by Amy Briggs
So, I stayed.
Epilogue
Six months after the incident in Washington, D.C., I was on my way home from work when Ethan called.
“Hey babe, how was your day?”
“Good, yours?”
“Not bad. Are you on your way home?”
“Yeah, I was going to stop and get some food on my way. What are you up to?”
"I'm going to be at the office for another hour, unfortunately," he said.
"Long day. How’s it going there?" I asked. He started a new position and was settling in. It had been a bit of an adjustment, but he seemed to like it.
“It’s not bad. I still don’t know exactly where they find these kids. It’s like they’ve watched too many movies, and think they’re gonna go out in the field like Jason Bourne or some shit. It’s not like that. I mean it is, but it isn’t. You know what I mean.” He laughed.
“I know what you mean, but just think about how young you were when you got in, and how little you knew.”
“As always, my love, you’re right.”
“I know,” I joked, unable to stifle my giggle.
“So, you’ve had a busy day of helping protect the country, and I’ve had a busy day training children to protect the country. What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to cook dinner and take a hot bath, I think.”
“Is there room enough for two in there?” he asked, a sexy tone in his voice emerging.
“I think we can make that happen. You’ll be home in, like, an hour?”
“That’s the plan. But for the bath, I might be able to make it in forty-five minutes.”
I laughed. He always made me feel so wanted. “I’ll see you at home then.”
"I love you, Kallie."
“Love you too.”
I hung up and smiled the rest of the drive home.
Ethan put in for a transfer to the Texas office of the CIA the Monday after I left Washington, D.C. It took a little while to go through, but he was now officially in charge of the trainees for the CIA's Clandestine Services, Texas division. Texas has over fifteen different bases that work with investigations, and a trainee program that was looking for fresh blood, so the timing seemed to be serendipitous.
He moved in with me two months ago, and it's been nothing short of amazing. I would have never thought, in a million years, that I'd meet the love of my life after a one-night stand, that turned into us being partners, and stopping a crime in progress. That's the kind of thing you'd read about in a novel.
But it's our life. And we love it.
The End
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Sarah
It had been almost a year since Egypt, and I still struggled every time I had to fly anywhere on the continent of Africa. I’d been on the DFW to London route the last two weeks, but the airline was insistent that I return to other international routes after my time off. I hadn’t taken any vacation, and in fact, after the situation in Egypt, I returned to work more quickly than I should have because I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Rayne Jackson, the flight attendant I was kidnapped in Egypt with, had moved to Ft. Hood where her boyfriend, and also one of the men who saved us, was stationed, and ended up taking a job with a different airline. I missed seeing her. She was the only person who understood the sleepless nights, the terrors, and the uneasy feeling I had everywhere I went after that. In fact, I’d been considering finding a different job, but didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d been a flight attendant since right out of high school. My mom was a flight attendant, and in serious stereotypical fashion, she’d married a pilot; my dad.
Everyone knew what had happened to us, and I couldn’t get past the fact that every time I flew, I felt like the other flight attendants just looked at me with pity or with something that resembled fear. Like my experience would rub off on them or something. Getting kidnapped by terrorists in a foreign country isn’t a disease you could catch, but it did often feel like an ailment to me. I guess I couldn’t blame them; I felt bad for myself half the time too, and even somewhat guilty for making it awkward for my colleagues.
Since I never completely unpacked because of flying all the time, I took the dirty clothes out of my suitcase to wash, and packed some casual clothes for my trip. I’d been to so many wonderful and exciting places in the world, but I was spending my vacation just outside of Ft. Hood. Because I had overwhelming anxiety consistently, and Rayne and I had become close after our ordeal, she invited me to spend a week with her. She had been doing so well after our ordeal, and she thought it might be a good opportunity for me to talk to her therapist, which I really didn’t want to do, but it was also a chance to let loose where I’d feel safe. It would be an opportunity to talk, have some girl time, and rest. I wasn’t sleeping well anymore, and while I did everything I could to prevent it from affecting my job, I was growing resentment every day toward travel and had started to become a hermit when I wasn’t working. I just never felt safe anymore, and no matter what I did, or how I prepared myself for doom, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming fear. Just reminding myself of it as I prepped for my trip gave me goosebumps and a nauseous feeling.
I’d done a lot of research on how to get past traumatic events. I knew it was in my head; nothing bad happened to me other than what I saw. I felt like an asshole, and guilt overwhelmed me for having so much trouble getting past it. I didn’t even have it as bad as Rayne and she was adjusting well. For Christ’s sake, she had been moments away from being raped, and somehow she’s achieved normalcy. The whole thing made me feel inadequate at best, and I hoped the week away would help bring me down off the ledge I felt I was always teetering upon.
I had a therapist - if you could even call him that - in Fort Worth, where I lived, and while he gave me drugs for my anxiety, which mostly just put me in a state where I didn’t give a shit about anything, he wasn’t particularly helpful in terms of finding a way to get out of the mud. That’s what it felt like. It was like standing in sludge all day. I couldn’t move. My heart rate would increase. I couldn’t make decisions. I was lucky I wore a uniform and that most flights were the same, no matter what. It took the guesswork out of deciding what to bring on my trips. I stopped going on tours, and I stopped exploring cities, which are the reasons most of us become a flight attendant in the first place. I mostly stopped growing, which made me sad. But I truly didn’t know how to fix it; I’d lost my motivation to do much of anything, except show up for work.
When we were kidnapped - or rather, became hostages - we didn’t realize it was happening until it was too late. We’d agreed to go on a “sightseeing tour” with some strangers, albeit Americans, and assumed they’d taken the necessary precautions, like vetting the tour company. It turned out they hadn’t; they’d fallen for what was a common trap for robbing tourists, but it became much worse. On one of the stops of our tour, we’d been led to a room to explore, and unfortunately, never let out. After being led from room to room over a period of days, Rayne was taken away by herself, and a bomb was detonated in the room that I’d been left in.
Almost every night, I woke up in a panic, hearing the sound of the explosion. It had happened for me in slow motion; I saw the terrorists bring in the box and set it in the middle of the room where the women I was segregated with were. I knew something bad was going to happen, and thank God my flight attendant emergency training kicked in. I gathered as many people as I could to huddle behind a couch we flipped over quickly. Just thinking about it still makes my ears ring.
Shortly after that, some Americans, some kind of special forces team, rushed in and helped us escape. I frantically told them about Rayne and they were able to save
her, but she had a long recovery too. When we talked, she seemed cheerful and excitedly invited me to come stay with her for a few days.
As hard as it was to leave my house for anything but work, I thought it would help to spend some time not working, and not holed up at home. I didn’t want to feel the way I did, and I hoped it wasn’t a mistake.
Chapter 2
Colin
We returned from our mission over a week ago, and I was already anxious to get back out in the field. I loved my job. I was born to serve my country, and with the current international climate, working in counterterrorism was better than I could have dreamed of. I helped destroy terrorism one mission at a time, and even if I couldn’t talk about what I really did all day long, out in the scorching desert, I knew it was God’s work. It didn’t matter to me that we’d be gone for long periods of time, to the most dangerous corners of the world. I was saving American lives, and I was ready to get back to it.
“Yo man, want to get out for some drinks tonight? My sister has a friend coming to visit and thought it would be nice to get out. We could use it too.” Chase Jackson, my fellow soldier and friend, leaned over his desk in my direction.
“Hmm, that could be cool.” I thought it over. “Beats sitting around here waiting for our next mission. When are you heading out?”
“I think she gets here this afternoon, so maybe late happy hour, like seven?” he replied.
“That sounds good. Who is this friend of hers? Is she a flight attendant too?” I asked. I had met Rayne, Chase’s sister a few times. She was pretty cool. Her boyfriend though... He was obviously special forces, and when he was around, he just studied everyone like a hawk and didn’t really engage much. He wasn’t especially friendly, not like Rayne always was. Typical of special forces guys though; they were really only tight with their team.
“Yeah. In fact, this is the flight attendant that was kidnapped with her in Egypt,” he replied solemnly.
“No shit. Did she make out alright?” I’d heard some of the stories about their rescue around the base, but what officially happened was top secret. What was on the news was only a snippet of the full story, of course, it always was. That’s how National Security works. You can’t just go around telling your enemies what you’re up to.
“I have no idea, actually. I’m guessing she is. She’s coming for the week or something and Rayne said they could use a night out. That is the extent of my intel,” he chuckled.
“Alright, yeah, I’m down. I’m getting antsy anyway. A few drinks and a night out wouldn’t kill me,” I replied. I didn’t really get out that much, which was fine with me. I was about serving my country, doing my job, and not much else. While we weren’t special forces, we were often deployed with them, or near them, in parallel missions to assist in the intel gathering and such needed to defeat the enemy at hand, whoever that may be. So, we could have to leave at a moment’s notice as well, and it kept us from laying down too many roots. I never felt like I was missing out though.
Some of the guys in my circle had found wives to come home to, but I didn’t see how that made any sense. Leaving someone behind that would worry about you, or that you would worry about yourself. I’d heard too many stories of wives running around on their men while they were deployed, and I had heard just as many stories of guys coming back different people. This didn’t just apply to the men; I’d seen some of our female soldiers get themselves into some jams too. I never thought I changed much from mission to mission, but I didn’t have to answer to anyone but me. I had no one to impress socially, and I liked it that way.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what happened to this chick, or why she’s coming to Ft. Hood for a vacation, but I suspect she’s got some issues, so let’s not lay it on too thick tonight, alright cowboy?” Chase pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in my direction.
“Are you implying that I’m some kind of a ladies man, Jackson? Because if you are, you’d be right,” I laughed heartily. While I was never looking to settle down, I did enjoy the company of the ladies from time to time, and never had an issue finding one when I wanted to. I was always honest in my intentions though, and never led anyone on. My mother didn’t raise me to be a douchebag; I just didn’t see any point in settling down.
“Yeah, something like that,” he chuckled. “Just don’t be a dick, okay?” He gave me the side eye again, and went back to his computer.
“Yes sir,” I barked, getting back to my analysis as well.
We were investigating some douchebags over in Qatar, but had come up empty on intel all day, so when it was finally quitting time for the day, I was relieved. On most days, I would go home, crack open a beer, and study. I had been learning Arabic so I wouldn’t keep needing a translator, and learning a new language in your thirties was harder than training for a marathon. I spent the greater part of most evenings over the last few months listening to audio programs constantly, to train my brain to translate. It was an exhausting endeavor, but ultimately made me better at my job, and I figured that when I retired, a CIA job might present itself, allowing me to continue serving my country after my prime.
“You want to meet us there? I’m going to go home and change and shit,” Chase asked as we walked out to our cars.
“Yeah, sounds good to me. Just let me know when you’re headed out,” I replied.
Giving each other a half salute, we parted ways. When I got home, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and stood in the small kitchen, leaning against the cool tile counter. That first sip was always the most refreshing, and I felt my body temperature decrease slightly, relaxing me. The Texas sun was hot, and while I was hardly out in it for very long, it could wear you down fast.
I was born and raised in Texas, and my parents had a ranch about an hour away from the base. I didn’t go home as often as I should, but I thought of it often. Growing up, we had to bail hay, work the fields, you name it. In the hot Texas sun. I grinned to myself, just realizing that the places I traveled for my country were also hot and dry. It must have been in my blood. I took another long sip of my beer before making my way back to the bedroom to get ready.
I had bought myself a small ranch house near the base, and while it had more bedrooms than I needed, I liked having the space. I had a huge bathroom off of my bedroom, and I’d turned one bedroom into an office where I studied and sometimes worked, and the other into a spare bedroom that was never used. Visitors didn’t tend to come, I wasn’t here much, and truth be told, there was no one to come visit me really. The only friends I had, I’d met in the service, and even those guys were all over the world. Chase was the only person I ever hung out with since being here, and that was fine by me. I’d always been a bit of a quiet guy. An observer.
My mom thought I’d become a writer, which always made me laugh, but if I thought real hard about it, she was on to something. I loved reading, and always took a ridiculous amount of notes studying or in classes. In most of my classes, I was the only one writing the whole time. It’s how I retained information. If I wrote it down, I’d almost never forget it. As I emptied my pockets on the counter in the bathroom, a crumpled up yellow scrap of paper was among the change and other bits of paper. I unfolded it, scanning over it. Sarah Kennedy. That’s all it said. That was her name. I wrote it down when Chase had said it earlier that day and must have stuffed the sticky note into my pocket. As I set it down, something told me I’d likely never forget it.
Portia
Sitting at the computer, I forced myself to blink a few times, eliminating the dryness staring had caused after hours of reading over my new case file. Contrary to what most people think, as an FBI agent, my boss doesn’t drop a big file on my desk and tell me I’ve got a new case. He emails it to me and then we chat later, once I’ve reviewed it. My position entailed investigating current government cases in other branches of federal law enforcement. It definitely wasn’t my dream job, or why I joined the FBI in the first place. I wanted to fight actual crime; run my own investi
gations. Instead, I was sent to check in on investigations that were taking too long, where something seemed unusual, or if another agency needed assistance. The latter was generally the case.
This time, I was being sent to check in on an undercover agent for the DEA, Davidson Kelso. He’d been working on a case involving drug runners, and had already been undercover for six months to infiltrate the operation.Now, the DEA didn’t have enough manpower to stay on top of a case that not only seemed cold, but had been going on for what they deemed too long. In Texas, the DEA was busy. Between drug smuggling, human trafficking on the border, and gun running, they were up to their eyeballs in criminals, and needed the extra manpower. Government agencies, particularly law enforcement, were almost always hiring; people were always moving from one section or branch to another, looking for the sweetest assignments.
I’d been at this particular station and doing this job for almost five years when the Kelso case came to me. It was a pretty straightforward gig. I’d track him for a few days, then make my presence known to him, so we could meet up and I could get a better of idea of where the case was going. I’d either offer the FBI’s assistance in moving it along if it seemed feasible, or I’d report back and get further instructions from my superiors. Simple and easy.
The rare occasion did happen, every now and again, where an agent was so deep undercover that they had no way out, and a case was cold. Bad intel, or simply the head of the illegal activity changed the plan; anything could happen.
Generally speaking, undercover operatives from any of the federal branches had enough experience to get themselves out of a jam, so if things were going south, they were either turning crooked - which was always a possibility - or they didn’t have the support they needed from their superiors. With watchdog groups always on the lookout for any opportunity to drag the feds through the mud, in the media or otherwise, much of the top brass had dictated that we’d all help each other out in an effort to keep patriotism and crime fighting the mission. So, we did whatever we had to in order to support other units; or agents, for that matter.