Pieces of Light

by Julie Cave

  "I understand," said Dinah gently. "But let me tell you this. You can have the hardest life here on earth, and still have the hope of heaven. But if you decide to end your life now, then that decision is final. There will be no second chance. I implore you, please start thinking of life as worth living, even if it's in jail. There is so much more to look forward to, I promise."

  Michael glanced at Isabelle, as if to gauge what she thought. Regardless of whether she thought Dinah was a crackpot or not, the ex-FBI agent knew that Isabelle wanted her brother to live.

  "Please take her advice," said Isabelle, her voice urgent. "I will never abandon you, Michael. Even if you go to jail, I'll always be here for you."

  "I have to know that there's a good reason," said Michael. "I don't want my story to go to jail with me, you know? I was not the only kid abused by his father, and grew up to be a crazy adult. We can't ignore the epidemic of child abuse. The consequences are too far-reaching."

  Dinah nodded. "Is that what you were trying to say when you sent the letters to the newspaper?"

  "Yes, in a roundabout way," admitted Michael. "Without giving myself away."

  "Listen, I think I can help," said Dinah. "I'm going to write a book, about my experiences at the FBI and now that I'm a consultant. I could write about you and your life in my book."

  Michael suddenly looked energized. "Really? You would explain everything about my father? How it affected me?"

  "Yes," said Dinah. "I happen to agree with you, Michael. There are so many things that went wrong: too many people refusing to see the truth."

  She glanced over at Isabelle. "But if I agree to that, Michael, I need you to put down your gun, disarm the bomb, and leave this house without a fight. I promise I'll stay with you every step of the way. I won't let any harm come to you. I need you to let go of the notion of dying today."

  Michael took a deep breath. "If you promise me that I'll be in your book, Dinah, I'll come out peacefully."

  Dinah let out a big breath of relief and reached across to shake Michael's hand. "It's a deal," she said with a warm smile.

  * * * *

  Sinclair appeared by Ferguson's side like a ghost and startled the big man. "Do you have to creep around?" Ferguson demanded. His good temper had vanished a while ago, and his concern for Dinah permeated every thought.

  Sinclair didn't crack a smile. "We've got a problem," he said in a low voice.

  Ferguson tensed, expecting the worst. "What? Is something wrong?"

  "Yes, but as far as I know Dinah is fine," said Sinclair, reading the other man's thoughts. "The problem is here on the outside."

  Ferguson drew his eyebrows together in a frown. "What?"

  "The two team leaders of the tactical units, Carroll and Strauss, want to mount an assault on the house and take down the suspect," explained Sinclair.

  "Yeah, I know," said Ferguson. "I told them no way, not while Dinah is negotiating in there."

  "Right. Well, they don't agree with you. Apparently, they consider her to be collateral damage."

  "They're going to defy my orders?" exclaimed Ferguson, aghast.

  "Not quite. They've gone over your head and obtained orders from the deputy director to mount an assault." Sinclair was pale. "They told him that you'd sent a civilian into the house to negotiate."

  "She's hardly your average citizen!" raged Ferguson. "How do you know this?"

  "I was eavesdropping," admitted Sinclair. "I overheard it all. Well, they're getting their teams ready to go. Here's what I think we should do. You speak to them and delay them. Get into a big argument if you need. I'll get the deputy director on the phone and explain what's going on. Hopefully, he'll rescind those orders."

  Ferguson nodded briskly. "Good plan," he said. In the bright sunlight of the afternoon, he could see the black-clad figures of the tactical team, moving around purposefully and setting up their weapons. He marched over to where they were assembled as he heard Sinclair say into the phone, "The deputy director, please. Hurry, it's urgent!"

  Ferguson was both tall and big, and he was thankful he towered over the blocky forms of Strauss and Carroll, who both looked formidable in their body armor. "What do you think you're doing?" the boss demanded, turning the full force of his glare on each of them in turn.

  Strauss sighed. "It's nothing personal, sir. We felt uncomfortable with the direction the negotiations had taken and sought the counsel of your superior."

  "By uncomfortable, I guess you mean you didn't want Harris going into that house," snapped Ferguson.

  "We don't send civilians to do the Bureau's job," said Carroll stiffly.

  Ferguson rolled his eyes. "Do you have any idea who Harris is? She was an FBI agent for many years, working in the Gangs unit. She negotiated the release and protection of high-ranking gang members. She is one of the very best negotiators I have ever known! She's hardly a civilian."

  "She's not with the Bureau anymore, though," said Strauss. "If the situation deteriorates, the FBI is put in a bad position, having to explain her presence in the house. We know that the suspect refuses to negotiate. Given that we know the layout of the house and who is in the house, including the precise movements of all three, a tactical assault seems to us to be the only option."

  "With Dinah and a hostage in there?" Ferguson exclaimed. "Are you insane?"

  "We know what we're doing, with all due respect," said Strauss, his tone becoming cold. "We will take a no-fatalities strategy."

  "You have no way of knowing how this will go down," snapped Ferguson. "You can't mix a volatile suspect, who is both armed and in control of a large bomb, with two tactical units who are heavily armed, and expect it to work out smoothly. What if he panics and shoots Dinah accidentally? What if he presses that button and the street is blown to smithereens? That hardly sounds like a low-risk option to me."

  "Well, how are the negotiations going?" snarled Strauss. "Doesn't look like much movement to me. With the media attention on us down the street, you really want this to drag on?"

  "I'd prefer it to having to explain how lives were lost," replied Ferguson.

  "Well, sir, I'm afraid we have orders from the deputy director himself," said Strauss smugly. "So we are going to execute the assault in" — he glanced at his watch — "about 60 seconds."

  "I know what you told the deputy director, and it was a bunch of lies," said Ferguson angrily. "He's based orders on your false statement. How's that going to look when I tell him why he's got blood on his hands?"

  Carroll's eyes widened, as if he were shocked that they'd been overheard. It was all Ferguson needed to confirm Sinclair's account of what had happened. "I am expressly forbidding an assault on that house," he said, in a low tone that brooked no argument. "Do you understand me? Just so we're clear: if you go into that house, it shall be considered a direct violation of my orders."

  Strauss didn't look away. "I'm sorry you feel that way, sir. We have orders from the deputy director."

  He turned away from Ferguson and called to his men: "Ready, Team One!"

  "Ready!" came a chorus of somewhat nervous voices.

  Ferguson was almost apoplectic with rage, his face turning a deep purplish red.

  "Ready, Team Two!"

  "Ready!"

  "Snipers, in position!"

  "Roger," came the reply through the radio.

  "Here's how we'll assault," continued Strauss. "I want...."

  "You might want to stop right there!" called Sinclair in ringing tones. He waved his cell phone in the air.

  Strauss would have bared his teeth at Sinclair and growled had he been any angrier. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

  "I have fresh orders from the deputy director," said Sinclair. "The order is not to attack the house and to stand down. In fact, he's on the phone and wants to talk to you right now."

  Strauss looked like his head was about to explode, amid a harmony of disgruntled mutters from the tactical units. He snatched the phone from Sinclair's hand and list
ened, a peculiar mixture of dread and disgust on his face.

  "I'm not at all happy that you misled me," snapped Wakefield. "The negotiator is hardly a naive civilian, is she?"

  "I understand, sir, but technically, she is still a civilian," protested Strauss weakly.

  "Oh, for crying out loud," exploded Wakefield. "You also mentioned that Ferguson had lost control of the situation and that he'd left the location! All of which was patently untrue!"

  "Uh ... well," stammered Strauss.

  "You and your crony better start thinking of some alternative career plans," continued Wakefield. "There is nothing more dangerous in the field than a team leader who deliberately goes over the head of his superior, endangers the lives of countless people including civilians, and lies about it to me! You understand what I'm saying?"

  Strauss gave the phone back to Sinclair.

  Ferguson waited, watching him with a triumphant expression on his face.

  Finally, Strauss looked at his men and snapped: "Stand down! Wait for further orders."

  "Well," said Ferguson breezily. "I'm glad this all got sorted out, aren't you? Guess I'll go back to running this operation now, if you don't mind." He marched off, leaving the two team leaders, both of whom looked dangerously close to emptying the contents of their stomachs under the nearest tree, to exchange a worried look and start thinking about a new career.

  Ferguson and Sinclair returned to the mobile command center and watched the glowering tactical team leaders mutter under their breath.

  "Well, that was a colossal waste of time," said Ferguson. "Now, what's happening in the house?"

  "I know what's not happening," said Sinclair with a frown. "Dinah hasn't rung in for an hour."

  "What?" Ferguson glowered at the phone, as if it were at fault.

  Sinclair lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes, which had body heat lenses attached. "And I can see movement in the house. They've all moved from the kitchen into the front room, near the front door."

  "Maybe he's letting the hostage go?" Ferguson suggested, taking up a pair of his own binoculars. He found his radio and barked into it.

  "SWAT Teams A and B, be alert! We have movement in the house near the front door!"

  With expressions that clearly said I told you so, Strauss and Carroll sprang into action. Their black-clad teams formed a protective ring around the front perimeter of the property.

  Collectively, every law enforcement agent tensed as the front door swung slowly open. Ferguson prayed there were no trigger-happy rookies in the squad today.

  The person silhouetted in the doorway was Dinah Harris. She stood with her hands in the air, in the accepted no-threat position. "We are all walking out slowly and calmly," she called, her voice clear in the still afternoon air. "None of us are armed or have access to weapons of any kind. Isabelle will come first, then Michael, then me. The suspect has assured me that he does not pose a threat to anybody."

  This didn't seem to soothe the tactical team members, who seemed to tense over their weapons even further.

  Ferguson used a megaphone to ensure his instructions were heard. "Isabelle — please come out of the house with your hands on your head. Armed officers will approach you but do not be alarmed. They will lead you to safety if you follow their instructions."

  A woman in her early thirties appeared, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty. With her hands on her head, she stiffly walked out of the house and cringed as the officers approached. They gave her a quick pat down to ensure she wasn't hiding weapons then led her to the command center, where paramedics waited.

  The SWAT teams moved in closer as Michael appeared in the door, his hands on his head. It took only a few seconds for him to be lying prostrate on the ground, five automatic weapons aimed at his head. After a search, he was handcuffed and hauled to his feet. Ferguson and Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief each, exchanging glances.

  Then Dinah appeared, calm and composed. She left the building and searched the crowd with a steady gaze as SWAT teams rushed into the house to secure it and locate the bomb. Her eyes didn't rest until they landed on Sinclair, who was watching her with a smile on his face.

  Dinah really wanted to run to him, like they did at the end of cheesy movies, and throw her arms around him. Instead, she approached the command center.

  "That was some nice work," said Ferguson admiringly. "I knew if anyone could talk him down, you could do it."

  "Thanks," said Dinah. "As usual, it was just a matter of finding out what his terms of release were. Once I'd built up enough trust, he was ready to tell me."

  "What were his terms?" Ferguson asked.

  "He wants people to know that he acted out of an anger that began many years ago, when his father would abuse him mercilessly. The anger grew exponentially when he asked the priest at his church for help. The priest didn't believe him and he was punished so badly by his father that he was hospitalized."

  "Ah. That explains why he was so angry with the Church," said Sinclair. "But why didn't he take out his anger on his father — or even men who represented his father?"

  "Even as an adult, he was too scared," said Dinah. "The man had a truly impressive psychological hold over his children. He did choose churches he felt were protecting or helping violent men, though. If you look at the charity programs the churches ran, you'll see they often catered to imprisoned or paroled men."

  Sinclair shook his head. "What a sad turn of events. But for his father abusing him, he may have grown up to be a normal human being and we wouldn't have to investigate the deaths of innocent people doing nothing more than going to church."

  "What about the humanism angle?" Ferguson asked.

  "He got the names of the churches from a lawsuit he helped draft," explained Dinah. "He became an atheist after the aforementioned church incident and joined the American Humanists Association, where his healthy hatred of churches was encouraged. That certainly didn't do his state of mind any favors. Nor did the fact that he was also encouraged to develop his own moral code, outside of supernatural influences. Given his past suffering, his moral code was skewed and he felt perfectly justified in bringing justice upon churches he felt deserved it. And that is the danger of moral relativism."

  Ferguson gave the all clear for Michael to be taken to federal prison, and they began dismantling the mobile command center.

  "What do you mean by moral relativism?" Sinclair asked curiously.

  "It's what many Americans believe is the right thing for our society," said Dinah. "Each individual decides for him or herself what is right and wrong. A moral code is subjective if invented by a human being, upon their own experiences. Michael's moral code was built upon a childhood of brutality and the absence of love, and it colored his view in life accordingly. If you believe in moral relativism, you couldn't seriously argue with this position. It seems only logical that such an individual would want to exact revenge."

  Ferguson took a few minutes to update the deputy director on the outcome, and while he was gone, Sinclair said, "I've never been so happy to see you as when you came out of that house."

  "I've never been so happy to see you when I came out of that house," admitted Dinah, a flush working its way up her face.

  "I'd like to take you to lunch," suggested Sinclair. "You can tell me all about your beliefs and why they mean so much to you."

  Dinah smiled. "Tomorrow is Sunday. Why don't you come to church with me in the morning and then we'll go to lunch afterward?"

  Sinclair shrugged. "Sounds good to me. It's not like I have to worry about being blown up anymore."

  Dinah pretended to be shocked and socked him lightly on the arm. Inside, her heart felt light, as if it would fly free from her chest in sheer joy.

  Chapter 20

  The press room was packed to capacity, and as Senator Winters walked into the room, there was a dazzling bombardment of flashing bulbs following his every move. He was joined by his lawyer, a discreet man who could be trusted to keep his m
outh shut.

  Winters stood at the podium and glanced through his prepared notes. Almost unable to believe what he was about to do, he began speaking. "Good morning. You will by now know that I've been accused of receiving improper campaign finance donations from a foreign source. I'd like to vehemently deny those accusations. I believe I am the victim of deception, designed to smear my reputation."

  He stared straight into the eye of the news camera. This one's for you, Cartwright.

  "I will not rest until my name is cleared and those responsible for this deception are revealed. However, in the meantime, because I care a great deal about personal integrity, I wish to announce my resignation as the United States senator representing the state of California. I wish to avoid any appearance of impropriety while the investigations are undertaken by the FEC. When my name is cleared, I will consider my options."

  Light bulbs flashed blindingly as reporters fired their questions at Winters.

  "One at a time," snapped Winters, barely able to conceal his irritation.

  "Why are you resigning? Many politicians before you have been investigated by the FEC for campaign finance violations but haven't resigned. It seems to be a drastic move," suggested an intense young man.

  You're absolutely right, Winters thought. It's called blackmail.

  "I don't feel it's appropriate to continue holding office when there are charges of dishonest conduct pending," he said. "That would violate my own personal code of ethics. I am confident that my name will be cleared, at which time I may consider running for the Senate again."

  "What will you do in the meantime?"

  "I'll return home to the fine state of California," said Winters, thinking, I'm going to hunt down Cartwright and Connor and personally kill them both with my bare hands. "I'll take a break and then vigorously defend my character."

  "I understand the Senate has established a House Ethics Committee investigation of your conduct in addition to the FEC investigation?" a pinch-faced woman asked.

  "I believe so," said Winters coolly. "But I have no doubt both investigations will find me innocent."