Mourning Dove (29 page)

***

“Sara, love, it’s okay,
it was just a nightmare.”

“God, don’t do this to me
again. Let me go, Matthew. I need to go to him.”

“Shush, it’s okay. I’ve got
you.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I’ve got you.” His hand came
away sticky and wet. “You’re bleeding. Did you cut yourself?”

“Oh God, Matthew,
something’s wrong.”

“It was just a
nightmare,” he whispered. “Breathe easy. Sh, you’re okay.” He rocked her in his
arms cradling her head against his chest, running a hand slowly up and down her
back. “Sh, I’ve got you.”

His heart was pounding
like a kettle drum. Her heartbreak and the anguish of her screams were inside
him. “It was just a nightmare. Easy now, easy.” He soothed her until her
breathing was quiet once again.

“Let’s get your bleeding
stopped then you can tell me your nightmare?”

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Is it because you can’t
recall it or is it because you don’t want to revisit it?”

“I don’t want to go there
again.”

“Okay. I understand that.
Tell me how you cut yourself.”

“I didn’t, he did. I
don’t know how this happened. In the dream I was Carl. He rubbed his finger
over the sharp edge of a flint arrowhead and cut himself. This finger,” she
held up her left index finger with blood still oozing from the jagged cut.

“Lets tend to your
finger, and then we’ll talk about the dream.” He wrapped a tissue around the
cut and held it with a firm grip. “If you share the nightmare the pain will
ease. Trust me. Several years in therapy taught me that.”

“When?”

“When my mother died I
began to have nightmares. A therapist helped me analyze my terror and the
nightmares stopped.”

“I need to talk to Carl.
That’s what I need to do.”

“Love, he’s dead. And
nothing we can do will change that.”

“The nightmares stopped
when he began talking in my head. I haven’t heard him since I left Portland. Now the nightmare is back.”

“I won’t argue with you
about Carl’s ability to communicate. Tell me if the nightmare is the same one
you had in the past?”

“Yes. No.”

“Is that a definite?”

“It’s not funny, Matt.
The end of it is the same but there was a lot more in the beginning.”

“In the nightmare were
you there with him?”

“No, not as me; I
was
him, or
in
him, until the gun fired. Then I screamed when he fell into
my arms. That was when we separated.”

“Tell me the nightmare
from the beginning. And tell me what’s different from prior nightmares.”

“In a minute, I need to
use the. . .” She slipped from the bed, walked to the bathroom shutting the
door behind her. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.
Bloody hell, she’d scared ten years out of him with her scream.

***

“Carl?” In the dark
bathroom Sara whispered her son’s name. “Are you with me?” Silence.

Come on Carl, I need you.
What’s happening? Why are the nightmares back? Answer me, damn it!

“Sara, open up.” Matthew
called from the other side of the door.

“In a minute.”

Carl, talk to me. She
pleaded her thoughts again.

“Sara, open the door.”

“Just give me a moment,
Matthew.” Carl, talk to me! The silence was devastating. She didn’t realize how
much she depended on Carl’s presence. The pain of his absence hurt like the
week he died. She slid to the floor up against the tub edge, tears in the back
of her throat, and buried her face against her knees.

“Sara, if you don’t open
this door in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to break it down.”

Don’t be stupid. It’s
unlocked.

The door clicked open and
soft light spilled into the bathroom. Matthew sat on the floor beside her and
lifted her left hand into both of his. “Just so you know, this is not the
commode, love.”

“I know that.”

“And, I’m not stupid,” he
added as he stroked her fingers between his own.

“I never thought you
were.”

“You just told me not to
be stupid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Sara, never mind.”

“What are you talking
about?” she asked.

“Why don’t we go back
into the bedroom?”

“I would rather stay
here.”

“Okay, so tell me the
nightmare from the beginning.”

The story spilled out as
Matthew stroked her fingertips, always holding tight to her index finger. She
could feel her finger going numb.

After she’d finished
retelling most of the nightmare, he said, “You have a vivid imagination.”

“Now,
you
have to
trust
me
. I know where he put it. If I only knew who killed him we could
end this.” Sara squeezed his hands and asked him to help her up.

“Sara, I’m pretty sure I
know the name of his killer. I need to find the traitor in the agency first,
get enough proof to put him away, and close down the circuit that connects the
cult with the terrorist cell.”

“But if we know where the
disk and cylinder are, why can’t we go and destroy them?”

“Don’t mention the disk
and cylinder ever again. It could get you killed. Both are safe where they are
until this is finished. We’re close, Sara. Just a little more time and we’ll
trap them all.”

She tossed a wad of
tissues into the toilet and flushed. She wished all her problems were as easy
to eliminate.

“How’s your son?” Sara
asked when Pam joined her for breakfast in the big conference room.

“He’s fine.  He ate
something he shouldn’t and it paid him back. What happened after I left
yesterday?”

“After Matthew’s keynote
we had a strategy meeting in Robert’s suite. Did you catch our media statement
on television? Let’s see the little punk get out of this one.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Pam
leaned toward her when Sara tucked herself into the table.

“Hear what?”

“The first news report
this morning was that Jeffery Dane was released on bail early this morning, and
then killed in a hit and run.”

Sara was numb with shock
over yet another death. From the added volume of conversation the news was
filtering through the conference room as they spoke.

“The word is he was
driven home by his attorney. He got out of the car and a light colored sedan
came out of nowhere and hit him hard enough to bounce him twenty feet away. The
driver never stopped. That’s all the information the police gave out in their
news bulletin this morning.” Pam looked over Sara’s shoulder toward the front
of the breakfast gathering. “Holy crap, they’re here.”

Sara turned to follow
Pam’s gaze across the room. Two patrolmen and a man in a black suit were
standing in the front entrance of the hall.

“It appears the police
are looking for someone.”

“With my luck, they’re probably
looking for me,” Sara said.

“Stand up and wave them
toward you,” Pam said. “It will look like you asked them to come.”

“Pamela Lawson, you have
a devious mind.” She acted on Pam’s suggestion and the two patrolmen and plain
clothes detective threaded their way toward them. The breakfast gathering
hushed to the point of dead silence.

“Gentlemen, I’m Sara
Stafford from Starr Shine Communications. How may I be of service to you?”

“Ms. Stafford, may we
speak with you in private?” asked the detective wearing a gray pinstriped suit
and a red tie decorated with a grease spot at about mid-chest.

“Considering the interest
your arrival has made, I would suggest we walk over to the rear exit and hold
our conversation where everyone can see but not hear.”

The detective agreed and
directed Sara toward the rear exit. A tray of glasses dropped to the floor
somewhere in the room. She turned then as three of Chicago’s finest blocked the
view of their conversation from the fifty or so observers around the room.

“Ms. Stafford, we need to
know where you were at three-thirty this morning.”

“A reasonable question,
detective, I was in my room trying to deal with a minor plumbing emergency.”

“Can you explain that?”

“My toilet was
overflowing. I called Mr. Farrell, who came to my rescue and in turn called the
front desk for assistance. I believe it was a little after three. The gentleman
at the front desk at that time can verify the time if you care to check with
him.”

“I see. And how long were
the two of you occupied with the plumbing problem?”

“The last of it was
mopped up around five this morning. Mr. Farrell went back to his suite to get
cleaned up. I took a shower and dressed for the last day of the conference. He
should be here any moment.”

“What kind of car do you
drive Ms. Stafford?”

“It’s a forest green
Sebring convertible. But I’m not using a car here at the conference. I flew in
and took a cab from the airport. I’ve been sharing cabs with the other staff in
the evenings. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Do you know the name of
the desk clerk and maintenance people who saw you at 3:30 this morning?”

“No, but I’m sure you can
get that information at the front desk.”

“Thank you for your
cooperation, Ms. Stafford. If you have anything else to add you can reach me at
this number.”

Palming his card, she
extended her hand and shook his and the hands of the two uniformed patrolmen.

“Ms. Stafford?” he added
before she could walk back to her table. “Do you know where we can find Mr.
Farrell?”

“I suppose, he’s either
in his room or on his way down to breakfast.”

Cutting through a sea of
whispered gossip across the room, Sara stopped at a table to chat with a woman
she remembered from the afternoon session the day before. Reaching down to the
floor, she retrieved the woman’s napkin and laughed at her interpretation of
the way Sara shuffled the police out the back door. The fake smile Sara wore
faded away when she left the dining room. In the elevator, she flipped open her
cell and dialed Matthew’s number. It was busy, probably the police. She punched
in the second number and southern charm answered on the second ring. 

“Hello, Elaina. It’s Sara
Stafford. How was your trip?”

“Oh my dear, you know
those planes. By the time you get comfortable they start fussing over you and you
don’t get a peaceful moment to yourself.”

“Is Robert available?”

After a minute, he was on
the line, “Hello Sara, any more sleuthing this morning?”

“Not by me, sir. I’m
concerned though that more has happened to wreak havoc with our conference. The
police were here during breakfast. I’ve been told the mayor’s son was released
early this morning and then killed in a hit and run. They wanted to know where
I was at the time. There were a lot of attendees in the room when the police
showed up. Thanks to some fast thinking by Pam Lawson, we managed to make the
situation look like I had called them.”

“Sara, join me at 1:30 in
my suite; I’ll contact Mr. Farrell.”

He disconnected before
she could say another word.

***

An acid war was attacking
Sara’s stomach. Three Tums, a big inhale, and she knocked on the boss’s door, 1:30
on the dot. Robert opened it with a warm smile.

“Hello again, little
lady, I saved a seat for you at lunch. When you didn’t show, Elaina ordered
something sent up for our meeting. We were just having a second cup of coffee.”

In the sitting room of
Robert’s suite Matthew was seated with his legs stretched out and crossed at
the ankles. No one else was present.

 “Sara,” Matthew nodded
in her direction.

“Hello, Matthew. I tried
to reach you several times this morning. Your cell keeps sending me to your
message center.”

He reached into his
jacket pocket and checked. “Sorry about that. I must have pushed the wrong
button.” He knew what button to push. Sara felt like she’d just entered a
luxurious spider web.

“Help yourself to some of
this spread,” Robert offered. “Elaina called in the order before she left.” A
platter of finger sandwiches, another of vegetables surrounding a small bowl of
green colored dip, and a tray of assorted bite sized pastries filled the coffee
table in the center of the room. A pot of coffee and a teapot decorated the bar
of the mini-kitchen to the left of the sitting area.

Sara took the vacant seat
across from Matthew, placing her briefcase beside her. “I’m sorry I missed your
speech today, Robert. I spent most of the noon break in my room with a migraine
and a grumpy stomach.” She reached into her case, “I prepared a list of what’s
going on that might help to understand and settle down any problems we’re
having in PR.”

“Sara, tea or coffee?”

“I’m not sure my
stomach’s up to more caffeine, Robert.”

“Well, then, I suggest
you try some of the fare Elaina went to all that trouble to order for you.”

There was no backing out
of that gracefully. “That may just do the trick. Maybe I will have a cup of
tea, then. Thank you, sir. As I was saying, this is the list of unusual events
that have happened since just before we left for the conference on Monday to
the present time. I’ve made copies for each of you. I don’t believe this many
out of the ordinary incidents can be called coincidence.  Someone is trying to
sabotage this company, or someone placed very high up in the organization. I’ve
eliminated everyone who may be at risk, except Jonathon, me, and you, sir.
Since Matthew doesn’t actually work for Starr Shine Communications, I
originally removed his name from the list. But I’ve added him back since he’s
been at the scene of almost every incident or closely related to it. I thought
of the people here at the Chicago office who helped put this event together. 
They’re on a separate list. My gut tells me they’re not at risk. What we need
to find out is who instigated the events that appear to be designed to bring
down our company.”

“Eat, Sara,” Matthew
whispered.

“In a minute.”

She leaned back in her
seat and watched the changing expressions on Robert’s face.

“You know, Mr. Farrell, I
like the way this lady’s mind works. Anyone else would have come here today to
defend herself and try to save her job. Not our Sara, she focused on the bigger
issue – how to preserve my company and its reputation.”

“May I ask what happened
in your conversation with Jonathon, sir?” she asked.

“It seems he was fed
erroneous information in Washington. He called me in an attempt to save the
company from disaster. The people he was listening to appeared to be on a witch
hunt for you, Sara, and by extension, Starr Shine Communications. The rumor
also attempted to bring Mr. Farrell down. We traced the source to the office of
a board member of Global Communications in Southern California.”

Sara nodded at Robert’s
statement. “That’s the company our San Francisco comptroller was feeding
company secrets.”

“The very same,” Matthew
added.

“I don’t know how any of
that has to do with the death this morning, or the drug bust the night before.”

“Sara, it may not be
related.  It could have been used, though, to spread negative rumors.  We’re
asking congress for another large appropriation. Money our competitors would
like shifted into their own company coffers.”

“So, where do we go from
here?” She asked glancing from one face to the other.

“My suggestion is that
you take the moral high road,” Matthew added.

“I’m in agreement with
that. I plan to spend most of next week in DC smoothing ruffled feathers and
schmoozing the appropriations committee. Sara, I want you to take an extra day
here in Chicago, tour some museums and try to stay out of the news. Mr.
Farrell, what are your plans once the conference is over?”

“I’ll stick around and
play body guard through Saturday. Most of next week, I’ll be in Washington myself.  If it’s all right with you, Robert, I’d like to hold onto the space
you’ve provided in your Portland office, for a little while longer.”

“I have no problem with
that. You two try to stay out of the limelight for the next three days. We wrap
up at dinner tonight. Once the Chicago crew cleans up tomorrow morning, I
expect you, Sara, to spend some time relaxing. You looked stressed out.”

“Will there be any
problem with Jonathon on Monday morning, sir?”

“There shouldn’t be. I expect
he may be a bit tamed down by then. Now I would like you to do one more thing
for me.”

“Anything, Robert.”

“Help us eat this table
full of food. I don’t want to explain to Elaina why it’s untouched.”