Chapter Four: Home
No one ever told me raising children would be so cathartic. I suppose that's why I found it so rewarding. Make no mistake; all children break their parents' hearts in the end. But there is a certain pleasure in it.
When I first saw Pao, she was barely two and looked younger. She didn't like me at all. It was probably from the long flight, and the fact that I'm pretty sure her escort had told her many times that the whole reason she had to stay in her seat in an uncomfortable room with nothing to do for hours on end was me. I impressed the escort, though. I think most people who adopt abandoned Chinese girls are middle-class WASPs who don't really know what they're getting into. Add to the fact that I'm neither Protestant nor Anglo-Saxon that I speak Mandarin without accent and that I don't look remotely frightened and I raised her estimation the escort's estimation of me by quite a bit.
Pao wasn't so easily won over. She steadfastly refused to go with me, and threw a fit when I tried to pick her up. The escort tried to help, but toddlers, traveling, and talking rationally don't mix. It took me nearly an hour to get her to my car, where after about five minutes she fell asleep. That was probably one of the easiest times I had when faced with Pao's stubbornness.
Another time, when she was fifteen, she fought me for weeks when I told her she couldn't go to the her friend's brother's birthday party. Which, by the way, was his twenty-first and held at a frat house. She argued with me about it long after it had come and gone, too. It got to the point where I actually refused to talk to her about it anymore because of how angry she would get. Finally she came home one night in tears, torn between sadness and rage. Shocked and concerned, I asked her what happened. After many tears and recriminations, she finally managed to relate how said friend wasn't speaking to her anymore, and had started a rumor about Pao. Apparently, her ex-friend got pretty drunk at the frat party and nearly had sex with a stranger. And blamed Pao for all this because she wasn't there.
"Were you going to the party to protect her?" She had never told me that.
"No."
Pao was always a responsible girl, but she was also pretty rebellious and I couldn't see her being the more sensible of the two of them.
"But you still think you should have gone."
"Yes!" But this was an answer out of stubbornness; she no longer actually believed it.
"I guess I should let you make more of your own choices, huh?"
She laughed through her tears. "Yeah right. When you do that, I'll start listening to you more!" She said it like she knew that would never happen.
As she grew up, I did let her make more of her own choices. By the time she went to college, I no longer tried to tell her what to do, except when she asked me. But she never did listen to me.
Harchet finds her first. In between pouring over satellite photos, I check the ones he's flagged. Around eight a.m. he sends me an email saying he has to get back to his actual job, but he'll keep working on it for me when he has a chance. That was about when I found Pao on one of his flagged photos. I email him back saying not to bother and thanks for the help.
Sure enough, Pao's on her way out of New York on foot. But if Ben is already in Canada, and it sounds like he is, she's probably going to hitch a ride somewhere. I consider where she might be meeting or taking transportation. She's avoiding the Watchers, so she'll probably avoid public transportation. If she was going to catch a plane she would have done so already. There's the possibility of hitchhiking, but that has a lot of chance factors involved, so she'll probably discount it. If she has help other than Ben, she may be meeting someone to give her a ride. Or she may be planning on borrowing a car.
I consider it, trying to figure out the best way to intercept her. There are a lot of ways for her to get out of New York, and even if I knew Ben's exact location, it's difficult to tell where she'll cross the border. I should concentrate of finding Ben and waiting for Pao to show up, but something doesn't sit right with me. Pao isn't concerned solely with the Watchers, or else she wouldn't go to the lengths of traveling on foot. The Watchers are good, but none of them are really professionals. Pao is really trying to shake off pursuit. Or maybe she's chasing someone who wants to loose her? A possibility.
Something alarmed Pao to make her ditch her assignment in China and kill two more or less harmless bystanders. She could be connected to the arms dealers. I rather doubt it though. It's much more likely this has something to do with the incident in Louisville. Why go after the two witnesses? The arms dealer was there, too, and she didn't kill him. Of course, he was wounded, so maybe he didn't actually see or hear anything. He might not even have been able to identify his attacker. I should look into that, actually. The Watcher saw everything, why didn't she go after him? Maybe she didn't know about him? She should have at least assumed there was a Watcher there that night, she knows how they work. The two witnesses could have been about to go public, although their actions say otherwise. That's why the Watchers wanted them dead, or otherwise contained, but Pao seems to have bigger concerns.
Maybe… maybe the attacker that injured the arms dealer and killed his contact got to them first? That could be Pao's primary target, but left no trail. If Pao assumed the two witnesses were being followed by the attacker, or she had some reason to believe so, she could have followed them hoping the attacker would expose herself. I still don't get why she would kill the two of them. So they wouldn't tell the attacker Pao had been asking questions? It seems a little extreme. I'm missing something, something big.
I sigh, and get on the phone again to set a few people on keeping an eye on Pao via satellite and hopefully getting a few people on the ground to tail her. If the on-the-ground agents are successful in keeping her under observation I'll make an appearance myself, but I doubt they will be. I don't want to waste time hunting Pao when she may suddenly show up in Canada. Well, part of me disagrees. I could easily track her down in the bush, much more quickly and quietly than any agents I send, as well. But my instincts tell me to back off, and I know better than to go against my instincts. I should figure out what it is I'm missing before I get too far from a secure phone line.
I go to take a shower and think it over. I'm still waiting on the Watcher information on that attacker, but I'm guessing I'm not going to have much luck. I'm not the only one who curries favors to keep the Watchers from watching me.
When I came to, I was laying on one of Ari's blankets by a smoldering fire. Trying to sit up, I felt lancing pain through my neck and shoulders. I groaned and lay back down.
"That was silly of you," a kindly voice said.
"Ari?"
"Yes, of course, who else would it be?" he said. I felt a water vessel at my lips and tried to drink.
"What happened? The last thing I remember was that pig, Klortainesha grabbing me."
I felt his hands holding one of mine. "You did a very silly thing. You followed me down to the river. Your patriarch and some of his hunters chased you."
I groaned and winced as a flash of a memory brings back a wave of pain. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
I could hear a smile in his voice. "No, you didn't make it all the way down to the river."
Memories start to resurface. My father with a stick, one of the hunters jeering at me. The panic of having the wind knocked out of me. A condescending male voice saying, "You are an animal, not even worthy of dancing around our fires!" A stiff reed being broken across my back.
"Ari?"
"I'm here," he said, consolingly.
"D- did you hate me?"
"What?" He sounded shocked and confused.
"For letting Klortainesha have sex with me."
Ari sighed and moved closer. "Aiar. I love you. I have loved you since… since you told me how dancing makes you feel. I don't think anything will change that, not even death. I don't like seeing you have sex with anybody else, but it's not like you chose to. You're a slave. I wish I could save you from that. I wish it every day. As I know you wish you could save me from my difficulties every day. But you can't. I can't. And I'm not going to stop loving you because of that."
I felt my heart swell with love and gratitude, and despite having my eyes nearly swollen shut and not being able to move for bruising, I wished I could live in that moment forever.
"Now, do me a favor," he said with a bit of sarcasm. "Don't get yourself beaten up again."
I smiled, or tried to, and my lip cracked again and started bleeding. "At least I don't have to worry about having the child of Klortainesha of all people."
Apparently Ari didn't think it was funny. I was trying to make light of the situation, but he said, "You shouldn't joke about that."
I made a disgusted noise in my throat. "Ari, it's my damned problem, I'll make jokes about it if I want." Like people who have lived with chronic illness, I had a tendency to make morbid jokes about being barren.
"Yeah, well, have pity on me and make your jokes to yourself." He brought the water vessel to my lips again, and held my head so I could drink better.
Attempting to sit up resulted in nothing but redoubled pain, but I struggled up anyway. Ari tried to quiet me and get me to lie back down, but I was stubborn.
"Come on, you have better things to do today than watch me scab over."
He snorted in disbelief. "And what are you going to do? You couldn't see food if I waved it in front of your face!"
"I'm going to take a bath in the river. I feel like my muscles have a fever."
He laughed. "Not a chance. Here, if you feel too hot I'll bring you some cold water, but I don't think you should try walking yet."
I tried to hug him, but all I managed to do was pat his knee. "And what are you, a medicine man now?"
"Well," he said, still joking, but stiffening a little. "Since the healer won't treat you I'm the closest thing you've got." He kissed my forehead then stood up. "I'll bring you some water and we'll get you cleaned up. But no moving!"
Feeling comforted, but still horrible, I lie back down and tried to suppress the urge to vomit. A sudden, hopeful thought occurred to me then, that maybe my scars from this beating would hide some of my tattoos. For some reason, I never scarred.
A knock on the door gets me out of the shower a little early. Surprised, and initially suspicious, I dress quickly, not wanting to answer the door in a towel. Nevertheless, I don't have time to put makeup over the tattoos on my cheeks, neck, and hands. A long-sleeved, high-collared shirt is the best I can do.
Two police officers are at the door, squad car parked outside. Perplexed, I open the door, not bothering with the slide chain. If they're here to hurt me, the slide chain isn't going to be much resistance.
"Can I help you, officers?" I let my confusion show on my face and in my voice.
They start as they take in my unusual appearance. I'm not sure what they were expecting, but I gather a four foot nine brown girl with foreign looking tattoos and wet hair wasn't one of them.
"Yes, ma'am," the younger one recovers first. "One of the neighbors saw lights on and thought the house had been broken in to. Do you live here?"
"Oh!" This house isn't directly mine. It's the property of one of the businesses I have controlling stocks in. It's sort of a tax write-off and generally used once or twice a year for parties or retreats or something. I keep clothes here, and many places, but I've only been here twice before. "No, I don't live here, but I have permission to be here if that's what you mean. I'm only in town for a few days. Would you like the number of the firm that owns this residence?"
"Yes, ma'am, that would be helpful." The young cop sounds slightly southern.
I go to get my PDA, and they seem to think I invited them inside, I guess because I left the door wide open. Oh well, it's not a big deal. I ignore their slight rudeness as I click through menus. "Here you are." I offer them the number, and the older one writes it down.
"Can I use your phone?" the older cop asks. I'm slightly taken aback, but I agree.
"Sure, it's just through here." As I show him the phone in the kitchen, which is a separate and insecure line from the one by the computer that I've been using. When I get back to the foyer, the young cop is looking around, although more in a curious, polite way than a nosy cop way.
"Nice place," he says conversationally.
"Yes," I agree with a polite smile. I'm starting to get annoyed. I wasted enough time with a shower, I don't want to waste more because of nosy neighbors.
"You in town on business?"
"Yes," I say politely, trying to seem shy instead of obstructionist.
"What business you in?"
"Data analysis." It's true, even if not factual.
"Where do you normally live?"
"Ohio." I don't really, but that's the only place I have a permanent residence. It's still the same house that Pao grew up in.
"You travel a lot?"
I start playing with my wet hair, trying to play up my shyness. "Yeah, I guess."
The older cop returns, obviously satisfied with the results of his phone call. "Can we see some ID?"
"Sure," I say, quickly scrolling through my mental rolodex to find whatever identity owns the business that owns this house. I have about fifteen identities going at the moment, and try to keep as many forms of identification on me as possible. The problem with that is that if my pockets or wallet or purse were searched, I'd have to come up with a reason to have all those identities. My usual solution is to keep them sewn into the lining of clothes or purses, but ripping the seams of my coat to fish out a driver's license in front of two police officers is going to raise unwelcome questions, as well. Luckily, the ID I need is in a normal, albeit hidden, pocket of my coat. The cops watch me as I go into the next room, where the computer is, and fish it out of my coat.
"Here you are." I return and hand them the driver's license.
They seem mollified. "Sorry to bother you, Miss Patel."
"No trouble," I say, smiling through my rising impatience.
The officers leave, and I close the door behind them. At least they were legitimate cops. I half suspected they were masquerading so they could get into the house and kill me without witnesses. I wonder if they were here to plant a bug. Or tap the phone line? Well, if there's a bug I'm probably not going to find it without a sweep, and I don't have time. Besides, there's not much for them to listen in on. The phone tap is more easily confirmed. I move to the kitchen and check the phone jack.
Nothing there. I unscrew the mouthpiece. Nope. Could there be something else? I try to think what was out on the desk by the computer. Nothing looked disturbed. Could the younger cop have switched my PDA while I was showing the other one to the kitchen? I go to check. If they did, they'd be out of luck. That thing is massively password protected, it'd take them a week to break into it and I could get access to it remotely and delete everything before then. Nope, still my PDA. My cell phone? I don't know what they could gain by tampering with that. That's harder to tell. I'm pretty sure it's my cell.
I go back to the kitchen, nominally to get breakfast. I'm not satisfied. Am I missing something? I didn't detect any deception in them. Nothing seems to be disturbed in the kitchen. Should I check for explosives? They didn't seem nervous enough for that. Maybe someone was just using them to ascertain whether I was here or not. That sounds like something the FBI would do, or even the CIA. I wander back up to the bathroom to see if I can find a comb or a hairbrush before my hair dries. As I'm going back down, from the top of the stairs, I hear someone at the door again.
I freeze. That won't be the cops again. Where are my knives? With my coat. And to get to my coat I'd have to pass plenty of windows by the front door. I creep halfway down the stairs to the landing in a crouch. The banister provides me with enough cover and gives me a limited view of the door. Spooks. Now what could they want? I don't recognize any of them, and I couldn't put my finger on what exactly betrayed their affiliation, but I decide I have to at least give them the chance to explain their intrusion. My instincts urge me to caution, but not flight.
I stand up and go to the door. This time I use the slide chain, more as an indication that they're not welcome than an actual precaution.
"What do you want?" I ask them, attempting to make it very clear I know who they are.
"I'm Agent Powel, these are Agents Orbanski and Jessup. We need to speak to you."
"Oh yeah? About what?" I'm guessing the cops were here to see if I was really here.
"Viktor Amundsen." The arms dealer that was injured. That didn't take them long. I expected them to shadow me for weeks to see what I would do. Do I actually have a stronger connection to him than I know? Begrudgingly I let them in, although I make them stand around in the foyer.
"I'm busy," I say forcefully. "Make it quick."
"Might I remind you that you are in the employ of the CIA and not-"
"Shouldn't this be under the FBI's jurisdiction? You're supposed to be concerning yourselves with foreign matters." I'm really just trying to piss them off. I know that even if they didn't have some legitimate involvement with the arms smuggler, they can pretty much poke their nose in wherever they feel like, as long as whosever toes they're stepping on doesn't catch on.
"Excuse me, Miss Patel, but we'll be asking the questions here."
I snort. "Don't Miss Patel me. Now what do you want to know about Viktor Amundsen? I was under the impression he was in custody."
"Now how did you know that, Miss Patel? His location and condition are supposed to be classified."
"Yes, well, as I'm sure you know, there was a rather big leak with respect to Viktor. Two of his associates fled the scene. My information comes indirectly from them."
"Indirectly? You mean you didn't kill them?"
I roll my eyes. "You know I didn't."
He raises his eyebrows. "There seems to be some confusion on that." He glares at me hard, and I return the stare. I'm not going to volunteer any information. When I prove unresponsive he continues. "What is your interest in this case?"
I had been formulating an answer to this question since I saw them at the door. I had expected this interrogation, but not for weeks yet. I just hope I've thought fast enough and thorough enough. But I might as well dance as long as possible. "Private." The CIA and I have a general understanding that I work freelance, and that as long as I don't countervail or undermine their interests and investigations, infiltrate the parts of their organization I'm not cleared for, or pass any information I get from them to any other organization, they don't ask questions and I volunteer nothing.
"Now, Miss Patel-"
"Stop- calling me that."
"Excuse me?" At first I suspect they're not really CIA, but then I realize he's toying with me, trying to provoke me into giving something away, or even just generally provoking me.
"My name is not Patel," I say in as icy a voice as I can conjure, which is considerable. "As you are fully aware."
"What shall I call you, then?" What exactly is he hoping to accomplish? Is he wired?
"Anna Heworth." I give him a steely grin. This is my most recent CIA pseudonym.
"Very well, Miss Heworth." He doesn't seem pleased. "May I remind you that espionage is not tolerated unless-"
"Are you wired?" I let their reactions speak for them. They are.
"No. Now, Miss Heworth-"
"Get out." I move to the door and open it. I know what this is about now. This has nothing to do with the arms dealer; this is an attempt by an inimical colleague to discredit me and have me removed from the CIA.
The agents don't move. "I said get out."
"Not until you answer our questions." The kid has guts, I'll give him that.
"And my answer to every single one is 'no comment.' If you're going to detain me, detain me. I don't think you have approval to do so. Either take me into custody and face the wrath of Collins or get the hell out and face the wrath of Michelson. Just notice who outranks who, it should make your decision easier."
Powel and Jessup exchange a look. They've been defeated. Orbanski looks a bit confused. They move through the door.
"And tell Michelson his ass is mine if he tries something like this again," I call after them as I close the door.