Chapter 13
1798 Words
AS SUNRISE APPROACHED, the president studied the white blanket on the lawn. He had read the story of another dead woman. His jaw tight and lips pressed, he knew he was partly responsible for her death. He should have moved her out of harm"s way. He put his cup to his lips not knowing that Fritz was doing the same.
AS SUNRISE APPROACHED,* * *
WITH TJ IN the swing, Fritz spread his yellow pads on the table. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “Compartmentalize,” he said to himself. He started with the tournament, now less than five weeks away. With a random number generator, he paired the forty-four teams to determine the schedule. That was easy. He made a note to collect the team names. I"ll bet the kids already have them.
That was easy.I"ll bet the kids already have them.Not knowing who might show up for breakfast, he took out the waffle iron and began to mix batter. He was enjoying the quiet time. His thoughts drifted, like the snow on the window ledge. He was startled when Linda said, “Good morning.”
“Hi, Lin. I was wandering.”
“I know. I"ve been here for three minutes. Good smells woke me.”
“Sorry. I was getting hungry, so I figured I"d get started. Want a waffle?”
“Not just yet.” She kissed TJ"s head and looked out at the winter portrait. “I don"t think there will be much going on today.”
Mary McElroy in jeans and a sweatshirt poked her head around the corner, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, folks, I overslept.” She gazed at the backyard. When Fritz asked if she wanted breakfast, she said, “Just coffee for now. I haven"t seen this much snow in a while, at least not without skis.”
Fritz asked, “Mary, do you want to go home? I mean to Washington?” Linda glanced up, wondering why he was asking.
Mary shook her head. “This is like a vacation. I mean, look at me. I couldn"t be wearing jeans. Don"t get me wrong. I love my job. But the long hours. And always, a gun.” She gently patted her sweatshirt.
“FRITZ, WHAT are you up to?” Linda asked.
His eyebrows raised in feigned innocence, he said, “Me? Nothing.” The crunch of waffle took her eyes off him.
“That sounds good. I"ll make myself one,” said Mary. “Linda?” Linda nodded.
The thumping of a snowplow reminded Fritz to get the snow blower from the garage. He parked the thought in the list of things called “Later.” When the doorbell rang, he set down his fork. Ashley and Jane had trudged up the walk. A moment of snow-flecked wind blew past him when Jane opened the storm door. Red scarves covering red cheeks, they hustled into the warmth.
“It"s cold out,” said Ashley. “Some people bother to clear a path.”
“It"s only eight o"clock,” said Fritz. “Come on in, Jane.” Fritz turned toward the kitchen. “Jane, toss your stuff in the family room. Leave him there.”
“Well, then, I won"t make the snowman I planned,” Ashley responded.
“Shut up. Breakfast is waffles. Why are you out so early anyway?”
Jane said, “The president called at six-thirty. He said to watch the TV news shows. He thinks something is cooking.”
Ashley told them that he and Jane had shoveled for half an hour to free their car. “We have a while. Get some coffee and tell us,” said Fritz. She cloaked her warm cup with her cold hands, and related her conversation.
Before Fritz sat down again, he got dressed and called Jim Shaw, inviting him for breakfast. He took over the waffle iron and made a stack, brown and crispy, and put them in the oven. Waffles took him to childhood, when his mom taught him to maneuver in the kitchen. He wasn"t much help now. Linda made meals that looked like magazine photos. Fritz helped sometimes, peeling potatoes or carrots, or grating cheese or cabbage, but mostly he stuck to making breakfast. Still too early for the news shows, Fritz donned his down coat and prepared for a tussle with the still-blowing snow.
“Save me one,” he said.
He shivered at his first step into snow almost up to his knees. High-stepping to the garage, he was able to get the snow blower started right away, and he pushed his way to the street. He had to lift the machine to get through the pile where the driveway had been plowed in. The first run created a walkway, and as he finished the path to the front door, Jim Shaw pulled up in his own car.
“Hi, Jim. Follow me to the back door while I do the driveway.”
“Mr. R, you need to cover your face. You"re getting frostbite.”
“I think I"ll go in for a bit. Do you know what the temperature is?”
“Below ten, and with the wind, maybe below zero. You"re totally not dressed for this.”
“Maybe my ears will fall off.” He smiled and regretted it when his lips stuck to his teeth for a moment.
“Hi, Jim,” said Linda, shivering as the cold blew in with him.
“Hi, everyone,” he said, looking around the table. Seeing a new face, he stopped short.
“Jim Shaw, meet Mary McElroy,” said Linda. “Mary, Jim Shaw.” Jim reached out his gloved hand, but pulled back and took the glove off.
“Too cold to do it all at once,” said Fritz. “I"ll have another waffle and finish after.”
“Some of us are hardier folk,” Ashley said. “You"d never have survived prairie winters. We put you to shame.”
“I forgot. You"re supposed to be out on the front landing. Why did I let you in? Remind me.”
“To try to poison me with your cooking? Just a guess.”
Linda took Jim"s coat, told him to sit in the corner seat. “Make Jim a waffle, and then have your second breakfast, Frodo.”
Ashley raised his hands, fingers wiggling at Jim. “Poof. You are now a waffle.”
Mary walked to the counter, and said she would make them. Jim watched every movement she made.
“Mary, Jim is one of the officers who helped rescue the president in Geneva,” Linda said. Jim frowned. “Mary is a Secret Service agent, Jim. The president wanted us to have extra protection.”
Jim nodded, not taking his eyes off Mary. She watched and then smiled. “Oops.” Batter missed the waffle iron. Jim and Mary sneaked peeks at each other. Fritz stared at Linda, and her grin made him think he had done the right thing.
* * *
THE SPEAKER WAS on two of the major Sunday programs. He noted his concern about the slow pace of the inquiry into the ship bombings and that the administration had not yet found the attackers. Later, he said he fully supported the president"s planned summit agenda and hoped for a solution to the Middle East conflict. He said he expected all the governments of the region to participate.
“Why do you think that?”
“The president can be very persuasive.”
On the second show, asking his reaction to the death of Jonathan Hartmann, the host noted that Hartmann had been an outspoken supporter of the Speaker and a significant campaign contributor. Jane reached for a pad.
The snow continued, and the plows blocked the driveway again. Another street plow came by, but the driver saw the dirty look Ashley gave him, and placed the blade at the edge of the pile and pushed it all out of the way. Ashley waved, put the shovel over his shoulder, and followed Fritz back and forth up and down the driveway.
“You"re just gonna follow me?” Fritz asked.
“I"m done,” he said, pointing to the cleared entrance. “What"s taking you so long?” Fritz turned the chute and covered him with snow.
As Ashley shook off, Fritz said, “Ash, this place is a zoo. I"m worried about how we"re using the portal. We won"t be able to use it again, fortunately, until this snow stops.”
They came in to a very quiet house. The TV was background noise, and TJ was gurgling in his swing. Linda looked up from her books and told Fritz to mop the floor.
Jane was holding the list in front of her, her head swiveling, and her lips moving. “This is a numerical nightmare,” she said. “If I can match any of these with one of Hartmann"s phone numbers, we have the key. But I"m not sure these are phone numbers.” She turned back to the table. Ashley said it scared him when she did that. “It"s like she"s talking in her sleep,” he said.
Mel was watching a repeat of a talk show. Jim and Mary were talking in the sunroom. Ashley said, “Greetings, Professor Falken. How about a nice game of chess?” By the late afternoon of the most uneventful Sunday in what felt like months, Fritz realized he hadn"t had lunch, nor had anyone else. Linda sat at the kitchen table, talking with Jane, a copy of the Caballeros list in front of her. Jane"s eyes were bloodshot, but she managed a tired smile when he came to the table.
“You found something,” Fritz said.
“I think so. Actually, Linda did. These are phone numbers, all right. Each one on the list has its own number also.” Linda pushed the sheet over so he could see. “It"s a formula.”
“How did you figure that out?”
Linda said, “It"s from a spy novel. A writer I worked with. Jane showed me where she got stuck. Fritz, I can"t believe we could be that lucky. I only read the book to get a feel of how he wrote. And it wasn"t a big seller.”
“Do the numbers match up?
“I called,” said Jane. “Got an answering machine or voice mail. A woman"s voice. I called the president. We can track the number, and I"ll bet that it was Caitlin Morgan"s voice. We"re getting tapes of the interrogation. Maybe voice analysis can tie them together.”
- Writer
