The Hadrian Memorandum

84

He came out into the hallway on the run expecting to hear the whir of the elevator. He didn’t. It was silent. Then he heard sounds in the stairwell beside it. Abruptly he looked over the side. She was already two flights down and moving fast.

He took the stairs two at a time. Down three flights, then four. He caught up to her on the ground floor in the entryway near Raisa’s apartment just as she reached the front door. He grabbed her and pulled her back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Going out.” She wrenched free of his grip.

“To where?”

“To think. To be alone.”

“You can do that in the apartment. Go in the bedroom. Shut the door. I won’t bother you.”

She said nothing, just stood there staring at him, breathing heavily. He saw fire and fear and uncertainty in her eyes. At the same time, there was a deep, almost animal-like resolve. She was going to do whatever it was she had set out for, and he knew keeping her from it would be next to impossible. Still, he had to try. He couldn’t have her going out in the streets, not now. Not after Franck’s body had been found.

“Want to talk about it?” he said quietly.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Give me a chance.”

Her eyes fixed on his. All the emotions were still there. “I have something to do. Please don’t interfere.”

“You get caught by the police, we’re both done. Joe Ryder won’t try to help. He wouldn’t dare even acknowledge us. If Conor White and his friends get you, you won’t live an hour.”

“Then I better not get caught,” she said coldly. In an instant she was past him and out the door and into what was now twilight. Marten watched her cross quickly into the park and then she was gone, swallowed up in the shadows.

“Quarrels and misunderstandings.” A familiar voice rang out from behind him. Startled, he whirled around.

Raisa stood in the doorway of her apartment, her arms folded over her chest. The navy suit was gone. In its place she wore a rose-colored silk robe and red slippers that nearly matched her hair. “The thing I warned you about a short while ago. At some point she’ll come back. And when she does, she’ll want to fuck you. You can be sure of it.”

Marten cocked his head. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, my love.”

Of course he had, but it surprised him nonetheless. What she had said and the way she’d said it-easily and without embarrassment-as if she were one of those people who just knew things. Suddenly he saw her not so much as the provider of a safe house, or the professional madam she’d turned out to be, but rather some kind of diminutive French-born earth mother. One who might or might not be more than a little crazy but who understood life and human behavior in ways others might not and wasn’t above verbalizing it.

“I saw her face,” Raisa continued, “her eyes, her demeanor. Something troubles her a great deal. It’s why she left, to try and resolve it. When she does, or even if she fails, she will come back completely drained by whatever has happened and be looking for a release of the most profound kind. In my experience nothing does that better than a good fuck, especially when it’s done with someone you like and trust.” Raisa Amaro smiled tenderly. “Be gentle with her. But not too gentle. For a little while at least she will want to forget everything. Good night, Mr. Marten.”

With that she gathered her robe, went back into her apartment, and closed the door.

Marten stood frozen. Whatever Raisa said about Anne coming back and what would happen when she did hadn’t fully registered. Nor had whatever reason had caused her to leave. What overrode everything was the danger out there on the street. He damned himself for having let her go. Instinct told him to go after her right then. Find her quickly. Fight with her if he had to but bring her back before the police or Conor White and his people found her. The trouble was, if he rushed out after her he would have to guess where she’d gone and in doing so would have no choice but to ask strangers if they’d seen her. Something that multiplied the risk to himself a hundredfold. It was a gamble he didn’t dare take. Joe Ryder was counting on him to deliver the photographs; so was the president.

He went to the door and looked out toward the park. The evening lights had come on, and he could see a few people still mingling there. Anne was not among them. He watched for a moment longer, then finally turned and went back up the stairs to the apartment.

9:18 P.M.