Interlude- First Noel

by Tal Bauer

  “You were reciting the speech as it happened.”

  Jumping, Ethan whirled, glaring when he spotted Becker at his side. “Jesus Christ, Becker. Warn a guy.”

  “I did. I said ‘Hey’ when I got here.”

  Ethan hadn’t heard a thing. He turned back to the TV, but the camera feed had cut out, turned to talking heads back in the studio dissecting Jack’s speech. Words like “defining” and “powerful” were being tossed around. “Monumental.” He smiled.

  “Wow. That’s only the second time I’ve seen you smile. Ever.”

  He shrugged. Turned to Becker and tried to tune out the TV. “That speech was a big deal. He worked hard on it. With the speechwriter and on his delivery.”

  Becker frowned. “How’d you know it all?”

  “We practiced together. Until we could both recite it in our sleep.”

  Becker’s frown deepened. He stared at Ethan, questions bouncing in his eyes. His lips thinned, though. As if he was holding back his words, trying not to speak.

  “Reichenbach! Becker! My office! Now!”

  Jumping, Becker spun, just catching the back of Shepherd as their SSA stormed out of the breakroom and headed back to his office.

  “What now?” Ethan sighed, filing out with Becker in tow.

  “What did I do?” Becker grumbled behind him.

  Shepherd motioned for them to shut his door when they entered. He didn’t ask them to sit.

  “Why the hell is the head of the Midwest FBI office calling me bitching about you two?”

  Becker’s gaze darted to Ethan.

  Ethan rolled his eyes. Always, always with the FBI. “Sir, we were following leads on the heartland counterfeiting ring. The Jane Doe corpse. We interviewed the suspects we have in custody, and the woman keeps mentioning someone. ‘Mother,’ she calls her. Says she can’t go against her. We did a search for any open cases referencing someone with the alias ‘Mother.’ Ran into some closed FBI files. All we did was request access to the information.”

  But the FBI acted like they’d gone hog wild through their files, coloring outside their lines and spilling juice boxes and graham cracker crumbs in their toy bin.

  “You do know what your job is, right?” Shepherd glared first at Ethan, then Becker. “You do know your job here isn’t to be heroes. You’re not catching a murderer. That’s not a mystery for you to solve. You’re not out to get in the papers. Be famous.” He snorted, shaking his head at Ethan. “You are financial crimes. Financial. Counterfeiters. Bank fraud. This girl’s murderer? That’s the FBI’s lane. Not yours.” His hand came down on his desk. “So stay in your lane! Focus on what you need to get done. Don’t get distracted by someone else’s job.”

  Shepherd glared until they both nodded. “Becker, get out of here. Shut the door behind you.”

  Becker slid out, disappearing like vapor. The door shut softly behind him.

  Shepherd hung his head. “Reichenbach, what am I going to do with you? You just won’t quit, will you?”

  “Sir, we weren’t trying to find the murderer. We were just tracking down evidence.”

  “Be that as it may, you remember what we discussed. Everything you touch is corrupted. Everything you get involved in is open to a hundred different suspicions. You sniffing around in the FBI’s case files is a big fucking no. They’ve got something going on with this Mother person. Leave the case to them. Got it?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “And don’t get Becker involved in any of your bullshit. He’s a good agent. He’s got a good future ahead of him. I want to see him go far.” Shepherd sat in his chair, propped his elbows on his desk, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t go fucking up this kid’s reputation right out of the gate, okay?”

  “He is a good agent. I like him.”

  Shepherd glared at him over his fingertips, giving him the hairy eyeball.

  “Jesus, Shepherd, I’m not going to destroy the kid.”

  “Just try to keep him out of the papers, too. I don’t need any more scandal in this office.”

  “What the hell are you implying?”

  “Just stating facts, Reichenbach. Wherever you go, whoever you’re with, you’re a target. Think twice about what that means.”

  His hands clenched, his blood starting to burn within him.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  Shepherd nodded. “Keep your head down, Reichenbach.”

  He strode out, jerking the door open too hard, the glass rattling as the doorknob hit Shepherd’s wall. Fuming, he stalked to his cube, glaring at any agent who glanced his way.

  In his cube, Becker perched on his chair, staring at the single photo he had of Jack and him. He was holding Jack from behind as they both laughed at Daniels, who had taken the picture in the Rose Garden, tucked out of sight of the public on a weekend. He kept it beneath his monitor, almost hidden from view unless someone was sitting at the keyboard.

  Becker’s wide eyes found his. “Everything okay?”

  “What are you doing in my cube?”

  Becker ignored his question. “So what do we do now? Where do we investigate?” Becker slid out of his chair and leaned on the cubicle wall. His gaze wandered back to Ethan’s picture.

  Ethan turned it over. “We dig into Doreen. She’s the link between the money and the girl. And she’s smarter than the other jackasses. I’m willing to bet she’s the link for the material they got to make those bills.”

  Becker nodded. He pushed off the wall, heading back to his own cube. Stopped. “You, uh. You guys look happy there.” His chin jerked to Ethan’s hand, still holding the photo facedown.

  A moment, silent. “Thanks,” Ethan grunted.

  Becker left without another word.

  10

  UN Headquarters

  New York

  Outside the Security Council chambers, Picasso’s Guernica stretched along one wall, gigantic and grotesque. Harsh lines depicted tragedy and horror: images of death and war and an aerial bombing of civilians from the Spanish Civil War.

  Jack, slumped against the wall with his hands in his pockets, stared at the image until his eyes blurred.

  Within the consultation rooms behind the chambers, heads of state, ambassadors, and delegates argued, discussions raging back and forth over Jack and Puchkov’s proposed resolution.

  He’d had to walk away, after hours of talking. Had to take a break.

  Footsteps whispering on carpet broke the stillness. He looked up.

  President Puchkov ambled for him, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Calling your Mr. Reichenbach?”

  “No. He’s still at work. Just…” He waved his hand toward the consultation room. “Getting some air.”

  Puchkov nodded, lips pursed, and leaned against the wall next to Jack. His head tilted. “This is an ugly picture.”

  “It’s not meant to be pretty.”

  “Bah.”

  “I think it’s too soft.” He felt Puchkov’s stare, felt his gaze hit the side of his face. “Picasso wanted to paint the horrors of war. And you’re right. It’s ugly. Sickening. But―” He sighed. “But war is so much worse than anything anybody could ever paint.”

  Puchkov stayed silent.

  “My life has been defined by war. First the Invasion of Iraq, and then the ongoing war. And now this.”

  “The Middle East War, Part Three.” Puchkov frowned. “Or is it Part Four now?”

  Jack snorted, and Puchkov leaned into him, a tiny smile on his lips.

  “We’ve got to do this right.” Sobering, Jack rubbed his hands over his face, blinking hard. Nightmares that stole his sleep left him without enough energy to lead the world.

  “The UK, Saudi Arabia, and Azerbaijan have agreed to vote yes. Pakistan and The Gambia are voting no.” Puchkov listed the countries on his fingers, counting off the votes.

  “What about the others?” He and Puchkov were voting yes, and with the other three yes votes, that brought them to five voting for and two against.
They needed nine yes votes, and no veto from China or France.

  “Japan is leaning toward yes. They have been asking about our humanitarian aid mission in conjunction with the military operations.”

  “Offer them a seat at that table.”

  “Already done. France…” He exhaled, cursing softly. “They are being difficult.”

  “What else is new?” It was Jack’s turn to lean into Puchkov’s shoulder, trying to smile.

  “They are happy to have nothing to do with this. No soldiers. No money. But they are making demands for their vote.”

  Jack waited, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “They want to oversee intelligence gathering and want us to agree to allow them to extradite anyone we capture who was involved in the terror attacks on their nation and recommend them to the ICC for prosecution.”

  Jack tipped his head back, letting it thunk against the heavy oak. “I’m not opposed to that, but it’s going to be difficult to do in any realistic sense. Military operations are not law enforcement.”

  “It costs nothing to say yes.”

  “Until we can’t deliver on our agreement and they start making life difficult.” He shrugged. “Or, more difficult.”

  “Then we will say they should have sent their policemen in with us, behind our soldiers.” Puchkov grinned as Jack chuckled.

  “What about Germany? And Egypt?”

  “Germany is talking about the refugees. Our mission will likely create more refugees for a short period. Germany is concerned about taking more in. And Egypt is waiting for us to sweeten the deal.”

  “They want something in exchange for their vote. Figures.” He shook his head. “I’ll see what the DOD can offer. Maybe some jets. We’re upgrading our fleet right now. We could offer them hand-me-downs.”

  “We are offering something similar. And, for Germany, I will suggest that Russia could help with the economic burden of taking in so many refugees.” Puchkov winked. “I know you like it when we feed them.”

  “It’s the humane thing to do, Sergey.” He shook his head at Puchkov’s almost-playful scoff. “Anything from China?”

  If there was one country that could derail their entire proposal, it was China. They could veto the entire resolution as one of the five permanent members of the Security Council, and no matter what the rest of the votes shook out to, a veto would stop everything cold. The other four permanent members seemed set on voting yes, or at least, not vetoing. But China was always an enigma, and ever since the attempted coup in the White House and Colonel Song’s quiet aid to Ethan, Lieutenant Cooper, and Faisal, they had been eerily silent on the world stage.

  “Nothing. Not a peep. They will speak to no one.”

  Jack closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall again. “I guess I don’t need to ask about Cameroon and Nigeria?”

  “No need to ask. Both will vote no. And both delegations have left the discussions.”

  His foot bounced, heel tapping against the floor. “Do you think Nigeria would have voted yes?”

  “I do not waste the thought.” Straightening, Puchkov smoothed down his jacket and rolled his neck. “Come, Mr. President. Let’s make deals.” He held his hand out, bowing his head toward Jack. “Please.”

  They headed back for the consultation room, shoulders bumping. Puchkov glanced sideways. “You know,” he said slowly. “You and Mr. Reichenbach should really come visit Russia. Moscow is beautiful in winter.”

  Des Moines

  Ethan’s phone rang in the middle of the night again, buzzing on the pillow next to his head. Fumbling for it, he swiped to answer and dragged it to his ear, eyes closed.

  “Hey, baby,” he mumbled. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

  Silence. “Uh. Reichenbach?”

  Shit. He bolted up, clenching his phone hard enough that the case squealed. “Becker?”

  He glared at the clock on his nightstand. Three fifty in the morning. “Why are you calling?”

  “Another body’s been found. And she’s got our bills shoved down her throat again. Des Moines PD called me about it.”

  “Why’d they call you?” Ethan was already moving, going to the closet and grabbing his jeans and boots and sliding on a polo before grabbing his jacket.

  “I know a few people on the force. Made some friends. Look, I’m on the way. I was wondering if you… if you’d want to come out.”

  He could hear the real question beneath Becker’s words.

  “Yeah. I’m on my way now. Where?”

  “I’ll send you the address.” Becker hesitated. “When I called―”

  “Shut up,” he growled. “I’m on my way.”

  Flashing blues and reds broke the blackness of the night as Ethan pulled up to the crime scene. He had his own beacon strobing on his dash, and he badged his way through the crime scene tape when a young sheriff’s deputy flagged him down.

  Snow covered the ground, except for the deep footsteps through the drifts leading to the dumped body. She lay in the snowbank, naked, bruised, and tied up. She’d landed in the snow and hadn’t moved, hadn’t thrashed. Dumped after death.

  A wad of hundreds had been stuffed in her mouth.

  Ethan crouched down, peering at her as police and crime scene techs moved around, taking photos and laying out yellow tents, evidence markers on the snow and in the dirt.

  “Reichenbach!”

  He turned and spotted Becker waving him over to a parked police cruiser. Becker had his notepad on the hood and a female officer stood in the doorway of the cruiser, talking to Becker with bright eyes.

  Friends on the force, indeed.

  He headed for Becker, dodging CSIs and evidence markers and crunching through the snow. His breath frosted before him, and he tucked his ball cap down over his forehead, trying to hide his face. Like it mattered after Becker shouted his name. But still.

  Becker was talking softly with the officer, interviewing her in extraordinary depth about how they’d found the body, what had happened so far, and how their investigation was progressing.

  The officer―her nametag read “Walker”―moved off as Ethan approached, her eyes holding Becker’s for just a second too long.

  Ethan stared at his partner.

  “What?” Becker shuffled through his notes.

  “Where should I start? You wanting in on the murder investigation, or you sniffing after that cop?”

  Becker glared. “Her name is Ellie. She’s a good friend. A great cop.”

  Ethan raised one eyebrow.

  “She’s out of my league.”

  “Not sure about that.” Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t say anything about wanting in on the murder investigation.”

  Becker kept his mouth shut. He tapped his notepad against his palm.

  “Shepherd warned us off. Told us to stay out of it. We shouldn’t even be here. We should be waiting for the official report from the M-E about the bills. Then we can step in.”

  “And get the door slammed in our faces again? These counterfeit bills are our investigation. Someone is counterfeiting and murdering―”

  “We don’t know they’re connected.”

  “We don’t know they aren’t.”

  Ethan sighed. “I know you want to make a name for yourself. But pissing off the feds isn’t the way to do it. Shepherd likes you. Wants to see you go places. You should work with him.”

  “Goddamn it, Reichenbach. Jesus, this must be like a vacation for you, being out here in Nowheresville. But this is the biggest thing to happen in Des Moines for years. You’re damn right I want in on it. I want to―”

  “Don’t you dare say this is a vacation for me.” Growling, Ethan stepped close to Becker, glowering down at his partner. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  Becker’s eyes went wide. He looked away, his jaw clenching. “There is a connection. I know there is,” he hissed. “Why would you walk away from that? How is this easy for you?”

  “Nothing is easy fo
r me,” Ethan snapped. “Not a single Goddamn thing.” He turned away, blowing out a harsh exhale that fogged in front of him. “I’m just trying not to make anything worse, Becker.”

  Becker watched him pace, his boots crunching through the snow.

  “All right. Look. See if you can get copies of the crime scene report from your friend.”

  “Won’t we get copies? Like last time?”

  Ethan shook his head. “The feds want to ice us out of this one. They’ll be slow. Real slow.”

  “I’ll ask Ellie.”

  “We go back to what we can do. We’re getting somewhere with Doreen. We’re building out her past. Trying to identify her network. We keep going. Work her hard.” He glared at Becker, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “It’s not all shoot-outs and firefights. Those are the bad days, Becker. It’s the quiet work. Investigation. Preparation. Making sure shit doesn’t go wrong.”

  Becker threw his hand out toward the dumped body. “It’s already gone wrong.”

  “We do what we can do.”

  Becker wasn’t happy, but he stopped arguing, sighed, and closed his notebook. “All right. I’ll ask Ellie. She said the FBI is on the way. We should get going.”

  “Yeah. And before the media, too. I’ll see you back at the office.”

  He stormed off without waiting for Becker’s response, shuffling through the snow back to his car.

  Luckily, he escaped before the FBI rolled in, and before the media, and he ended up at his cubicle before five in the morning, huddled over a cup of coffee and flipping through the extra reports he’d requested on Doreen. Social Security records. Birth records. Postal records. The places she’d lived.

  Becker appeared over his cubicle wall an hour later, dropping a bag of donuts on his desk.

  “Hey.” Ethan swiveled around and tucked his pencil over his ear. “I found something.”