Read Online The Overseer by Jonathan Rabb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Rabb
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Even so, instinct told him he had uncovered something to make sense of his research, something that might shed light on whatever Votapek and Tieg had in mind. How Sarah and the government tied in, though, remained a mystery.
Inside the elevator, he glanced at the papers he had brought. Scanning one or two, he recalled the rush, the excitement he had known perhaps only twice in his life—the first, three years ago, when he had found an unknown manuscript by an obscure eighteenth-century theorist; the second, earlier tonight, when he had remembered Eisenreich. Of course, the eighteenth-century essay had turned out to be of little use—as Lundsdorf had predicted—but the thrill of the hunt, the chance to see something through, that was what had caused such stirrings. And what was now coursing through his chest. The elevator arrived, and he tucked the papers inside his satchel.
Before knocking, Xander paused to consider what he could expect from the woman who had called him just over an hour ago. Then, he had anticipated enthusiasm, even excitement at his discovery. Instead, a distant voice had told him to come by the hotel; bring whatever he thought might be important. And that had been it. Not the reaction he had hoped for. Even so, behind her apparent detachment, Xander had sensed urgency, a thinly veiled need for the two of them to meet tonight. Wrapped up in his own eagerness, he had put her surprising coldness from his mind. Now, he couldn’t help but recall her tone on the phone, far from that of the friendly, delightful woman with whom he had shared tea that afternoon. And he had not been the only one to appreciate her appeal. On arriving back at the Institute, the fireside cabal had awarded him high praise for his radiant companion. Even Clara had lit up at the mention of the 3:30 appointment. Only then had Xander considered Sarah anything more than a Washington bureaucrat sent to tease his brain. A bureaucrat with a rather lovely smile, he had to admit. He had spent a good ten minutes in his office thinking of nothing else.
The sound of a double bolt releasing brought him back to the present. The door inched open and Sarah appeared through the shadows of a room lit only by a single lamp on the bureau. For a moment, the two stared at each other, until Xander smiled and asked, “All right if I come in?”
His own familiarity seemed to snap some life into her expression; with a gentle nod, she answered, “Sorry. Of course.”
He stepped into the room; Sarah immediately bolted the door, then moved past him to the bed and her pillow propped against the wall. It was then that he noticed the television, her eyes riveted to the screen. She hadn’t even asked for his coat. Without looking over, she said, “Take a drink if you want. It’s a small bar, but it’s well stocked.” Xander saw the miniature JD on the table next to the bed, the hotel glass steeped high with ice and whiskey. Evidently, she had started without him.
“Thanks.” He nodded stiffly, uncertain as to what he should do next. A drink. Right. He nodded again, placed his satchel on the rug, and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Her gaze remained on the set, her expression confirming the misgivings he had felt over the phone. He wanted to convince himself that the difference lay in the informality of a second meeting, her lack of makeup, her casual clothes. But it was clearly more than that. He stepped closer to the bed, his hand awkwardly in his coat pocket. “So,” he said, “what exactly are we watching?”
Sarah turned to him, a momentary look of confusion in her eyes. “You haven’t seen any of this?”
Xander shook his head, smiled. “I’ve been at the office. The … stuff with Eisenreich took some time to—”
“Then you should probably take a look.” She picked up the remote and flicked from channel to channel. Xander stood watching as every station seemed to be covering the same set of stories—reporters amid the
Inside the elevator, he glanced at the papers he had brought. Scanning one or two, he recalled the rush, the excitement he had known perhaps only twice in his life—the first, three years ago, when he had found an unknown manuscript by an obscure eighteenth-century theorist; the second, earlier tonight, when he had remembered Eisenreich. Of course, the eighteenth-century essay had turned out to be of little use—as Lundsdorf had predicted—but the thrill of the hunt, the chance to see something through, that was what had caused such stirrings. And what was now coursing through his chest. The elevator arrived, and he tucked the papers inside his satchel.
Before knocking, Xander paused to consider what he could expect from the woman who had called him just over an hour ago. Then, he had anticipated enthusiasm, even excitement at his discovery. Instead, a distant voice had told him to come by the hotel; bring whatever he thought might be important. And that had been it. Not the reaction he had hoped for. Even so, behind her apparent detachment, Xander had sensed urgency, a thinly veiled need for the two of them to meet tonight. Wrapped up in his own eagerness, he had put her surprising coldness from his mind. Now, he couldn’t help but recall her tone on the phone, far from that of the friendly, delightful woman with whom he had shared tea that afternoon. And he had not been the only one to appreciate her appeal. On arriving back at the Institute, the fireside cabal had awarded him high praise for his radiant companion. Even Clara had lit up at the mention of the 3:30 appointment. Only then had Xander considered Sarah anything more than a Washington bureaucrat sent to tease his brain. A bureaucrat with a rather lovely smile, he had to admit. He had spent a good ten minutes in his office thinking of nothing else.
The sound of a double bolt releasing brought him back to the present. The door inched open and Sarah appeared through the shadows of a room lit only by a single lamp on the bureau. For a moment, the two stared at each other, until Xander smiled and asked, “All right if I come in?”
His own familiarity seemed to snap some life into her expression; with a gentle nod, she answered, “Sorry. Of course.”
He stepped into the room; Sarah immediately bolted the door, then moved past him to the bed and her pillow propped against the wall. It was then that he noticed the television, her eyes riveted to the screen. She hadn’t even asked for his coat. Without looking over, she said, “Take a drink if you want. It’s a small bar, but it’s well stocked.” Xander saw the miniature JD on the table next to the bed, the hotel glass steeped high with ice and whiskey. Evidently, she had started without him.
“Thanks.” He nodded stiffly, uncertain as to what he should do next. A drink. Right. He nodded again, placed his satchel on the rug, and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Her gaze remained on the set, her expression confirming the misgivings he had felt over the phone. He wanted to convince himself that the difference lay in the informality of a second meeting, her lack of makeup, her casual clothes. But it was clearly more than that. He stepped closer to the bed, his hand awkwardly in his coat pocket. “So,” he said, “what exactly are we watching?”
Sarah turned to him, a momentary look of confusion in her eyes. “You haven’t seen any of this?”
Xander shook his head, smiled. “I’ve been at the office. The … stuff with Eisenreich took some time to—”
“Then you should probably take a look.” She picked up the remote and flicked from channel to channel. Xander stood watching as every station seemed to be covering the same set of stories—reporters amid the
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