Chapter 16: Data Mining.
The night had turned bitterly cold as the sun set from the clear sky and Jamie found herself wishing that she was wearing something more than a wet-suit as she gazed at the fifteen foot wall that surrounded the target of the night.
The only way she had to approach it was from the river that wound its way through the countryside, passing within only fifty feet of the wall. Surprisingly, this avenue was not guarded significantly and she silently made her way across the gap unnoticed, using the distant landmarks she could see through her night-vision to triangulate the spot she had seen through her binoculars: a spot where several vehicles were parked, blocking the sightline from a guard-shack.
"Okay, I see you now." Michael's voice was a reassuring sound, something she needed at that moment. He was watching her from the overlook spot, more than a half-mile away on top of a three-story house. He had her rifle equipped with a night-scope with the highest magnification the armory had, and while she could trust his shooting, it was the short bit of time she'd had to sight the scope in that was giving her pause.
"I'm ready to scale the wall. Let me know when it's clear." She tested the swing of the rubber-coated grappling hook she held, waiting for his signal.
"Remember that we're going minimal radio when you get in."
"Yes, sir." It was the same procedure he used, the spotter asking questions and the single or double-click from the transmit button to respond.
"Stand by... The guard is heading towards the gate-house." She could almost hear him counting within his own head, waiting for the right moment. "He's inside. Door is closed. Go!"
Jamie's hand was already in motion and the hook arced up and over the edge of the wall, a muffled but resonate metallic sound making her wince as the hook slammed against the brick on the other side. She pulled on the knotted rope until the hook caught, then put all her weight on it slowly to test it. Satisfied with it, she pulled her knife from the sheath strapped on her leg and bit onto the back of the black, bead-blasted blade. Michael had taught her to be ready for anything, and the possibility of someone being close enough to the wall where Michael could not see them was high.
She jumped and started climbing the rope, the rough texture of the wall noticeable even through the semi-soled feet of the wetsuit. The climb was easy enough, though the glass and metal spikes at the top were a slight concern. She launched herself over and down the other side, dropping to the ground with a muffled thump and rolling to her feet, knife in hand and ready for any attack. Somewhere on the other side of the mansion she could hear the guard dogs yapping, apparently penned in due to the party the owner was having, something Jamie felt even more grateful for. Dogs were the one thing that she hoped she would not have to deal with as any trace of her scent or sound would set them barking, bringing more guards than she could deal with.
The expensive cars were parked neatly on the grass, the overflow from the drive attesting to the size of the gala event. There were risks in digging for intelligence during such a large gathering, but also a good bit of anonymity and a serious reduction of security, two things that worked for her once she was in.
"The guard is moving towards the west end, move now."
She tapped two clicks and darted across the darkest part of the drive to the bushes beside the house, a large hibiscus concealing her well enough from the possible view. The knife went back into the sheath and she crawled her way along the foundation until she found a low window that entered into a dark room.
"Guard's coming back, hold your position."
The guard passed close by her position, his feet silent on the grass beside the flowerbed. A breeze kicked up and she started breathing again as the leaves made enough noise to cover it. She shivered again as her body felt a chill from the wind and she promised herself a hot bath when the job was finished, hoping the thought would calm her body.
A Zippo lighter was opened and the flame was bright in her night vision, blinding her momentarily. The guard lit his cigarette and continued on his way back to the guard post, leaving Jamie to continue her work.
"Good work, Jamie. Now work your way in, the alarm system for the house is on stand-by. Really, someone needs to update to one which the rooms aren't all tied together."
A pair of clicks acknowledged and she slipped her jemmy between the windows, slipping the ancient lock to the side and carefully sliding the window up. She was inside in an instant and the window closed and locked, her entrance entirely unnoticed by anyone.
"Good. You're in, and no sign of alarm yet. Which room are you in?"
She could plainly see that it was a servant's room of some kind, the plain bedding and cheap perfume suggesting the maid, or maids, judging from the two vastly different size of dresses hanging in the open closet.
"Maid's quarters." Her voice was barely a whisper as she keyed the radio.
"Okay... There's a stairway in the hall outside the door. It's the back stair to the second floor and the target office is the third door on the right. There's a bathroom on the left, halfway down. Move at your discretion."
Another two taps and she stepped into the darkest part of the room, pulling open her small backpack. She peeled her wetsuit off and toweled dry with one she pulled from a drawer, then picked the smaller maid dress, which slipped on easily and left enough room for her small waist-pack with her gear. The shoes were slightly too big, but when you're borrowing clothes, you can't really be picky.
"What are you planning?"
"I'm blending in. These maid outfits are cute. Will you buy me one?"
"Stick to the mission, Jamie. The longer you're in that disguise, the better the chance you'll be discovered."
"Right. You're no fun." She smoothed her stockings and pulled off her goggles, stashing them and the rest of her gear under a bed near the window she came in. "Okay, I'm going off-radio until I get to the computer. Wish me luck."
"Be careful."
She pulled out the earpiece and tucked it inside the collar of the outfit, then carefully listened at the door, slowly opening it to find an empty hall and the stairs Michael had mentioned nearby. The music drifted down the hall from the ballroom and she could see workers in the kitchen at the far end of the hall. She hoped the maids were somewhere down that direction and that the rest of the staff wouldn't second-guess another one being around.
Jamie crossed the hall to the staircase and stepped up it as quietly as was possible in the flat shoes, their sound seeming to echo as she made her way up to the second floor. She inched up the last few steps, watching and listening for any sign that someone might be in the hall or the nearby rooms, but there was only silence. The target door was in sight, just as Michael had said, but the other set of stairs was around a corner at the far end of the long hall and was a dangerous blind spot for her. It was going to take her a minute or two to pick the locks and if anyone came around that corner, she would be fully exposed and without an explanation.
She approached the door as quietly as the saddle shoes would allow, trying to focus her hearing past their sound and towards the far end of the hall. The only sound was the muffled tones of the music and her own breathing as she stepped to the door and started examining the lockset. It was almost brand new with only a few scratches on its face, the matte brass and stainless steel looking extremely intimidating for someone of her skill level. Maybe Michael would not have felt as such, but she was still gaining experience in picking locks and such a lock, while within her technical knowledge, was above her practical experience level.
"Okay..." She knelt in front of the door and slipped her hand under her skirt, digging in her waist pack for her pack of lock picks, looking around guiltily for signs that anyone might see her. She selected her best picks and started working, glad that the lock seemed to be in good shape and made little noise as she carefully worked it. It was difficult and she was ever more aware that time was ticking away against her, as any moment could be the one in which someone spots her and give the alarm.
Despite the pressures she was able to remain calm, drawing on her reserves of patience and self-control that served her so well as a sniper. The comparison was close enough to make her smile unconsciously to herself as the third tumbler slipped into position, just as the two minute mark passed. The fourth had no sooner clicked than she heard loud steps from the far end of the hall, sending her mind into an uncontrolled frenzy. She had one more tumbler left to work but had to hide. If she pulled the picks out, she would lose all that time and work, but if she left them, they might be spotted.
Her time was out as the steps approached the turn in the corridor and she made up her mind, leaving the picks and dashing across the hall to the bathroom, swinging the door open wide, and crossing the room to the closet. Inside she found the supplies she was hoping for and, taking the largest gamble of her life so far, sprayed cleaner all over the nearby commode and started wiping it at with a rag, mumbling epithets in Italian.
The guard glanced in at her, curious as to what was happening and completely missing the fact that two small pieces of metal were sticking out of the lock on the door across the hall, the one thing Jamie could hope would happen.
The guard gazed at the maid, hearing the occasional harsh word amidst the mumbles and figuring that some guest had decided to use this bathroom during the evening and had made a mess. Rich people could be so inconsiderate, especially when they had hired people to clean up after them.
The maid was bent completely over as she scrubbed and the only glimpse of her he had was of short, dark-brown hair and the even more enticing behind below it. He had only started on this job the week before and the few times he had seen the younger maid, he had liked what he had seen. He made a mental note to chat her up later and proceeded on his rounds, dreaming of that fine backside.
Jamie continued her act until she heard his steps fade away, and then wiped the sweat from her forehead. It was close, and were it not for her enticing features, she would probably have been caught. Men could be so predictable sometimes; Show them what they like to see and they miss everything else, no matter how obvious.
She put the things away and stepped back into the hall, listening for a moment, then went back to work on the lock, finishing the last tumbler off and opening the door quietly, looking about the room that was lit by the single desk-lamp.
The computer was on, she could see as she rounded the corner of the large oak desk, and papers were scattered around in a semi-organized way, much the same as Michael tended to do with his own desk. At a glance she could tell they were distribution routes and figures, nothing she was interested in, at least not as much as the computer. She pulled a flash drive from under her skirt and plugged it in to the front USB port. A single click at a prompt and the program started searching for every file the intelligence people considered worth viewing, then copied it to the drive's own storage.
It was taking forever and she wondered just how much information was on the computer's drives and whether the small flash card was able to store everything it found. The thought made her realize that she had not checked in with Michael in quite a while, and that he must be worried. She pulled the earpiece from her collar and put it back in, then flipped the radio back on.
"Michael, I'm in and proceeding with the data retrieval." There was only silence and she caught the confused and concerned look on her own face in her reflection off of the polished brass lamp hood.
"Michael, respond." Another ten seconds of waiting passed and she suddenly felt entirely alone in the world, alone facing the dangers that surrounded her. The program indicated several more minutes, minutes she was now starting to wonder if she could withstand with the turmoil inside her mind.
"Please, Michael," her voice was pleading in a whisper, the fear starting to creep in now. "Please respond."
Her breathing was faster and her heart pounded, the analytical part of her mind classifying it as the onset of an anxiety attack in its detached way. It was this that saved her, the knowledge of what was happening and how to slow or temporarily halt it, and she took a few deep, controlled breaths, feeling her body shudder and her nerves calm slightly as she cleared her mind, a sign of some success.
The computer was nearly finished when she heard a yell and the sounds of many feet on the wooden steps in the hall. Someone...No, many people, were coming up the stairs, coming for her. She was able to pick out an order to search every room and she knew she was in trouble.
The fear returned, but strangely the anxiety did not, and she glanced around quickly and selected her hiding place just as the drive finished its copy. She yanked it out and dashed silently towards the walk-in closet, tore it open, and glanced at the contents, then tucked herself into the deepest, darkest corner of it behind a pair of steamer trunks that she pulled out enough to squeeze behind. She was contorted awkwardly and her body immediately started to file a complaint with her mind, sending aches and pains, and the desire to move, to her brain. Through her determination she was able to force this aside and focus on her situation to try to think of a way out of it.
The sounds of the pursuers was audible through the wall she was crammed against, their voices muffled unless someone yelled. She could feel the thumps of doors opening and closing and from the frequency of them, the search was being conducted quickly and with haste, possibly the only chance she had. If they were not taking their time, they might not find her.
The door to the office opened and several sets of footsteps entered, the sound of furniture being moved. There was an exclamation in Italian as the computer was examined. She hadn't had time to clear off the prompt from the transfer program and it would be obvious to everyone what had happened. There would be a renewed effort in the search with such important information being stolen. Even her limited knowledge of the targets allowed her to realize that if found, she would not survive it.
A man was close to the closet and she heard him say he was going to search it. The door opened and the light turned on, and despite her concealment she felt as if she were standing naked in Saint Peter's Square during morning mass. She could hear him step closer and the rustling of boxes and clothes indicated that he was actually searching thoroughly. On reflection, she had to admit that the closet had been the obvious place to hide and that hoping to remain unseen was wishful thinking on her part. It might have been better to fight her way out.
Jamie's arms were pinned in and she could not reach her pack to get to her knife, the only real weapon at her disposal. She had faith in what unarmed combat she knew but going into any situation at a disadvantage was making a bad situation worse. Even worse, she would have to take several seconds to extract herself and prepare to confront a target she could not see from her position, valuable time in which she was vulnerable to any number of attacks.
The steps came closer and she held her breath, continuing to hope he would be called away or just miss her altogether. The man stopped only feet away and his shadow fell on the trunks and the sound of a soft, sadistic laugh met her ears... The gig was up.
From somewhere in the hallway came a yell of "fire" and the man grunted and turned, stepping quickly from the closet. Jamie started breathing again after the latch clicked, calming herself again and wondering how Michael had been able to make a career from this kind of thing. She pulled herself out and stepped to the door, listening carefully for any sign of someone still in the office. All was silent and she cracked open the door, peering out and around it, finding only an empty room. She could hear panicked yells echoing up the stairs into the hall and she wondered just how bad the fire was, but was appreciative of how convenient it was. She would be able to make her escape, or it would at least be a little easier with the confusion.
The hall was also empty and she took the moment to run to the back stairs and down into the smoke-filled hallway, crossing into the maid's room with only a quick look back to see the people fighting the massive flames visible through the kitchen doorway.
The door had just clicked shut when arms wrapped around her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the startled gasp that burst out. Her attacker was not nearly as strong as her and she broke his hold, grabbing his arm and flipping him over her shoulder onto a bed, hearing the satisfying sound of splintering wood as the weight broke all of the bed's support planks at once. Her arm rose to strike, her fingers dagger-like points aimed at ripping her opponent's throat out, her eyes and veins burning with anger at the way she had been attacked.
"Jamie..."
Jamie gasped and lowered her arm, nearly panicking as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and the slowly moving form of Michael that was draped across the broken bed.
"Oh my God, Michael!" She moved to his side, her hands pressing against his sides, looking for broken bones or other trauma, her mind searching for anything she could do to fix him.
"Ugh... I'm glad there was a bed here." He pushed her away and sat up slowly, feeling a twinge in his back but otherwise able to move.
"I'm- I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know. I thought you were a guard."
"I'm glad I'm not, believe me. Listen, that fire won't take them too long once they get the gas turned off, so we need to get the hell out of here. Grab your things and let's go."
"Are you sure you're okay? You're not hurt?"
She was acting like a paranoid mother and he pushed her hands away forcefully, glaring at her in annoyance.
"Jamie, right now I would feel like escaping this place on no legs if I had to, so lets worry about me later." He stood up and stepped to the window, glancing out to find the guards and dog locations and glad they were largely at the front of the property or inside with the fire. Jamie dug her pack from under the crushed bed and joined him as he carefully slid out the window into the bushes. The lawn was clear to the area by the cars and he darted across, ignoring the jabs of pain from his back, and found a spot between two cars where he could watch the assembled throng on the front lawn. He motioned Jamie over and she sprinted across as fast as she could with the hampering the length of the maid dress caused.
"My rope is back by that tree there, Jamie. They found yours and sounded the alarm..."
Her focus on their escape broke with that knowledge. She had made a massive mistake and had not noticed it, a mistake that nearly cost her life. Michael did not want her to dwell on it then so he pushed her towards the tree and followed, crouching in the cover of the cars and shadows. They made it to the rope and he tried to climb first, but the pain in his back left him no real strength in his left arm.
"Shit... You're going to have to help me. I think I pulled something in my back."
"Alright. Climb on my back."
"What?" She was serious, he could tell, her eyes serious and determined.
"Just wrap your arms around my neck and hang on." She hoped the rope's strength rating was enough for the both of them. "Ready?"
He did as she asked and wrapped his arms around her neck, being careful not to choke her. She strained under his weight as she started to climb and he wondered if she could really do it. Her grunts and gasps told of the struggle and attested to her endurance as she slowly worked her way up, refusing to stop for fear of failing altogether.
"They've loosed the hounds." Michael watched the dogs pick up their scent at the house and start tracking across the lawn.
Jamie screamed with her effort as she pulled the last couple of feet to the top, her voice sounding across the yard and encouraging the dogs. Michael grabbed the top with his good arm and took part of his weight off her back, which was a relief to her as she pulled herself over and dropped down to the other side without the rope. Michael slid down the rope and popped it loose with a flick of his arm, then dodged the hook as it landed with a metallic clank.
"Car's that way. We'll have to swim for it." He led the way towards a spot by the river where he had stuck a glow-stick in the ground, a point marking where a strong swimmer could start and use the current to end up almost exactly at the car.
"It's cold in there." The baying of the hounds on their track gave her a new enthusiasm for the idea and she secured her belt-pack in the waterproof backpack and closed it, then ran for the water and dove in, swimming for all she was worth. Michael followed close behind and was immediately assaulted by the cold water and renewed pain in his back, but pushed on through the slow current, landing only twenty yards further downstream from the car than he had hoped. Jamie had tracked him after she made the shore and was there to help him out and lead him to the car.
"You drive, I need to warm up." He climbed in the passenger side and put the keys in the ignition for her.
"I've never driven your car!"
"Now's not the time to worry about the details. It has four wheels, an engine, and a steering wheel... It's the same as the ones you learned on at the agency, so drive already." His teeth were starting to chatter and added to his frustration that he worked to persevere through with pure grit.
Jamie started the car and steered down the strip of grass along the river that Michael had followed to position the car, trusting in her night-vision gear to pick out the path without the aid of the headlights. A bump marked the edge of the road and she turned hard, flooring it and settling the car in at a speed she was not accustomed to.
After a mile she dared to turn on the headlights and pulled the goggles from her soaked head, then checked on Michael who was holding his hands over the heater vent and had wrapped a towel around his head. He looked over at her and finally let his disappointment in her show, his eyes angry and aimed at her.
"I'm sorry, Michael."
"Now's not the time, at least not while you're driving. We'll discuss this at length at the apartment." His decision held them both in silence for many minutes and Jamie was afraid to speak again until her adrenaline finally wore off and she started to feel the night's adventure in her body. She started to shiver in waves every few minutes and was able to pass it off until it started in earnest and refused to stop.
"I'm cold and wet."
Michael looked at her in her soaking wet maid's dress and damp hair, looking for all the world like she just stepped out of the rainstorm in a movie. He felt for her and handed over his own towel, which she quickly draped over her head to retain some warmth. A redirection of the air vents and their life-giving warmth helped a bit more and by the time they made it to Rome, she had stopped shivering.
"Park over there." He pointed to a spot next to his apartment doorway and she maneuvered in perfectly between the cars next to it. She silenced the car and sat still as she wondered just how angry he was at her. It had not been important enough to think about as she drove, but now that she had time and attention to devote, she could not help but worry.
"Come on and help me out, Jamie. I think I screwed my back up worse than I thought."
"Yes!" He had not sounded angry as he spoke and that moment buoyed her spirits. She had his door open in a moment and gently helped him out, worrying as he staggered towards the apartment while hunched over. His grimaces of pain hurt her heart, but the knowledge that she had done it made it so much worse, a sinking feeling in her stomach making her break out in a sweat despite her body feeling chilled to the bones.
Michael felt like an old man with the way he was forced to make his way up the stairs, one step at a time and a short pause every few. After a seeming eternity they finally made it to his door which Jamie unlocked and flicked on the light, then closed and locked the door behind them as Michael hobbled to his bathroom.
"I'm going to shower and warm up. Can you get me my night clothes off of the bed and leave them inside the bathroom door?"
"Yes, Michael." His robe and boxers were on the bed where he had placed them and as she picked up the robe she smelled his aftershave on it. It was an inviting scent for her, her brain telling her it was Michael and that she was safe while he was around. The soft material warmed her chilled hands and she held the robe to her cheek, closing her eyes and wishing it would envelope her in it.
The sound of the shower running brought her back and she hurried to the bathroom, carefully opening the door and stepping inside once she saw that he was hidden from sight by the shower curtain.
"You're becoming bolder in your mounting experience."
"I'm learning that some things are worth experiencing. Risky actions bring rich rewards." She moved a towel to the hook beside the shower and put his wet clothes into the sink to drain, then turned to wipe up the water from the floor.
"Or arduous sacrifice... You want to watch me shower?" He was standing in the hot stream with the head turned to its massage setting, directing it on the painful spot in his back.
"I want to be here to help you as you need it."
He could hear the longing in her voice, the sheer desire to do something to help him, to ease his pain. He could no longer convince himself that she saw him as only a teacher or brother. Her voice was one of love for him, a love that he simply could not return.
"I don't need your help, Jamie. You can take a shower after I'm done."
He delivered this with the frustration the night had brought on and her silence showed that she was thinking about his words and trying hard to move her thoughts through the maze of her own emotions.
"But..." She started to protest and to convince him of her sincerity, but she realized that he understood all of that and still did not want her help. His own anger and frustrations were not quelled by her concern for him and her only course was to let him work it out. "Okay, Michael. I'll be in the living room if you need me."
He did not answer her and the silence between them began to feel like a brick wall, one she simply could not scale. She made her way into the kitchen and put the coffee maker on, adding Michael's preferred number of scoops and the chilled, filtered water from the jug in the refrigerator. Her motions were almost automatic, having done it so many times at his desk at the agency, and she had the first thoughts about why she did the things she did for him. She felt it was out of devotion, and perhaps even love, but something in her personality refused to even protest having to do it. She wanted to do it. She wanted to be close to him, and she wanted him to smile at her.
"But why? Why am I so needing to do these things?"
Jamie understood her conditioning in its base form. She had to listen to what he said, take his orders, and protect him at all costs. The penalty for refusing was unpleasant and unbearable, she felt, and what would happen to her should she ever intentionally harm him was beyond her ability to imagine. Even the idea of thinking about the scenario made her feel ill. Her actions that night were not out of malice, but confusion, and her mind was obviously not punishing her for hurting him accidentally. These things were what she understood about the way the agency controlled and limited her.
But why does she feel like she loves him, even when it is obvious he refuses to see her in the same emotional light? The agency added something to her that makes her revere him; to place him on a pedestal towards which she could look up to him. This has, as in some other cyborgs, resulted in a feeling of love for the handler. But even assuming that they all receive the same level of devotion towards their handlers at their start, why do some love and some simply respect?
It comes down to the way the handler returns that attention. So if she felt love for Michael, didn't that mean that he loved her in some way; a way that was not so dissimilar from her own?
The coffee was ready and she poured herself a cup, taking it black and pulling a small box of cookies from the cupboard as she went to the couch. The hot liquid helped warm her and the cookies were a needed respite from her shaken nerves, the feeling of fear and shame that her mission failure left with her.
Things had been going really well recently, and except for a few days of feeling down after Michael moved out of the agency and into this apartment, she had been focused and functioning perfectly in her work. What had caused her to make that mistake tonight? She had thought of everything, practiced most of it, and had pulled it off with skill only Michael could match. So why had she forgotten that rope?
He came out of the bathroom a bit more upright, but still limping slowly. He paused at the door to his bedroom and looked at her for a full minute, gauging what he saw in her, what he had expected of her, and what he should expect. He really had brought her along too quickly, partly from necessity, but mostly because he was foolish. She had limitations, and just like the months after she had started training, he had been pushing her so hard that her inevitable failure was in stark contrast to her number of successes. This time it was his own fault: He knew she was not ready to go in on her own, yet he put her in harm's way and expected her to perform to a standard he really could not hold himself to with any certainty.
"Jamie."
She was in mid sip and had to set her mug down to prevent her hand from shaking noticeably.
"Yes?"
"You- You did well enough tonight. I think I might be pushing you too hard with the covert entry work. I won't put you in that kind of position again until I believe you're ready for it."
"But I AM ready!" She shot to her feet and fired a desperate look at him. She thought he was taking away another job that she should be doing just because she had failed once.
"Jamie. That kind of work takes a lot of practice, and I knew going in tonight that you have not had nearly enough. You have the skills to do it, but the practice is what keeps you from getting caught...or worse."
"I'll practice more! I'll practice harder and longer!" Jamie stepped over quickly and took his hand, starting to beg on her knees. "Please, Michael. I know I made a dumb mistake, but I know I can do this. I'll do what it takes to get it right, even if I have to practice all night, every night. Please don't think I can't do it, because I know I can!"
It was sad, really. He was hardly able to move himself, yet here was this young woman begging him to let her continue to push herself to the breaking point.
"Jamie. The most important thing an infiltrator has to have is patience. I said before that some of the skills you are going to learn have taken me a lifetime. You can't expect to learn them in less than a year, and no matter how hard you push, it will still only come to you with time."
"But I'm a cyborg!"
"And a beautiful and smart one at that, but you still need time to learn these things. You made a mistake tonight, but I'm the one who put you in that place to make it. It is as much my mistake as yours, and that means we're going to have to learn our way through it together. You have to trust me on this, and believe me when I say that you will someday be as good as I am. But you have to take your time and do it right or you'll do it wrong all of the time. Do you understand?"
Her eyes dropped to the floor and he felt her insistence leave her body, the idea he was trying to convey getting through. When she spoke, it was soft and humbled again.
"I understand, Michael. We'll learn how to do this together."
"Good. Now, get a shower and try to get some sleep. I'm going to take some painkillers and pass out until morning. Maybe I'll wake up with someone else's back."
"I'm sorry for hurting you."
He could tell she really was sorry, but she did not have anything to be sorry for.
"Jamie, if you were intending to do it, I would have had to carry you out of there. Given the situation, you reacted appropriately and I have to say it was a pretty impressive move. Put it all together and you come to the conclusion that you were only trying to survive and I can't fault you for that. If you need me to say that I forgive you... Jamie, I forgive you. Now shower and go to bed."
Jamie had looked back up as he was speaking and was able to give him a look that, while not a smile, was about as close to one as her evening would allow.
"Thank you, Michael." She watched him limp into his room and shut the door before she went to the bathroom, feeling just a bit better than before. At least he was not snapping at her still, right?
"AAARGGGH!" Jamie jolted upright on the couch, screaming. The tears from her eyes were rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the front of the collegiate t-shirt, the one Michael had left for her to wear after she got out of the shower. She blinked more tears loose and wiped them with the back of her hand, slowly getting her bearings in the dimly lit living room. She felt a phantom pain in her arm, the same as she had felt immediately after the first time they had to change it out. There was a long minute where it seemed like it was not there at all in spite of the controlled movement she had, but the feeling slowly returned and she started to relax, focusing on what her dream might have been to cause all of this pain and suffering she seemed to have inside.
The morning sun was starting to lighten the sky and a glance at the clock in the kitchen said that she had only slept five hours. She still felt tired, but the adrenaline from the dream was going to make it impossible to go back to sleep, certainly not her first experience with that.
"What is it? Why do I cry like this?" A final wipe dried her eyes completely and she felt a little better. Her mind got it's footing and she felt around for the TV remote, flipping on the morning news as she stood and went into the bathroom to start her day. She lacked any clothes but the maid dress and wetsuit, both of which were still quite damp and unbearable in the chilly morning air, so she would have to raid Michael's room for his sweats. That could certainly wait until he was awake.
The coffee was still on from when she made it and had turned into a strong, dark liquid that snapped her fully awake at the first sip, the caffeine a welcome addition to her morning. The news was on and a video caught her eye as she poured a bowl of cereal, so she turned the volume off of mute.
"A gathering at known Camorra head Christobal Ricci's turned deadly when a massive fire broke out in the kitchen of his mansion. The efforts of the staff to contain the fire were largely unsuccessful and several perished in the blaze before firefighters could arrive. Damage to the home is quoted in the millions and some sources have said, off-record, that this was an act of arson perpetrated by a rival faction in an effort to damage Ricci's standing among the organization..."
"People died?" It was not something Jamie wanted to hear first thing in the morning. The fire had been something she had a hand in, if indirectly, and innocents had been killed. It was not something she contemplated much, but she certainly did not go out of her way to kill innocents. On a fundamental level, it disturbed her.
Michael's cell phone started to ring loudly and she dashed to the coffee table to stop it before it could wake him. She glanced at the display and had to wonder why a pizza place would be calling him.
"Um, hello?" She answered the phone in Italian like always.
"Err... Is Michael there?" A woman's voice in English came through and Jamie had to wonder just where he got his pizzas. She switched to English to respond.
"I'm sorry... He's not available right now, and I'm not sure he's in a mood for pizza this early in the morning anyway."
"Pizza? OH! I forgot I put my number in like that. This must be Jamie, I take it?"
"Yes."
"It's nice to talk to you. This is Tanya, Michael's... err... friend." There was enough hesitation that Jamie could sense the slight awkwardness Michael's former lover was feeling.
"From Prague, right?"
"Yeah. I need to talk to him about some information I have, so when will he be available?"
"I'm not sure. He seemed pretty tired last night and hasn't come out of his room yet this morning, so it might be a while."
"Okay. Just tell him that I have some information for him and to call me from a secured phone. He'll know what I mean."
"Alright, Tanya. I'll make sure I let him know."
"Thanks. You take care of Michael, okay? He's a nice guy, but sometimes he forgets how dangerous things can be and goes off without thinking."
"I know... and I'll try to keep him in line."
"I hope we get to meet someday. I think we would get along just fine."
"I hope so too. Ciao."
Jamie could not help but feel awkward after hanging up as things were complicated enough without her having to talk to Michael's ex-girlfriend. Then again, she thought, she could be a source of information on him. Maybe some of the things she knew would be of help in understanding him.
There was a strong knock on the front door and her head snapped around with a suspicious glare. Things were getting a bit too busy here for Michael just having moved in and a visitor was simply not normal this early in the morning.
She pulled her gun from her holster beside the couch and checked the chamber for a live round. Satisfied, she stepped silently to the door and listened intently for any clue as to who it was. Another knock sounded before she decided to do the simple thing.
"Who is it?"
"It's Ferro. Michael called and asked me to stop by this morning."
Jamie peered through the peephole, something she should have done to begin with, and saw the frowning face of Ferro, seemingly irate at the delay.
"Oh... Hi." Jamie unlatched the door and opened it for her, stepping aside as she passed and relocking it as soon as it was closed. Ferro glanced at Jamie in her t-shirt and panties and rolled her eyes, wondering if Michael's pantsless condition was contagious.
"Could you please put something on?"
"Hm? Well, I guess I can make a fresh pot of coffee if you like." Jamie really had missed the point and wondered why Ferro suddenly looked like she was about to kill someone.
"Clothes, please. Put some clothes on." Ferro walked into the living room and settled into a chair to wait for Michael.
"Oh...Um... I don't really have anything to wear. I went straight from the agency to the job in my wetsuit, and I don't have anything else."
"Then please put that on. It's difficult to discuss business with someone in their underwear."
"Ah. Sorry." Jamie went to the bathroom and found the maid outfit that she had hung up to dry, slipping it on over her clothes and hoping it wouldn't offend Ferro any more than she already was. She wondered briefly if Ferro might be jealous over her body but passed on that thought. Ferro did not think about anything but the job.
When she stepped back out, Michael was working his way to the couch, his back still hurting him considerably when he moved.
"I did a little work last night on the data recovery, Ferro. There's quite a bit that is time-sensitive, and I'm worried that my escape last night might invalidate its use."
"Speaking of which... Why did you burn his house?"
"Last resort, I assure you. Things got a bit difficult and the only way I could think of to make our escape was a major distraction."
"Michael," Jamie poured him some coffee and set it on the table in front of him. "Michael, the news said some people died in the fire."
"Yeah, well, I expected that as a possibility. It happens sometimes, and that's why I don't like that method of escape." He sipped the coffee and felt a bit stronger when the strong liquid hit his stomach.
Ferro was not as cavalier about it. "Well, it certainly was a distraction. Along with two kitchen staff, Ricci's son was killed when the gas line ruptured."
Michael looked shocked at that. His eyes showed that he was thinking of the consequences and it started to dawn on him how serious things had turned.
"That was Ricci's only heir, right?"
Ferro nodded and handed him a slip of paper from her attaché case that detailed the rest of the night's events.
"Congratulation are in order, I guess. You've sewn the seeds for a mob-war inside Camorra. At sun-up this morning, Ricci's people hit the headquarters of his chief rival in smuggling, Antonio Santorini. Very little damage was done, but the message was only meant to be a simple one: 'There will be blood'. We can expect a severe escalation to occur after Ricci buries his son and focuses his full attention to the matter."
"Shit." Michael hung his head, closing his eyes tightly and struggling to come up with a way that this could work for them. "Any response from the rest of the families?"
"Our sources have word that they're convening a meeting to try to resolve this issue peacefully. Obviously Santorini is denying any involvement, but with the government playing along for the most part, no one can come up with anyone else who would want to take on Ricci. Even if the death of the son was incidental, the very act of attacking during the party is being seen as an insult to Ricci's honor and power. So, given all this information, Chief Lorenzo wants to know what the hell you were thinking last night."
Jamie could not take it anymore. Three people had died because of her stupid mistake, and more were going to die before it was over. "Ferro, I-"
Michael cut her off. "Ferro, I left a rope on the wall and it was discovered by a guard who started a house-wide search. Jamie was already inside and had retrieved the information, but was trapped in the office when the search started. I moved fast when I realized what was happening and started a fire in the kitchen when no one was looking. It was only supposed to distract the guards and staff long enough for Jamie to escape, but it obviously went beyond my expectations. This is my fault and I'll take responsibility for it."
He glanced at Jamie who was obviously worried about him taking responsibility for her error. "Jamie thinks it's her fault for not getting in and out quicker, but it's entirely mine."
Ferro looked between the two and then sighed, wondering how the hell she was going to cover up their actions to settle down the mob-war.
"Okay, Michael, that is what I'll tell the Chief. Hopefully the data you retrieved will be worth the efforts we're going to have to expend."
"Yeah." Michael leaned back and winced at the pain the movement caused. "I'm going to be laid up for a few days with this, Ferro. Have the intel teams start sorting the information and get me everything they find on Santorini and Ricci's long-standing relationship, and whatever information our own library has on them. Maybe I can come up with something to settle this down again." He turned and looked at Jamie, taking a moment to smile at how ridiculous she looked in the creased and dirtied maid dress. "You, Miss American Maid, are going back to the Agency with Ferro and are going to train your ass off. Work on your lock-picking and assault entries. I'll email more details in the next couple of days."
"But..." Jamie's face looked genuinely hurt. "You need someone here to help you."
"No I don't. I need you working on your skills. We're going to have to clean up this mess and I want you ready."
"Michael..."
"That's an order, Jamie." He could see and feel that she saw him as extremely vulnerable, a person in need of protection, and she could not take that easily, especially since it was her handler. She was programmed to protect him regardless of her own suffering, and he was now telling her not to do it. He could only wonder how many of the cyborgs could wrap their heads around that idea without blowing a gasket.
"I..." Her eyes met his and she knew from the subtle urgings from her stomach and the way Ferro was watching her that she had no choice but to obey, no matter how much it clashed with her own desires. "Okay. I'll go. But promise me you won't do anything reckless without me."
Ferro rolled her eyes and Michael smiled at Jamie, mussing her hair playfully.
"I promise I won't do anything stupid without you. Okay?"
"Yeah."
Ferro went to the door and paused there to wait for Jamie. "Michael, I'll try to get some information for you to go over and drop it by tonight. I'll also have Priscilla give you a call this evening to update you on whatever happens in the meantime."
"Thanks Ferro." He turned to Jamie and gave her a shove towards the door. "You better get going."
"Okay, I'm going. Sheesh." She picked up her gear from beside the door and started out, but stopped suddenly, remembering the call earlier. "Michael. Tanya called earlier and said she wants you to call her from a secure phone. She didn't say what it was about."
"Oh, okay, Jamie. Thanks for remembering. I'll see you in a few days." He gave her a smile and waved her out, returning to a frown the moment the door closed behind her.
"Tanya... great."
The day was turning into a wonderful one, and it had not even hit nine-o-clock yet.
The phone ringing startled Tatyana Pavlovna Sokolov from her intense reading session of the documents in front of her. The actions in Prague, however distasteful, had reaped a wealth of information and her entire being was turned towards processing it all as fast and as accurately as possible. This meant that sleep was on hold for at least a day, maybe two or three, something she was quite used to by this point in her career. She flipped her blonde hair back from where her left hand had been idly twirling it around a finger and rolled over in bed, picking her cell-phone from the small pouch mounted to her nightstand.
When she hit send, the phone chirped it's signal that it was linking into an encryption with the other end and after almost twenty seconds, it finally beeped again to signal it was ready.
"Hello?"
"What are you wearing?"
"Well, since you ask, I'll be nice and tell you that I'm wearing hardly anything at all. I have papers scattered all across my body, leaving small, agonizing cuts in my silky smooth flesh. It's absolutely divine."
"Being a desk-jockey is a bitch, isn't it?"
"Yes, Michael, it is. Did you call to laugh at me, or do you just want me to talk dirty to you some more?"
"I have a choice?"
"Um... No. I have some information for you and I think you'll find it interesting. By the way, are you using a 128bit encryption unit? My phone had a hard time linking up."
"Yeah, the Italians have our old version. You'd think they could get some better gear with the money they drop on anything. So, what do you have?"
"Okay, get a pen and sit down, there's some stuff here you're going to have to check out for yourself. The crypto team had no trouble with the half-assed document encoder the guy was using on that computer, and once the files were open, the analysis teams started choking on the data. Most of it we were able to trace through the usual channels, but there's a bit here we can't get any hits on, and our international guy said it had to do with Italy's internal problems. You ready?"
She could hear Michael groan as he moved around, ending with a sigh that must have been from finally sitting down.
"Are you okay over there?"
"I'll be okay. I injured my back when Jamie threw me onto a bed."
There was only silence for a long several moments.
"Michael... Seriously, she's a bit young, you know. Do you have some kind of lolita complex or something?"
"Funny... No, it was during a job, she was on edge, and I surprised her from behind. She flipped me onto a bed and killed my back. Broke the bed, too."
"Hmm. Are you okay? Maybe you should go on a diet."
"Lets just get back to the information."
Tanya laughed, enjoying talking to him again. She had been feeling lonely since they had parted in Prague and she had found herself thinking fondly of their past on several occasions.
"Okay... We cracked the seal and the first thing that popped onto the radars was his extensive list of contacts. They were all encoded using some old, Russian mathematical cipher, but the computers pulled that apart pretty fast. There were over a thousand names, mostly in Europe and South America, probably drug trafficking routes. We have the DEA working on a bit of that to see what they can turn up. There were quite a few names listed for weapons smuggling, including a few we recognized immediately as being linked to Afghan and Iranian funded terrorist groups. That's when we decided to check the items he shipped and came across something that evidently nobody knew."
"Links to human trafficking?"
"That comes later, quit reading ahead. Check this: He had moved more than twenty tons of Semtex over a period of eight years, funneling it to terrorist groups throughout the world. Columbia, Nicaragua, Spain, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, you name it, that's where it went. Twenty tons, Michael! No one noticed this. Now ask how."
"Okay... How did he move it?"
"He packed it in everything he could get his hands on. Anything in his ledger that was 'stolen goods', and there was a lot of stolen stereos going to Columbia, Venezuela, and Palestine. All of them passed through any checkpoint clean as a whistle. Now ask how that could happen."
"Because the chemical tag was not in the explosive." It was starting to make sense to his quick mind. It was also the only way.
"Aw... You're no fun. That's absolutely right, though. So either this guy, or his suppliers, was sitting on a massive stockpile of pre-90's explosive, who's reliability is now very questionable, or there's something rotten in the Czech Republic. We've already got agents working on it, and the Director has already mentioned maybe putting me back in the field to track this one down. Your middleman was right in the middle of some of the largest black-market work we've ever seen from a single individual and it's got everyone interested. Which brings me to your bit."
"I'm all-ears."
"Okay. This guy moved a lot of porn. No, scratch that, a shit-load of porn. Most of it was the usual pirated stuff, T and A, nothing uncommon. He also moved a lot of the exotics, bondage, animal, fetish, and etcetera. Included in that was a goodly amount of kiddy-porn, which was mostly..." She came to a crescendo to lead him in.
"Snuff films."
"Bingo! We have a few of the director names on file, a real sleazy bunch but their ambitions don't even come close to a certain Excalibur Entertainment Company that was listed on line fifty-seven-oh-eight. Ex-Co, no other info to be found, not only provided some of the highest priced snuff films, but was also a key buyer of military-grade hardware."
"That's who I'm after. Is there anything else that points to them? A contact name, address, phone number?"
"A name came up further down the list. It jived with a couple of the payments that were moved through from the buyers to Ex-Co, but didn't list specifically to either. The payments added up to the right amounts, so it's just logical reasoning that makes me think this is your next guy. One of the bean counters we're renting concurred, but he was also picked up on tax-evasion a few years back, so take it for what you think it's worth."
"What's the name?"
"Thomas Rutherford. We made a general search but there's just too damn many to narrow it down."
"He's a Brit, so start with the UK listings. My informant also said that these guys were big into heavy-handed enforcement, so they would need heavy hitters. Maybe try the British military listings." Michael was getting a bit excited at the first bit of information in weeks.
"Okay... I got a few people talking with Europol, so maybe they can help with that. There are a few other trees I can shake, so I'll do that too." She made a note on her pad to look into that.
"Any address on him?"
"Milan, I guess. There's a list of cities here, probably drop locations. He'd be under a false name, if this isn't one already, but Milan comes up the most times."
"I've got a few things I can do on my end, so one of us will eventually catch onto him."
"Yeah. Hey, there's a bit of data here your people might like to know, wink-wink."
"My people?"
"Some of this money listed was being funneled into the Padanian terrorists cells. It took a round about course, but the end-point prior to distribution to Padania was a Camorra by the name of Antonio Santorini. Ring any bells?"
Michael sighed and leaned back in his chair as best he could. "Yeah... I was injured while raiding the home of his chief rival. We pulled some data from there but we haven't really had enough time to sort through it yet."
"Well, we have nothing on him except that he comes into the states every five months or so, stays for a few weeks while hitting every casino in Vegas, taps the local fauna, and then goes home."
By 'local fauna', Tanya meant high-class call girls. Ol' Tony had a taste for expensive entertainment and that could be useful.
"That gives me a place to start, at least. Any signs of illegal stuff while he's there?"
"Nada. He plays it pretty high key, making sure his face and money are remembered. I'll do some more checking on him, though, and let you know what I come up with."
"Tanya..." Michael's voice softened and she could tell he was thinking of her. "I appreciate this. You're the best in our business."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. I'm certainly the best looking in our business, but I know what you're trying to say, Michael. You owe me big for this, and all the other times, and maybe one day I'll come to collect."
"I hope so."
They had never really been able to say goodbye on the phone, so for a long minute they just listened to each other's thoughts that went unspoken.
"Oh...One last thing I need to say, Michael. I've got a bad vibe and it started when you capped that guy in Prague. I didn't want to say anything then because I wasn't sure, but the more I dig into this for you, the worse it gets."
Tanya seemed to have a sixth-sense about the world around her professional life. She had said she'd had a bad vibe from the action in which he had been shot, and there were a few others he'd have to think about more to remember clearly, but they all had seemed to go awry at the worst possible moment, and it was only her quick thinking that had salvaged total defeats into break-even ventures. She was not someone you brush off when she had a bad feeling.
"What is it?"
"I don't know. Just... It's just a feeling I've been getting. You know how that is with me, so please, watch your back. Okay?"
"Yeah. I will, Tanya. You be careful too. The problem with shaking limbs in a tree is that something is bound to fall out onto you."
"That's advice you should write on your mirror."
"Yeah. Maybe I will. Ship me a copy of your retrieved data and we'll take a look at it. Maybe there's something we can shed some light on."
"Okay, Michael. If anything else turns up, I'll call you."
"Alright. Later."
"Bye." She hung up her phone and set it back in the nightstand pouch, right next to her gun and flashlight. She hugged her pillow to her and sighed, as talking to him had only made her lonely heart more so. With the bad blood between them cleared up, the old feelings were returning in spite of her not wanting them to.
"I liked him better when I hated him."
Chapter 17:
"A week..." Jamie stared out of the bedroom window at the parking lot below and feeling every bit of soreness her training had inflicted on her, but hurt more by the lack of contact with Michael.
"Hm?" Maria looked up from folding her laundry. She had been watching Jamie closely the past few days and had no idea when she had made time to sleep or eat. It was sad, really. She was longing for her handler and making herself suffer in an effort to feel like she was doing something, anything, to hurry his return.
"I haven't seen him in a week. He said it would only be a few days, but he has not called, emailed, or even sent someone to talk to me. I'm starting to worry."
"Starting to? Jamie, when was the last time you ate something?"
"I don't remember."
"I do- dinner on Tuesday. You had a sandwich and two glasses of water. Since then you haven't eaten anything, unless you've been sneaking something in the middle of the night."
"I'm not hungry." Eating was just not something she felt like doing.
"You're not in the mood to eat. That's not the same as not being hungry." Maria put down her shirts and stepped behind her friend, wrapping both arms around her in a friendly, compassionate hug. "Jamie, I'm saying this as your friend. You can't keep training as hard as you are on an empty stomach because you'll make yourself sick. If you collapse, Jean will put you in the infirmary and you won't be of any use to Michael there."
"Maria, I appreciate your concern, but-" Jamie cocked her head to the side and listened carefully, focusing through the fatigue she felt for the sound she thought she had heard. "He's back!" She stood quickly, practically throwing off the smaller Maria, and ran for the door.
Michael was pulling a file-box from the trunk of his Jag when Jamie caught up to him, gasping for air in her weakened state.
"Michael!"
He had stiffened when he had heard her voice behind him and turned slowly to look at her, his eyes unable to hide a look of pain. The smile left her face and she tried to read him but found only questions in her own head.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Jamie. Just... I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Well, I was expecting you a few days ago and you didn't call in or anything, so that wasn't very nice, but it's not something you need to feel that bad about."
There was something in his eyes that told her it wasn't about that, but she could not find the courage to press it further. His eyes disturbed her in a way they never had before and she felt as if asking him anything else would unleash something frightening within him.
He turned back to his box, shut the trunk, and started towards the office building. Jamie fell in step beside him just as Maria caught up with them both.
"Hi, Michael."
"Hello, Maria. How have you been? Getting in your training?"
"Yes. The doctors said I could be mission-ready again next week if I pass the tests. My aim is dead on and I can almost keep up with Triela in hand-to-hand combat."
"Great! Have you been taking care of Jamie for me?"
"Well...When I can. She's been on the training grounds all day, every day, so I haven't seen her much." She didn't mention Jamie's physical self-abuse, not wanting to step in where she should not have to.
"Oh?" Michael looked at Jamie and glanced her over, taking note of her paler coloring and imprecise and sluggish movements. "Are you feeling okay, Jamie? Pushing yourself like that can be demanding and you're looking a little tired."
"I'm fine." A forced smile was put forth for his benefit, but he wasn't buying it at all. "I'm a little tired but I'll manage."
"Well, I'm going to be here all day and probably all night, so go get some rest and we can talk later this evening. Okay?" He let her get the office door for him.
"Okay." He disappeared around a corner and she stood there for several minutes while Maria looked around and waited patiently. Jamie finally snapped out and looked at Maria, smiling for the first time all week. "Are you hungry?"
"No, not really. I just ate."
"Well I am. Lets go." She grabbed Maria's hand and dragged her along towards the dining hall.
"Jaaaamiiiiiieeeee"
"I hope this is worth the wait, Michael."
Ferro sat down at the conference table, nodding at the assembled members of the Intel team. These people were some of the best and Ferro was quietly very proud of their work ethic and the results it brought.
"It is, trust me." He pulled the top of the box off and pulled the two-inch thick manila folders from it, stacking them on the table neatly by the notes on the post-it's marring the otherwise blank covers. "It's an early Christmas, courtesy of my friends at the Central Intelligence Agency."
"Wow..." Priscilla stepped in with coffee for everyone and handed them out, then took her spot at the table. "Does the CIA have their own forest to cut down?"
"Probably." He had a long sip of coffee before starting the meeting. "What you see before you is everything the CIA has on black market operations involving Italy. There is also a huge amount of other intel that I helped gather, intel which links Santorini with the funds, weapons, and explosives getting to Padania. I've been reading this stuff for several days and have what looks like a very clear path the monies take through the EU, the US, and even a few South American countries."
"This should be good." Ferro sipped her coffee and settled as Michael placed a world map on the wall.
"Okay, we start here in Italy. The Padanian terrorists need weapons and funding, so they contact their friends in Paris, Amsterdam, Madrid, Prague, etcetera. Some of them are in the black market business and have access to hardware, but where does the money come from? The only people who can profit when the government agencies are tied up with terrorists and looking away from them... Camorra. The Milan branch has shared a convenient relationship with their local government, and while the wheels are squeaking merrily away in the other direction, they have been importing everything they can get away with. Drugs, goods, weapons... Keep reading the list aloud long enough and you pass out. This stuff was cycled through a middleman named Aldridge, now deceased. He moved everything under the sun, and probably the sun on a few occasions, and I have no doubt that there are a lot more just like him that make up the massive network it would take to move the quantity they were.
Now, Aldridge had files on his computer that the CIA cracked open. Inside was his list of contacts everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. He even had someone at McMurdo station in Antarctica in case someone needed a bunch of penguins for research purposes. He was that good."
He took another sip of coffee before continuing.
"So the network gets the call for items, and Camorra, or more accurately two factions in Camorra, take action, because they're making a killing with smuggling while the government is kept involved with Padania. They get money to the network, and the goods are sent in through a number of routes. These people are extremely patient, and as long as there's a profit to be made, everyone provides a good bit of service."
"Okay, so Santorini and Ricci are buying supplies for Padania in return for the government being kept off their backs. How does the money move? We've been over every bank transaction and none of them coincide with the numbers we've pulled from the latest raids." Priscilla had been over the numbers several times and could not figure out where the money was from or how it came in. They had suspected Santorini for some time, but his numbers did not match anything they had, and she had given up on him.
"Easy." He dug through a separate stack and pulled up a balance sheet they had obtained from the Venice raid. "Lombardi got a huge payment only a few days before the raid, right? Now... We have Santorini listed as being out of country three weeks prior to the raid, and he was gone for a week. Where did he go?"
The blank looks he received showed that they had no clue.
"Vegas. He goes to Vegas every five months and blows a lot of money. I'm talking huge amounts, but none that ever hurts him overall. He doesn't even try to hide it. He's known to tip big at the tables and bars. Now... This money can be accounted for, and I've done so here." He put up a transparency on the overhead projector showing the difference between Tony's casino and travel expenses and his total spending.
"The rest of the money goes to the network to get filtered through to Padania."
"How?"
"His pants." He stumped them on that one and even Ferro looked like she was in need of a translator now.
"Explain."
"Tony likes the ladies. I mean he really likes them. It's nothing for him to have two or even three high-priced call girls on his arms at all times. He naturally tips them big also, but the money from these girls does not go to their syndicates. It goes to the network, which is also participated in by the various Mafia groups in the states. The Columbian drug lords get their cut for the coke, the profiteers get their money for the weapons, etcetera. The network itself is like a global trading post. The money goes where it needs to, and the goods go where the money wants them."
"Camorra can't be funding Padania as a whole, it's just too much money."
"Then Santorini is probably just funding the local factions. Again, we're talking businessmen with a bit of patriotism thrown in. If Padania succeeds by some chance, then Camorra is the largest power in the new state. If they fail, they lose nothing but a little cash."
Priscilla stood and paced a bit by the window, wrapping her head around it as best she could. It made sense, in a way, but... "It's just not believable. It's too big. You can't sustain that kind of operation without being noticed. And who's to say that the money or goods don't disappear?"
He had expected that. Michael knew that the concept was outlandish, but that's the way things worked sometimes. "How many times has a criminal hidden effectively in plain sight by giving the pursuers what they want to see? How often has the person least suspected been the guilty party? The trained mind looks for patterns it knows, in this case you're looking for what you expect to see. The fact that it's much bigger than you can fathom works against you, not with you."
"I am still not convinced, Michael." Ferro had taken her notes and looked them over a third or fourth time, following his logic but, like Priscilla, was unable to make that leap of faith. "I need more than this. Give me evidence I can use."
"Okay. Here's is the money trail by the numbers, and here..." He handed over a page torn from his notes that he had taken the night before as he crunched the numbers. "Here is the final figure that I estimate made it to Padanian level. Several levels of cuts were taken along the way, but only amounted to twelve to fifteen percent, a modest fee for laundering money and certainly acceptable given the nature of the transactions. I had to work backwards from the receipt end, but as you can see, it matches up close enough that I'm convinced that money originated in Camorra and ended in Padanian hands."
"More, Michael. Lorenzo is not going to believe this without more."
"Damn it, Ferro, there isn't any more." His fatigue, among other things, had edged him to the breaking point. He was tired from the all-night researching and he snapped at her, feeling like she was asking the impossible. It took a moment but he realized how he had responded and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, Ferro, I haven't had much sleep since I came up with this. I just haven't had enough time and manpower, or evidence, to go further. I know this is right... I can feel it. You know the feeling when your instincts tell you something is right but you can't prove it."
"Yes I do." Everyone at the table had felt that way before, and the only remedy was more research until you could prove it. "Is there anything else you can say that might help the rest of us pull it together?"
"No. Wait! The middleman, Aldridge... His notes said that in eight years he had moved almost twenty tons of Semtex, I suspect untagged, to numerous terrorist groups. It is entirely possible that some has ended up here. I'm not sure if it's from an old stockpile, or if someone's making it new, but it does not have the normal chemical tag that is detectable to the common means. I'm not even sure if Beatrice could get a hit on it."
"That is a concern. There's no residual trace chemical to work from?"
"No. The manufacturing company never used a residual tag because there is not sufficient reliability of it surviving the detonation to make it worth-while."
"I see. And it is your gut feeling there may be some in-country now?"
"Yes. I have nothing to prove it at all, it's just a hunch."
"Okay... Say that this all pans out and Camorra is funding Padania in some places. What do we do about it?"
He felt like he had been asked whether to call the fire department when the house is on fire. Wasn't the answer obvious? "We burn it down. Every dollar that makes it to these people buys weapons and explosives that are being used to kill people. It needs to be shut down, and if done right, we can cripple Padania for some time to come."
"That simple..." Ferro had to wonder if Michael really saw things as being so easy and in a moment she figured that he probably did. There were always consequences to be thought through and Michael's history was dotted with times and places where he simply did not think far enough ahead.
"It's not simple, by any means, but it will have to be done."
"Alright. I'll give the Chief your report and we'll see what goes from there. I do not think he will move on it alone, so I want all of you that might have something that supports this to follow them up until we know one way or the other." She started to leave but stopped at the door, looking back at Michael. "This is good work for such a short time, Michael. Your efforts are certainly appreciated, but you need to get some rest. You look like hell."
She left and Michael could not be sure if she was simply patronizing him or whether it had been a serious complement.
"Thanks, I guess."
Jamie found him at his desk several hours later, still scanning through past reports of terrorist acts for any sign that the network he believed in was the source of the hardware. It was a daunting task, and even with his experience with lab reports, he was having trouble understanding all of the details.
She snuck up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze for support.
"Mmff. That feels good. I think I've been at this desk too long."
"You should get up and stretch a bit. Maybe we can go into town and get dinner?"
"Sorry, no. I can feel there is something in this data but I can't get my hands on it. I'm not leaving until I find it." He felt her pull away and she pulled up a chair from a neighboring desk, settling in beside him.
"I have something to tell you, Michael?"
"Yes?"
"I haven't slept much in the past several days. In fact, I haven't eaten much either. I've been so worried about you not reporting in as you promised and the only thing I could think to do was to continue training. When you saw me earlier I was a wreck and I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" He put down his pen and turned to face her. She looked like she was sorry, but he felt she was probably making a big deal out of nothing.
"Had something happened, I would not have been in a condition to be useful to you. Even worse, by allowing myself to get to that condition, I made it more difficult to learn what I should be."
It was ridiculous on it's face. She was apologizing for something that he did almost routinely. She had pushed herself to the point of exhaustion, had forced exhaustion on herself, and was now trying to-
"You want me to punish you? Is that it?"
"What? I... You should do what you think is appropriate." He had gotten inside her head and pulled up an answer that she didn't even know she had a question to. It stunned her somewhat, but she had to admit that he might be right. She was looking for some kind of attention from him. It did not matter what kind.
"Jamie, one thing I have been trying to get across to you is to learn to be independent as much as you can. There are times when we need to be away from each other and at those times, you need to spend it wisely because it's about the only privacy you have. I don't really care whether you train or have fun, or whatever in the time I haven't specifically laid out, but you need to do something other than make yourself sick over me. I know you are programmed to want to be at my side all of the time, but we both need space to grow and survive."
She wanted to scream out that it wasn't programming that made her want to be near him, but she could not speak that aloud because she was not entirely sure. Whatever the feeling inside her, something inside her said that it was not yet time to share it.
"Michael? Can we please just get out of here for the evening? I need to get out of this place."
She was begging now. He could see she did not know why, but she felt that it was imperative to spend time with him away from the environment that she was used to. His own fatigue helped his decision along.
"Okay. Go get ready and meet me at the car in ten minutes. Bring some spare clothes, you'll be taking my couch again tonight."
"Yes." She seemed happier, though she still looked like she was tired, staggering a bit as she stood and went out the office door. When he was sure she had gone, he pulled a small white box from his desk drawer, gently pulling the cover off.
The gold chain gleamed in the fluorescent lights but did not do the necklace justice. It was an attractive piece of work, one of only four hundred, he had found out. His thumb brushed across the etching, number 316, and in the relief of the lights, he could see a small crust of blood in the smallest of nooks of the cross. He had finally tracked it down, finding it in a jewelry shop in Milan two days before. The poor shop owner did not know what he had and Michael paid only a few hundred American dollars for it. He was sure he had made a profit on it, but he could have asked much more. It was worth a lot more to Michael.
It was worth someone's life.
It was worth someone's eternal soul.
And if Michael could have his way, he'd collect both from that someone. Unfortunately, he would have to settle for the former.
Winter was approaching fast, Michael knew. The cold air had tried to cut through his coat but failed, a testament to modern polymers. The night had fallen as they had driven to Milan and Jamie had thankfully chosen jeans instead of a skirt or dress. The night really had been determined by her choice in clothing, and while he knew he had counted on that in his plans, it had become the decision-maker.
He stopped the Jag down the street from a small warehouse; a place he had discovered was a den of thieves lorded over by something much worse. Stolen goods were brought there and processed in a thorough way. New serial numbers were created, printed, and items were repackaged, often with surprises tucked inside for their overseas recipients. He had not told Ferro and the others about this place and he took a moment to ask his self whether that was wise. The teams could storm the place and everyone inside would be dead within minutes, with little or no risk or casualties on their part.
No. He and Jamie were doing this one alone because it was the only way to get what he really wanted. The one thing he had been planning for, the excitement of the very idea coursing hot through his veins and keeping him awake. The very feeling was racing his heart even then and he knew it was now or never.
"Why are we stopping here?"
"We have work to do."
"What kind of work?"
"Clerical. We're editing some names out of the local phone book." He climbed out of the car and went to the trunk; pulling open the lock-box he kept the spare magazines for their guns in. They were all pre-loaded and arranged in belt pouches for quick access. She had followed him to the trunk and seemed reluctant to accept the pouch he handed her.
"Michael, is this authorized?"
"No. This is very, very personal. Inside that warehouse is a man I want to ask a lot of questions. You'll know him when you see him; it's that Tommy guy you bumped into in Venice. He knows a few things that I need to know, so I want him alive. Shoot him if you must, but make sure I can question him at-length. Everyone else in the building is to be eliminated with extreme prejudice."
"Michael, this isn't like you." She started to strap the equipment onto a tactical vest, placing everything where she could find it without thinking. Her eyes did not leave him, though, and the way his face was twisted into that of absolute hatred put her on guard.
"No, it's certainly like me. This is what happens when you come across scum that has infested your life, and you actually have the ability and moral justification to remove it."
"Michael, please. I don't want unnecessary killing tonight. I just want to relax and spend time with you."
In his eyes was the embodiment of hell. His course had been charted, his flight-plan filed, and he was going down that road no matter what happened that night.
"Jamie, this man deserves to die for what he did to you. He deserves a lot worse than death, and if I get the chance, I'll be sure to give him that as well."
She could not understand. Why was Michael going to kill a man for a minor offense? She had not liked it, obviously, but it certainly was not worth this.
"Michael, please. I'll help you get to him, and I'll kill anyone in the way, but I don't want that man to die because of some minor offense. Please?"
It was clear to him that she thought he was doing this over the bump in Venice. He would have to explain things to her a little better later, but now was certainly not the time. It might kill his bloodlust, and he did not want that now.
"Fine. I won't kill him, but everyone else in the place is fair game. Weapons are free and you are to have no hesitation."
"Okay. I'll get you to him."
They finished suiting up and moved swiftly down the street, sticking to shadows and cover wherever they could. Their night-vision showed a pair of guards that ceased to be a problem after Jamie jumped over the fence and slaughtered them with her Walther. She broke open the gate and Michael dashed through, leading the way between semi-trailers to a small door that looked to be the entrance to the receiving office. Jamie listened closely for any sounds within, and after hearing none, quickly picked the lock and swung the door open. Michael stepped in, covering the office with his suppressed Smith, and making his way to the workroom door.
There was a large gap beneath it and Jamie was able to see much of the target area by putting her head to the floor. Numerous pallets were arranged around a central area, a place where lights and voices showed was the source of activity. A set of stairs wound their way up to an office whose windows overlooked the floor, and she could see three men in the room, chatting casually. She could hear several different voices from the center area and she had to guess there were at least five, and maybe as many as eight people there.
"Eleven, Michael. I think. Sounds like they're pretty well distracted with work."
"Fine. Ready?"
Jamie swapped the used magazine for a fresh one and nodded at him.
"Go!"
The door handle turned and they silently rushed through, dashing to the pallets at the edge of the lit area. The door had been on a hydraulic closing arm and it closed loudly enough that the men all looked up from their work to see who might have entered.
Jamie caught them from the side and dropped three with double-taps in the blink of an eye. When the others spun to address her threat with their guns coming up, Michael stepped through a gap between stacks and took their flank, the forty coughing it's rounds into four of the five remaining. Jamie had her reload complete and finished the last target just as he had started to panic from the overwhelming assault, dropping his gun to the floor a moment before his body thumped down beside it.
"Nice work. Now we go up."
The whole stairway was exposed to the windows and they were spotted as they ran up the steps two at a time. A window shattered and the muzzle of an AK rifle flashed, the report deafening in the reflective-walled space. Jamie jumped the last eight steps and approached the window, flash-bang in hand. She popped the spoon and tossed it in, turning away from the window just before the flash and concussion pounded their senses. The window was as good an entrance as any, so she leaped through, quickly identifying her targets and killing the two unnecessary people with her Walther.
The third man, the man she had seen in Venice, looked up at her and felt a moment of recognition and even through the pain from his ears, he knew death had come for him. He raised a TT-33 pistol but Jamie closed the gap and twisted it from his grip, breaking his fingers and triggering the gun whose bullet narrowly missed her head. The action jammed because of her grip on the muzzle and she tossed it away, her gun to the head of the whimpering man who now cradled his broken fingers.
Michael stepped into the room and looked around at the bodies, satisfied with the way things had turned out.
"Hired help is so hard to find now, eh Tommy? Two people are able to take your whole operation down in a matter of minutes, that doesn't sound like very smart security from someone with your history."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Me? I'm just a guy who has some questions that require answers. If you answer those questions, you'll walk out of here. If you don't..." He leaned closer, his eyes speaking of untold horror in his intentions. "I'll have to be more persuasive in my methods. Yes, Tommy, I know your history. Believe me when I say that I can do much worse if I choose to."
"You're fucking with the wrong dog, yank. You won't live to see the morning after this."
"Tommy, son, don't let this start on the wrong foot. We've got all the time in the world here." Michael pulled a sturdy chair over and Jaime shoved Tommy roughly into it before tying him into it securely.
"I'm not telling you anything." He spit at Michael and missed, which was lucky for him. Jamie was ready to tear him apart for it.
"You will." Michael pulled a similar chair over and sat down in front of him, pulling a notebook from his jacket pocket. Jamie finished searching him and stepped over with a switchblade knife, looking at it with curiosity before handing it to Michael.
"Now then. You are Thomas Rutherford, medical discharged from the British army for mental instabilities. You got into trouble a few times in London, then moved to the continent where you took up a job moving stolen goods laden with more impressive stolen good. It looked like a nice racket and it's a shame it had to come to such an end. The police would have loved to take you down, but they probably would have made a mess out of it as they always do. But that's unimportant. What I'm really interested in is the Excalibur Entertainment Company."
"Go to hell!"
"Come on. I don't want your financial numbers. I just want the name of the man on top. Be a sport?" Michael had calmed down but the anger still brewed inside, giving his words a sarcastic tone to match the hostility in his eyes.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hmm. Refresher time!" Michael stood and flipped open the switchblade, then stabbed Tommy in the shoulder with it, twisting back and forth several times as Tommy screamed, the pain excruciating. "Remember that one, Tommy? There's a young blonde woman you did that to. Hurts like hell, doesn't it?"
Michael left the knife in to limit the blood loss and sat back down, going back to his notes.
"Excalibur Entertainment. Where do you work out of?"
"Shit... We work out of anywhere. We can't stay in one spot or we'll get caught."
"How many films?"
"I don't remember. A lot."
"How do you choose your targets?"
"The target is whatever the boss wants. A little girl, a little boy, a small scout troop. The boss says, we do.
"Who's the one calling the shots?"
"NO!" Tommy would not give that up easily and Michael knew that he would have to do something painful to crack that loyalty.
"Jamie..." She looked up, her eyes cold and lifeless. She was a machine. "Break his arm in ways doctors can't fix."
"Yes, sir." Jamie thought about it for a moment before untying the arm that had the knife in the shoulder. She felt along it with her delicate fingers, gauging the muscular strength and joint condition, all the while Tommy was watching her with a cold sweat running down his face.
"Tommy, I'm not bluffing. I want everything inside that head and I want it NOW!" Michael's anger at his defiance emboldened him and he smiled, remaining silent and calling the bluff. The little girl could not hurt him seriously.
"I've taken stronger girls than this one."
"Wrong answer, shit-head." He nodded to Jamie who grabbed Tommy's elbow and wrist.
"I'm very sorry. This will hurt quite a bit."
Tommy's head snapped around at the soft, mechanical voice and he only had a moment to read the soul-less look in her eyes.
In three rapid, deft movements, Jamie twisted the wrist, breaking both bones just above it, pulled the arm and pushed his elbow, reversing it in a sickening sound of crushing bones, then shifted his arm back and dislocated his shoulder.
Michael had to give Tommy credit; he had managed to remain conscious through it all, though he passed out just after he started to scream in agony. It had been so fast that all of the pain had to have reached his brain at the same instant.
Jamie released the arm and stepped back, snapping from her trance and looking at what she had done with shock.
"Jamie... I think I can handle things from here on. He's not going to be any trouble. Go out and check the perimeter, make sure we're still safe. When you're done with that, wait at the bottom of the stairs."
She was still in a bit of shock, but she heard his orders and nodded, stepping from the room with her gun drawn. Michael waited until he could no longer hear her steps on the metal stairs and then pulled a bottle of smelling salts from his jacket, waving them under Tommy's nose until the combination of smell and pain pulled him back from dreamland. It was another minute before Tommy could focus on what was around him, but the pain had to be the largest impediment.
"Tommy... I'm going to be perfectly honest. You surprise me with your reluctance to rat your boss out. No name could be worth the amount of pain you just endured." He pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it up for Tommy to see. "Remember this?"
It was clear from the look on his face that he did remember. "Wh-who the hell are you?"
"I'm someone who knows what you've done. I know the pleasure you took in raping little girls as you cut them open, watching as their life bleeds out." Michael stepped over and put his face right up to Tommy's, staring him in the eyes. "I know what you did to those American girls earlier this year. I watched the film. I was the one who found them in the warehouse. I'm the one who saved one of them. And I'm the one who's taking revenge for them."
It suddenly made sense to Tommy. The encounter in Venice; why she looked familiar.
"That's her?"
"Yes. And if she were able to remember the things you did to her, you wouldn't be talking right now. She deserves her vengeance on you; if not for herself, then for her friends. They were her only family, and you took them away from her."
"Not just me."
"Names, Tommy!"
"I- I can't."
"If you don't give me their names, I'm going to bring her in here and have her work on your other arm." For emphasis he squeezed the already-swollen, shattered elbow.
"AAGH! Please!"
"THE NAME!" Michael screamed it in his ear, trusting his voice to carry through the pain he inflicted by tormenting his arm.
"AAAGH! Amherst! Ian Amherst!"
"He's the leader?"
"YES!"
"Good." He let go of the arm and let Tommy catch his breath as the pain slacked. Michael calmed down, settling back into a collected interrogator. "What else can you tell me?"
"Nothing. He calls us when we need to do a job. A few others and myself do the dirty work; Amherst joins in sometimes, but mostly just films."
"And the American girls... Tell me about that."
"He hates Americans, something about his time in the service. He took his time and fucked all three of them before letting us have them. He finished them off, also, making sure his face was the last they saw."
"Where can I find him?" Michael sensed things were coming to an end from this source.
"I don't know. He keeps himself pretty secluded. Artistic quirk and all that."
"Then you're no longer of use to me." Michael twisted the suppressor from the end of his gun and turned, aiming at Tommy's head from five feet away.
"You said you'd let me live."
"I lied. Sorry."
The three shots sounded like cannons and his ears were still ringing when Jamie kicked open the door, expecting trouble.
"Michael?"
"Everything's fine. I got what I came for."
"You promised you wouldn't kill him."
"Save your sympathy. He doesn't deserve any after what he did to you." Michael's mind was focused on his next step, so it was too late by the time he realized what he had said.
"What?" She lowered her gun and stepped to his side, looking him in the eyes. Michael figured there was no more reason to hide this part of the terrible thing that happened to her.
"This man is one of the men that... They did some terrible things to you, things so terrible that you're better off not remembering. I have the name of my next target, and so at least some justice has been served."
Jamie was stunned by the revelation and Michael took the opportunity to do some creative work. He pulled on latex gloves and dipped his finger in the sea of blood that had poured from Tommy's gaping skull. He carefully wrote the word 'Rache' in blood on the floor then picked up his and Jamie's shell casings.
"Jamie, go down to the floor and pick up all of our brass. Leave nothing for the cops to find."
She snapped from her stunned train of thought and nodded. "Yes, Michael."
Michael looked around one last time for anything else he might use to throw off the scent, but he was satisfied. More than that, he was glad this part was over. There was plenty more to do, but he needed to take one step at a time now, because his remaining prey was infinitely more dangerous.
He gave the body on the floor a last look, the lifeless eyes cold and foreboding, speaking silent whispers of the things to come. Michael had no sympathy for it.
"Bye, Tommy. See you in Hell."
He found Jamie struggling to pick up the last of the casings, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she reached down.
"Hurry up, Jamie. We need to move out."
"I know." His voice had calmed her nerves from whatever she had been dealing with and she pocketed the last case as she rushed to catch up to him. "I had another bout of the shakes, sorry."
"Afraid like the last time?"
"Yes."
"I'm not going to lie. We have a long way to go to end this, but at least we have one less to deal with. By the way, I grabbed the surveillance tapes from the security office, so unless there's another hidden recorder, we should be in the clear. Always remember to check for tapes if you can."
The car ride was long and uneventful, the sounds of sirens far from them and getting further as they sped towards Rome.
"Michael, what happened to me?"
"Now is not the time." He kept his eyes on the road, which helped his heart remain cold.
"When are you going to tell me?"
"When you need to know. Now shut up and let me drive."
"You've changed, Michael." She folded her arms and settled into the seat, refusing to speak any further.
"Yeah? Maybe I have." He let that hang in the air but her curiosity was stronger than her will in this instance.
"Michael?"
"Yes."
"Why are you doing this?" He knew she meant the revenge killing. They had become almost of linked minds, able to read into each other quite a bit when necessary. He thought about it again, this time with a renewed perspective that he did not have when he started. The answer was as simple as the principle.
What did he have to do to finish this? He had to kill every last bastard that had touched her that night.
Why was he the one to do it?
"Because no one else will."
Her silence meant that she was thinking but he could not imagine what she was going to say next. Her life had been turned upside down with the information he had let slip and she had to be wondering what else he knew and was hiding from her.
Whatever her thoughts, she remained silent for the rest of the ride to Rome. He stole glances at her from time to time, watching her stare out the window at the road, the looks on her face visible in her reflection in the glass. They changed occasionally but he still could not determine what she was thinking.
Jamie was still distracted as they trudged up the stairs to the apartment, nearly tripping over her bag of clothes at one point, latching onto his jacket to maintain her balance and then retreating just as fast, clearly avoiding him where she could.
She went straight to the couch and flopped onto it, burying her head in the pillow while Michael picked up the phone and called Tanya to relate the evening events. He stepped into the kitchen while talking, keeping his voice low and overwhelmed with noise to prevent Jamie from hearing. When he hung up, he came back into the living room and settled into a chair and tossed a beer can at Jamie, thumping solidly onto her back and making her look up.
"What?"
"Have a drink."
"Why?" She sat up and picked up the ice-cold can from where it had fallen behind her on the couch.
"Because you're going to need it." He opened his and drained half of it in one pull, closing his eyes and letting the flavor take him back to his college days. He heard her open her can and opened his eyes to watch her drink. She held it in both hands, forcing herself to drink the whole can in one lift, coughing on the last swallow and settling back to let it take effect.
"Want another?"
"Please."
"I'll turn you into a lush in no time." He finished his own can as he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed another for himself as well. She was staring at the window when he returned, a sad look on her face and her eyes seemed heavy, like she was bearing the weight of the world. She sipped the fresh beer in silence for a while, still seeming like she was working things out in her head and searching for where she was supposed to fit in to her own life.
Michael had just finished his beer when she looked at him, feeling the effects of the alcohol and the associated mental and emotional changes associated with it.
"How long have you been lying to me, Michael?"
"Eh?"
"How long have you known my past?"
He looked away, feigning an attempt to remember but actually avoiding her piercing gaze. "A few weeks." The problem with lying for a living is that you eventually get good enough to convince yourself. In this case, he was still convinced that holding back was a noble thing to do. "I don't know everything, just a few bits here and there."
"Tell me."
"I don't think-"
"No more bullshit, Michael. I'm tired. I can't keep fighting like this. I wake up screaming, my body reacting to something I can't remember. I have things that go through my head and I don't know why, or even understand them. I can't keep doing this."
Her voice did not change and her eyes did not focus elsewhere. She said it simply, sounding as tired as anyone that had finally given up on life. He felt for her, he really did. He could understand what she was feeling, but it did not mean he could tell her everything he knew. They still had things to do and she could not know the entire truth yet.
"Okay... This Tommy guy and his associates caught you, and two friends. You were beaten, raped, tortured, and then cut up and left to die. You somehow survived and were brought to the agency for help, but your friends had no chance to make it. The agency gave you a new body, removed your memory as best they could, and then assigned you to me. You're really not supposed to be regaining your memory so fast, but they said it could happen and that I would have to decide what to do about it."
"So you've been hiding it from me? Why?"
"Because no matter how strong the person is, you can never tell what they will do with memories like that. Some kill themselves or try to. Some lash out against others. In the end, erasing the memory seems like the most humane thing to do, I guess."
She looked at him, boring dead-on into his eyes. "Do you think it's humane to leave someone wondering who and what they are?"
"No. No I don't. I don't make all of the decisions, Jamie, and some of the things I've had to do for the agency have been distasteful to me. You have to deal with decisions that affect you. I have to deal with ones that affect us both, and I'm trying my best to do what's best for you."
"How sure are you that you know what is best for me?" Her eyes had turned hostile when she looked at him and he could not blame her. She was in pain. It was an intense pain that stemmed from the conflict within her, between mind, body, and soul. No matter what the agency did to control her mind and body, her soul was what drove her. It made her strong. It made her determined. If someone violating her in every way conceivable could not break that determination, there was no way the agency could.
"Jamie, I just do what I can to keep us both alive and hope it's all right. Regardless of who you were and are, I care about you more than anything else. If I make a mistake, it's a mistake because I care too much."
"Caring too much can hurt just as much as not caring at all." She stood and wobbled a bit, feeling the sudden unsteadiness of the two beers in her system. "I'm going to shower this gunpowder and blood smell off, it's making me sick."
That was apparently the last word on the matter, though she looked back at him when she opened the bathroom door, her face showing disappointment in him. It was enough to break the heart if he was at all sure if he had one.
She had left her clothing bag on the floor beside the couch so he took it to the bathroom door, intending to slip it inside, but sobbing he heard through the spraying water made him stop. In his efforts to protect her, he had hurt her trust in him. He hated to run away from a problem, but in this case he figured it was best to let her come to him. She knew he had answers and she would come for them in her own time.
He left the bag outside the door and retired to his room, finally climbing into his bed after a very long day. Thankfully, he didn't see Tommy's face in his dreams.
It was cold and dark all around her. Jamie looked around her at the dim corners of what appeared to be a warehouse, crates and pallets stacked nearly to the ceiling and in something of a neat manner. There was a pool of light at the far end behind some stacks and she stepped that way, her lack of body making no noise as she floated over. She was just a mind without substance and the freedom of it teased her senses.
Voices could be heard as she got closer; several men and a few women, one of which screamed out in terror before the sound of a hand striking a face sounded off the walls. Jamie rushed over, her curiosity merging with her sense of duty to protect. She stopped as she reached the pool of light, the scene seeming familiar but she was not sure why.
Several halogen lamps were set up near a crate and a cargo van was in the background with its door open, a young brunette woman lying unconscious between the seats. Two men were setting up a camera and other items she could not see, while the other three were roughly pawing the girls, their intentions quite clear. The girls tried to fight them off as best they could but the disparity of strength was obvious.
"HEY!" Jamie yelled authoritatively, but her voice went unheard. No one looked up and she realized that she could only watch in disgust and horror as the camera started rolling and the men began to brutally violate the girls. An authoritative figure, the one who seemed to be directing the action, went to the van and dragged the brunette out by her hair, her limp form thumping to the concrete sickeningly. The pain made her start to stir back to consciousness and she yelled, struggling to break free of the hand dragging her by the scalp.
The camera moved around, catching all of the sickening action, focusing on the faces of the victims as they cried in pain and cried out for help from anyone. Jamie rushed over and tried kicking the men off of the girls, then screamed in frustration at her inability to affect things, to stop the outrage before her. The brunette was fully awake now and suffering the same indignity as the others, her clothing ripped to shreds and her attacker laughing at her feeble attempts to stop him.
It continued for a while, and eventually the blonde and red-head could no longer find strength to do anything but beg for their attackers to stop, begging that eventually gave in to fatalistic acceptance that they could no longer do anything but suffer at the hands of their assailants. The brunette kept fighting though, her face containing a look of hatred and defiance, her nails clawing where they could despite the brutal punches she endured each time they found flesh. Even though the mouths were moving, the only thing Jamie could hear were the sounds of the girls' suffering, as if someone had muted the dialogue but left the dubbing track.
She felt like she knew where the scene was going and was proven right when the broken pair was unceremoniously dumped in the center of the lit area and the men went to a box and pulled out various objects to continue their cruelty unto the end. The girls recoiled as best their battered bodies could, but the horrors Jamie was forced to watch next showed that no manner of resistance would stop the murderous intentions of this group. Their screams of pain rang out as blood was drawn, their bodies being mutilated to the delight of the sadistic throng, the laughter obvious despite the silence.
Jamie began to cry at her helplessness, wishing she could step in and stop this travesty, wishing she could do anything to silence the screams. She looked over at the brunette who was being forced to watch her friends suffer. The girl was still being raped, her death being saved until the final act, but her eyes were locked onto the bloody scene of her friends, and her voice was almost inaudible as she spoke. Jamie leaned closer to hear her and backed away in shock as she got a good look at the face of the girl. It was the girl from the club that sang for her. The beautiful girl with the guitar and angelic voice was now a beaten and bruised wreck of a human, but the light in the eyes was not dead yet. The sounds of a prayer or biblical verses met her ears and Jamie realized she was reaching out to her God, if not for salvation, then for comfort in her last horrifying moments.
A gurgling scream rang out as the blonde was gutted alive and was being strangled with her own bowels, and Jamie started heaving her non-existent stomach out at the smell of blood and bile that was assaulting her senses. She looked up at the face of the man and recognized the face of evil. It was the man she knew as Tommy.
When the blond and redhead were dead, the others gathered around their leader as he began the final insults to his victim, the woman Jamie had found so similar to herself. Tommy pressed his thumb into her eye, slowly adding pressure and forcing a scream from her lips until it finally popped, the clear liquid oozing out as she lost consciousness. The others berated him and pushed him aside as they brought her back from the darkness to continue their cruelty. The assault continued some time more, finally ending when they dropped her body to the floor and packed things away, finished with their sick film.
When they were gone, Jamie managed to work up the courage to go to the girl. The blood had poured from her severed leg and arm, turning her skin deathly pale and Jamie knelt over her, brushing her hand across the girl's hair as her own tears flowed. The things she had just witnessed were a testament to the dark side of humanity, a dark side she was evidently destined to fight. The girl's body twitched and a moan escaped, her good eye opening and blinking through the blood. It locked onto the body of the redhead that lay next to a crate and she gathered her strength, clawing her way forward through considerable pain and effort.
"Please...Please keep fighting!" Jamie yelled out, trying to help her in the only way she thought she could. "Fight to stay alive! Help is coming." Her tears reflected her true knowledge; that this girl was going to die alone on the cold floor, staring at the corpses of her closest friends. The girl managed to gather enough strength to take a deep breath, reaching out with her remaining hand towards her friend.
"Carol... I'm sorry. Carol..."
The Herculean effort was her last, the strength leaving her body as the breath left, and Jamie cradled the lifeless body, crying uncontrollably.
"How? How can someone do this to you? How can someone be so evil?"
A shadow fell upon the scene and she looked up at the figure, unable to see the face with the lights behind it. Jamie felt fear surge through her as her mind considered that this might be the specter of Death, there to claim the souls of the girls from their now-useless bodies. The shadow stared at the scene for a long time, as if considering the worthiness of those before it. Her fears changed to joy as the figure suddenly turned towards the light and vomited, his face illuminated momentarily in the light.
It was Michael.
The sight of him excited her and she shook the girl, begging her to live because help had arrived. Michael would certainly help her. He looked back for a moment more and Jamie thought he would start CPR on the girl, but he darted for the door.
"YOU COWARD! HELP HER!" She jumped to her feet and screamed at him, forgetting that she did not exist on their plain of reality. He remained at the door but refused to look back, so she figured it was up to herself. If she was trapped there, she was going to try to do something, anything, to help the girl.
The girl had rolled onto her back in her final moment and Jamie knelt next to her and started pounding on her chest, desperately trying to start her heart with her non-existent hands.
"Come on, please! Fight some more, I know you can! FIGHT, DAMN IT!"
She looked back at Michael who was still turned away and that made her try harder, trying to get the girl to make a sound, any sound, to alert him that there was still hope for her.
"BREATHE!" She clenched her hands into a single ball and raised them above her head. For that one moment her strength and desire became one and she had form again, bringing her fists down as hard as she could onto the girl's chest, striking it solidly and making the girl cough loudly, bringing her back from the brink of death for at least a moment longer. The eye opened and focused on Jamie, and the lips moved, whispering something Jamie could not hear.
Jamie looked to Michael to see if he had heard the cough and he had, stepping carefully closer as if he wasn't sure he had heard it. He yelled into his cell-phone and that seemed to start the pulling feeling inside her, the same she felt before. She knew this was her mind coming back to reality and she focused on remembering what she had seen so she would not forget it. The world turned sideways and she finally, thankfully, blacked out.
Jamie bolted upright on the couch again, gasping for air and feeling her heart race yet again. Another of those dreams she had, though this time she had not been screaming. Her tears soaked her pillow and the front of her tank top, and even as she wiped them away they kept flowing. An image came to her mind, that of a woman who was naked and bathed in blood, and she could not help but weep more. Her sobs were the only sounds in the silent apartment and for ten minutes they refused to cease, the tears becoming a comfort in their own right as they poured between her fingers and washed the emotional turmoil slowly away.
It was all inside her head, she realized. The things that made her wake up screaming, the tears, the phantom pains, it was all locked up in her head and trying to get out. Every bit of it was there. Some of it was who she had been and the rest was what she should be; the things that make a person who they are. The past and the future meet in a place called the present, and that's who you are. So who she is now is a combination of no past and little future, and that is why she is who she is.
"God, this is complicated."
The tears had finally stopped and her body relaxed, the strength expended leaving her weak and unsteady after a long night and only a couple hours of sleep. She stumbled to the bathroom and started splashing cool water on her face to wash away the track of her tears, trying to get the image of the woman in blood from her mind as well. Jamie stared at herself in the mirror, brushing the hair from her eyes and staring into them, finding only herself staring back with a blank look. Whatever the agency had done to suppress her memories was not holding up and she was getting them back, but none of it was in a form she could use. She did not know what any of it meant and that lack of understanding was the only thing preventing her from knowing who she really was.
"It's like putting a jig-saw puzzle together upside-down. The pieces fit together, but there are so many and they all look the same."
She ducked down and splashed another wave of water on her face. When she looked up she gasped at the reflection she saw in the mirror. It was the girl from her dream, she suddenly remembered, the one missing her eye and teeth, the face a bruised and bloody mess. The realization came as she felt the strength leave her body and she crashed to the floor, striking the sink with her chin on the way down, breaking it and spilling the water everywhere.
A gray haze formed around her and she tried to move, to claw her way to safety with Michael, but her body refused to work at all. The gray turned to black and consumed her, the silence in her mind a comforting recess from the sudden onslaught of what it all meant.
The smell of Michael's cologne helped to ease Jamie out of her haze, the fog giving way to a pain in her jaw and a crushing headache. Her eyes focused in the darkened room and she realized she was in Michael's bed; his pillow the source of his scent, and his blankets the only thing she was wearing. Her head pounded as she sat up and felt her jaw; the massive bruise there screaming with pain when she touched it.
"Ow!" What had happened? She remembered drinking two beers, then showering. She felt certain she had woken up during the night from another dream. And then..."
"Michael?" He was obviously not in the room so she wrapped the comforter around her and carefully went to the door, peering out into the living room. He was at the far end, supervising the repairman as the sink was being replaced. He looked back and noticed her, moving quickly to keep her from moving any further away from the bedroom.
"What are you doing up? Get back in there until you're feeling better."
"I already am. What happened?"
"I was going to ask you. I heard a noise earlier and got up to find you passed out in the bathroom with a massive bruise and my sink broken."
"I can't remember much. I think I got up after a dream to wash my face. Then..." It came to her in a second, a sign that her memory was getting better but a look at Michael's concerned face told her to keep what she saw in the mirror to herself. She still did not understand it all though she could feel that at the moment she passed out, there had been an epiphany that the blackness had swallowed up.
"I'm not sure what happened then. I guess I must have blacked out and fell." She held her head that was continuing to throb with the noise the repairman was making.
"Well, go on back into the bedroom and rest. Doctor Bianchi is going to stop by to check on you."
"We're not going back to the agency?"
"Not yet, Jamie. If you're feeling better later on we'll go out and get some dinner."
Jamie smiled weakly, a soft laugh escaping as she turned towards the bedroom. "That sounds nice." She slipped into a nightshirt and settled back into the bed, closing her eyes to the world. It felt good to be at rest somewhere.
"How is she?" Michael had waited in the living room while Bianchi had examined Jamie. He had come back out after about an hour and accepted the coffee Michael had offered.
"She'll be okay. I gave her something to dull the pain and did some touch up work to help the bruise heal faster. There are some serious things you and I have to discuss though, starting with the way you treat her."
"What? What's wrong with the way I treat her?"
"Well, you should really do a better job of defining your relationship to her. If you want to be her teacher, okay. If you want to be her brother, okay. If you want to be her lover... well, I can't stop you regardless of how disturbing I think it might be. Whatever you decide to do, I suggest you pick one and stick with it. That girl is so confused about how to look at you that it's probably the reason she's unable to concentrate on anything but her missions."
"Wait..." Despite his now-fluent Italian, he was still having trouble following Bianchi on everything. "You're telling me that she can't figure out whether to listen to me or make love to me?"
"That's a bit of an over-simplification, but essentially yes. She looks at you the way a high-school girl looks at the new, attractive, intelligent, young male teacher. She's attracted to you in the physical sense as well as the intellectual way. To her, you are the man she has a crush on and she sees your attentions as being indications of a reciprocated love towards her. Her mistakes and your occasional indifference towards her are viewed as things in the way of that love and she reacts negatively to them, to the point of becoming upset."
"And that's what happened last night?" Michael looked towards the door to see if she might be peeking out.
"Possibly. That is the other thing we need to discuss. She is hiding things from me, and likely from you as well. She said she did not know why or how she fell, but I get the feeling she was covering it up, and if that is true, you might be losing control of her. That is not something I'd like to contemplate."
"She's becoming her own woman, something I've been encouraging, and you're telling me that it's wrong?"
"I'm telling you that the agency is not going to allow one of their cyborgs to operate independent of their control. You see her as a young woman, but the agency sees her as an investment and a dangerous one at that. If she were to go out of control, she could do a lot of harm."
"Politically, you mean." Throughout his career, politics had been his one absolute hatred. People died because of politics, a meaningless death that was never suffered by those whose politics caused it.
"Physically as well. How should I put this? When a cyborg becomes unstable, their first victim is likely to be their handler, not just because they're the closest, but because the handler's actions may be the perceived wrong that sets them off." He could tell that Michael was not following entirely.
"I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, especially the new handlers. One of the first generations lost control and killed her handler a while back. The girl loved him as many of them do, but his interest was lacking. He treated her horribly; probably less like a person than any pet owner does their pet. At some point, she realized that he could not love her, so she put a hole in his head, then killed herself. After that, we instituted some fixes in the conditioning and covered the whole thing up."
It was news to Michael. He had heard that a fratello had been killed in the line of duty, but the truth of the matter was certainly a surprise. Accidents are one thing, but an outright cover-up of a 'malfunction' was entirely different.
"So you're saying Jamie could finally snap one day when I complain about the way she fixed my coffee, then I'll be dead before I know it?"
"I'm saying that the agency watches for any sign of control-loss with a very serious concern. Her duplicity in the little things implies the possibility of it on the major things, like intentions to go rogue or become critically homicidal."
Michael looked at the bedroom door again, now wondering if the girl was really capable of turning on him, but finally deciding that she could not. Maybe he was naive, but he did not get that feeling from her, and his instincts were usually right.
"I appreciate your being so forthcoming with that. It's too damn hard to get a straight answer from anyone in the agency on something like this. I'll keep an eye on her, Bianchi, and if she does become dangerous, I'll be the one to put the bullet in her."
That statement did not surprise Bianchi. Michael was a confliction of ideals, like most Americans he had met, and while he felt like he needed to protect Jamie, he considered it his own job to execute her if necessary. He was the kind of person who believed in the merits of personal involvement. It was his cyborg, and therefore his responsibility to do what was best.
Bianchi stood and put on his coat so he could make his exit.
"You're a good man, Christiansen. Just make sure to watch her with unbiased eyes."
"I will." He walked him to the door and held it for the doctor. "Are you going to report this in?"
"It was a simple injury due to a bit of clumsiness and fatigue." The agency was not the only ones that could cover things up. "Enjoy your day off."
"Thanks for stopping by and scaring the hell out of me."
"Anytime."
The door shut and Michael had the enormity of his responsibility hit him. His actions of revenge were allowing Jamie to remember her past, something that may or may not be the smart thing to do. When she realized the extent to which he had been deceiving her, would she react by taking his life?
"Michael?" Jamie's voice called from the bedroom, a lonely sounding call for him to be there with her. The room was still darkened and his eyes took a moment to find her form sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What's wrong, Jamie?"
"Nothing, really. I just wanted to know if we were still going out this evening."
"Yes, if you feel up to it." He sat down bedside her, being mindful to give her some personal space. He still had not decided where their relationship would fall, though he was certain it was not going to go the route of lovers.
"I'll be okay. Dr. Bianchi gave me something that made the pain go away and a bit of make-up will fix the bruise." She shivered and pulled the blanket up around her. "I hate doctor visits. Their hands are always so cold."
"It's a pre-requisite to get into med-school."
"Your hands are always so warm. Why is that?" She had taken his hand in hers and he could feel the chill of her hands as his transferred its warmth. He gave her a moment to enjoy it before pulling away.
"It's from all of the blood on them."
She frowned and turned away, jilted by his remark and it's tone. "You're so... I don't know what the word is, but the way you self-depreciate upsets me. You're a good person, and no matter who you've killed, you should think better of yourself."
"You think so? That just shows how little you know about me."
"Really?" Jamie rolled over in the bed, wrapping herself tighter in the blankets, and then propped her head up on her hands, looking intently at him. "Since you've never made an effort to spell out much of your past, it's no wonder I don't know. So won't you tell me?"
His eyes met hers and he could tell that she was genuinely interested in knowing about him. It was probably the conditioning making her do it, but whatever the cause, she was not going to be happy until he told her something. He shifted on the bed and sat against the headboard, relaxing while he told the story.
"Well, I guess I should start by saying that I've always had a knack for picking locks. It's something I started into when I was young and by the time I graduated high school, I was breaking into cars, houses, almost anything. Like most criminals, I kept searching for a bigger high. Well, one night I decided to hit this large house at two in the morning. This place was incredible, and given the location in Virginia, I should have figured it was that of a government employee.
Well, I got into the place, swiped some personal information and some valuables, and went on my merry way. The next day I get back from my fence to find three people from the CIA in my apartment. They had already tossed the place and were simply waiting for me to get back to discuss my activities.
Apparently the house I hit had been that of a CIA station chief. He was impressed with my skills, my courtesy in leaving the house without trashing the place, and with the fact that I had done it all while he was asleep upstairs. I had been sloppy, however, in not reconnoitering my target effectively, not checking for the hidden recording devices that had me in fine detail, and not making sure I had something to tell me that someone was in my apartment while I was out.
All of this the man told me while smiling, as if I was some student that he was discussing a grade with."
"What did you do?"
"Well, he offered me two choices. I could be arrested as a foreign agent and sentenced to most of my life in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison, or I could come to work for him where I could use my skills to serve my government."
"And you, being the patriotic type that you are, accepted the latter." Jamie smiled at him, finally getting a feel for him.
"Something like that, yeah. I spent the required time on The Farm, got a degree in criminal justice alongside it, and did my first tour in the Czech Republic." Just talking about it brought back the feel of the summer heat from the moment he first set foot in Prague.
"Is that where you met Tanya?"
"She was my training instructor there. You learn a lot of things on The Farm, but you eventually have to take the field and learn how to deal there."
"And you fell in love with her? Hot for teacher, huh?" Jamie giggled; something Michael wasn't sure was at all normal for a cyborg.
"You haven't seen her. Obviously she's older now, but when I met her she was twenty-eight, and with her height and slim frame, she was almost too hot to touch. We didn't get along at first, but after I saved her life one night, we came to the realization that we are the same type of person. The things we do..."
It was difficult to describe to Jamie. She was not even close to the age at which he had to learn to kill. With age comes understanding and wisdom, both of which she seemed to have more of than he did then.
"Well, the things we do make us who we are, and the only place Tanya and I could be at ease was in each others' arms. I miss that sometimes."
Jamie crawled out of the blankets and knelt next to him on the bed, her eyes bright again. "You have me, Michael." She was smiling at him with a hopeful expression; one that showed she was stepping out with her feelings for him and hoping that he would understand and return them.
"Jamie..." He had to let her down and do it gently, but he was not sure how. His relationships had either been outright fabrications for Intel purposes, or miserable failures that the woman had decided to end first. The desperate look in her eyes made it an easy decision, but it also made the words hard to find.
"Jamie, I just don't feel for you in the same way I did her. I care about you, yes, but not in that way."
It was as if he had just stabbed her in the gut, and at that moment, Bianchi's warning about homicidal cyborgs flashed through his brain and he wished he'd had his gun handy. She hardly reacted. She sat back on her heels and a string of emotional thoughts flashed through her mind, entirely visible on her face. It was like watching the numbers on a lottery wheel skip past the little flag, until it finally ended on one that was still hopeful.
"Is it how young I seem? Michael, I'm eighteen and legal no matter where we are." She hopped off of the bed and pulled off her nightshirt, standing naked before him, her voice changing to a pleading one. "See? I have a great body! I'm tall, graceful, and intelligent. What more could you possibly want?"
It was going too far now. What had been an odd, but cute, infatuation with him was turning into a borderline obsession.
"Jamie, it's not about looks."
"I can comfort you when you're lonely, and cheer you up when you're sad. I can always be here for you." The hysterics in her voice were starting to show the signs of her cracking mentality. She would do anything, probably even die, if it meant a moment more with him. She might even be able to kill him in the deranged idea of spending eternity with him.
"It's not about that, Jamie!"
"Then what is it? Why won't you love me?" Her scream was from the frustration finally bursting from within her, and for the first time he understood what was wrong with her to cause this. It was not about sex or love. It wasn't about the drills or lessons or real action. It was about how lonely she really was inside.
She was alone because her parents died in that wintery crash. Her few friends, her replacement family, had died in front of her eyes. Even if she did not know these things, the pain of being alone in the world was still there. Somehow, she had not been able to accept, or believe, that he was not going to leave her as well, and that fear and uncertainty was manifesting itself in a strangely typical way.
In one of his psych courses there had been a discussion of battered women and why they will defend, sometimes until their death, the man that beats and mistreats them. One idea was that the attachment came from the fear of being unable to find anyone else to feel any security with, so the women remained where they were, accepting the beatings to remain in their comfort zone. The study also showed that some women would take to promiscuity, often sleeping with any man at all, to maintain the feeling that they weren't alone.
Jamie felt alone, plain and simple, and to keep him at her side, she was desperately seeking anything to keep him there. The sad part was that she was so caught up in trying to keep him there, that she could not see that he was not going anywhere to begin with.
"Jamie..." He climbed off of the bed and stepped to her, hugging her to him tightly as her tears started to pour onto his shoulder. "Jamie, I know you feel alone. I know that you can't bear the thought of losing me, but you need to know in your heart that I'm not going anywhere. You are all I have, the same as my being all you have in this world. You're my only family, Jamie, and I love you like that. I can't love you as I would any other woman, because that would mean I could stop loving you. I can't do that, Jamie, because we're too important to each other."
She hugged him tighter, nearly making him wince from the strength in her arms. Her tears soaked his shoulder and her sobs were painful to listen to, their sounds and his own words hitting a spot in his heart that he had thought to be dead. He was not emotionless by any means, but part of him had been emotionally dormant so long that the sudden explosion of it was a surprise. He had forgotten what family really felt like. Tanya had been the closest to him, but had been someone he could stop loving. Family was different. Family is an unconditional love, and even though family can have disputes and even hatred, there is still something that makes the person family, and that is the emotional attachment of unconditional love.
Jamie was his family now. Unconsciously he had been treating her as such, but he had never understood it in the emotional sense until now. He had to protect her as best he could, and she would do the same for him.
"I'm sorry, Michael." She had turned her head and whispered it in his ear, her sobs quieting as the tears subsided.
"It's not your fault, Jamie. I wasn't able to understand what you were trying to say through your actions because I had forgotten how. You're my family, Jamie, and nothing that happens from now on will change that."
"Not even if I screw up?"
"No. When you screw up, I'll be there to help you make it right."
"I love you Michael. I could not understand it before, but I do now. You've always treated me like family in your own way, and I've mistaken that for another kind of love."
"I didn't understand it myself until just now." She pulled back and stared into his eyes, but there was a different look in them; that of closeness he had not had before, even with Tanya. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, lingering there for several seconds before backing off again, flushed with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry. I just thought that if we were going to be a true fratello from now on, I'd had better get the now-incestuous feelings out before it takes effect. I have been wanting to kiss you for real since that night in the club, and now that I have, I think we can move on."
"That's good. How was it?"
"I've probably had better." She escaped his arms and pulled her nightshirt back on, wiping a few more tears from her eyes. She was back to being a companion, a sister, and the change from the psychotic mess from ten minutes earlier was a good thing. The joke was cover for her burying the last of her old feelings deep inside, tucked neatly into a place called the past.
"Thanks, 'Sis'..." He hugged her again and started towards the living room. "Get dressed, Jamie. We're going out tonight to celebrate and have fun."
"I'd like that."
The night's chill was dulled by the warm spirit the pair had. Michael was glad to see her smiling again, a smile that never left between the shops they visited, the movie they watched, or the walk through the Villa Borghese with the lights reflecting off of the ponds and fountains. Things had changed for the better again, and it was only after they had returned to the apartment and collapsed onto the couch that he had time or inclination to think about it. Maybe it was being pessimistic, but in his experience, good things rarely happened in a vacuum. Something bad was eventually going to happen and he had to be ready for it when it came.
He never thought it would be the next day.
