II
Friday, June 26, 1987
10:15 a.m.
"I know I don't have to tell you how important the Congressional review process is to our budget this year, people, so I expect your expense reports to be in on time and in something resembling a professional format."
"That means no shoeboxes," Francine put in, repeating the tired inside joke with one eyebrow arched.
As everyone else laughed, I looked down at the table and studied my pen. The Friday morning staff meeting had been a long one, and I dreaded the announcement that was still to come. It would be a hellish end to an equally hellish week.
At least I didn't have to wait much longer. Billy cleared his throat, and I braced myself. "There's one more item of business before we adjourn," he said, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. "Scarecrow has been reassigned to our London office."
Though I kept my eyes on the table, I could feel the curious stares of my coworkers. As my cheeks grew hot, I could barely hear Billy over the roaring in my ears. The few words I could make out took on an odd, tinny quality. "We have an opening in the Q-Bureau," my boss continued. "Anyone interested should see me by end of business today. It's crucial we fill that void as soon as possible."
I couldn't agree more. Perhaps that was the solution to my personal dilemma as well. Yeah, that was it; I'd just accept resumes for the vacant position of husband, too.
"That's all, people," Billy finished. Thankful he'd had the good taste not to single me out in the meeting, I prepared to head back to our—my—office.
My luck didn't hold. "Amanda," Billy called out, his tone unusually gentle. "I need to have a word with you."
"Yes, sir."
I followed him from the conference room into his office, keeping my head down as I crossed the bullpen. Word of Lee's departure was spreading rapidly, and I could guess what was going through my fellow agents' heads. I dreaded the inevitable questions that were sure to come.
"Sit down, Amanda," Billy was saying, indicating an empty chair. "I'll be with you in a minute."
I nodded and looked out the window as Mr. Melrose sorted through the papers on his desk. A small cluster of agents had already gathered at the far end of the room, and I had a feeling it wasn't the over-brewed coffee and stale doughnuts that drew them. As I'd feared, the talk had started already.
"Amanda . . ."
Embarrassed, I realized that my boss had been calling my name for some time. "I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled. "I guess I'm a little scattered this morning."
Billy's bushy brows drew together as he frowned. "I understand. I don't want to add to the confusion you must be feeling over everything that's happened, but I did want to take a minute to discuss your future at the Agency."
"My future, sir?" I wasn't civilian auxiliary anymore. He couldn't possibly be implying that my current employment hinged on Scarecrow's, could he?
"Yes." Unable to look me in the eye, he seemed to mutter the word to himself. It was almost as if he was embarrassed to face me, ashamed, even. Like a voyeur who'd been caught looking through someone's window and then had to face his victim. It was an odd image, and I don't know why it popped into my head. I'd never seen Billy Melrose so off-balance before.
He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Since the Q-Bureau is going to be reassigned, I thought this might be a good opportunity for you to explore some other options," he began.
My eyes widened. Lee had just left my personal life in shambles; evidently he'd done the same to my professional life as well. Biting my lip, I forced myself to concentrate on what Billy was saying.
"Unfortunately, there aren't too many open positions at the moment. First year assignments have already been posted for our rookie class, and, as you know, you missed a few pivotal months of class work due to your, uh, accident in February."
I nodded and looked down at the rug. The term was more appropriate than Billy knew. My entire relationship with Lee had been nothing but a series of accidents. Too bad my emotional wounds wouldn't heal as completely as my physical ones.
"However," Billy went on, abandoning his pacing to sit in his chair, "since you do have more unofficial field experience than anyone else in your class, Dr. Smyth has decided to waive the missed course work and award you immediate field status. Congratulations, Amanda." He leaned across his desk and extended his hand. "You are now an officially qualified agent."
"Thank you, sir." Not knowing what else to say, I simply shook his hand. Dr. Smyth was doing me a favor? Life was getting stranger by the moment.
"Now, regarding your next assignment. As I said, there aren't too many options right now, but I think I've found a temporary solution. That is, if you'll agree to give it a try." Billy paused, swiveling his chair back and forth for a few moments. "The agent I have in mind has requested a change in assignment. This person has been going through some emotional turmoil, and I thought the two of you might be a good pairing. True, you have very different styles, but then so did you and—"
"Yes, sir," I rasped. "Which agent did you have in mind?"
He paused then said, "Agent Desmond."
"Francine?" My eyes widened. Though we'd been partnered occasionally, our working relationship had never been smooth.
My reaction must have shown on my face because Billy said, "Don't dismiss this idea out of hand. I know the two of you have had your differences, but Francine is a very good agent. She has the seniority you lack."
That might well be true, but the proposition was singularly unappealing. I couldn't think of anyone less suited to be my partner, and I had a feeling Francine felt the same way. "And she's agreed to work with me?" I asked, still reeling.
Billy pursed his lips and shook his head. "I intend to discuss it with her this afternoon."
Relief swept through me. Francine would never agree to it. I had a sneaking suspicion her resume would top the pile requesting assignment to the Q-Bureau, and Billy had just made it clear that remaining in the "Q" was not an option for me.
Billy seemed to read my mind. "Francine is in no shape to handle the added pressure of running the Q-Bureau right now. And both Dr. Smyth and I feel that a change of assignment would benefit your training as well."
I started to protest, but he cut me off. "Take the afternoon to think it over." He stood, indicating the interview was at an end. "I'll expect your decision in the morning."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I said as I rose, too. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just that . . ." The anger I'd managed to keep at bay began to swell again. Damn Lee Stetson anyway. How could he do this to me? He'd left me smack dab between that proverbial rock and a hard place.
Suddenly I couldn't leave the Agency fast enough. I got into my car, intending to go straight home, but I somehow ended up at the Mall instead. It was not quite noon; Mother would still be at the house, I reasoned, and the interminable questions I'd been dodging for the past week would undoubtedly begin all over again. How could I tell her why Lee had left when I didn't even understand it myself?
I walked along the edge of the reflecting pool, letting the summer sun warm my face. The day was unseasonably hot for June, reminiscent of that afternoon the previous summer when Lee and I . . .
Pushing those thoughts from my head, I paused for a moment to gaze up at the Washington Monument. The building had fascinated me as a child. I'd always had the feeling that it belonged in some fairy tale, that its long, sleek lines were pointing to some hidden place in the sky. But I was an adult now, and the answers I sought weren't secreted behind some transient cloud. There was no magic talisman that could suddenly make things right.
Turning away from the Monument, I forced myself to walk in the opposite direction. Too late I realized that I'd made a mistake coming here. Though I'd purposely avoided the Jefferson Memorial, the memories were still there, everywhere I turned. Like that nagging little voice in the back of my mind, the one that kept telling me I should have listened to Scarecrow all those years ago. Once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf.
Mentally shaking myself again, I put a stop to that train of thought once and for all. Fueling my anger wouldn't help me now—there would be time enough for that when I finally got my hands on my husband. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that, no matter how it looked, Lee had not walked away from our marriage. There were too many holes in that lame cover story he'd tried so hard to sell me. And if I'd had any lingering doubts about that, what had just transpired in Billy's office had put them to rest once and for all.
Dr. Smyth would never agree to promote me to full agent status, just like that. As our revered Director of Covert Operations was so fond of reminding us, he'd written the book on Agency procedures and, by God, he intended to follow it to the letter.
Then there was Billy's extraordinary idea of partnering me with Francine. It was almost as if he was trying to make some sort of amends by assigning me to an agent whose clearance was almost as high as Lee's. Not to mention that he appeared to be giving me a choice in the matter instead of simply handing out the assignment. Yes, whatever was going on here, one thing I was sure of—Lee had left me because he didn't have a choice.
Sitting down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I once again went over what had happened. First, the obvious. Lee had vanished sometime early Sunday morning, between the hours of two and five, as best I could fix the time. Not one of his informants had the remotest inkling of where he'd gone, of that I was convinced, for I'd spent the better part of the week questioning each one extensively. What's more, my husband had evidently wanted me to believe that he was dissatisfied with our sex life, a fact that, in lieu of what had transpired between us on Saturday night, now seemed more unbelievable than ever.
Less obvious was the reason why. I'd hoped Billy could help me with that, but when I'd confronted him regarding Lee's disappearance, he'd sworn he was equally in the dark. Lee had called him to demand an immediate transfer, Billy told me, and would only say that he had to get out of D.C. to get some perspective on his life. Billy had allegedly arranged for him to work in the London office.
When all my attempts to reach him there proved fruitless, I'd enlisted the help of our good friend and fellow agent Emily Farnsworth. She reported that she, too, had been unsuccessful in locating Lee. Whenever she called at the Agency, he was conveniently "in a conference." What's more, the only trace of him she'd found at the modest flat he'd rented was a closet full of assorted shirts, pants and jackets, all pressed and hanging in a row. Such an alarming predilection for neatness could only mean one thing—and if Billy was lying about Scarecrow's whereabouts, then whatever Lee was doing, it was on Agency orders. More than likely, the inimitable Dr. Smyth was behind it all.
I needed answers. To get them, I'd require access to the Agency databanks and a heck of a lot higher clearance than I currently held. Pirating Lee's codes wasn't an option—the ones I had access to would certainly be flagged.
The thought of working with Francine was becoming more attractive by the minute. As Billy was so quick to point out, she did have the seniority I lacked. Maybe—just maybe—this new partnership would work out after all.