The Spy I Loved (36 page)

Aubrey
almost jumped out of his skin as the door on the far side crashed
open.

Two men
with assault weapons slung came through and took up a stance on
each side.

The
Mahdi, looking resplendent in his highly-stylized tribal costume,
upper chest area on both sides bedecked with medals and ribbons,
stepped in, his glance cold and unfriendly.

He threw
a sheaf of papers and photographic enlargements on the table. They
spread all over the place, sliding on the table but not making it
as far as Aubrey.

Herschel
half stood, reaching out to grab the nearest at least, but a hard
hand from the Colonel forced him back into his seat.

“
Fake. All fake.”

“
Wha—what?”

Aubrey
paled, and went all cold inside.

“
What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Those
glittering black eyes bored into his from the other side of the
table where the Mahdi sat apparently calmly. He’d taken his hat off
and his hands were folded in his lap.

“
You were tricked. You were lied to. You bought a bum steer,
Aubrey.” The mouth was a firm line.

Sweat
flowed freely down his sides under the three-hundred dollar
shirt.

“
You have made me look stupid, something I will never
tolerate, Aubrey.” The eyes went up over his shoulder and then
Aubrey’s time had come. “Goodbye my old friend.”

“
But—but—”

The
Mahdi, already risen, halfway to the door, paused and then turned
back.

He leaned
on the table, that hard and fanatical face showing no emotion at
all.

“
You were kind to me once, Aubrey. And for that I shall always
be grateful.”

Where it
came from, he would never know, it sounded insane but it was torn
out of him by dread—and knowledge, and expectations of what came
next.

“
I was—when?”

The
Mahdi’s jaw worked back and forth.

“
You have forgotten. For that I am doubly
grateful.”

The Mahdi
left but the two soldiers inside the door were in motion, one going
left and one going right. Aubrey’s guts churned and he peed
himself.

But it
was not his time to die just yet.

***

With two
and only two guards in attendance, sitting across from them in the
limousine, the Colonel sat calmly beside him.

Aubrey
spoke.

“
Where are we going—” They had just driven past the entrance
to the Mahdi’s largest prison, legendary for its overcrowding and
the people who had disappeared inside, never to return.

It was the ride in the desert, wasn’t it?

Poor Sigrid.

In the
last revelation he would ever have, Aubrey admitted that he loved
her still. He should have thought of that earlier—

Fuck.

If only he could remember the words.

Aubrey
Herschel trembled, oh, God how he trembled. He sat there in his own
hot shit as people and faces, words he should have said, things he
might have done differently flashed through his head.

The
Colonel sniffed, bobbing his chin and reaching for a cigarette
after a long and monotonous silence.

He looked
over after calling to the driver to open all the
windows.

Chill
night air billowed around them.

“
You’re going
home,
Aubrey.”

His jaw
dropped. The amber illumination from tall steel standards up the
middle of the controlled-access Highway One flashed their light and
shadow across the seats under the open roof panel. The Colonel’s
face was a study in indifference.

Home!

They were
going to the airport.

No.

Please.

Not that.

Not like this.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The days
were getting shorter and the nights were getting longer. The
Toronto she had known, fascinating in its size and newness, was
gone. It had been replaced with a darker, grimmer place.

A place
where Lindsey would be tested, hopefully not to be found wanting
but one never knew.

Her first
autumn in the big city had been an adventure. It was sunny,
brilliantly lit, and full of fun, music, sound and action. It was a
place of discovery and exciting new things. Her second autumn was
different. She kept to herself, avoided the few friends she’d made
the year before. They all had boyfriends and girlfriends by now, or
had revealed some true colours in other ways. Mostly there were
busy and she was unwilling.

She put
her head down and kept going.

Throwing
herself into the work, it was her only solace. She would graduate
at the top of her class. She would get offers where others would
have to search far and wide. It was the only time her thoughts left
her alone, when she was focused on another heavy book, another
project, another report, an exam, or a paper.

To lift
her head was to feel the pain, the despair. The bereavement. The
loss of all that was dear, and familiar, and part of her younger,
happier life.

And she
had been happy. It was one of the things she realized. The first
year was bad—a small child pining for her parents, but Dale had
been pretty good, looking back. He really had gone the distance and
worked a few miracles. It was one thought, one of many that brought
a tear to her eye. Pretty much any and all thoughts were doing that
these days.

She
really was an ungrateful wretch, but she couldn’t go back to
Espanola now. She’d get a job somewhere for the summer. She’d
finish her third year if it killed her. The class was not usually
so boring. She’d seen a couple of the jocks fooling around in the
hall, all physical play and loud bragging. Part of it was just
show, showing off for the girls.

The look on their faces made her ask what it was that
she
lacked.
She
wasn’t used to seeing enthusiasm, up close and personal. They
thought she was a stuck-up bitch, of course, when she was merely
unhappy and not all that eager to share the reasons for
it.

At one
time she would have found either one of them attractive.

They were
just a couple of big kids.

Professor
Johnny O. Callaghan droned on and on. His lectures were precise,
his face professionally cheerful, bright blue eyes he had, although
she couldn’t see much from the top of the lecture hall. This had
become her habitual seat, with the losers and the ones who didn’t
want to be there at all but for whatever reason needed the
credit—if they could get it.

The class
was HIS 303Y1, the Mediterranean: 600-1700, Crusade, Colonialism,
Diaspora. There would be a few hours devoted to the topic and then
the student would be expected to be thoroughly conversant in a
subject that had perplexed scholars for centuries. The problems in
the region were beyond solution in Lindsey’s opinion, and yet at
one time she would have been fascinated. At one time she had
fantasized about working as a curator (or assistant curator) in
almost any museum of consequence in the area.

The
thoughts of taking over Espanola’s little municipal museum weren’t
nearly so attractive.

Thankfully it had come to an end, shocking her with her
mental lapses. Half the students were already gone, the rest
hurriedly bagging books and pens, taking up with their friends. The
way they chatted, it was like there had been no real interruption
in spite of an hour and a half lecture.

“
Lindsey.”

She was
just hauling herself to her feet. Lindsey hadn’t been gaining
weight, but this lethargy would be worrying if she had the gumption
to care.

“
Lindsey.”

Shit.

Johnny
Callaghan was talking to her, calling up over everyone’s head in a
way that couldn’t be ignored. Someone in a peasant dress and Jethro
Bodine boots caught her eye, and turning, pointed down to where
Callaghan waited.

Lindsey’s
mouth was flat and unexpressive as she pulled her knitted cap
further down on her hair. Her once vibrant mop had been a bit
stringy of late, but the thoughts of being alone and naked in the
shower were such that she had been rushing through it without
lingering on the luxuries.

“
Ah, Lindsey, just the girl I wanted to see.”

“
Yes, Professor Callaghan?” She was doing well
enough.

She
wasn’t behind in anything and had aced her last assignment. If he
was looking for volunteers, he was going to be shit out of
luck.

The
professor was standing beside the podium. With a nod, he turned
towards the office, which was always locked when there was no one
inside.

It being
a Friday afternoon, the building was unnaturally quiet and that
wouldn’t change until the evening classes began.

John O.
Callaghan slumped heavily into an old wooden swivel chair with high
arms and a pair of beaten cushions tied on with ribbons. He
inclined his head and she sat while he rummaged through a stack of
envelopes pulled from the lower of three old-fashioned
inboxes.

He
selected one in particular. There was an unfamiliar crest on the
corner. It wasn’t sealed and he pulled out the documents, obscure
but white paper with dark line and text. He took a quick
look.

Maddeningly, he set them off to one side where she could
neither see them nor reach them. She was beginning to wonder if she
was in some sort of trouble. If so, it was bullshit.

Lindsey
felt the burn of anger snap into life deep in her guts.

Reaching
down into the envelope, he pulled out a smaller
envelope.

“
They like us to keep an eye out for promising people.” He put
his hand on the chest pocket of his pale blue cotton dress shirt,
having forgotten for the millionth time that he had quit
smoking.

The urge
came out at odd times, seventeen years later.

He handed
the small envelope across. There was nothing on it. Surprisingly,
the professor stood, put the stack of papers down in front of her
and then left the room without any explanation.

She sat
there holding that envelope.

Uncle
Dale? Aunt Marie? Cousin Minnie? Had someone been in an
accident?

But this
wasn’t the way they would handle something like that—if so, this
was a train wreck in the making.

She tore
the end of the envelope off and pulled out a single sheet of thin
paper.

Her heart
began to beat more strongly when she caught the
fragrance…

She would
know that aftershave anywhere.

Dear Lindsey,

I’m so sorry to have left you in such a hurry. Things were
getting hectic and we had to move quickly. Our cases have a habit
of doing that from time to time, and I am sure you will understand.
As soon as arrests are made, you will be contacted.

Your deposition was helpful and precise.

I wish I could have properly said goodbye.

Duty calls and guys like me answer the call, almost
unthinkingly sometimes. It was not without regret. Please don’t
think I will ever forget you, for I won’t.

It is the only promise I can make.

That excuses nothing and I hope that you will forgive
me.

Lindsey, please read the attached documents. I want you to
think very carefully about what it says.

After that, it’s entirely up to you what you do.

You are your own person and you have your life ahead of
you.

It is never a mistake to love someone.

You have a lot of love inside of you.

Don’t be afraid to let it out once in a while.

And if it is meant to be, you and I — then surely we will
meet again.

You have to trust in Fate or something, anything,
sometimes.

This is one of those times.

Keep the faith, Lindsey.

Your friend,

Liam Kimball.

Tears
were flowing down her face when she set that aside, well away, to
keep it dry if possible.

That
bastard Callaghan.

No wonder
he went out at a run…

She
breathed strongly for a while, willing herself to pick it
up.

She could
barely read it. A cold tingle went through her when she saw what it
was.

What in the fucking hell—

It was an
application kit for the Canadian Security and Intelligence Agency.
There were brochures, an introductory form letter, a description of
what they did, the sort of people they were looking for and what
sort of skills were required.