Thursday, April 7th, 2011
Washington, D.C. - 3:06 AM
Cal started awake as the shrill sound of his phone pierced the air. Muttering a curse, he fumbled blindly over his nightstand to silence the offending noise. His fingers closed around the device, and he blinked blearily as he tried to make out the caller's name. "Unknown" flashed back at him, and he silenced the ringer before flinging the phone back to its resting place with a loud clatter.
Moments later it rang again, and he cursed a bit louder as he sat up and switched on his bedside lamp. Now more angry than tired, he pressed the talk icon forcefully and pulled the phone to his ear.
"You better have a damn good reason for calling me at three in the morning." In one of his famous bouts of radical honesty, Loker had once made the comment that Cal was a bit "snarky" over the phone. He hadn't thought anything of it until Foster had agreed, adding a not-so-subtle comment about flies and honey. Usually, when speaking to someone he didn't know, he made a point to pay attention to his tone, but now he was tired and pissed and didn't care who knew it.
"Doctor Lightman?" The man's thick estuary accent caught Cal off guard, and he froze a moment before taking a breath.
"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"
"Ian Harrington, attaché to the British Embassy here in Paris. I am Doctor Foster's liaison for the symposium." Cal's heart began to race a bit faster, wondering why this man was contacting him in the middle of the night.
"Okay, how do you do and all that? Where's Foster?" Cal had never been one for pleasantries, and the growing ache in the pit of his stomach wasn't helping.
"I...we're not quite sure." The hesitation, as well as the change of pronoun, caught Cal's attention immediately.
"What do you mean 'you're not sure'? And who is we?"
"Well, you see, I arrived this morning to take Doctor Foster to the conference hall, but she didn't answer my calls. When I inquired at the front desk, they directed me to her room but she wasn't there. I tried her cell again, but she'd left it in the room."
"You're telling me Foster is missing in Paris? Have you contacted the police?"
"I have. They've acquired the hotel's security tapes which show Doctor Foster leaving the hotel around four this morning, but they never show her returning." Cal's heart was racing now, and he jumped out of his bed violently.
"Could she just be having, you know, a large breakfast somewhere and lost track of time?" He knew in his gut the answer to his own question; Foster never lost track of time. If Harrington was supposed to pick her up at eight, she would have been in the lobby at a quarter to.
"Well, that's rather why I was calling you. Is there anyone in Paris that she knows? Anyone she could have visited?"
"No," Cal shook his head, fairly certain that Foster would have mentioned something like that to him. "Wait, how did you get this number?"
"She listed you on her international information as her emergency contact. I also have your office number. The police thought it would be best if I contacted you, though they are still here if you'd like to speak to them."
"Nah, my French is only good enough to get me slapped anyhow. Look, you just keep looking for her and you call me the moment you know something."
"I will, Doctor Lightman." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm sure she's just caught up in the wonder of the city."
"Yeah," he trailed off, disconnecting without saying goodbye. He stared into space for a moment, willing his mind to catch up. Foster was missing in Paris, and though it was generally safe for tourists throughout the year, there were numerous characters in and around the city who were less than savory.
He should have been more adamant with her about her security, he berated himself silently. They'd joked before she left about not talking to strangers and staying alert, but he should have pushed the issue. What was she thinking walking alone in Paris at four in the morning? His gut clenched at the mental image of her strolling down the street alone, an easy target for the scum that roamed the city. Even just the idea of her being attacked set his blood boiling, and he startled into action before he even realized what he was doing.
He had an emergency bag packed with all his necessities in case he had to go out of town suddenly. It had come in handy for his impromptu trip to Afghanistan, and he pulled it out of the closet and set it on the bed as he thought about what he was doing. If he showed up in Paris and Foster was fine, she'd never let him hear the end of it. She would also, most likely, be livid with him for dropping everything for nothing and leaving Loker and Torres alone. But if she was truly missing, if the police couldn't find her by tonight, then there was nothing that would stop Cal from tearing Paris apart to find her.
With his mind made up, he tossed some of his everyday items into the bag. He would wait to hear from Harrington one more time, or call the man himself by noon; if they hadn't found Gillian by then, he would be on the next flight out to Paris. Knowing he would get no more sleep that night, Cal grabbed his passport from his desk drawer and walked out the door.
The drive into the city was quiet at three in the morning, and Cal took his time driving through the mostly empty streets. He decided not to tell Torres and Loker until he knew more of the situation, and Emily he would leave unaware until it was all over. His daughter had a heart of gold – God knows where she got that from – and a particular soft spot for his partner. If anything happened to Gillian, the girl would be devastated. Better to leave her in the dark for now and save her the heartache of worry and uncertainty.
The main hallway of the Lightman Group was dark when he arrived, lit only by the street lamps outside the picture windows. He set his bag down in his office, but then stepped down the hall into Foster's instead. She really did have the better view, he mused as he sunk down into her desk chair. The office smelled like the vanilla scented candles she lit every day to drive away the chill of the mornings, as well as the heady aroma of the soft leather furniture that sat across the room. Cal swiveled in her chair once, taking in the darkened office, before turning back to the cityscape.
The Washington Monument loomed in the distance, towering over the National Mall proudly. He could make out the lights of the Mall from where he sat, though none of the other memorials were visible from the Lightman Group. Somewhere off to his right, he knew, was the White House and the Hoover Building, and he spared a thought for Agent Reynolds. For a moment, he considered calling the FBI agent, but dismissed it just as quickly. A missing American in Paris was completely out of the FBI's jurisdiction, and even if Ben wanted to help there was little he could do from Washington.
Time passed, and slowly the darkness lightened as the sun rose over the horizon of rooftops. The sounds of a busy city began to grow louder in the background as Cal's mind wandered through a maze of possibilities and outcomes. A honking horn snapped him out of his trance, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, surprised when his fingers came away wet. He hastily wiped the tears from his face and stood up stiffly, his blood singing for action.
"Doctor Lightman?" Heidi's voice startled him, and he spun around quickly to face the young woman.
"Heidi, you're in early." She frowned at him for a moment before schooling her features professionally.
"Not really. It's six thirty." She scrutinized him carefully, as if she were the scientist and he an interesting specimen. But Cal Lightman had not risen to the top of his profession by chance, and he made sure she saw nothing but exactly what he wanted her to. She dropped her eyes quickly, receiving his subtle message to leave him alone. With one last nod, she turned and walked back to the front desk, leaving him alone.
He ran a hand over his face wearily before cursing to himself for being caught in Foster's office. Still, it was better that she think he was just missing his partner; if she knew the truth there was a good chance he'd have to deal with an overly-emotional secretary as well as everything else.
He returned his own office quietly, tucking his overnight bag under his desk away from prying eyes. He sat in his own chair, fully intent on starting his day, but the image of Gillian alone and injured in Paris simply would not let him be. He barely resisted the urge to dial Doctor Harrington for an update and instead focused his attention on more productive matters. After booting up his laptop, he began compiling a list of possible contacts overseas that might help him if worse came to worse. The list was woefully short, but the names that Cal had typed were reliable; they had never let him down before and they wouldn't fail him now.
The next task took considerable more time as he researched the fastest, easiest way to get to Paris. There was a flight out that evening, but it wouldn't land in France until the following evening – not an acceptable time frame for Cal. His only other choice was a private jet, something that would not be cheap. By the time his noon deadline rolled around, Cal had tracked down transport and a pilot. He'd have to take out a second mortgage on his home to pay back the money he'd have to pull from the company funds, but if Gillian really was in danger that was a minimal factor.
His ringtone snapped him to attention in his chair, and he slipped it out of his pocket and to his ear in record time.
"Harrington? Have you found her?"
"Dad, what's going on? Found who?" Emily's voice filled his ear, and he cursed himself silently for not checking the caller ID before answering.
"Em? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
"They do give us a lunch break sometimes, Dad. And you didn't answer my question." Sometimes he questioned the wisdom of raising her the way he had, but he knew he'd never change anything about her. She was smart – sometimes too smart – and she knew Foster had gone to Paris for the week. If she put two and two together she would freak out; it was time for damage control.
"It's nothing, Em, just a wayward client – nothing to worry about. Did you call for a reason, or are you just trying to annoy me at all hours of the day now?" He would never complain about talking to his daughter, but right now he only wanted to hear one voice.
"Ha ha, very funny. Actually I was calling to see if it would be okay if I spent the weekend with Amanda. Her aunt has this huge ranch with horses, and she said we could go riding." Cal frowned into the phone; normally he hated not getting to spend his free days with Emily, but this would only work in his favor if he had to up and leave the country soon. Still, he thought, best not seem too eager.
"Oh, I'm not sure Em. I haven't even met this aunt."
"It's totally cool, Dad. And there won't be any boys, I promise. Just me, Amanda, and her aunt all weekend." She knew it was the "no boys" that would sell him, and he sighed heavily.
"Fine, but I want the aunt's name and the number to her house and cell." He could practically hear his daughter rolling her eyes, but he knew she would have been suspicious if he acted differently.
"I'll text you when we get there."
"Fine, Em. Have fun." He smiled involuntarily as she squealed happily.
"He said yes!" This was presumably not meant for him, and he waited for her to calm down before saying goodbye.
"Behave yourself, Emily. I love you."
"Love you, too, Dad. You're the best!" He hung up before he had the chance to lie to her again. She would be well taken care of in his absence, and he made a mental note to send a thank you note to Amanda's aunt at his first convenience.
"Doctor Lightman?" It was Torres, and he looked up quickly as she stepped just inside his office. "There's an Ian Harrington on the main line from Paris?" There was more to her statement than the words, but a look from him told her to leave it for now. He waved her away, and she dutifully closed the door as Cal picked up the phone.
"What have you got?" There was no time for pleasantries, and he could practically hear the guilt and apology in the other man's sigh.
"I'm afraid there's been no sign of her, Doctor Lightman. The police have officially labeled her a missing person, and the American Embassy has been notified. Is there anyone – next of kin, perhaps – that needs to be called?" Cal closed his eyes as the news sunk in; Gillian was officially missing.
"Here's what's going to happen," he began, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm getting on a private jet out there immediately. I'll forward you the details, and contact you once I hit the ground."
"What can a scientist possibly do that the police can't?" Harrington had already given up, and Cal bit back a growl as he answered.
"Well then, it's a good thing I wasn't always a scientist. See you." He hung up and grabbed his bag as he stood. Loker and Torres were waiting on the other side of his door, and he glared at them for a few seconds before beckoning them inside. If he was going to pull off a miracle, he'd need a little help.
Thanks to all the reviewers out there! Cal is a hard man to pin down. He just has so many roles, wears so many hats, that sometimes it's hard to switch between them and keep them all straight. Kudos to Samuel Baum and Tim Roth for creating and portraying such a dynamic, complex character.