“Far out. You listening in on our guests?”
“Working on it, but we need a linguist.”
“Hey, how about the McDowd kid? He’s from around there.”
Edwards smiles and gives Freaks a kick on his shoe as he listens in with one ear, relaxing in a lazy boy in the BOQ’s living room. He mouths McDowd to him. “Good idea. So what you going to do?”
“I’m heading to the ranch to do a little research on one Mahmoud Barabi. I want to keep this as close to the vest as possible. I need something solid on this before we kick it up. You’re working with Haddad, right?” Bob says.
“Yup, he’s calling this a training exercise. I wonder where he got that idea?”
“Beats me. Good man Haddad. Worked with him before on a few jobs in Beirut,” Bob tells him.
“Yeah, but we’re hunting Russians,” Edwards says.
“Yeah, a little throw back to the good old days. I’ll call you later.”
It is about a forty-minute drive from Dulles to the CIA’s Langley campus in McLean, barring any traffic. He has been granted an audience with the DCI, Dr. Richard Tillman. The two men are actually old friends. Their wives were college roommates. “Doc” Tillman has served three Presidents, two as Director. Although there are many threats facing the country, Tillman knows that the agency’s greatest adversaries live inside the Washington beltway. He’s known as one of the smartest and most savvy operators around, yet always manages to do the right thing. His shelf life is proof of that.
Tillman’s administrative assistant shows him right in.
“What are you doing here?” Tillman asks with a wary smile, extending his hand.
“I’m fine! Thank you for asking,” Bob smiles. “How are Alice and the girls?”
“Great, thanks.” He doesn’t ask Bob about his wife. The split was ugly.
“So, what’s up? Heard you were in Tehran.”
“Fishing. We might have an issue. Deep-cover Russians,” Bob says sitting down.
“More? The FBI just rolled up a bunch,” Tillman says.
“Not SVR. GRU Spetsnaz,” Bob says. “One of them turned up dead in Kabul.” He hands Tillman the picture of Sasha with a woman. “The job had Iranian fingerprints all over it. I talked to old Uncle Yuri about it and my asking uncharacteristically freaked him out. So he tells me the guy was part of a first strike team. He tells me not to worry, that he’ll take care of it.”
“Oh boy,” Tillman says, rolling his eyes. “Now you’re scaring me.”
“Tell me about it, that’s why I had to go visit Reza. Fortunately, he had a come-to-Jesus moment and gave me the name of an operative here.”
Tillman looks up from the photo for more.
“Yuri gave us the names of his crew too, with the promise we don’t keep them. They came in yesterday, picked up by a woman. FBI is on them.”
“Who’s this broad?” Tillman asks, looking at the woman in the picture with Sasha.
“Don’t know, but on the back it says Katrina. That name turned up in a suspect’s diary in Kabul,” Bob explains.
Tillman ponders for a minute. “You’re afraid these are Buran operatives.”
“You said it, not me,” Bob says sternly. “Do you even mention it in the presidential transition briefings anymore?”
“Not since forty-four. You helped clean out a West German cell back aways, didn’t you,” Tillman recalls.
“Eighty-nine. We had to kill them all, and they took three from the BDN with them. They’re like animals. No thought, all instinct and reflex.”
“But if there is a cell here, they must be, what, in their forties or fifties?” Tillman asks.
“A rusty razor can still cut off your balls,” Bob replies.
Tillman takes it all in, calculating not only the threat, but also the aftermath. He is an excellent chess player. “Do what you have to, but as quietly as possible. You have a PAC?”
“Azure Rapture,” he confides.
“Good. Call it a drill. Keep it to your FBI pals. If DHS gets wind of this it will be like putting a pile of coke in front of a fan.”
“Got it,” Bob says getting up. He has one more question to ask, and he doesn’t want to ask it. “I need a contact over at Energy.”
Chapter 6
Oak Lane Apartments
“Ms. Washington?” Kate asks the woman who answers the door.
“No, I’m Ellen’s sister, Beverly. Ellen is resting right now.”
“I’m Kate Wilson. I called before, I’m from James’ school.”
A large man with a clerical collar opens the door wider. “Mrs. Wilson, hello, I’m Reverend Wall. We spoke earlier. Would you please come in?” he says, offering his hand.
“Thank you.”
“May I take your coat, miss?” Beverly asks.
“Yes, thank you.” Kate wriggles her coat off while still holding her bag.
“Right this way,” he says, ushering her into the small living room, made smaller by the collection of flowers. The reverend offers her a chair.
“Ellen had to go lie down for a spell, we just had a rather emotional visit with one of her son’s friends from the service. She asked me to thank you for coming, and hopes to join us before you leave,” the big bear like man says as he sat down.
“I understand,” Kate replies with a soothing compassion.
Across the room is a picture of Bone, his smiling service photo with the flag backdrop.
“I’m grateful for James’ service and sacrifice,” Kate says.
“So are we. I just hope his loss is not in vain,” the reverend sighs.
“We’re all in God’s hands.”
Reverend Wall lights up with this. “Yes, we are.” His confirmation signals approval of her understanding of the true nature of things. “So, young James.”
“Yes, the school offers crisis counseling to students who are facing loss. I’d just like to start with a little chat to see where he’s at, as if he doesn’t have it tough enough, a boy of his age. How well do you know him, Reverend?”
She makes a quick assessment of the home. The apartment is tidy, the furniture tired but well cared for. Sergeant Washington had been gone over a year and despite his absence, he still must have had some influence on the kids. Kate can imagine the struggle of wills developing between the boy coming of age in a world of bad influences, and a hardworking, old school, religious grandmother. But now with the father gone for good, she was sure the worst is yet to come. Family clergy are an excellent source of intelligence, probably much better than poor Ellen Washington.
“I’ve known him since birth, just as I knew his daddy. But he’s got a little too much of his momma in him, and she was a sick soul. She passed some time ago. Fell to the pipe, God forgive her.”
Genetics is a leading ingredient in the psychological soup of a child’s developing mind, and addiction that Kate knows all too well. She hasn’t even met him yet, but she can see the path he’s on.
“How is he taking all this, in your view?”
“I’ve been trying to get him to open up, but the boy is tighter than a clam.”
“Has he shown any emotion?”
The reverend shakes his head sadly. “No.”
“Bad sign,” she thinks. “There’ll be time. Right now he’s probably in emotional shock. We all handle grief in different ways. It’s especially hard for teens. They’re just getting to know themselves and their place in the world.”
“It’s such a shame. The streets take too many of our young men’s fathers. But here was one just doing the right thing, only to end up the same way, leaving another one of our sons at risk.” The reverend closes his eyes, sending a quick petition to the Lord.
Kate leans closer to him, lightly touching him on his knee. “You won’t lose this one, not if I have anything to do with it.”
He opens his eyes again, immediately seeing the conviction in Kate’s blue eyes, determined, wi
th a hint of mischief.
“I’d like to get started,” Kate smiles softly.
Reverend Wall smiles as he gets up. “Right this way.”
Kate follows him into the hall, where he points. “Third door. He knows you’re coming.”
She smiles and whispers, “Thank you.”
Kate hears the video game as she knocks. “James? I’m Kate Wilson. May I come in?” She sees the reverend waiting for her to go in.
“It’s open.”
He is lying on his bed, eyes glued to the set and the game. He’s lanky but young.
“S’up?” he asks, and then yells, “Damn!” as his running back fumbles.
“OH MY GOSH!” If he had been looking at her, he’d see the stunned look on her face and perhaps remember. Kate recognizes him instantly. She’s always been good with faces. It’s the kid from the store the other day, the kid she almost killed. “Boo,” she recalls.
“There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason…” she reminds herself.
Kate takes the chair at his desk. “Perfect place to put it on pause,” she says, reaching over to his controller and pushing the button. “Hi. As I said, I’m Kate. Your family thought it might be a good idea that we have a little chat.”
He is aggravated that his world is put on hold, but accepts that he has to deal with this lady. She’ll be gone soon enough. Kate recognizes the grudging politeness, something considered a weakness out on the street.
“You a shrink?”
“I’m a psychologist. Do you know the difference?”
“You ain’t a doctor, right?”
“Smart kid,” Kate smiles. “Well, kind of. Does that matter?”
“No, so what you want to talk ‘bout?”
“You. How’s James doing today?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know, that why I’m asking.”
“How you think? My daddy’s lying in a box up the street. How you expect me to be?” He is becoming agitated, the cool starting to melt.
“Well, I can guess. You’re pissed, mad as shit at the whole world, at God, maybe even at your dad. You feel guilty for being mad at your father, or over something you did or didn’t do, didn’t say and didn’t get a chance to make right with him. You’re afraid. You don’t know what’s going to happen now. You’re sad because you love him and miss him, but you’re afraid to show it.” Kate pauses for a second, watching him react to her litany.
“You let me know if I get something right, all right?”
James pulls his legs up to his chest and buries his chin in his knees. “I don’t know what I feel,” he concedes.
“It’s called being confused. You have so many things to feel, and you can’t focus on any single one. It’s like they all cancel each other out and leave you numb.” She lets that sink in. “You don’t have to be a tough guy and suck it up. You know why?”
He just shakes his head.
“Because it’s like drinking acid, rotting you away from the inside. I know. I’ve been there.”
“What’ch you want me to do?” he finally said.
“Talk, just let it out. People out there want to help you, like the reverend. He helped your dad, and you can tell me whatever you want, and it will be private.”
“How the hell can I trust you?”
She’s been waiting for this moment. “Because I didn’t rat you out…Boo.”
He shoots her a look. “Whaaa?”
“That welt on your head. I gave that to you.”
Kate sees the wheels turning inside, his mind trying to figure it out. “You don’t recognize me?”
He still can’t make the connection.
“The 7-11, last Friday night.”
Suddenly his eyes go wide. “Oh shit!”
“Oh yeah. Now you remember me,” Kate says with a grim.
James looks as if he’s going to bolt in panic.
“Chill,” she says, holding out her hand. “I took care of it. Five-O isn’t looking for you, but I wouldn’t go back there, if I were you.”
He still looks wary and unaccustomed to the good will.
“You trust me now?” she asks.
He nods.
“Good, now I want you to think about a few things, okay?”
He nods, starting to relax a little.
“What did Dan McDowd tell you about your dad?”
“He said he’s a hero.”
“He is, and you know what? Every day he’s going to be with you now, and he’ll never let go. But you also have to forgive him, for dying, for being a hero.”
Finally, the tears begin to fall. Kate moves next to him on the bed as he opens up, stroking his back as she would for her own son. The tough street kid is gone now, replaced by the real James Washington.
“It’s all right, James, and I bet your dad is proud of you right now.”
It isn’t a floodgate, but it’s a start.
“Here,” she says, handing him a tissue. “You know, they say crying and laughing are the same release, so if you don’t want anybody to see you crying, try laughing.” He looks at her oddly, then chokes out a sob-soaked giggle.
“I’ll tell you another trick I use. When I feel like crying and don’t want anyone to know? I take a shower. It’s noisy and wet and private, okay?”
“Okay.” he sniffles.
She’s done for now, gently planting the seeds of hope. It is an excellent start. She grabs her bag and fumbles through it for a card and some pamphlets.
“Here’s my number, you call me anytime if you need to talk. Also, here’s some stuff to read and think about.”
Her own emotions beg for attention, and she needs a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for you, James. It’s going to be a rough couple of days, but you have to remember, you’re not in this alone. That family out there loves and needs you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can I come by and see you again, maybe tomorrow?”
He perks up at that. “Okay.”
“All right then, tomorrow. I’ll tell them out there you’re going to jump in the shower.” Kate gathers her stuff to leave, but pauses at the door to smile back at Boo.
“Good job, James. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ellen Washington is waiting for her in the living room.
“Ms. Washington? I’m Kate Wilson, the school psychologist.” Kate reaches out her hand.
“Thank you so much for coming and please, call me Ellen.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you all.”
“Thank you, Ms. Wilson.”
“You’re welcome, and please call me Kate.” They both smile, almost laughing.
“How is my James?”
“Better. As I was telling Reverend Wall, he’s at a tough age, and losing your Dad—”
“Yes, I know,” Ellen nods. They were still holding hands, and now Kate squeezes tighter.
“But we made excellent progress, right off the bat.” Kate also directs this to Wall, who raises a bushy gray eyebrow in surprise.
“I gave him a little direction and I think he’ll be okay, but there’s a lot of work yet to be done.” Kate let go with a final squeeze. “I gave him my card, and here’s one for you both. Call any time, day, or night, even if you just need to talk. I’d like to stop by tomorrow if that’s all right?”
“James is being waked tomorrow. Could you come by there?”
“Of course. Is four okay?”
“Yes, it will be nice to take a break.”
“I’d like to spend some time with you too, Ellen.”
“I’d like that very much.” Ellen says with a tired smile.
“Good, then I’ll see you both tomorrow. By the way, James asked me to tell you he’s going into the shower.”
They exchange goodbyes and Kate is out the door.
“That went well.” Kate thinks to herself, feeling proud of her abilities,
a little pat on the back. Now she thinks ahead, karate, then dinner. It is time for the evening rush.
Walking out to the car, at first she doesn’t believe it what she sees, Stani walking to her across the lot, but then her astonishment gives way to anger. She is in no mood for his bullshit. “You’re really pushing it, Stani,” she says, removing her keys.
“Hello again, Ms. Wilson,” he says brightly.
“I’ll save us both a lot of time. The answer is no,” she says, opening the car door.
He pushes it shut, making her turn in anger. It makes him smile.
“What the fuck do you want!”
“I’m glad you feel so comfortable in our relationship to speak to me this way. I have no problem with your honesty, but I will only tolerate it when we are alone.”
She turns away, brooding like a scolded teenager. Stani genuinely likes her, which makes what he is doing all the more distasteful. “I have received a message from home.”
“This is my home!” she shouts.
“Dear Mrs. Wilson, this may be where you live, but it will never be your home.”
“No. It’s over,” she says, shaking her head emphatically.
“You should know better than that. It is never over,” he smiles. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
She looks intensely into his eyes, searching for the punch line to the joke she suspects is there, but does not see it.
“My God. You’re serious!” she says in disbelief.
“Yes,” he tells her. “It is bewildering, but it is not our job to question or debate. We do what we have been trained to do. Do you understand?”
The shock is only beginning to settle in. All she can do is nod.
“Good girl. We will meet Thursday at eleven at the tree,” he tells her as he walks off.
Kate leans back on her car, stunned by the confrontation. Then Stani issues a parting bit of advice. “Don’t make me come and find you…Katrina.”
Chapter 7
Woodcrest Road
McDowd is parking his car in Julie’s driveway when his cell phone rings.
“Dan?”
“Yes?”
“Hey, it’s Dave Edwards.”
McDowd is about to ask him how he got his number before realizing how stupid the question would make him seem. “Boy, you are one tenacious guy, what’s up?”
“I’m in town, so what do you say we get together, you know, shoot the shit.”
“You’re here?”