by Jack July
“I’ll be out in a few.”
He walked out shaking his head as she flipped up the lid on the leather ottoman, pulled out a scrambled SAT phone and dialed. Tatiana answered the phone. “Hey, hold on.” She could hear a baby screaming in the background. “He’s been fed, he’s been changed, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Take him for a walk on the beach. That usually calms him down.” Then Amy heard a door shut. “That child is the most stubborn, moody thing I have ever been around. He gets it from his dad.”
Amy laughed. “Yeah, that’s where he gets it.”
Tatiana let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, peace for once. How are you?”
“Not good. There is something wrong with me.”
“Is the baby okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine.”
“She? It’s a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God. There will finally be a girl good enough for Karl to marry.”
“I’m serious; there is something wrong with me.”
“One only needs to know what you do for a living to know that.”
“Are you finished?”
“You’re really serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, talk.”
“I was on a mission…”
“You went on a mission while you’re pregnant? My God, Amy, what were you thinking?”
“Look, I have had my ass chewed for the past three days. I don’t need it from you, too.”
“Bogus?”
“Yeah, and Adele, and when I hang up with you, probably Liz.”
“The baby’s okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m not. I got burned pretty bad.”
“Oh, that hurts.”
“Yeah, the constant pain has stopped but there is something else. I don’t remember much of it.” She paused. “No, I don’t remember hardly any of it. Adele hinted that I killed a Romanian mob boss and his family.”
“OH SHIT! THAT WAS YOU?”
“Apparently.”
“And you don’t remember?”
“No. Well, some of it, then I just sort of, well, blacked out.”
“Alright, call Adele and tell her the truth. She’ll get you some help.”
“What, a shrink?”
“If that’s what you want to call it. You need to get that time back. You need to know what happened.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. It’s over, I think I can let it go and move on.”
“Bullshit, that’s not how it works. Amy, you really need to—”
“I SAID NO!” There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I yelled at you. I don’t want to go through that. Can I just call you? Talk to you?”
“Sure you can, you know you can. But I really want you to think it over. Your head has to be one hundred percent engaged or next time you may not make it home. I really want you to consider it.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“Hey, did you know Luther was Lancelot?”
“Yeah.”
“Adele and him were in the same room.”
“Oh, wow. He didn’t kill her?”
“I thought for a moment he might.”
“Adele killed the woman Luther loved.”
“I know, I read it in her story. Her name was Nina. She was KGB, wasn’t she?”
“They suspected it, but only Adele knows for sure. She did the interrogation and she won’t tell. Luther never believed she was.”
“The classic honey trap. The Russians are masters.”
“Yes they are. Hey, Brandon’s back and I have to take care of Karl. Call me soon, okay? Think about what I said.”
“I will, thank you. I love you.”
“And I you.” Tatiana hung up the phone then looked out the window. Brandon and Karl were still on the beach. She had a tough decision to make. Would it be a betrayal? Would she understand? Tatiana made her decision. Her love for Amy was more important than her friendship. Tatiana picked up the phone and dialed. “Adele? It’s Tatiana. Our girl has a problem…”
Moments later, Amy took the same furtive look at the phone. Then she dialed.
“The White House, how may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to the President.”
“Name?”
“Amy Zielinski.”
“Please hold.”
Three minutes later, “Amy! It’s so good to hear from you. Are you doing well?”
“Yes Ma’am; feeling better everyday.”
“And the baby?”
“She’s doing great.”
“Good, good. Now, young lady, just what were you thinking?”
Amy closed her eyes and thought, Here we go again.
Chapter 5
Two weeks before the fire
After the divorce, Francine took her divorce settlement and moved to Key West, Florida. She bought a small one-bedroom house and allowed a tan, muscular fifty-year-old artist to move in. He smoked weed and eventually, so did she. She had never felt so free, relaxed and unencumbered by the shackles of being a Marine officer’s wife. She also started painting and sold her work on the street to tourists. John was not pleased. He called her a whore in the land of fags and drifters. John had moved to the Philippines and bought a small house. While he was criticizing her, he was watching a nude sixteen-year-old girl clean his house.
Francine knew about the plan Mia and Cindy had to adopt a child and had been waiting for a phone call that never came. They were supposed to have been home in three days. She decided to fly to Long Island. It was her grandson, after all. She took a taxi to their house and saw they were not home. Mia had given her a key and the alarm code, so she let herself in. The cats looked a little thin, so she fed them and gave them water. The plants were also wilting a bit, so she watered them. It was at that moment she felt a sense of dread. Something was wrong.
Francine called the police, who referred her to the FBI. The FBI referred her to the State Department. The State Department said they would look into it. Three days later there was still no word, so she called John.
“John, I need your help.”
“I’m not giving you any money.”
“No, it’s not that. Cindy and Mia are missing.”
“Just because she doesn’t call you everyday…”
“No, John, I’m at her house. They went to Romania to adopt a child almost two weeks ago. They were supposed to be back in three days. Their luggage is missing. They still haven’t returned.”
“Romania? Whose dumbass idea was that?”
“Damn you, does it matter? They’re missing. Don’t you know any of those secret spy people?”
“A few. You had better be sure before I start making calls.”
“Do you really think I would call you if I wasn’t afraid?”
He gave that some thought. “Okay, I’ll make some phone calls.”
“Call me; let me know what you find out.”
“I will.”
“You get my, um, our daughter back. You get her back, whatever you have to do.”
“You really think there is something wrong?”
“I’m her mother. I feel it.”
For the first time in the conversation, John began to worry too.
John hung up and called his old friend David Gist, Secretary of Defense. John explained the situation, Secretary Gist asked, “Are you sure, John? I will turn on the machine over this. Once it’s turned on, it can’t be turned off.”
“David, my daughter and her, well, partner are missing in Romania. There is something wrong.”
“Okay, I speak to the president in an hour. I’ll bring it up.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
“Semper Fi.”
“Semper Fi, thanks again.”
The Secretary of Defense stood in front of the president relaying the concerns of Cindy and Mia’s family. The president leaned back in her chair with a puzzled look
. “Did they call the FBI?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Huh, how about the State Department?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nobody got back to them?”
“No, ma’am.”
She reached up and hit a button on the phone. “Stevie? Would you please get Sec State and Director Murray on a conference call with me, ASAP?”
Two minutes later they reported in. “Gentleman, I have a question. Four days ago an American mother called the FBI and the State Department, concerned about her missing daughter and her daughter’s partner who failed to return from Bucharest, Romania. I’m sure the names Cindy Patrick and Mia Stanton mean something to both of you, correct?”
Silence as both men hoped the other would speak. “So am I to gather that neither of you know anything about two missing American women?”
In unison they replied, “No, ma’am.”
She locked eyes with Secretary Gist and he bit the inside of his mouth so hard it drew blood to keep from smiling. He enjoyed watching the bureaucrats get kicked around. President North stood by her people and was kind and forgiving about things out of their control. However, ignoring or abusing the people that paid the bills? Oh, hell no. The president could hear assistants scrambling in the background before she spoke again. “Director Murray, what does the “I” in FBI stand for?”
“Investigation, ma’am.”
“Secretary Danforth?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why do we maintain embassies in other countries?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is your mission?”
“Well, um, to interact with host governments, local business and non governmental organizations, the media and educational institutions, and private citizens to create positive responses to U.S. policy and the U.S. in general. Mission staff report on political and economic issues that affect bilateral relations and possibly impact the U.S. directly, help U.S. businesses to find partners and customers, and sponsor American scientists, scholars, and artists to promote professional, educational and cultural exchanges.”
The President’s face turned red as she leaned in at the speaker on her desk. Her voice registered just below a shout. “Wrong, Secretary Danforth. Your number one mission is to assist Americans abroad. All else is a function, not a mission. Gentleman, you have twenty-four hours to tell me all about Mia Stanton and Cindy Patrick. You will both call Francine Patrick, apologize, and tell her you are on it. Any questions?” More silence. “Thank you.”
The President hung up and looked at Secretary Gist. “You think I was too hard on ‘em?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Any thoughts?”
“I would get Director Harris involved.”
“Good idea.” She smiled at Secretary Gist. “And that’s why you are standing here with me and they’re not.”
Five Days before the Fire
The phone beeped on Amy’s bluetooth; she hit the button. “Hello.” Adele made it quick. “Busy?”
“Sort of.” In the background Adele could hear the scraping of gears, the roar of a big diesel engine and a clearly panicked old southern gentleman.
Mr. Randolph had fifty years of experience behind the wheel of a big rig. Amy’s brother Joseph asked him to teach Amy how to drive. He was regretting it while yelling, “Geetcha another gear! Hurry up! We’re going downhill. Yer gonna keel us both!”
Amy pulled the gearshift in the Mack from ninth into eighth gear with a grind then a clunk and hit the button on the jake brake. He was teaching her to “float” the ten-speed (that is to shift it without the clutch.) A combination of the engine brake and air brakes slowed the truck hauling forty thousand pounds of coal as she made the turn. “Jesus Christ! Ya cain’t go that fast round a corner. Yer gonna flip us over!”
“Yes, sir.” She turned her attention back to Adele. “Yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
Adele laughed. “Now what in the hell are you doing.”
“I’m learning to drive one of my brother’s semi trucks.”
In the background Adele heard, “Stop sign, stop sign, STOP SIGN!” Amy was saying “Whoa,” under her breath as Mr. Randolph was yelling, “Yer lockin’ up the TARS! Yer gonna ruin ‘em! WE CAN’T STOP THAT FAST!”
“Sorry, Mr. Randolph.”
“I’m kickin’ your brother’s ass when I get back to the terminal fer doin’ this to me!”
“Why in the hell are you doing that? Career change?” Asked Adele.
“No, I’m bored.”
Adele could hear the gears scraping in the background as Amy was trying to go up through the gears. Mr. Randolph had another suggestion, “I suggest you get off that phone and concentrate on what you are a doin’. You’re tearin’ up the transmission.”
“Yes, sir, just give me a minute.”
Adele laughed again. “I’ll make it quick. I have something for you.”
“No, sorry, Bogus would lose his mind.”
“Got a couple of women missing in Romania, need you to take a look. I got you a little help from Romanian Intelligence. FBI and State are already looking. Nothing active, just go look around.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep, make a few friends, learn another landscape, if you find anything, call in the troops.”
“That’s it?”
Mr. Randolph pointed down the road, “IT’S A TURN, SLOW DOWN! FER GOD’S SAKE, THIS THING WILL TURN OVER!” More gear scraping as Amy tried to downshift. Mr. Randolph reached for the shifter. “Now ya gotta push in the clutch and hit the speed.” He could hear when the engine speed matched the transmission speed and slid it into gear. “Let out the clutch.” Amy let it out, a little too fast. The deceleration threw them both forward in the seat. “JESUS WOMAN, EASY WITH THE CLUTCH! Yer gonna leave the drive shaft in the middle of the road.”
Adele heard it all and laughed. “You having a hard time?”
“It’s not as easy as I thought.”
Mr. Randolph railed in the background. “Well, hell, it ain’t easy, it’s a skill. You thinkin’ we all idiots or somethin’?”
“No, sir, I don’t think that.”
Adele was still laughing. “You’re gonna get in trouble with the teacher. Should I call back?”
“No, ah, what do you say we call this a training mission?”
“Yep, fine with me. You leave in a couple of days. Liz is personally involved. Your mission dossier will be delivered before you leave. Be safe, honey.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amy hung up. “Hey, Mr. Randolph.”
“What?”
“You got two more days to teach me how to do this.”
“Good Lord, you’re a killin’ me. I’m goin’ to see your Uncle Jack and get me a jar. I need a drink.”
Amy giggled, leaned over and playfully punched him in the arm.
Chapter 6
Twenty-two Days After the Fire
Three weeks after returning from Romania, Amy’s burns had mostly healed. However, her mental wounds kept her enveloped in a light shadow of gloom. Those closest to her were the only ones who noticed the shadow. Her easy warmth had cooled, and her words became clipped and critical. Most noticeable was the increase in the amount of time she spent alone. As days went by, her attitude only worsened. Early Saturday morning, Amy walked down to the barn, set up her deer target and stood back about 30 yards. She lifted her custom Black Widow recurve. Leon watched from the porch with interest as she set up for the shot. Feet shoulder width, body perpendicular to the target; she seated the arrow on the rest, nocked it and lifted the bow. This was a shot she had made with relative ease in the past. Leon heard the chair creak beside him.
“Well, son-in-law, how’s she doin’?”
Bogus shook his head. “Physically she’s fine, but I don’t know. Something is clearly bothering her. I try to get her to talk but, ah…”
Leon nodded, “But she’s stubborn as an old mule.”
“Ye
s, very much so.”
They watched as Amy fired arrow after arrow toward the target, repeatedly missing, and not by a little.
Leon looked over at Bogus. “Well, least she can hit the broadside of a barn. If she’d relax her shoulders, stop jerking the string and lift her elbow, she’d hit something’.”
Bogus nodded. “Why don’t you go tell her that.”
“She ain’t hearin’ nothing right now.” He rubbed his chin. “Never seen her miss with that bow, not like that, not that close.”
After the fourth trip to retrieve the arrows from the hay bales stacked against the side of the barn, she stopped, dropped the arrows on the ground, and with a baseball player’s swing, smashed the bow on the side of the barn, over and over again until all that was left in her hand was the top limb.
Bogus commented under his breath, “That’s new.”
Leon tipped up his coffee, drained it and looked over at Bogus. “I think I’m gonna go see Jack, let Carla Jo make me breakfast and let you handle this.”
“Yes, thank you so much.”
Leon patted him on the knee and stood up. “Good luck. You gonna need it.”
Amy threw what remained of the bow into the burn barrel and stomped back to her house. She stomped up the steps and saw Bogus. She figured out he had viewed her little tantrum. She looked at him shamefaced and said, “Don’t you say a word.”
She reached down for his hand and gently pulled him off the chair. “Come on.” She led him to the bedroom and shut the door.
A couple of hours later, Bogus lay next to her on his side. He played with her hair, a perplexed look on his face. Their lovemaking had always been playful, passionate and intense—two athletic people caught up in moments of giving each other their all. This had been different. Amy had become aggressive and rough. It was the type of sex that bordered on violent. Now she looked placid. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. And she seemed relaxed for the first time in a long while. However, that would change quickly. Bogus whispered to her, “That was interesting; would you like to talk about it?”
She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “Interesting? What do you mean, interesting?”