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25
Olivia
Dr. Emanuel Hicks’s home
McAlister, Virginia
Wednesday morning
Savich pulled the Porsche into Dr. Hicks’s driveway. Olivia said, “Gay wasn’t happy I was going with you, alone, without him to protect me.”
“He’ll get over it. Come lunchtime, Ruth—you met her, Agent Noble—is going to take him to the cafeteria. He can see up close how well the cooks do Mexican food.”
Olivia laughed. “Gay only eats hot dogs and pizza.”
“He’s in luck with the pizza, too, particularly pepperoni, my wife’s favorite.”
He and Olivia stepped out of the Porsche and into bitter cold and a vicious wind that whipped the tree branches. They hurried, heads down, to the covered front porch, relieved when Dr. Emanuel Hicks immediately opened the solid oak front door of his beloved colonial. He waved them in and quickly closed the door.
Dr. Hicks shook Savich’s hand, inquired after Sherlock, then turned to Olivia. “You’re my first visitor from the CIA.” He studied her face. “Do you know, I was picturing an Amazon from how Agent Savich described you.”
Amazon? Olivia liked the sound of that, made her think of Wonder Woman. “Where could I get a chariot and a breastplate?”
Savich laughed. “Dr. Hicks, this is Agent Olivia Hildebrandt.”
He took Olivia’s hand in his, held it, and smiled down at her, not that far down because she was tall, a lovely young woman, her thick French braid showcasing her strong face with its high cheekbones and dark, nearly navy blue eyes. He said, “Your hair, my Mary has nearly the same, so many shades. She calls the color chestnut. Do come in. Agent Savich asked me to see you here because he didn’t think you’d be comfortable in a nest of FBI students at the academy in Quantico.”
He gave her a smile impossible to resist and Olivia smiled back. She studied him a moment. He was a tall man, skinny as a sapling, with beautiful, gentle, kind eyes. “On our drive here, Dillon said you impersonate Elvis, that you always play to a full house.” She grinned. “He also told me you have to belt a pillow around your middle.”
“That I do. My wife, Mary, always tries to fatten me up, but it’s no go.”
“Do you play ‘Heartbreak Hotel’? My grandmother says once upon a time she danced the night away to that song.”
“Oh yes, but my specialty is ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ Now, Mary left some tea and scones out for us. Let’s go back to my study.”
They followed Dr. Hicks into a long high-ceilinged room with French windows at the back, giving onto a walled-in garden. Olivia imagined it would be beautiful when spring arrived, ivy and roses twining up the mellow red brick. It was a masculine room, obviously Dr. Hicks’s study, all soothing earth colors and three walls of floor-to-ceiling books. A fire burned in an old blackened fireplace. It was cozy and welcoming, the morning sunlight pouring in an added bonus.
Dr. Hicks waved her to a worn burgundy leather sofa. “Do sit down. May I call you Olivia?”
She nodded and sank into the soft leather, imagined a great many rear ends had settled there over the years. Dr. Hicks sat across from her in a high-backed leather chair, a matching footstool at its side, Savich on a love seat to his left. Dr. Hicks picked up a Georgian teapot. “Jasmine tea. My wife swears it makes her mellow. And a blueberry scone, if you would like.”
Olivia accepted a cup of tea, sat back, waited for him to hand Dillon a cup. She said, “Dillon told me you’re the very best, but, well, being hypnotized, I can’t imagine it really. To be honest, I’ve always wondered if hypnosis was fake, sort of like mediums calling in spirits, but Dillon assures me you’re legitimate.” She paused. “I’m willing to try anything to remember. Dillon believes you can help me.”
Dr. Hicks smiled. “Yes, I believe I can. Now, Olivia, I understand you’ve been through a great deal in the past couple of weeks. Agent Savich filled me in on much of it. He told me you suffered a head injury on a mission to Iran and can’t remember facts that could be critical to a current situation. I’m sure your doctors have told you after a bad concussion, it’s not a surprise you aren’t able to remember everything that happened near the time of your injury. It’s called post-traumatic amnesia.
“Agent Savich told me our main purpose is to find out if you can remember what a dying operative said to one of your team members, Mike, about a flash drive.”
“Yes, Mike has the flash drive but we can’t find him. He’s missing. I was close by, I do remember that, but I can’t remember if the undercover operative—Hashem was his name—if he said anything at all that could help us.”
“So our purpose is to find out if you heard what the dying operative told Mike.”
“Yes. Try as I might, I can’t remember anything.”
Dr. Hicks smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my job. Let’s begin. Olivia, I want you to remember a place you visited that made you happy.”
Olivia thought a moment, smiled. “Three years ago, Mike and I were coming back from a vacation to Maui and stopped to visit a friend who owned a vineyard in Napa. I’ll never forget Mike and I were sitting under an oak tree, looking out over the vineyard, the summer sun shining through the branches, hot on our faces, soaking deep. He was holding my hand, playing with a silly fake ruby ring he’d bought me on Maui. We could smell the ripening grapes, the air was still, soft. We both fell asleep. It was a perfect day—” Her voice caught and she swallowed.
Dr. Hicks said, “I understand. It’s a lovely memory. Now, Olivia, please close your eyes. Picture the vineyard spread out in front of you. Smell the grapes, feel Mike holding your hand. You feel the sun’s warmth on your face. You’re with Mike, you’re happy, content, not a care in the world. Everything is perfect in that moment.”
