Skyfall

31

GET 17:45

“Mister, it's gone a quarter to eleven at night. The old Smithsonian been closed maybe five hours now. Ain't no one there.”

The cab driver was fiftyish, amiable, black, and didn't want to strand this nice little old man in the middle of the Washington night. Not with the muggers and such around.

“I have a friend that works there,” Professor Weisman explained patiently, holding tight to his briefcase.

“ 'Fraid she's gone home now.”

“I'm sure she has, but someone there must know her address or her phone number.”

“Tried the phone book?”

“Unlisted.”

“Better get in. We'll drive around and maybe find the night watchman. But I don't want to just leave you there, not this hour of the night.”

At this hour of the night it was a short drive from Union Station to the Smithsonian Institute. It loomed up ahead, redbrick and Victorian, a castellated fortress appearing very much out of place among its ultramodern, Greek-templed neighbors. The cab driver stopped before the entrance and looked carefully into the shadows before he opened the back door.

“There's a night bell under that light there, street looks okay now,” he said.

“Thank you, I wouldn't worry too much,” Weisman said, climbing out of the cab.

“I got reason. A girl mugged and killed last night just a block from the White House. This ain't Funsville.”

“Oh dear! Thank you.” Weisman moved faster than he usually did and arrived, panting, at the door. He leaned on the bell which he could hear ringing dimly deep inside the building. It took a minute before the watchman appeared. His large belly pushed out the blue of his uniform shirt; he kept his hand on the butt of his revolver as he came slowly towards the door.

“Whaddya want?” he shouted through the glass, making no attempt to open it. “We're closed.”

“It is Dr. Tribe I want to see.”

“She's gone home, come back in the morning.”

“I need to contact her now. Do you have her address or her home phone number?”

“Listen mister, we're closed. And we can't give out that kind of information anyhow.” He started away, then reluctantly turned back when the bell started ringing again.

“You don't understand, this is an emergency, a matter of life and death really. Could you phone Dr. Tribe and tell her that Professor Weisman is here and must see her at once. She will know my name.”

With the utmost reluctance at this break from routine, the watchman agreed but he did not open the door before he slumped off towards the phone. Weisman stood on the steps, looking worriedly at the shadows as the minutes ticked by. The cab driver watched him and shook his head unhappily. And kept his window rolled up most of the way despite the heat of the night. It was less than five minutes before the watchman returned, but it seemed an age to Weisman.

“The doctor said to come to her place because I said you had a cab waiting. The address is 4501 out on Connecticut.”

“Yes, thank you, very much indeed.”

Weisman dropped happily into the security of the cab and dabbed at his forehead as they drove. By the time they had crossed the bridge in Rock Creek Park he was feeling better. Dr. Tribe would know what to do.

She made him sit down and have a cup of coffee while she listened to him. As he explained she forgot her own coffee which cooled before her. In the end she just clutched the papers he had given her and looked at them unseeingly.

“You're sure of this, Sam, absolutely sure?”

“How can there be any other answer? There are the figures, the photographs, all laid out before you. There can be no other conclusion.”

“No, of course not. Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No one. I had no idea who to tell and the few people I called for advice weren't there. It was most confusing. I thought you, being in Washington, would know what to do.”

“I certainly do.” She stood and went to the phone. “I know an undersecretary at State. He'll come around in his car and take us there.”

“There? Where?” Weisman was tired and more than a little confused.

“To the White House, of course. The President is the only one who can act on information like this.”