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Authors: Daniel Silva
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them,
wounded, forever. He shut out the lights and carried the rest of the
beer upstairs to the bedroom. Elizabeth was sitting up in bed, knees
beneath her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. An overhead light burned
softly high in the cathedral ceiling. Dying embers glowed in the
fireplace. Her short blond hair was tousled; her eyes betrayed she had
not slept. Her gaze was somewhere else. Three half-smoked cigarettes lay
in the ashtray on her nightstand. A pile of briefs was strewn across his
side of the bed. He could tell she was angry, and she had dealt with it
the way she always did--throwing herself into her work. Michael
undressed silently.
"What time is it?" she asked, without looking at him. "Late."
"Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me you were going to be so
late tonight?"
"There were developments in the case. I thought you'd be asleep."
"I don't care if you wake me up, Michael. I needed to hear your voice."
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. The place was crashing. I couldn't get away."
"Why didn't you come to the appointment?"
Michael was unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped and turned to look at her.
Her face was red, her eyes damp. "Elizabeth, I'm the officer assigned to
the terrorist group that may have shot down that jetliner. I can't walk
out in the middle of the day and come to Washington for a doctor's
appointment."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't, that's why. The President of the United States is
making decisions based on what we tell him, and in a situation like this
it's impossible for me to leave the office, even for a couple of hours."
"Michael, I have a job too. It may not be as important as working for
the CIA, but it is damned important to me. I'm juggling three cases
right now, I've got Braxton breathing down my neck, and I'm trying
desperately to have a--"
Her composure cracked, just for an instant. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I
wanted to come, but I couldn't. Not on a day like today. I felt horrible
about missing the appointment. What did the doctor say?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Michael crossed
the room, sat down beside her on the bed, and pulled her close. She put
her head against his shoulder and cried softly. "He's not sure what the
problem is exactly. I can't get pregnant. Something might be wrong with
my tubes. He's not certain. He wants to try one more thing: IVE He says
Cornell in New York is the best. They can take us next month."
Elizabeth looked up at him, her face wet with tears. "I don't want to
get my hopes up, Michael, but I'll never forgive myself if we don't try
everything."
"I agree."
"It means spending some time in New York. I'll make arrangements to work
out of our Manhattan office. Dad will stay on the island so we can use
the apartment."
"I'll talk to Carter about working from the New York Station. I may have
to go back and forth a few times, but I don't think it'll be a problem."
"Thank you, Michael. I'm sorry about snapping at you. I was just so
damned angry."
"Don't apologize. It was my fault."
"I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I know I can't
change what you do. But sometimes I need you to be around more. I need
more time with you. I feel like we bump into each other in the morning
and bump into each other again at night."
"We could quit our jobs."
"We can't quit our jobs." She kissed his mouth. "Get undressed and come
to bed. It's late."
Michael rose and walked into the large master bath. He finished
undressing, brushed his teeth, and washed his face without looking in
the mirror. The bedroom was dark when he returned, but Elizabeth was
still sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees again. "I see
it in your face, you know."
"What are you talking about?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"That look you get on your face every time someone gets killed anywhere
in the world."
Michael lay down on the bed and rolled onto his elbow to face her.
Elizabeth said, "I see that look
wounded, forever. He shut out the lights and carried the rest of the
beer upstairs to the bedroom. Elizabeth was sitting up in bed, knees
beneath her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. An overhead light burned
softly high in the cathedral ceiling. Dying embers glowed in the
fireplace. Her short blond hair was tousled; her eyes betrayed she had
not slept. Her gaze was somewhere else. Three half-smoked cigarettes lay
in the ashtray on her nightstand. A pile of briefs was strewn across his
side of the bed. He could tell she was angry, and she had dealt with it
the way she always did--throwing herself into her work. Michael
undressed silently.
"What time is it?" she asked, without looking at him. "Late."
"Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me you were going to be so
late tonight?"
"There were developments in the case. I thought you'd be asleep."
"I don't care if you wake me up, Michael. I needed to hear your voice."
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. The place was crashing. I couldn't get away."
"Why didn't you come to the appointment?"
Michael was unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped and turned to look at her.
Her face was red, her eyes damp. "Elizabeth, I'm the officer assigned to
the terrorist group that may have shot down that jetliner. I can't walk
out in the middle of the day and come to Washington for a doctor's
appointment."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't, that's why. The President of the United States is
making decisions based on what we tell him, and in a situation like this
it's impossible for me to leave the office, even for a couple of hours."
"Michael, I have a job too. It may not be as important as working for
the CIA, but it is damned important to me. I'm juggling three cases
right now, I've got Braxton breathing down my neck, and I'm trying
desperately to have a--"
Her composure cracked, just for an instant. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I
wanted to come, but I couldn't. Not on a day like today. I felt horrible
about missing the appointment. What did the doctor say?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Michael crossed
the room, sat down beside her on the bed, and pulled her close. She put
her head against his shoulder and cried softly. "He's not sure what the
problem is exactly. I can't get pregnant. Something might be wrong with
my tubes. He's not certain. He wants to try one more thing: IVE He says
Cornell in New York is the best. They can take us next month."
Elizabeth looked up at him, her face wet with tears. "I don't want to
get my hopes up, Michael, but I'll never forgive myself if we don't try
everything."
"I agree."
"It means spending some time in New York. I'll make arrangements to work
out of our Manhattan office. Dad will stay on the island so we can use
the apartment."
"I'll talk to Carter about working from the New York Station. I may have
to go back and forth a few times, but I don't think it'll be a problem."
"Thank you, Michael. I'm sorry about snapping at you. I was just so
damned angry."
"Don't apologize. It was my fault."
"I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I know I can't
change what you do. But sometimes I need you to be around more. I need
more time with you. I feel like we bump into each other in the morning
and bump into each other again at night."
"We could quit our jobs."
"We can't quit our jobs." She kissed his mouth. "Get undressed and come
to bed. It's late."
Michael rose and walked into the large master bath. He finished
undressing, brushed his teeth, and washed his face without looking in
the mirror. The bedroom was dark when he returned, but Elizabeth was
still sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees again. "I see
it in your face, you know."
"What are you talking about?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"That look you get on your face every time someone gets killed anywhere
in the world."
Michael lay down on the bed and rolled onto his elbow to face her.
Elizabeth said, "I see that look
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