* * *
WHEN LUKE ENTERED the playroom late Tuesday afternoon, he saw Claire sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was cradling a tiny, bald child who was petting and being licked by a small black dog. He studied the large, brightly lit room filled with computer stations, toys, pianos and keyboards, as well as people whose happy expressions seemed out-of-place for a children’s cancer ward.
The children were dressed in loose pajamas that resembled surgeon’s scrubs. The younger children’s attire was printed with dinosaurs, kittens, horses or princesses and the scrubs of the older children were various solid colors, but were neon-bright. Except that many of the children were holding onto or sitting right beside IV poles and/or were wearing masks covering their mouths and noses, he could have been in a school or children’s play area anywhere. All of the adults were either playing with the children or sitting quietly by and reading or watching TV.
When Luke saw Claire, she was engrossed with the child. As he watched, she gently kissed the bald head, smiled and whispered something. The sensation Luke experienced at that moment was completely unique for him. Even during his most vulnerable circumstances, whether he’d been playing football against a tough opponent, or facing tense situations on the war’s frontline, or riding in a plane landing on an aircraft carrier in rough seas, he’d never felt this particular combination of apprehension and anticipation. His palms were sweaty, his mouth was dry and his heart beat erratically.
Luke spent much of his life trying to avoid being conspicuous. He’d learned to stand very still to keep from attracting attention. Normally he had at least some success, but in a room filled with about a dozen Korean children and at least that many smallish, slender, black-headed men and women, the huge American man in jeans and green polo shirt was impossible to miss. Before he’d even gotten completely through the door, one of the children squeaked something and within seconds all heads—including Claire’s—had turned in his direction. Even the dogs seemed to be aware of his presence.
With a room full of staring men, women and ill children, Luke did his best to appear non-threatening. He gave a small, friendly wave to no one in particular and graced the room’s inhabitants with a shy smile. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and slumped, trying to shrink.
Claire was startled by his sudden appearance. Still holding the child, she stood gracefully. “Uh...em...Lieutenant...” When she spoke, all eyes moved from the huge man at the door to her. She cleared her throat and managed to mutter, “Do you need something?”
He nodded. “Yes. I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”
Claire passed the little girl to one of the nursing assistants standing nearby. She brushed a hand over her hair and adjusted her glasses before crossing to the door. Once there, she seemed nearly overwhelmed. She blinked tensely as she looked up at him.
“Is there a problem with my case?”
He glanced beyond her into the room full of curious faces and then back down at the anxious young woman. “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”
Claire took one step to the side, as if afraid to turn her back on him. She motioned down the short hall leading to a large waiting room in the outer lobby.
“Yes. I’m sure we can find a spot this way.” She glanced at him as she led him toward several unoccupied chairs at one corner of the lobby. “Um, why are you here? Is something wrong?”
Luke studied her for a moment before responding. “Has anyone from the consular staff contacted you?”
He was struck again by her unusual eyes and fine, soft features. She was tall and slender, and she was dressed much as she had been on Saturday, in a long dark skirt made of some knit material that flowed. Her pale pink blouse was mostly covered by the buttoned white lab coat and she was wearing soft-soled, flat ballet slippers. She was remarkably lovely, but there was something extra, something elusive about her that drew him.
Under the cuff of her right sleeve he noted the edge of the gauze dressing and cringed inwardly, envisioning a knife tearing through her soft skin. His mouth tightened as he realized anew how much worse the attack could have been.
“About my passport? I thought they said it could take up to two weeks.”
“No. I don’t have anything to do with that.” They had reached the chairs and he motioned for her to take a seat. She settled obediently, but remained sitting very straight and on the edge, as if she could be ready to bolt if the need arose. Luke scooted another chair around to sit facing her. “No one called you back to follow up on the attack?” His tone betrayed his annoyance, bordering on anger. She shook her head and he took a deep breath and frowned. “I left a detailed report which instructed the attaché to order one of the embassy personnel to let you know what I learned about the assault.”
Claire sat up even straighter. “Lieutenant...um...Llewellyn... No. No one has called...”
He sighed and slumped back in his chair a bit. “Look, first, please call me Luke. I’m not here in any official capacity. That...” He motioned randomly with one hand. “Working at the embassy isn’t my real job. I’m just a weekend substitute. They—the embassy personnel—were supposed to let you know...” He paused, frowning again.
“Know what?”
Luke leaned forward, ensuring he had her full attention. “I spent the better part of Sunday reviewing all of the hospital’s surveillance feed.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin. “By the way, they’re very well covered—in regard to monitoring what goes on—particularly the doors and the parking lots.” He pointed to a camera mounted near the ceiling about twenty feet away from where they sat. The grin faded and he said, “At any rate, I had to go back several hours from the time of the attack, but I was finally able to spot the two assailants. I figured out when they got to the hospital and pieced together what they did while they were here.”
She was watching his expressions with mingled curiosity and concern. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea... But why?”
“I told you, the attack bothered me. It didn’t make sense and still doesn’t.” His lips tightened and he looked uncomfortable. “Anyway, I had to go back nearly six hours to find when the two men arrived. They came here at about five, long before they attacked you.” He frowned at her and asked, “What time do you normally leave?”
“It varies. Sometimes as early as five or six, but sometimes much later.” She shrugged. “Last Friday was one of the later times.” She looked perplexed. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
Luke fought the urge to reach over and rub her hand or pat her cheek—anything, just to touch her. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Miss Olsen... Can I call you Mary?”
She blinked a couple of times before answering. “No...um... Yes, of course. But I go by Claire. My parents call me ‘Mary Claire,’ but to everyone else, I’m just ‘Claire’.”
He smiled then. It was his first genuine smile since he’d walked into the playroom and tried to put its occupants at ease. Claire’s breath caught. Her own face softened and her lips turned up slightly in response.
“Okay, just Claire it is...” He sat back up at attention and the smile died away. “Claire,” he repeated, “the bottom line is this: the attack wasn’t random. They were waiting on you. They’d been watching you for at least five hours and followed you into the parking lot.”
Disbelief clouded her expression. “How can you know that?” She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Likely they were just waiting for a lone woman, someone who looked vulnerable.”
He shook his head. “No. There’s no doubt. Claire, this is what I do. Like I told you, I only act as babysitter to a bunch of Marine guards occasionally. What I’ve spent much of the past six years doing is reviewing and interpreting surveillance video.”
He glanced around to ensure that