DISRUPTING THE NEST
As Pax walked grudgingly with Frankie out to his car, she scanned the rooftops. Of course, it was pretty stupid. If Weiz wanted to remain undetected, he could. She was paranoid. She'd rather take a bullet then allow him to be shot. Whatever he had done wasn't worth all this. Unusual for Frankie, he slid behind the wheel, but said nothing. She had been in a car with him before and he normally popped on the radio to listen to some shitty ass music or something else. Not this morning. He seemed sullen and brooding, not in the mood to banter with her just yet. She knew what had crawled up his ass and died. She didn't want to tell him what he wanted to hear and like the prick that he was, he didn't want to go into whatever hell he had gone through during his CIA tenure. Eventually, she would get it out of him, even if she had to beat it out. Several minutes later after he parked his car, Pax started to get out, but Donovan grabbed her arm.
"Wait. You can't just barrel in there half-cocked. None of them like you, none of them know you're here. I have to get them on this before you saunter in there, trying to take over," he said. "You're not in charge, just like before."
She jerked her arm out of his hand. "I promise you. Once you put out Weiz's lights, I'm gone, forever. I know it will please you immensely to never have to lay your fucking eyes on my face again. I'm only here to do what I can. I'm not here to play with your fucking team. I'm glad they hate me; it's more fun that way. If they loved me, I'd probably puke all over them. Present me, Donovan, just act like you would if you never had any clue as to who I am. I know you can act, I've seen it."
Exasperated, he sighed. "Jonella, don't fucking start your shit with me."
"Eat me, you useless fuck." She got out of the car and waited patiently for him to exit his vehicle. He fixed her with a murderous gaze. He wanted to choke her, she could clearly see that, and she wished he'd try. She'd kick his ass some more.
Donovan was already running late due to Remy's unexpected visit, so when he and Pax entered the nest, the rest of the team were present and ready to go. The moment they saw Pax, they all asked the same question, almost as a collective group: "What the hell is she doing here?" She smiled sweetly, contritely. She wanted to rip into them all, especially Jake. He was snarling at her again. Goddamn what an attitude this guy had. Oh…but you don't have an attitude? Aw, fuck off Spankie. After a moment, she noticed that Frankie had gotten quiet all of a sudden. She turned toward him and saw that he was staring at a computer monitor, gazing upon the face of a man. Cody had apparently decided to check out some news while they were waiting for their boss to show up for work. She walked back behind Frankie to see what he was looking at. Today, former Vice President Gordon Thomas announced his intentions to seek the presidency. She watched Frankie curiously. He seemed to be in his own little world. After a few moments, he quickly recovered and took off upstairs without saying a word to anyone.
"You know," Cody quipped. "Your presence always seems to have the same affect on the Boss."
"Suck my dick," Pax spat before taking off upstairs. She banged on the door, but Frankie didn't respond. He had locked her out.
Donovan sat behind his desk, quickly getting his own computer wired for sound. He wanted to make sure he had heard what he thought he did. Frighteningly enough, he had. Shit. It was now more than obvious who was behind the hit. It is time to repay all your debts, Frank. Pay them all at once, won't you? Pay them and smile while you do it, because if you don't, I know which string to pull. Oh yes. Those strings had been pulled many times over the years. He had been a living puppet in the hands of the CIA and the crusty Vice President who was the official head. Outside his office, he heard Pax banging on the door, demanding to be let in. He shut her voice out, shut her out. What the fuck would he do now?
* * *
Donovan had made camp in the steamy, godforsaken jungle. He was ready to pack up and head out. He had had enough of this covert shit. How many holds did he stockpile today? Five? Fifteen? Forty? It mattered little. The fucking Colombian drug dealers would swipe them, now wouldn't they? He sighed. He never understood why he dug Pax out of his ass every time he turned around. She had basically split a few days ago, her legs still healing from the bullets he put in them. Both of them had been working heavily on this ring. These idiots had ties to the American government, but they hadn't quite figured out what the connection was and who was involved. When he discovered Pax's secret double life, they almost had enough to pounce on the unsuspecting fucks. What made it worse for him was the fact that the very fucker funneling money into the trade was the goddamn Vice President, Gordon Thomas. He wasn't just funneling money for drugs; he was also trading in guns and was likely involved with other illegal, covert operations. It was enough to send him to prison, probably enough to send him to the gas chamber for treason. Yet, they had very little to go by. Pax had left before he dug up the VP's skeletons, but he thought she had some kind of encrypted document that named names. Of course, the ungrateful bitch had failed to leave it with him, or so he thought. As he sat and brooded during the hottest night ever recorded in South American history, his eyes caught sight of something peculiar. He went toward the shiny object and dug it out from beneath his bedroll. Son-of-a-bitch. It was Pax's vodka flask. He snatched it up, intent on chunking it out through the tent flap, but just as he started to swing it, a piece of the silver flask fell off. When he looked at it, he smiled. God, Pax, if you were here, I'd kiss you. She had left a copy of the document on a microdiskette, just perfect for his laptop, also hiding snuggly beneath his bedroll. It was all he needed now.
He had started to dig for the computer when a sudden noise distracted him. He stopped moving, stopped breathing. There was someone outside skulking around where there should be no one. He began to count to ten. If the stalker didn't go away when he reached ten, the fucker was dead. Before he had the chance to count to three, his tent suddenly imploded. Struggling free of the canvass, he came up fighting. He didn't know whom he was hitting. It was too damn dark. His attacker said nothing, did nothing other than counter his moves. Donovan thrust upward violently, crashing the palm of his hand into the attacker's nose. The man crumpled to the ground. Breathing heavily, getting his rage in check, Donovan kicked out with his foot, rolling the body over. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck. The man who attacked him, the one he had just killed was the VP's son, a rookie agent with no more than two weeks under his belt. He was just a fucking kid. Why the hell was this jerk attacking him? Had he been attacking him? After he calmed down, he scrambled over to his tent on his hands and knees. He had a call to make.
Very early the next morning, Donovan was on a plane to DC. The VP had called him out, had asked to see him. He wasn't in a hurry to face the VP. He had killed his son viciously, in cold blood. It didn't matter that he was defending himself or that it was an accident. This act wasn't something that could be overlooked. However, Donovan had his own confrontation to make. He had brought along the encrypted diskette. It was all the proof he needed. Once he arrived at the White House, there were tons of press people milling about, doing interviews with the grieving father. Donovan had heard the news reports, of course. Nothing was mentioned about how the VP's son died, and Donovan thought that strange. It didn't sit well with him and he knew he would face repercussions. He didn't doubt the VP would make him suffer and he probably deserved it.
Gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, Donovan was led into the office of the stoic faced VP. It was obvious the man had been crying. For a moment, Donovan's resolve broke just a bit. He had killed this man's son. It didn't matter that the man before him had ties to every illegal thing known to man. The VP approached Donovan, took him by the arm, and led him into a private conference room. He was familiar with rooms like these. They were clean rooms. The VP wanted to run a game on him. Donovan's anxiety level grew massively. This was not good. The VP was probably strapped and ready to take him out for his deed.
"I know what you've done, Agent Donovan. I know that you were the one who killed Rodney. And you know I could have you arrested, tried, and executed in less than a month. Your superiors have told me repeatedly that your hands are registered lethal weapons. I thought that was bullshit, but apparently it's not. After all, look what you did do Rodney."
"Mr. Vice President, what happened was an accident. Your son wasn't supposed to be there, he shouldn't have been stalking around my tent. I did what I had to do to survive in the field. While you're pointing fingers, I think you need to point a couple toward yourself. I'm in the possession of encrypted documents that will land you in the cell next door to me."
"Sure you do."
"Believe me or not, it matters little. I'm taking what I have and frying your ass. I suppose I'll see you around the cellblock, Mr. Vice President?"
Without waiting for the VP to react to him, Donovan left the man behind. He had every intention of following through with his threat. He wasn't a man who bluffed often, if at all. He didn't make it back to the airport. The VP sent about five goons to take him out. He fought as valiantly as he could, but against five guys, the odds were not in his favor. However, he wound up killing one of them and injuring another. The three remaining men dragged him off into a limousine and carted him back to a small office building just outside DC. The VP was awaiting him and he had brought a little gift of his own. He had somehow managed to secure a recording that implicated Donovan in everything the VP had a finger in. Basically, he was given a choice. He could 'lose' the encrypted documents or face the consequences of not only murdering Rodney Thomas, but also for betraying his country. As Pax would say, the VP had his balls over a fire. Spitting venom, Donovan agreed to the terms of the VP's blackmail. However, he had no intention of carrying it out.
Accepting whatever consequences fell on him, Donovan took the information to the central office and presented it to his superiors. He wasn't surprised to see the VP sitting in the main office, seemingly awaiting him. For every misdeed the VP had done, one more was added to Donovan's docket. Basically, what happened was his worst nightmare. Frank Donovan, decorated CIA agent, the best man the agency ever had, was facing charges of treason. He was immediately taken into custody and thrown in a federal holding cell. As the VP promised, Donovan was swiftly brought up to face his charges. He had little evidence to support his innocence, he was found guilty, and it appeared that he would be executed for something he did not do. As he languished in federal prison for three or four weeks, his sentence loomed over his head like a dark cloud. His superiors visited him after he had counted off four weeks.
"We made a mistake, Agent Donovan."
Those six words would haunt him for the rest of his life. What happened came directly from a fairy tail. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had gotten him out of prison. Donovan was offered an out at that point. They would set him up at a safe house, give him boundless opportunities for his future, and make sure that his CIA records would be sealed eternally, only viewable by the upper elite. Enraged at the injustice he suffered, he told them to fuck off. He wanted to go forward with bringing the VP down, if only to satisfy his need for vengeance. However, the VP was completely untouchable in this deal. The upper brass would rather die than admit a mistake. The punishment for the VP would be light and off the record. However, if Donovan chose to deny the opportunity to get out, he would go back to prison. Bartering for all he was worth, Donovan accepted the deal but only if the VP's deeds were 'accidentally on purpose' discovered. He didn't care if they wanted to admit a mistake, the fucker had to pay. The CIA boys said they could make it happen, but they reneged on the deal. Donovan did not discover this until after he was sent to K & R. When he heard the news, something snapped inside him, and he had the equivalent of a breakdown. There was little else he could do other than step down and center himself. He completely lost faith in the system and wanted nothing more to do with it. However, when he regrouped six months later, he took on a vengeful attitude, declaring that he would make the VP pay somehow, some way. He would not allow the fucker to ruin his life. Donovan would ruin his.
* * *
BANG. BANG. BANG. This was followed by Pax's indignant wail. She could keep fucking knocking and her knuckles would eventually fall off. For the time being, he felt extremely antisocial. He was not fit for human consumption. Not right now. He was holding onto his rage with every ounce of strength he had in him. The fucking VP was going to make a bid for the presidency, and what other way could he eliminate the only person who knew all his secrets? He was sending in a cleaner, making sure that the assignment was actually legitimate. The fucking Angels probably thought he had committed a treasonous act. Oh, this discovery had added a new, totally fucked up dimension to the insanity. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"GODDAMN YOU, WOULD YOU OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR," Pax roared and then yelped in pain.
She must have finally broken skin. Good. Served her right. After the rage died a little [just a little], he pushed back from his desk and wondered if he needed to let her in or if he should leave her and the team hanging. He had no intention of digging out his skeletons. He would never tell anyone what happened, but the team needed to be made aware of the hit. He hadn't wanted to run his unit like this, but he didn't want them dragged into the middle of a personal vendetta. The hit was a team thing. The downfall of Gordon Thomas was a different thing altogether. It was more of a Donovan thing, and it would be done. Oh yes. It would. He stood up slowly and approached the door, releasing the lock. Without opening it for her, he turned back to his desk and sat down. Pax broke into the room, her bloody knuckles propped on her skinny hips. She was gazing at him curiously, watching him. Something had happened in here, something bad.
"What the hell happened in here? Couldn't you hear me," she demanded.
He focused his dark eyes on her face. He felt relatively calm and collected, which he didn't expect, and which scared the shit out of him. "How could I not?"
She walked over to his desk and leaned over it, looking curiously at his face. She had never quite seen Frankie like this before. It was new and she found that she liked it less than when he tried to get mushy with her. "What's up with you and the ex-VP, Frank? Wasn't he in charge before you left the agency? Did the orders for the hit come from him? Is that it? Come on, Frankie, you have to tell me; you have to talk to me. Why would the VP do this? What happened?"
The expression on his face was serious, deadly serious. "If I told you that, Jonella, I'd have to kill you."
She approached the door and slammed it. After that, she shot the lock and turned back around. Donovan had yet to move a muscle. "I'm not letting you out of here until you tell me."
"Then I suggest you take a seat, because you'll be waiting a fucking long time with me," he said flatly.
She marched over to a chair, dragged it around to where he sat, and she plopped down in it. She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin on her hands. "I'm sitting. I'm waiting. Tell me, Frankie, I'm not going anywhere. What happened? What did you do to make the VP want you dead?" She leaned over and smacked his arm. "Fucking talk to me, Frankie. TELL ME!"
He closed his eyes tightly for the slightest of moments before opening them again. His lips were pressed in a tight, grim line. "I killed his son," he spat grudgingly. Before she said a word, he held up his hand. "Let me, Pax. If you want to know, let me."
For the time being, Pax remained silent. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms and legs. She listened raptly as he went through the entire, unbelievable story slowly, painfully. The words sank into her brain and pricked it. Treason? He was in prison for treason? The VP had set him up and the CIA had let him fall? When he finished, he felt some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. He had never told another human being any of this, had never felt the need to share it with anyone. It was the first time he told the story and his last. He would never breathe another word of this to another soul, and Frank Donovan lived many, many years. Pax sat back and watched Donovan for a long time. He didn't appear upset or shaken. He remained calm and collected throughout. However, she could see the relief, could tell he felt better getting the shit off his chest. How long had he held all this in? She finally understood his motivation for trying to help her get out. He didn't want what happened to him happening to her. Goddamn. He wasn't half bad for a witless fuck. Dear jumping Jesus on a fucking camel. If she hadn't led her secret little double life, she could have stayed there, stayed and protected him. How many fucking backup copies had she made of those files? Dozens? The incredulity of it all smacked her hard on the face.
"Oh Frank," she spat suddenly. "Oh my God. I am so sorry. This is some heavy, heavy shit, and I could have helped. Jesus, no wonder you fucking hate my ass so much. I hate me now."
"Jonella, this isn't your fault. If you had been there, you would have gone down with me."
Sighing heavily, she stood. "You're probably right. Oh goddamn, no wonder you hate fucking doing shit for the CIA. Ghost work they call it? Oh, goddamn." She turned away and started toward the door. Before she made it three steps away, he took hold of her wrist.
Drawing her back toward him, he said, "Pax. Wait."
"What," she spat impatiently.
He stood to face her. "Thank you for continually bulldozing into me. Finally, someone else knows."
She laughed bitterly. "Oh yeah. Woo hoo! The very person you hate more than life itself knows. What a stupid shit you are. The very person you shouldn't trust knows your deepest, darkest secret."
"I don't hate you," he said. "I think you know that."
Aye shit, another awkward, mushy moment. God. She hated this shit. Hated it, hated it, hated it. "Tell me that again when you're trying to beat the shit out of me." Her breathing had kicked up a pitch or three. Dear God, what the fuck is happening here?
"Jonella, I do that because I'm trying to beat you out, and you don't make it easy," he said.
Uh God. She had never seen him looking at her like that. His gaze was steady and intense, heated almost. "Cut the shit, okay," she said. She didn't want him looking at her like that.
"Give me a minute, okay," he requested, mocking her a little.
She looked back at him, screwing up her nose a little. "Huh? A minute for what," she spat disgustedly.
He ran his tongue over his lips, wetting them. "For this."
Donovan pulled her toward him and laid a deep kiss on her lips. It was a kiss, a real kiss, and the weirdest thing [damn…lots of 'weirdest' things happen to me, huh] she had ever experienced. She suddenly didn't find it or him so damn disgustingly distasteful. She found him sort of…cool. When he broke the kiss a few moments later, he pressed his lips gently to the side of her throat before pulling away. He went back to his desk and sat down, as if his behavior stunned him as much as it stunned her. The awkwardness creeping back in little by little, Pax moved toward the door, bumping her shin on the damn chair in the process. She let herself out. Did what I think just happened really happen?