Free Blind Eye by Jan Coffey

power in the facility,” she told him. “I can’t get the mixes going without it. Dr. Lee, is there a backup system that you know of? A generator?”
    There was no answer.
    Marion shone the light on her advisor’s face. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t moving. She pressed her fingers to his neck, where she’d felt a pulse before.
    There was nothing. He was gone.

14
    York, Pennsylvania
    T he reference librarian wrote down the information Mark Shaw wanted before disappearing behind her wall of computers.
    Mark was obsessed with finding whatever he could about Marion. The accident, her family, anything.
    Newspapers, television, the Internet and now the library. He reminded himself repeatedly that spending some twelve hours chatting with someone in a crowded airport didn’t really constitute knowing the person. But he couldn’t stop.
    He opened that morning’s New York Times on one of the library’s oversize tables. There were no pictures of the scientists in today’s edition, but there was an article on page two. He scanned it quickly. The gist of it was that the group, funded by a grant from New Mexico Power Company, had been working on developing portable nuclear devices. The power company had confirmed that no live radioactive material had been involved in the research program. Mark looked down at the names again. Marion Kagan was the last name listed.
    Mark remembered the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Logan Airport had been packed with stranded passengers. There were no empty seats, and people sat huddled along any available wall and on the wet, muddy floors. Everyone had been miserable. There were long lines at each of the eating establishments. No flights were taking off or landing, and there was no information by the airlines or the airport on how long the storm was going to last. From Philadelphia to Maine, the East Coast was essentially shut down. Marion was sitting at the end of a row of seats, a carry-on suitcase propped up next to her. She seemed oblivious to the complaining around her.
    A cell phone was tucked between one ear and her shoulder. An iPod was plugged into the other ear. A foot kept beat with whatever music she was listening to. Her laptop was open, and her fingers were flying on the keyboard. She could just as well have been sitting in a park on her lunch hour on a beautiful summer day.
    A four-by-four piece of real estate on the floor opened up next to her. Mark headed toward it, but as he got there her suitcase fell on its side, covering the space.
    She looked down at the suitcase, up at him, then at the suitcase again. He stood there, thinking she’d move it. She ended the conversation on her cell and lowered the display of her laptop.
    â€œCan I sit here?” he’d asked her.
    She’d looked up at his uniform. “Are you going or coming back?”
    People were curious. He had no doubt she was asking about the service. “I’m going back,” he’d said. “I was on leave for a few weeks.”
    â€œIraq?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI have to tell you I’m against it. I hate our dependency on oil. I believe it’s wrong for so many people to die for a foreign policy based on oil. And I’m talking about Iraqis and Americans.”
    He’d stared at her raised chin and the defiance in her dark eyes. Mark thought she was beautiful.
    â€œDo we have to have this conversation while I’m standing up?” he asked.
    â€œConversation and not an argument?”
    â€œConversation…argument…debate…whatever.”
    â€œI like debates,” she’d said with a smile, reaching for the suitcase and pulling it out of his way. “Have a seat.”
    â€œOfficer Shaw?” The librarian’s voice broke into Mark’s thoughts. He looked up from the newspaper he had open before him. It took him a moment to wipe Marion’s image from his mind’s eye. He stood