Broken Promises

Chapter Eighteen

Laura stared listlessly at the ceiling of the aircraft. As her mind wandered, she absently looked to her son, seated near the aisleway obliviously playing with the Gameboy he held in his hands. She then turned her attention to Alicia, who tried fitfully to sleep in the cramped seats while she rested her head on her mother's lap. Her two precious children……how little they understood what it was that their father was involved with at the moment. Somewhere deep inside of her, she envied their innocence.

For the last week or so, Laura had debated endlessly with herself about what to do next. Remaining at their house in Virginia seemed to be the best idea. After all, Christopher still had 2 weeks left of school. But the longer they stayed, the more restless and worried Laura had become. Finally, after talking first to the school's principal and then garnering her mother-in-law's take on the situation, Laura decided to head to Chicago with the children. There she would be able to have contact with Frank's former team members. She hoped that with their help, she would finally be able to get the information she so desperately sought.

Sighing tiredly, she wondered if she would ever be able to sleep through the night until Frank returned to her safely. Since he had left, she was lucky if she'd been able to get 3 or 4 hours during any given night. The fatigue was wearing her down, not only physically but mentally as well.

She tried repeatedly to reason with herself. Frank had been on countless missions since the two of them had been together. Never in all of those years had she ever worried about him like she did now. What was it about this mission that upset her? The fact that it was the CIA? That he was working deep undercover again? Or was it the fact that he was going back to a persona that she had known all too well? Pondering the issue further, she realized that it was the latter. What he had done during any other mission was completely unknown to her. Yes, from time to time, he had shared certain aspects of these assignments, but never had she known the "man" that he had become during those missions. Knowing who Luis Mendoza was unnerved her. More than she cared to admit.

Her reverie was interrupted by the announcement from one of the flight attendants informing them that they would soon be landing in Chicago. Gently she awoke her daughter, who begrudgingly allowed her mother to sit her upright and buckle her back up. Within a half hour, they finally touched down, and Laura silently prayed that she had made the right decision in coming there.

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Thousands of miles away, Frank Donovan was in the middle of a war zone, although at the moment he was oblivious to anything save the child's picture he held in his trembling hands and the extreme guilt that was gnawing away at his soul. He still was reeling from the flood of memories that had brought him to his knees just seconds before.

As he continued to kneel on the floor, the door to the room suddenly flew open as a very overwrought Juan Jimenez came bursting in.

"Luis! We must leave NOW!!" he shouted as he rushed past Frank in order to gain a better view out the second story window. Shielding himself as best as he could, he carefully peeked out of the glass panes toward the courtyard below. What he saw made him cringe. The bodies of so many of his men littered the pavement, leaving little doubt that this particular "war" would be over all too soon, and unfortunately he and his friend would be lucky to get out with anything but their own skins.

Once he had adequately assessed the damage, he returned his gaze to the man still kneeling on the floor. For a second or two, his concern for his friend overcame his insistence that they leave immediately. "Luis?" When Frank made no move to acknowledge his presence, another type of panic gripped his gut. "Luis…..what is it? What is wrong, my friend?"

Frank slowly swiveled his head in order to fully view the man clutching a semi-automatic machine gun standing at the window. For more than a few seconds, he had a hard time remembering who he was (or was supposed to be). But agonizingly slowly, his memory began to clear and he finally remembered.

He was on a mission, and the man standing before him, looking at him with such concern, was the exact reason that he had been sent in. His mission had been to get as close as possible to Juan Jimenez, to gather as much information as possible and then to make a getaway in order to bring that information back to the Justice Department, leaving the actual take-down to another outfit.

Juan watched the extreme play of emotions cross his friend's face. In the minute or so that he regarded him, he saw intense sorrow, anger, confusion, and a seemingly devastating display of helplessness. For a second or two, he too became oblivious to what was transpiring around them, and walked toward Frank, intent on offering his friend whatever support was needed. This seemingly selfless act would be his undoing. For when he walked not five feet away from the window, the glass in the window behind him shattered, and Juan immediately fell toward Frank as he collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

The panic of the situation snapped Frank out of his mental limbo, and he scurried to Juan's side. Even with no medical background, Frank could tell that Juan was not long for this world. The blood loss was catastrophic and the man would bleed to death within minutes or even seconds.

As Frank stared at Juan with an almost detached sense of involvement, he couldn't help but feel a nearly suffocating cloud of anger settle over him. The man dying before him was his only reason for being at this particular place at this particular time. In less that 24 hours, the so-called mission had unraveled and dissolved. Everything he had sacrificed…….his marriage, his relationship with his children and even his very soul, had been for nothing. If the CIA had simply left Juan alone, he would have self-destructed in a matter of days or weeks. Frank's presence had never really been needed.

But even as those thoughts bounded through his troubled mind, there was also a tiny voice in the back of his head that told him that he should feel something for the man who was now just seconds away from drawing his last breath. A long time ago, he and Juan had forged a type of bond……there were brothers, or so they had declared. Had that really meant nothing? Was all of it just part of some façade? As Frank watched Juan's life drain away, he honestly could say that no…..not all of it was an act. A part of him, a part that Frank had buried long ago, was truly saddened by this turn of events. Although what Juan did for a living was abhorrent, there was still a part of him that Frank liked and admired. And for those qualities alone, Frank knew that a part of him would mourn Juan's passing, just as the rest resented the fact that he had been pulled back into this type of existence because of him.

Frank watched helplessly as Juan attempted to mumble something. No intelligible sound escaped his mouth, only the gurgling of the blood that bubbled up from within him. Within seconds, it was over, and Juan stared lifelessly at the ceiling above Frank's head. With an uncharacteristic gentleness, Frank closed his old friend's eyes. "Goodbye, Juan," he whispered as he did so.

Closing his own eyes and sighing in defeat, Frank tried to get a handle on just one more strange turn of events that his life had taken in the last few weeks. It seemed like just yesterday that his life had had a semblance of normalcy. Had it really only been mere days since he had last seen his children……that he'd last held his wife?

Laura……. For a few precious seconds, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining her there with him……holding her, feeling her arms around him as she tried her best to comfort him. He could almost feel the soft warmth of her body as she held him…..here…..in this room…..the room where he had allowed himself to betray her.

His eyes flew open and a visible tremor passed through his body. For those few seconds, he had lulled himself into forgetting what he had done. He deserved no comfort……no absolution. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to shake away the guilt.

Slowly….ever so slowly, the reality of his current situation began to filter into his awareness. The first thing that he became aware of was the sound of gunfire. Furrowing his brow, he slowly stood and almost obliviously stepped over Juan's now lifeless body as he made his way toward the shattered window. As he walked in that direction, he became aware of one more thing….blood. He looked down at the still warm, sticky wetness that surrounded his still bare feet. Grimacing in disgust, he returned his attention to the outside world. Just as he reached the window, a high-pitched whistling sound pierced his hearing, followed by the sound of splintering wood behind him. He had been shot at, and judging by the brief disturbance of air near his head, he knew it had been close.

Sheltering himself by the side of the window, he did much as Juan had done mere minutes ago. He carefully craned his neck in order to get a decent look outside. The first thing he saw was snipers positioned in the trees across the courtyard. The second was the number of dead bodies scattered here and there throughout the courtyard. The battle had evidently been swift and bloody. Swiveling his head back around, Frank stared down at Juan as he lay on the floor, and silently added, Swift…..bloody, and obviously successful.

A voice in the back of his head began to incessantly tell him that he needed to get out, and quickly. The so-called enemies outside had no idea who he really was, a US federal agent and not one of Juan's cohorts. Frank thought sarcastically that, to be honest, they would willingly kill him either way. No….he needed to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

Putting all other thoughts aside, he began to prepare himself for his escape, and the first order of business was to get dressed and to procure what he would need for his flight.

Now hunched over, hoping to hide as well as he could from outside view, Frank began to scurry throughout the room, gathering his clothes. He quickly dressed and looked once more at Juan's prone body. Lying next to him was the weapon that he had been carrying when entering the room. Knowing that he had little other choice, Frank once more approached Juan. Doing his best to keep out of the pool of now thickening blood, Frank retrieved the weapon, checked to make sure that it was indeed fully loaded, and turned to leave through the open doorway. With one more look back, Frank began his escape.

Inch by painstaking inch, he crept as soundlessly as possible toward what he assumed was the back staircase. When he had traversed those same stairs not hours ago, he had been heavily under the influence of alcohol. Knowing that, he also was more than aware that his shoddy memory could be playing tricks on him. Little did he know that he was heading in the exact opposite direction. All too quickly, he arrived at the top of the a set of stairs, the ones near the front entrance to the house. Cursing under his breath, he listened helplessly to the chatter of the men stationed in the front hallway. Men who were not part of Juan's contingent. Just as he turned to head in the opposite direction, hoping to backtrack before being spotted, Frank began to hear voices coming from the hallway he had just exited. Weighing his options, he chose to confront the group waiting down on the floor below. In doing so, he hoped to take them off guard.

Again, relying on years of undercover training, Frank almost silently descended the stairs. Now almost halfway down, he could begin to see the activity going on around the main floor. What he saw surprised him and he very nearly chuckled at loud. The group of men gathered there had already begun celebrating their victory. A few bottles were being passed among the 10 or so gathered together in the room to the right of the foyer. The atmosphere was light and smiles abounded. The situations was perfect, at least in Frank's eyes. Obviously not prepared for any further resistance, the men had let their guard down.

Eying the open door not 20 feet away, Frank carefully began to gauge the time to make his departure. Keeping a watchful eye on the revelers, he slowly began to inch his way to the outside, and, hopefully, to freedom. However, just as he was about to make a break for it, the walkie talkies that practically every man carried, suddenly sprang to life. A voice on the other end triumphantly announced that Juan's dead body had been found. The cacophony of jubilant whoops of joy filled the air as the celebration began in earnest. Then, while the group was so obviously preoccupied, Frank made a break for it.

Once outside, he dove behind some foliage near the entrance. Again, as carefully as he could, he snuck a peek at what surrounded him. The guards were few and far between, but not so dispersed that his getaway would be effortless. No, he would still need to work at this in order to get out in one piece. Once off the estate's grounds, and into the surrounding dense jungle, Frank knew that his chances of escape went up exponentially. Silently offering a prayer that some other distraction would aid his flight, he did his best to observe the men keeping guard, hoping to catch something that he could use to his advantage.

Inside the mansion, however, the party had taken a decidedly somber turn. When the noise had died down enough after Juan's death had been announced, the celebrants were informed that obviously someone else had been in the room when Juan had been shot. Bloodied footprints had been found on the floor leading to and away from the man's body. This other someone, was still unaccounted for. As the news sunk in, orders were given to search the property once more in earnest.

Frank was nearly caught, when a man exited the house and called to the guards near the driveway. Hiding as best as he could, Frank listened in to what was being said. Instantly, he knew that he may have made a fatal error. In his shock induced stupor, he had stupidly walked through Juan's blood and left evidence of his presence behind. As he cowered in the bushes, he tried to recall if he'd made any other errors. He knew that he had remembered to grab up his wallet, but was there anything else?

Alicia's picture…….

Squeezing his eyes shut, the now familiar pang of guilt made itself known once more. But even worse, in his haste to leave, he had dropped the paper and knew that possibly, at this very moment, the item had been found. What would these men think of his daughter's drawing? Would they think it incredibly odd, or just another insignificant piece of paper? Would they associate such an item with any of Juan's men or would it seem strangely out of place? Silently berating himself for being so careless, he almost missed the orders being given to the guards. They were to spread out and begin searching the perimeter of the house. Only two guards were to remained stationed at the front. Thanking whatever deities he could think of, he knew that his chances of escape had just increased dramatically.

Once the other men dispersed, Frank knew that he only had a short amount of time to slip into the woods, hopefully, undetected. If at any point, his weapon would be needed, he knew that he might as well announce his presence over a loud speaker.

Once more, he studied the men pacing to and fro. Although they seemed to be paying attention to what was happening around them, Frank thought that they appeared to be something less than duly vigilant. Their so-called victory was making them lax. Again, Frank said a prayer of thanks.

After several minutes, Frank saw his opening and readily took it. While both men had their backs turned, pacing in opposite directions, Frank quickly scurried for the cover of the foliage some 30 feet away. Once there, he quickly turned to see if his flight had been detected and was relieved to see everything as it should have been.

Waiting a short while longer, he began the meticulous trek through the jungle and underbrush. From what he could recall from the night before, he knew that he had quite a long haul back to the main road. And even once there, he knew that trouble could still be waiting for him. So with his senses on high alert, he set off.

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Some three hours or more later, he could see the trees thinning ahead of him. Sweating heavily, exhausted and thirsty beyond belief, he emerged from the cover of the jungle. Sighing in relief, he was overjoyed to see that the road was clear. All along the journey, he had continued to hope that the search still remained back at the house and the surrounding grounds, and obviously it had.

Now that he was in the clear, he knew that he still wasn't out of danger or anywhere near safety. And more importantly, he was still many miles from the nearest civilized city or town, someplace where he could possibly get transportation out of Colombia. First things first, however, he needed to find somewhere to rest and to get water. Looking left and right, he saw no vehicles traveling in either direction. Knowing that it was not a good idea to linger too long, he set out in the direction where they had come from the previous evening.

A short while later, Frank could here a truck rumbling up the road behind him. Ducking once more for cover, he waited until he could get a good view of the vehicle before once more reemerging into the open, since he was still not convinced that he wouldn't be followed. As the truck crested the hill some 100 yards away, Frank was relieved to see just another dilapidated, heavily rusting farm vehicle, much like the ones that you saw through any of rural Colombia.

As he stood and began to approach the road, he paused as he remembered that he was still carrying the weapon that he had taken from Juan's dead body. Looking down at the rifle, he pondered whether he should discard it, knowing that if the driver saw him with such an item that he would never stop. Reluctantly, he dropped the weapon, hoping that he wasn't making a huge mistake. After doing so, he approached the side of the road and began to flag down the truck as he neared him.

Thankfully, the driver did indeed stop for him, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, Frank explained that his car had broken down some miles back and that he was walking to get help at the nearest town. The driver explained that he was heading to a small town to the north of Bogotá called Tataca. Frank knew roughly where the town was and that he would, more than likely, be able to get a lift into Bogotá from someone else. Thanking him for his kindness, he settled back and watched the scenery pass by him, calming slightly as the miles went by.

A few hours later, the truck came upon the small town of Tataca, population much less than 5,000 people. Exiting the vehicle, Frank stretched his overworked muscles and surveyed his surroundings. As he had suspected, the small municipality was slightly run down and looked to be almost deserted. He knew better, however. During the peak of the afternoon, only fools ventured out into the torturous heat. Fools, tourists, and a few unfortunate workers. Thanking the driver once more, he was directed to a nearby cantina where he was told there was a public telephone. Nodding in gratitude, he moved toward the establishment, hoping that he could also find a bite to eat and a very large glass of something cold and refreshing.

Entering the building, he noted that the place looked like just about every other cantina he had ever been in over the years….clean, neat, and anything but fancy. This wasn't one of the flashy restaurants that proprietors opened to attract tourists. This was a place to eat and talk with your fellow neighbor, a place to reconnect with the people in the village. However, at this time of the day, the place was nearly deserted. In one of the corners was a table with 2 elderly gentlemen quietly playing some sort of game, and other than that, he had his choice of tables. He chose to approach the bar where the only other inhabitant, the owner, he assumed, was carefully wiping down glasses.

His quest for escape suddenly not so imperative, Frank decided to forgo his requests for information and decided to settle on a drink first. Settling himself at the bar, he surprised even himself when he ordered a beer and asked the owner to keep them coming.

Again the tiny voice inside his head said that this was not the time or place to get shit-faced, especially after the events of the previous evening, but something compelled him to drown himself in alcohol for just one more night. Perhaps the guilt he was carrying around was just too much. Maybe he knew that he would have precious little time to indulge himself in his self-pity for any time to come. Whatever the reason, he downed half of his first bottle of beer in one gulp and decided that it was the best thing that he'd ever tasted.

Hours and nearly a dozen bottle later, Frank stared hazily at the reflection of himself in the faded and slightly cracked mirror behind the bar. Once more, he was having that sort of out-of-body reaction to his own visage. Somewhere after the fifth or eighth beer, he had decided that the real reason why he needed this was because he couldn't stand the sight of himself anymore. The longer he drank, the more unclear the reasons for that became. Oh, if he concentrated hard enough, he could remember all of it. What he had done with the woman last night…..how he had touched Lucia and how much he had wanted to do so much more. He remembered Juan showing him pictures of Marsh's dead body. He recalled the sickening look of shock in Lucia's eyes when Juan had shot her dead right in front of him. All of it…..all of it he could recall in vivid detail if he allowed himself. But right now…..at this moment…..he didn't want to remember. The guilt for all of it surrounded him, enveloped him, hung like a suffocating cloud over his head. It colored everything that he looked at, tasted and touched. Silently, he wondered if even recalled everything. Perhaps there was some other atrocity that lay just out of his reach, something that he couldn't quite………

The bottle he was holding stopped halfway to his lips, and he remained frozen in the position. His heart felt like it had just stopped beating and he could have sworn that his blood just turned to ice water. There was something. A foggy image floated in and out of his alcohol soaked brain. The longer he tried to focus on whatever it was, the more sure he became that he really didn't want to remember. Some inner voice told him to go back to drinking and to forget whatever it was that he thought he was remembering. That voice was soon silenced when the image that he had been trying to concentrate on suddenly became crystal clear.

Terrified eyes looked back at him as he pointed the gun at her. Without a second thought and without a second's hesitation or reservation he fired. His conscience devoid of any sort of guilt or remorse, he watched as she slumped back into the arms of the men holding her.

Dropping the bottle and standing unsteadily, Frank backed away from his reflection as if in doing so, the vision would fade and take the agonizing guilt along with it. He'd shot her, gunned her down in cold blood…..an innocent. Her only crime being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He stared at the haggard image of himself in the mirror and whispered the girl's name.

"Nina……."

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A/N: Once again, I must apologize for how long it's taken to update this story. It just seems like one thing after another is keeping from working on this for any stretch at a time. Thanks again for being so patient!!