"That sounds fine to me, would you like me to meet you after work?"
"Uhm… Okay, I hadn't thought about that. What's the address?"
She got up and went into the kitchen to get something to write with and to his disappointment, she didn't come back to the table. However, he watched from a distance as she shuffled about fretfully for a few more minutes before putting the phone back in her pocket and returning to her seat, where she sat silently with the ghost of a smile on her face.
It amazed him that the woman who had emotionlessly killed three people less than an hour ago could alter so radically into the person he had observed for the last few minutes. Having been witness to a more accessible side of her personality, he summoned the courage to speak for the first time since getting out of her car.
"So, do you have a date?" he asked and immediately regretted it when her eyes pinned his.
"No," she said sharply.
"Sorry," he said quickly, feeling her eyes lance through his head.
She reached out and grabbed his hand and began to clean the wound in a fashion that in no way could be considered gentle. He thanked God that she had anesthetized the hand or he was sure he would have passed out almost instantly. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at him, she opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. He watched as she seemed to struggle with herself for a moment.
"Why would you think I had a date?" she asked finally with a scowl.
He wasn't sure at first if he should risk answering her. In addition to being the most fearsome person that he had ever met, she apparently had a short fuse. But remembering the woman who had spoken so shyly on the phone, he mustered up the nerve.
"W…Well, I just assumed from your fidgeting…" he started.
"I do not fidget," she interrupted indignantly and more than a little childishly.
Amused, and vaguely aware he could be taking his life in his hands but unable to stop himself; he jumped in with both feet.
"Do too."
"Do not."
"Do too, and you were blushing."
She shot up from her chair. "I was not blushing," she said through grinding teeth.
"Was too."
Her hands clenched into fists and she took a deep breath, unable to believe she was having this conversation. She had a flash of desire to reach across the table and render him unconscious but managed to quickly suppress it. Stifling her temper, she sat back down slowly and closed her eyes for a long moment.
"Was I really?" she finally asked quietly.
He just nodded, he was intrigued but wasn't willing to press his luck any further.
She stared at him and drummed her fingers on the table for a few seconds before reaching out again to see to his injury. She applied herself to the task at hand and five minutes later the injured hand was properly dressed.
"The wound was relatively clean, there were bone chips but no fractures," she said clinically. "It'll leave a scar but with a little work I doubt you'll lose any mobility."
"Thank you."
She leaned back in her chair and studied him intently. "I'm not quite sure what to do with you, Mr. Satterfield," she said thoughtfully. "The last person I had in my home was a man who delivered a television two years ago. However, if the information you've given me turns out to be correct, I'll be in your debt," she paused and slid a box of gauze pads and a tube of ointment across the table. "You'll need to apply that and redress your wound twice a day. There's tape in the box. Follow me."
He rose from his chair and followed her from the kitchen and around a corner, where he was led down a long hallway that passed several other rooms. It occurred to him as he walked along, that her home took up the entire floor as she eventually came to a halt and pointed.
"Down this hall you'll find living quarters, make yourself comfortable, I think you'll find everything you need." She paused and handed him a card. "There's a phone in your room, call me on that number if you need anything and I'm not here. I'd imagine you'll be here for a few weeks at least. You can help yourself to the kitchen and the library."
She stopped and looked at him carefully. "Mr. Satterfield, I value my privacy. Do not enter any of the rooms on the other side of the kitchen and I should point out that I'll be aware if you do. Understand?"
He nodded.
"I'll be out tonight, so if you need anything see me in the morning," she stated and left without another word.
He watched her disappear and then walked down the short hall to find a room that upon a quick perusal appeared to have all the amenities. Deciding to explore his new home later, he threw himself on the bed and fell asleep almost instantaneously.
Bailey left Martin and traveled directly to her desk to retrieve her book from the floor safe. Over the years she had anonymously employed several investigators for the express purpose of locating her family. Only one, and just recently, had sent her word that he believed that they were in Britain but could go no further on the matter. However, that information gave Satterfield's story all the credence she needed; it was time to call in a marker. She entered the number into the computer and watched the monitor with interest until it was answered on the sixth ring and she picked up the handset.
"Watts," she heard the man say with a British accent.
"Is it still Major Watts or is it Mr. Watts now?"
There was a short pause and she could here him clear his throat. "I'm at home is the line clean?"
"Yes," she said with a glance at her monitor.
"Hold a moment."
She shook out a cigarette and lit it while she waited.
"My apologies, it's been a long time," he said finally.
"Yes it has, I need a favor," she said getting right to the point.
"Indeed?"
"A rather large favor."
"If I can do it I will, you know that. What do you need?"
"I need you to confirm the existence of a female, age 56, and a male, age 29, with the last names of Bennigan in Southampton. They're mother and son."
"Easy enough, what's the rest?"
"If they exist, I need them transported to the U.S. with diplomatic immunity and asylum at a British Embassy."
He let out a long breath. "That'll require authorization, I'd have to go to the PM and he would want to know why."
"The Bennigan's are really Doreen and Ryan Cameron, my mother and my brother," she said quietly. "They're under U.S. manipulation."
"Really? In our own backyard? That alone would probably get approval from the PM."
"I thought it might."
"Are the Bennigan's in the dark with regards to you?"
"Yes, I'd like it to remain that way," she hesitated. "At least for awhile."
"Would this have anything to do with the paper circulating on The Wraith?"
"Really?" she asked a little surprised. "They moved faster than I thought they would, has anyone picked it up?"
"No one so stupid as of yet," he chuckled.
"I see, well to answer your question, yes. I'm up for retirement."
"Interesting." He paused. "Alright, I'll explain the situation, the man owes me a favor or two. I can confirm and have you an answer on the rest by 11:00am my time tomorrow, good enough?"
"Good enough. I'll contact you then," she said and started to hang up.
"Wait," he said quickly.
"Yes?"
"I've wondered for nine years and it'll go no further, you have my word," he said sincerely and paused. "But I would very much like to know the name of the woman who saved my life."
A long silence.
"My name is Bailey, Bailey Cameron. Goodbye, Major," she said finally and hung up.
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes while she smoked the rest of her cigarette. If Watts came through, she'd have all the cards and would have her family back. She wondered if they thought about her as often as she did them. What would she say to her mother? She hoped that she would be able to look at her daughter and not see the killer th
at she saw every time she looked in the mirror.
Snuffing out her cigarette, she opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. Piper had told her she needed to go and change after work and had asked her to pick her up at home. Her stomach did a little flip flop at the thought of seeing her again, which made her think about the conversation she and Satterfield had engaged in. If Satterfield thought it was a date, did that mean Piper thought it was a date as well? Was it a date? She racked her brain but came up short, she didn't have the experience to draw information from and her own feelings on the subject were too chaotic to give her any answers. The only thing she knew for certain was that she liked being in the company of the woman. She decided that she would take a short nap and tonight she would carefully analyze everything that took place during her evening with Piper. Satisfied with her plan, she got up from her chair and headed for the bedroom.
V
But when my eyes looked at her I learned,
That she was keeping a secret fire,
And if I got to close I'd burn.
- B. Welch
Jeremy Watts was a powerfully built man approaching the tail end of middle age. Tall, with graying brown hair and lively brown eyes. He heard the line go dead and slowly returned the phone he was holding to its place on the desk in front of him. Bailey Cameron. He finally had a name to go with the person he owed everything to. It had been nine years prior when he met the woman he would later find out was The Wraith. She didn't have to save him but she did, and for that fact alone he would put every effort into fulfilling her request, he couldn't imagine doing any less. He grimaced a bit at the memory of first laying eyes on her.
It had been a horrific insertion and they had lost one man immediately upon capture. The man had broken his ankle in the drop and rather than see to his injury or deal with transporting him they had executed him where he sat. There was no time for sentiment as he and his remaining four men were transported to the camp that had been their covert destination. Intelligence had determined the terrorist camp to be the current location of the group claiming responsibility for the recent bombing of a pub in Germany, that had killed among others, several British and American servicemen. The leader was to be eliminated and as many of the others as possible. However, bad weather resulting in the overshoot of the drop zone had made their objectives impossible and their survival improbable.
For two full days he and his men endured the brutality inflicted upon them and on the night of the second day their captors had apparently decided that there was no more sport to be had. They were dragged, with hands tied behind their backs, to the edge of the camp and forced to their knees, where without words a man started executing his men with a round to the back of the head. He never looked up from the sand as he waited for the fifth and final shot to ring out, and after the fourth he closed his eyes. Time seemed to stand still as he waited for the shot that never came and he felt the binds fall away from his hands.
"Can you walk?" came a female voice with an Irish accent.
He was so stunned to find himself alive he couldn't answer but he tried to stand and ended up flat on his back. From that point on he had only vague recollections and faded in and out of consciousness. He remembered coming to and finding himself lying upon a tarp being dragged across the sand. Looking up and around he saw a figure jogging just ahead and pulling him as a dog would a sled. An indeterminate time later, he found himself waking up in a helicopter to see a surprisingly young raven-haired woman telling the pilot to alter course. In a moment of clarity he saw the woman turn to face him, her black eyes meeting his.
"Hang on, we're almost there," she had said and he again faded out.
When he woke again he found himself in a hospital bed and an American Air Force Colonel standing above him.
"Major Watts, you are at Diego Garcia. How are you feeling?" the Colonel asked.
He had tried to speak but his throat was dry and his mouth felt like cotton. Seeing the dilemma the Colonel turned away and produced a glass of water.
"The woman…" he started after having had a drink.
"Excuse me, Major?"
"The woman who brought me here, where is she? I'd like to thank her," he said as his voice returned and his mind got up to speed.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Major," the Colonel said politely
"A woman saved me, she was on the helicopter."
"Yes, you arrived on a black flight requesting emergency medical service, but other than the pilot you were the only one on board. I'm a little curious; that flight had one of the highest clearances I've ever seen, any chance you might enlighten me on how you ended up on that ‘copter?
Confused, he shook his head to the negative.
"I thought as much," the Colonel said amiably.
"I take it I'm going to live?" he asked.
"Your doctor should be here shortly, I'll let him explain."
"That bad?"
"Let's just say you're extremely lucky to be having this conversation. I'll check in on you later. Good day, Major," the Colonel said in parting.
He had laid there wondering if the woman had just been a figment of his imagination until a man that he assumed was his doctor came in and looked at his chart. It was then that he was informed that he would be partially deaf in his left ear and had more than likely lost the use of three fingers on his left hand. Most of his ribs had been broken and he would require further surgery on his left arm. The doctor informed him that he was actually rather fortunate; the internal bleeding would have killed him in a matter of hours had he not arrived when he did. He had agreed; he was indeed a lucky man.
His injuries guaranteed his discharge but it was a quick transition from Military Intelligence to MI6 and advancement was more than satisfactory. He became obsessed with the woman he couldn't prove to himself even existed and it was a year later that he discovered that the assassination of the man he and his team had been sent to eliminate was credited to an American operative known as The Wraith. From that moment on he became an avid fan and was always vigilant for more news or information. He soon learned that The Wraith was the author of a body of work that most of his colleagues thought imaginary, but he knew better and he had a hunch that his mystery woman and The Wraith was one in the same person.
It was two years later that he got the opportunity to confirm the theory to himself. In what was to be a collaborative effort between American and British intelligence to intercept and remove a group of Islamic radicals smuggling arms into Iran, he came across a coincidence he couldn't ignore. The arms embargo was of concern to both nations, but what attracted the ire of the Crown was the fact that a recent shipment of armaments had been of British manufacture. A strike team consisting of six Special Air Service operatives and one American observer was to be assembled at Waddington RAF for deployment. The addition of an observer was a source of great humor to the British. Despite the image the United States strived to display openly to the world, the international intelligence community was all too aware that the Americans played very effective and very ruthless hardball in the shadows. It was joked that the observer would be as formidable as the strike team and it was a surprise to many that currently enroute to Waddington was a female US Marine Captain named Deirdre Brennan. As luck would have it the operation was canceled at the last moment, but upon learning that the observer was a female and had an Irish name, his alarm bells went off and on a hunch he found himself driving like a madman to Waddington. Upon arrival and after twenty minutes of being sent from one place to another he was informed that the Captain was on the tarmac awaiting an American transport. The sun was beginning to go down and any hope that he would find her was beginning to dwindle when he caught sight a figure sitting cross-legged on the tarmac just outside one of the larger hangers. As he approached from behind he saw that it was undoubtedly a woman and as he got closer he noticed with a sense of excitement that she had long black hair. He was about twenty feet away when he heard her voice and
he knew that he had found her.
"Can I help you?" she asked without turning around.
"No, but maybe one day I can help you."
At that she stood up and turned around. She had a duffle bag on the ground beside her and she was dressed in the standard military fatigues. He walked up until he was about a body length away and he saw the black eyes that he remembered.
"You may not remember me, but you saved my life," he said noting that her face was completely devoid of any recognition or emotion. "You went through a great deal of trouble to do so and I wanted you to know that it was much appreciated, I'm in your debt."
She didn't answer and only her eyes, which never wavered from his face, gave any indication that she was aware of his presence at all. He reached out and handed her a card that she took without looking at and put in her shirt pocket.
"If you find the opportunity to let me try and repay the favor, you can contact me with the information on that card."
Never breaking her stare she just nodded.
He had said what he came to say but his curiosity forced him to take a chance he later thought was extremely foolish, but never regretted.
"I'm obligated beyond payment, Wraith. Again, thank you," he said as he turned to go. He wasn't sure what to expect or if he should expect anything at all. He had gone about ten paces when she spoke.
"You're welcome, Major."
He spun around but she had already turned her back and reseated herself on the tarmac. He nodded slightly to himself in understanding. He hadn't been in his uniform for over two years, she had known who he was all along.
--------
"Richards and his team never stood a chance," Keith DeSilva said shaking his head.
Terry privately agreed but kept it to himself. The report from Mr. Phillips had been quite thorough and subconsciously he had been rubbing his neck for the last half an hour. She had effortlessly removed one of the best teams the Organization had and in the process made off with Satterfield and the file. What really bothered him was the fact that they now knew exactly where Satterfield was, but could do nothing about it. All afternoon he had been castigating himself; he was responsible for the current situation and he knew it. Despite his feelings on the subject, he should have seen to her removal years ago when it would have been a simple matter to set her up. Instead, he not only allowed her to go, but actually fought on her behalf, now the situation was becoming desperate. Not only for him, but also for the Organization itself.
Stories by Kiera Dellacroix Page 11