Thank you again to everybody that has read and reviewed so far.
Chapter Four
"Hello, Mr Rose."
"Natasha, I was expecting you to call."
"What can I do for you, Mr Rose?"
"I understand that CTU has been conducting an investigation in Los Angeles against the Rights of the Child. The Senator is concerned about the image that this presents"
Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I can't really comment on that, Mr Rose. It's an on-going operation. Michelle Dessler is very thorough and I am sure that she has reliable intelligence…"
"The Senator is concerned that this will present an image that the Government condones abortions. Understandably he is keen to ensure that that is not the case. He was hoping he could rely on you."
"I'm not sure I can interfere with an on-going investigation. If I get involved, it's going to send up red flags across the whole system. Michelle is likely to dig deeper just to see why I have gotten involved."
"I'm sure you'll be able to think of something, Natasha. I'm sure there are more legitimate targets for CTU to pursue."
Natasha fell silent, waiting for Darren Rose to play his last card. To tell her that Senator Jarode was calling in the favours she owed him.
"I'm sure that the Senator doesn't want what happened with Brad Hammond to end a mutually beneficial relationship. There are other positions, other departments within CTU where I'm sure you could do a marvellous job."
There was no mistaking the implicit threat in his words
"I'll talk to Michelle, see where they are with their investigation. It could just be that something has come up in relation to another operation, and she's just covering all the bases."
"Thank you, Natasha. I'll pass that onto the Senator."
Darren Rose hung up. Leaving her clutching the phone, listening to the sound of an empty line.
xxxXXXxxx
They stared at each other in the dim confines of the limousine. Eyes locked, darting around the interior. Waiting to see who would blink first. Who would flinch first. Who would look away first.
They ignored the woman they were supposed to be protecting, talking quietly on the phone. The only noise in the car.
No one blinked. No one flinched. No one looked away. The atmosphere thick and oppressive, bearing down on them like a shroud, covering them with its dead weight.
"I don't need your help." Michael Peterson kept his voice low. "I have twenty years experience doing this and I've been with Amy for five. I know her, I know how she operates. You don't."
Tom sighed wearily. "We've already been through this. We're not interested in taking over your operation. All we're interested in is keeping Amy alive, but we're gonna need your help to do that."
Peterson held his gaze for a second longer. "What do you want us to do?"
"What security arrangements do you have in place?"
"Standard procedure. Car in front, four men, counting myself." Peterson allowed himself a look of pride. "They're all good men, I recruited them myself."
"Their references all check out?" Nathan spoke for the first time.
Peterson nodded. "Yes, they're all good men." The buzzer in front of him sounded and he leaned forward to the press the answer button. "What is it?"
"We're here, sir." The driver's voice sounded strange, weirdly distorted and disembodied.
"I'll tell her." He released the button. "Amy?" Waiting until she turned to him, covering the speaker with her hand. "We're here." She nodded and went back to her conversation.
The car rolled to a stop and Peterson put his hand on the door handle. "If this threat is real, I hope you guys are as good as you say you are."
xxxXXXxxx
"…is just typical of the right wing poison this country has become infected with."
"I take it you don't think that the LAPD should storm the Lester Clinic then."
"Of course not. That's just another attempt to control the lives of young people, by forcing them to do what the government wants. And to say that Dr Lester is a murderer is just character defamation."
"Character defamation?"
"Yes and that's just typical right wing bull…."
"I'm gonna have to cut you off there caller. Its 1020, and I'll be taking your calls all the way up to 11am, right here on CSRFM."
xxxXXXxxx
His voice rose and swelled, carrying clearly, easily across the room they had taken over. She heard more voices rising, echoing his words, crying out for forgiveness for their past sins.
"Lord, take this offering as we seek forgiveness for the sins that have been committed against You, against Your Will. Protect us, Lord, as we strive to work Your will on earth. Take this offering, Lord, the first working of Your will today."
He lit the yew branches in front of him and they burst into flame. Heavily scented clouds of smoke framing his face, the flames hi-lighting his heavy features.
Around him, the congregation bowed their heads, echoing his words, their voices rising in harmony with his, rising with their prayers. Hastily she copied the motion, the words rising easily to her lips, her mind tumbling with a thousand thoughts, a thousand worries.
Had he made her?
The Reverend Jackson Alexander spread his arms wide, repeating his benediction, dismissing the congregation. They walked slowly past her, smiling, many of them whispering greetings to her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. They all remembered what she had been like at her first meeting, full of grief and anger over the murder of her child.
They all remembered what she had pretended to be like.
Had he made her?
The Reverend walked slowly towards her, stopping in front of the makeshift cross, bowing his head in muttered prayer. As he got closer, she could smell the heavy scent of the burnt yew still clinging to his clothes.
She tried to swallow her nerves, forcing herself to smile. "Hello Reverend."
"Hello Ashley." He didn't smile, his features still cold and hard. The features of a warrior. "Sit down please. I need to talk to you."
xxxXXXxxx
"Did you get anything on the background checks?"
Adam shook his head. "I ran the check on all the known members of the Rights of the Child. Some of them have criminal records, mostly for disturbances of the peace. The only one with any major jail time is Reverend Jackson Alexander, the head of the organisation."
"Thanks Adam." Michelle raised her voice. "Alright people, listen up." Around her, the bull pen fell silent, CTU staffers pressing in closer to hear what she said. "We need to broaden the search parameters. Run a full search on the Reverend Jackson Alexander, all of his contacts, his background, his history. Everything. Adam, check for anybody on the FBI watch list who might share their ideology and anybody who might just have taken their money."
"We should look into who's been supporting them as well." Tony waited until Michelle met his eyes, keeping his voice low and even. "See if the channel runs both ways."
Michelle nodded. "Good idea." She looked around the bullpen. "Lets get to it people."
xxxXXXxxx
"…need your help Ashley. I cannot do this alone. Our plan relies on you."
She bowed her head again, letting her hair cover her face. Pretending to think. What choice did she have? "I'd be honoured, Reverend." She smiled sadly. "At least it will give me the chance to be with my child again."
The Reverend Alexander smiled indulgently. "Of course. I know, better than most, how you have suffered since that terrible day." He rose to his feet, oddly graceful for such a large man, looming over her. "Come to the diner this afternoon. I will perform the blessing then."
"Okay, Reverend. Thank you." She bowed her head again, closing her eyes, as she felt his thick fingers trace the sign of the Cross on her forehead.
She had to find a telephone.
xxxXXXxxx
It was worse on the way out.
It had been difficult enough to get her into the building. The large expectant crowded pushing forward as soon as they saw the Senatorial candidate. Stretching out to shake her hand, to touch her.
And Amy Gardner, drunk on the crowd's adulation, reaching into the crowd, shaking hands, smiling for photos.
It was worse on the way out. The crowd, fired up by her speech, pushing forward against the thin line of LAPD officers.
"Where's the car?"
"It's coming."
Tom bit his lip in frustration and impatience.
…just as a police officer slipped under the pressure. The crowd spilling out onto the walkway, rushing forwards towards the candidate. The people on the other side, seeing the people opposite them getting close to the candidate, started to push forward, the police line in front of them giving ground.
Amy Gardner stared at the press of people, her face pale, frozen. Helpless. Caught.
Nathan Gault stepped in front of her, his nightstick in his hand.
"Where the fuck is the car?"
xxxXXXxxx
He stepped off the train, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. He took a quick look around him and walked off the platform, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone. Dialling quickly.
It rang once.
"I'm here."
