Free Any Minute Now by Eric Van Lustbader Page A

“Please. I can’t even go there!”
    â€œPrecisely.” Valerie’s voice was cool and soothing. “And not only for the country. Your little side deal would possibly be exposed. Your money would be frozen, then impounded.”
    Lindstrom cleared his throat. “Is there a plan afoot?”
    Valerie was constantly amused by Lindstrom’s turns of phrase. “That,” she said, meeting his gaze, “is more or less up to you.”
    The line between Lindstrom’s eyes deepened. “Frankly, I don’t see what I can do.”
    â€œYou’re in a unique position, Paulus. You understand that, don’t you?”
    Again the pause while Lindstrom processed what she had said. “I’m afraid I don’t,” he said at length.
    â€œThen let me enlighten you.” Valerie had the patience of a praying mantis, which was why Cutler had assigned her to Lindstrom. Irony was beyond him; so was sarcasm. She was used to spelling things out so he could see the angle. “DARPA is a nexus for all U.S. clandestine agencies, and your work, Paulus, is ground zero of that nexus. What you produce is of incalculable importance. Plus, you’re a scientist. You’re supposed to be dead neutral, to have no interest in either politics or the inner workings of the clandestine agencies’ hierarchies.”
    â€œI don’t,” Lindstrom said.
    This caused Valerie to laugh out loud.
    â€œHave I said something amusing?”
    â€œYes, Paulus.” Impulsively, she leaned over and pecked him chastely on the cheek. She knew he had an aversion to being touched, but this one time she couldn’t help herself. “See, you’ve just answered your own question. Your very indifference to political maneuvering makes you the perfect candidate to listen and report.”
    He shook his head. “Listen and report what?”
    â€œAnything,” Valerie said. “Everything.”
    *   *   *
    Whitman sat across from Charlie at a night-owl truck stop diner on the hem of the city. It was open from midnight till eleven a.m., which made it a perfect place to have a clandestine meet. The rumbling outside from rigs arriving and departing was constant. With mounting pleasure, he watched Charlie devour first a plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and whole wheat toast, then a second course of flapjacks and link sausage. He himself drank tea, very dark, and ate a bowl of oatmeal with walnuts.
    Charlie ate with the full-out gusto of an animal, but with the manners of a doyen of society. This dichotomy caused a dissonance whose energy he could feel. He bathed in it as if it were silver blue light from a star.
    â€œI think we should get you to the ER,” he said, after a time.
    â€œNo,” she said, around a mouthful of syrup-drenched flapjack, “we shouldn’t.”
    He knew what that meant. “You went off your meds.”
    â€œI couldn’t take it anymore. The prednisone was nauseating me and the Imuran was making me anemic. After twenty minutes at the gym I’d have to go home and take a nap.”
    â€œTakayasu’s is nothing to fool around with.”
    â€œYou’re not the one to tell me that.”
    â€œIf not me, who?”
    She finished her last bite of sausage, put her knife and fork down, and pushed her plate away. Then she looked up at him. “Why do you think it’s your job to take care of me?”
    â€œWhy do you think?”
    â€œThen you never should have left.”
    â€œYou threw me out!” He said this loud enough that the waitress paused in the act of pouring coffee and the patrons around them turned to stare.
    â€œNice going,” Charlie said under her breath.
    â€œYou are so infuriating sometimes.”
    â€œThat makes two of us.”
    He leaned across the table. “Do you always have to have the last word?”
    Staring at him, she remained silent. After a time, things returned