The Old Man(53)



Brian’s mind was slapped backward by the enormity of the gap between his mother’s understanding of this situation and his own. He actually gave an incredulous chuckle. “Oh, I can assure you your secrets are safe. I’ll never say a word about this to anyone.”

Brian went to lift one of the blinds and watched the man walking toward his car. Brian felt a bit better. He said to his mother: “What exactly is your relationship with this guy?”

“I know you’ve had girlfriends, Brian. What was your relationship with them? I hope it was improper.”

“I’m not the one who’s the problem here,” he said.

“Neither am I,” she said. “I didn’t come to ask you for help or approval. I just dropped by for a brief visit.”

“For what purpose?”

“Purpose? You and I haven’t seen much of each other in the past two or three years. I wanted to give you a hug and tell you that your mother loves you before we disappear into the night.” She saw that he wasn’t smiling. “I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I know you like stability and certainty.”

“If you knew that, then it might have been nice if you and Dad had seen fit to stay together, or at least keep up some appearance that we were a family.”

“When your father replaced me with a newer model a few years ago, I gave him the chance to change his mind. He didn’t, so blame him. I met this guy, as you call him, six months ago. You’re not a child. You’re twenty-six. And I’ve been single for years.”

“Right,” said Brian. “But if you don’t think having people like this around puts your adult children at risk, then you’re mistaken. I have a security clearance, at least until they find out you’re hanging around with a man who doesn’t feel the police are adequate to protect him. Sarah, who’s just wasted two years learning to become a lawyer, may feel she has less to lose.”

His mother studied him for a few seconds, and then said, “I guess we caught each other at a bad time. Still, it’s been good to see you, Brian. You have my blessing. Some people find that kind of thing comforting, and even important to them.” She patted his arm. “I wish you every happiness.” She stepped past him.

He stared at the ugly beige carpet at his feet for a couple of seconds. He was distracted by the realization of how brown everything in his apartment was, all of it selected by the landlord and untouched and unadorned by Brian McDonald. He didn’t hear his mother anymore, so he looked up. “Mom?”

There was no answer. He stepped around the corner to the kitchen, but it was empty. He glanced at the bathroom on his way back, but that door was open. He hurried to the apartment door and swung it open. “Mom?”

She was not in the hallway. She was already outside. He started toward the outer door of the building, but when he reached it, his impulse to go out there, to run down the sidewalk after her, seemed to leave him. What did he intend to say—that he wanted her to stay?





19


While Julian sat alone waiting for his plane, he pretended to read the New York Times. He was actually thinking about the way his time in San Francisco had ended. The meeting with the old man had been four days ago.

He’d had his debriefing with the senior agents, and then they had stepped out of the office into the hangar to talk. He and Harper and Waters had sat in silence. After about five minutes, Harper got another phone call, and he and Waters left the room. Minutes went by. Julian assumed that the four were conferring about something that he was not authorized to hear. After a few more minutes, he was convinced they were talking about him.

After another half hour, Julian realized he had stopped hearing the background sounds in the hangar—the starter motors of vehicle engines, the constant hums of ventilators, and the buzz of the overhead lights in the open bay.

He stood up and walked out of the little box of an office and stood for a few seconds. The vehicles were all still parked on the tiled floor—police cars, ambulances, mail and UPS and FedEx trucks, even a fire truck. What had changed was that the overhead lights and the ventilators had been turned off. The only illumination came from a row of small, dirty windows high in the wall, and from a single man-sized door that had been left open beside the giant motorized hangar door. The invisible fans that had been running to circulate the air were turned off.

As he walked toward the open door, all he could hear were his shoes hitting the tiles and echoing off the metal walls of the hangar. He stepped outside into the waning sunlight and closed the door. He tugged on the door handle to prove a theory, and verified that it had locked behind him.

From where he stood he could see the San Francisco airport buildings across about a mile of tarmac. He began to walk in that direction along the endless chain link fences, past hangars and warehouses and parking lots. The walking distance was a couple of miles, but he was alone, so he felt calm, and that distance was nothing to a man with his physical fitness and stamina.

At the terminal he stood in the taxi line and took a cab to the hotel in the city where he had stayed the previous night. When he arrived, he found that his key still worked, so they had not checked him out and paid for the room. He opened his small carry-on suitcase and found that somebody had opened it, taken everything out, and then returned his belongings a bit more neatly than he had left them. He called the front desk to ask for a new room and a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash.

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