Almost Home

Chapter 7

"I told you not to follow me," Carolyn Pratt complained with a pout, standing in front of the narrowly opened door to her brother's apartment.

"I never promised I wouldn't."

"I knew this would happen! I wish I never called you."

"No you don't, Carolyn. You're a nice girl who wants to do the right thing. I'm here to help you do that." Amanda smiled gently, waited patiently in the hallway for her young subject to soften, and kept her foot carefully wedged in the door just in case she didn't. "I really don't want to take you in under arrest, so please let me in and we'll talk right here. Tell me the whole story this time, okay?" Her words were light, but her gaze was unwavering. "From what I can gather, you have more on your plate than you can handle. You need help. Tell me what happened that got you in this trouble." Still no answer from Carolyn, but she wasn't trying to close the door in Amanda's face either. "Please," she urged, almost whispered. With no small anxiety, she wondered whether she would have to pull her gun on a frightened, unarmed young woman. It would be such a good time for Francine to arrive and take over.

At last, Carolyn appeared to deflate and stepped away from the door, leaving it ajar. She walked back inside the great room, which was furnished with an oversized sofa and set of chairs and a small desk with a computer on it. It was a minimally decorated space, lit dimly in the blue glow of a lava lamp on the desk. Carolyn stopped in front of the sofa, but she didn't sit down.

"So," Amanda began casually, joining Carolyn in the room. She maintained a nonthreatening distance, carefully searching the visible area for signs of a visitor. "Do you have to go to work in the morning?" She had seen a man enter the building very shortly after Carolyn, but so far she couldn't tell whether he was here, or was just a neighbor. Her gut told her it could very well be Galen Pratt.

Carolyn shook her head. "I go to school right now. I don't work." She picked up a lock of her hair and began twirling it absently around her finger.

"What are you studying?"

"Chemistry. I like the lab."

Amanda nodded, considered her next words carefully before she spoke. "You seem to be at Galen's apartment a lot. I notice you have a key. You and your brother must be pretty close."

Carolyn dropped the lock of hair and smiled sadly, her gaze turning to a photograph of the two of them pinned to a message board by the desk. "He's all I have," she admitted. "I live in a dormitory at school, officially, but I'm probably at Galen's as much as I'm there. I give him rides so he doesn't have to pay cabs or take the bus so much."

"So he doesn't drive."

"No," she confirmed. "He's had a seizure disorder. He could drive if he wanted to, but he won't. His last seizure happened seven years ago, while he was driving. No one was hurt, but it shook him up, so he doesn't drive anymore." Caught up in her recollections, she continued, "Then when he tried to get into operative training a couple of years ago, they wouldn't take him because of his medical history. He was so disappointed, especially since he hasn't had a seizure since the accident, and he's been off his medication for the past three years. Uncle Jim felt bad for him, so that's how he got in with cryptology. It's non-operational, but close to the action. And he loved Uncle Jim. It was nice they got to work together." Her expression became sad, and her eyes downcast.

"Uncle Jim," Amanda repeated. "Do you mean James Albertson?"

Carolyn nodded. "He's not actually our blood relative, but he and our dad were friends way before Galen or I were born. He pretty much took us in after our dad died. He put us through school." She shrugged and looked at Amanda again. "Guess I'll have to apply for grants from now on." Then, hearing herself, she cringed in mortification and her hands flew to her face. "I can't believe I just said that. I'm sorry."

Amanda smiled at her. "It's okay." She grimaced and drew a breath. Now it was time to get to the meat of the interview. "Carolyn, what happened that you and Galen were at the Farland Building yesterday morning? I know why Mr. Stetson was there, and I think I know Mr. Albertson was the person he should have been meeting. So what happened?"

She wasn't surprised to see Carolyn's eyes well with tears. She looked to the ground again. "I told you, Galen would never hurt anyone on purpose. He found out something about Uncle Jim, something he was doing was wrong. Galen was in on it, too, I think, but he didn't know it until it was too late. He woke me up early yesterday and said he needed a ride somewhere. He wouldn't tell me where. He had me drive up the back alley and let him out at the back of the building. He told me to stay where I was and just wait for him." Carolyn's hands fidgeted in front of her as she spoke. She paused and looked at Amanda anxiously. "He just wanted to stop Uncle Jim from making a terrible mistake, but they argued and at some point Uncle Jim pulled a gun on him. I don't know what happened exactly, but I heard shots and I got worried, so I went in." A sob choked her, and she stopped and turned away. She stood there, facing the sofa, weeping openly with her shoulders shaking.

Amanda scanned the room, found a tissue box on the desk, and pulled two to give to the girl. She stepped beside her. "So Galen shot Jim, right? And it was an accident?" She saw Carolyn nod her confirmation. "And then Lee came to make the drop, but Mr. Albertson was already…" She stopped and nodded their shared understanding before she continued. "And then Galen set off a bomb, but he didn't know it was that big. He was expecting just a little bomb. Is that right?"

Carolyn pinched her nose with her tissue and met Amanda's gaze. "Yes," she managed. She dabbed her eyes and sighed. "Jim had the bomb ready for his escape. He knew the INR was on to him. He had everything arranged…" Suddenly she stopped, and Amanda knew by the tremor in her voice, her distraction, and the flicker of her eyes toward a spot behind Amanda that the man who had followed her into the building was ready now to make his appearance.

Carolyn's face contorted in alarm and she sucked in a gasp, but Amanda was already responding to her instincts. She dropped to the floor like a rock and rolled to her back, whipping her gun from its holster. With a white-knuckled, two-handed grip, she extended her arms outward, pointing the muzzle at the startled man standing open-mouthed in the doorway between the great room and the bedroom, almost within arm's reach. His own gun dangled from his right hand at his side. In a voice she didn't recognize, Amanda hollered, "Drop it now!"

"Mrs. Stetson, no!" Carolyn screamed, almost simultaneously. "Don't shoot him."

Amanda locked eyes with the man. She didn't want to shoot, she really didn't. But at this moment she never felt more ready to pull that trigger. She had to be ready. Lee wasn't here to do the dirty work for her. It was a strange time and a stranger reason to miss him so acutely.

She dragged her attention back to the moment and concluded with a little surprise that the man before her was not Galen Pratt. By now, she had seen two pictures of Carolyn's brother, and this man was taller, stockier, and darker than Galen, though he appeared no older. He had heavy eyebrows that shaded deep-set eyes in a face that would have been quite handsome except for his narrow, angular jaw that gave him a foxlike appearance. Amanda waited until the man obediently dropped his firearm. Then she rose on her elbows and pulled upright without disturbing her aim, and carefully confiscated the gun and held it firmly in her left hand. "Carolyn, who is this person?" she demanded.

"He…he's…" Carolyn's voice shook and she stammered. "I-I know him from school. He's a friend of mine." Carolyn and the young man stared at each other steadily, their eyes exchanging unspoken words.

Amanda glanced at the man's gun, now in her grip. "Russian," she observed. "9mm Makarov. Can you show me some I.D.?"

"Please, allow me, ma'am." Slowly, the man reached into his jacket and extracted his wallet. Amanda motioned for him to drop it in front of her. She reached for it gingerly and inspected it, never drawing her attention away from her gun and where she kept it trained. "It contains both my driver's license and my university identification," the man continued, "so you can see Carolyn does not lie."

"Your I.D. says your name is Adam Johnson, but your accent says something else. So we have a fake name and a standard issue KGB firearm. How do you really know him, Carolyn? And what's his real name?'"

Carolyn whimpered and dropped onto the couch, holding her head in her hands. "How do I explain this? It was Uncle Jim who introduced him to Galen, but I didn't know that until later. His name is Sergei Markin. Yes, I know he's KGB, but he's not a monster. He just needs something Galen has, and he wants me to get a message to Galen to arrange to return it. That's all."

Amanda raised an eyebrow at the KGB agent. "That's all, huh? What are you missing? Perhaps the same State Department documents we're missing?"

"No!" Carolyn protested.

"Carolyn," Markin chided quietly but firmly. He shrugged apologetically at Amanda. "Actually, it is a briefcase full of money my associates were paying Mr. Albertson, but since he is dead and I do not have him, I do need the money back." He smiled. "You understand, I am only trying to make up for a botched mission. Obviously, Mr. Albertson will not be defecting after all. I came simply to ask Miss Pratt to help me locate her brother so I can try and save my job."

Amanda tucked the Russian gun into her belt and pulled herself up to stand. "I have backup on the way. I think both of you need to come on in and explain all of this to my superior. Let's move out into the hall, okay? Slowly." Amanda had herded the two outside the apartment and was closing the door behind her when Markin stopped in the middle of the hall, faced her and looked at her imploringly.

"Mrs. Stetson, please let me have my gun." Smiling sheepishly at her expected refusal, he shook his head. "Carolyn will tell you, I am a man of my word. I will go where you tell me and I will tell you whatever you want to know even now. But I will not go another step without my gun. Please trust me on this one thing."

"Please," Carolyn echoed quietly, standing beside him.

"I can tell you about the drop, the bomb. I know who has led the mission to remove James Albertson and his documents from this country. I will withhold nothing from you. Please."

"I can't do that!" Amanda exclaimed. She had never been so baffled by a request in her life. "I'm bringing you in, Mr. Markin. My superior needs to speak to you. If you want to work out a way to get your gun back with him, that's fine, but I can't make any deals with you myself."

Markin's eyes flashed. "Oh no, Mrs. Stetson?" he pressed on, his tone more clipped. "What if I have information about your agent, Lee Stetson? I can guess it is not a coincidence, your names. My superior has been ordered to terminate him, Mrs. Stetson. What if I can tell you when and where he will be taken for disposal? Then will you trust me and let me go?"

Nothing in operative training school teaches a student what she will do in the situation where the life of a loved one rests in her hands, and requires only a small bit of selling out to save it. Amanda felt the color drain from her face, and her heart sank. It was too much to ask, to disown one's feelings, to lay aside one's own heart, for the better good of National Security, and yet she was sworn to do just that. A sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as she stood frozen, contemplating two equally outrageous and unacceptable choices laid before her. She remembered a time, years ago, when Lee had been in a similar place. Under pain of treason, he disobeyed a direct command and let a captive KGB agent go free in order to rescue her from certain death due to an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. He had done such a thing barely knowing her, barely ready to acknowledge her as a friend. She had not yet become his partner, his spouse, his everything.

"I will," she said, and she pulled the Russian pistol from her belt.

A flash of steel from the stairwell caught her eye, but too late for her to react. She heard the telltale crack of gunfire almost at the same moment, followed by Carolyn's screams and Markin's hands thrown up in shock as blood gushed from a bullet wound that plowed straight through his back and out his right shoulder. It lodged into the wall inches from Amanda's head, while Markin collapsed to the ground, gasping.

"Carolyn, get down!" Amanda heard herself shout, and she was firing toward the stairs, toward the cold metal of the enemy gun and the arm that held it. She fired until she ran out of rounds, barely registering the startled grunt from the assailant when her aim found its target, nor the series of sickening thuds of a human form falling down stairs.

In the stillness of the aftermath, she was sitting on the floor, not remembering having sat down on it. Her breathing came in panting gasps as she stared hollowly toward the empty stairwell, uncomprehending of Carolyn's whimpers or Markin's moans, or the reality of what she had done lying unmoving at the base of the stairs.

It was the thought of Lee that brought her back to her senses. "Markin!" she barked, crawling to the fallen man and shaking him alert. She looked over to Carolyn, who knelt at his other side. "Go call an ambulance. He's alive," she ordered. She turned back to Markin, feeling panic welling up in her. The man was fading quickly. "Tell me, Markin. Where and when. Tell me!"

He gasped, swallowed, and his dazed eyes found her face and focused on it. "Dunbar," he whispered, and he coughed weakly. His breaths were becoming shallow, and taking an increasingly labored effort. "Before…seven."

"Before seven?"

He nodded weakly. "Before the sun."


Trust Amanda to ferret out the particulars of a KGB plot to smuggle classified documents out of the country based on a cryptology clerk calling in sick. Francine shook her head and grimaced while she sped northeastward in her Mustang GT. Her heart was still racing with anticipation of the unknown, a false alarm, perhaps, or gunplay. God forbid it should be an agent down. She chewed her lip and clutched the wheel with two hands. Amanda was her own charge right now. Scarecrow would kill Francine if ever she should allow anything to happen to his precious Amanda in his absence.

She smiled to herself ruefully. Since when had her sense of responsibility toward Amanda's well-being begun to mirror Lee Stetson's? The woman was simply a coworker, soon to be colleague. Francine would never have dignified a civilian contact run amok with the title of colleague, even though Lee seemed to have no difficulty with the idea, nor did even Billy Melrose. But since the woman was officially receiving her credentials in less than a week, well, Francine couldn't begrudge her the conceptual upgrade.

A stoplight turned yellow and she gunned the engine. The site was still several blocks away. Francine hadn't been so shortsighted not to place a status call to Billy on her mobile as she was leaving the house. Hopefully backup would be there already.

She shook her head again, slowly, returning to her previous ruminations. Okay, maybe Amanda could be called a friend. She consistently came back smiling, no matter what crap Francine dished her. Not a lick of sordid gossip was ever sourced to the suburbanite, though God knows Francine had provided ample opportunity over the years. If Francine didn't know better, she would have to suspect Amanda even liked her a little.

No, Amanda confounded her at every turn. She had walked into Francine's world four years ago the quintessential happy homemaker, complete with department store wardrobe and a live-in mother to report to. She was frump with a capital "F". And yet, from day one she had the outrageous ability to excel at everything she touched. Over the past four years, her field instincts had become unparalleled, her diplomatic skills, charming, her courage under mortal threat, immovable. All the while, Amanda had hooked and patiently conquered the heart of the most ineligible lady's man the intelligence community had produced this generation, until death do us part.

What was most unnerving was Amanda Stetson, nee King, accomplished all of this with effortless grace. Everything Francine had sweat blood trying to achieve, Amanda waltzed in and assumed without snagging a cardigan. In a weaker moment, Francine might own up to envy. Fortunately, Francine Desmond was not a weak woman by any means.

She pulled in neatly next to the curb in front of the address Amanda had provided. The two-story walk-up was dark and still. Too quiet, she thought as she exited her car and appraised the place carefully. The only light coming from the street-facing windows of the two-story building emanated from the front foyer. She was nearly to the door when she heard the shots. They were close, just inside and up the stairs. Instantly, she flattened herself alongside the door, gun drawn and uplifted in front of her, ready. She carefully turned the door knob and prepared to throw the door wide open.

Then she heard thumps from inside. She peered in through the window and simply stood gaping. There, lying face up in a contortion of limbs at the base of the stairs, was a body, the gun it had once held abandoned several steps up.

Flinging open the door, Francine darted inside, sweeping her gun left to right and up, covering any possible attack. "Amanda!" she shouted. She heard voices faintly from up the stairs, but no reply to her summons. She ascended the stairs on nimble, soundless feet and emerged at the top cautiously, slowly peering over the stairwell into the lighted upstairs hallway. There, she beheld Amanda, down on the floor on her hands and knees, bent over a man who was lying in blood, engaged in a tense exchange of words.

"Amanda," Francine hissed, leaving the stairwell and holstering her gun.

Amanda looked up, and her eyes were wild with dismay. "Dunbar, Francine. What is Dunbar?"

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, and Carolyn has an ambulance coming. But Francine, do you know where Dunbar is?"

Francine knelt down beside the woman, concern lighting her blue eyes. "I know Dunbar Reservoir, east of here on the Potomac. Do you know this man?"

"He's KGB," Amanda replied distractedly. She scrambled to her feet. "We have to go. There isn't much time. You have to come with me. I haven't been to Dunbar reservoir…"

"Wait, Amanda. Calm down." Francine stood with her. "Slow down. We can't just leave. We have to call a cleanup crew for this." She added sharply, "I don't suppose you told Billy where you were going?" She paused just long enough to register Amanda's evasive eyes. "I didn't think so." She blew out a short breath. "Well, I did. I don't know what's taking backup so long. The concerned neighbors will have the police here first at this rate. That'll be swell." Her eyes rolled with derision. "So, since we're waiting, tell me what's going down at Dunbar."

"I was right about Galen Pratt," Amanda rasped, her voice faltering with emotion. "He was at the drop, and so was Carolyn. They saw Lee." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes began to tear. She swiped at them impatiently with the backs of her hands. "This man is a KGB agent called Sergei Markin. Lee is going to be killed before sunrise somewhere at Dunbar. Francine, I don't have time—"

Francine put her hands on Amanda's shoulders firmly. "Listen! Listen. Do you hear that?" Outside the building came the sound of car doors closing and the pounding of footsteps. "That is our backup. Now I'm going to go downstairs and relay your tip to Billy right away. Take it easy, okay? He's going to have the place swarming with the bloodhounds in no time. Wait here."

It took only a few minutes for Francine to call in the update to Billy, and by then the apartment complex was crawling with federal agents and local police. An ambulance arrived with lights flashing, and a team of paramedics was tending to Markin. Francine rejoined Amanda, whom she found standing alone with her back to the wall at the end of the hallway. If she wasn't exuding her usual calm, at least she appeared less frantic. It wasn't until then Francine considered how seldom it was she saw Amanda's composure crumble away.

"You did good," she insisted firmly in a low voice. Amanda raised her eyes to her and did not reply. "I can't believe I lived to see the day you'd use a perfectly good gun instead of a lamp or something as your weapon of choice." She smiled at Amanda encouragingly, not expecting a smile in return, conscious of the fact Amanda had never shot another human being until now and never hoped to.

"You had to do it, Amanda. Someone was going to end up dead tonight. The only thing you screwed up is going in without backup. Listen to me." Her eyes were large and luminous, set firmly on Amanda's face. "Don't ever do that again, okay? Even if I don't agree with your instincts, if you're really serious, I'm going to back you up."

"I'm sorry, Francine," Amanda said quietly, allowing a feeble smile. "I knew it was a long shot. I didn't want to contradict you on something that might be nothing. Maybe if I didn't feel like I'm just the resident Arlington housewife to you…"

Francine rolled her eyes and raised a hand to stop her. "Oh please, Amanda. Let's face it. You are a gifted agent, and you've been one for longer than I care to admit. Billy saw it from the start." Her eyes narrowed and lips curled upward slyly. "But don't think you will ever kill my fun. You will always be the resident Arlington housewife to me."