The Organization (9 page)

“Harriet—” Charlotte began before she was quickly interrupted.

“That was impressive,” Harriet said, not looking up.  “War-time medic?” she asked.

“Yes,” she admitted.  “Harriet, I think we should talk – about us,” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder to confirm that they were out of earshot.

Harriet’s eyes snapped to Charlotte.  “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up here, now,” she said.

“I know this isn’t the ideal place to have a conversation, but you’re not an easy person to get alone,” Charlotte said, holding her ground.

Harriet’s expression softened and seemed almost apologetic, but just then Geoff walked over and interrupted.  “Drinks, ladies?”  Charlotte gave Harriet a look that said, “See what I mean?” before agreeing to go to the Red Door.

#

“Here’s to a great effort by all,” Geoff said, lifting his mug of non-alcoholic beer.  “Cheers.”

Charlotte sat with Joanna, Paul, and Harriet around a table as the other team members played darts, and they joined Geoff in raising our mugs to the toast.

After at least a half hour of talking about the game, there was a lull in the conversation.  Geoff had recently returned from the restroom and Charlotte could tell by the change in his demeanor that he had taken some of his pills.  He broke the silence by asking, “So isn’t that something?  About the defector?”

Paul asked, “There was a defector?  American or Canadian?”

“So you didn’t hear?” Geoff asked.  “American.  Some low-level soldier – a corporal or something, does that sound right?  But he worked in military intelligence.”

“Do you really think this is an appropriate topic of conversation?” Harriet asked.

Charlotte focused on her beer, trying to keep her face unreadable.  She could sense that Joanna was also uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Everyone’s talking about it.  I mean,
everyone
.  It’s not like it’s some secret.” Geoff responded.  “Fine,” he said after a moment, “You’re right.  Let’s talk about something else.”  He looked coolly at Harriet and asked, “So, how have things been at work?”

For a reason unbeknownst to Charlotte, the atmosphere became even tenser.  Harriet and Geoff held eye contact for an extended moment before Harriet smiled with her mouth only and said, “I should be going.  It’s getting late.”

As Harriet got up, Paul said, “Harriet, it’s okay.  You know Geoff’s just an idiot.”

“He’s dangerous, is what he is.” Harriet replied and stormed away from the table.

Charlotte had no idea what was going on.  She looked at her teammates, who clearly understood something she didn’t, and said, “I’m going to make sure she’s okay.  See you later.”

“I wouldn’t do that –” Joanna said, but Charlotte ignored her advice.

Charlotte caught up to Harriet outside the pub.  Harriet was walking quickly away, her heels clicking on the pavement, and Charlotte had to jog to catch up with her.  “I’d ask what that was about, but I have a feeling that you wouldn’t tell me anyway,” Charlotte said, trying to make her tone seem light.

Harriet kept walking without even glancing at her.  “Clever woman.”

“So I’ll just ask instead, are you all right?” Charlotte asked, grabbing Harriet’s arm at her elbow.

Harriet turned to face her.  Although she crossed her arms, the anger was fading from Harriet’s expression.  She said, “Well, I know something that would make me feel better.”

“Won’t Thomas wonder?” Charlotte asked.  Even though she wanted to be supportive, she couldn’t rise above her impulse to sting.

“Would you like to take me home with you or not, Charlie?”  Harriet asked.

“You know I would.”

“Then let’s go,” Harriet replied, starting to walk again.

“Wait,” Charlotte said.  “Just tell me something.”

“Something,” Harriet replied dryly, stopping with her hands on her hips.

Charlotte shot her a look that said she wasn’t amused.  She said, “I just need to know.  What is it that you do, anyway?  I mean, for a job?  You don’t have to tell me why Geoff’s question pissed you off, but…”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Harriet said.

“I know that,” Charlotte said, feeling wounded by her words.

“I work in media,” Harriet said.

“I know that, too.  You’ve told me as much before,” she replied.

Harriet seemed to be struggling with what to say, having some kind of internal debate.  “I’m a producer for the EBC,” Harriet finally said. Charlotte, of course, knew that the EBC meant the European Broadcasting Company, which had replaced European national media agencies about a decade before.

“But I thought that was all propaganda,” Charlotte said, confused and unsure of how to reconcile that kind of work with what she knew of Harriet.

Harriet looked closed off, secretive, and asked, “Still want to take me home?”

Charlotte felt a flicker of genuine uncertainty before she held out her hand and said, “Come on, let’s go.”

Chapter Seventeen

With the windows blocked off with contact paper, Charlotte’s apartment was completely dark when the lights were turned off.  Rather than calling for McGillicuddy to illuminate the small space, she had manually turned on a lamp.  As she and Harriet lay together in bed, the covers strewn on the floor, the lamp’s translucent, blue glass shade cast a cool light on everything in the room and made their skin, especially Harriet’s, seem impossibly pale.  Charlotte knew that she should feel closer to Harriet after the admission that Harriet worked for the EBC; after all, she had been trying to learn more about the reticent woman.  But this new information and the ramifications of what it must mean were gnawing at her.

She said, “Harriet…” She knew she needed to seize the moment, that Harriet was unlikely to stay very long now that her physical needs had been met.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner about the EBC?  That you work there?”

“You must be joking,” Harriet said.  She sat up in bed, unselfconscious about her naked form.  “What is it that you’d like to think I produce there, Charlie?  Nature documentaries?”

Charlotte looked away, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and reaching for her discarded tank top.  “No, of course not,” she said, pulling the shirt over her head and then putting her underwear back on.

Harriet spoke to the back of her head.  “I produce the news.  I decide which stories – what content – is given to the public.”  Charlotte was all too familiar with the kinds of stories that passed for “news” these days – sensationalist pieces meant to keep the public afraid and compliant.

“You and a team of others, I’m sure.  It’s not like it’s all up to you – they’re not all your choices,” she said, still facing away from Harriet.

“Why do you need to soften it, Charlie?  Can’t you handle that I produce propaganda?  That’s what you called it, after all.”

Charlotte glanced back over her shoulder.  “Listen, I’m sorry –”

“Sorry you’ve gotten involved with me, is that it?” Harriet asked, her voice threatening to falter.

“No, that’s not it,” Charlotte said, finally turning to face Harriet.  “I just don’t understand.  I can’t reconcile how someone… someone who does what you do…” She winced at her phrasing but continued, “Could ever get involved with someone like me.  And then, your books – your American books…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.  “I don’t know what to think, Harriet.”

She watched Harriet’s face, bracing herself for the nude woman’s response.  To her surprise and further confusion, Harriet seemed less upset.  In fact, she seemed oddly vulnerable, and it had nothing to do with her undressed state.

Charlotte’s mind continued to race, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together.  “I just can’t figure it out, Harriet.  You’re telling me that you’re part of the… hell, the enemy… those who want to get rid of people like me.  But our relationship, and these other things that you’ve revealed, makes me think otherwise.”

Harriet slid off the bed and pulled on her panties followed by her dress, quickly fastening the thin belt around her waist.  She’d left her bra on the floor, but she now snatched it up in one hand.

“Talk to me, Harriet,” Charlotte continued.  “Help me to understand.  Are you the enemy?  I can’t believe that you are.  If you’re not the enemy, then what?  Are you some kind of –”  The word “rebel” died on her lips.

“I have to go,” Harriet said.  She turned to leave when her eyes caught sight of the teal-colored dress draped haphazardly over the side of the tub.  She held her bra up in her fingertips and said, “Why don’t you add this to your collection?”  Releasing her delicate-looking bra and letting it fall back to the floor, she added, “It seems I’m not the only woman visiting you.”

Charlotte was too stunned to react – to explain that the dress belonged to Erin, a friend.  Besides, Harriet was the one who was married.  Before Charlotte could get a word out, Harriet had slipped her shoes on and left, the door closing with a slam behind her.

Chapter Eighteen

Charlotte felt as though a monumental shift had taken place, that she was seeing everything and everyone differently.  And she was scared.  Since arriving in London, the world had changed from one of peace to one of war, and she had gone from a tolerated visitor to an interloper.  She had been with Maggie during this time of transition when so much of the world seemed consumed by paranoia and xenophobia, convinced that the hoarding of precious resources made more sense than international cooperation; when North America closed its doors and Europe shrank to a union of eight countries. 

She had made a choice to stay with Maggie, at the sacrifice of her identity as an American.  She had chosen love over politics, and she had felt safe with Maggie, protected.  Her new identity as a British citizen hadn’t felt like a lie; after all, she had the legal paperwork.  More importantly, Maggie knew her background, and it was only Maggie who mattered.  In time, she came to trust a few others, but of those friends only Erin remained.

Now her world was changing again.  It wasn’t just that Harriet knew – or rather, Harriet knew a mere part of her story and identity.  She had carefully crafted a stable life for herself with a steady job, an adequate apartment, and new friends – or so she thought.  This new insight into Harriet changed everything, though.  Who was Harriet?  Government propagandist, a modern-day Leni Riefenstahl?  Or was it possible that she had gotten too close to Harriet’s truth – was she a rebel infiltrator?  The way that Harriet had reacted when she questioned her gave Charlotte hope that the latter explanation was the correct one, although that explanation seemed unlikely and came with its own set of dangerous implications.

The first half of her shift at work had passed, and she had gotten nothing done.  She kept trying to study a lab report but the words and numbers passed in front of her eyes unread. 

She sent two brief diginotes to Harriet; one read, “The dress was a friend’s.  It’s not what you thought.”  The second one asked, “Can we talk?” 

She had yet to receive a response to either note.  Meanwhile, her mind was busy replaying conversations from the last several months, and she had reached the conclusion that Joanna knew much more about Harriet than she had revealed.  

Their middle-of-the-night lunchtime arrived but Charlotte had no appetite.  She met Joanna at her locker, where Joanna was hanging up her lab coat – there were strict rules about wearing the lab coats outside – and retrieving her thermos of soup.

“Let’s take a walk tonight,” Charlotte said, her voice sharper than she intended.

“You don’t want to sit in our usual lunch spot?” Joanna asked.

“I think more clearly when I’m walking,” Charlotte responded, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her cargo pants.

“That sounds serious,” Joanna replied, closing her locker door.  Her emotions were masked when she turned to look at Charlotte.  Joanna added casually, “But sure, let’s walk.  I know just the place to go.”

Neither of them talked for the first ten minutes or so as Joanna led them away from the building and away from their usual route toward both their homes.  With the air much cooler than during the day and without the sun threatening to leave its mark on any unprotected skin, parts of the city were generally busier places at night.  As they walked, though, the neighborhood changed from industrial to residential and became quiet, as most people in this neighborhood were away from home, off at work.

Charlotte listened to the echoing of their footfall off the brick buildings.  On the tiny street that they walked down, the only other sound was a low hum of the streetlights.  Joanna kept her voice low when she spoke, finally breaking the silence.  “Am I to assume you caught up with Harriet the other night, after she left the pub?”

“Yes,” Charlotte answered.  She wanted to be in control of this conversation but it seemed as though Joanna had anticipated it.  “What do you know about Harriet?” she asked.

“You’ll need to be more specific than that, Charlie,” Joanna replied.  “She and I go a long ways back.”

“She works for the EBC,” Charlotte said.

Joanna’s inhalation of breath betrayed her surprise.  After a moment, she said, “So she told you about that.”

“Yes, and it doesn’t make any sense,” Charlotte said.

“What doesn’t make sense?” Joanna asked.

A man came around the corner toward them, and Charlotte waited until he was out of earshot before she said, “The things that she’s said – I mean she really does seem Euroskeptic sometimes.”  She wanted to mention the American books as further evidence.  Instead she said, “I want you to tell me what’s going on.  I need to know.”

“What do you think is going on, Charlie?” 

They had been approaching a bridge, and Joanna slowed to a stop in the middle of it.  She leaned back against the railing and crossed her arms over her chest.

Charlotte knew that her next words were risky.  She looked at her – her friend, teammate, colleague – and for a moment considered not saying what she needed to say.  “I think she’s involved in something, I don’t know, undercover.  I think she’s an American sympathizer.  And I think you and Geoff and Paul know that.”