Crux

55 OLD FLAMES

Monday October 29th

Holtzmann fumed after the call with Barnes cut off. But there was nothing he could do for those poor children.

Somehow he had to get Rangan Shankari out of ERD custody. But how? He could walk Shankari out of that cell, give him the keys to his own car, and in the very best case the ERD would just pick Shankari up a few hours later, and lock Holtzmann away for good.

He needed help.

An underground railroad. That’s what the rumors said. A network that got Nexus-born children out of the country. Would they take Shankari? Holtzmann had no idea. But he thought there was one person who might know.

Her number was in his phone, years after she’d tired of his lies and his weakness and cut off their affair. Did she ever think back to their time fondly? Or was he a pathetic figure in her mind, a man who’d lied and cheated, seduced her even though he was her professor and fifteen years her senior? Would she even talk to him after their encounter at the Capitol?

There was only one way to find out.

Holtzmann tapped on his phone, and called Lisa Brandt.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Lisa,” he said. “It’s Martin Holtzmann.”

“I know who it is,” she said coldly. “What do you want?”

Martin paused. Hostility… He deserved it.

“Lisa,” he said. “I was thinking about our last conversation. I… I may have changed my mind. I’d like to talk.”

Silence. More silence.

“I’m listening,” she said finally.

“Could we… talk in person?” he asked.

“I’m in Boston, Martin.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I can come to you. I’ll take the train up. Lunch tomorrow? Leonetti’s?” She used to love Leonetti’s.

Another pause.

“Not lunch,” she replied. “Coffee. Harvard Square Café. 2pm. Come alone.”

“Thank you…” he started.

The line clicked and went dead.

Lisa Brandt ended the call, and looked across the small room to where her wife Alice rocked their adopted son Dilan as he nursed.

“Martin Holtzmann?” Alice asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lisa could feel the wave of surprised curiosity and concern radiate from her wife, overlaid with the mixed fatigue and contentment of Dilan suckling at the milk produced by her hormonally augmented breasts.

Lisa nodded. “Holtzmann.” But her eyes were on their son. She could feel his sleepy hunger, his secure comfort. Such a special child.

I should have taken the hormone boost too, Lisa thought. I should be doing my part nursing him. But it was easier for Alice, easier with her career in finance already established enough that she could take so much time off, while Lisa still toiled daily towards tenure in her ivory tower.

“What did he want?” Alice asked.

“To talk,” Lisa said. “Maybe to blow a whistle.”

Alice squinted, and Lisa could feel her skepticism. “Whistle-blowing takes balls and a conscience. The Martin Holtzmann you’ve described didn’t sound like he had either.”

“No,” Lisa sighed. “He didn’t.”

Anne got home an hour later.

“You look better,” she said.

Holtzmann smiled. “I feel better. In fact, I think I’ll go to the office tomorrow.”

Anne Holtzmann lay in bed, pretending to sleep, listening to her husband’s breathing until she was sure he was out.

Something was very wrong here. Paranoia. Emotional outbursts. Night sweats and vomiting. It almost reminded her of…

Anne rose quietly and padded into the bathroom. One by one she opened the medicine cabinets, then the drawers, searching through them, looking for a bottle of pills.

Nothing. Martin had finished the painkillers months ago. So why was he acting like a man on drugs?

Anne Holtzmann crept quietly back into bed, troubled. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d do some digging into her husband’s activities.