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It was one of those Friday evenings, on which we both came back late into our offices, directly from the airport, from a meeting somewhere in the country. We stayed at work until late in the evening, because Audrey feared that Paul would come to see her if she went home earlier. Every second Friday he was in town for business meetings. Over the course of the previous months I learned to see the difference in Audrey, whenever he was in town. She stayed at work late, to avoid having to meet him. They had separated for good, but something kept her from just talking to him. One day, much later, she confessed to me that he was still trying to win her back. That every talk would go down that road, sooner or later.
I couldn't let her stay at work, completely alone. I stayed there, too, even though I was mighty tired and had hardly slept the night before - she was the reason, and my hotel room at that conference in Seattle where we spent the previous night.
Dating her was great, even though I feared that Paul would come to make a miraculous re-appearance and take her away from me. I tried not to get too emotionally attached to her, for exactly this reason, but I already failed miserably.
That night, Paul left late. Probably he had hoped to see her, taking the last possible flight back to London.
When she got it confirmed that the plane that was carrying him away to another continent had left the ground, she finally relaxed a little and dared to go home.
I came with her, parking my car a few alleys away from her apartment, like always, even though it was raining.
When I reached her door, she pulled me in, wordlessly slinging her arms around me, though I was all wet.
She told me she was sorry, for being so different when Paul was around. Of course she knew that I had already realized how different she was on those days.
I said to her that it was okay and that I could understand her, even though it made my heart bleed to say that. I was afraid of losing her. I was afraid of being the third one in their marriage who would only be allowed to stay for a while, until being heartlessly thrown out again.
That night we didn't sleep with each other... we had done that often enough in the two previous nights anyway.
We went into the living room where she had already opened up a bottle of red wine. We drank quite a few glasses that night. She was afraid of saying that Paul being in the city still disturbed her emotions massively. I was afraid of saying that I feared losing her, one day, back to her husband.
But we had some kind of a silent understanding.
She sat down at her grand piano and played Chopin, while I lay at the sofa, listening to the music.
It took me some weeks to realize that whenever life and reality got too much for her, she sat down at her piano, playing the same pieces over and over again. Chopin's Nocturnes. Bach preludes. Tchaikovsky. But mostly Chopin. When she sat there, playing, she seemed to forget anything else. After some minutes, however bad the day had been, her face lighted up and she fully dissolved into the music.
I guess she even forgot that I was still there those nights.
I never experienced anything like that - dissolving into music. The two years in which my parents tortured me with having to learn how to play piano left their traces: I swore to myself never to touch such a thing again and to hate that kind of music.
Audrey changed that.
Whenever I listened to her play my only job was to refill our wine glasses - most of the times I got a good lead after a few hours.
She caught my arm on one occasion and made me sit down on the piano stool next to her. I guess I was so drunk already that I forgot about what I had sworn to myself in my younger days. She somehow got me to try the first bars of Chopin's Nocturnes. I failed miserably. We laughed, got drunk. Stayed there half the night without going to bed, even though we were more than just tired. She made me try again. I failed, less miserably.
She meant more to me than just another woman I slept with. More than just an affair.
When I finally told her that, it was already way too late.
The keyboard lies open in front of me as I stand next to her grand piano. Do I still remember our nights? It's been twelve years since I last sat here, with her. I carefully run my fingers over the white and ebony keys. B flat. C. D flat. A. B flat. G flat. A series of F.
Mark harshly tells me to stop, after only a few seconds.
I do, staring at the black instrument in front of me. He's behind me, sitting at the sofa with his laptop, sifting through the evidence I brought him, which Chloe found while I was held in Alexandria on behalf of the Secret Service.
How does it feel to hear me just strike these few keys, Mark? How does it feel to realize that you're not the only one who listened to her play Chopin? I guess you're feeling just the same way that I do rightnow. Somebody's ripping out my heart. You told me to stop, just because you remember that song. You listened to her play. Just like I did. She played for you, too. She let you listen, though it was the most intimate thing I ever experienced with her. You had that kind of intimacy with her, too, the one that I thought would be reserved solely for me.
I walk around in the room, aimlessly, trying to push these thoughts aside, but the piano is still staring at me, reminding me over and over again of the life that I once had and lost. It's light years away.
Are you done reading?, I ask him. I have to distract myself from the memories with the present.
It'll take days to go through all that stuff, Mark answers, flipping the laptop shut. Those are tons of e-mails. How did you get to them?
Sorry, I sadly smile for an answer. I'm not gonna tell him. Chloe hacked the e-mail accounts of four cabinet members, one of them being the advisor for national security and another one the Secretary of State. Actually, that's a sad commentary on them.
Did you read at least the marked ones?
Yes.
He's sitting there. I see how nervous he is after all. I'm not feeling so much better. Being here feels like being the intruder in Audrey's perfect life again, just like 12 years ago.
That's not my primary concern now. I need your help, Mark, I say.
I will not help you, he says, emphasizing the 'you'.He just read the messages which the advisor for national security sent to the Secretary of State, four months ago. That he had found out about breaches in the White House network, because somebody had given away passwords. Another breach which involved getting access which was secured by facial recognition - using Audrey's biometrical data, even though she had been dead for eight weeks. They made their own investigations and had some very interesting findings.
I'll only do this for Audrey, Mark tells me.
Fair enough.
What do you want me to do?
I need you to contact the Secretary of State, I need you to make her nervous about this.
What for? That'll only get you and me in trouble.
He's a good tactician, as a senior politician. Maybe he'll even be able to help me plan the right moves.
I have someone of the CIA helping me, because they see Audrey - if she is still alive - as a critical breach of national security. We'll do a covert mission on Chinese territory, to get her out.
You're insane, that will never work!, he shouts.
It will! Let me finish! Is he just afraid of helping, and therefore badmouthing my plans? Most likely they're still keeping her in Ili. We have two more weeks until the Russians find out I'm gone when the Mexicans don't hand me back over - which means that the Chinese have no idea that I'm back here or that I've told anyone around here that Audrey is alive and there. They are most likely keeping her there because they have no reason to believe she could be of any harm to them. If she's still alive they wouldn't enlarge their internal circle of people knowing about her by transferring her. When we reach Ili I need you to be pain in the ass for the White House. Make them nervous. Leak something, some suspicions to the press. That'll make the Chinese nervous, too.
They'll kill her right away!
Or transfer her.
Mark stands up from the sofa. You can't know for sure. Maybe you'd kill her with that plan. He comes over to me.
The worry in his voice is a real one. There is a slight chance that this all will backfire, I admit.
He grabs my shoulders and starts shaking me, crying How dare you take such chances?
How dare I? I don't know. I don't have a better plan, I admit. I'm afraid there is none.
After a few moments of disbelief he lets go of me and starts pacing about. He's slightly shaking his head, again and again, as he tries to come up with a better plan.
I give him a few minutes for his thoughts, but he can't come up with a better plan.
I walk back over to where I was before, sit down at the piano stool again. If I could only turn back time. 12 years. I'm massaging the palm of my right hand, again. It hurts from time to time, those are still the old scars of my stay in China, ten years ago. I don't know how many times the fractures of my metacarpal bones have broken up again. At least once, in the past six months. The fracture healed, but I guess it stayed displaced. Every now and then it hurts to move the hand.
You're not in any shape to do this, Jack, he remarks.
I look up. He must have seen me massage the palm of my hand. And other than that, I guess that I look like death warmed up. The last six months left traces in me. I lost a lot of weight. There are a few more faint scars in my face.
I don't have much of a choice, I tell him. Let's stay honest: he is right with what he said.
What about the CIA?
That I'm working with one of them doesn't mean I trust them. And they could be called back by the White House any time.
What about just making this all public?
I sadly smile and shake my head. The Chinese would kill her right away to get rid of the evidence. We have to play this game better, you and I. I look into his eyes. He stopped pacing about. He looks earnest. Determined. Just like me. I hate him but I need him.
And he hates me but he has understood by now that Audrey's life is in our hands. If we don't learn to cooperate, she'll die.
We will work together, even though we hate each other.
For her, cause we both love her.
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Author's note: Treat your enemies carefully, cause they will define you. Make them interesting cause in some way, they will mind you. They're not there in the beginning, but when your story ends. Gonna last longer with you than your friends. (one of my favorite lyrics - U2 / Cedars of Lebanon)