by Steven James
“Yes,” he said at last.
“Where is she?”
“A black site in Djibouti.”
“You’re holding her just to get him to help you?”
“It’s not like that. She’s not a prisoner. We’re protecting her.”
“Can she leave?”
“You’re missing the point here, Patrick. It’s—”
“Can she?”
Silence, and then, “You need to look at the big picture, what’s best for everyone.”
My anger was tightening. “When were you planning to reunite them?”
“When we had what we needed on the other people in Blake’s network and on the quantum encryption research. There’s a lot at stake here. We have to get this right. If the Chinese beat us to developing the network, we might not get a second chance.”
“Are you going to get the two of them into witness protection?”
“We’ll have to see. It’ll depend on how much intel Mannie is able to provide about the other players overseas.” Thurman shook his head. “I don’t even know how many laws he broke this week.”
“I don’t even know how many laws you broke this week.” Thurman might have had the best intentions, but keeping an innocent woman imprisoned and helping Mannie escape were not his calls to make. “It’s time to make this right.”
He studied me. “Are you going to turn me in?”
“You free his wife, you do the right thing with witness protection, and I won’t have a reason to.”
“That can be arranged.”
“And then you resign. You’re finished at the Bureau.”
“And if I don’t quit?”
“I’m guessing prison. But that’ll all depend on which of those laws we end up addressing. Now, you need to go tell Mannie that Hope is safe—and that you’re going to let him see her.”
On a normal day, I might have felt more satisfaction from wrapping up something like this, but today, all I could think of was Christie and the news she’d told me while we were at the hospital.
While Thurman went to speak with his confidential informant, I went home to see my wife.
84
Over the next several months, Christie and I had many conversations about life and God and death and hope.
Some days were better than others.
“How can you love a God who would do this to you?” I asked her one night in a moment of anger.
“Sometimes, Pat, I think you want a God small enough to be able to tell him what to do.”
“No,” I said. “I want a God big enough so that I don’t have to.”
A touch of silence. “I used to think the same thing.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I realized that his love wasn’t something I’d ever be able to understand, but if I was going to believe in him in the good times, then I needed to believe in him in the hard times too. Otherwise I was just using him.”
“If he’s small enough to understand, he wouldn’t be big enough to worship,” I said.
“Something like that. Yes.”
* * *
+++
Timothy Sabian would have been glad to go to prison for killing his father if it meant protecting others from violence, but both the girl and her mom who were present there at the riverfront that day testified that he’d killed his dad in self-defense.
In his heart of hearts, he wasn’t certain that it was solely in self-defense, but he was at least sure that he’d done it in the service of justice, and maybe that was enough.
For Miranda.
For Mom.
For all the others.
Were the bugs still bothering him?
Yes.
Some problems are not so easily solved.
But he had answers now, and a certain peace about who he was: a novelist with a felicitously overactive imagination.
He wasn’t sure what his next book would be about, but he did know that he was going to finish Emily’s story, and he was going to give her a happy ending.
* * *
+++
Studying Blake’s computer files that were on the thumb drives I’d found on his body gave us what we needed regarding capturing the men in Phoenix who’d abducted Jake Reese’s son.
The drives also contained Marcus Rockwell’s findings on overcoming atmospheric turbulence to help establish the worldwide quantum encryption network.
It would be hyperbolic to say that whoever cracked that type of encryption first would rule the world, but it wasn’t exaggerating to say that they would be able to control the world’s secrets.
With that technology, Blake could’ve sent and received essentially unhackable communications with any terrorist group worldwide. He could have expanded his operations exponentially.
Now, the findings he’d gotten from Marcus could be put to much better use.
Calvin recovered, and it didn’t take long for him and Christie to become friends. We found out he’d battled cancer himself a decade ago, something I hadn’t even been aware of, and his encouragement meant a lot to her.
Thurman managed to wangle a lucrative severance package, which he accepted. Apart from hearing that he and his family were fine, I hadn’t been in touch with him.
Mannie dropped out of sight, but he sent me a Christmas card with the coded message that he had Hope once again. I heard rumors that he was working with the Bureau. Though I couldn’t be positive, I had confidence that he’d turned and was ready to give up the secrets that Blake had kept so dear while he was alive.
Senator Murray came clean about his gambling addiction, agreed to counseling, and it looked like his constituency was willing to forgive him, which I was glad to see. He was healing from the loss of his son—he told me that having resolution about what’d happened was the first step to moving on. And that was always a good thing.
And Marcus Rockwell?
He went on trial for four counts of second-degree murder.
It looked like the wheels of justice, although slow to turn, were at least moving in the right direction.
* * *
+++
To Tessa, the days seemed to last forever, but the weeks seemed to fly by.
She read a lot. She sat with her mom a lot. Sometimes she skipped school and just walked around New York City, thinking about what it would be like to live without the one person who’d always loved her.
Patrick tried to help. She could tell he was doing his best. One day, he gave her a book by a French detective.
“It’s his memoirs,” he said. “A friend of mine bought it for me. I want you to have it.”
She eyed it. “Is it any good?”
“It’s interesting. It’s not always easy to tell what’s fact and what’s fiction in it.”
“Sorta like life?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“I don’t want to take it from you.”
“It’s okay, really. I’ve read it. And with your interest in solving mysteries, I thought you’d enjoy it. You’re more of a bibliophile than I am, anyway. It’s yours.”
He took her out driving more. Sometimes they talked when he did. Mostly they were quiet, but it wasn’t a lonely sort of quiet. It was more like the kind you have when you’re with a friend.
* * *
+++
For Christie, seeing Pat with Tessa was enough to take away some of the sting of what was happening.
They were going to be okay.
As long as they were there for each other, things were going to be alright.
In the final days, Pat made up more tongue twisters for her—one every day, and she relished all of them—even if they weren’t all that tough to say.
He never could seem to get them right.
It made her smile.
The two
of them tried to add to their list of favorite memories, and the top three continued to change as each day passed.
85
With February came her death.
At first, you don’t believe it.
You think that at any moment she’ll suddenly materialize, walking in from the other room, carrying a load of laundry that needs to be done, and she’ll smile in that quiet, flirty way of hers and say, Hey, you. What are you up to?
But no.
She doesn’t appear.
She’s gone.
The death of your true love brings the cruelest of all miseries because it cannot be healed, not ever. Not really. Time might loosen its grip, but nothing can untwine the love that you have for that person when she passes away.
Passes away.
Dies.
I wanted a resurrection, something to remind me of her grace and beauty. But no resurrection came.
I cried deep and long. That’s how all of this ended. That’s what happened when the cancer won.
* * *
+++
The first few weeks were the hardest.
I found a handwritten poem tucked in her Bible. I didn’t know when she might’ve penned it, but it was worn and crumpled and it looked like something she might have spent a good deal of time with.
I bow and I rise, a child of the skies,
with glory and grace in my soul.
A broken disguise, a sudden surprise,
a heart fully, finally whole.
A secret that grows, a shadow that knows
where grace and mystery dwell.
A heaven that glows, a Savior who rose
and tumbled the towers of hell.
After reading it, I went for a long walk carrying the umbrella that we’d met underneath, once upon a time.
It wasn’t raining, and I didn’t care.
* * *
+++
Tessa wasn’t normally a ring wearer, but she wore one now—the ring her mom had given to her, the wedding band that Patrick had bought for her.
When her mom first asked her to take it, Tessa had told her there was no way she wanted it, but her mother had said, “Why would I want to get buried wearing this? I want you to have it.”
“Don’t even talk like that. You’re not gonna be buried for a long time. You’re gonna be alright.”
“Humor me. Wear it, please. It doesn’t fit me anymore, anyhow. It’s too big now.”
Tessa wore the ring on her right hand’s ring finger. Sometimes, she ran her thumb along the edge of it just to feel something solid, real, lasting, that had been her mom’s. She wasn’t sure how long she was going to wear it, but she knew she was going to keep it until the day she died.
* * *
+++
Every week after her death, Tessa and I went to Christie’s grave. The first two times we didn’t really say anything, but on the third trip, Tessa asked me quietly if I believed in heaven.
“That’s a hard question.”
“No. It’s an easy one. All you need to do is answer it.”
I wasn’t sure how to put this. “I believe in justice, and for that there must be a hell. And I believe in mercy.”
“And for that there must be a heaven.”
“Yes.”
“So you do?”
“Well, I can’t prove that heaven is real, but—”
“I didn’t ask you to prove it.”
“I know, but—”
“Do you believe?”
“Yes. I’d say that I do.”
“Mom did too.”
“I know.” Silence. “And you?”
She shrugged. “If I didn’t, I don’t know how I could ever have any kind of hope.”
I was quiet.
“So Mom’s there now. She’s not gone. Not forever.”
“That’s right.”
The air was warm, but winter’s grip was still on the city. Spring hadn’t yet been able to overcome it.
“What happens now?” Tessa asked.
We move on, I thought. We pick up the pieces and we do the best we can to make things work.
“I’m not sure, Raven.”
“Will you be there for me?”
“Of course.”
“’Cause—not that I would ever need to—but I mean, if I ever did need someone to talk to, or whatever. Someday, I mean.”
“I’ll be here. I promise.”
“Okay.”
A long pause, then she said, “I miss her so bad.”
“So do I.”
“I hate pain.” Her voice was soft and broken. “It’s almost as bad as not feeling anything at all.” She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I put my arm around her and held her as she cried.
Memento mori.
Remember death.
No, I have a better idea.
Let’s remember life.
Moments, so brief, so precious.
Mist.
A vapor that so quickly passes us by.
I didn’t know if Tessa would pull away. I half expected her to, but she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me, and I felt the warmth of her fingers as she squeezed my hand ever so slightly.
It was hardly enough to notice.
But it was enough to matter.
It was enough for now.
And I would hold her again if she needed me to, and I would do it every day after that until forever.
Because I love her.
And she’s my daughter now.
And I’m her dad.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Matt McCrory, Ashley Schwartz, Dr. Todd Huhn, Dr. J. P. Abner, Tom Colgan, Chris Grall, Grace House, Dan Conaway, Dr. Saad Al-Khatib, Dr. Kenneth E. Ferslew, Chanley Cox, Trinity Huhn, Liesl Huhn, and Sonya Haskins.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven James is the national bestselling author of nine novels including the critically acclaimed thrillers Every Deadly Kiss, Every Crooked Path, Checkmate, The King, Opening Moves, and The Queen. He has won three Christy Awards for best suspense and was a finalist for an International Thriller Award. His thriller The Bishop was named Suspense Magazine's book of the year.
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