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Page 25.
Chapter 14
 That evening, David drove to the Naval Observatory, where Tory met him outside. It was dark already, and most of the employees had gone home. Under the trees, with the fog creeping between his ankles just like the other night, he nearly hugged her as she came out to meet him, but remembered they were in uniform and it was against regulations. Tory seemed to have the same impulse, for she brushed dangerously close to him, bundled in her long coat and scarf, with purse strap over one shoulder, and garrison cap rakishly down over her forehead. “You came.” She looked darkly around.
“You’re surprised. You think I might have been followed.”
“I’m—grateful. Yes, it's possible you might be followed.”
“It was like this last night.”
“Spooky.” She shivered. “Poor Ib.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“I called his wife, Hala, and got a list of places Ib liked to hang out. She was so grateful that I called.”
He regarded the skyline that burned like a million candles on a funeral mound. He scratched his head. “Tory, that’s a huge haystack. And one NCO is a small needle.”
“We’ll just check a few places, okay?”
“Let’s go,” David said. “I’ll drive, you look.”
“I’ll buy you gas.”
“Don’t be silly.”
David drove through the sparse evening traffic. Heavy police patrols were everywhere, and pedestrians few. The emptiness of the streets added an eerie quality. CON2 was in session, and the city blocks at and around the Atlantic Hotel and Convention Center looked like fortresses of light, burning at all hours in the meeting rooms visible from far away. The three towers burned with lights as if they were on fire inside. From road block to road block, David drove as Tory directed him from one Ib-hangout to the next—a computer store on K Street. A bookstore on Vermont Avenue. A library branch open late, over in Foggy Bottom. A Palestinian market in Alexandria. He’d wait at the curb while she ran inside to speak with the management. He’d watch her animated conversation as she described Ib—the manager would nod yes—and then she’d spread her arms asking where Ib was and the manager would head-shake. Tory would run back to the car ready for the next place.
A few hours later, they came to a street that looked as though, if there were a literal end of the earth beyond which you could fall off, it would be within walking distance. They sat under a street lamp while he watched her think hard and dab a few tears. The trees on either side of the street looked dark and ominous, despite streetlights reflecting in puddles. The jagged brick walls of a ruined building nearby looked threatening. Its sagging doorway offered a trip to nowhere, maybe off the edge of the world into some black abyss in which a few stars suffocated. A light wind stirred in the autumn leaves, and the air smelled faintly smoky.
“Well,” she said.
“Well,” he echoed.
“We can’t sit here all night or we’ll get mugged.”
“I’m starting to worry a little bit about that,” he said. “Even though we are both armed and dangerous.”
“All right,” she said sighing. “I had to try. Obviously the civilian police have the manpower and the resources—”
“Don’t berate yourself.” He started the car. “Why don’t you go home and change and then meet me at my place. I’ll have some dinner ready.”
“That’s the best idea yet. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“I’m sure.” He drove back to the observatory so she could get her car.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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