She lay very still for a few moments, then raised her head to see Louie staring at her hopefully from the foot of the bed and to get a better view of Chris in the kitchen making breakfast with quiet efficiency. His couch was covered with a set of sheets as well. She felt a little guilty.
She decided she didn’t feel brave enough to face anyone, even Louie, until she brushed her teeth and hair so she wrapped herself in the sheet and toddled into the bathroom like an inept geisha. There she found the toothbrush she remembered, even more vaguely, from the night before, a clean towel, a brush, and her clothes, neatly hung up. Hanging over the clothes on the same hook was an armored vest of the type that was meant to fit under street clothing.
Fifteen minutes later, lavered, brushed, and combed she felt ready for breakfast. Louie met her just outside the bathroom door and escorted her to the table, then went back to the front door and stretched out on his side.
“Coffee?” Chris asked.
“Oh God yes, black. Please.”
She also saw scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.
“Still supplying some good fuel.” She cleared her throat.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Much better than you, I’ll bet. Thanks for… you know.”
“If you mean, Hutchins, ‘thank you for making me as comfortable as possible,’ I always hope I can say that even though I don’t get guests much, I haven’t forgotten how to treat them.” Chris arched his eyebrows and gave a small but wickedly attractive grin that totally dispelled any remaining constraint. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather, you know.”
Livvy choked and spit coffee all over the table. “Sorry. Laying it on way too thick,” she said, gasping and blotting it up with a napkin. “Chrono, McGregor,
When she had recovered enough, she said, “I’ve been thinking about everything you said last night, specifically about the records from the Greater Potomac Institute. I mean, so far, that’s all we have for evidence, isn’t it? If we put everything else together, it’s still only coincidence and conjecture, but if Bedford were to deny knowing Josephson… and then we came up with the records…” It took her a while to get it all out around mouthfuls of toast and scrambled eggs.
“At some point that may be useful as a challenge, but not much. I have copies of my copies, somewhere safe, but they’re still only copies, and it’s been a long time. Bedford can claim he forgot he ever met Josephson,” Chris said. “Right now, our priority is to figure out what he’s planning, which is how Paula might be able to help.”
Livvy finished her toast and carried her dirty dishes in to Chris’ tiny kitchen counter. “Are we going in to the office first?”
“Not this morning. We don’t have time, and the Chief might ask where we’re going.”
“And shouldn’t we… like, tell him?”
“Do you really feel like repeating everything that was said last night without first getting a better idea if I’ve misjudged the man? Because I don’t. I doubt if I’ve strung that many sentences together in the course of one evening in three decades.”
“You got me. Then this is it, isn’t it? The declaration of war.”
“I am still half convinced that our best play would be to have you out of town, where you can be a true back- up,” Chris said.
“In case you actually get killed, you mean? How reassuring. And I thought it was just concern for my safety that made you suggest it last night, when really you’re just being thorough.”
Chris rewarded her with one of his faint smiles. “The good news is, Paula Bedford lives in Manhattan, so we’re taking the High Speed up and back. While we’re on it, we should be safe.”
He looked at Louie. “Sorry Louie, no work for you today. You stay home.”
Later, when Chris had plenty of time to appreciate the ironies, he recognized one of life’s cruel little jokes. Once you said something, it was out there, and could never be taken back, no matter how wide of the mark it was.
Livvy was able to buy a few amenities at the High Speed Onboard Mall, including an aquamarine silk blouse that helped her feel a little less like a fugitive. The blouse was so thin she was actually grateful for the armored vest underneath. She had abandoned her belt and now carried her pistol, comu, D-cards, and other necessities in a small bag that she could wear slung over her shoulder.
Now, standing in front of the security panel at Paula Bedford’s Fifth Avenue apartment building and trying to project confidence and reliability, she looked at Chris and noticed that he didn’t seem to be trying. He just did. She wondered if it was natural to his personality, the result of the experience of many years of perpetual prime-of-life living, or more than 75 years in Enforcement that enabled him. Probably all three, she decided. As a combination, tough to get over.
“Ms. Bedford, we’re here from D.C. LLE. We came up here to talk to you. May we come in, please?” Chris said to the security line link.
“No, please just go back. I’m sorry for all of your inconvenience, I truly am, but you should have called first,” came the disembodied voice. Paula could see them, of course, and Chris had positioned them so that Livvy and he, wearing their credentials around their necks, were both plainly visible. Livvy kept her face calm, confident, and benign, mirroring Chris’ voice and expression. There was no way they could tell if she was continuing to listen or if she had broken the communication link.
“Four days ago, your father got together with a doctor with some seriously dangerous skills, a doctor whose research he’s been supporting for many years. Whatever is going to happen is happening now. We intend to stop him from hurting anyone else. We would appreciate your help,” Chris said succintly.
There was a long silence, during which Chris and Livvy continued to stand outside the building and transmit resolve and trustworthiness. A full two minutes later, a pleasing chime signaled acceptance, and they stepped over to the door.
The doorman in the vestibule opened for them, and ushered them through the next two doors into the lobby. He used a key to unlock the vintage elevator doors and gestured them inside.
“Ms. Bedford will assist you with the elevator control. Good day, sir, madam,” he said courteously and gave a slight bow.
“How did you know what to say?” Livvy asked once the elevator had started.
“You don’t believe in that old saying about honesty?”
“’I probably had a crush on you. Isabella,’” Livvy quoted, deepening her voice.
“That was just courtesy, which she knew as well,” Chris said. “With Ms. Bedford… three years ago she came to Joshua’s funeral. They may have been brother and sister, but they were separated by ten years and raised by different mothers in different cities. I suspect she barely knew him. From all reports, she didn’t approach her father or say one word to him during the whole time she was in D.C. She respects family, but she certainly wasn’t there for her father’s sake. She doesn’t trust him.”
The elevator opened into an ornate vestibule to Paula Bedford’s penthouse, which occupied the top two floors. They could see her, a tall, pale brunette wearing a long flowing dress in golden tones and standing behind two more layers of security glass. There was a sturdy-looking formally dressed man standing attentively to the side. Paula hesitated briefly, then she said something and the man pressed his palm to the locks on the inner and outer doors and let them in.
Chris appeared to ignore their surroundings, but Livvy looked around curiously. As with so many who were plugged into Longevity and who had the wealth to indulge their whims, including Livvy’s parents, Paula Bedford chose to live in surroundings that suggested the classic styles of an earlier century. Livvy always suspected that it meant they secretly longed for the simplicity and elegance of those pre-Longevity times. In Paula Bedford’s case, the style was 18th century, Louis XV, with appropriate gilt and damask.
“Please, sit down,” Paula said graciously.
“How do you think I can help you? I have no knowledge of my father’s activities.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Chris said. “But at this point, anything you can tell us that would be revealing of his character and the direction his… inclinations might take him would be helpful.”
“You mean his obsession,” Paula said.
