IV

"but baby i

still believe in all

all of love's glory

i gave that promise to the rain

i'm not afraid to stumble

baby i can fall . . .''

Friday, August 28, 1987

4:35 p.m.

Another bolt of lightening tore through the late afternoon sky. I closed my eyes, counting the seconds until the thunder boomed, the way I'd done as a child. One, one hundred, two, one hundred, three . . .

Though I expected it, I still jumped when the noise came crashing down, seemingly from every side. The storm was getting closer. Maybe the rain would finally break that awful, oppressive feeling hanging in the air.

It would take more than a downpour to cleanse the atmosphere indoors, though. "Give it back, toad breath," Jamie shouted, his angry voice rumbling more loudly than the thunder.

Turning from the window on the open landing, I looked down into the "great room," so named because it combined the space from the living, family and dining rooms into one large area. The lodge at Mrs. McMurty's was spacious and comfortable, much bigger than the smaller cabin Lee and I had occupied on our last abortive visit. But, on this particular day, no room was "great" enough to contain two rambunctious boys.

"That's enough, Jamie," I admonished sharply as he socked his brother in the shoulder.

"But Phillip has my book, and he won't give it back!" He punctuated this last sentence with another shove, one that his older brother showed unmistakable signs of reciprocating.

"I said that's enough!" My patience was stretched to its limit. "If the two of you can't get along, find neutral corners somewhere."

"Geez," Jamie muttered to Phillip, suddenly in perfect accord with the brother he'd been about to murder. "What's the matter with her?"

I turned back to the window. That was definitely the question of the hour. Let's see now, take your pick . . . my sons, who had been at each other's throats since the first light of day; my mother, who seemed determined to work the word "prison" into every other sentence; or my husband, who, after three interminably long days, was still conspicuously absent from our happy family gathering.

"Are you feeling all right?" Mother asked on her way downstairs, echoing Jamie's sentiments a little more politely.

"I feel fine." I gritted my teeth, just barely keeping my frustration in check. "The doctor gave me some pills."

"I wasn't referring to your morning sickness. And don't look at me like that, Missy," she said, as my eyes flashed a warning. "I agreed not to say anything, and I'll keep my promise. But you know what I think of all these secrets."

"I know, Mother. But I don't want to tell anyone until I've had a chance to talk to Lee."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Has Mr. Melrose spoken to you today?"

"No. I haven't heard a word from him since our first night here. I just hope something hasn't gone wrong."

She slid her hand down my back, massaging the tight muscles between my shoulder blades. "I'm sure everything's fine, darling. No news is good news, you know."

In this business, no news usually meant something had gone 'off the wire,' but I didn't have the heart to tell her that. Barbed comments notwithstanding, she'd been doing an admirable job of keeping our spirits up since our arrival at Mrs. McMurty's. Even the taciturn Marine guards stationed here had come to look forward to her batches of homemade cookies.

But, more than anything else, I'd appreciated her efforts to keep the boys occupied. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for the novelty to wear off and the whining to begin. I'd expected as much from Phillip; he'd always had a low boredom threshold. But, oddly enough, Jamie was having a harder time settling down.

My anxiety must have shown, because Mother snaked her arm around my waist. "Amanda Stetson. Stop those negative thoughts, right this minute. I raised you to look for the silver lining, not the storm clouds."

Her words jogged a memory. For a moment, I was back in that damp Virginia swampland, sheltered in Lee's capable embrace. We'd made it out of that life and death situation in one piece. Lee certainly couldn't fail to do the same now, when there was so much more at stake.

"You're right," I said, imagining for a few brief seconds that his were the arms that held me. "This is certainly no business for a pessimist."

Mother smiled. "That's my girl. Now, let's see if we can scare up something fattening to eat in the kitchen. I'm in the mood to spoil my dinner."

"I'm right behind you." I was halfway down the stairs when the realization hit me. "Mother," I asked, through the frog in my throat, "what did you just call me?"

"Amanda Stetson." She lifted an eyebrow. "It is your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "I guess it is."

Amanda Stetson. That name, so often repeated in my head, sounded foreign coming from my mother. I wondered briefly if it was destined to remain that way. Though no one would say anything specific about their plans for us, I knew the score. Our guards reported to the Department of Justice, not the Agency. That could only mean one thing—the powers that be were thinking long-term relocation, not temporary protective custody.

If my family was having a difficult time adjusting to our current situation, it would be nothing compared to the stress of assuming new identities. And where did that leave Joe? He certainly deserved more than one secured phone call per week. He had a right to see his sons grow up. I wondered if it wouldn't be better for the boys to let Joe and Carrie take them. Joe could go back into active service with the EAO. The boys might have to leave the country, but at least they could do it as Phillip and Jamie King, not under some unfamiliar aliases.

I shook myself. That line of reasoning didn't hold water. Karbala's reach was long. They might be in even more danger with Joe . . .

"Hey, Mom." Phillip gave me an uncharacteristic hug. "Don't worry, things will be okay."

I smiled at the look of tender concern on his face; my son was growing up. "I know they will, sweetheart. I just wish . . ."

He caught my eye then nodded toward the corner of the room. "Junior over there's just scared. That's why he's behaving like such a moron."

I followed his gaze to where Jamie sat, dwarfed in the big armchair, his eyes glued to his book. Pursing my lips, I brushed a lock of hair from Phillip's forehead. "And what about you? Are you scared, too?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. "A little, I guess. Mostly, I'm just really proud of you. I think you're the bravest person I know."

My son's praise made me feel like a hypocrite. A brave person wouldn't shake every time she thought about firing a gun. A brave person wouldn't wake up screaming, tormented by nightmares she couldn't control. A brave person wouldn't have kept her secret life from her family until circumstances forced the truth.

"No, Phillip. Don't romanticize all this. I'm no hero. I'm just an ordinary person who got caught up in extraordinary circumstances."

"But that's the point." He scrunched his forehead, the way he always did when he concentrated on a difficult math problem. "You were just a mother, and you still tried to make a difference. It's like Lee told me once. There's nothing heroic about being brave when you don't have a choice. You just do it because you have to. But when you choose to do what's right, even though you're scared it might hurt the people you care about, well, that's real courage."

I struggled to keep my voice even. "Lee told you that?"

Phillip nodded. "The way I see it, what's happened to us is kinda like that. You didn't have to do your job, you chose to do it. To make the world a better place, like you told us. Even though, sometimes, the things you have to do scare you. So, in my book, that makes you the bravest person I know."

Tears filled my eyes as I pulled him closer. "Phillip, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Thank you."

He hunched his shoulders and quickly extricated himself from my embrace. Thankfully, he was spared further embarrassment by his grandmother's entrance.

"I have a couple of giant banana splits here, if anyone's interested."

"Wow, Grandma, I could sure go for some of that." Phillip plopped down on the couch, grabbed a spoon and immediately attacked one of the large bowls Mother placed on the coffee table. He might be sounding more and more like an adult these days, but, when it came to ice cream, he was still very much my little boy.

I watched as the mountain of whipped cream on Phillip's sundae quickly disappeared. "I think you've outdone yourself, Mother," I told her, with a grin.

"I have to say, the kitchen here is extremely well-stocked." Mother pursed her lips then added, "For a prison, that is."

"It's not a prison," I explained, for the umpteenth time. "It's a secure facility."

"A secure facility with bars on the windows."

"That's only for our protection."

She grimaced. "'A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.' That's what I always say."

"You don't say that at all," I returned, with a smile.

"Well, where do you think Shakespeare got the line, Amanda?" She sat down, crossed her legs and shot me a pointed look. "From our ancestors."

I rolled my eyes and turned to Jamie. He hadn't moved; his feet were still tucked up underneath him in the big chair. I forced a cheerful note into my voice. "How about you, sweetheart? Are you going to let your brother eat all this ice cream alone?"

"I'm not hungry," came my younger son's sullen reply.

"Okay, but you don't know what you're missing." I gave Mother a look as I sat on the couch.

"You know, I'll bet we have time for a game of Monopoly before dinner," she said, picking up the ball. "You boys promised me a chance to get even after the last time."

"Yeah, Grandma. Jamie sure cleaned you out last night."

I mouthed a quick "Thank you," to Phillip, as Mother said, "Well, not this time. This time, I'm going to be the hat. It's my lucky piece."

Jamie snapped his book closed and pushed out of the chair. "Oh, okay, I guess. But I get to be banker."

Phillip grinned. "Fine by me. That's too much work anyhow." He started toward the bookshelf to retrieve the game when a sudden noise drew him to the window. "Hey, worm brain, come see this!"

"It's only thunder," Jamie muttered, still out of sorts, while Mother sharply admonished, "Phillip, don't call your brother names."

The rhythmic thumping grew louder. "It's not thunder," Phillip insisted. "It's something else. It sounds like—"

"A helicopter," I supplied, with an anxious sigh. "A big one."

"Yeah, Mom, I think you're right. Look, it's landing right on the lawn!"

As Jamie and Mother joined him at the window, I struggled to control my erratic pulse. Mrs. McMurty's played host to countless diplomats and high ranking military personnel. It might only be some new dignitary arriving for a brief stay. Or maybe even Billy, come to escort us to a new and better safe house.

But my heart whispered that Billy Melrose would never arrive with so much fanfare.

"There's a whole bunch of guys out there!" Phillip exclaimed, his voice betraying his excitement. "I think they're heading this way."

We all turned toward the door. My face flushed at the memory of our last hours together, and I couldn't decide if I most wished or feared to see him. My hands flew to my flat stomach as the door opened. Did I look different? Would he be able to tell?

He walked into the room. There were other people with him, people I didn't know or recognize, but I barely gave them a thought. I could only stare open-mouthed at my husband, all the while fisting my hands so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

He looked different. It wasn't the weight he'd lost, though in some ways it made him appear taller. It wasn't the close-cropped beard he wore, though it leant his face a sinister air. It wasn't the color he'd used to darken his hair, either. It was the grim, haunted expression in his eyes as he stood and watched me, waiting, hoping, for the small gesture of welcome I suddenly seemed incapable of giving.

He took a few tentative steps toward me. "Amanda," he called out roughly, as if he had to push the word from his throat.

I tried to make myself go to him, but for some reason, I couldn't move. My hands flew to my lips. "Is it really you?"

He smiled when I said that, the one that always seemed to light up his face from the inside. Even all that facial hair couldn't hide those incredible dimples. The sight sparked something deep inside me, and I let out another short gasp. Blinded by tears, I propelled myself forward into a pair of arms that were outstretched and waiting.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, over and over, as he pulled me against his solid bulk. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You're here," was all I could say through the sobs that threatened to choke me. I pulled back a little to look at him, my hands patting his face, his shoulders, his chest. "You're really here, aren't you, standing right in front of me . . ."

"You bet I am." His voice softened to a soothing murmur as his lips brushed through my hair.

A harsh moan tore itself from my chest. I clutched the lapels of his jacket, shaking him. "Oh, I'm so angry with you. How could you do that to me, Stetson? You made me think . . ." I drew in a long, shuddering breath.

Lee looked around as I fell silent, as if he suddenly noticed there were other people in the room. He took a step back, kneading his neck with long, tapered fingers. "Maybe we should, uh, discuss this later."

I wrapped my arms around myself as I, too, moved away. "Yeah, maybe we should."

Mother stepped forward, putting an arm around my shoulder as she looked Lee over from head to toe. "Well, Mr. Stetson," she said at length. "You've had us all pretty worried about you."

Lee offered her a smile that was almost bashful. "I'm sorry about that, Dotty. It couldn't be helped."

Mother gave him a short, "Humph," then pulled him to her for a quick hug. "I'm glad you're here," I heard her whisper as she released him. "Your wife needs you more than she's willing to admit."

He cleared his throat, allowing his eyes to rest on me for a brief moment. Then he said, in a tone I couldn't mistake, "That goes both ways." He turned to Phillip and Jamie. "How about you guys? You okay?"

"Yeah." Phillip crossed the room to give Lee a clumsy hug. "But we're better now that you're back. We missed you."

"I missed you, too, Chief." Looking over Phillip's head, he caught Jamie's eye. "You, too, Sport."

Jamie turned to look out the window. "Yeah."

Lee started to go to him, but a manicured hand held him back. "Sorry to interrupt, Scarecrow, but Crum's waiting. He's booked on the midnight flight to London, and we need to be debriefed before he leaves."

"'Crum'?" My eyes narrowed as I glared at the owner of that sweetly accented voice.

Lee stepped between us. "That would be Frederick Crumwald. My unit commander."

"I see." If Lee was working under the renowned anti-terrorism expert, it must be true, then. Karbala had returned.

She tugged on his arm again. Lee gave her a long look then turned to me, his complexion reddening. "Amanda," he indicated the woman with a jerky sweep of his hand, "this is my, uh, partner, Gloria. Gloria Ortiz."

The woman who'd kissed my husband that night in the Bethesda bar stepped forward. "I'm happy to finally meet you, Mrs. King. Scarecrow speaks very highly of you."

"Thank you." My gaze traveled over her before settling on Lee. "But the name's Stetson, not King. Amanda Stetson."