Trust Fall

by Alex Ander

  “Deputy Marshal Devlin.”

  Retracting her hand as if the mouth had snapped at her, she whirled around and spied the mid-fifties man she was expecting to meet. “Mr. President.”

  Dressed casually—black pants, brown loafers and a white long-sleeved polo shirt—James Conklin, exhibiting a full head of gray hair, slid his hand along the rail while he descended the staircase and joined his guest. “I’m glad you could come.”

  Devlin shook the hand he offered. “My pleasure, sir.”

  Slipping hands into pants pockets, the leader of the free world arched his back and eyed the elk. “I shot that just after I won the election.”

  She faced the animal.

  “It was a hard-fought campaign.” He jabbed his chin at the prize. “Bagging that beauty was symbolic for me...victory and all.”

  “It’s definitely beautiful, sir.”

  The President turned toward his guest. “Do you hunt?”

  She pivoted his way. “My father used to take my sister and me to Northern Michigan once a year...when we were in our teens. We had family up there that owned property.” Her attention drifting back to the elk, she half laughed. “Actually, it was just a tract of woodlands with a small, rustic cabin, but,” she came back to him, beaming, “that stretch of real estate had a whole bunch of white-tailed deer.”

  Conklin smiled.

  “I shot one there every season for seven straight years.”

  “What gun did you use?”

  “Mostly my dad’s Marlin 336...in 35 Remington.”

  “I’ve shot the 35 Rem...” Conklin studied the floor before meeting her gaze, “an underrated cartridge, but it’s still a good brush round.”

  “Under the right circumstances,” she added.

  “That’s true.”

  Devlin eyed the fire. “Those times...at the cabin...were some of the best times of my life. After the first year, I didn’t even care if I got a buck. Just spending time with family,” she lifted a corner of her mouth at the man, “that was what I loved the most. There’s nothing more important than family.”

  He half grinned. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Jessica. May I call you Jessica?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you. Even though,” he gestured toward one of the chairs and sat in the one to her left, “it’s been fun swapping hunting stories...that’s not the reason I wanted to meet with you.”

  Devlin slid hands under her butt and thighs—straightening her dress—before sitting and crossing her legs.

  “The Federal Government’s greatest responsibility is to protect its people. Without security, our freedom, our way of life, our very existence is threatened. And right now, as I’m sure you’re aware,” the President crossed his legs, “there are factions abroad that are planning the destruction of this great nation.”

  Devlin laid folded hands on her top knee.

  “Over the last year, I’ve finally been able to make good on my campaign promises. We’ve taken down numerous terrorists around the world.” Planting an elbow on the chair’s armrest, Conklin wagged his finger at her. “But the fight is far from over. Even though we’ve made strides in other parts of the globe, here at home there’s been an uptick in violent crime and terror-related activities.” He extended an upturned palm toward her. “Deputy Director Crane is a prime example of that. His illegal operation to supply Mexican drug cartels with weapons is nothing less than an attack on the people of this country. He knew those guns could have been used to kill border patrol agents or Americans living along the border. It may be a gray area for some, but not for me. I’m directing more resources to fighting crime and terrorism,” the President waved an arm, “in all its forms.”

  Devlin adjusted her position in the chair.

  He put both feet on the floor, rested elbows on knees, and leaned toward her. “That’s where you come in, Jessica. I’ve created several,” he hesitated, “clandestine teams that are committed to battling terrorism abroad. Now I want to do the same thing on American soil. And I want,” he leaned back in the chair and poked a finger at her, “you to lead a team of U.S. Marshals...in a campaign to track down and apprehend enemies of this country.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 32

  Marshal Devlin

  Hearing the President’s words, butterflies stirred in Devlin’s stomach while she re-crossed her legs and shifted weight to her left hip.

  “I’ve already worked out the details with Deputy Director Thorn. Marissa and I have—” Noticing the look on Devlin’s face, “Yes,” Conklin fumbled around in a pants pocket before forfeiting a leather case, “your boss has been promoted.”

  Opening the bi-fold, Devlin saw the gold badge of a United States Marshal, her picture, and her name in the cred pack.

  “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion,” he paused, “Marshal Devlin.”

  She spied her name near the emblem and her heart rushed into her throat. “I...” she covered her lips with her fingertips, “I don’t know what to...” A beat. “Thank you, sir.”

  Smiling, “You’ve earned it,” Conklin gave her a few seconds to enjoy the moment. “As I was saying, Marissa and I have spoken. Even though she’ll be in charge of running logistics and intelligence gathering, you’ll be the one making decisions in the field. You’ll be given a wide berth to do your job. And that includes selecting your team members.”

  Devlin closed the bi-fold and regarded the President.

  “You’ll be drawing your assignments from Marissa, but those cases—for the most part—will be coming from the various law enforcement ‘most wanted’ lists...such as the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted,” Conklin gestured toward Devlin, “and your own United States Marshals Service 15 Most Wanted Fugitives Program.”

  She nodded. “So I would basically be doing the job I’m already doing.”

  The President half closed an eye at her. “Mostly.”

  Her brows coming together, she cocked her head at the man.

  “Your team will be operating out of a black budget, Jessica.”

  Devlin understood the term: money spent on classified, secret operations.

  “You’ll be hunting our own citizens who have committed, or are planning to commit, crimes against innocent civilians. And that may require you to cross international borders to get your man. When that happens, you’ll become a covert agent, and the parameters of your mission will change. If you’re caught operating on foreign soil, your country will be forced to publicly denounce your activities.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Jessica?”

  Devlin took a moment to replay the President’s words in her mind. “Yes sir. I understand.” Squinting, she tipped her head to the side. “What about due process for those I’d be,” faltering, she tried to find a better word, but settled on the one Conklin had used, “hunting.”

  “As I said, this is not a gray area for me. If they’re involved in the mass murder of Americans, they’ll be treated as enemy combatants. They’ll be interrogated for information on future attacks and tossed into a dark hole. As far as I’m concerned, they became traitors to their country the second they decided to cast their lot with terrorists.”

  “Sir,” Devlin put both boots on the floor and leaned closer to Conklin, “with all due respect, the legal and ethical implications of doing that are totally in the gray. Some would argue that such actions would trample on the rights of honest Americans.”

  “Which is why,” he leveled a finger at her, “I’m counting on you to make the right call and keep everything in the black or the white.”

  Her eyebrows came together again. “Sir?”

  “I’m the biggest proponent for citizen’s rights. I’m the President. It’s part of the job; however,” he stood and drew near to the fireplace, “I’m also big on justice. And stopping criminals and terrorists, preferably before they can hurt us, is paramount.” Pivoting, he gaped at Devl
in. “There are people out there who want to destroy us. Whether they’re from another country...or born in this country...those who wish to harm us will face the full might of American power.”

  Devlin rose to her feet and studied the leather case in her hand. “Sir—”

  “Jessica, I’m not asking you to break the law. I’m asking you to enforce the law. And, at times,” he bobbed his head, “that’ll require bending the law...to save innocent lives.” He looked down before meeting her gaze. “Earlier, you said ‘there’s nothing more important than family.’”

  She observed him.

  “Taking the fight to the enemy means protecting the ones you love...your family.”

  His words striking a passionate chord deep inside of her, Devlin stood tall and gawked at the fire, her mind showing her the things she had done to apprehend Crane, including pointing a gun at her boss. She recalled past investigations where she had employed tactics, gray-area tactics, to catch criminals. She cast a downward glance at the rug under her boots. Maybe, I’ve already been operating out of a black budget.

  “Make no mistake.” Conklin slid one hand into a pants pocket. “If you catch even a whiff of something you think isn’t right,” he sliced the other hand across the space between him and her, “shut it down. In fact, I’ll expect that high level of morality from you.”

  Morality. Devlin’s mind took her back to Mexico, to her truncated prayer. An image of her father, dressed in the garb of a Catholic priest, pierced her thoughts. He raised me to do the right thing, to believe.

  “Jessica, the last thing I want...”

  If I’m going to stay on the right side of morality...

  “...is for an innocent American...”

  ...then it’s time I get back to my roots, my faith.

  “...to go to jail or be killed for something that he—or she—didn’t do.”

  Devlin faced the President, her lips pursed, her eyes narrow. “May I ask you a question, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why me? You must’ve had so many more people you could have chosen for this job. Why was I your first choice?”

  “You weren’t.”

  Devlin recoiled.

  “But you had the best references.”

  She frowned.

  “A couple of my people, friends of yours, lobbied me on your behalf...Agents Hardy and DelaCruz?”

  Devlin cracked a smile before letting the gesture fade.

  “I trust and respect them—and their opinions—a great deal. Their testimony forced me to take a closer look at your time at the Marshals Service. Are you aware that, over the last five years, you rank in the upper echelon among your peers when it comes to arresting those on the 15 Most Wanted Fugitives list?”

  Bobbing her eyebrows once, she shook her head. “No sir. I’m not really into keeping score.”

  He chuckled. “That’s exactly what your colleagues say about you.”

  Her cheeks flushing, Devlin dipped her chin and cast a downward glance before coming back to the President.

  “During that five-year period, you’ve also shot more fugitives than any other marshal or deputy marshal.” Conklin crossed arms over his chest. “And your most recent,” he wavered, “adventure shall we say...highlights your resolve to do whatever is necessary to finish what you start.” He paused. “Hardy and DelaCruz may have vouched for you, Jessica, but make no mistake. I’m offering you this job based on,” he motioned her way, “your own merits.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Biting her lower lip, she regarded the President of the United States, the man presenting her with a new title, a new opportunity to do what she loved to do...protect her family by getting criminals off the streets. Her gaze settled on the fire while her thoughts turned to her husband and child. How will this affect them? Longer hours at work? Nights away from home? She recalled the Mexico assignment. If the past is any indicator, then... She eyeballed the President for a few moments. “May I take some time to think this over, sir?”

  “Take as much time as you need.” He swung an open palm toward an adjacent room. “However...”

  The President and Devlin moseyed away from the fireplace, he on her right.

  “...the only answer I’ll accept...is yes.”

  She let a short laugh escape and observed the man who had delivered the steadfast assertion with a light, straight-lined smile. I don’t think, her brows curled downward, he’s kidding.

  His appearance brightened. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your family, but I was hoping you could stay for a bit...to meet mine.”

  “I’d,” she recovered her composure and mirrored his expression, “I’d love to, Mr. President.”

  “My wife and daughter are preparing dinner in the next room...shrimp and pasta in some,” he shrugged a shoulder, “garlic and butter sauce, I believe.” He faced her. “Do you like shrimp and pasta?”

  She chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”

  “It’s settled then. You’re staying for dinner.” He led Devlin through an archway. “I realize you’re still processing all this, but do you have any prospects—for your team, I mean?”

  Entering a larger and better-lit room, “As a matter of fact...” Devlin nodded while spying the First Lady and the President’s daughter moving from one cooking station to another, “I do have someone in mind, sir.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 33

  Penance

  7 may—5:04 p.m.

  northern minnesota

  Having alternated between pressing the doorbell and rapping on the door for the last five minutes, Devlin stepped off the front porch and strolled to the cabin’s backside while taking in the heavily wooded property. Peeping through gaps in the trees, she spotted a pond and sauntered toward the water.

  Cutting across a patch of tall, grassy land, hearing nothing but her footwear trampling vegetation, and a chirping bird now and then, she regarded the large trees, blues skies, and the sun’s rays peeking through the branches. Her mind recalled how the area had been described to her. Peaceful...just like he said.

  Devlin stopped at the edge of a dock, a rectangle the size of two pickup trucks parked side by side. After gazing at the smooth water, she cast a backward glance to her starboard side before shoving fingers into the back pockets of her blue jeans and admiring the surrounding forest.

  “Marsh—Deputy Marshal Devlin.”

  Inwardly, she huffed. Back to formalities again. “Actually, it’s Marshal now. I received a promotion.”

  “Well,” sitting in an Adirondack chair, sunglasses resting atop his hair, Randall brought back a fishing pole and snapped his wrists, “bully for you.” The reel made a buzzing sound, as the lure zipped over the pond and plopped beneath the surface.

  She nodded. I suppose I deserved that.

  Hearing the callousness in his voice, he winced and softened his tone. “Congratulations.”

  She took a moment to reply. “Thank you.” In the next moments, a crow cawed somewhere nearby. “I tried calling you several times. Everything went straight to voicemail.”

  “That’s one of my favorite things about this place...terrible cellular service.” He wound the knob on the reel. “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “Have you forgotten what I do for a living?” After shooting him another glance, “That and,” Devlin claimed a second slatted lounge chair on his left, “your mother was all too quick to divulge your location once she thought I might be your girlfriend.”

  “Is that what you told her?”

  “Let’s just say,” she placed forearms on the armrests, “I never corrected her.”

  Randall let the hint of a grin pass over his lips. Crafty.

  Devlin leaned back and put her feet on the wooden lounger’s attached footrest. Bending one knee, she looked as if she were sunning herself on the deck of a cruise ship.

  For the next couple of minutes, Randall fished while she reclined. If it weren’t for the
awkward silence hanging in the seventy-degree air between them, they were like any other couple enjoying a lazy afternoon by the lake.

  Leaning forward, he flung his arm.

  She watched the fishing line stretch to the halfway mark of the pond. Nice cast.

  The reel clicked, as the line grew shorter. He peeped her way before zeroing in on his immediate task. Minnesota’s a long way from Virginia...just to enjoy the atmosphere. Recollecting his journey from New Orleans to Minnesota, he chuckled to himself. Then again...

  After a quick look at the man who had helped her escape from another country, Devlin peeked at the red cooler next to his chair before facing the water.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Randall had caught her line of sight. He lifted the cooler’s top and slid the storage container a few inches closer to her. “There’s water and soft drinks in there...maybe a beer if you look hard enough.”

  She rolled onto her right hip and reached for the beer nestled deep into the ice. Wiggling her fingers for a half second, I’m driving. Better stick to... she grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and downed a portion of the contents. “Thank you.”

  He made two more casts, bringing in the line each time.

  Watching him prepare for a third toss, she cleared her throat. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said to you.” Movement caught her eye, and she turned to see a squirrel scamper into the woods. “I was out of line, and I’ve regretted it for the last three days.” Facing him, she sat upright and shifted more weight to the chair via her right elbow. “I’m truly sorry, Randall. I don’t know what it was that...that made me lash out at you like that.”

  “I do.” He made his next cast. “You were amped up on emotion, excitement, the thrill of the hunt. It happens to everyone. No harm done.”

  After blinking a few times in rapid succession, “Wait a minute,” she swung her feet toward him and sat sideways on the lounger. “No harm done? So all this time,” she swung a finger between the two of them, “all this,” she paused, “dead air...and the time I spent stewing over what I said to you...and you were never pissed at me?”