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Chapter Five
She peered through the spy hole before she opened the door, a habit ingrained in her by life in LA. "Sheriff Franklin." She held the door open for him. "Please come in."
"Ms Dessler." He took his hat off before slipping past her. "Thank you."
She closed the door after him, force of habit making her chain it as well. "I'm glad you came, Sheriff. I need to talk to you about the Governor's accident."
"That's kind of why I'm here, Ms Dessler."
"Call me Michelle, please." She sat down at the table. "Have a seat, please. Do you mind if I finish my breakfast?"
Ben Franklin sat down. "Thank you Ms...Michelle." He tried not to stare at her meal, praying that his stomach wouldn't rumble. He'd been up since dawn, unable to sleep, frightened to stay in bed in case his writhing woke Paige. Given what Bill had told him, Ben Franklin doubted he'd be getting any sleep anytime soon.
"What can I do for you, Sheriff?"
"Something's come up. I need you help." He ran his hand through his hair. She had the air conditioning turned up as far as it would go. This was probably the only place in Nixon that was blessedly cool. "We took the cars away for examination, and we...found something."
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth, her dark eyes fixed on him. "And what do you want me to do?"
"I need you to come down to the station. Take a look at a few things for me." He shook his head, looking away from her, passing the brim of his hat through his hands. "Bill came up with a few things, and I got nobody else. I got nobody else with any experience of dealin' with somethin' like this."
"Sure." She looked hastily around the room, snatching clothes up. "Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed." She disappeared into the bathroom to change. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed. Seeing the cuts and bruises across her body, cuts and bruises she had gotten when a car bomb had flung her from her feet.
What had she stumbled into?
"How are you enjoying Nixon?"
"Been a little bit more exciting than I had hoped for so far."
"Look, I'm real sorry about this." Ben Franklin held the door open for her, motioning for her to enter. "I know you're on vacation, and this is probably the last thing you feel like doing."
Michelle laughed, avoiding the question. "I don't know if I'll be a lot of help to you, Sheriff. This isn't exactly my area." She knelt down. Peering through the wreckage. Trying to forget that the last time she had seen these cars, they had been gliding impressively, impassively past her.
Ben leaned against the wall, watching her work. "You've still got more knowledge of this than the rest of my staff. Bill's a good man but..." He pointed at the mess. "Not something we see a hell of a lot of up here."
"To be honest, I wish you'd never seen this one. What the hell?" Michelle leaned as close she could, peering intently into the wreckage. "Sheriff..."
"See, Bill took a night to find that. You found it in about two minutes."
She examined the rest of the wreckage. "There's another one on the wheel arch."
"What? Let me see!" He crouched down next to her, following her pointing finger. "Son of a bitch, Bill missed that one." He sat back on his heels. "Why two devices?"
Michelle shrugged. "They like to make sure. Sometimes just to punish anybody that tries to help."
"Mission accomplished, then." He pushed himself upright and helped her to her feet. "So here's the big question, Michelle. Who carried this out?"
"Somebody skilled, experienced, well organised." She pointed at the wreckage. "They've done this before, so they're flying beneath the radar and they wanted to make sure."
"Shit. Can you give me any names? Anything to work with?" She hesitated and he ploughed across her silence. "I'm out of my depth on this, Michelle. I got sixteen dead and over thirty wounded. I need your help. Please."
"Okay. Can you get me access to a computer?"
He couldn't quite hide his relief. "Right this way."
He stood in the sun. Watching their hotel. Watching as Nixon slowly rebuilt itself around them. There were more people on the street now, the town slowly returning to normality.
He was starting to fear that that was just where she wanted them to be. Hurt and off balance, reeling from one punch, not expecting another.
His phone rang, dragging him from his dark thoughts. He stared at the number on the screen. Thinking about ignoring it, about pretending that it would all disappear.
It continued to ring, incessantly.
Irritated, he stabbed the answer button. "Yeah?"
"Michael? It's Judith."
"Judith? Where's Baillie?"
"He's in a meeting. But we got an ID on that photo you sent us. Her name is Michelle Dessler. She's with the Counter Terrorist Unit in LA."
"What? She's law enforcement?" He switched the phone to the other side of his face, wiping sweat away, trying to ignore where it trickled into his stubble. "What the fuck is she doing here?"
"I don't know." Her voice softened. "How are you doing Michael?"
"I'm okay." He swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. "Just want to catch this bitch and get out of here."
"Lucy was here yesterday. She left the rest of your stuff in. I put it in your locker for safe keeping. I'm really sorry Michael."
He shrugged again, knowing it was a wasted gesture. "She has to do what she thinks is right. She has to move on in her own way as well."
Michelle drummed her fingers on the desk. Waiting for the computer to connect to their information site. At that moment, she would have killed for one of CTU's high speed connections.
Finally.
She bit her lip as the familiar access screen and logo appeared. She'd hoped to go three weeks without seeing it. She typed quickly, entering her username and password, then started accessing CTU's records on car bombs.
She tried to ignore the whispered comments, the almost accusatory looks exchanged by the other deputies, especially when Ben Franklin was not nearby. She could feel their eyes burning through her.
Who the hell was she? What the hell was she doing here? Why was she being allowed to interfere with their investigation?
"You find anythin' yet?" Ben appeared at her elbow, two glasses of iced water in his hands. He slid one across the small worn desk to her.
She was suddenly, painfully, thirsty.
"Not yet." She took a long drink. Wishing she was back in her hotel room. Wishing even that she had never stopped in Nixon. "I'm just trying to access our records, see if I can match equipment or methods with anything we got in our database." As she spoke, the screen refreshed and she leaned forward, starting to enter search parameters.
"Yeah our computers are probably not what you're used to." He watched over her shoulder, watched her enter the data, the information. Watched her backtrack at every dead end, change one of the parameters, and start the whole process again. She worked quickly, quietly, without complaining.
Ben Franklin sat back in his seat, grinning to himself. He could have done with a few more like her two days ago.
Michelle could smell Franklin's cologne, could hear the calm, easy rise and fall of his breathing. For all of his protestations, Franklin seemed like he was holding together pretty well.
Another search came back negative. Michelle sat back in her chair, starting to drum her fingers on the desk, before she forced herself to stop. She glanced at her bag, at her dormant cell phone. She almost reached for it.
Almost.
She caught Franklin's eyes on her and hastily jerked her gaze away from it.
"Problems?"
She shrugged. "Just turned up a blank so far." At least the puzzle was distracting her, stopping her thinking about how much pain she should be in. "What sort of man was McGarrity."
"What do you mean?"
"Enemies, lovers, ambitions, that sort of thing."
Franklin thought for a moment. "He wasn't well liked up here, that's for damn sure. Keeps trying to cut the locals land rights. Enemies, though." He frowned. "Nothing that's been passed to us. Nevada State Police, they might have better records."
"Nevada State Police." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, Franklin trying desperately to follow what she typed. The screen cleared, then rapidly filled in. She clicked on a link. "There."
"How in the hell did you know where to find that?" Ben pulled his chair forward, the legs scrapping against the floor. Scanning the file.
She looked away, pleased at his praise. "Police sites usually organise their data in much the same way. You just need to know where to look." She fell silent, biting her lip again as she read through the information. "Six...no seven threats."
"Jesus." Suddenly ashen faced, Franklin covered his mouth with his hand. "Jesus why didn't they tell us?"
"I don't know." Michelle scanned the reports. "It's a relatively unknown group, they didn't take them seriously. They didn't even run the threat analysis. Even McGarrity thought they were empty threats." They hadn't passed the information on.
"Who sent them?" Franklin found himself lost in the maze of acronyms and codes. "I cant make any fuckin' sense of this at all."
"Z.I.E.F. They're a Middle Eastern terrorist group. Looks like they disagreed with McGarrity on American foreign policy in the region." She sighed, seeing another familiar face swim through her memory. Would she ever be able to escape the Middle East?
"Middle Eastern?" Franklin relaxed, tension seeming to drain from his body. "Shouldn't be too hard to pick them up. They'll stick out like a sore thumb here."
"They aren't Arabic terrorists, Ben."
He insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Insisted on buying her dinner to thank her for her help.
He walked her out of the station. Past his deputies, past their whispers, and their unspoken accusations, past their jealousies their resentments, their insecurities.
If she was so goddamned good at her job, if she was so goddamned useful, how come she hadn't seen it coming? Why couldn't she stop it?
She forced memories, guilt away, and tried to pay attention to Ben Franklin's conversation. Wasn't that why she had left LA? To let herself heal and forget?
Franklin moved his hands a lot as he talked over diner, the light of the restaurant catching his ring, illuminating the band of gold around his finger, making it flash brightly through the dim room.
She caught herself wondering what his wife was like.
As soon as she put her key in the door, she knew. She knew that somebody was in her room, waiting for her. She had a sudden, brief flash of hope that...
She shook her head, banishing the thought before she had even formed it. She slid her hand into her bag, sliding her gun from it's holster. She clicked the safety off, and slowly pushed the door open.
Her room was dark, the curtains pulled. She held her breath. Listening, concentrating.
There.
She could hear harsh breathing. If she squinted, she could just about make out a stocky male form.
She pointed her gun at him. "I'm an armed Federal Agent. Get your hands up!" She waited until he complied. "Now stand up. Nice and slowly." Still lingering in the slightly brighter hallway, still pointing the gun at him. She reached through the door, switching the light on, watching in satisfaction as the man stumbled backwards, blinking in the sudden brightness. He was careful to keep his hands in the air. She walked into the room, glancing quickly, carefully, either side of the door before kicking it shut after her.
"We need to talk, Ms Dessler."
Chapter Five
She peered through the spy hole before she opened the door, a habit ingrained in her by life in LA. "Sheriff Franklin." She held the door open for him. "Please come in."
"Ms Dessler." He took his hat off before slipping past her. "Thank you."
She closed the door after him, force of habit making her chain it as well. "I'm glad you came, Sheriff. I need to talk to you about the Governor's accident."
"That's kind of why I'm here, Ms Dessler."
"Call me Michelle, please." She sat down at the table. "Have a seat, please. Do you mind if I finish my breakfast?"
Ben Franklin sat down. "Thank you Ms...Michelle." He tried not to stare at her meal, praying that his stomach wouldn't rumble. He'd been up since dawn, unable to sleep, frightened to stay in bed in case his writhing woke Paige. Given what Bill had told him, Ben Franklin doubted he'd be getting any sleep anytime soon.
"What can I do for you, Sheriff?"
"Something's come up. I need you help." He ran his hand through his hair. She had the air conditioning turned up as far as it would go. This was probably the only place in Nixon that was blessedly cool. "We took the cars away for examination, and we...found something."
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth, her dark eyes fixed on him. "And what do you want me to do?"
"I need you to come down to the station. Take a look at a few things for me." He shook his head, looking away from her, passing the brim of his hat through his hands. "Bill came up with a few things, and I got nobody else. I got nobody else with any experience of dealin' with somethin' like this."
"Sure." She looked hastily around the room, snatching clothes up. "Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed." She disappeared into the bathroom to change. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed. Seeing the cuts and bruises across her body, cuts and bruises she had gotten when a car bomb had flung her from her feet.
What had she stumbled into?
"How are you enjoying Nixon?"
"Been a little bit more exciting than I had hoped for so far."
"Look, I'm real sorry about this." Ben Franklin held the door open for her, motioning for her to enter. "I know you're on vacation, and this is probably the last thing you feel like doing."
Michelle laughed, avoiding the question. "I don't know if I'll be a lot of help to you, Sheriff. This isn't exactly my area." She knelt down. Peering through the wreckage. Trying to forget that the last time she had seen these cars, they had been gliding impressively, impassively past her.
Ben leaned against the wall, watching her work. "You've still got more knowledge of this than the rest of my staff. Bill's a good man but..." He pointed at the mess. "Not something we see a hell of a lot of up here."
"To be honest, I wish you'd never seen this one. What the hell?" Michelle leaned as close she could, peering intently into the wreckage. "Sheriff..."
"See, Bill took a night to find that. You found it in about two minutes."
She examined the rest of the wreckage. "There's another one on the wheel arch."
"What? Let me see!" He crouched down next to her, following her pointing finger. "Son of a bitch, Bill missed that one." He sat back on his heels. "Why two devices?"
Michelle shrugged. "They like to make sure. Sometimes just to punish anybody that tries to help."
"Mission accomplished, then." He pushed himself upright and helped her to her feet. "So here's the big question, Michelle. Who carried this out?"
"Somebody skilled, experienced, well organised." She pointed at the wreckage. "They've done this before, so they're flying beneath the radar and they wanted to make sure."
"Shit. Can you give me any names? Anything to work with?" She hesitated and he ploughed across her silence. "I'm out of my depth on this, Michelle. I got sixteen dead and over thirty wounded. I need your help. Please."
"Okay. Can you get me access to a computer?"
He couldn't quite hide his relief. "Right this way."
He stood in the sun. Watching their hotel. Watching as Nixon slowly rebuilt itself around them. There were more people on the street now, the town slowly returning to normality.
He was starting to fear that that was just where she wanted them to be. Hurt and off balance, reeling from one punch, not expecting another.
His phone rang, dragging him from his dark thoughts. He stared at the number on the screen. Thinking about ignoring it, about pretending that it would all disappear.
It continued to ring, incessantly.
Irritated, he stabbed the answer button. "Yeah?"
"Michael? It's Judith."
"Judith? Where's Baillie?"
"He's in a meeting. But we got an ID on that photo you sent us. Her name is Michelle Dessler. She's with the Counter Terrorist Unit in LA."
"What? She's law enforcement?" He switched the phone to the other side of his face, wiping sweat away, trying to ignore where it trickled into his stubble. "What the fuck is she doing here?"
"I don't know." Her voice softened. "How are you doing Michael?"
"I'm okay." He swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. "Just want to catch this bitch and get out of here."
"Lucy was here yesterday. She left the rest of your stuff in. I put it in your locker for safe keeping. I'm really sorry Michael."
He shrugged again, knowing it was a wasted gesture. "She has to do what she thinks is right. She has to move on in her own way as well."
Michelle drummed her fingers on the desk. Waiting for the computer to connect to their information site. At that moment, she would have killed for one of CTU's high speed connections.
Finally.
She bit her lip as the familiar access screen and logo appeared. She'd hoped to go three weeks without seeing it. She typed quickly, entering her username and password, then started accessing CTU's records on car bombs.
She tried to ignore the whispered comments, the almost accusatory looks exchanged by the other deputies, especially when Ben Franklin was not nearby. She could feel their eyes burning through her.
Who the hell was she? What the hell was she doing here? Why was she being allowed to interfere with their investigation?
"You find anythin' yet?" Ben appeared at her elbow, two glasses of iced water in his hands. He slid one across the small worn desk to her.
She was suddenly, painfully, thirsty.
"Not yet." She took a long drink. Wishing she was back in her hotel room. Wishing even that she had never stopped in Nixon. "I'm just trying to access our records, see if I can match equipment or methods with anything we got in our database." As she spoke, the screen refreshed and she leaned forward, starting to enter search parameters.
"Yeah our computers are probably not what you're used to." He watched over her shoulder, watched her enter the data, the information. Watched her backtrack at every dead end, change one of the parameters, and start the whole process again. She worked quickly, quietly, without complaining.
Ben Franklin sat back in his seat, grinning to himself. He could have done with a few more like her two days ago.
Michelle could smell Franklin's cologne, could hear the calm, easy rise and fall of his breathing. For all of his protestations, Franklin seemed like he was holding together pretty well.
Another search came back negative. Michelle sat back in her chair, starting to drum her fingers on the desk, before she forced herself to stop. She glanced at her bag, at her dormant cell phone. She almost reached for it.
Almost.
She caught Franklin's eyes on her and hastily jerked her gaze away from it.
"Problems?"
She shrugged. "Just turned up a blank so far." At least the puzzle was distracting her, stopping her thinking about how much pain she should be in. "What sort of man was McGarrity."
"What do you mean?"
"Enemies, lovers, ambitions, that sort of thing."
Franklin thought for a moment. "He wasn't well liked up here, that's for damn sure. Keeps trying to cut the locals land rights. Enemies, though." He frowned. "Nothing that's been passed to us. Nevada State Police, they might have better records."
"Nevada State Police." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, Franklin trying desperately to follow what she typed. The screen cleared, then rapidly filled in. She clicked on a link. "There."
"How in the hell did you know where to find that?" Ben pulled his chair forward, the legs scrapping against the floor. Scanning the file.
She looked away, pleased at his praise. "Police sites usually organise their data in much the same way. You just need to know where to look." She fell silent, biting her lip again as she read through the information. "Six...no seven threats."
"Jesus." Suddenly ashen faced, Franklin covered his mouth with his hand. "Jesus why didn't they tell us?"
"I don't know." Michelle scanned the reports. "It's a relatively unknown group, they didn't take them seriously. They didn't even run the threat analysis. Even McGarrity thought they were empty threats." They hadn't passed the information on.
"Who sent them?" Franklin found himself lost in the maze of acronyms and codes. "I cant make any fuckin' sense of this at all."
"Z.I.E.F. They're a Middle Eastern terrorist group. Looks like they disagreed with McGarrity on American foreign policy in the region." She sighed, seeing another familiar face swim through her memory. Would she ever be able to escape the Middle East?
"Middle Eastern?" Franklin relaxed, tension seeming to drain from his body. "Shouldn't be too hard to pick them up. They'll stick out like a sore thumb here."
"They aren't Arabic terrorists, Ben."
He insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Insisted on buying her dinner to thank her for her help.
He walked her out of the station. Past his deputies, past their whispers, and their unspoken accusations, past their jealousies their resentments, their insecurities.
If she was so goddamned good at her job, if she was so goddamned useful, how come she hadn't seen it coming? Why couldn't she stop it?
She forced memories, guilt away, and tried to pay attention to Ben Franklin's conversation. Wasn't that why she had left LA? To let herself heal and forget?
Franklin moved his hands a lot as he talked over diner, the light of the restaurant catching his ring, illuminating the band of gold around his finger, making it flash brightly through the dim room.
She caught herself wondering what his wife was like.
As soon as she put her key in the door, she knew. She knew that somebody was in her room, waiting for her. She had a sudden, brief flash of hope that...
She shook her head, banishing the thought before she had even formed it. She slid her hand into her bag, sliding her gun from it's holster. She clicked the safety off, and slowly pushed the door open.
Her room was dark, the curtains pulled. She held her breath. Listening, concentrating.
There.
She could hear harsh breathing. If she squinted, she could just about make out a stocky male form.
She pointed her gun at him. "I'm an armed Federal Agent. Get your hands up!" She waited until he complied. "Now stand up. Nice and slowly." Still lingering in the slightly brighter hallway, still pointing the gun at him. She reached through the door, switching the light on, watching in satisfaction as the man stumbled backwards, blinking in the sudden brightness. He was careful to keep his hands in the air. She walked into the room, glancing quickly, carefully, either side of the door before kicking it shut after her.
"We need to talk, Ms Dessler."