“Des. You look like shit.” He says as I walk in.
“Thanks, boss. I appreciate your pep-talks. I really do.” I say, returning his smile.
“They didn’t make me management for nothing. Take a seat. I just need to finish typing up these notes. It’ll only be a minute.”
The time he spends staring at the screen and typing gives me a little time to get my thoughts together, though I’m a little distracted by the typing itself. It always amazes me when someone who basically does paperwork for a living doesn’t know how to touch-type. I watch him hunt and peck as I work out how I want to approach this with the other part of my brain.
He makes a show of finishing, pushing the keyboard towards the screen like a patron signaling the waiter he’s done with his plate. “What can I do you for this fine morning, Des?” Dawkins’ warning comes back to me, but it doesn’t gel with the apparent mood I’m seeing.
“I’m ready to get back to work and I have some thoughts on the syndicate case.” I say.
He looks at me, leaning slightly back in his chair. “You know you’re not on the syndicate case anymore, Des, and you know the reasons.”
I’ve already got my answer for that one queued up. If he’s really pissed, though, I know that I’m about to see it.
“I don’t have to be on it, but I wanted to share my thoughts with you, Alex.” I say, using his first name hoping for a little bit more personal appeal. I can see him want to immediately dismiss it, but there’s some hesitation. Perhaps they have even less to go on than even I had thought?
“I’m listening.”
“Well, I was up in Duluth and…” I begin.
“What the fuck were you doing up in Duluth, Desjardins?” Cisneros says, and I can hear a little edge coming into his voice.
“The truth?” I ask.
He looks at me, shaking his head. “I have a bad feeling about this, but go ahead.”
“Investigating.”
“God damn it, Des.” He says, though the anger in his voice is soft, like a parent chiding a child for something they knew they shouldn’t have done. “You know the Bureau’s stance on that.”
“Strictly non-confrontational and information-gathering only, Chief.” I say, using the buzzwords like candy to steer the conversation where I want it to go.
“And…” He hangs the word in the air.
“And I think they have an informant in the Bureau.” I lie.
This changes everything in his face the way that I knew it would. “What makes you believe that?” I can sense that he wants to believe me, but I’m not entirely sure why.
“It’s just something I’ve put together from my conversations with Calhoun.” I say. “Nothing definitive and nothing that would have been worth putting in my reports, but it’s a hunch.”
Cisneros is an old-school agent, and I know that despite the Bureau’s thoughts on ‘hunches’, it would resonate with him. I can see it in his eyes that it does.
“So spill it.”
“Calhoun was only caught because he went back for something. It’s got to be more than a coincidence that the agents on scene had been out on another call when he got there but had come back earlier than they had suspected.”
“Are you saying he knew their schedule real-time?”
“I’m only saying it to you.”
Cisneros rubs his hand absentmindedly as I watch the thoughts working their way through the process.
“It’s also more than a coincidence that the flaws in our internal security system made it so easy for him to just walk out the door.” The added statement seems to be the one that tips the scale in my direction.
“Anything else?” He asks. He’s not ready to agree with me, but I know he’s leaning on the edge of it.
“I think the only way we’re going to flush Calhoun out is to close the books on him, at least electronically.” I’m not a hundred percent sure how Reed is going to make it to his destination, but this will be key to helping. The flag on his passport will show up anywhere his identity is checked.
“You think he’ll make a mistake if we’re not looking for him, or at least thinks we’re not looking for him?”
“I do. From there, I think I can convince him to hand over the rest.” I say, watching the head start to shake again. “Off the record, of course.”
“You know we can’t do that, Des.”
“It’s the only way. He’s a pretty sharp guy.” It’s one of the few truths that has come out of my mouth so far. “We have rapport.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday Morning – Reed
This time it’s the Capelli. It’s not one of the ships we use, but I met the captain a while back through Crispus and we had hit it off fairly well. The accommodations aren’t as nice, but I’m certainly less worried about unwanted visitors. The empty cargo container isn’t comfortable, but the steady hum of the engines beneath me are a satisfying sign of progress towards my destination. Des and I didn’t discuss formal plans, just generalities. She had mentioned that it was the best way to go if anything happened, and I tend to agree with her. If she doesn’t know what I’m planning, she can’t tell anyone else. Actually, I’m still working it out. If she is successful at getting the FBI to close out the case on me, I know I can convince Gladys down at the Stockholm General store to overnight my passport to me in Sault Ste. Marie. Hopefully I’ll be able to use it to fly out of Canada before any shit hits the fan. Her journey, other than the FBI part, should be easier, and that makes me feel better.
The gentle vibrations are relaxing my tired body, so I’m pacing frequently. I can’t miss the lock and my chance. It’ll be a relatively long drop, but I’m hoping to minimize the swim by jumping ship as close to the lock as possible. Passing through at nightfall, which I hope the timing will allow, will be even better. The pacing is keeping me awake, but it’s doing nothing for my brain, which keeps going back to Des and the time we spent together. Oddly, though, I seem to be intermixing the relationship we have now with the relationship we had at the time; fixing the errors that I had made that only allowed us to really connect yesterday.
___
“So what’s for dinner tonight?” Des asks me.
“Lady’s choice.” I say as she emerges from the locked basement. “You cooking, or thinking take-out?”
“Do you cook?” She asks, smiling.
“Not a bit.”
“Well, neither do I.” She brushes past me, heading for the living room where we’ve been binging on streaming television for the past few days. I can’t help but noticing that even the poorly-sized clothes I bought her don’t encourage me to keep my eyes off her, but I constantly remind myself that it’s not happening. That would be the last thing I need added to my already lengthy list of potential charges.
“What sounds good to you, then?” I ask, plopping down next to her.
“Well, I’d love to go out, but I’m sure that’s out of the question.” She grins.
I laugh. For a woman who has been kidnapped, she has a remarkable ability to keep her sense of humor going.
“I’ll pick up some meals from Roadhouse.” I say. We’ve been mostly eating fast-food and she’s probably as sick of it as I am. “How do you like your steak?”
She looks up from the remote. “Bloody as hell, of course.”
“I should have figured.”
There’s a brief moment where despite my anxiety over the whole situation, I’m happy. It’s an odd sensation and it just seems so wrong. She’s looking towards me with a smile, a smile that’s reflected all the way into her eyes.
___
That may have been the moment for me, I realize, listening to the muffled sounds of horns from the lake outside. It was probably the moment that I accepted the fact that I loved her, even though I knew there was no way we could be together. It had happened, though, right?
In 20-20 hindsight, going back to the fantasy, I lean in and kiss those perfect lips. She seems stunned, at least th
at’s what her initial response tells me, but slowly those lips start to come to life. Her breathing seems to have stopped, caught on that last breath before we touched. I feel them slowly part as her hand goes to my neck as it deepens. I feel her tongue gently testing the waters, meeting it with my own.
“Reed.” Des whispers.
I silence her with my lips, not wanting to let her raise any new doubts; doubts that had wasted so much of our time already.
___
My head jolts up, realizing that I’ve fallen asleep, so I clamber back to my feet, taking a look out of the container door. It whines with a metallic squeak as I crack it open. The darkness makes me realize that I’ve slept longer than I had initially thought. Slipping out of the container, I make my way to the railing, searching the Northern shoreline of Lake Superior for the landmarks that I’m not really sure that I’ll recognize. The lights are appealing to me because they mean freedom; at least freedom of a sort. Nothing will matter until I can be with Des again, hopefully for good this time. The one day we spent in each other’s arms has done nothing but make me want her more; make that perfect day permanent.
The air is actually bracing, and I’m imagining the chill of the water that I’m expecting myself to face, sometime soon. I’ve always been a strong swimmer, but this is something I’ve never done before. A judgement of the distance to the shoreline is hard to make in the darkness, but I know the entrance to the lock will likely be the shortest distance. The black waves below give me doubts, but I don’t really have any other options.
Back on the floor of the container I’m wide awake, but the memories keep coming back to me. In my mind’s eye, we’re sitting at the table closest to the water at the little lakefront restaurant in Panajachel I had described to her. Lake Atitlán had been my favorite place in the world from the moment I first visited. From the restaurant, we have a beautiful view of the clear sky, the three stunning volcanos that were the remnants of the lakes formation in the background; San Pedro, Tolimán, and Atitlán. Apparently, my memories of it had been so strong that they had passed to her, setting that as our escape plan.
I can hear the engines slowing, so I depart the container once again. The shore is closer and we do appear to be slowing, but I still can’t accurately judge the distance. What seems like just a few hundred yards could easily turn out to be a mile or so. The choppy waters won’t be very forgiving. While I can knock out a mile in the pool easily, an open water swim is an entirely different animal.
“Fuck.” It’s the only word I allow myself, alone there on the stern of the ship as I look down into the water that I’m going to experience in a moment. I kick off my shoes, tying each through one of my belt loops. I’m going to want them later, as well as my clothes. They’re relatively tight-fitting, so I’m hoping they don’t slow my progress down too much. As an afterthought, I tuck my socks deep into the shoes; if they don’t make it, so be it.
There are two types of people in the world; those that test the water with their toes and those that just say the hell with it. I’ve always been the latter, which is probably why I’m in this situation in the first place. My last thought is of reuniting with Des as the wind hits my hair. The fall and the night and the waves swirl around me. My crossed legs help absorb the impact as I hit the water. I feel it like I’ve just jumped off the roof of a house, a dull bang that spreads out across my body. Opening my eyes, I see nothing but darkness as my body is buffeted about by the turbulent waters of the container ship’s passage.
Relax.
It’s a word I repeat to myself over and over as I allow the simple passage of time that will tell me which direction is up. Fighting the maelstrom is something I learned as a kid to never do. My lungs are aching and I’m finally kicking my way to the surface, but it just doesn’t seem to be coming. Exhaustion is going to hit me before I even start the long swim that’s ahead. I can feel the shoes floating towards my shoulders on their laces, so at least I know I’m heading the right direction in the darkness.
The surface actually comes as a surprise, but my lungs don’t wait for my brain to figure things out. The gasp is long and deep, and I only cut it off as I feel a wash of water hit my chin. I see the Capelli as it pulls farther and farther away from me and use its passage to orient myself towards the shore. I kick my feet, starting the long journey. However long it is, I need to be on shore by first light.
I don’t have any way of knowing, but my best guess is that I’ve been swimming for an hour, and she’s kept me going every stroke of the way. My arms are aching with the exertion, and my last check was disappointing. The muted lights from the shore don’t really appear to be any closer than they were the last time. I close my eyes and drive on.
Des is giving me a pep-talk, but I know it’s all in my mind. She’s telling me to continue on, despite the arguments from my increasingly sluggish body. I just don’t feel like I have the power I need in my arms and legs anymore. The worry starts creeping in, but her hand is on my cheek, those soft green eyes on mine. “You can do it, Reed.”
This time, I take her in my arms and kiss her. Her lips are warm and inviting as I slide my hands to that cute little ass and give it a squeeze.
“You need to stay focused.” She says, laughing, though one of those long gorgeous legs comes up to my waist. I hook my hand under her knee, feeling the heat of her body as I pull her closer.
“I need you, Des.” I tell her, my lips hovering at her collarbone, kissing her gently. I grab the other leg and she squeaks as she comes off the ground, in my arms. I waste no time, my lips still buried in her neck as I carry her towards the bedroom of my little home in Stockholm.
Former home. I realize it as a wave crashes over me, making me sputter as I inhale some of the cold water of Lake Superior. “I’m not going to make it, Des.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday Afternoon – Des
Cisneros is on to me, or at least that’s what my mind is telling me. It’s most likely paranoia, but the discomfort of it is really starting to wear on my soul. That and not knowing what’s happening to Reed. I know I should stop and abandon this, but I still think it has value. Could Reed possibly get to Guatemala with the restrictions still in place? I wouldn’t put it past him, but I have to do everything I possibly can to make things easier. I’m blocking thoughts of him dead, drowned or killed by the syndicate as soon as they pop up, but they’re taking a toll on me.
I’m throwing away a burgeoning career, a life, practically everything for a man that I’ve known less than a month; a man I only first kissed a day ago. The thought should wake me up to some sort of foolishness, but my heart is only telling me to go, to be with him.
Back in my old office, it seems like nothing has changed, but that’s only on the surface. Cisneros told me that he wanted to ‘think about’ my suggestions this morning, and I hate to say I just don’t know him well enough to read into what that might mean. His face didn’t even allow me a hint on which way he was leaning, but I have to remind myself that I’ve already built a modicum of respect in his eyes; if only for my handling of the kidnapping.
I see a shadow for a moment, finally bringing my eyes up from the computer screen that I really haven’t been looking at anyway. It’s Cisneros, and he knocks once before turning the handle, strictly out of courtesy. He is the boss, after all.
“Got a minute, Des?” He asks.
The best smile I can manage goes out to him as he sits on the other side of the desk, holding a sheaf of paper. I try to hide my anxiety, something I’m normally good at. Today I’m not so confident.
“Sure thing, Chief.” I say.
“You look worn out, Des.” He says, looking over to me with what appears to be genuine concern. “This can wait if you want to go home, maybe chill out with Ted and Clark?” He smiles.
“I’m good.” I say. “I guess this case is more important to me than I want to admit.” The lie is actually brilliant, and I’m proud of myself so I elaborate. “I just
want to see it wrapped up. I don’t think that Reed Calhoun is the worst person in the world, but he needs to be brought in, as well as the rest of them.”
“Would it ease your mind if I told you I was going to go with your suggestion?”
“Is it something you’re likely to say?” I ask, giving him a weak smile once again.
“I think you’re right about Calhoun.” He says, laying the papers on my desk. “And that makes me even more sure that if we can get him back, we’ll be able to get the rest of it out of him, especially when he sees the additional charges we’ve put together. Escaping Federal custody is another big one.”
I try to light up at the comment. “Thanks, Chief.” I say. “What’s the next step?”
“Well, we’re monitoring the airports off-channel, as well as anywhere else. That took a little doing. Most of the airport authorities want to have a solid flag before they’ll take someone out of line in today’s climate.”
“What’s next for me?”
“Home.” Cisneros says. “I’m sorry, Des, there just can’t be any more involvement from you on this case.”
I expected that, but I try to show some disappointment.
“You’re probably right, Sir.” I say. I can see in his eyes that he’s happy to hear that. “Ted’s probably been missing me.”
“Clark too, I bet.” He says.
I meet his eyes. “I broke up with Clark, so that’s kind of up in the air. One more loose end, right?”
There’s something missing in his response. “I’m sorry to hear that, Des.” He says. “Maybe things will settle down. I still want you to see that therapist, you know.”
Surprise. It hits me like a ton of bricks, but I have to keep it from my face. There wasn’t any surprise in his eyes or his response when I told him about Clark.
“I’ll do that Sir.” I say. He rises and I join him.
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