I pulled into the parking lot of a small diner I sometimes frequented. It was an off-hour. Probably wouldn’t be crowded.
We got out. I almost took Ann’s hand, fluttering near my own, as we moved toward the door. I didn’t know why. I caught a sudden aroma of hyacinths.
We found a small table in a corner and I suddenly realized I was famished. Conch soup, salad, lots of beef, iced tea, Key Lime pie—I ordered them all. She took a salad and a tea. Watching her, I became certain that I had known her during my employment at Angra. But in what capacity? I simply could not recall.
It is good that you are happy here,” she said, after a time.
“I’ve been happier.”
“Really?” Her eyes had widened, and I thought I detected a momentary flush in her cheeks. But that was only for an instant. Her face hardened then. “But you will certainly have your joys returned. Things come back.”
I seemed to smell roses.
“One can never be certain,” I said.
She glanced down at her plate, speared a bit of lettuce.
“Some things can be relied upon,” she stated.
“Such as?”
“Cooperation with those in power produces predictable results.”
“These days one does not even know how to begin.”
“You are troubled.”
“Yes.”
“You say you like it here.”
“Yes. But I’ll be leaving soon.”
She met my eyes.
“That is not how to begin,” she said.
“You know a better way?”
“Any way that avoids rash actions is better.”
Several mouthfuls later, I said, “I wish I could show you around some later, but I have to catch a plane in awhile. New Jersey.”
I watched her face as I said it. I wanted her reaction. There was an odor of jasmine in the air.
Her expression did not change as she said, “Don’t be silly, Don. That comes under the heading of rash actions.”
“What would you have me do, then?” I asked her.
“Go home. Stay there,” she replied. “Sooner or later, someone will get in touch—”
“All right!” I said. “Let’s level! You know more than I do. Where is she?”
She shook her head.
“I do not know.”
“You know what is going on.”
“I know that you are remembering things better forgotten.”
“It’s too late to do anything about that. And I am not going to sit at home and wait for the phone to ring.”
She placed her fork upon her plate, raised her napkin and patted her lips.
“I would not like to see you harmed.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“Then do not go to New Jersey. Something bad will happen to you if you do.”
“What?”
“I do not know.”
I growled and she rose quickly and turned away.
“Excuse me,” she said.
I was on my feet and moving after her. But several steps took her to the Ladies’ Room and on into it. I hesitated.
Our waitress was passing just then with a carafe of coffee. I halted her.
“Is there another exit to the Ladies’ Room?”
“No,” she said.
“Any windows?”
She shook her head.
“Just four green walls.”
“Thanks.”
I went back to the table and finished my pie. I got a cup of coffee after the iced tea was gone.
A gray-haired woman went into the Ladies’ Room. A little later, when she emerged, I approached her.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Was there a small Oriental lady in there, in a white pants suit?”
She looked at me and shook her head.
“No. Nobody else.”
I returned to my table and left a tip. While I was paying my bill at the register, I seemed to hear Ann’s voice:
“Do not go,” it said. “You think you have troubles now. At least you are still alive. Stay home. Bait not the tiger.”
I looked all around, but she was nowhere in sight. I could almost feel her presence, though.
“Unfortunate,” I said, under my breath. “What did you do—cloud my mind?”
I seemed to hear her laughter, mingled with the odors of a flower garden.
Chapter 5
returned to the condo to change my clothes and toss the shaving kit and a few other things into a flight bag. I saw that there were no new messages in my unit when I approached it to broach the matter of a shuttle flight and a Miami to Philadelphia connection. There were no hitches, and the shuttle was due to depart in forty-five minutes. I locked the place up, got back in my car and headed for the airport. Ann’s ghostly voice did not haunt me again, though I kept expecting to see her every time I turned a corner.
The long flight, I decided, would be just what I needed for sorting out a lot of new thoughts.
I parked, went in and verified my arrival at the desk. I was given a boarding pass, and since I had a little time I bought myself a cup of coffee and took it with me to the waiting area. For the first time since I had awakened, nothing was pressing upon me. I had a few minutes before boarding in which to relax. I settled back into a chair and took a hot gulp.
Ticketderick…?
Relaxing…
Ticketderick.
I closed my eyes and I could feel the pulsing network of electronic activity around me. I guess it is almost omnipresent these days, bat especially concentrated in certain places, airports among them, with data-processing gear all over the place.
“Hello,” I said. “You are soothing” and my mind was massaged by the passing pulses. I thought of nothing. I coiled not, nor did I read…
After several minutes, I withdrew from the flow. I drank more coffee, and I stared out the windows at a taxiing plane upon the runway. I felt better. Between Jack’s medicine chest and a good lunch, all traces of the hangover had fled. My mind was beginning to work as it had not worked in ages. Despite Ann’s warning, I began feeling a small confidence in the success of my mission.
I did not want anything that they had, save for Cora. The only reason that I could see for their having taken her was that they were somehow irritated at my getting my memory back. They wanted some hold over me in case I remembered something damaging to them. I would be glad to promise to keep my mouth shut about anything I remembered, if they would just let her go.
How did they know that I had remembered anything I shouldn’t have?
Baghdad was the first thing to come to mind. Perhaps I had been under surveillance. Or perhaps a big red light went on on a board somewhere if I bought a ticket for Michigan. Or if a psychiatrist ever ran a profile on me through a major medical bank. Or perhaps the Hash Clash and my condo were bugged. Or—Any number of possibilities came to mind. It did not really matter which had served to send the alarm. The fact was that they had suspected I recalled something they’d rather have forgotten.
What?
I strained. There were all sorts of images of me doing things with computers, but they were still too vague. They had wanted Cora for leverage, and now I wanted that memory for counterpressure—just in case my word wasn’t good enough. I hoped the memory would return to me on the way up. If it did not, I would just have to try to bluff it. They were frightened or they would not have acted. That might be in my favor.