“You’re back?” she heard Simon say without opening his eyes, in a drugged voice.

“It’s me, Sarah.”

She looked him up and down, inspecting him carefully at first glance to see if he was all there. She saw nothing more than a bandage on his left hand. Of course the light blanket covered his lower body from her inspection.

Simon opened his eyes and smiled alertly.

“Hi, boss. What time is it?” He looked at his wristwatch on top of the table. “Damn. So early,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

He pulled himself together to sit up completely.

“I’ve come to see you.” She intended to maintain a normal voice with the intention of sending a subliminal message that everything was all right. “How are you?”

“Considering the circumstances, I couldn’t be better. My hand was burned, as you can see, and a leg. I’m in a little pain. It seems I hit a bus, but I’m ready for more.”

His shining eyes suggested a certain pride in having passed a test and survived.

“What really happened? Was it really a gas explosion?”

Sarah was not prepared to discuss this. Besides, she didn’t have answers to Simon’s questions. The less he knew, the better for him, at least for now.

“Yes, that’s what it was,” was all she said. “A problem with the installation. I apologize for that,” she excused herself awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s over,” Simon replied a little condescendingly. “We can continue the trip tomorrow.” He changed the subject with a smile.

“You’d better stay here and recover. I’ll take care of everything.”

“No way,” he protested. “I’m fine.”

Journalistic perseverance. A hazard of the profession. One of the first things one learns if one hopes to survive in the job.

“Besides, there are people who are going to want to ask you questions in the next few days,” she added. She wasn’t going to give in. The danger was real. She had to be alone, not dragging more innocent people along with her.

“More?” He moved his hand in irritation more than he should have and let out a moan. “I’m sick of answering stupid questions.”

“Careful. Calm down,” Sarah replied, going over to him and passing her hand through his sweaty hair. “Who’s been here?” she asked, as if this were only a normal conversation.

“Scotland Yard, the FBI, also MI6,” he sighed with annoyance. “They were right here at my bed when I woke up. After the doctors, they were the first people I saw.”

“And what did they want?”

“To give me instructions, but I think I can tell you. We’re in this together.”

Sarah brought a chair over to the bed and sat down to listen carefully.

“I’ve been the victim of a gas explosion and that’s what I have to tell anyone who comes here. If they ask me about you, I’m to say I don’t know where you were. I went to the house alone.”

“And have you complied?”

“Of course. With others it’s been easy. The hardest has been convincing our editor.”

“He’s been here?”

“Yes. And asked about you. Haven’t you gotten his calls on your cell?”

“Where I was I couldn’t get calls.”

“I don’t know if he was convinced, but I told him we’d split up. I’d gone to pick up some stuff at your house, while you were buying some clothes you needed. We had agreed to meet at the station. If he asks you, this is the official version. Don’t get me in trouble.” He offered a timid smile.

“Don’t worry. You can relax. I’ll call him and confirm the story.” She carried on in a friendly manner with Simon, although her mind was seething with other matters more pressing than convincing the editor.

“I never thought I’d be a media star. All because of a gas leak. They even apologized to me.”

“Who?”

“The MI6 people.” Maybe the late hour caused Simon to mix subjects of conversation, perfectly understandable. “For giving me instructions, but under the protection of the terrorism law, they didn’t want a different version of the story released to the public, based on conjecture and sensation.” He pushed himself up a little straighter, remembering not to use his injured hand, which made the movement more difficult. “Explosions scare people.”

“And the others? Were they friendly, too?”

“Not at all. They were assholes.” He was truly indignant just thinking about it.

“What did they want?”

“To know how everything happened. If I was smoking, carrying some kind of explosive, including something solid, liquid, or gas or any other substance. They’re arrogant shits and don’t seem to believe what we’re saying.”

I know the feeling well, Sarah thought.

“In bad moods. Especially the Americans. They think it all has to do with them.” He continued complaining. “It seems we committed a crime to make work for them. Imagine if it had been an Al Qaeda bomb. I’d be a prisoner now.” He swelled with anger.

“Shhh. Everything’s fine. Just the fact you can complain is a good sign.”

“How is it they let you come in at this hour?” Simon asked.

“I came with an SIS agent,” she answered without thinking. “They wouldn’t have let me in otherwise.”

“Yes, it’s true. A secret service agent.” He looked thoughtful. “Sorry. I didn’t think of that. How has everything gone? Do they think it’s a terrorist act?”

“Don’t worry about that,” she answered evasively. “He’s outside waiting to be introduced. Are you up for that?”

“You’re the boss.”

“I’m not here casually. I’m your friend. It’s up to you.”

Simon didn’t take long.

“Tell him to come in.”

Sarah got up and went to the door. She opened it and looked around the hallway. There was no sign of John Fox. Strange. It didn’t make sense he would leave without letting her know. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom. She went out into the hall for a better look, but she hadn’t been mistaken. She didn’t see him anywhere around. Sarah, worried, went back in the room. Forget it. He’ll show up.

“He’s not there. He must have gone to the restroom. Have you had other visitors?” Sarah tried to make conversation.

She decided to wait for John Fox for fifteen minutes. After that, so long.

“Well, my parents came, all upset, as you can imagine, but they left more relieved. My sister was here also. But that was just the time the FBI men arrived, and she had to go. They’re so rude, arrogant…”

“Forget it, Simon. It’s over now. It’s not worth being in a bad mood over people like them,” Sarah advised him.

“You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right.” He smiled, a pleasant thought replacing his bad memory. “And my girlfriend visited. That was the best visit, except for my family, of course. She’s shy. She only came after the others left.”

When Simon got going, he didn’t shut up. He would tell his whole life story to whoever was there. Poor listener. Sarah thought about this as she saw her colleague coming to life in front of her eyes. Good. One less thing to worry about.

“Look at the present she brought me.” Simon reached over to the table and got something. “What do you think of this?”

Sarah gazed, mouth open and astonished, at the bottle of old port, vintage 1976. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.