Chapter 12
#
#
#
"Where first?" Fiona wanted to know.
Michael left the teacher's Honda with its legitimate, unexpired campus parking sticker next to the health center. They walked across a green hill to find the Charger on the opposite side in a student long-term parking lot, right where he'd left it 24 hours earlier.
He handed her his phone and smiled. "You tell me."
Fi hit the speaker button and listened.
"Westen. Report in. Get the hotel info from Pearce."
"Mikey, not rushing you or anything, but we think we found another one of Anson's weapons storage facilities. Are you and Fi done playing kissy face? Come on back, we got work to do."
Fiona looked over at Michael. "Kissy face?"
He grinned. "Well, we did."
"Westen? Report in."
"Michael, I know I'm not supposed to call you on this phone, but how much longer am I going to be trapped here with Nate and Charlie and Ruth? Call me!"
Fi looked at Michael again. "She's fine," Fi said.
"And they're staying that way," he said nearly under his breath.
"And out of your hair," she said, grinning.
"Yes, thank you, Lord."
"Westen? Report in!"
"Mike, Pearce and I are going to put eyes on this new facility. We'll let you know what we find."
"Westen, report in now!"
"Okay," Fi said. "Raines first."
Before they left the house, they discussed implementing stronger levels of personal awareness, discretion, observation and caution in all things. Unspoken was their agreement to function as a ligature. Neither was ready to disconnect from the other, not after their nearly four months of separation.
Michael headed to the loft to check in with the rest of their team and to change clothing into something more professional than his jeans and t-shirt for the meeting with Raines. When they found the loft empty, he called Sam while Fi changed into a different dress.
When Sam didn't pick up, he tried Jesse with the same result, and then Pearce. He frowned and looked at Fi. "Something's wrong."
He punched in Raines' number and when the call went straight to voicemail, he was certain something was very wrong. He'd just closed the phone when it rang. It was Raines. He listened for a few moments. "We'll be there."
He glanced over to Fiona. "Jesse and Pearce are in the hospital. They were ambushed when they went to check out the weapons storage site. Pearce was hurt worse than Jesse."
Fiona shook her head. "Oh, no." And then retrieved the Walther she'd hidden up and under and kitchen counter on a small interior ledge constructed exactly for that purpose. Fortunately it was one of the weapons Michael told her had survived the FBI sweep of the loft. She stashed it in her purse.
While Michael changed, Fi packed more personal items of theirs in another bag to take back to the house later. Their house.
And in that moment, when she realized what she was doing, she stopped and looked around.
The loft first had been Michael's haven, a place for him to be, to recover, to work, a place to begin figuring out the puzzle of why he'd been burned and who had done that. Then it became the place where he and Sam and she planned jobs together, a place she stayed when she was not in her place, a place where they had fought and the place where she and Michael had made love. When he asked her to come live with him, it had become something more than just a place until Anson arrived, until she broke it apart. And now Michael had restored them to their place, where they could start fresh and share their lives.
"Ready?" He grabbed his jacket and the bag she packed and headed to the door.
"Ready," she said, answering a question that had nothing to do with which hospital they would be traveling to.
#
#
#
Sam was waiting for them in the lobby. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled, his slacks bore evidence of coffee stains and his whiskery face was marked with worry.
"Hey, it's the lovebirds," he said wearily. "Looks like we kicked a hornet's nest and got stung."
Fiona leaned over and gave Sam a kiss on his cheek, and was rewarded with a tired smile.
"How are they doing?" Michael asked.
"Jesse's doing a lot better than Dani. For some reason she decided to jump in front of Jesse, and . . . it's wound like the one Jesse gave you, Mike, only Jesse was behind her and he stopped a bullet, too. Thank God we were talking on the phone when it went down or I think they'd both be dead now."
Michael shook his head, his expression distressed. Fiona could already see he was blaming himself.
"You called it in?"
"In a manner of speaking. I called Raines. He used agency muscle to call in troops and medical help. We didn't need cops at that point in time, just help from Homestead . . . you know, the National Guard," Sam said with a small smile. "That short-notice worldwide deployment stuff works pretty fast when you're 30 minutes away instead of a couple of time zones."
"When did this happen?"
"Oh, let's see . . . a couple hours after you took off yesterday to get Fi."
Michael frowned. "If you were going to take a look, why didn't you wait for me?"
"Because all we were going to do was take a look, Mike," Sam said testily. "Jesse figures they tripped some kind of alarm, and when that happened it went to hell in a hand basket. Come on," Sam said, rising, "I'll walk you up so you can say hi and then you'd better see Raines. He's not in what I'd call a good mood."
#
#
#
Jesse was up, walking and worrying when Michael and Fiona reached his room. He was wearing stained slacks and a hospital gown that was at least one if not two sizes too small for his torso instead of a shirt, holding a cell phone and grumbling. "Damned hospitals."
Fiona stepped forward, put her hand on his arm that didn't have a bandage and gave him a small hug. "What's the matter?"
"I have to wait for some damned doctor to let me out of here. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. I've got things to do at work, and they won't let me in to see Pearce. Do you know that fool woman turned and put herself between me and . . . me and . . ." He stopped, took a calming breath and looked at the ceiling.
"We heard," Michael said. "They wouldn't let us in to see her, either. There's a nurse blocking the door for some reason right now."
"That can't be good," Jesse muttered as he looked at Michael squarely. "She almost died. I don't understand why she did that."
"I can guess, that's all," Michael said. "Several years ago she was on an op, wanted to slow things down but Langley disagreed, and it went south. She told me her asset died in her arms. He was also her fiancé."
That deflated Jesse's head of steam. He sat down in the chair adjacent to the bed. "But we're not . . . "
"I think," Fiona said, touching his arm, "it's hard to see a friend get hurt, and if you can stop it, you stop it."
Jesse looked down for moment. "I guess you're right. It just make me . . . "
"Feel unworthy when someone does that for you," Michael filled in with a low voice as he met Fiona's gaze.
"It does," Jesse agreed.
#
#
#
An hour had passed by the time they reached Raines' hotel. When the elevator doors opened, a tall, athletic man in a dark suit who seemed vaguely familiar to both Michael and Fiona brushed past them. When he saw them, a flash of recognition crossed his features, but he didn't stop on his way out. Fiona turned to watch him leave the hotel.
"I know him from somewhere," she said, trying to remember, as they stepped inside the elevator and pushed the number for Raines' floor. "I can't remember his name."
"He's FBI. He's Raines' counterpart. He's the one who argued to keep you in prison."
"What did I do to him?"
"It wasn't about you. Pearce called it a pissing match. It's personal, something between him and Raines. That didn't matter except when it came to getting you out of prison and it'll matter if it interferes with taking Anson down."
It was a short walk from the elevator to Raines' suite. He opened the door quickly, as if he expected who might have been there before schooling his disagreeable expression.
"Miss Glenanne, good to see you," he said almost pleasantly, before turning to Michael and dramatically changing tone. "Westen, why the hell did you turn off your phone?"
Michael entered the room, turned around to look at him when he closed the door behind them. "Because you told me I had 24 hours of personal time, which I took."
Raines' expression changed from irritated to grim as he walked past them into the stateroom. "You saw Axe?"
Michael nodded. "Yes. He gave us the short version of what happened. Then we saw Jesse. Pearce's room was blocked by a nurse who said we couldn't go in then, so we didn't see her. We understand she's lucky to be alive. So what was in the warehouse?"
"What wasn't in it would be more accurate," Raines grumbled, picking up a glass of something amber that didn't seem to fit his by-the-book approach to work. "Guns, RPGs, .50 cals, AKs and all kinds of small arms, munitions, small tanks, armored vehicles. Enough ordnance to blow away south Florida twice. It was bigger than what they found in Tampa. And this will sound familiar: the whole facility was rigged to blow, but the wiring job wasn't complete yet, or so the Homeland folks tell me."
"Anyone captured? Find anything to link it to Anson?" Michael asked.
"No, whoever was there disappeared by the time the National Guard got there, and they got there quick."
"So the problem now . . . ? "
"Oh, hell, they don't want to hear from us or want our people involved though we clearly should be. I'm talking to Homeland tomorrow about the link to Anson's Tampa facility. Of course, everybody and their uncle is involved now, except us. Homeland, the Bureau, even the damned DEA. Whatever they find, they'll let us know about it when they're done with it. Dammit!"
Michael watched Raines pace and shook his head. "Uncovering a huge weapons and ammunition cache makes for headlines, and the FBI doesn't want to share information when it links to a DIA shrink? No inter-agency cooperation, at all?"
"Just Homeland," Raines muttered as he walked away to look out a window. "And I don't care who takes credit, but we need accurate forensics at this stage . . ."
Fiona and Michael exchanged a glance. Something more was happening here.
"Why would the FBI block that?" Fiona asked, clearly confused.
"It's because of me, I'm afraid."
Michael and Fiona turned to see a tall, slender woman approach Raines and gently remove the glass he held from his hand before she clasped his hand with hers. They both recognized her. The intervening years since their last meeting had been as if they had never passed. She was as beautiful now as she had been then.
She set the glass on the desk, slid her hand across Raines' shoulders and approached them, her hand extended to Fiona, then Michael. "It's so good to see you both again. I'm afraid I made a choice 15 years ago, one I have never regretted, but periodically it returns to create problems. Fiona, why don't we give our gentlemen some time to talk business? Would you like some tea? I've just had a fresh pot brought up."
When they left the room, Michael turned and took a seat on one of the two couches that faced each other, a small table between them. He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other and watched Raines fidget until he sat down.
When the silence stretched too far, Michael broke it. "She chose you, Raines. That's the problem, isn't it?"
Raines met his gaze. "We have three sons."
"He got off the elevator as we arrived."
"He was here. Unfortunately, I didn't answer the door. It was unpleasant."
Michael addressed the situation. "We still have a problem, because he's got a leak, or several of them . . . or we do. There's no way Anson could have found me in D.C. or located Fi here unless someone on the inside was relaying information."
"I know."
"What would it take for you to add Management's name to the same terror threat bulletin as Anson?"
That question made Raines pause, look up and frown, reassessing. "You think so?"
"Think about it. He disappeared. We stopped looking for him. Do you really believe Anson would be able to do all that he's done, by himself, since Caracas?"
Raines got up and retrieved a report from the desk where his wife had left the drink. He flipped it open, checking the handwritten notes he'd made. Michael recognized it as the report he'd written following prior to Max's death where he presented a case for why he believed they had not completed taking down all the elements of Vaughn's organization, an organization they now knew to be part of Anson's and Management's creation. "We need to break this problem into manageable pieces," Raines said.
"I've been thinking about that," Michael said.
Raines gave a small, dry laugh. "Sure you were."
Michael's reaction was as swift as a struck match bursting into flame. "I'll give you that shot, Raines. But it's the last one. Your wife is off limits. So is Fi."
Raines sobered quickly. "I'm sorry, Westen."
#
#
#
Tea had been consumed, and pleasantries had been exchanged by two women who were dressed and behaving as properly and politely as two ladies consuming tea would or should be.
In an alternative setting, both women possessed skills that made them as lethal as the men in their lives; they just masked them differently.
Fiona had learned that Raines and his wife now had three sons who excelled in sports and music, sons whom they were extremely proud.
Their conversation had been measured and cautious, not that Fiona wouldn't trust her; she didn't know her, and caution was appropriate. Raines was Michael's boss, after all.
Fifteen years ago, Fiona's objective had been to make sure Michael was protected on his way out of Germany with his assigned extraction, the woman who now poured the tea. Ultimately, he had been, but it had been more than a year since they had last been together, and he had promised her 12 months previously he wouldn't let that much time pass between then and the next time they could be together. But he had.
He had always frustrated her to the point that it was such a tremendous decision, to either make love to him or commit mayhem upon him. She couldn't help but wonder now if the time for thinking those were her only choices . . . had passed.
"When do you plan to be married?" she asked, bringing Fi back to the present. She had noticed the Claddah ring and understood its meaning on her left hand, with the heart turned in.
"After this ends."
"That may be a long time from now."
"It might be."
"Don't wait. We nearly waited too long. It was a mistake."
Fiona just smiled.
"I mean," she said with a serious expression on her face, reaching to touch Fiona's hand gently, "don't wait."
Fi looked at her an could not decipher the message within the message. She had a feeling, though, it was terribly important.