Chapter One: What Friends Are For
"Thanks, Mrs. Pierce. I can manage." August Anderson gripped the letter his neighbor had given him, and turned towards his apartment.
"Are you sure you don't want me to read it to you?"
"Not necessary. My computer can do that for me," he answered, fitting his key to the heavy door. It had been a long, tiring day. On com for eighteen hours straight, juggling two high-risk missions, the last thing he wanted was to discuss his personal correspondence with the building gossip. The first thing he wanted was a cold beer, and then maybe some Coltrane and a good book. He listened for the sound of Mrs. Pierce's retreating steps. No such luck. "Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Pierce." He hoped his smile didn't look too forced.
He slipped into his apartment and shut the door without waiting for a reply. He laid his cane, bag, badge and keys in their usual places, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Making his way to his desk, he turned his thoughts to the letter in his hand. Who would be writing to him? He couldn't even remember the last legitimate letter he had received. Everyone knew he was blind and either texted him or sent e-mails. He paid his bills online, and had even asked the building superintendant to remove his name and apartment number from his mailbox. The damn thing only served to collect the wads of junk mail the Post Office insisted on delivering, anyway!
The envelope had an address label on the upper left-hand corner, but there were no other distinguishing features. It was probably just more junk mail. He pulled out his pocket knife, slit the envelope, and pulled out the single folded page. No help there either. He booted up his computer, Braille display, and document reader, laid the envelope on the scanner's surface, typed in a brief command, and waited for his equipment to translate.
"Daniel and Laurie Bolduc," the soulless voice sounded out after a moment and proceeded to read the address. Auggie was no longer listening. "Danny? Frenchie?" He snatched off his headphones, frowning, grabbed the envelope from the scanner's surface, replaced it with the letter, and waited. Nothing. He flipped the letter over, resent the command and waited again for the document reader to do its thing, but after several minutes, the machine's only response was an error message. He picked up the note, and rand his fingertips lightly across the page, but couldn't make out anything but a faint tracery of swirls and indentations. "Handwriting… great!"
Auggie was tempted to set the letter aside and forget it until the weekend, when his brother would be coming over. But he had a stubborn inquisitive streak, and he knew he wouldn't rest until he knew why Danny had written to him. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the phone and hit the first number on his speed dial.
Annie Walker shut her door and made a beeline for her bed. God, what a day! Or was it two? She kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes, replaying in her head the Vilnius exchange. It all went wrong in so many ways. Nothing worked out as planned, but with her skill at improvisation and Auggie's voice in her ear, together they'd somehow managed to pull of the switch. Now, all she wanted was to take a long, long bath and then do some serious damage to her emergency Häagen Dazs rations.
The ringing of her personal line dragged Annie from her reverie. Groaning, she glanced at the name on the screen. "If you are calling with more bad news about the mission, I swear I will get an unlisted number."
"Like that would stop me?" Auggie taunted. "No bad news I promise. Just a favor to ask."
She pushed herself up off the bed, all weariness forgotten. "I'm on my way. What do you need?"
"No need to break any land speed records, Walker. I just need your eyes for a bit."
"Just let me get changed. I'll be there in twenty."
"Great, you should arrive around the same time as the pizza."
"Extra pepperoni?"
"You know it."
"I'll be there in fifteen."
"So where's the letter?" Annie asked around a mouthful of pizza.
Auggie took a swallow of beer and disappeared into his office. A moment later, he reappeared holding out an envelope.
Annie glanced at the return address. "Who're Laurie and Daniel Bolduc? CIA?"
Auggie chuckled. "I seriously doubt anyone at the Agency would write to me via the USPS. No, Danny's not CIA…well, not in any verifiable sense." Auggie paused for a moment before continuing. "Danny and I worked together in Iraq … and in a couple of other places before that." His lips curled in a slight smile, the kind of smile that usually meant that whatever else he might have shared was above Annie's clearance.
"So what you're saying is that he does the Seventh Floor's dirty work?"
"If I told you…"
"Yeah, yeah…I get it."
Auggie grinned. "Last time we spoke, he'd left the Army and the Agency to take over his dad's dairy farm in Vermont. But that was six months ago. I don't know why he'd be writing to me. He knows what happened."
Annie set down the pizza crust, and wiped her hands. "Ready?"
Auggie listened closely as Annie unfolded the letter. Her sharp intake of breath a moment later, though nearly inaudible, wasn't quiet enough to escape his notice. His relaxed mood vanished, and his warrior instincts took over. "What is it?"
Annie quickly scanned the contents. The message was short, the handwriting cramped, shaky, and hard to read. She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Auggie…"
"Just read it to me."
With a sigh, Annie began. "'Dear Captain Anderson, It is with great sorrow that I am writing to inform you that my husband, Daniel Bolduc, passed away on September 25th.'" Annie cast a quick glance at her friend. The color had fled from Auggie's face. "Auggie, I am so sorry…"
"Just read the letter…please?"
"You okay?"
"Yeah… I'm fine. The letter."
"'I know that you and Danny served together, and thought you would want to know. Danny often spoke of you, and hoped you would come visit' Did you?"
"No, I never saw him again, but I… never mind."
"What?"
Auggie shook his head. "Nothing. What else does the letter say?"
"Only that the memorial will be held on October 1st. Auggie, that's this weekend!
"Is there anything else?"
"'It would mean a lot to us to if you could attend. I've invited the other members of Danny's old unit, as well.'"
"You gonna go?"
Auggie picked up his plate, and brought it to the sink, Annie following. "Is there anything else?" he asked. "Does it say how he died?"
Annie scanned the letter, looking for something she might have overlooked. "No," she said, shaking her head, "only the date, place and time of the memorial. You want me to call Joan?"
Auggie frowned. "Joan? Why?"
"To let her know we won't be available this weekend."
"No. Not yet. Let me think about it."
Annie grabbed his arms and turned him around to better gauge his expression. "What's there to think about? He was one of your men. You have to go."
Gently, but firmly, he pried her fingers off his wrist, and started picking up the remnants of their meal. "I'll think about, ok? Give me the phone number before you go, okay?"
"Are you asking me to leave?"
"No," he snapped. "I'm asking you for the phone number."
Annie added the number to his phone list and gathered her things. "It's getting late. I'd better go."
Auggie turned and found her shoulder. "Annie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
She squeezed his arm. "I know, but it's late and we're both tired. I'll see you at work."
They walked downstairs together. As they reached the door, Auggie paused. "Thanks, Annie."
Annie planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Hey, what are friends for?"
He listened to the sound of Annie's car until it faded into the familiar drone of his D.C. neighborhood, then made his way back upstairs to his apartment. He got himself another beer, sat down at his computer, and began searching the previous week's issues of the Vermont newspapers.
Thirty minutes later, with an aching head and a heavy heart, he scrolled though his phone list. A familiar drawl answered his call after a single ring.
"Auggie, man. I figured you'd be in touch."
"Curtis. You got a letter?"
"Yeah. I got a letter."
To be continued