“Hoooolllyyyy shit!” the NJT cop moans.
“You know this guy?”
“Hell yes! It’s Santa Claus!”
“I guess that makes the Grinch our prime suspect.”
Chapter 4
Learn to Live Charter School, Philadelphia
Kate is trying hard to not fall victim to the Monday blues. It started by waking up next to Michael. She’s already beginning to recognize a mental distancing, and it hurts. Then her supervisor stops by her office. “Hi Kate, thank goodness I caught you.”
“Hi Joan, what’s up?”
Joan lowers her voice. “I need you to do a home visit tomorrow, grief counseling. One of our tenth graders. He just found out his dad was killed in Afghanistan.”
“Oh no! I read about that. Sure, let me look at my schedule.” Kate says as she re-opens her office. Unfortunately, the violent death of a parent isn’t that uncommon in her school district, though things had been getting better recently. Even so, Kate still makes at least six such visits in a year.
“Let’s see, I can do it at two?” she says looking at her calendar.
“Great! Stop by my office tomorrow morning for the paperwork.”
“Okay, see you then. Bye, Joan.”
“Bye, Kate.”
“Such a shame,” she says to herself. At least these kids would be cared for. The government had seen fit to increase the death benefits. Crossing the parking lot, Kate is lost in thought, trying to reconcile a child’s suffering with God’s plan when it hits her; the tingle of a presence. Someone is watching her, probably Stani. Without a beat, she gets into her car, thinking of an errand she is now determined to do. The warning in the side view mirror makes her smile.
Objects appear closer than they seem.
Chapter 5
North Philadelphia
Once again, Moody’s mind is doing a number on his head. He hasn’t been involved in the operation even a day yet and he’s already killed two people. He tries to stay calm, watching TV in the seedy motel room he found along Route 1, but the guilt gnaws on his brain. He feels he is sinking into a dark hole, the walls slowly rising around him. He got what he needed out of the Russian, but then things got messy. He didn’t want to kill the old man, but he had to.
“Am I possessed? My Lord, is it you, or a demon?” he thinks aloud. There is no answer.
“I almost cut off the old man’s head,” he moans, “Like the chicken!”
A picture from his childhood flashes in his mind, the butchered bird on the run and the blood in his father’s butcher shop, running down the drain. Right now Moody has more than he can handle.
He is on the edge of a panic attack. Usually it’s nothing his Xanax can’t fix. Problem is, he doesn’t have any, left home in the rush. Without his meds, he is an unbalanced chemical catastrophe. His bipolar nature swings between self-assuredness to freezing phobias, all driven by the post-traumatic stress disorder, the result of his childhood and sparked at the sight of Vanya’s river of blood.
He begins to sing a song from his childhood, the one he used after his father gave him to that man for a night, the one who wanted him to dance.
“All the animals in the forest, all the fish in the sea. Allah loves all his creations, especially little boys like me.”
He repeats it again and again, until he falls asleep. He tries to take comfort in the thought that the worst is over. If only he knew how wrong he was.
6
Woodcrest Road
Between the big comfortable bed, lavished with pillows, and the quiet of the suburban neighborhood, and the emotional roller coaster of the past few days, sleep comes easy to Dan McDowd. The nightmares are not far behind.
An eight-year-old Danny McDowd sits on the corner of his bed, holding a shoebox. He can hear the sound track of The Odd Couple somewhere in the distance. The audience laughs every time Felix clears his sinus with a honk!
He looks to his left, and sitting next to him is Bone, blood soaked and covered in yellow dirt. A bloody foam oozes from his wound.
“Take the box to your daddy, Chiller,” Bone smiles.
Little Danny gets up and goes into the kitchen where he finds his disheveled and obviously drunk father sitting at the kitchen table. He hands the box to his dad, who starts to sing Oh Danny Boy. Reaching in, he pulls out a gun and holds it to his head.
Julie is downstairs in the laundry room when she hears the screaming.
“Dad! No! Don’t do it dad, don’t shoot!”
She bounds up the stairs and into his room, finding her little brother, violently thrashing in the bed. She tries to grab his hands, hoping to rouse him. “Dan! Wake up! You’re dreaming!” she shouts.
It takes a minute, but he comes out of it, confused and shaken.
The fear has caught up to Julie, and she bursts into tears. “Dan, it’s only a dream. It’s just a dream…”
Slowly, he remembers where he is, and begins to relax.
“Dad was going to kill himself…”
“I know, but he didn’t, and he’s okay,” she tells him. They’d both seen it happen, a long time ago.
Just as she’s done countless times before, Julie stays with her little brother until he falls back asleep, and stays that way until well into the following day.
He too has a box, tucked deep under his bed. The apple hasn’t fallen very far from the tree.
In the corner of the room, under a pile of dirty clothes, his cell phone buzzes away, set on vibrate. Dan McDowd can’t come to the phone right now, being some place far away and long ago.
Chapter 7
Newark Liberty Airport
From a distance, it seems a happy reunion of family or friends back home from a long trip. The woman’s pretty smile buys her a few extra seconds from the cop in front of terminal B as she picks up the passengers. The mood changes as soon as she pulls away. Elayna tries to keep the tone friendly, deciding it the best way to play it for now. They reek from booze.
“You guys must be beat.”
“Yes, a damn long flight,” Kreichek drones.
“Where are we going?” Hutnikov wearily asks from the back.
“I have hotel rooms in the area of operations. It’s about a two-hour drive, if you want to nap.”
“Good idea,” he replies.
She looks at Kreichek, already asleep, but she knows it won’t take much to wake him. She heads south once again.
“Sweet dreams, boys. No telling how many you have left.”
Elayna takes her time traveling down the congested highway, not terribly concerned about being followed, because she knows she is.
She wouldn’t have it any other way—in fact, she was counting on it—but no one will be pulling any surprises tonight.
8
Newscenter 7
Actionable intelligence is information that can be used in advance of an event to alter the outcome, or to enable her to gather evidence in support of an investigation. It has been a long open case, but only because she’s allowed it to be that way.
“Was there love?” Kate wonders as she pulls into the station’s parking lot. She glances at Tom next to her, then Robbie in the mirror. “There is love, just not the way I imagined it.”
After years of sobriety, she recognizes the truth, but those years she spent working on herself, not on her marriage. “You had to do that, Kate. Everything you put before your sobriety is the first thing you lose.”
By the time she was able to be the wife and mother she was supposed to be, the damage was done. “Could it have been fixed?”
She did try, countless times, fixing herself and rebuilding his trust. For a while it did seem to be working. Yet the family tree, her marriage, despite its outward strength, had rotted inside.
The only thing left was to cut it down, before it did any more damage.
Actionable intelligence.
Michael Wilson’s producers have gathered in his
office for the 6pm show’s post mortem before breaking for dinner. They are mostly single women, attracted to journalism by its altruism and a high glass ceiling. The meetings are brief because they all have to come back to do an 11pm show. Susan Hayward, the executive producer, is trouble shooting a mistake on a live shot when Kate and the boys come in.
“Oh, hi guys,” Michael says, interrupting.
“Sorry, I thought you’d be done by now. We just thought we’d surprise you with some dinner,” Kate says, smiling.
“Wow, I wish my wife would do that every now and then.” says the lone male producer. Dan makes brief introductions for those who hadn’t met.
“Family, news staff. News staff, family.”
“Hi Kate,” Susan smiles, having met Kate before. “And Tom, you’re turning into a real stud muffin.”
The younger women voice agreement, turning Tom into a human tomato.
“We’re done. See you all in an hour,” Susan says.
Kate usually hangs out with Susan at the obligatory station functions, chatting about Susan’s autistic son. It isn’t Susan who concerns Kate. She feels the awkward tension in the room, and suspects Susan’s chitchat is trying to distract her. Before long Kate targets her competition, the leggy blonde on the couch next to Dan’s desk.
She looks anxious and avoids making eye contact as she leaves.
“Oh, and happy birthday, Caroline.”
Caroline turns abruptly, confused. Not knowing what to say, and how Kate knew, all she can say is a nervous “Thank you.”
Seeing this, Susan knows her boss is busted. She gives Kate a knowing smile. “It was good seeing you, Kate, enjoy your dinner.”
“Good seeing you too, Susan.”
Now Kate turns her attention to Michael. The boys tear into the food like wild baboons, minus the shrieks.
“I hope we didn’t ruin any plans,” Kate says.
He is bland and polished as always. “No! It’s a great surprise.”
A huge window makes up most of his office wall that faces the newsroom. Kate goes over to pull the blinds. “How about a little privacy?” she suggests, not waiting for an answer. She sees Caroline watching her intently from across the room. Kate smiles at her as she closes the shades.
Michael has no idea about the bus that’s about to hit him.
Chapter 9
Willow Grove Naval Air Station
It has been a very long haul home, but finally the Gulfstream V comes to a halt and the engines begin to wind down for a well-deserved rest. Rising, stretching and yawning, the boys begin to head for the exit and get the customary send off from the flight crew as they head out. A black Chevy Suburban pulls up as the men descend from the aircraft. A suit rolls down the window, “Dave Edwards, right?”
“That’s me.”
“Shelly Haddad, FBI. Bob sent me to meet you guys. We’re keeping tabs on some Russians for you. Hop inside.”
“How do you know Bob?” Edwards ask as they pull away.
“A little friendly cooperation between sister agencies. We worked together on a job out of Iraq involving Al Qaeda.”
“So now you’re watching Russians?” Freaks smiles.
“Everything old is new again. We’re calling it a training exercise, which is all I hope it amounts to. We’ve got us some rooms at the Bachelors Officers Quarters, just down the road here. The base is mostly deactivated, so we pretty much have the run of the place.”
“Nice and quiet,” Edwards yawns.
Freaks knows better. “More like the calm before the storm, I’ll bet.”
Chapter 10
Newscenter 7
The Wilson family has enjoyed their Chinese picnic dinner.
“Hey, Dad, can we go check out the chopper?” Robbie asks.
“Sure. Tom, go with him,” Michael says.
“Hold on, guys! Get back here,” Kate shouts after them. The boys stop dead in their tracks and do an about-face. “Give your father a kiss goodbye.”
“Bye, Dad,” says Tom.
“Bye, Dad,” says Robbie. Then they bolt out.
Now Kate and Michael are alone. The time has come. She stands like a high diver at the edge of the platform, not looking down but ahead to the horizon. She is afraid, but she is also determined. All it takes is the firing of a few synapses, setting into motion something that can never be undone, launching her into the abyss.
“I hope we didn’t screw up any plans. She seemed pissed.” She doesn’t look at him for the answer.
“What, who?”
“Caroline.”
Kate sees his deer in the headlights look. He knows he’s walked into a trap, frozen in fear about setting it off.
“This is your last chance, Michael,” Kate tells him. She owes him that. She is not beyond forgiveness. He is a man, after all, but there is a limit to what any woman will tolerate.
“Who? I don’t get what you mean,” he bumbles.
Kate walks over to the closed blinds and reaches for the cord. She smiles. “I’ll bet that when I open these blinds, Caroline will be looking right in here.”
“I don’t get it, honey,” he says.
“Do I really want it to end this way?” she asks herself, but another voice inside
says,“Fuck him!”
Slowly Kate pulls the blinds open. Caroline looks right in. The moment she makes eye contact with Kate, she looks away. Michael does too.
Kate holds up her cell phone. “Did you ever read the technical manual for your phone?”
Michael doesn’t respond. If he could ask for an attorney, he’d be doing it right now, because anything he say will be used against him, probably in a court of law.
“No? Well I did,” she says with a snarky smile. It’s not like her. She notices it, taking pleasure in another’s pain. She continues anyway. “It has this really cool feature for texting. It will forward messages to another phone.”
The color drains from Michael’s face.
“I’ve been reading all about your little plans with her. About how you promise to top your last performance if she wears her little black dress.”
There is a knock at the door. Both turn to see Caroline standing there. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need this script approved.”
Kate shudders, her will overpowering the impulse to remove the threat to her and her family, once and for all.
“That’s all right, I was just leaving.”
“Kate, wait. It’s not what it seems.”
“No, Michael, it is. It’s over. We’re done.”
He knows he cannot defend the indefensible, and that his shame and guilt have only begun. “Kate…I’m sorry…”
“Don’t, Michael,” she tells him dismissively.
With a smirk Caroline backs away as Kate leaves, but Kate walks right at her, forcing her against a desk. The smirk vanishes. Kate gets in her face. “You have no idea how lucky you are right now,” she tells her sweetly. “Let’s hope you never do.”
Susan has watched it all from afar, shaking her head at the whole sad affair. She wouldn’t have minded at all if Kate had hauled off and smacked the young woman. As the dust begins to settle, she goes into Michael’s office.
“I warned you.”
“Don’t you have a show to produce?”
“It’s beyond me how you can be so stupid.”
Michael has an automatic door closer, which he uses now. Susan crosses her arms.
“You’re right, Susan, you don’t. It’s like living with Mother Theresa, a water walker that can do no wrong. She spends more time with that program than she does with me!”
“How would you know? You’re never there. She’s trying to stay sober. You don’t know how lucky you are, Michael, and still you’re willing to give it all up? What is this, a midlife crisis? Get a Harley.”
“To be honest, she was more fun to be with when she was drinking. I don’t know who she is anymore,”
he says to the family picture on his desk. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever did.”
Driving home, they glide through the dark suburban streets, past homes and families, surely each with their own dramas, great and small. She wishes that she could jump from her own life and hide in another, but then again, she’s already done that.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Tom has sensed her troubled thoughts for a while now, sitting in the front seat next to Kate. Only when he notices a tear slip down her cheek does he ask. She looks over at him.
“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. We do them because it’s the right thing to do, even if it’s hurtful to ourselves, and because it’s the best thing for others. Sometimes, it’s as simple as facing the truth.”
She looks in the mirror to see if Robbie is listening. He is rocking out on his iPod.
“This has something to do with Dad, doesn’t it?”
She smiles at his splendid innocence. “Sometimes, I just miss your father.”
“You think he is cheating on you?” She notes the He, as if he has already taken a side.
“Tom!” she scolds, but isn’t surprised by his perception.
“But is it true?”
She lets out a sigh. “There is a line we all come to, between good and bad, right and wrong, and sometimes good people cross that line, but it doesn’t always make them bad people, because in the end, it’s what they think, not what others think, that is most important to themselves.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes.”
It is an honest answer. Her old sponsor Lydia had warned her it would happen. In order to live, people in the program have to change, but their loved ones don’t have to, and although an alcoholic may survive, more often than not, the marriage does not.
Nothing in life is free, not even sobriety.
“Now what, Mom?” Tom asks.
“I wish I knew, sweetie.”
Kate may not know, but a little voice deep inside her has plenty of ideas, and none of them are good.
Alone in bed, the gravity of her actions has begun to leech in, like a leaking oil tank contaminating the ground around it. Kate finds herself almost wanting to hear the door unlock and the muffled footsteps of Michael slinking in. Then she thinks of where, and whom he is probably doing right now, and the anger builds again.