Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected

by Vikki Kestell

  That night, after Ksenia was sleeping soundly, Tobin pulled a chair close to Laynie. He needed to be near her in private, even if she was sleeping. He wanted the privacy to watch her without anyone watching him. To pray over her. To tell her how he felt and what he wanted.

  Tobin had spoken to her doctor and obtained his permission before he bought the sweet-smelling lotion. He poured some into his hands, rubbed them together until the lotion was warm, and oh-so-gently applied the lotion to her hands. She sighed in her sleep as he did the same for her feet—although he was taken aback when he encountered a recently healed injury on her ankle. After washing his hands, he warmed more lotion and dabbed it on her scalp, tenderly massaging it over the numerous scabs—courtesy of Gupta’s madness.

  If Laynie had wakened, she would have heard him whispering, “Now, Father, you know this ol’ country boy loved this girl’s hair. It was her crown of glory. And you know that if I think on it too much, I’ll start hating that old hag, Gupta, for what she did to Marta. Bella. Er, Laynie.”

  He sighed. “Sorry, Lord. I shouldn’t have called Gupta a hag, even if she was one. Well, I forgive her, Lord. I do. I forgive her and ask you to be merciful to her, because I figure she’s standing before you right now with a heap of sins to account for. Besides, my Marta’s hair ain’t her. I love the woman she is, Lord, hair or no, and that’s the gospel truth.”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the hospital commander, on hearing that a non-military flight had landed for emergency medical care, decided he should pay the patient a visit. A cheerful and efficient military bureaucrat, he walked in unannounced while Tobin and Ksenia, in her pink flannel nightie, were sitting with Laynie.

  Tobin stood to greet the man. Ksenia, leery of everyone in general—even Tobin—but all the more of anyone new, hid herself behind Tobin’s bulk.

  The administrator offered his hand to Tobin. “Colonel Cooper Swift, Commander of Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.”

  “Quincy Tobin, US Marshals Service.”

  Swift’s glance passed from Tobin to Laynie’s bed then returned to Tobin. Jinked back to Laynie in a startled double take.

  He lowered his voice and whispered to Tobin. “Good God—was this poor woman pulled from a gulag or a POW camp?”

  Laynie may or may not have been sleeping, and she may or may not have heard the visitor’s hushed question, but Tobin didn’t much care either way. The stillness that came over him was so profoundly dangerous that Ksenia—who was fine-tuned to danger—felt it and her eyes widened.

  She also didn’t understand what the visitor said, but she saw how Tobin reacted to it—which, if it concerned Laynie, was good enough for her. She moved to his side and peered up at his face, took in the steely contempt fixed on the stranger, and assumed the same fiercely protective expression.

  Tobin took hold of Colonel Swift’s arm. “I’ll just see you out, Colonel.” He steered and half-pushed the man to the door and out of the room.

  “Ow!”

  “That couldn’t possibly have hurt.”

  “Not you. Her. She kicked me!”

  “Did she now? Wonder why.” Tobin gave the girl a quick, approving squeeze.

  Swift looked from Tobin to Ksenia and back. “Uh, I suppose we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  “I suppose.”

  “My apologies. Terribly unkind and unprofessional of me. Is there anything I can do for you? Get you?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Ksenia had already picked up on “yes” and “no.” She parroted Tobin perfectly. “No.”

  Tobin gave the girl an approving nod. They were in complete agreement.

  Swift tried once more. “I, um, I could arrange for a visit from the chaplain?”

  Tobin exhaled. Got himself under his usual control. “That would be appreciated.”

  THE CHAPLAIN APPEARED within the hour, and caught Laynie during one of her awake spells. The gentle old man read a Psalm over her, prayed for the three of them, told a few jokes that Laynie translated to Ksenia, and generously loved on all three of them.

  He even knew a bit of Russian and drew Ksenia into a sweet and simple conversation where he assured her that God loved her, that she was safe, and that she could come to him any time if she needed anything—thoroughly earning Tobin and Laynie’s respect and gratitude.

  “Anything,” the chaplain reiterated.

  “Anything?” Laynie asked.

  “Within my power? Absolutely.”

  Laynie, Tobin, and the chaplain then spoke a while longer, although Laynie’s part of the conversation was mainly nods and short, murmured phrases due to her fatigue.

  “Well, it’s going to be tricky,” the chaplain declared at the end of their visit, “but I’ll do my best.”

  WHEN LAYNIE WASN’T sleeping, Ksenia and Tobin urged her to eat. The infection, however, seemed to have stolen her appetite. That is, until Tobin brought two milkshakes up from the cafeteria. He gave one to Ksenia and coaxed Laynie to take a sip on the other. She held the soft sweetness in her mouth a moment, swallowed, and her taste buds sprang to life.

  She sucked the shake down in record time, giving herself “brain freeze” twice. Afterward, she begged for a hamburger.

  “Now, that’s the Bella I know,” Tobin laughed.

  Ksenia on the other hand, had never had a milkshake. Or ice cream for that matter. When she was discharged and each day thereafter, Tobin took her over to the base commissary and bought her a different flavored shake. He might have bought her two in a day, but he’d never tell Laynie. And although Ksenia loved to try new flavors, she learned how to say “black cherry,” declaring it was her favorite.

  SURPRISINGLY, WOLFE remained with them in Germany during the six nights Laynie was hospitalized. He commandeered an office on the base and busied himself with numerous phone calls and reports.

  His first call when they arrived at the base was to Broadsword. Richard gathered Bo, Harris, and the members of the task force in the conference room where, on speakerphone, Wolfe spoke at length on Laynie’s rescue, the condition they had found her in, how long she would require treatment, and their tentative return date to the States.

  Interspersed between his normal duties back in DC, several of his other calls were to the US State Department where he used his considerable influence to clear the way for Ksenia to enter the US with Laynie, and to arrange with the Russian commandant in Groszy for the “kafir women,” including Asmeen and Mariam, to be returned to their homes and families. Other calls and emails were with Fenelli and Cossack as he followed up on the fate of the surviving AGFA soldiers.

  Certain details proved surprising, but all things considered, quite satisfactory.

  WHEN LAYNIE WOKE ON her fourth day in the hospital, she found Ksenia dressed in jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. Ksenia had seen a different world on the base, a world where girls her age wore pretty things and their faces and hair were seen by all.

  On her daily visit to the commissary with Tobin, he had taken her to the teen clothing section and motioned that she should select a few items. Tobin had, without comment, bought whatever she brought to him.

  Laynie drew the girl close to her. She touched Ksenia’s long, curling brown hair. She ran her fingers along the curve of her cheek, studied her serious eyes, the same shining color as her hair.

  “You are so beautiful, little daughter,” Laynie murmured.

  Ksenia leaned into Laynie’s embrace and wept. When Laynie sought Tobin’s reaction, he’d turned his back to stare out the window. But Laynie thought she’d heard a suspicious little catch in his throat and saw him swipe at his eyes.

  A few minutes later, he dragged a chair to Laynie’s bedside. Pulled a pocket New Testament from his coat.

  “Now that you’re on the mend, thought I could read aloud, and you could translate for Miss K here. She’s a-catchin’ onto English fast as a brush fire, but maybe we could start with you translating.”

  Laynie peered into Tobin’s hea
rt. “Start?”

  “Sure. We should begin as we mean to go on—shouldn’t we?”

  Then it was Laynie who was sobbing.

  TWO DAYS LATER, AFTER a last but important visit from the chaplain, Laynie’s doctors released her from the hospital. Laynie’s arm was in a sling and would be for a while, but when she, Tobin, Ksenia, and Wolfe boarded Wolfe’s jet for America, she walked across the tarmac and up the stairs on her own.

  Wolfe sat far forward in the plane when he made the call he’d been putting off. The rear of the plane, with Laynie, Tobin, and Ksenia laughing over Uno or Old Maid, was too rowdy for this conversation.

  He’d waited on this particular call, not out of an overabundance of caution, but to provide a timeline he was confident in.

  KARI THORESEN PICKED up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Thoresen? Jack Wolfe calling.”

  Kari’s heart nearly stopped. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady herself. To surrender her will to God. Again.

  Father? I need not fear. You are my ever-present help in time of trouble.

  She caught Søren’s eye. “Yes, Director. This is Kari Thoresen.”

  Søren reached his arm around Kari, undergirding her, adding his strength to hers.

  “Ms. Thoresen, I made Laynie a promise before she left on her last assignment. I promised her Christmas with you—with her family—at your home in New Orleans.”

  Kari’s mind snagged on the phrase “her last assignment” in Wolfe’s preamble and jumped from one numbing assumption to another, colliding with the worst conclusion imaginable.

  “Ms. Thoresen, I’m calling to ask you to please pack up your family—”

  Lord, please help me to trust you in this moment.

  “and return to New Orleans.”

  Kari sobbed against Søren’s chest.

  Please, God, not again! Not another funeral!

  “Ms. Thoresen, I’m keeping my promise to Laynie. In three days, I’m bringing her to you.”

  THE TWO CARS WOUND slowly up the road to Broadsword. Tom Parker drove Wolfe and Seraphim in the lead vehicle while Harris drove Laynie, Ksenia, and Tobin in the second. The men at the checkpoint called ahead to let the task force know.

  Harris pulled alongside the gym, and Tobin got out. He opened the front passenger door and helped Ksenia out. She glommed onto his side like she was a magnet and he was her steel. He swallowed her little hand in his bear paw. She smiled up at him, trying to hide her nervousness.

  “It’s okay, squirt.”

  He continued to hold the rear door while Laynie slid slowly across the seat.

  A thousand things bumped and jostled around in her thoughts, so she sat there, at the door, delaying getting out. She was nervous, too, so she patted the scarf twined around her head. She wasn’t used to it, but some sort of covering was necessary. She felt the absence of her hair in every frosty winter breeze but also in every curious glance or outright stare.

  I see their pity. They think I have cancer. I don’t, of course. I just don’t have any hair. Gupta cut it off.

  Laynie exhaled. I forgive her, Lord. Again. I’ll forgive her as many times as I need to until it “takes.”

  Besides, my hair will grow back.

  I think.

  In a month, it should almost be respectable.

  But it will never be long again.

  Sure it will.

  Not like it was.

  Give it time.

  Time.

  She didn’t know whether it was the cold or the fact that she’d be facing her team in a matter of moments, but an icy shiver rippled down her spine.

  My team. They will have so many questions.

  My team—are they? Are they still my team? Told them I’d be back in five days, but I’ve been away . . .

  She kept telling herself it had been less than eight weeks since she departed Broadsword.

  Her heart knew it had been a lifetime.

  A life. A death. A resurrection.

  I don’t have to imagine how Lazarus felt, walking out of that tomb.

  And I am coming back with Ksenia. My new life will be—it must be—different going forward. Should probably stick to intelligence gathering. No more field work.

  Because I have a daughter to care for now.

  Things to “figure out” with Quincy.

  SHE BLINKED AND WAS standing in the gym doorway, not certain how she’d gotten there. Her task force stood in the bullpen. Staring. Waiting. She wouldn’t look at their faces—that would be a mistake. If she did that, if she watched their reactions, she would be undone before they began.

  Can’t have that.

  A wide-eyed Ksenia peeked out from behind Tobin’s protective bulk. And he had his hand under Laynie’s elbow. Nudging her forward.

  Because I keep stopping. Blanking out. Might be a while before I stop doing that.

  Laynie gently removed Tobin’s hand and, keeping her eyes at chest height, walked toward her team.

  “Hey, everyone. Sorry I’m late . . . getting back.”

  The intake of individual breaths wasn’t simultaneous, so Laynie heard their shock like an undulation, one slow gasp following another, ending in a single, whispered curse word with an exclamation point.

  That last was Brian—and not Jaz for a change.

  Jaz reached her first, and the familiar scent of anise twitched Laynie’s nose. Jaz said nothing, just stretched her arms around Laynie, careful of her arm, and hugged her. Held her. Laid her head on Laynie’s shoulder. The others came then. Many arms encircling her. A great wall of love molding them together.

  Jaz whispered in Laynie’s ear. “We thought you were dead, Bella. When we knew you weren’t, I prayed. First time, really. I prayed he would bring you home.”

  Laynie nodded slowly. “Guess he heard you, huh?”

  “Yes,” Jaz sobbed. “He did.”

  “Guess you and I will need to talk about what that means, hmm? You know, if God is real and all.”

  Jaz wiped her eyes, smearing liner and mascara. “Yah, I figured.”

  Tobin caught Laynie’s wink and brought Ksenia toward the knotted lovefest. Laynie pulled Ksenia to her and turned her around so that she was nestled under Laynie’s chin.

  “Everybody? I’d like you to meet someone. This is Ksenia.”

  The team studied the girl and, one by one, greeted her. Overcome, she dropped her eyes.

  Laynie whispered in Ksenia’s ear, and she smiled. Then Laynie said, “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just ask it straight out. How would all of you like to be honorary aunts and uncles?”

  Gwyneth gave a little squeal. “I knew it! I knew it! You’re going to adopt her, yes?”

  “Yes, and we want you-all to be part of her life, too.”

  “Does that mean you’re staying, Bella?” Vincent asked.

  “Whew. I’m glad you asked,” Rusty exclaimed. “I was getting myself all psyched up for the ‘it’s been great and all, but it’s time for me to move on’ speech.”

  “Of course I’m staying. Quincy, too—but as of today? I’m swearing off field ops.”

  “I vote for that!” Jubaila called from behind Soraya’s shoulder. “I can’t take any more nail-biters.”

  “Yeah, me either,” Soraya said.

  “No more nail-biters,” Laynie promised. “So, what do you think, Uncle Brian?”

  He grinned. “I can roll with that!”

  “You, Aunt Jaz?”

  Jaz had stepped back. “Dunno about the honorary stuff. I don’t do Aunt Jaz.”

  Ksenia, her eyes wide, walked away from Laynie, straight up to Jaz and pointed at her purpled-tipped hair. “Mader, look! Black cherry!” She touched the purple strands and giggled.

  Jaz stared into Ksenia’s soft brown eyes, shuffled her feet, looked again. “Well, I guess maybe Aunt Jaz could work . . .”

  Laynie hugged Jaz. “Thank you. I’m so . . . so very grateful for you, for this team, for so many things.�
��

  Worship bubbled up in her chest. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, my Jesus, you’ve been so faithful to me. Thank you for bringing me—bringing us—home.”

  “Yah,” Jaz added, “I . . . agree. Um, so be it.”

  WOLFE AND SERAPHIM stood aside until the emotion of Laynie’s homecoming subsided, until Bo and Harris took Ksenia to meet Broadsword’s horses, and the team realized Wolfe and Seraphim were waiting on them.

  While Vincent posted two conspicuous signs on the boards, the team took their usual seats and settled. Wolfe had told Tobin and Laynie that he had business to wrap up and news to report to the team, but they hadn’t heard it yet.

  “Okay, people,” Wolfe began. “Before I release all of you for a much-deserved three-week vacation, I want you to know how all your hard work and dedication shook out.

  “And,” he pointed to the signs Vincent had posted that read CLASSIFIED BRIEFING, “although I shouldn’t have to remind you, I always will. This is a classified briefing. Nothing of what you are about to hear or any subsequent discussion is to leave this room. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was a unified response.

  “Very good. The first point I’ll make is that we in the intelligence world rarely get to wrap things up with a nice little bow on top. This is one of those quite rare moments. AGFA’s third and most devastating attack on the US never materialized because the US Coast Guard took possession of the carfentanil shipment the moment it entered US waters.”

  He looked around the room. “You people averted that disaster. You figured it out and you suggested I meet directly with the Ukrainian mob to resolve the crisis. Because of you, the poison has been safely disposed of.”

  He cleared his throat. “You will receive bonus pay and there will be commendations—all classified, of course, but bestowed and received nevertheless—along with additional funding for this task force. And from myself and from those far above my pay grade? A hearty well done.”

  A roar of delight erupted through the room. It went on until Wolfe raised his hand.

  “As for AGFA’s US-based jihadis, I have it on good authority that they are off the board.”