by P A Duncan
Mai shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” Munro asked.
“He’s giving false hope.”
“He’s the President. He has to give them hope.”
Such loyalty, expressed with such ease. Or was he being glib? No, his face was sincere.
The screen showed, “This is my pledge—we will heal the injured and rebuild, and we will bring to justice those who did this evil thing!”
Secret Service agents learned to read body language as a critical aspect of their duty, but Mai didn’t bother to mask her anger.
“What now?” Munro asked.
“If the president had listened to my partner six weeks ago, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Obviously, I’m not in on those decisions, but I understand the frustration with politics. President Randolph gets frustrated with it, too, though he’s a prime practitioner. But the guys who did this, they are evil.”
Without the context she had, he would go for the simplistic.
The closed captioning showed only more platitudes, and Mai turned to Munro.
“Agent Munro, I can’t watch this. Take me back to hospital.”
He stood and picked up his folding chair. “Let’s move away from the TV,” he said, taking her drink. They moved to a spot on the other side of the room and sat again. He handed her the cola.
“Tell me,” he said, “why you’re so angry.”
“Are you serious?”
“I get it, Ms. Fisher, I do. Sometimes it’s good to talk.”
“How do I know you won’t go to the press?”
Munro’s charming smile appeared again. “I work in the White House during the Geoffrey Randolph administration. I can keep my mouth shut.”
“Did you see the perp walk?”
Munro nodded and leaned toward her.
“What you didn’t see were the people outside the county jail calling the suspect a baby killer and suggesting a lynching. He asked for a bulletproof vest and was refused. A county policeman remarked a bullet was cheaper than a trial.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was there.”
“Sometimes, it’s hard for a cop to remember due process and innocent until proven guilty in the face of overwhelming evidence.”
“You’re supposed to protect the public. You didn’t enforce the law when my partner showed you what was going to happen. You didn’t protect the children at Killeen. You…”
Her head of steam fizzled.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, “I wasn’t there.”
Yes, she thought, it’s called transference.
“Hindsight is pretty sharp,” Munro continued, “but rarely helpful. Don’t take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you slept?”
“I slept most of the day last Tuesday. My apologies for the outburst.”
“Considering what you’ve been through, understandable.”
“What exactly have I been through, Agent Munro?”
“I may not participate in the decisions, but I overhear a lot.”
“Why are you concerned about me?”
“You look down. I thought maybe a reasonably good-looking man paying some non-work-related attention to you might put the sparkle back in those nice eyes of yours.”
Mai let her smile build. “That was…”
“Smooth?”
“Surprisingly so.”
“I’m not married, by the way.”
“I—”
He held up a hand, cupped the ear with his earbud with the other, and gave her a smile of regret. “POTUS is on the way. We’ll finish this conversation another time.” He held a business card out to her, and she took it.
An asset in the Secret Service? It wouldn’t negate her recent failure, but it would be some mitigation.
President Randolph entered with his wife, a cadre of Secret Service agents, the state’s governor, the mayor, and their spouses. Randolph gave Munro a nod, and Munro and his fellow agents formed a phalanx around Mai and the President.
Randolph engulfed her in a chaste hug. “How’s Mr. Bukharin?” he asked, releasing her.
“Still unconscious. His vitals are improving, slowly.”
“What you two tried to do was beyond brave. We…we should have listened to you.”
Mai remembered what Munro had said about hindsight. “In the past, Mr. President. Let’s look ahead.”
“Director Brasseau briefed me the FBI took a Lamar Duval into custody. He’s providing pertinent information. A Gerald Parker turned himself into the police in Kansas. With the man in custody, that’s three of the four. We don’t have the preacher.”
“The sketch of John Doe No. 2 is Prophet. I told Agent Pierce this on Friday.” Mai shook her head. “An hour or so after the bombing, I passed on information the FBI could have used to capture John Carroll. If not for a series of coincidences, he would have been out on bail to lose himself in Patriot City’s network. Even with a gutted building as proof, Brasseau wouldn’t accept my information.”
“I understand—”
“No, you don’t. You once said how people around you told you what they think you want to know. You wanted me to be honest with you. I showed you an ugly truth. Brasseau spun it into a lie for you. Reality is that building and the people who died inside it. Reality is Alexei in hospital, having bled out nearly half his blood. At your next briefing with Brasseau, paint that picture for him.”
Randolph studied her for a moment and said, “Mr. Bukharin isn’t only your partner, is he?”
“No, I’m privileged to be his partner. I’m lucky to be his wife.”
“Well, am I ever embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It keeps him on his toes.”
“What can I do for you and Mr. Bukharin?”
Mai wondered what he’d do if she asked for Brasseau’s head on a pike. “You believe in God, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, I do. I gather you don’t.”
“Look at that building and tell me what god would allow that to happen. Don’t say it was part of his plan because, as a plan, that sucks. Put your faith to good use.”
“Rest assured, Ms. Fisher, your husband will be in my prayers.” He lowered his voice. “The FBI and ATF will be going through everything in Carroll’s life. Will they find anything to cause you a problem?”
“No, but you can do me a favor. Have the FBI go easy on Carroll’s father and sister and Parker’s and Duval’s wives. They knew nothing about this.”
“I’ll mention that to Emmet.”
“After Alexei recovers, our protocol is to give an after-action debrief. Nelson will arrange it.”
“Why, Ms. Fisher, am I being dismissed?”
“When Alexei regains consciousness, I want him to see me first.”
“I’ll have someone take you. If you need anything, call me. That was completely innocent, by the way. Thank you for your bravery.”
“Don’t thank me for fucking up. Four months ago, I had my gun aimed at John Carroll’s heart. I knew what he was planning. If I’d pulled the trigger, none of us would be standing here right now.”
Munro was right; talking about it was cathartic.
“Why didn’t you?” Randolph asked.
“I thought I could stop him, and I don’t kill in cold blood. I stayed true to my principles, and people died.”
“I think we have plenty of blame to spread around, and maybe we needed someone to adhere to principles in this mess.” He took her hands in his. “You take good care of Mr. Bukharin.”
The President’s schedule didn’t allow for Munro to return her to the hospital, but the mayor promised a policeman would drive her.
“Until we meet again, Ms. Fisher,” Munro whispered to her.
An hour after Mai returned to the hospital, Alexei’s whisper sounded like a shout.
“When are you going to sleep?” he asked.
Mai sat on the bed. “About time you woke,” she murmured, her hand on his cheek. He was wa
rm, and his skin had some color at last.
“Heard people talking. Natalia?”
“Yes. You were badly hurt. She wanted to be here.”
“Explosion?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Kansas City.”
His eyes narrowed as he thought, and she was afraid he’d lose consciousness again. “Don’t remember that. Remember something else,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Told me you loved me.”
He would remember that. She, of course, turned it into a joke. “People say the strangest things when they think someone is dying.”
His smile was brief. “You need rest. Look worse than I do.”
“No, I don’t have a scraggly, untrimmed beard. I’ll sleep when we can sleep together.”
“Get in. Not going anywhere.”
55
Robin Hood
When she’d called and asked him for a ride, Lucas “Sky” Walker wasn’t sure why Mai Fisher wanted to attend Karen Wolfe’s funeral.
“How’d you know about it?” he’d asked.
“I do read newspapers,” she’d replied.
The Kansas City Star had done a lengthy obit for Karen on the front page, a feature almost, highlighting her career and life in the community. That still didn’t explain why Fisher wanted to go to the funeral of her husband’s lover.
She emerged from the Hilton dressed in a black pantsuit, her hair unbraided, sunglasses hiding her eyes. She was pale, even for one of the whitest white women he’d ever seen, but her stride was confident. Without a word, she entered and belted herself in. Walker took in her chiseled profile, the unmoving line of her mouth.
“How’s Alexei doing?” he asked as he pulled away from the hotel.
“In a private room and wanting to go home. The doctor suggested Friday might be a possibility.”
“Good, that’s good.”
Walker halted at a traffic light, and a pickup with a confederate flag sticker stopped next to the government car. The white man and woman inside looked over, saw Walker and his passenger, and didn’t hide their contempt. Walker smiled at them. When the light turned green, the pickup surged away.
“Can I ask you something?” Walker said.
“Of course.”
“Why are you going to Karen’s funeral?”
“Alexei can’t.”
“Did he want to go?”
“He doesn’t know she’s dead. I’ll tell him when he’s stronger. Are you afraid I’m going to make a scene?”
That had crossed his mind. “I thought it would be the last place you’d want to go.”
“Walker, I didn’t hate her. I was angry, yes, but Alexei used her. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. No one did.”
“No, she didn’t. That morning when she arrived, I told her not to go into the office. If she’d done what I told her…” He broke off, fingers swiping away the moisture in his eyes.
“She wouldn’t want to see Alexei and me together, I’m sure. Alexei didn’t intend to hurt her, or me, but he did a good job of it.”
“That sounded jaded.”
“Not the first time, but it better be the last,” she said.
“Sounds like you’ve forgiven them.”
“I can’t hold a grudge against someone Alexei used. I had to make him miserable for a while. I rather felt compelled to, you know. Forgiveness isn’t easy for me, but that doesn’t mean Ms. Wolfe can’t be honored for her sacrifice.”
Sensible woman, he thought. “By the way, I got something for you, in the box there between us.”
She looked in and took out a government intra-office mail envelope and an evidence bag holding a Zip-Loc full of bloody wet wipes.
“Director Stark told me I should confiscate and give to you anything that might be tied to you without logging it in. The FBI threw us the bone of examining Carroll’s car. They don’t know about those or the letters in the envelope. The perp had no injuries, so the blood on the wet wipes can’t be his. The techs said it looked like a couple of days’ worth of drying. When I found you at the hospital, you were covered in blood. I thought you might want to dispose of those. You know, in case.”
She peered inside the envelope and looked at him. “What makes you think I’m connected to any of this?”
“Stark said you’d had this guy under surveillance for a while. I thought the letters might be to you. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised him. “Why didn’t he mail them?”
“He was emulating a fictional character who left a diary behind. These letters were Carroll’s way of doing that. For historical purposes or some nonsense.”
“You think he expected to get caught?”
“He expected to die.”
“In the explosion.”
“He wants his evil king to kill him.”
“Huh?”
“He saw himself as Robin Hood, avenging the wrongs, real or imagined, perpetrated by the government. You’re familiar with the term suicide by cop?”
“Yeah. You think this guy blew up a building so the cops would kill him?”
“So the government would kill him and prove him right.”
Walker shook his head. “Have you, uh, ever been to a Jewish funeral before?”
“No. Why?”
“When Karen went undercover in Patriot City, she updated her will and left some instructions with a rabbi friend of hers. She didn’t change anything after she got back. Because she didn’t have children, ten men read this prayer, and she asked that I be one of them. And I think I have to wear one of those little round hat things on my head.”
“A kippah?” she asked, giving his bald head a glance. “I’m certain they have a way of attaching it to a head without hair. So, you’ll be saying Kaddish for her. Do you speak Hebrew?”
“No, but the rabbi sent me the Hebrew spelled out phonetically. He said he’d rehearse with me a couple of times before…” The road before him blurred from his tears. “I don’t know if I can do it. I worked with her for seven years. She used to keep my kids when my wife and I went out.” He swiped at his eyes again and glanced at her. Her indifference was pissing him off. “What? No comment on that? You don’t wanna hear she was a real human being?”
“Walker, it’s not that.”
“What is it, then? Or is soulless disinterest your modus operandi?”
“It’s called compartmentalization. Remember, we could be going to Alexei’s funeral.”
Damn, Walker, he thought, way to put foot in mouth.
“Of course,” she added, “if that were the case, I wouldn’t have to recite a 3,000-year-old prayer and wear a funny hat.”
Thankful for the break in tension, Walker guffawed, as luck would have it, at the entrance to Congregation Beth Shalom’s parking lot. He checked his watch.
“Walker?”
“Yeah?”
“You can do this. For her.”
“Yeah, I can. Before we go in, could we…? Would you mind…? Could we say an Our Father?”
She surprised him again.
56
Madness
After Karen Wolfe’s funeral and with Alexei in Natalia’s surprisingly capable hands, Mai worked with Walker and his agents at the bomb site, picking through debris for evidence. She hadn’t been a good Catholic almost since her confirmation, but she considered the work her self-imposed penance.
Midday, she and Walker latched onto a chunk of concrete the size of a small tabletop. Walker said, “On three. One. Two. Three.”
They flipped the concrete aside and saw a floor support forming a dark, cave-like area. A pair of tiny legs clad in pink infant pajamas protruded from the darkness. A leg twitched.
“Jesus Wept!” Mai said.
“Medic!” Walker shouted.
“Sky, let’s see if we can move this beam.”
“Please, God,” Walker said, over and over, as they went to either end of t
he beam. “Okay, again on three.”
They heaved and moved the beam aside. The legs emerged from the pajamas above which she saw nothing.
“Ah, fuck! God damn!” Walker screamed.
Maggots spilled from the half-corpse, the flesh writhing with them. Mai stumbled backwards and landed on her rump.
An EMT reached them, saw the obscenity, and vomited.
Mai closed her eyes, felt something in her head, something she couldn’t explain, like a wall coming down between what she’d been before Kansas City and what she was now.
Walker peered through the clear face shield of Mai Fisher’s bio-hazard suit and saw her eyes go blank, like a person who’d died. He pulled her to her feet, and she came away without protest.
“You’re done,” he said. “You’ve done enough, given enough.”
She said nothing, and he led her to the decontamination area. When someone removed her head covering, Walker’s alarm grew. The light’s on, he thought, but nobody’s home.
“Is the baby all right?” she asked.
Oh, dear God, he thought, but he said, “Fine, honey. You did good. Let’s get this suit off you and get you to the hospital to see that good-looking man of yours.”
Mai blinked and found herself in Walker’s car, unsure how she’d gotten there. He stopped at the hospital’s entrance.
And she remembered.
“Walker,” she murmured, “I lost it for a moment. I know the baby was dead.”
“You had me worried. Look, it’s not your fault the political assholes in D.C. wouldn’t listen. You have nothing to atone for.”
She nodded. I don’t, she thought, but someone does.
“You want me to walk you in?” Walker asked.
She smiled at him. “And offend all those lily-white sensibilities some more?”
“Feels good, don’t it?”
“Definitely, but I can make it on my own.”
“The next time you go after the bad guys, I’ll make sure we listen.”
“Sky, the irony is the bad guys are where you wouldn’t expect.”
“Is it over?”
She left the car.
