False Impression

Tina spent the cab journey to Thornton House considering how she would get into Anna’s apartment and leave with her luggage without the doorman becoming suspicious. As the cab drew up outside the building, Tina moved a hand to her jacket pocket. She wasn’t wearing a jacket. She turned scarlet. She’d left the apartment without any money. Tina stared at the driver’s identity information on the back of the front seat: Abdul Affridi—worry beads dangling from the rearview mirror. He glanced around, but didn’t smile. No one was smiling today.

“I’ve come out without any money,” Tina blurted, and then waited for a string of expletives to follow.

“No problem,” muttered the driver, who jumped out of his cab to open the door for her. Everything had changed in New York.

Tina thanked him and walked nervously toward the entrance door, her opening line well prepared. The script changed the moment she saw Sam seated behind the counter, head in hands, sobbing.

“What’s the matter?” Tina asked. “Did you know someone in the World Trade Center?”

Sam looked up. On the desk in front of him was a photo of Anna running in the marathon. “She hasn’t come home,” he said. “All my others who worked at the WTC returned hours ago.”

Tina put her arms round the old man. Yet another victim. How much she wanted to tell him Anna was alive and well. But not today.

Anna took a break just after eight and began flicking through the TV channels. There was only one story. She found that she couldn’t go on watching endless reports without continually being reminded of her own small walk-off part in this two-act drama. She was about to turn off the television when it was announced that President Bush would address the nation. “Good evening. Today, our fellow citizens . . .” Anna listened intently, and nodded when the president said, “The victims were in airplanes, or in their offices; secretaries, businessmen and women . . .” Anna once again thought about Rebecca. “None of us will ever forget this day . . .,” the president concluded, and Anna felt able to agree with him. She switched off the television as the South Tower came crashing down again, like the climax of a disaster movie.

Anna sat back down and stared at the map on the kitchen table. She double-checked—or was it triple-?—her route out of New York. She was writing detailed notes of everything that needed to be done before she left in the morning when the front door burst open and Tina staggered in—a laptop over one shoulder, dragging a bulky case behind her. Anna ran out into the corridor to welcome her back. She looked exhausted.

“Sorry to have taken so long, honey,” said Tina, as she dumped the luggage in the hallway and walked down the freshly vacuumed corridor and into the kitchen. “Not many busses going in my dir

ection,” she added, “especially when you’ve left your money behind,” she added, as she collapsed into a kitchen chair. “I’m afraid I had to break into your five hundred dollars, otherwise I wouldn’t have been back until after midnight.”

Anna laughed. “My turn to make you coffee,” she suggested.

“I was only stopped once,” continued Tina, “by a very friendly policeman who checked through your luggage and accepted that I’d been sent back from the airport after being unable to board a flight. I was even able to produce your ticket.”

“Any trouble at the apartment?” asked Anna, as she filled the coffeepot for a third time.

“Only having to comfort Sam, who obviously adores you. He looked as if he’d been crying for hours. I didn’t even have to mention David Sullivan, because all Sam wanted to do was talk about you. By the time I got into the elevator, he didn’t seem to care where I was going.” Tina stared around the kitchen. She hadn’t seen it so clean since she’d moved in. “So have you come up with a plan?” she asked, looking down at the map that was spread across the kitchen table.

“Yes,” said Anna. “It seems my best bet will be the ferry to New Jersey and then to rent a car, because according to the latest news all the tunnels and bridges are closed. Although it’s over four hundred miles to the Canadian border, I can’t see why I shouldn’t make Toronto airport by tomorrow night, in which case I could be in London the following morning.”

“Do you know what time the first ferry sails in the morning?” asked Tina.

“In theory, it’s a nonstop service,” said Anna, “but in practice, every fifteen minutes after five o’clock. But who knows if they’ll be running at all tomorrow, let alone keeping to a schedule.”

“Either way,” said Tina, “I suggest you have an early night, and try to snatch some sleep. I’ll set my alarm for four thirty.”

“Four,” said Anna. “If the ferry is ready to depart at five, I want to be first in line. I suspect getting out of New York may well prove the most difficult part of the journey.”

“Then you’d better have the bedroom,” said Tina with a smile, “and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No way,” said Anna, as she poured her friend a fresh mug of coffee. “You’ve done more than enough already.”

“Not nearly enough,” said Tina.

“If Fenston ever found out what you were up to,” said Anna quietly, “he’d fire you on the spot.”

“That would be the least of my problems,” Tina responded without explanation.

Jack yawned involuntarily. It had been a long day, and he had a feeling that it was going to be an even longer night.

No one on his team had considered going home, and they were all beginning to look, and sound, exhausted. The telephone on his desk rang.

“Just thought I ought to let you know, boss,” said Joe, “that Tina Forster, Fenston’s secretary, turned up at Thornton House a couple of hours ago. Forty minutes later she came out carrying a suitcase and a laptop, which she took back to her place.”

Jack sat bolt upright. “Then Petrescu must be alive,” he said.

“Although she obviously doesn’t want us to think so,” said Joe.