Agent Woody Hoyt finished off the last drag of his cold coffee throwing the
paper cup in the trash can next to his desk. He still couldn't get the
taste of that stale cigar out of his mouth. Today it was official. He had
his name back. His co-workers decided it was close enough to a new birth
to warrant a congratulatory cigar.
Woody looked down at his new security badge. He would have sworn it still felt warm from the laminating machine. His name stared back at him. His real name.
Everything had been taken away from him five years, two months, six days, five hours he looked at his watch, and forty three minutes ago. He should be thankful he at least got his name back. Most people who enter the witness protection program go for the rest of their lives never being able to acknowledge their past. He was one of the lucky ones.
When he left Boston he ended up in a truck stop town outside of Boise. He was given a new identity, a new past and was told to reinvent himself. He did in the bottom of a whiskey bottle for the first year. He carries a constant reminder of that time with the ragged scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow.
He was at his usual stool in a local roadhouse when a fight broke out between a husband and a wife. He couldn't sit still and watch the much larger man mop up the floor with the smaller woman. He took a broken beer bottle in his arm for his trouble. If he wasn't so drunk he may have been able to anticipate the wife's desperate move. After one hundred stitches he decided to stop wallowing in self pity.
He cleaned up his act and decided to move on with his so called life. He took a job in construction even though it was enough to make his teeth ache. But, he stuck with it day in, day out. Around once a week he would be contacted by his Uncle Sam. A member of Deputy Bernard's team would make sure everything was going alright.
Two years into his exile his weekly check-in turned into a visit from Bernard himself. Bernard had come to tell him that Cahill was died. His organization had been absorbed. The drama of the past few years was now just a foot note in history. The government didn't see the necessity of providing unneeded protection.
He was free to go. It was all he could do not to hop the first plane to Boston. He decided he needed to get his life in order first before he made any rash moves. He thought about what he wanted to do. He was a cop. Unfortunately, the idea of trying to get back on with the Boston PD left a bitter taste in his mouth. He asked Bernard to help him to apply to the FBI Academy. He wanted to be where he had the clout to make a difference in the fight against the mob.
Martin Tucker enrolled and was accepted as a favor to the US Marshal's Office. But by the end of his initial training period Tucker proved to be good at what he did. A bit unorthodox, but good.
He was offered a free ticket to his choice of billeting. The night before he was to make his choice he made a discreet phone call to an acquaintance who worked dispatch at the Boston police department. After his conversation he knew Boston was the last place he would be needed.
She had moved on. She broke her own rule and was with yet another cop, an old friend of the family, a good man, and they had started a family. Martin Tucker would just be a stranger. He was a stranger to even his own self. Tucker decided to stay lost to his family and friends. He took an assignment right there in Quantico.
Martin Tucker had been given a second chance at life. He decided he was going to truly make a difference. It was a pipe dream, of course. But at the time it was all he had.
Now, he had his name back. It was a small step. He picked up his phone and punched the area code for Wisconsin and quickly placed the phone back on the cradle. It was a scene that has played out a number of times in the last five years. He always hung before the phone could ring twice.
He tried to imagine what he would say to them. 'Hi it's me. I thought I'd give you call. I've been able to call for the last three years, but with setting up a new career and all, I never seemed to have the time.'
A decidedly rude sound came from his mouth.
"Ten minutes into being a new man and he's bent out of shape already."
Hoyt looked up to see his boss peering over top of the ash grey divider that formed one of the walls of his cubicle.
"I need to see you in my office right now."
With one last look at the phone Hoyt stood and followed his boss into one of the few four walled rooms on the floor.
"Sit down."
Hoyt took a seat and his boss handed him a service jacket folder. He noticed it was his own.
"If this is about shooting Mac's rookie's guy last week, I'm sorry. The sim was a bust after the asshole tried to flag down the bus on my corner. Our mark's target was on there."
"No, no that's not it. Although I'm still not happy you didn't let the guy go when you realized he wasn't your perp. These are you're walking papers. You're being reassigned out of the unit."
"What?"
"You've been holding down real estate long enough around here. We need you out in a field office."
"A field office? What the hell am I suppose to do at a field office."
"Your job."
Hoyt opened up the sealed envelope that sat on top of his service record. He read the enclosed paper carefully and then read it again before he threw it on his boss's desk.
"This is impossible. I'm sorry, I can't do it."
"What do you mean you can't do it?"
"Chief, this paper says Boston. You know I'm persona non grotta there."
"That was years ago. If they thought you was still a target you would still be watching for UFO's out in the desert someplace instead of sitting in my office smelling like a cheap cigar."
"Why Boston?"
"You know the ropes, you know the players. Hell, since you've been here you have become almost a guru on the underbelly of South Boston."
"That was personal."
"Personal or not they requested you and you're the best man for the job. They needed someone yesterday. You spin up time will be minimal. Sorry man. You're going."
"You sure you and Mac didn't dream this up to get back at me for taking down the rookie's mark?"
By the look on his boss's face Hoyt realized this was not a bad joke.
"Shit"
"Get over it Hoyt. Boston is a big town. Five years is a long time. You're bridges were burned for you. Since you left there's been a new police chief, a new head of homicide, a new DA....."
Hoyt opened his mouth to argue and his boss put up his hand to stop him.
"I've heard enough. You report in a week. I suggest you go home and start packing."
Hoyt walked out of the office and slammed the door. He heard his name from purgatory muttered behind the closed door and the old man changed the 'T' again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordan looked up from the autopsy table to see Garret standing in front of her.
"I just thought I'd let you know I sent over that report to the DA's office on the John Doe you had this morning. Apparently the feds concur with your findings. They want to talk to you and the detective in change to see if this guy is that missing businessman from Chicago."
"His hands and head were gone. They're going to have to wait for DNA to get a definitive match. Tell them to find me the rest of the body and I may be able to speed things up."
"Yeah, well you can tell them yourself. They were going to send a guy over later but I told them you'd swing by the field office on your way home. It's Friday and I knew Jack's nanny is taking off this weekend. There is no reason why you should have to wait around here for some guy to show up."
"Mrs. Granger will appreciate that." Jordan said sarcastically.
"Mrs. Granger deserves a service medal and combat pay."
"Jack's not that bad."
"I'm talking about you."
Garret was about to turn to leave.
"Oh by the way, before you go stop by my office. Renee brought back something for Jack from Indiana."
"She didn't have to."
"The woman can't even walk past a hardware store without seeing if there is something in there to spoil that kid. You're going to have to watch him when he gets older. He's too much like Hoyt...."
Jordan looked quickly down at the body in front of her.
"I'm sorry Jordan."
She let out a short laugh and looked back up at her boss.
"Hey, it's alright, you can say his name in front of me. He's been gone for half a decade. I think we've all moved on."
Garret thought back to the rocky road that was his life after his role in faking Hoyt's death. It took months for Jordan to forgive him. Trusting him came even later. The only thing good that came out of that time was Jack.
"You're right...... She also wanted to ask if guys would like to come over for dinner sometime next week. She's got a light work load and wants to take Jack down to the pond and feed the ducks before it starts getting too cold."
Jordan had to smile at that. Renee, Jack and ducks all in the same sentence meant in most likelihood that Garret would be doing all the cooking and Jordan would be cleaning up. It wouldn't be so bad. She wanted to hear about the progress on the weekend house. She hadn't been up there since the masonry had been done on the fireplace.
"Sounds great just tell me what day."
"I'll let you know. I told them you'd meet with an Agent Mayer in an hour."
Jordan rolled her eyes. Mrs. Granger was going to have plenty enough time to beat the rush hour traffic while she would barely have enough time to grab a shower before she left the building.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordan was running late when she stopped at the front desk at One Center Plaza. Jordan had spent countless hours there demanding a status on the car bombing and could have survived very nicely never having had come back. She wondered if Agent Tillman still worked there.
Jordan was signed in and waved through a metal detector. She was met by an Agent Mayer whom she had met earlier in the day at the scene where the body of the John Doe was found in a dumpster behind a motel.
"Dr. Cavanaugh. Thank you for stopping by. Can I get you something to drink coffee or a soda perhaps?"
Jordan looked at the leggy blonde and decided Agent Mayer must have gone into the wrong career field. If it weren't for the SIG Sauer hanging from her waist Jordan would have sworn she was Flight Stewardess Barbie.
"No thank you, I'm fine."
After an elevator ride, they walked down a hallway which Jordan assumed led to a conference room of some type. Jordan turned her face toward a closed office door where a series of grunts and the sounds of moving furniture were punctuated by a string of words that made her eyebrows shoot up.
"I'm sorry, that's the new guy. He just got here this morning, He wasn't happy with the way his office was set up. I remember him from Quantico; hot, but a real asshole. Between you and me, I don't think he's looking forward to a New England winter."
Mayer lead Jordan into a small meeting room which was lined with tack boards covered with pictures and information from the case of the missing man from Chicago along with everything they had from that morning. Jordan was looking at the pictures taken at the scene when there was a commotion at the door.
"Mayer, you know where I can find a new cord for my PC? This one's a piece of ........damn."
Jordan felt the floor open up under her feet when she heard the voice behind her. She put a hand to her mouth and didn't dare turn around. It had to be just a figment of her imagination.
"Jordan?"
Jordan turned around and looked into her son's eyes. Only they were older and colder then she remembered. She quickly regrouped and ran her suddenly damp hands down her pant legs.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Woody looked away for a second and smiled. At first glance he thought she had changed. She was somehow, softer. Then she opened her mouth and he realized five years hadn't changed her a bit. He wondered if the back of her knees were still ticklish.
"The dark side of the moon got a little boring and I wanted to see a Patriots game live."
"You've changed"
"You haven't."
He fought the image of her and Winslow together that flashed through his mind.
Mayer was watching them like the final match at Wimbledon. She couldn't hold her curiosity any longer.
"You know each other?"
"Use to, a long time ago." Woody said almost to himself.
Jordan regained the feeling back in her feet and decided it was time to make a hasty exit. She looked at her watch.
"Ah, I have an appointment I have to get to. It completely slipped my mind. Agent Mayer would it be too much of a problem if you stopped by my office say first thing tomorrow. Thanks."
Jordan quickly made her way out of the room. She tried to get to the hallway, but not before Woody reached out to grab her arm.
"I'm sorry Jordan. I wasn't planning this."
Jordan held her breath and smoothly extricated herself from his hand. She wanted to ask if he was sorry he was back or if he was sorry he ran in to her.
Instead she just turned and, as gracefully as possible, made her way out of the building. She couldn't remember if she exhaled until she opened the lobby door and felt the crisp late autumn breeze in her hair.
Woody stood in the hallway and watched her retreating figure. He could hear Mayer's voice asking what was going on. He walked back to his office and shut the door. A few seconds later the loud crash brought people out of their own offices. Woody opened his door and calmly walked out, shutting the door behind him.
"Don't worry about that cord Mayer; I'll pick one up when I go buy a new monitor."
Straightening his tie he walked down the hallway to his new boss's office.
Woody looked down at his new security badge. He would have sworn it still felt warm from the laminating machine. His name stared back at him. His real name.
Everything had been taken away from him five years, two months, six days, five hours he looked at his watch, and forty three minutes ago. He should be thankful he at least got his name back. Most people who enter the witness protection program go for the rest of their lives never being able to acknowledge their past. He was one of the lucky ones.
When he left Boston he ended up in a truck stop town outside of Boise. He was given a new identity, a new past and was told to reinvent himself. He did in the bottom of a whiskey bottle for the first year. He carries a constant reminder of that time with the ragged scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow.
He was at his usual stool in a local roadhouse when a fight broke out between a husband and a wife. He couldn't sit still and watch the much larger man mop up the floor with the smaller woman. He took a broken beer bottle in his arm for his trouble. If he wasn't so drunk he may have been able to anticipate the wife's desperate move. After one hundred stitches he decided to stop wallowing in self pity.
He cleaned up his act and decided to move on with his so called life. He took a job in construction even though it was enough to make his teeth ache. But, he stuck with it day in, day out. Around once a week he would be contacted by his Uncle Sam. A member of Deputy Bernard's team would make sure everything was going alright.
Two years into his exile his weekly check-in turned into a visit from Bernard himself. Bernard had come to tell him that Cahill was died. His organization had been absorbed. The drama of the past few years was now just a foot note in history. The government didn't see the necessity of providing unneeded protection.
He was free to go. It was all he could do not to hop the first plane to Boston. He decided he needed to get his life in order first before he made any rash moves. He thought about what he wanted to do. He was a cop. Unfortunately, the idea of trying to get back on with the Boston PD left a bitter taste in his mouth. He asked Bernard to help him to apply to the FBI Academy. He wanted to be where he had the clout to make a difference in the fight against the mob.
Martin Tucker enrolled and was accepted as a favor to the US Marshal's Office. But by the end of his initial training period Tucker proved to be good at what he did. A bit unorthodox, but good.
He was offered a free ticket to his choice of billeting. The night before he was to make his choice he made a discreet phone call to an acquaintance who worked dispatch at the Boston police department. After his conversation he knew Boston was the last place he would be needed.
She had moved on. She broke her own rule and was with yet another cop, an old friend of the family, a good man, and they had started a family. Martin Tucker would just be a stranger. He was a stranger to even his own self. Tucker decided to stay lost to his family and friends. He took an assignment right there in Quantico.
Martin Tucker had been given a second chance at life. He decided he was going to truly make a difference. It was a pipe dream, of course. But at the time it was all he had.
Now, he had his name back. It was a small step. He picked up his phone and punched the area code for Wisconsin and quickly placed the phone back on the cradle. It was a scene that has played out a number of times in the last five years. He always hung before the phone could ring twice.
He tried to imagine what he would say to them. 'Hi it's me. I thought I'd give you call. I've been able to call for the last three years, but with setting up a new career and all, I never seemed to have the time.'
A decidedly rude sound came from his mouth.
"Ten minutes into being a new man and he's bent out of shape already."
Hoyt looked up to see his boss peering over top of the ash grey divider that formed one of the walls of his cubicle.
"I need to see you in my office right now."
With one last look at the phone Hoyt stood and followed his boss into one of the few four walled rooms on the floor.
"Sit down."
Hoyt took a seat and his boss handed him a service jacket folder. He noticed it was his own.
"If this is about shooting Mac's rookie's guy last week, I'm sorry. The sim was a bust after the asshole tried to flag down the bus on my corner. Our mark's target was on there."
"No, no that's not it. Although I'm still not happy you didn't let the guy go when you realized he wasn't your perp. These are you're walking papers. You're being reassigned out of the unit."
"What?"
"You've been holding down real estate long enough around here. We need you out in a field office."
"A field office? What the hell am I suppose to do at a field office."
"Your job."
Hoyt opened up the sealed envelope that sat on top of his service record. He read the enclosed paper carefully and then read it again before he threw it on his boss's desk.
"This is impossible. I'm sorry, I can't do it."
"What do you mean you can't do it?"
"Chief, this paper says Boston. You know I'm persona non grotta there."
"That was years ago. If they thought you was still a target you would still be watching for UFO's out in the desert someplace instead of sitting in my office smelling like a cheap cigar."
"Why Boston?"
"You know the ropes, you know the players. Hell, since you've been here you have become almost a guru on the underbelly of South Boston."
"That was personal."
"Personal or not they requested you and you're the best man for the job. They needed someone yesterday. You spin up time will be minimal. Sorry man. You're going."
"You sure you and Mac didn't dream this up to get back at me for taking down the rookie's mark?"
By the look on his boss's face Hoyt realized this was not a bad joke.
"Shit"
"Get over it Hoyt. Boston is a big town. Five years is a long time. You're bridges were burned for you. Since you left there's been a new police chief, a new head of homicide, a new DA....."
Hoyt opened his mouth to argue and his boss put up his hand to stop him.
"I've heard enough. You report in a week. I suggest you go home and start packing."
Hoyt walked out of the office and slammed the door. He heard his name from purgatory muttered behind the closed door and the old man changed the 'T' again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordan looked up from the autopsy table to see Garret standing in front of her.
"I just thought I'd let you know I sent over that report to the DA's office on the John Doe you had this morning. Apparently the feds concur with your findings. They want to talk to you and the detective in change to see if this guy is that missing businessman from Chicago."
"His hands and head were gone. They're going to have to wait for DNA to get a definitive match. Tell them to find me the rest of the body and I may be able to speed things up."
"Yeah, well you can tell them yourself. They were going to send a guy over later but I told them you'd swing by the field office on your way home. It's Friday and I knew Jack's nanny is taking off this weekend. There is no reason why you should have to wait around here for some guy to show up."
"Mrs. Granger will appreciate that." Jordan said sarcastically.
"Mrs. Granger deserves a service medal and combat pay."
"Jack's not that bad."
"I'm talking about you."
Garret was about to turn to leave.
"Oh by the way, before you go stop by my office. Renee brought back something for Jack from Indiana."
"She didn't have to."
"The woman can't even walk past a hardware store without seeing if there is something in there to spoil that kid. You're going to have to watch him when he gets older. He's too much like Hoyt...."
Jordan looked quickly down at the body in front of her.
"I'm sorry Jordan."
She let out a short laugh and looked back up at her boss.
"Hey, it's alright, you can say his name in front of me. He's been gone for half a decade. I think we've all moved on."
Garret thought back to the rocky road that was his life after his role in faking Hoyt's death. It took months for Jordan to forgive him. Trusting him came even later. The only thing good that came out of that time was Jack.
"You're right...... She also wanted to ask if guys would like to come over for dinner sometime next week. She's got a light work load and wants to take Jack down to the pond and feed the ducks before it starts getting too cold."
Jordan had to smile at that. Renee, Jack and ducks all in the same sentence meant in most likelihood that Garret would be doing all the cooking and Jordan would be cleaning up. It wouldn't be so bad. She wanted to hear about the progress on the weekend house. She hadn't been up there since the masonry had been done on the fireplace.
"Sounds great just tell me what day."
"I'll let you know. I told them you'd meet with an Agent Mayer in an hour."
Jordan rolled her eyes. Mrs. Granger was going to have plenty enough time to beat the rush hour traffic while she would barely have enough time to grab a shower before she left the building.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordan was running late when she stopped at the front desk at One Center Plaza. Jordan had spent countless hours there demanding a status on the car bombing and could have survived very nicely never having had come back. She wondered if Agent Tillman still worked there.
Jordan was signed in and waved through a metal detector. She was met by an Agent Mayer whom she had met earlier in the day at the scene where the body of the John Doe was found in a dumpster behind a motel.
"Dr. Cavanaugh. Thank you for stopping by. Can I get you something to drink coffee or a soda perhaps?"
Jordan looked at the leggy blonde and decided Agent Mayer must have gone into the wrong career field. If it weren't for the SIG Sauer hanging from her waist Jordan would have sworn she was Flight Stewardess Barbie.
"No thank you, I'm fine."
After an elevator ride, they walked down a hallway which Jordan assumed led to a conference room of some type. Jordan turned her face toward a closed office door where a series of grunts and the sounds of moving furniture were punctuated by a string of words that made her eyebrows shoot up.
"I'm sorry, that's the new guy. He just got here this morning, He wasn't happy with the way his office was set up. I remember him from Quantico; hot, but a real asshole. Between you and me, I don't think he's looking forward to a New England winter."
Mayer lead Jordan into a small meeting room which was lined with tack boards covered with pictures and information from the case of the missing man from Chicago along with everything they had from that morning. Jordan was looking at the pictures taken at the scene when there was a commotion at the door.
"Mayer, you know where I can find a new cord for my PC? This one's a piece of ........damn."
Jordan felt the floor open up under her feet when she heard the voice behind her. She put a hand to her mouth and didn't dare turn around. It had to be just a figment of her imagination.
"Jordan?"
Jordan turned around and looked into her son's eyes. Only they were older and colder then she remembered. She quickly regrouped and ran her suddenly damp hands down her pant legs.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Woody looked away for a second and smiled. At first glance he thought she had changed. She was somehow, softer. Then she opened her mouth and he realized five years hadn't changed her a bit. He wondered if the back of her knees were still ticklish.
"The dark side of the moon got a little boring and I wanted to see a Patriots game live."
"You've changed"
"You haven't."
He fought the image of her and Winslow together that flashed through his mind.
Mayer was watching them like the final match at Wimbledon. She couldn't hold her curiosity any longer.
"You know each other?"
"Use to, a long time ago." Woody said almost to himself.
Jordan regained the feeling back in her feet and decided it was time to make a hasty exit. She looked at her watch.
"Ah, I have an appointment I have to get to. It completely slipped my mind. Agent Mayer would it be too much of a problem if you stopped by my office say first thing tomorrow. Thanks."
Jordan quickly made her way out of the room. She tried to get to the hallway, but not before Woody reached out to grab her arm.
"I'm sorry Jordan. I wasn't planning this."
Jordan held her breath and smoothly extricated herself from his hand. She wanted to ask if he was sorry he was back or if he was sorry he ran in to her.
Instead she just turned and, as gracefully as possible, made her way out of the building. She couldn't remember if she exhaled until she opened the lobby door and felt the crisp late autumn breeze in her hair.
Woody stood in the hallway and watched her retreating figure. He could hear Mayer's voice asking what was going on. He walked back to his office and shut the door. A few seconds later the loud crash brought people out of their own offices. Woody opened his door and calmly walked out, shutting the door behind him.
"Don't worry about that cord Mayer; I'll pick one up when I go buy a new monitor."
Straightening his tie he walked down the hallway to his new boss's office.