by H L Stephens
"I see you haven't," I replied with a curt little smile.
Agent Howard's smile dissolved. His eyes narrowed, and he had the slightest twitch to the right side of his face, betraying his disgust for me. His reaction unnerved me, and for the first time since I arrived there all those years ago, I felt unsafe in my own home.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice lacked any confidence, and that brought the smile back to Agent Howard's face.
"I came here for you Jane," he said. "I need you to come with me."
"The hell you do," I blurted out.
"Now Jane...." my mom began through a half sob. She had been trying to curb my salty language for some time, which came more easily to my lips in times of distress. Her tone lacked conviction, however, and quavered near the point of tears again.
"Jane's right," my dad piped in. He came over and stood between me and Agent Howard. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with you. As a matter of fact, you can get the hell out of my house right now. I have had enough of you for one day."
Agent Howard smiled and sat down on the sofa.
"I am afraid I can't do that Mister MacLeod," he said. He reminded me of a fat mafia don who was about to make an offer he wasn't going to allow us to refuse. "It's not that simple. Now that Jane is here, I can explain everything, but I need you all to sit down and listen, calmly."
I didn't trust Agent Howard. My instincts screamed inside of me that something was wrong. Why he was here insisting I needed to come with him? Why now after all these years of silence?
We all sat down to listen, however. I was tucked between my parents, with Iggie sitting practically in my mom's lap. I could see the muscles in my friend's jaw clenching like the pistons on one of my dad's machines. He was rubbing his right index finger against his thumb, the way he did when he was really pissed off but trying to hold it in.
"Jane," Agent Howard said, "you are in danger, and because you are in danger, so is your family. As long as you are here, outside of FBI custody, you put each person in this room at risk. We cannot protect you as long as you remain here."
"Who is she in danger from?" Iggie growled.
"The same organization that murdered her family," Agent Howard replied. His voice was smooth as silk like he was offering a weather report.
It was my turn to blanch. I saw a look of satisfaction go across his face at my response. It was just a flash upon his features, but I caught it nonetheless. He was enjoying my discomfort.
"How is that even possible?" my father demanded. "Jane has been here for all these years, and we haven't heard a peep out of you people. Now you show up saying they are after her? How is that even possible?"
"We have a leak somewhere in the agency that we have yet to find," Agent Howard said. His features took on a remorseful appearance, but something told me he didn't feel any. "Few people knew Jane was even here, but I guess with as much time as has passed, the department that was responsible for guarding her information grew complacent. Somehow, an operative working for the same Russian organization that murdered Jane's family got hold of the information of Jane's whereabouts and sent it up the food chain. We just discovered the breech yesterday. We have no idea when the information was actually stolen."
"Why come after her now?" my mom asked. "It has been over seven years."
Agent Howard smiled, and this time it was genuine.
"Ma'am," he said, "organizations like this never forget. Jane represents a liability for them, and they deal harshly with liabilities. They can't just let her live. She witnessed the murder of her family and could potentially identify the men responsible. The organization we are talking about is ruthless. They don't leave survivors, so as long as Jane breathes, they will pursue her. The best way of protecting all of you is for Jane to come with me until we can bring the men who murdered her family to justice."
"Are we talking WITSEC here?" my dad asked. "If so, I don't understand why we aren't all being included. We are her parents after all."
Agent Howard's face twitched.
"Yes, I read somewhere that you had adopted her," he said. "Good for you. That was a very noble gesture to take pity on her like that."
My dad tensed his muscles like he was going to leap across the short distance and rip Agent Howard a new one.
"You know, you're a real jackass," my dad shot back. "For your information, there wasn't anything noble about us adopting Jane nor was any pity involved in our decision to do so. We love her, fiercely. She is our daughter, and FBI agent or not, I don't take kindly to you treating our decisions with derision. You better get to the point mister because I have run out of patience with you."
Agent Howard cleared his throat. He was visibly shaken by my father's words. I, on the other hand, was strengthened by them and felt an inner well of determination begin to grow in me.
"We aren't talking WITSEC," Agent Howard said in a more subdued tone, "at least not yet. WITSEC is typically reserved for individuals who have witnessed something and are going to testify in some capacity. We don't even know who we are dealing with yet or who originally put the hit out on Jane's family. Right now, we want to take Jane into protective custody until we discover where the breach is in our security. And it's not just the breach that makes it imperative for us to move quickly on this. One of our operatives intercepted communications indicating the organization was sanctioning action against a target. They called the target the ostatok of New York. Ostatok roughly translates into leftover. We think they are talking about Jane since there haven't been any other hits of that nature in that region since her family's murder."
"How long are we talking about my being custody?" I asked.
"I can't give you a timeline," Agent Howard said. His eyes were dead when they looked at me. "It may be some time, but the more cooperative you are with us, the sooner you will be able to come home." Again the creepy smile overtook his features.
"Will I be able to contact my parents?" I asked.
"No you will not," Agent Howard replied. "Not for a while, at least. It would be too risky. The intercepted communications mentioned Parsonville as the target location. We know Parsonville is not where you live, but it won't take the organization long to trace you back to Ironco. Once they do, your phone lines will be bugged, your house will be watched, and most likely your mail will be read in an effort to find you Jane, so any direct communication will put your family at risk. For now, communication will have to be done through me I'm afraid. If things quiet down, maybe we can relax some of the restrictions, but not now."
"I don't like this," Iggie blurted out. "For all we know, you could be full of crap. The Feds are wrong all the time, and they're not above lying either. Just look at the cover up surrounding Area 51. The government has been hiding that secret for generations."
I glared at Iggie.
"Really Iggie?" I said under my breath.
"Well, it's true," he shot back.
Iggie was a dyed-in-the-wool UFO enthusiast. His room looked like something out of the X Files. I found his faith in extraterrestrials charming most of the time, but at the moment, it felt a bit misplaced.
"You are just going to have to trust me," Agent Howard said. "I am not asking you to like me or the situation. The fact is, Jane is in danger. They will track her down, and they will kill her. These men are brutal, and they have yet to miss their target. If Jane stays, they will kill every single one of you just for being in the proximity of her. If she comes with me, you all will be safe. The only risk will be the one to Jane. It is easier to protect one person than it is to protect three. Please, just let me do my job."
My dad put a protective arm around me.
"I don't trust this situation, and I sure as heck don't trust you," my dad said. "I would feel better if I could talk to your superior about what the plan is for Jane. In my experience, the government never sends just one man for something like this. There is usually a team of agents to protect a witness."
"Usually that is the case,
Mister MacLeod," Agent Howard said, "but considering our problem with the internal leak, the fewer the people who know about Jane's whereabouts, the better. It makes it easier to trace the source of the leak in case something happens."
"You mean in case Jane gets killed," Iggie blurted.
Agent Howard ignored my friend.
"I realize this is a highly emotional situation, and I understand your reservations, but you just have to trust me."
The famous last words. You just have to trust me. Typically uttered by people who are unworthy of demanding such confidence from another.
Something was off about the whole situation with Agent Howard. We all felt it, but we had little choice but to comply.
My father did insist on speaking with Agent Howard's boss before any further steps were taken. Howard made a call, and within thirty minutes, a man named Mister Donovan called the house claiming to be Agent Howard's supervisor. My dad and he talked for some time. My dad asking questions and Donovan giving him a lot of unsatisfactory answers.
Although my dad didn't divulge every detail of their discussion, I heard him yell out several times, "That ain't good enough, damn it. She's my daughter." He ended the conversation with a hearty F-You and sat in silence, brooding in his chair.
When Agent Howard tried to press him again, my father went off on the man. He vaulted out of his chair and backed Agent Howard to the door by the sheer force of his will.
"You better get out of my face and out of my house and give me time to think," he yelled, "cause I don't give a rat's ass who you work for or what you think you can do to me. I guarantee you I can mop the state of Texas with your blobby little butt before a single one of your goons could stop me. My guess is they wouldn't waste their time on you. So get back in your car and leave my property until I call you; if I call you. You got that?"
By the time my father was finished with his tirade, Agent Howard was pressed against the screen door. In one fluid motion, my father reached behind the man and clicked the handle, opening the door and spilling the agent onto the porch. Agent Howard scrambled to his car with a speed I doubted him capable of. I hoped it was the last I would see of the man, but the pit in my stomach told me he would be back.
Hell is like that. It envelopes you in its sickly embrace and you feel least inclined to welcome its company.
Leaving Ironco in its Dust
For the first time since arriving in Ironco, the nightmares scratched again at the windows of my mind. They dared not cross the threshold, but they were there, lurking. I had never forgotten what had happened to my family on that horrible day. The events were still as vivid in my mind as the day I witnessed them.
It was just that over the years in my dusty, little corner of heaven, those details had ceased to be part of my every waking breath. As I faced losing all I had gained in my time in Ironco, the memories began to torment me once more as I closed my eyes to rest.
We had spent hours talking about the situation after Agent Howard had been cast from our home like an unwanted vagrant expelled from a settlement town. We went round and round discussing endless scenarios and their possible outcomes. Our discussions brought neither unanimity to our ideas of what should be done nor peace to our hearts. It was like determining the best course of action for amputating a viable limb. We came to no easy conclusions, and so we agreed to continue the discussions in the morning.
Iggie had been sent home early in the afternoon so that we could discuss things freely.
"This affects me too," he protested when my father suggested it was time for him to go home.
"I know son," my father said, putting a hand on Iggie's shoulder. "We just need to talk about this as a family. I promise you, we will let you know once a decision has been made."
Iggie wasn't happy about his expulsion, but he complied, knowing there would be no further debate on the matter as long as he was present.
That night, sleep would not come to me It was happening all over again. I lost one family to murder, and I was losing another family to the threat of it. My life was being shattered and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I felt no reassurance that my mom and dad would be safe if I left with Agent Howard.
If everything is so super top secret, how is this organization going to know I am no longer here? There won't be anyone to tell them.
I envisioned hordes of assassins circling the house, tightening the noose of death as they approached. My parents would have no chance to escape. Nowhere to run. My imagination ran free, and no scenario I imagined ended well. I had the images and sounds from when I was seven to fuel the darkness that crept ever closer into my heart. There had to be something I could do to protect them, but what?
I crept downstairs for some milk and cookies to help clear my head and found my father sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me.
"Hey there pumpkin," he said. Two clean glasses and a cold pitcher of milk were sitting next to a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. "I thought you might have trouble sleeping too, so I came prepared." My father had a way of knowing what I was feeling before I could say a word. His understanding of my inner workings always helped me sort through the chaos in my mind, no matter the source. Cookies and milk seemed to help loosen my tongue as well. My dad called it food for the soul. "Pull up a chair, and tell me all about it."
As we sat there floating on clouds of gooey cookies and creamy milk, I was able to tell my dad all of the things that weighed upon me and kept any semblance of peace from entering into my soul.
My father listened as only a father can, while dunking cookies and brushing the disheveled bits of hair from my face. His touch was as magical and as soothing the cookies. I found as I poured out my heart to him, some measure of quietude entered into me. I wasn't suddenly at peace with what was happening, but somehow, by telling my dad everything that was swirling around in my brain, it took away the power my fears had over me. The farther along I got in my narrative, the more yawns I began produce. Before long, my eyes felt so heavy, I could barely keep them open.
My dad smiled at me as he brushed my cheek with the tips of his fingers.
"Don't you worry about a thing pumpkin," he said. "I ain't ever gonna stop watching out for you. These foreign jokers aren't gonna win this war. You understand me? They may win a battle or two, but they are messin' with the wrong family. You just remember. You are a MacLeod, and we are made of tough stock. We take care of our own. Now, you get to bed baby girl. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day for all of us, and you need sleep."
"Are you coming?" I asked.
"I'll be along shortly," he said. "I better put this milk back in the fridge or your momma will stripe my hide. You just toddle off to bed now."
I obeyed knowing my dad was stalling. He was planning on keeping vigil for a while longer. It was his way when he felt his family was threatened. I kissed him goodnight for the second time and went up to bed with a lighter heart. I was still troubled, but I had shared my burden with my dad. Somehow it made the darkness around me feel less impenetrable.
In the morning, my head felt clearer, and I was ready to face the demon that had seemed so invincible the night before. Neither of my parents looked like they had gotten much sleep, and I got the feeling they had been up for some time talking before I joined them. The expression on their faces was resolute somehow, and a pit blossomed in my stomach. I knew somehow as I drew near the kitchen table that a decision had been made, and none of us were going to celebrate its making.
The pit turned into a full-sized stone when my father began his morning salutation with, "Sit down pumpkin. We need to talk."
My parents had decided during the wee hours of the morning that the best thing for my safety was to go with Agent Howard and allow the FBI to guard me while the agency cleaned house, trying to find the source of the leak among their number. My parents didn't like the idea of my leaving, but there didn't seem to be any alternatives for us.
We weren't wealthy. Ironco just didn't su
pport that kind of lifestyle. It simply did not offer any 'strike-it-rich' opportunities. A man had to work by the sweat of his brow just to make a decent living in our dusty little town.
My parents worked hard saving every penny they could. We had fixed up the house over the years a little at a time, and Charlene, my beauty of a 1970 Chevelle, was being rebuilt in much the same way. Just a few parts remained for my dad and me to track down to bring her back to mint condition. Charlene was as close to an extravagance as we had ever come and that was on account of the cost of parts. When you considered that her cost had been spread out over a seven year period, the extravagance of it all became less and less impressive.
Aside from Charlene, we didn't have much more than the house, its contents, and the land to speak of. We didn't need or want more than that. We had always lived for each other; not for possessions. Having said that, my parents couldn't afford to leave everything we owned behind and start from scratch. I knew they would do anything for me. They would walk away from it all at the drop of my father's well-worn Stetson, but I couldn't ask them to make such a sacrifice. Not when the FBI was offering their assurance that we all would be safe.
I felt my heart breaking as I agreed to my parent's decision. I felt the tears spill down my cheeks as I began making preparations to leave my home. I had no idea how long I would be gone, and the uncertainty filled me with dread. What do you pack in preparation for eternity? I had no answer.
My dad was true to his word and called Iggie as soon as our breakfast discussions were done. Iggie skulked about my room raging against the unfairness of the situation. His boisterous activity was neither a help nor a hindrance to my preparations. The comfort of his love and loyalty, however, was a certainty I held onto as I tucked shirts and pants into my dad's old duffle bag.
Clothing was a given, but I brought treasured books with me as well. I packed the stuffed bear my dad gave me my first month spent with him and my mom. He lost a good hundred dollars at the county fair trying to win it for me. I had fallen in love with it as it hung among its brother bears, waving its bright red felt tongue at me, as if beckoning me to bring him home. My dad played one of those unwinnable games, determined that my lovely bear with the red tongue and lopsided ear should be mine. When the vendor thought he had spent enough money, he allowed my dad to win the game. No bear in the entire world was more loved than my Bernard. Bernard got the cushiest spot in the duffle bag.
