The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [54]
“Close the door, will you, Agent Falling Hawk? And please, take a seat.”
She pulled the door shut and perched on the edge of a leather chair as the assistant director sat once more behind his desk.
Richard Nakamura was, as far as Deirdre knew, the highest-ranking American in the entire order of the Seekers. He was a short, compactly built man with white hair and an oval face that was surprisingly smooth given his seventy years. He had been born in San Francisco to Japanese immigrants, and as a child during World War II he and his family had been forced to spend time in Amache, an internment camp in eastern Colorado. Deirdre didn't know if it was ironic or fitting that Nakamura was one of the most patriotic men she knew. A U.S. flag stood in one corner of the room, opposite the Union Jack, and a picture of the American president decorated the mahogany wall, along with Roman death masks, medieval tapestries, and samurai swords.
Nakamura had entered the Seekers as a young man in the late 1950s, and if his rise was not meteoric, like Hadrian Farr's, it had certainly been steady. He had made solid progress in his laboratory research over the decades, especially in the area of detecting and classifying trace energy signatures. Five years ago, he had been promoted to the assistant director level.
That made Nakamura one of the dozen most powerful men and women in the Seekers—apart from the Philosophers. The assistant directors answered only to the directors of Research, Operations, and Security. And the directors answered only to the Philosophers themselves.
Deirdre fidgeted on the edge of her chair, knew she should stop, and couldn't. Why did Nakamura want to see her? Did he want to question her further about what happened in Colorado? He folded his hands on the desk and said nothing.
Deirdre couldn't stand it any longer. “Farr is gone,” she said.
Nakamura's placid expression didn't change. “Yes, we know. He couriered a letter to us just before his departure. I'm sure you did your best to convince him to stay.”
Deirdre's throat ached. “I don't know where he is.”
“Of course you don't, Miss Falling Hawk. No one does. Agent Farr's talents are such that we won't find him until he wishes to be found.”
The pace of Deirdre's heart slowed, and belatedly she realized Nakamura's silence had been deliberate. He had wanted her to speak first, to see what she would say. But she didn't care if he knew what was on her mind. She had nothing to hide.
And don't you? What about Glinda? What about the forest you saw when you kissed her?
She folded her hands in her lap, covering the silver circle on her right ring finger. “What will happen to him?” she said.
Nakamura's brown eyes were serious, and perhaps sad. “I suppose in the end that's up to Mr. Farr.”
Deirdre nodded, though she wasn't certain she agreed. Once you opened a door, could you really control what came through? Maybe Farr was the last person who could decide what would happen to him.
“I read everything,” she said. “All of the files about Hadrian and me. The reports, the assessments, the observations. Everything that was written about us. My new ID card . . .”
“Gave you access.” Nakamura nodded. “Yes, of course you read the files. We imagined you would do so immediately once you were granted Echelon 7. Would you care for some tea?”
Deirdre licked her lips. “No, thank you.”
“I'll have Lucas bring a second cup just in case you change your mind.” He touched a button on the telephone. “Lucas, two cups of tea, please. With honey and lemon. And some of those shortbread biscuits—you know, the ones Abby says will give me another heart attack. Thank you.”
Light spilled through the window, illuminating Nakamura's white hair. He seemed kind and grandfatherly, but Deirdre dismissed that image. One did not rise so high in the Seekers by doling out cookies and tea.