Chapter 25
"Now," Michael said and closed the phone.
As soon as Zamar walked away, Michael made his one-word call to Raines.
Raines returned his call within minutes and verified Management's current location, using Jesse's high-tech tracker.
Thirty minutes later, Michael strolled up to Management's front door. He could see where Cole and Ethan were stationed, watching, and knew they would be right behind him.
If Management was alone, fine. If not, and he had the opportunity to take both of them, that would be fine, too. Now that he'd played his Walsh card with Zamar, it was time to move. Fast.
He had not been surprised when the old man appeared at his table this morning. After all, he was the bait, and piranhas bit. However, he had been surprised to see Zamar arrive, which alerted him to the fact that the man probably wanted his head on a platter sooner instead of later.
What he hadn't been prepared for was his own instantaneous, white hot response to another one of Management's offers to provide a home for himself and Fiona in his organization. It had never mattered how many times he'd said no. Or that Fiona had said the same thing.
This time, though, he knew what and who was behind Management and why they kept playing the same card. Michael tamped down his instinctive response, planted the tracker, slowed his breathing and said "no" one last time.
Management's parting words had been, "we'll see you soon then."
After he had finished his conversation with Zamar, he decided soon would be now.
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There was a rhythm, a synchronous sequence for those working in unison who shared the physical quickness and mental facilities needed to accomplish a task. They knew when it was going right, and they knew when it was going wrong.
It was going right.
More than five years of frustration produced the calming heart of anger that had fueled and driven Michael. Ethan and Cole were arms of the same body, working in an operational tempo exquisite for its harmony.
Management and Anson were about to become The Manipulated.
Michael, Cole and Ethan had not rehearsed, but their timing and execution were as perfect as if they had been Olympic competitors.
They had discussed their approach with Raines, and everyone was on the same line of the same page of script for the final act of this operation. On the pretext of wanting to speak with Management, Michael had entered first. He was escorted by two guards. Ethan and Cole were thirty seconds behind them.
Michael stood in front of Management, silent. Anson, seated next to him on a long, narrow leather banquette, was working on a laptop on the low table in front of him. "We knew you'd come," he said with arrogant assurance.
Then Ethan stepped inside to the left, while Cole moved to the right. In movements mirroring each other, the two local guards standing at the entrance of the room dropped. Tased.
Michael almost smiled when the look of fear crossed Management's face. Anson seemed to be disbelieving of what was happening right in front of his eyes.
As fast as Management pulled his weapon, Michael took it from him. In one smooth and swift motion he turned his wrist and used it to deliver a quick upper cut to Anson's jaw. Apparently, Anson's jaw was made of glass, because he slumped instantly. Cole zip tied Management's hands behind his back and pasted a block of adhesive over his mouth. Ethan wrenched Anson's hands behind his back and zip tied them. Michael affixed the tape over Anson's mouth and grabbed the laptop.
As Ethan left to collect the van he met the previously unaccounted for guard who had come to investigate the whereabouts of his companions. With the taser still in his hand, Ethan immobilized that guard as quickly as the others. The silent sequence of events took less than 3 minutes from the time Michael entered the house until they stuffed Anson and Management into the van to transport them to the location Raines had prearranged as a holding facility. Michael flipped open his phone and sent a text to Raines.
All they needed to do now was wait for Raines so they could travel to where air support would be waiting.
Michael took a deep breath. The insurmountable mountain he'd been climbing for the past five and a half years had been almost leveled.
When Anson opened he eyes, he was laying on a wooden crate in a dim warehouse near a dock on the river. He was handcuffed and chained to leg cuffs; a tape block muted his ability to speak. Cole looked down and evaluated him. Michael slouched against another crate and watched as Anson shriveled into himself. Cole had an intimidating 50 pounds of muscle and six to eight inches of height over him.
Cole and Ethan exchanged a glance. They realized their presence was as fearsome to the men they hunted as Michael had predicted.
Management was trussed in an identical fashion, and wore a similar wary expression, but he had been fully conscious throughout the extrication.
Not allowing them to speak, nor speaking to each other, was a decision Michael and Raines had made early on in regard to capturing them.
It was a meeting of the minds that startled the youngest team members, who by now were accustomed to listening to them debate their different approaches.
"We'll use silence as a weapon," Raines said.
"I think de Gaulle said that," Michael added. "And he was right. Silence is a powerful weapon."
"It'll only work as long as we all agree. Are we agreed?" Raines demanded.
They were.
If anything, Raines was far more seriously committed to silence than Michael. His insistence had a purpose. He planned to interrogate both Anson and Management. Separately. He expected Michael to listen, observe, monitor, interpret and advise but not to engage.
"They'll be defending their actions," Raines told Ethan and Cole. "But they'll be waiting and watching for Westen. They'll expect he'll want revenge of some nature. When they start asking to speak to him, that's when we will have extracted vengeance."
For the men who thought they could control Michael Westen with their basic knowledge of his childhood, youth and career as an operative, the dismissal would be the ultimate affront, the ultimate scorn. There was much power in using psychological tools against them, Raines said.
"Couldn't agree more," Michael said.
Ethan laughed then. "You two are agreeing?"
"Wow. Miracles can happen," Cole added, which earned him a sharp glance from Raines.
"They're quick studies," Michael told Raines who looked heavenward for a moment before returning to business.
"Actually," Michael told Cole and Ethan, "we agree a lot, our differences are minimal."
As planned, they had maintained silence while they waited for Raines. Ethan and Cole were extremely interested in observing the technique, and played their individual roles as tough, silent enforcers.
Raines met them within the hour as did the boat that would take them to the plane that would hop, skip and jump them back to Tampa, and then on to D.C.
Finally. Raines had the arrests he wanted, and Michael was digesting the knowledge that he was within a page or two of being able to close this ugly chapter of his life.
The gnarly problem had been identified; the most difficult tasks had been completed. What remained, in essence, was clean-up. This would be the last thing or the next to the last thing that needed to be done, depending on how the Zamars handled Walsh. Raines had a small team still in Suriname watching for the outcome of that encounter.
In less than 10 hours, they were back at Langley. Anson and Management were isolated; their cells at opposite ends and different floors of the same facility.
Cole, Ethan, Raines and Michael would be staying at Langley until Raines was ready to move the entire nasty affair into the legal realm, which would mean politicians and consequently, the media would become involved.
From the moment they returned, Raines had become extremely protective of Michael, Ethan and Cole's privacy and the roles they had played.
He knew details of the final operation would wend their way through Cowley's Congressional hearings. All the details about how a special CIA team had taken down the last of the black ops groups that had been illegally operating inside the organization for almost a decade would become fodder for microscopic examination and political interpretation.
Raines knew neither Ethan or Cole needed the exposure which would limit their future ability work as covert operatives; they had more than proved their value. And Michael Westen deserved to have his name washed of the mud that had been thrown on it for once and for all.
As Michael headed to the area known as Raines cavern, the same area where he and Max had worked months earlier, he suddenly felt the loss of Max's friendship and the grief of his death again. He needed to find a voice to would give him peace.
As soon as he was able, he found a phone, some privacy and called.
"It's almost done," he told Fiona as soon as she answered the phone.
"How long before it's finished?"
"Not long, but I can't tell you how long 'not long' is, Fi."
"Everyone safe?"
"We're all good. Not a shot fired."
"I'm really glad you're all safe."
"Me, too."
"We'll be waiting, Michael."
"Until we know we have everyone, Raines will keep your guards in place. The war's ended, but we're not sure all of Management's soldiers know that yet. We're not taking risks at this end of the operation, okay?"
"Perfectly okay. We love you."
"I love you, too."
The sound of Fiona's voice had nearly disrupted his control, but he couldn't allow that. Not yet, when there were so many details to tend to. He needed to finish.
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When the call ended, Fiona turned to see the interest and empathy on the faces of the people who had listened to every word she had spoken. Five years ago, she couldn't have known how much each of them would come to mean to her.
If anything positive had come of Michael's burn notice she only had to look around the room to realize his family had been restored, his friendships strengthened.
Much, much earlier this day, she had wakened before her boys. As the day progressed, she realized she was feeling unsettled, a bit twitchy, a bit out of sorts, a bit confined. She sensed something was happening with Michael but with no way to communicate, she was just going to have to live with the emotion, tamp it down and stay calm.
The best medicine she could think of was to invite Sam, Jesse, Maddie, Nate, Ruth and Charlie to come to dinner. Cheerful chatter could be just what she needed. Of course, Ruth declined to attend. She'd started a new job and was tired. But Nate brought Charlie, who seemed as interested in his small cousins and they were in him.
Sam and Jesse and Nate were enjoying the antics of all the Westen baby boys, but all three had started fussing, a sure sign bedtime was near.
When the phone in Fi's pocket rang, she had an explanation for her unsettled state. She knew what had happened. She reached into her pocket, flipped open the phone and answered. The only person who had that number was Michael. She'd kept the phone with her constantly since he left.
The simple fact that the phone rang meant they had retrieved Management and Anson and were coming home. Learning the rest of details would wait. She just wanted to hear Michael's voice, but her heart heard his weariness.
She couldn't move. She sat right where she was, in the middle of everyone, and talked to him.
Sam and Jesse were alert with interest, Maddie and Nate were quietly watching her while Charlie crawled around his cousins who were trying to follow his movements. The three boys were in the center of the room, providing entertainment.
Fi snapped the phone shut and looked up. She and Nate had been sitting on the floor with their sons.
"He says they got Anson and Management and are back in D.C. Not a shot fired, he said. The guards for all of us are staying for now. He'll be back when they're done, and he didn't know when that would be."
She looked at Maddie. "Five and a half years, and it's finished."
"Almost finished," Jesse corrected, in a deep, soft voice. "Lots of details to be taken care of at this point."
"And when Cowley becomes involved, it's going to get crazy," Sam added. "I'm guessing Mike will want to stay as far away as possible from all of that."
"I hope so," Maddie agreed. "I don't think I could deal with reporters. That'd be worse than dealing with people who are trying to kill you. At least you can shoot back at them."
Sam laughed. "Pretty sure Mike won't want that, either, Maddie."
"Yeah," Nate agreed. "But the biggest thing he'll have to figure out is what he wants now that he won't have to worry about somebody showing up on his doorstep trying to kill him every other week."
Fiona met Nate's gaze. She and Nate were in perfect agreement.
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In a com room located on the opposite side of the complex from where Raines was located, Michael had watched his skillful, methodical interrogation of first Anson, and now Management.
It was Week Three, Day Six. Not that Michael was counting.
He'd been talking to Fiona several times daily, a poor substitute for being able to touch her or their sons, although she did put the phone to their ears and described their reactions to hearing his voice. The boys were almost six months old now. Fi sent photos to his phone and showed them his picture, but Michael wanted more.
He knew he could go home soon.
They were about finished; Cowley's committee recently had been briefed on the concluding operation, and were satisfied with the CIA's assurances that there no more black op teams operating either inside or outside of the organization, targeting and recruiting operatives and building international cabals.
When Michael presented Raines with the laptop computer Anson had been working on when he, Cole and Ethan captured them, one might have thought Raines had just won the lottery of all lotteries, because he had.
The laptop had a laughable, amateur level of encryption which had been easily bypassed to reveal who was next on Anson's hit list. Fiona Westen's name now appeared on the list, along with a number of current operatives, and scripted explanations of why each of those highly skilled individuals could be manipulated for Management's purposes.
That information was dangerous, and posed a troubling issue Raines knew the CIA would be dealing with for years to come.
The content on the laptop, with the exception of those targeted by Anson and Management which had been removed, was now in the hands of the legal folks, as charges were being worked up on both men.
Raines had been correct. The fact that he and not Michael, was interrogating each of them was a frustration that had grown exponentially in both Anson and Management.
Michael was taking a wicked delight in watching their increasingly irrational behaviors because Raines would not produce him.
In the amusing exchange Michael was currently observing, Anson demanded to speak to Michael. Raines had calmly responded he couldn't do that, because he didn't know where he was.
Handcuffed to the table, Anson stood abruptly and yelled. "Of course you know where he is!"
Raines just looked at him and didn't reply.
"Liar!"
This time, Raines cocked his head and evaluated Anson's red face and bulging eyes, and opened a file folder. "You have high blood pressure. Do you need to see a physician?"
"I am a . . . I . . . I need to see that, that . . ." Anson sputtered, "Westen!"
"I'll call a nurse to check you." Raines used the phone on the interrogation room wall to call for medical aid and then left.
And so it went. Raines remained cool and evenly tempered; Anson and Management grew more and more frustrated, as if they couldn't imagine Michael not wanting to face either of them.
A few moments later, he opened the door to the com room and joined Michael. They watched as a nurse checked Anson's blood pressure. The guard accompanying her advised him to stay calm. Two more guards came in and removed him from the interrogation room.
Raines looked over at Michael. "I'm thinking you're done here. For now. You need to go home. The news about this is going to make the papers by the weekend. You'll want to be out of here before then."
"Are we really done, Raines?"
"With this, we are. If you decide to follow the stories, you'll see that you, Cole and Ethan will be identified as a 'highly skilled team of elite operatives'."
"Not sure I'll be interested in the fictional accounts," Michael said.
"You know it'll happen."
Michael turned and looked at Raines. He'd been thinking about this for some time, and didn't want to leave it unspoken.
"I want to thank you, Raines. Maybe because you recruited me, I'm not sure. But you were the only person besides Max who ever expressed doubt over the burn notice. I want to thank you. I appreciate what you've done."
Raines stretched out his hand. "You're welcome, Michael. I like to think I'm a better judge of character than an agency shrink. I promise your good name will be restored once we finish this. We need to put some procedures in place to make it impossible for someone else to do what Anson and Management did to you. Maybe you can help with that."
Michael shook his hand. "Maybe I can. But not now."
Raines smiled. "I know you're anxious to go home. Now if you can convince your wife and your mother, and maybe Sam and Jesse that I'm not Jack the Ripper, I'd appreciate it."
Michael laughed. "I'll try."