Chapter Six---Boom
The next step she taught him that night, while they waited impatiently for morning when they could finally leave for Taipei: packing. He had been tempted in his urgent state to simply throw a change of clothes in a duffel bag and be done with it, but luggage is just another part of a meticulously plotted disguise. Two of the best covers are as tourists and businesspeople, and the very best is to combine the two. So they packed their large suitcases full of junk they knew they would never need, suits and skirts, pressed shirts and cosmetics, sunglasses and disposable cameras, all the things normal people take on vacation.
But since it wasn't a typical vacation, they needed more than just clothes.
She showed him a compartment in the back of her linen closet, where you could just slip your fingernails under a board in the back and pull the panel out, revealing guns and gadgets, spy equipment that she wasn't allowed to have anymore. She demonstrated how to conceal them so no one would discover them, but he could only stare at her dumbfounded, mentally tallying up a list of all the materials in her house, all the thousands of dollars in one niche.
"You keep guns in the house?" he began lamely, at last, when he had stood still for too long.
"Yes?" she raised her voice, making the statement into a question, wondering what he had on his mind.
"What if Laramie had found them?" It was the first scenario that came to mind, his daughter holding the gleaming black metal in one hand, a silencer in the other, horror in her eyes.
"She wouldn't have. I'm smarter than that, you know I am." Her assurance didn't placate him, only made his useless worries worse, she should know there's no taking chances, anything can happen. His continued silence only earned him a look from where she was crouched down, searching through the pile of weapons. "Stop worrying; there's nothing you can do about it now."
She uncovered what she was looking for and stood up, swinging around to face him directly, the gun held between them, pointed at his chest. She was seemingly surprised, her eyes widening as they moved between him and the firearm in her hand, some sort of realization dawning.
And for the first he felt real fear, a sickening gnawing at the pit of his stomach as sweat broke out on his forehead. She could do it, right now, pull the trigger and be done with one problem at least.
She needed him, a voice inside him argued, she needed him if she was ever going to get her daughter back. But that wasn't true, he knew, Sydney didn't need anyone, she had gone out of her way to prove that to him. So, his life was in the balance, relying on the fact that there was some remnant of feeling for him still buried inside her heart, that she could still possibly be the Sydney he once knew.
"Boom," she breathed.
She bent down and tucked the gun away in one of her boots, and reached for a tiny object resting next to her foot. Cautiously she approached him with it, holding it out for his inspection, hands spread in a gesture to show she wasn't armed, knowing his nerves were still on edge. Gently, careful to arch her body away from his, she leaned in to grip his collar, pinning the object underneath. Her hand brushed his chin as she backed away, like the touch of angel's wings, and his breath stopped again for a different reason. "What is that?" he asked tugging the neck of his shirt back into place, his finger tracing the outline of the small button next to his throat.
"It will interrupt the signals on the metal detector, so you can make it through the airport," she explained as she slipped a pair of earrings through her lopes, palpably for the same purpose.
"I don't remember you ever having anything like this before," he observed as he finally picked out his own handgun, hoping he was successfully masking the shaking inside him from the double shock of danger and her touch.
"Marshall sends me...gifts...sometimes from the safe house where the CIA's been keeping him." She smiled fondly to herself. "Finding them is half the fun, since he always hides them in stuffed animal or something. He's says they're--they're a sort of thank you." Her voice broke, Marshall's forgiveness and understanding meant so much to her, a kind of redemption for a tired soul.
She snatched her eyes away from him, burying the emotion there, looking instead to the crescent window at the end of the hallway, watching the first light of morning slip over the edge and spill down the floor. It was a new day, the day their adventure began. "Ready?"
He took in his surroundings and found nothing missing; he'd been ready for a long time.
"Ready."
* * * * * * * * *
He felt trapped, sitting on the airplane next to the window, Sydney in the middle seat next to him. The aisle seat was empty, but she still sat by his side since they were now once again a happy husband and wife, at least on the papers they carried. Her nearness terrified him, made him feel like he could spiral out of control at any second, lose himself in her.
"Michael?" He focused his whole attention on her, her interruption a welcome respite from his thoughts, and she recoiled under the concentration of his gaze, nearly reconsidering speaking again. "Do you remember the first time we took Laramie on a plane?"
"Yes." He grinned as he ran the memory over in his head again, all the sensations that were so commonplace then, that he would give anything for now. "She was so frightened of the noises the plane made, afraid of being up so high, she cried the whole time. By the time we got off, I could have sworn that every passenger on board was plotting our murder."
"What were we thinking taking a two year old to Disney World? She couldn't have possibly understood what was going on."
"I think that trip was more for us." They both broke off, looking away, recalling exactly what they had done on that vacation, and after a while he decided it was his turn to prompt the conversation. "What about that time we planned her a surprise birthday party?"
"She was so upset; she actually believed we had forgotten! We had to bring out the cake and the balloons early just to get her to calm down."
"Or the time you thought you lost her in the park..."
"I was so terrified, I seriously didn't think we would ever find her again."
"I wasn't worried; I trusted your spy instincts would find her."
"But you were the one who found her."
He was unreasonably pleased that she brought that point up, coming close to paying him an actual compliment. "I just tried to be logical about it; she wasn't on the playground, and she wasn't by the restrooms, so she had to be at the ice cream truck."
Instead of continuing their reminiscing like he had expected, Sydney's smile suddenly dipped, her face falling into a bleak expression. "We'll get her back, won't we? We have to." And he witnessed something inside her break for the second time, the tears rolling softly down, not violent and desperate like before, but quiet and resigned.
He pushed the armrest between them up, so he could slip an arm around her and pull her limp body close, their shoulders and thighs touching, her hair brushing his cheek. "I trusted you then, and I trust you now. I know we'll bring her home safely."
He took her hand up in his, and they stayed like that, through all the layovers and delays, they held hands the whole way to Taipei.
The next step she taught him that night, while they waited impatiently for morning when they could finally leave for Taipei: packing. He had been tempted in his urgent state to simply throw a change of clothes in a duffel bag and be done with it, but luggage is just another part of a meticulously plotted disguise. Two of the best covers are as tourists and businesspeople, and the very best is to combine the two. So they packed their large suitcases full of junk they knew they would never need, suits and skirts, pressed shirts and cosmetics, sunglasses and disposable cameras, all the things normal people take on vacation.
But since it wasn't a typical vacation, they needed more than just clothes.
She showed him a compartment in the back of her linen closet, where you could just slip your fingernails under a board in the back and pull the panel out, revealing guns and gadgets, spy equipment that she wasn't allowed to have anymore. She demonstrated how to conceal them so no one would discover them, but he could only stare at her dumbfounded, mentally tallying up a list of all the materials in her house, all the thousands of dollars in one niche.
"You keep guns in the house?" he began lamely, at last, when he had stood still for too long.
"Yes?" she raised her voice, making the statement into a question, wondering what he had on his mind.
"What if Laramie had found them?" It was the first scenario that came to mind, his daughter holding the gleaming black metal in one hand, a silencer in the other, horror in her eyes.
"She wouldn't have. I'm smarter than that, you know I am." Her assurance didn't placate him, only made his useless worries worse, she should know there's no taking chances, anything can happen. His continued silence only earned him a look from where she was crouched down, searching through the pile of weapons. "Stop worrying; there's nothing you can do about it now."
She uncovered what she was looking for and stood up, swinging around to face him directly, the gun held between them, pointed at his chest. She was seemingly surprised, her eyes widening as they moved between him and the firearm in her hand, some sort of realization dawning.
And for the first he felt real fear, a sickening gnawing at the pit of his stomach as sweat broke out on his forehead. She could do it, right now, pull the trigger and be done with one problem at least.
She needed him, a voice inside him argued, she needed him if she was ever going to get her daughter back. But that wasn't true, he knew, Sydney didn't need anyone, she had gone out of her way to prove that to him. So, his life was in the balance, relying on the fact that there was some remnant of feeling for him still buried inside her heart, that she could still possibly be the Sydney he once knew.
"Boom," she breathed.
She bent down and tucked the gun away in one of her boots, and reached for a tiny object resting next to her foot. Cautiously she approached him with it, holding it out for his inspection, hands spread in a gesture to show she wasn't armed, knowing his nerves were still on edge. Gently, careful to arch her body away from his, she leaned in to grip his collar, pinning the object underneath. Her hand brushed his chin as she backed away, like the touch of angel's wings, and his breath stopped again for a different reason. "What is that?" he asked tugging the neck of his shirt back into place, his finger tracing the outline of the small button next to his throat.
"It will interrupt the signals on the metal detector, so you can make it through the airport," she explained as she slipped a pair of earrings through her lopes, palpably for the same purpose.
"I don't remember you ever having anything like this before," he observed as he finally picked out his own handgun, hoping he was successfully masking the shaking inside him from the double shock of danger and her touch.
"Marshall sends me...gifts...sometimes from the safe house where the CIA's been keeping him." She smiled fondly to herself. "Finding them is half the fun, since he always hides them in stuffed animal or something. He's says they're--they're a sort of thank you." Her voice broke, Marshall's forgiveness and understanding meant so much to her, a kind of redemption for a tired soul.
She snatched her eyes away from him, burying the emotion there, looking instead to the crescent window at the end of the hallway, watching the first light of morning slip over the edge and spill down the floor. It was a new day, the day their adventure began. "Ready?"
He took in his surroundings and found nothing missing; he'd been ready for a long time.
"Ready."
* * * * * * * * *
He felt trapped, sitting on the airplane next to the window, Sydney in the middle seat next to him. The aisle seat was empty, but she still sat by his side since they were now once again a happy husband and wife, at least on the papers they carried. Her nearness terrified him, made him feel like he could spiral out of control at any second, lose himself in her.
"Michael?" He focused his whole attention on her, her interruption a welcome respite from his thoughts, and she recoiled under the concentration of his gaze, nearly reconsidering speaking again. "Do you remember the first time we took Laramie on a plane?"
"Yes." He grinned as he ran the memory over in his head again, all the sensations that were so commonplace then, that he would give anything for now. "She was so frightened of the noises the plane made, afraid of being up so high, she cried the whole time. By the time we got off, I could have sworn that every passenger on board was plotting our murder."
"What were we thinking taking a two year old to Disney World? She couldn't have possibly understood what was going on."
"I think that trip was more for us." They both broke off, looking away, recalling exactly what they had done on that vacation, and after a while he decided it was his turn to prompt the conversation. "What about that time we planned her a surprise birthday party?"
"She was so upset; she actually believed we had forgotten! We had to bring out the cake and the balloons early just to get her to calm down."
"Or the time you thought you lost her in the park..."
"I was so terrified, I seriously didn't think we would ever find her again."
"I wasn't worried; I trusted your spy instincts would find her."
"But you were the one who found her."
He was unreasonably pleased that she brought that point up, coming close to paying him an actual compliment. "I just tried to be logical about it; she wasn't on the playground, and she wasn't by the restrooms, so she had to be at the ice cream truck."
Instead of continuing their reminiscing like he had expected, Sydney's smile suddenly dipped, her face falling into a bleak expression. "We'll get her back, won't we? We have to." And he witnessed something inside her break for the second time, the tears rolling softly down, not violent and desperate like before, but quiet and resigned.
He pushed the armrest between them up, so he could slip an arm around her and pull her limp body close, their shoulders and thighs touching, her hair brushing his cheek. "I trusted you then, and I trust you now. I know we'll bring her home safely."
He took her hand up in his, and they stayed like that, through all the layovers and delays, they held hands the whole way to Taipei.