Chapter 3

Friday, May 8

Mark watched Steve cycle through a gamut of emotions, far more than the situation called for - from worry, nervous tension and cold, stark fear all the way through grief - in the space of just a few minutes. ''What is it that has you so upset?'' he posed.

''I...don't know,'' Steve admitted. ''Like you said, I trained her...and so did Russ. Hell, even Oscar himself worked with her. And Jaime is intelligent - more than that, she's clever - I have no reason to feel this way. None!''

''Never invalidate your own feelings, Steve,'' Mark told him. ''There's always a cause somewhere...''

He was interrupted from finishing his thought when Becca began to wail almost mournfully from the nursery. Steve frowned. ''That's strange; she was sound asleep. I'll be right back.'' He returned a few minutes later with the still-crying child in his arms. ''Diaper's fine...no fever...'' Steve puzzled. Her refusal to be consoled only added to her father's growing sense of dread - his fear that something was wrong. He sat down with her in Jaime's chair and perhaps enough of her mother's scent lingered there because slowly, Becca began to quiet. Instead of humming to her (as was his habit), he sang the soft, lilting Irish Lullaby that was Jaime's choice to settle their daughter down...and Mama's chair and Mama's song worked their magic; Becca soon drifted off again.

Steve, however, was not so easily distracted. Was he just being irrational, he wondered, or was Jaime really in trouble?

''So...whose 'party' is this anyway?'' Jaime asked, not trying to lighten the mood (that was simply not possible) but trying to get some sort of response - any response - from the three men who stood with long-barreled weapons pointed directly at her. She surreptitiously pressed the 'Help' button hidden among the decorative studs on the belt Oscar had given her to wear (and although she'd protested at the time, since her datacom had been wrenched away she was grateful Oscar had insisted) Now she could only hope the cavalry would arrive before whoever (or whatever) these men appeared to be waiting for. Her intuition told her someone must've been summoned who wasn't already in the building; would her luck hold out long enough?

No...it would not. ''Jaime'', a voice chided from the door. Jaime gasped involuntarily at the man's identity.

''I gather you're surprised,'' her adversary chuckled. His guards stepped away but remained directly behind Jaime's chair, their still-unvoiced threat very, very real.

''Why...?'' Jaime asked, stunned at the man's identity. (She'd never have thought he had it in him.)

''I don't have to answer to you; from the looks of it, you've got some pretty fancy answering to do to me, though. On second thought, don't bother. I already know who sent you - and I know why. Judging from that wide-open safe door and the file in your hand, I know what you did. I also know how you did it. So I guess we have nothing left to say to each other, do we? Except this.'' He pulled his own weapon (equipped with a silencer) from inside his jacket and trained it on her head. ''Get on your knees, Jaime.''

''Do you really want that much of a mess on your carpet?'' Jaime asked, still hoping to stall for just enough time.

''It's not my carpet, so the 'mess' as you so eloquently put it, is not my concern Just one shot...and it's all over!''

Jaime looked up at him as she sat in the chair, his eyes glaring at her as she stared down the barrel of a weapon clearly intended to take her life...and she froze. She didn't throw her right arm at his weapon-arm, knocking it away. She didn't make the subsequent bolt for the door (which might've been suicidal given three other gunmen off to the side, but at least it would've been an action as opposed to freezing and waiting to be executed). She didn't even attempt to talk to him, to stall until help could arrive. Once she was looking down that barrel into his eyes...Jaime froze.

''Get on your knees, Jaime, NOW!'' he repeated. He nodded to his henchmen who forced her from the chair and into 'position' on the floor before backing away to allow their boss a clear shot.

Jaime never heard the gun go off...

Saturday, May 9

Steve would've been on his knees if the tiny room had the room to allow it. ''Please, Michael,'' he tried again, ''we're not asking you to do this for us. Do it for Jaime...please...''

Michael laughed derisively. ''For the woman who was instrumental in putting me away? As a favor before I go back behind bars like nothing ever happened? I hardly think so! No offers to bring to the table - just impassioned pleas from her loved ones? Yes, Goldman, I count you among her 'loved ones' - and we both know why. Anyhow, since you're offering nothing, let me tell you what I want, in order to turn Jaime from a hopeless case into a fully functioning human being again.''

''We're listening,'' Oscar confirmed. ''No guarantees, of course, but we'll do everything we can to -''

''Everything you can?'' Michael scoffed. ''No guarantees? Sorry, Goldman; not nearly good enough. Let's start again. These are the things that will happen...or I go back to my poker game, which I was winning handily, by the way. First - I perform the follow-up care while Jaime's still in the hospital, not just the initial surgery. I want her to know who saved her. I want her to...'' (A miniscule amount of humanity crept into Michael's voice, for just a fleeting second.) ''I want her to see that I'm not the monster she made me out to be. Of course I realize that her personal guard dog - i.e. her loving husband or his designates - will make certain I'm not alone with her. That's fine; I have no problem with that.''

Steve and Oscar nodded. It would irk them...but it was do-able. ''You've...got it,'' Steve allowed, swallowing back his pride along with his anger.

''Second -'' Michael went on, ''there will be NO guards following me around or even standing just outside the door. I will not allow myself to be demeaned or treated like some prisoner. Third - I'll need an office again. Not necessarily my old one and it doesn't have to be fancy; just a home base to use while I'm there. Because of course I don't intend to remain at National once my work there is finished. Which leads me to Number Four - and the most important. Freedom. I want out of this place - permanently - with all charges against me dropped and my record expunged.''

''Michael, even if I wanted to give that to you, there are channels to go through,'' Oscar told him. ''I don't want to make a promise I might not be able to keep.''

''Goldman, you and I both know you could probably part the Red Sea if you put your mind to it,'' Michael chuckled. Then his eyes grew dark and serious. ''There you have it; those are my conditions. Meet them, and I'll give you Jaime back, the way that you knew her. She'll be able to laugh again while she enjoys the simple and not-so-simple pleasures of life. And so will I. Her life - for my freedom. Take it or leave it.''