Blind (3 page)

Some NYU students shouldered past Ed and ran on into the rain. Most of them weren't wearing coats.
It wasn't that cold. Or that wet. Ed knew that New York was capable of infinitely worse weather. So why did today seem like such an
über-
suck?

They crossed the street and turned toward the park. How many times had Ed walked this way with Gaia? Fifty? A hundred? However many it was, it wasn't nearly enough. He liked Tatiana, he really did, but no one could take the place of Gaia. Even if lately she had been using his heart for a hacky sack.

Halfway down the block they slowed to get around a crowd waiting near the door of a small restaurant. Tatiana peered through the tall windows as they passed. “Do they have very good food there? Is that why everyone is waiting?”

“That's Jimmy's Burrito. The food is…” Ed shrugged. “It's cheap. I guess it's good. Not exactly your five-star place. It's one of Gaia's… I mean…”

“Gaia likes to eat there?”

Ed nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

Tatiana stepped away from him long enough to stare through the window. She wrinkled her upturned nose. “You are sure this food is good?”

Her expression was so cute, it immediately restored Ed's smile. “It's at least as good as borscht,” he said.

She pouted. “Borscht is… how you say… sucks?”

More cuteness. “Sucks? I thought all Russians loved the stuff.”

Tatiana nodded with mock seriousness. “Oh, yes. And…” She glanced around for a moment and dropped her voice to a whisper. “We are all spies.”

Ed laughed again. “Then maybe I need someone to protect
me
from
you.”

Tatiana was quiet for a moment, then she leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Ed's cheek. “Maybe you do,” she said. She raised the umbrella high and started forward. “Come on. Show me the park.”

Tatiana walked on, but Ed didn't move. He stood there leaning on his crutches as though the tips had somehow sunk into the concrete.
She's Russian. She's only being friendly. Like hell.

Tatiana stopped and looked back at him. “Are you coming?”

Ed nodded.
Why couldn't I have met her six months ago?
he wondered. He caught up to her and slipped under the cover of the blue umbrella.

Could it really be only days since he'd had sex with Gaia? It seemed like something from another lifetime. Something from a movie that he had seen once but could barely remember. Gaia had been there, right next to him, warm and soft. He remembered waking up and finding her in the bed. He remembered the smile on her face and the way the sun had slanted through the window and burned against her hair. That morning had seemed like the start of a whole new life. And it had been. It just wasn't the life Ed had
expected. Instead of life with Gaia, it had turned out to be the start of life After Gaia. Ed
A.G.

Ever since that morning, she had treated him like he was suffering from some kind of plague. Every time he tried to find out what was going on, she only pushed him farther away. Ed felt more isolated from Gaia than he had on the first day he had seen her.

Lightning flashed as they approached the street corner. The sudden flare caught Tatiana in profile, illuminating her pale hair and lending a strange fire to her blue eyes. For a moment she seemed taller. Different.

“What's wrong?”

Ed shook his head. “For a second there you looked just like—”

“Like who?” asked Tatiana. Her eyes were narrowed to slits framed by dark lashes.

Ed swallowed.
Like Gaia.
“Different is all.”

Tatiana continued to look at him for a moment. A smile came slowly to her face, but it was tentative. “Thank you,” she said, but her eyes were still narrow. Ed thought she probably had a very good idea what he had been about to say.

“The park's right over there,” Ed said, hoping to distract her. He pointed toward the dark brick walls and the looming trees with the rubber tip of his left crutch. “We can cruise around the block, and I'll—”

“No,” said Tatiana. She looked at the park and
shook her head. “You were right. It is cold. We can go to the park another day.”

“So. Do you want to… go home?” Ed asked with a shrug.

She nodded. “I think I should.”

For two blocks they walked along in painful silence with only the sound of rain thumping against the umbrella. A steady stream of cars swam past in the street, sending up twin plumes of water. The people they passed seemed as gray as the evening.

Ed abruptly stopped. “Tatiana, I'm sorry.”

She studied him with her head tilted slightly toward her right shoulder. “You still love Gaia, don't you?”

Ed winced. “It's that obvious, huh?”

“If there is a word that means more obvious than obvious, then that is the word to use,” said Tatiana. She took one hand away from her umbrella and put it on her hip. “But Gaia has been so rude to you.”

“I know.”

“She treats you badly. You deserve better.”

Ed sighed. “I guess maybe you get treated the way you let yourself get treated. With Gaia…” He hesitated and stared at the ground. “I wanted her for so long.”

Tatiana let the umbrella fall to the side. Cold drizzle fell down on them both. “I don't know why Gaia acts the way she does. She's hurt you so much already.
I think that if you keep this up, she's only going to hurt you again.”

“Probably.” Ed raised his head and looked at her from between strands of damp hair. “How do you say ‘idiot' in Russian?”

Tatiana tapped a long, slender finger against her chin. “Idiot. Idiot. Ah! I believe the word is ‘Ed Fargo'.” She took his arm, squeezed it, and smiled.

Memo

From:
G

To:
L

Subject has left the target area. Reconnaissance indicates that the planted material has been removed. Request instruction for next phase. Additional assistance may be required, as subject's habits continue to be irregular.

Memo

From:
L

To:
G

That material should ensure the subject follows another blind alley. Proceed with delivery of additional material and evaluate subject's response. Continue observations. Resources will be made available. It won't be long now.

But in the absence of their leader, the M&M twins seemed to be verging on mental anarchy.

A STORM HAD PASSED THROUGH during the night. Lines of driftwood and brown seaweed along the beach marked how far the gale-blown waves had reached, but now, under the morning sun, the sea was almost glassy.

Tom Moore sat on a clean patch of sand and stretched out his legs until the heels of his brown Paloma loafers were lightly touched by the gentle surf. The sun warmed his face, and his surroundings were reflected in the lenses of his aviator sunglasses. It was a small bay, no more than half a mile across, and the beach was small, too, but it was a beautiful space. Tall palm trees curved out into the bright air above the sand. Dark patches on the impossibly turquoise water marked knots of coral reef just below the surface. Off to one side a stack of sun-bleached, faintly pink shells showed where both locals and tourists had fished conchs from the water. It was exactly the sort of place where people came to relax and enjoy themselves.

Tom wasn't relaxed.

He reached down, picked up a handful of sand, and let it trickle away through his fingers. In books and films it seemed that secret agents were always ending up in places like this. How many movies had there been where James Bond spent time on the
beach with some bikini-wearing babe? All those chase scenes on motorboats and fights on yachts. Agents in films seemed to get in a large share of yacht time.

Tom's life had certainly not worked out that way. It seemed to him that for every hour he had spent in sunshine, there had been at least two spent in shadows. Letter drops in the basement of some Chicago high-rise. Meetings in a Moscow alley. Midnight assignations in Abu Dabi. Being an agent, a successful agent, was about keeping yourself inconspicuous. It was easier to hide where it was dark.

It had only gotten worse over the last few years. The years without Katia. Since her death there had been more dark meetings, more travel, and more lurking in shadows. Tom turned over his sandy hand and looked at the back. Thirty minutes on the beach, and he could already tell that the sun was starting to redden his skin.

That's what happened when you dragged a mushroom out into the sunlight.

He wondered where Gaia was at that moment. It was a thought that often crossed his mind. Probably the thought he had more frequently than any other. Being away from his daughter was… It was almost like losing his wife, only not as sudden. Losing Gaia was an ache that went on and on.

That was why he was here, so far from everything
and everyone he considered important. If Loki's plan could be discovered, if his agents could be neutralized, if Tom could ever be sure that Gaia was completely safe, then he could go home again. He could get back to Gaia and try to salvage something that looked like a normal life.

He had been down here for days, trying to find the tag end of Loki's organization. So far his progress had been slow. Loki had taken steps to cover his tracks. All Tom had been able to turn up were the names of a few agents that might—
might—
be working for Loki. He was going to need more information to find the next link in the chain.

Tom took another glance down the deserted beach. What would it be like to come to this place on an actual vacation? To get some of those drinks with funny, tropical names and little umbrellas, toss some towels down on the sand, and soak up so much sun, it drove out all the years of hiding in shadows? He might even get Gaia to shed her grungy sweatshirts. They could be a real family, he, his daughter, and—

His thoughts were interrupted by a splash out in the bay. A small, dark shape broke the smooth surface of the water. A moment later the shape was revealed to be the head of a man with a mask on his face and a snorkel alongside his ear.

Tom waited until the man was stepping free of the waves, then stood and brushed the sand from his
neatly creased khaki pants. “Good morning,” he called.

The man pushed the mask back from his face and gave a quick nod. “Yah,” he said. “Good morning.”

There was a certain stiltedness in the man's voice, a trace of accent that put a hard
g
sound in the middle of
morning. Germany
Tom guessed.
Or maybe Austrian.
Not that it mattered. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants and strolled closer.

Meanwhile, the man had stopped at the edge of the waves and dropped onto the damp sand. There was a black nylon web belt around his waist. Several fish hung from the belt: some snapper, a couple of grouper. Red fish blood ran over his leg and stained the tan beach. The fisherman took off the belt and laid it to his side, then took a blue anodized speargun from its holster and put it down beside the fish.

“That's quite a catch,” Tom said.

“Yah,” said the man without looking up. He pulled his knees toward his chest and started to remove the fins from his feet.

“I guess there must be a lot of fish out there.” Tom took another step, and his shadow fell across the man.

The spearfisher finished taking off his fins and looked up at Tom. The man had short black hair coated with something that was clearly impervious to water. Even after going out under the waves, the man's scalp was still covered in a forest of sharp little
spikes. The guy was tall, with broad shoulders and well-cut muscles that spoke of a lot of time working out. He had a deep tan broken only by a small, pale scar at the corner of his mouth. It made the man look as though someone had once caught
him
on a hook and line.

“Yah, yah, yah. There are a lot of fish,” he said with obvious irritation. “It is the ocean. That's where they put the fish.”

Tom smiled. “Hey, I guess that's right.” He looked out at the water for a moment and nodded. “Sure is a pretty spot.”

The man with the spiky hair gave a disinterested grunt. He stood up, the belt of bloody fish in one hand and his speargun in the other. “Did you want something?”

“It's just…” Tom gave a shrug. “I was wondering if I could see your spray gun.”

“It's called a speargun.”

“Speargun, right. I've never seen one like that, and I thought maybe I could take a quick look.”

The question caused the man to roll his pale eyes, but he pushed the blue speargun toward Tom. “Here, be careful not to shoot yourself.”

Tom turned the device over in his hands. “Gee, this is fascinating.” He took the safety band from the gun and pulled it aside. Then he touched a finger to the tip of the spear. “Sharp.”

“Be careful,” said the man. “That gun is ready to fire.”

“Really?” Tom pointed the gun toward the ground and pulled the trigger.

There was a sharp grunt of escaping gas, and a plume of vapor rose up in the warm air. The man with the spiky hair continued to stare at Tom for several long seconds, then slowly looked down. Ten inches of shiny metal spear were still visible. The rest was buried in the man's foot. “Uhhh… Uhhh…” The man looked up, looked down again, looked up, and a shiver ran through his body. “You… shot… me….”

“Wow,” Tom said calmly. “Sorry about that.” He reversed his hold on the speargun, got a good grip, and smashed the weapon into the man's face.

The man with the spiky hair screamed. He staggered back, one foot still pinned by the spear, and windmilled his arms through the air. The belt of dead fish went flying as the man fell to the sand. “What are you doing?” he cried.

Casually Tom reached down, grabbed the exposed length of the spear, and gave a quick tug. The man screamed again as the spear came free. Tom took the spear, loaded it back into the gun, and pressed back the firing mechanism. “These gas-powered guns are amazing,” he said. He lifted the speargun one-handed and let his aim move over the man's body. “I wonder if this thing would go all the way through an arm. Or what it would do to a knee.”