Pisgah Road

by Mahyar A Amouzegar

  I felt guilty for what I was planning to do to a person that I once loved, but I volunteered for the job to protect her. I told my boss my plan and he agreed with it, but then he asked Bobby to develop a second plan just in case, a Plan B. Even Bobby was fine with the arrangement, despite losing some of the glory. At that point, he needed a success and my plan was the quickest and safest way to achieve the goal. Someone else would not take the care to make sure that nothing would be traced back to Gabrielle’s computer and nothing will. Several people worked for days to write the routine that would prevent that.

  V

  “I need a drink,” Gabrielle says and she starts walking.

  I follow her. We walk to the end of the bridge and make a left and then a quick right. I am following her without comment. We no longer are walking through molasses. We are walking fast and with purpose. She slows down by a pub and points to it, but I shake my head. I don’t want to go to a strange pub. I don’t feel comfortable. She understands and we start walking again. She grabs my hand and I feel her soft skin against mine. She is holding me, not the other way around. My hand is too big for her so she is grabbing on to part of it. I laced my fingers through hers and she lets me. We are walking shoulder to shoulder as we enter South Kensington.

  We walk past the Kensington underground and Gabrielle wants to take the tube, but I convince her to walk to the hotel. We are only a few blocks away. She agrees, but let go of my hand. We make it to her hotel and the anorexic receptionist looks up and smiles at us. We nod and walk towards the elevator, but before we reach it he calls out, “Ms. Desidéria.”

  “Yes?”

  “There is a message for your companion,” he announces it to her with the implication that he’d be more than happy to give it to Gabrielle if she thought it justified.

  “Oh, thank you,” she replied, but doesn’t move.

  I walk over and reach his station. He stares at me for a brief moment before handing the sealed white envelope to me. The envelope was from the Gore and my name was on the back of it, identifying me as Gabrielle Desidéria’s companion. I knew immediately that it was a note from my boss. It had the look and feel of the agency. You would never want to pocket such a note to read it later; that action would only arouse suspicion. The note would be coded and most likely not be too sensitive as otherwise it would have come to me through a much more secure channel. It was meant to be treated like any other message one gets in a hotel.

  I tear the envelope in a careless fashion and take out the note. It was on the hotel’s stationary and it looked as if someone had taken the message and then delivered it to this hotel. The note said:

  I regret to inform you that we are fully booked for this weekend and cannot accommodate your request for our London Adventure Tour. We hope you will be able to enjoy our program in the near future, perhaps in other locations in Europe.

  On a positive note, we are happy to inform you that you are still in the drawing to win our grand prize, despite not being able to participate in person.

  Sincerely,

  London Adventure Tour Management

  I walked over to where Gabrielle was standing and hand her the note before she could say anything. She reads the note and then asks, “I didn’t know you were into one of those tours.”

  “I’m not. The receptionist at the Gore offered it to me, though he did warn me that the deadline may have passed.”

  “Of course,” she replies and hands back the note to me. “Nice of them to send it to you.”

  “One of the nice things about the Gore,” I say dismissingly and drop the envelope and the note in the bin and start to walk up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Gabrielle follows me, the note forgotten.

  But of course not by me!

  It was telling me that I was off the case and that I should terminate my action despite my hard work, though the overall operation was still on and would be conducted shortly in Germany with the same target. The part about the drawing was meant both as a warning and as an incentive. My boss was reminding me that it was really my plan and therefore I was responsible for its success or failure.

  We reach her room and she opens the door with her key and lets me enter before her. Her laptop is sitting on the desk, open. The laptop was there but I had been ordered to stay away from it. They were going to plan B, which meant attacking Fionna’s computer too. They were going to split the worm into two and have it come from two computers in hope of increasing the chances of success at the cost of one or both of these women getting the blame. I had helped Bobby devise this plan with an assumption that my original plan would be implemented by me. It was an abstraction then but it is certainly very real now.

  I touch the little device in my pocket but then withdraw my hand.

  I look at her laptop and then look at Gabrielle. She smiles and goes to the closet and grabs her jacket. We had come up so she could get something to keep her warm. She is holding the jacket now, ready to go out again.

  “I’m ready,” she declares.

  I look at her laptop again and nod and start to walk towards the door. I walk ahead and she follows. The door slams behind us and the sound travels through the hallway like a thunder, shutting us out. I had come to London to spend my father’s last dollars and I had come to London to do a job. I was hoping to see my old friends and reconcile with them. And I was certain the money, the job and the friends were all connected somehow, as if my mother had orchestrated it so I could find peace, as she had found peace at the end of her life.

  Gabrielle walks down the stairs ahead of me, eager to continue our night together. I felt she didn’t want it to stop, afraid that the connection we had established earlier was still tentative and fragile and she wants to make sure it was cemented before the night’s end.

  We are at the entrance of the hotel and she looks at me expectantly, but I am still confused and in disarray. “Where would you like to go next?” she asks and I don’t answer. “We could go for some coffee and dessert,” she offers.

  Yes, we could go out for coffee then go back to our hotels, then spend another day visiting London and then go see Daniel so I could say my proper goodbyes to him. Yes, we could do all these and then go back to our separate lives. And everything could be fine; I could continue to correspond with her and even go to Fionna’s wedding. Or it could be a disaster where Gabrielle and Fionna are fired or worst, arrested.

  Only a day earlier, I wouldn’t have even thought of different possibilities and outcomes — it was just a job to me — but now all I could think of was how I’d never forgive myself if I allowed the agency to hurt my friends. My mother and Daniel would never forgive me either, even if Gabrielle could.

  I needed to get back to her room.

  “Gabrielle.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you mind if we go back to your room for a few minutes?”

  She looks at me suspiciously for a moment and asks, “Are you alright? Do you want to end the night?”

  “No, no. I just need a few more minutes and then we can go out.”

  I’m certain of my abilities even if I harbor some doubts about everything else, as we walk back up the stairs. She is puzzled by my behavior but she wants to accommodate. She opens her room as she had done a few minutes earlier and I enter. I still have time to follow the instructions and leave things as they are, but it is time to finally grow up. Finally, I understand that I need to own up to who I am and what I need to do. I need to do this job and be successful and in the process protect the woman that I’d loved all my life. I need a few minutes of uninterrupted time with Gabrielle’s computer. But I’m panicking now and can’t think of the reason to force her to leave her own room. I need to write a few more commands directly to reach the right level of assurance to protect her and guarantee my own success.

  “Could I get a cup of tea?” It is weak but I can’t think of a better excuse.

  She looks puzzled, but she is happy to spend more time with me. “Milk and
sugar?” She asks brightly.

  “Lovely. Thanks.”

  She takes the electric water jug to the bathroom to rinse it. I had hoped she would. She was meticulous about making tea when we were younger and I had hoped she would now as well. I needed to get the basic parameters of her computer first. I touch the keypad and the computer comes alive after a few seconds. It’s a very slow computer. That’s bad because it would require more time to process. She had not even password protected it, not that it matters so much to me, but it would stop a less proficient interloper. I hear the water running again. She would wash the cups and warm them under hot water before serving the tea as well. I open a new window and go to the root menu. I change some of the parameters and press enter. The computer is very slow. She turns off the water and I turn around and face the room, covering the computer with my body. I’m looking at the London magazine as she walks in.

  “Anything interesting tonight?” She means the London scene.

  “There’s a new jazz bar in Trafalgar,” I reply and I hope to God there is one. I don’t know why I said Jazz. She used to love Jazz and now she might want to go there, if such a place existed.

  “Maybe tomorrow. I just want to hang around here tonight.”

  I think wonderful and don’t say something rash like: Too bad, it sounded like a great place. I’m nervous and feel I might blurt out something stupid. I might not have a job when I return home on Monday. She puts the kettle in its cradle and sits on the bed. There is hardly any room between us, and I fear she may hear the hum of her computer. “Do you have any aspirin? I have bit a of a headache.”

  “Yes, of course. Marty, we don’t have to go out if you don’t feel well.”

  “No. No, I’m okay. It’s just a tiny headache, maybe it’s the jetlag.”

  The computer is making gurgling noises, reading and writing to the hard drive. I can hear it loud and clear but apparently she doesn’t as she grabs her purse and takes out two aspirins and then goes to the bathroom to get a glass of water.

  The computer is still humming. She comes back with a tall glass and hands me the pills. I hate taking pills. She hands me the glass. The computer has gone silent and the screen has gone dark. I take the pills and go and sit on the bed.

  “Lie down and rest for a moment. You don’t have to be superman all the time, Marty. You must be exhausted after the long trip and it’s been a long day.”

  “I’m fine, Gabrielle. I’ll be ready to go out after the tea.”

  “Okay, but tell me when you’re too tired.”

  She doesn’t want the night to end either. She takes the teacups to the bathroom to wash them. I hear the water running and I quickly move to the computer and put my device in a slot behind it. The green light glows brightly in the dimly lit room. Now I panic. You always forget the smallest things in an operation. In my mind, it was just a routine thing. I had assured myself I would have plenty of uninterrupted time on her computer. I was planning to do the operation tomorrow night but the agency has forced my hand. I need to take care of it before they have a chance to do their damage. But now I could see that it would be very difficult to have the time. I can’t possibly find an excuse to send her out of the room and I very much doubt if she would want to take a shower while I am in the room. The green light is glowing brightly and she certainly would notice it when she comes back. I turn on the two lamps next to the bed and put the magazine against the computer to cover my little device. I need five more minutes, I think.

  She comes out of the bathroom, but I’m now stretched out on her bed.

  She smiles when she sees me and says, “Take off your shoes and relax. Do you want all these lights on?” She reaches for the lamp, but I pulled her hand away and hold it in my own.

  “Sit with me for a second.”

  She turns off the light anyway and sits next to me but I have nothing to say now. I’m too worried about the green light that is glowing from behind the magazine. It’s reflected on the wall and now is dancing with activities. We might as well be in a nightclub with all the noises and the light show.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  I do as she says and at that moment the jug starts to whistle. She gets up to make the tea. I’m facing the TV and her computer, watching the laser show not knowing how to stop it. I am feeling desperate. She will notice the green glow from the device, no matter how many lights I turn on. The green projection on the wall is not too large, most of it covered by the magazine, but now it’s blinking rapidly. Why would the designer add all these silly functions? It doesn’t matter now. I knew that before as I had tested the devices several times. At the time, I thought of the green lights as informative but now it will surely give me away. I should have taped over it earlier but it didn’t occur to me. That’s why I don’t spend too much time in the field. I’m good at doing things remotely. Now I wonder if the agency was right about pulling me off. Then I feel ashamed that I would put avoiding discovery above Gabrielle’s wellbeing.

  She has made the tea and has the two cups in her hands. I notice she has a balcony. It’s not large enough for chairs but has enough room for us to stand outside. It will buy me the time I need, if she doesn’t notice all the activity on her computer. I get up and block her way as she faces the bed.

  “You have a balcony. Let’s go outside.”

  “There’s hardly room for a cat on that balcony. It’s too scary.”

  I’m standing in front of her and I am sure she is thinking I am acting strange. She hands me one of the cups and starts to move towards the bed. She only has to turn around and she will see the glowing green light. It is blinking with a different tempo now.

  “Please, Gabrielle. I need some fresh air.”

  I sound desperate, but I’m hoping she would attribute it to our earlier melancholy conversation or jetlag or anything but the dancing light behind her. She wants to be accommodating, so she nods and walks towards the balcony. My body is covering the laptop but she has no reason to look to her right as she moves past me. She fumbles with the door and it opens with a loud crack. She is right; we can hardly fit on the terrace but we manage, having most of our bodies inside the room.

  She doesn’t look comfortable but I need another four minutes, I think. Her computer is taking far longer than I had anticipated. I lean on the railing as I had done earlier on the bridge. She is standing next to me, holding the cup of hot tea with both hands. The air is cool and there is a light breeze. It feels good to be outside. She is staring out into the distance and I am pretending to do the same. The park is to our right and it is pitch black now. It’s an island of darkness surrounded by shiny lights all around it.

  I am doing my job, even if I don’t have the directive anymore. There’s nothing personal and I’m trying to protect Gabrielle and of course, Fionna. Others would not have taken such care and she or someone else would have been collateral damage in our game. My little program is doing its job as fast as possible. It will hide itself in thousands of places on her hard drive. It will sit there patiently without molesting any of her applications. It will sit there until she takes the laptop to her work and connects to their network directly. My little worm will then penetrate other computers and make a home there. It will then move parts of its own programming through layers of network, riding on emails or shared file servers. And when all of the pieces are compiled on the target’s computer, and there is one particular person we are looking for, it will do its final task of gathering evidence. The last part is the hardest. We know who he is, but he has been very careful, very diligent. He never takes any work home. He is careful with his phone calls and email. But we know enough about him to be able to target his computer. The man we are targeting is selling material and information to the wrong group of people. That’s what I was told and therefore it is my task to find certain information. I have no idea if he is a good person or a bad person. I don’t know if he is doing it for money or politics or love. I don’t know and I can’t care. He is doing somethin
g that we don’t like and my job is to get certain information. Other agencies will do the next step.

  Gabrielle asks, “Do you think your parents were one another’s soulmate?”

  I’m not upset with her question. She had alluded to that possibility when she called me after my father’s death. She was, and probably still is, in awe of my father’s love for my mother. He loved her so much so that he willed himself to die. I have no explanation. It was reported as a natural cause. He simply did not wake up. Gabrielle is a hopeless romantic. She believes in the beautiful story.

  I wonder how she would react if I told her more about my mother and Jane. I don’t though. I simply say, “I don’t think so. They fought like cats and dogs.”

  She doesn’t care. It doesn’t prove anything, not to her. They didn’t fight all the time anyway. It was more like nonstop banter. Gabrielle is sold on the soulmate answer. She tries to understand my sadness and she desperately wants to commiserate with me, though I’m not sure if she always has a clear understanding of the complexity of grief. She has a sense of empathy — she tried very hard to own my sorrow while she was consoling me over the phone and miles away. She tried and for a brief moment she was successful, but then the phone call ended and I was alone in my tiny apartment. I want to believe they were soulmates, but I can’t.

  She reaches over and holds my hand and squeezes it softly. “It is a rare thing, you know. It’s one in a million, maybe one in a billion. We can look for all our lives and never find our soulmate and yet your parents did.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  She pulls on my hand gently and moves closer to me. I can feel the warmth of her body next to me and the weight of her stare on me but I pretend not to notice. I pretend not feel her soft skin on my hand and the outline of her body against my own. I stare at the void that is the park in the dark.