Sarah smiled, accepting the soup gratefully. "My grandfather Hamilton was apparently trying to be a writer. He always wrote his own stories to tell his kids. From what I remember, they were good, but. . .Ham wasn't around much, and I didn't get to hear them often. I know that he read this one to me a few times, but I can't remember how it ended."
Sam took the paper from her hand and read it again. It was an odd little tale about a little boy and his brother. The little boy adored the younger brother, but the younger brother was jealous. It ended when the younger brother noticed that other brother's pot of gold. At the bottom of the page was the notation JW0909082. "What's the letters and numbers represent?"
Swallowing, Sarah shrugged. "I really don't know, Sam. I wish I did. I think I have some of my grandfather's old books at my house. We can go there and look at them, and see if this story is one of them."
Sam yanked grabbed up the phone. He had a couple of calls to make. It looked like they might manage to capture the mole after all.
Pulling up into Sarah's drive way, Sam suddenly let out a string of curses. "Sorry, Sarah. I just realized that I forgot Philip's letter."
"Philip's letter?" Sarah said, opening the car door.
Sam nodded. "I'm sorry. Would you mind if I went back for it? It will only take a couple of minutes."
Sarah shook her head. "If you think it's important. . ."
Sam smiled at the unasked question in her voice. "You'll need to ask that wonderful fiancé of yours what his letter is about. I noticed he had another one of the coffee table for me to take, and then I ran off and forgot it. I'll be seeing Lee in a couple of hours, so I really should go get it." He knew how important the letters were to them both, and he considered them good friends. Sam Williams never let down a friend.
Sarah raced into her apartment as Sam quickly drove away. She hoped a cop wasn't waiting for someone to ticket, because Sam's speed was going to give him one. Shaking her head, she took off her jacket. Looking around her home, she noticed how cold and impersonal it looked. She had only been to the Stetson household a couple of times, but their home always seemed to welcome you with open arms. Her apartment was a place she just slept. She would have to ask Philip and Amanda both to help her redecorate. She knew Philip liked the size and location of her apartment, and it would be convenient for them to live there after they married.
Reaching deep into her bedroom closet, she found the small box she was looking for and quickly pulled it out into her bedroom floor. It was such a tiny box to hold a past, but it was all that she had from hers. She kept very little after mom died. Too busy moving and keeping ahead of the game to keep much stuff. "Have gun, will travel," had been her motto for many years.
Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the floor beside it. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she opened the lid. On top laid a picture of her mother. She gasped in surprise and pain. This was the first time that the box had been opened since she sealed it years before, and she really didn't want to go through it now. She thought for a moment that if it had just been for Ham's sake, she wouldn't do it. He had asked so much of her while he was alive, she wasn't sure she had anymore to give him in his death. She would have to try though, for Philip, for Amanda, for Lee, for Sam, and for all the other agents working on this case. It needed to be solved, and she probably had the key in this box.
She dumped everything from the box onto the floor. Spotting the few pads of paper that she needed, she reached over and grabbed them. Ignoring the smiling photos of a young woman who would one day be her mother, of a woman as a new mother holding a baby that would one day grow up to be Sarah, she read through the pads of paper.
As an adult, she could see why her grandfather's stories had sold. Today, they would probably be bestsellers, but in the pre-Steven King era of her grandfather, the people would have been horrified at these stories, especially the way they were written. He had used the narrative of a fairy tale to play an ironic twist on his tales, something she doubted an editor of the 1930s and 1940s would be able to admire or consider selling to the general public.
When she spotted the story she needed, she took a deep breath and began to read it slowly. As she read, memories of Ham reading to her began to flash through her mind. She wiped away tears as they fell down her face, hoping that one wouldn't splatter on the old paper, ruining it. She had cried more in the last few days than she had in a lifetime. "You are needing to make up for all the times you refused to cry," a voice whispered in her mind, sounding a lot like Amanda.
She grabbed the phone by her bed when she finished reading. She wasn't sure what why she read was important, but it would at least give the agency a clue what to look around for now. "Hello," a familiar voice answered.
Sarah laughed. "I'm sorry, Sam. I must have dialed your car phone by accident. I meant to call Lee."
"Did you find it? I'll let Philip now, if you did."
Sarah bit her lip to keep from laughing. "You are just now getting there?"
"Don't ask," he muttered darkly.
A giggle escaped. "Ticket or warning?"
"That jerk? A ticket. Lucky for me, I know the judge."
"Sam, you have got to learn to slow down." It was a familiar joke between them and the Stetsons. Sam's speed was legendary in the agency. He had four times the speeding tickets of any other agents.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah--What the hell?" Sam exclaimed.
Sarah tensed. "What is it?" Fear choked her, making it difficult to speak. If anything happened to Philip. . .
"My brother's car is parked up front," he answered. "I know I didn't tell him anything about his safe house. I never do."
Sarah thought of all the clues, and to her horror, realized what they were telling her. "Sam, call for backup."
Sam snorted. "Sarah, some of the best agents around are guarding this house. I'm sure I'm safe."
Sarah gripped the phone cord in her left hand. "Sam, listen to me. The story ends with the little brother betraying the other."
"What does that have to do with me?" For once, Sam was being slow to understand.
Sarah could here her own breathing. "Sam, what's your agency number?"
"What?" Sam's frustration was obvious. "We never even use those darn things for anything except our paychecks! Why do you need--"
"What is your agency number?" She cut in firmly, trying to make him see.
"It's a--a 0909082," his voice trailed off as he realized what Sarah meant.
"Jack Williams, brother of Sam Williams, Agency number 0909082," she whispered. She started to demand that he ask for backup, but the loud click in her ear let her know that Sam had hung up on her.
Sam raced towards the house, spotting the few agents he knew were hiding in the trees and cars. They didn't move, knowing Sam's usual habit of quickly getting everywhere. Their lack of activity should be reassuring him that all was well in the house, but it didn't. They all knew his brother, having met him at the various bars where they all hung out together after work. Sam had always let Jack know what he did. He trusted him. He was his brother.
His brother. . .Sam felt like he had been punched in the gut. What if Hamilton had been right? What if his younger brother had been jealous of him? What is he had saw the "pot of gold" of information he could sell? He had called his brother earlier, told him that things were heating up, and that he needed to work instead of going to the game? What if that had alerted him to the fact that Philip had some information about him?
Even as those thoughts raced through his mind, he condemned himself for daring to think them. Jack was his brother and his friend. There was no way that his brother could murder a man in cold blood.
As he opened the door to the safe house, he knew he was wrong. He stopped in shock at the site before him. Bob McCain laid dead on the floor, his blood splattered on the wall behind him. The door slammed shut, and Sam felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press into his neck. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, brother. I never meant for you to know--your too valuable, you know."
Sam looked around the room, thrilled to see that Philip was still alive, if somewhat battered. He was on the floor, leaning heavily on the refrigerator. Sam was thankful for the ranch layout of the house, because it let him see into most rooms. It looked like his brother was working alone, at least for tonight.
He couldn't let the sense of betrayal, the pain, overcome him. He couldn't. He had a job to do and a friend to protect. Sam Williams never let his friends down. "You okay, Philip?" He asked, ignoring his brother.
Jack pushed him hard from behind. Sam stumbled and then righted himself. He turned to face the stranger who was his brother. "You always thought you were better than me. Oh, yes, you always made the better grades and always shined with the ladies, but look who's smarter now! If Dad was here, he could finally tell me that he was proud!"
Sam closed his eyes. "Dad wouldn't tell you that, because he wouldn't tell anyone that. It wasn't his way."
"You are a liar! He was always so proud of you!" Jack screams echoed across the room. Sam hoped that the agents outside the house would soon come running in, because he didn't want to have to kill his own brother. It was then that he realized that he hadn't ordered the microphones turned on again. He had told the van to turn them off after Philip and Sarah went into the bathroom, allowing them some privacy to talk. In his eagerness to find the mole, he had forgotten to order them turned back on, so the agents outside had no idea what was happening!
Jack started to pace, agitated. He was waving the gun wildly in the air, which gave Sam hope and fear. It could easily go off, killing anyone in the room, but at least it wasn't aimed at them. He felt his muscles tense as he prepared to jump. Jack turned to look at him again, the gun pointed down at the ground. "You took his love away from me, just like you took Mom's!"
Sam wanted to explain that his father had loved no one but himself, just like their selfish mother. They had been born to lousy parents through no fault of their own, but he knew that Jack wouldn't hear a word he was saying. He had built up a lie in his own until it was so big he couldn't see the truth. Sam jumped.
Jack's anger gave him some strength, but Sam was the one with the training. He got the gun away from his brother and jumped back up, aiming it at the young man he had always tried to protect and love. Sam could feel his heart breaking again as he saw Jack look at him with hate in his eyes. How had he missed it all these years?
"Jack," he tried to begin explaining the truth, but he didn't know how. "Jack, they didn't love either one of us."
Jack's eyes glowed hotter. "Yeah, right," he spat, drawing his knees closer to his body. He began to rock. "You stole them from me."
Sam looked over at Philip for just a moment, but it was long enough for Jack to draw out his gun that he had hidden in an ankle holster. "Sam!" Philip, starting to stand up, yelled.
Jack's attention was totally focused on his brother now. Sam silently kept telling Philip to run, to escape the madman, but Philip just slowly edged towards the kitchen stove instead of the back door. "You are a nobody, Sam Williams. I am the smart one! I am! Do you hear me? Do you?"
Sam nodded, his gun still aimed, truly hearing his brother probably for the first time. He wasn't sure if he could get a shot off first or not, and if Philip left, he knew that he would never shoot the man. He could fire his weapon to protect Philip, but not himself. He hoped Amanda's son didn't realize that and left soon. The agents outside could take care of Jack.
"I am the best, Sam Williams," Jack said, bringing his gun up for a tighter aim. "I am the best!"
Sam felt Philip standing to the side of the him and his brother. He wished the young man would simply leave so this battle could end, but Philip remained, slowly walking behind an enraged Jack. "I am the best!" he screamed again as he pulled the trigger.
Sam jumped a little. As he felt the lead enter his upper chest, he realized that his idiot brother was a poor aim. At the same time Jack fired, Philip hit him over the head with a skillet. Jack's surprise would be comical, if he wasn't in so much pain. Sam clutched at his shoulder, watching as his brother fell into an unconscious heap.
Philip raced over to him. "Sam!"
"I'm okay, kid. It's just a shoulder wound. That brother of mine apparently didn't know how to aim a gun. I'm surprised he got McCain."
"He acted like it was a joke." Philip looked over at the dead agent whose eyes still watched the ceiling. "He pulled the gun, talking about this show he saw, talking about how stupid the character was. Even when he put the gun to his head, Bob kept laughing. He thought he was his friend."
"Philip!" Sarah's scream filled the room. Surrounded by fellow agents, she rushed into the room, and over to the two men. "Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly as she hugged him.
"I'm fine," Philip answered. "I'm fine. Sam's the one that needs a doctor."
Sam looked over at his brother. He thought of a little boy laughing as his brother pushed him on his swing. He remembered that young boy, now a man, holding his college degree, and the pride he felt as he snapped a million pictures. He remembered crying on the man's shoulder when Lisa died, and believing that there was at least one person he could trust. No, a doctor couldn't help him.