Chapter 9

The spa property went on for acres, delicately placed over lush, rolling hills. From the knolls, you could see the ocean in the distance. But when Jordan Richards left the empty storage building near the stables on the edge of the property that evening, and began a slow stroll back to his office, what he saw from the top of the first knoll was not an ocean.

At least not a blue, watery ocean. An ocean of vehicles, bumper-to-bumper, headed up the access road. Startled, he made a 90-degree turn, saw another ocean coming up the back access road.

He hesitated, then smiled and turned back toward the stables. Horses had to be good for something. He had almost reached the tack room when Anton came out of the shadows, around the corner of the building. "Abort," spat out Richards. "We got an army coming at us. You can leave those losers in the shed. Where are the others?" It was then that he noticed the gun Anton leveled at him. Automatically, he took a step backwards. "Wha?"

Anton smiled. "You must think we're complete idiots. Did you really think the FBI would send in four agents with no contingency plan? And don't worry about the others. I sent them to start without me - the clean-up part. I promised we'd all have a barbecue in the desert, later. FBI on a spit. Shame, though ... the guys will be right in the middle of the spa when all that back-up gets here. I'll bet they get caught."

"But you're the one who told me who they were! You've been naming the marks for months."

"True. Had some trouble getting anyone to testify, so I had to design a little sting. You may have noted I let you go after the 'Anderson-Sandovals' just a little too early. Before I discovered who they all really were."

"All this trouble for a little blackmail charge? I never physically hurt anyone, I just made the husbands believe that I had. "

Anton motioned with the gun. "Lay on the ground, hands behind your back." Richards hesitated and Anton chambered a round. "I've been 'under' here for seven months. I have no problem ending it this way."

Jordan Richards did as he was told, still protesting. "This is insane. I'll hardly do any time."

Anton placed one foot in the middle of Richards' back, leaned over and cuffed his hands together. "Well," he mused, straightening again, "let's see. We got the blackmail, the 'Anderson-Sandovals' will testify to that...we got five counts of assault on a federal agent - that's not too good, right there. Then we got the whole black market body trade and dismemberment thing going - something tells me your morgue contact will sing pretty loud, once he's faced with serious jail time. Not to mention your other... employees. You rich guys, you should learn to be more generous to your staff. Especially if you want them to do illegal things for you. I'm pretty sure we'll get a few more stories from them."

Anton had to raise his voice to be heard over an approaching helicopter. "ONE MORE THING! RICHARDS!"

Jordan Richards looked up at him.

"WHICH OF US IS AN IDIOT NOW?"

Don had watched David being led away from the fountain that morning and had seen Anton over his shoulder.

He hadn't seen Anton in years - not since his name was Jeremy and he worked a case in New Mexico for almost six months, and Don had been in on the take-down. Anton/Jeremy was the FBI's equivalent of a CIA "spook". Always under. Untraceable. He surfaced only for the wind-down and the bust, disappeared during the smoke. Most Agents didn't even know they existed.

But Don had managed to run into the same operative twice during his career. While he and Archie sat by the fountain after David had left, Anton had appeared bearing a tray with two glasses.

He smiled directly into Don's eyes. "Mr. and Mrs. Martin. I thought you would enjoy our specialty drink of the day, a combination of fruits and vegetables. It has a slight kick to it, but I'm sure you'll like it." He handed a glass to Don. "Please. Trust me on this."

And so Don had.

As Agents burst into the storage shed, he waited to be released and searched in the background for Anton. This time he wanted to talk to him before he disappeared. He was so intent on this search that he didn't focus on Reynolds, Archie's senior agent, talking to him until the man actually grabbed his arm.

Don jerked back. "What?"

"I said, the chopper is landing! You and Archie need to get on it, Merrick sent it for you."

The noise of the chopper was loud, even in the storage building. "Why? We've got to give our statements, finish the take-down."

Reynolds was shaking his head. Archie, rubbing her wrists, had joined them. "What's going on?"

Reynolds raised his voice a little over the noise. "Merrick wants you two back, now! He sent the chopper."

Don still didn't get it. "We're only an hour out of L.A.! We've got a car, here."

Reynolds grabbed his arm again. "Eppes! Don't worry about the car, we'll get it back somehow. Get Archie on the chopper."

He started for the door, actually dragging Don behind him for a few steps. Don jerked away again and stopped. "TELL ME WHY?", he shouted again above the noise.

Instead, Reynolds started pulling at Archie. "YOUR HUSBAND!", Reynolds shouted over the noise of the chopper. He looked again at Don. 'YOUR BROTHER! CHARLIE IS DYING!"

The hospital chaplains included a Protestant minister, a Catholic priest and a Jewish Rabbi. Understandably, they heard their share of jokes. Thankfully, all three had a sense of humour. Also thankfully, all three shared compassion.

The Rabbi sat by Alan in the treatment room and let him talk, let him share the fear that had taken over his soul.

When Alan finished, the Rabbi was silent for a few moments, simply holding Alan's gaze, smiling gently. It made no sense, but Alan actually began to relax.

"You know that in Judaism," the Rabbi finally said softly, "life is valued above almost all else. Sometimes, Alan, sometimes ... wars are won by hope. And so we will not say kaddish, we will not sit shiva together, for your sons still live. Instead, in hope, let us say a prayer of Shabbat - the blessing for children." The Rabbi smiled once more and fingered his prayer shawl. He began in an almost sing-song voice, and the words, so long ignored by Alan, came to him, and he joined in:

Ye'varech'echa Adonoy ve'yish'merevha.

Ya'ir Adonoy panav eileca viy-chuneka.

Yisa Adonoy panav eilecha, ve'yasim lecha shalom.

A/N: Apologies for anything disrespectful I may have inadvertently done to Jewish traditions. Translation of the Blessing for Children:

May G-d bless you and watch over you.

May G-d shine His face toward you and show you favor.

May G-d be favorably disposed toward you and grant you peace.