Almost Home: A Novel

  What seems like an eternity later, we screech to a halt in front of a no-parking sign by the hospital emergency bay. I leap from the bike and then stop as a wave of dizziness overtakes me. “You should get checked out, too, while you’re here,” Sebastian says, coming to my side.

  “I’m fine,” I reply quickly. Sarah needs me and I have to leave whatever is going on between me and Sebastian behind. “You don’t have to go in with me.”

  “I’ll wait here,” he persists.

  “Thanks but it isn’t necessary. You go back to the investigation. We need you there and Sophie shouldn’t be left on her own.” Her name comes out awkwardly. She is not just our teammate anymore; she is the other woman.

  For a minute I worry that he will be hurt that I do not want him coming with me, but Sebastian is not Chris. He shrugs, willing to take what is offered. His lack of neediness, I decide instantly, makes him even more attractive. “I’m sorry we got interrupted…” I say, faltering.

  His face brightens. “Me too. Rain check, okay?”

  I turn away, fighting the urge to kiss him. “I’ll call you later,” I call over my shoulder as I race for the hospital door. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I burst though the doors of the emergency room. “Sarah Sunderson?” I demand of the clerk behind the desk.

  The woman looks up at me, then back at her computer screen. “One moment, I’ll just…”

  “Jordan,” a voice behind me says. I spin around. Mo, in a pink cardigan and jeans, walks toward me.

  “Mo! I don’t understand. How did you…?”

  “The hospital called the embassy looking for you,” Maureen replies. She seems to have aged overnight. It is, I realize, the first time I have seen her without makeup. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I’m fine,” I answer quickly, my own injury forgotten. The last thing I need is Mo knowing about Sebastian and me, or that I’d been careless enough to allow myself to be drugged. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “She’s in a private room. Follow me.” She leads me down a corridor, then stops before a closed door, blocking my way and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Wait a second. Jordan, Sarah was badly hurt.”

  “Was?” Bile rises in my throat. “She’s not…”

  “No, no, she’s fine,” Maureen replies quickly. I inhale deeply as the hallway seems to right itself once more. “I’ll take you to her in a minute. But first we need to talk.” She looks in both directions down the corridor, then pulls me into the doorway of an empty room. “This is serious: Sarah was attacked.”

  “Attacked?” I grab the doorway as the ground starts to wobble beneath me once more. “But I thought, with her illness, that maybe she fell again…”

  Maureen shakes her head. “The police said that two men broke into her flat. They were looking for something in her desk or her computer; they didn’t mean for her to find them. But she woke up.” I nod. Sarah was always a light sleeper. “When she confronted them, they attacked her and tied her up, turned on the gas. She wasn’t supposed to make it out alive. Fortunately the nurse arrived early and found her in time.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Mo squeezes my shoulder. “It’s not good. Her lungs were already compromised by the disease and the gas was really hard on them.”

  “No…” I whisper, leaning against the door frame, tears springing to my eyes.

  “But she’s awake, Jordan. Alive. She’s a fighter.”

  I am not comforted. “I’ve got to go see her.” I start around Mo, but she tightens her grip on my shoulder, holding me in place.

  “One more minute. First a question: Why would someone attack Sarah?”

  I shift uneasily. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell her anything about the investigation?”

  “Of course not,” I reply, unable to keep the indignation from my voice. “It’s classified.” My mind races. Sarah knows about Jared’s death, my quest to find out what happened to him. I remember what Vance said about Duncan being terrified. Could whoever scared him have attacked Sarah? It seems impossible. But I cannot tell Mo about my conversation with Vance without divulging that I was looking for Duncan, that we still have not given up on Infodyne. And I do not have time for the thousand questions my revelation would surely bring.

  Instead I gesture toward Sarah’s hospital room. “Has she said anything?”

  “Not much.” Mo is staring at me now, lips pressed together. “I don’t like it,” she declares, exhaling sharply. “This is getting serious.”

  “It’s okay, Maureen.”

  “The hell it is!” Mo slams her hand into the door frame. “Nobody makes a personal attack on one of our agents’ families. And what kind of sicko attacks…” Before she can finish the thought, her cell phone rings. She whips it out, heedless of the fact that we are in a hospital. “Martindale,” she says. A voice comes over the line, male and terse, but I cannot make out what it is saying. Her eyes dart back and forth, the creases in her brown deepening. “Yes, I understand. Of course. Right away.”

  Who calls Mo, I wonder, and barks orders like that? “Was that about our investigation?” I ask as she closes the phone.

  “No,” she says quickly.

  I study her face. I am not sure if I believe her, but there’s no time to press the issue now. “I need to go see Sarah.” I start around her.

  “We’re not finished,” she says, blocking my way. She lowers her voice. “Jordan, I want you off this case. And I want you to leave your other investigation—the personal one—alone, too.”

  “Maureen, please. I’m so close.” That, I realize, is a lie. I have no idea who is behind Infodyne, or Jared’s death. “You can’t ask me to give up now,” I press. “You said yourself that you wouldn’t, either, if you were in my shoes.”

  She closes her eyes. I study her face, wondering if what I said got through. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll see. A lower-profile assignment. Or a desk job, if you’re not good.” She watches as my face falls. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes.” I cross my fingers behind my back. I will continue the investigation, twenty-four hours or twenty-four years. Whoever attacked Sarah crossed a line. Now it is personal. “Except for the desk job,” I add.

  “Good.” Apparently satisfied, Mo gestures to the two guards posted outside Sarah’s room. “I also want round-the-clock security on you. One of these gentlemen will be escorting you home when you are done here. Got it?”

  I start to protest that there is no way I can operate discreetly with a security detail following me around. But I stop. This is not a battle I can win. “Security for Sarah, too, right?”

  “Of course. We’ve coordinated with the police on this. They’re sweeping her apartment as we speak, and watching there and here at the hospital.”

  “Thanks, Maureen.”

  “I’m going to go home and get some rest. I’ve been here since three.” I notice then the dark circles underneath her eyes. “You never did say where you were last night, by the way, or why we couldn’t reach you. I tried your cell phone for an hour.” I open my mouth to tell her it did not ring, but before I can speak, she continues. “I even sent Sophie to your flat to check on you.” I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Sophie. She was the only one I could think to call without raising a fuss to the entire embassy. I couldn’t reach Sebastian, either,” she adds pointedly.

  “Fieldwork,” I reply, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what was up with the phone.”

  I turn and walk toward Sarah’s hospital room, still feeling Mo’s eyes on my back. My stomach twists. Sarah is lying flat in bed, eyes closed, a system of tubes and wires coming out of her arms, beneath her gown. A heart monitor beeps above her head. As I step closer to the bed, I wince. Sarah has a large bruise on her cheek and her upper lip is cut.

  She opens her eyes at the sound. “Hey,” she whispers, managing a faint smile.

  “Oh
, Sarah, I’m so sorry.” I bend down and touch my forehead to hers.

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” She breathes heavily, as though she has been running.

  “Yes it is.” I look around, desperately wanting to do something to help her. Then I spot a pitcher beside the bed. “Water?” She nods. I pour a small cup. I press the button on the side of the bed to raise her head, then quickly stop as she winces in pain. “Here.” I put my hand under her neck and bring the cup gently to her lips. Sarah takes a small sip, then stops, staring up at me. I pull the cup away. “What is it?”

  “What happened to your forehead?” she whispers. I touch my brow, feeling the scrape for the first time. Did Maureen notice? “They got you, too, didn’t they?” Her eyes grow moist and I can tell that my attack bothers Sarah more than her own.

  “Someone slipped something in my drink is all. I hit my head when I passed out.”

  “Any idea who?”

  I shake my head. “I went to see Vance Ellis at a bar, but I don’t think he—”

  “Vance Ellis?” Sarah interrupts, stronger now.

  “Yes, Duncan’s partner.”

  Her eyes widen. “Jordie, look.” She gestures with her head at a television mounted in the far corner of the room.

  I look at the writing that scrolls across the muted screen. ACTOR KILLS SELF. My stomach drops. Vance’s headshot, the same one that hung on the theater marquee, stares back at me. “Oh no,” I whisper, as Sarah turns on the sound. Found in the restroom of an East End gay nightclub called the Pit. An apparent overdose, the announcer says. He was rumored to have been despondent over the decline of his relationship.

  “They said it was likely a suicide,” Sarah offers, turning the volume low once more.

  I picture Vance at the club last night, so fiercely protective of his partner. His relationship was not in demise and he wouldn’t have done anything to compromise his ability to protect Duncan. No, Vance was murdered, just hours after speaking with me. And with his death, my only connection to Duncan had disappeared.

  “You don’t think he killed himself, do you?” Sarah presses.

  I shake my head, remembering the shots of bourbon that Vance was downing. “He wasn’t suicidal. Despondent and drinking, but not enough to kill him.” The shots, I realize. I only had two and I was knocked unconscious. The second shot, the one I grabbed after the shock of hearing Vance mention Madrid, was intended for him. “I think someone drugged his drinks, including the one that made me pass out.”

  “But why?” she asks. Because he knew more than he told me, I think. He knew more than he was letting on about what Jared and Duncan worked on, and someone wanted that to disappear forever. The realization slams into my stomach: the person or persons who murdered Vance well could have killed Jared because of his research. And if I am right, Duncan is in grave danger.

  Sarah reaches out and touches my arm gently, pulling me from my thoughts. “Does it have something to do with Jared?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night after you explained what you and Chris learned about Jared’s death, I started doing some digging online. I mean, I have a lot of time on my hands and I wanted to help. Jordie, did you know that Jared and Duncan worked together on some research related to Nazi money?”

  I stare at her, amazed that she had been able to learn so much from the Internet. I might have, too, if I’d had time to sit down and do some real research since coming to England.

  “I know. They were supposed to give a paper at a conference in Madrid about a month before Jared died. But they never did for some reason.” Even as I say this I know that her inquiries about Jared got her attacked. Guilt rises up in me. “Did you get a look at who did this to you?”

  She shakes her head. “Not exactly. There were two men. Like I told the police, they were wearing masks, but I’d guess they’re in their late twenties or early thirties, judging by their voices. Foreign, though I couldn’t make out the language. They dressed as though they were playing street thugs.”

  “Dressed as though? I don’t understand.”

  “They were wearing torn trousers and dirty shirts and they had taken the trouble of growing stubble. But their hands,” she winces, touching her face, “which I got a good look at, were manicured and smooth. And they were wearing Cartier watches.”

  I tuck this information away to process later. “What did they want?”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t speak to me. I heard noise in the living room and I thought maybe it was the nurse. When I rolled into the room, they seemed startled. They were rifling around my desk and they had my laptop on, trying to get around the password. But after I interrupted them, they tied me up, turned on the gas, and left.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  “Nah,” she replies. “Death threats don’t mean that much when you’re terminally ill.”

  “Oh!” Dropping my head onto the mattress beside her, I begin to sob.

  “Hey now.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m fine. But Jordie, Jared’s paper…do you think that’s why…?” She does not finish the question.

  I lift my head from the crisp white sheets and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. I am, I realize for the first time, still wearing Sebastian’s sweatshirt. “Why someone killed him? I don’t know. It seems impossible that someone could want to murder a student over his research, even one as brilliant as Jared.”

  “I guess it depends on what he found,” she observes.

  “True. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ve got to find out what Jared and Duncan wanted to present at Madrid,” she replies logically. “Once you know that, you’ll have a better sense who would have wanted to stop them.”

  “But Maureen said I need to give up investigating this. I told her no, of course, but now that I’ve seen you…it’s too dangerous. What if they come back?”

  “That’s all the more reason you’ve got to continue. I saw those men, saw the look in their eyes. They came after me because we got too close to something.” We, I think, my guilt rising once more. I never meant to drag her into this. She continues. “They aren’t going to give up just because we do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She’s right, of course. We already know too much for these people to leave us alone. I have to find them before they come back and try again, and maybe Sarah or I wind up like Vance. I’ve got no choice but to keep going. “I understand.”

  She smiles, satisfied. “Good. I want you to get those bastards for me. What’s your next move?”

  I remember my conversation with Sebastian last night. “With Duncan gone, I need to find another way to get the paper that he and Jared were going to give at Madrid.”

  “That makes sense. I scoured the Internet but it was nowhere to be found. Sorry.”

  I squeeze her arm. “You did great. We’ll have to think of another way. There are some papers that Chris got from Jared’s mom that I can check. I’m supposed to go over there tonight.” I bite my lip, faltering.

  “Jordie, what’s going on?” Sarah demands, her cheeks brightening, then fading quickly to gray once more.

  I look away. Normally I would dump all of my problems on Sarah. But now, while she is lying in this hospital bed, I cannot. “Chris and I got a little too close. It’s no big deal, I’m just being silly. That’s the short version and I’ll tell you the rest some other time. Right now I need to focus on getting that paper.”

  “Maybe there was someone else from Cambridge at the conference,” she suggests. “Someone who might have kept a copy of the paper.”

  “Good point. But who?” I remember the hotel stationery I took from Jared’s trunk. There were some initials scribbled on it, ending in an A, I think, followed by Trinity Hall, the name of one of the colleges. Another student or a professor maybe, who had been there, too? “I have an idea.” I open my cell and dial Sebastian.

  “Hallo,” he answers a moment later.


  “It’s Jordan,” I say, trying to still the fluttering in my chest.

  “Oh, hi.” His voice lifts a note. “How’s your friend?”

  “Okay,” I reply. “I was wondering if you can do me a quick favor. Are you near a computer?”

  “Sure,” he replies. “Just give me a second to boot up.”

  “Go to the Cambridge site, then to the page for Trinity Hall. Tell me what faculty members they have listed who have surnames beginning with an A.”

  There is a pause and I can hear him typing. Sarah watches me, eyebrows raised. “There are two,” Sebastian says finally. “Marcelius Ang and Rosemary Alberts.”

  “What are their subjects?”

  “Alberts teaches literature. Ang is a history professor.”

  “Marcelius J. Ang?” I ask, seeing the initials on the stationery clearly now.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Perfect, thanks. Talk to you later.” A pang of longing pulls at my stomach as I close the phone.

  “What happened?” Sarah asks. I explain quickly about the hotel stationery. “I think Ang could have been at the conference also. I need to talk to him.”

  “We could see if there’s a phone number,” Sarah offers, but I shake my head.

  “I don’t want to call and risk having him disappear like Duncan. No, I think I need to speak with him in person. He’s less likely to shut down on me that way.” I hesitate, looking around the hospital room. “I hate to leave you alone, but if we’re going to get these guys, I’ve got to keep going. Mo’s only given me another twenty-four hours and after that she’s going to pull the plug on the investigation.”

  Sarah nods. “I’ll be fine. Those guys won’t be back. Maureen’s got her watchdogs on me.”

  “I know, she’s got them on me, too, and I’ve got to shake them. So I’m going to slip out and if anybody asks, I hope you don’t mind telling them…”

  “…that you went home to take a shower and get some sleep.”

  I smile. “Thanks, you’re the best.” I stand and silently blow her a kiss.

  “Be careful,” she mouths.