Chapter Six
"Keep your hands up! How do you know my name? What are you doing in my room?" Michelle kept the gun aimed at his chest, hastily scanning the room, making sure he had no accomplices with him.
He kept his eyes focused on her face. Seeming to dismiss the fact that she had a loaded weapon aimed at his chest. "Please, Ms Dessler. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to talk to you about the Governor's accident."
"What about it?"
"It wasn't an accident." He watched her face carefully for any flickers of emotion. "It was a car bomb, and I think you know it as well."
"I don't know what you're talking about. But if you have information, I think we should have the Sheriff here." She tightened her grip on the pistol, her finger against the trigger, strengthening her stance, just in case her strange visitor tried anything.
"I know you work for CTU Los Angeles. I know you've been helping the local plods here." He fought against a sudden rush of tears, blinking rapidly against their onslaught. "Please, I just want to help catch these murdering bastards. Please don't cut me out."
"You got any identification?" She waited until he nodded. "Reach for it. Slowly. And slide it across the floor to me." He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and kicked it over to her. She jerked her head. "Move. Against the bathroom door. Slowly." She knelt, picking up his wallet. She dropped her bag and moved onto the bed, dragging the phone with her. She kept her eyes and the gun trained on him.
"CTU."
"Tony Almeida, please." At least this gave her an excuse to talk to him.
"CTU, Almeida."
"Hey, Tony, it's me."
His voice suddenly became more alert. "Michelle, someone's been using your profile to access our databases."
"I know, Tony. It was me. I've stumbled onto something up here." She opened up the wallet, flicking her gaze between its contents and the man standing calmly against her bathroom door. "I need a favour, Tony."
"Yeah? What do you need?"
"I need any details we have on a Michael Hunte, DOB 11th March 1970, in Belfast."
"Okay." She could hear his fingers hitting the keys, an almost reassuring sound. "Michael Hunte. He's...ah Michelle. He's Northern Ireland Police, Special Branch. Speciality in anti-terrorist ops. I'm sending the picture to your phone now. You need anything else?"
She backed off the bed, pulling her phone from her bag. Reluctantly, she switched it on, waiting for the message to come through.
"Michelle?"
"I'm just waiting for the picture." The message came through, and she compared the images, holding her cell phone up at eye level. "No. Thanks Tony, that's everything. Good to talk to you. I'll give you a call later." She replaced the phone. Stared at his identification for another moment, then threw the wallet back to him. After a moments hesitation, she turned her cell phone off again. She lifted her bag from the floor, tucking her gun and phone away.
He stooped and picked up his wallet. "My details check out okay?"
"Yeah." She opened the fridge, lifted out a couple of beers, and opened them. She took a long drink of one, feeling her control return, and handed the other beer across to him. "Why are you here, Mr Hunte?"
"Michael, please." He took a mouthful of beer, blissfully cold against his parched throat. "I followed a suspect. A woman called Sinead Loughlin." He pulled a notebook from his back pocket, taking a photo from it and showing it to Michelle. "Loughlin's wanted for number of terrorist attacks back home. She makes a speciality out of car bombs." He replaced the photo inside the notebook.
"And she's here? In Nixon?"
"Yeah. She met with a young man. Nicholas McKeurkan. Israeli trained, military experience. And then..." He smiled helplessly. "Well you know what happened."
"Israeli trained? McGarrity was threatened by Zionist terrorists. Half a dozen times." She shook her head, taking another long drink of beer. "Nobody took them seriously."
Hunte grunted, starting to pick at the label of his bottle. "You can bet your arse that they're wishing they had taken them seriously now. Idiots." He wiped sweat from his forehead, still perspiring freely in spite of the relative chill of the early evening. "Only thing I can think of is that he's supplying her with equipment and munitions. Military surplus, that sort of thing. Maybe information.
The answer hit her hard, almost like the explosion had, rushing over her in waves. "No. He's not supplying her with anything, Michael. She's training him."
After the relative chill of the evening, the sun returned with renewed ferocity, renewed anger. Nixon came slowly to life, in spite of the heat, the shops, restaurants and cafes slowly starting to fill up.
By common consent, everybody avoided the centre of the town, the scars of the explosion still caged behind a wall of yellow tape, protected by an increased number of white shirted deputies.
And she was nervous.
She knew he was here. She kept looking over her shoulder, nervous. Expecting to see hi, standing there behind her. Waiting to arrest her.
She flinched when the waiter arrived with breakfast. Trying to ignore Nicholas' smirk as she lit a cigarette with a hand that shook, sunglasses hiding the sleepless rings beneath her eyes. "It's time." She tried to pretend that the hoarseness in her voice was because of the heat.
Nicholas nodded, his eyes suddenly bright with enthusiasm. "I only have a couple of charges left."
"No problem. I can show you how to improvise." She forced a smile, still feeling eyes watching her every move. She took a mouthful of coffee, and set the cup down. "Come on, lets get out of here." She fumbled in her pocket, dropping a handful of change on the table to pay for a breakfast she hadn't touched.
Nicholas hurried to catch up with her. She didn't slow, forcing him to hurry and match her stride. She would be glad to leave him behind.
Glad to leave him and this shit hole of a town far behind her.
"Do you have a target in mind?"
She nodded, looking around a town slowly coming to terms with her handiwork. "Yeah. I do."
It seemed like he'd been trying to explain this for hours. He rested his forehead against the palm of his hand, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder. Covering the same ground over and over, his head starting to throb like the desert sun.
"Yes sir. I realise who the victim was....yes, I'm sure his widow..." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry that's not..." He looked up when he heard a rap at this door, signalling for the deputy to enter. "I cant release the vehicles yet, we're still...no...okay, I'll keep you informed." He hung up. "Assholes." He sighed, glancing at his deputy. "What can I do for you, Luca?"
"It's about that CTU agent, Dessler."
"What about her?"
Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Me and a few of the guys have been talking. We don't like how much access she's getting to the investigation. We don't need her Sheriff."
"What?"
"We don't need her. We can handle this investigation ourselves."
Franklin rubbed his eyes, feeling his weariness course through him. He had had another sleepless night. "You know much about terrorists or car bombs, Luca?"
"Well, no, but..."
"She does, Luca. That's why we need her."
"Just touching base with you Michael." Even down a phone line, even from thousands of miles away, Bailie managed to sound condescending and smug.
"I'll do my job, Bailie."
"Where are you?"
"Still in Nixon. Still following Loughlin. I'm telling you, Bailie. This would be so much easier if I just went to the Sheriff's office and had him arrest her."
"You know we cant do that Michael. I know you want this one. Just a little longer, I promise. She's going to go to jail for a very long time."
She walked back into the Sheriff's office. Trying to ignore the way it fell quiet when she walked through the door. Trying to ignore their looks and unspoken accusations.
At least, Ben Franklin was pleased to see her. He smiled and stood up, pulling the chair out for her to sit down. "Tell me you have something for me. I could so with some good news."
"I spoke to CTU this morning."
"And?"
"We don't have a lot of intel on Z.I.E.F. Like I said, they're a relatively new group." Michelle shifted in her seat. It felt even warmer in the Sheriff's office than it had on the street outside. "Tony's gonna look through the data. See if he can find anything we can use."
"Will he find anything?"
"If there's anything there to find, Tony'll find it." She felt herself flush, tried to tell herself it was just the heat. "He's very good at job." She cleared her throat, hurrying past her embarrassment. "There's more as well."
Ben groaned. "More? Better or worse?"
"He ran the intel we had on the car bomb, and he got some hits from European sources. Matches the equipment and tactics used by dissident groups in Ireland."
"This just doesn't get any better does it?"
Noise at the door made them both look up. Ben smiled, standing and walking around his desk to open the door for a small woman pushing a stroller. He kissed her swiftly on the cheek. "Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine. I just brought you down some..." She stopped when she saw Michelle, biting her lip. "Oh."
"Paige, this is Michelle Dessler. Michelle, this is Paige Franklin, my wife." He crouched next to the stroller and lifted the child out, cradling her carefully in his arms. "And this is Rose."
Michelle tried to smile. "Very nice to meet you both." She fought to control her breathing, trying to bite down on the sudden irrational rasp of jealousy flaring through her. Dimly, she made herself stand. "I'll leave you both alone. I'll be in touch, Ben. When I have some more information." She conjured a smile from somewhere, managing to direct it at Paige. "Nice to meet you."
Suddenly she missed Tony so much it was like a stabbing pain through her body.
She managed to make it out of his office, before she stopped to draw a shuddering breath, pulling herself together.
Paige Franklin waited until Michelle (was that what he'd called her?) had left the station before turning to her husband. "Who was that?"
Ben swung his daughter in his arms, delighting in her mumbles of happiness. It took him a second to register that Paige had even spoken. "I'm sorry, sweetie. What did you say?"
Her anger glinted in her eyes, on her cheekbones. "I asked who that was."
"Nobody. Counter terrorism agent from Los Angeles."
"What's she doing here then?"
He stared at her, hearing an odd unpleasant twist in her voice that he had never heard before. "She's helping with enquiries."
She had herself under control by the time she arrived at the café, her professional mask back in place. Easier to wall things up, push them away, deal with them later.
She would deal with them later.
Michael had a drink waiting for her. She took a long mouthful, closing her eyes as she felt the alcohol, cold against the back of her throat. Soothing, easing. Making it a little easier for her to forget.
"Did you speak to Franklin?"
"I did, yeah. Don't worry, I didn't mention your name." She contemplated her drink. "I don't like lying to him. He'd doing the best he can. I think he could really help us, if he was brought into the loop."
"I know. Believe me. There's nothing I'd like better than to bring him in. But I cant. I got my orders. My boss wants this bitch and so do I. This is the only way to get the rest of the network."
She nodded dully. Then her smile flashed in the late afternoon sun, bitter and angry. "I came here to get away from terrorists."
Michael's answering smile was equally hard and bitter. "I know what you mean. I think when I get Loughlin, I'm going to take a nice long holiday somewhere sunny, get blind drunk. I always promised Brian....
"Who's Brian?"
"My son. He's dead now. Three years."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. Wiping tears from his eyes. The pain never did stop stinging. "She killed him. In a car bomb."
"Keep your hands up! How do you know my name? What are you doing in my room?" Michelle kept the gun aimed at his chest, hastily scanning the room, making sure he had no accomplices with him.
He kept his eyes focused on her face. Seeming to dismiss the fact that she had a loaded weapon aimed at his chest. "Please, Ms Dessler. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to talk to you about the Governor's accident."
"What about it?"
"It wasn't an accident." He watched her face carefully for any flickers of emotion. "It was a car bomb, and I think you know it as well."
"I don't know what you're talking about. But if you have information, I think we should have the Sheriff here." She tightened her grip on the pistol, her finger against the trigger, strengthening her stance, just in case her strange visitor tried anything.
"I know you work for CTU Los Angeles. I know you've been helping the local plods here." He fought against a sudden rush of tears, blinking rapidly against their onslaught. "Please, I just want to help catch these murdering bastards. Please don't cut me out."
"You got any identification?" She waited until he nodded. "Reach for it. Slowly. And slide it across the floor to me." He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and kicked it over to her. She jerked her head. "Move. Against the bathroom door. Slowly." She knelt, picking up his wallet. She dropped her bag and moved onto the bed, dragging the phone with her. She kept her eyes and the gun trained on him.
"CTU."
"Tony Almeida, please." At least this gave her an excuse to talk to him.
"CTU, Almeida."
"Hey, Tony, it's me."
His voice suddenly became more alert. "Michelle, someone's been using your profile to access our databases."
"I know, Tony. It was me. I've stumbled onto something up here." She opened up the wallet, flicking her gaze between its contents and the man standing calmly against her bathroom door. "I need a favour, Tony."
"Yeah? What do you need?"
"I need any details we have on a Michael Hunte, DOB 11th March 1970, in Belfast."
"Okay." She could hear his fingers hitting the keys, an almost reassuring sound. "Michael Hunte. He's...ah Michelle. He's Northern Ireland Police, Special Branch. Speciality in anti-terrorist ops. I'm sending the picture to your phone now. You need anything else?"
She backed off the bed, pulling her phone from her bag. Reluctantly, she switched it on, waiting for the message to come through.
"Michelle?"
"I'm just waiting for the picture." The message came through, and she compared the images, holding her cell phone up at eye level. "No. Thanks Tony, that's everything. Good to talk to you. I'll give you a call later." She replaced the phone. Stared at his identification for another moment, then threw the wallet back to him. After a moments hesitation, she turned her cell phone off again. She lifted her bag from the floor, tucking her gun and phone away.
He stooped and picked up his wallet. "My details check out okay?"
"Yeah." She opened the fridge, lifted out a couple of beers, and opened them. She took a long drink of one, feeling her control return, and handed the other beer across to him. "Why are you here, Mr Hunte?"
"Michael, please." He took a mouthful of beer, blissfully cold against his parched throat. "I followed a suspect. A woman called Sinead Loughlin." He pulled a notebook from his back pocket, taking a photo from it and showing it to Michelle. "Loughlin's wanted for number of terrorist attacks back home. She makes a speciality out of car bombs." He replaced the photo inside the notebook.
"And she's here? In Nixon?"
"Yeah. She met with a young man. Nicholas McKeurkan. Israeli trained, military experience. And then..." He smiled helplessly. "Well you know what happened."
"Israeli trained? McGarrity was threatened by Zionist terrorists. Half a dozen times." She shook her head, taking another long drink of beer. "Nobody took them seriously."
Hunte grunted, starting to pick at the label of his bottle. "You can bet your arse that they're wishing they had taken them seriously now. Idiots." He wiped sweat from his forehead, still perspiring freely in spite of the relative chill of the early evening. "Only thing I can think of is that he's supplying her with equipment and munitions. Military surplus, that sort of thing. Maybe information.
The answer hit her hard, almost like the explosion had, rushing over her in waves. "No. He's not supplying her with anything, Michael. She's training him."
After the relative chill of the evening, the sun returned with renewed ferocity, renewed anger. Nixon came slowly to life, in spite of the heat, the shops, restaurants and cafes slowly starting to fill up.
By common consent, everybody avoided the centre of the town, the scars of the explosion still caged behind a wall of yellow tape, protected by an increased number of white shirted deputies.
And she was nervous.
She knew he was here. She kept looking over her shoulder, nervous. Expecting to see hi, standing there behind her. Waiting to arrest her.
She flinched when the waiter arrived with breakfast. Trying to ignore Nicholas' smirk as she lit a cigarette with a hand that shook, sunglasses hiding the sleepless rings beneath her eyes. "It's time." She tried to pretend that the hoarseness in her voice was because of the heat.
Nicholas nodded, his eyes suddenly bright with enthusiasm. "I only have a couple of charges left."
"No problem. I can show you how to improvise." She forced a smile, still feeling eyes watching her every move. She took a mouthful of coffee, and set the cup down. "Come on, lets get out of here." She fumbled in her pocket, dropping a handful of change on the table to pay for a breakfast she hadn't touched.
Nicholas hurried to catch up with her. She didn't slow, forcing him to hurry and match her stride. She would be glad to leave him behind.
Glad to leave him and this shit hole of a town far behind her.
"Do you have a target in mind?"
She nodded, looking around a town slowly coming to terms with her handiwork. "Yeah. I do."
It seemed like he'd been trying to explain this for hours. He rested his forehead against the palm of his hand, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder. Covering the same ground over and over, his head starting to throb like the desert sun.
"Yes sir. I realise who the victim was....yes, I'm sure his widow..." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry that's not..." He looked up when he heard a rap at this door, signalling for the deputy to enter. "I cant release the vehicles yet, we're still...no...okay, I'll keep you informed." He hung up. "Assholes." He sighed, glancing at his deputy. "What can I do for you, Luca?"
"It's about that CTU agent, Dessler."
"What about her?"
Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Me and a few of the guys have been talking. We don't like how much access she's getting to the investigation. We don't need her Sheriff."
"What?"
"We don't need her. We can handle this investigation ourselves."
Franklin rubbed his eyes, feeling his weariness course through him. He had had another sleepless night. "You know much about terrorists or car bombs, Luca?"
"Well, no, but..."
"She does, Luca. That's why we need her."
"Just touching base with you Michael." Even down a phone line, even from thousands of miles away, Bailie managed to sound condescending and smug.
"I'll do my job, Bailie."
"Where are you?"
"Still in Nixon. Still following Loughlin. I'm telling you, Bailie. This would be so much easier if I just went to the Sheriff's office and had him arrest her."
"You know we cant do that Michael. I know you want this one. Just a little longer, I promise. She's going to go to jail for a very long time."
She walked back into the Sheriff's office. Trying to ignore the way it fell quiet when she walked through the door. Trying to ignore their looks and unspoken accusations.
At least, Ben Franklin was pleased to see her. He smiled and stood up, pulling the chair out for her to sit down. "Tell me you have something for me. I could so with some good news."
"I spoke to CTU this morning."
"And?"
"We don't have a lot of intel on Z.I.E.F. Like I said, they're a relatively new group." Michelle shifted in her seat. It felt even warmer in the Sheriff's office than it had on the street outside. "Tony's gonna look through the data. See if he can find anything we can use."
"Will he find anything?"
"If there's anything there to find, Tony'll find it." She felt herself flush, tried to tell herself it was just the heat. "He's very good at job." She cleared her throat, hurrying past her embarrassment. "There's more as well."
Ben groaned. "More? Better or worse?"
"He ran the intel we had on the car bomb, and he got some hits from European sources. Matches the equipment and tactics used by dissident groups in Ireland."
"This just doesn't get any better does it?"
Noise at the door made them both look up. Ben smiled, standing and walking around his desk to open the door for a small woman pushing a stroller. He kissed her swiftly on the cheek. "Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine. I just brought you down some..." She stopped when she saw Michelle, biting her lip. "Oh."
"Paige, this is Michelle Dessler. Michelle, this is Paige Franklin, my wife." He crouched next to the stroller and lifted the child out, cradling her carefully in his arms. "And this is Rose."
Michelle tried to smile. "Very nice to meet you both." She fought to control her breathing, trying to bite down on the sudden irrational rasp of jealousy flaring through her. Dimly, she made herself stand. "I'll leave you both alone. I'll be in touch, Ben. When I have some more information." She conjured a smile from somewhere, managing to direct it at Paige. "Nice to meet you."
Suddenly she missed Tony so much it was like a stabbing pain through her body.
She managed to make it out of his office, before she stopped to draw a shuddering breath, pulling herself together.
Paige Franklin waited until Michelle (was that what he'd called her?) had left the station before turning to her husband. "Who was that?"
Ben swung his daughter in his arms, delighting in her mumbles of happiness. It took him a second to register that Paige had even spoken. "I'm sorry, sweetie. What did you say?"
Her anger glinted in her eyes, on her cheekbones. "I asked who that was."
"Nobody. Counter terrorism agent from Los Angeles."
"What's she doing here then?"
He stared at her, hearing an odd unpleasant twist in her voice that he had never heard before. "She's helping with enquiries."
She had herself under control by the time she arrived at the café, her professional mask back in place. Easier to wall things up, push them away, deal with them later.
She would deal with them later.
Michael had a drink waiting for her. She took a long mouthful, closing her eyes as she felt the alcohol, cold against the back of her throat. Soothing, easing. Making it a little easier for her to forget.
"Did you speak to Franklin?"
"I did, yeah. Don't worry, I didn't mention your name." She contemplated her drink. "I don't like lying to him. He'd doing the best he can. I think he could really help us, if he was brought into the loop."
"I know. Believe me. There's nothing I'd like better than to bring him in. But I cant. I got my orders. My boss wants this bitch and so do I. This is the only way to get the rest of the network."
She nodded dully. Then her smile flashed in the late afternoon sun, bitter and angry. "I came here to get away from terrorists."
Michael's answering smile was equally hard and bitter. "I know what you mean. I think when I get Loughlin, I'm going to take a nice long holiday somewhere sunny, get blind drunk. I always promised Brian....
"Who's Brian?"
"My son. He's dead now. Three years."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. Wiping tears from his eyes. The pain never did stop stinging. "She killed him. In a car bomb."