A Ghost of Justice (8 page)

17

Gradually
Emily awoke, feeling and smelling the upholstery against her face, and realized someone was moving about.  Turning her head, she opened one eye.  Stark light from the kitchenette made her squint, turning the room into a mosaic of shadows and brightness.  Her father was clearing a place on the coffee table by the sofa serving as her bed.

"It's about time you woke up.  How did you sleep?"  He walked around behind, out of her field of vision.

"Uh," she grunted.  She turned all the way over, feeling thick and uncoordinated.  The air was cool.  It helped her to wake.

Finding the window, she saw it was still dark outside.  An audio feed was softly playing.  "What time is it?"

"Six."

"Ohh, crap," she groaned.  Maybe she had four hours sleep.  "Why so early?"

"I've been up half-an-hour.  Couldn't sleep anymore.  What time did you get to bed?"

She looked around, his voice not coming from behind.  He had moved back into the kitchenette.  "Never mind that.  Is there any tea ready?"

"Of course.  Hot and strong.  Irish black.  Be right there.  High today under thirty.  Rain likely."

Emily finally pushed herself up to sit.  "What else is new?"  She rubbed at her eyes and ran her hand over her face.

Eric placed tea, toast and eggs in front of her, then went back for his own.  Coming back, he repeated, "Sleep well?"

"All right, I guess."  She yawned and added, "When I finally got to sleep."

"And that--?  Eric nearly dropped his fork at the sound of frantic buzzing very close by.  "What the--"  He put the fork down and extended his arm so his watch came out from under the sleeve.  Putting his thumb on the left side, it stopped the annoying racket and swirled a hologram up.

In an instant glowing green words materialized in the air before Eric.  They said:

                                         'CONNECTION MADE.

                                                FILES SAVED:

                    Update of probable appearance, VF JH-16 JOHN HARDY

                    Latest sighting reports, VF JH-16 JOHN HARDY

                                       PRESS HERE TO OPEN.'

Eric reached onto the virtual screen where indicated.

The words whisked away and a full color 3-D image came up, showing Hardy's face with dark hair unkempt, growing long, and a scruffy short beard covering cheeks and chin.  Underneath was a scroll box listing a total of eight cities where persons matching the image had been reported.  Included in the list were the number of reports per city, with dates and a probability rating of the accuracy of each sighting.

Two each were in Washington and Richmond, all of which were given a probability of .90.  Two more in Charlottesville rated a .70.  All the rest were single sightings with low scores.  Before he closed the PDM, Eric selected the D.C. and Richmond sightings.  The link gave the general area in the cities of the sightings.  The D.C. sites were in the area of the government Mall and the National Cathedral.

Eric dismissed St. Louis and San Diego as improbable.  "I don't think he would go that far."

"Why?"

"Well…he knows the east better.  He may know where he can hide.  Hardy's been bumming this region for five or so years.  Hell, he may even have friends who would help him.  No, he's not west of the coastal states.  I doubt he's even outside the mid-Atlantic region."

"Why do you think that?  Archeologist's intuition?"

"Some, I guess.  Part deductive reasoning.  For the past two days I've tried to put myself in his head.  Or at least in his situation.  I once took a course in criminology at UNC-G before going into the service, and I remember the instructor said that a person on the run, especially for the first time, is likely, eventually, to go to a place they know.  Some place that represents safety to them.  So I'll bet Hardy isn't even outside of the Virginia area."

"Virginia's a big place."

"Unfortunately."

"But so's Egypt.  And you found Alexander's tomb with no more to go on than we have here."

"Yes, but it was predictable."

"Apparently only to you."

"The consortium listened to me."

"Yeah.  After you about shoved your theory and reasons down their collective throats."

"Well, it
was
a risky proposition, in many ways.  And our school still had minimal recognition in the field."

"Which it owes all to you."

"Why so complimentary this morning?"

Emily shrugged.  "It's all true.  Besides, you know I admire your work."

"I guess.  You
say
that's why you went into it."

"So it is.  I could have joined Uncle Bob.  He offered, you know.  High school graduation, he said he'd pay my way through an MBA if I came to work for him."

"That's because you're smart.  I can just see you now, sitting behind some desk, sending real and sim books and pencils here and there, getting fat and lazy."

She scooped up some eggs from her plate.  "Would've paid me three times what I'm going to make
with
my PhD.  And a mass amount more than the school pays me to work in the labs."

"Yeah, but don't forget the travel opportunities.  And, as I recall, you recently said it's in the blood."

"Huh," Emily muttered.  Her mind turned.  For a while she ate in silence, chewing slowly on the food and her thoughts.

Eric finished his tea.

Finally she said, "How long are we going to search at the Cathedral and the Observatory?"

"I don't know."  He sighed.  "Through the morning.  If it leads nowhere then we'll go back to the Mall."  He looked down at the empty plates.  "Well, I'd better let you get dressed so we can get on with it."  He went into the bedroom and shut the door.

A moment after the door clicked, Emily left the couch and crept up to it.  She surprised herself as she put an ear to the door, but she listened anyway.  All she heard was the soft sounds of his footsteps on the carpet, then the sharp clicks as he checked the magazine of the pistol.

The Metro was dirtier than she remembered, and smelled of various stinks, chiefly of urine.  But it still ran pretty well.  And, with one change of trains, they arrived at the observatory in twenty minutes.

For the next two hours they wandered in the cold drizzle outside the cathedral, then an hour through its interior.  When Emily spotted any man the right size, she then looked for the other factors.  She sought details like she had never done before.  And she found that the details eliminated any possible candidates she saw.

She heard a sigh from her father as their searching brought them near the Metro station.  He turned them in its direction.  "Let's go back to the Mall," he said abruptly.  "Hardy's not here."

18

They
reached the Mall after one in the afternoon.  The train was held when a protest had turned into a near-riot, spilling onto the tracks.  They had to sit in place for over ninety minutes before the police could clear the way.  Emily saw them use at least one canister of Dispersant.

"Hungry?" he asked when they got off the Metro.

"Not really, but I guess we better get something."

He nodded. "It's getting colder.  We'll need the energy.  Come on.  There's a good cafeteria under the Art Gallery."

Soon they were thawing out in the warmth.  Eric had a full tray before him and Emily a soup and soy-cheese bread.

He said, "By the way, how'd the chess game go with Wally?"

"How did you know we played a game?  Never mind."  She bent over to stir her soup.  "It's not over.  He's tough and I have to take my time, size him up.  I think I'll have him tonight.”

"Do you?  You were right the first time: he
is
tough.  Let me warn you, no move will be as it…"

Emily looked up to see why he stopped.  Eric was staring across the room somewhere behind her.  She whipped around, hoping he'd seen Hardy.  But there were no dirty gaunt young men.  Just tables of diners in office clothes or tourists.

She jumped when he shouted, "Callie.  Callie Smith!"

An attractive dark-haired woman, maybe in her late thirties, turned to look.  A mention to her table mates and she was up, walking swiftly over.  She had a roundish face and an athletic form.  The face broke into a broad smile as she came their way.

"I never know when I'm going to see you, Eric.  You look great.  And is this Emily?"

With a nod, he said, "'Em, this is Callie Smith, an old friend and former student from school."

Callie frowned at Eric, but her eyes were still smiling.  "You score only two for four, Dr. Sheafer.  I'm not 'old' and Smith is no longer my name.  Hasn't been for three years, I'm happy to say."

"Oh?  Remarried?"

"I should say not!  And if I do, I'm going to do what Rose did and stay Callie Vance.  I always thought that was a neat thing about you two.  But damned Harry Smith wouldn't hear of it.  There were too many things the throw back wouldn't hear of, so now he won't hear of me anymore."

"Well, Dad didn't think much of it when Rose kept her name.  Mom never got over it, not really.  But they still loved her like a daughter."  He motioned to a chair and she sat without hesitating.  "What happened to your marriage…if you don't mind me asking?  I always thought you and Harry were totally in love."

"Oh, hell.  I don't mind you asking one bit.  We loved each other all right.  But you know how that so often goes.  Seems like most people don't really know how to love, won't understand each other's needs.  As much my fault as his, I guess.  I felt he could do his work just as well here as in Knoxville.  It was mostly web-based buying…so.  Well, I wouldn't tell him directly how much my work meant to me and he couldn't, or wouldn't, see it on his own.  And…there was other stuff.  Finally, I blew up.  God, it was awful.  I tried to apologize, but he wouldn't reconcile.  So… Here I am, without him."

"I'm sorry."

Sitting and listening, Emily was reminded of her own failed relationship with Lee.  But she had told him from the start what she wanted to do.  Maybe that was why it never went far.  She wished he'd see it that way, too.  They could be friends, if he'd allow it.

"Thanks," Callie was saying.  "It's not really that bad.  Harry and I just couldn't give enough for it to work.  At least not without severe compromise by one or the other.  That would have been unhealthy for either of us.  Besides, my life is great, now.  And he married after a year.  Real happy, got a child.  I'm still fond of him, but that's all."

Eric let a silence pass for a few seconds, then steered the subject to a related direction.  "So, Callie, are you still working for the same man?"

"Senator Norwood?"

"I think that's the one.  Emily, you are sitting in the presence of the nation's first Congressional Advisor in History.  That's an unintentional pun.  Sorry, Callie."

"God awful, too.  At least it's accurate," she said.  "What your father means with his double-talk is that I was the historical advisor for the senior senator from Virginia.  Not anymore.  Now I'm independent."

"Oh?"

"Yep.  I've got my own business offering the service to anyone in DC."

"Senator Norwood."  The name stirred Emily's memory.  Something to do with their current situation.  "He's the one who sponsored the PeopleWatch bill, isn't he?"

"Exactly.  Good memory," she said to Emily.  "That was at least twenty years ago, when he was in the House."

"I…just remember.  Wasn't he personally involved in some way?"

"Yes.  His sister had been missing for twelve years.  More than thirty, now.  She's never been found.  Had this network been in existence then, she might have been.  He worked very hard for that bill.”  Callie turned to Eric.  "Now, Dr. Sheafer.  What brings you both to Washington?  A grant or something?"

His smile lessened but a vestige remained.  "Or something.  It's…personal business."

"Can't tell an 'old' friend, to use your term?"

"No."  Eric hesitated for a moment.  "Well, maybe.  How about over supper?  Are you free tonight?"

"Oh, damn!  No.  First date offer in months and I've got to go to a damned meeting at the White House.  You don't
ever
turn down an invitation from the president."

"Is this work?"

"Well, yes.  Plus it makes for a lot of good will, especially if it's important."

"And this is?"

"Absolutely.  Nothing secret about it, though.  Even Futrell has a limit on how bad he'll let the economy get before trying something."

Eric nodded.  "Did the protests last summer finally make him wake up?"

"Sort of.  Add to it the ones in October that shut down L.A. until Thanksgiving.  I
am
free tomorrow night.  Will you still be here?"

"Sure.  I can make any night for a while.  Are you still in College Park?"

"No.  Divorce settlement took that.  I've got an apartment in the Watergate.  Has a beautiful view of the river and the Mall.  Tenth floor.  Just ask the doorman."

To Callie's nod, Eric observed, "It's got a bit of history, too.  Speaking of the river, we're staying across it in Arlington with Walter Luptman."

"Oh, yeah.  I know him.  Craziest bureaucrat of them all.  My favorite one, too.  I didn't know you two were friends."

"We go way back.  Class of '09, Chicago U.  Both went to Cambridge, too."

"How was that?  Aren't you older by a few years?"

"Thanks a lot," he said with a laugh.

"Sorry.  It's just that I know how old Dr. Luptman is and I remember that you're almost exactly fifteen years--"

"Forget it," Eric interrupted.  "So we have a date."

"Of course.  I'll have everything ready by seven."

"Everything?"

"Yeah," she said, bobbing her head up and down.  "I'm a damned good cook, I'm tired of others' food, and I want to show off."  She glanced at her watch.  "Good to see you again.  Both of you.  Eric, I'll see you tomorrow night.  I have to go."

Eric took her hand.  "Seven o'clock.  I'm looking forward to it."

Emily said a quick, "Nice to meet you," as Callie left with a little wave.  As soon as she was well into the crowd and out of earshot, she turned to her father and said, "She's pretty.  Where did you know her?"

"When I was at Chicago, lecturing and working on my dissertation.  Steve was little, and you had just been born.  That's why she's already met you.  Of course, you were only a baby, but… Oh, yes.  She was about seventeen, I think.  Smartest student I've ever had.  She knew more about some things than I did."

"Wait a minute.  She was seventeen?"

"Yes, and a junior."

"Oh.  Okay.  Of course.  But Mom never said anything about you teaching in high school."

"Because I didn't."

"But she was a junior…"  It came clear to Emily.  "Wait.  You mean…  She was a junior in college?  You're lying."

"To my own daughter?  Absolutely not."

"Then… How?"

"I told you: she's damned smart.  She graduated high school with honors just after her sixteenth birthday."

"Must've been a strange person by the time you got her.  Seems normal now."

"No, not really.  Strange, I mean.  Rather out-going, as a matter of fact.  She just has a terrific memory.  And more than her share of aptitude.  Plus, well, her parents valued knowledge more than the average.  And passed this on to Callie.  Her father was a modestly successful mechanic who never went to college.  Neither did her mother.  But they didn't waste time on the t-vid, read a lot, took her on educational trips.  Pretty rare people."

"Yeah.  Why didn't they go to college?"

A knowing look passed across Eric's face.  "They came out of high school in the 'teens.  Only the rich and the fully scholarshipped could afford college."  Then he shrugged.  "But some people don't really need a complete formal education.  And that is not the only measure of intelligence.  I remember having a great conversation with them."

"Is she from Chicago?"

"No.  Fredricksburg.  I met her parents when they came to visit the school.  I don't know why they wanted to meet me.  They couldn't have had much time, but they came by my office.  Said something about seeing all of Callie's professors.  But I remember them staying for over an hour.  I know they couldn't have made it to all of her instructors.  She was taking half again as many credits as the average student."

Eric lapsed into a silence.  "What happened after that?" Emily asked when it seemed he was done.

"I don't know.  She aced my class.  Then I finished my dissertation, got my doctorate and we went to Cambridge.  I didn't hear of her again until she made the news by joining Norwood's staff.  And then we wrote a bit, on business.  A couple of times we met when I was in Washington.  She even dragged me in to see Norwood once.  Then I got my grant to go to Egypt that first time.  Right after that meeting, that was.  I still wonder if it was her that made the strings get pulled."

"Why?"

"Because Norwood didn't seem all that interested."

"No.  Why do you think she did all that?  What was her motivation?"

"How should I know?  Maybe she liked my class.  Anyway, she's done a hell of a lot of good here.  Memories inside the belt are notoriously flexible.  What she does is to try and counter that.  What's more, there's now more like her, assisting Congress, the White House, a few lobbyists, even the handful of public interest PACs.  For that, I'm glad to help her whenever she needs it in my area, and I'm grateful when I get her help."

"Yeah."  Emily couldn't keep out of her voice that she suspected more.  "What ever you say."

"What?"  His voice sounded a half-octave higher.

She looked at the waterfall fountain behind its glass wall.  "Nothing," she said breezily, then changed the subject, slightly.  "Are you going to tell her about Steve?"

'What… Oh, yeah.  Yes."  His voice returned to normal with that.  "Sure.  I suppose.  I don't know how much I'll tell her.  Enough, I guess.  I'm not in the mood for anyone's sympathy."

"I didn't think you were."

"No.  Maybe she can even help us somehow.  Maybe she can get someone to sponsor a repeal or a change in this damned law.  Even if it might not help us directly, I'd be real glad to see it go."

Emily nodded, still gazing at the falling water, cascading white down the stones and foaming at the bottom.  Mold was growing on the glass.  Eric was silent.

Finally she said, "We'd better get back outside.  I don't think he's coming in here."

Two hours later they were on the Metro.  Not even a desperate John Hardy would be out in the cold, heavy downpour that had come.