High Ground

by Madelon Smid

  While Josh showered, Cat gathered information. None of it provided answers, only more questions, which applied more pressure. Two hours later, Gribbs called up from street level. She opened and closed locks as he progressed from the main door to the elevator to the loft. He’d taken Jake’s jet from Toronto the minute she’d called him. His quick arrival calmed her.

  She poured coffee, added sugar to his cup, and settled at the table with the two men.

  “The police sealed the area and are conducting a door to door search. They didn’t find the sniper, only evidence of his position in the empty office you identified across the street.” He turned to Josh. “Your chauffeur has been taken to the morgue. FBI agents have notified his family. The ME will perform an autopsy, which will provide minimal information.”

  Josh spoke. “Cat tells me they’ve already identified slugs taken from the upholstery of the car.”

  “Homeland still hasn’t traced the vehicle with the driver and other shooter. I gave them a good description and a partial plate on route. We’ve heard nothing back. You?” Cat questioned her boss and mentor.

  “From traffic cams a few blocks up, the FBI identified the vehicle based on your partial.”

  She turned her head to see Josh listening, his features tense. She jerked her attention back to RG.

  “The car following you is registered with the FBI,” RG continued, “but their Director insists the orders didn’t come from his office.”

  “Did you talk to them, RG, ask them to act as back-up?”

  “No. I don’t want them anywhere near our case.” RG sounded like he’d just chewed a piece off his phone.

  “So Langley claims no involvement. What do you think? Were they off leash or under orders?” Josh asked.

  “Any one of the agencies could be involved. They’ve lost credibility over the last years, making bad decisions. The FBI got burned by the Unibomber cover-up. They were convicted of fabricating evidence, framing people. They were caught lying to explain their actions. They might be trying to cover up another mess by killing Josh.”

  “The CIA is worse. The agency funded secret bank accounts of key politicians. If they’ve done it again,” Cat mused, “some of those politicians might want Josh dead before he exposes them.”

  “The directors of Homeland and the FBI assure me they are investigating internally. My contacts say there’s a lot of movement in both agencies. They’re on full alert and looking for any rogue operative with an agenda. They may be clean this time around. Or they may be behind the hits.”

  “Is that possible, Josh?” Cat asked him.

  After a lengthy pause, he answered. “Possible, certainly. Probable, a long shot. However, if I backtrack and hack my hacker, I might be able to get some info Homeland technicians didn’t find. At the time, I just wanted to safeguard my software. I left them to discover his motive.”

  “My intel also says Homeland is looking at NSA.” RG added. “Any thoughts there?”

  “It’s worth exploring,” Josh responded. “A lot of conflict has built up between the National Security Agency and the government over how much license the NSA takes in screening American citizens. Conspiracy theories abound and several activist groups have formed. It’s a contentious issue, close to exploding. NSA might use my death to their advantage. There’s an angle…” He paused. “I’ll do some digging.”

  “Going to let us in on it?” RG’s dry tone filled the loft.

  “I’ll see if my idea floats first. No sense complicating the issue further.”

  “With FBI agents interfering, the possibility the agency’s covering for them, and Homeland conducting an in-house sweep, the situation’s already complicated.” RG crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back.

  “It might be an attempt to keep you from testifying at the Senate hearing tomorrow,” Cat suggested.

  “I give the idea poor odds.” Josh settled lower in his chair, stretching out his legs.

  “Maddox’s still out there. If he took the shots, it might have nothing to do with the guys who followed us,” Cat mused. “Another team might have taken advantage of the attack to get to you.”

  “The agencies will do anything to protect their reputations and it’s getting more complex instead of simpler,” Josh responded. “We need to start eliminating suspects so we can zoom in on the real shooter.”

  “Sorry I don’t have answers for you, Josh. I’ll keep digging.” RG stood, his hands rotating his mug on the table. “You realize Homeland will put agents on you, now. The shooting made the news. Whoever wants Josh will know Homeland would step in to protect him. If we don’t cooperate with that, we blow Cat’s cover completely. The shooter, at least, will have questioned Cat’s actions and guess she’s a professional. From now on, two agents will shadow you.”

  Cat nodded.

  Her boss locked his attention on her. “Tomorrow at the hearing, you can’t let down your cover. You’re the lover posing as the P.A. All security has to appear to come from other sources. Be sure to wear your ear bud and mike. I want you in contact with them at all times. They’ll have eyes on the CIA presence there, as well as anyone else who shows up to the party. I’ll have just as many of my own team in place. Meanwhile, I’ll keep Homeland digging on the QT. They at least are cooperating. The secretary ordered the director to keep the FBI out of the loop until they establish why their agents were there and who authorized the orders.” He crossed to the door, waited for Josh to override the alarms. He was about to step out when he paused.

  “You might give Jake a call. Tell him you’re okay.” He cleared his throat. “I assured him you were, but he needs to hear it from you.”

  With his abrupt departure, Josh moved behind the counter and hit the on switch on the electric kettle. “Gribbs really is morphing into an RG. That was almost matronly. I’ll give Jake a quick call, reassure him and Siree.” He picked his phone off the end of the counter. Jake kept him on the line longer than he wanted to talk; Sam let him off the hook sooner. Once he was reassured Josh and Cat were fine, he accepted Josh’s “need to get to work” excuse.

  Cat finished a call requesting the FBI email her the tapes from the traffic cams. She set her phone on the island counter top, settled into a stool, and stared at him. “You treat this like a fascinating puzzle. Like once you get the pieces all sorted and put together, you can walk away.”

  He looked up, his face calm. “Is there a question in there?”

  “Someone just shot at you. You don’t have military training. You won’t carry a gun. You can’t protect yourself. You’re a computer geek, for god’s sake. Why aren’t you shaking in your boots?”

  He poured boiling water into the teapot, reached for a box of loose tea leaves, and measured some into a strainer. His eyebrow inched up. He searched her eyes, calculating her mood.

  “In the end, I didn’t get hurt. You didn’t get hurt. Why waste energy on an event already in the past? Why put out negative energy fearing something in the future that might never happen?”

  “You’re so damn composed. Do you have Zen juice running through your veins instead of water?” She wanted to shake him, to confirm he felt some degree of her fear. “What about Max. Where does his death fit in Buddha’s teaching?”

  “Buddha would say there is little purpose in getting anywhere, if all you do when you get there is attempt to get somewhere else.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She let her anger at the lack of emotion surface.

  He turned away, emptied the teapot, dropped in the strainer, and poured water just off the boil onto the leaves. Meticulously, he set aside the kettle, put the lid on the pot, covered it with a cozy, and turned back. His eyes gave nothing away. His tightened lips told her he did feel something. Anger? Grief? She couldn’t tell.

  “There is nothing I can do about Max’s death except accept. If I had time travel capability, foresight, anything to change the situation, I would. Nothing is gained by lashing myself to a figurative yardarm
and applying thirty stripes for something I couldn’t prevent.” He kept his voice low and even. A vein throbbed at his temple. His eyes darkened to slate gray. “All I can do is support his family in whatever way they need and give thanks for his place in my life.”

  Cat felt lower than the black goo they clean out of shower drains. She’d taken her frustration at losing a man out on the man who’d almost died under her watch. “I’m sorry, Josh.” She floundered for more words, trying to explain her attack.

  “It’s okay. You’re trying to understand what happened by seeking a different moment, without realizing it doesn’t change what happened.”

  “I know he’s dead,” she said her voice bleak. “I just wish I could have prevented it.” Cat spread a soft cotton cloth down on the counter, pulled her pistol out of her pocket, and started breaking it down to clean.

  “You take responsibility for Max’s death because you see yourself as a protector. You held the gun, the know-how, and experience. You blame yourself for letting it happen. Your thinking is skewed. If you could have prevented his death, you would have. Circumstances didn’t allow you to save Max. You are not responsible. The sniper shooting from the window across the street killed Max.”

  He poured tea into two cups, slid one toward her.

  “The only thing that will allow me to sleep is double checking our strategies for the inquiry tomorrow.” She looked up. “But, I won’t say no to a cup of chamomile tea while we do it.”

  They covered all the information she required. She went over her plan and back-ups several times. Thoroughly briefed, with nothing new coming in from RG, Cat said goodnight and went to her room.

  ****

  Josh headed for his work station, booted up a series of computers, keyed in passwords, screened his retina, and started covering his ass. He couldn’t take a chance on his new design falling into the wrong hands. He now had enough of the composites ready they could guide another designer to complete his prototype and sell it to an enemy.

  Where once he would have immersed himself beneath the layers of numbers, this time his conscious mind refused to go under, playing and replaying scenes from the night like schools of fish constantly circling. The passion of their kiss heated his blood in seconds, the memory of her tongue tempting him to take it deeper and deeper. He steadied his breathing, lasted two minutes on his work before he pictured Max, lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk, eyes blank. He recalled the weight of Cat’s body covering his. The sound of exploding glass and the smell of cordite looped over and over in his brain.

  Firmly, he ordered his thoughts back to the protection protocol forming on his computer screen. Instead, they zoomed to the hearing, anticipated questions they would ask, practiced formulating his answers. Never give them more than enough, Jake had counselled when they’d worked together. He thought of his friend, of Siree who’d become dear to him, of Sam’s continual support through texts every hour on the hour. He smiled into the dark. Sobered. Death had breathed its foul breath on him twice. He would not allow the specter another opportunity.

  Would they make another attempt at the hearing? Would Cat be exposed to danger because of him, yet again? He jerked himself into the present. He couldn’t accomplish a thing in this state of mind. He left his programs working and took up the lotus position on the rug in front of the fire, emptying his mind by breathing in and out to a regular count. He worked himself out of the past, out of the future, and into the moment at hand.

  His mind quieted. Minutes later, his eyes snapped open, his heart accelerated with excitement of an epiphany. He had the ultimate failsafe for his spyware. He resumed his seat at the desk and sent his fingers flying over the keys with purpose.

  Screams dragged him from his work. He leapt out of his chair with no idea of how much time had elapsed. Cries of pain and horror echoed through the loft. Cat! He raced for her room. The door stood open as she left it at night. She wasn’t sitting in a chair in the dark or wrestling with an intruder. She lay in the center of the bed, her body curled into fetal position, her head covered by her hands. She shook. Sweat poured off her. The screams turned hoarse as they tore at her throat. Josh checked for her weapon. He found it on the nightstand. He’d read enough about soldiers and post war trauma to know they could be a threat to the person who woke them.

  He set the Glock on top of silky piles in the top drawer of the dresser. If he touched her, she might think herself under attack. He stood at the edge of the bed and murmured to her, like he might a frightened child. Her screams stopped, but whimpers that tore at his heart started up. Cautiously, he let his weight come down on the bed beside her bottom and touched her arm.

  “Shhh, shhh, Cat, come on now. Wake up. You’re trapped in a nightmare.” When she didn’t leap up and attack him, he became doubly concerned. The nightmare held her fast. He put more pressure on her arm, shook her. “Cat, wake up now, wake up.”

  The whimpers stopped. Silence filled the room, heavy, eerie. He kept his hand on her arm, prepared for a violent reaction from someone trained to kill. Finally, he heard the ragged inhalation of a long breath.

  Her hands dropped from around her head, showing him her face in profile. Her long lashes were heavy with tears. Sweat beaded her hairline. She rolled to her back, staring up at him in the dim light coming from the open door. “Bad dream.” She shrugged her shoulder, trying to dislodge his hand.

  He held on, squeezed to reassure her. “Sounded like a visit to hell.”

  She straightened, pushing back masses of tangled hair from her face. “You got it in one.”

  “I took a few trips there myself, after we almost lost Siree and Jake on a mountain in Mexico. The nightmares stopped when Sam and I talked. I’m willing to listen.”

  He picked up her pillows, punched them, and layered them at the head of the bed. “Here sit up and I’ll get you a glass of water. Your throat must be raw.”

  He returned carrying a glass and a beanie bag he’d heated in the microwave. Her gaze followed him, but she didn’t speak.

  “This will soothe your inflamed tissue.” Handing her the water, he draped the long bag of warmed beans around her throat. Lie back and tell me your dream. I won’t judge, comment.”

  She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t see how dumping my bad dreams on you will help. All the negative energy will mess with your force field.” Her lips curved up, but her eyes remained shadowed. She sipped the water, swallowed, and flinched.

  “Look at these.” Josh flexed his biceps. “My shoulders can hold a lot of weight.” He smiled at her, touched her arm gently. “Wouldn’t you like to share the burden, just for a while? Give yourself a break?”

  He could see her crack under his kindness, and although he could be kind, quite often was in fact, this time he used kindness in a calculated way to demolish her defenses. Finding her vulnerable, for once, he determined to take advantage of her weak state and get her to share. Yes, he would uncover yet another of the layers she hid behind, but mostly he wanted to help her destroy the power of her fear.

  She sipped water, before taking a shaky breath. “My unit in Afghanistan went under heavy artillery fire. There wasn’t supposed to be any Taliban around, according to our briefing. We carried out a routine check on several villages along a prescribed route. The biggest threat would be hitting landmines in our LAV. We were ambushed, fired on from hiding. An RPG-7 rocket exploded beneath us. Our LAV caught fire. One of my friends didn’t get out. I still hear her screaming.” She shuddered, took another sip of water.

  “The Taliban fired on us with Kalashnikov assault rifles. We were being torn to bits, scorched on one side by our burning LAV and peppered with bullets on the other. We hunkered down and a few of us began returning fire. Three of my friends died, one lived. She’s severely burned, still undergoing skin grafts in a veteran’s hospital. Two haven’t recovered from PWSD. We were overrun, captured, and tortured. Sometimes when I’m tired, I dream of the attack…of being tortured.” She wiped at her t
ears, sat straighter. “Marines took the prison and freed us. When I came stateside, I resigned and went into security with Gribbs.”

  Cat tried a smile, failed. “You’ll advise me to get into a different moment. But the past stays with me.” She looked up then, searched his eyes. “Most nights, it wakes me, and I don’t go back to sleep. This time, I guess it woke you.” She dropped her gaze and mumbled, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “I understand you got a medal of bravery for carrying one of those women away from the fire. Holding off the assault while the others found cover.”

  “I surrendered.” The bleak brevity of the words told him how she felt about giving up.

  “You survived imprisonment and didn’t break. So did the other women with you. I bet they’re glad they didn’t die in a firefight against impossible odds. You should be proud and focus on the things you did right, not the things you couldn’t change.”

  “You’re so certain, so confident. Don’t you have any regrets?” Her eyes met his aggressively, when she posed the question.

  “I don’t believe in regret, and worry is a waste of energy. I think both, like guilt, are my ego at work, making it all about me, creating a drama to avoid the real issue,” he replied bluntly. “When something happens to mess up my life, I might wallow for a while. Usually, a good friend will rap me on the side of the head and force me to take a hard look at myself. Jake and Sam are great at smacking me sensible.” His mouth quirked in remembrance. “Actually, though he’d curse if he heard me say this, RG did that for Sam and me, when we got off the mountain in Mexico. Once my mind took over from my emotions, I evaluated the situation and moved into my default mode.”

  “And what is default mode for Joshua Chandler?” She pulled her knees up under the sheet and hugged them.