3 times soul stealing - Chapter 10
“There’s a flight back to San Francisco at 11 p.m.,” Molinari said. “I promise I’ll make sure you get to the airport without any hassle.”
"That's it, Lindsay." Seeing my hesitation, he stood up. "Hey, if you don't trust the Department of Homeland Security... who else can you trust?" "There are two conditions," I said.
“Alright,” the deputy minister agreed. “As long as I can manage it.” “Let’s go get some seafood,” I said.
Molinari smiled. “I think I happen to know where to go…” “No other FBI agents will be dining with us.” Molinari laughed heartily. “I can absolutely guarantee that.”
Time slipped away unnoticed in the second part of "The Third Soul Stealer".
The place we happened to know about was a café called Kanchi, on Grapevine Street, which is somewhat similar to Federal Street near my home, lined with trendy restaurants and boutiques. The restaurant manager led us to a quiet little table further inside.
Molinari asked if I wanted him to order wine, and he ordered a Pinot Noir from Oregon. He described himself as a "foodie," saying that what he missed most was ordinary life, being able to tinker around in his own kitchen.
"You want me to seriously believe what you're saying?" I said with a smile.
He laughed loudly. “I think it’s worth a try.” The wine arrived, and I raised my glass. “Thank you. Thank you for supporting my point today.” “It’s nothing,” Molinari said. “I think you have a point.” We ordered food and then chatted casually, avoiding work. He liked sports—which suited me well—and he also liked music, history, and old movies. I laughed occasionally and listened attentively to his stories. Time slipped by unnoticed, and in moments like these, all the usual horrors seemed distant.
Finally, he mentioned his ex-wife and a daughter in New York.
“I think all vice ministers should have a sweet, petite wife at home,” I said.
“We got married fifteen years ago, and divorced four years ago. When I transferred to Washington for work, Isabel was still living in New York. At first, it was just a job transfer. Anyway—” He smiled, a hint of longing in his eyes. “Like many things, if I could choose again, I would change my mind. How about you, Lindsay?” “I’ve been married once,” I said. Then I told Molinari my story. How I got married shortly after graduating, and divorced three years later. Was it his fault? My fault? What difference did it make? “A few years ago, I almost got married again…but it didn’t happen.” “Life is unpredictable,” he sighed. “Maybe it’s better this way.” “No,” I said. “He’s dead. He died in the line of duty.” “Oh,” Molinari said. I knew he was a little embarrassed. Then he made a kind gesture. He placed his hand on my arm—no further, no inappropriate movement—just a gentle squeeze. He withdrew his hand.
“To be honest, I haven’t been going out on many dates lately,” I said, looking up. I chuckled again, trying to lighten the mood. “Tonight was the best dinner invitation I’ve had in a while.” “Me too,” Molinari said with a smile.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He reached into his pocket for it. "Excuse me..." the person on the other end kept repeating, regardless of who was calling. "Of course, of course, sir..." Molinari replied intermittently. Even the deputy minister had a superior. He then said, "I understand. I'll report immediately if anything happens. Yes, sir. Thank you." He put the phone back in his pocket. "It's a call from Washington..." he said apologetically.
"Washington, is he the Secretary of Homeland Security?" It's really satisfying to see that Molinari is also a link in this chain of hierarchy.
“No.” He shook his head and took another bite of the fish on his plate. “It’s the White House in Washington. The Vice President of the United States. He’s also coming to attend this G8 conference.”