by A Rosendale
A pair of tuxedoed gentlemen gazed up from the table at two FBI agents, so obvious in their Bureau windbreakers. Dirk was surprised to recognize Agent Ramsey. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but guessed that the two diners were being questioned and potentially about to be arrested. From the way Ramsey leaned closer to them, it was clear he wanted the situation wrapped up quietly without making a scene. But the men were arguing vehemently, yelling as if intent on doing just the opposite. They gained their feet as waiters and patrons alike turned to face the tumult.
Ramsey and his partner were reaching for sidearms when, in a single fluid motion, the men overturned the table in their faces and bolted for the kitchen door.
Dirk stood and threw his chair in an overhand spin that knocked one of the tuxes flat to the ground. The other man hardly noted his fallen comrade and charged right at Dirk. He instinctively reached for a gun that wasn’t available and realized it just a moment too late. The man bowled right into him and they both toppled through the swinging kitchen door.
A well-aimed punch to the face allowed the runner to gain his feet before Dirk could scramble up. In the interim, the stranger swiped a chef’s knife from the stainless-steel table by the door. Dirk faced him, empty-handed, while the kitchen staff stared dubiously at the intruders.
Tux’s eyes flicked to the nearest prep cook and Dirk could read his thoughts. If he could obtain an innocent hostage, he’d be able to back out of the restaurant and make a clean break.
“Out!” Dirk shouted. He grabbed the potential hostage’s arm, tugged her away and shoved her toward the back door. The rough order roused the rest of the kitchen. There was an instant stampede. But the effort to save lives cost Dirk a precious moment’s reaction as Tux lunged at him with the knife. He skipped sideways, but a grease spot on the floor caught him off guard and he slipped. The sharp blade whispered through the fabric of his shirt.
The man stumbled through his failed stab and into a steel shelf behind the swinging door just as it opened. Agent Ramsey drew to a stop when he sighted Dirk, seemingly alone in the kitchen. His look of confusion was wiped clean when Tux wrapped a muscular arm around his throat from behind. The knifepoint tickled his jugular.
‘And he has his hostage,’ Dirk thought grimly.
“Gun,” the man ordered in a low voice.
Ramsey begrudgingly tossed his handgun to the tile floor.
“Agent Ramsey, I suggest you ask your agent here to kindly step aside.” His voice was surprisingly soft compared to the deadly glint in his eye.
“I don’t work for Ramsey,” Dirk replied boldly. “I work for your partner out there.” He indicated the dining room and Tux’s abandoned comrade.
The man’s brow wrinkled.
“He wanted me to take you out of the game so he could reap all the rewards.” It was a wild stab in the dark, but one that clearly made its mark. Tux’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed in anger.
“That son of a bitch!” he growled. He shot a furious glare over his shoulder to the closed dining room door.
The second of selfish distraction gave Dirk the awaited opportunity. He dove for Ramsey’s gun at the same instant the agent jerked away from the knife and out of Tux’s grasp. Dirk’s two shots were perfectly placed in the man’s shoulder and he went down with a cry. Ramsey wasted no time handcuffing him, despite the pained gasps and fervent cursing. He hauled Tux to his feet and shoved him through the swinging door into his fellow agent’s arms.
“You!” Ramsey said, reentering the kitchen almost instantly. He held a hand out for his gun, which Dirk passed over after flipping the safety on. “Who the hell are you? And don’t feed me a bullshit line about some reporter from Boston!”
Dirk allowed a grin and shrugged. “I’m an innocent bystander that would rather stay out of your official report.”
Ramsey raised a brow. He studied the man who’d saved both his case and his life. After a long silence, he nodded. “Okay. At least let me buy you a beer for your help.”
He shrugged again. “I’ll never turn down a beer.”
The FBI agent plucked a pen and a business card from his breast pocket, scribbled on the back of the card, and passed it to Dirk. “This place. Give me…” He glanced over his shoulder, estimating the work that remained. “…an hour.”
Dirk nodded once before Ramsey disappeared. He waited ten minutes for the scene outside to calm before discreetly gathering his notebook, jacket, and bag. Then he exited out the kitchen door.
* * *
Ramsey wished he hadn’t picked such a dark, smoky bar to meet in. He had a hard time finding the strange man. His efforts were made more difficult by his suspicion that this man was used to blending in. Finally, after combing the bar and surrounding booths, he discovered a dark corner booth with the stranger already seated against the wall, where he was almost invisible.
“How did your arrest wrap up, Agent Ramsey?” Dirk asked.
“Fine, thanks to you.” He no longer wore the FBI jacket, but instead a suit similar to Dirk’s. And, like Dirk, he tossed his sports coat in the corner before sitting down. “You alright?” He motioned to the tear in the mysterious man’s salmon-colored shirt. “Looks like that bastard got you.”
Dirk waved the comment away. He’d noticed the slight crease along his ribs after leaving the restaurant. It wasn’t bad, but he was certain Alma would notice it with her acute observational skills. He swirled the whiskey on rocks in his glass and took a sip while a waitress asked Ramsey what he’d have. He doubled Dirk’s order.
When they were alone again with amber liquid floating before them, Ramsey said, “So, who are you? Really?”
Dirk had turned things over in his head for the past hour. Where professional protocol decreed that he keep his identity a secret, even from other government employees, a gut instinct told him to trust the FBI agent. “My name is Dirk Travers. I work for the CIA.”
“CIA?” Ramsey didn’t seem entirely surprised, but he thought over the news for a long moment, studying the man opposite him intently. “And Anitov?”
Dirk looked at him blankly.
“The man you helped detain at the restaurant,” Ramsey clarified.
Dirk shook his head. “I was just enjoying one of my favorite restaurants. My meal was rudely interrupted by you and your partner.” His stern words were accompanied by a light smile.
“Then Johnson…” He faded out as a far-fetched idea struck him. “Johnson,” he continued slowly, stringing the pieces together. “I received an anonymous CIA report on his activities, which led to…the biggest arrest of my career.” Certainty entered his tone as he gazed at Dirk, whose expression was unreadable. “That was you. Which is why you were at the appeal today.”
Dirk sipped his whiskey silently in the shadowed booth.
“Good God!” Ramsey exclaimed excitedly. “I owe you my career! And tonight… You saved my life!”
“Don’t get all wishy-washy,” Dirk said quietly, casting a quick glance at a nearby table. Ramsey’s fuss was bound to draw attention.
“Sorry!” His voice hushed immediately. “It’s just… Wow! I can’t thank you enough!”
“Don’t mention it.” In an effort to change the subject, he asked, “What does your wife do?”
Ramsey stared in utter shock, assuming some supernatural ability bestowed on CIA operatives.
Dirk grinned and motioned to his wedding ring.
He sighed in relief. “She’s a nurse. Yours?” He glanced at the hand encircling the nearly empty whiskey.
“Marine biologist. Kids?”
Ramsey laughed. “No. No time. You?”
“A son.”
“Must be hard to work with them on your mind. It’s hard enough on my wife.”
He nodded. “My wife is incredibly supportive, but you’re right. Things have changed since our son came along. The stakes are higher, you know?”
Ramsey agreed and waved the waiter for another round. They talked until last call.
“Again, Dirk, I can’t thank you enough! And I know my wife would say the same! If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Dirk considered the notebook in his bag. “I might take you up on that.”
“Anything!” Ramsey reiterated. “You or your family, anytime!”
“Thank you.” Their parting handshake was sincere.
* * *
“How was your quiet night out in D.C.?” Alma asked while they got ready for bed the next night.
Dirk scoffed. “Less quiet than expected.” He peeled his T-shirt off and turned to face Alma’s anticipated frown.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the bright red stripe across his ribs. Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard and motioned for him to explain
Dirk grinned at her pretended disinterest. He got under the covers beside her and briefly described the encounter.
“You met the FBI agent that arrested Johnson?” she said incredulously.
“Yeah. Pretty crazy, huh?”
She nodded and lapsed into thought. “You said you were working on what to do if or when Johnson gets out. Any progress?”
He frowned and placed a hand on her leg. “It’s a work in progress. But…”
“Go on,” she urged, squeezing his hand.
“Agent Ramsey offered his help, if we ever need it. I think we can trust him.”
Alma sighed worriedly.
“Hey, we don’t have to worry about Johnson right now. We’re okay for another five years. Who knows what will happen in five years?” When her expression didn’t fade, he continued light heartedly. “I mean, think about five years ago. Did you ever think then that we’d have a little monster running around?”
His efforts paid off and the corner of her mouth lifted a little. “Monster?”
“I meant child,” he joked.
He was rewarded with a gentle laugh and felt her relax under his touch.
Chapter 42
Winter in Russia was brutal. Dirk loathed assignments in Russia, but this one was especially ruthless. He was bundled inside a rented car, staked out in the snow-packed streets of St. Petersburg, waiting for his target to brave the elements. He hadn’t felt his toes in three days and had yet to actually set eyes on the official he was supposed to be observing.
Tired, cold, and cranky, he answered his ringing cell phone with fewer pleasantries than normal.
“What?” he demanded amidst a shiver.
“Dirk, it’s Christian.”
He hadn’t heard his friend’s voice in months. They kept in touch and coordinated on odd assignments here and there, but weren’t quite as close as they’d been while living in Boston.
“Hey. I’m out of the country. Want to grab-”
“Dirk, Alma called me.” The younger man’s tone gave Dirk pause.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“It’s Cooper. He’s in the hospital. Alma is freaking out and, well, you know Alma. She doesn’t freak easy. Something is really wrong.”
Before he was even done speaking, Dirk had turned the ignition, put the car in gear, and was skidding through the icy streets toward the airport. “I’m leaving now. Please tell Alma I’m on the way. Thank you, Christian.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.
* * *
The hospital room was eerily silent. Despite the two beings occupying it, the only sound was the faint beep of monitors and hiss of oxygen. The walls of the pediatric wing were decorated in bright blue with white clouds, but it did nothing to erase the grief that filled the room. Dirk’s breath caught in his throat. His boy looked so tiny and fragile in that big, white bed.
Finally, he forced his feet to carry him inside. Alma was curled into an armchair, a children’s book open in her lap. He ached to brush the hair off her cheek, but didn’t want to wake her. She looked exhausted and melancholy, even in slumber. He looked down at the book.
‘And while she rocked him she sang:
I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be.’
Dirk’s heart ached at the words of one of Cooper’s favorite books. He had so many memories of Alma’s sweet voice singing those words as Cooper fell asleep. His knees weakened and he staggered to the bedside.
“Oh, Coop,” he whispered, touching his son’s pale cheek. At home, when he performed the same action, Cooper’s eyes would flutter and he’d hum pleasantly in his sleep. But now, there was no reaction.
Dirk scooted onto the bed and ran his fingers gently up and down the boy’s arm, just like he did when putting him to bed. The iciness in his fingers was deceiving. He couldn’t decide if the chill came from his own cold fingers or Cooper’s.
* * *
The sounds of shift change echoed through the halls, even in the pediatric ICU. Alma must have felt the flow of activity in her sleep. She woke up all at once, as if her maternal instincts were jumpstarted by a new day. She automatically closed the book, tugged her cardigan tight against the chill in the room, and stood up.
“Dirk!” she exclaimed in surprise.
He came to his feet with a strained smile.
“Dirk,” she muttered again and fell into his arms. A cascade of tears she’d not allowed to fall suddenly burst. Her trembles vibrated through him and he buried his face in her hair.
“Let’s go get some breakfast in the cafeteria,” Dirk suggested as soon as her sobs subsided. She nodded against his chest, took a moment to gather herself, and stepped away to wipe tear streaks from her cheeks. She kissed Cooper’s cheek and took her husband’s hand.
Dirk frowned at the meager helping of oatmeal in Alma’s bowl, then decided he didn’t really have much of an appetite either. He hadn’t eaten a full meal since leaving Moscow two days ago, but suddenly eggs and bacon lost their appeal and he ended up copying his wife’s order.
They sat at a table in the empty cafeteria and stared silently at their food for a long while.
“Christian got a hold of you,” Alma muttered. It was unusual for her to restate the obvious, especially in such a bland tone.
“Yes. I dropped everything. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner! What happened?”
“He had a high fever and a terrible cough and couldn’t keep anything down. The doctor couldn’t come up with any answers and sent us home.” She shook her head. “I should have just come straight to the hospital. I…” Tears welled in her tired eyes again.
Dirk reached for her hand. “It’s not your fault, Alma.”
She didn’t meet his eye and wiped furiously at the tears. “Right now, they’re saying he has septicemia, an infection in the bloodstream. The team here thinks it may have started as pneumonia.”
He swallowed hard and nodded understanding. “It’ll be okay.” The words were forced and they both knew it.
They lapsed into silence and pushed watery oatmeal around their bowls for twenty minutes before giving up and heading back upstairs.
Dirk regained his perch on the bed while Alma stood at the window, gazing at the sunrise over Portland. She turned around to watch Dirk looking lovingly at their son, holding his tiny hand.
“You can talk to him,” she said quietly. “He wakes up sometimes, but he told me he likes it when I talk or read to him. It makes him feel less lonely, even when he’s asleep.”
He frowned, then cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy. It’s Dad.”
Alma sat down and drew her legs onto the chair. In normal circumstances, she loved listening to Dirk talk to their son. Now, with his gentle tone, ridden with heart-wrenching emotion, it was painfully sad.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got sick. I know how hard it is to not feel good. But, between me and you, your mom is the best nurse in history. And look at these books!” He had noticed the pile of children’s books on the bedside table. “All your favorites! And read by your favorite person!” His positive tone faded and he squee
zed Cooper’s hand. “Coop, you’ve got to fight this. You’ve got to! For Mommy! Buddy, you can’t stop now. Mommy needs you!” He swallowed hard and his voice quieted to a whisper. “I need you, bud.”
Alma bit her knuckle to keep from crying. Her phone vibrated with a phone call and she silently unfolded herself and stepped into the hall.
“Hello?”
“Alma, have you…”
“Mom? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Have you heard from your dad?” Ava asked. Her voice betrayed unfamiliar anxiety.
“No. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Um… Your dad took the boat out on Saturday and he’s…he’s…” She choked on an uncharacteristic sob. “He’s not back.”
Alma’s heart cracked further and she found it hard to breathe. Dirk appeared at her elbow. Without a word, she thrust the phone at him. Unable to handle yet another distressing situation and unable to offer her mother any comfort, she retreated to her son’s bedside.
Dirk’s expression was grim when he returned ten minutes later. He motioned her back to the hallway. “Your dad went missing three days ago. There’s been no sign of him or the boat. Ava’s called out the locals and the Coast Guard.”
“Mommy?” a tiny, unrecognizable voice called.
The conversation instantly dissolved and they rushed into the room.
“Daddy!” Cooper exclaimed weakly as Dirk leaned over him. He reached IVed arms up to wrap around his father’s neck and Dirk embraced him tightly. His little four-year-old body seemed thin and frail.
“Hey, Coop,” he greeted. After a minute, he let him settle back on the pillows. “How do you feel?”
“Okay,” he answered meekly.
“Seriously,” Dirk pressed.
Cooper shrugged in a very Dirk-like gesture. “I’m tired. And I hurt.”
He nodded sympathetically.
“You sound better today,” Alma commented.
“I think I feel better.”
“Good!” his parents said together.
“Are you hungry, sport?” Dirk was ready to harvest bacon and eggs himself if his son asked it.