"You know it's been all over CNT, they're talking about the crash.”
"I wonder if that has anything to do with her –” Andy starts, but never finishes. “I’m picking up Becca at the shop, and we’re going to drive down. I’m leaving in about 30 minutes, does anything have to go out today?"
"I’ll get you anything pressing right away."
When they finally get to the dorm and locate Amanda’s room, Charlyne is outside waiting for them in the hall. Another girl is standing there as well. She shakes their hands. Charlyne introduces them to Margo.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not her mother. She hasn’t been going to classes. She's been getting drunk, really drunk, for days. You better do something. I can't even go in there it stinks so bad." She walks down the hall to the stairway.
When they enter the room, the smell is overwhelming. Amanda, somehow oblivious to the smell, is sleeping. Andy rousts her. She looks surprised to see him and Becca, but then closes her eyes again.
"We're going to help you clean up." Andy says.
"You didn't need to come here."
"Actually, I think it was a good thing we came," Becca says, placing the new bedspread they had stopped to buy on the desk chair. She also breaks out some spray cleaners to get started on what looks to be a significant cleanup. She surveys the wine and booze bottles lining the window ledge.
Amanda finally crawls out of the bed, still dressed in the jeans and shirt she wore to the party, and unsteadily makes her way to the bathroom.
As soon as she vacates, Becca folds up the vomit-covered bedspread and tosses it out into the hall. Andy collects the empty wine and booze bottles in a trash bag, which Amanda had been displaying like trophies. When the main cleanup is complete, Amanda still hasn’t come out. Becca walks over to the bathroom door and lightly taps on it.
"Amanda, can I talk to you?" she asks through the closed door.
"Why? Is this an intervention?" Amanda says from the other side.
"If you're decent just open the door."
The door unlocks. Becca walks in and closes it again. Andy decides to give them some space and carries the bedspread and bottles down to the dumpster beside the dorm.
When he returns to the room, Amanda is dressed and looks halfway presentable. He wonders what Becca could’ve possibly said to Amanda, but thinks better of asking any questions.
Andy looks her in the eye. "Are you sure you’re going to be okay? It’s all over the news, reporters will probably keep calling. This isn’t going to go away. Are you really okay?"
"Yeah, I keep telling you that."
"If you’re so okay, then why are you barfing all over your dorm room?"
"Let's not get into that." Becca interjects. “Let’s all go get lunch at Citizen Tavern on the mall, how about that?” Becca waits for a response from Amanda, or even a protest, but hears none.
“That lady, Natalee Spalding, left me a voice message yesterday.” Amanda says. “She wanted to interview me today. I didn't call her back. I refuse to relive my pain just so they can share it with the world."
“I can understand that. No one says you need to give an interview. Right, Andy?” Becca asks him.
“Sure, they always push for the emotional story. Don’t feel guilty, it’s your choice. I’m talking to her to promote Broken Halo, and to help drum up volunteers. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, just let me find my phone.”
Chapter 118
No Closure
Solarez nervously paces back and forth, watching everything on each of the computer monitors in front of the half-dozen analysts, while listening on the active audio feed. Mentally measuring the risks versus the rewards, it comes to him all of a sudden.
"Abort the operation. Now!" he shouts to the analysts in the room, despite the fact he is on the master channel and they all have earpieces. Several turn from their monitors.
"Get him out, however we need to, to a safe house. Abort the remaining operation."
The chief analyst turns back to his monitor, and gives the command to the field operatives.
"Bravo Team. This is Command 5273. Abort operation. Sedate the Phoenix. Confirm."
An immediate whispered confirmation comes back to the analyst. The nondescript man sitting beside Phoenix swiftly plunges a stub hypodermic needle into his thigh as the analysts and Solarez watch on their monitors.
"What? Huh…" Before he can complete a sentence, Phoenix falls slightly forward as the man seated beside him slides the syringe into his trench coat side pocket with one hand and keeps Phoenix from flopping completely forward with the other hand.
"Phoenix neutralized. Confirm extraction coordinates.”
"Stand by. Proceed to GPS coordinates in text message. Locate helicopter." Within minutes, a driver and the other operative load the immobile body of the Phoenix onto the helicopter under the wash of the rotor blades.
“Why did you abort?” the chief analyst asks Solarez now that the Phoenix is safely ensconced on the helicopter.
“Don’t ask,” Solarez says, as he drops his headset on the counter of the ready room and walks down the hall to his office.
Thirty minutes pass.
"Sir, we need you back down here immediately," his chief analyst advises him via phone. Solarez rushes down the hall and back into the room. What could have gone wrong? There should be no risk with the helicopter….
The chief analyst turns to him and Solarez knows something has gone terribly wrong.
"Chief, the jet just crashed somewhere in Pennsylvania. The first report states no survivors. And it gets worse.”
“Oh my God, what the hell could be worse?”
"Paul just obtained the final passenger list from Hemispheres. Ron Michaels, Rochelle Michaels and Amanda Michaels were all on the plane."
"How the hell? No! There’s no way that can be. No damn way!" Solarez slams his left fist against the wall, something his chief has never seen before. Solarez never, ever loses control. Now he stands with his palms pressed against both sides of his face, eyes closed.
"We have no idea what the entire family was doing – "
"It can’t be. Are you sure?" Solarez demands.
"We’ll double check. Andy Michaels is the next surviving kin. He’s that D.C. lawyer who handled the 9/11 Pentagon cases."
Solarez now drops both arms beside his waist.
“Did you get some other Intel? Is that why you aborted the op?” The chief again asks him.
Solarez never answers.
Just a few hours later, Solarez gazes out one of the two tinted windows, admiring the neatly manicured grounds. This will be my last day, he knows. The thick wooden door opens, and the director of the CIA enters. Everyone in the room gives him their full attention.
The director barely looks at his letter of resignation.
"Not now. However, I’ll hold on to it pending what develops in the next several weeks. It is imperative that none of this leaks. Not one word. Do you realize what will occur if any part of this gets out? All the good we’ve done, all the good we’re trying to do, won't matter. It will be irreparable. We will be blamed, bashed, bludgeoned. Won’t matter that we aren’t responsible. Heads will roll."
Solarez remembers every minute detail of that day. Traumatic events brand themselves on the deep recesses of the brain. Invisible scars that never fade.
He sips his scotch on the rocks and sets it down on the table next to his home office desk. Natalee Spalding discusses the one year anniversary of the Hemispheres crash, the lives lost, during her one-hour special report. She reports on Amanda Michaels, how the sole crash survivor seems to be struggling in her first year at college, withdrawing from one or more college classes at UVA, according to unnamed sources. Solarez downs the scotch, and enjoys the warm burn. He pours another. He passes out face down on top of the bed, never changing out of his work clothes.
Chapter 119
Control
“Tell me exactly what happened that day, in the last
couple minutes.”
“I’ve told you before.” Solarez says with a sigh.
“Only parts. You seem much more troubled now than before. Tell me what you did and how you felt about it.”
“We were monitoring everything. I was standing in back of the ready room, near my chief analyst. I just had a feeling. And that’s when I aborted the operation.”
“A feeling, that’s all. Nothing else?”
“Doc, haven’t you ever had a hunch? Something just tells you don’t. That’s all it was. I’ve gone over it in my mind. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night I just keep mulling it over and over. Guilt, blame, shame, every single day. What don’t you get about that?” Solarez raises his voice to an angry rasp.
“Calm down please. There have been two separate reviews, and both support your version of events. You’ve been exonerated, Agent Solarez.”
“We had all the exit strategies in place. We got the Phoenix out. I thought everything was okay.”
“What’s the next thing you remember?”
“Some time passed, 15, maybe 30 minutes. My chief called me back down there and told me the jet went down with no survivors. Of course later we learned there was one.”
“Do you feel guilty about the crash, is that what weighs on you?”
“Not at first. We had no intel. But as months passed, I obsessed more and more. We had Amanda Michaels under 24/7 surveillance. I lived her pain through transcripts of her conversations. She’d talk about losing her memory; I knew everything about her, even her whims and wishes. Why didn’t I do more? Why didn’t I cover all the passenger information in advance with my analysts? I think of new things I could have done all the time. And we still have an ongoing operation…”
“Which is a constant reminder to you?”
“In the worst way.”
Solarez throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying not to get emotional. He rarely shows any – it’s not conducive to his livelihood.
“Haven’t you supervised dozens of counter-intelligence operations?”
“About 50.”
“There were deaths in some of them, right?”
“Yeah, but we don’t usually have a family ripped apart and a teenager we’re supposed to protect. She doesn’t know the truth, which happens a lot with what I do. So why do I think it’s not fair here? She’s spiraling down, and I know it’s on me.”
“You’re laying blame on yourself unfairly. Is the guilt getting worse?”
“Yeah. Much worse now. I want to help her, but can’t. Protocols, policies prevent me from acting since she’s an innocent, we keep them in the dark.”
“I’ve been seeing you every other week since what, about a month after the crash? And not once have I heard anything that indicates you overlooked something. None of the reports pinned any responsibility on you either.”
“I know, you keep telling me that. But it was my operation, I conceived it. And when you create a scenario, you have to make sure…you just have to think everything through. And then afterward, I developed a plan to, try to, uh, how do I say this, to help her state of mind.”
“Huh? In what way? Does she know you exist?”
“No, of course not, anyway, forget it.”
“Perhaps a leave of absence would be the best thing for you now. I can write you up for short term disability.”
“Yeah. Lack of control. I need to remain in control. Control…” Solarez mumbles.
“So, yeah, as in you mean you want me to write you up for leave?” The doctor asks Solarez, pulling the scrip pad out of the right desk drawer and placing it on his desktop blotter.
“No, not that. Lack of control, that’s what’s killing me. Look, there are some things I’ve solved that I haven’t told you about. We, uh, the agency, uncovered the mole, and we believe we’ve closed down a significant spying operation. We also recovered all the money from the Chinese government."
"Agent Solarez, we went over how my therapy works on day one. You promised me full and complete honesty and disclosure, from the very beginning. I promised you confidentiality. I can't counsel you if we don't have that trust. Yet this is the first time you mention anything about a mole, or recovering money from the Chinese."
"You didn’t need to know. It hadn’t all happened when I started seeing you either. Anyway, we’ve been dead in the water on the biological research we’ve been trying to protect. The whole idea was to maintain our biological supremacy, our exclusivity. It’s about cancer research, dying chromosomes. Have you ever heard of telomeres? They control the biological clock on all our cells, and affect aging of the cells. We have promising breakthroughs on this. Anyway, we received intel that proved we had a mole inside a key lab. I devised an elaborate plan to expose the mole, and finally, we got him. Well, actually we had discovered him but they eliminated him before we could.”
“What? Slow down. You never told me any of this.”
“So, the Phoenix won’t work with us. Hell, won’t work at all. And he’s supposedly on our side. That’s a lack of control, you have to agree, right?”
“Well, if this person won’t do what you need him to, uh, I would have to say that’s a lack of control. What were you expecting him to do?”
Solarez looks past the doctor, staring into nothingness. Yes, Solarez decides. It will involve bucking authority, upending protocols. But maybe, just maybe the director will agree given that the mole was exposed. It’s like a eureka moment. Solarez virtually springs up from the patient chaise and walks toward the door. Maybe the director will relent.
“Forget the disability. I’ll see you at the next session.”
Back at his office, Solarez sketches out some notes and hastily arranges a meeting with the director.
Solarez sits in the large, black leather chair in front of the director, who continues to thumb through the entire dossier just presented to him by Solarez and his team. "Going on a year, and he still won’t cooperate? Nothing worked?"
"Psychological or drug techniques weren’t an option, we might lose him entirely. So we’ve tried to reward and induce."
"And that got us?”
“Nothing. That’s my point. We need to abandon protocol. Let him win. Agree to his demands. We accomplished the original objective of the operation: to expose the mole.”
“And it cost $160 million?”
“We got it back. Besides, the value of Phoenix’ research makes that a drop in the bucket.”
"But we never put innocents at risk in our covert operations, you know that. They’re easy targets. They turn in a heartbeat, and we have history to prove it. Thank God the public never learned about the last two deaths where we strayed. So what’s our exit strategy if this plan you’ve outlined fails to convince him? Or worse, what if he turned on us and we never knew, and that’s why he refuses to help?"
“I can’t imagine that, but if he refuses us after we cave in, then, uh, enhanced interrogation techniques may be necessary.”
"Have you ever made any specific promises to anyone? Protection? New identities? Anything?"
"Nope. Nada. We made a deal with the MSS that included no harm to any person of interest or their family members, and they have a big economic incentive to uphold their end of the deal.”
“They could decide the $25 million is not enough, and if they do, the deal means nothing. But, I guess it’s a reasonable risk. Look, I’ll sign off on it, but nothing is to be disclosed to innocents beyond the minimum necessary to carry out the plan. And we'd better have new research results within 30 days or I’ll be accepting your resignation."
“Thank you, you’ll have your results.”
Chapter 120
Healing Heroes
“One of the producers for this year’s Healing Heroes show called me. They want to do a follow-up feature on us. And they’re bringing Dr. Lucent to their studio also. I really want you to be involved, Amanda, it’s a great charity.” Andy says, having called Amanda at UVA.
“Do I have t
o? I’m having enough trouble dealing with things already.”
“They offered to send a limo to Charlottesville, drive you up this Friday, and drive you back the same evening. They’re picking me up too. They were good to you, now you should give back to them.”
“Alright, I guess it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“The contact is Tom Peters, so just confirm that before you get in the limo.”
Friday arrives. I walk out to the street from my dorm and spot the black SUV limo the producers sent. As I approach the limo, a man stands there beside the stretch SUV.
“I’m Tom Peters, and you must be Amanda Michaels,” he says reaching forward to shake my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, as he opens the rear door nearest the curb. I slide into one of the smooth leather seats, and Peters climbs in behind me and moves to the opposite side of the spacious limo.
Peters explains where the interview will take place in D.C. and that the limo is equipped with Wi-Fi. After a few more explanations, I slide my laptop out of my backpack and begin some of my homework, figuring I might as well.
The last thing I remember is looking out the tinted window at the Washington cherry blossoms.
My next recollection is a repetitive sound, over and over, just like traveling down railroad tracks. Or is it the vibration of a subway? I just fade in, fade out. It's all fuzzy. Then a man is speaking, but I’m processing the words in slow motion, like some medication or drug I took is still wearing off.
"Amanda? Amanda, do you hear me? Can you hear me?" It’s the Healing Heroes guy from the limo. Of course I didn’t know it then, but I learned later we were at a farm somewhere in Canada.
Taming the Telomeres, a Thriller Page 37
