Thursday, October 1, 1987

3:00 p.m.

The elevator doors swished open, and I forced myself to step out onto level six.  My brief stay in the Agency clinic had taught me the routine.  Three o'clock signaled change of shift for most personnel. 

Unfortunately, the agent on hall duty was still waiting for his relief.  Henderson could barely suppress a snicker as I passed him.  I understood.  Three trips down here today, and I had yet to actually make it through the door to room six-twelve. 

I was simply too scared to face Francine.  Billy had granted me access to the written transcripts of her debriefing, but had declared the recorded tapes off limits.  He was adamant; no amount of persuasion would change his mind.  Still, even without hearing the emotion behind her spoken words, I could readily imagine her feelings.  No doubt I was the last person on earth she wanted to see. 

Who could blame her?  Everything that had happened to her could be laid directly at my door.  Not only had I abused my partner's security code, but also the hand of friendship she'd extended by entrusting it to me.  I wouldn't have blamed her for encouraging the Agency to throw the book at me.

But, instead, she'd accepted full blame for the unsanctioned investigation.  I could scarcely believe my eyes as I read the report.  This was definitely not the Francine Desmond I knew.  There had to be some plan, some hidden agenda that I couldn't fathom.  Whatever the reason, I couldn't wait any longer to find out.

I took a deep breath, knocking briefly before entering the room.  Francine was asleep, or so I thought at first.  Eyes closed, she lay on her side, her knees drawn up tightly to her body.  Though her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, her pale complexion and tangled blonde hair told a different story.  She looked more like an unkempt child than the sophisticated woman I'd met on that long-ago day when Lee had first brought me to the Agency.  Reluctant to disturb her, I began to tiptoe from the room.

A quiet voice spoke from beneath the bedcovers.  "Hello, Amanda."

"Francine."  I rasped her name, gripping my beribboned picnic basket even tighter as I turned toward the bed.  "How did you—"

"Your perfume.  L'Etoile Nuit, isn't it?  Lee always loved it."

I responded with a short "Oh," not quite sure how to take her remark.  How typical of Francine to imply that Lee had somehow branded me with his favorite scent.  Yet, at the same time, there was something decidedly pathetic about the half-hearted attempt at a dig.  Her heart clearly wasn't in it.

I forced myself to speak, my words coming rapidly as I tried to assemble my thoughts.  "I didn't mean wake you, I'm sure you must need your rest.  I really should come back another day, when you aren't quite so tired . . ."

Francine pushed herself into a sitting position, silencing my nervous ramble with a roll of her eyes.  "I was wondering when you'd finally get around to visiting me."  She reclined on the pillow and pulled the covers up around her.  "What's in the basket?"

"I, uh, brought you some homemade muffins." 

"Thanks."  She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.  "You can come a little closer, you know.  I'm not the Big Bad Wolf.  I won't bite, I promise."

"Very funny, Francine." 

But my relief at her sarcasm was short-lived; Francine's sneer melted into a frown.  "I expected to see you here days ago," she said, her words sounding as if the air had been sucked out of them.  "We were partners, after all."

"Oh, Francine . . ."  I hardly knew what to say.  "I should have come as soon as Billy cleared you for visitors.  I meant to, but I just couldn't . . ." I swallowed hard then continued.  "To be honest, I couldn't bring myself to face you.  Not after everything that went down."

She dismissed my apology with a curt, "It's okay."  As I shifted my feet, her expression grew solemn.  "I understand, Amanda," she said, her tone carefully modulated this time.  "I don't blame you for starting that search for Lee, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's kind of you, but . . ."  I looked away.  "I blame me.  If I hadn't broken the rules, you wouldn't have been dragged into the middle of all of this."

She laughed under her breath.  "Yes, who'd have thought Arlington's favorite housewife would flagrantly disregard a half-dozen of the Agency's hard-and-fast regulations?  I'm impressed, Amanda.  I didn't know you had it in you."

She was obviously much more upset than she let on.  I started to apologize again, but suddenly the blood drained from my face and the room began to spin.  Blindly, I reached for the back of the chair, holding on tightly until the feeling passed. 

"Are you all right?" Francine called out in concern.  

I nodded weakly as I came around the chair and sank down.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look," she tried again, "it really is okay.  I would have done the same thing in your shoes.  I know you only did what you had to do to find your husband."

My heart quickened.  "My husband?" 

"Yes.  He told me, Amanda.  Everything."

I clutched my throat, my fingers twisting the gold chain I wore around my neck, the chain that held our wedding rings.  "Is he . . . is he okay?" I whispered, drawing peculiar strength from the tickle of the gold bands between my breasts.

"He's fine."  Her gaze drifted away.  "Or he was, the last time I saw him."

"Then why didn't he come out with you?  Why is he still undercover?"

It was Francine's turn to look guilty.  Smoothing the standard-issue hospital blanket, she said in a low voice, "He couldn't get us both out.  Not without compromising his cover.  He stayed to . . . to make sure there was no hitch in the escape plan.  Slipping out of Beirut without a passport is no easy feat, believe me."  

Beirut.  A cold chill swept through me.  I'd read it in the file, of course, but hearing Francine confirm it pierced my heart.  My husband was in Beirut, a world away from me, in danger.  And there was nothing I could do to help him.

I felt the tentative touch of her hand on my arm.  "He'll make it out, too, Amanda.  You have to trust that.  He asked me to tell you . . ."

"What?" I choked out when she hesitated.

"That he has the best reason in the world to keep his promise."

I nodded and asked in a thickening voice, "Why did you cover for me?  With the Agency, I mean.  There are bound to be repercussions and, well, I know how much your career means to you."

"At this point, my career is the least of my worries."  Francine shoved an unruly strand of hair from her face.  "Look, if you must know, I did it for Lee."

"Lee asked you to lie for me?"

"Lee asked me to look out for you.  As a special favor to him."

"I see."

"I'm not sure you do.  He saved my life, Amanda.  More than my life.  He saved my sanity.  If he hadn't shown up when he did . . . well, I don't know what might have happened to me."

She couldn't hide the tears in her eyes.  "Are you okay, Francine?" I asked.  "Really?"

"As okay as I'm expected to be."  She shrugged.  "I try not to think about it, but it's . . . hard.  Sometimes . . ."

"The voices," I said, as she faltered.  "It's the voices that drive me crazy.  Sometimes I still hear them in my head . . . hear him.  Addi Birol."

"Tell me it gets better."  Francine struggled to keep her voice even. 

"It does.  Time helps.  Puts it into some sort of perspective, I guess.  So do friends—if you let them."

"Effrom came to see me the other day.  He was trying so hard to be cheerful, but I couldn't lie here and talk about inconsequential things . . . the score of the Redskins game or the new line from Dior.  It didn't make sense to me anymore, you know?"

"Yeah, I know.  But it won't always be that way, I promise.  Talk to Pfaff.  The man might have a few quirks, but he does know his stuff.  He's helped me keep what happened with Birol in the past, where it belongs."

"Amanda."  Francine's voice grew so soft I had to strain to hear here.  "When Birol had you, did he . . . hurt you . . . physically, I mean?"

"Are you asking if he—"  She nodded sharply.  "No.  He never touched me, not like . . . that.  Lee got there in time.  Did the man who had you—"

"Karras.  His name was Karras."

I squeezed her shoulder.  "Did he . . ."

She shook her head.  "Lee got there in time for me, too.  He convinced them to let him take over my 'interrogation.'  But the image was always there in my mind, an unspoken threat.  Lee and I . . . he . . . we had to pretend we were . . ."

"It's okay, Francine."  I licked my lips, struggling to banish the image of Birol's cold eyes.  "I understand."  And, oddly enough, I did.  One good thing had come from all this—I was more secure than ever about my place in Lee's heart.  I could afford to share him with Francine.

"Karras is a disgusting pig."  Francine cried out with sudden vehemence.  "I hope Lee puts a bullet right between his filthy eyes.  Even that would be better than he deserves."

I tried to reassure her, but couldn't find the words.  The few days I'd been forced to endure Birol's veiled threats of physical violation had seemed like a lifetime; I couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for Francine to suffer such fear for weeks on end.  It was every female agent's worst nightmare.

The room suddenly felt very warm, and I wiped a few beads of perspiration from my forehead.  These darn fluctuating hormones, I thought as I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.  Cold one minute, hot the next—there didn't seem to be any happy medium. I turned back to Francine, but the damage was already done.  I could tell by her shocked expression that she'd noticed.

"How far along are you?" she demanded gently, her blue eyes growing wider as she took in the subtle curve of my once flat stomach. 

There was no use trying to hide it now.  "Three and a half months."

"Three and a half months! Lee didn't say anything about you being . . . Amanda . . ."  Understanding dawned.  "Lee doesn't know about this, does he?  You didn't tell him."

"No.  I . . . well, it's complicated, that's all."

"He would never have left you if he'd known," Francine said, putting two and two together.  "Oh, Amanda!"

Her exclamation brought hot tears to my eyes again.  She sounded so much like Lee . . .  "It'll all work out," I told her, as much for my own benefit as hers.  "Lee will get these guys and come home.  I know he will."

She stretched out her hand to me with no hesitation this time.  "You can count on that.  Now," she met my gaze with a cheerful smile, "about that basket you brought me.  Those muffins had better be chocolate chip."

"Chocolate-chocolate chip," I assured her. 

Her grin widened as she squeezed my arm.  "Then what on earth are we waiting for?"