Power of Attorney

by Bethany Maines

  “Then what’s the problem?” asked Nikki, flopping down onto one of the leather wing chairs that faced the desk.

  “His filing system,” said Jenny, sliding a piece of paper across the desk.

  Nikki picked it up. It was a list of books with a string of numerical values next to them.

  “We think the numbers either reference dates, file numbers, or encoded names. Or possibly all three.”

  Each book contains a CD,” said Jenny, ejecting one from the computer and carefully replacing it in a book.

  Ellen took the book and handed her a new one.

  “And each CD may or may not be encrypted, password protected, be files on people we’ve never heard of, or have baby pictures of Katie.”

  Nikki laughed.

  “It’s going to take days to pull everything and go through it,” said Ellen. “And that’s if we haul it back to Rachel and have the IT squad go through it. Which, since we’re trying to keep this quiet, I’m not sure we want to do.”

  Nikki sighed and looked at the list again. “Was Katie in the Winnie the Pooh book?”

  “First addition. It’s charming,” said Ellen.

  “OK… Pull The Day of the Jackal, Love Story, and um…”

  “Aw, crap,” said Ellen, stealing Nikki’s favorite comment of dismay and snatching the list out of her hand at the same time. “Of course, he would cross reference them that way.”

  “What way?” demanded Jenny.

  “Day of the Jackal and Love Story both came out in the seventies,” said Ellen. “If Katie’s in Winnie the Pooh, then it’s a good bet that something associated with Vietnam is going to be in a time period novel or something about Vietnam.”

  “That’s not a sure bet,” said Jenny. “He put a lot of effort into this system. He’s not going to want it to be that obvious. And besides, that file on the Sven guy was in a Harlequin.”

  “Maybe it’s more subtle than that — maybe there’s something about the subject matter that reminds him of the file that’s in there. It’s worth a shot and we’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “I remain unconvinced,” said Jenny.

  “Five bucks,” said Ellen. “I’ll bet you five bucks we find something in one of the books we’ve just targeted.”

  “Five bucks and fifty push-ups, and you’re on,” replied Jenny with a snort.

  “Deal,” said Ellen. “Now, ok, what are we pulling here? Jackal — that’ll be under Forsyth. Love Story, who wrote that? Oooh, that’s going to hurt my head.”

  “Segal,” said Jenny, having popped open the internet.

  “Look up this one too,” said Ellen. “The New Centurions. It’s about police officers in LA during the 1960’s.”

  “Wrong era then, isn’t it?” asked Jenny as she typed.

  “I think it came out in the early seventies. And it was… I read it for a class; we were studying the Watts Riots. Mr. Merrivel and I discussed it one time. It seemed to have made an impression.”

  “Joseph Wambaugh, then,” said Jenny.

  Nikki searched the wall and eventually located the W’s in the lower right corner. She pulled a CD out of the back and handed it to Jenny. As Ellen collected the other two books.

  “Bingo!” exclaimed Jenny, as the CD whirred to life inside the computer. “I have CIA records.”

  Ellen and Nikki crowded behind Jenny to see the screen.

  “Photos of records,” said Ellen. “Thank God they invented palm scanners. Can you imagine if we had to photograph records now?”

  “I just don’t know where we would keep the film,” said Jenny. “My boobs can only accommodate so much. I don’t know how those sixties spy girls managed it. Is this Mr. Merrivel’s file?” Jenny stopped scrolling and enlarged a page. Mr. Merrivel’s young face looked back from the page.”

  “It’s his decommission file,” said Ellen, reading ahead. “He left the CIA in 1975. Nikki did you know about this?”

  “He just told me,” said Nikki. “At the hospital.”

  “But if he left in ’75… He would have been working during his marriage to Brett’s mom,” said Ellen. “And they never knew?”

  “He never told them,” said Nikki.

  “But…” Jenny said.

  Nikki’s phone beeped in almost simultaneous harmony with Ellen and Jenny’s.

  “Oh dear,” said Ellen, seeing the message first.

  At the Merrivel’s. Locked in stuffy. Brett on rampage. Get here ASAP.

  “Stuffy?” asked Jenny.

  “Phone correction on study?” suggested Nikki, patting her pocket for her car keys. “Bring the CD.”

  “What’s Jane doing at the Merrivel’s anyway?” demanded Jenny peevishly, tucking the CD into her purse.

  “She wanted to find his divorce records,” said Nikki, holding open the door. “My car?”

  “That’s fine,” said Ellen, leading the way. “You go get it started. Let me just tell the secretary not to bother with the mess, and that we’ll be back to clean it up. No need for her to start poking around.”

  Nikki was waiting for Ellen in front of the office. She wanted to hurry, she had every intention of hurrying, but the truth was that it would take at least an hour for her to get from the office to house at this time of day.

  Da Nang

  Jane and Mark were waiting for them in front of the Merrivel house.

  “Jane, are you ok?” demanded Jenny, striding up to the porch, ignoring Mark entirely.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. But Brett smashed up some stuff. When I got here he was already going through Mr. M’s office. I’m not sure what he found, but something pissed him off thoroughly. I managed to push him out of the study and lock him out, but he broke several things on his way out.”

  “Where is he now?” asked Nikki.

  “I told him to go walk it off,” said Mark. “Last time I saw him he was walking out past the pool. I’ve got his cell phone and the car keys, so he’ll be back.”

  “Do you know what set him off?” asked Nikki.

  “No,” said Mark. “He was carrying something in a picture frame and shouting something about liars, cheaters and whores of Babylon.”

  “Mark,” said Ellen, “I hate to bring this up, but have you considered that your father might have some serious mental health issues. This type of obsessive, rage filled behavior isn’t normal.”

  “I swear he’s not like this normally. I mean, he and Grandpa have never seen eye to eye, but this really isn’t normal. The thing is he just got back from visiting his mother — she’s got Alzheimer’s. And the last time I went to see her, she spent an hour yelling at me for abandoning her and the children. Apparently, I look enough like grandpa that she just… Anyway, she carries a huge grudge and she and Dad have always been really close. I think Dad’s just not dealing with the possibility of losing both his parents very well and I don’t think he’s every really dealt with Grandpa leaving.”

  “Unfortunately, his emotional issues have now crossed the line into property damage and threatening physical violence to others,” said Ellen, gesturing at Jane. Ellen had a way of sounding official and officious that made others quake. To Nikki’s surprise, Mark did not quake.

  “I’m aware of that,” said Mark. “Which is why, when he comes back I’m going to suggest that he return home. If he doesn’t take the suggestion, I would not stand in your way if you chose to call the police.”

  “Let’s go inside and wait then,” said Nikki. “Jane, what did you find in the divorce records.”

  “Cynthia Merrivel testified that she had not had marital relations with her husband in close to a year, and that she suspected that there was another woman.”

  Nikki lead the way into living room as Jane continued to talk.

  “Mr. Merrivel stated that he had been traveling for much of that year, and that there was no one else. A detective hired by Cynthia also testified, but stated that he’d been unable to find a mistress. Cynthia wanted a large lump sum alimony and monthly payments the
reafter. Mr. Merrivel wanted monthly payments only. Eventually, they settled, mostly in Mr. M’s favor and a divorce was granted in 1972. However, the time frame in question, and stated lack of intimacy, would allow for Mr. M’s injury and suggest that Cynthia was unaware of it. I… uh… looked into those other things we discussed and I’ve made some progress in that area, but um,” she glanced at Mark,

  “Mark,” said Nikki, “Jane is one of our Carrie Mae IT specialists and I’m afraid I’ve directed her to dig into your Grandfather’s financial records. Are you ok with that, as a police officer?”

  “Did she do anything illegal?” he asked tiredly, sitting down on the couch.

  “Not as far as I know,” said Nikki, they all turned to look at Jane, who smiled nervously and remained suspiciously silent.

  “That’s good enough for me,” said Mark, flopping back against the cushions. “What did you find out?”

  “Your grandfather appears to have changed jobs every one to two years during the sixties. However, when you dig a little deeper it seems that many of the LLC’s issuing his checks all had accounts at the same bank and that many of the accounts were linked to the same account in Switzerland.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Mark.

  “I’d have to dig deeper,” said Jane, cautiously, “But those are all pretty common indication of shell companies. The problem is that at this date, most of those records will have been destroyed or if they haven’t been, they’re packed in boxes somewhere. I’m lucky I even got what I did. And I wouldn’t have been able to get there if I hadn’t had Mr. M’s check stubs.”

  “I have the feeling you’re all leading up to something bigger,” said Mark. “And I don’t like it. Why can’t this just be an ugly divorce with two people who couldn’t ever quite connect?”

  “Because you can’t connect with your partner when you’re lying to him,” said Nikki. “Or her, as the case may be. Does anybody else want a drink?” she asked going to the bar.

  “But what was he lying about?” asked Mark.

  “How about the fact that he was cheating on my mother?” asked Brett. His pants were wet up to the knees from walking in tall grass and his hair looked disheveled. “Why don’t you read that,” he said, walking across the room, leaving squelching shoeprints on the carpeting and dropped a small, framed object in Mark’s lap.

  “Thanks for listening,” said Mark, squinting at the picture. “Miranda.”

  “Below that,” said Brett, an aura of righteous smugness clung to him. Nikki finished pouring herself a gin and tonic.

  “It’s a napkin, Dad. Oh. You mean, on the mat. Um… JFK, Terminal C Bar, 1970.”

  “1970,” repeated Brett. “They weren’t divorced until 1972. He was cheating on mom. I knew it!” He smacked his hand into his palm.

  “That’s not true,” said Jane firmly. “We’ve all heard the story, even if you haven’t. They met at an airport bar. He was flying one direction and she was flying another. They never forgot each other and when they bumped into each other in LA they began dating and got married. They didn’t get married until 1979, so… you know… Not cheating.”

  “They met in 1970!” snapped Brett. “Mom always knew he was lying to her. This proves it. Miranda,” he made her name a sneer, “broke up their marriage.”

  “So what?” asked Nikki, taking a sip of her drink and they all turned to stare at her. “Even if your conclusion is right — so what? You think your parents are the first ones to ever get divorced? I haven’t seen my father since high-school. Get over it.”

  “So he gets a pass?” demanded Brett. “No, I don’t think so. I want him to tell the truth. He’s going to tell the truth if I have to wring it out of him.

  “You’ve got to get your pound of flesh, even if you kill him?”

  “Get out!” yelled Brett and pointed at the door. “This is my father’s house. I’m the one that belongs here. Not you. You’ll get out, if I have to throw you out.”

  Nikki took a deep breath and let it out gustily.

  Two years ago I would have broken his nose and watched him bleed on the carpet.

  “Out!” screamed Brett, stomping over to her, to make his point in her face. “You, are going to get out!”

  Nikki stared at the finger that was making dents in her collarbone.

  Oh, what the hell.

  It wasn’t a complicated joint lock. It was more about the swiftness of the grab and turn, but complicated or simple the results were the same — Brett Merrivel ended up dropping to one knee, his face going white as Nikki twisted his wrist past it’s natural rotation. He made a little ‘eep’ sound and flapped the other arm, seeming to forget it could be used for something.

  “Um, that’s probably enough,” said Mark, half-rising from his seat.

  Nikki released Brett and took a sip of her drink.

  “Brett, you keep yelling because you think it will frighten us into giving you your way. You’re like a screaming toddler and it’s tiresome.”

  Brett struggled to his feet, holding his wrist with the other hand.

  “The truth is this: Your father gave me power-of-attorney, not because he loves me so much, but because he trusts you so little. I will not be leaving this house and if you keep yelling, I’m going to let Jenny hogtie you.”

  “We’ll see about this,” he said quietly. His teeth snapped together with a click. “I will go talk to my father and we shall see.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Nikki. “I’ve already called the hospital. You will not be allowed to see him. And if you try to, they will have you escorted out by security or the police if necessary.”

  “Mark,” said Brett, “Get your things, we’re going to the hospital.”

  “No,” said Mark. “And frankly, I’m also thinking about letting Jenny hogtie you. When I joined the police force, you told me to try and keep a cool head, to try to be fair to people even if I didn’t like them. You kept rambling on about critical thinking and holding myself to the higher standard of history.”

  “I did not ramble. I was imparting valuable life lessons.”

  “Well, Nikki’s trying to impart some valuable life lessons to you, but you’re being an ass.”

  “But Dad lied…” said Brett. He seemed to deflate as Mark spoke, the flame of his rage diminishing.

  “Apparently true,” said Mark, nodding and patting the spot next to him on the couch. “But possibly not why you think.”

  “He did lie, though,” said Brett sitting down.

  “He had to,” said Nikki. “He was with the CIA.”

  “Dad was a salesman,” Brett corrected her tiredly.

  “Originally, yes,” agreed Nikki. “But it was 1959; the CIA needed smart people who’d never been connected to the military and your father needed something that would help keep a roof over the head of his wife and one-year-old son. As a salesman John was good at talking to people, and even better yet, he’s good at listening. He could realistically be expected to travel anywhere on the globe, and he supported the Cold War.”

  Brett scratched his head tiredly. “He never even told us he left the country. We’d always get presents from Oregon — Tillamook cheese or something.”

  “That’s good cheese,” observed Jane. “Sorry, off topic.”

  “By the ‘70’s he was making frequent trips to Vietnam. During one mission in 1971, he discovered that a fellow operative was planting bombs in US held cities to generate support for the US and the South Vietnamese Army.”

  “We were bombing ourselves?” asked Mark, incredulously.

  “Hardly surprising,” said Brett, sourly.

  “Yes, well, your father attempted to have the mission ended — showing that the support the bombings generated was minimal and that it actually helped boost North Vietnamese fervor, but by the time he got the operative recalled, seven bombs on timers had been planted in and around Da Nang. John managed to diffuse six of them. He was just a little late on number seven.”

  There was si
lence in the room, and Nikki took another drink.

  “Your mother always felt lied to because he lied to her. You always felt left out because he left you out of what came to be his ‘real’ life. I’m not saying his work justified anything. I’m just saying that’s the reason. You wanted the truth, there it is.”

  Brett tilted his head back and rested it on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling.

  “He left the CIA in 1975, but by then your mom had divorced him and moved you to Virginia,” she added.

  “Then he went to law school and married Miranda and had Kate,” said Brett, still staring at the ceiling. “They got a husband and father who was only focused on them and we got the shaft.”

  “Pretty much,” said Nikki.

  Brett pulled his chin down, seeming to work his neck with difficulty. “Why couldn’t he leave for us?” he asked of no one in particular.

  “The CIA isn’t some place that’s easy to quit,” said Nikki, and Brett sighed heavily.

  He stood up and went to stare out the window. “He could have told me later.” He rubbed his hair and then laced his fingers behind his head, seeming to stretch.

  “At least you weren’t wrong,” said Mark, with an awkward laugh. “He really was hiding stuff.”

  “I’m so mad at him,” said Brett to the windows.

  “That’s parents for you,” said Mark.

  Brett turned around to give him a disgusted stare, just as Nikki’s phone rang.

  “Jane,” said Nikki, flipping it over to look at the number. “Is it possible to clone myself yet? I need a spare me, just to answer phones.”

  It was the hospital. Nikki ignored Jane’s reply and walked away from the group and into the hall.

  “This is Nikki Lanier,” said Nikki, forcing her voice to remain steady.

  “Hi Nikki, this is Dr. Colmar. I was calling to update you on our progress.”

  “Good,” said Nikki. “Have you come to any solutions regarding the shrapnel?”

  “Yes, we’ve been staring at his chest film all afternoon and I believe the surgical team has come up with a solution.” He paused and Nikki had come to know him enough that this was the part where he started to deliver bad news.