(Chapter 28. Beach house, safe house, CGH. March 29, 2033.)
Maribeth sat and watched her husband pick at his lunch. He wasn't eating much, but as long as he was eating something, she wouldn't press him about it. An anonymous source had called them from the precinct to tell them Malcolm Paige was on his way to question Steve, and they had decided then to watch the noon news to see what was being said. Captain Paige was a political animal, and Steve was certain his questions would be tailored to meet the insatiable curiosity of the press. A few judicious leaks, and Paige would be their hero of the day.
"My God, what are they saying?" Steve murmured as Jonas Monroe again presented his conspiracy theory.
"Steve," his dad said, "you know it's nothing more than sensationalism. They just want a juicy story, and if the truth gets in the way, they'll overlook it."
"I know, Dad, but the way he's going on, by six o'clock he's going to hang Jimmy Hoffa's disappearance around my neck, too."
"Who?" Steven inquired, only half paying attention as he peered at the television. He knew what he was hearing and seeing was a pack of lies, but he couldn't turn away. It was just too fascinating to watch the media vultures twist the truth.
"Oh, now, Steve," Maribeth tried to soothe him. "That's been what, sixty years ago? And he disappeared in Michigan."
"I don't think that will matter to these people, Mar."
"Who's Jimmy Hoffa?" Steven inquired insistently, surprising everyone with the fact that he had actually been listening.
"He was a Teamster's Union Leader," Maribeth said. "Vanished without a trace back in the 1970's."
Steven looked at his father, "Dad, you were just a kid then, and didn't have the influence to make someone vanish if you wanted to. Quit exaggerating."
"It's called hyperbole, son," Steve said sourly. "I am making a point through exaggeration."
"I know that, Dad," the younger Sloan responded, "but whenever you do that, you always end up believing your worst case scenarios can actually happen, and that's no good for a man your age."
Maribeth and Mark had to stifle their laughter as Steve began to grumble about 'kids these days'. It seemed odd to be laughing and teasing when their world was crumbling around them, but it felt good, too, and humor in the face of adversity had seen them through many hard times. Perhaps it would do so again.
Cheryl came to with a moan as she felt someone exploring the painful knot on the back of her head with gentle fingers. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked on a spinning world to see a gravely ill Ron Wagner being loaded into an ambulance. She saw no sign of Moretti or Al Cioffi, but Tim Brown was being put into the back of a police cruiser, his hands cuffed behind his back.
"Wait," she croaked to the paramedic who was treating her. "I need to speak to the officer in charge here."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the paramedic said, "but you should be going to the hospital. Let them check you out first. The police will be by later to take your statement."
"I am Commander Cheryl Banks, LAPD," she introduced herself as the paramedic shined a light in her eyes and his partner took her blood pressure, "and I have been temporarily assigned to a case with the FBI. The man they just put into the other ambulance is a friend of mine, FBI Special Agent in Charge of Missing Persons Investigations, Ron Wagner, and the one in the cruiser is . . . well was, until he bashed me in the head, my partner on this assignment, Agent Tim Brown. There should have been two other men here. Now, I know I need medical attention, and I will cooperate, but first I must speak to the officer in charge."
"Well," the young man attending her injuries said, "unless you are delusional, I don't guess the blow to your head has affected your mind. You stay right here, and I'll go find Lieutenant Lindsay."
Cheryl nodded her agreement, and immediately wished she hadn't.
"What do we do now?" Moretti asked.
"Damned if I know," Al replied, watching from their car at the end of the street as the ambulance carrying Agent Wagner screamed off from the safe house. "We have nowhere left to hide, and unlike my lieutenant, I don't have a billionaire mother to call on for help."
"Billionaire?"
"Well, close to it, I guess."
After a brief silence, Moretti asked, "Ya open ta suggestions?"
Al shrugged. It wasn't exactly a yes, but it wasn't a no, either, so Moretti made a recommendation.
"Let's quit hidin'."
Al looked at him, shocked.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Moretti chuckled and said, "Maybe I am, but ya know, hangin' out with Em, I found out that bein' half crazy can be an advantage sometimes."
Al shook his head, ready to dismiss the suggestion out of hand, but then he grew thoughtful. Lieutenant Stephens and Moretti had managed to avoid the LAPD, the FBI, and the mob for a month, even while leading the criminals into a trap set by the police and the feds. He wasn't sure he and Moretti together could be half as clever as Stephens, but still, maybe there was something to be said for doing the unexpected.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Hey, kiddo, it's Dad again," Keith said, stroking Emily's hair as he sat beside her bed having just relieved Alex from his vigil. "You're mom's still at the beach house, having a nap, and boy, does she need it! She fell asleep standing up in my arms, and I had to carry her to bed. She's gonna sleep for hours, but I wouldn't be surprised if she comes in here this afternoon with Stephen in tow."
As soon as he stopped talking, the noises of the hospital room intruded into his thoughts again. He heard the whoosh and click from the ventilator, the beeps of various monitors, and an infernal hiss from the inflatable stockings that kept filling with air and collapsing to prevent Emily from getting dangerous blood clots in her legs.
"Your mom talked with Steve and his wife, and I explained things to Steven and his granddad, and I guess everything is alright between them and us now. Steven's mom is a nice lady, and I can see a lot of her in him. They're both very kind people. I suppose you and he are pretty serious for you to have let him move into your house. I warned him that your mom would have something to say about that, but I can tell that she likes him, too, so don't worry, she probably won't put up too much of a stink."
Emily was still in her drug-induced slumber, so she didn't respond, but Keith was sure the pain lines across her forehead and the tension in her body had diminished while he had been talking, so he continued.
"You've never seen the Chief's house, have you? Ohhh, it's a beautiful place, Em, nothing like home, but still a wonderful place to be. You can walk across the back yard, through the gate, and right down to the Pacific Ocean. The Chief says he still goes surfing once in a blue moon, usually when his friend Dr. Travis goads him into it by teasing him about his age. I wonder if your mom ever tried it when she was out here years ago. Somehow, given her luck with skiing on the hillside pasture when she was a kid, I doubt it."
Stroking his daughter's soft, curly red hair and rambling about inconsequential things was soothing to Keith's frayed nerves, and he kept it up a long while. "I've spent a lot of time running on the beach lately, and I'm in great shape because of it. I do at least three miles a night. Your mom spends a lot of time sitting on the deck, wrapped in a blanket, writing letters home or reading books she's borrowed from Mark. I think the roar of the waves coming into the shore and the crying of the gulls calms her. She's been very worried about you, you know?"
Keith was surprised to find that he had actually been working his way around to a point, without even knowing it. "Emily Morgan Stephanie Theodora Stephens, when you get better you and your mother have got to talk. One of you has to be willing to bury the hatchet, and preferably not in the other's back."
He smiled at his own bad joke, then frowned.
"Ok, I know that was a stupid thing to say. Sweetheart, I know how much you and your mom love each other, and that's why it's so important for the two of you to settle things. Until you forgive each other for the mistakes of the past, you'll never be able to get along like a mother and daughter should."
Deciding he had said enough about matters that couldn't be resolved until his daughter had come to and was able to talk them over, Keith started rambling again.
"When I run on the beach, I go about half a mile south to the pier, then back up to a cairn of rocks a mile north of the beach house. An access road runs to the Pacific Coast Highway from there. It takes me right past Alex's house. He's a friend of the Sloans. He and his wife have two big Newfoundlands, and two Newfie pups. When I run past their house, the dogs chase me along the fence, barking like they think they're the hounds of hell . . . "
"So, where are they?" Cheryl demanded.
"Commander, you don't understand," Lieutenant Lindsay tried to explain. "I didn't send them anywhere. I don't know where they are. They called 911, but by the time we got here, they were gone."
"Dammit!" Cheryl yelled, despite the throbbing in her head. "How's Agent Wagner?"
Lindsay shook her head. "He was clinically dead when the ambulance got here. They shocked him back, but he coded twice more before you came to. I think they gave up trying to stabilize him and just took him to the hospital."
"What exactly happened to him?" Cheryl asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Lindsay's reply was concise. "One. In the neck. A thirty-eight."
"His son, Diaon, is a police captain," Cheryl said, thinking Amanda would prefer to get the news from him instead of a stranger. "You can contact him through the Valley Bureau of the LAPD."
"This just in," the anchorman said reading some notes that had been handed to him by someone off screen. "Special Agent in Charge of Missing Persons Investigations, Ron Wagner, has just been found critically wounded at an FBI safe house in Barstow. There is no word on who else was there, but it is likely that Giancarlo Moretti was the individual Agent Wagner was protecting."
Amanda, who had taken the day off to recover from the stressful late night she had spent waiting with Mark and Steve for word on Emily, picked up her phone with trembling hands and dialed information. Dion had probably already found out through the police department, but CJ and Hannah needed to know, too. CJ had told her where he could be reached, but only in case of emergency. This certainly qualified.
"The Argyle Hotel, please, in West Hollywood." When her call was put through, she said simply, "Alicia Birch-Geiger's room, please." Then, when she heard her son's sleepy voice answer, she said, "CJ, it's your mother."
"Mom?"
She heard the confusion and distress in his voice, and she could tell he was upset, thinking she had disturbed him for something trivial or perhaps to lecture him about spending the night in Alicia's hotel room. Not able to think of a good way to tell him over the phone, she just blurted out the news. "Ron's been shot. He's up in Barstow. I think it's bad. Will you pick me up on your way?"
His voice tight with tension, CJ replied, "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Call Hannah." He hung up without even saying goodbye.
"Oh, God," Steve murmured as the scene cut from the studio to Jonas Monroe, still in front of the Valley Bureau headquarters.
"Captain Bentley," Monroe called, "who do you think shot your adoptive father?"
As a distraught Dion headed for his car, he said, "That's Bentley-Wagner, Mr. Monroe, and I don't know or care. That's for the Barstow PD to work out. I just want to get up there so I can be with him. Now, would you please excuse me? In need to go pick up my sister."
Jonas stepped in the police captain's path again. "The story is, he was shot by a fellow FBI agent assigned to protect Giancarlo Moretti. Was your father a threat to Mr. Moretti?"
Dion stopped in his tracks and looked the reporter in the eye. "My father has spent his entire adult life fighting crime. He would sooner die than be a party to it. Now, move out of my way, Mr. Monroe, before I move you myself."
After a tense moment, Jonas stepped aside, and as the camera trained on Dion's receding figure, Jonas Monroe's voice was heard to say, "There you have it, folks. Yet again, the LAPD uses threats to avoid the questions of the press."
"Hey, Jess," Alex said, stopping by the ER on his way out of the hospital. It was past noon, and he was due back at six. It would make much more sense to just catch a few hours' rest in the sleep room and then change into scrubs for his night shift in the ER, but after all his friends had been through in the past several hours, he needed the reassurance of seeing his wife. He needed to wrap her in his arms, smell her perfume, feel her touch, and spend an hour or two with her playing with their dogs. He just needed to know his own world was still holding together.
"Hey, Alex!" Jesse said, cheerfully. "What are you still doing here?"
"I was sitting with Emily while her parents went to the beach house to speak with Steve and Maribeth."
"Oh. Do you know what they said?"
Alex frowned. "No, I don't. I talked to Keith a few minutes ago, but I couldn't ask. It just didn't seem right, y'know?"
"Yeah," Jesse agreed, "After all these years of his being her father, I guess it shouldn't matter whose genes she carries, except for how it will effect Steven. How is she doing?"
"Weak but stable. Sedated. Her dad is with her now."
Jesse smiled, "That will make her just a little bit better," he said.
Dr. Travis, you have a phone call on line three, a voice called on the PA system, Dr. Travis, please answer line three.
Alex waited politely as Jesse took the call, but he moved toward his friend in concern when he heard Jesse say, "When the hell is this mess going to end?"
"Jess?"
Jesse held up a hand indicating that Alex should wait a minute.
"Yeah, ok, CJ . . . Tell your mom, Dion, and Hannah I'll be thinking about him . . . Don't worry we can hold down the fort for a while . . . Yes, I'm positive, now just go."
Jesse hung up the phone and turned to Alex. "Ron was shot up in Barstow. It doesn't look good. Can you stay and cover for CJ?"
"Sure, I can do that," Alex agreed. "I'll be in the sleep room until his shift starts. What time was he supposed to come on?"
Jesse looked at his watch and grinned ruefully. "Half an hour ago," he said.
"Steve, are you sure you want us to go?" Liv asked, concerned.
"Yeah, Dad," Steven said, "Keith just called and Em is still stable and still sleeping. We can hang around here a while, no problem."
Smiling, Steve shook his head and spoke with a confidence he did not feel. "No, you two go on. I'll be all right. I was dealing with the sharks from IAD before Paige started cutting teeth. I can handle him so he doesn't know he's being handled."
"You're sure?" Liv asked once more.
"Positive. Now will you please go see your daughter? I know you would much rather be with her, and I am starting to feel guilty that you have been hanging out here with us."
She smiled, still a little worried. "Ok, but you call if there's anything Keith and I can do to help."
"I will, but I won't need to." He gave Liv a peck on the cheek, and Steven a pat on the back as he sent them out. He wanted them out of the house as much because he knew they were worried about Emily as because he didn't want them to see him squirming while Paige questioned him about his actions over the past few weeks. He'd hardly done things by the book, and he knew it. Even if things worked out ok for Moretti in the end, he'd committed several prosecutable offenses, depending on how the DA wanted to look at it.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Al asked as he turned on to Beach Drive and began cruising very slowly toward their destination.
"Yeah," Moretti said, quietly. "Like I told ya, they're tearing you an' Em an' Sloan an' a lot of good people apart because they can't find me. This way, I can meet the press on my own terms, clear the air, get the facts out there, an' maybe help some of the people who have been helpin' me for a change."
"But as long as you stay hidden, you're safe."
"I am?"
Al shrugged and rolled his eyes, "Ok, safer, maybe."
"I'm not so sure," Moretti said. "As long as I don't tell 'em everythin' at once, the press will be interested in what happens ta me for a while yet. They'll hover around a few days at least, maybe give ya a chance to set up a new safe house, and if Gaudino's people get ta me in the meantime, well, maybe someone wit' a camera will be around ta get it on film. Then you'll have old Vinnie for murder, an' ya can take him out permanent."
"I still don't like it."
Moretti pulled out the gun Wagner had given him when they left the hospital the previous evening and pointed it in Al's general direction.
"So, tell 'em I kidnapped ya."
For a moment, Al's eyes grew wide in shock and fear, then Moretti grinned and placed the gun on the seat between them.
"Where is Moretti now, Chief?" Malcolm Paige asked again. He had arrived over two hours ago ago, and when Maribeth had opened the door, he had barged in like he owned the place, and, as Maribeth and Mark discretely retreated to the other room, started firing questions at Steve without so much as a hello. The creep is just posturing for the cameras, making a run for my job. Steve had declined to contact either a union representative or a lawyer. He was fully willing to cooperate.
"I already told you, Captain Paige, I don't know," Steve swore. "How many times are you gonna ask me that question?"
"As many as it takes to get a satisfactory answer from you, Chief. Where has he been sequestered? Who is guarding him?"
Before Steve could reply, again, that he didn't know because the whole matter had been turned over to Agent Wagner as soon as the trial ended, and that he wouldn't tell Paige if he did know because he didn't trust the slimy little creep, a voice called from the other room, "Oh, my God, you have got to see this."
Steve stood and went quickly to the other room with Paige hot on his heels. As the camera was jostled a bit and then came back into focus, Steve grinned broadly and said, "I guess that answers your question, doesn't it, Captain?"
It took Malcolm Paige a few moments to figure out what he was seeing, but Steve had immediately recognized his own home in the background behind the car against which Giancarlo Moretti and Al Cioffi were leaning as they conducted an impromptu press conference.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Ladies and Gentlemen, please!" Al shouted over the flurry of questions. "Mr. Moretti has prepared a few remarks, and then he will be willing to answer some questions, but please, let him speak first."
Gradually, the reporters quieted and finally, Moretti was able to make his statement.
"I been watchin' the news all mornin'," he said, "an' all of ya oughta be ashamed."
"Mr. Moretti!"
"Shaddup!" he yelled at the offending reporter. "Ya been takin' a family's private information an' broadcastin' it all over the country, makin' it sound dirty an' shameful, just ta boost your ratings. Well, I'm here ta tell ya, I got ta know Lieutenant Stephens over the past few weeks, an' I met her parents an' Chief Sloan an' his family, an' just one of them people has got more integrity an' decency in their little finger than all of ya together can claim."
During his remarks, every time Moretti paused for breath, the reporters tried to call out questions, but Moretti just ignored them and continued talking. Every time, they quieted down again so they could listen.
"Emily Stephens did not kidnap me. She faked a kidnappin' ta get me outta an FBI safe house that Agent Wagner knew Vinnie Gaudino's men had gotten into. The money her mother brought her an' Chief Sloan delivered ta her in the park was ta help us stay hid until all the leaks were found in the FBI and the LAPD. When the Chief brought her the cash, she made it look like there were three or four snipers with laser sights trained on him the whole time so he couldn't do nothin' ta try an' stop her, an' that was the only time the LAPD spotted her that she wasn't wearin' a disguise. So, you shouldn't be criticizin' the police for not catchin' her sooner. Matter of fact, one night when Chief Sloan was in the hospital, she went ta visit him done up as Dr. Amanda Bentley-Wagner, and the woman's own son didn't recognize her when she stopped ta talk ta him. She's real smart about that kinda stuff, an' that's how she kept me alive.
"All your stories an' broadcasts have been based on the stupid idea that there was some kinda failed conspiracy ta keep me from testifyin' against Vinnie Gaudino. Well, you're wrong, an' if Chief Sloan an' the Stephens family don't sue ya for libel an' slander, ya should count yourselves lucky an' find another profession. For almost a month, Emily Stephens could have killed me any time she wanted an' claimed Gaudino's men done it, an' there woulda been nobody ta prove her wrong. Instead, she risked her life more'n once ta keep me alive an' make sure when it was time for me ta testify, it was safe for me ta come outta hidin'.
"She damned near broke her back tryin' ta chloroform Nardo Giani when some bogus contact of hers tried ta set us up at a phony safe house, an' she shoulda seen a doctor for it, but she stuck with me for more'n a week to be sure I was safe. She found a secret way ta sneak into the courthouse without bein' seen, so there was no way for Gaudino's men ta get ta me before I went into the courtroom. That day, she gave me her own body armor, altered ta fit, of course, an' then, when that crazy woman started shootin' in the courtroom she knocked me, Chief Sloan, an' a coupla cops outta the line of fire, takin' four bullets herself before she could get off a round ta stop the shooter.
"Now, I am here today ta officially tell Chief Sloan that I don't want police protection no more. I will testify when the DA needs me, but in the meantime, I'm gonna look for a way ta make an honest livin'. If Vinnie Gaudino or anyone else wants a piece of me, they can just come an' try ta get it."
Moretti finally stopped talking, and after a silent moment, the questions began pouring in.
"If ya don't take turns, I won't answer any of ya!" Moretti yelled, and for a moment, the reporters fell silent again. When a young woman raised her hand, Al pointed to her, and she began to speak.
"Alicia Rathburn, New York Times West Coast correspondent. Mr. Moretti, are you saying you left the original safe house willingly with Lieutenant Stephens?"
"No, I was drugged. I didn't know at the time who she was or why she was takin' me, but once I figured out that she planned ta keep me safe, I went willingly with her an' even helped her with things she needed ta do for my protection a couple of times."
"What sort of things?" the reporter asked.
"Goin' ta my bank an' getting' some documents outta my safety deposit box, for one, stoppin' Nardo Giani an' his crew for another."
A young man with sandy brown hair was next. "James Frear, Detroit News. Mr. Moretti, did Lieutenant Stephens happen to mention her relationship to Chief Sloan any time you were with her?"
"Not directly, but I know she admires him, both as a cop an' as a man. While she was growin' up, her parents taught her that Sloan was a hero. He an' her mother are old friends, an' both her parents think the world of him."
"Yes, sir, but did she mention whether he was her biological father?"
"No, she did not," Moretti snapped, "an' I don't think that's any of your business anyway. If the two families haven't already talked about it, they probably will soon, an' they sure won't want a bunch of sleaze bucket scandal rag reporters in their faces when they do."
The next question came from a middle-aged woman. Just from the way she was dressed and the way she spoke, it was clear her career had not ever become what she wanted it to be, but the look on her face betrayed the fact that, for once in her life, she thought she had a scoop. She was so desperate to ask her question she forgot to introduce herself. "Captain Cioffi, is it true Mr. Moretti is your father, and if he is, how do you feel about that?"
Al caught his breath and held it a little while, suddenly aware of the surprised silence that had gripped the pack of reporters. He looked at Moretti only to find his expression revealed nothing. For several moments, the reporters waited in silence as he worked out his response.
"He is my father," Al said. "When I was a kid . . ." his voice caught in his throat, "I used to wonder . . . why my dad didn't . . . love me. Now, I know he does. I'm not sure I can say I feel the same about him; there's a lot in his past that we need to deal with, but being a father myself, I know a parent's love is unconditional, and I am grateful to finally have met my dad. Knowing what he's been through the last few weeks . . . I can't deny that I am . . . proud of him for it, and I hope some day . . . we can find a way to be a family."
After a quiet moment, Al cleared his throat and said, "Next question, please."
When an ambitious-looking young Hispanic woman raised her hand, Moretti called on her. "Zelotes Guzman, WKTW News. Mr. Moretti, why are you declining police protection? Is it because they haven't been able to keep you safe yet?"
Moretti fixed the woman with a hard glare and said, "Lady, I am walkin', talkin', livin', breathin', an' getting' pissed off at you, so how the hell can you say the LAPD and the FBI haven't done their jobs? I am declinin' police protection because I am getting' tired of seein' good people like Emily Stephens, Steve Sloan, an' Ron Wagner gettin' torn apart by vultures like you just for helpin' me. This interview is over."
With that, Moretti and Al turned from the crowd of reporters and headed into the beach house where Chief Sloan and his family lived.
