the Third Twin

40

WHEN AT LAST JEANNIE WAS ALONE, SHE THREW HERSELF ON her bed and cried.

She cried for a long time. She pounded her pillows, shouted at the wall, and uttered the filthiest words she knew; then she buried her face in the quilt and cried some more. Her sheets were wet with tears and streaked black with mascara.

After a while she got up and washed her face and put coffee on. “It’s not like you’ve got cancer,” she said to herself. “Come on, shape up.” But it was hard. She was not going to die, okay, but she had lost everything she lived for.

She thought of herself at twenty-one. She had graduated summa cum laude and won the Mayfair Lites Challenge in the same year. She saw herself on the court, holding the cup high in the traditional gesture of triumph. The world had been at her feet. When she looked back she felt as if a different person had held up that trophy.

She sat on the couch drinking coffee. Her father, that old bastard, had stolen her TV, so she could not even watch dumbsoap operas to take her mind off her misery. She would have pigged out on chocolate if she had any. She thought of booze but decided it would make her more depressed. Shopping? She would probably burst into tears in the fitting room, and anyway she was now even more broke than before.

At around two o’clock the phone rang.

Jeannie ignored it.

However, the caller was persistent, and she got fed up with listening to the ring, so in the end she picked it up.

It was Steve. After the hearing he had gone back to Washington for a meeting with his lawyer. “I’m at the law office now,” he said. “We want you to take legal action against Jones Falls for recovery of your FBI list. My family will pay the costs. They think it will be worth it for the chance of finding the third twin.”

Jeannie said: “I don’t give a shit about the third twin.”

There was a pause, then he said: “It’s important to me.”

She sighed. With all my troubles, I’m supposed to worry about Steve? Then she caught herself. He worried about me, didn’t he? She felt ashamed. “Steve, forgive me,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for myself. Of course I’ll help you. What do I have to do?”

“Nothing. The lawyer will go to court, provided you give your permission.”

She began to think again. “Isn’t it a little dangerous? I mean, I presume JFU will have to be notified of our application. Then Berrington will know where the list is. And he’ll get to it before we do.”

“Damn, you’re right. Let me tell him that.”

A moment later another voice came on the phone. “Dr. Ferrami, this is Runciman Brewer, we’re on a conference link with Steve now. Where exactly is this data?”

“In my desk drawer, on a floppy disk marked SHOPPING.LST.”

“We can apply for access to your office without specifying what we’re looking for.”

“Then I think they might just wipe everything off my computer and all my disks.”

“I just don’t have a better idea.”

Steve said: “What we need is a burglar.”

Jeannie said: “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

Daddy.

The lawyer said: “What is it, Dr. Ferrami?”

“Can you hold off on this court application?” Jeannie said.

“Yes. We probably couldn’t get rolling before Monday, anyway. Why?”

“I just had an idea. Let me see if I can work it out. If not, we’ll go down the legal road next week. Steve?”

“Still here.”

“Call me later.”

“You bet.”

Jeannie hung up.

Daddy could get into her office.

He was at Patty’s house now. He was broke, so he wasn’t going anywhere. And he owed her. Oh, boy, did he owe her.

If she could find the third twin Steve would be cleared. And if she could prove to the world what Berrington and his friends had done in the seventies, maybe she would get her job back.

Could she ask her father to do this? It was against the law. He could end up in jail if things went wrong. He took that risk constantly, of course; but this time it would be her fault.

She told herself they would not get caught.

The doorbell rang. She lifted the handset. “Yes.”

“Jeannie?”

It was a familiar voice. “Yes,” she said. “Who’s this?”

“Will Temple.”

“Will?”

“I sent you two E-mails, didn’t you get them?”

What the hell was Will Temple doing here? “Come in,” she said, and she pressed the button.

He came up the stairs wearing tan chinos and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair was shorter, and although he still had the fair beard she had loved so much, instead of growing wild and bushy it was now a neatly trimmed goatee. The heiress had tidied him up.

She could not bring herself to let him kiss her cheek; he had hurt her too badly. She put out her hand to shake. “This is a surprise,” she said. “I haven’t been able to retrieve my E-mail for a couple of days.”

“I’m attending a conference in Washington,” he said. “I rented a car and drove out here.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Have a seat.” She put fresh coffee on.

He looked around. “Nice apartment.”

“Thanks.”

“Different.”

“You mean different from our old place.” The living room of their apartment in Minneapolis had been a big, untidy space full of overstuffed couches and bicycle wheels and tennis rackets and guitars. This room was pristine by comparison. “I guess I reacted against all that clutter.”

“You seemed to like it at the time.”

“I did. Things change.”

He nodded, and changed the subject. “I read about you in the New York Times. That article was bullshit.”

“It’s done it for me, though. I was fired today.”

“No!”

She poured coffee and sat opposite him and told him the story of the hearing. When she had finished he said: “This guy Steve—are you serious about him?”

“I don’t know. I have an open mind.”

“You’re not dating?”

“No, but he wants to, and I really like him. How about you? Are you still with Georgina Tinkerton Ross?”

“No.” He shook his head regretfully. “Jeannie, what I really came here to do is tell you that breaking up with you was the greatest mistake of my life.”

Jeannie was touched by how sad he looked. Part of her was pleased that he regretted losing her, but she did not wish him unhappy.

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “You’re strong, but you’re good. And you’re smart: I have to have someone smart. We were right for each other. We loved each other.”

“I was very hurt at the time,” she said. “But I got over it.”

“I’m not sure I did.”

She gave him an appraising look. He was a big man, not cute like Steve but attractive in a more rugged way. She prodded her libido, like a doctor touching a bruise, but there was no response, no trace left of the overwhelming physical desire she had once felt for Will’s strong body.

He had come to ask her to go back to him, that was clear now. And she knew what her answer was. She did not want him anymore. He was about a week too late.

It would be kinder not to put him through the humiliation of asking and being rejected. She stood up. “Will, I have something important to do and I have to run. I wish I’d got your messages, then we could have spent more time together.”

He read the subtext and looked sadder. “Too bad,” he said. He stood up.

She held out her hand to shake. “Thanks for dropping by.”

He pulled her to him to kiss her. She offered her cheek. He kissed it softly, then released her. “I wish I could rewrite our script,” he said. “I’d give it a happier ending.”

“Good-bye, Will.”

“Good-bye, Jeannie.”

She watched him walk down the stairs and out the door.

Her phone rang.

She picked it up. “Hello?”

“Getting fired is not the worst thing that can happen to you.”

It was a man, his voice slightly muffled as if he were speaking through something to disguise it.

Jeannie said: “Who is this?”

“Stop nosing into things that don’t concern you.”

Who the hell was this? “What things?”

“The one you met in Philadelphia was supposed to kill you.”

Jeannie stopped breathing. Suddenly she was very scared.

The voice went on: “He got carried away and messed up. But he could visit you again.”

Jeannie whispered: “Oh, God.…”

“Be warned.”

There was a click, then the dial tone. He had hung up.

Jeannie cradled the handset and stood staring at the phone.

No one had ever threatened to kill her. It was horrifying to know another human being wanted to end her life. She felt paralyzed. What are you supposed to do?

She sat on her couch, struggling to regain her strength of will. She felt like giving up. She was too bruised and battered to carry on fighting these powerful, shadowy enemies. They were too strong. They could get her fired, have her attacked, search her office, steal her E-mail; they seemed to be able to do anything. Perhaps they really could kill her.

It was so unfair. What right did they have? She was a good scientist, and they had ruined her career. They were willing to see Steve sent to jail for the rape of Lisa. They were threatening to kill her. She began to feel angry. Who did they think they were? She was not going to have her fife ruined by these arrogant creeps who thought they could manipulate everything for their own benefit and to hell with everyone else. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. I won’t let them win, she thought. I have the power to hurt them—I must have, or they wouldn’t feel the need to warn me off and threaten to kill me. I’m going to use that power. I don’t care what happens to me so long as I can mess things up for them. I’m smart, and I’m determined, and I’m Jeannie Fucking Ferrami, so look out, you bastards, here I come.