Color of Blood(11)

“Really? What’s its name?”

“Oh, something like ‘The Swiss Movement.’ It’s on Hay Street.”

Dennis jotted down a few notes. “Any other hobbies?”

“Oh man, he had a lot of interests. We tried surfing lessons. Kite surfing—that was hard, man. And snorkeling. Stuff like that.”

“Anything else that Geoff did?”

“Just poetry, I guess.”

“Poetry?”

“Yeah, kind of unusual, I suppose. He would quote poems sometimes, or just make something up and write it down on a napkin or a piece of paper. He said he studied it in college. I think he joined some poetry club at the Uni.”

“Uni?”

“University of Western Australia. It’s not far from here.”

“He joined a poetry club at the University of Western Australia? Doesn’t that sound a little weird to you?”

Roby looked at Dennis, and for the first time a faint smile crossed his face like a thin, passing cirrus cloud. “You never met Geoff, did you?”

“No, can’t say I did.”

“He is a very interesting guy. Just a real stand-up person. Full of life and interests. One of the most amazing people I ever met. Very positive all the time. And nice. He was just drawn to different things, but not so much that you’d think it was strange or weird. He was one of a kind. And . . .”—Roby bit the inside of his cheek distractedly—“I still can’t believe he’s gone. It’s totally screwed up.”

“Well, there must have been something that Geoff didn’t like,” Dennis said, “something that pissed him off. Stuff like that.”

Roby smiled again. “Just bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bullshit. He hated bullshit; he had a pretty low threshold for people who were full of it or pulling a fast one. He was kind of an idealist in that regard.”

“OK, so where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Everyone’s asked me that. I think something terrible happened to him, and it makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch. And why are you here? And those other two guys a couple of weeks back?”

“Did you know what Geoff did here? Did he ever talk about his work or his assignments at the consulate?”

“I know this is going to sound strange, but I really had no idea what he did. He worked directly for the CG and seemed to travel a lot around the state. But no, I don’t think he ever told me what he did directly, just that he did special work for the CG. But he loved getting out of the office, I know that. He thought Western Australia was one of the coolest places on Earth.”





Chapter 6


Dennis looked at the clock radio. Its blue luminescent numbers showed 1:22 a.m. Sitting on the edge of his bed in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, he watched the numbers change and waited.

It might have been the flicker of another minute gone by, or the accumulation of fatigue, but he suddenly reached for his reading glasses, opened a small notebook, and keyed in a phone number on his Agency-issued cell phone.

After several rings a woman answered the phone.

Dennis paused slightly and then said, “Beth?”

“Dad?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Hey, how are you?” she said.

“Fine. And you?”

“Things are fine, thanks. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m back at work and all fixed up.”

“That’s great,” she said. “You had me worried there for a while.”

And just as he expected—and dreaded—an uneasy silence fell like warm rain, coating everything in dullness.

“How’s the job? And Nathan?”

“The job’s OK. And Nathan got a raise, so that helps things out a little.”

“Nathan still work for the university?”

“No, Dad, he hasn’t worked for the school in two years. I told you about it before.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, panicking. This was how all the conversations went with his daughter.

He could hear her sigh, the exhale skittering past the mouthpiece. He had scripted out a conversation to help him get past the awkwardness, but he floundered.

“How’s work for you?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “Just peachy keen.”

“You know I still don’t know what you do,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”

“I’ve told you many, many times, Beth,” he said. “I work for the government.”

“Yes, but what part of the government?” she pried. “Is it the Department of Agriculture? The FBI? The SEC? For a man who maybe was home for fifty percent of my childhood, you sure did a lot of traveling for the government. And then to leave Mom and me alone for so much time, well, you kind of notice things like that, Dad . . . But I don’t know why I’m bringing that up now. That’s water under the bridge.”

Dennis tried to concentrate on the clock’s luminescent numbers.

“Well, Nathan thinks you’re a spy, but I told him even a spy must go home from time to time. He reads too many spy novels, you know.”