Isabella’s Airman (15 page)

My initial assessment was correct. Student Delafield was more than just a pretty face.

I wasn’t surprised when Isabella called me that evening. Juliet must have spoken to her about our meeting. I’d not been in my apartment long, after an extended hand-to-hand combat session and a long shower. All I wanted was some food and then the blissful oblivion of an alcohol-induced sleep, but I would talk to my cousin first.

It had been a few years since I’d seen Isabella. I still expected her to be a shy teenage girl. The young woman who looked back at me on the screen was unexpected, as was the level of pain in her eyes.

“Lieutenant Gallagher.” She ran a hand through the hair that fell over her forehead. “I need to speak to you.” Twin spots of color appeared on her cheeks, and her eyes shone with tears. “In person.”

“No need for the formalities. Please call me Marc.” I considered her request. “I have some time tomorrow if you want to schedule a counselling session.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” She scrubbed at her eyes and then pushed her hair back. Again. “I need to see you tonight. It’s urgent.”

This had to be something to do with her friend’s appearance earlier. Perhaps she was in trouble with security after all? I really wasn’t in the mood for this. The sooner I sorted it out, the sooner I could get the privacy I craved.

“Where?”

She blinked, and rubbed her eyes some more. “The central archive. I’ll wait in the twentieth-century lobby for you to arrive. Thank you.”

•●•

It was a short walk to the archive, and I saw Isabella as soon as I entered the hall. She sprang up from her seat and hurried to greet me. “Thank you. I do appreciate this, I really do.”

She headed toward the viewing rooms, and I followed. “Would you care to explain the urgency?” I asked.

“In a minute.” She didn’t speak again until we’d signed for a set of artifacts and settled in a private viewing room.

Her behavior unsettled me. She appeared manic and restless. On the verge of an emotional breakdown. She reminded me of how I’d been after my last jump.

Isabella emptied the archive box and spread the contents across the table. Photographs. A letter. Some military memorabilia. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What had her friend done? And how did she expect me to be able to help? I was a soldier, not law enforcement.

“Isabella. Explain.”

She shoved at her hair and rearranged it, only to have it fall back into place. “I don’t know where to begin.”

I held onto my sigh of frustration. “Why here? Why this archive? Why the urgency?”

She remained silent, her attention on a photograph.

“Is this to do with Juliet?”

“What?” Puzzled eyes met mine. “No. why would it be? This is about Davy.”

I made a go-on gesture with my fingers, and she slid one of the photographs across the table to me. Two men in military uniform, probably Air Force, stood beside a motorbike. Neither man was familiar. “Davy who?”

“Davy Porteous.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know why you’ve removed the other pictures of him.” She ran a trembling finger over the clear, protective cover. “I mean, I can guess why. You didn’t want me to see it, but don’t you see? If it’s already happened, you can’t stop it.”

“Isabella. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her shoulders slumped. “There were more photographs here, only they’ve been removed and are now classified. As you know.” I watched in horrified fascination as a fat tear trickled from the corner of her eye to roll unchecked down her cheek.

There were a dozen questions I could ask, but I went for the most obvious. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because your name is on the change log, Lieutenant Gallagher.” She wiped away the tear with the back of her hand and then passed me the data pad for the artifact.

Today was full of surprises. That was my electronic signature, or a very close forgery. Only problem was, I’d swear I’d never seen this artifact before. I checked the date of the removal. One week ago.

Could her over-confident friend Juliet have engineered this? No. I didn’t believe that for a second—especially since she wasn’t even here at the time.

“Let’s say I did remove and reclassify them. As a
ghardian
, I have the authority to do that.”

“I just want to see them.
Please.”

If I hadn’t been so exhausted, mentally and physically, I might have simply refused and then walked away. As it was, the sight of her tears tugged at something inside me. “Isabella,” I said gently. “Please try to control yourself. I understand you may have found the jump assignment to be difficult, but crying will not help.”

“You can lock them back away afterward, and I won’t say anything. I promise.”

I reached for the data pad and called up the detailed change log, entered my authentication, and then looked to see where I was supposed to have refiled the photographs. “Odd,” I murmured.

Isabella leaned forward, the tension visible in her taut body. “What?”

I turned the data pad to show her. “These artifacts relate to the second world war period, right? And yet I’ve reclassified them to the Ancient Greeks. To the Herodotus archive.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t there a famous Herodotus quotation that I should know?”

“‘
The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance
.’” I gave her a little smile. “It’s the founding motto of the archive. You should recognize it.”

“Yes, of course.” Her focus was still on the data pad. “So will you retrieve it for me?”

There was no surprise when the archivist brought us the record I’d tagged. It was exactly as I’d expected, just artifacts from the Ancient Greek period. No additional pictures slipped into the box.

The pictures Isabella was so desperate to see, that I supposedly re-classified a week earlier, had vanished.

I sat back and stared at my young cousin. “Let’s start at the beginning. Fill in the blanks for me.”

She took a deep breath and then met my gaze. “This man,” she pointed to one of the airmen, “is Davy Porteous. I met him on my assignment, and I fell in love with him.
We
fell in love.”

A chill descended over me at her casual use of the L-word. She was in more of an emotional state than I’d guessed. “Continue.”

“I came to see this artifact, and I learned that some items had been removed. By you.”

I sensed this wasn’t the whole story, but I let it pass for the moment. “So tell me. What’s the significance of these to you? Why would I remove them?”

“The significance,” she snapped, “is that they show Davy with his wife.
Me
. They show a future for us together.”

“Not necessarily.” I made my voice cold. She couldn’t continue to think along these lines. “How do you know they weren’t pictures taken while you were there? And that they are indeed pictures of you?”

She blew out a breath and flattened her hands on the table. “I don’t. That’s why I need to see them.”

“The fact the pictures are no longer here suggests that future never occurred.” Her face paled at my words, and I hastened to reassure her. “I don’t think you need to worry. Try to forget this happened.”

“I thought he died. And then I found he survived the war and married me. I don’t
want
to forget him.” She touched his photo. “I want to be
with
him. And it’s killing me that I can’t.”

“Isabella. Believe me or not, I do understand. We are not used to strong emotions, and the first time you encounter them can be a powerful experience. It can change how you think about people, about life. You
will
get over this. Learn from it and make yourself stronger so that you’re not so susceptible next time.”

Who was I trying to convince here?

•●•

Back in my apartment, I headed for the chiller unit and the hidden stash of vodka I kept there. Alcohol was something I’d been introduced to on my first training jump, and like many
ghardians
, it had become a secret vice. Mine was distilled on a tiny Scottish island and delivered to me disguised as an herbal energy supplement. I liked the clean simplicity of the drink and its ability to render me unconscious without leaving a hangover. It was my narcotic of choice. After the day I’d had, I felt it was deserved.

Isabella had said nothing more, and this was a relief. For one tense minute, I feared she would announce plans to run away, to join her airman. Even worse was the wrenching anxiety that she’d ask for my help.

I’d done that once already. God knew how I’d not only held my rank but was given a commendation for bravery.
Lila
. She’d needed me to lie to my superior officer, to falsify mission records, and to help her become a fugitive. If it’d come to that, I would have done it.

If she turned up now and asked for my help, I wouldn’t be able to refuse her.

I took a drink of the vodka and held it on my tongue. All the better to relish the icy burn as it went down.

Lila had asked me if I believed in love. If I’d said yes, would she still have made a life with Jared?

I gulped the drink and then slammed the heavy tumbler onto the windowsill. How long would it take before I could forget her?

I needed a distraction. Something to ground myself.

Herodotus
. A long ago combat tutor had demanded that we study the ancient military records and learn from their tactical experiences. I’d discovered a liking for Herodotus, and my tutor had presented me with a bound edition of essays on my acceptance into the
ghardian
ranks. It was among my most prized possessions.

Walking to the bookshelf, I slid my fingers along the handful of books, from one spine to the next. The slim volume of First World War poetry was much read, as were the reference books relating to the Ancient Roman occupation of England. On the end sat my copy of
The Histories
by Herodotus. I plucked the book from the shelf, snagged my glass again, and sank in the deep armchair next to the window.

Closing my eyes briefly, I opened the book at random, only to hear it make a strange rustling noise.