Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1
St. Agnes Hospital, Annapolis
December 13, 6.15 p.m.
Samantha was awakened again by the sound of a knock on the door.
"Good evening, Ms. Spade. How are you feeling today?"
"Okay, but I doubt I'll be of much help."
"It seems like there was a minor misunderstanding yesterday. I'm very sorry about this. The FBI has provided us with more details. We jumped to conclusions about what happened when we found drugs in your system. You must understand that we get quite a few cases of overdoses every week." The detectives from the previous night were back, appearing far less stern this time around. She no longer felt like she was a suspect.
"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding last night." Detective Wong repeated the doctor's apology. "We didn't have all the information yet at that time."
"I understand."
"Can you tell us what happened? From the start, if possible."
This question was more difficult than it might have seemed at first. It was impossible to tell exactly where the clear memories ended. It was as if bits of memory were floating through her head and she couldn't hold on to them. She didn't know where to begin her account.
"My partner and I had searched the scene of a shoot-out; he went to take the evidence to the lab, while I had an appointment at the hospital. I went back to the motel afterwards and later met Agent Robinson to have dinner." Those memories were fairly clear; after that it became muddy.
"I remember being in a car with Agent Robinson. I think we were going back to the field office."
"When was that?"
"I don't know. It was the same night and it was already dark outside. At the field office, we met with Agent Taylor and another agent." Samantha tried hard to concentrate. She recalled standing in a small office, in front of a desk filled with files. She had been confused about what they were doing at the office. She also recalled a shot. Had she fired her weapon? No, that couldn't have been.
Suddenly, the grizzly image of the woman, whose name she didn't recall, lying on the floor with blood pooled under her head, appeared in her mind. It was she who had been shot.
"The other agent, she got shot while we were at the office. Did you find her body?"
"We did, but it has been ruled as a suicide. Did you see her kill herself?"
"No, she didn't kill herself," Samantha replied with conviction, as the details came back to her. "Agent Robinson killed her. He threatened to kill us as well. We had to hand over our guns and badges." She described the scene, as it unfolded in front of her mental eye. She recalled pain, cold and fear--being imprisoned in a dark space, unable to move, not knowing where they were and what was happening to them.
In a halting voice, she tried to describe their imprisonment in as many details as possible, but often her memory failed her and refused to cooperate.
The detectives took note of everything she said. Once she had finished her account, they had a few more questions.
"Did you maybe hear anything while they were holding you? Anything that might indicate the location."
"No, I didn't hear any cars or people. It wasn't near any roads as far I could tell." Samantha was surprised that she had never thought of that. But she couldn't really recall any particular occurrence during her captivity for a fact.
"I know this might be difficult, but you haven't said anything about the people who were holding you. Please try to recall any details about them. How many people were there?"
"Not sure, they were wearing masks. More than two men. I think there were three. One of them had a foreign accent, but I can't quite place it. They brought us food and took us to the bathroom," she said, mentally going over the image fragments.
The task was trying, and left her feeling helpless, tricked by her own mind. The fact that time was just gone without having left a trace on her memory was unfathomable. Those two weeks might never have really existed for all she could tell, all because some molecule had played tricks on her brain chemistry. Hatred towards the bastards that had done this flared up in her. She clenched the bed sheets.
"Agent Spade, are you all right?" Detective Wong's voice jerked her away from her inner troubles.
"Sorry, I'm having a hard time concentrating," she said, apologetically.
"Take as much time as you need. Did they ever tell you anything about why they were holding you? Any mention of a political agenda?"
"No, not that I can recall. But I really don't remember much. I'm sorry."
"We know. The results of your blood tests show that you had significant quantities of GHB and Ketamine in your system. It's surprising that you recall as much as you do," Detective Wong said softly.
That did nothing to make her feel better. Even though she fully knew and understood that she wasn't at fault, she couldn't help but blame herself for not recalling more. Memories are taken for granted so often that when they suddenly fail, all security is gone because all one really has is the memory of what has happened. It was as if the present was now suddenly built on uncertain ground. She was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from an ordeal that she hardly recalled.
She doubted that they would uncover anything. If they had not been found for two weeks, a time span that seemed entirely unreal to her now, it seemed impossible that they might uncover any new information based on her very vague testimony. She knew nothing really. They had made sure that she learned as little as possible and the drugs had done the rest.
Her frustration was dampened by a new wave of fatigue. Even though she had been awake less than an hour, her body seemed to think that it had been twenty-four hours at the very least. She drifted off again to an uneasy sleep, unaware that the two detectives were still in the room.
Olan Inn, somewhere south of Raleigh
December 14, 6.30 a.m.
He had no memory of having fallen asleep. But when he woke up, the faint light of dawn was coming through the blinds. He sat up, trying to shake off the fatigue. He checked his wristwatch. It was 7.30 a.m. He knew what he needed to do.
He got up and took a shower before trying to straighten out his creased suit. But no amount of hot steam or straightening could hide the fact that he had slept in his clothes. Still, that didn't matter. No one expected impeccable appearance from a fired FBI agent.
He bought a cup of coffee and a sandwich for breakfast before setting off for Annapolis. Driving there would take far more than a day. Although it didn't really matter, he couldn't stand the thought of waiting that long. Somehow he had to reassure himself that Samantha was back for real and that she was going to be okay. He realized how pointless this was, but reason couldn't win over feeling, not right now. The only thing, he could do at the moment was try to stay calm and find out as much as possible.
Driving back onto the freeway, he dialled Vivian's office number. On the third ring, she picked up.
"Vivian, it's Jack."
"Jack, I've been trying to call you. Where are you? Your wife is worried about you; she even called the office."
"What did you tell her?"
"That I didn't know where you had gone after your hearing. Now where are you?"
"In North Carolina. But that's not important right now. Is there any news on Danny and Samantha?"
"Jack, listen. You can't just disappear like that. At least call Maria. When she called me yesterday, she was about to report you missing."
"I don't have any details; I'm not working on the case. For the moment, the local police department is handling it and if internal affairs see fit, then they'll reopen the case. Otherwise that is the end of it. I can make some calls and get you more information. I can't promise you anything, but I know a few people. I'll let you know."
"Thanks."
Jack was somewhat reassured. If anyone was capable of getting him some information, it was Vivian. He also knew that she was right about Maria. It was not fair to her. He had tried to keep her and the girls out of this mess. He had wanted to protect them from getting hurt. The day the car bomb had exploded, he had realized just how dangerous the case was. What they knew now made the bomb pale in comparison. He couldn't drag Maria and the girls into this now, not while the people behind the killings were still free. That was the reasoning running through his mind. He needed the justification for shutting out his family.
But while, it was true in part, another part was avoidance. He had wanted to avoid conflict with Maria. The job was his first priority; this was the point that would always be a source of conflict between him and his wife. They had drifted apart, but he still owed it to her to let her know that he was all right. Hannah and Kate deserved to know that he was all right.
He didn't look forward to the conversation with Maria; often, in spite of their best intentions, conversations turned into a fight. He would call her once he had been to see Samantha. Those few hours wouldn't make much of a difference now anyways.
Somewhere, Sometime
Relief. That was the first thought he had once he had assembled all the sensory fragments into a coherent image of his surroundings. All the pieces had come together and he had recognized the artificially lit, white room as a hospital. Hospital meant that he was alive. He had made it.
He had no idea how he had escaped the deadly cold night, but there he was and the how was not what mattered at the moment. He was alive and in only a moderate amount of pain, which was surprising considering that he had been shot, as far as his memory could be trusted. Even when it had been dulled by cold and blood loss, the pain had still been grueling with only adrenaline acting as a natural painkiller. Now, products of modern pharmaceutics had probably taken the hormone's place in his blood stream.
He made the effort to take a closer look at his situation. The room was lit artificially, and the lack of a window made it impossible to tell the time. It occurred to him that he didn't even know how much time had elapsed between the night in the woods and waking up here, wherever exactly here was. He had no memory of his rescue, and in fact everything after splitting up with Samantha was just a series of disjointed images in his head.
Samantha! What had happened to her? If he had been found in time, did that mean that she was alive as well? They had been going in opposite directions from the clearing.
St. Agnes Hospital,
December 14, 4 p.m.
After what had seemed like the longest flight he had ever been on, he had finally arrived in Annapolis. The cab ride from the airport to the hospital was trying on his nerves, but eventually he climbed out of the car in front of the hospital. It was only then that he started to question the soundness of his actions.
He had been preoccupied during the journey, worrying about his encounter with Samantha without thinking about more practical, down-to-earth concerns. He might not be allowed to see her, she might not be conscious; the police might be screening all her visitors. Too many unanswered questions were making him nervous. Maybe the committee had been right at the hearing; he was prone to make rash decisions without properly evaluating the consequences.
At least Vivian had gotten back to him: Danny was at a hospital in North Carolina. Vivian didn't have any more details to offer, but that was enough for the moment. It seemed like everything was on hold now, at least until he had seen Samantha and reassured himself that she was going to be fine.
In spite of his worries, he didn't encounter any obstacles. The receptionist gave him Samantha's room number without asking questions. Walking down the corridor, he couldn't see any guards. So far, so good.
He hesitated at her door. He wasn't sure he was prepared for whatever he was going to see. He didn't know in what frame of mind Sam was going to be, or what had happened to her during the two weeks she had been missing. He was afraid to find out. But he couldn't stand in front of the door forever, so he softly knocked and was promptly answered by Samantha's voice. He opened the door, but didn't actually step in.
Samantha was sitting up in bed, pillows behind her back. She looked a lot better than on the news footage. The signs of her ordeal were clearly visible, but she resembled the Samantha he knew.
He tentatively waited, standing in the open doorframe when she didn't say anything or react to his presence. She just looked at him. The blank stare worried him; something seemed to be gone. He slowly took a step forward into the room and closed the door behind him. The noise of the door made Samantha twitch, sending a ripple of terror across her features.
"It's okay," Jack said softly. It was the first thing that came to his mind.
Samantha's features relaxed immediately. "Jack," she said, with the faintest of smiles.
It didn't matter how faint, it was all he needed to see. His hesitation gone, he walked over to her bed, and sat down on the chair next to it.
"We've missed you." It seemed wrong, but that was the only thing he could think of to say.
"Me too," Sam said without looking up at him. "Thank you for coming. You're the first familiar face I've seen since I got here." A pause ensued. Sam was clearly trying to decide something; she was nervously pulling a thread on her bed sheet, avoiding looking at him directly.
"Martin and Danny?" she finally asked.
"Martin is going to be fine. It will take a while, but he'll recover." Jack reassuringly put his hand on her arm.
"Danny?" she asked.
"He is alive, but that's all I know for now. I'm not on the case anymore. Local police are handling it."
"What happened?" She now looked directly at him in confusion and fear.
Jack didn't know what to tell her. He couldn't explain at all to himself, let alone to someone else. There was an uncomfortable pause.
"There has been an internal investigation. I'm suspended for the moment." He didn't mention that it was just a matter of formally closing the investigation before he was fired. There was no need to upset Samantha at the moment; who knew what had happened to her. In any case, she had more than enough to deal with at the moment. Getting better had to be her first priority.
"But don't worry about that. It will get sorted out somehow. How are you feeling?"
"Weak," Samantha admitted. "Not in much pain, I'm on too many painkillers for that."
"Do you know how long you'll be staying in the hospital?"
"No. I think I forgot to ask the doctor." Samantha sounded confused and Jack immediately regretted having asked. Samantha didn't seem particularly up to handling practical matters at the moment.
"Is there anything I can get for you? Maybe some clothes or something?"
"Oh, that would be good. Thanks."
"Have you spoken to the police yet?" He felt stupid for asking, returning to business immediately.
"Yes. There were two officers here yesterday evening. But I don't really remember much. It's all... I don't know. It's all a blur. "
He saw that she was upset about not being able to remember. Shock, head injury? The possibility of the latter worried him. He needed to know whether Samantha was going to be all right, but he didn't want to ask her, for fear of stirring up traumatic memories. Without knowing what had happened to her, he felt like he was walking on thin ice.
"Shhh, that's not important now, the important thing is that you're back here. I'll find out what happened to Danny, I promise." He had no idea how to keep his promise, but there was no question that he would do everything he could.
"Thanks." Samantha paused, then continued somewhat hesitatingly. In truth, all she wanted right now was to sleep and forget about what had happened. But that was not an option. She needed to talk about it.
"Jack, why is the local police investigating the case? This is should be a matter for the FBI."
"Normally it would. But it's all politics. The missing persons cases are officially closed and your disappearance was never formally linked to the case."
"That is insane!" Samantha protested.
"Of course, but there was nothing we could do about it. There was nothing I could do about it. I stepped back from the case after you disappeared." Jack didn't look up. This had been one of the chief reasons why he had felt so apprehensive about meeting Samantha. His joy that she was alive had been overshadowed by guilt that he might not have done everything he could have done and that she might have suffered because of it.
"The field office in North Carolina was handling the local search for you. All we did in New York was some background checking. I didn't think I could work the case with enough objectivity. I didn't want to make another mistake. I've made too many already on this case. I'm really sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm back, Jack. You did everything you could." She reached a hand out to him.
.
