исчезновение
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Chloe did some research for me, on Agent Wilson. 27 years old, special forces training, also graduated from law school. It looks like he already solved some severe cases. She secretly logged the access IPs and times to the British servers on which she had found Audrey's death certificate and the missing employee files.
Two hours after talking to Wilson, there was already an access to these documents, from someone on the outside.
He's at least working on the case. I'm glad.
I haven't heard of Agent Wilson or anyone else from CIA so far. It's ten thirty in the morning and I just woke up from the most refreshing sleep that I've spent in the past months. This time, I even slept at the bed, unlike at the ship to Havana.
It's wonderful to lie here. No missed calls.
I just roll over and crawl back under the covers to sleep a few more hours. I should start to take better care of myself, eat more than only fast food that I buy at gas stations that I randomly stop at, should take a long shower and see if some of the superficial wounds that I still have need attention.
Later. Not now.
The phone is lying next to my head, in case Wilson calls.
Two hours later, I wake up again but there is still no missed call.
I take a shower and today I even get rid of the beard that I've been wearing ever since Havana. I don't need it any longer to maintain a cover story for a fake name. The CIA knows exactly where I am. There's no hiding now and also no need to.
For the first time in over four years I'm using my real identity again. It's a relief. Liberating. I don't have to care to take the right 'wrong' documents with me. I don't have to care about fitting a picture or remembering a story. If somebody asks, I'll just say my real name. This is something that I really missed, more than I ever admitted to myself.
It may not be a big change use a fake name - but it keeps nagging at one, because it means you're disloyal to yourself and to anyone around you.
I better call Wilson. He gave me a card with a number on it. That's only a router, not his personal number. But better than nothing.
Out of a pure habit I pack my things and get ready to go. Maybe I'll come back here, for one more night, maybe not. I have absolutely no plan. It'll depend on what Wilson has to say.
It's ringing twice. Then a female voice answers Law Enforcement Pennsylvania, good afternoon.
What a bush-league cover for the CIA. Jack Bauer for Agent Robert Wilson, I tell her.
I hear her type something into a computer. Five seconds later she's back on the phone. I'm sorry, I can't patch you through. Do you want to leave a message?
No, thanks. When will he be back?
This time she's quicker, telling me that she's not allowed to tell me.
The CIA has always been a strange bunch of people. I hang up and get to my car, but I have no idea where to go. Back to Washington? That makes just as little sense as staying here.
Finally I decide to drive over to the 'Law Enforcement Pennsylvania' office and see Wilson personally. They make me wait almost an hour and search me for weapons twice before they let me through, into a windowless room which inevitably reminds me of my cell in Russia. I feel the instant need to get out of here. I feel trapped.
As Wilson opens the door, it gets a little better. He sits down on the other chair across the plain metal table, greeting me officially, Captain Bauer
I don't have any rank any more, I tell him. He obviously read my file.
You're listed as an Army reserve officer.
I've just turned 54. I haven't been listed in years. That guy doesn't even have a file with him. But he has deep rings under his eyes. Must have really looked into my life and this case, probably the whole night long.
You were removed from from the list because of your crimes and got a presidential pardon. That automatically brought you back onto his list. Age limit is 55.
Not important. What did you find out?
I'm not allowed to tell you anything.
Why? I'm getting angry. I want to know what's going on.
You're not a privy, you're just a witness, he says, and sighs.
Something is not right, I can feel it.
We look into each other's eyes, then he leans over the table, I do, too.
Langley took over. They pulled the case away, this station is no longer involved. You should leave.
I should leave. This was no threat - it sounded more like an honest advice, given by somebody who means it well.
We're both leaning towards each other, speaking under our breath.
Is there anything you can tell me?
He shakes his head. No. Try to stay out of it. Again, this is no threat. I see it in his eyes.
Wilson stands up and opens the door for me, officially signaling me to get the hell out.
That's exactly what I do.
I head back to the car that I rented down in Florida and start driving. In the beginning I didn't even know where to go, at least not until the first road sign, which says Interstate 76 New York / Washington DC.
As soon as I'm on the highway, I call Chloe, telling her about Langley and the things Wilson told me. An hour later she calls me back, to confirm it. A guy named Charles Rodgerson ordered him to stop working at the case and hand it over to Langley. That means they take it seriously.
Langley is on my way.
In the moment in which I see the street sign, I pull off the interstate. What am I doing here? Should I really go there, to the front door, asking for Charles Rodgerson? No. Bad idea. I told Wilson everything I knew and there's nothing that I could tell Rodgerson. I have to give him some time to draw his own conclusions and just let him do his work.
It's four p.m. now.
I park the car and for a while, I sit here and wonder what I should do now. I can even see the Langley building from this place. But I can't go there now. There's nothing that I could change.
Finally, I decide to head back to Washington. I'll find a place there and lay low for a few days, letting Chloe watch them from the distance.
She soon tells me that also the people from Langley tapped into her access count: they have also accessed the documents about Audrey on the British servers.
I buy a rose again and repeat what I already did yesterday. This time, it's already dark when I arrive at Arlington. I'm the only one there, as I walk over to her grave. The rose that I brought yesterday has lost its beauty. The flower head has faded and lost a few of its petals. I kneel down and replace it with a new one.
I wonder, what Heller will think when he stops by tomorrow morning. Most likely nothing, in his condition. If the Secret Service is paying attention, probably they'll notice that ever since I'm back in town, there's a rose on her grave. But I guess they're not paying attention to those things.
I leave the cemetery before the guards throw me out when it closes its doors for the night. Its already dark when I walk back to my car and hit the road again. I'll find a motel room somewhere down in Alexandria.
I'm driving around quite aimlessly. When I stop at a gas station I already break my own resolution and guzzle myself with fast food again. That's not exactly the thing I'd need to get back in shape and give my body back what it lost over the course of past months. But it's damn delicious and greasy burgers and french fries have an almost magnetic pull when you only lived off awful rice and dry bread for half a year.
As I stood there, by the car, eating, I should have looked around - at least back. Then I would have probably seen the car that was following me - most likely ever since Arlington.
I spot it too late. I thought myself safe-
but exactly where the road down to Alexandria passes through a forest, the other car hits me from behind, sending me over the edge of the road, down a little slope, into the ditch.
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