Chapter 21—The Spy Who Came Out In The Cold

Cry 'Havoc', and let slip the dogs of war,

that this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men,

groaning for burial.

William Shakespeare

Stephanie's POV

It was raining, not the downpour that was occurring in my heart, but a cold New Jersey drizzle. The kind that made you miserable – and turned my hair into a ball of frizz. The lane was packed with a long line of vehicles parked along the edge. I pulled in behind the last car and stopped. The rain made it difficult, but I could just barely make out a large crowd of people holding umbrellas and clustered together about 300 yards off the road. It was a beautiful cemetery, lots of green grass, tall trees and rolling hills, but I wasn't in the mood to properly appreciate it.

I couldn't bear to hear Ranger's eulogy, so I sat in my car and watched the crowd and the rain. Just thinking about the implications of this funeral service made me mad. After today, would Ranger be 'no more' in people's minds? I wanted to lash out at someone for this horrible mess, but I didn't know who to blame. Though one person in particular really got my goat; someone who'd let me down.

I knew I'd run into Tank and I was dreading it. I hadn't answered any of his calls since the day he told me I had to face facts and accept that Ranger was dead.

Tank kept leaving messages, something about Ranger and the government and then something about Ranger's will. I was still too mad at him to talk about anything calmly and rationally. Then, yesterday, I got a packet in the mail. Tank had sent me a large manila envelope with a note attached asking me to call him – he said it was urgent.

The packet contained a copy of Ranger's Last Will and Testament. He'd left me an annuity, enough money to make sure I didn't have to struggle to make ends meet. He had to have written it before I told him I loved him, which meant he'd always loved me enough to make sure I was taken care of, even though he didn't know we'd be together—together, that is, when he finally made his way back home to me. Another reason not to give up on him. I didn't want his money – I wanted him!

I was wearing a navy blue suit with a silver grey blouse. I refused to wear black. In my mind this wasn't a true funeral, but I didn't want to upset Ranger's family by being disrespectful. I didn't know what I was going to say to them, if anything. We'd never met, and Ranger and I hadn't had any time to go public with our relationship.

I could just be one of his 'dates' for all his family knew. I assumed Ranger had women in his life. Had he ever brought any of them home to meet his mother? I squelched my rising jealousy at that thought. My gut reaction was to tell them what was in my heart, but maybe that should wait for another day.

Waiting until all the military pomp and circumstance was over, I took my umbrella with me and trudged up the hill to the site. The priest was wrapping up and I could hear sobs coming from the front row. My heart broke for Ranger's family. Normally, I cried at all funerals, but today I had no tears of my own. This was not a funeral. This was a farce—a sham.

A huge mass broke away from the crowd as I approached. RangeMen! With Tank in the lead. Behind him were Bobby, Lester, Hal, Zero, Cal and all the rest. I'd never seen the guys decked out in all their finery. They were a handsome bunch, but I took no joy in seeing them. Tank tried to embrace me, but I held my umbrella in front of me, letting the cold drizzle soak my head.

Tank put both his hands up in surrender. "Stephanie, I know it's not the best time, but we need to talk. There's something I should have told you before, but…"

Even through the rain, my Burg death glare could clearly be seen. Keeping my voice low, I hissed, "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, Tank. I don't want your empty arms or your false condolences. Save your words of pity and consolation for those who believe the lies. I know the truth."

Tank tried again, but I threw up my hand and walked on by. I left them standing there, blank-faced and alone. But I was alone, too. And I desperately needed to hold on to the anger to keep the despair at bay.

The services were winding down and people were eager to get out of the cold. It was a dreary overcast day. The rain had turned into a fine mist.

It was hard to distinguish one person from another with the overcoats and umbrellas and black clothes. Along with the majority of people who were leaving the gravesite were a woman and a young girl. The girl was extremely distraught and crying uncontrollably. Something in the girl's manner made me approach them. It had been nearly three years since I'd seen Julie; she would be nearly thirteen years old by now. The woman looked up at me, her arm tightening protectively around the young girl's shoulders. I recognized her as Rachel Martine, Julie's mother. I nodded to her and asked if I could speak to her daughter. We both turned to the girl.

"Julie?" I queried, a hesitant catch in my voice. The young girl looked up, eyes not quite focused. "Julie, it's Stephanie, Stephanie Plum."

Julie took a second look at me and then let out a loud sob, throwing herself into my arms. I almost started crying too, feeling her trembling body shudder against mine as she cried her heart out. The three of us stood huddled together as people filed past us on their way down the hill to their cars.

Julie finally lifted her head up. She was only a few inches shorter than I was. She looked so grown up now, but I knew today, she was just a little girl in pain, grieving for a father she had just been getting to know.

Her voice was a thin wail, "Stephanie, he's gone. My father's gone. I barely knew him and now I never will."

She tucked her head under my chin and resumed sobbing. I held her tightly, feeling her pain as her body was racked by sobs. She'd almost lost her father three years ago, but managed to shoot his would-be killer. She was her father's daughter, but she was also just a child with a broken heart.

I debated how much to tell her. I had no proof that Ranger was still alive and I didn't think Rachel would appreciate me trying to convince her daughter that Ranger wasn't dead. She would probably think I was giving her daughter false hope and delaying her inevitable grief. I opted for a middle of the ground approach.

When her sobs slowed down, I rubbed her back and told her, "I'm so sorry, Julie. There's not much anyone can say at a time like this that will ease your pain." She stilled and was listening now. "As for myself, I can't believe he's gone, so I don't." Julie raised her head and I could see the confused look on her face.

"I know… it sounds crazy, doesn't it? But no one saw him die and they haven't found his body. And even more importantly for me, I don't feel it in my heart, or in my soul that he's gone. I choose to believe he's still alive, somewhere in the world trying to get back to us. I need to believe that."

I stroked her hair back from her face as she listened to me deny Ranger's death. I had no idea what she thought of my confession, but I couldn't lie to her about how I felt. She would either think I was crazy or that I was living in Denial Land. Both were probably true, to some extent. But she surprised me.

"That makes me feel a little better, Stephanie, that someone who loves him still believes he's alive. Thank you," she sniffled. "Would you call or email me sometime? Maybe you could tell me more about him and I could ask questions about what he was really like?" she asked, voicing a grieving daughter's desire to hold on to the vague memories she had of her father.

"Yes, I'd like that and I'll keep in touch, Julie. It will help me, too, to talk with you about him. I'm glad we got a chance to see each other again. I just wish it were under better circumstances." I gave her my business card and wrote my personal email address and phone number on the back.

Rachel put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Julie, we have to go. Our flight leaves soon." Julie hugged me one last time and joined her mother in the long wet walk to the waiting cars. I turned back up the hill and approached the gravesite.

Still standing by the open grave were Ranger's parents and several young men and women who I assumed were his siblings and their spouses. I walked up opposite them on the other side of the grave just as they finished tossing in the symbolic shovelfuls of dirt. The younger people began to move away, holding on tightly to each other in their obvious grief.

Reaching into my coat pocket I pulled out a small black object and tossed it in on top of the empty coffin now slick with mud. The rain had finally stopped, but it had left its wet mark on everything.

The tiny die cast Porsche 911 Turbo landed upright and slid across the surface, coming to a stop at the narrow end of the coffin. Ranger was always giving me his black cars to keep me safe, now I was giving him one to bring him safely home to me. At that moment, the sun peeked out – just for a moment. I smiled.

The woman I assumed to be Ranger's mother stared into the grave at my unusual offering and then looked over at me. Our eyes met and I couldn't wipe the smile from my face. After speaking quietly to her husband, she walked around the grave until she came face to face with me. The rest of the family slowly moved away down the hill occasionally looking back at us.

She put her hand on my forearm. Her voice was low and hoarse, as if she'd been crying nonstop for days. "It's nice to finally meet you, Stephanie," she said.

I was dumbfounded and knew my shock at her knowing who I was showed in my face. "Carlos told me all about you and your many exciting exploits. He would be pleased to know you came. I am his mother, Sonia."

I looked down into her tired and grieving face. I could see Ranger's eyes, his full mouth and his beautiful black hair. I could also see her deep pain. I held out my hand, but she pulled me into a tight embrace and started crying.

Her sobs tore my heart into pieces, but I still couldn't join her. I couldn't cry for Ranger, not when he needed me to be strong. His mother sensed something and pulled a little away.

"I know my son loved you, though he would never admit it to me, his own mother. But you have no tears for him?" she questioned, a look of disbelief on her grieving face.

I had to say it. "Mrs. Mañoso… Sonia, please understand. I love your son with all my heart. And I know this has been extremely painful for you. Please know that what I'm about to say is only my belief and that I don't mean to be disrespectful, but…" I paused and took a deep breath, "I do not believe your son is dead."

A look of confusion crossed her face. I let my words sink in knowing the events of late had been overwhelming to her. I put my hand over hers.

"Ever since I heard that Ranger… Carlos… was missing in action, I've felt he was alive. I'm not crazy, really I'm not, but I would know it if he had died. In his last words to me before he left this time, he promised he would come back to me and that we would have our someday. I'm sure you know, he's a man of his word."

I grabbed both her hands and looked her in the eye. I started out strong, "He asked me if I believed in him and I said yes. He told me he loved me." My voice began to break a little and I had to take several deep breaths. "I will not disappoint him by believing the lies told by self-serving government officials. He is alive. Carlos is alive. I believe that and I will never give up on him."

Sonia stared at me, searching every inch of my face. She shook her head as if trying to wrap her mind around that seemingly inconceivable thought. She turned her head and looked into the open grave at the muddied coffin and the little black car waiting for its driver. We stood there, holding hands, for what seemed like an eternity.

And then before my very eyes, I saw her entire appearance change. She grew taller, the lines on her face dropped away and she looked ten years younger.

Her voice was now strong. "You are right, mija. I am ashamed of myself. Of course, my Carlito wouldn't leave me without saying goodbye. He is strong and smart and even devious when he needs to be," she said, as a slight grin played at her mouth.

She waved her arm across the open grave. "This is nothing to me. My Carlos is not here, not for many, many years to come. Tell me, what do we do next? How do we help him come home?" Her face had the same fierce determined set to it that I'd seen in Ranger's when he'd made up his mind about something.

As we moved a little away from the grave, a tall thin man wearing mirrored sunglasses (on an overcast day?) stepped into our path. He wore a black trench coat over a black suit and on his head was a hat. A real hat, not just a baseball cap. He reminded me of a predatory hawk with a hooked nose and a thin mouth.

When he spoke, it was with a rumbling bass. "Ladies, you do not know me, but I knew Carlos Mañoso. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I feel compelled to warn you. You may believe anything you wish, but be careful who you tell your beliefs to." He walked us a little further away from the activity around the grave.

"Who are you?" I demanded to know.

"Who I am is not important right now. I can't stay here for long. It's too dangerous." He glanced around. There were still a few people left on the hill.

"There are 'ears' everywhere and there are people looking to make trouble. Please believe me when I tell you it is in Carlos Mañoso's best interest if you give the appearance of believing he is dead. I'm going to tell you something that our government would not want you to know and I strongly suggest you do not repeat it."

The tall man leaned forward and in a low voice said, "The Venezuelan government has uncovered the identities of the men who they believe destroyed several important facilities in Venezuela seven months ago. They have accused these men, who are U.S. citizens, in the alleged sabotage. The Venezuelan president hates America with a passion and would stop at nothing to embarrass us with charges of espionage. I regret to inform you that Carlos Mañoso is one of the men being charged."

Sonia gasped and fell back against me. She must have known the type of work her son was involved in, but hearing it in this manner was still shocking.

The man continued without regard to our reactions. "Up to now, the U.S. government has been able to placate Venezuela, but the issue is far from over. Carlos has been missing in action since the incidents took place and he is considered dead by the U.S. government. However, the Venezuelan government is still searching for him."

A cold chill ran through me as I pictured Ranger running for his life from a relentless dictatorship that wanted his head on a platter. Where could he be hiding?

"Do you know where Ranger is?" I asked in a low voice. All I got in response was a slight head shake.

Still leaning close to us, the stranger went on, "This funeral today was a good thing. The Venezuelan government had their people in the crowd observing and taking pictures. There are those of us who believe as you do and we will help if we can, but Carlos Mañoso must remain 'dead' for all intents and purposes." The thin man straightened and stepped back. "You never saw me, we never spoke."

Before I could react, he slipped me a small business card and then turned and strode briskly down the hill, getting into a black town car and driving swiftly away.

I was speechless. Turning the card over in my hand, I saw a phone number. That was it, just the number. No name, no address. I thrust the card in my coat pocket and turned back to the equally shocked woman at my side.

Ranger's mother was clinging to my arm, her mouth open as we pondered what to make of that unexpected encounter. We agreed not to mention the stranger or what he said to anyone, not even our families. I told Sonia I would check his story out and be in touch with her. Her family was waiting impatiently at the bottom of the hill, so we exchanged phone numbers and went our separate ways.