Sydney watched as her father prepared breakfast. Her normal routine was toast and coffee, but Jack would have none of it, despite Sydney knowing full well that his morning routine usually matched hers. She would have protested more strongly, but he seemed so pleased to cook for her and she didn't have the heart to tell him no.
"I'm not going into the office today, Dad." He cocked an eyebrow, eyes questioning. "I ... there is something I need to do today. You'll call me if anything happens?"
"Your mother e-mailed me last night. I printed out a copy of what she sent. We can narrow our search to Tuscany."
Sydney studied the paper, not sure how to take this revelation. "You don't think she's setting a trap?"
"I can't be sure, of course. We'll take all the appropriate precautions." He said, gravely. Then, more abruptly, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Sydney smiled up at him. Watching the videos with her father had already won her one victory. He had opened up to her more over the last few days than he had since the day he rescued her from the SD-6 death squad. Hearing the endearments brought back memories from her childhood, memories of the loving father who had spoiled her despite her mothers protestations.
"I'm fine, Dad. I just need a break. Is it okay for me to stay here? I thought I'd look through some of the stuff in my old closet. It looks like no one's touched it in ages."
"That's fine..." The chime for the door rang, interrupting him. "That will be Juanita. My housekeeper." Jack explained at Sydney's enquiring look. "She'll let herself in. The doorbell thing is just a courtesy ..."
"Ah, Senor Jack, I picked up your dry cleaning. They found a note in one of the pockets ..." She stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, Senor, I didn't realize you had company."
"I don't think you've met my daughter, Juanita. She'll be spending the day here."
"A pleasure, Miss Bristow." Juanita stared at her with open curiousity, but asked nothing. "Oh, here is the note. It was in your white suit."
Jack took the envelope and paled slightly. "Thank-you. I'll read it later. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Dad?"
"It's nothing, Sydney," he told her flatly. He was lying of course, they both knew it. She started to push, then caught sight of the letters on the outside of the envelope. ARILY. The handwriting was her mothers, of course. Her style was very distinctive and Sydney had studied enough of her mother's lesson notes and papers to recognize it even from a distance. The word must have some great significance for them. She had seen the same word on the flier her father had given her earlier.
"Call me, Dad. Okay?" She saw the relief in Jack's eyes when he realized she would not press him for more information.
"Have a good day, honey. Enjoy your pancakes. I'll see you for dinner?" At her nod, he headed out not bothering to eat his own breakfast.
............................................................
Her father's study had been off limits to her when she was growing up. He would come home late and spend the evening locked behind its doors. This had given the forbidden room an aura of mystery. She would sneak in when he was away, sit in his chair and pretend he was holding her on his lap like he had before her mother died. The basic decor had not changed very much. A new set of curtains filtered the light from the window and a killer computer occupied the space once belonging to an old electric typewriter. She opened the drawer to her left and found her mother's picture, hidden as it had always been, under an empty file folder.
She pulled the disks from her bag and placed the first one back into the computer. There were three files listed. She clicked on the on labeled First Interview.
Subject: Jonathan "Jack" Donahue Bristow
Age: Thirty-one
Height: 6'2
Race: Caucasian
Gender: Male
Religious Affiliation: Unknown
Background information: Agent Bristow was recruited in 1967. His background is linguistics, physics, cryptology, game theory, and aeronautics. Left-handed. He met "Laura" in 1970 while attending college. They were married a year later. He has one child, a daughter, age 6. Current case load is Project Christmas. Assigned to the Los Angeles office June 1, 1977.
Current Duty Status: Suspension of duty, suspicion of espionage.
Case Officers: Ryan Hamilton, FBI; Robert Staunton, CIA
BRISTOW - Week One
"Agent Bristow, this is Ryan Hamilton of the FBI. We will be conducting the investigation into your wife's espionage activities and your alleged collusion with her."
"Is this some kind of test, Bob? A bizarre game plan designed by the psych ward to evaluate my ability to handle pressure? If this turns out to be an experiment, I assure you, I will kill the person responsible." Jack looked his interrogators in the eye, fire burning in his own. "It's sick and perverted to use the recent death of my wife as a..." His voice cracked. He swallowed, then said firmly, "My wife was not a spy and neither am I."
"For the remainder of your stay here, you will address me as Agent Staunton. Is that clear?"
"For God's sake, Bob.."
"Is that clear, Agent Bristow?"
Jack looked at his friend, stunned. He nodded, unable to speak.
"You can call me Hamilton," the FBI agent smiled reassuringly. "Staunton, I don't see a need to be quite so formal..."
"I have no patience for traitors, especially those who've pretended to be my friend." Staunton spit out.
"I am not a traitor," Jack repeated resolutely.
"That's what we are trying to prove, Jack. We are on your side, even if Staunton here is a little gruff. I have a few questions to ask that may be beneficial in our investigation. I see that you visited Heidelberg on your honeymoon. Can you tell me some of the places you toured while there?"
Jack looked into the angry eyes of his friend and then focused back on Hamilton. "The castle, the old bridge, the Witches Tower, the amphitheatre," he replied tersely.
"Nowhere else?"
"Some small shops, an old church."
"These shops, do you recall which ones you visited?"
Jack looked incredulous. "That was over ten years ago and frankly, I wasn't paying much attention to the locale. It was my honeymoon. I was more interested in the hotel room than the shops!"
"The shops?" Hamilton prompted again.
Jack ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing emotions. "We went to several gift shops, a couple of antique stores, and a bookstore."
"Do you recall the name of any of these places?"
"Just the bookstore."
"Oh, why the bookstore?" Hamilton questioned him, voice deceptively mild.
"You know damn well why."
"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me." Hamilton responded smoothly.
Jack stared silently at the FBI agent, assessing his next response. "My wife is..." he swallowed. "My wife was a professor of literature. She loves ... loved books, especially old ones. I set up an account with the owner. We gave him a list of books we wanted. Whenever he acquired any of them he would contact me and we would negotiate a price."
"Whose idea was that, Jack, to set up the account?"
Jack hesitated, fully understanding the implications of his answer. "Mine," he said firmly.
"The
owner of the store, do remember his name?
"Fritz Lambauer."
"I see you had no difficulty remembering his name."
"I wrote out the checks, as I am sure you already know." Jack's attitude became perceptively more defiant.
"Whose suggestion was it to go to the bookstore?"
"Mine."
"And to buy the books?"
"Mine."
"Alright, Jack. That's all I have for now. We'll be calling on you again, soon."
"Wait!" Jack jumped from his chair attempting to stop them, a chain binding Jack's leg against the table held him back. "My daughter. I need to talk to her ... to see if she is okay. They told me you would have to grant permission."
The two men looked at each other, then silently headed for the door.
"Please..." Jack eyed them with tense desperation.
"I'm sorry, Jack. Your current status has you at 'no privileges'. You've been co-operative, so far, so I'm sure that will change soon." Hamilton gave his most sympathetic smile. Jack slumped against the table as the two men left him alone in the room.
Staunton turned just before leaving. "If we find you guilty, you won't need to worry about the electric chair, Bristow. I'll kill you myself." Jack paled as his friends' soft menacing tone found its mark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 2 - Debriefing
"I'm not sure the Good Cop/Bad Cop thing is going to work, Bob."
"Why not?," Bob questioned bluntly. "It's proved to be an effective interrogation tool."
"I read his file. He's an expert on game theory. Top five in the nation. I don't think the traditional tactics are going to work on him." Hamilton took a slow sip of coffee.
Bob paced nervously around the room. "I've gone over everything a dozen times. If you asked me a week ago to list who was the most likely to go rogue in our bureau, Jack would have been at the bottom of the list. Are you sure your intel is correct?
"We have pretty strong evidence against the wife. Nothing solid on him." Hamilton pursed his lips, folding his hands under his chin. "Interesting."
Bob's
full attention focused on Hamilton, as he slipped into the chair at the table.
"You've thought of something that connects Jack to the Russians?"
"No. I was just remembering Bristows' psych evaluation. It pretty much made the same assessment as you. So, who do you think is the most likely?"
"I'm not sure I should tell you."
"It's just a mental exercise. I'm not going out and arresting someone just because you have a hunch."
Bob gave Hamilton a thoughtful stare. "Arvin Sloane."
"Really. Any particular reason?" Hamilton swirled the coffee in his cup and took another slow sip.
"Not that I can put a finger on. As you said, it's just a hunch. Look how wrong I was about Jack."
"I'm not so sure you are wrong."
"Now that is an interesting statement. Your own hunch?"
"Somewhat, but based partially on experience. Bristow lied on a couple of statements. He lied about who was responsible for going to the bookstore and setting up the account."
Bob frowned. "Now, how the hell do you know that? The bookstore owner?"
"No. Fritz Lambauer is KGB. German intelligence caught him in a sting a couple weeks ago. He had several interesting files hidden in a not so secret safe. That's what put us on to Laura Bristow."
"The files told you she set up the meet?"
"No, one Gerard Cuvee set up that little operation. Have you ever heard of NLP*? No? I just went to a seminar. They did an interesting demonstration on how to tell if someone is lying. I knew Bristow was lying because of his eyes. He broke eye contact and focused up to the right. Classic example."
"I'll have to check into that." Bob clasped his hands behind his head and stretched out, body relaxing into the chair. "So you believe he's innocent because he's lying to protect his wife."
Hamilton gave him an approving nod. "Excellent deduction. However, I think it's more than that. I believe he's lying to preserve her memory. Which is why I don't think he was in on her deception."
"I'm not sure I'm following your line of reasoning."
"He thinks she's dead."
Bob stared at Hamilton, shocked.
"I know, I should have told you earlier, but I just found out myself. We've intercepted a message that indicates she survived the crash. Arrangements were being made to transport her back to the Soviet Union."
"Well, I'll be damned. So when do we tell Jack?"
"We don't." Hamilton's response had an air of unquestioning finality. Bob stared at his FBI counterpart. There was a long silence.
"If he's innocent..." Bob shook his head. "You could end up causing irreversible emotional damage."
"Whether he's innocent or not, his actions caused vital information to be leaked to the Soviets. He bears some responsibility here. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
Bob looked down at his hands clenched tightly together as he took in his partner's unsettling statement. "I sure hope so."
Sydney clicked off the video player and angrily pushed herself back from the desk. The FBI and CIA had known very early that her mother was still alive and withheld that information to better manipulate her father. He had not been emotionally unstable at that point and the knowledge might have made a enough difference in his responses to secure his release. His efforts to protect her mother only made him appear guilty.
The FBI interrogator used an old technique to determine her father had lied. She was familiar with NLP. Neuro-Linguistic Programming was developed in the Seventies as a psychology tool, but easily found its way into much broader fields. The 'eye access cues' had become a very popular method for lie detection because it was easy to teach. Later research, of course, proved that the technique was far too simple for the highly complex brain and results in general were not accurate.
Her father had lied, though. There were other, far more subtle, clues that gave him away. It helped that she already knew some of the cues, had learned them growing up, but most trained interrogators would have easily noticed the flatness of his tone, the slowdown in his breathing, the slight tensing of the muscles.
The reason for her father's lies was far more interesting. He was desperately trying to protect her mother's name. Ultimately, they would convince him of her mother's guilt. Despite that, though, he continued to preserve the memory of 'Laura' through their daughter. Most of the information she 'knew' about her mother had come from her father. When she had first suspected her father of working for the KGB he'd only offered evidence to clear himself. It wasn't until she forced his hand by turning him in as a KGB double agent that he'd revealed her mothers deception.
Sydney reached in the desk for her mother's picture and studied the photograph. Her mother looked so young and happy. There was something about the way she smiled into the camera, as though the photographer caught a single moment of thought. Out of all her mother's old pictures, this was the only one her father had kept. This was the face etched into his memory. This was the woman he still loved, despite her betrayal.
She thought of the man on the tapes. Her father had only been imprisoned for a week and already she saw a change. There was a nervous tension in the set of his shoulders and the movement of his hands. The tight emotional control she was used to was not yet evident, most likely due to the recent loss of her mother and the horrific accusations being leveled against her.
If Sloane was telling the truth, this was only the beginning of a six month journey. Her father had eventually made it through. She only hoped she would be as strong.
*Neuro-Linguistic Programming - If you are interested in the subject, here is a website to get you started: resolutely back to the screen and found the next segment. The clip showed her father sitting uneasily at a table. The door opened and he tensed, then quickly relaxed into relief.
"Jane," Jack whispered hoarsely, hugging his sister tightly. "Thank God. I've been so worried about Sydney. They won't let me talk to her. They won't let me call you." He let her go and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Please, wake me up and tell me I'm having a bad dream."
Jane clasped her brother's hand in hers, tears spilling unchecked down her cheek. "I wish it was just a dream, Jack. No one is telling me anything, either. I'm not sure if it's because I'm a reporter or because I'm your sister." She reached up and brushed at the tears slipping down Jack's face.
"Sydney is fine. I've told her you are away on a business trip. She understands that. Your housekeeper, Rosa, said she would keep Sydney with her until I can find a suitable nanny."
"Why can't she stay with you? You are her family, Jane."
Jane looked a little uncomfortable. "Jack... you know what kind of job I have. I never know when I'll be called to cover a story. Or where. It's just not practical. Besides, she knows Rosa better than she knows me."
Jack sat back in the chair, rubbing his temples. "They say Laura was a spy for the KGB and I am suspected of being her accomplice." He looked up as Jane stood silently against the table. "Say something, Jane." He shook his head. "No, scratch that. You and Laura never got along. I've never understood why. I just wish you wouldn't hold it against Sydney."
"That's not fair, Jack."
"Then why won't you keep her with you?"
"I've explained that ...."
"It's just an excuse," Jack banged an angry fist on the table. "A nanny could watch her just as easily from your home as mine."
"I know this hasn't been easy for you, Jack, but don't take your anger out on me. I'm not the one responsible for this."
"And I am, I suppose," Jack responded bitterly.
"No, Jack. Laura is."
"Sits the wind in that quarter?," Jack quoted. "I guess I'm her only ally."
"She's dead, Jack. She doesn't need an ally, but you do. I will do everything I can to get you out of here, but you need to co-operate with them, Jack. You've done nothing wrong."
"Did they send you in here to get me to co-operate," Jack looked at his sister suspiciously.
Jane shook her head sadly. "I can't believe you even had to ask. You're my brother. I would never do anything to cause you harm."
"I'm sorry, Jane." He gave a short laugh. "It's easy to get paranoid in here."
A sharp buzzer rang. "I have to go. They told me I could only have a few minutes. Don't worry, we'll get this mess straightened out soon. And don't worry about Sydney. She misses you, of course, but otherwise she's doing fine."
Vague memories of her 'visit' with Tia Rosa surfaced, as the screen faded to black. Rosa had been her father's housekeeper until just after she graduated from college. When her father had gone away shortly after her mother's death, she had stayed with Rosa until her aunt hired the first nanny. Tia Rosa had a large, boisterous family and she had been a little frightened around so many people all at the same time. She had adjusted quickly and having other children around provided good company, leaving only the nights for homesickness. Her aunt had been right about that, at least. Staying with Tia Rosa had distracted her from her loneliness. The nightmares started after she moved back home with the nanny.
Sydney turned her attention back to the monitor. She located the next file and double clicked. The camera's view angled down on a solitary figure in prison clothes. Jack was standing by the wall, his thumbnail scratching at the paint. He was humming a tune under his breath and with a start Sydney realized what it was. She had a momentary flashback of her parents in the hall, gently swaying as her father sang, "I'm in the mood for love". What had he said? "Whenever I go away, whenever I get lonely for you, I sing that song and I feel like you're there next to me." Her mother had called him a romantic.
He continued working, nail against paint, humming the tune over and over. She forwarded the video until he moved away from the wall. The camera zoomed in and she barely made out the letter 'A'. Her father seemed pleased with his handiwork, staring at the letter until his dinner arrived. Sydney set the player to do a skip review and stopped when the tape showed her father asleep on a cot far too small for his large frame. She watched as he turned restlessly. He called out to Laura in his dreams. Feeling like she was intruding, she stopped the video.
A gentle knock on the study door distracted her.
"Miss Bristow?" Juanita peeped her head in the door. "It's noon and I thought you might like some lunch. I have some soup and sandwiches ready in the kitchen if you're hungry?"
Sydney smiled at her gratefully. "Soup and sandwiches sounds great. And please call me Sydney."
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