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The enigmatic message got through to Reese loud and clear. Meet me right now, he said
urgently. Somewhere public. Leave your apartment. Meet me now.
Where?
The subway...
When Jillian emerged from her bedroom she saw that Nan was awake, sort of. She was sitting at
the kitchen counter, still wearing the clothes she had slept in, drinking a cup of coffee and
nursing a colossal hangover.
Jillian smiled. Well, don t you look the picture of health this morning.
Jilly, don t be cruel, Nan muttered. They certainly like to party in this town.
Well yes, that s the reputation . . . She headed for the door. I ve got some errands to run. Why
don t you take it easy this morning and we ll do something later.
The suggestion was music to Nan s ears. I ll take it easy this morning and we ll do something
later. I love it. .
Bye, said Jillian and left.
It was only half an hour later that Nan realized that she had been outsmarted by her sister. She
was sure Jillian was going to meet that weirdo Reese. She wondered what she could do about it.
She had to stop it because she was sure it was a bad idea . . .
It was Jillian s first ride on the New York City subway system, a simple ride on the Number Six
Lexington Avenue Local from the Upper East Side to the stop at Fifty-first Street. Following
instructions Reese had whispered hurriedly to her on the phone, she rode in the front car of the
train and got out of the station at the exit farthest downtown, the one that led out on to the corner
of Fiftieth Street and Lexington Avenue.
When she got out of the car she walked along the platform to the exit, following the grime-
streaked tile tunnel that led to the exit stairs and the street above.
She reached the end of the tunnel, pushed through the turnstile and started climbing the stairs. It
was a long set and she had to climb a bit before the street at the top of the stairs came into view.
She climbed a few more and saw Sherman Reese standing there at the curb, clutching his tattered
briefcase, as if he was just another midtown businessman waiting to cross the street As Jillian
rose toward him, Reese looked down at her and half smiled.
She had ten steps to go when she saw a look of absolute shock cross Reese s features. Up there
at street level he had seen something that had startled and stunned him so that for a moment he
looked as if he was about to make a run for it. Then he seemed to get control of himself and he
looked down to the subway steps and shook his head at her -it was a slight but definite
movement of his head. It said: no.
In spite of herself, Jillian took another step or two up toward daylight and once again she was
shaken off by Reese, he even risked a little wave of his hand, as if attempting to push her away.
This time Jillian stopped dead, her head just inches be-low street level. She was looking up at
Reese when she saw someone else Spencer walking along the sidewalk just above her. She
gasped and retreated a step, flattening herself against the dirty wall, desperate not to be seen by
the man she was supposed to be in love with, the man who loved her.
Spencer did not see her, but he had definitely spotted Sherman Reese. He walked straight up to
him and tapped him on the shoulder. Sherman Reese, said Spencer. Well, I ll be damned.
What are you doing here in New York?
Reese smiled as best he could. Commander Armacost. What a surprise . . . Of course, you re
living up here now. I had quite forgotten about that.
Really, said Spencer. I m as surprised to see
you. I saw you across the street and I said to myself Is that Sherman Reese? So I trotted on
over here arid yes, here you are.
Jillian still hugged the wall. She had not retreated at all, but had not gone up a step, either. She
could see and hear her husband and if he should happen to look down the staircase he would see
her, too. She could feel her heart pattering in her chest.
But Spencer did not look down. He focused all his attention on Sherman Reese. Are you in
town on business? Spencer asked. NASA business?
I am not with NASA anymore, Reese said stiffly, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out
of his voice.
Very casually Reese put his briefcase down, placing it just at the base of the concrete railing that
encircled the entrance to the subway station.
Spencer nodded and looked sympathetic. I had heard that, he said. I just thought it was one of
those nasty agency rumors that crops up every so often. It s sad to see it s true. Should you need
a recommendation, I m the man to ask.
I appreciate that, Reese said.
Spencer rested his hand on Reese s shoulder. You know, it s funny running into you like this. I
was just thinking about you, Mr. Reese. Just yesterday.
Really, said Reese casually. That is something of a coincidence. Can I ask what you were
thinking?
It was about those tests you wanted to do on me after Alex Streck died. Remember those? Look,
Sherman, do you have some time right now?
Actually, said Reese reluctantly. I was just about to
Spencer cut him off. Come on now, Sherman. You re a man of leisure now. You ve got nothing
but time.. .
Jillian stood transfixed, straining to hear every word. Then a train thundered into the station
beneath her, obliterating all other sound. She saw Spencer lean over and yell something in
Reese s ear. Then Spencer took Reese firmly by the forearm and walked him away from the
entrance to the subway station. Jillian s heart leaped when she saw the abduction and she almost
cried out when she realized that Reese had left his stuffed briefcase behind, resting against the
railing of the subway station entrance. It was obvious that she was supposed to take it. .
She took a tentative step up the steps, a hand out to grab the case. But before she could lay her
hands on it she heard her husband s voice again.
Forgot your satchel there, Mr. Reese. Spencer leaned down and grabbed the case and then
jogged back to Sherman. He had come within inches of his wife, but had not seen her. She
waited a moment, then walked slowly up the stairs and stood on the sidewalk. There was no sign
of Spencer or Reese. They had vanished into the swarms of pedestrians thronging the streets of
the city.
There was a time when the Nesbit Arms would have been called a flophouse or a fleabag. Now it
went by the acronym SRO single . room occupancy hotel. It was a dumping ground for the
mentally ill, people living on tiny disability checks, alcoholics, drug addicts, and those just
hanging on because they knew that the next stop after places like the Nesbit Arms were the cold,
unforgiving streets of the city.
It took some courage for Jillian to walk into the place and to cross the dimly lit lobby and to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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