Chapter Five
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Fiona Glenanne had never made the acquaintance of a polygraph machine or examiner, and now that she had done so she would not recommend it to others.
There were simply too many ways to answer the same question.
There were also too many questions she did not want to answer.
Such as . . . was she a legal resident of the United States? She certainly felt legal, and she did have a plentiful collection of passports, but she assumed that was not what the examiner was going for.
She had another favorite: Have you ever killed an unarmed person? The correct answer would be yes, she had. She'd killed Carla. Unarmed? The woman had a detonator in her hand and was ready to blow up the boat Victor and Michael were on. Did a detonator count as a weapon? She thought so, but she had not sought clarifiction on that one. Perhaps she should have.
Fiona had not encountered polygraph testing during I.R.A. training, so much of what had just occurred had taken her by surprise.
She thought she would have been asked more questions regarding the Consulate bombings Anson used to blackmail her and Michael. Wouldn't that have been pertinent?
Was there some sort of ethical and moral grading scale for polygraph questions and answers? She assumed she had failed, but it would be good to know what she had failed.
There also had been questions that were entirely too personal. Much, much too personal about her relationship with Michael.
That's when she remembered what he had said when he'd been frantic to keep her from turning herself in.
They won't understand us, Fi.
After the test ended, after she passed by Michael in the hall, Pearce brought her to a large conference room with a wide freestanding board full of items regarding Anson's organization. Her eyes were drawn to the photos of Michael and Victor off to one side.
Pearce handed her a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "You have a question."
"Several. I am not sure I understand what my situation is here. You released me, but. . ."
"Raines will be back soon. It's not my place to explain this; it's his. I'm sorry I can't tell you more," she said quietly.
Fiona handed Pearce her cup for a moment, then reached over to the board and moved the push pins to reverse two photos. "Out of sequence," she explained.
"You've lived with this as long as Michael," Pearce said as she returned the cup.
"I'm beginning to think it will never go away."
"After looking at all of this, I can see how you'd think that."
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Raines had asked Pearce to take Miss Glenanne to the working conference room after her polygraph, and he joined them as soon as the examiner cleared the room in preparation for Michael's exam.
He found her and Pearce studying the timeline board, and introduced himself.
She extended her hand and he was suddenly aware of what must have drawn Westen's attention. It was more than vivid green eyes or the mass of auburn hair, although it was impossible to ignore the fact that Fiona Glenanne was a startling beautiful woman. She made a striking appearance dressed in black, head to toe, with a turtleneck, slim skirt and jacket and heeled boots that elevated her height. No, it was that she seemed to possess intrinsic qualities of strength, grace and awareness, qualities he had also observed in Pearce.
Glenanne was first mentioned in one of Westen's reports fifteen years ago, early in his career. There were two more reports of her assistance on operations in later years, one in Germany, another in Ireland, both which identified her as an asset. Raines knew from personal experience it wouldn't be the first or the last time an operative became romantically involved with an asset.
Last year, when Michael had been debriefed after the firefight with Vaughn, he had realized Westen and every one of his friends were loyal to one another to the degree that they would die for each other.
Couple loyalty with deeper emotion, and Raines knew that kind of faithful devotion needed special handling.
Per their agreement with the FBI when they took custody of Miss Glenanne eight weeks ago, he told Pearce the only way the agency could comply with the FBI request was to keep Westen and Glenanne separated to avoid collaboration while documenting every step of their internal investigation.
So that's what they had done.
As he entered the conference room, he indicated to Pearce. "Give us 15 minutes and come back for her."
"Yes, sir," she said.
Fiona sensed Raines was studying her as if she was some kind of exotic specimen under his microscope. "I would like to know," she began, "what my status is. Am I free to go? Or?"
He indicated that she should take a seat at the conference table, which she did. He poured himself some coffee, and raised the pot. "More?"
When she replied in the negative, he took a chair on the opposite side of the table. "We'll get to that. First, I have a question for you."
"The CIA has asked me many questions the last two months."
"Have you noticed that among those questions, no one has asked you why you turned yourself in to the FBI? Why did you?"
She frowned. "Actually, I have answered that. Several times. I wanted Anson to stop blackmailing Michael. Turning myself in removed his leverage so that you could look at the larger picture of what Anson was doing. It seemed you'd be interested in someone running a black ops organization from within the CIA."
He shook his head as if he disagreed.
With that, she understood. "I see."
"What do you see?"
"I see that you would like to play word games until I say something that will implicate Michael in a crime he never committed, but may have thought about committing. Is that what you're after?"
"No, Miss Glenanne. It's a serious matter when someone is accused of a crime, and it's complicated by the fact that, as operatives, you are highly skilled at deception."
"So that's why the test this morning," she said. "I should warn you. I was never very good at taking tests. I've probably flunked it. And I'm not your operative. Michael is."
"True. Your role is that of asset."
"I'm not that, either," Fiona said.
"Oh, but you are," Raines clarified. "We're being courteous, but you can check with Pearce on that. You are still in custody. Consider it your safety net."
"I'm not going to run off," Fiona said.
"That's good to know," Raines said as Pearce opened the door.
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An hour later, Raines followed up on Michael's test. The door was open, indicating the test was over.
"Satisfied?" Michael asked Raines as the forensic psychophysiologist who had also examined Fiona carefully packed his equipment and briefcase.
"I will be," Raines said, "after I see the reports."
Although results of polygraph tests remained controversial in courts of law, all federal employees were subject to the test for matters of national security. It would be at least another 24 hours before the results were evaluated and Raines would have his answers.
Michael was aware of this aspect of the testing, and he suspected Fiona was not. He also assumed she would not have been aware of the room's security and privacy features that could easily be blocked to provide privacy required by the examiner to validate the testing procedure.
After his test was complete, he asked the examiner if he'd explained that to Fiona.
"Yes, I informed her," he said, not offended by Michael's assumption that he hadn't been very professional.
Michael knew the kindly grandfatherly image was one the examiner probably cultivated, intended to put those he examined at ease with his trustworthy appearance. Since Anson interjected himself in his life and career, Michael had developed a new sense of wariness for anyone who sought personal information. And, if he knew Fiona, he guessed her natural distrust probably meant the examiner had spent at least an hour with her, gauging her responses, before he could begin the actual test.
Perhaps that accounted for the expression on her face when they had passed each other outside of the room and his chest felt as if it would explode as he reached to touch him.
When the examiner left the room Michael turned to Raines and asked him when he would be allowed to see Fiona.
"Not today, Michael."
"Then when?"
Raines took the chair Michael had sat in during he exam and motioned for him to sit in the chair opposite of him.
"Let me ask this, Westen: At what point in time, from the day Anson Fullerton informed you of his blackmail plans, did you consider coming to us and telling us what was happening?"
"I've answered that multiple times. We knew Fiona wasn't responsible for killing those two guards, but until we could find proof-"
Raines interrupted. "You did find reasons, many other reasons, Anson could be brought in."
Michael shook his head. "But until we could find proof so he couldn't turn in Fiona-"
"I've got debriefs from your mother, Axe, Porter and Glenanne that tell me something different."
"No. We . . ."
"All right. Once more. At what point in time, from the day Anson Fullerton informed you of his blackmail plans, did you consider coming to us and telling us what was happening?"
Michael watched Raines. "Not until," he said, looking away, "not until Fiona turned herself in to the FBI."
"That's a problem. The problem."
Michael rose and turned away from Raines. He stuck his hands in his slacks pockets, studied the floor and didn't reply.
"This is what's wrong with getting involved with assets," Raines said.
"It's what we do, Raines. It's the job. We learn who you can trust with your life and who not to trust. It's not complicated."
"This isn't complicated? The FBI wants both of you, two heads on one platter. That's complicated."
Michael turned around quickly. "But I heard you tell Pearce . . . you said . . . "
"I needed you both to be in the right frame of mind," Raines said.
"For the polygraphs. Dammit, Raines. I'm really tired of people pulling my strings."
"She's an asset, Michael. A CIA asset. She's been working for you as an asset for the past five years. And longer. You don't ask an asset to move in!"
"Oh, like your wife? She's why you left field work."
"Michael, I'm trying to protect you here!"
"Then hang me out to dry, but leave her alone."
"I can't do that. We've identified her as a CIA asset. That's how we got her back."
"Your label, Raines. That's not who she is to me," he said quietly. "Are we done here?"
With a gesture of disgust, Raines nodded and stuck his hands on his hips. "Yeah. Be back here tomorrow at 0800."
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Fiona was waiting in Pearce's nearly sterile office, wandering from chair to shelves, to window and finally to the desktop. She'd read the newspaper Pearce had tossed on the chair. She'd noted that the plants were elegantly formed replicas of the real things. And she kept returning to look at the same single item on the desktop.
Raines called and Pearce left, but not before she held up a finger to Fiona.
"I won't go any place. I promise," Fi said with a small smile.
"Thanks. I'll be back soon."
Pearce's soon had lasted for a little more than an hour now, if the artistic clock on the wall was keeping time accurately.
Fiona had been drawn to the only personal thing in the room. It was an image of two faces, their cheeks touching, Dani Pearce's laughing countenance next to a smiling, blue-eyed Nordic god whose arms were wrapped around her. Whenever she studied the photograph inside the small silver photo frame, she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes.
Two quick raps on the door, and it opened. "Pearce, I have to . . . "
For a moment, Fiona thought her heart might stop beating as she whispered his name. "Michael."
He stood there for a second, weighing what he knew he should do against what he wanted to do before he quickly closed the door and crossed the room to take her in his arms. She curved her arms up and around his shoulders while he folded her into his chest, holding her tightly, as close to him as possible. Michael lowered his head to bury his face against her cheek while inhaling every bit of warmth and softness that was uniquely Fiona. "I am so sorry, so sorry. I need your forgiveness. I need forever, Fi. I need you."
And that was how Pearce found them when she opened the door. She shook her head and put her hand to her forehead, "you know . . . you're not . . . " she inhaled deeply then looked at her watch. "Dammit, Westen. Two minutes. Then I'm escorting you out of the building." She closed the door.
"Michael, I don't know what's going to happen," Fiona said, hungrily taking in everything about him.
"I don't either. I just know I can't lose you. I can't." His lips found hers and they shared something between sweetness and desperation. Fiona's hand curved up around his head to comfort him and herself. "Forever, Michael," she said into the curve of his neck. "Forever."
The door opened. Pearce stepped inside, closing it behind her. "Westen, you have to go."
Michael pulled away from Fiona, his hand against her face, his touch tender and remorseful. "Forever," he said so softly only Fiona could hear.
And then, he was gone. Fiona knew she was two heartbeats from losing every bit of composure she was fighting to keep. Slowly she took the chair opposite of Dani's desk and sat down. As a child, she had suffered from frostbite, so she understood the painful, throbbing sensitivity of her skin was the result of too much warmth, too quickly. She said a silent prayer to embrace the sensation for as long as possible.
Michael's ride in the elevator to the ground floor next to Pearce was stoic and silent; they both wore grim expressions. When the door chimed the opening, they stepped out and Pearce walked beside him to the wide glass entrance. Before he left he turned and looked down at her. "Thank you."
And then he was gone.
"Dammit," Pearce mumbled to herself, as she turned to return to her office. "Dammit."