Allegro
Chapter 4
Rated PG
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, and others.
Chief Inspector Finch tapped the speaker button on his phone. The buzzing stopped, replaced by the voice of the Project Leader in the Laboratory.
"Chief Inspector Finch?"
"Yes?"
"We have preliminary results from your…sample.
"Good. Do you have a name for me?"
"No, sir. No match. But there is something very strange."
Finch put down the sheaf of papers he was reading and picked up the phone. He switched off the speaker and put the mobile to his ear. "What is strange, Perry?"
"Well. There seems to be several anomalies we cannot account for. You sent us plenty of samples. There is enough here for a thousand labs, sir, so we did the test again. And a third time, to be certain there was no error with the equipment."
"And?" Finch felt a growing unease.
"First of all, we detected the antibody signature for St. Mary's, Inspector. And it was not the normal signature from someone who may have had the virus and recovered. This signature is very similar to the mutation in the recent Irish outbreak in a way we cannot explain. This signature suggests a relationship with all the mutations we have seen so far in other areas; yet this individual did not have an active case. He was a carrier."
"Secondly?" Finch prompted quickly, to get Perry to change the subject. Rookwood in the mausoleum. Christ. Bloody Hell. '…one of the victims.' He was the one. It was him.
Perry continued. "There seems to be actual damage to several chromosomes. We ran the sample through the genome battery, just like you suggested, sir. The sample…well…it's like nothing we have ever seen. I took the liberty of sending it to The Montgomery Labs and to Doctor Brendhall at Cambridge for further analysis. And last, you must know this blood came from a man."
Finch sighed heavily, "Yes. I know that already."
"I just wanted to be certain, as the sample you sent was from a woman's gown, sir. It was not a woman's blood."
"No."
"I will send a courier to you right away with the results. The ones we have so far."
"Perry, As of right now, this entire project is coded Red. Do you understand?"
A nervous cough came from his phone, and then, "Yes, sir. I anticipated you, sir. I sent the samples out under level ten security."
"Good. Keep me informed." Finch ended the call; his thumb pressed a new series of buttons then he again brought the mobile to his ear.
XXX
Dominic's phone beeped at him. He shifted painfully in his chair to free his left hand to pick it up. "Stone".
"Dominic."
"Yes, Chief?"
"Any progress?"
"Some. I was going to ring you later."
"What do you have?"
"We have confirmation she was on the train. The train staff was shown photographs of her and ID'd her. Security cameras confirm."
"That's excellent."
"No. It is not." Dominic had meant to discuss the situation with Finch privately, on a secure line using their agreed upon code words. This was not the right time, and it appeared that Finch was in one of his moods. Dominic could tell by his voice. There would be no evasions today.
"What do you mean?" Dominic heard that slam-against-the-wall edge to his supervisor's voice. He gripped the phone tighter, and then braced his right arm against the desk. The corresponding shaft of pain cleared his mind and tightened his voice. "We were the sixth, Chief. The staff had been questioned five separate times before we got there."
Dominic listened to the long pause, knowing what his Chief was thinking. He heard Finch's voice return, somber this time. He knows we should be on another line. "Did they tell you where she got off the train?"
"Yes. Here in Paris. The manifest confirms that."
"But did any of them see her get off the train?"
"No. No witnesses. No camera shots." Dominic waited through another long pause. He hears something in my voice. He knows. I think she is in Geneva. I can't tell him on this phone. He knows I'm holding something back.
"Flip on your camera."
"Chief?" Shit. He wants to see me.
"Flip it on. Now."
"Chief. That's not necessary. Really." No, no, no. Don't send me to hospital. I am too close. I want to be on a train to Geneva tonight.
"Dammit, Stone. That is an order. Flip it now."
Dominic hesitated. The pause was painful in more ways than one. He could not refuse, yet to comply…
"Detective Sergeant, that is a direct order. Flip it now or you will be immediately recalled."
Dominic moved a finger to the camera button on his mobile. The screen fluttered with signal and a moment later the Chief Inspector's face appeared on the tiny screen. Dominic looked away.
"Stone."
Dominic winced. It was a very bad sign when Finch used his surname. He brought the phone back to his own face, opened his eyes and looked at the screen. No hope now. Tandy had confirmed the ID of one of the bounty hunters. Nasty brute, ex-copper. Knows too much. He will find her. I can't go to hospital. I can't let him get that much of a lead on me. It won't be long before he suspects Geneva, too.
"Fucking hell, Stone. You look like bloody fucking hell." Finch's voice came out of the mobile with the force of a thunderbolt.
Dominic tried to steady the hand that held the mobile. He knew he looked terrible. He could see it in the mirror in the morning when he tried to shave left-handed, the blood-shot eyes, the dark circles, the grey pallor. But more pointedly, he saw it in the eyes of his co-workers as he entered the Embassy every morning. The way the receptionist turned her head as he walked by her desk told him he was losing the battle with his body. Now through the tiny speaker he heard the sound of a tapping keyboard and Finch's desk phone beeping in London. Finch was on it now. He would start things happening. Dominic knew it was all over when the sound of the keyboard clicking reached his ear.
"Dominic," Now Finch's voice was lower, slower. Dominic heard the sound of deep concern in the tones. "Dominic. I contacted your surgeon. He says you missed your last two appointments. He says the infection has spread and is destroying tissues around the carpals. Didn't he tell you this?"
Dominic looked away from the phone to his right hand, in a sling cradled against his chest. "Yes."
"Did he not require that you come in immediately for, what did he call it? 'Sharp debridement of the necrotic tissue'. Did he not tell you that you could lose that hand?"
"Yes."
"Dammit, Stone." Dominic heard Finch's heavy sigh, then his supervisor's voice took on that hard edge Dominic knew only too well. "I want you to go down to the lobby right now. In six minutes there will be a car there to pick you up and take you to hospital. If you are not in that car in seven minutes I am sending Forsythe to Paris to recall you and I will press charges for interfering with a State High-Security Project. Do you understand me, Stone?"
Dominic could not meet Finch's eyes. He wanted to turn off his camera phone. He knew his excuse sounded weak. "The surgeon said I would be out for a week. We don't have a week, Chief. Some of them are probably closer to her than we are."
"Tandy…"
"Tandy is an idiot, Chief." And I don't trust him. He won't meet my eyes with a steady gaze. He twitches when I look at him. He taps his fingers on his knee when I speak to him. He coughs when ask him a question. No. I do not want Tandy looking for her.
"Then I will come. I can be there tonight."
Shocked, Dominic looked back into his phone. His supervisor's eyes were as dark and intense as ever. Dominic asked, "Aren't you working on the forensics?" Dominic knew having Finch come to Paris would do nothing but bollocks up the investigation. Finch needed to be in London keeping the wheels turning, not looking up addresses and phoning hotels. We both know that. This was a subtle threat on the Inspector's part. He's going to force me to make this be my decision. "Stay there, Chief," Dominic sighed, defeated. He felt nauseous. Eve. I can't save you with only one hand. I'll need both of them. And you will need both of us. But it won't be a week. One day. One.
"You will be in that car? 4 minutes now…"
Dominic stood up and made his way through the door and down the hall to the elevator, the phone pressed against his ear. "Yes, sir. I will be there."
XXX
Eve set the satchel down before the picture window that framed the view of Lake Geneva. The roses lay on the table beside her, wilting alternately from the freezing air outside and then from the warm air from the heater which blew from the grating beneath her feet. Roses in winter. Unnatural. Cut stems, fragile in their impermanence. She stroked a petal, picked up the banker's card and slipped it into her satchel. The pocket on the side bulged with his letters. I cannot wait any longer. I must read at least one of them.
She pulled the larger of the two armchairs closer to the glass, until all of her view was taken by the scene of the snowy banks of the crystal-blue lake. She sat down, unzipped the satchel without looking at it, lifted out the packet of letters and placed them in her lap. Evey looked out the window, looking miles away at the trees, the water, the villas on the shore. She looked out from her fifth floor suite at the expensive view. Anywhere but down. Looking at the letters means acknowledging that he is dead. The weight of the packet on her knees comforted her. Her hand covered them, warming them. She waited until the pounding in her ears had slowed to a dull hum before allowing her eyes to drift down and actually look at them. He is dead. But here he is. In my lap, like I was in his so many times.
She untied the ribbon that bound them. There were five of them, numbered with Roman numerals in beautiful copperplate script, written with a fountain pen dipped in black ink. Number I was the largest. Different from the others in more ways than one. Number I was written on thick creamy vellum, like an old manuscript. Evey brushed her fingers lightly over the soft leather, feeling the faint nap. This one was folded three times and sealed with a large red wax circle stamped with a V. She lay the red ribbon on the arm of the chair and tucked the other four letters back into the satchel.
With a deep breath, she broke the seal and unfolded the vellum on her knees. V's elegant even handwriting covered the inside from margin to margin. Eve focused her eyes and made them obey. She trained them on the first word, "eVe". She stared at her name for a long while, gathering the courage to continue. He had written her name with a flourish. Loops and curls formed the first e, the V was drawn larger than the other letters and bolded with extra lines. It was obvious he intended the smaller e's to appear to be embracing the V within. She sniffed, wiped her eyes with her thumb and moved to the next line.
"My darling, sweet Eve. I am dead, but you are not alone. Can you see me? Can you hear me? I know you can. This is where I am now, inviolate, never changing, and free from the vagaries of life, I am more than alive now in the permanence of your memory. Can you not see this is true?
Now, as I sit at my desk, the pen in my hand, the inkwell by my elbow, you sleep far above me, nestled comfortably among the sheets and blankets of our bed. I think of you there, at peace, and I envy your serenity. I left you just moments ago, sated completely, bonded with your body, melded with your mind and touched by your tranquil sighs. I wept for you, Eve, and you felt my tears with your hands. I could not bear the thought of how much pain I am soon to bring to your heart. You, who have taken away so much of my own pain, given me so much of what I had seen stripped away from me, you are soon to suffer so dearly for my actions. I should never have brought you here. I should have taken you to a different shelter, left you outside a house like the orphan you are, Eve. Anywhere but the Gallery. Anywhere but here, my home. I should have, but in my weakness I did not. I loved you the moment I saw you, Eve, and as much as I knew this day would come, part of me refused to relinquish what I had rediscovered. You rekindled the parts of me that had long ago burned down to ash. That tiny flame was so fragile, so timid, yet it burned so fiercely with my love. I could not bear to snuff it out. It was a mistake, but one I must accept as my own. I accept this. I will do what I can to make you see.
You are in shock. I know this. Read my words and take comfort from them. It may seem, right now, that you will never feel anything again. You may be staring straight ahead, in a stupor, not seeing, not hearing, living in your memories, wondering how you can get through the next hour. I know. I have been there. In my cell long ago I remember that moment when my mind went blank and there was nothing. I remember how long it took for me to awaken and move myself from the shock and the denial. You must trust me one more time, Eve. I will get you through this.
And here. Here is where I write what I could not say to you tonight. Here I am, safe in my office, a pen in my hand. It is quiet. You sleep. I put the nib to the soft vellum so my words will be here forever, Eve. Forever. The ink will never fade, the vellum never tear. I am putting my heart in your hands, my love.
Tonight, you told me I was rough. Perhaps I hurt you. I feel ashamed. I lost myself in you, Eve. I stopped thinking and allowed myself only to feel. To merge with your body, to bind myself to you. It was selfish and perhaps, desperate. That tiny flame of love had been fanned into an inferno of passion and I was lost again. I wanted to consume you, envelope you and bring you into me so far you could never escape. But to do that would be to destroy the very thing I adored. I had to leave you before I crushed you. As I drew my hands along your arms and felt the warmth and softness of your body, I remembered the empty years here, alone. The warmest blanket, the hottest bath could not thaw the frozen core of my being. But the touch of your hand burned through me, Eve. You gave me back the life I thought I had lost. When I entered your body with mine, I felt more than physical pleasure. The years of my loneliness peeled away layer after layer until, as I held you, I felt a connection to another human being more enduring than a mere marriage or an act of love. An eternal embrace, Eve. I am with you now as you read this. You cannot be taken from me. Wherever I am, know that I carry a part of you with me, just as you carry a part of me inside you. Put your hand over your womb, Eve. Put your hand there now as you hear my words. You are not alone."
Beneath the waving script at the bottom of the page, Eve saw where he had drawn a large and elaborate V. The point of the V at the bottom was obscured with a watermark. A teardrop had smudged the lines where they joined, splattering the ink into a starburst. He had not corrected the splash. He had left it there for her to see. Eve wiped her eyes, careful not to allow one her own tears to fall on his. She ran a trembling finger over each line of the V, feeling the vellum, the places where the sharp nib had scratched the fine leather, touching the marks he made. She sighed, reached in the side pocket of her satchel and gently drew out Valerie's letter. She folded the vellum around the tiny fragile roll and tied the two together with the ribbon and set them aside.
She gazed through the glass at the glittering lake beneath her, her hand over her womb.