greeting.
“I’m sorry Linh . . . my vision.”
“Chaos fights your spirit,” Linh interrupted.
“We call it inflammation of the optic nerve,” Aimee said. “Please, do sit down.” She indicated the Louis XV chair, then reached for an ice pack from the first aid kit.
Long deft fingers pressed Aimee’s wrist in several places.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Like this.” She stuck out her tongue and Aimee did the same.
“Abnormality of the liver is evidenced by a tense, pounding pulse and red tipped tongue indicating post- traumatic stress,” Linh said. “For this we build the fever, let the heat burn out the infection, unlike doctors in the West.”
Aimee smelled mint. To each his own, Aimee thought. It was worth a try.
“You’re an herbalist, too?” she asked.
Linh shook her head as she applied mint oil to Aimee’s temples and brow. “Everyone in my country treats it this way. From when we’re little babies.”
So they carried herbs instead of aspirin?
“Close your eyes. Take deep breaths,” Linh said, massaging Aimee’s hands. “Let the mint oil take effect.”
Aimee felt a warmth and slight tingling on her brow. The curious warmth traveled to the top of her skull and down her neck.
“Rene’s been kidnapped,” she told Linh. “The kidnappers want the jade. I found no clues at the auction house. And Gassot’s proving elusive.”
“Linh, an RG agent is seeking the jade, too,” Aimee said. “What do they have to do with it?”
“Who?”
“The RG’s a secret service, affiliated with the Prefecture and National Police.” And under the watchful eyes of the Ministry, she added silently.
Aimee felt a cold ruffle of wind by her knee, the musk of incense, and Linh’s hand on her shoulder.
“I’m being watched,” Linh said. “By whom, I’m not sure. One of the meditators gave me a ride here. She let me off around the block. But I may have been followed.”
Aimee opened her eyes. Linh had gone to the window. Shadows from the trees on rue du Louvre bruised the office walls. Aimee couldn’t read Linh’s expression.
“The pieces were disguised—” Linh began.
“Don’t you mean they
Silence, except for the buses shuddering in diesel agony and the klaxons heralding a traffic jam below. A cobweb clotted the edge of her vision. Linh made no reply.
“And they’ve been stolen. Tell me, what do they have to do with—”
“The Vietnamese secret police are watching me. I told you that,” Linh said. Her eyelids batted in the nervous mannerism Aimee remembered. “My mother gave me a jade bracelet when I was five. She called it a fortune teller. Good quality jade changes color after its been worn. If the jade fades, it indicates bad luck. But if it grows more vibrant, a lush green, life energy is flowing well and this predicts good luck, good health, wealth, and many offspring.”
“And your bracelet?”
There was another long pause. Now warmth ringed the crown of Aimee’s head, her palms felt moist and she noticed a tingling sensation coursing down her arms.
That’s personal,” Linh finally said.
Was that why Linh became a nun? Now, Aimee felt a deep sadness emanating from her.
“You Westerners don’t understand. Jade means much more to us than a trinket in a jewelry store window. The only way to win our people is through our beliefs, our souls.”
“Does this have to do with PetroVietnam and oil rights?” Aimee asked bluntly.
“The only politics I’m concerned with is obtaining my brother’s release,” Linh said. “Please, you’re the only one I can trust. Find the jade, before someone else does.”
Then Aimee’s vision gave out.
AIMEE BLINKED several times. Afraid to try to focus. Light reflected and prismed from the decanter on her office desk. Her silk sleeve smelled of mint and her head felt curiously clear. No cobwebs or blurriness. Just a curious tingling at the base of her skull. And clear vision.
The herbs? A combination of pills and herbs? Linh had left a small vial of mint oil on her keyboard.
She reached into her pocket for the jade disk. Felt the cold comforting roundness.
Her pills were finished. She picked up the phone to call Guy.
But he had had a blonde in his arms on the street.
She debated. But a minute later she punched in his number, determined to sound businesslike.
“Guy?”
“I’m in the middle of rounds right now,” he said, curtly.
“Sorry, I just ran out of pills,” she said.
“I’ll call a prescription in.”
Coward. She wished she could tell him she missed him. How it hurt her to see him with another woman. Did he hear the false bravado in her voice?
“Right away,” he said.
She heard someone say ‘Doctor, what about the intravenous line?’ and the pinging of bells in the hospital ward.
“If that’s all . . .” he said.
Silence.
“Can we talk later?”
“What’s there to talk about, Aimee?”
“I guess nothing.” The words caught in her throat and she hung up. She’d blown it again.
She forced herself to stand up, get her bag. Not to call him back and accuse him of being with another woman. What would be the point? He’d made his choice and moved on fast. Seems he’d had someone else waiting in the wings. Better to end it now.
She’d ignore the hollowness she felt. Sooner or later she’d get over it. What if she’d agreed to move to the suburbs? He’d have expected her to have his dinner waiting. She couldn’t even whip up an omelet! Forget Guy. She had to focus on finding Rene. Somehow the disks were the key; Linh had as good as confirmed it. Why had de Lussigny tried to enlist her to spy?
She pulled out Regnier’s card and called him. She hated to deal with the devil, but perhaps he could help find Rene, as Morbier insisted.
His phone rang. No answer. Great! Waiting stretched her patience. The little reserve she had, as Rene often told her. She had to
She locked the office and pushed the button for the elevator, a temperamental, grunting wire-framed affair from the last century. She stepped inside and rode it down to the second level. The glass elevator door slid open. She came face to face with Regnier. His freshly shaven scalp gleamed in the chrome yellow light. He stepped inside the elevator car and stood a few centimeters from her.
Fear was the worst thing to show with someone like him. She was afraid he could smell it on her.
