Pipe Dreams (23 page)

CHAPTER 41

V
anessa’s journal was filled with
chicken scratch. She did that on purpose, for her grandfather. He used to say, “You can’t trust anyone, Tanta Shana. Even in the tribe, you don’t know who’s who and what’s what. You want a good life, you trust only yourself. Leave behind only what you’re willing to let people to find.”

Vanessa had loved everything about her grandfather – the extra skin that jiggled around his ear lobes when he laughed and the gray whiskers that sprouted from his nose. Big, bushy eyebrows gathered above deep, brown eyes. His slack mouth
hadn’t always swallowed food neatly, but the words that came out of it had been beautiful to her. His accent, even after so many years, had been pronounced. It was like his sentences were laced with mystery, magic, and time.

“What about Grandma, Papa?  Do you trust her?” Vanessa would ask. His eyes would twinkle as he replied, “Oh!  Of course I trust your grandma. I trust her to tell me what to wear and what to eat, where to sit and when to move. I trust her to tell me all the things I do wrong so I can learn to do them right!”  They would both giggle at his usual response. Then she would ask, “And me, Papa?  What about me?”  He would pull her close, tickling her with his scruffy face, and kiss her. “You, my
tanta shana, my blood and my heart, I trust you like I trust the sun will rise tomorrow and the birds will sing. You are Kovalic, Vanessa. You are our future. You would never betray us. Never forget that, little girl. We are counting on you.”

“No, Papa. I won
’t forget,” she had always answered, and she never did. That was why her journal was filled with chicken scratch. Nobody could read it, but her. Vanessa had invented the tiny code. The writing was so small, one book held the entries of years.

Vanessa held the small book in her hands, flipping pages as she sat next to Michael in the last rays of the setting sun. It had been a long day. The colonel had questioned each of them at length, going over and over minutia – inconsequential details about the
NSO and their roles in it. She had been glad to tell him what she knew. The burden of her knowledge had been a weight. Even sharing it with Ramirez and the cell hadn’t lessened it. Inside the city, her knowledge had little power. Now, the thing for which she had hoped, the sustenance that had enabled her to persevere, was real, but her session had been exhausting.

The wind picked up, rippling the grasses. On the lake, waves reflected the oranges and reds of waning light. Getting cold, she closed the book and slid closer to Michael, leaning her head on his shoulder. He had been writing as well. There had been little talk between them as they savored the silence the open space provided.

When the lake turned charcoal and green and the sky, previously painted in brilliant hues, was a luminescent gray, he took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “Let’s find the others,” he said. Vanessa slipped her journal into the pocket of her fleece and stood. Then she helped Michael to his feet and handed him his crutches.

They meandered toward the cafeteria. The bright lights shining through its large windows were a beacon, signaling food, warmth, and conversation. Vanessa was in no hurry to get there. To be in the night, trusting the quiet, and walk with this man was to be alive, whole, and happy.

Michael’s awkward hop was jarring. The crutches he used had lost their rubber feet, leaving the aluminum unprotected. They went click, thump, click, thump on the polished floor inside the administration building. The noise intruded on the softness of her mood. Vanessa steeled herself for the onslaught of chatter that awaited them at the dinner table.

As they crossed the lobby, other sounds assaulted her. The ringing of a telephone in an office to their left was startling. How long had it been since she heard those shrill notes?  She paused to glance through the open door. Inside, a number of men argued over a large table littered with papers and photographs. Their voices were high pitched and urgent. Suddenly, Colonel McGrath bellowed, “That
’s it!  No more discussion. Charlie, get those coordinates to the team. I want them moving now!”

The men scrambled away from the table. Then McGrath was in the doorway, staring at Michael and Vanessa. Instinctively, Vanessa looked down at the floor. Like when she had been an assistant, she had overheard something she shouldn
’t have. There would be a punishment. She was certain of this. Face hard and shoulders rigid, McGrath took a step forward, then another. Vanessa stepped back. Nothing dulled terror. Even her long familiarity with it, and the knowledge of her own consistent survival, did little to assuage the ice cold tentacles of its grip.

Michael put his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. Sensing her tension, he didn
’t understand its cause. She wanted to run, but didn’t. It would show fear. Fear was like bait in the water. It drew the sharks.

“Evening, Colonel,” Michael said. The air was charged with his simple words. Her stomach churned as she waited for what would come next.

“Michael, Vanessa,” he acknowledged. “Glad I ran into you. Vanessa, I was going to send for you after dinner, but since you’re here now, do you mind coming with me?  I have a few more questions I’d like to ask.”

Vanessa trembled. McGrath
’s voice was smooth, calm, and polite, but it did not fool her. She blinked, trying to will away the tears pooling in her eyes. How could she have allowed herself to believe she was safe, or that the rules would be any different here?  The military, like the NSO, demanded obedience. Those at the top would do as they pleased.

Michael could not protect her, but Vanessa could protect him. She stepped away from him, crossing the distance to the colonel. The few paces were a vast desert. Each small footstep brought her closer to another small death, but this time the effort was worth it. She would not let Michael fight for her and be crushed.

In front of McGrath, she raised her eyes to meet his and nodded. Speech was beyond her. He looked down at her, crinkling his forehead in surprise. Had he not imagined she would come so willingly?  Reaching out, he took her arm and spun her toward his office. Vanessa fought to control her nausea as he opened the door and led her inside.

“Have a seat, Vanessa.” He gestured to one of the upholstered chairs in front of his desk. She did as he requested and, saying nothing, waited for what would come. Behind her, the door shut. A lamp clicked on and the overhead lights dimmed, bathing the office in shadows. Then he approached her. Would he slap the back of her head, or caress her gently?  A tear escaped, but she did not wipe it away. Closing her eyes, she was frozen in the eternity it took for him to act.

McGrath stood next to her for a moment, the scent of his aftershave a cloud around her head. Then, he was bending, reaching. The air shifted as he moved. Any second he would touch her. Vanessa squeezed her hands until they hurt. There was another click and through her closed eyelids, the room got brighter. Rigid with tension, she didn’t hear his feet padding away from her.

When he sat behind the desk, she risked a glanced in his direction. He looked at her in alarm. Vanessa raised her head and her tears fell. She could manage the predictable, but she could not fathom what was happening here. Suddenly more vulnerable than she had been, a violent shudder shook her and she was freezing cold. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and pulled her arms around her chest.

“Jesus Christ Almighty!” McGrath said, looking at her. “Vanessa, I am not going to hurt you.”

He picked up the phone on his desk, punched an extension, and told the person on the other end of the line to come into his office. Replacing the receiver, he put his hands flat on the desk. They were strong and white with short, broken nails. “I
’m going to leave my hands where you can see them until Lieutenant Marino gets here. Then, I’m going to pour us a drink,” he said.

Vanessa did not respond. His words meant nothing. That promise had been made too many times. Always the same, it meant, “I
’m not going to hurt you if you cooperate.” She flinched when the door opened, but did not turn around.

“Thanks for coming, Lieutenant. I
’d like you to join us. I think our guest could use a little support right now,” McGrath said as the person came up behind her.

“Vanessa, this is Lieutenant Marino. She
’s one of our medical personnel and a good person. I think you’ll like her.” 

A woman? How was she supposed to behave?  This was not her nature, yet she had to comply. If McGrath beat her into submission, Michael would know what she had done. Vanessa waited, heaving. The lieutenant stopped next to Vanessa
’s chair, her perfume fruity, fresh, and light.

“Hello, Vanessa. Do you mind if I sit next to you?” she asked in a voice not unlike Mariah
’s. Vanessa shook her head, keeping her eyes on her knees. Pulling a chair close, the lieutenant settled into it and crossed her slim legs. She wore uniform trousers and practical shoes. McGrath cleared his throat.

“I
’m not sure what happened, but I think Vanessa and I can both use a little help. I’m going to pour us a drink. Would you like one, Lieutenant?”

“Thank you, Colonel, no. I
’m fine.”

McGrath opened a drawer. Glasses rattled. When Vanessa looked up, he was setting them on the cluttered surface of his desk. He opened a bottle of whiskey and poured a healthy dollop into each. Then he shoved one of the glasses toward her.

Vanessa had not tasted alcohol since she had been reassigned as a worker and she missed it. It wasn’t common for the administrators to share their wealth, but the few times they did she had been grateful. She was grateful now. The drink would soften the blows. She reached for the glass and took a deep gulp. The whiskey warmed her, burned her throat, and made her cough. She took another, smaller sip and held it in her mouth, savoring the taste. After she swallowed, Vanessa looked sideways at the woman who had joined them. She wore her brown hair short and her face, free of makeup, was plain. Her eyes were kind.

“I haven
’t seen your file yet, but from the little I’ve heard you’ve been through hell. Nobody is going to hurt you here. I can promise you that. When you’re ready, I’m here to help,” the lieutenant said. Vanessa looked from her to the colonel and back again.

“Vanessa, Lieutenant Marino is a psychologist. She
’s very good at her job. You can trust her. I asked her to join us because, unfortunately, the questions I have can’t wait and I didn’t think you were, ah, disposed to answering them. Under the circumstances, I don’t say as I blame you. But Vanessa, the lieutenant is right. No one will hurt you here. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe. I can’t do that until we stop what’s happening on the island. I need your help. Will you help me?” McGrath asked.

In her head, her grandfather
’s voice said, “Trust no one.” Vanessa was still shaking and afraid, but in her brief stay at the base, she had not been hurt. If McGrath was going to do something to her, it made no sense for him to call a plain woman in regular clothes into his office with them. The lieutenant rose from her chair, stepped to the back of the room, and returned with a large jacket. She placed it over Vanessa’s shoulders. Vanessa pulled it on, grateful for its warmth.

“Why me? I
’ve already told you everything I know,” she asked when she could control the shivers.

“Not everything, Vanessa. It would seem you
’ve made some omissions. Why don’t you tell me about your father?” McGrath said.

“My father? My father
’s been dead for years. What does he have to do with anything?”

“We
’ve been doing background checks on all the refugees. It came as quite a surprise that your father was a CIA operative, with ties to Israel. It’s a bit of a coincidence that a rabbi, who was your legal guardian, was involved in the design and was also the one who tipped off the CIA to what’s happening inside the city. Don’t you think that’s odd, Vanessa?”

Vanessa protested. Her father was a diplomat. He wasn
’t in the CIA.

“Okay, let
’s try again.” McGrath scanned a paper in front of him and then continued. “From what we’ve gathered so far, your family is pretty interesting. Not only was your dad an operative, but your grandfather was a chemist, right? A biochemist, as it turns out, which is a little alarming, given the recent chain of events. Isaac Cohen was your family’s rabbi and your guardian. Vanessa, I know you’re scared. I know you’re a victim here. Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through, but somehow your family was involved. I need to know how.”

Vanessa refused to accept what McGrath implied. The men who
had shaped her life were not involved, in spite of what had been said about Isaac. All of them had worked to make the world better, resolve conflict, heal, and comfort. They had been intelligent, warm, and faithful.

“You
’re wrong, Colonel. It’s impossible. Just because there are coincidences, doesn’t make your accusations true.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But here
’s what we know. Your grandfather and Isaac Cohen attended the same university. Your parents died in a crash that was labeled an accident, but the circumstances were suspicious. You’re house was ransacked right after their death. It looked like a burglary, but since your parents were dead, nobody could tell if anything was missing.