Should she call them?
She’d love to talk to Teri.
Given all the travel, Teri would probably still be sleeping. Zen, though — he’d be on the prowl for coffee and the latest news.
No, she decided. Let it be a real surprise.
67
Zen never slept well when he was traveling. It wasn’t so much the time differences or jet lag as the fact that Breanna wasn’t with him. Feeling her body next to him at night relaxed him in a way he had never been able to explain in words, not even to her.
He pushed upright in bed and reached for the light, getting his bearings. Teri was sleeping with Caroline in the adjoining room. His wheelchair was just to his left. He leaned over and grabbed it, pulling it into position so he could ease into it. He rolled to the bathroom, shifting his weight subtly to cross the piece of marble at the threshold.
It was funny. The bathroom and its fixtures were arranged to make it easier for someone with a handicap — once inside, there was more than enough room for his chair, and the toilet was at an almost perfect height. Whoever had designed the room had given it a great deal of thought. But the plank of marble at the threshold was a full two inches high — a ridiculous barrier for a wheelchair.
When he’d first lost the use of his legs, annoyances like that bothered him greatly. Now he just shook his head.
There was a small coffeemaker on the counter. He set it up, started the water through, then ran the water to shave.
The coffee was coffee in only the most theoretical sense — it was black and liquid. He took two sips and decided he would do without the benefits of caffeine until he could get downstairs to the cafe.
He dressed casually, pulling on his favorite gray sweatshirt — a Nike shirt with a pancaked microfiber fabric that was thin yet very warm. The sleeves were a little frayed, and one of the elbows showed signs that his arm would soon poke through, but it was the most comfortable thing he owned.
Breanna would be scandalized if she knew he was wearing it in public. But she wasn’t here to give him the hairy eyeball of wifely disapproval. He’d told the girls they’d get up around seven — plenty of time, he figured, for them to recover from the trip. He didn’t want to wake them, but he also didn’t want to go without coffee for two hours. So he tucked his laptop next to his legs and went down to see if the cafeteria was open.
There was an attendant at the elevator, an older man dressed in an army uniform. He stood at full attention as Zen approached, stepping to the side though there was ample room for Zen to get in.
“Is the cafeteria open?” Zen asked as he wheeled toward him.
“Staff is on duty at all times, sir,” said the man.
“Is that year-round, or just for the show?”
“For the show. But often, we have special guests.”
“Your English is very good,” said Zen.
“Thank you. When I was young, I studied. Now, with the Internet and travel, everyone speaks English. It is a common language.”
“Lucky for me.”
The elevator operator pushed the button for the lower floor. The doors closed slowly.
“I don’t mean to take you out of a job,” said Zen as they started to descend, “but does this elevator need an operator?”
The man smiled. “Everyone needs a job.”
“True enough,” said Zen. He extended his hand. “Zen Stockard.”
“Yes, Senator,” said the attendant. Zen’s friendliness seemed to worry him a little. He took the hand hesitantly, then shook. “I am Sergeant Greis.”
“You’re in the air force?”
“Forty-two years.”
“That’s a lot of time.”
Greis nodded.
“I’ll bet you did other things besides running an elevator,” said Zen.
“I was a weapons specialist,” said Greis. He straightened a little, almost as if he’d been picked out of a review line by a commanding general and asked to present himself. “I worked with many different aircraft.”
“I was a fighter pilot,” said Zen.
“Yes, Senator. You have won many medals.”
“My fame precedes me, huh?”
Greis didn’t understand the phrase.
“We couldn’t have done our jobs without men like you,” said Zen. “Ordies, maintainers — heart of the air force around the world. But you guys don’t get the credit.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, you should.”
The elevator doors opened. Zen rolled out into a foyer whose stone walls looked as if they were part of the dungeon in the keep across the way. A red carpet ran down the center of the space.
He followed the carpet to a sharp left, then past a pair of thick wooden doors lined with black wrought iron. He found himself in a vestibule just before the cafeteria, which he could see through a set of glass doors. There were lights on inside, and a waiter was working at a buffet table not far from the entrance, laying out a platter of breakfast meats.
There was only one problem — the three narrow steps between the foyer and the doors.
One step too many to risk, Zen calculated. As much as he hated to ask for assistance, there was simply no alternative.
Well, he could get out of the chair, push it ahead of him, then crawl down after it. But that was a bit extreme.
Maybe if no one here knew he was a senator.
The waiter disappeared into the back without looking in his direction. Zen decided to go back to the elevator and see if the operator might be able to help him. He was just turning around when a tall, thin gray-haired man came around the corner.
“Not open yet?” said the man. He had a slightly tired British accent.
“It’s open, I just can’t get down the steps,” said Zen.
It took the man a second or two to understand. “Can I help?” he asked.
“If you kind of lean on the back and help balance as I go down, I think it would work,” said Zen.
“Ah, yes. Quite.”
“I’m Zen Stockard,” said Zen as he positioned himself. “From America.”
“Ah, yes, Senator Stockard. A pleasure to meet you. Colonel Lynch.”
Lynch went down to the door and pushed it open. A small latch at the bottom held it in place.
“Alley-oop,” he said, taking the back of the chair.
Zen leaned and pushed gently on the wheels, calibrating his force so he could control his movement down the steps.
As they reached the bottom, the waiter Zen had seen earlier came racing over.
“We are under control,” said the colonel. “We have come through with valor.”
“Can I buy you breakfast?” joked Zen. The breakfasts were complimentary.
“I would rather like that,” said the colonel.
