PART ONE
VIRGINIA
CHAPTER 1 (TWO DAYS EARLIER...)
Thursday June 19th, 2014
Langley, Virginia.
Joan Campbell closes the dossier on her desk, and rests her chin on her hands, deep in thought. Compared with the things she's been dealing with over the last six or so months, the contents of the folder in front of her seem pretty inconsequential. But instead of being passed immediately down the line to one of her division heads to investigate, as would usually be the case, this particular folder has already been on her desk for two hours. And this isn't the first time she's gone through it, either.
She mentally drops it and pushes the folder away. Reaching into her inbox she pulls out the next sheaf of paperwork requiring her attention and gets to work.
Her private line rings an hour or so into her paperwork marathon. She is grateful for the reprieve.
On the other end of the line is another former Director of Clandestine Services, the person who used to sit in the chair she now occupies - her husband, Arthur.
Smiling into the handset she asks, "How are my two boys?"
Previously the 'power couple' of the CIA – he the DCS, she the head of the Domestic Protection Division - the Campbell representation in the building at Langley has been reduced to one. The fall-out from the violent death of Henry Wilcox - the man who had sat in the wood-paneled office before either she or Arthur - and the revelations that had emerged (and were still emerging) as a consequence, had changed things for Arthur: not in terms of the damage done to his career (much of that had been repaired as charge after charge against Arthur had been proved false and dropped), but something else.
Arthur had lost a son. One he'd loved. And one whom circumstances had dictated he couldn't watch grow up.
And then he'd gained one. As Henry Wilcox's machinations were causing their lives to unravel in front of them, they'd been given a tiny miracle – something they'd given up hope on ever getting – a pregnancy.
And a baby boy.
And Arthur hadn't wanted to squander his second chance at fatherhood.
He'd informed the CIA, when they'd offered him his DCS job back, that he was willing to work as a consultant, but he no longer wanted be an employee of the CIA. Joan had whole-heartedly supported his decision. It had helped that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be likely to sit at home all day teaching himself how to knit.
And he isn't.
Arthur Campbell knows too much and has too many contacts for the CIA to truly leave him alone. Even now he is acting as a consultant on several investigations and operations.
Her face is soft as her husband tells her of his and their son's latest puréed food adventure (Mack has discovered he has a talent for blowing raspberries and particularly enjoys practicing his skills at mealtimes) but when the tale is done, and commented upon, her demeanor becomes serious. "Arthur, I need your opinion on something."
Half an hour later she is, again, elbow-deep in paperwork, but her conversation with Arthur is still playing back in her head, hampering her focus. Eventually she gives up completely and pushes the pile of documents aside, once again pulling the problematic dossier towards her.
She has made a decision.
She punches a number into the phone and waits for an answer. "Calder," she says. "Glad I caught you. Would you be able to come up? I have something I want to discuss with you."
Fairfax, Virginia
Arthur Campbell takes one more look into the white-painted crib that has taken up residence in the corner of the main bedroom, nearest his wife's side of the bed. Having satisfied himself that eight-month-old McKenzie Campbell, affectionately known to them as 'The Tyrant', has, in fact, fallen asleep, he quietly makes his way downstairs to his office.
His lunchtime conversation with Joan has the cogs in his head turning. He has given her his opinion regarding the specific matter on which she consulted him, but he has a gut feeling he might, possibly, be able to give her more than just that.
Turning on his computer and putting on his dark-rimmed glasses, he logs on to a popular second-hand-books website as "EyrieJane" and under the "Collectors" section of the Community Forum starts a new discussion thread: "Looking for signed First Edition of Lord of the Flies, by William Golding." He sits back for a little while after he hits 'send', removing his glasses and tapping them absent-mindedly on his desk. Then he stands and walks across his office. Opening his safe, he takes out a somewhat battered cell phone which he tucks into his pants pocket.
It's been a while since he carried two phones at once but, for the next few days at least, he'll be reverting to some old habits.
Picking up his glasses and putting them back on he opens his e-mail inbox and begins to tackle the more routine tasks waiting for him there.
Langley, Virginia
When Calder Michaels arrives at Joan's office, her assistant waves him through. "Go right in, Mr Michaels. She's expecting you."
He enters and Joan motions to the chairs and table arranged near the door. "Take a seat, Calder. I'll be with you in a moment."
She adds her signature to the bottom of the document on the desk in front of her and then rises, picks up a folder from her desk and comes across to join him, seating herself in the chair opposite his. She places the folder on the table between them.
Watching her, Calder reflects on how these office meetings with Joan have changed since he first arrived at Langley ten months previously.
Structurally and organizationally things are almost exactly the same as they were at that time - Arthur Campbell out of the building, Joan Campbell at his old desk and he, Calder Michaels, in her old office at the Domestic Protection Division. But so much has happened in between. Arthur has spent time in detention, Joan was relegated to a cramped desk in a pokey office in 'Crateology' and Calder has even had a short stint in the chair Joan now occupies.
Relationships have altered, too. From terseness, suspicion and distrust, Joan and Calder's relationship has moved on to one of mutual respect and cooperation. Calder doubts it will ever be warm – neither of them are particularly sentimental types, and both would likely feel uncomfortable with anything more than very business-like communication. But occasionally he sees a genuine twinkle in her eye when they interact - especially when he has allowed some of his caustic wit to break through.
He looks at her across the table, appraisingly, squinting his eyes a little.
She pushes the folder towards him a little way. "This came across my desk this morning and I wanted to talk about it with you."
Calder picks it up, flips through it briefly, and then puts it back down, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms. "Interesting," he says, "but why me? How is this in any way DPD business?"
"It's not," she acknowledges. "Usually I'd be pushing this kind of intel on to Wilson or Nicolaides to do with as they see fit."
"But…" prompts Calder.
"But…" she echoes, "As you can probably tell, there's not much time to lose on this one. We would generally set up some kind of operation today or tomorrow involving someone at Joburg station and get moving as fast as possible."
Calder is nodding. "Exactly. So why not? Why am I here?"
"Because there's a problem. The target is out of the country for two weeks and the time scale on this a little too tight for us to want to risk waiting for him to get back. Our window of opportunity may well close if we wait."
Calder interjects: "And you're not sending someone from Joburg after him?"
"If I was, you wouldn't be here."
She is watching him intently. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped. She has his full attention.
Leaning back in her chair she says, "We may still do that. We may just send someone local after him. But there's a risk of spooking him, and we really need him on our side. And," she adds, "a unique opportunity has presented itself, which could work better."
"And this is where I come in?" He moves his hands away from his chin and leans back again, palms flat on the table.
"This is where you come in."
"How?"
She looks him in the eye, face softening a little, and he begins to suspect what's coming.
She confirms it.
"We need Auggie."