(no subject)

[joegoda]

Room twenty-four was actually a small apartment, containing a kitchenette, a full bath, living area and separate bedroom. Wells opened the laptop, pulled a power converter from a suitcase, and plugged the laptop into a wall socket to recharge. He turned the power on and went through the authorization security.

"Sarah, please place a call to the More and leave a message for Jorj Helki. Tell him that Hamilton has sent Edmund Crispin to meet with him."

"What shall I tell him is the reason for the meeting?" Sarah asked.

"Tell him," Wells paused. "Tell him that the meeting is about September, 2002. Tell him it's about Catanzaro. Let him know which hotel I'm in and make sure you give the room number here."

"Herbert, is that wise?" Sarah cautioned, "Knowing the room number could very well compromise your safety. As tired as you are, your efficiency has dropped considerably, and if you are asleep, you will be helpless to defend yourself."

Wells walked into the sparse bedroom, pulled the drapes closed and turned down the bedding. "If anyone gets in here with a weapon," he said, "I'd be pretty well screwed, that's for sure." He loosened his tie, removed it and tossed it onto a bedroom chair. He walked back into the living room and as he unbuttoned his shirt, he locked the door. "I don't plan for anyone to get in here without me knowing with plenty of advance warning." He pulled a chair from the small desk in the living room and wedged its back under the doorknob. Walking into the kitchen, he pulled a series of pots from under a counter and placed those on the seat. "There," he said, dusting his hands and going to the bedroom. "Anyone that tries to force the door will make a lot of racket. Plus, I'm going to leave you on, and turn your gain up. If you hear anyone breaking in, wake me up."

"I'll use my loudest setting," Sarah said.

Wells dropped exhausted on the bed, sighing at the softness of it. "You do that, Sarah. And if nobody disturbs me, I would like a good four hours sleep."

He dreamed of a wide river, and he dreamed that he was on it. He stood on stern of a long flatboat, and he was rhythmically pushing a pole down into the murky water to move the boat along the river. He watched as his hands, long-fingered, strong and tan, draw the pole out of the river, pause briefly, and then push the pole deep into the muddy bottom with a steady force.

He looked, in his dream, at his cargo. Wheat, pale blond and stacked as high as his head was tied to the longboat. Where he was taking it, he had no idea. His gaze drifted to the shore to his right. The bank was far away, and passed quickly as his arms powered the boat.

He saw a figure standing there, waving to him. It was a young woman, wearing a brown peasant dress, which matched her hair. She was waving leisurely, smiling a warm smile, and giving him a sense of fare-thee-well. Children stood around her, also smiling, also waving. One was bouncing a soccer ball on his knee.

Behind the small group was another, older woman, a woman who was not smiling, and was not waving merrily. Instead, as the passage on the river brought him directly across from her, he saw her face in the clarity that dreams can bring. She raised one hand, slowly and he could see a tear in her eye. The curves of her mouth were turned down, and he could feel sadness pouring from her. Not just sadness, but also a sense of something that was so deep inside her, some weight she carried that was so heavy, that it seemed to Wells, in his dreaming mind, that her back was bent from it. It was a sense of weighty inevitability.

"I'll be back!" he called from the boat, but the woman just shook her head from side to side, smiling her sad smile and shrugging her weighted shoulders. "I will! I swear!" he cried, but the river had taken him out of the range of her hearing.

His attention was drawn from the vanishing scene behind him by a roaring, rushing sound. He turned his head and saw the river had turned into a series of white foamy rapids. He pushed his pole into the river's bottom to try to steer it toward the center of the river, where the water was calmer. The pole became stuck fast into the mud and was wrenched out of his hands. Helplessly he turned to watch as the white water rushed closer and closer.

"Herbert." The river called his name. He looked around, but could see nothing but white foamy rapids and distant shore, out of his reach.

"Herbert." He opened his eyes, and the river faded from view. He was on a bed, soft and warm, in a darkened bedroom. A pounding was coming from another room. "Herbert." The word was very loud, nearly to the point of being unintelligible.

"Sarah!" he cried from the bed, "I'm up, I awake!" He pulled himself from the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. "Did someone try to break in?" He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to finish waking up.

"No, Herbert." Sarah's voice was at a normal volume. "You have slept four hours, and the time of your meeting with Jorj Helki is in twenty minutes."

"Ah." He stood and stretched his back, noting the stiffness and then ignoring it. "What time is it?" He grabbed his shirt from the chair and put it on.

"It is eleven-forty, local time." Sarah supplied.

He wandered into the small kitchenette, searched the cabinets for what he hoped was there. Smiling, his hand found small envelopes of coffee. There were some local brands mixed with the coffees he was familiar with. There was a small selection of biscotti as well.

"God love a place that has a large tourist trade," Wells muttered as he the small single cup percolator to brewing. While he waited for the coffee to be done, he retrieved his tie from the back of the chair and carried it with him into the bathroom. He shaved, splashed water in his face and worked to get the red out his eyes with cool, dampened hand towels.

Coming back into the living room, tie tied and feeling a bit steadier on his feet, he poured a cup of hot coffee and downed it as quickly as he could. He poured another one to take with him.

"Sarah, I'm going to leave you on." He walked over to an air intake grill and unscrewed it. Taking the laptop from the kitchen table where it had sat, he placed it into the space provided by the opened vent. "If anyone comes into the room while I'm away, do your best to record their movements." He pulled a small web camera from his case and attached it to the computer. Then he replaced the grill, hiding the laptop from sight. "How do I look?" he asked.

"Very tired," Sarah replied.

"Then I look as good as I feel." He gathered his suit coat from near the front door where he dropped it and said, "Wish me luck."

"Luck," Sarah's muffled voice came from the vent, "is highly over-rated, as you well know, Herbert. I have the utmost confidence in your level of skill, however, so I wish you skill."

As he pulled the door shut behind him, he shook his head. "She's sounding more and more human all the time." He placed the keycard in his front trouser pocket. "I've got to check her programming when all this is over."