by S L Shelton
“This is getting dangerous. I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to be involved with this,” Ned whispered. “It took eight hours for us to pull a facial recognition match. Someone is going to notice that much system time being used.”
“Why did it take so long for a simple facial match?” Braun asked.
“Because it didn't find a match until it started going through backup files, you bloody, dense Kraut,” Ned said angrily. “It's a CIA cover.”
Braun ignored the weak insult, focusing instead on the cold chill that ran up his spine. “Is it possible he's our mystery DOJ Agent?” Braun asked, tying the pieces together.
“The last cell tower hit on the phone registered to that ID was a half mile away from the ambush site,” Ned replied. “Twenty minutes after it was over.”
How long have you been sitting on that tidbit of information? Braun wondered. “Which department at the CIA?” he asked, suddenly drawing up the fire to tackle the new problem.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ned replied. “The Agent’s no longer with the Agency.”
“And you know this because…”
“Because once we had a name, we checked pension records,” he replied condescendingly. “I'm not a fool. I checked every data warehouse for him.”
“Why would an ex-Agent be involved with a DOJ investigation… and why would he have an active cover ID?” Braun muttered.
“I don't know why he'd be working with Justice, but it’s an old travel ID.” Richards replied with less venom. “It fell apart too easily to be a deep cover ID.”
Ex-Agent, Braun thought. Private security?
“The name, Ned. Give me the name,” Braun said with a bored tone.
“Mark Gaines,” Ned replied. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” Braun said. “Thank you.” He ended the call and then immediately dialed another number.
“Spryte Industries,” came the operator’s voice from the other end.
“Heinrich calling for Roman,” Braun replied, asking for William Spryte's personal secretary.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Braun,” came the reply, followed by the sound of music after being placed on hold.
Roman had been with the Spryte family longer than Braun had; the man had served as the secretary to Spryte's father as well.
“Braun?” Roman’s voice came through after a few moments’ pause.
“I need everything you can find on a former CIA Agent by the name of Mark Gaines,” Braun said.
“Is that our nosy little rat?” Roman asked.
“Indeed,” Braun replied.
“I’ll have a package for you by noon,” Roman replied. “Will you require tactical support?”
“Not this time,” Braun responded. “We need to nip this quickly. We’ll revert to Mr. Spryte’s idea of something more personal. Get me as much background on Gaines’s family as you can. Perhaps we can find another pressure point to stop the hemorrhage of information.”
“Understood,” Roman replied, ending the call.
Braun relaxed into the seat and closed his eyes. Combine has managed to stay off everyone's radar for decades, he thought. Then suddenly the CIA gets involved and Mr. Spryte loses his stolen nukes in the Czech Republic, his inside man at State gets pinched after arranging for the nukes, and now another ex-Agent starts sniffing around Combine accounts. Why the sudden interest by the CIA? And how can we stop it before the investigation leads to the Spryte Brothers and Combine?
“How long until we reach the Capitol, Brian?” Braun asked.
“Almost there, sir,” came the driver’s reply.
“Call ahead to let Congresswoman Blackman know we are on our way,” he ordered. “I don’t feel like being kept waiting by that twit…too many other things to get done today.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver replied, pulling out his cell phone to make the call.
**
When Braun’s meeting with the Congresswoman was over and he exited the Capitol, his cell phone rang.
“Braun,” he answered.
“Sir, I’m nearly to the entrance,” his driver said.
“Hurry it along, Brian,” he replied mildly as he looked around for the car.
“Yes, sir,” the driver replied. “And sir, your satellite phone rang while you were inside.”
“All right,” he said as the car pulled up to the curb.
He climbed in and picked up the satellite phone, seeing the missed call was from Roman. He immediately pulled his laptop computer from its case and accessed his email. In a message from Roman was a large, encrypted file that he immediately detached and decrypted.
He scrolled through the digital pages of documents and came to one that piqued his interest.
“Interesting,” he muttered as he continued reading. “Perfect!”
“Sir?”
“Brian, make arrangements for me to get to Colorado Springs,” he said. “I want to be there by nightfall.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Brian called to make the flight arrangements, Braun continued reading the documents in the package. There was only one piece of the puzzle missing, and that would be easy enough to access—who to enlist for assistance.
“Hmmph,” he grunted as he laid back and closed his eyes. “Lesbiech. How fascinating.”
**
6:35 p.m.—Fairfax, Virginia
“I'm so excited you’re coming back on Monday,” Bonbon exclaimed as she downed her second drink since we’d arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier. “But don't you worry; Storc and I are going to be running interference for you in case you get overwhelmed.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Barb shoot her a warning glance.
“Overwhelmed by what?” I asked gently, hoping to draw more information out of her…information that Barb clearly didn't want me to hear. “It's a contract section. How much different could it be than working for security product development?”
Bonny hesitated. I could tell I wasn't getting the whole story…I just wasn't sure why.
“And how are you and Storc gonna run interference?” I asked. “I'd think Habib would have doubled your workloads with me getting moved to the new section.”
“We don't—” Storc started, but an elbow to the ribs from Bonbon stopped him.
“We won't have any problem with Danny,” Bonbon inserted. “He got three new developers in exchange for you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I should ask for a raise if it takes three to replace me,” I said ironically before taking a sip of my beer.
Bonny grinned…it was her I've got a secret and I won't tell grin.
“That's enough about work,” Barb warned, inserting herself. “Scott knows things will be different. He'll be able to handle it.”
I felt my ears get warm as a little wave of anger washed over me. I suddenly wondered if my new policy of addressing displeasure directly applied when I would have to do it in front of others.
I decided it did not, so I resorted to swallowing my anger…again. So far my desire to do as Dr. Hebron had suggested was not proving a simple task in real life.
So much for honesty and owning my responses, I thought.
Storc looked rather uncomfortable and a little confused by the lack of candor around him. He reached under the table and pulled out a gift bag, taking the opportunity to fix the awkward silence.
“I got something for you,” he said with a grin as he handed me the oversized gift bag. “A welcome back gift.”
“Dude! Thanks!” I exclaimed as I opened the top of the bag. Inside was a small camouflaged backpack—just like the ammo packs the SEALs had in Mimon. I pulled it out and saw a biohazard warning placard on its flap. I read the tag:
The Zombie Emergency Defense kit is our top-of-the-line kit. The pack is not military styled—it contains actual military gear used by troops in the field. So whether you are concerned with the coming zombie apocalypse, nuclear winter, meteor strike, or just a really bad storm, this is the kit for you!
&nb
sp; See more at www.phi-emsolutions.com
“Awesome!” I laughed as I unzipped the pockets to reveal all the various survival goodies contained within. “This is getting hung on the wall in my bedroom, for easy access when the zombies show up.”
Storc grinned, pleased with my response to his gift. I noticed Barb and Bonbon weren't as enthusiastic about it as I was—Barb actually had a bit of a sneer buried beneath her polite smile.
Jesus, Barb, I thought. Lighten up.
I continued to go through the pouches, eventually coming to a sturdy metal folding shovel. It had serrated edges on one side so it could be used as an axe in a pinch…or a weapon. I pulled it out and examined it.
“Not at the table,” Barb complained before realizing her comment sounded extremely condescending. She sank back into her seat when I glared at her. “I just meant we could pull it all out and look at it when we get home.”
Nice try at a cover, I thought, but I had heard the edge—as had Storc and Bonny. It was all I could do to keep from throwing an insult at her. “Sorry, Mom,” I sniped sarcastically. Oops.
Storc and Bonny suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Bonny got up from the table. “I have to tinkle,” she announced, looking at Barb. “Come with.”
Barb got up, embarrassed, and followed Bonny to the ladies’ room.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Storc leaned forward. “What was that about?” he asked cautiously. “Should I have cleared it with her before I got you a gift?”
I shrugged. “I'm not sure what the attitude was about, but the gift is awesome,” I said, reaching out to bump his fist with mine. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. “I just hope I didn't cause that,” he added in a quiet voice, referring to the awkward moment with Barb.
I waved my hand dismissively in the direction of the ladies’ room. “She's getting out of control,” I complained. “She won't let me do anything without worrying about how it'll affect my wounds or my mood.”
“You aren't breaking up again, are you?” he asked.
I sighed. “Honestly, pal, I don't remember getting back together with her,” I replied with a grin. “We got back from Germany and suddenly she was living with me.”
“Dude.” He was incredulous. “You flew to Europe and saved her from terrorists. That was when you got back together.”
I chuckled and nodded, before leaning forward. “Hey. What's up with Bonny and the hush-hush about work?”
Storc looked around as if he were passing state secrets. “She's been acting nuts recently too,” he said, in almost a whisper. “She gave me a whole list of things I shouldn't talk about around you.”
I shook my head. “Those two,” I muttered. “They're going to suffocate me.”
“That's what I said,” Storc volunteered. “I told Bonny it was time for her to butt out.”
I grinned.
“She punched me,” he continued.
I laughed. “Hit her back!” I joked.
Just then he looked up behind me. I continued staring forward.
“…the way he wants,” I heard Bonny say in a whisper as she approached. “It will be okay, I promise.”
Barb wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind and then pressed her lips to my neck and kissed me. “I'm sorry,” she whispered into my ear. I immediately felt some of my tension melt away. “I guess I'm just as worried about you going back to work as you are.”
And then the tension flooded back. I wasn't worried about going back to work… I was stressed about people feeling they needed to shield me from it.
We spent the rest of the visit talking about the people from work: who was dating who, who wasn’t pulling their weight, and how everyone was so excited that I was coming back. By the time we were done, I was exhausted.
Barb and I didn't say a word to each other on the way back home. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her start to speak a couple of times, but then for some reason, she thought better of it and remained silent.
This tension is going to drive me nuts, I thought.
five
Monday, July 19th
First Day Back to Work—Fairfax, Virginia
I woke with a start. The sun was up, but it took me a moment to realize that meant that I had slept through the night.
Yay for me!
Barb was already out of bed and puttering in the kitchen, judging by the sounds coming from that direction.
I sat up in bed and looked down at my chest and belly.
The presence of the waxy scars on my otherwise smooth and muscular torso created a momentary lapse into self-pity. It quickly evaporated, but the shadow of sadness lingered in the back of my mood.
I climbed out of bed, stretching into the tightness of my man-made deformities as I walked to the bathroom to shower. By the time I was done showering and dressing, I could smell coffee.
I walked into the kitchen to find Barb cutting grapefruit. She looked up and smiled.
“You slept all night!” she exclaimed gleefully.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Between the climbing and the sessions with Dr. Hebron, I think my body and brain are just tired enough.”
“Are you excited to go back to work?” she asked as she placed the grapefruit and coffee on the kitchen bar.
“I guess,” I replied absently, and then thought about my answer more purposefully. “I’m worried about not being able to get into a routine, though. I can’t even seem to get into a routine around here.”
“It’s okay. It’s not like you can’t come home if it doesn’t feel right. No one is going to push you,” she replied supportively.
Stay calm and then speak the truth, I thought, repeating my new mantra.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said, relaxing into the possible backlash. “I need to be pushed, and no one seems to be doing any pushing besides me.”
An exasperated look washed across her face, quickly hidden behind a smile. I hated that.
“Hey,” I pushed, hoping to create a chink in her armor. “You suffered trauma too. Why am I the one who has to be protected from reality?”
“No one is protecting you from ‘reality,’” she replied, using air quotes. “And aside from the initial attack on the boat—during which no shots were fired—I spent the entire time in a box, a warehouse, another box, a smelly old barracks, and yet another box,” she said, sitting down to breakfast. “I saw no action and no hostility until you showed up to rescue us.”
“You exaggerate the lack of action you saw,” I said accusingly.
“Exaggerate?” she exclaimed incredulously. “You were tortured, abducted, and beaten, fought Bosnian Serb mercenaries, stabbed, jumped out of an airplane, nearly drowned, and shot twice—and you died three times before we got you back to Germany.”
Stay calm and then speak the truth, I repeated in my head, but my willpower had already dissolved.
“Technically, you jumped out of an airplane too,” I replied with a grin.
She dropped her spoon and then leaned over and threw her arms around me. “It will all work out. Things will get back to normal,” she crooned, squeezing me tightly.
So much for my mantra, I thought.
I was getting tired of the people around me walking on eggshells, treating me like a handicapped person. I didn’t need to be humored. I’d rather the physicians tell me I’ve gone too far and to dial it back than not move forward.
I’d like it if people would expect the old Scott and just be patient if he took a little longer to show up rather than trying to carry me around like an infant and clipping their emotions for fear of not being supportive enough.
I couldn’t help but feel I would be testing their limits soon, if for no other reason than to get some honest interaction—or maybe I just wanted to be pissed off at everyone—I honestly couldn't tell.
I ignored her upbeat appraisal and sat at the bar to eat my grapefruit. After a few moments of eating in silence, I spoke up.
&nbs
p; “I still haven’t heard from Kathrin,” I mentioned, hoping to draw out some sort of an honest response.
Barb paused for a split second and then continued to eat. When she had swallowed her spoonful of fruit, she looked up and smiled. “She’s probably out on a new adventure… She seems to be sort of a gypsy that way.”
Nope…more coddling.
There was something to her tone that I didn’t like—something beyond discomfort about me making contact. Not to mention the fact that she had no idea what sort Kathrin was. I had spent days with her and knew next to nothing about the woman.
Whoa. Am I pissed at Kathrin too?
“I bet she’ll pop up when we least expect it,” she continued with slightly less bitterness.
I nodded and tucked my observation into the back of my brain. My perceptions were distorted at the moment, and I knew it. I was already paranoid about not getting complete honesty from the people around me. It wouldn't have been a stretch to think I was reading more into the situation than there was.
I finished my grapefruit and my coffee before getting up to brush my teeth. When I was done and on my way out of the bathroom, Barb was waiting for me. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips.
“I want you to have a good day,” she ordered, “but if it gets overwhelming, I want you to promise you’ll come home.”
I nodded and returned her kiss. Her lips stayed stiff.
She’s holding something back, I thought. I was tempted to silently recite my mantra again—but then gave up on it.
“I promise,” I said as I detached myself from her embrace.
Something is going on here, but I am not in the mood to untangle it now, I thought, swallowing my urge to probe her behavior further. In my impatient state, it would more than likely only lead to hurt feelings.
As I walked down the stairs to the front door, I heard her say, almost in a whisper, “I love you.”
I paused, turned to her, and smiled.
“What, sweetheart?” I asked.
“Have a good day,” she responded with a smile, editing her previous statement.
“You too, baby,” I said before turning and walking out, my anger rising.