Clue to the Past by Beth J
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Shoot the Moon and Warner Bros.
December 2000
James King was excited. In the three years he had been working as an historian for the Library of Congress, he had grown quite fond of T. P. Aquinas. The older man's death last month had saddened him beyond words. His latest assignment, however, was one to relish.
Just twenty minutes ago, his director had given him the keys to T. P.'s office. "Clean it out. There's at least thirty years worth of paperwork up there. Some of it is very valuable information. Some of it is just plain garbage." The opportunity to learn from his friend one last time beckoned.
As he unlocked the door, his eyes roamed the nameplate. A wave of grief passed over him. Tucking it away, he entered the room. There were indeed piles and piles of paperwork everywhere. Two filing cabinets were open and brimming. A bookshelf stood next to them, more papers crammed between the volumes. There were four chairs surrounding a table in the middle of the room. All were full of files. The left side of the table was cleared off. James remembered that that was where T. P. had kept his laptop. Walking over to the table, he noticed a small wheeled stool near the empty place. He could almost see his old friend rolling from one pile to the next in search of the right document.
Deciding that cleaning off the table was the logical place to start, he eagerly began reading T. P.'s handwritten notes. Several hours later the table was empty except for a medium sized stack of files James had deemed important enough to keep. The trash can was overflowing and needed a fresh bag. James was hungry and chose that moment to call it a morning. He was meeting his mother for lunch at 12:30 and he needed to get going. Lugging the heavy trash bag behind him, he locked up the office and left the building.
After a quick stop at the dumpster, he drove to Emilio's. His mother was not there yet but that wasn't too surprising. Her job at the State Department kept her busy. She arranged diplomatic receptions and seemed to love it. James thought it was quite a leap from filmmaker to State but she was happy. That was all that really mattered.
"Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry I'm late. The Russian president is coming in four days and everyone is crazed. You know, even with the end of the Cold War, the situation is always prickly. It's so important to get the details right." Amanda finally stopped for a breath and smiled at her son. The years had been kind to Amanda King and she was still very lovely. She kissed his head in the same way she had been doing all his life.
He returned her smile. "In other words, it's going to be a short lunch?"
Shrugging her shoulders, Amanda sat down and apologized again. "Yeah, I really am sorry."
He put his hand on hers and squeezed. "Mom, it's okay. Really. I just started a big project at work myself and I'd love to get back to it as soon as possible."
"Well," Amanda replied, "Let's order then. They serve the best salads here."
James shook his head. His mother was amazing. Over the years, she had gained the ability to adjust to any situation. He could remember a time when cutting lunch short would have meant a major dissertation on taking care of himself and eating right. "Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
She smiled and tousled his hair. "Oh, Jamie, I love you too."
Three days into cleaning, in the back of the bottom drawer of the second filing cabinet, he found it. At first, James thought it was some kind of mistake. He read it six times before admitting that it was real. He read it a seventh time just to make sure.
Mrs. King came to me for help. I know they are in deep trouble but I haven't been able to find out too many details. Scarecrow sent her of course. He called while she was here. Whatever he said sent her off to lead her observers on a merry chase. I'll do what I can. I owe Scarecrow at least that much.
The small scrap of paper was in T. P.'s handwriting. It looked like it had been torn from a journal of some sort. James couldn't believe this was referring to his mother. The possibility that it might sent him searching furiously throughout the office for the missing book. It was nowhere to be found.
Holding the slip in his left hand, he dialed his mother's work number with his right. When her line began ringing, he quickly hung up. What could he say to her, 'Hey, Mom, did you ever know my friend T. P.? Did you ever know anyone called Scarecrow?'
He sat quietly contemplating his options for over an hour. He just couldn't accept that his mother had a hidden past. But those words were haunting him and he had to know the truth. Then the idea of searching T. P.'s house for the journal came to him and he raced off.
The Aquinas home had been sold and many of T. P.'s personal belongings were in boxes to be mailed to his brother in Maine. James knew he shouldn't but he began opening those boxes all the same. It was in the eighth one that he found the journal.
Dated 1986, it had only partially been kept. It almost seemed that the old man had forced himself to write but had not really enjoyed it. The next-to-last entry had been torn out. James matched up the tear with the page from the office. It fit. Releasing his breath, he read the last entry.
I have edited this in order to protect certain individuals. They face many serious risks. I will not add to their jeopardy. In fact, I will not add anything at all.
James sank to a nearby chair, completely ignoring its cloth dust cover. Whoever this Mrs. King and Scarecrow were, they had been in danger and had come to T. P. for help. It made no sense. How could T. P. help?
He could provide information. 'Think, Jamie, think. What kind of information?' T. P. had been just about the smartest individual James had ever met. Smart....intelligent....
"Intelligence!" James knew it was a long shot but he had to try. He locked up the house and returned to work.
James went immediately to his own desk. Entering his password, he began searching the computer databases for the word 'Scarecrow'. Ninety minutes later he had 43 matches. One in particular stood out. An intelligence operative codenamed 'Scarecrow' had apparently been with the Agency in the 1970s and 1980s. James had been with the Library of Congress long enough to know a little about the ultra-secretive Agency. What he knew he didn't like.
The Agency kept more secrets than all the other intelligence bureaus in Washington combined. Those people not only kept secrets, they tended to circumvent the CIA and the FBI. Operations too delicate to be out in the open were given to the Agency.
James went home that night to his apartment. He sat down on the side of his bed and tried to reason through this whole mess. The very idea that his mother might have been involved with the Agency was ludicrous. Then again....
His mind drifted back to his childhood and the strange hours his mother had always kept. He thought about the fact that they never saw a single film made by IFF. He thought about the business trips to scout locations. He thought about the bruises she claimed came from accidents. He thought about the time they had gotten locked out of the house and she had known how to pick the lock. He thought about her career change, from IFF to the State Department in early 1988. He thought about Lee Stetson who never quite seemed like a filmmaker.
Maybe Lee was the key. James stopped himself. He was starting to believe his mother was an agent! Realizing he was not going to sleep, he went back to his office. Sitting at his desk, he admitted to himself that he wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth. The computer screen blinked to life and he typed the letters in: S-T-E-T-S-O-N, L-E-E.
The seconds it took for the computer to reply to his request felt like an eternity. The information appeared and James felt like he had been suckerpunched. He had to talk to his mother. He needed answers and he needed them now.
It was just after 1 a.m. when James pulled onto Maplewood Drive. He sat in his car trying to decide how to approach his mother. She was undoubtedly asleep. He hated to disturb her but he had to know. Getting out of his car and slowly walking to the front door, his thoughts kept going back to his childhood. Mom rushing out the door at weird hours, Mom calling to say she was working late, Mom spending another night in the editing room, Mom out of town on a location shoot.
If he knocked on the door, he might find out that his mother had been lying to him for most of his life. If he walked away, he would wonder about it for the rest of his life. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
When Amanda opened the door, she was wearing the robe he had given her last Christmas. "Jamie! What's wrong? It's the middle of the night! Oh, come in. It's freezing out there." She took his arm and led him into the warm den. "Here let me take your coat. How about some hot chocolate?"
He could only nod his head. His emotions were churning and he didn't trust himself to speak.
Amanda busied herself in the kitchen for several minutes. When she returned to her younger son, he was still standing in the same spot. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"
He met her eyes. This was it. "Scarecrow."
Her face paled and for a moment he thought she was going to faint. She collapsed on the couch and put her head in her hands. It was all the confirmation he needed.
"Why didn't you tell me? Does Philip know? How could you lie to us for all those years?" He wasn't giving her a chance to answer. He didn't want answers right now. He wanted to rage at her.
Amanda was hunched over and crying. "Oh, Jamie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
James hesitated but then wrapped her in his arms. He held her while they both cried. As angry as he was, he hated to see her like this because of him. "Geez, Mom, I'm sorry. Please don't cry."
He could hear the tea kettle whistling in the background but all that mattered were the sounds of his mother's tears. She had been a spy. Lee had been her partner. She had been a spy. His entire world had just tilted off center.
Amanda took a deep breath. "It all began on a train platform. He needed help. I became infatuated with the whole business and eventually with the man. We worked so well together. Oh, Jamie, it was all so dangerous. Yes, I lied to you because I was trying to protect you. You'll never know the kind of threats our enemies made. You have no idea how many times the Agency van sat in the street watching over all of us. Please understand, I was just trying to protect you." Her eyes begged forgiveness.
James stood up and began pacing the den, not yet ready to forgive her. "That was a long time ago. Why didn't you tell us later on? Were you ever going to tell us? Or were you going to keep on lying to us, to me?"
Amanda wiped her tears and took a deep breath. "No."
James was floored. "No? That's all, just no?"
"Jamie, Lee was my mentor, my partner, my best friend, and, and so much more. When he was killed, I had to lock it all away. I had to move on with my life alone. Those memories are the only things I have left of him and they are too precious to share." Amanda was staring off into space. "It's been 13 years and it still feels like yesterday. It was a bright early December day, sunny but cold. We were on a simple drop. A safe, secure drop. Or so we thought. I was waiting in the 'vette while Lee made the exchange. I was sitting there thinking how handsome he was and how happy we were together. We were going to tell you boys about the wedding at Christmas. I saw the sun's glare on the barrel of the rifle. I screamed but it was too late. He died in my arms." Amanda was crying too hard to talk anymore and James silently went to her. He held her for a long time. As her tears soaked his shirt, he forgave her.