. .oOo.

Chapter 5

The General got right to it. They actually had no time to lose. Since the FBI was not here yet, they still had a chance to find who Chef had been working with, and who killed him, without having to share all that they found if they deemed it necessary to keep it quiet.

"The time line is tight, you all know that," he said, and then, for the benefit of the Park Rangers, he went down the list of events as they knew them. Just as he had done with the team while they had been on the plane, not long before.

"Chef retired from the White House kitchens less than a year ago. At which time, his wife decided to leave him."

Heads were shaking. The guys were all thinking it again, Melissa had never been anyone's favorite person. When Chef married her, they tried to hope for the best, but as far as they were concerned, she had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him. She had never understood the man that she had married. Instead, she had set out to change him.

They had watched as their friend slowly withdrew from them. Melissa had been so jealous of his time, Ben had dropped off the radar completely. No hanging out, no texts, no phone calls. No more shooting the breeze with any of them. Even so, Ranger had kept tabs on him. People talk, and he listened. And it had made him sad for his friend.

Melissa had gotten her way. She had changed him. He was no longer the guy that they had known. But it had come at a high cost. Ben eventually withdrew from her too. It was easy to believe that his job at the White House had probably been Chef's way of keeping so busy that he never had to be with her. It seemed inevitable that something would have to give when he quit working. No one was surprised at all that their damaged relationship couldn't survive and it completely fell apart.

"Melissa Davron got her divorce and wasted no time in writing a book about Chef. Someone must have told her that she could make some money with it. Hell, they probably did all the work for her, the woman was not smart enough to pull this off on her own," Kinkaid said with a smirk.

Around the table, the men agreed, almost all of them nodding imperceptibly. In an unspoken pact, they knew that they would be finding whoever was behind Melissa's book, as well as the death of their friend. The general let a moment go by before he kept talking.

"Chef didn't know about the book, as far as we know," he said. "He had moved away from DC, out to Arizona. In another big coincidence," he said, looking over at Mitch and making the quotations gesture with his fingers. "By the time it was due to be released, he had decided to take the vacation he had always wanted, to explore the Grand Canyon. That was last week."

Pulling over the tray with the water picture and glasses, Kinkaid filled a glass and drank it down. Though he still tried not to show it, the dry climate, if not the elevation, was getting to him too. He cleared his throat and continued.

"We know that a room was rented in Ben Davron's name in Springdale, and he had plans to explore the south rim," he said. And answering the question before it was asked, he added. "A conspicuous number of travel brochures had been spread all around his house, and we have confirmed that a car was rented and travel plans had been made with his credit card. But he was never seen. No one can confirm that he was even the one who checked into the hotel room." He was at the end of what he thought the rangers had not known yet, but Kinkaid added the rest, just in case.

"His phone was found on the seat of his rental car, along with his wallet and the keys to the car. It was in the parking lot near the shuttle bus, over here, on the south rim," he said pointing to the opposite side of the map that Gielen had been using. "But that was not until he was reported missing by the hotel owners at the end of the time that he had rented the room for. There was no one even looking for him until Sunday."

Now he looked around the table, meeting each set of eyes one by one. His message was clear. He had not yet shared this next part of the story with his team. Kinkaid had avoided it, hadn't wanted to believe it. Oh, they knew that Chef had been walking too close to the line, but they did not know that he had crossed it.

This was so hard to say. The general had used the intel that Ranger had given him, and had filled in some blanks that he was now wishing that he didn't have to tell the team. He stood tall, and took a deep breath. All eyes were on him, they knew he had something big to say.

"Davron was stockpiling lots of money, mostly by hiding it behind bogus real estate deals in Europe. We are pretty sure that the money he had was not coming from legitimate sources, there was just too much of it. We have to find the the source as quick as we can," he concluded, returning the serious looks of his men He was counting on them to help him find the killers. But more than that, he needed to know who Chef had been working with. Something was not smelling right. If his hunch was correct, national security was at stake, and they had no time to waste.

. .oOo.

It was like a long, slow torture, but Stephanie spent every spare minute that she could find searching for more information about Ben Davron. News clips were starting to be shown in the western states, Arizona and Utah primarily, as the finding of a body in the Grand Canyon was local news there. But she was sure that his connection to the White house would bring the news closer to home any time now, as soon as the associated press got wind of it.

Without admitting it, Stephanie knew that by continuing this digging into the chef's life, she was trying to fill in as many blanks as she could in an effort to help Ranger with his investigation. She was doing this for a couple of reasons. First, and probably most important was the hope that the sooner they found what they needed, to solve Chef's murder, the sooner they could come back home. And secondly, the more she kept at it, the more she felt a part of what Ranger was doing, and she could feel like she was with him in this. That they were working together.

Because, now, after all these years, she was one hundred percent certain that this is all she wanted, to be with him in everything, to share a life together. These past two weeks without him here had given Stephanie the chance to seriously look at what she was willing to fight for. It had been the hardest time of her life, not being able to see him, talk to him, know what was on his mind.

With her heart so full of her love for him, Stephanie realized that Ranger had been opening up more than ever during the past few months. Amidst all of their flirting, and teasing, he had begun to let her into his world. He had shared his thoughts about so many things that she had never known before. With every new detail, every new revelation, they had grown closer to each other.

Though she had always considered herself an open book, since everyone seemed to know every little thing that was happening in her life, Stephanie knew that she had actually held back with Joe. He never knew the real Stephanie Plum. Never knew her hopes, her dreams, her secrets. He had never asked, and that was on him. But, if she was honest with herself, she had never told him either.

But with Ranger everything was different. He knew her in a way she had never expected. Some of her dreams she had actually told him, but there were many more things that he just instinctively understood about her. She loved that about him.

How could she not fight for the one and only person that had ever loved her, the real her. Ranger had become such an integral part of her, there were times when she did not know where she stopped and he began.

She laughed at herself a little bit. She was either being poetic or pathetic with all of these thoughts. But after the agony of feeling like she may have hurt him, or damaged her relationship with Ranger, Stephanie felt she was allowed to be dramatic, at least for a little while. The simple truth was, she just wanted to know how he was doing.

More than anything in the world, she wanted to be with him, talk to him, to know how all of this stuff about Chef was making him feel. In her mind, she would wrap her arms around him, hold him tight, to let him know that he was not alone. To let him know that she was so sorry that any of this was happening.

Forcing some of these thoughts back, Stephanie turned her attention back to the computer screen. Another search had ended, but it had not yielded any new information. Suddenly, frustration overcame her and she felt the urge to hit something, or to scream.

Instead, after taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she methodically closed the last search and started a new one. Determined to find something that could help, anything that would give Ranger the answers he needed to be able to come back home to her.

. .oOo.

Washington DC. One week ago.

ABAN CAME UP here often. On the roof above his apartment, lush healthy plants helped to obscure the ugly view. He had planted a garden, in any pot or crate that he could find, until it nearly covered the small space up here. It was his way of keeping his own country with him. It had become so important to him, and one heartbreaking memory always replayed in his mind when he saw his thriving plants.

When he had left home, his mother had grabbed his hand. She'd had tears in her eyes, but she did not complain, did not beg him to stay, even though she knew that what he was doing was dangerous.

Actually, she did not say a single word, but Aban knew what she meant when she placed a fat envelope into his hand and patted it a few times before letting him go.

The seeds she had given him that day had been her way of reminding him of who he was and where he was from. The culture they raised him in was all they had to give. Aban knew that his mother did not agree with what he was becoming. But he knew that she would do all she could to preserve what he had been raised to be. She would be proud of the way the plants were growing, he mused. That was the one thing that he could give her. Even if she would never know.

Mahir opened the door to the third story roof and silently watched as his friend methodically pulled weeds and pruned some of his precious plants. He waited until Aban had finished watering, and had turned off the water, carefully coiling the hose and replacing it near the door.

Only then did he speak. In a low voice, so that he would not be heard by any other ears, he told Aban that their mission was over, they had no more time. They were expected to meet with the leaders any time now. Mahir waited for a response. He got none. Aban stood as still and silent as a statue. He did not look up, did not say a word. His actions spoke for him. Mahir knew that Aban would not be going. This could very well be the end of their relationship. So he turned around and went back down the stairs.

When Aban returned to the apartment, he knew he was alone. They did not have many things, but all that Mahir had brought was gone. As were the files and all of the equipment. His friend knew that Aban could not go back and talk to these people. They wanted what he did not, and would not, give them. This could only mean trouble for him, Mahir knew this, so he decided that he would take the meeting by himself.

Aban could only imagine what Mahir would find when he got there. They would not take 'no' for an answer, not from Mahir, and not from him. There was not much time, Aban knew they would be coming for him. He shouldn't have made them angry, it was not a smart move on his part, and he knew that he would pay for it.

But he almost didn't care. What could they really take from him that they had not already stolen away. Life as he knew it, as he had hoped it would be, didn't exist anymore. He was no longer welcome in his father's country, his father's home. That bridge had been burned the day he joined the rebel army and his father had called him a terrorist.

No matter how he had tried to explain that his job was only to gather information, there were no words he could say that would make his father agree with what he was doing. It would be safe, Aban had insisted, he would not even have to carry a gun. This was a good thing, he had said, it set him apart from the men known as the true terrorists, who killed to get their causes known.

But his father had turned on him and growled out a response. The words that let Aban know that his father had disowned him were words that he would never forget. Couldn't forget. And now that it was over, he wondered if this had all been worth the price that he had paid.

As he had told his father, Aban and Mahir had been living here in this country for one purpose only. They were to keep their eyes on one man. The man who sold secrets. It was important to keep this man safe, so that he could continue to supply them with the information that they wanted.

After three years, Aban had to admit that it bothered him that they never saw any of that information. It was not their position to do so, they had been told. An unsatisfactory answer, so Aban secretly kept a record of all that they were doing, all that they passed on to their leaders. He'd had no time to read any of it, but he felt it important to have a copy of it all in his possession.

Still, he was not satisfied that he had traded his life, given up his family, for what? Bits of overheard conversation between the guests in the White House? What intelligence could a cook be privy to? These questions had bothered him for a long time now, and many times he wished he could have a moment alone to see just what was in the files he had hidden away.

Aban sat in the corner of the room, cross-legged on the floor. Tears that he would not shed glistened in his eyes. His father had been right, he had become what he had vowed not to be. His mother's heart would be broken if she knew. That could never happen.

Aban knew what he had to do.

. .oOo.