Veil

26

Every muscle in Robert’s body ached, but he ignored it. Thorne, silent, showed no sign of stress, strain, or anger. Through schoolyard fights and wars, Robert knew her easy calm meant one thing. Hell lurked just around the corner.

“We better hit the office,” she said, her eyes searching, checking the rearview mirror. “I know the place is probably wired for sound, but the Georgia State Police will be calling about Julie Rice, and we better make sure Evelyn’s okay.”

Robert pulled out his cell phone and dialed. No answer. Not even the machine. He checked his watch. Too early for lunch. “ Drive to the alley across the street,” he said. “We can cut across and enter from the parking deck.”

Thorne sliced through the city like a pro, pulled into the alley a block from Dupont Circle, and parked alongside the Dupont Hotel. They ran down the alley to the street and looked up, mouths agape.

Smoke and flames raged from their office window. Black flakes of ash snowed down on everything, and everyone, with not a fire truck in sight. Thorne started for the building. Robert pulled her back. “It’s way past too late. See if you can spot Evelyn.” They searched the growing mob for several minutes. Nothing.

“There she is,” Thorne said, pointing, breathing a sigh of relief.

Evelyn, surrounded by six other frantic tenants, sprinted from the building and disappeared inside the hotel. Robert’s cell phone rang.

“Evelyn, are you okay?” Robert heard her fight back tears.

She arrived at the office late, found it ransacked and full of smoke, dropped her purse and ran.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Robert told her.

She sobbed gently. “What if I’d been there when they came to the office? I’d be…”

“You’re alive. That’s all that counts right now,” said Robert. “Look, don’t go home,” he ordered. “It’s not safe. Do you have the safe key?”

“Yes,” she replied, blowing her nose.

Inside a locker at Union Station, they kept a large green gym bag filled with emergency items. The bag contained two guns, a forty-five automatic and a ten millimeter Glock, plenty of ammunition, a set of open airline, bus, and train tickets, two encrypted cell phones, keys to their safehouse in upstate New York, and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. They each kept a key; Evelyn usually pinned hers in her bra.

Robert told her to get the bag and take the bus to the safehouse. He’d call when things blew over. Evelyn sniffled and cleared her throat.

Thorne took the phone and offered last minute advice. They said their goodbyes, and waited until her cab pulled away.

Fire trucks finally hit the scene and hopelessly showered the building, their job more containment than salvage.

Let’s get to Fiona’s house,” said Robert.

Thorne hesitated. “Robert, we’d better check on Barbara.” He dialed. The phone rang too many times; she always picked up by the third ring. He hung up and dialed again. Three rings, five, six. She finally answered. “I was indisposed, ” she told him.

“I need you to meet me at Fiona’s house right away! I’ll call ahead so they know you’re coming.”

Cantankerous, she drilled him for information, demanding to know why.

“Mother, get over to Fiona’s house! Now!” Dead silence.

“Okay, son. I’ll leave right away.”