Chapter 2
Dirk Fredericks' eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they focused on Lee, and when the man spoke, his words were laced with scorn. "I believe we should open this hearing by reviewing the circumstances of the last occasion when Scarecrow found himself before a full administrative board, charged with negligence in the death of his partner."
His control slipping, Lee was halfway out of his seat, ready to launch himself toward Fredericks' mocking countenance, when he felt a firm grip on his left arm.
"I object." Billy's voice was calm and clear, only a pulsing muscle in the hand on Lee's sleeve giving evidence of his own internal struggle. After a short pause, as though to reassure himself that Lee's outburst had been quelled, he rose purposefully to his feet. "Lee was cleared of negligence in the death of Eric Jarvis. The facts of that case are irrelevant to this proceeding."
"I disagree. Even though Stetson was cleared of criminal responsibility," Fredericks' voice amplified as he paced a short path across the carpeted floor. He emphasized his words with brisk hand motions, aiming one finger at Lee and then waving expansively. "The similarity of his actions -- the blatant disregard for Agency protocol in both situations -- clearly demonstrates a pattern of impulsive behavior and irresponsible decision-making."
"Mr. Fredericks has a valid point," Dr. Smyth interjected blandly as he contemplated Lee through partially hooded eyes. "Stetson has always had an unfortunate tendency to disregard the rules when they don't suit his own purposes."
On the far left of the panel, a tall man with a decided military bearing rose from his chair before speaking in dignified tones. "Excuse me, Gentlemen. Although my expertise is in medicine, not espionage, I understand that there are times when a field agent must be guided by circumstances; not every scenario can be fully anticipated by an operations manual."
"But every field agent *must* be held accountable for the consequences of his or her actions," Dirk argued passionately, pointing a quivering finger toward Lee while glancing back over his shoulder toward Dr. Jeremiah Hanson, Chief of BioMedical Operations at the Agency. "Without accountability, mavericks like Lee Stetson would be free to act as they please, recklessly endangering the lives of both their co-workers and innocent civilians!"
Harold Whiting, Chief of Internal Operations, cleared his throat deferentially from his seat beside Dr. Smyth. A rotund, round-faced man, he smiled benignly at the assembly before speaking. "May I suggest that we obtain the transcripts of the former hearing, so that they may be reviewed as necessary. It doesn't seem quite fair to expect Mr. Stetson to recall all of the details of an incident that occurred . . . when was it?" He paused to shuffle the small stack of papers before him. "Ah, yes, well over five years ago."
Clearly disappointed by the murmur of assent from the administrative board, Fredericks rounded on Lee again and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke, his words were no longer combative but smooth and pretentious. "All right, then, perhaps we should start with your association with Amanda King. You recruited her to work for the Agency in 1983, isn't that correct?"
Lee forced himself to take several deep, steadying breaths. The eerie feeling of déjà vu he had experienced when his mind was wrenched back to that earlier loss had left him feeling slightly unbalanced. In a way, there was an odd sense of relief in the memory of that former version of himself, the Lee Stetson who had not been changed so completely and irrevocably, the Lee Stetson who could deal with unbearable pain by denying its existence. He took a sip of tepid water from the glass tumbler near his right elbow as he tried to wrap the persona of that other Lee Stetson around himself like a protective blanket. "I didn't exactly recruit her. My initial contact with Ama -- uh, Mrs. King was purely coincidental, and I never expected to work with her again. Billy was the one who made the decision to offer her a job; at the time, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea."
"So it's true that you frequently objected to being asked to work with Mrs. King . . . ." Fredericks' tone suddenly became accusatory. "You objected to being partnered with an untrained civilian, and you argued about being paired with her on assignments?"
Lee seemed to hear his own voice resonate from a great distance; it sounded unexpectedly steady and unemotional. "I did have some misgivings about exposing a civilian, especially a mother of two small boys, to the dangers inherent to working for the Agency."
"And would it be accurate to say that your feelings changed over time?"
"My . . . what?" Lee was suddenly jerked out of the comforting fog surrounding him. "I'm . . . I'm not sure . . . what you mean," he stammered.
"I think the question is perfectly clear. Did your feelings toward Amanda King change between your first meeting with her in 1983 and her death, two days ago."
##############################################
"A-man-da." Lee groaned, the delicate fragrance of his wife's perfume threatening his tenuous restraint. "Would you hurry? They're gonna be here any minute."
Amanda's dark hair teased the sensitive skin of his neck as she raised her head, and he sucked his breath in sharply. He watched her purse her lips as she gazed up at him, a hint of exasperation mingling with the tenderness in her coffee brown eyes. Stolen moments alone together were few and far between, and he knew by the faint flush suffusing her cheekbones that she was affected every bit as much as he was by the intimate contact.
"You're just lucky I came prepared." Her voice held a familiar raspy quality, and the slight trembling of her hands belied her unhurried movements. "Although we could do this a lot faster if you'd hold still." Her fingers brushed the smoothness of his chest as she slid one hand beneath the slightly wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and he heard a faint sigh arise from the depths of her throat. "It would be even better if you'd take your shirt off."
"I took my shirt off once," he reminded her with a roguish chuckle, snaking one arm around her waist and pulling her more tightly against him. "That's how I got into this predicament."
"Yeah, well, you should've taken the time to unbutton it." She laughed softly, once more dropping the silky fabric to bat his hand away. Lowering her head again, she slipped a needle carefully through the material and then through the last tiny button.
"I couldn't help myself." Lee placed one finger under her chin to gently raise her face, while forming his lips into the pout he knew she found almost irresistible. "Technically, we're still newlyweds."
"Technically, we're not even dating," she corrected him severely, for once apparently immune to his plaintive expression. She shook off his hand, and for a moment she seemed totally engrossed in her task before she slowly raised her eyes again to his. "Lee," she said cautiously, concern evident in her measured tones, "you don't suppose that's why they called this meeting . . . maybe they found out we're married . . . . " As her voice trailed off, two perfect, white teeth pressed into her lower lip.
"Nah." Lee feigned a confidence he didn't quite feel at Amanda's mention of his own niggling worry. "If they'd have found us out, we wouldn't be meeting here." He waved one arm around the nondescript motel room, barely avoiding contact with the sewing needle in Amanda's slackened grasp. "Dr. Smyth thinks it adds to his aura of power to summon agents down to his office to chew them out. He wouldn't miss the opportunity to flaunt our situation in front of the entire Agency."
"I suppose," she said, sounding hopeful but unconvinced. "But why *would* they want to meet us nearly fifty miles outside of D.C.?"
Lee shrugged but offered no further comment or resistance as Amanda quickly attached the final button to his abused shirt and then returned the tiny sewing kit to her purse.
Dirk Fredericks' eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they focused on Lee, and when the man spoke, his words were laced with scorn. "I believe we should open this hearing by reviewing the circumstances of the last occasion when Scarecrow found himself before a full administrative board, charged with negligence in the death of his partner."
His control slipping, Lee was halfway out of his seat, ready to launch himself toward Fredericks' mocking countenance, when he felt a firm grip on his left arm.
"I object." Billy's voice was calm and clear, only a pulsing muscle in the hand on Lee's sleeve giving evidence of his own internal struggle. After a short pause, as though to reassure himself that Lee's outburst had been quelled, he rose purposefully to his feet. "Lee was cleared of negligence in the death of Eric Jarvis. The facts of that case are irrelevant to this proceeding."
"I disagree. Even though Stetson was cleared of criminal responsibility," Fredericks' voice amplified as he paced a short path across the carpeted floor. He emphasized his words with brisk hand motions, aiming one finger at Lee and then waving expansively. "The similarity of his actions -- the blatant disregard for Agency protocol in both situations -- clearly demonstrates a pattern of impulsive behavior and irresponsible decision-making."
"Mr. Fredericks has a valid point," Dr. Smyth interjected blandly as he contemplated Lee through partially hooded eyes. "Stetson has always had an unfortunate tendency to disregard the rules when they don't suit his own purposes."
On the far left of the panel, a tall man with a decided military bearing rose from his chair before speaking in dignified tones. "Excuse me, Gentlemen. Although my expertise is in medicine, not espionage, I understand that there are times when a field agent must be guided by circumstances; not every scenario can be fully anticipated by an operations manual."
"But every field agent *must* be held accountable for the consequences of his or her actions," Dirk argued passionately, pointing a quivering finger toward Lee while glancing back over his shoulder toward Dr. Jeremiah Hanson, Chief of BioMedical Operations at the Agency. "Without accountability, mavericks like Lee Stetson would be free to act as they please, recklessly endangering the lives of both their co-workers and innocent civilians!"
Harold Whiting, Chief of Internal Operations, cleared his throat deferentially from his seat beside Dr. Smyth. A rotund, round-faced man, he smiled benignly at the assembly before speaking. "May I suggest that we obtain the transcripts of the former hearing, so that they may be reviewed as necessary. It doesn't seem quite fair to expect Mr. Stetson to recall all of the details of an incident that occurred . . . when was it?" He paused to shuffle the small stack of papers before him. "Ah, yes, well over five years ago."
Clearly disappointed by the murmur of assent from the administrative board, Fredericks rounded on Lee again and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke, his words were no longer combative but smooth and pretentious. "All right, then, perhaps we should start with your association with Amanda King. You recruited her to work for the Agency in 1983, isn't that correct?"
Lee forced himself to take several deep, steadying breaths. The eerie feeling of déjà vu he had experienced when his mind was wrenched back to that earlier loss had left him feeling slightly unbalanced. In a way, there was an odd sense of relief in the memory of that former version of himself, the Lee Stetson who had not been changed so completely and irrevocably, the Lee Stetson who could deal with unbearable pain by denying its existence. He took a sip of tepid water from the glass tumbler near his right elbow as he tried to wrap the persona of that other Lee Stetson around himself like a protective blanket. "I didn't exactly recruit her. My initial contact with Ama -- uh, Mrs. King was purely coincidental, and I never expected to work with her again. Billy was the one who made the decision to offer her a job; at the time, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea."
"So it's true that you frequently objected to being asked to work with Mrs. King . . . ." Fredericks' tone suddenly became accusatory. "You objected to being partnered with an untrained civilian, and you argued about being paired with her on assignments?"
Lee seemed to hear his own voice resonate from a great distance; it sounded unexpectedly steady and unemotional. "I did have some misgivings about exposing a civilian, especially a mother of two small boys, to the dangers inherent to working for the Agency."
"And would it be accurate to say that your feelings changed over time?"
"My . . . what?" Lee was suddenly jerked out of the comforting fog surrounding him. "I'm . . . I'm not sure . . . what you mean," he stammered.
"I think the question is perfectly clear. Did your feelings toward Amanda King change between your first meeting with her in 1983 and her death, two days ago."
##############################################
"A-man-da." Lee groaned, the delicate fragrance of his wife's perfume threatening his tenuous restraint. "Would you hurry? They're gonna be here any minute."
Amanda's dark hair teased the sensitive skin of his neck as she raised her head, and he sucked his breath in sharply. He watched her purse her lips as she gazed up at him, a hint of exasperation mingling with the tenderness in her coffee brown eyes. Stolen moments alone together were few and far between, and he knew by the faint flush suffusing her cheekbones that she was affected every bit as much as he was by the intimate contact.
"You're just lucky I came prepared." Her voice held a familiar raspy quality, and the slight trembling of her hands belied her unhurried movements. "Although we could do this a lot faster if you'd hold still." Her fingers brushed the smoothness of his chest as she slid one hand beneath the slightly wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and he heard a faint sigh arise from the depths of her throat. "It would be even better if you'd take your shirt off."
"I took my shirt off once," he reminded her with a roguish chuckle, snaking one arm around her waist and pulling her more tightly against him. "That's how I got into this predicament."
"Yeah, well, you should've taken the time to unbutton it." She laughed softly, once more dropping the silky fabric to bat his hand away. Lowering her head again, she slipped a needle carefully through the material and then through the last tiny button.
"I couldn't help myself." Lee placed one finger under her chin to gently raise her face, while forming his lips into the pout he knew she found almost irresistible. "Technically, we're still newlyweds."
"Technically, we're not even dating," she corrected him severely, for once apparently immune to his plaintive expression. She shook off his hand, and for a moment she seemed totally engrossed in her task before she slowly raised her eyes again to his. "Lee," she said cautiously, concern evident in her measured tones, "you don't suppose that's why they called this meeting . . . maybe they found out we're married . . . . " As her voice trailed off, two perfect, white teeth pressed into her lower lip.
"Nah." Lee feigned a confidence he didn't quite feel at Amanda's mention of his own niggling worry. "If they'd have found us out, we wouldn't be meeting here." He waved one arm around the nondescript motel room, barely avoiding contact with the sewing needle in Amanda's slackened grasp. "Dr. Smyth thinks it adds to his aura of power to summon agents down to his office to chew them out. He wouldn't miss the opportunity to flaunt our situation in front of the entire Agency."
"I suppose," she said, sounding hopeful but unconvinced. "But why *would* they want to meet us nearly fifty miles outside of D.C.?"
Lee shrugged but offered no further comment or resistance as Amanda quickly attached the final button to his abused shirt and then returned the tiny sewing kit to her purse.
