“There’s a process involved here,” Graham said to Calvin. “We’ll stay the course. Dr. McKenna, what was your husband doing just before he collapsed?”
“He was pointing a gun at Nathan Strauss.”
“Do you feel it was your husband’s intention to fire the weapon, or had he decided that apprehending Nathan Strauss would be more prudent?”
“I have no way to answer that question,” Lauren replied. “Though I sincerely doubt apprehension was on his mind. When I reached him, he was close to bleeding to death. Taking prisoners would have been a bit problematic at that point. The last words my husband said to me were to warn me that Strauss had a knife and that there was a police radio in the wrecked Cessna. I could hear the transmissions, and I assumed my husband was trying to reach the radio and call for help.”
“So you made the decision to kill a man, even though his back was broken and he posed no real threat to you.”
“Strauss held a knife and my husband was dying from what looked like knife wounds. I’m not a medical doctor, but I say he was a serious threat.” Lauren felt her patience dwindle to nothing and her temper flared. “Let’s get one thing straight here. The threat this man posed was monumental. I killed a man that over the course of three days had shot two of my friends, one fatally. He tried to blow me up, and then kidnapped my husband as well as an FBI agent. Let’s not forget the deaths of all the people on the Pan Avia flight and of course the impending anthrax attack he was very close to completing. The man was nothing if not lethal.”
“The question on the table isn’t whether Nathan Strauss was a criminal. He clearly was. The bigger question is: did you kill him under orders from Aaron Keller?”
“That’s the most absurd statement I’ve ever heard.” Calvin shot to his feet. “We’re finished here!”
“Answer the question!” Graham fired back, his eyes fixed on Lauren. “The last thing the Israelis would have wanted was one of their own to be put on trial for terrorism.”
“A prisoner might have been a nice trophy for you, but don’t blame that failure on me.” Lauren did her best to hold her anger in check. “I think the bigger question here is the fact that the FBI, how did you phrase it? The obvious lead agency in domestic terrorist matters did virtually nothing to prevent the largest threat this country has ever faced.”
“Dr. McKenna,” Graham hissed, “you’re out of order.”
“You can go to hell!” Lauren snapped. “How dare you even insinuate that I murdered a man on orders from Aaron Keller or anyone else for that matter. I think you’re scrambling to save your ass by pointing fingers at me. It won’t work.”
“I think we should all take a break,” Calvin said.
“We’re not taking a break until Deputy Director Graham apologizes for his implication.” Lauren’s anger had boiled over. She stabbed her fingers into the table for emphasis. “You’ve got ten seconds, Mr. Graham. Then you can stop trying to figure out how to best spin this story. I’ll do it for you. I’ll walk out of here and call a press conference to explain how a Mossad agent, a civilian pilot, and a suburban mother did more to stop an anthrax attack on the nation’s capital than the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
The room went silent as Lauren and Graham glared at each other.
“Five seconds. And do I need to remind you that I have full immunity?”
Graham blinked and then cleared his throat. “Dr. McKenna, I apologize if my comments seemed insensitive. My intent here is to examine all of the options that may or may not have come into play in this matter.”
Calvin took of his glasses and used them to gesture toward Graham. “Norman, one more remark like that and this meeting will be over. I’ve known Dr. McKenna since she was finishing her doctorate. I personally recruited her straight out of MIT. Her service and patriotism is beyond reproach.”
“Mr. Graham, I accept your apology. I can’t tell you how much I wish someone else had been there to pull that trigger, or even be able to make the decision not to. I wish that an army of FBI agents had ridden in to my rescue, and that you could stand on a podium somewhere and decorate your own, but I was the only one there. I made the call and I killed Strauss. All I wanted was to get to that radio to try and save my husband’s life.”
“Excuse me,” one of the FBI attorneys seated next to Graham said, “Dr. McKenna’s comments a few minutes ago about putting the correct spin on today’s events are interesting. I believe if we look hard enough, we might have a ready-made solution to this matter. Nathan Strauss died from multiple gunshot wounds fired from FBI Special Agent Veronica Montero’s weapon. But the shots were fired by another federal agent, one who works for the Defense Intelligence Agency. In the interest of national security we would not name Dr. McKenna. We could then set plans into motion to present FBI Agent Montero as the undercover agent who was actually on board the Gulfstream. We could focus attention on the fact that even though she was injured, she made the difference in this matter. Then, of course, we’d try and not make any mention of Mossad, a civilian pilot, or a suburban mother.”
“That’s an interesting angle. Dr. McKenna, would that be agreeable?” Graham asked. “And would you sign a nondisclosure statement to that effect?”
“If it’s done with the approval of Calvin Reynolds and DIA council present,” Lauren replied. “I’d also like to minimize the impact of this ordeal on my family. If there is a way to downplay my husband’s involvement, I would be extremely grateful.”
“His name is already out there as being kidnapped along with Agent Montero. But we’ll see what we can do.” Graham turned to his people. “Draw it up fast. I want to send a statement to the White House as soon as possible.”
“One more condition,” Lauren said. “I’d like to be free to open a dialogue with Mr. Keller and personally express my thanks without any further insinuations about my patriotism.”
Graham eyed Lauren and then Calvin and finally nodded his approval.
Someone in the hallway knocked briefly and then cracked the door. “Dr. McKenna? Your husband is in his room now. You can come with me.”
“Dr. McKenna.” Graham got his feet. “Thank you.”
Lauren left the room without looking back.
“Is there any news about Ms. Montero, the FBI agent?” Lauren asked the nurse as they waited at the elevator.
“All I’ve heard is she’s out of surgery and in intensive care. She’s in critical condition and we won’t know anything for a while yet.”
Even if Montero survived, Lauren had no idea what the time frame was for the full disclosure of her husband’s secret. For all she knew, it could be happening at this very moment. She could only hope that news of Montero’s survival would somehow stop the process.
They walked the rest of the way in silence until Lauren was shown into her husband’s room. His face was pale and slack—it looked as if most of the life had been sucked out of him, but he was alive, and that’s all Lauren cared about right now. Seated on one side of the room were William and Michael. She hugged them both.
“How are you?” Michael asked.
Lauren looked down at her blood-stained clothes, “I’m fine. Tired.”
“We won’t stay long,” William said. “Michael just finished his statement and he needs to rest, so I’m going to take him home.”
“How was it?” Lauren asked. “Did they come down on you pretty hard?”
“You know, the one question I couldn’t answer is why you ran off. You left poor Buck all alone and went looking for a known killer? I knew that question was coming and as hard as I thought, I didn’t have a ready answer.”
“I know he’s upset with me. He should be. I just didn’t have time to wait for either one of you.” Lauren didn’t look forward to her coming conversation with Buck.
“Buck will get over it,” William replied. “You did what you thought was needed. And you were right. Donovan might not have made it if you hadn’t done everything exactly as you did.�
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“Were you here when they brought him in?” Lauren glanced at her husband. “Did they tell you anything?”
“No, only that the doctor would be in later,” Michael replied. “And before I forget, Abigail is at our house. Susan insisted, so take all the time here you need.”
“Well, we should get going,” William said and gave Lauren a knowing look that said she might not have much time before things started happening.
“Call if you need anything,” Michael said. “You’re also free to stay at the house. We know you’ll be spending a lot of time up here and we’re more than happy to watch Abigail.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said, touched that her friends were there for her.
After they’d left, Lauren went to Donovan. She leaned over and touched his face, tears clouding her eyes as she pulled out a chair and sat next to him and tried to sort through her emotions. She was exhausted, yet she felt supercharged, the adrenaline still pushing her forward. The sight of Donovan brought out a strange mixture of relief and resentment. If he’d simply stayed put after surviving the crash, she wouldn’t be dealing with all of these conflicting issues that she couldn’t yet fully comprehend.
She’d killed a man today. Picked up a gun and pulled the trigger without a moment of hesitation. Beyond the factual elements of the act, she felt nothing. No remorse, no relief, nothing. As if she’d sealed off the horror so it couldn’t touch her. Yet it sat deep inside like an emotional fault line, threatening to shift at any moment and cause a vast upheaval.
In the corner of the room was a television. She turned it on and immediately tuned it to CNN. She muted the volume and switched on the closed captioning. Lauren watched as aerial videotape footage of the da Vinci was shown. She read that the anthrax had finally been removed and transported to a safe location. She knew that today’s news could have been so very different; the first attempt had gone wrong, but if it hadn’t, the anthrax attack would have been a very real thing. Lauren shivered at the thought of her and Abigail, as well as everyone else downwind, being infected. The screen shifted to footage of the crashed Cessna. Lauren felt sick to her stomach when she realized that her husband had been in both airplane crashes.
Lauren thought of Strauss, and then Montero. For the first time she felt a small glimmer of kinship with the woman she’d grown to despise. Lauren had condemned Montero for killing in the line of duty, but that had all changed in the instant that Lauren had pulled the trigger and shot Strauss. Montero had lost someone she loved, and all she wanted was the truth. The last few days had been a nightmare of losing Donovan and not knowing what had happened. What would Lauren have done if she’d been in Montero’s place? What if the last few days had stretched into weeks—what level would Lauren have gone to seek the answers? Montero had resorted to blackmail. Lauren had committed murder. Montero’s actions didn’t seem quite so appalling.
Lauren heard a gentle knock at the door and she looked to find an older, clean-shaven black man peeking into the room. “Excuse me,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was told I might find Mr. Donovan Nash in here.”
“I’m his wife.” Lauren stood and motioned him to come in the room. He was tall and thin, and his suit looked expensive. She didn’t think this gentleman was on staff—but he had to have some sort of major pull to get past the security that had sealed off the entire floor. “May I help you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Nash.” The man stepped quietly into the room. “I apologize for the intrusion in what must be a very difficult time. My name is Thomas Milford.”
Lauren was struck by the man’s presence. He had the warmest eyes she thought she’d ever seen. In his left hand he held a weathered leather briefcase; in the other was a bouquet of flowers. His gentle eyes and voice made Lauren feel at ease.
“I brought these for Mr. Nash.”
“Thank you.” Lauren took the offered flowers, set them on a table, then turned back to face the stranger. “What can I do for you, Mr. Milford?”
“Please, call me Thomas. I’m Ms. Montero’s attorney.”
Lauren felt her defenses go up. Why was Montero’s lawyer here? What did he want with Donovan—unless he knew about her husband’s past and was making a play of his own before he went public.
“May we sit?” Milford asked.
“I’m fine. Have you checked on her, Ms. Montero? Is she going to be all right?”
“I just came from there. They told me it would be a while before we knew anything for certain.” Milford continued smiling, despite Lauren’s cool response. “I came to see you because of very specific instructions Ms. Montero gave me.”
“Go on.”
“Allow me to back up a moment while I explain. Ms. Montero sent me an envelope not long ago, with instructions to open it if I didn’t hear from her at specific intervals. She told me she was going on an important assignment and that the envelope contained information that needed to be addressed in the event of her death.”
Lauren began to shake and she suddenly didn’t trust her own voice.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Nash?”
“Please—just get on with it.”
“Yes, ma’am. When Ronnie called me early this morning, she instructed me to not open what she’d given me—instead to hand it personally to either her or Mr. or Mrs. Donovan Nash.” Milford reached into his briefcase and handed over an envelope. “If it was important enough for her to take the time to call me from the back of that plane, well then, I felt compelled to bring it as fast as I could.”
Lauren took the envelope, turned it over, and found a wax seal still firmly in place. She looked up at the attorney and tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“I think you should sit down, Mrs. Nash.”
Lauren nodded and absently gestured toward the other chair—the chair she hadn’t offered him earlier. “I don’t understand. She called you from the plane?”
“Yes, ma’am. She was fine when I spoke to her, so it was before she was injured.” Milford lowered his head as he spoke. “I flew up here as fast as I could. I’m her attorney, but I’m also a friend. She’s a very special woman, and it was a brave thing she did for her country.”
Lauren felt the warm rush of tears flood her eyes, tears of relief and joy. She made no effort to stop them. Somehow Montero had done what she’d promised. Lauren pressed the envelope to her chest and found Milford’s warm eyes with her own. She’d been wrong. Until only a few moments ago, she’d chosen to focus on the parts of Montero that had threatened her.
Lauren dabbed at her tears. “Please, tell me something about her, what’s your favorite part of knowing Agent Montero?”
He smiled as he thought. “I can promise you she isn’t an easy person to get to know. She’s as tough as they come—has to be, I guess, to do everything she does. A woman in a man’s world and all that, but what I love most about her is seeing her on Saturdays. Not many people know she volunteers at a shelter. It was set up for women at risk—Ronnie helps raise a lot of the money for the place. I got involved when she asked me to come down and talk to some of the women. I give them legal advice, but mostly I just listen. But my joy comes from seeing that other side of Ronnie. It’s amazing how so many of them look up to her, even though she’s a cop. I know she had her own problems growing up, but she pulled through and is giving back. She’s making a difference with some of those kids, both on and off the job. I guess that’s the part I like most, Mrs. Nash, seeing the other side of Ronnie.”
“Thank you, Mr. Milford,” Lauren said. “Thank you for sharing that story about—Ronnie. It’s nice to know a little about her, beyond her role in the FBI. And thank you for bringing the envelope to my husband. I know he’ll be pleased by your efforts.”
“Well, Mrs. Nash, I won’t intrude any longer. It was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope Mr. Nash makes a speedy recovery.”
After he’d left, her thoughts were broken by a woman’s photo on the television. It was Special Agent Veronica Montero’s service pho
to. It hadn’t taken Graham long to feed part of the story to the media. In silence, Lauren read the caption; Montero had been catapulted to the forefront as the hero who stopped the terrorist attack on D.C. The brave FBI agent was the new poster child on the war against terror. It struck Lauren that there had been no mention yet of the terrorists’ nationality, only that they had ties to the Middle East. Lauren wished she could hear the dialogue going on between Tel Aviv and the White House.
Just as William had promised, Donovan had judged the situation and done what it took to counter the threat. Lauren sat and idly fingered the sealed envelope, still amazed that Montero had done what she’d promised and let her husband go.
Donovan stirred, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked heavily, unsure of his surroundings.
Lauren was instantly at his side. “Hey there. How do you feel?”
“Where am I?” Donovan said—his voice sounded thick and dry.
“Walter Reed Hospital.”
“Thirsty.”
Lauren gently guided the straw to his swollen lips and he took in some of the cold water from the cup she held.
He sipped slowly, his eyes opening and closing. He finally stopped drinking and took in his surroundings. “Are you okay? Where’s Abigail?”
“I’m fine. Abigail is with Susan.”
Donovan looked up at the television where Montero’s picture was once again on the screen. He turned to Lauren. “Did she make it?”
“She’s still alive,” Lauren squeezed his hand. “Her lawyer just left. At some point she used the phone in the back of the da Vinci and made the call. It’s over.”
“I think she found what she was looking for.” Donovan tried to move, winced, and then laid still. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to kill him.”
“It’s over. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry for a great many things.”
Lauren looked away, not sure what she should say.
“Everything’s my fault.”
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