Black Ghosts

CHAPTER 2

Dawn cautiously probed the winter sky, dragging the valley from under the shadows of the jagged snow-covered peaks to the east.

“Le Bistro” was located in an old converted warehouse at the west end of Grantsville, where Main Street bends northwest, joining up with Highway 138 on its way from Salt Lake City. The restaurant was the source of a mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked croissants that lingered in the cold air. Using a recipe he picked up in the south of France, Edward baked an increasing number of the crescent-shaped rolls every morning. He now removed the last sizzling tray from the oven, placing it in a tall metal rack.

Whistling a tune only he could have recognized, Edward attended to his favorite part of the morning: preparing a hearty, somewhat oversized breakfast for himself. His staff was not due in for another hour, which gave him all the time he needed.

He had begun this routine the day after he opened ten months ago, and since then he had guarded it as a sacred rite. For someone who had dragged himself through some of the bloodiest gutters the world had to offer, as an officer with Alpha 27, a highly specialized and extremely covert operation unit of U.S. Military Intelligence, this was as close to heaven as it could get.

Edward had just poured himself a cup of hot black Colombian coffee and set his loaded plate — three eggs over easy, six crispy strips of bacon, and a basket of fresh croissants — on the counter separating the open kitchen from the bistro’s main seating area, when he heard a knock at the door. It was the door leading from the kitchen into a back alley.

Edward glanced quickly at the neon Michelob clock on the wall above the cash register. It was ten past six. The road in front of the restaurant was empty, and large, fluffy snowflakes descended gently through the fading yellow glow of the street lamp.

The second knock was stronger, more vigorous. Edward felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck: In his book, surprises were rarely pleasant. All his senses were now alert. Moving fast, he reached under the counter and drew a .357 Magnum Ruger revolver from a secret compartment.

“Just a minute,” he called out, moving closer to the door. Through the spy hole, Edward got a fish-eye view of the back alley and the woman standing at the door. Clumps of wet snow clung to her coat and to the knitted black cap pulled over her ears. She was alone, her arms folded across her chest, trying to keep warm.

“We open at seven,” he said through the door. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Edward.” The woman’s voice was barely audible. “Larry Collins sent me.”

Larry Collins was not a name that would come up in casual conversation. Larry was CIA, one of the few friends who knew where Edward could be found. They had met on a job about ten years ago, in the Middle East, and had become friends — not common in the murky province of covert activity. The work they had done together was usually referred to in the inner circle of the intelligence community as an INHAP OP — It Never Happened Operation — giving the politicians their precious plausible deniability. Therefore, on the record, Larry and Edward had never met, which was exactly the reason they could be friends without endangering each other.

Edward pulled the latch and moved a few feet back. “It’s open.” He stood with his back to the wall, the gun cocked.

The fact that it was a woman behind the door and not some gorilla made no difference to him. During his career, he had witnessed more than one incident when a tough, well-trained combat grunt had been blown to bits by a small, innocent-looking girl. Aside from that, saying “Larry sent me” didn’t necessarily make it so. For now he had only her word for it.

It took her a moment to push the door open, as it had frozen to the jamb. A burst of cold air carrying her gentle scent reached him almost the instant she entered.

“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her, a brief apologetic smile touching her pale face. She seemed to be in a hurry, restless, catching her breath. She stamped her feet to get the slush off her boots and then dusted the melting snow from her shoulders. By the time she pulled off her black cap, releasing a splash of disheveled blond hair, she was standing in a small puddle of melted snow.

“What can I do for you?” He lowered the gun slightly.

“Are you Edward?” She stared at the menacing Magnum bore. The smile was gone. Even in her big, bulky coat, she seemed graceful, fragile. Edward thought she was very beautiful, and very tense, as though she expected something terrible to happen.

“Yes. And you are—?”

“Natalie,” she responded quickly. “I work with Larry.” She stepped forward, extending her hand.

Edward raised the gun. “Let’s not be hasty,” he said.

She froze, her hand hanging in midair. “Right. Listen—”

“Where’s Larry?”

“He’s wounded, he’s in the van. We must hurry,” she pleaded.

Edward felt a knot form in his gut. A friend was in peril, but he didn’t let it show.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick to get me out there?”

“Larry said you owed him a bottle of scotch — Navy Cut.”

“That’s rum. Navy Cut’s a rum, not a scotch.”

“He said you’d say that. Now can we go?” She pulled her cap back on and turned to leave.

It was a joke between Larry and him, having to do with payment for a shot of illicit booze they had enjoyed together in Saudi Arabia, after a successful incursion into Iraq. Edward reached for a brown leather coat on the rack by the door and stuck the gun into his belt. “What happened?”

“He’s been shot.” She opened the door. “The van’s a couple of blocks from here.”

“Who shot him?” Edward followed her out, closing the door behind him.

“Look, mister,” she said coldly and impatiently, “what goddamn difference does it make who shot him? He said you’d help.”

“Why didn’t you park here?”

“I wanted to be sure the place was safe before I brought him here. Things are not what they appear to be lately.”

It stopped snowing, but the day was still very cold. By the time they had reached the end of the alley and turned onto Main Street, Edward could feel the chill penetrating his coat, and his ears were smarting. He put his hands deeper into his coat pockets, envying the woman in her black cap.

At the corner of Apple and Hale he saw the dark blue van parked across the street from the small town hall building. The exhaust was emitting a white cloud, indicating the engine was running.

“You drive,” she said as she entered the back seat.

Edward moved fast. Grantsville was not a place with a night life, but that was not to say everybody was asleep. A parked van with its engine running at this hour of the morning was bound to draw attention. This was a place where people would sit up and complain if a bird was chirping out of tune. He opened the driver’s-side door and looked into the back seat. Larry was wrapped in a gray blanket soaked in blood. His head was slumped to one side, leaning against the fogged-up window. Edward could hear him wheezing and gasping for air. It didn’t look good.

The sight of Larry all bloodied and helpless angered him. He couldn’t tell whether he was angry with whoever had done this or with Larry himself for making him deal with this sort of thing again.

“How long ago did this happen?” Edward asked.

“A couple of hours.” She put her arms around the unconscious man, gently lifting his head from the cold glass and leaning it on her shoulder. Larry opened his eyes briefly, trying to focus and muttering something. Then his eyes closed again.

“What did he say?” Edward asked.

“He’s delirious.” She lifted the blanket and looked underneath. “He’s losing blood. We need to get him inside, change his dressings.”

“We’ll get him to a hospital. There’s one down the road in Tooele.” Edward put the van in gear and eased out of the parking spot.

“No,” she said sharply, tugging on his shoulder. “Drive to your place.”

“He needs medical attention,” Edward reasoned, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“They’ll nail him if we take him to a hospital.”

“Who’s they?”

“FBI, CIA, whoever.”

“Oh, great,” muttered Edward. Things were going from bad to worse. “How close are they?”

“We shot at the ones who came for us.”

“Came for you? What do you mean?”

“Larry called for backup and they came.”

“Larry’s backup did this?” Edward was starting to realize the magnitude of the problem. From what she had told him, it was very possible they had just killed some CIA agents. If that was true, it would not be long before they would have the National Guard on their case, and not just the kids from Tooele.

“Do they know you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do Larry’s so-called friends know you?”

“No.”

Edward thought fast. They had to get Larry out of sight as quickly as possible. If, however, he was already being tailed, it was game over.

“What about this van?”

“What about it?”

“Is it clean?” Edward could see in the rearview mirror that she was staring blankly at him, obviously confused by the situation. “Who rented it?” he pressed.

“Shit,” she said in frustration. “He did.”

Edward had to think fast. He couldn’t dump the van, not with blood all over it. God only knew what the sheriff might do if he found it abandoned in that condition. Edward had no time to clean it up. He decided to park it in the old warehouse. There was a closed-off section he had been planning to turn into another seating area for the bistro. Edward turned down Main Street, back the way they had come.

“Why are they after him?” Edward asked as he pulled into the alley behind the bistro.

“He stumbled on something big, and they want him silenced.”

“And how do you fit in?”

“It’s a long story. I’m a friend of a friend.”

“Okay,” Edward said as the van came to a stop. “Let’s get him in.”

“Is there a drugstore around here?”

“There’s a medical clinic; you were just parked by it.” Edward got out and opened the back door to the kitchen, then returned to get Larry. Together, he and Natalie slid him out of the van, and Edward carried him in his arms.

Momentarily revived by the cold air, Larry opened his eyes and looked at Edward. He seemed to want to say something, then his head slumped back and he was out again.

Natalie held the kitchen door open and followed Edward in.

“Open that green door over there.” Edward nodded to a door leading into a hallway at one end of which was an office area and at the other the staircase to his private apartment.

Carrying Larry up the stairs took everything Edward had. Larry was not a big man, and Edward was six-foot-one and totally out of shape, not to mention his bad back. At this particular juncture, it would not be prudent to aggravate the old Army wound he had suffered during a night jump into El Salvador. It could render him as helpless as Larry.

Edward passed through the living room and into the bedroom, where he carefully lowered his unconscious friend onto the bed. Exhausted and catching his breath, he sat next to Larry.

“Excuse the mess,” he said when Natalie entered. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Looks okay to me.” There was a patronizing tone in her voice. She turned her attention to Larry. “He started bleeding again. We need to change his dressings. Where did you say that clinic was?”

“Not a good idea, especially if they know he’s wounded.”

“I’m not sure. I mean, if they’re dead they don’t know. But I can’t be sure about that.” She sounded anxious, frightened, needing reassurance that all would be well.

“Calm down. We’ll figure something out.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her it would be all right because he couldn’t see how. For all he knew, they — whoever they were — could be breaking his door down any minute, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Edward reached under the bed and pulled out a large black attaché case. “Here, my emergency first-aid kit. Somewhat larger than a conventional kit, but then I always expect the worst.” He smiled at her, trying to reassure her, hoping she couldn’t see through him. “You’ll find everything you need in there. I’ll go take care of the van. I’ll be right back.” He stopped at the door. “Is there something you need from the van?”

She thought for a minute, staring at the floor and running her long fingers through her hair. “There’s a blue duffel bag behind the back seat, if you could bring it.” She sounded tired.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. Edward went down to the vacant portion of the warehouse, swung open the double doors, and backed the van in. By the time he returned, Natalie had dressed Larry’s chest wound, and he was resting comfortably.

“He took a bullet to the chest,” she said, her voice quavering. “I think it’s still in there.”

“We’ll have to get him to a doctor,” said Edward. He handed her the duffel bag. She took out a green woolen sweater and pulled it on.

Natalie chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe if they don’t find him by tomorrow, they’ll think he’s back in Washington or somewhere. Then we could get him to a doctor.”

Edward knew Larry wouldn’t make it until tomorrow, not with that bullet in him and his fever the way it was. He also knew she was right about not taking him to the hospital.

From beneath his feet, Edward could hear the sounds of the bistro coming to life. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said. “I’ve got to make sure everything’s fine downstairs.” He left her sitting on the end of the bed, her eyes fixed on Larry. Her mind seemed to drift away.

In the living room he stopped by the phone to make a quick call to a number in New Jersey. It was an emergency number, the kind veterans from the battlefields of the Cold War carry etched into the tissues of their minds. Larry needed help, and fast.

The call, as usual, was answered almost immediately. “Yes?” said a rasping voice.

“It’s Edward.” There was no need for secret code names. No one was listening; no one cared. “I need a doctor.”

“What’s up? You sick?”

“Not me. A friend. Bullet in the chest.”

There was a momentary silence. “You’re in Utah, right?”

“Right. How about someone from the hospital in Tooele?” Edward could hear the computer keys as his friend was searching.

“No, sorry, we have no one there. I don’t even know if we have a doctor out there at all.” There was a pause, then the voice came back on again. “I can get you a medic.”

“That will have to do.”

“Okay. I’ll have him call you.”

“Hurry up, man. My friend is running out of time.”

“Peace,” rasped the voice, and the line went dead.

Edward knew, as he hung up, that you couldn’t always get what you wanted from this network of abandoned souls, but it didn’t hurt to ask. It was a comfort to know he wasn’t alone, that there was someone out there who would at least try to help.

The bistro was in full swing. The first wave of customers was pouring in. Edward’s breakfast, which he prepared so diligently, had long since been consigned to the trash. Kelly, Edward’s manager, came rushing from the main seating area into the kitchen. Her round face was shining with sweat.

“What’s with you?” she asked on her way to the large dishwasher, where she was about to give the new gofer a hand, seeing that the stream of clean cups was slowing to a trickle. “Is something wrong? You look as if you got hit by a truck.”

“No, I’m fine. Could you please get me some breakfast for two?”

A knowing look came into her eyes as she smiled at him. “For two? Yes, sir!” She saluted mockingly and turned to the burly man in a long white apron who was pouring perfect flapjacks on the wide black griddle. “Two Napoleons for the boss,” she called out. Then she turned back to Edward, her eyes curious. “Want me to bring it up t’ya?”

“No, I’ll come down for it.”

“Okay, no problema.” She turned back to her tasks. Edward would have to be careful about that curiosity of hers: For the moment, Larry was a stowaway.

When he got upstairs, Natalie was where he had left her. He sat in the chair by the window. After a few minutes of silence, he realized she had no intention of starting a conversation.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“I don’t know. Larry didn’t tell me much.”

Edward sensed she was lying. She had a wary look in her eye, like that of a hunted animal. He wondered how deep her involvement with Larry was. Could she just be a friend to whom Larry had turned in an hour of need?

“At least tell me what happened.”

She turned to face him, leaning on the bed’s brass footboard. “Larry wanted to replace some electronic device he said was about to be stolen from Hill Air Force Base with a fake one.”

“Just like that?” he interrupted.

“No, he’d been working on this for quite some time now. He knew someone was going to steal it, so he wanted to get in there and replace the real deal with a fake.” She seemed like she was about to cry, but she swallowed hard and kept on talking. “We drove over there — it’s on the other side of Salt Lake City.” She paused, moving on the bed carefully so as not to disturb Larry. “We got there about midnight and Larry parked by the base fence near a large hangar. He cut a hole in the fence and entered the base on foot. He told me to wait for him there.”

“When was all this?”

“I told you, last night around twelve.”

“He went in alone?”

“He expected to meet with the backup from his office when we got there. They were not there when we arrived. He wanted me to wait for them at the fence.”

“CIA?”

“No, Larry’s been out of the CIA for over a year — well, not really out, he was loaned to the National Security Council.”

Edward was stunned. He had seen Larry several months earlier and was told nothing. Why would Larry keep this from him? Larry, working for the NSC? “Go on.”

“He told me to wait for them. If they arrived before he got back, I was to tell them to wait. Well, I got scared sitting alone in the middle of nowhere, so I hid behind the hangar and watched the road. From where I was, I could see the van and the hole in the fence. He left me a gun, just in case. After about half an hour, a black car stopped across the road from the van. Three men got out; one walked over to the van and looked in. Then he walked back to the other two.”

“Weren’t you supposed to ask them to wait?”

“Yes, but there was something about them.” She shrugged. “I don’t know — call it woman’s intuition. Something didn’t smell right. So I stayed behind the hangar. One of them got a rifle out of the trunk and hid in the bushes. The other two got back in the car and drove down the road. I couldn’t see the car, but I could see by their headlights that they had stopped and turned around.”

“What about the guy in the bushes?”

“I couldn’t see him, it was too dark. It was around four when Larry came out of the base. He saw me behind the hangar and came over to me. Then the car pulled up behind the van and stopped. Larry asked me why I wasn’t waiting in the van and I told him I was worried. I told him about the man in the grove with the rifle and how they came and left and now had returned.

“He said it was okay. They were just following procedure in positioning themselves that way. I told him I didn’t trust them.” She started crying. “Larry told me to stay out of sight — he would go meet with them himself. He said he got the electronic device and was going to give it to them. He had it, wrapped in blue bubble wrap. I kneeled down as he walked towards them.”

She shook her head. “I knew something bad was going to happen, I just knew it.” She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. Edward leaned over to the large pine dresser for a box of tissues and handed it to her.

She smiled, drew a tissue, and dried her eyes. She cleared her throat and went on. “He walked towards them, they got out of the car and waited for him. That’s when I saw the man in the grove suddenly stand up and aim his rifle at Larry. I yelled out to Larry and fired my gun at the man. Larry turned in my direction. One of the men standing by the car drew a gun and shot him. Larry fell back. I ran towards them, firing my gun until there was no more bullets. Larry also shot at them from where he was on the ground.”

“Did you get them?”

“I think so, because they’d stopped shooting when I got to Larry. Anyway, I grabbed him and dragged him into the van. He said I should get the circuit board — he dropped it when he was shot. I went back and got it, and took off as fast as I could. Before he passed out he said that I should try and get to your place. After a while, I pulled off the road. I dressed his wound as best I could, just to stop the bleeding, and then found my way over here.”

“Were you followed?”

“I don’t think so. If they were after me they could have killed us both when I stopped to take care of him.”

Edward knew she was right. He also realized she was not as fragile as she looked. There was quite a woman under that beautiful outer shell.

“So what is this circuit board, anyway?”

“You’ll have to ask him when he comes to.” From her expression, he knew she was not going to say any more.

“Edward!” Kelly called from the bottom of the staircase. “The Napoleons are ready!”

Kelly had left coffee and the croissants stuffed with smoked Canadian bacon and melted Swiss cheese at the end of the counter by the door.

“Breakfast,” Edward called when he returned, placing the tray on the living-room table.

Edward lost his appetite. He took a bite out of the croissant but his knotted stomach seemed unwilling to accept the offering. He washed it down with the hot coffee. Natalie, on the other hand, wolfed down the croissant and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

“That was good,” she said, stretching her arms. “It’s been a long night. Mind if I lie down for a while?” She seemed to have been transformed, shrugging off the frightened, vulnerable woman.

“Go ahead.” Edward waved her toward the sofa. Soon she was asleep.

Pushing away his unfinished plate, Edward realized the shelter he had created for himself was disintegrating around him, a house of cards about to be knocked down by a breeze from the past. He was back in the wilderness of mirrors, where nothing is real except death.

He quietly went into the bedroom. Larry had not moved, although his wheezing appeared to have lessened some. Edward took a wool blanket from the dresser and covered Natalie with it, moving gently so as not to wake her. She looked so vulnerable lying there, hair tousled, mouth slightly open, showing the gleaming edge of her perfect teeth.

For the moment, there was nothing he could do for Larry: Sleep was his best ally. Leaning his chair back against the wall, Edward looked out the narrow opening between the blind and the window frame. He spent a few minutes pondering the situation and idly watching the passers-by in the street below.

Two men wearing light green trench coats and close-cropped hair crossed the street from the motel. Suddenly all Edward’s senses were alert. The men stood out like a sore thumb in the colorful carnival atmosphere of holiday skiers milling through the streets. Stepping onto the sidewalk, the taller man stopped by the newspaper dispenser, searching his pockets for change. Up the street from the bistro, the other man approached a parked blue Chevrolet Caprice, which Edward hadn’t noticed before. Putting one hand on the roof of the car, the man leaned by the front passenger window. He talked for a minute, pointing in several directions, then he stopped and nodded. Edward knew the trench-coat was getting instructions from someone in the car, but he couldn’t see who it was because of the car’s tinted windows. Still nodding, the trench-coat glanced in the direction of the general store, then at the bistro. From the looks of it, they were conducting a thorough search of the town.

Finally the trench-coat straightened up and headed toward the general store. His friend, who still hadn’t managed to find change, joined him.

Because an experienced operative can determine a lot about who he’s dealing with by observing them perform their job, Edward wanted to get a closer look. It was clear from the start that these were Americans: No foreign agency would be bold enough to behave so casually in the U.S. They would be more discreet, as would Americans working abroad. It was a fault of law enforcement and intelligence agencies the world over to execute their job far less graciously when on their own turf.

Edward went downstairs to the kitchen, looking out across the counter at the dining area and the front windows. Within minutes the taller man, who had finally managed to purchase a paper, emerged from the store. He stood outside the bistro, his hands deep in his pockets, coat collar raised, the paper folded neatly and tucked under his arm.

His partner walked in, standing momentarily in the doorway, then stepping out of the way to one side, slowly scanning the seating area. He seemed thorough, like a fox picking the fattest chicken in a coop. He examined the noisy crowd one table at a time. Occasionally he sneaked a brief look down at something in his palm.

Edward would wager anything the man was looking at a photo of Larry. There was no doubt the man was a professional. It was obvious they had to bring in reinforcements, people who had never seen Larry in person, which meant they were searching not only this town, but a much larger area. That also meant they had no idea where he was but were hoping to get lucky.

With a nonchalant expression on his square face, the trench-coat crossed the room and stopped by the door leading to the washrooms. Edward knew his kind only too well: young, arrogant know-it-alls. Over the years, Edward had run into these types in Indochina, South America, and the Middle East. Every time, they spelled nothing but trouble. It was during the fighting near Bong Son in ‘Nam, when Edward was a sergeant with the 173rd Airborne Brigade and about to complete his second tour of duty, that he had run into them for the first time. They all looked alike, clones of the same B-movie stand-in: neatly suited jerks, popping out of nowhere in the middle of the bush, accompanied by translators to “interrogate” the Viet Cong prisoners, eager to recruit dim-witted, innocent, patriotic fools for just one special mission. He had no idea what he was getting himself into when they signed him up. By the time he came out the other end, he had worked enough to last a lifetime, and all he had to show for it were the kills etched on the butt of his gun and a deep well of loneliness where his heart used to be.

Edward headed for the brass-and-chrome espresso machine, staying out of the kitchen staff’s way as plates loaded with lentils and ham — a lunch specialty — zipped across the Formica counter on their way to the hungry crowd. He busied himself loading up the machine with fine-ground coffee. As expected, the trench-coated spook disappeared into the washroom. Seconds later he emerged, walking briskly to the front door and out on the street. After a short verbal exchange with his partner, he pointed up the street and the two walked away. No one in the bistro seemed to have noticed their brief encounter with America’s “most secret.” It had always seemed to Edward that intelligence activity, no matter how bold, was taking place in a different dimension from the rest of the world around it.

From the way the search had been conducted, Edward concluded they were unaware of how seriously Larry was injured. Natalie’s hope, that they’d assume Larry had made it out of the area, was not so far-fetched as he might have thought earlier. They didn’t ask any questions, which could only mean they were keeping a low profile, hoping to get a handle on things without letting whatever it was Larry had uncovered spill out. Nor were they involving the local authorities, which meant that once they were gone, Larry and Natalie were in the clear.

Edward poured an espresso for himself and a cappuccino for Natalie. She might be awake now, he thought.

She was, holding the blanket up to her chin. “Is everything okay?” There was a quiver in her voice.

Edward nodded. “I brought you a cappuccino.”

She began to get up, still holding on to the blanket. Then, as if suddenly aware, she glanced toward the bedroom, a worried look in her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Two thirty.” Edward handed her the large coffee bowl. “I’ll check on Larry. Here, this should warm you up.”

“Ooh, cappuccino.” She sat, letting the blanket drop.

Pleased at having pegged her as a cappuccino person, Edward went into the bedroom. Larry was still unconscious but his breathing was now steady and silent. The wheezing was all but gone. Edward knew that was a temporary state and that things would soon take a turn for the worse if he was not treated.

“He’s fine for now,” Edward said as Natalie sipped the steaming brew, holding the bowl in both hands. He watched her, trying to figure her out. After a while, she licked away the foam mustache left by the cappuccino and put the empty bowl on the end table. She pulled her legs to her chest, leaning her chin on her knees.

“Natalie,” he said, sitting next to her on the sofa, “you have to tell me more. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Larry didn’t tell me much.”

“I want to hear what he did tell you. Come on, Natalie, I know the guy, he wouldn’t keep you totally in the dark.” Edward got up again and went over to the window, peeking out. “They were just here, a few minutes ago,” he said as casually as he could.

Her eyes widened in fear. “Who?” She nervously ran her fingers through her hair.

“A couple of bloodhounds. They’re gone for now, but they’ll be back. I need to know.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the empty space in front of her. She looked like a diver about to plunge into a dark river, wondering how deep it was.

“I’ll tell you as much as… as much as I can. For the rest, you’ll have to wait until Larry comes around.”

“Fair enough.”

She began slowly, her voice hesitant. “I told you, Larry was on loan to the NSC — working for some guy in Washington. He was investigating some kind of infiltration of American intelligence by some secret organization based in London. He had a source in London who told him that the organization was stealing components of a classified communications system.” She sniffled. “That’s all I can tell you, I’m sorry.” She seemed close to tears, like a little girl who had dropped her ice cream.

“Where were you staying?” He wanted to keep her mind working, to control the emotions that were building up inside her. For years he had managed to survive in the shadow of death due to his attention to detail. Now he had to verify that Natalie and Larry hadn’t left any loose ends that would come back to haunt them.

“A hotel in Salt Lake City.”

“Under what names?”

“We registered separately. It’s a big hotel. No one made a connection between us, I’m sure of that.”

“How about people from the Agency? Or Larry’s new place? Were you in contact with them at all?”

“No, just Larry.”

“Did he ever take you to Langley, or to one of the other CIA offices?”

“No. I told you, it was only me and him.”

“What about a photo? Did you give him a photo of yourself?”

“No. He said that since I would use my real identity, he didn’t need to get any documents prepared. So he didn’t need a photo.”

“What about the background check? Didn’t he do a background check on you when he hired you?”

“Yes, but he only used my social security number for that.”

“Good. With any luck, they don’t have your photo on file.”

The phone rang. Edward grabbed the receiver.

“Yeah?”

“Edward?” The man on the phone sounded young.

“Yes.”

“Joe said you needed help.”

“I do. How fast can you get here?”

“Where’s here?”

Edward gave him directions. The young man was a medic at a ski resort thirty minutes away. He had access to the required medications, and as a veteran of the Delta Force, he had ample experience in dealing with bullet wounds.

“On my way,” the man said and hung up. Edward went downstairs and told Kelly he was expecting a friend and asked that she send him up when he arrived.

Back in the apartment, he told Natalie that help for Larry was on its way. He asked that she stay out of sight when the medic arrived. “You can never be too careful.”

Then he went into the bedroom. Larry was sweating, he mumbled something, and then he gave another choking cough.

“Hang on, buddy. Help is on the way. Just hang in there, man.” Larry’s body relaxed again, his eyes closed.

Edward returned to the living room, where Natalie was sitting, wrapped in the blanket.

“Do you know to whom Larry reported?”

“Didn’t tell me,” she replied. “He only said it was someone high up.”

“Since when have you been working with him?”

She stared at the ceiling, thinking. “About eight months, maybe nine.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m a freelance reporter.”

“You’re a reporter?” Edward asked in amusement. “How does a reporter get involved in this business? Don’t tell me — you’re working on a story.” His voice had a hint of irony.

“Well,” she paused, looking down and tilting her head to one side, “I am, and I’m not. After I graduated from journalism school, there weren’t that many jobs. I had this idea that I could go somewhere where things were happening, be a freelancer. I speak Russian, you see, so it was Moscow.”

“And that’s where you met Larry?”

“No, no, no. I had a roommate who worked for him, and she put me in touch with him. You see, I wasn’t doing as well as I had expected, so I asked Sarah — that’s my roommate — to see if she could get me some work.” She raised her eyes and looked at Edward, a sad smile on her face. “I thought they were also working for some wire service or something. Sarah introduced me to Larry over the phone. Several days later Sarah had an accident.” Natalie stared at the floor. “She was killed.”

“What happened?”

“She was in this old elevator that was over its capacity. The cable broke and the elevator fell nine floors. Larry asked if I could take over for her. I worked for him for a couple of months, just sending him bits and pieces, looking up odd facts in the library, that kind of thing. Somehow Larry believed there was a Russian connection to this thing he was working on.”

“Right.”

“Then one day Larry wanted me out of there. He didn’t explain much, but I understood it would be better if I left. I got back to the States and worked with him here. When I got to Washington, Larry made it clear that I would work only with him, no one else. I ran all kinds of errands for him. Then he told me we had to come down here.” She looked over Edward’s shoulder, her eyes glazed, her thoughts seeming to drift away.

“So, when did you find out what he was really doing?”

“When I got back to the States, although I had my suspicions a little before. But when I got back he told me as much as he could and he said that he’d got me out because I was no longer safe in Russia.” She paused for a moment. Straightening up, she ran her fingers through her hair again. “How about you? What’s your connection with Larry?”

“We go back a long way,” said Edward. “We met in hell, I guess…” He was interrupted by a shout from Kelly below.

“Your friend’s here!”

“Okay,” he called back. “Ask him to wait in the office.” Edward suggested Natalie get a coffee or a bite to eat in the restaurant. She agreed. He took her downstairs and introduced her to Kelly, who looked her over with a practical eye. Seeming to like what she saw, she took Natalie by the arm and led her into the restaurant. Edward opened the door to the office where the medic was waiting.

Wearing a dark blue rescue team uniform under a bright orange ski jacket, the man looked more like a Boy Scout than a Delta Force veteran. But Edward knew looks can be deceiving. The young man was all business. After a short inspection of Larry’s wound, he washed his hands, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and returned to Larry’s side. He cleaned the entry hole which had swollen and turned purple with a reddish ring, oozing pus at the slightest touch. As though it were a daily occurrence for him, the medic used a hypodermic to administer a sedative into Larry’s vein. After waiting a few more minutes for the sedative to take hold, he went to work, his poker face remaining sealed.

Using a scalpel and a pair of long tweezers, he extracted the bullet and cut away the dead tissue. Before the hour was up, Larry was stitched, bandaged, and loaded with antibiotics. The medic placed an infusion into Larry’s vein and hung the plastic container from a nail in the wall.

“Well?” Edward asked as the young man packed up his things.

“I don’t know.” The young man tossed his bloodied rubber gloves into a plastic bag that was full of used bandages and the like. “I did what I could. Your friend has lost a lot of blood. He has an infection. I drained the wound and the antibiotics should take care of it now. Just make sure that he’s warm, and keep a hot compress on the wound area. That should help.” His tone was that of a bored guide in some remote museum, giving the last tour of the day. He took a small cardboard box out of his backpack and placed it on the dresser. “Make sure he keeps getting liquids. Do you know how to change one of these?” He pointed to the intravenous needle in Larry’s arm.

“Sure.”

“I left you a second bag in that box.” He headed for the door. “That’s all I have with me. If you need more, call our friends.” Edward sensed that he didn’t want to get involved.

Edward escorted the man down, letting him out by the back door. Then he went into the dining area, where Natalie was nursing a cup of coffee.

“It’s over,” he told her. “Now it’s up to Larry.” They went back upstairs to where Larry lay sleeping.

“Did he get the bullet out?”

“Yes.” Edward pointed to the small tray by the bed. He felt better now that it was out. The entire time the bullet was lodged in Larry’s chest, Edward had felt something pressing down on his own.

Natalie seemed relieved too. With a sigh she sat down, pulling off her green sweater. Edward nodded toward the bathroom. “Why don’t you go take a shower, you’ll feel better.”

She slowly got up, picking up her duffel bag on the way. Just before closing the bathroom door, she turned to him, then hesitated for a moment.

“Larry is a remarkable man, to have such friends,” she finally said.

Edward shrugged silently.

“Thanks,” said Natalie.

“Don’t mention it.”

The bathroom door closed behind her. Edward cleaned up the place, tossing anything that had any blood on it into the plastic bag the medic had left. This he took downstairs and buried among the half-eaten steaks and cold vegetables of the bistro’s refuse.

Edward sat in the bedroom, listening to the water running in the shower and Larry’s slow, rhythmic breathing. It had been a long day. Edward tried to analyze his situation, only to realize he was working in a vacuum. Bits and pieces of unrelated information were running through his mind, like frantic rats lost in a maze. There were far more questions than answers, and the questions were of the worst kind: the kind that spawn more questions.

The medic had said there was no guarantee Larry would pull through.

“Goddamn it, Larry,” Edward cursed aloud through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you fill me in when you had the chance?”