The Phoenix Egg

by Richard Bamberg

  “The flue?”

  “I was just getting to that.”

  “I didn’t think you’d forget,” Caitlin replied, surprised at the lightness in her tone.

  John reached into the back of the fireplace and pulled the brass handle, shaped like a duck on the wing, forward.

  “It slips through a hole. If you leave it in there, it’ll blacken.”

  John reached in and pulled the duck free. He hung it on the set of matching fireplace tools. When he turned, Caitlin held out the tumbler.

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t ask if you wanted ice.”

  He chuckled lightly, and she found herself smiling.

  “I think this will be cold enough. Don’t they worry about their stuff freezing?” He said and sipped the whiskey.

  “Not this, too much alcohol. The wine is kept in a climate controlled room in the basement.”

  The seasoned wood caught, and she could feel the increased warmth. She motioned toward the thickly padded couch that faced the fire and John nodded.

  Caitlin sat at one end and watched John take the opposite end without hesitation. She sniffed the heavy fumes of the Armagnac. It burned her sinuses, but the aroma was heavenly. She sipped it. It was already cool, but it burned a path down her throat.

  John was watching the flames, his drink balanced on one knee.

  “Is that all right?” she asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah, I’m surprised your parents keep Black Bush around.”

  “You surprise me. I wouldn’t have thought you could tell the difference.”

  “I can’t tell that many whiskeys by the taste, but I’ve always been fond of this one.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Caitlin unzipped her coat as the fire warmed her front. She watched John as he continued to stare into the flames. His left side was toward her, and the scar looked pink in the firelight.

  “John.”

  “Yes?”

  She was quiet for awhile and eventually, he turned to face her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “These last twelve years, did you ever think about me?”

  His eyes were dark lenses except where the sparkle of the fire reflected. His reply was slow in coming. “Is this where we’re honest with one another?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then, yes. I did think of you. Often at first, but less so as time went on. I wondered how you were. Where you were living. If you were happy.”

  He paused and, after a moment, she realized he was waiting for something from her.

  She took a second to sip her drink and gathered her courage. “I used to look for you in crowds, at airports, crowded restaurants, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “Over the years, it became something of a hobby. I even thought I saw you once. I was changing planes at DFW. I saw a man with dark hair, shorter than yours is now, but similar in texture. I didn’t get a good look at his face before the crowd separated us, but it could have been you...before the scar anyway. I almost called after him, but the airport was very crowded, and I don’t think he would have heard. I caught one more glimpse of him from farther away. The walk, the build, they were familiar.”

  The firelight danced in his eyes, and she could feel the indecision in the way he sat, perfectly still, as if any movement would upset the balance.

  She sighed. “It’s foolish. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Not so foolish. It could have been me. I used to go through DFW often.”

  His voice was warm, without the harsh edge that it had developed since the canyon.

  Caitlin felt something, a connection that hadn’t been there earlier. Could they be recovering some of what they’d had in the Canyon? What would it be like to fall in love again? The attraction she’d felt toward John in the Canyon hadn’t reached the point of love, and she could scarcely remember when she and Scott had first fallen for each other. She did recall that it had been a frantic, needing emotion. Neither of them had been able to get enough of the other. Their days and nights had been filled with sweet promises of the future and intense burning passion of the present. Would it be like that again or was that something that only came around once? Was that sort of intensity reserved for adolescents?

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She realized she was still staring into his face and as a blush warmed her face. She turned away to stare into the fire.

  “Nothing really,” she lied.

  “I thought we were being honest.”

  “Okay, I was wondering if it would be possible to rediscover what we started in the Canyon.”

  He shrugged, one of those irritating male traits they used anytime they were avoiding the truth. “Anything is possible. Things will develop naturally if we let them.”

  When he didn’t press his question further, she hesitantly changed the subject. “Do you think we’ll be able to contact Louie?”

  He accepted the shift in conversation. “I don’t know. I’d sure like to find out what happened to him and I think we need to know how they got on to him. It could be important.”

  “You don’t think they tailed us?”

  “No. It’s possible given enough resources to trail someone without their knowledge, but I would bet anything that we lost whoever might have been on us when we went through that alley.”

  “What’s that leave? Could one of the people he asked to help break the encryption have turned him in?” she asked.

  “I doubt it. They’re a clannish group, and none of them trusts the government. Besides, I really don’t think they know where each other live. Still, it’s a possibility we’ll have to consider.”

  “How about the file? Is there any way they could have tracked him just because he was accessing the file? Perhaps he got the code. It could have transmitted some kind of signal when he activated it.”

  John nodded his head and then sipped his drink before replying. “That’s possible, but not the most likely option. Louie is bright enough not to allow the program to use his Web link to transmit a signal when he opened it. No, if we weren’t followed then Louie must have done something to bring the Feds attention, perhaps it wasn’t even related to you or that file.”

  “You really think so?”

  His head shook. “No, I’m afraid that’s just wishful thinking.”

  His head tilted back, and he downed the last of the whiskey.

  “Would you like another?” she asked.

  “No thanks. I think we’re safe here, but I better not be impaired, just in case.”

  The combination of the fire and the furnace had finally brought the room temperature to the point where Caitlin wanted to remove her coat. She held out her glass to John. He took it, and then she shrugged out of the heavy coat.

  He returned the glass, and she downed the remainder of the Armagnac and stood up. “Well, I’m going to have another one. I’m too wired to sleep without some kind of aid. One more should mellow me out.”

  She turned off the gas to the fire and then went to the liquor cabinet. She fixed her another drink, nuked it for fifteen seconds, and returned to the couch.

  John’s head was back, and for a moment, she thought he was staring at something on the ceiling. Then she realized his eyes were closed. Over the soft crackle of the fire, she could hear his deep, even breathing.

  Sitting on the hearth, the fire warmed her back while she drank in the aroma of the Armagnac and watched him sleep. He looked peaceful and calm for the first time since they’d come back together. What was his life like that he was so guarded with his feelings, so paranoid in his relationships, so dark and foreboding in his outlook on life?

  She wanted to explore his feelings for her, but before she could realistically do that, she’d have to determine her own feelings. She had a strong attraction toward him that much was clear. Was the attraction merely the result of depending on him to protect her, to rescue her again? Or was it something s
tronger?

  A quarter of an hour passed before she finished her drink and set the glass aside. Caitlin closed the doors on the fireplace and gently shook John awake.

  He awoke with a start, and his hand jerked toward his shoulder holster.

  “That won’t be necessary. We’re all friends here.”

  His eyes blinked twice in rapid succession, and his lips drew back in a wide smile. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

  “Understandably. Come on, I can give you a better place to sleep.”

  John took her outstretched hand. She tugged him up and then led him to the foyer. They paused to pick up their bags and went upstairs. At the upper floor, she pointed out the bathroom and then indicated the bedroom on the left as the guestroom. As she released his hand, she stepped close and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Goodnight, John. Sleep well.”

  “Sure, uh, you too.”

  Caitlin carried her bags into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 22

  John jerked awake when the alarm sent an electric shock into his finger. His right hand reached for the gun he’d left on the nightstand and closed about its checkered grip. As the door opened, he brought the barrel up and applied pressure to the trigger.

  Caitlin, wearing faded jeans, a green sweater, and bunny slippers stood in the doorway. Her left hand was still on the doorknob.

  “Christ, you’re fast,” her voice was calm, calmer than John felt.

  He lowered the gun and set it back on the nightstand.

  “Did you forget how to knock?” he asked.

  Her response began with a fast exhalation through her nostrils. “For your information, I did knock. I guess I’ll have to pound on the door next time.”

  “No, no that’s all right. I’m sorry. I’m just not wide awake yet.”

  Her voice softened as fast as her features. “Forgiven. I’ve got coffee made. How do you like your burritos?”

  “Burritos? How late did I sleep?”

  “There’s not a lot of food in the pantry. I found a few breakfast burritos in the freezer. We’ll have to go shopping before lunch.”

  “Okay, did you find any salsa or cheese?”

  “Sorry, I was kidding when I asked how you want them. We have a choice of dry goods or frozen food. Anything canned or refrigerated will have to come from the store.”

  “It looks like your parents could keep a few things down in the wine vault.”

  “They could, but they’re gone for four months usually. Cheese and things like that might spoil even in the refrigerated room. Anyway, come on downstairs when you’re ready unless you want me to bring breakfast up to you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be right down.”

  She smiled and closed the door behind her.

  John checked his watch. It was nearly ten, California time. He flipped the covers back and reached for the pants he’d left on the bedpost.

  Five minutes later, he walked into a country kitchen that teemed with the rich aroma of fresh coffee and spicy Mexican food. Caitlin was setting two plates on the table.

  “Perfect timing,” she said.

  “I try.”

  “Sit down, I’ll pour coffee. Is orange juice all right?”

  He noticed the tall glass pitcher for the first time.

  “Sure,” he said and slid out the nearest chair.

  Sunlight streamed into the windows that looked out on a small clearing and on thirty-foot ponderosas, everything was laden with thick snow. The light reflected off the snow in a million tiny rays, as if someone had sprinkled diamonds across the Maxwell’s property.

  John poured orange juice into the flowered glasses by each of their plates. Caitlin returned carrying two earthen mugs, steam rose in thick clouds from the coffee.

  They chatted about inconsequential events and the beauty of the morning landscape as they ate. The burritos were spicy; a mixture of eggs, peppers, tomatoes, cilantro, and sausage. The orange juice, not fresh squeezed, had a thick pulp and a strong natural flavor. The coffee wasn’t Gevalia but was a rich roast.

  By the time he’d finished two cups of coffee, he was ready to greet the day properly.

  He helped Caitlin load the dishes in the dishwasher, and then refilled both their cups. “I want to check out the perimeter. I need to know where everything is in case there’s trouble.”

  “All right, I’ll show you around. What size do you wear?”

  “What size?”

  “Dad’s snow boots might fit you.”

  “That’s all right. These will do,” he said and indicated his own boots. The slip-on boots had eight-inch uppers, and he regularly treated them with waterproofing.

  “Aren’t those cowboy boots? You’ll fall on your butt with slick bottoms,” Caitlin said with a laugh.

  “The bottoms aren’t slick, they’re Neoprene. I won’t have any trouble.”

  She shrugged. “Okay by me. Give me a minute to get my boots on.”

  John followed her back to the foyer, where she dug through the shoes in the front closet until she found a pair of leather, work boots toward the back. She sat on the steps and exchanged the bunny slippers for the boots.

  His coat hung next to hers in the closet. John took them both down and held Caitlin’s out for her.

  “Thank you,” she said as she slipped her arms into it.

  He started pulling his on and grunted as the tight muscles in his left arm sent a spasm of pain through his shoulder.

  “Is that arm stiff?”

  “Yeah, but it’ll pass in a couple of days,” John answered as he moved his arm through a wide circle to limber it up.

  “We should change the bandage,” Caitlin said as she helped him into the sleeve.

  “Later.”

  “Okay, tough guy.”

  Caitlin safed the alarm system and then opened the front door.

  As John stepped out onto the porch, he had to stop and admire the view. The white crest of Pike’s Peak soared above the nearest trees. Dark clouds approached the peak from the west, a sure indication of more snow on the way.

  “I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was up here.”

  Caitlin had stopped at the top step and was also taking in the view. “I never forget, but then I never get tired of it either.”

  “Why do your parents go to Florida in the winter? That’s always been my favorite time in Colorado.”

  “Dad’s arthritis started bothering him more over the last few years. Sometimes the cold exacerbates it.”

  “I thought the dry air would help.”

  “It does, but not enough to offset the cold. They don’t like to miss the winter either. That’s why they’re only gone from December to May.”

  Caitlin led the way down the steps and around the side of the house. She followed the path left through the snow by whoever had been there last. They reached the power meter on the side of the house, but the tracks continued past it.

  They stopped by the meter, and John felt an uncomfortable sensation between his shoulder blades. He turned and examined the line of trees that were not more than fifty feet away. Nothing moved. “I guess that answers the question of who it wasn’t. Now let’s see if we can’t find out where they did go.”

  The tracks led to a small shed near the tree line. There was a clear arc where the snow had been pressed back by the opening door. A large Master padlock was closed in the hasp.

  “What’s in there?” He asked.

  “Garden tools, lawnmower, the usual stuff.”

  “Would your neighbor have a reason to go in there?”

  “Who, Abe? I don’t know. Dad probably told him where the key is, but I wouldn’t think he’d have to bother with any of that stuff. Besides, the footprints only come to here. If Abe came by, he’d check all the way around the house and inside too.”

  “You have the key?” he asked.

  “Sure, it’s right over the door.”

  John ran his fingers
along the top of the doorjamb. Sure enough, there was a small brass key on the ledge. He took it down and inserted it into the lock. The key turned smoothly, and the padlock clicked open.

  Caitlin crowded his elbow. He put a hand on her arm and stopped her.

  “I’d like you to stand behind that tree,” he said and pointed to a nearby pine.

  “What for?”

  “Caitlin, we don’t know who was in here, and someone has tried to kill you already. I think it’d be better if you weren’t too close to the door when I open it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t think there’s a bomb?”

  “No, I don’t, but I’d rather play it safe.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be careful, but we need to know why someone has been in here.”

  Her voice was tight and filled with emotion. “No, we don’t. We can walk back to the house and forget it, act as if we never saw the tracks. There’s no point in risking your life unnecessarily.”

  “Caitlin, it could be important. I’ve handled booby traps before, I'm just careful.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her and pursed her lips. “No. I’m not moving. If it’s safe enough for you, then it’s safe enough for me.”

  “Be reasonable, there’s no sense in both of us being here to open the door. It’s just not necessary.”

  “John, I’m not leaving.”

  He stared at her for a minute. He was half-tempted to pick her up and carry her back in the house. But it was her life, she’d hired him to protect her, but not from herself.

  “All right then, you’re the boss. Stand to my right, at least an arm’s length away.”

  She moved to where he directed. Her arms unfolded, and she stretched her fingers out to touch him.

  “How’s this?”

  Although he felt like chuckling, his voice was stern as he replied, “You needn’t be so literal.”

  She grinned at him, and he shook his head as if disgusted with her.

  He checked the hasp for wires, and then pulled it back. He couldn’t see any wiring. He eased the door slowly open, listening for the ominous click of a pressure switch. When it was barely open, he took out his pocketknife and extended the longest blade. Moving it backward, in the space between door and jamb, he determined there was nothing attached to the back of the door.