Monday, August 24, 1987
11:22 a.m.
"I can't believe Billy handed us this rookie assignment," Francine said, with a yawn that spoke her boredom. "This drop site hasn't seen any action for years."
"I suppose somebody had to do it. And we were the only team available."
Francine arranged her features into an attractive pout. "I still don't think it's fair."
"Nobody promised life was fair, Francine." Even though I keep expecting it to be, I added to myself.
Of course, my own life was far from it, at the moment. Fair would mean that my husband would be by my side tomorrow when I saw the doctor. Fair would mean that the news of our baby would be met with joy, not betrayal. Fair would mean that Lee would have come to me with the truth, not lies.
Francine turned to stare out her window in brooding silence. I did the same, clutching the steering wheel until my knuckles were almost white. This "Mickey Mouse" assignment must be getting to me, too. After spending the better part of the weekend preparing myself for a confrontation with Mr. Melrose, I was in no mood to be put off. The haste with which he'd dispatched us to the warehouse district almost made me think he'd anticipated what I was going to say.
I leaned against the headrest. That was ridiculous. Billy was only experiencing a stressful morning, not some kind of weird premonition about my intentions. My lips curved into a smile. Shadow shock, that's what Lee would call it. I was so desperate to finally tell the truth that I was seeing conspiracies where none existed.
"So, how was your weekend, Francine?" I asked, anxious to fill the silence. Even a monologue on Francine's social life was better than being alone with my thoughts.
She shrugged. "Okay."
I tilted my head. "No hot nightclubs to report on?"
She flicked a piece of lint from her slacks. "I spent a quiet weekend at home, catching up on my reading. The social scene doesn't appeal to me at the moment."
"Yeah," I commiserated. "I know what you mean."
Instead of a snappy retort, Francine simply nodded. I studied her more closely. She had been quiet lately, no pointed barbs, no digs at my expense. I'd attributed it to her desire for a smoother working relationship, but now I realized it was something more. Francine was depressed. It was there in her eyes, if I'd only taken the trouble to look. Jonathan's departure had eradicated their devilish sparkle.
A sudden thought struck me. Were people thinking the same about me? I supposed that, soon enough, they'd have even more cause for pity. When my condition became common knowledge, the rumor mongers would have a field day.
Francine's sigh snapped me out of my funk. "I did order in from the 'Blue Fox' on Saturday night." She stretched her hands out in front of her to study her nails. "It seems they even cater to parties of one now."
"Francine, you've got to stop beating yourself up about this." I patted her shoulder, the way I did with the boys when they were down. "What happened with Jonathan wasn't your fault. You'll see. You'll meet somebody else, someone who'll make you forget all about him."
She turned frosty eyes on me. "Is that what you tell yourself, Amanda?" When I looked away, she let out a harsh breath. "Well, then, I'd appreciate it if you didn't spout platitudes at me."
"You're right," I said, my mouth taut. "It really isn't any of my business."
Francine groaned. "I'm sorry. I know you mean well, but it doesn't help. I'm still so angry at Jonathan, I just can't see straight." She paused for a beat then asked, in a low voice, "Don't you ever feel that way?"
"Yeah." I tightened my grip on the steering wheel again. "There are times I think that if Lee turned up tomorrow and I had a gun in my hand, I might seriously consider using it."
Francine grinned. "I know what you mean."
I closed my eyes, slowly nursing my anger. It kept my mind off other things, things too frightening to think about. Like the thought that whatever Lee had gotten himself mixed up in might be more than he could handle alone . . . that I might be left to raise another child on my own . . . and the most unsettling thought of all, that Karbala had actually returned . . .
Those hateful eyes seem to burn right through me as he fixes me in his gaze. He's angry, angrier than I've ever seen him.
There is a smirk beneath his words as he says, "You'll both be remembered as heroes, and martyrs of the people."
He raises his gun and slowly cocks the hammer. He has a bullet behind it this time, I know it. I squeeze my eyes shut as Lee pulls me closer, his embrace a goodbye. We may not make it out of this one. . .
". . . this one." Francine's words snapped me back to reality. "This one's our contact, I'm sure of it," she said as she grabbed her purse from the seat beside me.
Squinting against the bright sunlight, I watched the slim figure of a man emerge from the building. He paused to light a cigarette then gazed deliberately in our direction. He was our contact, all right; he'd just given the all-clear signal. "I'll make the pick up," I offered, glad to finally be on the move.
"No, I'll do it," Francine ordered, all business again as she calmly snapped a full clip into her gun. "I'm the senior agent. Wait in the car and call in our backup, if we need it."
Wait in the car . . .
My mouth was suddenly so dry that all I could do was nod. As Francine sprinted toward the abandoned building, an uneasy feeling gnawed at my stomach. Something about the set-up bothered me, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Stop it, I told myself. This was a simple "touch and go" meet, nothing sinister about it. This warehouse was nothing like the building on Cheverly. Addi Birol wasn't going to materialize and order me to drive away. Even if Karbala had returned, Birol had most certainly not returned with it.
It didn't do any good. The space inside the car grew tighter with each passing minute, until finally I couldn't breathe. I felt for the door handle with shaking hands, yanked it open and catapulted from the car into the hot August morning. No wonder I was gasping for air; it must be close to ninety degrees outside.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I walked away, my heart hammering in my chest. "Breathe, Amanda," I whispered, remembering the words Lee had used to get me through those first violent attacks of claustrophobia. "Just breathe."
That's when it happened.
The explosion rocked the peaceful morning, lifting me off my feet and hurtling me to the ground. Someone yelled out my name, but I couldn't answer. I rolled over on the rough concrete, rubbing my head in stunned surprise. Something sticky and wet came off on my fingertips. As I struggled to rise, the horizon tilted and my vision blurred. The last thing I saw before the blessed blackness came was Francine rushing toward the fiery inferno that, only seconds ago, had been our car.