Commitment (31 page)

Tuesday, January 6
^th

“I thought this was taken care of!”

Assistant FBI Director Joshua Tate flinched at the thunderous echo in his ear. He had taken great caution and accepted even greater risk in entering this building while the men in the room below him were here. This obscure warehouse served as inter-agency headquarters. It served as a window into a world that he had grown to view as soulless in its motivations. Loyalty, dedication, service, duty, a calling; these were the catch phrases of those appointed to recruit men and women into this ‘noble’ life. They were no better than two-bit, used car salesmen in his opinion. He had left a life protecting his community for the opportunity to serve an even greater purpose. Now, he understood. Purpose was questionable. Loyalty was flexible. Duty was mainly evident in the service to one’s ascent up the ladder; a ladder that had little to do with any noble cause and everything to do with power. He sighed in disappointment as he listened to the continuing conversation.

“It’s only a temporary setback. Relax,” another man’s voice responded.

“Of course, it is,” the older man answered. “Like what? First you screw up O’Brien’s accident…he should have been removed from this long ago!”

“I did not arrange that. Claire….”

“I know who arranged it. Claire did what she was told. I want to know why he survived. That’s what I want to know, Agent Brady. Why did he survive? You have a record of failure. A serious record of failure. Jesus Christ! Thank God Agent Krause found his way to Mrs. O’Brien’s that day. Otherwise, we’d probably still be dealing with Carl Fisher and one mightily pissed off Agent Toles. I want to know….How the hell did John survive that shot as long as he did? Were my instructions not clear enough for you?”

Agent Brady felt his blood pressure rising steadily. “He moved.”

“He moved? Fabulous. That movement bought him time. If I hadn’t intervened afterward it might have bought him a second chance. Now we have O’Brien shifting funds. I want him gone. Gone; out of the picture. I don’t need him firing up Alex and Krause. Christ only knows where Callier and the admiral fall in all of this. I want O’Brien out of the way; permanently.”

“He’ll go down. Investigations take time,” Brady said flatly. “You know that.”

“Fix it. I don’t care how you fix it. Just fix it now. Dimitri has made new plans. I want him out of commission before that. No more mistakes, Stephen,” the voice warned.

Tate turned off the recorder and threw his head back in disbelief. “Christ, John. You were right. All along, you were right. He was at every turn,” Tate sighed. He swallowed hard and placed what he knew would be the most difficult call of his life. “We need to meet,” he said. “No. I will come to you…..No, this is something you both need to hear…..Fine….No. We keep Agent Fallon on Claire. She’s still the wildcard…..I’ll see you
soon,” he said. Tate ran his hand over his head repeatedly. He would need to wait and ensure his targets had left the premises before making his presence known. “Now what?” he muttered.

Thursday, January 8
^th

“Dylan?” Cassidy called out. Dylan had been begging to go outside since he woke up. It was the first heavy snowfall of the winter, and that meant no school. Cassidy had cajoled her son into a quiet morning with the promise that they would get outside before lunchtime. “Hey…I thought you wanted to go outside in the snow?” Cassidy asked as she entered the family room.

Dylan was sitting completely still, staring at the television. Cassidy followed her son’s gaze and her heart stopped. She grabbed the remote, clicked the off button and placed herself squarely in front of her son. “Dylan,” she called to him softly. Dylan’s eyes moved in a painfully slow motion to meet his mother’s gaze. The fear behind his expression was unmistakable, and Cassidy immediately grasped both his arms in comforting reassurance. “Dylan, sweetheart…look at me; okay?” He complied, his lip noticeably quivering. “I’m sorry you had to see that, sweetheart.”

“He hurt her,” was Dylan’s hushed response.

Cassidy bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes momentarily before placing her hands on either side of Dylan’s small face and looking directly into his eyes. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“He did,” Dylan repeated. “Why did he?” he asked as his tears began to surface.

Cassidy moved beside him and pulled him into her lap. “Oh, Dylan. I don’t know why people hurt one another. I wish I could tell you. I don’t have that answer.”

“She died,” Dylan whispered.

Cassidy fought the urge to be sick. She could feel the pain pouring off of Dylan in waves. She and Alex had tried to prepare
Dylan for the news he might see. As she sat holding him now, she realized there was no way to prepare him for the images he would inevitably confront. No matter what had come to pass, he had spent seven years calling the man he just saw in handcuffs ‘Daddy’. How could anyone explain to a seven-year-old the depths of ugliness that a human heart can hold? She rocked him gently for a moment, occasionally kissing his head and stroking his hair. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I love you so much, Dylan.”

“Mom?” he asked.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I hate him,” Dylan said harshly.

Cassidy sighed. “Dylan….”

“I do!” Dylan yelled as his tears erupted. “He’s bad….he’s a bad,” Dylan’s outburst turned rapidly to hysterical crying and Cassidy was helpless to do anything but hold him and rock him.

“Goddamn you,” she silently thought. “How could you put him through this?” She felt Dylan shaking and held him tight. “Alex,” was the only word that Cassidy could make out through Dylan’s tears.

Cassidy kissed his forehead. “All right, sweetheart. Try and calm down; okay? I promise you are safe. It’s all right, Dylan. Alex and I will never let anyone hurt you,” she gently assured him. She scolded herself for the words as they escaped her. There were many ways to cause someone pain. Christopher O’Brien had caused more than his fair share of pain in their family. “Listen,” she pulled away slightly and directed him to look at her. “Everything will be okay. When Alex comes home tonight, we will all sit down and talk about this.” Dylan nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Let’s get you washed up and then we’ll try to call Alex; all right?” He nodded again. “Okay. Do you want me to come with you to the bathroom?” Dylan shook his head ‘no’ and Cassidy offered him a sad smile. “Still want to play in the snow with me?” she asked hopefully. She smiled when he wrapped his arms around her neck. “Good. Now, come on. You go on ahead, and I will call
Alex. After some time in the snow I’ll make us some cocoa and we’ll warm up with some Batman,” she winked.

Dylan managed a slight smile at her offer and turned to head for the bathroom. “Mom?” he called back.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You are way cooler than Batman,” he said lovingly.

Cassidy felt his compliment in every fiber of her being. She winked at him and smiled. “And, you will always be my hero,” she promised her son. He finally managed what she knew was a genuine smile, albeit a small one. She was relieved to see a slight bounce to his step return. “God forgive me,” she said once Dylan had left the room. “I hope they lock him up and throw away the key for putting him through this.”

Alex sat on a bench in the back of the van with her face in her hands. She could feel the heat of both Krause and Tate’s gaze settling on her. She needed time; just a moment. In an instant, her world had once again been turned upside down. The sting of deceit left her feeling hollow. So much she had entrusted in him. She found herself wondering again if there was anyone she could trust at all. She pressed the heels of her hands into her temples and took a deep breath. “I don’t understand what Taylor gains in all of this.” Disappointment and distress were evident as she spoke the words.

“I can’t say that,” Joshua Tate answered. “John suspected for some time that Director Taylor might have a different agenda. For a long while, actually.”

“That’s why he wanted me back at the NSA; isn’t it?” she asked him. Tate’s nod was her confirmation. “And, Brady? Jesus. How did Stephen Brady get mixed up in this? Krause, he was working with Ian. I don’t….”

Jonathan Krause looked across to his partner and friend with sympathetic eyes. It was not only Alex’s betrayal to feel.
He had placed the chatter surrounding the assassination attempt on President John Merrow squarely in the NSA’s backyard for Stephen Brady and Michael Taylor to uncover. Krause felt a sickening familiarity in this new information. John Merrow never shared his suspicions about the NSA Director with his best friend. The president’s death was a foregone conclusion. It made sense now to Krause. Merrow knew there would be no escape. He was backed into a corner, surrounded with no chance of escape. Krause had trusted Stephen Brady. He had trusted Michael Taylor. It was a lapse in judgment he was not certain he could ever forgive himself for making.

“How far back?” Alex asked her former boss. “Tate? How far back did John suspect Taylor had a different agenda?” She watched the assistant FBI director’s temple twitch under the stress. “Jesus,” she sighed, shaking her head. She looked back at Tate and asked him pointedly, “Iraq?” His expression remained remarkably unchanged, only his eyes closing in confirmation. Alex covered her face again, grasping the bridge of her nose in frustration and disbelief. “Oh my God. That’s what he meant,” she looked across to Krause. “John told me the attack in Iraq was his fault…he meant Taylor.”

Krause released a heavy sigh. “Alex,” he stopped and gathered his thoughts. “Taylor is not working with The Collaborative. Whatever he is doing, it isn’t with the admiral or Edmond.”

“I know,” Alex said. “So, now what? This isn’t something that developed as recently as we suspected,” she said frankly.

“No,” Tate interrupted. “It isn’t. I suspect you will find that Taylor has friends at ASA,” he concluded.

Some of the pieces were coming together for Alex. “So, we play him?” she surmised. Krause and Tate both offered her a weak smile. “Great. We see how many other lives he can manage to trample in the process. Jesus.”

“Alex, at least we know whose trail to follow,” Krause said.

“I want the son of a bitch,” she responded with conviction.

Alex felt the buzz of her cell phone. “I need to listen to this,” she told the men, lifting the phone to her ear.

Tate looked at Krause, concern painting his irises like the color of a stormy night sky. Krause shook his head in agreed disgust. He turned back toward Alex and watched as her face flushed in anger, and her thumb began to dig into her temple. “Alex?” Krause called for her attention.

Alex rolled her tongue across the inside of her cheek in a desperate attempt to quell her growing rage. She looked at the two men seated across from her and channeled her fury into a steely resolve. “I don’t care what we have to do. Taylor, Brady, O’Brien, Brackett…whoever had a hand in this….I want them. I don’t care where it leads,” she stated, leaving no room for any questions.

“Tate?” Krause looked to the older man. “Are you in? You know if you stay this course, well….Taylor, Brady….Claire… they’ve proven they will sacrifice anyone.”