Fall On Your Knees Read online

  "It’s ten-thirty. library opens at nine. No one knew why you didn’t come in. I assumed it was due to the power failure but I became concerned when no one seemed to know where you were, either. So I …" Owens trailed off, his precise, clipped speech faltering. He finally made himself start up again. "I came to make sure you were all right, and to offer you a lift to work in my vehicle, which has chains."

  "Oh …" Karin peeked past him and saw the sun glistening on the ice. "I must have overslept. I got here so late. I’m sorry. But I – I haven’t showered or –"

  "My vehicle is over there," Owens said, pointing at a large black SUV with chains on all four huge tires. "Whenever you’re ready."

  Karin watched him march away and install himself in the SUV. She saw him speak briefly on a phone and wondered who he was calling. The library? The conversation seemed so intense to just be informing the staff that she was safe and would arrive soon. Karin grabbed her cell phone and called Gail Norcross, the head librarian.

  "Hi, Gail, I’m so sorry I overslept," Karin began. "There was so much ice, the power was out at my apartments, and I had to go twenty miles at five miles an hour, I think, to find a motel."

  "Oh, hi, Karin," Gail responded cheerily. "I’m just glad you’re okay. We started to be afraid you’d wrecked your car or gotten stranded somewhere. Whatever it was, most of us were late coming and we figured you had a good reason too. That guy who guards the laptop, though, he really freaked out. You’d have thought the world was ending. Did he find you? He tore out of here like a St. Bernard headed for an avalanche!"

  "He’s here waiting to drive me," Karin said. "I thought he called you … Wait … How did he even find me?"

  "I have no idea. That is weird, isn’t it?" Gail was silent a moment. "Karin? Are you sure you want to come in with him? I mean, he’s always seemed harmless, even if he is a kind of big and obviously works out. He’s not going to turn out to be some creepy stalker, is he?"

  Karin glanced out the window again. Gerald had evidently finished his call and sat motionless and expressionless in the SUV. "No, I’m sure he was just worried because no one was manning the laptop. I’d better go get ready. I’ll see you soon."

  But was it him who was worried about me, or was it …? Gail consulted her notepad where she had scribbled down the name Gerald had said last night. Was it Murali Nanda who was worried? She allowed herself just a little smile as she grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom.

  ***

  Owens promised Karin he could arrange for someone to return her car to her as soon as crews treated the ice later today. That was the totality of their conversation all the way to the library. He dropped her off near the door and she went inside and got settled with a cup of tea before opening the laptop. By that time Owens had taken up his station and said nothing more to her.

  Karin dutifully fielded questions from the laptop all through the day, not too surprised when few students braved the weather to physically visit the library. Much to her disappointment, no message from Madhumeha appeared. She had to consider the possibility that Owens’s solicitous search for her had been simply what she had told Gail. Someone had to tend to the laptop. She sighed again, locked down the laptop, and went for more tea. When she came back, her car keys lay on her desk and Owens stared at the wall.

  "Who …?" Karin stopped herself. She got the laptop out again and saw that there were no pending requests for information. The rest of her work was caught up and the library was completely empty of patrons. Turning to her own library desktop computer, she consulted her notepad again and typed in Murali Nanda. A screen full of links popped up along with a series of images of a very handsome but increasingly weary-looking man, slender, dark-tanned or light-golden-skinned, his beard varying lengths but always neatly cared for, his eyes progressively more hollow but fiercely bright. He was thirty-five, only five years older than Karin.

  As she tried to forget that Owens could look right over her shoulder, Karin scanned a dozen articles. She read about Murali Nanda’s undergraduate degree in ancient languages, his graduate work in anthropology, and his work around the world with a think tank she had never heard of. The honors and awards he had won staggered her for someone so young.

  This man seemed to actually be, as cliché as it sounded, succeeding at making the world a better place. She dug deeper and found he supported charities that ministered especially to the persecuted church, Bible translators, and organizations for teaching and disseminating Christianity around the world.

  This had been the missing component she had been trying to reassure herself about. Now, much like Lucy Maude Montgomery, she could perhaps admit that kindred spirits might exist. Once more she sighed, this time with contentment, closed her search windows, and answered the laptop’s beep.

  ***

  Karin drove home on much-improved roads and reveled in the unappreciated luxury of being able to get comfortable and make dinner in her own apartment. She had missed supper last night and breakfast that morning, finally ordering in some Chinese food in the afternoon when her stomach growled so loudly that Owens broke his code of silence and offered to fetch her some lunch.

  So she was not that hungry and contented herself with reheating the leftover takeout before sitting down at her own computer to once again search Murali Nanda. She went to social media sites and was a little disappointed to find that he posted seldom. Though he took evocative on-location pictures all around the world, he disclosed nothing personal. She did learn that both his parents were dead. She was shocked to see that his father’s death was considered and unsolved murder. His mother had died of cancer.

  She tried posting on his profile page but found it protected. Feeling desperate and stalkery, she joined two or three groups she saw that he belonged to but, when approved, discovered that he hadn’t posted in any for over a year. Perhaps, she concluded, he belonged to closed or secret groups she wouldn’t be able to find. The same was true of most of her own online activity, so she could hardly blame him. It irked her that she couldn’t even respond to his invitation, which she was by this time more than ready to accept. This was a man she wanted to get to know better, without question. She just didn’t see any way to tell him so.

  Her phone rang fairly late, when she was almost ready to go to bed. She saw that it was Gail from the library.

  "Hello, Gail. Is there a problem?" Gail had never called her at home before in all the years they had worked together.

  "I was just informed that your Laptop Reference Project – I never knew what it was officially called – has been suspended, Karin. Have they emailed you?"

  "No!" Karin checked her emails. When she refreshed one showed up in her spam folder. "Wait, there’s something here –" she scanned the impersonal notification in shock. "Yes, I do see an email now. What in the world? It’s over, effective immediately? This is so strange!"

  "Mine says that the laptop is being removed from the library tonight. I thought I’d check with you so it’s not such a shock tomorrow. Wow. I know how much that project meant to you. And I bet the extra income helped too."

  Karin found the same information in her email. "Oh …" she whispered. The "extra income" was the only reason she could afford this apartment. It was the only reason she had been able to help her sister keep their mother in the assisted living facility. It was … She began to mentally tick off things that were going to change radically and had to change fast.

  "Thank you for letting me know, Gail," Karin said. "My message went into spam. I guess it’s been there since this morning."

  "That’s where mine was too. Just found it. I’m so sorry, sweetie," Gail said. "Anyway, I guess it means you go back to your old part-time hours here. What a rotten thing, right before Christmas. Oh, well, I hope they give you a big Christmas bonus, or at least some severance pay. You sure worked hard enough for them. Anyway, let me know if I can help somehow, and we’ll see you Friday."

  Karin hung up and stared at the email. Eight year
s she had worked on that laptop. She had received regular pay and bonuses – direct deposits into her bank account – that had pretty much made her life possible. She had grown used to that money. The email said nothing about severance pay. Pulling up her spreadsheet of bills, she groaned at the realization that she couldn’t begin to replan a budget with her old salary, even figuring in the cost-of-living increases. She had to find another job immediately. She had to scale back even more immediately. Knowing her lease for this apartment was up in January, she started making notes on her pad –

  *find cheaper apartment

  *see about aid to keep mom in some type of care facility

  *trade car in for something more fuel efficient and/or with lower payments

  Karin stopped, stared at the page, and scratched through Murali Nanda at the top. It wasn’t as if she needed to be reminded of his name anymore. And it wasn’t as if she could help making a connection, and tasting bitter bile, at the thought that he had turned in his final assignment two days ago, and she was out of a job today.

  The coincidence was too huge to ignore. He was done with her, and so was the project she had both loved and depended on for almost eight years. He hadn’t been the only student she had assisted. She had contact with several just today, each of them in the middle of important work. But it was all over now?

  Once again, she started to sob. This time there was no Gerald Owens to make her stop. She half-expected him to knock on her door with an offer to explain. That didn’t happen. She actually looked out the window and checked the hallway a few minutes after she had calmed herself down. No Gerald. Just cold, ice, and darkness.

  The one thing she couldn’t make sense of was the invitation. How could she even respond to it now? She didn’t have an "everyday" email for Murali Nanda. She checked the think tank mentioned in the articles about him and cautiously considered sending them an email asking for contact information. In the end, she decided that Christmas Eve dinner with that man was hardly a priority when she had so many other things to deal with. She opened the browser and started a search for reference librarian openings.

  ***

  When the alarm went off the next morning, Karin realized she had no reason to get up, since it was Thursday, and she wouldn’t be at the library again until Friday, as Gail had reminded her. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, 9 to 1 … Why had she bothered to set her alarm?

  Wide awake, she shuffled into the kitchen, wondering if she should start packing. Her security deposit would pay January’s rent, and she thought she might be able to crash with her sister Joyce until she found a cheaper place. Joyce and her husband, however, didn’t have room for all her stuff in their tiny house with their two kids. She had to admit she had indulged herself too much as the money from the Laptop Project had stopped being a dream to her.

  She looked at her finally completed "hope chest" china set, the small collection of fine art nativity sets she had begun in her study nook … then the full force of her situation hit her. She snapped on her desktop and pulled up the list of charities she contributed to. Some were automatic withdrawal. She spent the next two hours canceling those withdrawals where she could.

  "Dear God! What am I going to do?" She took a look at her bank account, hoping against hope that there might be something from the Laptop Project in the way of a final payment. Something. Anything. Nothing. She had in the past been paid by the project, when completed, very promptly. But there was nothing, not even what she should have been owed for Madhumeha. Would it just come later, after some red tape and end-of-project paperwork was got through? She didn’t know.

  A hasty email in reply to the one ending the project returned an immediate undeliverable – failure message. She checked her sent mail and history but couldn’t find any other contact information for the project. Tears started falling again. A moment later she couldn’t see the screen anymore.

  Three

  To: Madhumeha

  Re: Laptop Project

  Compromised. All activity suspended. Absolutely no contact permitted between any participants. Resend all ops data to new location using updated encryptions. No returns to any known locations. Await further instructions.

  Murali wanted to slam his fist into the internet cafe computer. He had waited a solid week before resurfacing in the States, expecting to receive confirmation of his intel and his retirement. He had also intended to hear Karin’s answer and was optimistic enough to be ready to make plans with her. Quickly he packeted and resent his intel and also another request for confirmation of his retirement.

  What was this all about? How could the laptop be compromised? Christmas was one week away, and he couldn’t even talk to her. What must she think? He knew very well how compromised projects were handled. She would have been cut off cold with nothing more than a canned message.

  Murali retrieved some old files he had gathered when the Laptop Project had first begun. He glanced over Karin’s dossier and immediately remembered what her financial situation had been before the project.

  It was the one thing that had been brought up as making her participation risky – how little income she had. Murali had practically shouted down the objections and assured the agency that a woman of her character would not respond to bribery attempts.

  This glaring irony was not lost on him. She’d never have taken money to break her confidentiality agreement. Still, she’d have come to depend on the project money. But she’d receive nothing until the compromise issue was cleared up. Not even what she was owed. It was intolerable.

  He went to four automated teller machines on multiple buses and, using some very deeply protected accounts, withdrew a thousand dollars in cash. He stopped in a stationery shop and bought security envelopes and stamps. Inside five envelopes he placed 200 dollars and scribbled a crabbed, arthritic note nothing like his own handwriting that said, "Pay it Forward. Merry Christmas."

  Sealing the envelopes, he wrote on the outside, "Please deliver in time for Christmas," and dropped them in different mailboxes with three first class stamps on each one. He didn’t even know what the US postage rate was now, but it didn’t matter. He just prayed somehow some of the money would get to Karin in a hurry.

  Next, he bought a burner phone and made a call. Three times it went to a voicemail that has not yet been set up. The fourth time, when he said, "This is Madhumeha," someone answered with, "Do the words no contact have any meaning to you?"

  "You know it’s a special case. I need you to hand-deliver a message for me to Ex Libris."

  "I can’t."

  "Yes you can, and you will. Here’s the message. December 24th, 6 pm, 3327 North Poplar Street." Murali added the city and state where Karin lived.

  "This is most unwise," the voice replied.

  "By the time we get to that date, I’m sure it will all be cleared up and turn out to be a big misunderstanding."

  "I’m not so sure. Whoever committed this breach knew all the correct email addresses. The only way we even discovered it was because the communication went into their spam folders. We managed to wipe those before anyone opened them, but our emails announcing the project termination went to spam also."

  "Spam folders?" Murali repeated, tensing. "Did you trace them?"

  "Of course we tried. But you know it didn’t go anywhere. That Spamalot Worm – Our techs never cracked it or tracked it. No one was supposed to know –"

  "Someone does know, obviously. Look, my life has been on hold for more than a decade. I have to do this. I’ll be careful, but I have to see her."

  "I’ll try to have your back. I’ve already tried, but you know no one will have mine. It’s a good thing I agree with you that she’s worth the risk and that you deserve a chance."

  "Kiss your significant other for me. Merry Christmas."

  "Bah Humbug."

  ***

  Murali had been walking the entire time he talked, and, when he finished, he pulled the phone’s battery and threw it and the phone into separate trash
cans. Jumping on another bus, he politely asked the driver how soon they would get to the train station. Suppressing a groan, he settled back to wait out the two hours of the driver’s not-so-polite reply.

  ***

  Murali had loved trains since he was a child in India. Between his chafing to get to Karin, however, and his inability to suppress the nagging suspicion that something had gone seriously wrong with the Laptop Project, hard thinking crushed his enjoyment. He had been an analyst and an operative far too long to let it go. His mind turned over scenario after scenario but none of them fit the facts as well as a betrayal from the inside.

  Next he ran through his mental Rolodex of the "students," agents like himself, and dismissed them. He knew them all personally. Not that they were perfect, but they were not traitors, either. Who was left? Those desk-huggers at the agency wouldn’t be able to hide the source of the breach in such a narrow-focus project. Perhaps it was an insider at the library. The idea seemed preposterous, given that they were all middle-aged sedentary woman. He got up from his private sleeper car’s roomette and wandered toward the dining car.

  "I’ve lost my cellphone," he said when a server came to his table. Any way I can buy one to use temporarily?"

  "Certainly, sir," the man said. "I can’t promise bells and whistles but we do have some basic emergency phones."

  "I’m a big fan of basic," Murali replied with a smile.

  The server took his order and returned a few minutes later with his hot tea and a packaged phone.

  "Yes! You’re a lifesaver," Murali exclaimed. He set up the phone, ate his dinner, and went back to his roomette.

  This is Madhumeha," he said when the person at the other end finally answered. "Who received the Spamalot message? I need a complete list."

  "I told you we deleted it. No one actually received it."

  "You know what I mean."

  "Everyone who was copied in on the Laptop Project."

  "While you’re stalling I could be getting traced."

  The person on the other end ticked off a list.