The second bedroom was another story altogether. Painted in light blue, it had track lighting installed on the ceiling, holding many powerful light bulbs. Thick, dark blue velvet curtains, not allowing a single shred of that powerful light to be visible from outside, covered the windows.
A huge corkboard covered almost an entire wall. Another curtain railing hung above it. If needed, matching thick velvet drapery could cover the corkboard completely, leading any visitors to believe there was just another window behind it.
Post-it notes, knitting yarn in four colors, scissors, multicolored pushpins, markers, and tape cluttered the two tables in the blue bedroom. A small coffee machine and scattered coffee pods in various flavors completed the inventory of apparently disorganized items. A large armchair stood in the middle of the room, facing the corkboard. Despite the sunny day, clear sky, and perfect temperature, Alex chose to close the heavy drapery and curl up in that armchair rather than go outside and enjoy her backyard. There was one thing she couldn’t take with her outside: her crazy wall.
Numerous pictures, clippings, and Post-it notes covered the corkboard, pinned down with colorful pushpins and tied with yarn. Every color she used had a meaning. Green yarn reflected a verified connection between two people, events, or pieces of information. Blue was for plausible, most likely to be true, yet unverified connections. Yellow marked a suspected connection, while red was for surprising, unverified, wild hunches.
Pictures of several individuals were pinned to the corkboard, together with country names, maps, locations, dates, all organized on a timeline illustrating events that had started taking place roughly two years earlier and had stopped in November of the previous year. That was the timeline of her most recent case: a corporate investigation that had uncovered a terrorist plot. She hadn’t been able to paste a whole lot of information after that November date. Just scattered Post-it notes with single words followed by question marks, her guesses, and hunches, all unverified, pasted on the timeline wall to stay at the forefront of her attention.
Focused intently on the upper midsection of her timeline wall, Alex stared for minutes at the yellow Post-it marked with the X and a question mark. The position of that Post-it with the letter X showed that he was the leader of the entire structure reflected on her timeline. Underneath that Post-it, there were several others listed facts, conclusions, and hypotheses, using the appropriate marker color. She knew he was Russian, rich or well-funded, mobile, and a male. Those facts were written in green. She wondered whether he was working for the Russian government — SVR maybe? The Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation, or SVR, was just as powerful as the KGB had once been. After all, it was led by mostly the same people and had the same agenda. That Post-it held the letters SVR and a question mark written in yellow marker. Then a little lower, another Post-it held the initial V written in blue. During The Agency investigation, she had learned this valuable piece of information. His initial was V. His name most likely started with the letter V. Last name or first name? Unknown. She knew nothing more. Not a shred of information, nothing. In almost four months.
Absentminded, she almost missed the doorbell chime. Steve’s here, she thought.
“Come right in!”
She started getting up from her chair, extracting her long, slender legs from underneath her and looking for her missing left slipper. There it was, almost buried under the armchair.
When she looked up, Steve was leaning against the doorframe, a look of deep disappointment clouding his blue eyes.
“Hey,” she greeted him happily, “good, you’re here! We can leave in just a few.” She had to reach up and stand on her tiptoes to peck him on the lips. He didn’t meet her halfway, and his kiss wasn’t all that warm.
“Come right in? Seriously?” Steve’s frown was prominent. “In how many ways is that just plain wrong? How can you be so careless?”
She looked at him sheepishly. It was gonna be one of those days, when he treated her like a child. She hated that more than anything.
“Look, I knew you were coming. I had unlocked the door just minutes before you came, really.”
“But that doesn’t make it OK, Alex. Not in our line of work.”
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed, and tried to deter his attention. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Won’t happen again. Let me grab my bag and we can go.”
She tried to pass by him through the door, but he stopped her in her tracks.
“Not so fast, Alex.”
She turned to face him, feeling her blood starting to boil.
“And this?” Steve pointed at the timeline corkboard. “Didn’t we talk about this?”
She sighed again, trying to calm herself and salvage the evening. She wanted them to have a good time, to enjoy their weekend at the cabin, but she also needed to make a point.
“Look, Steve, this is my home. I do what I want in my home, in my time.”
“I agree,” he conceded, “but it’s unhealthy, and I’m worried about you. You’re obsessing over a case we closed four months ago. It isn’t good for you. You have to move on.”
“I’m not obsessing; stop being a shrink, all right?” Anger tinted the pitch of her voice.
“I can’t,” he smiled bitterly. “I am a shrink, and I can’t just turn that off and pretend I don’t see you heading in the wrong direction, although sometimes I wish I could. The case is over, let it go.”
“It’s not over, not until we find him!” Alex pointed at the Post-it note marked with the letter X.
“We may never find him, Alex. Sam told you it could take years! You can’t live like this. Have you been to work today?”
She blushed and ground her teeth angrily, repressing a groan. She remembered the sweatpants and wrinkled T-shirt she was wearing, her unkempt hair, and lack of makeup. Yep, busted, she thought.
“Brian said he didn’t need me today, so I took the day off.”
Steve paced slowly toward the window, and then pulled back the thick curtains, letting the sunshine in through the sparkling white sheers. She squinted.
“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was warm, concerned, and almost parental. “Talk to me.”
She stood quietly, unwilling to have that conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had it, and it would probably be a waste of time again. He just didn’t get it.
“You used to like your job,” Steve continued. “Just two years ago, when you came to work with us, you couldn’t get enough of it. You were so excited, so happy to have the opportunity to do the work we do. What happened?”
“Almost three years,” she said.
“All right, almost three years. But still… You are a fantastic computer engineer, you’re a great investigator, you have this super-intelligent brain, you’re analytical, brave, and bold. Do you remember what you liked the most about working for The Agency?”
She stood quiet, uncooperative. She’d been through this before. Oh God… make the preaching end already, she thought.
“I’ll tell you if you don’t remember.” Steve continued unperturbed. “You liked that you could go inside organizations and right the wrongs you found, making people’s lives better. You liked you could make a difference for so many. You loved to dig around, chase the facts, and find the corrupt, greedy, evil individuals who made everyone else suffer. You loved saving lives. And you loved taking a new client every few months, keeping your mind challenged and alert, helping you learn new things and celebrate the achievement with every closed case and happy client. Where did all that go?”