Checkmate

by Steven James

  I looked at him. “Did you really just say that?”

  A slight smirk.

  “You’ve been watching too many Bruce Willis movies, my friend.”

  “You can never watch too many of those.”

  I glanced down. I was a mess—drenched from the water, splattered with blood. I patted my side. “Can you believe it? I think my stitches ripped out again.”

  “Imagine that.”

  Then he wrapped his mammoth arms around his tiny daughter to hold her. To love her. To protect her from the world.

  And we went back inside the hospital to check on our wives.

  94

  The next day

  1:55 p.m.

  I knocked on Sherry Ritterman’s front door.

  There were still a few loose ends that we were wrapping up, a few questions that we were working on answering, but Brin and Tryphena were okay, and Debra’s daughter, Allie, was fine. Debra was being questioned. Mason and Basque were dead. And I had a promise to keep.

  Sherry opened the door and invited me in. I’d decided earlier that it would probably be best if I just said what I needed to say without entering her home. It would’ve just made it harder for her to ask me to leave afterward.

  So I politely declined her invitation to come in and we stood there looking at each other from opposite sides of the doorway. Cool air from inside her home seeped out and curled around me.

  “I heard about Mason,” she said. “I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad you got him. But Debra?”

  “People will take extreme measures to protect the ones they love.”

  “Yes. That they will.”

  Then neither of us spoke.

  “So,” she said, “what did you need to tell me, Patrick?”

  I took a small breath. “Sherry, last Monday when we were at the hospital and we were talking about when Stu died, I . . . well I told you what he’d said before he passed away.”

  “That he loves me. That he’s always loved me.”

  “Well, that wasn’t what he said. In truth, he told me something else.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “Actually, he apologized.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He said he wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. That he was sorry about Iris.”

  “Iris.” I couldn’t read her tone. “He said he was sorry about her?”

  “Yes.”

  A tremor caught hold of her and she leaned one hand against the doorframe to steady herself. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  I was trying to protect you.

  “I should have. I’m sorry. I was afraid it would hurt you.”

  I had the inclination to lay a hand on her shoulder to try to comfort her, but thought better of it.

  She began to cry, soft, tender tears that I wished I could wipe away.

  See? All you did was bring back harsh memories, Pat.

  You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have told her.

  No, the truth is the one thing no one needs to be protected from. Remember?

  Well, maybe sometimes that’s not the case.

  Sherry wiped at the tears but didn’t manage to get them all. “I was pregnant last winter.” Her voice was quiet. “We didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to have the baby and Stu told me he wasn’t ready. He . . . Well, if it was a girl, I was going to name her Iris.”

  She let the words hang in the air.

  I couldn’t tell whether or not she wanted me to respond.

  It wasn’t just Stu’s way of apologizing; it was his way of saying that he loved Sherry. Both her and their baby.

  I was really struggling here, trying to find a way to help be part of the solution rather than adding any more pain to what Sherry was already feeling.

  Remember, when people are hurting they don’t always need answers, sometimes they just need companionship. Just someone to listen.

  I wasn’t the right person for that.

  “My daughter,” I said at last. “Her mother made the same decision, I mean—it’s a long story. I don’t know if it would help . . . but maybe you could call Tessa. When you’re ready. If you need someone to talk to.”

  She looked unsure, but took a moment to write down my daughter’s number. “Thank you.” Then she hastily stepped back to close the door. “I’ll have to see.”

  * * *

  Four hours later

  Brineesha had recovered from the insulin overdose, but considering what she’d been through, the C-section, and the difficulties of the delivery, the doctors wanted to keep her admitted for another twenty-four hours.

  She’d just finished nursing Tryphena and was now cuddling her.

  Ralph, Lien-hua, and I were in the room. Tessa and Tony had left a couple of minutes ago to get something to eat from the cafeteria.

  Brin said, “There’s one thing I still don’t understand: How did Mason plan everything when he didn’t know when Tryphena would be born? I mean, I was past due.”

  “It wasn’t your due date that determined the timing,” I replied, “it was the shipment of the anhydrous ammonia.”

  Ralph nodded. “He could have come after you and Tryphena anytime. Thank God we stopped him.”

  “Yes,” Brin said. “Thank God.”

  Kurt had apparently been planning to post pictures of this whole thing, share his story with the world. Ralph found a website link on his cell phone, but Mason had died before he could post it.

  Well, too bad for him.

  “And Debra?” Brin said. “How did you know she was involved?”

  “I didn’t know it for sure,” I admitted. “But she told me Allie was at her dad’s house but she mentioned to Lien-hua that she was at camp. Also, she didn’t identify who accessed the security-camera locations because she was the one who did it and she wasn’t about to implicate herself. Finally, as the receptionist, she knew everyone’s time schedules and who was going to be at work on Monday.”

  “So based on that, you guessed it was her?”

  “I hypothesized it was.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “Sounds to me like you were going with your gut there, Pat. At least a little.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “At last,” Ralph said. “We’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say that.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Now that that’s cleared up,” he said, “I understand you have a meeting with Margaret tomorrow—isn’t that right, Agent Powers?”

  “Yup.”

  “I already put in the good word for you.”

  “Thank you.” I had my phone out and was tapping at the screen distractedly. “There.”

  “There, what?”

  I showed him the picture I’d taken of him wearing the dainty white gloves at the Mint Museum. I’d just posted it to the official NCAVC site. “This is for the Agent Powers comments.”

  “Okay, you need to delete that now.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not really sure how to.”

  “Oh yes, you are.”

  While we were going back and forth, Tessa and Tony returned and Tony asked almost reverently if he could hold his sister.

  “Come on,” I said to Lien-hua and Tessa. “Let’s give them a little family time. There’s a coffee shop nearby, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tessa said. “Not too far.”

  * * *

  On the way to the car, she leaned close and said, “So, you haven’t said anything yet, and I need to know what you’re thinking. Are you weirded out that I kissed Beck last night?”

  “He’s a handsome-enough guy. Seems to be brave, professional, courteous. Good at his job. I think if I were you I would have kissed him too.”

  “
You know, there’s something very wrong with that statement.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “But you’re cool if I hang out with him?”

  “As long as it’s okay with your mother.”

  Lien-hua winked at Tessa. “Don’t get me in the middle of this.”

  “I saw that,” I said.

  “What?”

  “That little winky deal there.”

  “Something in my eye.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You know, Tessa,” I said. “I hope things work out with you and Beck. I really do. It’s about time you ended up getting the guy.”

  “I’ll say it is.”

  And then we went out for coffee.

  As a family.

  Epilogue

  Eleven days later

  “Well, I think that’s the last of it.”

  I set down the box of books I’d carried to Tessa’s third-floor residence-hall room. No more stitches, but my side was still pretty sore, as was my forearm where I’d been injured during my fight with Basque. However, I didn’t want my daughter to worry, so I didn’t let on that it was hurting. “I think maybe I should buy you an e-reader. Save a couple trees.”

  “Actually, studies show the effects of the production of e-readers on deforestation isn’t what—”

  “I was kidding.”

  “Oh. Well, anyway, I like the feel of a real book in my hands. Call me old-fashioned.”

  “That’s not exactly the first image that pops into my mind when I think of you.”

  “Oh. What is?”

  “A raven spreading her wings.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Now, see, that was a good answer.”

  + + +

  Tessa liked it when her dad called her Raven, always had.

  She looked around her room.

  Okay, so it was a mess.

  Hopefully, she’d be able to clean up a little before her new roommate got here.

  She knew her dad’s side was still bothering him, but she let him pretend like it wasn’t hurting. It was important to let guys do that sort of thing once in a while. Helped with their egos.

  A lot had happened in the past week and a half.

  Agent Guirret was facing some serious charges, but Ralph and Brineesha weren’t pressing kidnapping charges.

  Patrick’s meeting with Director Wellington had gone better than he’d expected. The Office of Professional Responsibility had taken all of the circumstances involving his work with Basque into consideration and, evidently, the Director had even gone to bat for him.

  In the end, he received an official reprimand.

  Oh, well.

  It wasn’t his first.

  Wouldn’t be his last.

  Some guy named Pierce Jennings was in the news. He’d lost his position at the National Security Council after he’d been discovered leaking information to the press. Not a huge deal, but Patrick seemed to find it satisfying.

  Director Wellington’s comment about how protecting innocent lives was more important than politics had gone viral. It might very well prove to be the best thing that could have happened to her political career.

  Tessa had a feeling that a woman with her drive and ambition wouldn’t stop at just a seat in Congress, but would eye the White House.

  Imagine that—Margaret Wellington for president.

  Well, stranger things have happened.

  Actually, maybe not.

  + + +

  Tessa seemed deep in thought.

  I broke the silence. “I guess this is one of those things a dad is supposed to do, huh? Saying good-bye to his daughter at college?”

  “It’s there in the job description somewhere.”

  “Next to the stuff about coming to your side if you have malaria or scurvy?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  A moment eased past us.

  “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not fungible, Tessa.”

  “Fungible?”

  “It means you’re irreplaceable. To be fungible means—”

  “No, I know what it means, it’s just not exactly a Patrick-word.”

  “I’ve been saving it up for a special occasion.”

  “Like a fine wine.”

  “Like a fine wine.”

  “Well, thank you, Dad. No one has ever told me I’m not fungible before.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She walked toward the window that overlooked campus. “So, I spoke with Mrs. Ritterman yesterday. She called me.”

  “I hope I didn’t put you in too awkward of a position.”

  “No. It’s fine. Anyway, she told me about Iris, about her abortion.”

  I waited. I could tell there was more. Tessa needlessly repositioned a box, then said, “Really, I didn’t know what to say, you know? I finally just told her my story. I mean, there’s no way I could speak for her baby, but hearing that I wasn’t mad at my mom anymore seemed to help.”

  “Thanks for doing that.”

  “Yeah.”

  We were both quiet.

  And that was okay.

  “I have a present for you,” I told her.

  “A present?”

  I unholstered my banged-up SIG.

  “I thought that was at the bottom of the mine shaft down there in Charlotte?” she said.

  “Yeah, well, after they retrieved it, I had it sent up here.” I handed it to her. “I want you to have it.”

  “You’re giving me a gun? On a college campus?”

  “It doesn’t work anymore. It got too damaged when I dropped it. I just thought it’d make a good souvenir for someone studying criminal science. It’s not dangerous. I mean, basically, it’s worthless, but—”

  “It’s not worthless.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s full of your stories.”

  “I guess it is. And some of yours too.”

  “Yeah. True.” She accepted it. “Seriously, that is very cool of you and I will get in a ton of trouble if anyone finds it.”

  “Do you want me to keep it at home?”

  “Naw. I’ll be discreet. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets when I need to.”

  She put the SIG on a shelf where it would be out of sight from her resident assistant.

  “We’ve been through a lot,” I said.

  “Yeah. But I’m glad things turned out how they did. I mean, with you being my dad.”

  “Maybe I’ll be teaching you someday at the Academy.”

  “Maybe you will.”

  “I love you, Tessa.”

  “I love you too, Patrick.”

  I gave her a kiss on the forehead and she gave me a hug that spoke volumes.

  We were interrupted by a knock at the door.

  A girl who looked about Tessa’s age bopped into the room, carrying a paper bag from a fast-food joint.

  “Hey!” she chirped. “I’m Giselle. Oh—love your hair!” She gently touched the dark blue streak in my daughter’s hair. “You must be Tessa—I only say that because I met our RA and she said you were already here and—” Something out the window caught her attention and she glanced outside. “Awesome view of campus—wow! I mean, are you kidding me?!” Then, almost instantaneously, Giselle flipped her attention back to us again and offered me her hand. “And you are?”

  “Patrick.” I shook her hand. “I’m Tessa’s dad.”

  “Honored to meet you.” A slight nod and bow. She held up the bag of fast food. “Fat Pig Barbecue! I only brought two pulled-pork sandwiches, though. I wasn’t thinking anyone else—”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Don’t mean
to run you off or anything. Oh, these sandwiches are amazing.” She smiled at my daughter. “I’m super stoked. We’re gonna have such a sweet year!”

  Giselle plopped down at the desk and pulled out two pork sandwiches from her bag.

  I patted Tessa’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you two alone to get to know each other.”

  “Awesome!” Giselle said cheerily. “Nice to meet you!”

  “Nice to meet you too, Giselle.” Then I said to my daughter, “Good-bye, Tessa. I’ll text you.”

  “You can call me.” She was staring uneasily at the pulled-pork sandwich Giselle was holding out to her. “I mean once in a while. Just to say hi.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  As I left I heard Giselle say, “I hope you’re hungry, sis, ’cause Fat Pig Barbecue rules!”

  * * *

  Lien-hua had said good-bye to Tessa before our last trip up to the room and was waiting for me beside her coupe.

  “So, how was it?” she asked.

  “Harder than I thought it would be.”

  “You gave her the SIG?”

  “Yeah. Not your typical dad/daughter gift.”

  “You’re not a typical dad/daughter.”

  “I guess we’re not,” I said. “You know, I never really saw myself as being a dad.”

  “And I never saw myself as being a mom.”

  “Life is full of surprises.”

  “That it is.” She gestured toward the door. “Ready to go?”

  I let my eyes linger on the dorm and I thought of the last couple weeks, all that had happened, all that had led us to this moment.

  You strive for justice, you move toward the light when you can, and you shake off the darkness that clings to you from living on this fractured planet of lost dreams and sharp heartache.

  Because it’s also a place that hope calls home.

  Justice wrestles with the darkness and we are, each of us, caught up in the fight. We strive for the first, but have a weakness for the second and between them is a chasm that spans all of our souls.

  “Pat? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Lien-hua took her place behind the wheel. “I think we make a good team, Agent Bowers.”

  “I think so too, Agent Bowers.”

  “So.” She fired up the car. “Basque is out of the picture at last.”