St. Michael and all Angels Anglican Church

Alexandra, Johannesburg, South Africa

March 15th, 2004

"'I am the resurrection, and the life,' says the Lord. 'Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.'

"I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

"Since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. So we will be with the Lord for ever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.

"We brought nothing into the world, and we take nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is his faithfulness.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

"God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

"We meet in the name of Jesus Christ, who died and was raised to the glory of God the Father. Grace and mercy be with you.

"Please be seated."

There was a slight rustling as the congregation sat. Sarah hardly noticed, her senses numb, her eyes fixed on the picture of Piers de Klerk not ten feet in front of her.

"We have come here today to remember before God our brother Piers; to give thanks for his life; to commend him to God our merciful redeemer and judge; to commit his body to be buried, and to comfort one another in grief."

The funeral service was in Afrikaans. Sarah didn't even notice. One of the languages she was fluent in, her mind heard and registered it just as it would if it was English.

"God of all consolation, your Son Jesus Christ was moved to tears at the grave of Lazarus his friend. Look with compassion on your children in their loss, and upon the families and friends of the other 190 victims of the terrible events in Madrid; give to troubled hearts the light of hope and strengthen in us the gift of faith, in Jesus Christ our Lord."

"Amen," Sarah whispered, the word slipping out automatically.

A hymn was sung. The priest spoke of the nature of life and death, of the service that Piers had rendered unto his country. Sarah sat numbly through it all, but her emotional front began to slip when the priest reached the end of his homily and began to quote the 23rd Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.

"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Sarah had to concentrate on keeping her front up through the rest of the service, but it began to slip again during the Lord's Prayer. Even though she hadn't been in a church since Christmas Eve of 2002, she found herself unconsciously whispering it, albeit in English.

She managed to keep her composure right up until the end of the service, when a group of four teenagers came to a corner of the front of the church, where the instruments for a four piece rock band rested. "Hi," one of them, a girl who looked to be about sixteen, said softly into a microphone. "We're members of the St. Michael's high school group. Piers was a good friend of ours, and he was our youth group leader."

Sarah was shocked. She had no idea. Piers had never mentioned this to her, but as she thought about it, she realized that he probably would've been really good at it.

"We're really gonna miss him," she continued, a tear slipping down her cheek. "He taught us this song by the American band Audio Adrenaline a couple of weeks ago, and we… we want to use it to say good-bye to Piers."

Oh no, thought Sarah. She didn't know what song it was going to be – she didn't even know who Audio Adrenaline was – but she knew that no matter what the song was, it was probably going to send her over the edge.

A boy who looked about fifteen started playing a strumming pattern on the acoustic guitar. A light drumbeat accentuated the rhythm, and the girl started singing in English.

You'll be fine tomorrow, the sun will rise… still, it's never easy to say good-bye.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat, and she fought desperately to hold the tears back.

You know I'll always love you, you know I always will.

She felt the sob building in her chest, the tears stinging her eyes.

Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, my old friend. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, we've reached the end.

It was as if a faucet had been opened. The sob burst out, tears cascading down Sarah's face. She buried her face in her hands, her composure shattered, grief taking over.

I don't cry for sorrow, I cry with joy. The memories we've made can't be destroyed.

Sarah felt a hand on her shoulder. She lifted her face from her hands, and looked to her right. The hand belonged to a woman Sarah had never met, but who she recognized from earlier in the service as Piers' mother.

You know I won't forget you, you know I never could, and when I said I loved you, you know I meant for good.

Sarah sat up as Piers' mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders, taking Sarah's hand in hers. The two women who had never even met shared their grief as the teen group sang.

Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, my old friend. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, we've reached the end.

As the group went into an instrumental break, six men in the front row stood, and went to the coffin. Sarah recognized the director of the National Intelligence Agency among them, but taking the point position, one arm still in a sling, was Piers' partner and friend, Markus Sobukwe.

The girl who had been singing spoke in Afrikaans. "Good-bye, Piers," she whispered, tears flowing freely down her face. "We love you."

And as the pallbearers lifted the coffin, turning to the left, a soaring electric guitar solo filled the old Anglican church. The combination of stimuli, visual, aural, and emotional, brought a fresh batch of sobs bursting forth from Sarah.

Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, my old friend. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, we've reached the end.

The pallbearers walked down the aisle, in a slow and dignified fashion. Sarah glanced at the coffin through blurry eyes at it went past.

You know I won't forget you, you know I never could, and when I said I loved you, you know I meant for good…

The sanctuary had emptied. Just Sarah and Piers' mother were left sitting in the front row.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, Piers' mother turned to Sarah.

"I'm Francine de Klerk," she said quietly. "You must be Sarah Walker."

Sarah nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Piers told his father and me all about you," the older woman said, a sad smile on her face. "We were so looking forward to meeting you at some point, too. Piers just wasn't sure when it would be, because he said you're always busy with State Department work."

State Department, huh? Sarah thought. The professional part of her brain said,That would've been useful to know.

"I wish I could've met you under different circumstances," Sarah finally said. "That morning… when I said good-bye to Piers… I told him I loved him. It's the first time I've ever said that to a man… and… and meant it."

The little bit of composure she'd been able to build up shattered again, and the tears began anew. Francine de Klerk, a look of shock on her face, just softly said, "Oh, Sarah," and pulled her close. The two women just sat there, Francine holding the broken CIA agent as Sarah's grief spilled out until she held no more.

Langley, Virginia

April 12th, 2004

The elevator doors opened, and Sarah arrived on the administrative floor of CIA headquarters for the first time in over three months. When she had arrived back in the United States three and a half weeks prior, Director Graham had met her at the airport and personally driven her home. He had insisted that she take some time off, both for her own benefit and for the Agency's benefit.

Sarah had gratefully done so, but figured that now, after two months of operating overseas, another week of vacation in Spain, and four weeks of bereavement leave, it was time to get back to work.

As she crossed the floor, people quietly spoke to her, most of them saying things along the lines of, "Welcome back."

Sarah entered the anteroom to Director Graham's office. His assistant looked up. "Welcome back, Agent Walker."

"Thank you," Sarah said quietly, before looking away. The last time she had spoken to the woman was right before her Johannesburg mission four months prior, and she couldn't make that connection go away.

Sarah knocked on Director Graham's door. "Come in," she heard from within.

She opened the door, entered the office, and closed it behind her. She turned and looked at Director Graham, who just indicated with his hand that she should sit down.

Sarah took a seat in front of his desk. "It's good to have you back, Sarah," he said quietly.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "It's good to be back."

"I'm not going to bother with consolation and platitudes, because I'm sure you've had quite enough of that," Graham said. Sarah just nodded. "Then let's move right on to your next assignment."

He handed her a folder. "It's a simple one, nothing too demanding, but complex enough to hopefully take your mind off of things."

"I'd appreciate that, sir."

Sarah opened the folder, and then looked up at Graham, her eyebrows raised. "I'm going back to Baghdad?"

Graham nodded. "Mr. Bremer needs an intelligence advisor, and I believe you'd be a perfect fit."

"Mr. Bremer," she said. "As in L. Paul Bremer?"

"One and the same," Graham replied. "You'll be advising the man in charge."

"Oh joy," Sarah breathed.

And so Sarah headed to Iraq. Back to the Presidential Palace in Baghdad, where she'd been just thirteen months before – Was it REALLY that recently? she couldn't help but think – to advise L. Paul Bremer, Administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority.

She discovered quickly that working in Baghdad, in a word, sucked. She couldn't go anywhere without an armed escort. She couldn't fall asleep many nights, kept awake by the sound of distant gunfire and explosions. The insomnia that she thought she had overcome years before began to return.

One morning, Administrator Bremer sent her to a detention center. He didn't give her any details, until she arrived there, and was escorted by US Army troops to a highly secured part of the center.

She was shocked to see the man in the cell. The last time she had seen Saddam Hussein, he had been dressed in a three piece suit, his appearance immaculate, groomed, refined. Now, he was dressed in prison garb, his hair wild, his beard unkempt.

Nonetheless, intelligence still shone in his eyes, and he recognized her immediately. "Agent McConnell," he said, his voice still snake-oil smooth. "It's been far too long."

"Mr. Hussein," she replied.

"No longer Mr. President, eh?" he asked. "You young ones and your lack of respect."

"With respect, Mr. Hussein, you've been deposed. You were captured, arrested, and now you'll be put on trial. With luck, you'll be convicted for brutally murdering thousands of people, and hopefully, you'll hang."

He shook his head. "So bloodthirsty. It's unbecoming such a beautiful woman as yourself."

Sarah rolled her eyes. She was being hit on by the Butcher of Baghdad.

"Mr. Hussein, I came here to ask you a very simple question. I want an answer for it. Where are the WMDs?"

Hussein started laughing. "Oh, Agent McConnell, I will burn in the fires of hell before I tell you that. They are well hidden, where your government will never find them. Your President will look like a fool, and the United States will be spat upon by the world community."

"Are you so sure that we'll never find them?" Sarah asked, venom in her voice.

Hussein stood and walked to the gate of his cell. His face became serious. "I am positive," he said softly. "You Americans will not see those weapons again until the day that they rain down destruction on your cities."

Hussein's maniacal laughter followed Sarah all the way to the door of the detention center.

When Sarah woke on the morning of June 27th, something just felt wrong. Very, very wrong.

She just had no idea what.

She went through her normal rituals, and headed out for the Presidential Palace. Upon arrival, she headed for the administration offices.

When Sarah arrived, things were a bit chaotic, but a sense of calm seemed to settle as soon as she entered the room. That changed as soon as she uttered the words, "Where's Administrator Bremer?"

Eight jaws dropped. "What do you mean where's Administrator Bremer?" one of the policy advisors asked. "We thought he was with you!"

Sarah shook her head, a sense of unease creeping over her. "No," she replied. "I haven't seen him at all."

Then she realized. "Wait a second. I don't know where he is. You all don't know where he is. Who's in charge?"

Eight sets of eyes looked expectantly back at her.

Sarah's eyes widened and she shook her head. "No. No. Oh, HELL no. I am SO not in charge of Iraq!"

She couldn't believe what was going on. "Have we contacted Central Command?"

"The network's busy," one of them said. "We haven't been able to get through."

Sarah's head was beginning to spin. Crossing to a telephone, she picked it up, and dialed for an operator. "This is Special Agent Sarah Walker, Central Intelligence Agency," she informed the operator. "I am advisor to Administrator Bremer, and we cannot locate him. I need to speak to General Abizaid immediately."

Sarah was told to hold. There were clicks, and a few rings.

"Abizaid," she heard.

"General Abizaid, this is Sarah Walker. I'm Administrator Bremer's intelligence advisor, and we can't locate him. I need to know right now who's in charge."

There was silence on the other end. "Miss Walker, are you telling me that the top civilian official in Iraq is missing?"

"Yes, sir, as far as we can figure."

Sarah heard what sounded distinctly like a "Jesus fucking Christ" come from the other end of the line, and then Abizaid spoke clearly again.

"Miss Walker, I am currently in Fort MacDill, Florida. Unless I receive orders from the President, I cannot appoint a military administrator in Iraq, even in an emergency situation."

"Wait, what?" Sarah objected. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Miss Walker, that since you seem to be the highest ranking civilian that anybody can find, you're in charge unless you can get the President on the horn."

"Seriously, General, are you bullshitting me?"

"No, ma'am. I would recommend you contact General Hertzlig with the First Armored, and then get in contact with Washington immediately."

Sarah sighed. How the FUCK did this happen? "Thank you, General."

She gently replaced the phone in its cradle, and fought back the urge to scream. Taking a deep breath, she began to issue orders.

"Alright, people, listen up. Until we figure out what exactly is going on, I am apparently in charge here. So, I need somebody to track down General Hertzlig with the First Armored Division, and get him over here post haste. Somebody needs to get in touch with the White House. I need to speak with President Bush, to have him order General Abizaid to appoint a military administrator if need be. I need somebody else to get in touch with Prime Minister-Elect Allawi, and get him over here, and I need somebody to find out exactly what the HELL Administrator Bremer thinks he's doing, and where he is."

She sank into a chair. "And somebody please get me some Advil."

Six hours later, Sarah was still "in charge". General Hertzlig and Prime Minister-Elect Allawi were really running the show, but Sarah was "in charge" because Allawi didn't take office until the next day, and they had been thoroughly unable to reach President Bush and have him order General Abizaid to appoint a military administrator.

At just after 5:00 PM, Administrator Bremer walked in the door, cool as could be, dressed in golf clothing. Sarah's eyes went wide when she saw him, blood rushing to her head. She saw red, and practically exploded out of her chair.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!" she roared, marching across the room. The room went silent, the other dozen or so people there staring at this incredible sight – a twenty-two year old female CIA agent ripping the sixty-three year old civilian administrator of Iraq a new one.

"Playing golf…"

"WITHOUT telling anybody where you'd be," Sarah shouted. "We've been operating all day not knowing what the HELL was going on. For all we knew, you were dead. In fact, for the last eight hours, there HAS BEEN NO LEGAL AUTHORITY in Iraq, because of YOUR incompetence!"

"Agent Walker…"

Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she re-opened them, she said, in a very tight, very controlled voice, "Administrator Bremer, I am hereby resigning my post as the chief intelligence advisor for the Coalition Provisional Authority. I will be departing Iraq tomorrow morning."

She turned her back, leaving a stunned L. Paul Bremer in her wake. To her left, Mark Hertzlig and Iyad Allawi were trying very hard to not laugh.

"I need a flight out," Sarah informed one of the staff assistants on her way out.

"Where to?"

"Wash- no, wait."

She paused. "Johannesburg."

Late on the afternoon of June 28th, while the eyes of the world were on Baghdad, watching the transfer of power from the Coalition Provisional Authority to the interim Iraqi government, a solitary figure stood in Westpark Cemetery in Johannesburg. A simple headstone stood before her.

"Piers de Klerk," the headstone announced. "October 30, 1979 – March 11, 2004. Brother, Son, Friend, Patriot."

A bitterly cold wind whipped around Sarah Walker, causing her to shiver in the midst of the South African winter. She pulled her jacket tightly around her. With only the clothes she had taken to Iraq, she wasn't really prepared for winter conditions.

"Hi, Piers," she said quietly. "So, you wouldn't believe what I've been doing these last couple months. I've been in Iraq, acting as the intelligence advisor for L. Paul Bremer, the civilian administrator for the country."

She paused. "I think the 'L' stands for loser," Sarah laughed. "Because, seriously. Yesterday morning, I went in, and he wasn't there. Nobody knew where he was. Before I knew it, I was in charge of Iraq. Eight hours I was supposedly in charge of everything happening in the country. Finally, at 5:00 in the afternoon, he showed up."

Sarah smiled. "I ripped him a new one, and then quit. You would've been proud."

Her eyes began to tear up. "I miss you, Piers… I miss you so much… I miss opening up my e-mail and smiling because there's a message from you… I miss getting postcards from you… and I miss having you just pop out of nowhere."

She heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw two figures in overcoats approaching – Director Graham and, surprisingly, Father Mike O'Halloran. Sarah turned back to Piers' grave.

"I have to go," she said. "But I still… I still love you."

Stepping to the headstone, she laid the flowers that she had been holding against it, and then stood up and walked toward the two CIA men.

"Agent Walker," Director Graham said as she approached. "We've had a hell of a time locating you."

"I know how that feels," she replied back, her deadpan broken by the lump still in her throat.

"Aye, and I told ye she was th' resourceful one," O'Halloran said with a smile.

"Indeed," Graham said. "Well, Walker, we've got work to do. A new assignment for you. Shall we get back to Washington?"

She nodded her affirmation. "Let's go home."

Author's Note: Okay, two things. First of all, I realized after writing this chapter that the song sung at the funeral – "Goodbye", by Audio Adrenaline – was not actually written, let alone performed or recorded, until the end of 2005. However, at that point, I really didn't want to go back and change the funeral scene, because it just seemed to work so well.

Secondly – yes, the idea of Sarah Walker being in charge of the Iraq Coalition Provisional Authority, even for such a brief period of time, is absolutely preposterous. However, it seemed like a fun idea, so I decided to run with it. Just remember – this is, indeed, fiction.