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Authors: Jonathan Rabb
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the voice would not allow it—but walked with a calm determination, unobtrusive and therefore unseen, unremarkable. As she turned toward the hotel, she felt the first tears of release wash over her cheeks.
Only when she had stumbled into her hotel room, a safe haven now from the attack twenty minutes earlier, was she able to concentrate on what the man had said. “ Today was only the first trial, a promise …” What had they meant? And Eisenreich? She turned and caught her reflection in the mirror, her face a sea of black and red, her hair a tangled mess hanging precariously about her shoulders. But it was the eyes that stole her focus, the eyes not seen since Amman, the cold, unforgiving eyes that stared back and condemned in silence.
It was then that she began to think beyond the attack. Why? What had provoked it? A research update. That was all it was supposed to be. Nothing more. Nothing to prompt warnings— first trial, Eisenreich …
A cold sweat creased her neck as one name entered her thoughts: the Committee .
Sarah forced her gaze to the room around her, the box, holding her in, squeezing her, the safety of isolation. Of course, the Committee . It was all too familiar, too much of a life that had come so close to destroying her. I won’t be drawn in. Whatever this is, I won’t. She knew what she had to do. Give everything back. Files, notes—the job, if necessary. Let others take the responsibility. Let others carry the weight. Memories of the alley would pass. Memories of Amman. Of herself. She had to protect herself .
She reached for her briefcase and noticed the flashing red light on the telephone. For a panicked moment, she wondered whether the message in the alley had been sufficient. They had found her in the streets. No doubt they could find her here. Ignore it. Let someone else play the game. But for some reason, she couldn’t. She had to hear it, hear them for herself, know she was running for the right reason. She slid across the bed, picked up the receiver, and dialed the operator. An electronic voice answered, informing her that a single call had been taken at 5:10. After a momentary purr, a second voice came on the line.
“Hi. Xander Jaspers at around six. Look, I don’t know how I could have been so stupid, but when I got back to my office, it suddenly clicked. The Enreich thing. It’s not En reich. It’s Eisen reich. At least that’s what my instincts tell me. If this does connect, it could be a lot more than either of us bargained for. Call me.”
Jaspers. Oh my God . She wasn’t alone; she wasn’t isolated. He had made the connection. Eisenreich … And she had been the one to contact him, draw him in. Whose responsibility, Sarah? Whose trust?
She pressed down on the receiver, released, and started to dial.
2
Education … can turn aggression to fervor, obstinacy to commitment, and volatility to passion.
— ON SUPREMACY , CHAPTER IV
X ANDER HAD RACED out in such a hurry that he’d left his scarf on the banister, and now, catching an updraft on Sixth Avenue, he reluctantly recalled Lundsdorf’s warning: “button it up if you want to live as long as I have .” Sometimes he could be infuriatingly sensible. Xander walked up the taxi drive of the Hilton, then through the door and into the stream of warm air that embraced both neck and face. It was a welcome relief.
As he walked down the concourse, his mind returned to Eisenreich. The moment of revelation had come some two hours ago, standing over his desk, shuffling through various papers—astounding in its simplicity. And perhaps his own thickheadedness. So obvious. So damn obvious . At first, he had wondered whether it was just another crazy theory—one which Lundsdorf would dismiss with quick dispatch. Crazy, yes. But theory? No. It made too much sense to be fiction. Of course, he would have to run it by Sarah. After all, she was the expert, the one from Washington. You’re only the simple academic .
Only when she had stumbled into her hotel room, a safe haven now from the attack twenty minutes earlier, was she able to concentrate on what the man had said. “ Today was only the first trial, a promise …” What had they meant? And Eisenreich? She turned and caught her reflection in the mirror, her face a sea of black and red, her hair a tangled mess hanging precariously about her shoulders. But it was the eyes that stole her focus, the eyes not seen since Amman, the cold, unforgiving eyes that stared back and condemned in silence.
It was then that she began to think beyond the attack. Why? What had provoked it? A research update. That was all it was supposed to be. Nothing more. Nothing to prompt warnings— first trial, Eisenreich …
A cold sweat creased her neck as one name entered her thoughts: the Committee .
Sarah forced her gaze to the room around her, the box, holding her in, squeezing her, the safety of isolation. Of course, the Committee . It was all too familiar, too much of a life that had come so close to destroying her. I won’t be drawn in. Whatever this is, I won’t. She knew what she had to do. Give everything back. Files, notes—the job, if necessary. Let others take the responsibility. Let others carry the weight. Memories of the alley would pass. Memories of Amman. Of herself. She had to protect herself .
She reached for her briefcase and noticed the flashing red light on the telephone. For a panicked moment, she wondered whether the message in the alley had been sufficient. They had found her in the streets. No doubt they could find her here. Ignore it. Let someone else play the game. But for some reason, she couldn’t. She had to hear it, hear them for herself, know she was running for the right reason. She slid across the bed, picked up the receiver, and dialed the operator. An electronic voice answered, informing her that a single call had been taken at 5:10. After a momentary purr, a second voice came on the line.
“Hi. Xander Jaspers at around six. Look, I don’t know how I could have been so stupid, but when I got back to my office, it suddenly clicked. The Enreich thing. It’s not En reich. It’s Eisen reich. At least that’s what my instincts tell me. If this does connect, it could be a lot more than either of us bargained for. Call me.”
Jaspers. Oh my God . She wasn’t alone; she wasn’t isolated. He had made the connection. Eisenreich … And she had been the one to contact him, draw him in. Whose responsibility, Sarah? Whose trust?
She pressed down on the receiver, released, and started to dial.
2
Education … can turn aggression to fervor, obstinacy to commitment, and volatility to passion.
— ON SUPREMACY , CHAPTER IV
X ANDER HAD RACED out in such a hurry that he’d left his scarf on the banister, and now, catching an updraft on Sixth Avenue, he reluctantly recalled Lundsdorf’s warning: “button it up if you want to live as long as I have .” Sometimes he could be infuriatingly sensible. Xander walked up the taxi drive of the Hilton, then through the door and into the stream of warm air that embraced both neck and face. It was a welcome relief.
As he walked down the concourse, his mind returned to Eisenreich. The moment of revelation had come some two hours ago, standing over his desk, shuffling through various papers—astounding in its simplicity. And perhaps his own thickheadedness. So obvious. So damn obvious . At first, he had wondered whether it was just another crazy theory—one which Lundsdorf would dismiss with quick dispatch. Crazy, yes. But theory? No. It made too much sense to be fiction. Of course, he would have to run it by Sarah. After all, she was the expert, the one from Washington. You’re only the simple academic .
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