Call After Midnight (19 page)

He'd have to call the old man again for help. The prospect made Kronen at first apprehensive and then angry—at the woman, for escaping, at her companion, for interfering. She'd pay dearly for all the trouble she'd caused him.

Kronen put on his sunglasses. The bruise was plainly visible over his right cheekbone. It was a humiliating reminder that he'd been bested by such an unassuming creature as Sarah Fontaine.

But this was only a temporary setback. The old man would be looking for her, and his eyes were everywhere, even in the most unexpected places. Yes, they would find her again.

She couldn't hide forever.

* * *

I
T WAS THE
pigeons flapping overhead that awakened Sarah. She opened her eyes. By the gentle light of dusk, she saw smooth stone walls, the fluttering of wings and the mill's wooden shaft revolving slowly. A pigeon settled on a window
ledge high above and began to coo. The gears of the windmill creaked and groaned, like the timbers of an old ship. As she lay there in the straw, she was filled with a strange sense of wonder, and a fear that she had few such moments left to live. Oh, but she was so hungry for life! She'd never
known
such hunger. Only now, as the pigeons flapped and the sunlight faded, did she realize how precious each moment had become. And she owed them all to Nick.

She turned and smiled at him. He was sleeping beside her in the straw, his hands clasped behind his neck, his chest rising and falling. Poor, exhausted Nick. They had hitched a ride across the Dutch border; then they had walked, miles and miles it seemed. Now they were less than a mile from the next train station. But Sarah had balked at the thought of boarding another train. We'll wait until dark, he'd said. They'd found a place to rest, a windmill in the fields, and in their stone tower they'd both dropped immediately to sleep.

Berlin,
she thought.
Will we ever make it?

She curled up against Nick and listened to his steady breathing. With a shudder he awakened, and his arm came around and encircled her.

“It'll be dark soon,” she whispered.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I wish we never had to leave this place.”

He sighed deeply. “So do I.”

For a moment they lay together, listening to the creak of the gears, to the sails flapping in the wind. Suddenly he laughed.

“How ironic,” he said. “Brave Don Quixote, hiding out in a windmill. I can hear 'em now, laughing in London.”

“Laughing? Why?”

“Because dumb O'Hara's back in trouble.”

She smiled. “In trouble, maybe. But not dumb. Never dumb.”

“Thanks for the vote.”

She studied him curiously. “You sound so bitter, Nick. Is the foreign service that bad?”

“No. It's a great job. If you can smother your conscience. When you join up, they make you sign this paper. It says, essentially, ‘When in public, I swear to always toe the party line.' I signed it.”

“Big mistake, huh?”

“When I think of all the asinine policies I had to uphold. And then there were the cocktail parties. Night after night of standing around, trying not to get drunk on the sherry. The games we used to play with the Russians! Baiting Ivan, we called it. We were like little kids, trying to learn each other's secrets.”

“Ah. Diplomacy is hell.”

He smiled. “But not as bad as war.”

“I used to think you were just another bureaucrat.”

“Yep, that's me, shuffling papers all day.”

“Oh, Nick, you're the most unbureaucratic man I know! And believe me, I've known quite a few!”

“Men?”

“No, silly. Bureaucrats. Those guys in Washington who dole out my grant money. You're not like them. You're…
involved
.”

“Damn right I'm involved,” he said with a laugh. “Not just with me. With the world. Most people can't be bothered with anything outside their immediate existence. But you go out and fight for strangers.”

“No, I don't. I used to. When I was in college, all those issues mattered to me. Believe it or not, Tim Greenstein and I once spent a very cold night in jail. We got arrested for illegal assembly on the chancellor's doorstep. But you
know, these days, people don't seem to care about the world anymore. Maybe we all got older.” He touched her face. “Or maybe we all found more important things to care about.”

The pigeons suddenly flapped their wings, and straw fluttered down like bits of gold raining in from the window. They both sat up, and he began picking the pieces of straw from her hair.

“And what were you like in college?” he asked. “Very well-behaved, I'd imagine.”

“Diligent.”

“Of course.”

“Up until now I was very good at ignoring distractions.”

“Such as men?”

She tapped his nose lightly and grinned. “Such as men.”

For a long time they looked at each other. Her ears were filled with the sound of her own heartbeat and the creak of the mill as it turned in the wind.

“Now I wonder what I missed,” she whispered.

“You did what was important to you. That's what matters. You liked your work, didn't you?”

She nodded. Rising, she went to the doorway and looked at the newly plowed fields. “Yes. There's something nice about having the big picture right there, in my microscope. Being able to move it closer or farther away with just the flick of a lens. It's all so safe, so under my control. But you know, it never struck me till now. There are no windows in my laboratory. No windows to look out of…” She shook her head and sighed. “Now it seems like nothing's under my control anymore. But I've never felt more alive. Or more afraid of dying.”

“Don't talk about it, Sarah. Don't even think about it.” He came up behind her and turned her around so that she
was facing him. “We'll just take one day, one moment, at a time. That's all we can do.”

“I know.”

“You're strong, Sarah. In some ways you're stronger than I am. Only now do I realize that….”

He kissed her then, kissed her hard and long, like a man hungry for the taste of her. In the stone tower above, the birds cooed, and the last light of day faded. Blessed night, the safety of darkness, fell over the fields.

With a groan Nick drew back, breathing heavily. “If we keep this up, we'll sure as hell miss the train. Not that I'd mind, but…” He pressed his lips once more against hers. “Now's the time to move. Are you ready?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I'm ready.”

* * *

T
HE OLD MAN
had a dream.

Nienke was standing before him with her long hair tied in a delft-blue kerchief. Her wide, plain face was streaked with garden dirt, and she was smiling. “Frans,” she said, “you must build a stone path through the rosebushes so our friends can walk among the flowers. Now they have to walk around the bushes, never through the center, where all the pretty lavenders and yellows are. They miss them completely. I have to lead them through, and then their shoes get muddy. A stone path, Frans, like the one we had in our cottage in Dordrecht.”

“Of course,” he said. “I'll ask the gardener to build it.”

Nienke smiled. She came toward him. But when he reached out to touch her, her blue kerchief suddenly vanished. What had once been Nienke's hair was now a bright halo of fire. He tried to tear it off before it engulfed her face, but great clumps of hair came off in his hands. The more he tried to tear the flames away, the more hair and flesh he pulled off. Bit by bit, trying to save her, he tore
his wife apart. He looked down and saw that his arms were on fire, but he felt no pain, nothing at all, except a silent scream exploding in his throat, as he watched Nienke leave him forever.

* * *

I
T TOOK
W
ES
C
ORRIGAN
a good five minutes to answer the pounding on his back door. When he finally opened it, he could only stand there in his pajamas and bathrobe, blinking in surprise at his nocturnal visitors. Two people stood outside. At first glance he thought them strangers. The man was tall, white-haired, unshaven. The woman was dressed in a nondescript sweater and a gray cap. Their breath steamed in the cool night air.

“What's happened to the old sense of hospitality?” asked Nick.

Wes gaped. “What the— Nick? Is that
you
?”

“Can we come in?”

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” Still dazed, Corrigan gestured them into his kitchen and closed the door. He was a short, compact man in his midthirties. Beneath the harsh kitchen light, his skin was sallow and his eyes were puffy with sleep. He looked at his two visitors and shook his head in bewilderment. Then his gaze settled on Nick's white hair. “My God. Has it been that long?”

Nick shook his head and laughed. “Talcum powder. But any wrinkles you see are mine. Is anyone else in the house?”

“Just my cat. Nick, what the hell is going on?”

Nick strode past him, out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Was I supposed to know about all this?” called Wes. There was no answer from Nick. He turned to Sarah just as she pulled off her cap. “Uh, hello. I'm Wes Corrigan. And who're you?”

“Sarah.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you. Is this Nick's idea of a cheap date?”

“The street looks clean,” said Nick, stalking into the kitchen.

“Sure, it's clean. They sweep it every Thursday.”

“What I meant was, you're not under surveillance.”

Corrigan looked sheepish. “Well, actually I live kind of a dull life. Hey, come
on
, buddy. What gives?”

Nick sighed. “We're in a little trouble, Wes.”

Corrigan nodded. “I was starting to come to that conclusion. Who's after you?”

“The Company. Plus or minus a few others.”

Wes stared at him incredulously. Quickly he went to the kitchen door, glanced outside and slid the bolt shut. He turned back to Nick. “You've got the
CIA
after you? What'd you do? Sell a few national secrets?”

“It's a long story. We're going to need your help.”

Wes nodded tiredly. “I was afraid of that. Look, sit down, sit down. God, the kitchen's a mess. I don't usually entertain at two in the morning. I'll make us up a fresh pot of coffee. You hungry?”

Nick and Sarah looked at each other and smiled. “Famished,” said Sarah.

Corrigan went to the refrigerator, “Bacon and eggs, coming up.”

It took them an hour to tell him everything. By that time the coffeepot was empty, Nick and Sarah had polished off half a dozen eggs between them, and Corrigan was wide-awake and worried.

“Why do you think this guy Potter's involved?” asked Wes.

“He's obviously the case officer. It was his word that got Sarah released. He must've ordered those agents to
tail us to Margate. But in Margate things all went wrong. While the Company isn't exactly a tight outfit, they don't usually screw up this royally without a little help. Someone had that agent killed. Someone who then proceeded to fire on us.”

“The man with the sunglasses. Whoever he is.” Wes shook his head. “I don't like what you're up against.”

“Neither do I.”

Corrigan looked thoughtful. “So you want me to check out the file on Magus. Could be tough, Nick. If they've got it super-classified, I'm not going to be able to touch it.”

“Get us what you can. We can't do it alone. Until Sarah finds Geoffrey and gets some answers, we're out in the cold.”

“Yeah. That's a mighty uncomfortable place to be.”

He walked them to the back door. Outside, the stars were burning in a crisp clear sky.

“Where are you two sleeping?” asked Wes.

“We have a room near the Ku-damm.”

“You could sack out on my floor.”

“Too risky. We were lucky to get through the East German checkpoint. By now they know we're in the city. If they're smart they'll be watching your house soon.”

“So how do I get hold of you?”

“I'll phone you. The name'll be Barnes. Get back to me from an outside line. It's better if you don't know where we are.”

“Don't you trust me?”

Nick hesitated on the doorstep. “You know it's not that, Wes,” he said, nudging Sarah into the darkness.

“Then what is it?”

“This is nasty business. It's better if you don't get too deeply involved.”

Nick and Sarah turned and headed into the night. But
as they left, they heard Wes say behind them, softly, “Buddy, you just got me involved.”

* * *

A
S DAWN BRIGHTENED
outside their window, Sarah lay snuggled in Nick's arms. Despite their exhaustion, neither of them could sleep; too much depended on what happened today. At least they were no longer alone. Wes Corrigan was on their side.

Nick stirred, his breath suddenly warming her hair. “When this is over,” he whispered, “I want us to be just like we are now. Just like this.”

“When this is over…” She sighed and stared up at the bare white ceiling. “I wonder if it'll ever be over. If I'll ever go home again.”

“We'll go home. Together.”

She looked at him with longing. “Will we?”

“I promise. And Nick O'Hara always keeps his promises.”

She turned her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “Oh, Nick. I want you so much. I don't know anymore if I'm blind or scared or in love. I'm so mixed up.”

“No, you aren't.”

“Aren't you confused? Just a little?”

“About you? No. It sounds crazy, Sarah, but I really think I know you. You're the first woman I can say that about.”

“What about your wife? Didn't you know her?”

“Lauren?” His voice, so warm and gentle a moment before, all at once sounded hollow. “Yeah. I guess I did know her. When it was over.”