About the same time he said 'Send her to Antarctica,' he was getting reports on someone from Montana. They were more detailed than you'd expect; there was a lot of material about her uncle, for instance. It looked for all the world like they were investigating her for a high-level, top-secret government job.*
John took her at her word. He'd figured that since Wendy probably saw herself in a top-secret government job one day, she'd look into this sort of thing.
*And this was about Clea Bennet?* he asked.
*No names were mentioned,* Wendy wrote. *But Clea Bennet is from Montana, where she was raised by an eccentric uncle, recently deceased. All the particulars match, even if they didn't call her by name. So what do you think?*
*I think I'd better look this stuff over. Thanks, Wendy.*
*No prob. I really do want to help, you know.*
*I know. Thanks. I'd better get to work on this.*
*Yeah,* she said. *See you soon.*
* she wrote, then she was gone.
He began reading the reports she'd sent, finding them dry but very interesting.
They did seem to match the few facts offered on the video.
They'd gathered in Dieter's study to discuss Wendy's information. The comfortable room was lit by a single lamp and the light was dim, making the space feel more intimate. The French doors were open, letting in soft bree/es laden with the scent of the garden.
Dieter was in the big chair behind his desk, feet propped up on a low filing cabinet. John and his mother were in the smaller, more formal chairs in front of him.
'You're kidding, right?' Sarah said. His mother wasn't so much frowning as looking puzzled. 'I mean, it's not much to go on. Or I should say not much to go to Antarctica on.'
John smiled at that. 'No, but it's the best lead we've got.' He tilted his head toward her. 'So if you were looking for someone and you dug this up, what would you do?'
Sarah looked down, twisting her mouth wryly. After a beat she raised her hands in surrender. 'I'd go to Antarctica.'
Dieter hadn't said anything when John had presented Wendy's information. John
looked over at him and found the Austrian apparently deep in thought.
'Hey,' John said quietly. 'Big guy.'
Von Rossbach's narrowed gaze slid toward him.
'What do you think?' John asked.
'I think I remember hearing, just before I retired, the vaguest of hints about the possibility of someone creating a super-secret laboratory 'on ice.' At the time I thought it was a metaphor,' Dieter said. 'But maybe not.' He took his feet off the cabinet. 'Let me make a few calls, find out what I can about this.'
'Meanwhile, John and I can do some research on what sort of equipment we'll need.' Sarah turned to her son and smiled.
John glanced at Dieter, who looked away quickly.
'What?' Sarah asked, looking between them.
John hesitated. 'Well…' He looked to Dieter for support, but the big man was looking out into the garden. John turned back to his mother and took her hand.
Raising her brows at the sentimental gesture, she looked at Dieter, too, frowned as he continued to stare out the door, and, her expression turning suspicious, turned back to John.
'You're still not a hundred percent, Mom.' He took a deep breath. 'Not enough to go hiking around Antarctica.' He nodded once, looking deeply into her eyes.
Sarah frowned, then she let out an exasperated breath and looked away. To find herself confronting Dieter's concerned eyes. 'Okay!' she said, throwing up her hands. 'You're right. I'm not a hundred percent. But'—she pointed at John
—'you're too valuable to risk. So where does that leave us?'
They both looked at Dieter.
He laughed and held up his hands. 'Before we decide
'Sounds reasonable.' Sarah rose and crooked her finger at John. 'Let's leave our host to it, shall we?' With that, she walked from the room.
John followed her out, saying, 'You're not mad, are you, Mom?'
'No, John, I'm not mad.'
He was quiet a moment. 'You sound mad.'
Dieter smiled. She might not be mad, but she wasn't happy, either.
While they'd been thrashing out whether Sarah was to go or not, he'd been wondering if he dared call his old friend Jeff Goldberg, his former partner in the Sector.
He went to the wall and took down a heavily .framed painting, setting it to lean against the file cabinet. Then he worked the combination of the safe it had hidden. Removing the valuable papers and other odds and ends inside the surprisingly deep little safe, he opened a tiny secret compartment with a few deft touches. Inside was a cell phone.
In Vienna, Jeff had one just like it.
When Dieter had retired they'd decided to arrange a private means of communication in the event that either ever had need of the other's aid. At the time von Rossbach had been thinking that his partner, still active in a very dangerous profession, might need his help. It just went to show you; a backup plan was always a good idea.
He placed the phone on his desk and booted up his computer. Once on the Internet he sent off the coded message that would bounce through a few different addresses before it reached Jeff. Then he sat back to wait. It could be a while.
An hour and a half later the phone rang. Dieter snatched it up. 'Yes?' he said.
'I don't even know why I'm talking to you.'
'It's because in spite of everything you've heard, you know you can trust me,'
Dieter said.
'If I can trust you then why does it look like you've gone over to the other side?'
Jeff's voice was stressed, not usual.
Dieter wondered if, in spite of their precautions, this call was being monitored—
if Jeff was letting this call be monitored.
'You know me better than that,' von Rossbach said dismissively. 'What's the gossip about me?'
'
'And what am I supposed to have done in these reports?'
'For starters, harboring a wanted fugitive!' Goldberg snapped.
'When was this?'
'You know goddamn well when. You were the one who sent me those sketches of her. Then you said the description didn't match. And of course I believed you because my good buddy wouldn't lie to me! Next thing I know, you're running around California recruiting for her army!'
