by CW Browning
Harry was silent and turned his gaze back to the near-empty park. He should have known that he wouldn't like what Charlie had to say. Charlie was seldom the bearer of good tidings. It wasn't in his job description.
“Does she know?”
“She knows more than she's telling me,” Charlie answered with a rare flash of humor. “Her impatience will be a problem. I have her sitting it out for now, but I don't anticipate that to last.”
“Benched?” Harry let out a short laugh. “No. Viper won't sit still for long. Where is she?”
“Home.”
Harry looked at Charlie sharply.
“She's stateside?” he demanded.
“I had no choice,” Charlie replied calmly. “I need her here.”
“I'm starting to see why it's so delicate,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “Charlie, if you keep this up, we might as well not have jurisdictional separation.”
Charlie chuckled.
“You know how the game is played, Harry,” he said. “You invented it. I'm following your playbook.”
“One of these days, that playbook is going to burn, and we'll go with it,” Harry told him. They were both silent for a few moments, then Harry sighed. “Tell me.”
“It's complicated.”
“Good. It won't bore me.”
Chapter Nine
Michael stared at his boss, his lips pressed together grimly.
“He wants to do what?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild.
Chris Harbour got up from the chair behind his desk and nodded his head briskly.
“Precisely,” he muttered, his tone stating in that single word how much he knew and agreed with Michael's feelings on the subject. “Would you like a drink?”
Chris rounded the corner of the desk and headed for the locked wooden cabinet on the far wall.
“No thanks,” Michael answered, watching as Chris pulled a key out from under the fake potted plant on top of the cabinet. “Why on God's green earth would he even consider it?”
“He seems to think it will help with the negative press,” Chris said over his shoulder as he unlocked the cabinet. He opened it to reveal a selection of bottles and a tray with glasses on the center shelf. The bottles were of varying heights and he reached for one of the shorter ones. “He's got it into his head that people aren't happy with the trade because they haven't met the scientist. He thinks if he invites him to the White House, the world will see what a great thing he's done.”
“People aren't happy because he negotiated with terrorists and released three of them back into the world,” Michael retorted. “It has nothing to do with whether or not the scientist is a nice guy.”
“Agreed.” Chris poured himself some bourbon. “Aside from the staggering security risk, this is totally unprecedented. We're pulling all agents not on active assignment to help with security.” He glanced at Michael as he capped the bottle of bourbon. “Are you sure you won't have anything? I'm not done yet. There's more.”
Michael's heart sank and he glanced at his watch. It was after seven, well past quitting time for normal folk but just coming into the prime working hours in DC.
“Is it as bad?”
“Possibly worse.”
“I'll take some of that Jameson, then.”
Chris nodded and reached for the whiskey.
“He wants to schedule a private meeting, then a press conference to introduce him to the world,” he continued, pouring the whiskey into a glass. “Even his advisors are against it. However, several Senators are supporting him, arguing that it's a show of good faith and indicates the new direction this administration is taking in mending broken fences.”
“They're breaking more than they're mending,” Michael muttered.
“What was that?” Chris asked, turning around with a glass in each hand.
“Nothing.” Michael reached out and took the whiskey from his boss, watching as Chris went back to his seat behind his desk. “How is having a scientist who was held by the Taliban over for a visit a show of good faith? You lost me somewhere.”
“You know who the man is?” Chris asked, pinning Michael with a hard look.
“Yes. Sgt. Ethan Curtis,” Michael answered.
“Then you know what happened after he disappeared five years ago?”
“I was part of the rescue mission that went in after him,” Michael said shortly. “We were ambushed and I was captured with three others. Only two of us made it out alive.”
“Sweet Mother of God,” Chris murmured. “I'm sorry. I had no idea! Of all the people to have to...still, no one could have foreseen this. Well, I don't need to tell you what a dismal failure that rescue op was; you were there. What I can tell you is that FoxNews got hold of that story and they're running it tomorrow.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“I'm beginning to see the show of good faith angle,” he said slowly. “Whose idea was that? You know what? Don't tell me. I don't need to know.”
“The White House is going to try to downplay the whole thing, obviously,” Chris said, sitting back in his chair and sipping his bourbon.
“Tell me,” Michael said, his voice tight, “how exactly do you downplay twenty-four soldiers killed in an ambush? I'm curious.”
“Look, Mike, obviously this will be tough for you,” Chris said after a moment of silence. “Why don't you take some time off and I'll have someone else handle point on this? You haven't taken a vacation since last fall, and I don't think that even registered on the relaxation scale. Take a couple weeks off and go to an island. Take your girlfriend with you.”
“I don't have a girlfriend,” Michael retorted, “but don't worry, I know the drill. I'll toe the party line.”
“Dammit, Mike, I don't care about the party line and you know it,” Chris exclaimed, sitting forward impatiently and setting his glass down on the desk. “I'm worried about you. What if you come face to face with Sgt. Curtis while you're on duty? No one would blame you for laying him out flat, but then I'd have one hell of a mess on my hands. I can see it now: Secret Service Agent Clocks White House Guest of Honor.”
“It would help with the press,” Michael murmured, his lips twitching despite himself.
“We could always play the old ‘I thought he had a gun’ card,” Chris agreed, grinning briefly before sobering. “Seriously, though. You're too close to this. Let me put someone else on it and you take a vacation.”
“Is that an order, sir?”
Chris sighed and sat back in his chair.
“You know it's not.”
“Then I'll stay and work,” Michael said. “Sgt. Curtis didn't kill those men, the enemy did. The reason we were there is immaterial. It was our job and we did it. Now it's over.”
Chris studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly.
“Fair enough,” he decided, reaching for his bourbon again. “What's the news on that other issue you were looking into?”
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly.
“You know about that?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” Chris answered with a flash of a smile. “I didn't get this far by not having a clue what my people are doing. Have you found anything to support your suspicions?”
“Not yet,” Michael answered slowly. “At least, nothing that would convince anyone.”
“What does your gut tell you?” Chris asked, watching him closely.
Michael swirled the whiskey in his glass thoughtfully.
“I think there's something going on,” he said decisively. “I just don't know what.”
“This is not the time to not know what,” his boss informed him. “If there's something going on, find it before Sgt Curtis gets to Washington and we have the whole world watching.”
“When's that, exactly?”
“Four days,” Chris told him. “You have four days to clear the threat, if there is one.”
Michael stared at him for a moment, then lifted the glass to his lips and drained it.
“Four days,” Chris affirmed. “So far, your gut has always been right. If it's right this time, I can't let that soldier within a hundred miles of the President of the United States. Find the threat, Mike. Whatever it takes, do it.”
“Whatever it takes?” Michael repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Chris met his look squarely.
“Whatever, or whomever, it takes.”
Viper sat back and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She had been in her command center all afternoon going through her files on Al-Jibah once more. Somewhere, she must have missed something during her initial review. The silence in the command center was broken when her cell phone began vibrating next to the mouse. Frowning, she reached for it, not taking her eyes off the screen.
“Yes?”
“Lina, it's Steph. You busy?”
“Just doing some homework,” Alina murmured. “What's up?”
“Have you talked to John lately?”
“Define lately,” Alina said, pulling her eyes away from the intelligence report on her screen.
“Today?”
“No.”
“I'm worried about him,” Stephanie told her. “He's acting very preoccupied and not like himself.”
“His friend just died,” Alina replied, stretching. “Cut him some slack.”
“It's not just that,” Stephanie insisted. “Yesterday, I caught him doing a full background on the guy Dutch was racing. He says something doesn't add up about the whole thing. Wait...you know?”
“Of course I do,” Alina said, her lips curving.
“When did you find out?” Stephanie asked curiously, then, “You know what, never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters is that John left work early without any word of warning.”
“Maybe he had an appointment.” Alina stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. “Maybe he was meeting Nipples for dinner.”
“I tried calling his cell, but he's not answering,” Stephanie continued, ignoring her.
“Steph, what would you like me to do?” Alina asked politely. “I'm not his keeper.”
“He'll answer if you call him.”
Alina closed her eyes briefly and thought of her nice, quiet and uncomplicated existence prior to a year ago.
“Are you seriously asking me to check up on your partner for you?” she asked.
“No. I'm asking you to check up on your friend,” Stephanie countered.
“Friend is a bit extreme.”
“Lina!”
“I miss South America,” Alina said under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Are you still at work?”
“Yes, but I'm getting ready to leave,” Stephanie answered. “Call my cell.”
Alina disconnected and set the phone down moodily. She didn't want to call John and get dragged into whatever mini-crisis he was having over the death of his friend. It was sad that Dutch was gone, but death was part of her world. She was the last person John wanted to hear from if he was having a meltdown.
Alina pursed her lips, tapping her finger on the phone absently. If John wasn't answering Stephanie's call, he was up to something. He hadn't changed that much over the years. When he didn't want to explain something, he simply avoided the phone call. Standard operating procedure for him.
With a quick movement, Viper slid her chair over to a different PC a few feet away. After typing a command and waiting for a few seconds, she frowned at the image that came up on the screen.
“I'm going to regret this,” she muttered before reaching over and grabbing her cell phone. She opened her contacts and tapped one, waiting while it rang.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Did Stephanie tell you to call?” John asked after a brief silence.
“Answer the question.”
“I'm at home,” he told her.
Alina raised an eyebrow and glanced at the monitor in front of her.
“Stephanie's worried about you,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Apparently, you're acting stranger than usual.”
“My friend was just killed,” John retorted. “Doesn't that count for something?”
“That's what I told her,” Alina told him. “Why were you doing background on Tito at work?”
“She told you that?!” John exclaimed. When she was silent, he sighed. “You know why.”
“At work, though? I really thought you had more sense than that,” she answered. John was silent and Alina propped her feet up on the counter, crossing her ankles and making herself comfortable in her chair. “What did you find out?”
“He served four years for manslaughter and got out last year,” John answered. “When he got out, he had a job waiting for him at Atco Raceway. Parole officer states he checked in regularly, passed all his random drug screens, and was a model parolee. His parole ended last month.”
“So, he's a free man again,” Alina murmured. “That's it? That's all you got?”
“That's it,” John muttered.
“Well, that's very unimpressive, John.”
“I know, but don't worry. I'm on to something. I'll have more by the end of the night.”
Alina's eyes rested on the monitor again thoughtfully.
“What would you like me to tell Stephanie?” she asked.
“That I'll see her in the morning,” he said shortly. “I've got to go.”
Alina disconnected and tapped her phone against her chin thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving the monitor. After a lengthy, internal debate, she got up decisively and turned toward the entrance to her command center. She pressed speed dial again and held the phone to her ear while she pushed a green button on the wall. Above her, the entrance slid open silently and she started up the stone steps.
“Well?” Stephanie answered.
“I'm coming to get you,” Viper said shortly. “He's in the middle of the Pine Barrens.”
“I knew it!” Stephanie exclaimed. “What's he doing?”
“Knowing John, nothing good.”
Michael opened the front door, Corona in hand, and nodded in greeting.
“I hope you have more of those,” Blake Hanover said, motioning to the beer.
“Sure do,” Michael answered, stepping aside so Blake could enter the house. “I even have limes.”
“So where were you all day?” Blake demanded as Michael closed the door and moved down the hall to the kitchen in the back. The smell of lasagna hung heavily in the air and Blake's stomach growled in response. “I stopped by your office at lunch to see if you wanted to join me, but Chris came down and said you took the day off.”
“I had some things I had to take care of,” Michael replied over his shoulder.
Blake raised an eyebrow and followed him into the kitchen. A big pan of lasagna sat on top of the stove cooling and garlic bread was on a board on the island.
“Cooking lasagna?” Blake asked. “Molotov cocktails aren't going to come flying through those windows, are they?”
Michael glanced at the new kitchen window above the sink, installed last summer after one such volatile bomb destroyed its predecessor. His lips curved faintly.
“I hope not,” he answered, crossing to the refrigerator. “I just finished replacing the floors.”
He pulled out a bottle of Corona and turned to find Blake examining the wood floors.
“Oh yeah, they are new, aren't they?” he said in surprise.
“Some investigator you are,” Michael laughed, handing him the beer. “The lime’s over there on the counter.”
“I've been a little distracted lately,” Blake said defensively, taking the beer and moving around the island to a cutting board with half a lime. “They look good. Who did them?”
“I did, jackass,” Michael answered cheerfully.
“Better hope your girlfriend doesn't come visit,” Blake said, slicing a piece off the lime. “Trouble seems to follow her.�
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“How's Buddy these days?” Michael asked innocently. “Still letting strange women break into your house?”
Blake scowled and turned to face him.
“Touché,” he muttered, tilting his beer in a silent toast. Michael grinned and they drank. “Speaking of the Black Widow, have you talked to her lately?”
“Yes.” Michael set his beer down and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “I went to see her.”
“See her?” Blake crooked an eyebrow. “She's back?”
“For now,” Michael answered, turning to the lasagna. He grabbed a large spatula and scooped a heaping piece onto his plate.
“What are her thoughts on the terrorists they released from Gitmo?” Blake asked, getting his own plate and taking the spatula from Michael.
“She didn't share,” he answered, turning to get some garlic bread.
“It's gotta piss her off there are three more out there again,” Blake muttered. “I know it's burning me up.”
“None of us like it,” Michael said, swiping up his beer on his way to the table on the other side of the kitchen. “It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”
“I have a feeling we can look forward to more of the same, at least until we can vote this one out.”
“I'd rather not think about it.”
“I called Agent Walker this morning.” Blake changed the subject and joined Michael at the table with a plate piled high with lasagna and garlic bread. “She sounds like she needs a vacation.”
“She probably does. Why don't you invite her down for a long weekend?” Michael said with a grin and a wink.
“Hey, she can bring your girlfriend back to you,” Blake retorted, laughing when Michael's grin turned to a scowl. “Seriously, though, why is Viper back?”
“You don't really think she would tell me, do you?” Michael asked, amused again. “I'm lucky she allows me inside her security perimeter.”
“Seems kind of suspicious, her showing up stateside when you think...” Blake stopped talking when Michael held up a hand warningly and shook his head slightly. Blake nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent command to keep quiet on that topic. He cleared his throat. “Well, it's just strange.”