by Jack July
“I mean, I’m probably going to have a few bruises, interesting. I mean, smashing your bow against the barn, interesting. I mean you are not yourself. I think you might need a little help. Luckily for you, here I am. Now tell me, what’s going on.”
She looked away from him, then looked back. “I don’t know.”
“So you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“The rage.”
“I don’t know. I guess, well, yeah. It’s the heat that rises in your chest. Once it gets to my head, I want to, I, ah…”
“Want to kill something?”
“No, not, ah… yeah. But it’s not that. I’m not that angry at what I’m angry about. I don’t know what I’m angry about.”
“Tell me what happened on your last trip.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Whom can you tell?”
She gave him an accusing look. “Did Tatiana call you?”
“No. But I would assume you called her. What did she say?” Amy took a deep breath and looked away. “What. Did. She. Say?” Bogus repeated.
“She said I should talk to someone.”
“There you have it; that makes two of us. When will you be doing that?”
“I’ll be okay. I just need to relax. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not just anyone. I understand. It took me almost twenty years to get over what turned me into what you might call a son of a bitch. If you could shorten that time period a bit with some professional help, I think we would all be better off.”
She sat up in bed, cocked her head and replied forcefully, “Are you saying I’m a bitch?”
“No, I’m saying you have an anger problem and in a few months you will be going on a mission that will change your life forever. You need to be at your best.”
“What mission?”
“Being a mother to an infant.”
“Oh, yeah.” After a few moments she reached out, pulled him close and laid her head on his chest. “I’ll be fine, just give me a few weeks. I’ll be okay. I’ve faced worse than this. Just, trust me.”
They could hear the backdoor slam. From across the house came the bellow of a young Irishman, “MA!”
Bogus leaned over and gave her a kiss. “He needs you, too.”
She sighed, nodded and yelled, “I’ll be right out!”
Four days before the fire
President North sat stoically reading her morning brief. She asked the occasional question until she was sure she was up on things. She dismissed the Director of National Intelligence, then invited in the FBI Director and the Sec State. After perfunctory reports, she sat back in her chair. “Cindy Patrick and Mia Stanton?”
Sec State began, “Yes ma’am, I phoned Cindy’s mother and assured her it was being looked into. Her father is a former employee of the DOD and a friend of Secretary Gist’s.”
“That’s nice. Where are they?”
“According to travel documents, they are still in Romania. Exactly where, we are not sure.”
“Hmm.” She glanced at Murray. “Director?”
“Yes, ma’am. They checked into their hotel, took a taxi somewhere. Where? We don’t know. They never returned. We traced their phone calls to a burn phone. We do not have a solid location but we know the calls were received somewhere in the area of the hotel. They probably didn’t go far. We believe they made connections with human traffickers in the Galiano Corsica clan, Romanian Mafia. We also know they were carrying a large sum of money, a combination of cash and travelers checks.”
President North leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, “Why does none of this sound good?”
Murray was direct. “Because it isn’t.”
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
As soon as they cleared the office door, the president picked up the phone. “Adele?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Find ‘em.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amy had her luggage spread out on her bed packing for her trip to Romania. She decided to call Kelly and ask for a little help. Kelly, her best friend from high school, was laughing as she talked about her truck driving adventures with Mr. Randolph. “He said he needed a drink.”
“You’re that bad?”
“I don’t know how bad I am, it’s just not as easy as I thought.”
“Joseph wants me to come work for the company. I told him he couldn’t afford me. ’Sides, I love my job.”
“Aunt Carla Jo says you’re good at it.”
“She’s the best boss in the world. She gives everything and tolerates nothing.”
“Yeah, she’s special. She changed my life. But listen, the real reason I called is I have to leave for about a week. I have to attend a government training program.”
“Training for what?”
“My job.”
“Okay, I’m a trauma nurse, and you are a…”
“Government employee.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re Bond, Jane Bond,” she said, badly mimicking Sean Connery.
“I don’t recall James being preggos.”
“Now that’s a movie!”
“Yeah, hey, would you keep an eye on Micky?”
“He has security, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but they keep their distance. He has a girlfriend.”
“Really? Who?”
“Mary Ann Stone.”
“Congressman Stone’s granddaughter?”
“Yep.”
“Ha ha ha, the Montagues and the Capulets?”
“Something like that.”
“How’d that mess of a feud start?”
“I really don’t know, something to do with mom. One of the stories I have yet to hear. Maybe I’ll ask my daddy after he’s had a few sips. He gets really honest.”
“I hear she’s a little whore.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”
“You gonna put a stop to it?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“He’s street wise. He’ll figure her out eventually. If I take her away, he’ll want her more. For now, I’d rather not be a grandmother.”
“Did Bogus have ‘The Talk’ with him?”
“Yeah. I think Bogus learned a few new things.”
“Oh geez, that bad?”
“Kid grew up hard. Thank goodness he’s got that big ole heart; not sure where that came from.”
“I’ll keep track of him. Have you met her?”
“Yeah, Carla Jo calls her the female Eddie Haskell, whoever that is.”
“Now that’s funny, yeah, that works. You never watched old ‘Leave it to Beaver’ shows?”
“No.”
“You poor thing.”
“Yes, I know. I’m abused. Now I’m going to put Micky in my Ferrari and take him for a cheeseburger.”
“Yeah, maybe I could have watched less TV. Oh, big news!”
“Yes?”
“I ordered a BMW.”
“Really?”
“Yep, payin’ cash with my own money. Custom color, custom interior, I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“I’m so happy for you. You earned it.”
“How’s the baby? Do you know what it is yet?”
“Baby’s fine. No, we’re waiting. It’ll be a surprise. Granny Patches says it’s a girl.”
“If Granny says it’s a girl, it’s a girl.”
“Yep, probably. Schedule some vacation in November, and I’ll take ya Christmas shopping with me.”
“Where we going?”
“Paris.”
“OH! MY! GOD! You’re the best friend ever.”
“You ain’t so bad yourself. I gotta go. See you when I get back. Love you.”
“Love you!”
Chapter 7
Three Days Before the Fire
Amy pulled her jacked-up monster truck, a flat black F-250 diesel Ford four-door four-wheel drive with a winch and roll bar sporting enough lig
hts to cancel out the sun, into the hanger. The radio was blasting as she rolled to a stop still seat-dancing and singing along with Shania as she belted out ‘Rock This Country.’ Harold Renner was waiting by her plane with the steps down. Four months pregnant, wearing jeans, tennis shoes and one of Bogus’ white button downs, untucked, Amy’s pregnancy was just beginning to show but she still maintained the light bouncy steps of an athlete. Her light blonde hair with a tinge of red was thicker than it had ever been and cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Twinkling green eyes filled with joy and a bit of mischief were the exclamation points to the flawless complexion and dazzling smile. She was happy to be getting the heck out of Dodge for a while. “Cobber!” She called across the hanger.
Amy found out what his call sign was from his days in the RAF and had taken to calling him by that name. Cobber had been the call sign of Edgar J. Kain, a New Zealander by birth who had joined the RAF in World War Two. Kain was the reason Harold became a fighter pilot. His widow, Harold’s childhood babysitter, showed him pictures and told stories of his exploits and seventeen kills against the Luftwaffe. He was killed doing aerobatics in a show at the end of the war.
Harold walked smartly across the hanger and slid a large heavy duffle bag and a suitcase with wheels from the back of her truck. He grunted a little at the weight. Amy commented, “I wouldn’t drop that duffle bag, there are things in there you don’t want to drop.”
Harold rolled his eyes and headed back across the hanger. After making his way to the jet, he started to load them into the baggage compartment under the G4. “Harold, would you take those aboard? I need to change clothes and do a little reading and prepping.”
He nodded and grumbled, “Yes my Lady.”
Amy caught a little irritation in his voice and thought My Lady? Really? “You okay?”
“Yes, my Lady,” was his quick answer which meant no.
A nondescript man in overalls, sunglasses and a ball cap appeared by the door in the hanger. Amy walked to the door and was handed a manila envelope. She walked back to the plane and climbed aboard.
Harold wasn’t stingy with the throttle of her G4. It was retrofitted with the new, more powerful Rolls Royce engines scheduled for the G5. It could run Mach .935 and climb like a homesick angel. It only took a few moments to hit a cruising altitude of forty thousand feet. Harold came on the intercom and professionally announced, “Flight time to Bucharest, eleven hours forty-five minutes. This includes a refueling stop in Madrid. The weather is clear and I am expecting a smooth, uneventful flight. Weather in Bucharest is seventy-five degrees, twenty-four Celsius and raining.”
Okay, that’s enough Amy thought. She walked to the cockpit and squeezed herself into the copilot’s seat. Course was set, autopilot engaged and he was reading a book.
“Whatcha readin’?” Amy asked.
“Honor at Stake.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Declan Finn.”
“Any good?”
“So far, yes.”
“What’s it about?”
“Vampires.”
“Uh huh.” She looked around the cockpit, reached up and put her fingers on a big switch. “What does this thing do?”
“Don’t touch that.”
“Uh huh.” After looking around a little more, she saw a big knob on the center console. “What would happen if I turn this?”
“My Lady, would you please return to your seat?”
“Nope, my plane.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Gimme that,” she reached for the book, gently pulled it away, put the bookmark in and closed it. “Now, what’s wrong?”
Harold grumped a little then said, “I checked the schedule this morning. Garrett is flying Micky to Hawaii. I would like to go to Hawaii. Garrett goes to the Maldives, Athens and Bora Bora, while I go back and forth to DC. I would like to go to some of those places, too.”
Amy shook her head. “You and me both. Micky is going to Hawaii for school. He’s going to Pearl Harbor with his tutor and a few of his friends. I want to go, too. However, I have a job and you’re my pilot. You went to Toronto.”
“Yeah a thrill a minute.” He replied with sarcasm.
“Well, it kinda was.”
“You know what I mean.”
“My plane won’t make it to Hawaii.”
“I’m qualified to fly anything Bogus owns.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him. If you have a problem, talk to me. I don’t have many friends, much less people that still call me Amy. It means something to me, okay?”
He thought a minute. “Yes my…yes Amy.”
“Good.” She looked around the cockpit a little more. “You know, I would like to learn to fly.”
“Most people don’t start out in a private jet.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”
Harold reached over and turned off the Autopilot. “Okay, lesson one, grab the yoke.”
Amy looked around the cockpit. “What’s a yoke?”
Harold sighed, chuckled and said, “It’s the thing that looks like a steering wheel.”
“Oh, okay.” She took the controls and for the next hour, he let her get a feel for the aircraft and spend some time playing with the instruments, learning what they were and what they did.
“I think that’s enough for now. If you wish to learn how to fly, I’ll get you a little Cessna and show you what it’s really like. This plane nearly flies itself. It’s not a very good trainer.”
“Still fun. Thanks.”
“You are quite welcome.”
She got up, gave him a hug around his neck and a kiss on the cheek. That always made him blush. After changing out of her clothes into some pajamas, grabbing a big jug of orange juice, a ham and cheese sandwich and a moon pie from the fridge, she got comfortable in her chair with a Granny Patches stitched quilt and the package she was handed earlier. After dumping it out on the table next to the chair, she thought, Let’s see who I am this trip. She began to read.
Adele sat with the President in her private sitting room, discussing international politics and the agency’s budget. The conversation took a turn to current operations. The President asked, “What’s the status of the missing women in Romania?”
“I have an agent touching down in a few hours. She will meet up with a contact from Romanian Intelligence. They’ll find ‘em.”
“Good. Wait, ‘she?’ Who is she?”
“Fenian.”
The president leaned back in her chair and addressed Adele with an uncharacteristically stern voice.
“Amy’s pregnant.”
“Yes, I know. She wanted to go.”
“I don’t like that.”
“Understood. I have taken steps to ensure her safety. She has a team ready at the Embassy should she need it.”
The President set her jaw and shook her head. “I don’t like it. Bring her home.”
“I could do that. However, the mission has been executed. To shut it down and start over would take a few days. Those women may or may not have that time to spare.”
President North gave it quiet consideration. “All right, but do not, under any circumstances, let anything happen to her and that baby. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“When she gets home, she stays home until that baby is born.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Keep me up to date on her progress.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After Adele left the meeting, her assistant caught up with her walking down the hall. Adele whispered to her, “Get Gator on the phone.”
Adele’s assistant tapped a contact number and handed her the phone. “Cody?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You busy?”
“No, ma’am.”
Twenty-four Days After the Fire
A couple of days after smashing her bow on the side of the barn, Amy decided to try doing things that were more relaxing. She had not spe
nt much time with Micky, and that had to change. The whole family was gathered at the barn, exercising horses, mucking out stalls and doing some painting on the raw wood of the recently completed stables. Even her going-on-four-years-old little brother, Sam, got in the act and was sloppily painting a door. It got to be funny. There was more paint on him than the door. Carol, however, was not amused; she had to clean him up.
Before Amy left for Bucharest, she had offered to take Granny to her weekly trip to the beauty shop. The gossip, laughter and cutting up of the older women brought back memories of a simpler time in her life. One of the beauticians, Martha Rae, was dying to cut Amy’s hair and said she would do it for free. Amy smiled and said, “I have someone that cuts it. I think he would be hurt if I let anyone else do it.”
Martha understood that. Besides, Amy would have been embarrassed to tell them the whole truth. Every other month Bogus flew in Vangelis Hatzis, hairdresser to the stars, from Athens, Greece to do her and her Aunt Carla Jo’s hair at a cost of $2,000 each, not counting the cost of the private jet.
A few days later, when Amy was driving home after dropping Micky off at school, Granny Patches had tried to wave her down. But Amy didn’t feel like talking so she pretended not to see her and drove on. She had never done that before. Later that afternoon, the house was empty of all but Luther so she decided to pay Granny a visit. Granny always imparted some sort of wisdom or at least gave her something to think about. She told Luther where she was going and walked down the road to Granny’s. She could hear the television blaring. Granny’s hearing wasn’t so good anymore, so she opened the screen door, walked through the kitchen into the living room and saw Granny sitting in her television watchin’ chair. She didn’t look right.
“Granny. Granny? Granny!?” Her eyes were open, head slightly tilted to one side leaning against the back of the chair. Her hands were crossed on the Bible in her lap. Amy saw her pale gray color and felt her hands; they were cold. “No, No, No, NO! NO!” She felt for a pulse. There was none. “Oh God no, I don’t need this, please God, I don’t need this. C’mon Granny, wake up. Wake up, Granny.”
Granny was gone. It was clear she had been dead for a couple of hours. Amy collapsed to her knees beside the chair, put her head on Granny’s shoulder and began to cry.
