Hotel Laurentius, Washington D.C.

November 28, 7.30 a.m.

The intruding ringing of his cell phone on the nightstand woke him.  For a moment, he was disoriented, groping around in the dark for whatever was making this noise.  When he finally found his phone and answered, he recognized the dim outline of the room as the hotel room where he was staying.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Jack, but there's important news.   One of the field agents out at the North Carolina Office apparently committed suicide last night.  She left a note confessing to having worked with Markus Feldman as part of a drug-dealing ring.  We haven't analysed everything yet, but there are enough details in the note that we think it's genuine."

Jack didn't know what to say.  Their case had taken yet another unexpected turn.  But it already felt a bit too convenient, that someone from inside just committed suicide and admitted to treason.  On the other hand, maybe he was just getting paranoid; after all, they had only been moving targets until now.

"Are Danny and Samantha coming back to New York then?" he asked, realizing that Vivian was waiting for some kind of reply.

"There is something else," Vivian said hesitantly, and Jack recognized her tone.   It was the same tone she used when giving families bad news about their missing loved ones.  "They are missing.  I don't have all the details yet, but Van Doran wants you back at the office as soon as possible."

"Yes." That was all he could muster at the moment.  This was not happening.  Two FBI agents did not just go missing while on a case.  They were two people trained to use weapons and, if necessary, to use deadly force to defend themselves.

He promised to keep Vivian updated, then hung up.  He packed his small suitcase and called the airline to book his ticket, as if he was in a trance.  Everything was automatic; he was neither thinking nor feeling.

Somewhere

Sometime on November 28

Ouch! Her head.  Hadn't she been there already---waking up with a hangover? That didn't happen twice in one day.  But this time, something was wrong.  There was no bed.

She extended her arm to push herself up, but that effort fell short when she found that she couldn't move.  Panic rising, she tried again, but undoubtedly her wrists were tied together.  She tested the rest of her limbs and found that her ankles had suffered a similar fate.

This wasn't happening.  It couldn't be happening.  What to do? Don't panic.  First of all, she had to remain calm and find out what was going on here.

She raised her bound wrists until her hands touched the wall...concrete, unpainted.  Then she started dragging herself forward, an inch at a time, along the wall.  It was more exciting than any workout at the gym.  She could feel sweat running down her back and forehead.  Gasping, she leaned back, taking a break.  Her knees and back were aching, but she kept going, working her way forward, around a corner.

Suddenly, the concrete under her hands disappeared and she touched cold metal.  A door? Her knees and back started to hurt.  She leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath of musty air.

The cycle repeated itself several times as she worked her way along the walls of her prison.  Suddenly, without any warning, she bumped into something on the floor

She recoiled when she hit the soft mass.  Carefully, not knowing what to expect, she edged her hands forward again, prepared this time.

Clothing…the body was warm.  Danny? She moved her hand upwards over more clothing.  Her fingers hit something sticky.  Blood.  She panicked.  Was he hurt, or even dead? He was still breathing.

"Danny?" she whispered, nudging his shoulder carefully, not wanting to move him before knowing how badly he was hurt.  She got a moan in response.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" Her own voice sounded raw.

"Yeah.  Sam?" He sounded pained.

"Ouch." A sharp hiss of pain.

"Just lie on the floor.  You're bleeding from somewhere." She felt so utterly helpless, trapped in darkness.

"I think it's my head.  Even on my worst day, I never had a headache this bad and, believe me, I've been there," he said, trying to lighten the mood.  "Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so.  My arm hurts...probably pulled the stitches."

Silence, heavy breathing.

"It is dark, isn't it? Fear was in Danny's voice. 

His usual confident tone was gone.

"It's dark.  I don't think there is a window."

"Good"

Both were silent.

Samantha tried to calm down her frantic mind.  Focus on what you know.  Focus on what's useful.  Panicking will do you no good now.  If they just wanted you out of the way, they would have shot you right there at the gravesite.  So what do I know? She talked to herself, trying to get some order to her thoughts.

The room was bare---rectangular outline, four concrete walls, steel door, no window.  She had an idea.  Carefully, she edged her way back to the direction where she recalled having encountered the metal door.  Grabbing the door handle, she tried pulling herself into a standing position, an undertaking seriously hampered by her ankles being tied together.  She lost her balance and fell.

On her third try, she managed to steady herself.  She felt for the doorframe and found what she was looking for---a light switch.  She flicked it and was immediately assaulted by bright neon light, driving a corkscrew of pain through her head.

She had instinctively raised her hand to her head, causing her to tumble to the ground.  Her arm made painful contact with the ground.  She carefully reopened her eyes, this time allowing herself to adjust to the light.  The room was smaller than it had seemed to her before.

"You could have warned me," Danny said, weakly.

In the light, Danny didn't look well.  Blood had run down his face, sticking to his hair.  His wrists and ankles were tied together with duct tape.

Samantha drew her feet up to her chest, trying to get into a comfortable position.  There was nothing she could do right now.  They were trapped.   It was worse than she had imagined.  Why were they still alive? Agent Robinson and whomever he was working with could have executed them right there and buried them somewhere in the woods, and they would never have been found.  What was the purpose of keeping them alive and bringing them here, wherever that was?

FBI Missing Person's Unit, New York City

November 28, 4 p.m.

The trip back to New York City had taken too long and had been too short at the same time.  On one side, Jack could hardly wait to find out what exactly had happened.   He needed to do something as soon as possible; he needed to know everything.   But on the other hand, he didn't want to face what had happened.  It just seemed too much, too soon; his mind was still working hard on taking it in.

At the office, Vivian and Van Doran were already waiting for him.

"This is what we know so far," Van Doran started to explain.  "Agent Robinson found his colleague, Agent Severin, dead at the field office.  She died from a gunshot wound to the head, presumably self-inflicted, but the autopsy will have to confirm that.  Agent Severin left a note in which she admits to having worked with Markus Feldman and several other people involved in a drug-dealing ring.  The letter claims that she panicked once agents started showing up looking for Feldman, and that he orchestrated the sniper attack on Agents Spade and Fitzgerald.  "

"Do we have any verification?"

"A search of her house turned up small amounts of drugs and her bank statements confirm that she had regularly received cash payments.

"What about Danny and Samantha?" Jack asked the question that was foremost on his mind.

 "Agent Severin made a mention of them.  She says they have been taken care of, but she doesn't offer any specifics.  Their rental car was found parked in front of the field office.  But Agent Malone, as long as we have no proof that Agent Severin's statements can be taken as the truth, this is an open investigation and all avenues must be pursued.

"You and Agent Johnson will head this end of the investigation.  I have a copy of the investigative report into the car bomb incident last week, as well as the threatening notes.   There might be a connection unrelated to the case.  I want you to work this like a normal case until you hear otherwise.  The major part of the investigation, however, will be headed by the North Carolina field office, along with an internal investigator.

I will need to have a word with you in private, Agent Malone," she added after a pause.

Vivian left the room, while Jack stayed behind.

"Normally, I wouldn't assign you to this case now.  And if it were my decision to make, you would be suspended right now, pending investigation, but obviously there is someone in Washington looking out for you.  But if I see that you cannot handle this, I will remove you from this case."

"I understand." Jack felt like an agent on his first day of duty.  Truth was, he wasn't sure that he could trust himself to keep his feelings in check on this case, but at the same time, he knew he needed to work on this case.   He needed to do what he could do figure out what had happened to Samantha and Danny.

 

Apartment of Danny Taylor, New York City

November 28, 5 p.m.

Danny's apartment was modern and well-organized.   He certainly didn't spend much on furniture; there were just the essentials.  The entire apartment was small: a tiny kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom and a small living room that also seemed to serve as a study.  Jack started there while Vivian took a look at the rest of the apartment.

On the table, Jack found notes related to their case.  Danny had been jotting down ideas and made lists of clues and diagrams about how the players might be connected.  The names Diane Durkin, Lydia Atkinson and Markus Feldman featured prominently on all of those.  Danny had used question marks to indicate unknowns, such as the letter writer and the authors of the car bomb.

Jack was surprised; he had no idea that Danny spent time working on their cases after hours.  Maybe Van Doran had not been so wrong after all in sending them here.   They might just be able to find something after all.  Jack decided to look around further before taking a closer look at the notes.  It would take some time to analyse those.

Aside from the notes, there was nothing of interest on the table or in the drawers---just stationery and receipts for groceries and gasoline.  Jack looked around for an address book, but didn't find one.  Suddenly there was a noise behind him, coming from the direction of the door.  Jack spun around, drawing his gun at the same time.

A man, approximately Danny's age, stood in the doorway, a scared look on his face.

"Keep your hands were we can see them," Jack ordered.

Vivian had been alerted by the commotion, and had joined them from the kitchen.   She had her gun drawn as well.

"Please, just don't shoot me.  I just wanted to visit Danny Taylor."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the small kitchen, taking Shawn's statements.

"How long have you known Danny?"

"Maybe nine months.  But can you finally tell me what's going on? Has something happened to Danny?"

"He has gone missing; we are working on the investigation.  So, when was the last time you saw him?"

 "Three days ago.  He told me that he was going away for work.  We were supposed to meet yesterday, and when I couldn't reach him, I got worried and came here."

Neither Vivian nor Jack wanted to pry further into the nature of Shawn and Danny's relationship.  It felt wrong to intrude on the private lives of the people they worked with every day.  Uncovering their secrets felt like a betrayal.   Vivian and Jack silently agreed that they would not ask any more questions than they needed to ask.

"One last question, Mr. McNeil.  Do you know whether Danny has ever been threatened---phone calls or maybe someone has been following him?"

"Hmm.  There was something he told me about last week.  He said that he had the feeling that he had been followed at work."

 "Did he tell you when he had been followed?"

"If so, I can't remember.  He said that he and a colleague had been checking out something at a club and someone had followed them afterwards.  But that was the only thing he ever mentioned.  He seemed rather nervous about it." Shawn frowned.

Going to Danny's apartment earlier had already been quite difficult.   It had felt like a brutal invasion into his private life.  But when it came to entering Samantha's apartment, he was almost scared.  It was not that he didn't know what to expect---he had been there before and had even spent more than one night there.

The impression of familiarity assaulted him immediately as soon as he stepped from the corridor into her living room.  It looked just like he recalled it.  In the space of a few months, nothing had changed, at least nothing leaping out at him.  Seeing this room made the memories come alive with force:

Samantha sitting on the couch, changed into more uncomfortable clothes after a long workday; Samantha sitting on the couch, laughing about something; him on the couch with her, kissing her softly; memories of breakfast at the glass coffee table before his eyes.

Sam, not being much of a cook nor having the time to eat at home, didn't even have a dining room table.  What for, she had replied, laughingly, when he had asked on his first visit.  No, it certainly had not been his first visit---then he didn't notice the details of her furnishings.  He couldn't help but smile.  That had come only later.

"Jack, are you all right?" Vivian asked, making him almost jump.  He had not noticed her while he had been lost in his reverie.

This was bad, if she didn't know already.   He was broadcasting a clear signal that his involvement with Samantha had not always been strictly professional.  Of all the time where he could come face to face with the consequences, this was particularly bad.

His position was already precarious due to the course the investigation had been taking, and now that Samantha was missing, his affair with her would portray him in an entirely different light, and might even lead an overzealous agent to question his role in this.   He would too when faced with such a situation on a case.

"I'm fine," he replied, hoping to shake Vivian off.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said firmly, and turned his attention away from the couch where he had been staring, almost transfixed.

He needed to get a grip on himself, but it was hard.  Although the times of his personal visits here were long over---it had been for over 6 months now---it still felt like he shouldn't be here.  Coming here in a professional capacity violated every personal feeling that had ever taken place between them.  And standing here or, even worse, going through her belongings and turning her life upside down also drove home a point.  She really was missing, and he had no clue as to what had happened.  All he really had were the grizzly scenarios running through his head.

There was no way Danny and she had disappeared voluntarily.  No matter what anyone was suggesting, he knew both of them better than that.  Something horrible had happened to them, and he was here wasting his time and what might also be their time.  But no matter his feelings, he had to get to work and do his job.  Working on the case was all he could do for her right now, and he was determined to do his best.

FBI Missing Persons Unit, New York City

November 28, 7.45 p.m.

Danny's case notes had not revealed much new insight. He had not gotten anywhere on the case either. Jack put the notes aside. They were wasting their time here when they should be in North Carolina where Danny and Samantha had been seen the last time. It was extremely unlikely that they would find anything in New York. Even the case to which their disappearance was tied led to North Carolina and Liam Kendall.

There was a knock on the door and Vivian entered. She looked tired and worn.

"Any news?" he asked.

"No. I've checked both their bank accounts; nothing stands out and neither of them charged anything to their credit cards in the last twenty-four hours. The last charge was on Samantha's credit card at Lucy's Diner at 7.15 p.m. yesterday evening---$8, sounds like dinner. But what is odd is that there is no matching charge on Danny's credit card. Either he paid in cash or they didn't have dinner together. But that's about the only irregularity I found. Everything else checks out."

"I've been on the phone, calling everyone in their address books. No one knows anything. I've also been trying to call the local head investigator three times, but somehow nobody seems to know where he is."

"I assume you want the report and the evidence list? I have those right here." Vivian handed him two folders.

"How did you get these?" Jack asked, surprised, as he had chased after those files to no avail.

"I simply asked for someone to fax them here. I took a glance at them, and everything seems to check out. You think it won't, right?"

"There are just too many coincidences. And then the suicide and the letter confessing to just about everything? That's too convenient."

"As you will see in the report, they verified the details of the letter, and so far they all checked out, including the location of Lydia Atkinson's body."

"That was in there as well?"

"Yes, Agent Severin claims that she personally participated in disposing of Lydia's body. But read it for yourself; here's a copy of the letter.

Jack started to read.

         "I don't know who will read this, but whoever it is, please make sure that the right people will see this. Justice needs to be done. I have committed a terrible betrayal against the Federal Bureau of Investigation and against this entire country. It has come to a point where I cannot          live with the burden any longer. This is the only honourable thing for me to do now.

         Seven years ago, I was working on a case with the narcotics unit in the San Francisco field office. During this investigation, I was approached by a man---Thomas Reedman---whom we suspected to be a major player in a drug trafficking ring. I had financial difficulties at the time and         accepted his offer to make evidence disappear in exchange for money.

         While Thomas Reedman no doubt has ordered numerous murders, I only know of three of them. He intentionally ran over a woman named Diane Durkin. I don't know any details, except that he was driving a car registered to Reedman. I was contacted by Thomas Reedman, who today goes by the name of Liam Kendall, to dispose of two bodies. I called in sick at work that day and drove out to pick up the bodies at a cottage that Kendall was using as part of his drug operation. I buried the bodies in the woods about 50 miles north off Manor Road.

Then a few days later, two FBI agents from New York City came to town. They were investigating the disappearance of the woman that I had buried in the woods. I panicked and called Kendall, and he said he would take care of it for me. The next day, a sniper tried to kill the two agents, but failed. I do not know who fired the shots that day, but I can only assume that it was someone hired by Liam Kendall.

Another agent, Agent Taylor, came to town and joined the investigation. He and Agent Spade went back to the cottage and apparently found drugs there. I contacted Liam Kendall as soon as I could, and he told me that he would get rid of the agents and that I shouldn't worry.  All I had to do was make the drugs disappear from evidence."

Jack checked the file that detailed the verification done by the field office. The bodies of Lydia and Sina Atkinson had been found in a shallow grave in the woods, exactly where the letter had said they were. Tire treads near the gravesite matched Rita Severin's car, but it was a popular model, so this was far from conclusive evidence. The two bodies had been identified based on clothes and jewellery, but had not yet been examined.

The autopsy report of Rita Severin confirmed her cause of death as suicide by self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Her body had been found in her office, along with the letter saved on her computer. Drugs had been found in her home and in her car. Jack closed the report. The facts did seem to check out; there was nothing he could say to contradict  that. Still, it didn't seem right to him.

Jack reread the letter once and then again. It was wrong. This was no suicide letter. There was no emotion; it was a collection of facts and some standard Lifetime movie phrases. This was not what someone who was about to kill herself would write. Someone else was blaming Agent Severin.

The level of detail in the letter suggested that whoever had written it had been involved in the various criminal activities the letter discussed. If he could find the writer of the letter, then he would be a big step closer to figuring out what had happened to Danny and Samantha.

This letter was perhaps the first real mistake that their killer or killers had made. They had given the FBI their location. It must be someone from the area who knew Rita Severin personally, someone from within the field office.

As absurd as the thought seemed at first, it would go a long way towards explaining a lot of things. Maybe the story told in Rita Severin's letter was true, but another agent had been the one taking the money in exchange for covering up the drug deals. Then after Danny and Samantha had started to figure out what was going on, the agent had to react quickly. They had staged Rita Severin's suicide, letting her take the fall.

But if his theory was right, then the likelihood that Danny and Samantha were still alive was low. They would have been nothing but a liability and they had probably been murdered just like Rita Severin, only in their cases, it could not be disguised as a suicide.

He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was late, almost 8 p.m. already. Maria was already back from work.

Maria. She didn't even know he was back in the city; he had gone straight to the to office after arriving from D.C. It occurred to him that they had not talked since the night he had come home after the car bomb. He had not talked to his daughters since then. The case had taken over his entire life. All he had done for days, was work, sleep and drink coffee, or so it seemed.

He was trapped. He knew he had to go home, but maybe it was already too late.  But he also knew that he had to go to North Carolina to try to get to the bottom of this case. If Rita Severin's suicide was staged, and he was convinced that this was the case, there would be some evidence of this. Someone had to be covering up. This person was the same person who had plotted the sniper attack on Samantha and Danny and was responsible for at least two murders.

He didn't feel inclined to go home and face the icy silence between him and Maria and the awkward looks from his daughters. So he picked up the receiver and tried for the fourth time to reach Agent Robinson. He explained who he was and why he was calling. Agent Robinson seemed to sense that Jack was not making a courtesy call. To be honest, Jack would not have been happy either if their roles had been reversed.

"My office already sent you our progress report, which is more than we are obligated to do. What have you turned up at your end of the investigation?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. But there was one strange credit card charge indicating that the two had split up. Can you tell me when was the last time anyone saw the two of them together?"

"As far as I know, they were last seen together when they left the field office in the morning. And they met in the evening with Agent Severin, according to the letter she left."

"Have you been able to find out when she died?"

"Around 8 p.m., according to the M.E. . Will you tell me what you're after here? This is my case, Agent Malone."

"Agent Spade's credit card shows that she had dinner at a place called Lucy's Diner around 7 p.m. that evening. It appears that she was alone. Could you please check on that?"

"There is no need. I met Agent Spade there for dinner. Her partner was still at the field office. But that is none of your concern. I am qualified to investigate this case, Agent Malone, and you are in no position to suggest otherwise. If there is someone who lacks distance, it might be you. I have heard of your alleged involvement with Agent Spade."

Jack had no idea how Agent Robinson could have heard about that. Probably from whoever in Washington had been giving him orders. This of course meant that the OPR investigation could start all over again, as his conduct on this case was already under scrutiny.

 "I have no involvement with Agent Spade. But she is a member of my team, and I will do everything I can to solve this case. You do not seem to realize that two FBI agents are missing."

 "I do realize that, Agent Malone. Yes, they are missing, but it is reasonable to assume that they are no longer alive. As you have no doubt read, the late Agent Severin wrote that the two have been taken care of. Given the validity of the rest of her statements, we can assume this to be true."

"From her statement, we only know that she informed Liam Kendall, or whatever his name is, that Agents Spade and Taylor were onto her. We don't know what happened next. I don't think you have fully reconstructed the circumstances of their disappearance."

"Whether or not our reconstruction is satisfactory is not your concern. Good evening, Agent Malone." Agent Robinson hung up.

It wasn't that Jack had expected much else; he had worked on cases requiring cooperation of several field offices before, and trouble had usually resulted. But seldom had he encountered a person as unwilling to cooperate as Agent Robinson.

 "No luck?"

Jack turned around to see that Vivian was still on the phone. From his end of the conversation, she had pretty much gathered what was going on.

 "No. It just doesn't track. The day that Danny and Samantha disappeared, they were last seen together at the field office, when Samantha was making her statement regarding the shooting." Jack went over the white board and drew a timeline. This time, there were no pictures attached, but there was no need. Jack didn't think he could bear it if there were.

 "I don't know what they did after that, but I assume they drove out to the scene. Samantha had a follow up appointment at the hospital, so that's probably when they got back into the city. When I couldn't reach Samantha for the first time, I thought it was because she was in the hospital and had her phone switched off." Jack added the hospital appointment to the timeline.

 "I did a little checking on my own and called the hospital. Samantha had a four o'clock appointment and after that, she spoke with Dr. Reed, Martin's doctor. After that I don't know," Vivian said calmly. Jack wasn't the only one who had his doubts about the version of events in the report from Agent Robinson. Jack didn't answer, but added the appointment to the timeline.

 "She obviously left the hospital again and had dinner with Agent Robinson," Jack said while writing.

Vivian raised an eyebrow. It seemed unlikely that Samantha was in a sociable mood, and it raised a question as to where Danny had been during that time. If he had been at the field office, possibly with Agent Severin, then there would be security camera tapes to prove it. Those tapes might even shed some light onto when exactly things started to get violent.

At some point, given that their assumptions were correct, Danny and Samantha must have realized that they were faced with an inside job. But even then, Jack could not picture the scenario. If they had known something was up, they would have been careful, and they would have contacted him. But fact was that both had been unreachable the entire evening, even though Samantha had been seen after 7 p.m. The entire timeline just didn't fit.

 "There has to be something we're missing." Vivian spoke what was on Jack's mind. "But we're not going to find it tonight. The agents from the field office will have to sort that out."

 "I know." Jack sighed. "It's just very difficult just to sit by and do nothing."

Vivian just nodded. She felt the frustration, but knew that there was nothing she could do. It was late, and there were people at home who needed her. She didn't envy Jack in the slightest.