THE EMBARCADERO
SAM SAT AMONG ALL manner of tourists and locals enjoying their evening meals at outdoor tables in the Embarcadero’s Justin Herman Plaza, conspicuous in her mind because she was alone in clear view of the bustling Ferry Building marketplace. A concert had just wrapped up in the area that would be dominated by an ice skating rink during the winter months. She sat a bit isolated in the shadow of Vaillancourt Fountain, a modernistic water-spraying sculpture that many local purists hated but she actually loved for its symmetrical form, everything seeming to belong just where it was placed.
Unlike life.
Dr. Payne’s laptop tucked under her thigh, she’d taken the BART and then a streetcar, of all things, to the Embarcadero Station, satisfied that she hadn’t been followed from the hospital. Night had fallen and with that all manner of new options for anyone watching her to stay out of sight. She felt like a little kid, having dreaded its fall and now hating the way darkness made the world feel scary and her more vulnerable, to boot.
One of the few things she and her parents actually agreed on was a love for this part of the city, its great history, color, and vibrancy. The Embarcadero in general and this section of it in particular were the encapsulation of everything that made San Francisco special, featuring an easy mix of the old and the new, of history and modernity. That probably explained why she liked the Vaillancourt Fountain in spite of its perceived affront to the area’s more classical sensibility. Its presence made her appreciate that sensibility even more and highlighted the area’s historical nature by contrast. The Ferry Building had been a pier before being converted to house an assortment of high-end shops and restaurants comparable to an upscale mall, its majestic facade watched over by a huge clock tower.
Alex and Raiff were headed here now, having recovered the sketchbook just as she’d absconded with the computer containing Alex’s medical file.
What does it say? What had Payne seen in the CT scan results that had ultimately led to his death?
Sam realized she’d been peering downward and jerked her gaze back up, finding Justin Herman Plaza to be the same. No one amiss in sight, no one seeming to have any interest in her.
She regarded the laptop again, wondering what secrets it held, when a hand grasped her shoulder.
95
BOAT RIDE
“SORRY TO STARTLE YOU, Dixon,” Dr. Donati greeted her.
“You … I…”
Sam tried to stop stammering but couldn’t collect her thoughts. Donati noticed the laptop.
“I assume that’s…”
“Yes, Doctor. But—”
“Not here, Dixon. I think someone’s coming.”
It was Alex, moving with the same grace and agility he always did. Sliding through the crowd so easily no one even seemed to notice him. But he looked different to Sam from this distance, older somehow and sadder, his shoulders still squared and strong but burdened, as if something was weighing him down. And he wasn’t smiling like he always did. Looked grimly determined instead.
Donati looked from Alex to her and then back to Alex. “That must be…”
“Yes,” Sam confirmed.
“He’s just a kid.”
“We’re in high school. What were you expecting?”
Dr. Donati looked hurt. “I don’t think of you as a high school student, Dixon. You should know that. Especially now.”
“Those findings I shared with you…,” Sam thought out loud.
“Long story. Well, actually, a short one. You were spot-on. Picked up just where I left off and went further. All that was missing was a final dot on the map. But no more, because I’ve figured out where the wormhole’s going to open.”
Sam’s throwaway cell phone rang. She snatched it from the pocket of her jeans and recognized the number Raiff told her to look for.
“I’m waiting for you now.”
“Where?”
“Fisherman’s Wharf,” he told her. “Pier Thirty-nine. We’re going on a sight-seeing tour of the bay.”
*
“Raiff?” Donati asked, as they moved among typically heavy pedestrian traffic for Fisherman’s Wharf.
“I thought I told you about him.”
“You probably did, Dixon, but my mind’s swimming in the shallows, so much sticking to it that I can’t sort through it all.”
“He saved us,” Sam elaborated, edging farther forward. “A couple times.”
Donati’s gaze remained rooted on Alex, as if wondering if he were real or just some imaginary figment. “Yes, I recall that now. The other alien, your boyfriend’s guardian or something.”
Sam looked toward Alex, expecting him to correct Donati. But he didn’t.
“You were there,” Alex said to him instead, “at the very beginning, weren’t you? You and the old guy we met at Bishop Ranch.”