'Lady doctor,' the driver said again, and I could tell he was unnerved by the security, the tire shredders, the many antennae on tops of buildings. 'She okay.'
'No,' I said to the back of his head. 'My name is Kay. Kay Scarpetta.'
I tried to get out, but doors were locked, the buttons removed. The guard reached for his radio.
'Please let me out,' I said to the driver, who was staring at the nine-millimeter pistol on the guard's belt. 'I need for you to let me out.'
He turned around, frightened. 'Out here?'
'No,' I said as the guard emerged from the booth.
The driver's eyes widened.
'I mean, I do want out here, but just for a minute. So I can explain to the guard.' I pointed and spoke very slowly. 'He doesn't know who I am because I can't open the window and he can't see through the glass.'
The driver nodded some more.
'I must get out,' I said firmly and with emphasis. 'You must open the doors.'
The locks went up.
I got out and squinted in the sun. I showed my identification to the guard, who was young and militaristic.
'The glass is tinted and I couldn't see you,' he said. 'Next time just roll your window down.'
The driver had started taking my luggage out of the trunk and setting it on the road. He glanced about frantically as artillery fire cracked and gunshots popped from Marine Corps and FBI firing ranges.
'No, no, no.' I motioned him to put the luggage back in the trunk. 'Drive me there, please.' I pointed toward Jefferson, a tall tan brick building on the other side of a parking lot.
It was clear he did not want to drive me anywhere, but I got back in the car before he could get away. The trunk slammed and the guard waved us through. The air was cold, the sky bright blue.
Inside Jefferson's lobby a video display above the reception desk welcomed me to Quantico and wished me a happy and safe holiday. A young woman with freckles signed me in and gave me a magnetic card to open doors around the Academy.
'Was Santa good to you, Dr.
'Was Santa good to you, Dr. Scarpetta?' she cheerfully asked, sorting through room keys.
'I must have been bad this year,' I said. 'I mostly got switches.'
'I can't imagine that. You're always so sweet,' she said. 'We've got you on the security floor, as usual.'
'Thank you.' I could not recall her name and had a feeling she knew it.
'How many nights will you be with us?'
'Just one.' I thought her name might be Sarah, and for some reason it seemed very important that I remember it.
She handed me two keys, one plastic, one metal.
'You're Sarah, aren't you?' I took a risk and asked.
'No, I'm Sally.' She looked hurt.
'I meant Sally,' I said, dismayed. 'Of course. I'm sorry. You always take such good care of me, and I thank you.'
She gave me an uncertain look. 'By the way. Your niece walked through maybe thirty minutes ago,'
'Which way was she headed?'
She pointed toward glass doors leading from the lobby into the heart of the building and clicked the lock free before I had a chance to insert my card. Lucy could have been en route to the PX, post office, Boardroom, ERF. She could have been heading toward her dormitory room, which was in this building but on a different wing.
I tried to imagine where my niece might be at this hour of the afternoon, but where I found her was the last place I would have looked. She was in my suite.
'Lucy!' I exclaimed when I opened the door and she was standing on the other side. 'How did you get in?'
'The same way you did,' she said none too warmly. 'I have a key.'
I carried my bags into the living room and set them down. 'Why?' I studied her face.
'My room's on this side, yours is on that.'
The security floor was for protected witnesses, spies or any other person the Department of Justice decided needed extra protection. To get into rooms, one had to pass through two sets of doors, the first requiring a code entered on a digital keypad that was reconfigured each time it was used. The second needed a magnetized card that was also often changed. I'd always suspected the telephones were monitored.
I was assigned these quarters more than a year ago because Gault was not the only worry in my life. I was baffled that Lucy had now been assigned here, too.
'I thought you were in Washington dorm,' I said.
She went into the living room and sat down. 'I was,' she said. 'And as of this afternoon, I'm here.'
I took the couch across from her. Silk flowers had been arranged, curtains drawn back from a window filled with sky. My niece wore sweatpants, running shoes, and a dark FBI sweatshirt with a hood. Her auburn hair was short, her sharp-featured face flawless except for the bright scar on her forehead. Lucy was a senior at UVA. She was beautiful and brilliant, and our relationship had always been one of extremes.