A/N: Hey and welcome back to a new story of mine. It's going to be an AU for series 9, because I honestly don't believe this is going to happen. Still, it's fun to do and I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks go out to justpeechy from LJ for the basic idea, Cathy for the advice, Steffi for everything and always...and ShadowSamurai83 for the beta. You all are real stars.
Notes: The title is a quote by Benjamin Franklin. The house of prayer mentioned in this chapter does exist - no such thing as depicted here has happened, to my knowledge. Oh and Shadow - how I described those gentlemen - it's not mutually exclusive, you know ;))
Title: Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead
Author: Geminied
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately. If I did, the story would actually happen.
Summary: After Linda Cummings, Boyd faces a new challenge and with a face from the past, he might have to do something he never planned on doing. A/U for series 9.
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead - Chapter I
It was a tranquil scene in the light and airy room. Different from the room they had known before, this one didn't have that somewhat sickly yellowish glow, the curtains being colourful here. There was even a bit of a breeze, due to the pleasantly warm afternoon that allowed for open windows. The temperatures were high enough, but the man in the chair still made frequent checks whether the woman in the bed was warm enough.
Boyd looked up from the book he was reading; he had stolen it from Grace and was actually more fascinated by her comments on the margins than the actual content, but he'd never admit to that, of course. It was a fairly interesting read, her comments giving it just the necessary amount of sarcastic distance.
Still, the scene before him held a bit more of an interest, a smile spreading over his face.
The book she had been reading lay forgotten on her chest, which was rising and falling with each of her breaths. Her glasses were still perched on her nose, despite the fact that at this point she didn't need them. Boyd contemplated taking them off, but Grace looked peaceful and he dismissed the idea quickly. She needed every bit of rest she could get, as the trip to this clinic by the coast had taken more out of her than she'd ever admit. Yet the worst was still to come, with the treatments just around the corner.
In secrecy he had read up on the situation, devoured every bit of information he could get his hands on, even pestered the doctors to tell him more, explain more, give him more material. He wanted to be prepared for everything. It wouldn't be enough, the doctors had been very clear about it, he'd never be prepared enough, but he'd do his damndest to try.
He would probably have the time too, given the fact that after the Linda Cummings-disaster, his professional life was at its end. If the Met didn't sack him on the spot after the trial, he'd be suspended at least. Boyd didn't want to think about it much, pushed it away so that Grace didn't notice his fears. She had been exempt from testifying in the trial against Linda Cummings, due to her medical situation, and he was glad for it.
Grace didn't need any more worries and she'd have those, had she known the details of the trial. If worst came to worst, the end of his career was the least of Boyd's problems. Cummings' solicitor had made it very clear what he might have to expect.
Still, there were more important things in life at the moment, and to Boyd, one of them was watching Grace nap.
In her sleep she smiled just a little bit, the lines on her face easing up. Despite having known Grace for many years, this was a side of her he never saw, and he liked it. Vulnerable Grace had an incredible impact on him, bringing out all of his protective instincts with a vengeance.
She wrinkled her nose in her sleep and his smile turned into a grin.
Assured that everything was well, he gave her a last affectionate smile that she couldn't see and returned to the book in his hands.
It was a normal Sunday afternoon and he could get used to this.
The scene was one of chaos and destruction and even though the man saw those almost on a daily basis, these particular ones always got to him. Daniel was a survivor, a fighter of the 9/11-aftermath, and these scenes always reminded him of that horrible day.
Fires, water destruction, that was all good and fine, but explosions weren't his thing at all.
The building was in ruins, the houses around affected more or less as well. A lot of debris covered the asphalt of the square, wood, concrete and small pieces of adornment mixed together in a mess. His colleagues were looking for casualties and the thought made him clench his jaw.
Normally, he didn't put too much account into his religion, New York had a fairly laissez faire attitude to all religions, but those were his brothers in faith having come to a peaceful Sunday prayer meeting like they did every week. The synagogue was popular amongst Queens' population, so the house had been full. They had already found twelve victims, the rabbi among them, and there was no telling how many more there would be.
With a shake of his head, Daniel went back to his team, guiding the heavy machinery to pull more of the debris out of the way for the police to investigate.
As the machine came to a halt a few shouted orders later, he could see a small group of people marching onto the scene. They weren't police; Daniel knew all the cops in this neck of the city and those three didn't look any like them.
The woman was dressed expensively, a little too stylish for walking around an explosion-site. The two men, both younger than her, wore expensive suits as well, and if he knew anything about cops in New York City, it was that they were just as badly paid as firemen. Few of them could afford expensive Italian designer suits on a scene like this.
Daniel doubted they were from the FBI either. Of course, it was a clich, but those guys didn't know how to dress. Daniel knew a few of them from places he rather not shared with anybody.
Those three people were agents, he didn't doubt it, and in the back of his mind, he had a pretty good idea where exactly they came from.
It was confirmed when they didn't flash any badges, just walked onto the scene as if they had a right to. They seemed to do no more than a casual survey of the scene, but Daniel wasn't fooled. There was a quick conversation with the officer in charge from the NYPD. The man looked sour, but finally nodded his head in agreement.
This was the fourth bombing of a synagogue in two months. Two here in the US, one in Buenos Aires, the fourth in Brisbane. The Israeli government demanded that an end was put to this.
To Daniel it looked like those three were the people supposedly doing it.
Glancing back at the debris he had to clear up, he didn't envy their job.
Usually, there were a lot of comings and goings in this room, giving it the stamp of a busy office where things happened. It was a little exhausting at times, the many people, the constantly ringing phones. Now, it was only the noise of the computer fans and above those a bit of quiet breathing.
Papers were strewn across the desks, information running down on the computer screens. In between the desks there were a few people, men and women, and despite the sensitivity of the technology around, they were ignoring the fire safety measures and smoking like chimneys.
They were all nervous, the latest event having added to the pressure.
"I just hope they beat something out of that little shit!" one of the men growled into his cigarette smoke.
"And then? Beat him to death and hope that he didn't make a game out of lying to us?"
The two men stared at each other, just waiting for the other to blink so they could attack. The rest of the people in the room watched it with unease. Tension was high, they were all aware of it.
"That's enough." A woman in a smart brown business suit called them to order. There was a bit of a shuffle, but finally the men deferred to their superior. "We'll have to wait until the interview has finished for the information," the woman said as she sat down in her chair and eyed the rest of the team. "What else have we got? Ari?"
"They used a fairly simple construction. Simple, but effective. A little TNT, a bit of plastics to bind it all together, a timer, set to just two minutes. I guess they wanted to add a bit of a thrill and a bit of a gloat to it."
The people in the room shuffled in annoyance.
The man, Ari, continued. "The Chabad Centre in Little Neck was attended by forty six men, including the rabbi this afternoon. Most of them were in the Sanctuary waiting for the service to start. The toll is now up to 21 dead." He looked up at his colleagues with a pale face. "There are ten more in a critical condition."
Another man took over. "The effectiveness of the bomb is further shown by the fact that the entire entrance faade was destroyed by the explosion."
"Professionals, then."
"Yes."
"How certain is it that we're dealing with the same group that has planted the bombs in San Diego and in Chicago?" The boss, playing with her pen, voiced the question with an edge of ice in her tone.
Another person, who had so far been quiet, spoke up. She looked scared to even open her mouth in the sight of the female boss who had a scary reputation, but this was her part of expertise and in this job they didn't take cowards. "We are positive. They are also connected to the bombings in Argentina and in Brisbane."
"Aim?"
"Cause as much trouble as possible and take a few 'enemies' out in the process?"
"We are not here to joke!" the boss cut the sarcasm short. "Is there a statement of admission with any of those bombings?"
"None so far. I think they just want to cause the hassle. The publicity comes without them having to give their names," Ari said.
"Fine! But who are they? That guy in our interrogation room isn't exactly a famous face," his partner interrupted.
Ari shrugged. "You can take your pick. Some militant arm of the Fatah or the PLO. The Hamas. Taliban. Some new anti-semitic group wanting to put their stamp on the road to extinguish the Jewish plague from the planet. Could be anybody, basically." Ari was a calm man, and normally got along well with his partner, Jason, and the boss. He was known as the friendly centre of the entire unit, but it was Sunday evening, his family abandoned for the day, and he was terrified of where this might go. He wasn't really in a mind to soothe everybody else's nerves when his own were suffering.
"They seem to be well-networked and have quite a bit of money, if they can spread their activities the way they do. Three continents, so far," their boss spoke up quietly.
"They're probably going to Europe next, then," the girl from before put in.
"That would be my assumption as well." The boss gave her a small smile, which made her blush. "The question is, where to."
"Anything?" a new voice broke in, belonging to a tall, impressive man with a shock of white hair on his head. Even though he moved quietly and unassumingly, everybody in the room basically jumped to attention. With a smile, the older man demurred.
"Nothing from the interview so far, sir," the boss announced to her superior.
"How about some camera footage then? Sometimes our dear friends from both the FBI and the CIA are actually useful." He smiled a little too himself, the ironic statement not missed by anybody. They puffed their chests out just that little more. It was just part of the trade in this job, feeling superior in comparison to others.
"Our friend in the interview room was caught on camera with two of his friends. And those two have just been seen at JFK, boarding a plane heading East."
"Where to?"
"London Heathrow," the older man delivered with a very special smile.
It was dark in the room, now that everybody had finally gone home. If the night security checked, they would have probably missed the woman who still occupied a corner of the room. She leaned against a pillar, looking out into the night. The computers and other technical equipment blinked occasionally in various shaded lights, but otherwise it was almost inky black.
The streets outside didn't provide much illumination either. At this time of the night few people were around and the blinking lights of the ads were mostly turned off.
For the time being, the city and this office gave an absolute sense of peace, which the woman in the corner sought.
"London Heathrow." The two words were running around in circles in her mind. She'd been depicting the way they had been said a hundred times already and still couldn't find what exactly the undertone meant.
It might have been a very personal message, it might have been nothing. She wasn't very good at reading men on a personal level. Hence the fact that she didn't know whether to feel dread or excitement at the prospect of continuing her work in London.
The personal aspect of that city had ceased months ago, was probably not even worth thinking of. Many things could have happened in the meantime. But for a while it had been good.
And he was a very handsome man. Really. Very handsome.
She looked around in the office, her eyes stopping at a clock on a desk. 2.40 am.
This wasn't really what one would call a life, was it?
She stared back out into the night again. With her temple leaned against the cool metal pillar, she felt coldness rise up on her spine and envelop her.
London.
Maybe there was something there.
Thank you for reading. I hope, you've enjoyed the chapter. Comments would be greatly appreciated.