baffling business when you consider that every comma, every period on a scrap of paper can possess a vital blueprint to an extraordinary secret. It is the least obvious direction that holds the answers.'
The waiter came with Prevlov's cognac and he emptied the glass, swishing the liquor around in his mouth before downing it in one swallow.
'Will you excuse me a moment, sir?'
Prevlov looked up and Marganin nodded in the direction of the men's room.
'Of course.'
Marganin stepped into the high-ceilinged, tiled bathroom and stood in front of the urinal. He was not alone. A pair of feet with the trousers draped about the ankles showed under a toilet stall. He stood there, taking his time, until he heard the toilet flush. Then he moved over to the washbasin and rinsed his hands slowly, watching in the mirror as the same fat man from the park bench hitched up his belt and approached him.
'Pardon me, sailor,' the fat man said. 'You dropped this on the floor.'
He handed Marganin a small envelope.
Marganin took it without hesitation and slipped it into his tunic. 'Oh, how careless of me. Thank you.'
The fat man then leaned over the basin as Marganin turned away for a towel. 'You have explosive information in that envelope,' said the fat man softly. 'Do not treat it lightly.'
'It will be handled delicately.'
33
The letter was resting neatly centered on Seagram's desk in the study. He turned on the lamp, sagged into the chair, and began reading.
Dear Gene,
I love you. It must seem like a banal way to begin, but it is true. I still love you with all my heart.
I have tried desperately to understand and comfort you during these months of stress. How I have suffered waiting for you to accept my love and attention, hoping for nothing in return except a small sign of your affection. I am strong in many respects, Gene, but I do not have the strength and patience to fight indifferent neglect. No woman does.
I long for our early days, the gentle days when our concern for one another far outweighed the demands of our professional lives. It was simpler then. We taught our classes at the university, we laughed and made love as though each time were our last. Perhaps I drove the wedge between us for not wanting children. Perhaps a son or a daughter might have bound us tighter together. I don't know. I can only regret the things I did not do.
I only know that it will be best for both of us if I set time and space between us for a while, for at present our living under the same roof seems to bring out a meanness and selfishness neither of us knew we possessed.
I have moved in with Marie Sheldon, a marine geologist with NUMA. She has been kind enough to loan me a spare room in her Georgetown house until I can untangle my mental cobwebs. Please do not try to contact me. It would only result in more ugly words. Give me time to work things out, Gene. I implore you.
They say time heals all wounds. Let us pray this is so. I do not mean to desert you, Gene, when you feel you need me most. I believe it will relieve one more burden from the heavy pressures of your position.
Forgive my, feminine frailty, but from the other side of the coin, my side, it is as though you drove me away. Let us hope the future will allow our love to endure.
Again, I love you.
Dana
Seagram reread the letter four times, his eyes refusing to turn from the neatly scripted pages. Finally, he clicked off the light and sat there in the darkness.
34
Dana Seagram stood in front of her closet going through the feminine ritual of deciding what to wear when a knock sounded on the bedroom door.
'Dana? You almost ready?'
'Come on in, Marie.'
Marie Sheldon opened the door and leaned into the bedroom. 'Good lord, sweetie, you're not even dressed yet.
Marie's voice came from deep within her throat. She was a small, thin, vital woman with vivid blue eyes, a pert bobbed nose, and a mass of bleached blond hair shaped in a shag style. She might have been very provocative except for her square-cut chin.
'I go through this every morning,' Dana said irritably. 'If only I could get organized and lay things out the night before, but I always wait until the last moment.'
Marie moved beside Dana. 'How about the blue skirt?'
Dana slipped the skirt off the hanger and then threw it down on the carpet. 'Damn! I sent the matching blouse to the cleaners.'
'If you're not careful, you'll start foaming at the mouth.'
'I can't help it,' Dana said. 'Nothing seems to go right lately.'
'Since you walked out on your husband, you mean.'
'The last thing I need now is a sermon.'
'Settle down, sweetie. If you want to take out your wrath on somebody, then stand in front of a mirror.'
Dana stood, tense as a toy doll whose spring has been wound too tightly. Marie could see an emotional crying jag coming on and beat a strategic retreat.
'Relax. Take your time. I'll go down and warm up the car.
Dana waited until Marie's footsteps died before she went into the bathroom and downed two Librium capsules. As soon as the tranquilizer began to take effect, she calmly slipped on a turquoise linen dress, straightened her hair, pulled on a pair of flat-heeled shoes, and headed downstairs.
On the way to NUMA headquarters, Dana sat bright and perky while tapping her foot to the music from the car radio.
'One pill or two?' Marie said casually.
'Umm?'
'I said, one pill or two. It's a safe bet that when you instantly transform from a bitch into a Miss Goody Two-Shoes, you've been popping pills.'
'I meant it about the sermon.'
'Okay, but a warning, old roommate. If I find you flaked out on the floor some dark night from an overdose, I'm going to quietly fold my tent and silently steal off into the night. I can't stand traumatic death scenes.'
'You're exaggerating.'
Marie looked at her. 'Am I? You've been hitting that stuff like a health nut gobbles vitamins.'
'I'm all right,' Dana said defiantly.
'Like hell you are. You're a classic case of an emotionally depressed and frustrated female. The worst kind, I might add.'
'It takes time for the ragged edges to dull.'
'Ragged edges, my ass. You mean it dulls your guilt.'
'I won't delude myself into believing I did the best thing by leaving Gene. But I'm convinced I did the right thing.'
'Don't you think he needs you?'
'I used to hope he would reach out to me, yet every time we're together, we fight like alley cats. He's closed me out, Marie. It's the same old tired story. When a man like Gene becomes a slave to the demands of his work, he throws up a wall that can't be breached. And the stupid reason, the incredibly stupid reason, is because he imagines that sharing his problems automatically throws me on the firing line, too. A man accepts the thankless burden of responsibility. We women do not. To us, life is a game we play one day at a time. We never plan ahead like men.' Her face became sad and drawn. 'I can only wait and come back after Gene falls wounded in his private battle. Then, and only then, am I certain he'll welcome a return of my company.'
'It may be too late,' Marie said. 'From your description of him, Gene sounds like a prime candidate for a mental breakdown or a massive coronary. If you had an ounce of guts, you'd stick it out with him.'
