Broken Promises

Chapter Nineteen

Laura and the children wound their way through the crowded airport, making their way to the baggage claim area. Jake had told Laura that one of them would be able to meet them there and take her and the children into town. And sure enough, just as they passed the security checkpoint, Laura heard her name called out over the din.

Looking around, at first she couldn't tell where the voice had come from. Glancing this way and that, she finally spotted Jake as he smiled and waved at her. With children in tow, she made her way to him.

"Hey you," she greeted him before he enveloped her in his warm embrace. It felt good to be back in Chicago, and that surprised her. Throughout the trip, she had wondered if being here once again would trigger memories that she just as soon not deal with at the moment, but she was pleasantly surprised. The doubts melted away, and were replaced by feelings of belonging. Suddenly she knew that she had made the right decision in coming back to Chicago. Here, she and the children would be surrounded by people who cared about them and, more importantly, that could help her find out the information that she so desperately sought.

Jake released her and immediately turned his attention to Christopher and Alicia. "Hey guys! Did you have a good flight?" he asked them. Christopher gave a nod and a smile, but something in his manner told Jake that Christopher Donovan wasn't exactly thrilled with his current situation. Jake glanced at Laura, who merely shrugged in response to the question she saw in Jake's eyes. Although Christopher had made monumental strides in the last week or so, he still hadn't quite forgiven his father and it still colored everything he said or did. Jake smiled slightly. He himself having been abandoned as a child, and he certainly could understand at least a little of what Christopher was feeling right now.

Jake then turned his attention to the youngest Donovan. As usual, Alicia was more or less hiding behind her mother. The crowded airport was intimidating enough for her, but seeing Jake again after such a length of time, Alicia needed a bit of time to warm up to him again. She peered around Laura and gave Jake a timid smile. Jake, in turn, winked and smiled at the shy girl.

Turning his attention back to Laura, he grabbed the rather heavy looking carry-on resting near her feet and slung it over his shoulder. "Jesus, Laura….what didn't you bring with you?" he asked her teasingly.

"Ha ha…..very funny. Contrary to what anyone else believes, I do not over pack! You try traveling with two children someday, bub, and then tell me that everything in there isn't absolutely necessary."

Jake smiled at Laura's fake indignation. After Laura grabbed Alicia's hand, the four set off for the baggage claim carousel. As they walked along, Jake pitched his voice lower and finally asked Laura, "So how are you really doing?"

Laura sighed tiredly and glanced at Jake as he walked next to her. "Honestly…..I've been better. I don't know what it is, Jake," she answered in the same hushed tone. "I just know that something isn't right. I don't know how I know it, but I just do."

If Jake had heard those same words from just about anyone else, he would have dismissed them without even a second thought, but he knew Laura. Knew how she thought. Knew what kind of life she and Frank had lived the past decade or so. This wasn't a woman who caved into excessive worry. She was a strong independent woman, accustomed to getting around and doing without a man there beside her 24-7. For a second or two, he considered that maybe what happened a year and a half ago had somehow colored her judgment. After all, it wasn't everyday that you get buried alive under tons of rubble, only to get saved at literally the last minute. Maybe the experience had left her with a more fierce attachment to her husband. If that had been the case, he wouldn't have blamed her, but somehow, he didn't think that was what was causing this reaction.

"Well…..now that you're here, maybe we can help get some answers for you," he told her.

She swiveled her head and stared at him intently. "You've heard something, haven't you?" Something in his tone, the pitch of his voice……something told her that he already knew….something.

Jake sighed, and wondered how to relay what he'd been told. "Laura…..we've only just started."

"What exactly does that mean?" she asked with just a hint of irritation in her voice.

"It means that we have to remember who we're dealing with. Although the FBI and CIA are both part of the Justice Department, it doesn't mean that either faction likes telling the other its secrets."

"Ahhh….in other words, no one likes to share toys in the sandbox."

"Something like that."

The four continued on a little further before Laura finally asked the question that Jake had been dreading. "So what exactly did they say?"

Jake slowed and then finally stopped. Laura turned back toward him and saw the look on his face. A look that she could only describe as being hesitant and slightly frustrated. "Jake?"

"They really couldn't tell me much of anything."

Moving closer to him, she asked, "Again, what exactly did they tell you?"

Knowing that she wouldn't let it go, he knew that he might as well get it over with. "They said…….Laura……all they said was that…….that they've lost communication with Frank." He stopped to gauge her reaction to what he'd just told her, and was surprised to find her face unreadable.

"Is that it? Is that all they've said?" she asked anxiously, as she tried desperately not to give in to the panic seizing her gut.

"No…..that's not all," he replied begrudgingly.

"Jake, just tell me. I deserve to know."

"Ah hell….." Jake muttered, as he shuffled his feet nervously. He glanced at the two children and then looked back to Laura's pleading face. "Maybe this isn't the best time to be discussing this," he offered, hoping to buy more time.

"No…..whatever it is. Tell me now," she demanded in return. She knew he was probably right. A crowded airport was not the best place to be discussing this, but she knew that if he didn't tell her what he knew right now, by the time they got into town, she would probably make herself sick with worry.

"Alright, alright," he finally relented. Lowering his voice so that neither of the children could hear him, Jake finally gave in. "Juan Jimenez is dead, Laura. The man that Frank was sent in to gather information about is dead. His compound was attacked sometime yesterday."

Laura's eyes momentarily lost focus and Jake watched as some of the color drained from her face. "And Frank?" she asked slightly above a whisper as what he told her slowly sunk in. She finally turned her eyes to Jake's and he could see the tears beginning to shimmer there.

"DEA has been monitoring the situation. There's been no word on Frank's whereabouts. But there's something you should know, Laura."

Blinking away the tears, she took a calming breath and finally responded. "What is it?"

"The operatives working in the area all admit that the situation is volatile at best. What we've been told could be totally or partially inaccurate. Maybe it was some sort of minor skirmish. Maybe Jimenez has been injured and he's not really dead. Maybe Frank was at the compound when it was hit, and maybe he wasn't. The point is Laura….at this point, no one knows for sure," he told her as he gently grasped her arms, hoping that she would remain calm enough to see his point.

She stared at Jake for a few moments before she responded in an eerily calm voice. "So in other words, right now, my husband could be lying dead in some Colombian jungle, and there's no one who can tell me for sure if I'm a widow or not."

Jake slowly released his hold on her and stared at the woman before him. Her voice belied a quietness that he was sure was a cover-up. Her words, however, stung. Stung as though she had just slapped him across the face. He didn't have any answers and was immediately sorry that he had told her everything. How easy it would have been to lie. To tell her that he'd heard nothing. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried desperately to erase the look he'd just seen in her eyes, a look so cold and lifeless. Possibly as lifeless as Frank's body.

His eyes flew open at the thought. Frank wasn't dead……in trouble perhaps. But he refused to believe that after everything that Frank Donovan had been through in his life, he would finally be taken down in some senseless Colombian drug war. Men like Donovan deserved more….they deserved better.

"He's not dead, Laura," he stated as he once more took a hold of her. "Look at me," he pleaded, seeing the hopelessness on her face as she stared off into nothing.

Laura was jolted back to reality. She had allowed herself to imagine what life without Frank would be like. Hollow….empty. When Jake demanded her attention once more, she looked at the younger agent and saw a new fire and determination in his eyes. Something had happened to him…..something that she hadn't sensed mere seconds ago. Something that pulled at her soul and made her believe that perhaps there was still hope.

"I don't know how," he began, "but we will find the answers we need, even if it means that I have to go down to Colombia myself."

"Jake…." she began before losing her voice completely.

"I mean it Laura. We'll get those answers. I'm not going to sit by and let those bastards write off Frank like he means nothing. I won't let them do that to you or this family. Do you hear me?"

The tears returned to Laura's eyes as she threw her arms around Jake's neck and hugged him fiercely. This was exactly what she needed. She needed someone to care as much about Frank as she did.

As Christopher and Alicia looked on a bit perplexed by their mother's actions, Laura's heart lifted just a bit. If she had had any doubts at all about coming back to Chicago, Jake's declaration squelched those fears and replaced them with a tentative sense of hope. With Jake's assistance, maybe everything would be all right. Maybe………

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Just as Laura and the children landed in Chicago, Frank was readying to leave Colombia. After his revelation in the cantina the day before, Frank was now on a mission to disprove what his distorted memory told him was true.

After recalling that he had shot Nina, he had sobered quickly and had tried desperately for the rest of the night to recall any further details. What disturbed him more than anything else was exactly how unclear those details were. Why had he shot her? What possible reason could there have been to take her life? All he could remember was where he had been and that she had been held by two men as he drew his gun up and fired. Who the men were was a mystery, as was what had happened to her after he had pulled the trigger. So, late into the night, after he had secured a room to rest in, he planned exactly how he would find out the truth.

For some reason, he felt the need to keep his whereabouts a secret for awhile longer. Perhaps it was his mistrust of those that had sent him here…..those that had sanctioned Marsh's actions in procuring his involvement in this meaningless operation. Or maybe…..just maybe……a very real part of who Luis Mendoza was still ruled his actions. Dictating that he use the less than legal means of getting around. He still had certain contacts in this country. Men who would ask few questions if he wanted to ride along on their next flight to the states. A flight on a small aircraft that would be loaded with marijuana, cocaine or some other illegal substance bound for Florida and then parts unknown. So it was with this new found determination, that he would make his way to a small town outside of Barranquilla.

When dawn came the next morning, Frank went in search of some means of transportation. This time to the north instead of to the south and to Bogotá, as he had originally planned. Thankfully, the same man who had brought him to this small town was heading north as soon as his supplies were loaded onto his truck. With Frank's help, they were on their way before 7 in the morning.

The man told Frank that he would take him as far as he could, which ended up being almost halfway to his destination. Thanking him for his help and generosity, Frank got comfortable and silently prayed that he would be able to find a ride for the rest of his journey. He also hoped that the man that he sought near Barranquilla still lived in the area, and more importantly, that he hadn't found another line of work.

Luck was with Frank that day. Shortly after arriving at a small farmer's village, Frank was able to procure another ride, this time as far as he needed to go. And shortly before dusk that evening, he was exactly where he needed to be, a town called Galapa, some 25 miles south of Barranquilla.

Walking through the small town, he prayed, yet again, that he hadn't made a huge mistake in seeking out an old acquaintance. Some twenty minutes or so later, he arrived at a small house on the outskirts of the village. With great caution, he approached the residence, hoping beyond hope that the man he had know some 15 years ago still lived in this very house.

Before he reached the front steps, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered in a rifle. Freezing immediately, he slowly turned toward the source of the sound, taking great pains to not appear hostile to the rifle's owner.

As he completed his turn, he could barely make out a figure just at the edge of the property. Unfortunately, with the failing light, he was at a distinct disadvantage. Frank stood there for a few seconds more, hoping that the man would see that he was no threat and finally lower the weapon. What happened next, he could have never expected. He heard laughter.

Frank's eyebrows knit together in some sort of confusion. Whoever was holding him at gunpoint, somehow found the situation funny. Was he dealing with some sort of deranged psycho, or……

Before he could ponder the situation further, he heard a voice. "¿Luis….qué demonios te ha ocurrido en el pelo?" [Luis…..what the hell happened to your hair?]

Frank visibly relaxed. He'd found the man he was looking for. Before he could answer, he was approached by a balding man in his late 40's, a man who now held the same rifle that Frank had heard just minutes before, harmlessly at his side.

"Demetrio……how are you, you old buzzrd?" Frank asked in return.

The man threw back his head and laughed until his sides hurt. Some moments later, when he had finally regained his composure, he asked in between labored breaths, "What are you doing here, Luis? For Christ's sake…I thought you were dead."

Frank shook his head knowingly. "I know, I know…..so did I," he answered with some truthfulness. "I don't mean to be abrupt, Demetrio, but I need your help."

Demetrio Acosta immediately sobered and asked with great concern, "What is it? The law?"

"Something like that. I need to get to the states as soon as possible."

"And the fact that you are not going by commercial airline means that you're hiding from something." But before Frank could answer, Demetrio waved his hand in defiance. "Don't tell me! I haven't gotten this far in this business by asking questions or by listening to explanations that I have no stomach for. That you need my help is enough reason for me." Motioning for Frank to follow, the two headed for the house. "When do you need to leave?"

"Would daybreak be too early?" Frank asked hesitantly.

Demetrio stopped on the first step of the porch and turned to look at Frank. "That bad, is it?" Again he waved his hand at Frank. "Like I said….don't tell me. As it turns out, I'm leaving on such a trip tonight. Would that be too early for you?"

"Not at all. I can be ready whenever you are," Frank answered, not even believing his good luck. If he had been a few hours later, he would have missed the man entirely.

"Good. Let's get together some food and such and we'll be on our way. And let me just tell you, my friend, it will be nice to have someone along on such a long journey for a change."

Less than an hour and a half later, Demetrio's small plane took off from a nearly abandoned airstrip some two miles away. Within minutes, they began to make their way over the Caribbean Sea as they headed toward their first stop, near Ocho Rios, Jamaica. There they would refuel and after a brief rest, continue their journey…..a journey of some 2000 or more miles. Miles that would bring Frank Donovan closer and closer to discovering the truth. A truth that would either set him free or condemn his soul to hell.

Some 10 hours later, the plane landed on an airstrip west of Miami. Actually, the word airstrip was an exaggeration. The place was no more than a level, cleared piece of land with dirt stripes across it. It was anything but fancy, but it served its purpose, which was to land a plane carrying contraband.

Frank and Demetrio exited the plane and stretched their tired muscles. It had been a long flight, both emotionally and physically as far as Frank was concerned. As much as he wanted to know the truth, a very real part of him was dreading the moment he would verify any part of what had happened. However, now that he was back in the states, he had begun to hope that all of what he remembered was simply another nightmare. Perhaps even something that he'd been told that he had done but was all just another part of this alter ego.

Frank's reverie was broken when he heard the approach of vehicles. He immediately reached for the weapon that Demetrio had given him for protection, but he relaxed when his friend placed his hand on his arm, signaling that he knew who these people were. Reluctantly, Frank lowered the weapon, although he still stood poised for action. Within seconds, two Jeeps pulled up next to the small plane and three men exited the vehicles. Pleasantries were exchanged between Demetrio and the three, while Frank stood back and observed the interaction.

Demetrio then turned and approached Frank. "I have a surprise for you, mi amigo. The second car is for you. I know that whatever has brought you here has been weighing heavily on your mind, and that you need to attend to it quickly."

Frank was shocked. First, because he hadn't realized that he was so readable, and second, because of the generosity of a man he hadn't seen for more than a decade. "Demetrio….I can't…." he began before he was interrupted.

"You can, and you will. Go," the other man said, motioning for Frank to leave . "Go, and perhaps one day you can return the kindness," Demetrio told him with a warm smile.

Frank did his best to return the smile, seeing as he was still overwhelmed by the offering. Knowing that this was an incredible break in his continuing journey, Frank nodded his head once toward his friend, and turned to leave, climbing into the waiting vehicle. With one more look and a short wave of his hand, he took off.

As the miles ticked by, Frank was now thoroughly entrenched in his mission. He needed to find out the truth of what happened or didn't happen, and there was only one place to start……the compound where he had been taken after he left his home in Virginia.

His home…..it seemed impossibly far away at this very moment. Emotionally, he was in turmoil. There were so many things that he wanted to remember about his life before….before he'd gone back to Colombia……before his betrayal. Shaking away those thoughts, he made himself concentrate on the mission at hand. He needed to find out what had really happened, and with a steely determination, he drove on.

It was almost nightfall by the time he turned into the long drive that led to the nearly abandoned structures. The place felt different somehow. How, he couldn't really say. After a few minutes more, he pulled the vehicle around to the front of the main building, the one that had housed the monitoring equipment as well as Marsh's office. Again, he was struck with an odd feeling. Looking around for a minute or two more, he realized what it was….the place was deserted. Now that the sun was going down, he could tell that no light came from any of the buildings on the property. He frowned at what that meant. After he'd left the compound, did the CIA immediately pack up and leave or did they wait until word of Marsh's death to flee the scene? Under either scenario, he knew that his chances of finding out any information decreased dramatically.

Now feeling defeated, he walked listlessly around the property. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for or where he was going, but now without proof of what actually went on, his other thoughts came flooding back…..the thoughts that he'd been able to keep at bay during his recent journey……the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm and drown him.

Rounding one corner, he stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the barracks where they had kept him. Should he investigate what might still be inside? With the growing darkness, he knew that he would be able to see little if anything of the building's interior, so he decided to wait until the morning to do any sort of search. So he turned away and returned to the Jeep. Once there, he made himself as comfortable as possible, but deep down inside knowing that he would be lucky if he got any sleep at all this night. Not because of the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, but because his mind wouldn't give him rest. It kept going back to thoughts and memories that he just as soon forget. And so his restless night began.

At nearly 6 the next morning, a sound roused Frank from his fitful sleep. Groggily he looked around and sought the source. It wasn't until a run-down truck came into view, did Frank realize what had been making the noise. Shaking off the last remnants of his nearly sleepless night, Frank climbed out of the Jeep and approached the truck as it slowed and then stopped some 10 feet away.

Frank and the occupants of the truck eyed each other with some trepidation. Slowly, 3 men exited the truck and walked toward Frank.

Frank could tell that they were more than likely Mexican immigrants, the type of individuals who were very often hired as migrant workers and caretakers in this area.

"¿Hola... usted habla inglés?" Frank asked.

"Yes," one of the men answered. "I speak English."

Frank nodded. "Good. What are you doing here?" he asked them.

The three looked at each other nervously. "We take care of this place," the one explained quickly.

"Have you worked here for long?" Frank continued.

"Sí, señor…..for a year or more."

Frank took a deep breath before continuing. If the three had indeed been employed for as long as they say they had, then perhaps they could tell him what he needed to know. "I'm looking for someone. Perhaps you'll know who they are."

"Who are you looking for?"

Again steeling his courage, Frank finally asked. "I'm looking for a young woman. She's maybe 20 years old. I believe she also worked here. Her name is Nina."

At the mention of Nina's name, the three turned to each other and began to talk animatedly amongst themselves. As Frank looked on, the tension in his body began to increase dramatically. From where he stood, he couldn't hear what was being said. They obviously knew who the girl was, but what was the cause of their agitation? A deep seated fear began to surface when the one man finally turned back to face him.

"The girl you ask for….how do you know her?"

"I….I worked here for a short time," Frank answered. "I met her then."

The other man simply nodded. "I see. She is no longer here."

A small glimmer of hope began to flicker inside him. Perhaps his worst fears wouldn't be realized after all. "Can you tell me where she is? It's important that I speak to her."

The man hesitated awhile before responding. "I'm afraid that will be impossible."

"Why is that? Has she returned to Mexico?"

"Yes, she is again in Mexico. She was buried there less than a week ago."

For the second time in less than 72 hours, Frank felt as if his heart had stopped. Everything else except the conversation at hand seemed to melt away. "Buried….?" he heard himself ask.

"Sí…….she was killed by one of the agents who worked here," the man informed Frank.

In that instant, Frank Donovan knew that he deserved no redemption, no absolution. His soul would be cast into hell, and at that moment, he knew that he deserved whatever punishment was due him.

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