Chapter 4

Lee stared past Dirk Fredericks to the four men who were weighing his fate. Austin Smyth's aura of cool detachment certainly didn't extend to any of the others. Hanson was observing the proceeding with an expression of concerned reserve, periodically jotting a note on the legal pad before him, but most often studying Lee as though he were a subject in one of Medical Section's research projects. Whiting, on the other hand, seemed more prone to alarmed benevolence than scientific control. He hadn't, as far as Lee could tell, taken any notes but rather sat chewing absently on the end of his pencil while listening to the testimony -- at times leaning forward in silent encouragement and at others cringing back as though startled by the intensity of of the questioning.

Lee couldn't quite decipher the attitude of the Chief of Internal Security. Seated between Hanson and Whiting, Robert Beck was scrutinizing Fredericks nearly as critically as he was examining the defense table. As Lee saw a fleeting look pass between the two men, he realized that, in Fredericks' eyes, this hearing was not merely a quest for justice; it was an opportunity to impress his own immediate supervisor. Whether he was succeeding was open to speculation. Lee had little personal experience with Beck, and the grapevine gossip was evenly divided. Some said he was a hard, but fair, man -- concerned mainly with ensuring that all operations within his sphere of authority were handled strictly according to written procedure. Others said his ambition to replace Smyth at some point in the nebulous future frequently led him to run roughshod over anything and anyone who got in his way.

Fredericks cleared his throat imperiously, and Lee returned his attention to the question at hand. "I've always felt responsible for Amanda," he stated evenly, "even more so since she became my official partner. If I objected to her taking an assignment, it was because I didn't want her to get hurt."

"So you doubted Mrs. King's abilities?"

Lee swore under his breath. Like any skillful prosecutor, Fredericks seemed to possess an innate ability to twist a defendant's words to suit his own purpose. "I didn't say that," he said through teeth clenched so tightly that they were beginning to ache. Remembering, just in time, Billy's admonition to supply only information that was specifically asked of him, he suppressed the remainder of the tirade threatening to spill from him.

"It appears that someone, at least, thought highly enough of Mrs. King's potential to give her an opportunity to prove her worth."

Lee wanted to scream that everyone who knew Amanda thought highly of her, but he knew that wasn't the way this game was played. Billy Melrose, his law degree supplemented by a dozen years' experience in as Field Section Chief, had coached him well. Don't lose your temper, Billy had drilled into him. State what you know, not what you think you know. Don't be goaded into giving information Fredericks won't think to ask for. And don't answer until you're asked. "I don't think that's a question," Lee snapped as caustically as he dared.

Fredericks' eyes drifted to Billy, and he cocked a supercilious brow. "Touché." When he turned back to Lee, his voice was silky. "Even when Mrs. King had only civilian auxiliary status, she frequently participated in undercover investigations, isn't that true?"

"I guess that depends on your definition of 'frequently,'" Lee responded dryly.

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"More than ten times?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty times?"

Lee began to regret his rash challenge. The stuffy chamber was becoming uncomfortably warm, and his mind felt correspondingly sluggish. "Probably;" he finally said. "I'm really not sure."

Unlike Lee, Fredericks seemed to be enjoying himself. "More than fifty times?"

"No," Lee said, struggling again to maintain his temper.

"So" Fredericks drew the word out dramatically. "Let the record show that Scarecrow believes Mrs. King participated somewhere between twenty and fifty undercover investigations before she became an agent candidate. Would that be an accurate statement of your testimony?"

"Yes."

"And, as you were the senior agent -- actually, the only trained agent -- on those occasions, may I assume that you instructed Mrs. King on her role in these investigations?"

Suddenly wary of the direction the questioning was taking, Lee sat up straighter and forced himself to concentrate. "Yes," he answered cautiously.

"And did Mrs. King follow your instructions?"

Lee almost choked at the reminder of how often he had been frustrated by Amanda's blithe disregard of the simplest instructions. 'Amanda never does exactly what she's told' he recalled complaining to Billy on more than one occasion. Now, however, he wanted nothing so much as to defend her. He owed her that much, at least. "When working in the field, an agent -- or even a civilian -- has to make decisions based on the circumstances at hand, which may or may not have been discussed in the pre-case briefing," he replied stiffly.

Fredericks shook his head almost pityingly. "I asked a 'yes' or 'no' question, Scarecrow. Did Mrs. King always follow your instructions?"

"No," Lee hissed, clenching his hands tightly in front of him to subdue an almost overwhelming urge to wrap them around the other man's throat.

"And despite that fact, would you say, overall, her performance was satisfactory?"

This hadn't been at all what Lee was expecting. "Yes."

"Would you say that she contributed to the success of your joint missions?"

"Yes."

"And did she ever, to your knowledge, act recklessly, disregarding your safety, her own, or the outcome of the mission."

Torn between the oath to answer truthfully and the need to protect his wife, Lee focused on the first half of the question; he could honestly say that Amanda had never been reckless. "No."

Fredericks smiled like a cat who had swallowed a particularly tasty canary. "Then, returning to your earlier statement that you only objected to Mrs. King taking assignments if you were concerned for her safety, can you explain to the panel why you felt she was incapable of making such decisions on her own?"

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Lee raised his head as the door to the Q Bureau swung open with a faint creak. Automatically straightening his tie and smoothing the wrinkles from his sport coat, he watched pensively as Amanda stepped over the threshold. Her air of natural elegance drew a stark contrast to his own rumpled appearance; more than two hours of pacing a circuitous path around the cramped confines of their personal sanctum had taken the expected toll on an image he had already recognized as tired and careworn in his bathroom mirror in the early hours of the morning. He could only assume from his wife's cheery demeanor and bright expression that one of them, at least, had enjoyed a decent night's sleep.

"You're late this morning," he said curtly, cringing inwardly as a puzzled frown replaced her welcoming smile. Bringing one finger to his lips, he signaled a silent warning before nodding faintly toward the pencil holder occupying the exact center of his desktop.

For a moment he thought her features registered mild astonishment, but she nodded almost imperceptibly and closed the door with a loud 'whoosh'. Moving forward, she set her feet down so decisively that the sound of her footsteps seemed to echo in the stillness of the small office. "I thought I told you," she said, positioning herself so that she was speaking almost directly to the collection of ball-point pens and half-used lead pencils. "I had to take Mother and the boys to the train station this morning."

"Oh . . . yeah," he muttered, assuming an air of lazy indifference. "I forgot. They're going on some kind of nature hike, aren't they?"

"Camping," Amanda stated, the annoyed edge to her voice at odds with the enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes. "They're on their way to Maine to go camping with my Aunt Minnie and her son, Tom's, family." She paused dramatically and infused her voice with the perfect mixture of resignation and regret. "I wish I'd known that this week's 'Covers and Contacts' classes were going to be canceled; I would've asked Mr. Melrose for some time off so I could go with them. Tom says the north end of the Appalachian Trail is gorgeous at this time of year, and I've always wanted to camp along the Allagash Wilderness Waterway. I guess it's for the best, though," she added with a soft sigh, moving to her desk and dropping her purse on its surface with a muffled thump. "I've taken too much time off this Spring, and you've generated enough paperwork in the last few days to keep me busy here for the next month."

"Just be glad you're not going to Station Twelve this week," Lee snorted. "By the second or third day, you'd be glad to trade fresh air and sunshine for stale coffee and a computer screen."

"Oh, I don't know; it might've been kinda fun," Amanda countered, sliding into her chair and resting her chin in her hands, her elbows supported on her own desk's surface. "I've had a head start on survival training, you know." She wrinkled her nose as she cast him a look of mock challenge. "I'm the only Junior Trailblazer in my training section."

Lee shook his head, barely repressing the chuckle that threatened to escape. "Junior Trailblazers is for kids from the suburbs, Amanda. Station Twelve isn't just walking in the woods and roasting marshmallows around a campfire," he said, trying to strike a careful balance between amusement and condescension. "I spent my last three days chewing on tree bark after my C-rations ran out."

Amanda rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by this parry. "Junior Trailblazers don't need C-rations. All of the kids learn how to catch and prepare fish and recognize edible berries and --"

"Which would do you a hell of a lot of good if you were stranded in the desert of North Africa," he interrupted sarcastically, taking the sting from his words by winking and blowing her a kiss.

"Where you'd manage to find an abundant diet of tree bark, I suppose," she shot back dryly, making an exaggerated show of catching his offering and pressing it to her own lips.

"Forget it," Lee said sourly, grinning broadly and pointing one finger toward the open door of the records' vault.

"Fine. I need to file these old case status summaries, anyway." Amanda rose from her chair and reached for a small stack of folders on the right corner. Shaking them firmly to create a faint rattling, she set them down quietly in their original position.

"Would you take these, too?" Lee rustled his own sheaf of papers.

Amanda's lips twitched with suppressed laughter "My hands are full. Can you at least carry them into the vault?"

"Yeah, come on. Maybe I'll even help you file them," Lee said with a wink, "to make up for giving you such a hard time about the Junior Trailblazers. I almost forgot what a good swamp rat you are." Scrapping his chair on the floor as he rose, he motioned Amanda into the vault and followed close behind, admiring of the gentle swish of her skirt around her shapely legs.

As he entered the vault and pushed the door firmly closed, he noticed that Amanda had already flipped on the small cassette player they had set up to deter eavesdroppers. The lilting strains of a love ballad filled his ears as he pulled her against him. "You're cute when you're shrewish," he murmured softly against her hair, before tilting her chin up to press a lingering kiss to her full lips.

She rubbed sensuously against him in the way that almost invariably made him lose his train of thought. "I think you're just trying to make me forget that 'swamp rat' comment," she teased.

"And you're trying to make me forget what I wanted to say to you," he countered, enfolding both of her hands in his and taking a half step backward. "Amanda, this is serious. I've been thinking, and . . . maybe you ought to reconsider this assignment. You don't have to go through with it."

"Lee --"

"No. Just listen, please," he begged, gently shaking the hands he was holding. "I've been going over and over this in my head, and there are too many things that we don't know . . . too many things that could go wrong. It's too dangerous."

She closed her eyes, as though trying to organize her thoughts, and when she opened them they were full of quiet determination. "What kind of an agent am I going to be if I refuse any assignment that's dangerous?"

"A live one." Seeing her disappointed frown, Lee let out a deep sigh and dropped her hands. "I have a bad feeling about this, Amanda. And I don't like that I'm not gonna be the one out there watching your back."

"It'll be all right," she promised gravely, moving forward to rest her head gently against his shoulder, and tracing small circles on his back with the tips of her fingers. "Besides, you heard what Dr. Smyth said --"

"I don't give a damn what the old man said," he hissed, "I want to protect my wife."

After a few seconds, she pushed herself away from him. "I have to do this, Lee."

"I know," he said, losing himself once again in the depths of her solemn brown eyes. "It's a catch-22, isn't it? I don't want the woman I love to be in danger, but you wouldn't be the woman I love if you refused."

She took his hand and pressed a gentle kiss into the palm before she pulled him toward the door of the vault. "Thank you for understanding," she whispered, just before she pulled it open.