Annie awoke with her arm outstretched and her fingers clutching at empty air. Awoke in her darkened bedroom, sweaty, trembling, and breathless, her heart tripping wildly in her chest. The trailing edge of her inarticulate cries — cries that, in her dream, had seemed to take the form of her husband’s name — were still on her lips.
The dream, she thought.
Once again, the dream.
Annie reached over to her nightstand for the glass of water she had brought in from the kitchen before climbing into bed, took a drink, another, a third. She swept the hair back off her forehead, released a long, sighing breath. Thank heaven she hadn’t startled the kids with the noise she must have been making.
She sat there for several minutes, pulling herself together, letting her heartbeat and respiration slow to a normal rate. Then she put down the now-half-drained glass of water and pressed the illuminator button of her Indiglo alarm clock.
3:00 A.M.
She had fallen asleep less than two hours ago after poring over the written transcript of the
“Shit,” she muttered aloud. “Better find a way to clear your head before hitting the sack or you’re going to burn out fast, Annie. Listen to some music, watch those
Her eyes snapping wide open, her heart pounding again, she straightened with such an abrupt jerk that her headboard struck the wall behind her with a bang.
Mark’s words to her in the dream… those
She could recall them as if they had actually come from his mouth and not her own subconscious mind. As if he were repeating them from beside her in bed at that very instant.
She switched on her reading lamp and grabbed up the bound pages of the transcript from where they lay on the nightstand, unaware that she’d barely missed knocking over her water glass in the process.
“Oh, my God,” she said into the pin-drop silence of the room, slapping the transparent binder onto her lap and opening it with a jerky, almost violent flick of her hand. “Oh, my
EIGHTEEN
No matter how heavy Annie’s workload at the JSC, she’d routinely driven the kids to school every morning rather than hustle them off with their nursemaid, and she hadn’t wanted that to change while they were in Florida. When the phone rang she was helping them pack their book bags, impatient to get under way, having jumped out of bed, showered, and dressed almost immediately upon awakening from her dream long hours before sunrise.
She motioned for them to keep packing and snatched up the receiver.
“Hi,” she said. “This is Annie.”
“Good morning,” a man’s voice said at the other end of the line. “My name’s Pete Nimec. I’m from—”
“UpLink International.” She glanced quickly at the wall clock. Seven-thirty. Some people had their nerve. “Mr. Gordian called yesterday to tell me you’d be coming to Florida, and I’m very appreciative of your assistance. Hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon, though.”
“Sorry, I know it’s very early,” he said. “But I was hoping we could get together for breakfast.”
“No can do,” she said. “You caught me as I was practically heading out the door, and I need to get to the Cape—”
“Let’s meet there,” he said. “I’ll bring the coffee and muffins.”
She shook her head.
“Mr. Nimec—”
“Pete.”
“I can tag along with you. If you don’t mind. Be a good way to gain my bearings.”
Annie glanced out the terrace door and considered his proposition. Bright sequins of morning sunlight glittered on the blue Atlantic water, where a small recreational sailboat was tacking along parallel to the beach. Dorset had promised a view, and a view she’d gotten. She wished she were of a mind to enjoy it, to try spotting those dolphins and manatees that were supposedly frolicking around out there.
“I really don’t think that’s advisable,” she said. “You may not realize how hectic and crowded it gets in the Vehicle Assembly Building. There are dozens of people scrambling around. Sorting, examining, whatever. It can be pure chaos.”
“I’ll stay out of everybody’s way. Promise.”
“Look, there’s no sense in dancing around this,” she said. “Some of the things I’ll be doing today are highly sensitive. I realize we’re both on the same team, and it isn’t that I’m trying to keep any secrets. But right now I’m following up on a hunch that involves some highly technical particulars—”
“All the more reason you can trust me to stay out of your hair, since I won’t have the faintest idea what I’m looking at,” Nimec said.
“I’d still rather we try for later,” she said. “Maybe we can arrange to have lunch—”
“Mom, Chris keeps calling me monkey-face!” Linda shouted from the living room.
Annie cupped a hand over the receiver.
“That’s enough, you two, I’m on the phone,” she said. “Your books packed?”
“Yeah!” In unison.
“Then go into the kitchen and wait for Regina to give you your snack money.”
“Chris called me monkey-face ag—”
“Enough!”
“Hello?” Nimec again. “You still there?”
Annie uncovered the mouthpiece.
“Sorry, I’m getting the kids ready for school,” she said.
“Understood, I’ve one of my own. A nine-year-old.”
“You have my sympathies,” she said.
“Lives with his mother.”
“You were about to invite me to the Cape in exchange for me springing for lunch later on.”
She sighed in acquiescence. Roger Gordian
“I’m not sure that’s quite my recollection, but okay, we can meet at the official reception area in an hour. With one stipulation.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“This is my show, and nothing’s to be disclosed to the press, or anyone else, until I explicitly give the okay.
