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

Katrin nodded.

“Of course, sir.”

The man took out a key and unlocked the handcuffs, removing them. He opened the door and Katrin moved towards it, but he caught her wrist in a grip so tight that she winced.

“Ms. Van Gorben,” he said calmly, “our goal here is to make sure all traitors are brought to justice. I hope that you understand this.”

Katrin looked up at him, and his blue eyes struck a chill into her very heart.

“Sir, I can assure you that I also am eager to bring anyone involved to justice.”

The man nodded and released his grip, and Katrin walked out and down the hall. By the end of the hall, she felt a strange presence behind her; glancing over her shoulder, she realized that two men in dark pants and thin dark jackets had fallen into step thirty feet back.

+

One in the morning, and Tom’s bar was crowded. It had again become a melting pot of patrons, old, young, rich, poor, famous, invisible. Tequila made its rounds, laughter echoed, eyes shone. Tom had less variety now, with suppliers limited as producers got back on their feet and as international trade again began to flow; but his inventory was deep and his patrons consistent.

Tom sat back against the end of the bar, his eyes flitting about as he had done for decades. Tom was a bartender who never drank on the job; his real job was noticing the people in the room, the interactions, the situations. He knew that there were a group of congressional aides in the corner with several bottles of champagne--celebrating something. He knew that there was a man who had lost his family in the attack in a car crash. This man had been the CEO of a political management firm, and now sat staring in front of him dully with a glass full of full-strength whiskey. People like that were expendable--Tom would keep an eye on this man to see who approached him.

The front door opened--Tom’s observant eyes rested on the newcomer.

A small woman, gray hair pulled into a neat bun, although several strands had escaped and flew in different directions around her head. She wore a simple white collared shirt and high waisted tan trousers.

She looked up towards the bar, and Tom’s eyes rested on her face. Something was not right. Her eyes went around the room like a trapped rabbit and she made her way carefully towards the bar.

“What can I get you?” Tom asked.

She looked up at him, and her eyes met his with a distant expression.

The door opened again; Tom looked.

Two men, in black, whose gaze instantly fixed on the woman. They moved to a corner table, without drinks, and stood there.

Tom looked back at the woman and nodded ever so imperceptibly.

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” she said quietly.

“Parlez vous Francais?” he replied in the same tone, smiling, and reached behind him as if she had ordered a drink. He took a bottle of tequila from the wall.

“Oui,” she replied. “I need your help,” she continued in French.

“I figured,” he said. “What is your name?”

“I’m Katrin Van Gorben.”

“I have a friend who heard a story about you.” Tom had an uncanny memory for names. He poured the tequila into the glass and reached for ice, remembering how the Senator had told him about Jack and Katrin.

“Who?”

“A Senator. Never mind who. But I’ll help you. Now, I’m going to give you this drink. You will take a sip, and then smile and ask where the bathroom is. I’ll point you to it. Those two men at the table will follow you there.”

He paused, poured ice, and laughed heartily. She joined him in laughing, as if he had just told a fantastic joke. He reached for the soda.

“In the women’s bathroom, go into the middle stall. The tile behind the toilet, it’s very small, push it in. A door will open up in the back of the stall. Go through, shut it behind you, tight. You’ll be in a small room. Wait there.” He put a lime in the drink and handed it to her. She smiled, and her eyes misted over.

Taking a sip, she nodded, and took another long sip.

“Sorry, one thing, sir,” she said in English now, “Where is your restroom? I’ll be right back, I’ll leave my drink at the bar.”

“Right back that way,” he said, pointing.

She set her drink down, her hand lingering for a moment before she turned towards the restroom. The two men at the table moved with her, and as she disappeared into the room they stood in the hall as if they were waiting for the men’s room.

A minute passed, two. Three. Tom saw from the corner of his eye that they had begun to fidget. Finally, one of them slipped into the ladies’ room, and returned very hurriedly. They pushed their way to the bar, sending a few patron’s drinks to the floor.

“Sir!” growled one of the men, with a large nose. Tom turned to him. “You seen a little lady in a white shirt and brown pants?”

“With gray hair?” said Tom.

“Yeah, yeah!”

“She went out the front door a minute ago. Didn’t pay her tab.” Tom pointed.

“How the hell…” began the first.

“Never mind,” said his companion irately. “Come on.” They both turned and disappeared out the front door.

By three in the morning, the last of the patrons had wandered out, and the bar stood deserted, empty glasses and bottles around the room, dirty napkins on the floor. Tom locked the front door, pulled down all the shades, and blew out the oil lamps.

He walked to the back, locking the hall door behind him, and then opened a little door in the wall, and let himself in.

Katrin sat on the floor, and raised her