“Yes. But if she’s all right…,” he said, his voice drifting in the static. “It’s difficult, you see. I can’t leave here. Not tonight. It’s not permitted,” he finished stiffly.
“Permitted? It’s Emma. She’s in the hospital. Just tell Oppie—”
“I’m going to have to interrupt this call,” the other voice said. “The use of names is—”
“No, don’t. Please,” Connolly said. “Pawlowski, you still there?”
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll be there tomorrow. Tonight it’s impossible. I’m needed here.”
“That’s it?” Connolly said.
“I’m sure you will look after her,” Pawlowski said.
This time Connolly heard the edge. “What do you want me to tell her, then?” He paused. “Shall I give her your love?”
There was a silence, then he said, his voice cold again, “Yes, Mr. Connolly, give her my love.”
He was still holding the phone, disconcerted, when Mills appeared at the door.
“Something wrong?” Mills said, noticing his expression.
Connolly shook his head. “Just a bad connection,” he said, putting down the receiver.
“She going to be all right?”
Connolly nodded.
“What about you?” Mills said, indicating his taped chest.
“I’ll live,” he said absently. “You’re up late.”
For a moment neither of them spoke, then Mills moved further into the room. “Who’s Hector Ramirez?” he said finally.
“Is that his name? I didn’t know.” He looked up at Mills. “You’ve been busy.”
“I mean, who is he to you?”
“He killed Karl.”
Mills looked at him steadily. “Want to tell me why?”
“Later,” Connolly said, turning back to the hospital room. “That can wait.”
“Not for long,”
Connolly stopped, his eyes raised in question.
“Lot of curious people over at the office,” Mills said. “The switchboard’s been lighting up. Even the boys in Washington. Seems everybody wants to talk to you all of a sudden.”
Connolly paused. “I have to see Oppenheimer first.”
“Why is that, I wonder? Or is that something else I’m not supposed to know?” Connolly said nothing.
Mills shrugged. “Anyway, you’re not going to see him tonight. Everybody’s down at the site. Hadn’t you heard? All the cats are away.”
Connolly looked at him. “So all the rats got busy,” he said slowly. “You playing too? They send you over here?”
Mills shifted, leaning toward the desk. “They have a right to ask questions, Mike. The guy was a project employee, and he’s dead. That sets off a lot of bells. Van Drasek’s in a lather-what do you expect? And he’s got Lansdale jumping on him. You can practically hear him over the wire. They want to know what the hell’s going on.”
“So they sent you,” Connolly said. “You the advance party? What are you supposed to do, grill me? Or just keep me company till the big boys arrive? Christ. A little friendly visit. They pick on you for old times’ sake, or did you volunteer for the job?”
“Fuck you.”
The sharpness of it caught Connolly and he looked away, embarrassed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “So you didn’t volunteer. Look, I’m not ready for bedtime stories just yet. Not until I see Oppenheimer and Groves. Don’t ask why. There are reasons.”
Mills glanced at him, then looked toward Emma’s room, trying to work out his own puzzle. “Oppie’s not back until tomorrow night. I can’t stall that long. Don’t make this hard, okay? You’re supposed to be working with us.”
“Us?”
Mills hesitated. “Them.”
Connolly smiled. “Okay, then let’s make it easy. You got here and I was already gone. Nobody knows where.”
“Mike—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back by morning,” Connolly said. “Just give me one night. I need to see him. To square things.”
“It’s not up to me. You won’t get off the mesa, Mike. They have orders to stop you at the gate.”
“You’re kidding.”
Mills shook his head. “Remember New York? They’re still pissed off about that. They think you’re the slippery type.”
Connolly looked away, thinking. “Then we’ll use your car. You went after me. You figured I was going to the site to see my buddy Groves. Going over everybody’s head again. They won’t stop your car.”
“And where are you going to be-in the trunk?” Mills said sarcastically.
“Just the back,” Connolly said easily. “Having a rest. They’re not going to search your car. Besides, you’re in a hurry.” He lowered his voice. “Come on, Mills. Take a chance. For once.”
Mills colored, stung. “Why? More games,” he said, almost sneering.
“Just one more. A little war game. Don’t worry, you won’t get shot. Nobody gets hurt, in fact. That’s the point.”
“They’re not the enemy, Mike,” Mills said calmly.
“They’re not on your side either, you know.” Connolly paused. “Just help me finish the case.”
Mills stared at him. “Finish how? Another rewrite? Is that what we’re talking about? You going to rewrite this too?”
“If I have to.”
“For her sake?” Mills said, nodding toward Emma’s room.
Connolly ignored the gesture. “Everybody’s. It’s better this way.”
“How do you know? Just how do you decide what people ought to know?”
“I was trained in it, remember? It’s how I spent the war.”
“Yeah. I thought you gave all that up.”
“Almost. Anyway, I won’t have to do it much longer. The war’s over. Everybody will rewrite it now. Pretty soon nobody will know what happened.” He moved again toward the door. “Meanwhile, I could use a ride. Just a ride.”
They were still staring at each other, not saying anything, when the nurse came back. She hesitated at the door, afraid of interrupting, then went over to the desk. “She’s asking for you,” she said to Connolly. “Two minutes. I’ve given her another shot.”
Mills broke the stare and wearily, as if he had lost an argument with himself, turned to the nurse. “You on night duty?”
She nodded.
“No other visitors. That’s G-2 orders. You understand?”
She raised her eyebrows but nodded again, a good soldier.
“Thanks,” Connolly said to him.
“She doesn’t talk to anyone until I get back,” Mills said to the nurse, ignoring Connolly. “I mean, not anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Her husband might show up,” Connolly said.
The nurse looked at Mills. “I thought he was her husband.”
“Him?” Mills smiled. “No, he’s working with us.”
When he went back into the room, she seemed to be sleeping, and he stood there for a minute watching her, the sheet barely moving with her breathing. He thought of her at Costello’s, listening to the revisionist stories, somebody else’s Berlin.
