Resolutions – 9
Changing Perspectives
by MMB
Dr Mitchell blinked as Chip Harrison's Centre sedan took a right turn that she'd never noticed before after entering through the Centre gates. The narrow strip of asphalt let along the perimeter of the Centre property until it turned eastward again toward a line of cypress trees. That was when she saw the dismal little apartment building. She looked over at the Assistant Security Chief askance. "And you're expecting me to stay here?"
"Very few people even know this building even exists, Doctor," Harrison answered evenly, disciplining himself not to show his own start of dismay at the state of the building as compared to most of the other Centre outbuildings. "Besides, it's quiet here, and easy to make completely secure."
"It looks abandoned," Mitchell commented dryly as they pulled up into a parking spot in front of the building. "Does anybody else even live here?"
"As a matter of fact," he replied, "your upstairs neighbors are two Centre secretaries."
In removing the seat belt, the retracting safety device grazed along the edge of the shallow cut at the base of her throat that had been left by her attacker, reminding her of WHY she was here and not in her own living room. "After you," she breathed unsteadily as she opened the back door of the sedan and fetched one of two heavy suitcases she had packed under the security man's watchful eye.
For all the dinginess outside, the interior of the little apartment Harrison took her to was surprisingly clean and neat. Surprisingly, on the walls were scrolls of beautiful black Chinese calligraphy, complete with descriptive calligraphy and the vermilion stamp of the artist on the side. On a small shelf above the top of the bookshelf was a small brass statue of a Buddha, a gold bowl in front of it obviously ready to receive an incense stick. "I take it the last tenant was Chinese," she commented quietly.
"That was our understanding," he nodded.
Mitchell walked toward the rear of the apartment past a kitchen that sparkled. Her eyes caught sight of the wok on the stove and noted it as another sign that the previous tenant had been Chinese. The mattress of the bed was bare, although there was a plastic sack with fresh linens and pillows that had been left by the workmen. The bathroom still smelled of recent scrubbings with antiseptic cleansers.
"I suppose I can be very comfortable here," she finally admitted, tossing her suitcases on the end of the mattress. "What about my phone?"
"We're setting that up with the phone company as we speak, as well as another tap on your line. If that Colonel Stiller or any of his associates tries to get in contact with you…"
"Oh God!"
"…As a follow-up to the attack – to push you to rethink cooperating with them on Veracity…"
"I would NEVER…"
Harrison put a hand on her shoulder. "We know that, Doctor – obviously these people think that they can put enough pressure on you to change your mind. That's why we want you here, where we can watch out for you more closely. And if Stiller calls again, we'll have him on tape again."
"How long will I have to stay here?" she asked plaintively.
"As long as it takes to know that it's safe for you to return home," he answered with a shrug. "We take protecting your welfare very seriously, Doctor."
"I know," she slumped to seat on the end of the mattress next to her suitcases, "and don't think I'm not grateful. I just hate this!"
"I can appreciate that," he replied sympathetically, but he knew he had reached the end of the platitudes that he could reasonable offer her without starting to sound redundant. The time had come for him to let her begin to make herself at home. "Why don't I let you unpack and start making this place a little more your own. Here's the key to the front door — it fits both the deadbolt and the doorknob…" He handed her a single key on a key chain with the Centre logo printed on a brass oval. You'll find the refrigerator well-stocked with all sorts of meats and vegetables and dairy. There's a pantry cupboard above the fridge with hopefully most of the dry-goods you'll need for the time being…"
"What about my car?" Mitchell suddenly remembered. "I hope I'm not going to be stuck here ALL the time…"
Harrison blinked. He HAD forgotten that. "I'll have a sweeper team deliver your car to the parking lot here after a bit," he promised. "But if you do decide to go somewhere, I'd appreciate it if you'd put a call into my office so that I can assign a bodyguard to you."
Mitchell nodded – it wasn't exactly complete liberty and privacy, but she knew that she'd be feeling safer if she knew there was a sweeper watching over her even when she went shopping or out to visit friends.
Harrison shifted from one foot to the other. "Is there anything else you can think of?"
Mitchell looked around her with a glum look. "I don't think so," she answered eventually. "Will I be able to see the guards on this place?"
He smiled at her. "If you can see us, we're not doing out jobs right, Doctor. Don't worry if you don't see anybody. Trust me, we'll be keeping you quite safe." He turned to leave.
"What are the names of my neighbors upstairs?" she called out suddenly, making him turn.
"Ping Xing-Li and Hsu Mei-Chiang," he replied.
"Do they at least speak English?" she queried dryly.
"Very good English, both of them," Harrison chuckled. "Xing-Li is Mr. Tyler's personal secretary, and Mei-Chiang is Miss Parker's personal secretary. You should have no trouble communicating with either lady."
"Thanks," she said as he turned away again. She sat on the end of the mattress staring around at her new bedroom and eventually heard the sound of the front door closing carefully. With a sigh, she arose and walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. In the wide mirror, she examined the thin, red line that stretched from one side of her throat to the other with shaking fingers.
And finally broke into tears of fear and horror.
Sam brushed a wayward tendril of Mei-Chiang's hair away from his mouth and then settled the thin, cotton sheet just a little more comfortably over the two of them to keep the draft from the air conditioner from chilling their perspiration-dampened skin. This was It, he decided in contentment. This was the shape of the life he wanted – a life that included Mei-Chiang in his arms from now on. It was as if everything that he'd done at and for the Centre had been leading to this moment of absolute certainty that he'd finally found what he'd been looking for without even knowing that he'd been missing anything. He'd been alone for so long, the feeling of completion he felt with her at his side was intoxicating.
He hadn't been lying to her – it had been a VERY long time since he'd even been tempted to make love to a woman. Having a job and a life so centered on the Centre and its intrigues had long since made relationships or even brief affairs practically impossible, and the drought had left him almost shaking with eagerness. But then Mei-Chiang's initial surprise and fearful hesitancy when she'd discovered that he was 'giant economy sized' in more ways than one had forced him to proceed very slowly and very carefully, no matter how much he might have been tempted to do otherwise.
His patience and persistence and gentle caresses proving he had no intentions of rushing her or disregarding her feelings had eventually soothed away the hesitancy and fear that had extinguished her previous mood. And then his determined self-discipline at keeping his own needs firmly under control had made it possible for him to slowly fan her arousal back into a white-hot flame of desire that had her reaching for him eagerly at last. Still, he had made very careful, slow and patiently gentle love to her at first, finding it a uniquely erotic experience to pause and feel her body slowly accommodating his at every step of their joining. Only later, after her kisses and movements told him that she wanted and was ready for more at last, had he allowed himself stronger, more purposeful and driving movements – and before long, his tight hold on his control had vanished. He gave in to his urges completely – and rejoiced as she responded to him enthusiastically, meeting his passion with her own in equal measure. Eventually he had the supreme satisfaction of hearing her cry out his name in the throes of her pleasure — just before he rumbled her name hoarsely as he surged and took his own release at long last.
And now she was curled next to him, contentedly nestling into his side and under his arm with her head on his chest as if she had always belonged there. Her soft skin was like warm velvet against his side, moving smoothly and gently against him with her every breath. Sam tipped his head down, tucking his chin into his chest so that he could look at her face as she lay against him. Her eyes were open and he followed her gaze. He found himself looking at the mirror over the chest of drawers that reflected back at them the view of the two of them together in the huge bed beneath the crisp, white sheet. And once again he felt the certainty that THIS was the shape of his life to come.
"What are you thinking," he asked, smoothing his hand up and down her arm, still enchanted by the feel of her skin.
She stirred, lifting her head and resting her hands against the thin, soft fur of his chest and looked up at him. "I'm thinking how lucky I am to have had this moment of pleasure with you," she answered softly.
"I think I'm the lucky one," he challenged, his hand coming up and cupping her face. "I've spent a whole lifetime looking and waiting for you, you know…"
She shook her head. To find a man who hadn't just taken her quickly to ease his desire but who had actually restrained himself so as not to hurt her and also made certain to give her more than ample pleasure in return was like a miracle. She kissed the chest beneath her fondly. If only she were worthy of him – she could find it very easy to fall in love with Sam, to want to make it her life's work to make him happy in all ways. She was halfway in love with him already, even though she knew better. That being the case, it was up to her to be the practical one. "The time will come, Sam," she said gently and sadly, "when you are ready for a woman who is worthy of you. When that time comes, I will be grateful that you gave me this gift of…"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam interrupted quickly. "Maybe you didn't understand what I'm trying to say. I'm saying that there ISN'T any other woman that I want – I want YOU. Here, with me. From now on." He thought about it for a moment, and decided that yes, he definitely wanted that too. "As my wife."
Those beautiful almond-shaped ebony eyes sparkled sadly. "You honor me more than I deserve," she breathed, letting herself imagine just for a moment what it would be like to be this man's wife — knowing it could never be more than a dream. "But I bring no honor, no prestige, no status to your household. I was trained as a secretary and a concubine, not a wife."
"Damn it, Mei, I don't care about honor or prestige – and I don't give a damn what you were trained to be."
"You should care," she replied, looking up into his face again. "You are a rich man, an important man. You should have a wife of the proper station, one who brings you honor and status and can give you children you can be proud of. The Centre is an important organization, and you hold a position of authority at the Centre that demands much respect. As you meet others from other organizations, a wife of the proper station will know how to interact with these people in a way that will benefit both you and the Centre…"
"And you don't think you fill the bill, is that it?" he asked, astounded.
"I can bring you no status, no honor," she said flatly.
"If there's any lack of honor around here, it's in the fact that I made love to you before I married you — and I refuse to feel ashamed of what we just did," he retorted. "Besides, what use is status if there's no love in the marriage? That makes marriage into nothing more than a business arrangement."
"I cannot give you children you could be proud of," she insisted.
"And why couldn't I be proud of any children you give me?" he pressed.
"Because they would be half-Chinese," was the answer.
"And you think I WOULDN'T be proud of them for that reason?" he asked in amazement. "My God, Mei, I would love them and be proud of them because they would be OURS — yours and mine." He thought for a moment. "And don't tell me you don't know how to interact with corporate executives. Miss Parker wouldn't have you as her secretary if THAT were true!"
She tucked her head against his chest again. "You do me too much honor," she complained softly, aghast at the tiniest spark of hope igniting rebelliously in her heart at his stubborn resistance to reason and stomping at it mercilessly with a heel of pragmatism. Why did American men have to be so impractical in such matters? Didn't he know how much it hurt her to have to protect his honor and reputation this way — to have to decline this offer of something she should not have, something she deep down inside wanted so desperately?
"So I do you too much honor," he said gently, his hand at the side of her face again and lifting it so that she would look at him again. "Big deal. This is America. Marry me."
"You will change your mind someday," she said in a small voice. And as he gazed at her, he saw for the first time in those beautiful black eyes a glimmer that told him that she wanted him too, easily as much as he wanted her. But she was afraid to reach out for the future lest it be stolen cruelly away from her. Considering her background, it was a reasonable fear.
"I wouldn't do that to you," he soothed gently, his fingers tracing the line of her chin. "I had a long time in California to think about you, to wish you were with me, to miss you, to dream of you. When I came back, I was afraid that you had forgotten our date, or had gotten tired of waiting for me. And when I heard your voice on my machine the night I got home…"
"I told you…" she started.
"I know what you said, but others had made promises too — long ago — that proved empty," he told her darkly. "You are a beautiful and intelligent woman, Mei — any man would be lucky just to get you to look in his direction for a moment. And I had been gone a long time — plenty of time for you to have started looking in other directions."
"Sam…"
"I was falling in love with you before I left," he said with simplicity, "and I'm very much in love with you now. The fact is that I don't want to live without you in my life. And I don't care if this isn't proper, or if it's happening too fast, or anything about status or what anybody else might say. I've waited a long time for the right woman to come along, and now she has — and THAT'S all that matters to me. Marry me."
"You deserve better." She was weakening, he could tell.
"I know what I want." His arms tightened around her. "And I'm not going to change my mind. I want you. Say yes, Mei. Please!"
She spent a long moment looking deeply into his earnest blue eyes, trying to discern even the slightest hint of indecision. But he was determined, she could see, and once more she had an unexpected and extraordinary opportunity in front of her. She could tell him 'no' and probably lose him — it was obvious he wouldn't be comfortable with the Chinese custom of taking her as his mistress until an advantageous marriage came along. OR she could tell him 'yes' and take a chance on a future beyond her wildest dreams as his wife — to live the dream for real — at least for as long as the dream lasted.
The tiny spark of hope in her heart burst into a small flame as she took a deep breath and rebelliously decided to gamble once more on stepping past propriety and practicality. "Yes. I will marry you," she whispered very, very softly, as if afraid that if the world were to hear her declare her heart's desire, it would snatch it from her grasp. Even if her dream only lasted a short time, it would be longer than she'd ever hoped for in the first place. She would have been happy for a little while.
"Yes!" His face split wide open into a huge grin and he dumped her into the pillows so that he could bend over her and kiss her with a brief and flaring passion that left them both breathless again. "Say it again!" he demanded, grinning down at her triumphantly.
She gazed up into his electrified face and smiled as she reached up a hand to his cheek. "Yes, I will marry you," she repeated, just a little louder, "you sweet, impractical, giant economy sized bear."
He bent and kissed her again, a gentle and loving kiss that was shatteringly sweet and told her all she needed to know about just how much this man cared for her. "Say it again," he ordered softly, framing her face with his hands.
"Yes, I will marry you," she said more surely, convinced by this third iteration that Sam had no intention of ever letting her try to talk either one of them out of the decision later. "And I promise you that I will gladly spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy."
"You've already made me the happiest man alive," he said tenderly and then kissed her again very softly. He then threw back the sheet and, apparently unconcerned about his state of undress, rose from the bed to walk over to the chest of drawers. He pulled out one of the top drawers and removed a box from it, then something small from the box. He walked back to the bed and sat down next to Mei-Chiang again, and then captured her left hand in his. "This was my mother's," he said and slipped a ring on her finger, "one of the few things of hers I still have. I want you to have it now as my promise to you — and I want you to wear it from now on as your promise to me. We WILL be married — and soon."
Mei-Chiang raised her hand. The two diamonds were not large or flashy, but rather small and exquisitely set in a simple white-gold setting with triangular sapphires on either side. The entire piece sparkled brightly in the afternoon sun — and it fit her as if made for her, which told her a lot about Sam's mother. But before she could ask him anything, he had bent to kiss her again deeply. Stretching out on the bed next to her without breaking the kiss, he slipped back beneath the crisp cotton sheet so that skin met and moved over skin and then made very clear his intention to make love to her again. Within moments, his touch and fiery kisses had driven all thoughts of questions from her mind. This time there would be no insecurity, no hesitation between them — only soft sighs of desire and anticipation and then finally, fulfillment.
A little later, the telephone on the nightstand rang four times before being picked up by the machine downstairs — but by that time, the two of them were far too engrossed in each other to much notice the garish and short-lived noise.
"Sam — this is Tyler. Sorry I missed you. Miss Parker wants us to meet at her house tomorrow morning at nine to discuss developments in our little problem with the military. Talk to you later." Tyler disconnected the call. "Damn it, Sam," he swore at the device on his desk, "why aren't you at least answering your cell?"
As if the telephone had a mind of its own, it began ringing at him. Tyler blinked and then picked up the receiver again. "This is Tyler."
"Mr. Tyler, this is Colonel Fox."
"Ah!" Tyler leaned back in his chair. "I think you were then next person on my 'to call' list. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if it would be possible for us to meet this afternoon," Fox told him in a steady voice. "There have been some developments that I think you should be aware of."
"And there have been some on this end that you probably should be informed about as well," Tyler nodded. "How soon can you get here?"
"I can be there in an hour," Fox said in relief. "At your office?"
"I'll have some coffee ready."
"Until then, sir." The military man disconnected.
Tyler frowned and then dialed another number. "Chip? Tyler. Are you free?"
"Just got our good doctor settled into her new digs and assigned security for the area," Harrison announced, walking back toward his car.
"Good. Meet me in my office in an hour. We have Colonel Fox coming in — and it sounds like just because it's a weekend, things aren't taking a break."
Harrison opened the car door and climbed back in. "I'm on my way back in now — I'll be there in just a few minutes." He disconnected and then turned the key in the ignition.
Kevin sighed. The house was quiet — Deb had drifted back upstairs to nap, obeying her grandfather's expressed wishes without question for a change. He knew the morning had been very hard on her — he'd heard her sobbing several times in the den while Sydney's soft voice had continued to speak to her in comforting tones. Lunch had been a very subdued affair, with Deb still struggling with her morning's therapy and Sydney's fatigue from not having rested well the night before and then provided intense counseling the whole morning long very obvious in the older man's demeanor.
Miss Parker had stopped by some time after Deb had vanished upstairs, but then gently excused herself from both cooking duties and visiting until the next day when she'd seen the exhaustion in Sydney's face. At her urgent insistence, Sydney had agreed to put off any reading that afternoon in favor of taking advantage of the warm and quiet to get all the rest he needed. She'd quietly told Kevin that she'd be across the street at the park watching Davy's softball game if she was needed and then left.
With a sigh, he stood and carefully stacked the file folders that he'd determined contained information that the Centre would ultimately benefit from reinstating into the system back into one of the large cardboard boxes. The material neither he nor Sydney could see as having any value whatsoever he had begun collecting in paper grocery sacks in a corner. The next time Tyler called, Kevin intended to ask the young man if the next delivery of boxes could include a pickup of sacks to be taken to the Centre incinerator — and the boxes they had been through and cleared for retention returned to data-processing for re-entry into the mainframe.
Between them, he and Sydney had gone through three of the huge boxes of data now. The reading had been fascinating some of the time, downright sickening at others. While Sydney accepted most of the depravity evident in the proposals and progress reports of the more disturbing projects with calm and almost fatalistic resignation, Kevin still found himself aghast at times at the inhumanity. He'd even had to talk long and hard with his mentor a couple of times when the data he'd been reading had been the result of research Jarod had been doing under Sydney's auspices. During those talks, the deep sadness and guilt at what he'd been a part of for so many years was readily apparent in Sydney's eyes, although he discussed the research and whether there was any potential benefit to hanging onto the information with honesty and frankness. Kevin quickly learned that, unless absolutely necessary, he would spare Sydney such talks in future.
Finished with his housekeeping but unwilling to dig into a new box for yet another thick layer of files, Kevin wandered out into the front yard and then across the street to the park. On the other side of the duck pond he could hear the cheers rising from the softball game that Davy was participating in. He didn't feel like becoming another spectator. He didn't know what he felt like. He let himself drop to a cross-legged position against one of his favorite trees and lean back against the trunk. Maybe he needed to take a nap too…
"Where've you been lately?" asked an impertinent voice.
Kevin opened first one eye and then the other. Crystal had plopped herself into a similar cross-legged posture only a small distance away. From the looks of her clothing, she had neither changed nor bathed since the last time he'd seen her. "Busy," he answered briefly, remembering the name she'd called him during their last conversation. "You know us geeks…" He fell silent. The insult still stung.
"You aren't doing your fancy dance exercise thingie," she pointed out.
"Nope," he agreed without elaboration. He'd practiced after lunch in the backyard. He hadn't thought to practice in the park again since the last time he'd run into her.
"How come?"
He looked over at her with mild frustration. "I don't feel like getting insulted while I'm practicing," he said honestly.
"I didn't insult you…" she complained, bristling.
"You called me a geek and some other Chinese name, and asked me a whole bunch of stupid questions. You even made snide comments about my uncle. You weren't exactly being friendly," he retorted, closing his eyes and leaning back against the tree again.
She rose, angry. "Well pardon me for breathing, Mr. High and Mighty."
Kevin took a deep breath and expelled it in the breathing exercise Ikeda-sensei had given him to calm and ground himself in times of stress. He sat very still and simply didn't respond to her, hoping that his withdrawal would give her an indication that he'd prefer she leave him alone.
"Look, I'm sorry, OK?" she said finally, the belligerent tone in her voice decidedly less. "I didn't mean it to sound like an insult."
He straightened his head and opened his eyes to look up at her. "Then why did you say it that way?"
Crystal swayed nervously from one foot to the other, her hands sawing at her side aimlessly. "I was just trying to joke with you. Couldn't you tell?"
"No," he answered honestly and closed his eyes again. "That's something I was never taught."
"God!" she shook her head in disbelief. "What kind of place did you grow up in anyway?"
"A not very nice one."
She plopped back down on the grass near him again. "Me either," she commented darkly. When he didn't look up or respond, she picked a dandelion and began twirling it in her fingers. "Sooo… What do you do for fun?"
At least she had his attention again. "I read. I do my fancy dance exercise thingee, as you call it. I play video games with my little cousin…"
"Go to movies?"
"Once." His heart twisted. How long ago it seemed since Deb had taken him to see that movie...
"Only once?"
"Only once."
"Wanna go?"
He stared at her, then patted his pockets. "I don't have any money…"
"Psh!" She waved her hand at him as if dismissing the idea completely. "We don't need that."
"If we get in without paying, we're behaving dishonestly," he complained insistently.
"So?"
Now he stared at her even harder. "I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because…" He blinked and thought. "Because it's wrong to be dishonest."
"Hmmph!" Crystal got to her feet again. "Never had you pegged as a prude."
"A what?"
"I'M going to go see a movie — you can just stay here and count dandelions then," she challenged, throwing her flower at him.
"I'll see you later, then," he replied without moving. "Enjoy the movie."
She walked away a short distance, and then came bouncing back to pull at his hand and try to bring him to his feet. "C'mon, Kevin! It's no fun going to a movie alone."
"No," he replied, pulling his hand free. "I don't have any money on me."
She folded her arms across her chest. "What is it with you? It's not like we'd be stealing or anything…"
"Yes it is," he answered firmly. "And you know it."
Her face fell a bit as his firm stance struck a chord within, but then she lifted it in bravado. "I gotta go," she told him casually and, with a flip of the hand, flounced off across the grass toward the duck pond.
Kevin shook his head. Of all the people in his world, he understood Crystal the least. He rose and walked slowly back across the street and up the walk to the house. He had work to do — and it was time to get back to it.
"Colonel Fox." Tyler greeted the Air Force officer at the front door to the Centre annex with an extended hand. "Good of you to come out on a weekend."
"Life doesn't stop just because the government does," Fox commented dryly. "Thanks for seeing me."
"Come on to my office," Tyler gestured for the man to lead the way down the corridor and then opened the door for him and led him past an empty secretary's desk and through the inner door. "I think you've met Chip Harrison, our Assistant Chief of Security…"
"Yesterday, listening to the tap on Doctor Mitchell's phone," Harrison replied, half-standing from his chair and shaking hands firmly. "Good to see you again, Colonel."
"I'm not quite as good at making coffee as my secretary is," Tyler announced candidly, "but I think this will do. I did promise you some." He poured three Styrofoam cups of the hot, dark liquid and handed out the other two before taking his seat behind his desk. He took a sip of his and immediately promised himself to watch Xing-Li a little more closely on Monday. "So, what's up?"
Fox seated himself. "It seems we each have information the other needs to hear about. I might as well tell you mine first. My assistant and I made a trip to the secured archives to transfer some of the data that you people returned to us — specifically that concerning Veracity and Black Hole…"
"Black Hole?" Tyler frowned and reached one more time for the folder of discontinued projects that Miss Parker had left with him. He flipped through a number of pages until he found the one he wanted and read a few lines. "Good God," he breathed, shaking his head, then looked up again. "You were saying…"
"The data is gone," Fox blurted out.
"Gone? As in… vanished?"
The officer nodded tersely. "And it seems the sign-in log for the secured archives is classified information — I can't check on who visited the archives since last I was there without permission from a superior officer."
Harrison was frowning. "Since when are sign-in logs classified information?"
"Exactly my point," Fox grumbled. "Between information gathered by us through taps on Colonel Stiller's phone lines and information you've provided, it seems we have tripped over a very healthy conspiracy within the military-industrial complex. Your Miss Parker said she spoke with a Senator about this — so it's possible that this extends into some of the highest corridors of power in Washington."
Tyler settled back in his chair. "Sounds like you've hit a brick wall, Colonel."
"Well, I might have, if not for a very good friend in JAG. I'm going to be talking to a Senator a little later this evening — hopefully she'll know who to put me in contact with to get the authority behind me to remove some of those bricks. I just thought that I'd give you people a heads-up so that you can speak to whatever scientist was in charge of Black Hole."
Harrison was taking notes in a small spiral notepad. "I'll see if I can get in touch with that person before the meeting tomorrow," he promised Tyler.
"Now," Fox said, leaning back in his chair, "you boys have some news for me?"
"Doctor Mitchell was attacked at her home this morning," Tyler told him somberly. "In her statement, she said she never saw her attacker, but I'm willing to bet almost anything that it was Stiller."
"Was she badly hurt?" Fox wanted to know, sitting up straighter in alarm.
"A very superficial cut," Harrison answered, drawing a forefinger across his throat in a gesture that made the Air Force officer grimace. "I think it was more meant to threaten her with more dire consequences if she didn't play ball with him."
"This is a serious charge, gentlemen. If Stiller did attack Mitchell, it could be a toe in the door with this group. I can pull him in, subpoena a search of his quarters for whatever kind of weapon Doctor Mitchell says was used on her. If we can get a DNA match to her blood, maybe we'll have the leverage to get this slime to rat out some of his superiors in return for a reduced term at Levenworth."
"At the expense of tipping off the others that we're onto what they're doing when we haul Stiller in," Tyler reminded them with a shake of the head.
"Do you still have the tap on his phones?" Harrison asked the military man. "If he talks about the attack to anybody…"
Fox's face grew cautious. "We'll have to be careful. If we picked him up, it's even money as to whether we could get him to turn on his co-conspirators or have him just clam up. Nine chances out of ten, however, I'd bet you good money the others would let him hang out to dry to save their own butts if it came down to that. No, when we close the net, I want to catch some BIG fish along with the minnows!"
"Obviously, our main focus here at the Centre is going to continue to be protecting our personnel from assault and battery and preventing any of those obscene projects from getting restarted with our people or equipment," Tyler informed Fox with a tone of determination. "But any information that we get that might help you in building your net…"
"Find out who was involved in Black Hole, and see whether they've been approached like Mitchell was. Meanwhile I'll talk to the Senator and see what she can get started on her end." Fox stood. "I take it you have Doctor Mitchell moved to a more secure location?"
"Damned right we do," Harrison agreed grimly.
"You may need to do the same for the Black Hole scientist as well," Fox warned. "I just wish I knew what Black Hole was about…"
"I can tell you, but you'll be sorry you asked," Tyler shuddered. "It was a combination of drugs and psychological pressure and re-education." He opened the folder to the page he'd looked at himself only a little earlier. "The drugs and psychological pressure were designed to implode a subject's personality completely — not necessarily cleanly or painlessly, mind you — leaving them a blank slate for a completely new personality to be installed through retraining." He slipped the page back into the folder. "I'll have a copy of this made for you," he promised, patting the folder that was starting to be invaluable to him. "It describes each of the projects we sent back to you and specifies the scientist in charge."
Fox pulled out another of his business cards and began writing on the back of it. "I want us to coordinate any efforts we make, so we're all working from the same page. The card has my office number — my home phone and cell phone numbers are on the back. Use any of them if you need to."
"Thank you for coming," Tyler rose and held out his hand. "And good luck on your investigation."
"Thanks," Fox shook his fellow Texan's hand. "I'll need it."
"I did as you suggested."
Curtis frowned briefly until he finally recognized the voice on the other end of the line. "And…"
"And I'll call her again tonight, after she's had time to think about things a little bit more. I left her a reminder that will take a few days to go away completely," Stiller announced with some pride, "and I'm thinking that should do the trick."
"Wait a minute," Curtis frowned again. "You're telling me YOU did it, Danny? You didn't just get some hoodlum from Dover…"
"And watch them screw up and kill her by accident, you BET I did the job myself. I wanted the job done right." Stiller paused. "I thought you'd want to know."
"Good. I'll be happier when you call me to tell me that woman is ready to behave herself and take on Veracity again."
"It's just a question of time, General. Any word on Black Hole?"
"Lewis is working on it. But the good news is that we've got the documentation safely out of Pentagon hands and into our own now." Curtis snickered. "Harris really pulled a good one – he dummied up a shipment in, then officially refused it due to lack of space and switched the boxes with our stuff in them for the refused shipment before sending them back to our contact in Norfolk."
"Oh, now THAT'S rich," Stiller sounded duly impressed. "His name doesn't have to appear on any log, and you say we got the whole works out at once?"
"Every last bit of it." Curtis' voice sounded smug. "I'll be hearing back from the Committee on the Hill tomorrow night, Doug. I sure would like to be able to report that we've started having some success in getting the Centre back online with us."
"I'm doing my best," Stiller insisted. "As soon as I know anything, I'll be in touch."
"See that you do," Curtis ordered briskly and then disconnected the call.
"GOT your ass, you damned son of a bitch! You done hung yourself good THAT time!" Major Meyers gloated automatically in the coarse accent of his native East Los Angeles as he pushed the stop button on the tape recorder that had caught every last damning word of the phone call. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a programmed number.
Colonel Fox pulled out his cell phone while keeping a careful eye on the straight turnpike. "Fox."
"It's Meyers, sir," the Major announced in triumph. "Just wait until you hear what we just got from the tap on Stiller's line!"
"Kevin?"
The young Pretender raised his head from his reading. Deb was leaning against the edge of the archway between the living room and the foyer, her waist-length hair loose and flowing over her shoulders and her face looking as if all the supports had been knocked away from her. He had to restrain himself from flying to his feet and moving quickly to her side. "Hey there," he answered instead, "I didn't know you were up."
"I looked in on Grandpa, and he's still asleep," she said with vague confusion.
"He was really tired," he answered gently. "Miss Parker and I talked him into taking it easy for the rest of the day."
"That's what I thought," she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. "Can I come in and sit with you for a while?" she asked finally after a long pause. "I don't want to be alone right now."
Kevin set aside the papers he'd been browsing from the top layer of the newly opened box and straightened. "Sure," he replied with what he hoped she'd find an encouraging smile. "I don't have to read this stuff ALL the time, you know…" He watched her move hesitantly from her spot in the archway to take a precarious seat on the edge of the couch at the far end away from him. "You look so different with your hair that way," he commented gently.
"The braid gets all messy when I sleep on it, and I didn't want to brush it out again," she blinked, surprised that he'd noticed her appearance. "You've seen me wear it this way before…"
Kevin shook his head insistently. "Uh-unh," he countered. "You've always worn it pulled back." His blue eyes smiled at her. "I like it this way."
Deb was touched and smiled at him, and then looked down at her hands as she felt the tears begin once more to well up at the gentle and unthreatening compliment.
He frowned in consternation. "Did I say something wrong?"
She shook her head, frustrated with herself. "Don't mind me," she told him, wiping at an eye with the back of her hand. "My emotions seem to be all over the map these days."
"I just wish I could say or do something to help," he said in a plaintive tone. "I'd do just about anything…"
"I know," she replied softly, trying very hard to let the concern in his voice warm her injured spirit. "I…" She stopped and looked at him very cautiously. "What do you know… about…" She waved her hand to indicate herself.
Kevin thought about his answer for a moment. "I know what Sydney told me," he answered truthfully.
"What did he say?" Deb steeled herself. Grandpa had told her that morning that she needed to learn to accept what had happened as a part of her past. Until she did, she wouldn't be able to move beyond it. Perhaps if she heard about it from a friendly third party…
"He said," Kevin started, then shook his head. "You know, I really don't want to make you upset again. I don't think…"
"I really need to know what you know," she insisted softly. Her blue eyes caught and pinned his. "Tell me, please?"
"He said a man had touched you without your permission – touched you in a sexual way," Kevin told her finally in a voice that was hesitant and soft in fear of her reaction. "He said this man hurt you."
Deb blinked. The words that Kevin had used had described her experience perfectly, but without any sense of condemnation or assignation of shame or guilt. There was a balm to be found in the fact that Kevin wasn't finding the sexual aspect of her experience anything to snicker at or use to make her feel uncomfortable.
"I need to know…" she said then after a long moment.
"What?"
"What do you see when you look at me?"
Kevin stared. He didn't see anything different… "What do you mean?"
Deb looked back down at her hands and struggled to find a way to explain her feelings that she was covered from head to foot with signs of her attacker's presence. "Tell me, what do you see? Can you tell…"
"I see you like I always do," he answered honestly and with some confusion. "What else am I supposed to see?"
"Where he touched me," she said in a horrified whisper.
She felt Kevin's eyes rake over her from one end to the other for a long and excruciating moment. "But I don't know where he touched you," he confessed at last, "so I don't know where to look."
She looked up at him again. Grandpa had had her lock herself in the bathroom and stand in front of a mirror naked two days ago, looking at her body – convinced that if she stood and looked long enough, she would discover for herself that there was no visible sign proclaiming her damaged goods. But she had stood in front of the mirror and cried instead – because she COULD see every place where those rude and groping hands had pressed or pushed or prodded or pinched or penetrated. Part of her biggest lie – her deliberate effort to push Grandpa away from the most painful places of her experience – had been to pretend that she'd discovered her supposed mistake and been relieved.
But here was Kevin – sweet, honest Kevin – telling her he really DIDN'T see anything at all. HAD she been imagining everything she'd seen that day? "You don't see anything?"
With wide eyes, he shook his head at her. "You look the same as you always have – except maybe that you're sadder now."
"You're not just saying that…"
"Deb, if I saw something, I'd tell you," he assured her quickly. "Why should I lie?"
For the life of her, she couldn't answer that heartfelt question – anymore than she could answer the question of why her grandfather would have lied to her about the same thing either. "The only mark Grandpa said I should be able to see would be where he bit me…" she mused to herself, unaware she'd spoken aloud.
"He BIT you?" Kevin was outraged. "Where?" he demanded to know.
Deb blushed deeply in embarrassment and then lightly touched her right breast with hesitant fingers. "Here," she said, unable to look at him anymore
His brow furled in worry. "Does it still hurt?"
"Yes," she answered very softly.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For not being able to protect you," he said sadly, "from scaring you so badly when you came home… All I wanted to do was give you a hug to tell you how glad I was that you were back and safe…"
Deb looked up at him again. "Kevin?"
"What?"
"That hug?"
"Yeah?" he nodded, knowing what she was talking about.
"Do you think I could have it now?"
He stared at her for a little bit and then the swallowed hard and nodded. Deb slowly scooted herself along the length of the couch until she was sitting right next to Kevin, within easy reach. Hesitantly, not sure if he was doing the right thing, he lifted his arm and waited. After another long moment, she scooted over just a little bit more and leaned very carefully against him.
She felt the arm under which she had slipped slowly settle across her back, not restraining her in the least. She carefully slid a hand across his middle and tucked it into his opposite side and leaned a little more. Kevin's other arm came up immediately and completed the embrace – still loosely enough that she could know that he would release her the moment she asked him to.
This is Kevin, she reminded herself quietly. He would never hurt me. Repeating those statements over and over like mantras, she forced herself to relax a little. After another long moment, she closed her eyes and relaxed a little more, laying her head against his chest.
Kevin settled back into a more comfortable position against the cushions of the couch, holding her very tenderly and very carefully in his arms. He didn't know if what he was doing would help any, but she had asked – and that was good enough for him.
He didn't understand Deb right now any better than he'd understood Crystal earlier. All he did understand was that he could sit on the couch forever with his arms around Deb, if that's what she needed or asked of him.
"Hello?"
"Doctor Mitchell? This is Colonel Stiller."
The water glass in Mitchell's hand fell away from senseless fingers and shattered on the kitchen floor. Suddenly the voice behind the hoarseness that had whispered so malevolently into her ear that morning was very clear, and she knew exactly who had attacked her and scared her half to death. "What the hell do you want?" she demanded in a shaky voice.
"I was wondering if you've had a chance to reconsider your decisions since our last visit," he asked her smugly.
"You son of a bitch," she hissed at him, wishing there was some way to catch the attention of one of the sweepers Harrison had assured her would be just outside her door. But then, Harrison had told her they were going to put a tap on the line again — so that meant that anything she could coax out of him would be caught on tape, just like last time. "You could have killed me."
"Tsk, tsk, Doctor," Stiller gloated slightly. He'd been proud of his handiwork — a chemist would have no idea the precision needed to only cut through the one layer of skin without damaging the tissue beneath. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You'll just have to wear a scarf for a while. And as for the reason for my call — HAVE you reconsidered your decision regarding Veracity?"
"Absolutely not!" Mitchell shook her head, at first slowly and then with more vehemence. "I wouldn't work for you now if you paid me a million dollars a day."
"Bad choice, Doctor," Stiller growled, cursing the stubbornness of this Centre employee. "You see, I know where you live, I know where you work, I know where you shop, I know who your friends are, I know your routine. I can get to you whenever and wherever I damned well please. Daytime, nighttime, it's all the same to me." He paused and then dropped his voice just a little bit more. "You're a pretty lady, Doctor. I will enjoy our next meeting immensely."
"More threats?" she was angry enough now not to be afraid any longer. "You're a coward, Stiller, a coward and a smudge of pond scum. You think that you can sneak up behind people and threaten them with knives because they refuse to do what you want them to, and suddenly they'll roll over and play lapdog to your every command? Well, Buster, listen to my final answer to you!" And she slammed the receiver down onto the base with a shriek of anger and dismay.
Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs outside the apartment door, and then a frantic knock. "Are you all right?" came an unfamiliar and accented voice from outside.
She peeked through the little spy hole in the door to no avail. Whoever it was, was not within the range of the little device. "Who's there?"
"I am Ping Xing-Li — I live in the apartment right above you. I heard you cry out…"
Mitchell breathed a sigh of relief and quickly removed the security chain and let off the flip latch and unlocked the deadbolt. She opened the door up slightly to find that her neighbor was a petite Chinese woman who barely came up to her shoulder. "Wha… what can I do for you?"
"Are you all right?" the tiny woman asked again, obviously very concerned. "Do you need help?"
Mitchell peered around into the darkness past the reach of the outdoor light. "I…" She fought the feeling of abandonment and fear, then knew that she wasn't going to be able to deal with it alone — not THAT night, at least. "Do you think I could come up to your apartment for a little bit," she asked with a slight blush of embarrassment. "Somebody's harassing me by telephone, and…"
"You don't want to be alone?" Xing-Li asked knowingly. The terror on the American woman's face was palpable. And then she saw the thin line of red at her throat. "Did he do that to you?" she asked softly, pointing.
"This morning." Mitchell tried again to rally her nerves to the point that she could stop shaking inside, but again failed. "Please…"
"Sure," Xing-Li nodded finally. With Mei-Chiang gone and no clue when or even if she was going to come home tonight, she could use the company. "Come on upstairs. I'll make you some tea."
Mitchell grabbed up the key chain with the key to her little so-called haven and stuffed it in her jeans pocket and then carefully locked her door behind herself. She followed the Chinese woman up the stairs and, taking a deep breath, walked into another apartment completely — and virtually into another world. The furnishings of this apartment were nearly identical to those of the apartment she'd just settled into, but the place had a more lived-in feel to it.
"Please sit," Xing-Li gestured to a chair at her kitchen table and immediately began to draw water to get the tea on.
Feeling just a little less vulnerable and abandoned for the first time since her attack, Mitchell sank into the chair and put her face in her hands.
Mei-Chiang roused and then settled back against the pillow. Sam's arm around her waist tightened ever so slightly at her movement and pulled her in closer to him so that his breath moved her hair at her shoulder. Her giant economy sized bear was asleep, and yet sleep eluded her — the curse of the single serving sized, she told herself with a wry smile, or maybe just the curse of being practical and Chinese. She turned so that she could look at his face in the dim light of the street lamp just outside the bedroom window. This was her future husband, and she still had trouble saying the word to herself. Wife — she'd long since given up ever thinking of that word in connection with herself.
It was hard to wrap her mind around the rapid way her life had shifted over the course of a single day. She had started the day a mere secretary wanting to buy a car for herself for the first time in her life and coming to visit a new friend for spaghetti dinner. Now here she was, a nearly married woman, and nearly married to a powerful man in a powerful organization who had shoved aside all of her practical arguments against such an alliance in order to woo her. Her body ached in the most wonderful and intimate of ways from their lovemaking both before and after dinner when he had made her completely his. Even now, just the memory of his touch — the very thought of him touching her again — made her entire body tingle with delicious anticipation despite the ache.
What would Miss Parker say on Monday morning when she would ask for permission to leave an hour or so work early so that Sam could take her to the courthouse in Dover to apply for a marriage license — and then to a doctor to get the required blood tests? It was one thing to quietly allow fraternization between employees — would she lose her job by agreeing to become Sam's wife? The future seemed so impenetrable now, after several years of being comfortably predictable although precarious.
What would Xing-Li say? Her Younger Sister would be left alone in that little apartment now. She had no doubt that Sam would want her here, in his house and in his bed, from now on — and she honestly didn't mind that in the least. This was an extremely comfortable home — one in which she could see herself finding safety and raising their children. Perhaps Xing-Li would finally be able to find someone too now, now that she was no longer shackled to the Centre? That thought cheered her. Perhaps she could talk to Sam or even Mr. Tyler about that. She smirked at herself in the darkness. Here she was, only a single night away from her chaste life, and already she was playing matchmaker to her Younger Sister. How very Chinese of her! Well, why not, she asked herself brazenly. If she could find happiness here in America, so could Xing-Li!
She raised her hand and brushed the backs of her fingertips along the line of his jaw, now bristled and in need of a shave. Yes, she had found happiness in America in a giant economy sized bear of a man named Sam Atlee. He was a gentle and loving man — and she now had no excuse not to allow herself the luxury of falling completely in love with him. What was she talking about — if she was honest with herself, she'd realize that she had started falling in love with him the first time she'd noticed that he was watching her closely, a very long time ago. Their time alone together over the past few days had only clinched what she'd been helpless to prevent otherwise. She wasn't falling in love with him anymore, she was very much IN love with him. Her eyes filled with tears all of a sudden as she prayed fervently to every last god she knew of to let her enjoy happiness at last. Husband... She tried the word silently on her lips for the first time. MY husband… It would take some getting used to.
Sam roused when he felt the woman at his side give a hitch in her breathing. He opened his eyes sleepily, and then opened them wider when he saw the glimmer of tear tracks down her cheeks. "What is it?" he whispered, reaching up his hand from his waist and wiping the moistness away tenderly. "My God, did I hurt you after all?"
"No, no," she whispered back, his concern making her hiccough with another sob. "I'm happy."
"This doesn't look much like happiness to me," he roused further and pulled her closer into his arms so that she rested her head on his chest. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
"Nothing," she insisted, running her hand through the soft fur on his chest and then holding him tightly. "I'm just afraid this is a dream — that I'll wake up and find it all was nothing more than my own wishful thinking."
His lips found her forehead. "I feel the same way," he admitted softly. "I've been alone too long, dreamed too many dreams that ended up being nothing but illusions when the morning came. I'm afraid I'll wake up in the morning and find you gone too — that you were never here."
"Do you know how wrong this is, how contrary this is to everything I've ever known or believed?" she finally asked him, growing brave in his unexpected admission of vulnerability while loving him all the more for it. "Practical Chinese wisdom is that a man of your status would make me a mistress, not a wife — you would marry later to bring yourself status, children. I would be content as a mistress, knowing that we would enjoy pleasure together often without commitment. I might even remain your mistress after your marriage, if we were to become very fond of each other. I was trained to this — be a mistress, a concubine — where my sole duty would be to make love with a man and help ease the burden of his day." She smoothed her hand across the broad expanse of his chest again. "I'm so afraid that I will fail you, that I won't know how to be a proper wife…"
"This isn't wrong, Mei," he contradicted gently after listening carefully to what she said and being amazed at the differences their cultures had instilled in them. "There is no way in the world that you could possibly fail me. I love you, and I know you love me too. Nothing else matters." He brushed his lips across her forehead again. "If anything, I'm the one who should worry about failing you — that I'll hurt you somehow by being careless. You're so small…" His fingertips traced the outline of her lips. "So beautiful…"
"I do love you, more than you'll ever know," Mei-Chiang said very softly, finally speaking the words that described the emotion that was filling her whole being. "I know it isn't practical, but…"
"Practical, schmactical. I told you, I don't care," he smiled at her, shifting and rolling gently so that they were finally face to face, side by side, each holding the other. He stretched forward across the little distance between them and captured her lips with his in a soft and tender kiss. "This is all that truly matters." Then he pulled her into him again and rolled, nestling her head onto his shoulder and tugging the sheet up to cover them more comfortably again. "Sleep now. I have to get up early tomorrow after all, remember?"
She nodded, remembering his listening to the answering machine with Tyler's message as she had finished cleaning up the leftovers and getting the dishwasher started, and settled down under his protective arm. "Don't let go…" she said suddenly.
Sam raised his head in surprise at the odd request, and then kissed her forehead as he settled back into his pillow and tightened his hold on her. "Don't worry — wild tigers couldn't take you away from me now."
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