civilian access, it wasn’t a security threat. Besides, the cleaning crews were carefully vetted.
They would need to pass through the galley to get to one of the heads.
The computers in the galley were used primarily for meal planning and inventorying supplies, but of course, they were networked to the other computers on the sub-if you knew how to access the passwords and authentication codes-something a Navy cryptologist would be able to do, given the right kind of access to the system.
She put the call through to Bahrain, to her man who was assigned to the cleaning crew of the USS Louisiana while it was in port tomorrow.
Allighiero Avellino, an Italian expatriate and Eco-Tech loyalist who’d moved to the Middle East two years ago, assured her that everything was still in place.
“We will finish at the sub,” Allighiero stated in his somewhat stilted English, “tomorrow afternoon at 3:00.” Cassandra knew that was Arabia Standard Time; so here in Wisconsin that would be 6:00 tomorrow morning.
Yes, good.
She hung up.
Checked her watch.
5:41 p.m.
She would give it a little more time, then check on her captive in the next room and see how the project was coming along.
36
I dreamt.
And here was my dream.
Ellory sways in a pool of rippling water spreading out all around me. He’s staring at me from a foot beneath the surface, his eyes open, his face grayish-blue, the color of death.
He’s mouthing something, trying to speak to me.
I lift him and he’s heavy and limp, the way only dead people are.
His face emerges and the water flows, drips off his skin, and he murmurs to me with a voice wet and thick, “It’s cold.” Water gurgles from his mouth. “So cold.”
I’m repulsed, but I want to tell him that things will be all right, that I’ll get him to shore, that I’ll save him, but he’s sinking and I can’t support him any longer and there’s no shore in sight, just vacant sky and lonely water in every direction “So cold.”
Then I hear a woman’s voice and she’s whispering my name: “Patrick…” The word comes from another place and collides with the nightmare.
“Patrick…”
Suddenly I’m spinning free of my dream, watching Ellory’s face disappear into the water, within the blurry fog of sleep.
“Cold, so cold.”
Then the voice again. “Pat, are you okay?”
It’s Amber and I want to reply, but I can’t seem to open my eyes, move, speak. Anything. A thick weight is pressing on me.
I struggle to speak, and at last I manage to whisper her name. “Amber.”
“He’s waking up!” The words are liquid, floating and shimmering around me as if they were real things that could be touched, held, squeezed.
At last I work my eyes open and see her leaning over me, her face backlit by the sharp, white hospital room light, which forces me to shut them again.
“Oh, is it good to see you, Pat. Thank God.”
The soft warmth of her hand rested on mine. She squeezed and it felt both right and wrong to have her touch me in this tender way. Skin on skin, as I awoke from my dream.
Thinking of my current relationship with Lien-hua, I slipped my hand away from my sister-in-law’s.
Groggy.
Still groggy.
I shifted slightly, worked my eyes open again. It looked like I was in an ICU, although it was small and not as modern as I’ve seen, so I guessed I was at the hospital in Woodborough. An IV plugged into my left arm. A cardiac monitor.
A woman stood beside Amber. Gray hair, medium build, early fifties, a nurse.
“Dr. Bowers,” the nurse said firmly, “you are a fortunate man.”
“Fortunate?” The word was hoarse, didn’t even sound like my voice.
“That tarp probably saved your life.”
Tarp?
“Ellory.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “He was there. The suspect threw him in the river. Did they find Ellory?”
Neither of them spoke.
“He went under the ice,” I said.
“Just rest, Pat-” Amber began, her voice soft, palliative, but I cut her off.
“Where’s Jake?”
“He stepped out of the room to get some coffee. He’ll be back.”
“I need to talk to Tessa, tell her what happened, can I borrow…”
But then, a realization.
When Tessa’s father had died last summer, she’d become more emotionally reliant on me, and if I spoke with her right now, she would certainly hear the weakness in my voice. And finding out I was in a hospital would only make her worry more-especially when she learned that I’d narrowly escaped drowning, not to mention freezing to death. Being stuck in the Cities and unable to see me wouldn’t help matters at all. Right now the last thing I wanted to do was upset her.
Call her later, check in when you’re not so queasy.
“What time is it?” My eyes flicked around the room, found no clock.
“Just past 6:00,” Amber said.
No! That’s too long!
I tried to prop myself up but was too weak to do it. “Tell me, did they catch Chekov?”
“Who?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure who that is.” Then she thought for a moment. “I did overhear Jake on the phone, though, telling someone that the UNSUB was still at large. Is that him?”
That term UNSUB always annoys me. Unlike on TV crime shows, almost no one in the Bureau actually uses the term. Besides in this case, Alexei wasn’t an unknown subject of the investigation, he was known, identified, there was no doubt he was the man who’d killed Bryan Ellory. Amber went on, “They were lucky to find you when they did.”
I felt myself slipping away again, the thick dreamy darkness sweeping over me. “How did they? How did they find me?”
“Anonymous call.”
“Anonymous call,” I echoed softly. There was only one person who knew I was lying beside that river, but why Alexei Chekov would have contacted emergency services to tell them about me, to save my life, was beyond me.
The sense of weariness was overpowering. “Did you give me anything?” I said to the nurse, who had just finished adjusting my IV.
“No. Do you know your condition when we brought you in?”
So sleepy.
“I need to go.” I fumbled with the IV to pull it out of my arm. Failed.
“It’s okay,” Amber said, her hand on mine again. “Relax, Pat.”
