Chapter 29: Old Frenemies

Grand Junction, Iowa

Raptly focused on her computer screen Grace Van Pelt was startled by the kiss on the back of her neck. She turned to be met by an embrace and passionate kiss from her husband.

When they separated, "You've been at it all day, Grace. How about some together time before your folks get back?"

Apologetic, "Sorry, Babe. Making progress with Bertram's drive. Got half the names. -The kids?"

"taylor's down for the night. Finished reading to Ben. Dogs are fed and out."

She glanced back at the screen then scrunched her nose, tired of grinding away. "Heck," she muttered. Aloud, "Go upstairs and, uh, get ready. There in five."

"Ready now," he said with a teasing caress. "Be quick." He walked into the living room.

Glass shattered. A body thudded on the floor.

"Wayne!"

An hour earlier a black clad figure wove quietly through the open woods surrounding the house.

He'd done his reconnaissance. Every night the older couple left and didn't return for several hours. The dogs followed and circled but never barked, never attacked. Just to be sure, tonight he left meat laced with poison near the road into the hundred acre property. Unhurried, he skirted the tree line for cover. Once settled he shed night vision goggles and readied his sniper rifle. Inside lights made it perfect. Even with closed drapes, figures stood out when they passed in front of a lamp. Hollow-points guaranteed that any shot hitting the torso would be lethal. The plan was simple. Eliminate the adults. Ignore or kill the kids (the boy might be old enough to ID him). Grab the computer and vanish before the parents returned. Then the Association would focus on the others – three from the defunct SCU and Abbott, who hadn't died after all.

He raised his rifle. The scope made it seem like he was a few feet from the window. A tall shadow sharpened as the figure neared the lamp. Good. Him first. He gently squeezed the trigger and–

-SCREAMED as a vise clamped down on his arm. Bones crunched. The arm bent at an impossible angle as 155 pounds of mastiff all but tore it off. A hurtling 140 pounds toppled him from the opposite direction. His left shoulder was slowly crushed as he struggled. The vise tightened till he stopped moving, pinned from two sides and wracked with pain. His body muffled the growls so only his screams and moans could be heard. They hunkered down, deadly jaws clamped to his body, waiting to be relieved of their prisoner.

"Stay down!" Rigsby shouted, glass shards sparkling on the planked floor around him.

"Are you–"

"Fine." He scrambled to the closet that housed the gun safe, grateful for his jeans, shoes and long-sleeves. Rigsby got their weapons and slid one to his wife. "Protect the kids. I'm going out," not waiting for her reply. He crouched near the floor and pulled the lamp plug. The house plunged into darkness and he slipped out the back door.

The quarter moon was hidden behind clouds and night swallowed the dim glow that made it through. Rigsby checked the outside of the house, found no one. He sprinted to the forest and ducked a few feet into the trees for cover. C'mon, c'mon, where are you, you bastard? He heard a noise and made his way there. Damn, where are the dogs? Oh! The faint gleam revealed the rifle barrel. He tossed it several feet behind himself.

"Copper: Hunt!" he ordered in a whisper, reinforcing the command with a hand signal. The dog instantly released her grip and dashed off into the darkness. "How many are there?" he asked the prone body in a whisper.

The man groaned but didn't answer.

Rigsby clamped his hand over the assassin's mouth and shook him, louder groans muffled. "Dammit, how many are there?" He cautiously moved his hand.

The man grimaced, pain and hate plain in his voice. "Just me."

"Who sent you?"

"Fuck you."

Rigsby tore a sleeve off the man's shirt and gagged him. He used the belt to bind his upper arms to his sides, ignoring the muffled screams of pain at the rough handling. The man's hands were useless after the dogs' mauling. A four-legged shape loomed out of the darkness. Rigsby affectionately rubbed her head. "Good dog!" No one else then. Copper would have barked or disabled any stranger found after that command. Good.

He put his handgun in a pocket and picked up the rifle. He stood and dragged the man to his feet. In a low growl, "We're going to the house. Run and the dogs will kill you." To Copper and Steel, "Guard." Rigsby shoved the man forward. The massive animals followed closely, snarling every time the attacker stumbled. They had done their job - attacking when a stranger extended his arm with a handgun or rifle or threatened family close up.

"Grace, all clear," Rigsby called though the shattered window. He flicked the lights on as he entered.

Van Pelt made her way down the staircase, gun at the ready.

"The kids?"

"Still asleep. –I'll get my cuffs."

Rigsby sat his prisoner down in a sturdy kitchen chair, cuffed him to the armrests and tied his legs to the chair legs. He removed the gag.

"Who are you?"

"My partners will finish the job if I don't meet up."

Calmly, "Liar. There'd be more than one if anyone else was around. You're Blake. Why come after us?" The man said nothing. He gasped when Rigsby nudged his broken arm with his hand. Behind the prisoner Van Pelt frowned, not wanting the kids to wake. Forcefully. "Name and reason."

Grimacing with pain the man spat out, "John Smith." Rigsby snorted. "You have something we want."

"Which is?"

He answered when Rigsby moved to jar his arm again. "The drive. Bertram's drive."

"Okay." Rigsby gagged him again. "Grace, get some towels and tape, he's bleeding all over the place. I'm gonna call and see what Cho wants-"

Van Pelt's cell interrupted him. "Yes?" she answered walking into the office so the captive couldn't hear.

"You sonofabitch! You try to kill us then call to gloat?" Alarmed at her furious tone Rigsby followed to hear. He paused in the doorway so he could still watch their prisoner. She glanced at her husband and put it on speaker, volume turned down. She turned and fumbled with her computer, which was still on.

A cultured voice with a British accent replied. Taken aback, "My dear girl! I assure you I sent no one. –Are you all right?"

Mastering her anger, "What do you want?"

Soothingly, "A small request among ... friends. A meeting planned with a mutual friend was rudely interrupted. I would be ever so grateful if you'd pass along a message."

Cho had warned Rigsby Stiles might call. Calmly, "Tell me and I will."

"My driver will pick him and his lovely companion up tomorrow. They should walk northwest on Connecticut Avenue from the White House at eleven."

More warmly, "I'll pass it along. I, uh, gather you're feeling better?"

Surprised, "Yes, thank you for asking. A trip abroad does wonders for one's health."

She glanced at her computer screen. Rigsby frowned at her, expression a question. "I'm glad. The last time we met you seemed ... under the weather. And then there was that – that problem in Malibu, I heard."

"My dear, I appreciate your concern, but I really must be going. Perhaps our friend can fill you in after we meet. Have a pleasant evening," and he was gone.

Van Pelt pumped her arm. "Got it!" she said fiercely.

"Got what? That was–" he glanced toward the kitchen and lowered his voice, "–Stiles. Why the fake concern?"

She looked sharply at him, eyes gleaming. "He was using a burner phone in DC."

"And?"

She sat and keyed a few commands. "And, " she looked up, exultant, "that call was from the Guyana Embassy in DC." She smiled, "Boss and Jane might want to know."

He grinned, always appreciative of his smart, capable wife, "Nice! –Let me find out what Cho wants to do with him," he nodded toward their captive, "then I guess we should clean up."

After Cho briefed Abbott about the attack, Abbott arranged for agents from the Des Moines FBI office to pick up the prisoner. He'd be patched up and transferred to Austin for questioning. Van Pelt cleaned up the glass while Rigsby taped plastic over the broken window. FBI agents picked up the assassin barely a half hour before her parents returned.

The senior Van Pelt's were disturbed at finding three racoons and a 'possum dead at the driveway entrance and expressed their relief that the trained dogs would eat only from their bowls. They were shocked and frightened after learning of the attack. Wayne and Grace offered to leave rather than risk more attacks, but her parents firmly refused. There was no guarantee they wouldn't be in danger regardless. Instead, the four agreed to alert the county sheriff and have the dogs patrol day and night. They'd all be armed and either Grace or Wayne would accompany the senior Van Pelts any time they left the property. They turned in around midnight.

Grace Van Pelt lay awake for hours. She shuddered thinking about the night's events and her husband instinctively tightened his embrace without waking. She thanked God again for keeping them safe and prayed they would continue to be protected. And thank heavens Jane figured out about the break-ins so we were forewarned. Bitterly, At least some good came from Craig. Wouldn't have gotten the dogs without-, she blinked back tears of loss and shame and anger, -without learning he was Red John's mole. For sure they wouldn't be professionally trained... She drifted off, comforted knowing the huge, loyal dogs guarded them all.

Washington, DC

Lisbon turned in a circle, inspecting herself in the full-length hotel mirror. "You really think new clothes were essential?" The pantsuit was severely cut and suitable to law enforcement, but she silently conceded she'd never looked better. The cut and material were better than anything she'd ever worn. The emerald silk blouse did wonderful things for her eyes and complexion.

He buttoned his vest and donned the jacket. "Highly desirable. We need to look capable of delivering whatever's necessary for this deal."

She snorted softly. "Like Bret Stiles would be taken in by mind games." She admitted to herself Jane looked the part in the new clothes he'd bought post-detention. Ample sleep, exercise during detention, less worry and, she blinked at the thought, maybe even the sex had him back to alpha male drop dead gorgeous. She tuned back into the conversation.

Mildly, "First impressions happen far faster than conscious thought. Even for Stiles." He looked her over appreciatively, "You look lovely."

She colored slightly but only grumbled, "At least you weren't pushing a dress this time." She picked up her bag but before she reached the door he caught her arm and turned her for a kiss.

He murmured, "Unnecessary. I'm not deprived of seeing your legs these days." She lightly whapped his arm and pulled free.

"C'mon. Coffee before we meet. And tea," she added for his benefit.

They sipped their beverages in the coffee shop, stalling till it was time to leave.

"Why go to the embassy instead of following the message?"

Absently, "If he's there, gets him off balance."

"And if he isn't?"

"No harm done. We'll just walk down Connecticut as directed."

Ordinarily she disliked one-upmanship games, but bowed to Jane's instincts. "How do you think it'll go?"

Smiling, "Have no idea." At her scowl, "Lighten up, Lisbon. We've done this hundreds of times. It's only Bret Stiles."

"Only." She sipped her coffee. "Why tell Cho not to pass along those names from Grace?"

"Leverage. Stiles would undoubtedly deliver some Blake leaders. We'll get them all with a way to keep him honest."

Lisbon dismissed that with a huff. "Stiles and honesty. Oxymoron." As nervous as Jane was relaxed, she tried another tack, "What's the biggest risk to this working?"

Jane sipped his tea. "Jason Cooper and Abbott."

"–Because?"

"If Cooper struck a deal with Abbott, Stiles wouldn't have anything to offer."

"And we care – why?"

"At the top of his game, Stiles knows everything about Visualize, ten steps ahead of Cooper. You always want the most capable man across the table."

"What if he isn't sharp any more? He was really sick-"

Jane rolled his eyes then leaned over and interrupted her with a kiss. "Shhh. We'll know in an hour."

Lisbon sighed. She knew Jane excelled at this stuff. She was just having a hard time feeling that way.

Reading her, he said softly, "Relax, woman. Just a conversation with an old acquaintance." She gave him a dour look, but couldn't quite suppress a smile.

Guyana Embassy, Washington DC

The limo Jane hired pulled up in front of the stately brick building in the heart of DC. The driver opened Jane's door, next Lisbon's, and then waited while they rang the bell.

"Patrick Jane and Agent Lisbon to see Mr. Stiles, please," Jane politely asked the servant who answered.

"One moment, sir."

Jane's eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. Looks like Van Pelt's tip is good.

After several minutes, "This way, please."

Jane waved the limo driver to leave and entered behind Lisbon. They were shown to a library, all polished walnut, gilded leather-bound books, cast decorative plaster, and rich leather furniture.

Bret Stiles rose to greet them. A glance showed he had lost the slight jaundiced cast and had regained the weight dropped two years earlier.

"Patrick, my bo– friend. And the lovely Agent Lisbon. Welcome." He motioned for them to be seated and took a chair opposite. Chidingly, "I didn't expect you to be early."

Jane smiled, "We were in the neighborhood."

Stiles summoned a servant with a flick of his index finger. "Coffee, Agent? And tea, I presume."

"Black, thank you."

Jane just nodded.

Stiles observed them with a faint smile. Though he let the silence drag on, neither visitor evinced the slightest discomfort. Their beverages and tea cakes were served and the servant left, closing the door behind. Finally, "Though I am delighted to see old friends, I must say you caused me and my followers grievous difficulties. I almost declined to meet."

"We appreciate your forbearance. And the bother of tracking down former colleagues to arrange a second meeting."

Stiles half smiled at being called out. He cleared his throat. "So we meet at your request, Patrick."

"You're looking well, Bret. Death – or is it resurrection? – agrees with you."

"Word of my demise was very premature." He stirred his tea then added,"I was disappointed by your hospitality at Malibu. No way to treat guests, my friend."

Jane smiled. "It was your ... ally who disrupted a very illuminating meeting." Eyes cold, "You protected him, restrained my impulse to act as I recall."

Stiles sipped his tea. Dryly, "Well, 'ally' definitely overstates that relationship." He frowned slightly and looked from Jane to Lisbon. "I gather congratulations are in order. If rumor is correct, you accomplished your goal in a ... shockingly personal way." He glanced at Lisbon. "And you were denied the opportunity to deal with Sheriff McAllister lawfully, Agent. And yet – here you sit with Patrick."

Surprised at the blatant attempt to divide them, she smiled sweetly, "I'm perfectly satisfied justice was served, Mr. Stiles. Perhaps you've heard we're both with the FBI now. Things have a way of working out." Jane smiled beside her.

Stiles looked pointedly at her hair – blonde and short, and then Jane's – fawn and clipped. "Unless Brother Cooper was mistaken, you were recently avoiding the very law enforcement organization which employs you. Curious."

Lisbon answered smoothly, "Minor misunderstanding. Now resolved."

"And yet Agent Abbott rudely disrupted the meeting we planned yesterday."

Jane responded, "Which is why we're meeting today. Dennis Abbott represents a bureaucratic organization that tends to be inflexible and unimaginative. I was hired to mitigate those flaws. – Which brings us back to why we are here."

"Do go on. I'm hanging on every word."

"Visualize has a vermin problem. The organization you built from scratch over 40 years has been overtaken and diverted to new and dangerous purposes." Jane took a tea cake and delicately bit off a tiny piece. "Or am I wrong?"

"Certain undesirable elements have entered Visualize," Stiles conceded.

When Stiles stopped, Jane picked up the narrative, "Which presents a mutually beneficial opportunity. The elements destroying your organization are the very ones we would like to identify and arrest."

"Who, pray tell, is 'we' in this discussion?"

Jane theatrically sighed. "We personally find Blake's continued existence inconvenient-"

"-So I understand from sweet Grace," Stiles murmured.

"-And having eliminated the lower levels of Blake, the FBI now wants the leaders."

Heartily, "A bold and ambitious goal! The FBI's vigilance is most comforting to us citizens." Lisbon caught herself before rolling her eyes at his sarcasm.

Jane acquiesced to having to make the first offer. "You can help eliminate that blight."

"But that wouldn't help me at all." Heatedly, "Regrettably, I am immured in this gracious embassy because of your organization's persecution."

"Which can be changed. Canceled."

"My dear Patrick, how can I possibly believe you when your own supervisor assaulted the limousine yesterday?"

"Tell me what it would take and I'll arrange it."

Stiles's gaze sharpened. Carefully, "A letter from the US Attorney General would be needed absolving me and Visualize of culpability for any criminal acts to date. Only the criminals who seized Visualize would be charged and prosecuted. Not my organization. Not me."

Jane leaned back and chuckled. "Ah, Bret. 'Bold and ambitious.'" He sighed. "It's reasonable to focus on those responsible for recent crimes. A blanket pass for 40 years is a bit much."

Stiles smiled in return. "Then I guess you'll have to employ your vaunted skills to make that happen."

"Or we could see if Jason Cooper might like to earn his freedom." Lisbon almost missed the nanosecond when Stiles's eyes widened.

Irritation bleeding through the affability, "He is loyal – extremely loyal."

"'I am his highness's dog at Kew; / Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?'"

"Though unkind to Brother Cooper, the sentiment is accurate. I am confident Jason has no interest in dealing with the FBI."

Jane leaned forward again and lifted his cup. "There were no charges leveled against Visualize before Blake's rise. I would think absolution for the Blake years would suffice."

"Your dogmatic Agent Abbott is investigating spurious charges from nearly 40 years ago. I prefer not to spend years debunking those charges."

Casually, "Gale Bertram's conniving, underhanded personality may have redeemed him in the end. He left a computer record of Blake leaders, you know."

"I heard rumors to that effect."

"How many Blake leaders are there, Bret?"

"I'm aware of around 200."

Jane smiled engagingly. "See? Perfect reason to collaborate. Bertram's drive lists fewer than that. Think of all the Blake vermin the FBI will miss unless we can agree."

Lisbon saw that Stiles wasn't ready to buy in. She threw out a question to give him time. "Mr. Stiles–"

"–'Bret,' please."

"–what did happen during the last two years? How did Blake become so ... entrenched?"

He and Jane relaxed and regrouped, appreciating her diversion. Stiles poured himself more tea. "The Malibu contretemps complicated my health issues which were, sadly, dire.' Brightly, "A trip abroad proved most healthful." He smiled, "Our dedicated FDA scientists are tireless in protecting the efficacy of our drugs and the sanctity of their methodologies. They nearly protected me to death! Fortunately, European pharmaceutical research had a cure for my particular illness. –Miracle drug, really." He paused, gaze unfocused, then continued with a slight shake. "Unfortunately, my illness had ravaged my liver, necessitating a sojourn in India."

Puzzled, Jane interjected, "India provides affluent foreigners excellent medical care, but I never heard it was better than the US."

Stiles took a deep breath. "Not the care. The transplant opportunities."

Horrified, Lisbon blurted, "You bought a liver?!"

"Come, my dear, naivete does not suit you. You of all people wouldn't deny a man of faith the opportunity to serve his God?" Enjoying her appalled silence, he continued with a dismissive flick of his wrist, "Never fear. The liver is the only organ that regenerates. My devout follower is completely recovered. And he is immeasurably better off materially, I might add, for serving his God."

Lisbon blinked and exhaled, relief matched and exceeded by revulsion.

Jane asked, "That required two years?"

"No, not that alone. I didn't fancy the tedium of taking immunosuppressant drugs. Great strides have been made in tissue engineering. Courtesy of such breakthroughs - and an enormous donation I might add – a replacement was grown from my own liver cells. Et voila! I am again in perfect health." He smiled at Lisbon, baiting her unmercifully. "A miracle, really."

Jane ventured, "So despite Brother Cooper's best efforts, Blake took control of Visualize while you were ... distracted. The embezzlement charges were fabricated–"

"–Of course."

"–And you're in this embassy because of legal problems Blake caused Visualize." Bluntly, "What will you do if you can purge Blake from Visualize?"

Stiles expression was tinged with wistfulness. "Visualize has been built, is a thriving religious organization." He ignored Lisbon's soft snort. "Visualize can succeed indefinitely without running afoul of laws. I fancy the good it can do." He looked at Jane with uncharacteristic sincerity. "No matter what you think of Visualize – or me, – thousands who were addicted, dysfunctional, have been saved." With iron determination, "I intend to get my organization back from the greedy Blake bastards."

Jane and Lisbon sat stunned for a moment. Jane finally said, "Give us the Blake names and you will."

Clipped, "Give me a letter from the AG absolving me and Visualize for the period from McAllister's murder till now. And pardon Jason Cooper."

"Then I need something more. Someone above Abbott is Blake. I need that name and I need Abbott to move up."

"And the trumped up charges from decades ago?"

"I'll see what I can do."

The three sat quietly for a moment, tension melting at the tentative agreement. Jane and Lisbon rose. "Bret, it's been a pleasure. How long will it take to give me the names once I arrange for the AG's letter?"

"A week. With Cooper's help."

"I'll be in touch."

Jane and Stiles shook hands. Lisbon gracefully sidestepped by heading toward the door.

"Do you require transportation?"

"It's a beautiful day. We'll enjoy the stroll," Jane replied.

The embassy door closed behind them. Jane gave a deep sigh of relief. Lisbon squeezed his arm in comfort and congratulations then slid her hand down and laced fingers with his. Jane made it look easy, but it wasn't. Even for him.

Now all they had to do was convince Abbott.