The appetizer had been sushi, of course.
But had been followed up by a heaven-sent pallette-clearing sorbet.
The salad and main course had been delicious.
The desert arrived sprouted with sculptural pieces of chocolate in the shapes of musical notes.
Is there a special fork for that?
Bobby had eaten all with relish. She slid the remainder of her dessert over to him, and picked up her cup of coffee while playing her eyes over the crowd. She nudged him a little as she took a sip.
"There," she mumbled, with a pointed look.
He looked up and followed her gaze to the FBI agent she'd spotted in the elevator earlier and nodded.
"Alex?"
She turned her head to the handsome man standing behind her. "David. Hello. How've you been?"
"Better," he acknowledged. "You look wonderful."
"Thank you. You remember my partner."
Drew turned to Bobby. "Detective Goren."
Bobby sighed and stood up. "I'd like to apologize for the other night, Mr. Drew," he extended his hand.
Drew shook it and nodded .
"Alex, the orchestra's just fired up. Would you care to dance?"
"That would be nice," she smiled and stood to join him, as the gentlemen at the table stood as well.
As they sat again, Cynthia watched the couple move to the floor.
"Well, well," she observed. "Quite a catch. They say he's going to move into a solo career now. And he's awfully good looking."
Bobby watched them dance a moment, then excused himself.
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As he exited the men's room, he took a visual sweep of the room. The large dance orchestra in the bandstand was swinging I'm Beginning To See the Light as couples crowded the floor.
His eyes rested on a small woman in beige. She danced easily to the standard. Her partner spun her then and she laughed a little.
He circled to his left a bit, watching people now, and there he was.
Eames was right. The FBI agent in the bad tux standing against a wall silently observing the goings on. The real thing. Definitely not hired security for the evening.
He clicked his eyes incrementally around the perimeter of the room and spotted another. This one blonde. Both eyeing the room. If there were a dignitary present trying to enjoy himself and lay low, there should be a body man somewhere. A point guy whose eyes must remain on the protectee at all times. Goren continued his scrutiny. No body man that he could make. So, no special guest.
Then why were FBI watching this crowd on this night?
As he digested all this, he moved once more toward the display shown them earlier by Dr. Shendrick. He gazed down at the model again. The planned extension was extremely ambitious. He looked at the set of plans artfully laid out as well. He bent in to study them more closely. They were blueprints... schematic drawings.
He began his inner journey then.
Like climbing stairs.
Absorb a fact, master it, speculate on its outcome, then take that next step. Perhaps to a landing where the choices became waiting closed doors...
Pause, remain still then. Think out the variables...
A bigger opera house meant more people on stage. More people on stage meant grander productions, which meant more people wanting to come to performances. But The Met regularly sold out and there was no planned expansion of the audience area...
So, take a step back.
Some times the stairs spiraled or doubled back.
The red mailing tubes. Actually, cardboard holders for rolled plans. For storage.
Presumably these here held duplicate sets of the plans laid before him. Or perhaps detailed aspects of certain elements... If Christine had the missing tube... then Arano had it when he left her place that night...
Had he wanted the tube and killed her for it? Their relationship had seemed sincere...
Back to the plans before him... Details, measurements, entrances, exits...
Oh.
He swallowed and looked up.
Christ.
His eyes swept the room again.
Jesus Christ.
And then he met her eyes. She was no longer smiling. She was wearing that 'come here now' look over Drew's shoulder. And if that wasn't clear enough, she lifted her index finger and subtly beckoned him toward her.
He crossed toward her, consciously keeping his breath even, their eyes locked...
He tapped Drew on the shoulder. "May I cut in?"
Drew turned to him with an annoyed expression.
"Uh... That would be nice," interjected Alex, before things got ugly. "Thank you, David."
David looked at her, nodded, and gracefully bowed out.
He took her in his arms and slowly rotated her, trying to look out for the FBI.
"Bobby..."
"Eames..." They began at once.
"You first."
"Bobby, I'm damn sure I just saw one of those guys in the photos. One of Arano's men..."
"Where?..."
"Behind me, to the left, the second table..."
He rotated her again to look.
"He's not there now."
"What have you got?" she asked.
"Eames, those plans..." he began.
But the music ended then and the dancers' applause drowned him out. He grabbed her hand and walked toward the archway which led to the elevators.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
"I'm not sure... but it's clearer.. Alex, we've got to get everyone out of here," he told her, as he looked over his shoulder.
"What? Why?"
"Look, I want you to go down and get Deakins up here."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to try to make contact with the FBI without making a scene. We don't want panic."
"Bobby?" the question was in her voice.
He looked down at her and placed his hands on her shoulders, "Eames, those plans..."
She furrowed her brow briefly, and then he watched it dawn in her eyes, "Oh, my God!"
He nodded somberly, "Deakins."
And she was off.
He kept an eye on her determined progress through the crowd as he casually made his way toward the nearest FBI agent.
Surely there were contingencies, he prayed. Ways of getting people out. The elevators would be problematic. There were many elderly in the crowd. The women in long dresses and heels. There must be stairs. He looked about for an exit sign for a moment... and then back toward Deakins' table.
Wait, where was Alex?
He stopped and visually followed the trajectory she should have taken across the floor. She wasn't anywhere along it.
He took a breath, and swallowed the bitter taste of adrenalin in his mouth as he scouted for her...
And then spotted her brown wrap on the steps toward the elevator archway.
Shit.
He retraced his steps and hurried over to the archway, passed through it, and looked both ways. Someone stepped from behind him then and placed the nuzzle of a gun in his lower back. He froze.
"Walk straight ahead, Goren." said a voice from behind him.
He did as he was instructed.
"Where is Detective Eames?" he asked.
"No talking. Up there through that door. Now."
The band struck up again: Straighten Up and Flight Right
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The moment the heavy fire door closed behind him a hood was dropped over his head and handcuffs clicked on his wrists before him.
The air felt cooler. He'd seen a cinder block wall before all went dark.
"Eames!" he called, and got punched in the kidneys for the effort.
Through his gasping he heard her call him, "Bobby!"
And the sound of violence, then silence.
"Alex!" he yelled and was hit again.
"Climb!" a voice behind him ordered.
He tried to gain control of his breathing as he began to ascend the stairs before him.
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"Alex..."
No, no, no...
"Alex."
She tried to open her eyes.
"Alex, honey, you've got to wake up."
She squinted up into Goren's face then.
"Did you just call me honey?"
"I had to wake you up."
She tried to lift her head.
"Oh man, that bastard hit my head hard," she remembered. She tried to lift her hand but encountered resistance. "What..."
"We're handcuffed," he told her. "You've really got to wake up, Alex, I'm sorry."
She nodded and got her elbow under her and sat up to look around.
"Where are we?"
"A utility room of some kind."
"How long?"
"Half an hour."
She surveyed their situation. They were sitting on a cold cement floor, their wrists handcuffed together on either side of a vertically running pipe of some kind.
She blinked her eyes for focus and looked over at him.
"Are you with me?" he checked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Okay, we've got just under an hour left... I think."
"Left until what?"
He turned his head pointedly. She followed his eyes...
And blinked a little.
"Holy. Mother. Of. God. Is that what I think it is?"
He nodded.
A bomb.
"There are a least four of them. All male. The two we know and two others. Eames, they've got another bomb set somewhere else in the facility besides this one."
"Do... do you know how to turn it off?" she asked him wide-eyed.
He smiled ruefully, "No, I never had any munitions training that sophisticated."
She turned to him open-mouthed, "Your... your little brain computer cannot by empty now! Come on, didn't you read a article somewhere?"
"We can't reach it anyway," he observed.
Her mind was reeling.
"I've tried yelling for help. We seem to be too far away. They've taken my cell and gun."
"When's 'the good news'?"
"I've been looking at this pipe," he went on.
She swallowed and nodded mutely.
"I'm guessing it's for steam heat..."
"It looks... old," she offered lamely.
"It joins here," he indicated. "If we could maybe bend it, or somehow detach it..."
"Maybe we could get out to warn them..."
He looked at her, "I don't really think it'll work, Alex, I'll be honest with you. And it's going to take a lot of physical effort, which your ribs will not appreciate..."
"Bobby, there are three hundred people down there dancing to the Chattanooga Choo Choo right now."
He nodded, "Okay."
They turned in to the pipe between them, sitting up on their knees.
"Let's work from this side. You're not injured on your right, and I'm left handed."
"Sounds like a plan."
They lifted their wrists and pressed the few links connecting the cuffs just above the pipe join.
"Let's pull first," he instructed, "on the count of three..."
They both pulled with all their might, but only succeeded, by virtue of Goren's greater strength, to jerk Alex hard into the pipe.
"Ow!"
"God, Alex, are you okay?"
"I am not really having a very good year in the personal safety department," she acknowledged.
"That's not going to work," Bobby stated the obvious.
She nodded.
"Let's try grinding the chain back and forth in the same place, maybe the friction..."
They positioned themselves again and began a rhythmic sawing motion at the pipe. They were rewarded by a few small surface scratches and a terrible grating noise.
They continued on in this way for awhile.
He eyed her. A sheen of sweat dampened the hair in her eyes and there were angry red marks on her wrist where the cuff chaffed.
"Let's take a break for a minute," he suggested.
She looked up at him and they stopped. The only noise in the room, their heavy breathing.
"You okay?" he asked.
"After labor, this is cake."
He smiled , "Back to it then."
And they resumed grinding at the pipe again.
"The doctor said... you had complications. How come you never told me?" he asked after a moment of silent work.
She kept her eye on the deepening scratches, "You never asked."
"I am now."
"I need to breathe a minute, Bobby."
He nodded and they stopped.
She kept her head down, then looked up at him again.
"Okay, ready."
The began again. Back and forth. Back and forth...
"The baby..." she began quietly. "I labored and labored, but he was big, and was in posterior presentation..."
"He... got stuck?"
"Pretty much. As hard as I tried, I couldn't make him move any further..."
He nodded.
They continued sawing.
"They kept telling me to push, anyway... but finally it became clear."
"Did things... get dangerous?"
"Yes."
"For you or the baby?"
"At first him. Then me. Finally, they went in with forceps to extract him... but there was tearing and bleeding that they didn't catch right away..."
They stopped again by silent consent to breathe once more.
"They had to... revive him?"
She looked up at him and nodded, then looked away...
"But he was okay after they got him breathing."
"And you?"
"The blood loss. My blood pressure bottomed out..."
She lifted her wrist, indicating her readiness to begin again.
"Ugh," she groaned. "This is the last time I spend seven hundred dollars on a dress, I can tell you that. Deakins can just kiss my ass."
"It's a beautiful dress."
She lifted her eyes to catch his, but he was focused on the grinding before them.
They worked quietly, the grinding noise scratching on.
"Bobby, why were you such a jackass to David Drew?"
"I thought you'd accepted my apology for that."
"I did. Now I want to know why."
He was silent as they continued to huff and saw.
"Did you write the poem before or after the baby was born?" he asked instead.
"What, the Bobby truth game only works one way?"
"Maybe," he allowed. "Do you need to stop again?"
"Yes," she breathed out in relief. "And... after."
He nodded.
"Don't you want to know how I figured you out?"
"Not really," she said, as she rested her forehead on the cool pipe for a minute.
"I'm surprised. Usually you're the most curious person I know," he observed.
A long pause ensued.
"Fine!" she grouched, "Dazzle me."
And they began sawing again.
"The first clue," he began with relish, "was your books, of course. Crime, literature, the usual stuff. But, then, I saw, also very heavy on poetry."
"Brilliant."
"There was the Millay thesis you told Mom about. And you knew Stevenson."
"Uh hunh."
"Then there was the poem itself. You referred to 'shadows' in it. You used the same allusion when you interrogated Drew."
She lifted her brows cynically at that.
"Yeah, that one's a bit of stretch, I'll admit. But then the writer was anonymous, which was definitely a mark of you, ironically enough. And it was an elegy—a mourning."
She said nothing to that.
"But, tonight, when I looked down in the elevator and saw that tiny tattoo on your right shoulder blade, I knew for certain."
"I need a break!"
They rested again.
She looked up at him, "You always check your fly with your hand when we transition. When you stand up, when we meet someone, and so on... it's your only gesture of trepidation."
He blinked in surprise.
"Well, I needed something back on you!" she grumped.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded and they began sawing at the pipe again. Bobby looked down at the blood dripping off her wrists now.
"I was jealous," he said quietly.
She kept her eyes fixed on their moving hands.
"That why you checked out my ass in the sculpture gallery downstairs?"
He glanced quickly at her then, her eyes were still downcast.
"I'm... sorry about that," he said softly, "And, yes."
"I didn't sleep with him, Bobby."
He looked up at her.
"I almost did. He saw me as...beautiful, I guess. And, to be wanted again... I don't know."
"But... but you didn't..."
"It would have been... wrong. For many reasons. And... well, it hasn't been that long since the baby...not long enough, anyway...physically, I mean."
They worked silently for a few moments, and broke to rest again.
"How much time is left?" she asked.
He looked at his watch. "Fifteen minutes. Let's try some more."
She nodded and they reached their joined hands up to work at the pipe again.
"Do you think we're going to die?" she asked after a moment.
"Let's not..."
"Right. So, should we discuss the times we've dreamed about each other now?"
"You first," he said.
"No way. There's always the case, I suppose..."
"I think we should try bending the pipe again, now that we've worn a dent in it."
The stopped grinding, and began pulling.
"It didn't budge," she observed when at last they stopped.
"Back to it then."
The sawed back and forth in long silence then...
"Bobby, I can't... I need to rest..."
He looked up at her drawn face, and down where the blood from her wrist had spilled down onto her dress.
"Alex," he told her gently, "it's no use..."
She nodded and sighed.
They let their hands drop then. He scooted as close to her as he could. She brought her forehead down onto his shoulder.
"Bobby..."
"Shhh..." he whispered. "In my dream, you are nude and so beautiful... I get to have you... and the work."
She snorted a little a that, "In mine, you choose me over the work."
He smiled. "Did we get to be naked at least?"
"A lady never tells."
He kissed her head softly then.
"How much time now?" she asked.
"Five minutes."