Chapter 16

Eames had spent the last few minutes - well, really since Lewis and Gina's spectacular entry into the house - keeping watch out one of the front windows. Some one needed to and it helped to distract her attention from the raised voices coming from the back of the house. Everyone's relationships seemed to be on tender hooks because of the unknown, the 'what might happen' moment when Sir Whitledge arrived. Lewis and Gina, Bobby and Hope, hers and Bobby's - this situation could have more far-reaching and disastrous effects than any of them could imagine in the moment.

She was the only one to see the black limo pull into the drive. "Bobby..." She called softly as she turned to see him sitting in the chair opposite from Hope, staring at a point in the distance. Hope was sitting on the sofa, eyes fixed on her tightly clasped hands.

He stood at the sound of his name. Distracted by the movement, Hope glanced up at him, receiving a tight smile in reply in acknowledgment. She nodded imperceptibly as she tried to slow her newly elevated pulse rate. She watched as he walked over to join his partner at the window.

"Looks like its show time." She said as softly as before.

Bobby peeked out the window and saw the stopped limo at the end of the drive. The driver was angling the car to block access out of the driveway. No one was going to get any of the cars out of here as long as the limo sat there.

When no one immediately got out of the car, Bobby whispered, "Call me if anyone gets out before I come back. I'm going to tell Lewis and Gina to stay where they are... and to quiet down."

Eames nodded.

Bobby stopped behind Hope, placing a comforting hand to her shoulder. "Well, he's here. No one has gotten out of the car yet. I'm going to let Lewis and Gina know, and have them stay in the back, the fewer people involved the better.

Hope just nodded, continuously. Bobby leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Are you still convinced you have nothing to fear from your father-in-law?"

Still she nodded.

He wasn't sure his words had penetrated her thoughts. He urged, "Hope, look at me."

She turned glazed eyes to watch him as he pulled back to be able to see her. "I'm going to be right beside you, but you're going to have to let me know..."

"I know." She said, her voice tight with tension. Shaking her head, she continued, "I know that I have nothing to be afraid of from Nigel, he isn't coming here to hurt me. It's... it's just the ... the craziness of all this that's messing with me." Hearing the raised voices coming from the back of the house, she added, "I... I guess it's messing with everyone."

Bobby scratched the back of his head as he nodded. He shot a glance to where Eames stood. "Yeah, I guess it has."


A black SUV pulled up to the oil drum trash can. Special agent Malcolm Reynolds of the FBI pulled out the balled up piece of paper and got back into the vehicle. The SUV lurched forward before he even had the time to close the door.

"We're not in that much of a hurry, you know. We're only to witness the events; we're not take part in the op, alert anyone to it or stop it from happening."

"Sorry... I know. It's just strange that those are our orders." Special Agent Jason Maxwell steered the car back onto the road and followed in the direction the limo had gone minutes ago.

"The VIP in that car has pull we can't even begin to imagine... and no crime has been committed. We're FBI, not CIA or NSA. It's not in our charter to do anything else, under these circumstances."

"So who's in that limo?"

"You got me. I was in the same meeting you were. Ryerson said, 'watch, report and stay out of it'. I may be senior partner here, but I'm just a grunt field agent like you. I'm not in the loop anymore than you are." And don't think that doesn't piss me off.

Flattening the balled up slip of paper on the dashboard, Agent Reynolds read off the address scribbled at the top of page as Agent Maxwell entered the information into their GPS device.

"Got it. About 10 miles up the road." Maxwell turned to face his partner, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Well, let's go. Let's find out what this is all about." Reynolds began to skim the contents of the page, which looked like it had been ripped from a much larger report. 'Subject 2 is an NYPD detective…'


Sir Nigel Whitledge was the Home Secretary of the United Kingdom. He had met with, negotiated with and stared down world leaders. He had helped to broker cease-fires and peace initiatives. Yet, coming face-to-face with his estranged daughter-in-law was playing havoc with his confidence. Then, he reasoned, he had always been more comfortable with the tangible accomplishments of his work than in understanding the workings of emotions and attachments. It wasn't until the last few years that had come to recognize the folly of that way of life. His wife of nearly forty years had died a year ago, although in truth she'd died the day they received the news about David… and Hope. Evelyn Whitledge had been so devastated at the death of her only child; she hadn't had any inclination or desire to reach out to the woman who had survived. Now that he was alone, with only his work as proof of his existence, for some time now he felt the pressure of his own mortality bearing down on him, his own shortcomings. Knowing that this meeting could irrevocably sever all ties with the only 'family' he had left, he felt the fear of being alone.

Slowly, he walked up the drive, climbed the steps and crossed the narrow porch before rapping three times on the front door.


Hope jumped, startled by the sudden rapping on the door. So many emotions had been running through her mind since discovering Nigel Whitledge was on his way up to talk with her. Her thoughts swirled, remembering her life with David, the contentious relationship with her mother-in-law and Sir Nigel's apathy and disinterest throughout it all. She thought of her initial excitement at the prospect of David's assignment to Cairo and the gradual waning of that excitement as she was left alone I, more and more in the months leading up to David's death.

Bobby had returned from the back of the house, which was now quiet. She couldn't imagine what Bobby had said to Gina and Lewis to quiet them, but the silence was now more unnerving than their earlier shouting match.

Bobby was now at her side, speaking quickly and quietly, "When you open the door, stand behind it, or off to the side. Don't ... don't make yourself a ... a target. Lead him into the house, Eames will take care of the door after he enters."

As Hope stood and walked towards the door, she saw Alex nod encouragingly at her. Hand now tightly gripping the doorknob she paused, closing her eyes while taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart. Before she could open the door, another knock sounded, which caused her to jump and jerk open the door, startling the man standing in the doorway.

Sir Nigel hesitated briefly as he took in the tense and fearful expression on her face. "My dear Kare.... I mean Hope, I'm not all that frightening now, am I?"

"Of course not, Nigel. Come... come in." Hope invited haltingly, as she backed away from the door."

As he entered he looked around the room. First, noticing the tall man standing just a few feet behind Hope - Robert Goren. As he took in the rest of the room, he saw there was one more person in the room. She was a small petite woman, with a serious and tense look on her face, much like the look on Hope's face. He noticed that as much as she was taking in his appearance, she was as concentrated on the view of the outside, her penetrating gaze flicking between the two scenes.

He advanced into the room, extending his hand towards the man in front of him. "You must be Robert Goren. I've just been reading about you."

Bobby remained silent but shook hands with Sir Nigel. Both men now silently evaluating the other. Finally responding, he said, "Yes I am, Sir Nigel Whitledge."

"Please, call me Nigel. The title 'Sir' is so cumbersome." While he was reassured that the man he'd read about seemed to be an accurate picture of the man, he wasn't reassured that the feeling was reciprocated. It was disconcerting to realize that he cared deeply that this man not find him - Sir Nigel Whitledge - wanting.

Turning his attention to the woman keeping watch at the window, he walked towards her, "And you are...." he began.

"Detective Alex Eames. She emphasized her title - she didn't find her title cumbersome at all. In fact she had found it very effective and useful, especially with men who would dismiss her because of her size or gender.

"Ah.... so you are the one we have to thank for this little reunion."

The shock she felt must have registered on her face. Nigel Whitledge quickly adding, "Do not be concerned, Detective Eames. Yes, it is known. But there will be no repercussions, official or otherwise - against anyone involved in breach of security of the classified documents. We have been in talks with your computer friends and we will be studying the methods used by them to access Kare..." Shaking his head he amended, "Hope's records."

Turning back to the interior of the room, he said, "Which is the perfect lead in to why I'm here and why I was having Hope's activities monitored."

Nigel addressed Alex again, "Please why don't you join us?" Nigel really was trying to put everyone at ease. "There's nothing to fear from anyone out there."

"No thanks, I..." she nodded, "I'm fine right here." Alex traded glances with Bobby whose only response was a slight quirk of his lips.

"As you wish." He said smiling at her. Motioning to the chairs and sofa around the room, "why don't the rest of us have a seat and I'll explain everything I can."

Hope began to make her way to the nearest chair, stopping when Bobby reached out and grabbed her elbow, gently steering her to the sofa. Sir Nigel was already taking his seat in a chair near one end of the sofa. Bobby settled himself in a chair opposite Sir Nigel, one that afforded him a straight on view of Sir Nigel but also a clear line of sight to both the front door and the window where Alex was keeping watch.

Bobby had intended to stay a silent observer, leaving it to Sir Nigel and Hope to handle this. When neither had spoken for several minutes, despite his best intentions, Bobby took matters into his own hands.

"Sir Nigel, how long has it been since you've seen Hope?"

"Just over 3 years, right Kar… sorry, Hope. It's difficult, I always think of you as Karen, not Hope."

"Always think of me as Hope? How often was that, Nigel?" Hope asked sarcastically.

Nonplussed, Nigel said, "Yes always…. I think of you often, especially since…"

"Since what? Since David died? Since you began having me watched?" As soon as he began to talk, she felt her rage grow.

He shook his head, realizing she didn't understand. "No, you… you don't understand. I see that," he paused, "that I've failed to convey to you how deeply we cared for …"

"Failed to convey?" Turning to Bobby with a look of disbelief on her face, she asked, "Did you hear that, 'failed to convey'? Failed to convey!" Hope could barely contain her shock. "David and I were together for three years before we got married, and we were married for two – neither you nor Evelyn ever showed any affection or any friendship towards me."

Bobby spoke up, "Um, look. There are obviously some personal issues that need to be resolved between you…" He watched as both Hope and Sir Nigel adopted an attitude of contrition. "… and that's for another time."

"The most important thing right now is answering the questions about Hope's safety. Why is she being watched? Who is watching her? "Is she really in danger or is this an overreaction to the death of your son?"

"Those are all very good questions, Detective Goren." Sir Nigel admitted. "Some are easily answered, some are not."


Agent James Richardson propped his feet up on the seat recently vacated by Sir Nigel as his partner watched the door of the house close behind him as he entered the house. Jamey turned a lazy gaze toward his partner.

"Tell me something Phillip…" That got his partner's attention; he preferred being addressed merely as Danforth. "What could possibly be so important about keeping tabs on this rather ordinary book editor?"

Dismissively Danforth-Hayes answered, "Other than that she's the Home Secretary's daughter-in-law? What does it matter anyway? We don't choose our assignments, we just carry them out." Just as we don't choose our partners.

"Well, I heard," Jamey leaned over conspiratorially, "that her husband, Sir Nigel's son was with the agency - one of us - so to speak. One night their car was blocked in on a narrow street and ambushed. She survived, he didn't."

"Jamey, I'm not interested in your gossip."

"It's not gossip. I have a contact... a lady friend in Records. And she was, shall we say, persuaded to answer several of my inquiries."

"And just why would you have inquiries in the first place?"

"Surely, even you must have wondered why we were suddenly assigned to follow this, dare I repeat, rather ordinary book editor?"

"Look Jamey, sure something instigated our increased efforts over the last week, if I were to guess, I'd say someone broke her cover. But as we've not been assigned to investigate that, but rather to shadow her and report back - which we did, I don't require any more reason or answer. I helped set up the network of informants passing on information about her activities, I've been a part of this case since the beginning, and since we've become partners, you have too. That until now, we haven't had to be involved until now is testament to how well the system we had in place worked."

He's certainly making this difficult. "And do you know why she even had a cover to break?"

With a sigh of defeat, Danforth-Hayes resigned himself to playing Jamey's game. When he was on about something the younger agent often proved very dogged and determined.

Dammit... he's actually piqued my curiosity. "No Jamey, I don't. Why don't you tell me?"

As I already told you her husband was assassinated - in Cairo. We know that her husband was David Whitledge, Sir Nigel's only son. They had gone out to dinner and on their way home they were ambushed. He died, she survived."

"Yes, so?"

"Well, she wasn't the only one to survive the attack..."

"Who else was there?"

"Their driver that night, Paul Harris." Jamey pointed out the window at the man leaning against the fender, smoking a cigarette. "The same Paul Harris who is now Sir Nigel Whitledge's personal driver. The same Paul Harris who rumor has it, was in a rather dicey scandal in Cairo - something to do with missing documents and about $100,000 dollars in cash - nothing was ever proved though but he was pulled out of the field to become one very over-qualified chauffeur. Paul Harris is or was, MI6 also."

Phillip Danforth-Hayes sat motionless as the possibilities and implications of what Jamey had just told him swirled and tried to coalesce.

Softly he muttered, "Well, that's quite... quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

"I think it's too much of one..." Jamey said as he brought his feet down and leaned for the door handle. "What do you say we find out what our driver thinks about the coincidence?"