think so—” Coe realized he had been rambling and so he stopped, mid-sentence. “It’ll all be back to as good as new by this evening.”
“The alleged Revis suicide,” Lyme said, “and then his replacement’s apt gets turned to swiss cheese on the very same evening.”
“Funny coincidence, I’d say—” It took a moment for it to register. “You said alleged suicide?”
Lyme stood. He looked out the window. He said, “Out there, coincidences happen all of the time.” He turned and faced Coe. “This is Quantum. If you learn anything in your career as an auditor, it’s that simply, there are no coincidences. If either of yesterday’s events happened without the other, then maybe you can chalk it up to the random misfortune that plagues the everyman. But together?” He smiled.
“Look for the clues,” Mitchell said.
“The links,” Lyme said. “The common denominators.”
“You both worked for Quantum,” Mitchell said. “You’re both Auditors.”
“You’ve replaced Revis...have taken over his job,” Lyme said.
“Ms. Hunter,” Ms. Davenport said, addressing Coe for the first time. “You both are serviced by our Ms. Hunter.”
“Ms. Hunter’s involved?” Coe said. He was suddenly reminded of her insistence that he report the suspicious call, not to Mitchell or Lyme, but to the mysterious Mr. Hanover. Likewise, she urged him not to inform Mitchell of the subsequent call, as well.
Lyme put up his hand, palm out as if to halt him. “All we’re trying to say, Mr. Coe, is that you’re an auditor now, and so you need to begin to think like one. Auditors are detectives. You can’t think dismissively anymore.”
“But the police—”
“Have their job to do,” Lyme said, “and we have ours. Theirs is to close cases; ours is to get to the truth.”
“You can start by getting to know the staff,” Mitchell said. “Befriend them. You’re the new guy in town. Ask them out, one at a time, for a beer.”
“It’s the perfect cover,” Lyme said.
“One of them is the mole,” Mitchell said.
“But by all means,” Ms. Davenport said, “Be discreet.” She scribbled something onto the pad, ripped it violently from the spine, and extended it toward Coe.
He took it in his hands and looked at it. A number.
“My private line,” she said.
“She will assist you with any intel you need,” Lyme said.
“Day or night,” she said in a low voice.
Spoken by any other woman, it would have seemed suggestive—seductive, even. Coe folded the paper neatly and placed inside the breast pocket of his coat.
“Meeting with Mr. Mitchell?” Ms. Hunter asked when he returned to his desk.
Coe gave her a surprised look , mostly genuine, at discovering her waiting for him at his desk.
“I saw you go into the Adirondack Conference Room,” she said.
It no longer struck him as strange that all of the conference rooms at Quantum were named after North American mountain ranges. He’d initially met with Lyme in the Berkshires Conference Room on his first day in the office.
“That’s right,” he said. “He wanted to see how things were going...you know...check the new guy’s temperature...”
“Mr. Lyme, too?” she asked.
“Yes, Mr. Lyme was in there, as well.”
She smiled. “And was Ms. Davenport concerned with how you’re getting on in your new surroundings, too?”
Coe forced a smile. “Ms. Davenport?”
“I saw her go in with Lyme.”
“Yes, of course,” Coe said. “No...you know Ms. Davenport better than I. She has little interest in my acclimation. None, I’d wager—”
“Was Mr. Revis discussed?” She fidgeted with her hands, first folding them, and then pulling on her thumbs.
“He was mentioned. Yes.”
“Oh?”
Coe sat down at his desk, booted up his CRT. She had begun to make him nervous. “His death has obviously upset many people—”
“Not Davenport...I can assure you of that.” It was the first time she had failed to reference a fellow Quantum employee in a formal manner while in his presence.
“She’s a rather stoic woman—”
“What is it you’re not telling me, Mr. Coe?” Her whole manner had suddenly changed, had become more menacing. He wondered if she had ever taken a similar tone with Revis.
“Nothing of any importance or interest to you, I’m sure,” he said.
“I’ll be the judge—”
She must have realized the tone she had taken. She took a deep breath, flashed a weak smile. “Mr. Coe,” she said, her voice softer now. “The relationship between an auditor and his clerk is a unique, complicated—one might even say fragile—bond, not unlike husband and wife. We rely on each other, complement each others strengths, compensate for the others deficiencies, trust one another and trust in one another. We’re a smooth, two-person business unit; mutual, symbiotic, and sharing—”
“What are you trying to say, Ms. Hunter?”
“I confided in you this morning—trusted in you—very private information—”
“It’s safe with me,” he said.
She exhaled. “Good. I—”
She broke down and began to weep. Coe was concerned that her sobbing could be overheard.
“Ms. Hunter—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Coe...please forgive my behavior. Of course, I can trust you. You must think I’m one of those women...”
“Those women?”
She wiped the tears from her eyes with her pinky finger and in the process, left a trail of dark eyeliner smeared across her cheek. “It’s just when I saw you go into the conference room...and Ms. Davenport was there...Oh! I thought for certain you were telling them about Mr. Revis and me! You can understand how it must have looked...”
“Of course,” he said.
“We can be strong,” she said quietly as she composed herself. “We can have as strong a clerk-auditor relationship as Mr. Revis and I...stronger, even. You can’t be corrupted like him. I see that now. If you can forgive me this one time, I promise you I’ll be loyal—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Coe said.
“But it is, Mr. Coe...it is,” she said, straightening her skirt. “You’ll see...you’ll see.”
Coe requested a copy of the auditor roster from Ms. Davenport. The first auditor in his charade of going about the internal investigation of auditors was a senior man by the name of Chutney. He was middle-aged, overweight, balding, and tired. Coe found him lazily reading the morning edition of The Intelligencer at his desk, a windowless cubicle framed by a pair of f
ake ferns near a bank of copiers. He did not look up right away when Coe addressed him, extended his hand, and announced quite cheerily that he was, “the new guy from Philadelphia.”
After a prolonged moment of staring down at the sports screen—a matrix of box scores from various leagues flickered on the news reader—he turned off the device and directed his sleepy eyes on Coe.
“Chutney,” he said. He didn’t bother to shake Coe’s hand.
“I understand you’re the most senior member of the department,” Coe said.
“The whole section.” Chutney’s mouth hardly moved when he spoke.
“Being the new guy, I was wondering if you might take me under your wing...perhaps show me the ropes?” It was Coe’s hope to appeal to his ego.
“You’re looking for a mentor?”
“That’s right.”
“You seem like a nice enough fellow,” Chutney said. “Bright, too, or Lyme wouldn’t have promoted you from Philly. Trouble is, I’m out of the mentoring business, so to speak.”
“I see,” Coe said, trying his best to feign disappointment.
“Now then, there’s plenty of capable people right here in the department who can see you straight to a long successful snooping career. I’ve got six weeks until retirement. I’m no longer getting new files. I’m burning off the remaining paper I’ve got to work through. It would be a disservice to us both if I took you on now—”
“Please, Mr. Chutney. There’s no need for an explanation. I understand perfectly. I won’t bother you further. Please accept my fondest wishes on a happy retirement, sir.”
“I’ll do that,” he said.
Coe had begun to walk away when he stopped and looked back at him. “Let me at least buy you lunch,” he said.
“I don’t take lunch,” he said, switching the news reader back on. He looked up. “I should say I don’t eat lunch...normally.” He looked at his watch. “Tell you what. Come by here in an hour and we’ll go out. I know a place I think you would like.”
“Mr. Coe?”
He looked up from his desk to find Ms. Hunter standing at the threshold of his cubicle.
There's Only One Quantum Page 7