Papa Jack Chapter 1
Jackson Hunt hadn't been sure he'd ever make it back to the States. He hadn't expected to leave, especially not after his night with Martha Rodgers, but his cover at the U.N. was blown, and if he hadn't left New York, and the U.S. for that matter, both of them would have been in the bullseye of the Eastern Bloc's most deadly wet boy. He finally managed to take Volkov out, but it had taken almost nine months. When he returned to look in on Martha, he found her massively pregnant, and it didn't take much arithmetic for him to realize the child was his.
Hunt has little idea what to do now. Falling in love with Martha, even in a single night, was a breach of every rule an intelligence asset follows to stay alive. Any further relationship with her or their child would be impossible – wouldn't it? He's never had any difficulty figuring out his next move, but as he lurks on the fire escape outside Martha's hole-in-the-wall apartment, he does now.
Martha stares at the dingy walls that have surrounded her for much of the last year. It was bad enough that the man she thought would be her soulmate had vanished without a word, but things became a lot worse when she discovered she was pregnant. The ingenue roles that had paid her rent dried up too fast. If it hadn't been for the experimental play, "Now What?" she would have been pretty close to destitute. Still, she was paid barely enough to make the rent on the cheapest apartment in the East Village, and she has no idea how she'll be able to work while caring for a baby. She gasps as a contraction hits. The doctor at the free clinic assured her that the ones she'd been feeling for the last couple of weeks were only Braxton-Hicks, but this one is different. She remembers a line from a play about once-a-year lovers. "Indigestion doesn't make your eyes bug out." Neither had her Braxton-Hicks. But the contraction that she'd just experienced came damn close. She needs to get to the hospital – now. Damn it! She hopes she has cab fare.
Hunt never panics. No matter what weapons are trained on him or how close he is to the detonation of a bomb, he never panics. But there's a first time for everything, and the sight of Martha doubling over is the trigger. The baby is coming – their baby is coming. What the hell is he supposed to do now?"
He watches as Martha manages to flag down a cab and jumps into the car he picked up to use in the city. Without even thinking about it, he tails the cab to New York-Presbyterian hospital. As Martha is ushered inside, he decides to take a seat in the packed waiting room. Crowded as it is, he doubts anyone will ask him any questions. But he can only stay long enough to get his bearings. He needs to figure out the hospital's layout well enough to keep watch on Martha without being detected. Surveillance has been his bread and butter for much of his intelligence career, but before now, it's never been personal.
Hunt locates a stairwell where he can peep out on a blackboard that lists the patients and their status in the maternity ward. He winces slightly at the notations of cervical dilation. That's more information than he wants. But he can follow Martha's progress and know when the baby is born. That's a lot less complicated than most of his operations have been.
"Push!" the young doctor urges. "You're almost there!"
With abdominal muscles trained by every dance class she could ever afford, Martha bears down as hard as she can. She wants the baby out! She needs the baby out!
The boy emerges, needing no smack on his bottom. He's already squalling, protesting his eviction from his warm, dim home into the bright lights of the delivery room. The nurse takes him for a preliminary Apgar. "Nine!" She smiles. "Obviously, he has powerful lungs. Eight pounds, six ounces. That's a healthy weight." After carefully cleaning the infant, she wraps him in a blanket and presents him to Martha.
Martha thrusts her palms at the air, shaking her head. "I can't take care of a baby! Please! Take him away!"
The doctor and the nurse exchange glances. "I'll take him to the nursery," she says.
Hunt checks the board, drawing in a relieved breath at the notation of a healthy birth. He studies a short addition. "S.S. notified." S.S.? What the hell is S.S.? He opens the door a crack to eavesdrop on the conversation at the nurses' station. "Such a beautiful little boy. And she won't even look at him. She said to put him up for adoption. Social Services is overloaded, but they'll send someone as soon as they can to get the paperwork going." Nurse Preble sighs. "I'd take him myself if I could, but my husband just lost his job, and I'll be juggling as much overtime as I can get to feed the four we have. I hope Social Services can locate his family, or at least a loving home."
Hunt feels as if his chest was speared by lightning. Martha doesn't want their son? The nurse said something about family. Family would have first priority. He already used his contacts to check Martha's background. Her parents are dead, and she has no siblings – much like himself. In his case, the lack of personal connections has always been an advantage. He never had to worry about any being used against him. But if Martha hasn't any either, that means the baby will end up with strangers, maybe in foster care – or worse. For a child with two living parents, that's just not right. Still, what can he do about it?
Hunt mounts the staircase, taking it a floor up to the nursery. At least he can have a quick look at his son. Through the glass, he studies the cards on the bassinets with blue blankets. There, mouth wide open in an infant's objection to his new situation is Baby Rodgers. As Hunt stares at the newborn, he feels a strange tug he's never felt before in his life. That child is part of him, his son. No matter what it takes, Hunt won't let the boy be raised by strangers.
By tendering his resignation now, Hunt will be giving up any chance at a government pension – not that he'd ever expected to collect one. Men in his branch of company business don't live that long. He will have the hazard bonuses he's earned. That's something, at least. But he'll also always have eyes and ears on him to make sure he never spills any secrets or goes rogue. Not that he would. He is dedicated to his country. But strangely, right now, he's even more dedicated to his son.
Hunt has the resources he needs to create a paper trail proving he's Richard's – he'll call the boy Richard after his mentor – Richard's father. He's fluent in five languages and can read three more. In a city that's home to over 200 nationalities, that should land him decent employment. He's brought down dictators and uncovered caches of nuclear materials, but compared to taking on fatherhood, those jobs may have been a piece of cake. Still, whatever it takes, he's determined to see it through.