by C Paradee
"I called this meeting tonight because we have a potential problem. An ex-wet Ops/infiltration agent has filed a complaint that her reports have been tampered with. This could cause us some serious problems. The repercussions from this accusation could close us down permanently. And I don’t even want to think about what would happen if the press got a hold of it."
Pausing, he ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. Only one man present knew him well enough to recognize that simple action as extreme agitation. "Our backers are already getting nervous. My sources say an unofficial investigation is being planned. For right now I am going to halt our activities and try to find a way onto the investigating committee."
The group had originally been formed as a means of quality control to check out some of the agents’ reports and to ensure the standards of the FBI were being upheld. They were fifty-three members strong, and their official function was to infiltrate random targets a second time and independently report their findings. The targets to reinfiltrate were provided by the Quality Control Division. Over the course of the last few years, there were several instances where these operatives’ impressions differed from the original agent’s.
Two members of the Quality Control Division, unbeknownst to the others and hiding behind the guise of what was best for the country, had begun earmarking some of the files for further action. Subsequently, an unofficial subgroup was formed consisting only of the operatives present at this meeting. Their sole function was to carry out termination orders.
One of the men, dressed casually in jeans and a maroon pullover, cleared his throat. Ben looked up at the sound. "You have a question?"
"Is this investigation being planned because of an accusation of one operative?" Sherman asked, knowing that for an investigation to ensue there had to be strong evidence of foul play.
"Yes it is. Her word carries a lot of weight with the Director."
"Well, seems to me they couldn’t very well investigate if the only complainant wasn’t around," Sherman answered, a cold smile turning up the corners of his mouth. At 35, he was one of the oldest operatives in the room, and the most deadly. He had been recruited into wet Ops straight out of the academy based on his psychological profile. Sherman enjoyed killing and felt absolutely no remorse. The Agency weeded out the recruits with sociopathic tendencies in the psychological testing. But tests don’t always accurately assess personality traits.
Ben met Sherman’s slate gray eyes and smug look with a smile. "That would probably work in most cases. But the fact that she is, if not the best, one of the best operatives the Agency has ever produced might make that a little difficult." Looking pointedly at Sherman, he continued, "Ever hear the name Viglioni?"
Sherman felt a strange sensation. Identifying it, he realized it was panic or as close to panic as he had ever come. Narrowing his eyes, he thought fast. This was a much more serious situation than Ben could ever imagine.
Viglioni was a legend in her own time. She had the distinct honor of never failing on a mission regardless of the danger to herself. She was said to be without fear and heralded by the Agency as the ideal agent. Sherman always felt those rumors were highly exaggerated, and only spread as an incentive to the male agents.
Deciding the best way to persuade Ben might be to sway the other operatives to his viewpoint, Sherman challenged him, "You think she’s better than we are collectively?"
"I never said that. But I can guarantee you that some of you would die trying to take her down. I’ve seen her in action. Trust me when I tell you she is not someone to be taken lightly. And due to her high profile it’s not a good idea. Now if you have any other suggestions, I’d be happy to entertain them."
"I still think we should just eliminate the problem. There are ways to make it look like an accident. No one would be able to prove anything. We’re finished if what we’re doing is uncovered. I don’t plan on going to prison or dying in the chair," Sherman retorted, and added, "I rather take my chances, and if some of us die, so be it."
"Yeah…"
"I’m not going to rot in prison…"
"He’s right…"
Ben slammed his empty glass down on the table and raised his voice to regain control of the meeting. "Stop your whining and listen up. The committee may not uncover anything. The Agency does thousands of infiltration’s each year. In view of that, the scope of our operation has been quite small. You kill her and it might be kind of hard to explain the dead operatives associated with the ‘accident.’ For now we lay low and wait."
"I still don’t like it," Sherman said and smiled inwardly at the agreeing murmurs around the table.
Ben shoved his chair back and stood up glaring at Sherman. "That’s enough. I’m in charge here, not you. Maybe you’d like to be assigned to a desk job. That can be arranged you know."
Sherman’s face reddened and he met the eyes of the man he had considered his friend. Ben was toying with their futures. He was willing to take a chance and compromise all of them instead of just eliminating the problem. The fact that his opinion was influenced by being directly responsible for this development never fazed him. He said, "Ok. We wait," thinking, but I intend to do what I have to.
Ben’s gaze drifted slowly around the table making eye contact with each operative. "If there are no other questions, you’re free to leave. I’ll be in contact."
The operatives began leaving the same way they had arrived, individually and at irregular intervals.
Sherman was the last to leave. Turning to Ben, he smiled and said, "Later."
Ben nodded and Sherman exited the room. Sighing, he poured himself another drink and took a large swallow. He hadn’t expected his authority to be challenged. When the backers had approached him about a way to eliminate potential threats against the government and other citizens, he had agreed to act as liaison and had personally chosen each member of the secret team.
They had also discussed how to administratively handle the cases that were to be acted on. They had a choice of not altering the records and taking the chance that one of the desk jockeys would notice the discrepancy when the termination report was filed or changing the reports. They had opted for the latter. But which one of those two old fools had been stupid enough to target one of Viglioni’s cases? Well it didn’t really matter now. The damage was done.
* * *
Megan thoughts had returned to the next stop on their trip. She was worried. She knew Tony tended to internalize things, but this was something they needed to talk about. Maybe she was rushing things. It was a major decision and if Tony wasn’t sure about it, she should wait until she was.
Megan moved from the comforting backrest Tony was providing and scooted around on the bed until she was facing her. Looking into the deep blue eyes that were watching her quizzically, she said, "You haven’t said a thing all weekend about…"
"I know," Tony said interrupting her. Tony closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. Opening her eyes, she said, "I’ve been thinking about it a lot."
Megan looked into her partner’s worried eyes. Raising a hand to Tony’s face gently stroking her cheek, she said, "You don’t have to do this. There’s no rush. If you’re not ready Tony, it’s ok. Don’t push yourself."
Tony saw the concern on Megan’s face and the love shining brightly out of the green and gold eyes. A small sigh escaped her mouth. "I have to. It’s something I should’ve done a long time ago. Pausing for a moment, trying to verbalize her feelings, she continued, "You know all the stories we’ve told each other… about when we were kids… .well… .I guess it made me realize how much I miss my mother. Even if it turns out bad… .at least I’ll know."
Megan leaned over and hugged her partner. Tony relaxed against her lover before pulling away and saying, "I think it might be best if you just go on back to Cleveland and I’ll meet you there in a couple of days. If it doesn’t go well, I don’t want to put you through that."
Megan tried to hide the deep sense of hurt that fi
lled her at the words by averting her face. She’s blocking me out. Turning back to face her partner, she said, "We planned this trip together. Not just the fun part, the whole thing. No matter how it goes, I plan on being there for you."
Tony felt a sinking feeling in her stomach when she saw the hurt on Megan’s face. Look what I’ve done now. I have to make her understand.
Reaching out, she placed her hand around one of Megan’s smaller ones. "I’m just thinking of you. I love you, and I don’t want to take a chance and ruin the fun we’ve had the last couple of days. It’s my problem, not yours."
Tony only had a moment to register the impact her words had on Megan before the hazel eyes started flashing and the face looking at her reflected anger.
"What do you mean it’s not my problem? I thought we were partners. I love you Tony and that means sharing. Not just the good but the bad too. After all we’ve been through I can’t believe you said that."
"I didn’t mean it like that…"
"Well just how did you mean it? It certainly sounded like that to me," Megan retorted, more hurt than angry.
All of a sudden the words she had uttered hit her from Megan’s perspective. Swallowing hard, her mouth dry, she moved over to Megan wrapping her in her arms. She felt the stiff, tension filled body against hers. "I’m sorry, Love. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I thought it was selfish to drag you along with me for moral support. I wasn’t trying to leave you out."
Megan felt some of the tension drain from her body. "You forgot one thing. I’m here because I want to be. It’s a choice I made when I fell in love with you. It’s not up to you to decide what you think is right for me. Those are the kind of decisions we make together." Megan hesitated, then added, "If you don’t want me to go, fine. But remember one thing. It’s not just your problem anymore. It affects you, so it affects me too."
Overcome with emotion and unable to speak, Tony tightened her hold on Megan hoping the increased contact would convey the depth of her feelings and take away some of the hurt her words had caused. Finally able to verbalize, she said simply, "I want you to go."
* * *
Charles stood in front of the mirror tightening the knot in his tie, making sure it was perfectly centered. As one of the senior partners in the law firm he felt it was important to set the standard and this included professional appearance. Satisfied, he left the bedroom and walked down to the kitchen for his usual breakfast of two eggs, toast and coffee.
Barbara looked up when her husband walked into the kitchen.
"Morning," she said while setting his breakfast on the table. "How was the trip?" He had just returned on the red eye and they hadn’t had a chance to talk.
"Just routine," Charles said. He had been on a business trip for two weeks visiting some of the law firm's more prestigious clients. He traveled frequently for this purpose, but this trip had been longer than normal because the corporate agreement the firm had drawn up for one of the clients had been inadequate for their needs.
Smiling, knowing Charles would be pleased, Barbara said, "I saved some papers you might want to see. Megan made the headlines."
Charles looked up, his attention now fully on his wife. "Was it about that serial killer case she was working on?"
Smiling proudly, Barbara said, "Yes. She and an FBI agent were credited with solving the case."
"Let me see them."
Barbara handed him the two newspapers and sat down to join him for coffee.
Reading quickly, Charles smiled, very proud of his daughter. This reflected very favorably on the family image. He remembered when she defied him and entered medicine instead of following his footsteps and becoming a lawyer. Then, when she had told him she was going to be a pathologist of all things, he almost lost it. It was one of the very few times he had not been able to persuade her to his way of thinking. But if she was going to bring honor to the family, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad decision.
Charles looked up and said, "Invite her over for dinner. And Barbara… make sure she comes this time." His daughter was a little too independent for her own good.
"I’ll invite her. But you should know by now that whether she comes or not will be her decision." Barbara knew exactly why Megan didn't visit more often. The reason was sitting across the table from her. Charles just wouldn't quit hounding her about her job and personal life.
Charles frowned and said, "Make sure she realizes that she has an obligation to us."
Barbara looked at her husband and shook her head. When would he learn that this particular daughter was done bending to his will?
Finishing his breakfast he walked over to Barbara, kissed her goodbye, and departed for the office.
* * *
Tony had the cab driver drop her off at the corner to give her more time to go over in her mind, once again, how to approach her mother. She wanted to see her mother, but she had no idea what her reception would be. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What do I do then? I don’t even know what to say to her. Tony had spent the whole flight to Boston going over what she was going to say when her mother opened the door. Megan had simply said, "Tony, you will know what to say when you see her. Trust me on this one."
Sighing, hoping Megan was right, Tony began walking toward her mother’s house. She stood on the sidewalk looking at her childhood home. The small white house with green shutters had been replaced by gray vinyl siding and maroon trim. Her lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile when she saw the red roses around the base of the house and the plant hangers with brightly colored flowers adorning the porch. Her mother had always loved flowers.
Tony’s thoughts turned back in time to when she was four years old. Wanting to please her mother, she had picked a bouquet of beautiful little yellow flowers. She had been rewarded with a big hug and kiss. Her mother had told her they were the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen and put the dandelions in a vase on the kitchen table. They had remained there until they finally wilted and died.
It’s time, her mind nudged her. Tony snorted and thought, yep, here I am. A big bad fearless FBI agent and my stomach is in knots over seeing my mother. With the steely determination that had marked her success in the FBI, Tony pushed her doubts aside and walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Ringing the doorbell, she stood waiting for her mother to answer, her mind a contrast of conflicting thoughts.
Rosa finished dusting the coffee table and looked around the living room. She was in her late fifties, but had aged well. A handsome woman, her face was offset by a pair of deep blue eyes and short wavy black hair that was just beginning to gray. She wore a yellow dress with short sleeves and a full skirt. Rosa was 5'6" and still stood tall. Over the years she had put on a few pounds, but she wore them well. One of the pillars of the small community she lived in, Rosa was a kind woman and well liked by her neighbors. Her own life had had its share of tragedy, yet she was always there to listen to their problems and offer sensible advice.
Her eyes rested on the one shelf she hadn’t dusted yet. She always saved it for last. Walking over and standing in front of it, Rosa looked at the three pictures. Picking up one, she wiped the surface of it. Her first born, George, had been such a handsome boy. He had looked a lot like his father with his brown hair, brown eyes and roman nose. Setting it down, she picked up the next one. Running the cloth over it, she looked at the picture of Joey. He had been her youngest child. He had a heart of gold that matched his blond hair. The smile on his face was a testament to his whole personality, sunny. She returned the picture to its place on the shelf.
She picked up the picture she had saved for last. The picture was of a teenager with dancing blue eyes and shoulder length black hair. The high cheekbones gave the face a sculpted appearance. White teeth contrasted sharply with the tanned face smiling brightly out at her. The face held the promise of a beauty yet to be fully realized. She walked over to the couch and sat down, the picture in her hands, the dusting forgotten.
Holding
the picture out away from her, she saw dark circles form under eyes that were now red rimmed from crying. The tanned face became pale and looked haunted. The happy fun loving teenager was gone. That was the way her only daughter had looked the last time she saw her at George’s and Joey’s funeral. She had been so lost in her own grief, she had been unable to share her daughter’s. She remembered Tony blaming herself for their deaths. She knew better, but she had been in shock from the cruel turn of fate and been unable to console her.
Rosa reflected on the words of her friend Joyce about a week after the funeral. She had said, "Rosa, sometimes there are very special people put on this earth for just a short time. They affect everyone they come in contact with. They spread love. They are a joy to know and a gift to be treasured. Accept the gift you were given and remember the happiness they brought you." The words had struck a chord deep inside her and allowed the healing to begin. She finally accepted their deaths and was able to move on.
Her thoughts returned to the present, and she asked the questions she asked herself every day. Tony where are you? Are you ok? Have you found happiness? Do you still blame yourself? Do you ever think about me or miss me as much as I miss you? She hugged the picture to her breast, the cold hard surface a poor substitute for the living breathing daughter she knew was out there somewhere.
She had tried to find her. Rosa had contacted all their friends and everyone else she could think of who might know where her daughter was. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air. The police did file a missing person’s report, but nothing ever came of it. Rosa doubted they even looked for her since it was obvious she had left by choice after the events of her departure were revealed. The last attempt she had made was several years ago. She had finally saved up enough money for a private investigator. He told her Tony had graduated from college and then entered the FBI, but there the trail ended. The only consolation Rosa had was knowing that her daughter had to be alive or the FBI would have notified her.