“I’ve been better,” I tell him, rubbing my forehead to alleviate my hangover.
“What’s wrong? Is it your elbow?” he asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Look, I need a favor.” I tell Brett what I need and an hour later he calls me back to confirm everything is all set for Wednesday.
Despite my best efforts, I can’t get her out of my mind. Everything, no matter how small, brings my thoughts back to her. After ending my phone call with Brett I walked into the suite area where Agent Everett was listening to satellite radio. What was playing? ‘End of the Road’ by Boys II Men. I returned to my room and anxiously channel surf until I come across a commercial for baby food and immediately wondered if she’d been binging on jars of peach cobbler. I quickly changed the station, only to fumble on an episode of Family Ties. I swore the world was out to get me and I ended up smashing the remote into tiny pieces against a side table. I decided to trade television for exercise until I remembered that the last time I ran was with her in the woods. Defeated, I shut off all the lights and tried to sleep but couldn’t because my arms were empty without her. Unable to come up with any other solutions, I emptied the minibar.
Until I can leave Boston I decide to spend my time moping in isolation. I turn my phone off and extend my stay at the Mandarin. I advise my ‘shadows’ that under no circumstances are they to mention Breanne’s name and essentially lock myself in the bedroom. Everett and O’Conner take turns conducting sweeps of my room, aka checking to make sure I’m alive. Besides that, I’ve had no communication with the outside world. It’s pathetic. I’m literally trying to survive…trying to convince myself that I will be better off without her, that at some point every thought won’t be consumed by her.
Over the next few days a new chapter begins in my mental flipbook. Instead of the faces of different women flitting through my sexual routine, I am the subject. I am stuck in the same place on this bed as life goes on around me. I haven’t moved unless absolutely necessary. I watch the sunrise and sunset. I hear birds in the early morning followed by the sounds of pedestrians and traffic into the evening. I feel hunger pains and a constant hangover. But I don’t move from my spot. I have no desire to do anything. I hate how much I miss her. I can’t figure out how the rest of the world can experience joy when I’m struggling to exist. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be an addict going through withdrawal. Except she isn’t an addiction, she’s my life.
Wednesday morning I wake up at 3:12AM, hung over for the third day in a row. I toss and turn for twenty minutes and since I know it’s pointless to try and get back to sleep, I get up and shower and then pack my things. The stress of what I’ve decided to do is starting to take effect and I’m having second thoughts. If I don’t leave now I know I won’t.
When I walk into the living room of the suite O’Connor and Everett are ready to go despite that fact that I didn’t give them a heads up. How the hell did they know?
“Ready, Mr. Scott?” Everett asks. Physically it’s obvious I’m ready. Mentally I’m a total mess.
“No, not really,” I mutter. “Thanks for grabbing the things from my house.”
He nods and hands me a glass of orange juice and pain reliever; something that has become routine over the last few days. O’Conner excuses himself to notify the driver of the car.
“Mr. Scott,” Everett clears his throat, and shifts uncomfortably as he hands me an envelope. “There was a note on the door from Ms. Sullivan,” he tells me.
“I thought I told you not to mention her name. No updates. Nothing!” I remind him.
“It’s just that she,” he begins.
“Nothing,” I snap. I grab the envelope and rip it in half before tossing it to the ground.
“Yes, sir.”
Picking up my suitcases, I brush past him and head to the elevator. I’m so furious I don’t even wait for him to get in with me. The doors shut and the car descends to the lobby.
I stand just inside the doors that separate me from the cold November air and wait. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, hoping to alleviate my nerves. What the hell is taking so long? Nervously, I turn around and lock eyes with a hotel guest sitting on a couch and holding out the newspaper. He glances at my luggage briefly and then resumes reading. A little early to be up, I think, and then wonder if he’s the Paparazzi.
“Car’s ready,” a raspy voice informs me. I ignore O’Connor and pick up my things. The hotel doors open and I’m relieved to be leaving.
“Good morning, Mr. Scott,” the driver says and I nod curtly. When Everett slides in I can’t help but glare right at him. I’m not trying to be a dick but I can’t concentrate. Curiosity over why Breanne is trying to contact me is fucking with my head. Should I call her? No! You wanted to do this. There’s no going back now. I inwardly curse that I didn’t take a shot of hard liquor before leaving the room.
“You’re headed to the airport, right?” the driver asks even though he should know my destination.
“Yes,” I reply.
“I’m a big fan, sir. I’m looking forward to you taking the Sox to the playoff’s next year,” he exclaims.
They only way I’ll be returning to Boston will be to play against the Sox. As soon as my new contract is signed I’ll hire people to pack my shit. Without her there’s no reason to stay.
Epilogue
Until recently I thought that I could never fail. I was wrong…very wrong, and I really have only myself to blame. I was so close to this assignment being over and moving on with my life, that I became overconfident and seriously underestimated the target. I fucked up, but I’m not going to let it happen again.
Standing at the water’s edge in a secluded area of New Hampshire, I impatiently wait for my partner, when I’m interrupted by a phone call. This had better be good.
“Do you have an update?” I ask brusquely, not bothering with pleasantries. I need answers.
“Yes, Sir,” Edwards pauses.
“And that would be, what?” I ask, irritated. Edwards is a fairly young CIA agent and has only been working with my team for a few months. After he botched our recovery efforts in Pittsburgh I literally almost killed him. I was sure I’d get someone more experienced, but the risk of bringing in another agent was too high. To say I’m livid would be an understatement.
“For the last three days Drew Scott has stayed at the Mandarin hotel. Agent Spencer has been posing as Paparazzi and was able to catch him leaving the hotel with a security team this morning. Spencer followed Mr. Scott, and at around 4:30AM he arrived at Logan Airport. His destination is Los Angeles,” he informs me. This gets my attention.
“Was he alone?”
“Yes, sir. He won’t be for long, though. Spencer was able to get a seat aboard the same flight and it will be boarding soon.” Spencer is a senior agent, which makes me more confident. And knowing that Breanne isn’t with Mr. Scott makes me…relieved.
“Do you know how long Mr. Scott will be in California?” I ask.
“Not yet, sir.”
“Find out,” I tell him. “And be sure you have someone tail him constantly.”
“Yes, sir. Two of my men will be meeting Spencer when he lands. I’ve got this covered.”
“Just like you had it covered in Pittsburgh?” I ask. Edwards sighs in shame. He should. “That was a colossal fuck up. Should I remind you that you’re lucky to be alive and have a second chance? Keep the tail on him. Be discrete. And be prepared to confiscate the evidence from his sister’s house before he finds it and this gets more out of hand.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know what you’re looking for, right?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
“Sir?” Edwards begins, and then goes silent.
“What?” I ask, losing my patience.
“As I mentioned, Mr. Scott has a security team with him at all times. They will not be letting him out of his sight. His sports agent is with him too. What are
your orders for the team in the event we are discovered, or are unable to get what we’re looking for?” he asks.
“Find a way to make this happen and don’t call attention to yourself. If Major Arnold and his men find out or get ahold of the evidence I won’t be able to help you this time. Your objective is to get inside that house and get what we need without anyone being tipped off, and before Mr. Scott finds it. I expect you to do whatever’s necessary,” I remind him and then disconnect the call.
As I place my phone in my pocket, the rustling of leaves tips me off to my partner, and former mentor’s arrival.
“Get lost?” I ask without turning. “You’re late.”
“Well, this is in the middle of nowhere,” Dosdell reminds me. When he’s standing beside me, he hands me a folder.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Information on the status of the investigation. The lead agent has possession of new information pertaining to the death of Mr. Scott’s sister. It’s not much, but they know her death wasn’t an accident.”
“Yes, I’m aware. Spencer is on his way to California now. He’ll handle it,” I assure him and hand him back the file.
“Sounds like the next phase is about to kick off.”
“Yes, it is,” I confirm.
“Did you know they’re planning to exhume,” Dosdell attempts to warn me but I cut him off.
“I heard. Guess we better put an end to that.”
“We?” he huffs. Dosdell’s pissed, and for good reason. He’s living every CIA agent’s nightmare. His cover was blown and he’s had to go dark and work in the background from an undisclosed location. Not even I know where he’s been.
I take a swig of my coffee and glance at my partner as he leafs through the back of the file that contains pictures of everyone who has died as a result of this operation. Alexis Scott, passengers, airline employees, the owner of a small-town car dealership, a few of our men and a couple enemies. Despite the things I’ve done and choices I’ve made, I’m not a heartless prick. I’m sick over what happened. There was never supposed to be any lives lost.
“When we were assigned to this undercover operation, our goal was to infiltrate this anti-technology organization as activists. I thought we’d get involved enough to learn how they got information, and use it as evidence to put them away, as well as prevent the misuse of personal data. This was supposed to be a demonstration of the fundamental downfalls of technology, not a terrorist attack,” Dosdell says with a sigh. “I never imagined things would turn out like this.”
“They were hypocrites from the beginning. No one could have anticipated how dangerous they’d become,” I remind him, taking another sip of my coffee.
“I guess,” he solemnly agrees. “I just wish we could have brought other agencies in on this.”
“You know that would have compromised everything,” I tell him, thinking back on how shocked I’d been to learn just how many people in law enforcement and other professions were involved with what happened. “When that asshole, Major Arnold, took over the organization and realized there were other systems that could be breached and controlled, it was only a matter of time before he used it for his own financial gain. He was power hungry and didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”
“He still doesn’t care, and it’s not over.”
“It will be soon. We’ll get the evidence we need to bring him to justice and he’ll spend the rest of his life rotting in jail. Well, until the U.S. Government sentences him to death. Then maybe we can get on with our lives.”
“What’s left of them,” Dosdell mutters. Poor bastard. He’s lost just as much as I have.
“Any update on Breanne?” I ask, watching his reflection in the water carefully. At the mention of her name his posture stiffens.
“Last I knew she was at home,” he replies coldly, keeping his eyes glued to the pictures. When he gets to the last page he slams the file shut and abruptly turns to leave.
“That’s it? You’re leaving?” I call after Dosdell as he stalks off.
“Apparently you already have the information you need.”
“You have a problem with me, Dosdell?” I ask, annoyed by his inability to control his emotions. I know what’s coming. We’ve had this argument before, yet he can’t seem to let it go.
“She wasn’t supposed to be on the plane,” he barks, halting by a nearby tree.
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap back. “Of course she shouldn’t have been there, and we both know it was no coincidence. But what could I have done? Once I knew she was on the plane, it was too late to do anything about it. They suspected a mole and used the threat of murdering innocent people to get a confession. We both know it was a test. They would have killed all those people regardless. Our cover would have been blown far too early, which you seem to have forgotten.”
“Is that all that matters to you?” Dosdell asks. “Those kids would have been orphans.”
“Don’t you fucking dare bring them into this,” I spit. “You do realize that I’m the one that came up with the plan that sent you to Pittsburgh, right?”
“We should have done more,” he accuses, making his way back towards me. “She got lucky. This has gone too far.”
“We had our orders. She’s not in danger anymore so drop it.” His need to relive this is really starting to piss me off.
“Not in danger?” Dosdell laughs incredulously. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? She is not going to let this go. If we’re lucky, the FBI investigation won’t turn up anything conclusive until we’re ready, but that won’t stop Breanne. She will pursue answers no matter where it leads her, and you know what will happen then. It’ll be a direct hit.”
Again, he’s right. But Dosdell’s notion that he knows Breanne better than I do, after being assigned to discreetly protect her for a few months, is out of line.
“What is it that you’d like me to do?” I ask honestly.
“I warned you. You should have backed out from this operation,” he chides.
“We both know I never had a choice in this.”
“You could have left the agency,” he mutters.
“I’ve lost everything! I don’t need you constantly reminding me. And last I checked, Breanne’s wellbeing wasn’t your concern.”
“That’s right, Sullivan. As her husband, it should have been yours.”
Look for the sequel to CURVEBALL, coming soon!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Curveball Page 34
