Kate's Gifts

  “See the Crown Vic down the street?”

  On the next block, Edwards waves out of the driver’s window.

  McDowd laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Mayo says hello.”

  McDowd hears him break into a chorus of Oh Danny Boy.

  “Got dinner plans?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  McDowd watches the car creep up the street and park right across from him.

  “How’s Bone’s family doing?” Edwards asks, still on the phone despite being feet away.

  “Getting by. The funeral is Thursday,” McDowd says.

  “I’ll try to stop by. So we’re here on business,” Edwards says.

  “Isn’t there a law against that?” McDowd cheerily points out. “You’re not supposed to spy on Americans.”

  “We’re not,” Edwards says as he gets out of his car and hangs up. McDowd does the same as Edwards crosses the street, followed by Mayo.

  “Nice ride, ‘68?” Edward says, admiring the pristine Ford Mustang.

  “’67,” Mayo says as he begins his inspection.

  “What are you saying?” McDowd picks up, watching the Delta guy nervously.

  “Russians brother, lurking right here, all thanks to you.”

  “Sounds a little far-fetched, buddy. Besides, you should be telling this to the FBI.”

  “They know. Now so do you.”

  McDowd doesn’t like the sound of that, nor where any of this seems to be going. Edwards leans on the Mustang.

  “Watch the paint,” McDowd points.

  “Sorry. “

  “So why you bothering me?”

  “We got a tip on what that Malekov character might have been up to. Turns out he was a part of a sleeper cell, Special Forces. We think he sold the Iranians or other miscreants the key to activate them.”

  McDowd is right. He doesn’t like it. “Oh, come on. Is this another one of those fear-tactic schemes?”

  “Real deal, brother, we wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Mayo says.

  “They’re deep, Dan,” Edwards says. “Woven real tight into the fabric, and they’re not here to sightsee or steal secrets. They’re hardcore killers. They could be anyone, living normal lives.” A neighbor catches his eye. “Shit, maybe even her!”

  Edwards gestures down the street. Kate is getting out of her car and walking up to her house.

  “What do you need me for?”

  “Translator. The Russians have a hunter team here that we’re gonna listen in on. We figured you speak the language, plus you know the area.”

  “We need Da Chiller,” Mayo proclaims, leaving no room for debate.

  “What about you finding Bone’s killer?”

  “It’s on the list, bro. Right now we’re worried about the living,” Edwards says, gesturing to the surrounding neighborhood and its kids shuffling home from school.

  “We’re not asking you, Dan. We have a chance at jumping on this before it gets out of control. You follow?”

  “What is this, the fucking Mafia?” McDowd balks.

  “We have a better healthcare plan. Come up to the base tomorrow, hangar nine.”

  “Fine,” McDowd sighs in submission. “Now get out of here, you’re scaring the kids.”

  Edwards backs away, beaming broadly. “Fun times!”

  Chapter 8

  Kate drops her bags the moment she opens the door, flying to the kitchen sink, feeling she’s going to be sick. Gripping the basin with both hands, she stares out the big window at the familiar world that now seems as alien to her as Mars.

  “I cannot believe this is happening!” she growls. “God, why?”

  No answer. The fear becomes anger, directed at herself for carefully cultivating the garden of lies, for so very long and so very well. All those pretty delusions, growing beyond ripe and now dying on the vine.

  “It figures,” she laughs wickedly. Now the worms of inner rage begin to feed on the dread of her self-deception, for not having a plan, for becoming attached to a fraudulent life, for being weak, for falling in love, for getting married, for having kids, for getting sober, for being alive.

  Then she hears it, an echo, a whisper without a voice, but its loud enough to turn her around. It can’t be helped.

  It is the thought of a drink.

  Life is filled with peaks and valleys. Alcoholics in recovery like to stick to the plains. They may be flat and boring, but most have had enough excitement to last several lifetimes. Right now Kate is trying not slip into the great abyss. It’s not a very nice place, she knows because she’s been there. They say religion is for those who are afraid there is a hell. Spirituality is for those who’ve been there. This she remembers now, staring down the dark hole of the garbage disposal, how her last drink almost led to her last breath, staggering down the hill to the tracks with Tom and Robbie.

  “They were so little then.”

  She was going to take them onto the tracks....

  “STOP.”

  She catches herself. “A drink right now is the last thing you need, sweetie. You’ve got trouble enough.”

  It removes the desire but not the problem.

  “How could I be so stupid?” Such a long list of if onlys, with no way to undo what has been done in a life she has no business living.

  Kate looks up from the sink to see her boys outside with Julie’s girls, talking to Julie’s brother Dan about his cool old car, no doubt.

  “My sons...”

  “What have I done?”

  Try as she might, there is no stopping the tears now. The boys are the source of her greatest joy, and now of her deepest sorrow. She is awash in a complex mixture of emotion that can only be defined as love, and how she loves them. She hugs herself for comfort, bringing on a sad smile as a familiar slogan of the program comes to mind.

  “The past is gone, the future may never come, but today, well lived, is a gift. That’s why they call it the present.”

  “Please, God, help me make this right.” She starts to calm down, turning her away from the dark clouds ahead. “It isn’t a done deal yet, Kate.”

  She may not be able to see into the future, but she can project. One thing is for sure: she won’t be caught unprepared again. Even if the worst-case scenario happens, she’ll be ready. She doesn’t delude herself to the truth, or the fact she’ll have to face the storm ahead and what lies inside.

  Katrina is waiting in there, and she can be a very thirsty girl.

  Chapter 9

  “What’s cool about this car is that it was made in Canada, so when it’s really cold, I can plug it in and warm it up!” McDowd loves showing off his Mustang.

  “I guess this is the year the new ones are based,” Tom says.

  “I think they took the best of the early designs and morphed them together.”

  “Can you take us up to karate in it, Uncle Dan?” Julie’s youngest asks.

  “No fair!” Robbie objects.

  Tom pushes his head. “He’s not your uncle.”

  “Well, I guess I can fit you all, if it’s all right with your mom.”

  McDowd looks as Kate crosses the lawn, wrapped in an oversize sweater. “We were just talking about you,” he says.

  “Dan says he’d take us up to karate,” Tom tells her.

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” McDowd shrugs.

  Kate smiles, “Okay by me. Go get ready.”

  The boys scramble to get their gear. McDowd picks up on Kate’s somber vibe and red, watery eyes. “You okay?”

  “Allergies, happens every year at this time.”

  “How’d it go with the kid?”

  Kate smiles again. “Really good. He’s pretty tough, but still a kid inside. He’ll be fine, with time and some work.”

  The boys return on the run, each landing a drive-by kiss on the way. “Thanks for taking them. I’ll pick them up.”

  McDowd nods. “Cool,
I’ll see you later then.”

  Amid a chorus of good-byes Kate watches them pull away.

  “It’s not the last time…yet.” The thought is a comfort, but it doesn’t stop her from imagining the moment to come.

  Chapter 10

  Abington, PA

  Elayna spends much of the afternoon alone in a coffee shop, complete with comfortable chairs and free Wi-Fi hot spot. She’s not too worried about her two partners, telling them that she’ll pick up the hotel bar tab if they stay put and out of trouble. While listening to chamber music she catches up on the news via the Drudge Report and then goes over the operation step by step, mindful of the discrete company who have joined her. Before long, it’s time to return to pick up the boys at the hotel.

  Elayna is pleased to see that they’ve cleaned up nicely, making them slightly more tolerable. They’re also much less gruff once they’ve gotten a few drinks in them.

  After a surprisingly cordial dinner at a pizza place, they start work on the site surveys back in the hotel bar. She knows there are eyes upon them. Looking around, they’re easy for her to spot. She even exchanges a smile with one young guy.

  They look at Google Earth on her laptop.

  “Over there,” she says, pointing to long, single-story building across the street.

  “This building?” asks Hutnikov.

  “Here, if we’re lucky, we can kill two birds with one stone. Misha Rostow and Valarie Torikno. They are partners in this business, and should be together. They own a number of these auto shops, but this is where they have their office.”

  “You see what happens to you in America? You become a grease monkey.” Hutnikov laughs.

  “These grease monkeys make millions of dollars a year,” Elayna tells them.

  “That’s quite a business to give up.” Kreichek says.

  “It would seem so, and believe me, we thought of that. However, they have been well conditioned, and we have backups,” Elayna explains.

  She pulls up their pictures. “These two are muscle for the group. They’re supposed to close at eight o’clock. We’ll see what happens.”

  “Lets hope they’re creatures of habit.” Kreichek says.

  “Then, we’ll go to the next location, Eddy’s Bike Shop, he’s the technician for the group.”

  “Another entrepreneur?” Kreichek comments.

  “It’s the American way,” Elayna laughs, glancing at their FBI partners. “Get a good look, sweetie. This is the last you’ll see of me.”

  Chapter 11

  Woodcrest Road

  Kate lets the answering machine pick it up the incoming call. She can see it’s Michael.

  “Asshole,” she says to the phone.

  “Kate, it’s me.”

  She should be at karate with the kids, and he knows it. “Fucking coward.”

  “Kate…I’m sorry. I fucked up, badly.”

  “No! You think?”

  It’s the cherry on top of her fucked-up day. Sometimes Kate is amazed at how stupid he must think she is, but it’s her own fault. For years the only thing she thought about was her next drink. A lot went unnoticed back then, even her husband who didn’t seem to mind and the vodka erased the rest. Just another lie to herself. She’s slipping and knows it.

  Kate undresses and turns on the shower. She stands before the mirror and admires the results of her hard work.

  That echo from the past hits her again, but this time it is loud and clear.

  “How beautiful you are. Such a shame. Such a waste. Now you are finally beginning to see what a crime your life has become, giving yourself away and never giving to yourself. You are sooo deserving!” The voice inside whispers seductively, making her freeze.

  “Nooo!” she says loudly with a violent shake of the head, as if waking up as her image slowly vanishes in the fogging mirror.

  “Aren’t you done with your lies? About whom you are and what you have become? You are not a Baba, a housewife, a man’s possession. You are powerful. You are not Kate Wilson, you never were. You, are Katrina.”

  She wipes the mirror clear.

  “Not anymore.”

  The moment seems to have passed. Kate has caught herself from falling, a slip on the ice. For an instant, she feels elated by the victory as she moves under the hot shower spray, but it is fleeting as reality washes back in.

  “She’s right.”

  An intense wave of anxiety jolts her from the realization. Slowly, she slides down the wall, her hands slipping over the pink tiles as if hoping to find something to hang onto, only to end up on her knees. The sobs come from deep inside, the empty cold storage of emotion nearly forgotten over the time. Her despair, convulsing, uncontrollable grief, is as if her very soul were being ripped away.

  It is, for Kate Wilson is dying, not that she ever really lived.

  She wretches, and then pulls into a fetal position in the corner of the stall. The release of her agony slows to soft whimpers, barely heard over the falling water. She has let go absolutely, emptying herself of the destructive self- pity, shame and pain.

  She can’t turn herself in. They would force her to betray her team, and she knows where that would go. They would kill her family—everyone, even Michael’s grandmothers, aunts, uncles, even the cat. She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself, hoping an answer will come.

  The rest of the evening goes by as any other night. She picks up her boys from karate, gives them dinner, and sends them off to finish homework and to get ready for another day. As Kate reads to her sweet young Robbie the next chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, he falls asleep before she’s finished. She checks on Tom, already asleep, and gently kisses him on the forehead before turning off his light.

  Finally, the day’s performance is over. “You haven’t thought of it that way in a

  long time Kate,” She tells herself, feeling like ballerina, lost in her role, dancing as fast as she can.

  Chapter 12

  Washington, DC

  It is not until the early morning hours that Moody finally return to his town house. Now his plan is simple: get out as fast as he can. It is only a matter of time before the police catch up to him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s done his job, and then some. Yesterday he was a player on the Washington scene. Now he he’s on the run with the blood of two people on his hands.

  He glances up and down the street before opening the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. He enters the dark quiet of the house, scattering the mail shoved through the slot with his foot. “Didn’t I leave a light on?”

  He can’t waste any time. First he goes to the computer to book the first flight he can. He goes right to his desk and flips on the lamp. Suddenly, he is uneasy, feeling as if someone has been, or still is, there. He takes out the gun in his desk drawer and places it on the desktop, putting him more at ease. “Perhaps because of the medication,” he thinks of his paranoia.

  He finds an Emirates nonstop to Bahrain, leaving Dulles at 4pm this afternoon and books a business-class seat.

  Next, he will have to go to the bank to retrieve the contents of his safety deposit box. Inside are the usual ingredients for blackmail compiled against a host of business associates, diplomats and a few members of congress from both sides of the aisle. Nothing major, just the typical indiscretions that can provide insurance if needed. He’s been prepared for a quick exit. The money, millions in contributions to the movement, can be wired once he gets out of the country. His personal account is already in the hands of a Swiss bank.

  “Relax now,” he tells himself “Just a few hours, and this will be over.” He arms the town home’s alarm system and stretches out on the couch for a nap, with the gun in his hand, just in case, safety off for good measure.

 

  Chapter 13

  Woodcrest Road

  It starts all over again, but what had once been a model of suburban bliss has now become a recurring nightmare. After seeing
the kids off to kids to school, Kate makes a trip to the bank. She hasn’t been to the vault for a very long time. It brings back many memories, all of them bad. One way or another, it will be the last time. Walking in, She’s struck by how well she is coping. After a few minutes of retrieving the oversized safety deposit box, finally she is alone in a booth.

  She places the duffel bag she’s brought on the counter. Slowly, she opens the lid. None of the contents are Kate Wilson’s; they all belong to Katrina. One by one, Kate places the items in the bag.

  She has a collection of various passports and drivers licenses with different identities, all with a diverse range of appearances. There is cash, U.S., Mexican, Canadian, close to a $100,000, and credit cards. Next comes the tools not found at Home Depot. A small medical kit containing morphine, syringes, forceps, sutures, and a scalpel—items that come in handy for treating a gunshot wound. Next, her guns: two Glock 9mms with extra clips, loaded with Kevlar-penetrating rounds, an ultra light Kevlar vest, a frequency scanner, collapsible baton, and her favorite butterfly knife.

  Then she freezes.

  At the very bottom of the box is a pint of one hundred proof vodka.

  “Your glass slipper, Cinderella!” a muffled voice reminds her.

  She forgotten it was there, but Katrina hadn’t.

  Like an evil aura, the dreaded memories radiate from the bottle. Instead of running, she closes her eyes and stands against them, welcoming the misery and letting the darkness flow over and through her.

  Her mind flashes back to the face of a child, lying on dark street, his dead green eyes looking at her as the black halo of blood grows on the pavement beneath his head. She didn’t see him dashing out after the ball, and she was too sloshed to react in time.

  It was the beginning of the end, the point where she fell off the cliff and into the abyss of the bottle. At first, she would drink at the kid; he should’ve been more careful. Then she tried to drown the guilt from letting her partner take the blame. He had protected her and she had never even said thank you.

  That brought more pain and more booze, pouring it into the empty hole in her soul until even the vodka couldn’t help her. And so, the agony of what her life had become ten years ago had led her here, to get her guns and take the lives of her children and end her own miserable life.