Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

body, but the water wasn’t strong enough to break the hold strangling her mind. Sydney always did her best thinking in water. Not this time.
    She stared at the stained-glass window that nearly filled the entire back wall of the shower stall. It was a scene of baby Jesus in the manger with a crowd of both man and beast looking on. The glass was exquisite in its detail. The midmorning sun made the three wise men’s white robes glow, while it sharpened their faces as they basked in the presence of their infant king.
    Sydney gazed at every face in the glass, picturing her godfather’s face alongside them. She reeled back to the moment Colin Tanner, whom she had playfully nicknamed Knobby for his pointy, balding head, was sitting in his favorite booth in the Land’s End Pub in London, and telling her that he was dying of lung cancer. But that revelation wasn’t as shocking as the one that followed.
    “Sydney, there’s something you need to know about me. Something you need to know about the world.”
    His explanation had concluded with what seemed like a madman’s prophesy. “There will be a single event, something that might even seem inconsequential at the time. But it will happen within a larger context. If it happens within your lifetime, I hope you will at least recognize it for what it is and tell the world.”
    On the surface, the lawsuit that Nathan Broederlam had presented this morning looked normal, highly confidential at this stage, but normal. As members of the ICJ’s finance chamber, it was their job to discuss sensitive legal documents and consider the repercussions that could send shockwaves through the relatively fragile international financial system. But ever since joining the ICJ, Sydney had tempered every case that came before her with Knobby’s warning. His prediction had yet to come true. In fact, as time passed, his words seemed more and more foolish, the wild accusations of a conspiracy nut.
    But, as she added the implications of this lawsuit into the economic equation created by Japan’s recent actions against the United States, she couldn’t help thinking the worst. Could this finally be the sign Knobby had foretold?
    Sydney pulled back the shower curtain. Hoping to give her anxious mind a break, she tried focusing on items in the gracefully appointed bathroom. She concentrated on the antique mirror that hung on the wall. Noticing the strain in her face, she switched to the pedestal sink below the mirror. She followed the pearl inlay that curled from the front edge to the fixtures. She even traced the lines of caulk that held the hand-painted tiles of the backsplash together. Nothing worked.
    Sydney’s head began throbbing. Never a swimming pool around when you need one , she thought. Then she remembered the explanation from a university colleague about why she always did her best thinking while she swam lap after lap. He had told her that only when the conscious brain was occupied would the unconscious mind be able to run free and find answers. Her eyes caught on the object on the side of the tub. Maybe that would do the trick.
    Sydney grabbed the can of shaving cream and began lathering her legs. She swiped her razor off the tub’s edge and made a few passes along her left leg, hoping her simple task would break something loose in her head. But the only realization she came to after several strokes was that she needed to change blades.
    -
    Declan Drake hadn’t been able to fully keep his mind off of the ravishing woman who he was supposedly protecting down here in the Mexican wilderness. She was tall, his own height in fact. The way she carried herself, it was with subtle confidence. He didn’t know her background, but he knew she had to be smart. No one became a judge on the International Court of Justice without being intelligent. But this was the capper for Declan. She was French. That accent was beyond sexy. She spoke English most of the time she was around him, but Broederlam had tried his hand at French with her, a sophomoric attempt to be charming. But when her native tongue flowed from her mouth, shivers actually jolted Declan’s spine and everything else in his body. He imagined what her actual tongue could do to him.
    He washed away those thoughts and got on with the mission at hand. He knew he was on shaky ground with Stefan Taber; his allegiance to The Group was still being questioned. He grabbed the doorknob of Sydney Dumas’s quarters and twisted it. He crept