Midnight by Anna Dove (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

“I am going home to wait with my wife,” said the Senator, as if he were a general who had just suffered a humiliating defeat. “There is no evasion; it will happen.  We have no choice but to wait.” And standing up, he abruptly went from the room.

Tom also slipped from the room. Elizabeth put her head down on the table and her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.

Landon sat quietly, his eyes on the table, not one muscle moving.

“We have to go home,” said Haley dully, touching her friend’s shaking shoulder. “Now. Come on.” She stood up.

“Haley,” said Landon suddenly, standing as well. He continued in an urgent tone. “You both can trust me. I’m not involved in this. I’ve heard nothing about this. That either means that there’s a hell of a lot of people involved or very few people involved. Either way, I promise I will work with the Senator, when we are down in Chimaugua tomorrow. I promise. Thank you both for having the courage to say something to someone besides yourselves. You chose the right people. I promise, you can trust me. Now, whatever happens, don’t say anything to anyone about this. You cannot trust anyone. Make sure you’re safe and not raising suspicions. Don’t do anything out of the ordinary. If it’s an operation this big, they’re watching for people who might catch on. And if they’re willing to kill people with a nuclear attack, they will kill them any other way too. Don’t raise suspicions. Above all, don’t raise suspicions.”

Haley nodded, and Elizabeth, who had looked up at Landon while he spoke, rose to her feet. She wiped her eyes and nose and mouth on her shirt and then turned to the door, still shaking.

In their apartment that night, they could not sleep but lay wide eyed and numb in Haley’s bed as the moon chariot sped in an arc across the heavens. Their arms interlocked, they waited wide-eyed, and their hearts beat quickly until the gray light climbed over the horizon and birds began to chirp in the trees, signaling that daybreak had come.

6.    Bedlam

“If you're going through hell, keep going.”

―

Winston Churchill

Haley’s hands shook as she took a mug down from the office cabinet. She placed it on the counter and reached for the coffee pot. The coffee stream sploshed and splattered into her cup, some droplets missing the mark by a wide margin.

“Napkin?” said the Senator from the door behind her, and Haley started. The Senator came forward, paper napkin in hand, and wiped up the drops of coffee from around the mug. There were dark circles under his bleary eyes.

“I don’t know if I can stand it, sir,” said Haley under her breath.

“What, the waiting?” he said in a low, matched tone.

“Yes.”

The Senator paused, and gave a deep sigh.

Haley wrapped her fingers around the warmth of the mug.

“I didn’t sleep,” he said after a moment.

“Neither did I.”

“I prayed instead,” the Senator said. “And this morning I told my wife goodbye, and now I don’t know when I’ll see her again,” he continued almost wonderingly. “It seems like a dream.”

“I know.”

The Senator looked away, his eyes absently roving up and down the wall, and after briefly resting a hand on her shoulder, he turned on his heel and went from the room, his broad, stooped shoulders disappearing through the doorway.

         +

Elizabeth sat in her chair, absently tracing her pencil eraser on the table. Since the morning, she had not been able to focus at all; the gnawing pit in her stomach would not leave. Her eyes glanced to the clock as she had been doing since her arrival. 11:42 am. Time had never moved so slowly.

Doughnuts had been delivered that morning, and her coworkers were in a sugary mood. They stuffed their faces with maple bacon, frosted cream, chocolate sprinkles, washing it all down with cups of strong coffee. Elizabeth saw them laughing, the sugar and caffeine absorbing into their circulatory systems, and she felt nauseous. 11:44 am.

She ruffled through the stack of papers on her desk: memorandums, reports, briefs, cover letters. Why the Congressman should consider the effects of supporting steel tariffs. Why Jones & Co. needed to avoid lobbying Senator Bloomings on tax reform. Why the Department of Homeland Security could reissue TPS visas for Haiti and come up with a more helpful number. Why the Council of Economic Advisors should conduct more research on the effects of China’s new trade policy. Her fingers trailed listlessly. 11:47 am.

Maybe she could go see Carlos, to distract herself. She called him; he answered. She’d be right over. Picking up a manila folder with nothing in it, she stepped out of her office, but not without one last look at the clock.

11:49 am.

It was a warm day outside, and she decided to walk. One hand pressed against her stomach, she made her way from McPherson square to the Eisenhower building, passing hot dog stands, statues, tall business buildings and short historical buildings. The birds twittered softly in the building crevices and planted trees, on the tops of covered bus stops and on post office mailboxes. Looking up, Elizabeth saw a clear blue sky, outlined against the buildings. A plane soared overhead. Puffy clouds floated nonchalantly by, and the warm sunlight fell on her face. There were conversations all around her, in many different languages. A man in a suit on a phone call in Arabic. A woman in slacks talking in French to another woman in slacks. A woman scolding her child in Spanish. A British man negotiating the price of a real estate deal. A car sped by, its engine purring. The city was full of the world, and Elizabeth had never seen the sounds and colors and smells and sights like she did just now. She spotted a bench,