A new old memory came suddenly out of nowhere: sleeping in her mother's arms on a long car trip, being comforted by her. Where were they going? Why, they were leaving Arizona. It was the long journey to Wisconsin, and she was afraid, afraid because she was abandoning all her friends and was about to start a brand-new life. But also afraid for some other reason — what was it? Perhaps she was afraid because she sensed on some level that her parents were afraid. What would they have been afraid of?
How many other memories were there like that, waiting to be unlocked?
Tizzie was crammed in economy class. A man to one side of her kept falling asleep, his head tumbling upon her shoulder. Lunch came in a bag: a sandwich, piece of cheese, an apple and a plastic knife. A baby behind her was crying. But she scarcely noticed any of this.
She was too scared. More scared than any time since that car trip long ago.
And as it turned out, she had good reason to be. For when the plane finally landed, taxiing slowly from the runway to the gate and disgorging its passengers maddeningly slowly, she was met by a small delegation at the arrival gate.
She saw, and her heart gave out a sigh to see it, that the group included Uncle Henry. She could tell by their faces even before a single word was spoken that she had come too late.
She could tell that her mother was already dead.
The Hoover Building was large and impersonal, a nondescript bureaucratic monolith on Pennsylvania Avenue.
They got out a block early and walked the rest of the way, an old habit Jude had picked up when he went on important interviews. By now it had become a superstition, a bit of harmless ritual to make the interview turn out right. And considering everything, no interview in his life would ever be as important as this one.
There was a pay phone in the lobby, and Jude placed a call while Skyler walked around nervously.
He was put through right away.
"Raymond," Jude began.
There was a flicker of a pause. He imagined Raymond collecting himself to sound normal.
"Jude. Where the hell are you?"
He hadn't succeeded. His tone had an undercurrent of urgency.
"Right here. In D.C. I need to talk to you."
"Name your place. I'll be there."
"Maybe I'll come to you."
"Okay, fine… when?"
Jude thought Raymond sounded pleased. "How about right now?"
"Good. Perfect."
A pause. Then Raymond added: "Are you alone?"
Why give him the satisfaction?
"Just me and my shadow." He thought: I hope that's ambiguous enough for you.
"Okay. I'll be waiting. How soon will you get here?"
"I am here."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I'm right downstairs — in the lobby."
"Shit. Why didn't you say so? I'll be right down."
"Okay."
Jude hung up with his finger, holding the receiver in his hand, suddenly uncertain. What the hell, the die was cast. At least he was back in the game. But then why did he feel so unsure of himself, so unconvinced that he had done the right thing? Why did he feel this little ball of nettles inside that he knew to be the onset of fear?
He looked around the lobby. Ahead was a security check, a walkthrough glass booth manned by plainclothes guards. A little line had formed, people returning from mid-morning breaks. He was surprised at the dress of the men who whisked in and out of the front doors. It was normal and even stylish; he had half-expected to see the proverbial drab gray suits and short haircuts of the Hoover era. And there were a lot of women, too. Some people were even laughing.
On the other side of the metal detectors was an escort desk where badges were being handed out to visitors. Beyond was an elevator bank. On the other side was a newsstand with racks of magazines and newspapers on display. It was cool in the high-ceiling lobby and he could feel drafts from air-conditioning pumped in through vents.
Where was Skyler?
Jude scanned the lobby quickly. There he was, over by the opposite wall, still in that ridiculous shirt he'd gotten from the Arizona hospital. He was looking at some framed photographs on the wall.
Jude walked over and stood next to him. The photos were of agency officials, arranged in a hierarchical pyramid by title. Top ranking officials were at the top. At the summit was the FBI director, on the line below the deputy, then assistant directors, then division heads, and so on. Two out of the twenty were women. Skyler was staring at them. Jude turned around, looking behind the metal detectors for Raymond; he didn't want to be taken by surprise when he appeared.
Then he heard something — a quick intake of breath, suggesting shock. It came from Skyler. He looked to his side. Skyler was standing frozen in position with his arms hanging down and back. He was staring at the wall — at one particular picture on the wall.
Then he turned quickly and looked dead ahead at Jude, and his eyes said it alclass="underline" he had seen something frightening.
He bolted for the door.
Jude went after him and saw him running across the lobby toward the front exit. Skyler bumped into a woman's shoulder so hard that she spun halfway around. People turned, their mouths open. No one made a move to stop him. Jude dashed after him, tried to catch him before he reached the doors. But he was not fast enough. He looked through the glass. There was Skyler outside, balancing on one foot, comical almost, as he was desperately deciding what direction to run in.
"Jude! Jude!"
The sound came somewhere from the distance behind him, but he ignored it, cutting it off by plunging ahead to the door. He pushed the door with all his might, and in another second he was outside, back on the humid sidewalk, watching Skyler running up the street.
He ran after him, but couldn't catch him.
Two blocks, three, four. Skyler wasn't slowing down. Jude watched the top of his head bobbing up and down among the crowd on the sidewalk. Several times, Skyler turned back to look and saw Jude coming and still kept running.
Strange, thought Jude. He almost seems to be running away from me.
But he wasn't. Quite the opposite. Skyler wanted to make sure that Jude, too, was running away.
Jude found this out a few moments later when he arrived at a park, stopped to catch his breath, looked around and couldn't see Skyler anywhere. Then he heard his name being called softly.
He Joined Skyler, who was sitting on a bench partially concealed by two rhododendron bushes, breathing in great gulps of air.
"What happened?" Jude exclaimed. "Why did you run off like that?"
"The photo," explained Skyler. "The one of the deputy director. Eagleton."
"Yes."
"I've seen him before. On the island. He was one of those who came that day to see Dr. Rincon."
The funeral was tastefully done. It was held in a white clapboard Congregational church on Lake Drive.
The turnout was larger than Tizzie had expected — her parents must have known more people than she had realized. Many were elderly, sweet-looking women in bonnets and white Easter gloves, and men with wrinkled faces and perfectly pressed trousers; they knew by heart the rituals and protocol of funeral attendance. The odd thing was how few of them Tizzie knew.
Her father was too ill to come, which made it more difficult for her.
Afterward, the participants came back to her parents' house to pay their respects. A huge buffet was laid out — all kinds of salads, deviled eggs, bowls of tuna fish, sliced ham, coleslaw, loaves of unsliced bread and angel food cake — more than enough to feed everyone. Tizzie had no idea where it had all come from. She had the odd sensation that somewhere behind the scenes, professional funeral-givers were poring over plans and pulling strings.