Chapter 4

„Ms. Reisert, terrorist managers are a relatively new phenomenon. Up until a while ago, terrorism was solely in the hands of fanatics, zealots. These people are actually invested in their cause, thus prone to making mistakes when they become desperate."

Lisa wasn't sure whether it was good for her to hear all this. At the same time, she felt she needed to. Leaning on the wall next to the window, she asked, "What changed?"

"Acts of terror that failed because of that. Also, people nowadays are much more suspicious of certain ethnic groups or nationalities."

"Something your department is fairly happy about, isn't it?"

"To a certain extent, yes, to be quite frank." The transition from Keefe, the family man, to Keefe, the Chief of Homeland Security, was smooth. "The point is, specific groups are checked thoroughly and watched over. Not only by our government, but by everybody – people like you and me." In fact, the only other person Lisa had ever known who could switch personalities that fast was Jackson Rippner.

Keefe continued, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. "But that nice American business man? Who would look twice at him, suspect him of anything? You know that better than anyone else."

The Tex-Mex. God, he had been charming. Accessible. Funny. In a matter of mere minutes, he had cracked her and lowered her defenses.

"Ms. Reisert, be very, very honest to yourself now. When you were on that plane and, say, somebody who clearly wasn't American had been sitting next to you … don't you think things would have gone differently if you had just given the slightest notion of distress?"

Lisa loathed to admit it, but he was right. The flight attendant had just assumed that she and that friendly man belonged together and not asked a single question. She looked at Keefe and nodded with burning eyes.

His voice softened. "I know this is much to take. Unfortunately, my abilities to protect you are limited."

It was like a car crash, Lisa knew she shouldn't look, but she couldn't help it. She was literally drawn closer to it as she crossed the room to the couch and sat down. "I guess I understand."

"We have become aware that coordination and frontline organization has increasingly been taken over by so-called managers. Only we have never been able to catch one alive."

"So now you do and … what?"

"We study him, get information."

"Like an extraterrestrial you would probe to see if they're dangerous? Hostile?"

"That is an oversimplification, but in a nutshell, yes."

"Let me save you some trouble right there. Jackson Rippner is definitely dangerous and absolutely hostile." She really, really didn't want to ask. "Where do I come in?"

Keefe shot her an admiring glance. "We have found that he is a lot more forthcoming if we give in every once in a while."

"Forthcoming! You are asking him for information? Does it really take a civilian like me to suggest, I don't know, torture? Mind drugs? Whatever the hell … Hypnosis? If you are telling me that my life is being spit on because you don't want to pressure a terrorist, this conversation is over!"

Her body was so tense, it actually hurt.

"Rest assured, Ms. Reisert, we do pressure him. A lot. The thing is, Jackson Rippner is a rare talent. We have gotten everything from him we could with methods I don't want to get into, but there is still a lot to learn."

For the fraction of a second, Lisa had the mental image of Jackson sitting in a cage - with Keefe and his men dressed in corduroy pants and lab coats, standing around him and poking him with sticks. Her body started shaking with silent laughter that turned shrill when hysteria kicked in. It threatened to throw her into a dark pit in her mind she was afraid she might not get out of.

Breathe. She forced herself to focus on her surroundings, the furniture she had bought, the pictures on the wall. Breathe. Christmas with dad. Mom's wedding. Road trip with Jay and Cynthia. No hold on me. Therapy sessions. Laughter. Breathe.

Keefe silently waited for her to regain her composure. He watched her struggle until her body grew limp and the gasps for air turned into steady breath. For a long time, she sat opposite him with her lids closed and her hands balled into fists. When she looked at him again he was momentarily taken aback by the strange light in her eyes.

"So," Lisa's voice was cold, "he has information you want and you agreed to give him me in exchange?"

"Ms. Reisert, there is no question of giving you to him. He just wants to see you."

Lisa stalked over to the wall and ripped off a picture that she threw down on the desk in front of Keefe. "Give him this."

Cynthia had taken the picture on a road trip to a music festival a couple of weeks ago. She remembered it well … it had been raining all the time, but the weather was hot as hell anyway. Her friend had captured the perfect moment: Lisa wore jeans and a t-shirt that were caked with mud, her short hair was blowing in the wind and with the biggest smile on her face, she flipped off Jay, right into the camera.

Keefe briefly smiled at the picture, before his face returned to a more somber expression. "My bad, Ms. Reisert. He wants to see you face to face. Talk to you."

"Oh God." Lisa dropped back down onto the couch, running her fingers through her hair. "This can't be happening. I don't want to do this."

"I understand you don't want to do this. As a friend, I don't want you to do this. But I think we both know I'm not here as a friend and that what we could achieve is more important than anything else." His tone became urgent. "Ms. Reisert, Jackson Rippner can do you no harm."

A long moment passed.

"IF I do it, if I go down there and visit Jackson Rippner, can you guarantee me it'll be over?"

"No," he sighed. Finally, even Keefe, Chief of Homeland Security, appeared to have reached his personal limit.

She just couldn't believe it. "I'm too good an opportunity to pass up?"

"Ms. Reisert, you seem to be the closest thing to a weak spot this guy has. Hell if I know why - although I'm beginning to understand - but that's the simple truth of the matter."

It was over, she just couldn't take any more. "I need you to leave."

"Ms. Reisert …"

"Now. I need you to leave."

"Ms. Reisert, please give it a thought. Call me when you're ready."

Mechanically, she took his card. It reminded her of another moment she had felt so empty, all those months ago when he had handed her the directions to Jackson Rippner's supposed grave.

Halfway out the door, he turned around again. "I don't need to tell you this is confidential, right?"

One of life's little ironies, wasn't it? After all this time and all those therapy sessions learning to let other people in, she was forced to cut them out again. A year ago, she hadn't been able to imagine sharing her pain with anybody else, but now the thought of having to go through it alone scared her more than anything.

"Good bye, Mr. Keefe."