The Book of Names Read Free Page A

friend. The end is near.”
    â€œNo argument from me.” David ordered a hamburger, chili with onions, and a Heineken. He slouched back in his seat, rubbing his temples. His gaze automatically followed Tom’s to CNN.
Another terrorist attack in Melbourne.
He grimaced. Disasters were erupting all over the world with the regularity of Old Faithful.
    Â 
    He’d been teaching political science for nearly ten years now, the last four here at Georgetown, but nothing in his career had been as challenging as this past semester. The words of Plato, Thoreau, Churchill, and other great political thinkers didn’t come close to explaining the current turmoil storming through the world. Hurricanes, tsunamis, war, assassinations, terror—an amalgam of nature’s caprice and man’s violence against man. His students had more questions than he—or even Tony Blair—had answers.
    By the time the waitress slid his beer in front of him, David was almost relieved to look away from the screen. Tom leaned forward and dropped his voice.
    â€œOkay, my friend, this is your lucky day. Kate Wallace just parked her beautiful blond self two tables away. Get over there and invite her to the dean’s Labor Day barbecue.”
    David resisted the urge to turn around. Kate Wallace was a thirty-one-year-old English professor who was writing a racy novel about Ferdinand and Isabella’s court. And she was the first woman he’d seriously lusted after since Meredith filed for divorce. They’d had coffee in the staff lounge a couple of times, and so far he hadn’t scared her off.
    Hell, why not?
    He quirked an eyebrow at Tom and wheeled out of his chair. Two minutes later he was scribbling down Kate’s phone number and the directions to her town house.
    When he got back to the table, Tom chuckled. “I’m impressed. It only took you a semester and a half to make your move.”
    â€œI hear timing is everything.” David took a bite out of his hamburger and stared down at the scrap of paper.
    He stopped chewing.
What the hell?
    Instead of “Kate Wallace,” he’d written down something else.
    Beverly Panagoupolos.
    Oh, no, not again
, he thought. The headache, which had receded slightly as he’d eaten, now suddenly pounded with renewed vigor. Another random name. There were so many. Where did they come from?
    â€œHey, Dave, you all right? Seriously—all of a sudden you look like the walking dead.”
    David tensed. Tom had no idea how close it was to the truth. But he never talked about the fall that had almost killed him when he was a kid. He’d never even shared it with Meredith.
    â€œIt’s just this damned headache.” He forced down another bite of his burger but he was no longer thinking about his food, or Tom, or Kate. He was thinking about Beverly Panagoupolos.
    And he didn’t want to.
    Â 
    An hour later, David drove past Eastern Market, doing a little over the speed limit for Capitol Hill. By the time he swung into the alley to park his Mazda6 at the rear of his town house, David could barely wait to see if BeverlyPanagoupolos’ name was in his journal. He was about to turn off his ignition when the CBS hourly news update began.
    We have breaking news out of Athens: Police have surrounded the residence of Greek Prime Minister Nicholas Agnastou after his sister, Beverly Panagoupolos, was discovered brutally murdered there just hours ago. . . .
    David’s hand froze on the ignition key. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he felt icy cold inside.
Why is her name in my head today
—
on the day she died? This has never happened before.
He yanked the scrap of paper from his pocket and stared at it, his mind racing.
Or had it?
    He ran up the front steps and jammed his key into the lock. He shot across the short hallway to his office as the door slammed shut behind him. His desk was in controlled chaos, strewn with the pieces of his