Steve leaned low in his car seat and did his best to keep out of sight of the people entering and exiting the ISA field office. He had a hooded sweatshirt under his leather jacket and he had pulled the hood up so that it covered his hair and concealed his eye-patch. Enough ISA agents in Salem knew Steve and would recognize him on sight.
He wondered if John or Shane should be doing this surveillance, but then shook his head. They had even more connections with the ISA than Steve. Silently, he had to agree with Shane that this surveillance job was probably best done by Steve.
Still, Steve would have preferred to be with Kayla. Although she had seemed to recover from her illness by the time she left the apartment for the Trauma Center, he still wanted to make sure she was all right. He had called her four times during the day until finally, exasperated at him, Kayla had said she loved him, but she really did not need a nanny. Knowing not to push, Steve had called Shane and agreed to complete the surveillance that afternoon.
Actually, it had been a surprise when Shane and John had called Steve a few days earlier and told him that he they would let him work with them. Steve had expected more push-back - from Shane especially - but they seemed open to his help.
Of course, Shane had laid down some ground rules. Follow my orders. Stick to the plan. Don't go off half-cocked. All typically Donovan-type instructions. And he had made Steve swear he would do as he was told.
Still, Steve had to grudgingly admire Shane's plan. Breaking into the ISA field office took balls, and it had come as a surprise to hear that Shane had done it before - at the D.C. headquarters. He and John had watched as Shane diagrammed the field office, outlined their entrance and exit strategy, and even provided details on the ISA's interior security.
"There's just one problem," Shane had said. "We still need a password to access the ISA computer."
They had spent a couple of days going through some options. Roman might have access to the ISA computers, but Shane was convinced his clearance was not high enough to give them everything the ISA had on Lawrence Alamain. They also debated using a password from Shane's old partner, Miss Peach. He knew her password from when they had worked together and figured that, even if she had changed it, he could guess what she would have used. The flaw in that strategy was that she was deep undercover somewhere; if the ISA computer in Salem was accessed with her name and password, it would trigger alarms.
"No," Shane said. "We need to get the field director's password."
The only question was how. John had snuck into the man's house the night before to search for something that might give them a clue, but had come up empty. Shane had racked his brain for all the information he could recall on the field director, but ultimately said he would only be guessing.
So that left it up to Steve, who had been tasked with following the man in the hope they could find a weakness. According to Shane, the field director - a guy named Benson - was a stuffed shirt. He was a pencil-pusher, who had never actually been out in the field and who would fold under pressure.
That made the job seem easy to Steve. "So we just take him into an alley and beat on him until he gives us his password." At Shane's scowl, Steve rolled his eyes. "Now you're going to be all noble about some guy who's helped frame you? Seriously, dude, you're trial's in two weeks."
"I'm not going to assault the man," Shane had said.
"You had no problem rousting me for information way back when," Steve shot back.
Shane had shaken his head. "You were a punk working for drug dealers who tried to kill Pete and Melissa, and I thought you'd done something nefarious to Bo and Hope. Benson's a spineless toad, but he's not a criminal."
The reminder of his life before Kayla had silenced Steve, but John had frowned slightly. "It may come to that, partner. We don't have much time."
None of them spoke for awhile. Shane had pursed his lips and looked down at the floor, apparently deep in thought. John had shifted impatiently from side to side. Steve had wanted to argue that they couldn't let Alamain drop his toxin on Salem because Shane wanted to be noble, but before he could say anything, Shane looked up at them.
"I've got an idea. We won't beat him, but we'll make him think we're that desperate." Shane had then explained how he had scared Johnny Corelli into revealing where Ernesto Toscano's secret hideout in Italy was. Steve actually had been impressed. Dangling the dude over the Salem River in the tunnels beneath Wings and making him think he was about to suffer a fatal drop into the river had been a stroke of genius. It worked on Corelli; it could make Benson break.
"So we just nab this Benson guy and drag him to the tunnels?" Steve asked. "Seems easy enough."
Except they needed a way to get to the tunnels. The easiest access to the tunnels was Wings, but it closed late and they could hardly drag the field director through a crowded restaurant. So Shane had made arrangements with Julie Williams to let them into the restaurant after hours - "no questions asked" - and Steve had been dispatched to track Benson after work so they could take him later in the night.
"Speak of the devil," Steve said aloud. Across the street, stepping out of door of the ISA field office to the parking lot was the field director.
Steve waited patiently for the man to climb into his Buick. As he pulled out of the lot, Steve started his car and began to follow a discrete distance behind. They traveled for a few blocks and, then, to Steve's surprise, the Buick did not turn in the direction of the field director's house, but instead veered at a fork in the road toward the outskirts of Salem.
Maybe he suspects he's being followed, Steve thought, but he had no choice to turn the same direction. He could see the Buick in the distance, now two blocks ahead. Steve hit the accelerator to close the distance, but still kept a block behind his quarry.
The Buick turned down the road toward the Salem airport. Where's he going? Steve had not seen any luggage and John had not mentioned seeing any sign of the man going on a trip. But if he was, that could doom their only chance of getting a password.
Steve couldn't let that happen. If he had to take the man out on his own, he would. In his mind, he started to form a plan, but then stopped. He had promised Shane he would not go off on his own and would do as ordered. His instinct told him to jump, but he had given his word.
"Damn it, Donovan," Steve muttered under his breath. He hit the steering wheel in frustration, but forced himself to go against his instincts and just continued to follow. If the director got on a plane, this entire plan was dead in the water.
Steve breathed a sigh of relief a few minutes later when Benson drove past the airport entrance, but was then even more baffled. There was nothing down this way except for a few cargo storage places and some cheap airport motels. What was the man doing out here?
When the Buick took a sharp turn into the parking lot of the Airport Lodge, Steve got his answer. To avoid detection, he drove past the motel before making a u-turn and doubling-back. He parked across the street and watched Benson check himself in the side-mirror of his car, adjust his tie, and smooth his hair. He was clearly preoccupied and did not notice that he was being watched as he went to the front desk.
He emerged a few minutes later, key in hand, but did not head to one of the doors that ran the length of the motel.
He's waiting for someone, Steve said to himself. But for what? His mind ran through several scenarios involving ISA corruption.
Steve was still running through some possibilities when a white Ford pulled into the lot and parked next to the Buick. It took a moment, but then Steve got a clear look at the driver.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said aloud, as he watched the woman step out of the car. She shook her shoulder-length, brown hair, pulled her tight leather jacket around her, and stepped carefully, lest her three-inch heels splash mud onto her skin-tight jeans.
Across the street, Rachel Knight gave Benson a come-hither smile. He was the picture of self-delusion as he sauntered toward her. He acted like the cock-of-the-walk, obviously clueless that she was using him. Benson kissed her, then settled his hand on her ass, and steered her to one of the motel room doors.
Once the door closed, Steve turned on the car and gunned the engine. He turned into the parking lot and pulled up in front of a payphone. An instant later, he was on the phone with Shane and John.
Steve quickly gave his report. They did not need any further information to know what Steve was thinking. They all had the same idea.
On the other end of the phone, Steve got his new instructions. "Stay where you are," Shane said. "We'll be there in ten minutes."