by Steve Gannon
“Awesome!” Nate exclaimed, pumping a fist. “I’m going to be an uncle!”
Food forgotten, Nate and I piled into the Suburban, leaving our plates on the table for the birds. We made the drive to Saint John’s Health Center in record time, arriving at the Santa Monica hospital where Allison would be delivering her baby.
After leaving our car in a hospital lot, Nate and I wandered a maze of unfamiliar health-center corridors for several minutes. At Nate’s insistence, I finally asked directions from a friendly receptionist. With a smile, the woman directed us to the obstetrics department. There, in a comfortable reception room in the McAlister Women’s Health Center, we found Grandma Dorothy talking excitedly with Travis and McKenzie, who had flown in earlier that week for the birth.
Christy White, who had been my son Tommy’s girlfriend before his accident, arrived minutes later, looking as beautiful as ever. Christy had been pregnant with Tom’s baby before his death, and even though she had later lost her child to miscarriage—a devastating blow that had robbed our family of an ongoing connection with Tommy—Christy would always be a member of the Kane family, and I was delighted to see her.
Last of those present, Mike was spending most of his time with Allison in the maternity room, but he occasionally popped in to let us know how things were progressing . . . which turned out to be slowly.
Very slowly.
Arnie arrived later that morning, grinning like he was going to be the new grandfather instead of me. Shortly after that, Deluca, Lieutenant Long, and Banowski showed up as well, also having received calls from Mike. As my thick-necked police friends joined us in the waiting room, I noted that Banowski was still limping. Although he had received emergency medical treatment at Trancas Canyon from a SWAT team doctor, Banowski had come close to losing his leg—something he still jokingly blamed on the tourniquet that Arnie and I had placed. Nevertheless, Banowski was now up and around, and back to work in West L.A.
And so was I—.
As for the Infidel Case, credit for bringing the investigation to a successful conclusion had been shared by Mayor Fitzpatrick, Chief Ingram, Assistant Director Shepherd, and Captain Snead’s LAPD task force. By then my unauthorized investigation had been retroactively approved by Chief Ingram, and to my surprise, I learned I had been working under the direction of Captain Snead the entire time.
For their work on the case, Lieutenant Long, John Banowski, and Paul Deluca all received commendations. As Arnie had retired from the department years earlier, his presence at the compound that morning was conveniently forgotten. Following a private and somewhat contentious meeting with Chief Ingram, I had also received a commendation letter in my personnel jacket. Later I was even offered back my former position in West L.A.—once more working under Lieutenant Long.
And after discussing the offer with my children, I had accepted, with their blessing.
Special Agent Sara Taylor had experienced a similar situation at the Bureau. As the FBI considered any and all noncompliance with Bureau regulations absolutely unacceptable, the “empty suits at headquarters,” as Taylor referred to them, were forced to decide whether to dismiss Taylor for disobeying orders, or to promote her for showing initiative. There could be no in between. After some debate, Bureau HQ informed Taylor that although she had been hired for meeting FBI expectations, she was now being rewarded for exceeding them. As a result of initiative demonstrated on the Infidel Case, Taylor received the FBI’s Medal for Meritorious Achievement, along with a bump in pay.
At the time of her commendation, Taylor had requested a temporary leave-of-absence to prepare for the North Fork Championship kayak competition in June. Surprisingly, her request had been granted. Taylor later told me that despite her commendation, she was certain the suits at HQ had granted her a leave-of-absence so they wouldn’t have to see her around for a while. Before her departure for Idaho, I had spent some time with Taylor, including having her out to the beach for dinner. While there she had met Nate, and to my surprise, the two of them had hit it off.
Regarding the media, there had been a wave of revived interest in the terrorist story following the Waco-style siege in Trancas Canyon, and in a renewed news blitz, both the Bureau and the LAPD had been blamed for the staggering loss of life at the compound.
Eventually, however, the truth had come out.
With the revelation that members of a Christian organization were responsible for the Los Angeles beheading murders, another media firestorm had again divided the country, quickly spreading to Europe and the Middle East as well. Christian Churches were burned and lives were lost, especially in France, where angry Muslim youths once more set fire to the countryside. Not surprisingly, the media again fanned the flames, adding to the problem. Notably, at no time did any major news organization offer an apology, or accept one iota of responsibility, for the violence over the past months that had been at least partly inspired by sensationalized, inflammatory reporting—reporting that had ultimately proved wrong.
Nevertheless, I did my part to bring out the truth. Asking not to be identified as the source, I had given Allison an early, exclusive interview following Jacob Lee Wallace’s midnight visit to the beach house. The facts were going to come out anyway, and I saw no reason Ali shouldn’t have them first. Allison had filed her news report from Canada and booked a flight home.
There were many in Chief Ingram’s office, especially Assistant Chief Strickland, who would have liked to put a different spin on things. Allison’s version of events ended that possibility. Assistant Chief Strickland subsequently accused me of leaking to the press—which, of course, I had. I shrugged at Strickland’s accusation and, for the second time in as many months, suggested that he go pound sand.
Based on her coverage of the story, Allison had been offered a network position in New York. After discussing the offer with Mike, she had declined. As I had already lost Travis to the east coast, I was overjoyed with her decision. Although I knew Ali’s news broadcasting career in Los Angeles would undoubtedly cause future friction between us, I could deal with that, and having her and Mike and my new granddaughter close by would be worth it.
Later that afternoon at the hospital, as I was about to invite everyone to join me in the cafeteria downstairs for a quick bite to eat, Mike stuck his head into the reception room. From the look on his face, it was obvious that Allison had finally given birth.
“A perfect baby girl,” Mike said with a grin. “The doctor said it would be okay for all of us to go back for a few minutes, if we don’t stay too long.”
“All of us?” asked Arnie.
Mike nodded. “It’s a huge room. Ali’s exhausted, but she wants to see everyone.”
With Mike leading the way, our entire group trooped down a hallway to Ali’s maternity room. When we arrived, Allison smiled up from her bed, a sleeping infant cradled in her arms. My daughter looked tired. Tired, but happy.
“Hey, everyone,” said Allison, gently rocking her red-faced, sleeping baby. “Meet Catheryn Cortese.”
I had known that Mike and Allison intended to name their baby Catheryn. Months earlier Ali had asked whether that would be okay with me. Of course I had told her that I was pleased beyond words, but I hadn’t really thought about it much since then. But now, when I heard Allison first speak her child’s name, something broke inside me. I felt a sudden rush of emotion, a surge of feeling welling up from deep within that I hadn’t experienced since Catheryn’s memorial. Surprised by my reaction, I fought a stinging in my eyes, unable for a moment to speak.
Christy was first to hold Baby Catheryn. “Meet your Aunt Christy,” said Allison, placing her child in Christy’s arms. As she did, I sensed something pass between the two. It was a moment of both happiness and sorrow—a joyful looking toward the future and a sad glancing back. And as I witnessed the circle of life beginning anew, I wished with all my heart that Catheryn could have been there to see it.
Catheryn, and Tommy, too.
Next, as t
he others watched spellbound, Baby Catheryn went to Uncle Travis.
And then to Uncle Nate.
And then to me.
Holding Baby Catheryn in my arms, I again felt an unaccustomed flood of emotion. I recalled the toast I had made at Mike and Ali’s wedding, not so long ago. Bitter and disillusioned and reeling from Catheryn’s death, I had reminded everyone there that although life could be beautiful and filled with love, it could also be unimaginably cruel as well. I had noted that all of us were going to experience heartbreak and loss before we exited this world, adding that we were all going to be hurt, and get sick, and experience pain, and lose people we loved.
And all of that was true. But that unfortunate reality, I reminded myself again, was exactly what made cherishing moments like Baby Catheryn’s birth so important, for it was just such moments that made life worth living.
As I cradled Baby Catheryn in my arms, surrounded by those I loved and who loved me, I wondered what the future would bring for her, what the future would bring for us all. When I had pondered that same question at Allison’s wedding, I hadn’t held much hope. Now, to my surprise, I found that something profound had shifted within me. Over the past months, when confronting the ache of Catheryn’s loss and the heartbreak of Nate’s illness and even the possibility of my own death, I had been forced to consider what was truly important in my life. And in doing so, I had come to accept that despite its tragedy and loss, life still continued . . . and that maybe the world was unfolding as it was meant to, even if I didn’t understand each turn of the journey.
I knew there would be more ahead in life for all of us—beautiful, unpredictable, heartrending, joyous, meaningful events to come. But no matter what life might bring, I found that I once more had the will to face that future, for I now held a kernel of hope that in the end, everything would turn out as it should.
And if at times I didn’t completely embrace that belief, at least I wanted to.
And that was a start.
Acknowledgments
I would like to express my appreciation to a number of people who provided their assistance while I was writing Infidel. Any errors, exaggerations, or just plain bending of facts to suit the story are attributable to me alone.
To Detective Lee Kingsford (LAPD, retired), I again owe a debt of gratitude. His gift of time, knowledge, and friendship once more proved invaluable during the preparation of the manuscript. To Susan Gannon, my wife and trusted muse with a sharp eye for detail, to friends and family for their encouragement and support, to my eBook editor Karen Oswalt, to Karen Waters for her help on the cover, and especially to my core group of readers—many of whom made critical suggestions for improvements—my sincere thanks.
If you enjoyed Infidel, please leave a reader review on Amazon or your favorite retail site. A word-of-mouth recommendation is the best endorsement possible, and your review will help others like you look for books. Again, thanks for reading! ~ Steve Gannon
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August
Travis! Wake up! Rise and shine, rookie.”
“Huh?”
“C’mon, we’ve gotta get moving if we want to make it over the pass and still have time to climb.”
With a groan, Travis Kane eased up on one elbow and squinted through the tent flaps at his older brother. “The sun’s not even up yet, Tommy.”
“Yeah, it is,” Tommy insisted, reaching in and shaking Travis’s foot.
“Damn, you know I hate that,” yawned Travis, struggling to recover his captured foot and lashing out ineffectually at Tommy’s grinning face with the other. “I swear, sometimes you’re a bigger pain in the ass than Dad.”
“If T. Rex were here, we’d be halfway up the trail by now,” Tommy noted dryly. “How’re you feeling?”
Travis gingerly tested the bridge of his nose, finding it still tender and swollen from the fight. “I’ll live. Only hurts when I smile.”
“You’re gonna wind up with a nice shiner there, bro. Maybe two. But look at the bright side. I’ll bet you’re definitely in better shape than Cobb.” Tommy rose and started across the campsite. “Come on, get up,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’ve got water boiling for breakfast.”
Reluctantly, Travis pushed to a sitting position. Although a hint of morning had begun to illuminate the interior of the tent, he knew it would be hours before the sun crested the ridge behind them. Shivering, he wormed from the warmth of his sleeping bag, quickly donning his clothes and down jacket. Even in August, overnight temperatures in the High Sierra routinely dropped well below freezing. Later that morning he knew he would be shedding layers; right now the extra insulation felt good.
Without leaving the tent, Travis reached outside and grabbed his boots, shaking them to clear anything that might have taken up residence during the night. As he pulled them on, he glanced across the campsite. Twenty feet away he could see Tommy kneeling beside a granite slab they had set up as a cooking area the previous evening. He had both butane camp stoves going: one for coffee, the other heating a large pot of water for their customary trail breakfast of freeze-dried scrambled eggs, fruit, and oatmeal.
Unobserved, Travis remained in his quiet sanctuary for several minutes watching Tommy cook, sensing, for a fleeting moment, the familiar, hateful stab of resentment he had felt for his brother all his life. They had both inherited their unruly reddish hair, an odious (to all four Kane siblings) genetic gift from their father, but the physical similarity between the two brothers ended there. Like their father, Tommy possessed the natural grace, size, and physical presence of a born athlete—qualities that had earned him a football scholarship to the University of Arizona starting that fall. Tall and wiry, Travis had inherited the fine bones and artistic demeanor of their mother. He had never beaten Tommy at anything, and long ago he had resigned himself to living in the shadow of his brother’s accomplishments. Tommy played varsity football; Travis ran second-string track.
Whistling happily, Tommy dumped a generous portion of Tang into a plastic bottle, added water, shook the container, and peered over at the tent. “Chow’s on, cupcake,” he growled in a credible burlesque of their father’s autocratic bark.
“Now you’re even talking like him,” Travis grumbled as he crawled from the tent. “I thought we came up here to get away from Dad.”
“Right,” Tommy laughed. “From what you told me, it sounds like he really topped himself on Friday. And when Mom found out about your fight with Cobb . . . man, was I glad to get out of there.”
“You weren’t laughing at the time, Tom. You’re lucky to be leaving for college soon. I’ve still got another year in our house left to go.”
“You’ll survive. Especially with Mom running interference for you.”
“Screw you. I don’t need Mom to protect me.”
“Come on, bro. I didn’t mean it that way. Besides, Dad’s usually not that bad.”
“Yeah, he is.” Travis poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “He is to me.”
“Jeez, lighten up,” said Tommy. “Let’s just enjoy the trip and try to forget about everything at home.” Whe
n Travis didn’t reply, Tommy bolted the remainder of his breakfast in silence, then rose to his feet and began breaking camp.
Travis finished eating a few minutes later. After setting down his plate, he gazed over thoughtfully at his brother, who by now had organized his pack and moved on to filtering water for their canteens. “You realize he would kill us if he knew we were climbing,” he said, not letting it go.
Tommy turned and cracked his knuckles, shooting Travis a ferocious glare. “I gave you girls a direct order,” he snapped in another startling rendition of their father. “No rock climbing till after Tom’s first college season is over.”
“He’s worried you’ll get hurt and blow the scholarship.”
“Bull. Dad just wants to lead the climb himself.”
“Maybe,” said Travis, remembering their father’s excitement when they had first discovered the towering granite wall on a backpacking trip the previous summer. “But whatever his reasons, if he finds out—”
“How’s he going to find out? I’m sure not gonna tell him. Are you?”
“Hell, no. But Dad’s a detective, and cops have a nasty habit of discovering things.”
Tommy regarded Travis carefully. “No one else knows, right?”
“Well, uh . . .”
“Jesus, you told somebody? Who?”
“Arnie.”
“You told Dad’s partner? Damn! I don’t believe this!”
“It just slipped out. He promised not to tell, and as we’re here, he obviously hasn’t,” Travis pointed out. “Anyway, someone ought to know where we are in case something happens. We didn’t even sign in with the ranger. Until the snow melts, the chances of anybody else trying to make it over the pass are pretty slim.”
Tommy shook his head in disgust. “You told Dad’s partner,” he said angrily. “That’s just great, Trav. Good thinking.”
