“And understand this, Cassidy, even if you have proof positive who the person is, do not approach under any circumstances,” Bradshah said pointedly, “That will be the Prime Minister’s pleasure. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.” Aidan was beginning to feel overwhelmed, “But, sir, I’m not a profiler, I was just a dumb sergeant with a camera when I was in the Army. And why a luncheon in my honor, I’m nobody.”
“Aidan, that’s not true, you’re‒‒” Vicky started to brag on her wife, until Aidan gave her one of those looks that said it was best just to keep quiet.
Trenton sided with Vicky, “I agree Victoria, it’s not true. Aidan is very perceptive about people, and has demonstrated as much when she got inside the terrorist’s head and foiled his attempt to blow up the hospital. It’s that instinct that we need for this mission.”
Aidan shook her head, she thought it was probably more about the fact that she was related to a Senator in the Irish Parliament, than anything else, but she wasn’t about to voice that suspicion to the President.
“Well, that, and the fact you have an aunt in the parliament,” Trenton said with a grin. Aidan blushed, wondering if he had read her mind. “And to answer your second question, Aidan, you will represent the United States as one of our most decorated heroes. Think of it as sort of a goodwill tour on behalf of your country.”
The last thing Aidan wanted to do was parade around in her medals as if she was some braggart. She believed that she did nothing more than what anyone else would have done in the same circumstances.
“Sir, I didn’t bring my medals with me and‒‒”
Bradshah reached inside his jacket and pulled out a case. Inside were the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Congressional Medal of Honor.
She looked at him, “How?”
“I had Special Agent Jerry Williams retrieve them for me before I left,” Bradshah said. “Here, I brought your badge and weapon also.” He handed her a Sig P229 in a holster.
She knew then, that she had no choice. From a sense of duty, she knew that she would agree to help. And she really wanted to meet her Aunt, and down deep in her belly, she also wanted to impress her. But her concern was for Vicky. It wasn’t fair to her to sideline their honeymoon. Aidan asked one more question before she agreed to the mission, “It’s just talking to people at the party and that lunch, right? Nothing else? Afterwards we can get back to our honeymoon?”
“Yes. Just attend those two events, meet the dignitaries and report back to Tom.”
Aidan turned to Vicky with a questioning look that Vicky recognized instantly. She nodded her agreement. She knew, for Aidan not to do this would go against everything she stood for, and Vicky would never hold her back. She was just relieved that this mission appeared to be free of any danger, although the fact that Aidan was now holding a gun, momentarily deflated Vicky’s assurance.
If this is just about talking with people, why does Aidan need to carry a weapon?” Vicky asked.
“Because she’s back on the job,” Bradshah answered. “It’s standard operating procedure.”
Vicky shook her head. “Okay, SOP I can understand. But do you expect her to carry it with her while she’s on the job?”
“I expect her to follow protocol,” he replied.
Vicky knew that what he wasn’t saying was that Aidan needed to carry it with her which meant she could be at more of a risk than either of them were saying.
“Victoria,” Trenton continued, pulling her attention away from the gun. “you are welcome to accompany her to the events as well, if you’d like?”
Vicky grinned and replied, “Oh, there was never any doubt about that, Mr. President. But we’re going to need to go shopping first. You can’t wear just any old rag to a political ball, you know.”
“As it so happens, Victoria,” Trenton smiled at Vicky, “I anticipated your needs and have arranged for a very prestigious Irish designer to put on a fashion show, just for you. Her seamstress stands ready to make any adjustments you may require.”
Vicky fought to remain professional when what she really wanted to do was giggle, excited at the thought of a new gown designed just for her. But Aidan wasn’t as interested. She thought that her tuxedo from the wedding would suffice, and luckily she had brought it along just in case Vicky wanted to go somewhere formal. But a Parliamentary Ball was way beyond her expectations.
“I’m sorry to rush you, ladies, but like I said, the ball is tomorrow night, so there’s no time to waste. There is a small Cessna plane standing by that will drop you off in Dublin. You will be met by someone from Senator O’Malley’s staff, who will take you to your hotel room. The designer will be waiting for you in the next room, Victoria.”
Aidan asked, “Sir, what about our luggage, our rental car?”
“I’ll see to that,” Bradshah answered. “You have some reading to do.” He handed her a copy of the dossier on her Aunt and the other dignitaries, and instructed her to learn all she could about the political structure in Ireland. He also gave her a laptop full of information on Ireland from its political structure, to its history, to its Gaelic language.
Trenton stood up, indicating that the meeting was over with. They all shook hands and with that, the mission had begun.
Chapter Nine
“You had me followed?” Jerry asked incredulously.
“You bought a ring?” Yvonne asked at the same time.
“You left me no choice, son. After you got out of the Army, you disappeared without so much as a letter or a phone call to tell me you were all right.”
“I’m sorry mother, I was busy.”
“Too busy for your mother?” Yvonne asked.
He turned to her, concerned how she might perceive him now, “You know, Syria, the whole stalker thing, the tornado, stuff like that.”
Yvonne nodded. She had to admit, things had been pretty chaotic lately. But just as she was letting that thought go, another thought resurfaced. The little detail about him buying her a ring was beginning to scream for attention. Her thoughts ran rampant through her mind. Could it be? Does he plan to ask me? Will I say yes? She would, she thought, but damn it, he hasn’t asked me yet.
Yvonne’s eagerness came out as frustration, “It doesn’t matter, you should never be too busy for your mother, or for the ones you love.”
Virginia was impressed with Yvonne’s straightforwardness. She’s tough on him, that’s good.
“You’re right, Yvonne. I should have made time. I apologize, mother.” “Now, what’s so damn urgent that you had to hire a private dick to find me?” Jerry was more angry with himself than his mother. He had no clue that he was being followed and the thought of that made him feel uneasy, almost violated. But what bothered him most was the fact that he hadn’t detected anyone, and that left him feeling inadequate as a special agent.
“I’m selling my business, son.”
“Why? That’s your life’s work, your pride and joy.”
“Are you going to marry Yvonne or not, Gerald?”
It felt like everyone in the room froze in place. The term, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, took on a whole new meaning for Jerry. His mouth hung ajar until he could relinquish his thoughts and look at Yvonne. This was totally not the way he wanted to approach the subject, but now he was trapped and had no choice in the matter.
“Yes, mother,” he said as he stared into Yvonne’s eyes, “I’m going to ask Yvonne to be my wife. I just wanted some more time to be sure she felt the same way.”
Yvonne’s eyes instantly filled with tears, “I do, Jerry. I do feel the same way.”
With that affirmation, Jerry got down on one knee and asked, “Then Yvonne Rogers, will you be my wife? Uh, with the clear understanding that it comes with a monster‒in‒law.” He held up the diamond ring he had pulled from his pocket and smiled at her.
Virginia handed Yvonne a napkin so she could wiped her tears aside. She replied, “Yes, I will marry you!” The restauran
t burst into applause as Jerry and Yvonne embraced in a passionate kiss.
“I do love you, Yvonne,” he said for the first time.
“I love you too, Jerry,” she said out loud, also for the first time.
“Good. Now that’s done, there’s still the matter of the prenuptial.” Virginia held the paper out to Yvonne.
***
Hearing Joyce curse at the television for the eleventh time, Ellen came in from the kitchen and asked, “Honey, are you ready for some dinner?”
“I’m not really hungry, but you go ahead and eat.”
Should I play tough cop or nice cop? Ellen was not the care giver in the family and wasn’t sure how to help her depressed wife, having never seen Joyce this dejected before.
“Okay, I’ll save you some leftovers for later.” But instead of going back to the kitchen, she sat on the couch and watched her wife.
“You’re still here, aren’t you? I can hear you breathing over there.”
“Yes, honey. I’m just worried about you. It’s not like you to give up so easily.”
“The writing’s on the wall, Ellen. And because I can’t see that wall anymore, there are some things I need to take care of. I’ve called our lawyer, he’ll be over in a little while.”
“Our lawyer, what on earth for?”
“I need to move some things around, liquidate some assets. I need to make sure you are taken care of in case I’m permanently disabled and unemployable.”
“Joyce, stop being silly. This is only temporary and you know it.”
But Joyce didn’t know it, and moving forward would help her accept what she thought was inevitable. “I don’t find anything about this as being silly. My eyes are worse and who knows if they’ll get better at this rate. I have to make sure my house is in order, just in case.”
Before Ellen could protest further, the doorbell rang. She showed their lawyer to the living room.
When he saw the mask on Joyce’s face he said, “What the hell, Joyce?”
“It’s a long story, Peter. Sufficed to say, I’m blind now. I need to go over some stuff with you to assure I don’t run out of money any time soon.”
“Peter, can I get you something to drink?” Ellen nudged him and indicated he should follow her to the kitchen.
“Yes, let me help you with that. I’ll be right back Joyce.”
“Honey, do you want something to drink?”
Joyce shook her head, and Ellen retreated to the kitchen.
“Listen, don’t let her do anything drastic. She is only temporarily blind, and the doctor said she could be better in a week or so.”
Peter looked at her, confused, “Could be?”
“There’s no way to know for sure. Just stall for time and give her a chance to heal first, before we lose everything.”
“I understand, Ellen. I’ll take care of it.”
Peter took his drink and went back into the living room. Ellen grabbed her cell phone and went to the bedroom.
She tapped on Vicky’s number, and waited anxiously while it rang. “Vicky, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some advice.”
“Of course, Ellen, is Joyce all right?” Vicky sat at the vanity mirror in her hotel room, applying her makeup.
Ellen explained about the latest diagnosis and how depressed Joyce had become. As she talked, Vicky could hear the worry and stress in her voice.
“Listen, get her into a surgery. Make something up, but just get her dressed out and into an operating room. You remember how nervous she would get when she had the flu back in college and couldn’t observe a surgery? It’s all about the heart with her. What she needs is to reconnect with that, and even if she can’t see, she can still hear and smell. Put a scalpel in her hand and remind her that it’s too soon to give up.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Ellen exclaimed, “why didn’t I think of that? You’re right of course.”
“You didn’t think of that because you’re stressed, and probably not sleeping much yourself, are you?” Vicky knew she was right because that’s exactly how she would be if it were Aidan facing uncertainties like that. “You need to take care of yourself, as much as you need to take care of Joyce.”
“It’s not easy, Vicky. She’s in with her lawyer right now, making sure she has enough money to live on in case she can’t ever see again.”
“That’s sounds like Joyce. Listen, play hardball with her, Ellen, it might snap her out of it.”
“Thanks, Vicky, I’ll give it a try.”
“Good luck, and keep me posted, okay?”
Ellen agreed, and then hung up the phone, immediately calling the Chief of Cardiac and Thoracic Surgery.
***
“Samantha, how are you?” Dr. Kline stood to the side and showed his patient in.
“Fine, doctor.” Samantha took a seat in her usual spot, on the couch against the brag wall. That’s where Dr. Kline hung all his many diplomas, so Samantha called it his brag wall. Dr. Richard Kline, head of psychiatry at St. Frances Hospital, in collaboration with the US Army, was treating Samantha for post-traumatic stress disorder from her year of being held captive in Syria.
“You’re not doing very well in group, Samantha. I’d like to see you speak up more.”
“You mean like compare notes with the other crazies, is that it, doctor?” Truth be told, listening to those sessions, and the private ones with Dr. Kline were helping, it’s just that it took her a little bit each time, to get past the resentment of having to be there in the first place. Kline recognized this in his patient and never took it personally. Instead, he asked questions that would help her get past that road block.
He ignored her remark. “In our last session we talked about dealing with the loss of your fiancée to another woman. Have you been able to come to terms with that yet, Samantha?”
“Do I have a choice? I accept it, that doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Because you still love her?”
Samantha wondered if she was ever really in love with Aidan or if Aidan was just…, convenient. No, Down deep, she knew there was love. But when Kline asked if it was the kind of all-consuming love that a person has for another person, Samantha finally admitted, first to herself and then to Kline, that it was not. She also admitted that she wanted that kind of love, and perhaps that’s what she was trying to make happen with Aidan.
“We also talked about suicide the last time you were here,” Kline said, “any more suicidal thoughts about that, or anything else?”
“I’m emotionally exhausted and morally bankrupt, that’s not very life affirming you know?”
“Emotionally exhausted I can understand. I’d be worried if you weren’t. But you are not morally bankrupt or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Listen,” for some reason that Samantha wasn’t aware of, she wanted to convince him that she was. What she couldn’t grasp was that she sub-consciously was hoping he would explain it away. “I’m a lesbian. I was born a lesbian and lived my life as a lesbian. That said, my husband and I had sex every night, forcibly at first, but…”
“But after a while you started enjoying it?” Dr. Kline knew exactly what she wasn’t saying.
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that is, Samantha?”
“I told you, it’s because I’m morally bankrupt, that’s why.” Her eyes welled up which frustrated her more.
“Have you considered it was another way for you to survive? Once you became amicable, once you showed him you were enjoying it, did the raping stop?”
“Yes, but doctor, I did enjoy it! How could I do that?” she asked, unable to stop the tears from spilling over.
“Samantha, when being raped, the body responds, even though the brain refuses. Stimuli to the body can’t just be turned on and off like a light switch. And in your case, where submission led to less pain, less exploitation if you will, you became more allowing out of necessity. So, tell me, now that you’ve been with a man for as long as you have, would you sleep with one aga
in?” Kline thought he knew what she would say, and if she answered that way, he would know that her strength, her self-assurance was growing stronger.
“Hell no! I didn’t love the man, I didn’t even like him. I visualized Aidan when we made love. That’s the only way I could enjoy it.”
“That’s very good, Samantha.” And exactly what I thought you’d say. “Very good that you could disassociate between the two. And would you consider that visualizing Aidan under that kind of stress, might be another reason why you can’t let her go?”
Samantha looked at him as the realization sunk in. I never considered that, could he be right?
“You have a great determination to survive, and I’m in awe of your resolve. That kind of resolve would not give in to suicide.”
“Oh, here,” she pulled out a sheet of paper from her jeans pocket, “I found that poem I told you about. The one I wrote when I was in Syria. It was after I miscarried with my first baby.”
Reading it over, he said, “A person could read this and think that you’re about to commit suicide, Samantha, but I read it and think that you’re desperate to live. The very fact you asked death to wait for you, means you’re not giving into death, you’re actually keeping him at bay by making him wait. Now, I realize that, in hindsight, this doesn’t help you any. But in dealing with the flashbacks, try to focus on the fact, that you will survive, you will stave off death, just as you wrote about in Syria.”
“No, I know now that suicide is not the answer. I’ve asked that question quite a few times over the past year and a half, and came to the same conclusion each time. Just like you said, I want to live. And not just for my baby, or my parents or anything like that. I want to live so I can find that all-consuming love with a woman that Aidan has. So that I can have that career I’ve been searching for. I want to live so that I can make a difference somehow.”
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