Honor Among Thieves

When he woke, for the first time he could hear their voices, soothing, gentle, but he could not make out the words, however hard he tried. And then he slept.

When he woke again, they had propped him up in bed. They were trying to feed him a warm, tasteless liquid through a plastic straw. And then he slept.

When he woke, a man in a long white coat, with a stethoscope and a warm smile, was asking in a pronounced accent, “Can you hear me?” He tried to nod, but fell asleep.

When he woke, another doctor—this time he could see him clearly—was listening attentively as Scott attempted his first words. “Hannah. Hannah,” was all he said. And then he slept.

He woke again, and an attractive woman with short dark hair and a caring smile was leaning over him. He returned her smile and asked the time. It must have sounded strange to her, but he wanted to know.

“It’s a few minutes after three in the morning,” the nurse told him.

“How long have I been here?” he managed.

“Just over a week, but you were so close to death. I think in English you have the expression ‘touch and go.’ If your friends had been a moment—” And then he slept.

When he woke, the doctor told Scott that when he’d first arrived they thought it was too late, and twice he’d been pronounced technically dead. “Antidotes and electrostimulation of the heart, combined with a rare determination to live and one nurse’s theory that you might be a Gentile, defied the technical pronouncement,” he declared with a smile.

Scott asked if someone called Hannah had been to see him. The doctor checked the board at the end of his bed. There had been only two visitors that he was aware of, both of them men. They came every day. And then Scott slept.

When he woke, the two men the doctor had mentioned were standing one on each side of his bed. Scott smiled at Dexter Hutchins, who was trying not to cry. Grown men don’t cry, he wanted to say, especially when they work for the CIA. He turned to the other man. He had never seen a face so full of shame, so ridden with guilt or eyes so red from not sleeping. Scott tried to ask what had caused him such unhappiness. And then he slept.

When he woke, both men were still there, now resting on uncomfortable chairs, half asleep.

“Dexter,” he whispered, and they both woke immediately. “Where’s Hannah?”

The other man, who Scott noticed was recovering from a black eye and a broken nose, took some time answering his question. And then Scott slept, never wanting to wake again.

Chapter Nineteen

“Department of Commerce.”

“The Director, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Marshall, Calder Marshall.”

“Is he expecting your call?”

“No, he is not.”

“Mr. Fielding only takes calls from people who have previously booked to speak to him.”

“What about his secretary?” asked Marshall.

“She never takes calls.”

“So how do I get a booking with Mr. Fielding?”

“You have to speak to Miss Zelumski in reservations.”

“Can I be put through to Miss Zelumski, or do I have to make a reservation to speak to her as well?”

“There is no need to be sarcastic, sir. I’m only doing my job.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps you’d put me through to Miss Zelumski.”

Marshall waited patiently.