46
I found Marianne at Bradley Jorgenson's hospital bedside. Bradley was sedated, his leg in splints and raised on some sort of pulley contraption. Marianne leaned close and kissed him on the forehead before she came to me.
We stepped out of Bradley's private room and I looked down at her uptilted face. She was beautiful. But there was still a shadow of fear behind her eyes.
'It's over.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'Trust me.'
'I do.'
I told her that the FBI was going to launch an investigation into the attempts on their lives. It was apparent that Petre Jorgenson had been the force behind the plot to have them murdered. He had also ordered the death of Caitlin Moore just because she had been instrumental in influencing Marianne, who had in turn influenced Bradley to cancel his involvement in military contracts. Petre Jorgenson couldn't stand to lose his share of the billions of dollars those contracts meant. He'd preferred to lose family members instead. What no one was sure of was to what depths the plot had gone, and who else among the Jorgenson family had been involved. Jack and Simon were currently answering serious questions.
'Any sniff of trouble, you let me know, OK?'
'I will,' she promised. 'But what about?…?'
'Your father? He knows you won't be coming home.'
'He was happy with that?'
'He sends his love,' I lied. 'He also sent you this.'
She held out her hand and I slipped her mother's crucifix into her palm. It was looped on a silver chain.
Marianne studied the chain.
'This isn't mine.'
'Souvenir for you,' I said.
It was elegant and expensive. An antique piece of jewellery. It had once held the weight of a book containing thirty-six legions of spirits. The weight of the cross would easily balance that out.
Marianne looped it round her neck and lifted the cross between her fingers. She kissed it, and I saw the fear recede. Then she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to my cheek.
'Thanks, Joe.'
All the gratitude I required. She turned away and re-entered Bradley's room. I leaned against the wall next to the door. I could hear her humming something under her breath, the same song she'd been humming in the garden on Baker Island. Only this time it didn't sound so sad.
