
Mosaic

Angelin Sydney

Published by Massachusetts Books, 2016.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

MOSAIC

**First edition. June 5, 2016.**

Copyright (C) 2016 Angelin Sydney.

ISBN: 978-1540147141

Written by Angelin Sydney.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Also by Angelin Sydney

Mysterious Men Series

The Man in the Shadows

Oh, the Complications

Loving Faith and Hope

Geeks in Love

The Cameron Series

Lifesaver in a Bikini

Return to Cameron Country

Cameron of the Skies

Cameron of the Seas

Standalone

Courting Pippa

When Angels Dare

Three Men, Little Alvin, and a Tonka Truck

Mosaic

The Violinist and the Ballerina

The Cameron Brothers Box Set

Watch for more at Angelin Sydney's site.

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Angelin Sydney

Dedication

Prologue

1: It Started with Hello

2: Starting Over

3: Lovers and Friends

4: Cry of the Heart

5: A Cry for Help

6: Kate's Story

7: Ralph

8: It Takes a Village

9: Most Evil

10: Family

11: Heartbreak Road Ahead

12: Key to the City

13: Interpol

14: The Laptop

15: Operation Swift Justice

16: Silva

17: Garden of the Gods

18: Rediscovering Innocence

19: Ready, Set, Go!

20: The Thirteenth, Friday

21: The Fourteenth, Saturday

22: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

23: The Avenger

24: Gathering of the Faithful

25: Romantic Interludes

26: Treasures

A Gentle Plea

Bonus Previews

Preview of Promise Me | By | JACK O. DANIEL

1: The Woman at City Hall

2: Four Hours Earlier

3: Not Just another Day at the Office

Preview of The Man in the Shadows

1: Sight Unseen

2: Caller Unknown

3: Afterthoughts

Sign up for Angelin Sydney's Mailing List

Further Reading: Courting Pippa

About the Author

#

_Mosaic_ is dedicated to all survivors of abuse in whatever form it may have happened, wherever it may have taken place, however it may have been committed and whoever may have done it.

You have nothing to be ashamed of; rather, you have everything to be proud of for being a survivor and triumphing over adversity.

I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

Together, we will create a _mosaic_ to reflect the beautiful tapestries of our lives.

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# Prologue

--------

JESS DROVE IN SILENCE.

Her boyfriend, Ralph, was in the passenger seat, struggling to breathe. It was another one of his dreaded panic attacks that came without warning. His heart rate increased until he thought he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

Dub, dub. Dub, dub. Dub, dub.

Faster and faster.

He leaned forward, rested his head on the dashboard and started breathing out of his mouth.

Inhale, exhale.

His mind exhorting his body to follow his command.

Breathe, Ralph, breathe.

Watching him from the corner of her eyes, Jess made a decision to detour to their favourite spot; it wasn't time to take him home just yet. She would sit this one out with him, however long it took.

She stopped the car at Charge Point on Northerly Island, a man-made peninsula along Chicago's lakefront. The usually bustling public area was deserted in the dead of night.

Ralph rushed to get out of the vehicle as though on fire. He fast walked towards the water and slumped near the water's edge, heaving.

She watched eagle-eyed from the car, concern etched on her face.

Finally, Ralph stood, catatonic-like, to stare across the water, looking at the myriad LED, neon and fluorescent lights that flooded the business district of Chicago. He wondered how many wounded souls, just like him, were wide awake with deep sorrow in their hearts. He shifted his gaze to stare at the moon's reflection. The water was calm. The lunar lantern looked as though it had decided to float on its back.

Jess stayed in the sedan, giving him space, watching and trusting him not to do anything stupid.

He would do what he needed to do, and then he would move on. They would move on together, even if it were a rocky road ahead.

Minutes later, he sat by the water's edge, hunched over.

Jess walked over to join him.

He sensed someone coming. He turned around to see who it was. Their eyes locked briefly. Angst was clearly written on his face, echoing the pain and suffering he was feeling within. He looked back quickly; avoiding her solemn gaze.

She sat behind him, wrapped an arm around his waist, and rested her cheek on his back. Their bodies pressed together, the evening cold became bearable; and hearing the beats of his heart assured her he was going to be alright, somehow.

His baritone voice, cracking with emotion, finally hit the still air.

'It's not always like this. Most of the time, it doesn't even matter. I try to live my life without thinking about it.'

He paused before continuing.

'The thing about it is that I could never tell what would trigger it. It could be a bottle of Vaseline on the shelf. It could be the smell of damp. It could be a tune. And, I could never tell how it'd hit me.'

Jess nodded.

He felt the gentle bobbing up and down of her head on his back. She was one of only a handful of people who knew he had been repeatedly raped as a young adolescent by a trusted family friend and music mentor.

He continued.

'The thing about abuse is you can't bury it like the dead. It's not a dead pet, or a dead loved one or friend. It stays in your heart, so for as long as it keeps beating, you have to keep living with it.'

She could only contemplate in her mind what it must have been like; although she had lived with a measure of pain in her life, too. Growing up part-Inuit in Canada, her birth country, she had harboured memories of bullying in her childhood. Yet, she couldn't even begin to know what it was like to be in Ralph's shoes. She could relate to him, though. She knew about triggers and how it would just come and hit you in the solar plexus when you least expected it. And, how you just had to be constantly alert and on guard.

They were quiet for some time, lost in their own thoughts. The passage of time indicated by the position of the full moon in the night sky. It had shifted north, or more precisely north-west, as they remained stationary, locked in a hug.

*

EVENTUALLY, THEY BOTH felt the cold bite into their bones. The temperature had dropped significantly.

'Let's go.'

Ralph made a move to get up, then gave her a helpful tug to her feet. They headed back to the car, arm in arm.

Jess grabbed a blanket from the trunk; then they climbed into the back seat and snuggle-cuddled to keep warm.

Locked in an embrace, Jess turned to Ralph. She said, 'A wise woman once told me that when you break a vase, you can't pick up the pieces and glue them back together to recreate it. It just doesn't work that way, but you can pick up the broken pieces and make a beautiful mosaic out of it. You can create something wonderful with the broken pieces, and it doesn't matter how many fragments there are. Or how tiny they are.'

She paused momentarily, willing Ralph to absorb it, 'That's what we need to create.'

'We need to bring our broken pieces together and try to create something beautiful from it. A mosaic of life that people can admire. Together, we can make something they can look at and find inspiration from. We can make something beautiful out of our brokenness.'

Ralph kissed her hands and flooded it with tears. It's not over yet. They still have a mosaic to create together, one sparkling, broken, piece at a time.

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# 1: It Started with Hello

--------

SPIKE WAS CARRYING two loads of shopping in his arms. Winnie, his fiance, had a bag of groceries in one hand while the other held the door open to their building. She turned sideways to let him through first. Instead, he met her upturned face with a spontaneous kiss. They didn't ordinarily lock lips for the world to see; it was just one of those moments.

The door to apartment one which directly faced the main entrance, suddenly opened. A young lad of about five saw the earth-shaking event between the interracial couple. His right hand instantly flew to his face to cover his eyes.

'Caramba, get a room,' he said with a touch of reprimand.

They disengaged quickly in deference to the child, who they thought was hilarious as he was peeking between his little fingers.

Laughing, Spike said, 'Hello.'

The precocious little boy said hello back as he inspected them up and down. They felt exposed; akin to being scrutinised under a microscope.

Spike thought that the situation called for an introduction.

'I'm Spike. This is Winnie. What's your name?'

The little boy who looked to be of mixed race, perhaps an Amerasian, with soft brown hair and eyes said, 'I'm not allowed to talk to strangers.'

They heard a woman's voice from inside the apartment, 'Com quem voce esta falando?' She came out, anxious to get her little boy back inside.

Winnie attempted to get to know their new neighbours.

'Hi, I'm Winnie. This is Spike. We live upstairs, apartment seven.'

The petite Asian woman smiled tightly and kept mum. She nodded a little; it was barely perceptible, then held her son's shoulder firmly before closing the door.

Spike and Winnie looked at each other, intrigued by the frosty reception.

'They mustn't speak English,' said Winnie to Spike.

'I doubt it, he told us to get a room, remember?' Recalling this, they smiled at each other, 'but they must have just moved in,' observed Spike.

'What made you say that?'

'I've never seen kids in this building before.'

'How would you know? We're hardly ever home.'

'True.'

*

THERE WERE FIVE APARTMENTS on the ground floor and five on the second. It was a small complex built in the sixties when apartments were created for people. The newer ones seem to be designed and constructed for one and a half beings, the half being a kitten or a puppy.

Spike set the shopping bags down on the kitchen bench then left Winnie to sort them out. He went out again to get the last load, thinking all the while, how two adults and two birds could possibly need all these groceries.

The young family from apartment one was also heading out, so he bumped into the little boy again. He was now rugged up for a coldish Chicago spring.

The boy greeted him, his new acquaintance, 'Hi Spike.'

Spike squatted to see eye-to-eye with the child, careful to put a safe distance between them.

'That's not fair, you know my name, but I don't know yours.'

'I'm William, you can call me Liam, and this is my sister Crystal.'

Spike moved his head slightly to the left to see behind Liam, a very pretty girl of seven was standing just behind, dressed in a thick padded coat and a pair of denim jeans.

'She bites, so be careful,' warned the little boy in accented English which Spike couldn't place.

'I don't bite! He's lying,' the girl retorted with a frown, clearly annoyed with her little brother.

Their mother was soon standing next to them and hurried them along.

'Come on kids, vamos,' adding in English, presumably for his benefit, 'stop bothering the man.'

Her hands were full, so Spike offered to help.

'Can I help you? I'm on my way out to the car park,'

She was hesitant at first. Her face and body language betrayed her ambivalence but accepted the offer anyway.

'Sure. It's hard with kids. All is a major production.'

'What's why I only have birds,' he replied with a smile. Spike took a shoulder bag and a backpack off her. She carried a wicker basket of food and drinks.

'Obrigado ... I mean thank you,' she said as they loaded the stuff into the trunk.

'You're welcome. Sorry, I didn't get your name.'

She looked momentarily undecided whether she should trust him with her name. Eventually, she said, 'Kate.'

Liam heard this.

'Isso nao e--.'

Kate glared, which spoke volumes, then she shushed him. The kid stopped mid-sentence.

Spike pretended not to notice. Kate, if that was really her name, didn't want anyone to know their personal business. He just hoped they were okay.

The kids climbed into the back seat. Crystal glanced back to look through the window. She offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Those innocent, light brown eyes were sad. She quickly faced forward. All he could see now was the top of her hair band.

Wondering what was taking so long, Liam also twisted around in his booster seat to spy upon the adults.

Spike, perhaps because of his profession, had sensed the family was in trouble, so without hesitation, he opened his wallet to get a business card. He offered it to Kate.

'Any time you need a friend, don't hesitate to call. My girlfriend Winnie and I are staying at number seven.'

She accepted it without reading what's on it, then gave Spike a barely discernible nod before putting it in her pocket and turning away.

Spike didn't like what he was sensing, but he was also not one to base his conclusions on gut feelings.

He didn't know it yet, but this family had been on the run from a monster--one without horns, tail and pitchfork. As a matter of fact, he looked divine, the very antithesis of a monster. He was tall, well-dressed, outwardly mild-mannered, a community leader and very handsome by all definition; not at all the face of evil as one would expect.

This family needed all the help they could get.

Help would come, and it started with 'Hello.'

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# 2: Starting Over

--------

ANOTHER WEEK HAD PASSED before Winnie and Spike saw the children again, their lives being so preoccupied with work.

They were taking their loved-up pet Parakeets, Mr and Mrs Smith, out to the park, when they came across the kids and their mom, Kate, coming back from the shop.

The family was covered in winter gear from head to toe. The temperature wasn't that cold to warrant all that padding, so they were certain the trio didn't dress up to combat the weather. There had to be an underlying reason. However, it wasn't their place to speculate.

The kids were excited to make the birds' acquaintance. Liam, the more talkative of the siblings, said, 'We had dogs - a Pomeranian and a Poodle. We had to leave them back home. I really miss them.'

Winnie lowered herself to be eye level with the boy whose accent, she couldn't quite place.

'What did you call them?'

Kate shifted her weight. She appeared tensed and agitated.

'Sorry, I hate to be rude, but I have to feed them.' She took her a kids' arm in each hand and herded them inside the apartment quickly.

'Something's wrong,' Winnie whispered to Spike.

He rubbed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, 'We'll figure it out. I think Mr and Mrs Smith will be our way in.'

*

DURING THE WEEK, SPIKE and Winnie worked odd hours, so between the two of them, there was an eighteen-hour stretch of coming and going. At night, they had both independently observed that the lights at number one were never turned off. Someone residing there was terrified of the dark.

Winnie was coming home late one night when she heard hysterical sobbing. The sound was coming from Kate's apartment. It's got to be Crystal, she thought, as she neared the front door. The crying stopped just as she was standing right outside.

She put a hand and pressed an ear to the door, trying to ascertain that everyone was all right. Her wristwatch said it was fifteen past eight in the evening, not the ideal time to visit. She was about to leave when the door opened.

Kate, looking strained and surprised, was carrying a bag of waste to take to the bin outside.

Winnie said, 'Hi, Kate, I was just...' She paused, struggling to think of what to say.

'Hi, Winnie,' she said softly. 'Did you need anything?'

'Actually, I just ... well, I heard someone crying.'

Kate looked at the bag of trash in her hand, then said, 'It's okay. Let me just--'

''Let me,' offered Winnie. 'Stay here.'

'Okay, thanks. Umm, you're welcome for coffee.'

'Thanks, I'd like that. I'll be back soon.'

*

WINNIE WAS ABOUT TO KNOCK, but the door opened straightaway; Kate must have stood behind it while waiting for her to return.

Once inside, Winnie was careful to remove her shoes when she saw a pile of them by the side of the door. Two things she noticed immediately. The apartment was barely furnished, and it was spotless; not the sort of place one would expect for a five and a seven-year-old to be living full-time.

Kate was apologetic about their domestic situation.

'I'm sorry, we haven't settled in yet.'

Winnie smiled, 'Don't worry about it.'

A quick scan showed nothing personal--no photographs or decorations of any kind. Picture hooks looked like sore thumbs on the walls. Dust outlines, where picture frames used to hang, were a silent reminder that the new occupants had not made it their home. Nevertheless, every effort had been exerted into making it habitable in spite of what it lacked.

There was a well-worn white leather sofa with four cushions in the living room; the kind one buys at opportunity shops operated by the likes of St. Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army. On the floor, cheap toys were arranged neatly in one corner.

The apartment was painted entirely in white, even the curtains were white, that it felt more like a hospital suite than a home. Only the predominantly red patterned carpet and the reddish brown doors gave it a touch of colour. A few minutes in, Winnie felt depressed already. In her mind, it was too sterile.

She followed Kate into the kitchen, which was equally austere and old-fashioned. The orange splashback and the drawer handles in gold-plate really dated it. At a guess, it was probably the same kitchen it came with, which was made in the eighties, although apparently, the design would soon be trendy again.

After the quick appraisal, she turned her focus to Kate.

'How are you and how are the kids?' she asked sincerely, careful not to overstep with her concern.

Kate didn't answer. Instead, she asked Winnie if she'd like tea; it was a classic avoidance tactic.

Winnie wasn't sure how long she should stay, but she was determined to get to know them, so she decided a cup of tea wouldn't hurt.

'Yes, please,' she replied.

Kate busied herself with the kettle, filling it to just the right level. While they waited for the water to boil, Kate prepared the Japanese teapot and the dainty teacups lacquered in black and red motif. She sensed as she pottered about that Winnie wasn't in a hurry to leave, and being Asian, she also didn't want to offend her.

Winnie watched silently in appreciation as Kate delicately prepared the Japanese tea leaves in the teapot, steeped the brew, before pouring it. The tea ceremony was calming, because it was, to her mind, done unhurriedly. Perhaps, it was also due to the absence of tinkling sound, of a teaspoon against the ceramic or cup against the saucer. She observed the amber-coloured liquid as it poured out of the spout to the little container; it was as though her tiredness washed out with it. It was Zen, in motion.

Kate opened up a little as they sipped tea.

'Crystal's afraid of the dark, graças a Deus, Liam can sleep through it now. It used to wake him up.'

She was intrigued and wanted to ask more questions, but Winnie felt it wasn't the time as it would be too intrusive; and, on Kate's part, it would also be confronting to be probed by a complete stranger. She opted for a safe topic.

'I hope you don't mind me asking, do you have an extended family in Chicago?'

Kate shook her head.

'I'm second-generation Japanese-American, I was born in Hawaii. Some of my family is still there. From age ten, I lived in Brazil, the home of the largest diaspora of Japanese in the world.'

'Did you say largest? Larger than the United States?'

'Yes, there are more than 1.5 million Japanese descent living in Brazil, and only over 1.2 million in the U.S.'

After supplying this trivia, Kate was reticent again; she seemed distracted.

Winnie surreptitiously studied Kate. She may have been born in Hawaii and grew up in Brazil, but she was still steeped in Japanese ways. There was something about her, she thought. There was a quiet dignity and silent bravery belied by her petite and frail physical appearance.

Kate looked up, smiled thinly before apologising for her lack of hospitality.

'On the contrary,' said Winnie, protesting. 'I love the way you did that, very delicate.'

'Oh, the way of tea ... it's important to enjoy every step of the preparation.'

'It was Japanese green tea. Did you like it?'

'I did; it's refreshing.'

Several minutes passed. Winnie sensed she would soon overstay her welcome. She thanked her hostess, but couldn't leave it open-ended, so she risked it.

'Kate, I just want to let you know that you can trust us. You must trust someone sometime. You know Spike's with WITSEC, right?'

Her new acquaintance nodded, 'I do.'

This information was embossed on his business card. Lance 'Spike' Smith, Department of Justice, United States Marshal, Senior Deputy.

'I also work with the U.S. Marshals Service, except I'm a humble pencil pusher, bound to a desk. Spike, though, is a field agent. This is my cell number. Any time you need help, just call, or knock on our door, okay? I mean it.' She looked Kate in the eyes to make sure she understood how much she meant what she had just said.

'It's also my day off tomorrow. If you want me to mind the kids, I'd be happy to; to give you a break. I'm sure they'd like to play with our birds.'

Kate exhaled; the kind that was out of exhaustion than relief.

'I'm taking Crystal to see the doctor at ten tomorrow. Would you watch Liam for me, for an hour? He gets very bored and unruly at the doctor's.'

'No problem, I'll be here tomorrow at nine-thirty.'

At the door, Winnie squeezed Kate's hands to convey warmth and friendship. She felt a hug was still premature.

*

UP AT THEIR APARTMENT, Winnie found Spike on the couch having fallen asleep watching the Animal Channel. She noiselessly moved about, careful not to wake the man who would have to be up again in four hours' time to return to work. A career in the USMS, the oldest federal law enforcement agency in the United States, could kill a weaker human being.

She had a passing thought that it's a wonder she remembers what he looks like at all, with so little time together.

Seeing him peacefully asleep, her mind slipped back to the time they first met three years ago, when Spike had just transferred from the New York office.

*

SHE HAD UNASHAMEDLY drooled at the new Senior Deputy. They all did if that was any consolation, even some of the men. The outline of his rippling torso was evident in his form-fitting T-shirt. Her imagination ran away with her as she conjured a mental image of a naked New Yorker. Doubtless, she had thought, that he possessed the physique of that Roman marble statue called 'David' as sculpted by Michelangelo.

There the similarity ended. For one thing, Spike wasn't of alabaster colour. He was dark chocolate, with light brown eyes, topped with a mop of unruly curly hair.

The African-American hunk, she would discover months later, was, in fact, part Irish.

'Irish? Really?' She had asked with incredulity when he first told her of his ancestry.

'My mother's Irish-American from the Bronx.'

Considering she was looking at the human hybrid of Colin Farrell and Shemar Moore, her reaction was controlled; she just plain said, 'Oh, my God.'

To which his wicked response was, 'I'm just a man, but thank you.'

*

AFTER FEASTING HER EYES on her eye-candy, she showered and changed into her pyjamas. She debated with herself while drying her hair, whether to curl up with Spike or leave him be.

I think I've forgotten what you smell like, too.

She sighed.

In the end, consideration won the debate, so she went to bed alone. Shortly after though, Spike got up from the couch to join her.

'Thought you were asleep.'

'I was,' he said in sleep-walking fashion, then draped his arms around her and was out like a light.

*

THE NEXT MORNING, WINNIE came down with the birds. The kids were bubbling over with excitement, and the parakeets handled the situation with aplomb.

'These are Mr and Mrs Smith; they're parakeets, a kind of budgerigars or budgies.'

Crystal instantly bonded with Mrs Smith.

'How old is she?' She wanted to know, stroking the avian's head.

'We think she's twenty months. No one really knows for sure. Spike found her in the park with a broken wing when she was tiny. A wonderful vet saved her life.'

Just then, Kate said, 'Crystal, time to go.'

The little girl suddenly became sullen and unresponsive.

'Cris, please. We won't take long. I'm sure Winnie will let you play with the birds when we get back.'

'Go on, Cris,' Winnie encouraged the girl, 'We'll be here when you get back.'

The seven-year-old gave her a sad face but followed her Mom out.

Winnie turned her attention back to Liam, 'What would you like to do?'

'Can we go to the park?'

Since she hadn't ask Kate if she could take Liam out, she said they'd do that next time, just to be on the safe side.

In the next two hours, Kate phoned four times to inquire of Liam's well-being. Her separation anxiety was definitely high, so Winnie kept reassuring her.

Liam, on the hand other, happily played with Mr and Mrs Smith without a care in the world.

While sitting Liam, Winnie made home-cooked lunch in the kitchen.

It's the least I can do... for now.

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# 3: Lovers and Friends

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WINNIE AND SPIKE SAW the friendship door crack ajar, though only slightly after she had looked after Liam. They were determined not to let the door slam shut.

Strike while the iron is hot may not be the most profound of proverbs, but it was appropriate in this case. They decided to go full blast on the kindness offensive.

It had been two years into their relationship when they decided to take it to the next level, as in, move in together. By this stage in their lives, they had both been living independently for over a decade. So, when Winnie moved in, they had two of everything.

Their redundant furniture and appliances were presently still in storage, getting old, gathering dust and costing money. With the family's apparent plight, Spike suggested that Kate and the kids could make good use of them.

Winnie agreed.

Not only that, Spike had recently become aware that fellow U.S. Marshal, Assistant Deputy Ralph Curtis, Jr. was moving in with his girlfriend, Jess. He would ask them to contribute some stuff, too.

*

LATE ONE NIGHT, SPIKE knocked on apartment one.

Kate checked through the peephole to see who it was. She was anxious, but still, she opened the door ever so slightly.

Clearly, she was hesitant to let him in. So, Spike stepped back to give her space and disarmed her with a well-meaning smile.

'Winnie and I have two of most things. You could help us by taking them off our hands; you'll save us the cost of storage, too. If you don't mind ...'

Before Kate could say a word, a little voice said from behind, 'Would you have a writing table for me?' Then, little Liam's head popped between Kate and the door

Spike replied in a heartbeat.

'Yes, and two little chairs to go with it.' All the while thinking: he hadn't seen a small writing table since he was five. He'd buy it if he had to, that would be no inconvenience at all.

'Thank God,' he said dramatically, accompanied by a sigh. 'I'm sick of sitting on the floor.'

Kate quickly grabbed his mouth and covered it; she turned red with embarrassment.

'I'm sorry; he talks too much.'

'Don't worry. I was like him at that age. I still talk a hundred miles a minute when I'm excited. We can move things in tomorrow if that's okay with you.'

Liam's garbled voice came through between the cracks of his mother's fingers, still holding his mouth shut. 'Um, um, um,' he said, nodding his little head vigorously.

Spike looked down, amused at his tiny friend's antics, 'Would nine-a.m. suit you?'

The head went up and down in agreement, not that he knew what nine-a.m. meant. Spike looked at Kate who indicated with the tiniest smile that it was okay.

'Great, see you tomorrow,' he said, ruffling Liam's hair before going up to his apartment.

*

SPIKE PLANNED TO SNEAK UP on his woman, but Mr Smith gave him up by mimicking his voice, announcing in three successive repetitions, 'Hi there, sweet Win.'

Male parakeets can learn to talk, but the females generally don't, as in the case of Mrs Smith. Instead, she danced a jig on her perch to her Romeo's amusing refrain.

Spike reprimanded the bird for being a killjoy.

With all that ruckus, Winnie stepped out of the bedroom.

Spike's right hand went to his chest upon seeing his girlfriend's frizzy hair, and her lithe body in his old T-shirt. His affection for her bubbled up to the surface, 'Come here, give me a kiss,' he said, in an almost demanding tone.

Winnie came over slowly. One tip-toed foot in front of the other, her hands behind her.

'What's that behind you?' he asked, immediately on the alert.

'Nothing,' she said in a naughty kind of way.

'Nope, don't believe you. What is it?' Suspicion coated his voice. 'I don't think you should be coming near me,' he stepped back to get away. 'Stop right here.'

The birds sensed something was up, so comically they backed up in their cage too, in step with Spike.

Winnie kept her eyes on him, amused at his reaction, 'Oh what! You can dish it, but you can't eat it.' She moved closer; he backed off one more step.

'I'm not in the mood,' he warned, a finger pointed at her in dire warning.

'Oh, I am,' she said.

They carried on until they circled the living room and the kitchen bench.

'Winnie, I'm tired. I'm not in the mood.' She has a habit of squirting him in the eyes with water or baby oil. He wasn't in the mood. He was so pathetic.

Winnie laughed.

'You're not in the mood? I'm so sorry to hear that.' As she turned around to walk away, Winnie showed him the thing she was holding behind her. She lifted it up over her head with a finger. It was an itsy bitsy G-string, the tiniest he had ever seen in his life, which made him wonder what purpose it served.

Oh uh.

Spike was suddenly in the mood and gave chase, 'You haven't hugged me yet.' He caught up her, grabbed her from behind, turned her around and kissed her.

Just like that, they forgot everything.

At that moment, it was just the two of them answering their bodies' mating call.

*

WHEN THEIR PASSION had been spent, and their energy had been exhausted, they lay in bed talking.

Spike turned to face her, 'Ralph's coming tomorrow to help us move our stuff to Kate's place. He's bringing some of theirs, too.'

'Theirs?' Winnie asked with a twinkle in her eyes, 'So they made the big leap, eh?'

'Well, they sort of followed our very good example, thanks to me.'

'I like you very much when you're humble like that,' she said, tweaking his nose. 'But, aren't Ralph and Jess barely in their twenties?'

'What's that got to do with anything?' replied Spike in shock. 'You sound like his mother.'

Winnie smiled. 'We didn't move in together till we were in our thirties, so what's their rush?'

*

SHE COULD STILL REMEMBER the day Ralph Curtis Jr. walked into the Chicago office, looking for Senior Deputy Lance 'Spike' Smith.

The fresh-faced, twenty-two-year-old, had just completed a rigorous twenty-one-week basic training program at the U.S. Marshal Service Training Academy in Glynco, Georgia and had just been deputised.

When Spike came out to meet the man-boy they now regard as the team mascot; he initially thought Ralph was lost. He had this certain puppy-dog look about him that had brought out the protective instinct in his close-knit unit.

One year on, the probie was now a full-fledged Assistant Deputy but still remained team mascot.

At any rate, Spike was not in the mood to role-play the psychologist's part, so changing the topic, he asked, 'Are you hungry?'

'More than you know.'

They got up, made supper; curled up in front of the TV, then promptly fell asleep on the couch.

*

THE NEXT DAY, RALPH and Jess arrived before eight a.m. with a truckload of stuff.

'Wakey, wakey,' he said when Spike answered his cell phone.

'Come on up.'

They were greeted by the squawks of two happy birds, and by the aroma of brewing coffee as they entered. Jess homed in on the espresso machine, 'I'm dying for a caffeine fix. Where's Winnie?'

'I'm here,' a voice called out from the bedroom, 'I'll be out soon.'

Winnie appeared in a faded cotton plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbow, a pair of cotton ¾ black pants that showed the taper of her lower leg, white Vans shoes, and a thin hair band with a yellow bow. She was ready for anything today.

'How come you always look cute in any outfit?'

Winnie thanked Jess, who was like a younger sister, for the compliment and said she looked equally adorable in her workman's overall and red bandanna with banana prints.

They had coffee before heading downstairs.

*

LIAM OPENED THE DOOR to let them in before they knocked.

'Hello again. Have you got my writing table?'

'Liam, stop. Get inside, you're in the way,' reprimanded Kate, who was getting frustrated with such a precocious child.

'Kate, can we come in?' Winnie asked.

'I'm so sorry, yes, please come in.'

Winnie made the introduction. Crystal was shy with the newcomers and clung to her mother's hand. Liam, however, relished the chance to get to know more people; he was starved of connection.

'Kate, if it's okay with you, Jess and I can take the kids out to the park with Mr and Mrs Smith. Get them out of your hair for a while; give you time to set up the house.'

It was clear for all to see that Kate was ambivalent about this going-to-the-park business, on top of the fact she didn't know who Jess and Ralph were until a few minutes ago. So, the children helped make the decision for her.

'Mom, please,' they pleaded.

She looked at her children and saw in their eyes, not for the first time, the cost of their undeserved home detention.

'Please,' they chorused once more.

'Okay, I'll help you change.'

The kids came out dressed for the winter Olympics, covered from head to toe. Fussing over them, Kate reminded them in a soft voice not to remove their hats and to keep their sunglasses on, only then did she hand them over to Winnie and softly gave her thanks.

The scene spoke volumes. Winnie and Jess kept their thoughts to themselves, not even daring to look at each other.

*

THE FOUR OF THEM WALKED out together; Mr Smith was perched on Liam's shoulder, Mrs Smith on Crystal's.

Thirty minutes after they set off, Kate called Winnie to inquire about the kids.

'They're okay; they're having so much fun.'

Winnie had expected Kate to check in every half hour, at least. As far as she was aware, this little family had spent weeks and days sequestered in the apartment, and that had been over a month ago. Surprisingly, there was a forty-minute gap between the second and the third call, which was a dramatic improvement, considering the situation.

When Kate called again for the fourth time, Winnie asked permission to take the kids to lunch. She gave her okay only after Winnie mentioned the kid-friendly cafe nearby.

'Would you like anything from the shop?' Winnie asked.

'No,' she said, 'you've already done enough for us.'

*

UPON THEIR RETURN, the kids were beyond happy to see their apartment transformed. Finally, it wasn't just an empty shell. It was a home with furniture, a few lovely things and photos in frames hanging on walls.

And, most importantly, the centrepiece! Liam's eyes grew round, 'Wow. My writing table! Mom, can I have some papers and crayons, please.'

'We'll get them tomorrow,' replied a beaming Kate, her heart swelling with joy for her children.

'Actually, I have a lot I'm not using anymore,' offered Jess. 'If you can wait till tomorrow, Ralph and I can come back with them.'

Liam nodded enthusiastically, 'Yes, I can wait.'

*

THE PAPERS AND THE crayons ...

They would reveal a lot.

The revelation would take them all by the throat, and they're all in it together.

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# 4: Cry of the Heart

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THE NEXT DAY, AS PROMISED, Jess went back to bring her redundant art supplies. Kate readily opened the door this time and made the visitor feel welcome.

The children were beside themselves with excitement at having a visitor bearing gifts. They eagerly awaited to learn what she had brought for them. Jess sat them down on the little table before emptying the contents of the box.

'Japanese tea?' She heard Kate offer as the mother of two pottered in the kitchen.

'That would be lovely,' she replied before turning her attention back to the kids.

'Crayons for you, Liam. Cris, these colouring pencils, art pads, oil paints, and brushes are for you. And, these beginner's art books as well.'

Liam looked on, jealous of the pile of stuff given to his sister.

'Do I get an art pad, too?'

'Better than that,' Jess said with a smile, 'you get a bunch of colouring books.'

Liam went bananas.

'Mom, look, colouring books. Wow.' Then, turning to Jess, he asked. 'Would you do one with me?'

Jess couldn't resist the little boy's charm and indulged him. 'You do that page, and I'll do this page. There's a prize for doing a good job.'

'What's the prize?'

Jess pretended to think hard. She looked at the ceiling, scratched her head and then made a face.

'I can't think of a good prize, can you?'

'I know, the best colourer,' Jess smiled at the made-up word, 'gets to have a tub of ice cream.'

'A tub! I don't think so. What about a cone?'

'A cone will do. Can I have five cones?'

Jess laughed. She rubbed his head and thought that this boy wound one day, rule the universe with his natural negotiator-style haggling.

*

KATE WATCHED THEM FROM the kitchen, grateful that the kids had started to feel better. It helped that their apartment now felt and looked like a proper home. Since the fit-out, just over twenty-four hours ago, their sense of security had returned to a degree.

It's the simple things, she thought, even the picture of a teddy bear hanging on the living room wall had brightened their spirits. The sound of bell chimes hanging above the window, a gift from Ralph, dispelled melancholy to a degree.

Her eyes fell upon a tall, thin crystal vase with artificial blooms of mixed flowers sitting proudly on top of a cabinet. Even that had elevated their place from a safe house to a home.

For her, however, the soft, deep papa chair covered in a quilted throw had become an emotional refuge. Last night, she cried to sleep while lying on it, hugging a cushion for dear life. Being a mother and a sole protector twenty-four hours a day, every single day had been exhausting. It taxed her emotionally, drained her physically and spiritually. There had been days she thought it might have been better to end it all, but something always forced her to move forward, compelling her and urging her when she had nothing left to give.

The kettle switched off automatically when the water boiled. The popping mechanism brought her back to the present. She made tea, calmly and deliberately.

'Jess, your tea's ready.' Kate called from the kitchen.

'Coming.'

Jess assured Liam that she was coming back to do her bit, before excusing herself.

'Thank you.' Jess sipped her drink. 'This is nice. Jasmine tea?'

Kate nodded, 'Yes, from the Asian market. Jess, thank you ... so much. '

'Don't mention it. It's a small thing. Besides, I wasn't using them anymore.'

Jess paused to scrutinise her new friend.

'So, how are you?' The sincerity in her voice was palpable.

Kate's eyes brimmed with tears, 'Coping, as best I can.' Jess waited for her to continue.

'Yesterday was the first night they both slept through. I think they feel more secure that people care about them.'

Their conversation halted as their gaze fell on Crystal. She was sitting on the floor in a corner, her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her, the art pad on her lap. Her small hand was gripping the pencil tightly, her muscle tensed with effort.

She was absent-mindedly doodling, going round and round and round on the pad, totally lost in it.

They could see, with every circle she made, her effort was getting harder and heavier. The paper underneath it would be torn all the way through.

Every circular loop she made was like a hole being dug deeper and wider in her mother's heart. In response to the pain, Kate unconsciously brought her hands to her chest, clasping and unclasping them.

Jess' gaze transferred to Kate's hands. They were dainty and veined from the effort of carrying a heavy load, both real and metaphorical.

Tentatively, Jess reached out to touch Kate's arm

'You know we're always gonna be here, right? This is not a one-off.'

Kate met her eyes but remained downcast, lost in her thought. Jess squeezed her hands.

'This is not a one-off,' she repeated.

Kate sniffled.

'I know. Thank you, Jess.'

The young mother shifted her sight back to her children. Liam had discarded one colouring book for another. Like many five-year-old, he couldn't stay on one thing for long. Meanwhile, Crystal was still doodling.

Jess didn't feel it was her place to force the issue. Instead, she finished her cup of tea. Her cup drained, she set it down, 'When you're ready Kate, we're all here to listen and to share your burden.'

Kate nodded, tears now falling freely down her cheeks, 'Thanks, Jess. When I'm ready--'.

There wasn't anything left to say, so Jess hugged her. 'It's good to find someone my size,' she said, the two women were just a smidgen over five feet.

They both smiled.

Kate replied, 'Yeah, finally I don't have to look up.'

*

LIAM HAD HAD ENOUGH of waiting, 'Jess, are you finished with your tea?'

'I am. What have you done? Show me?'

Liam showed off his masterpieces. Jess oh'd and ah'd, 'Well, young man, I'm afraid I can't beat you. You're the winner.'

'Do I get the ice cream cone now?'

'Well, we better ask your Mom. Kate?'

'Next time, Liam. I'm sure Jess has other things to do today. Right, Jess?'

'Yup, I've got to pick up Ralph shortly.'

Liam tilted his head at Jess, 'Is Ralph your boyfriend?'

Jess laughed at the boy who didn't miss a thing, 'Yup, he is. What do you think of him?'

The little boy had his opinion and wasn't afraid to voice it, 'I think he's a good guy. I like his voice a lot; he talks like this, "Hi Liam, you're a good boy," trying his best to speak in baritone.

The women laughed their heads off.

'You're a comedian,' Jess said as she rubbed his head. Then, she got up to get going.

Kate showed her out, 'Thanks again.'

'Don't mention it.' She fished out her business card and gave it to Kate, 'And here's Ralph's too. He said to call him anytime. We're all here for you.'

Kate read the cards. Ralph Curtis, Jr. Assistant Deputy, United States Marshal.

And, Jess' card said, Jessica Kidman, Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs (SMART).

Kate didn't know it yet, but SMART, in this case, wasn't an adjective. It actually stood for Sentencing, Monitoring, Apprehending, Registering, and Tracking, a DOJ's Sex offenders program.

Much later, she would find out that young Jessica Kidman, all of ninety-five pounds and 5'1 was a sex offender tracking specialist.

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# 5: A Cry for Help

--------

A WEEK PASSED AFTER the kids received their art supplies.

Out of the blue, Jess and Winnie received a text message from Kate asking for help; it sounded ominous.

Separately, both said that they were coming after work, about eight in the evening. They arrived at nearly the same time and went straight to Kate's kitchen; there was something about this seventy-square-feet of space that was warm and welcoming.

Kate asked, 'Would you like dinner? You must be hungry.'

Jess stopped Kate's fussing, 'Don't worry about dinner. I could use some of that Jasmine tea, though.'

'Me, too,' Winnie seconded.

They sat around the kitchen bench laughing and sharing stories while Kate filled the kettle. Soon, two cups of the requested beverage were presented to them in a lacquered tray.

Kate left to get Crystal's art pad then opened it to a page. Instantly, Winnie stopped talking, while Jess froze with her teacup to her lips.

No one said a word as they stared at the pencil-drawn picture.

Finally, Jess broke the silence, 'Is that...?'

She couldn't continue. It wasn't often that Jess was rendered speechless; this was one of those rare moments.

Winnie covered her mouth with her hand, in disbelief and shock.

Finally, Kate, unable to hold it back anymore, cried in a gut-wrenching, soul-destroying sound, muffled by the hands over her mouth. It could only have come out of a mother's broken heart.

Jess consoled Kate, now doubled over in grief and brokenness. Like a dam that has burst its banks, her tears rushed in torrents. Having held off the emotional storm, they now threatened to destroy everything in its path. She was clearly drowning in her sorrow.

Winnie dialled Spike's number.

This has got to be stopped.

*

SPIKE ANSWERED WITH, 'Hey there, gorgeous.'

'Lance Smith,' Winnie replied, her voice sounding stressed.

It alarmed him in a way, particularly because she only ever used his full name when there's trouble or when she's in distress like she sounded now.

'What's wrong, sweet?'

Jess had, just a moment ago, herded the children into the bedroom. Alone with Kate, she watched as the young mother was wracked with heaving sobs; suddenly, she felt utterly helpless.

'Please come home. We're at Kate's, please come quick.'

'What's wrong?'

'No, not on the phone, just come.'

'Ralph is with me. Is Jess with you?'

'She is.'

'Okay, we're coming.'

They happened to be in a watering hole with fellow deputies, winding down and celebrating after a rather complicated and challenging witness relocation.

He motioned to Ralph that it was time to go, but the young lad was having a jolly great time.

'Ralph, let's go.'

'It's still early,' he protested.

Spike, however, was already heading out, so had no choice but to follow.

'What's up, boss? What's the hurry?'

'Not sure. That was Winnie; something's happened at Kate's.'

They left in haste without exchanging another word.

Ralph jumped on the passenger side. He turned his face to the window to hide his anxiety, not that he was succeeding. He audibly exhaled, trying to get a grip on himself.

He had a feeling.

Dark emotions came at him in nauseating waves. Memories he didn't want to remember popped up in his head like a rolling technicolour nightmare. He scolded himself: Ralph, you're getting ahead of yourself. Get a grip, man.

The trip was made in deafening silence. Both have had strong gut feeling about it, but the thoughts weren't the sort they were willing even to contemplate, let alone want to discuss in the open.

When they arrived at the car park, Spike realised that whatever he was about to find out, he wasn't equipped to handle. He had seen many horrible things but from a distance. As WITSEC field agents they often got involved at the tail end of things. Not up close and personal, never in an 'in your face' sort of way.

As often the case, when he was tense or doubtful over his capacity to help, he tucked his hands into his pockets.

*

SPIKE PATIENTLY WAITED for Ralph to get a handle on himself. As the immediate boss, he was one of the very few people who knew of Ralph's past.

One of the issues they had discussed before the young man could officially join his team was his history of sexual abuse. As a WITSEC team leader, Spike couldn't risk taking in a team member with the potential to become a vigilante if they happened to be relocating a witness with prior links to child-abusers.

Ralph managed to gather himself--just.

Finally, they squared their shoulders, deciding it was time to man-up. It was now or never.

Weird, it seemed to the two of them that the whole vicinity was blanketed in eerie silence. All they could hear was their hearts beating nervously.

Winnie opened the door as soon as she heard the shuffles of footsteps outside.

With Spike and Ralph's arrival, Kate tried her best to calm down, evident by her hiccupping sobs.

No one spoke until Winnie asked Kate if she wanted anything to drink.

'Tea,' she replied.

Winnie went to the kitchen, Spike followed. He glanced down on the bench and saw the drawing, the child's artwork that triggered this avalanche of tears and grief. His countenance changed in an instant.

His facial muscles tensed and his face looked grim as only bad news could do.

Ralph, sensitive to the change in Spike's demeanour, approached quietly. He, too, saw the drawing. At that instance, he lost it. He hyperventilated which surprised Kate.

It confused her until Jess gripped her hands, silent tears streaming down her face.

Kate understood.

'Oh my God,' she whispered before she doubled over again in a sob.

*

RALPH LEFT IN A HURRY, even neglecting to close the door as he hastened.

Using her chin to point to the door, Winnie prodded Jess, who didn't need another prompting, to follow Ralph.

Jess found him on the sidewalk, dry retching. She had not seen him loose his grip in this way and had never seen him this broken. She was overwhelmed by it. She, wisely, didn't do or say anything, just gave him space.

He was on the ground on all fours, retching and rocking himself. Wrestling with his demons and trying to exorcise some very deep-seated ugly memories of abuse.

When he quietened down, Jess put her arms around him, hugged him from behind. She whispered in his ears, 'I will always love you. That's just the way it will always be.'

*

INSIDE, WINNIE SAT next to Kate.

Spike pulled a chair closer, his eyes on the bedroom door, fervently hoping that the kids won't wake up, not till the morning.

Half an hour had passed before Jess and Ralph returned.

Ralph tried to apologise, but Spike placed a firm and assuring hand on his shoulder to indicate it wasn't necessary.

They sat around Kate, waiting for her to open up. When she felt composed enough, she got up, went to a cupboard and came back with a laptop. She held it on her lap. She looked at Ralph, with whom she had felt a connection, then tearfully begun her story.

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# 6: Kate's Story

--------

'THREE MONTHS AGO, WE left my husband. We've been on the run since. My husband is the Mayor of Sao Paulo. The eldest son of a local political family. My in-laws are very powerful and influential in that part of Brazil.'

Kate paused and stared at the teddy bear on the wall, a symbol of normality to her, whatever normal was.

'I don't know where to begin...'

Jess rubbed her back.

'It's okay,' she said. 'Take your time.'

Kate cried into a shredded piece of tissue.

Ralph slumped against the wall, hugging his legs, and bracing for impact.

Then, she commenced telling their story.

'From the start, my husband ...'

She realised she couldn't even mention his name. She didn't want to. She was repulsed by him.

'...he was controlling. He dictated what I could wear, who I could see, what I could eat, where I could go and what I could do. It left me very isolated and vulnerable. I wasn't allowed to even talk to my family. He'd get very upset if any of them came to visit or stayed with us.

Tears streaming down her face, she said, 'He had a way of punishing me without lifting a finger; a way of putting me in my place.

'I was a theatre nurse before we got married. When Crystal arrived, I stopped working. Around the time she turned five, he forced me to go back to work. He said he didn't want a kept woman. He also insisted that I work the night shift, arguing we can't both be working during the day. I didn't suspect that he was abusing Crystal. I could never have even imagined it. I don't know why I was so stupid. How could I be so stupid?'

It was hard for them to see her so consumed with guilt. They let her cry her heart out, waiting silently.

Kate found her voice once more.

'One day, Crystal came to me complaining about hurting. She was crying and screaming every time she had to go to the toilet.'

At this point in the story, Kate stopped completely. Unable to breathe, she moaned, 'Jesus.'

Spike got up to get fresh tissues and a glass of water. He offered her the glass of water, and she took a sip.

'We had nowhere to hide. My husband controlled our finances. Everything we own, everything ... the house, the car, the bank account, the children's trust funds. They were all in his name. I was literally just a dummy wife.

'I tried to be strong. Escaping took a lot of planning. If I called the cops, I could lose the children because his family has so much clout and are very influential.

'Three months ago, he was set to attend a political rally for his gubernatorial race. We were supposed to go and campaign for him over three days. I made myself and the children sick the night before. He let us stay home. I had found out where he was keeping some of the money and our passports. When he left, we took off, that's how we got here.

'We can't go to my family in Hawaii. I couldn't even let them know where we are. They would be the first people John would try to contact.

'The only thing I took that belonged to him was his laptop. It's password-protected, so I couldn't get the evidence I need. I know there's something in here that can save us.'

Spike said he knew someone who could crack the password. Without question, she handed it over to him. As she did so, it felt as though she had given away some of the load she's been carrying.

'I'd like to take the drawing, too.'

Kate nodded, grateful that she wouldn't have to see it again. She could really do without it.

Ralph crawled from his spot then knelt in front of her, gathering her hands in his. He gave them a squeeze, willing to transfer what strength he had mustered.

He told her, 'Kate, you're not stupid. You're not to blame. It took a lot of courage to do what you did, and you had to do it alone. We'll get through this together.' He really meant it, although sometimes he has difficulty following his own advice.

They fell into each other's arms. Kate's tears drenched his shirt, and his, her hair.

*

IT WAS CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT by the time they all headed out. Ralph left with Jess.

Winnie reminded Kate again that they only live upstairs, 'Get us if you need anything.'

'I will,' she said in a whisper.

Spike and Winnie went up arm in arm. As soon as they reached their apartment, he stored the laptop in his safe.

Winnie rolled out the art paper and stared at Crystal's accurate rendering of an erect penis. Unimaginable horror flashed in her mind.

Spike gently took it from her hand and put it away with the laptop.

Winnie ran to the toilet to vomit.

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# 7: Ralph

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RALPH AND JESS DROVE OFF IN HER CAR.

'Take me to the lakefront,' he said, his eyes averted. He focused on the passing scenery that morphed from tree-lined suburban streets to downtown landscape of terraced houses, vacant warehouses, mom-and-pop convenience stores, and soulless skyscrapers clothed in neon lights.

Jess drove east of Lakefront Drive, then stopped to accommodate his request. He climbed out and said he needed to be alone. She protested when he started to walk away.

She got out of the car.

'How will you get home?' she asked.

'I'll get a cab.'

'Ralph!'

He turned and repeated himself. With an edge to his voice, he said, 'I want to be fucking left alone. I'll walk home if I have to.'

*

JESS SAT IN HER HONDA Civic and waited it out for half an hour, hoping he'd return. When he didn't, she turned on the ignition to drive home with a heavy heart.

Alone with her thoughts, she told herself that the price of loving Ralph has certainly been steep, but it was a price she was willing to pay.

*

RALPH WALKED AND KEPT walking, following the trail of the Chicago lakefront as it meandered through the City. The scenic trail included the South Shore, Hyde Park, Lincoln Park, and Lake View. His windbreaker not much protection against the chill, but he was worked up enough not to feel the biting cold.

What was it that his former therapist used to say?

That the victim is his own worst enemy. The self-blame. The self-recrimination. The self-flagellation. The self-doubt.

'These are misdirected,' Dr Zali Gee had told him. 'They should be directed at the perpetrator, if at all.'

Easier said than done, he thought.

*

HE HAD JUST TURNED eleven when Chico, his Dad's long-time friend, a Jazz piano player who had mostly worked in cruise liners, moved in with them. For a reduced rent, he offered to teach Ralph to play the percussion instrument, gratis.

With no inkling of what was to come, he and his Dad were beyond happy and appreciative of the offer. They both loved music in general, jazz especially so.

The arrangement was a win-win for all: cheap living cost for Chico, musical tuition for him, and for his Dad it meant not worrying about his after-school care while he was at work.

Ralph Curtis Sr. or Raffy, as he was commonly known among friends, had worked long hours as an all-around handyman. As a single parent, it had been an uphill struggle providing for the two of them; although, he never once said anything about this to his son. He didn't need to, for Ralph was mature and sensitive for a kid his age.

Ralph had been aware in his own way of the difficulties and wasn't the sort of kid to complain. Besides, Chico was a nice enough guy. He played the piano in a jazz club at night, slept during the daytime hours and spent the afternoon with him.

It had all started innocently enough.

One day, an unsolicited gift, a Gameboy Advance, with a game called Mario vs Donkey Kong had materialised.

He felt a stabbing pain in his chest remembering how he had whooped with unrestrained happiness and even gave Chico a thank you hug. He unwrapped the gift in a hurry, put the batteries in and fed the game in the insertion socket.

Chico stood behind him, held his hands as he tried to play the Nintendo game. He twisted around and said he knew how to do it by himself, but Chico insisted on "helping."

There had been numerous little things, like gifts of chocolates, but he always had to share it with Chico, who insisted they pass the confectionery to each other with their lips.

Or tickets to the movies or baseball.

He didn't know it then, but it was all part of conditioning, of grooming him.

Then, there were back rubs that went longer and lower than it should. It had made him feel very uncomfortable. His boyish protests made evident by constant backing away, and shrugging, was dismissed.

'Relax,' Chico would say, 'you're too uptight.'

Practicing on the piano gradually become a nightmare with Chico standing behind him while he played, his hard-on poking his back. He tried his best to evade the assault, making excuses to get up and leave. The creep would laugh at his futile effort. Even now, years later and at twenty-three, a grown man in his own right, he still gets violently sick when he hears that soft laugh in his head.

Then, there were frequent episodes of tickling. It felt creepy. To this day, he can't stand being tickled, not even by Jess.

Then, there was the nibbling.

Oh, God, the nibbling.

Remembering, he unconsciously rubbed his ears with his hands, trying to wipe away the imagery saliva. He involuntarily cringed and wiped his hands on his pants.

It had started subtly enough, but slowly and surely, it graduated to oral rape.

The first time Chico came all over his face, he shut his eyes tightly. He feared the slimy, stringy goo that covered his face. It smelt, too.

Smelt like what? He had no words for it. It added to his confusion and his fears.

He didn't open his eyes again until he washed them all off under the shower. Scrubbing and sobbing until the water turned cold. He didn't turn off the faucet until he was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

The first time he ejaculated, as a normal part of growing up, he became hysterical, fearing he had become the monster Chico was.

Then, suddenly, the oral rape stopped. Just like that.

It was as though nothing had happened. He was confused at first, then was utterly relieved, believing it was the end of it.

Then, it happened again. The reprieve had only been temporary. It had only served to make him let his guard down.

And this time, Chico told him, 'You made me do it.

I made him do it?

He was confused, sickened, frightened and above all, he felt condemned. He couldn't get his eleven-year-old head around it.

The question that bugged him the most to this day, and after years of therapy and counselling, was why he allowed it to happen. Not, why Chico did all these things to him?

Why didn't I fight back? Why didn't I protest louder? Why didn't I tell anyone? I couldn't have been that weak, or that stupid or that much of a coward. I must have brought it onto myself because not every eleven-year-old got raped. Not every early adolescent boy got toyed with. There had to have been something about me.

He had been a puny eleven-year-old, but that wasn't an excuse. He wasn't the only skinny early adolescent around, and he was willing to bet they didn't get raped.

On his twelfth birthday, the monster anally raped him. He would never forget the pain. Never. To his dying days, it will remain with him.

He survived the brutal ordeal by closing his eyes and listening to Aretha Franklin singing "Angel." It happened to be playing right at that moment. It was twisted irony.

Yet even now, he could seek solace from the lyrics of that song, especially the line about finding an angel to fly away with him.

After this deviant act on him, Chico insinuated he knew people who could really hurt his Dad if he said or even hinted of what had happened.

Chico was only stopped when he was, literally, ended with a bullet to his heart.

Raffy had found out after Ralph was discovered unconscious in the school's toilet block after a failed suicide attempt.

In the hospital, they had cried in each other's arms, distraught at being deprived of their dignity and stripped of their faith and trust.

As he lay on his hospital bed, Raffy kissed his forehead with a promise to return.

'I love you, son,' he had said, 'and, I'm sorry.'

The next morning, police were by his bedside.

Raffy had killed Chico with a .45 calibre pistol.

Ralph kept walking and crying, well into the morning.

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# 8: It Takes a Village

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KATE WAS TAKING CARE of the children under very pressing and severe circumstances. It was beginning to get financially difficult, too, with funds starting to run low. They were now well into their sixth month on the run and no income.

Her hardship didn't go unnoticed, however. Everyone did what they could in the best way they knew how.

Without having to ask for help, aid came in many ways. Kate noticed, for instance, that her rickety old car never seemed to run out of gas. Even to the technically challenged like herself, she knew it couldn't be that fuel efficient. She had a suspicion that Winnie or Spike was topping up her car with gasoline.

Jess and Ralph often visited, bringing with them supplies and moral support; investing time and affection on the kids.

Ralph and Liam bonded like glue over all things young - cartoons, funny songs, silly dances, and children's books.

Meanwhile, Jess and Crystal, who both like to paint and draw, had developed a tutor-pupil relationship.

In the beginning, Crystal's drawings were interesting although somewhat disproportionate. With latent talent and constant practice, however, her strokes notably improved, becoming more refined and elegant; her visual perception and sense of depth sharper.

Her natural inclination was towards still life. Sketching and painting these inanimate objects had given her a focus and an outlet to channel her yet unvoiced sorrow.

Jess, on the other hand, liked to draw live models. She had found inspiration in Crystal, drawn to the child's beautiful, innocent face. When she completed the portrait, she kept it wrapped in secrecy.

*

IN RETURN FOR ALL THEY DO, Kate often insisted for Jess and Ralph to share their dinner. It was the least she could do to reciprocate the couples' kindness.

'It would be rude to decline an invitation for a meal.'

Then, one day, the kids suggested that they should look after Mr and Mrs Smith, 'It's something we can do for Spike and Winnie.'

It was just the kind of help that these pet-loving people needed. So, Kate asked on the children's behalf.

'We'd love that,' Winnie replied.

The bird-sitting service would free them from the constant worry of checking in on the birds, which at times got a little sticky when they're called for extended duties.

Weeks turned into months.

It was becoming increasingly evident to all of them that this family required more than friendship, nutrition, shelter and clothing. They must have security to be able to live normally, so they didn't have to look over their shoulders all the time. It was necessary for Crystal and Liam to go to school and be friends with kids their own age.

The only way to make this possible was to make the monster account for his crime.

*

USING HIS CHARMING PERSONALITY, Spike roped-in Paul Jenkins, USMS Cybercrime Guru.

'What's this?' Paul asked as Spike placed a laptop in the centre of his desk, two-handed like an offering to the gods.

'I need to crack the password. It's top secret,' Spike replied as he bit on a cookie he liberated from Paul's biscuit tin.

Paul grabbed the tin and hid it inside his drawer before Spike could help himself to another.

'Top secret, my ass,' he said.

'Come on, buddy, it's child play for you.'

'Okay, just this once.'

Paul plugged the laptop into a high-spec hardware and away it went. Intrigued, Spike studied the unusual five-server system with genuine curiosity.

Noting his interest, Paul explained that it could cluster cycle through as many as three hundred and fifty billion guesses per second.

'At that speed, it can try every possible combination in less than six hours. Its twenty-five AMD Radeon graphics cards are powerful, and it uses virtualisation software.'

That bit of trivial information went right over the top of Spike's head. He shrugged his shoulder, but didn't stop Paul; if it made the geek happy to explain, he'd listen till Kingdom come.

In his element now, Paul carried on.

'It cracks passwords using the NTLM cryptographic algorithm that Microsoft has included in every version of Windows since 2003.'

Spike's eyebrows rose quizzically, accompanied by a lopsided smile. Paul interpreted his facial expression to mean, explain more.

Spike laughed when Paul waffled on.

'NTLM means New Technology Lan Manager. This baby,' stroking the piece of hardware, 'can try billions of combination of passwords in six hours, enough to brute force every possible eight-character password containing upper- and lower-case letters, digits, and symbols. Some passwords are so dumb; it can take this baby less than--.'

Suddenly. Ping!

They both turned to the laptop.

'--three minutes to crack the password,' said Paul, grinning.

Excited now as a cat with a ball of wool, he practically jumped on a chair and clicked a folder on the screen. So much for not being in the least interested, Spike thought.

It opened to reveal over two thousand innocent looking images. Paul squinted, then adjusted his glasses. He was not misreading the information; the file size was definitely bigger than it should. He told Spike, 'there's more in each of these images than visible to the naked eye.'

He went ahead and used a Zip software and a Windows command line to view the hidden images.

They both had a major shock!

They were far worse than Spike had anticipated and certainly not what Paul had expected.

What's a Senior Deputy Marshal got to do with child porn?

*

A WEEK LATER, THE TIME had come to update Kate. He called her to ask, 'What's the best time to catch up?'

'The kids will be in bed by eight,' she replied.

'Right,' he said, as he tried to ease the tension from his voice. 'Win can watch the kids. I've got something to show you at my apartment.' Even to his ears, he sounded short and abrupt; he just wanted to blurt it all out and be done with it.

Immediately, Kate felt a sense of dread and a premonition of horror. It wasn't anything Spike said, but the manner in which he had said it.

'Okay,' she said shakily. 'Thanks.'

Spike called Paul next. Whenever there was information tracking to be done, Paul was their go-to guy.

'Buddy, come to my place tonight. This can't wait.'

*

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Paul got there with a bag of fast food, a two-inch thick greasy burger and a bag of fries.

Being health-conscious, Spike grimaced at the sight of a brown paper bag heavily stained with oil.

'Buddy! What's that?'

'Hey, don't complain. This is the best I can get in thirty minutes. Want some?' He asked extending his arm in a gesture of sharing.

Spike backed away.

'No. I cooked dinner. You're welcome to join us.'

He grabbed Paul's doggie bag and tossed it in the bin. Without breaking stride, he opened the oven to bring out freshly baked lasagne. The sight of golden brown grilled cheese instantly lifted their spirit and made their stomach growl.

Spike brought out green salad and wine from the fridge and served them on the kitchen bench.

'Grab a plate,' he said, 'help yourself. Pay me later.'

Paul made a face; his square black-rimmed eyeglasses rode up his aquiline nose.

'If there's anyone paying, it's you. My hourly rate is one hundred fifty dollars. By the way, when do I get to meet Winnie?'

Spike pulled his phone out, raised a finger to Paul to indicate un momento.

'Sweet, Paul's here. See you soon.'

He pocketed his phone before grabbing a handful of salad, 'Haven't you met Winnie yet?'

'Not that I recall. Please don't use your hands,' Paul cried out in alarm, 'I'm allergic to germs.'

They were laughing about it when Winnie walked in.

'Oh, pretty woman,' complimented Paul. He looked at Spike, 'I can kiss her, right?'

'A peck on the cheek or you're dead meat.'

Winnie laughed before offering her cheek. Glancing at her fiance, she told Paul, 'Don't worry about him; he doesn't bite.'

Spike pulled his girlfriend to his side, bit her lightly on the cheek just to prove she was wrong.

'Let's eat. I'm hungry.'

They tucked in hungrily; between mouthfuls of the lasagne, they talked amiably about stuff that kept them busy during the week. Certain things, however, the guys only discussed in codes and inferences because Winnie didn't have high-security clearance.

Annoyed, Winnie said, 'Lance Smith, tell Vic Henson if he wants to keep the peace, he has to clear me for top secret stuff. I'm sick of being treated like a mushroom.'

A little confused, both men said, 'Mushroom?'

'Yeah, mushroom. Kept in the dark and fed manure.'

The imagery made the guys chortle. It earned Spike's behind a tiny, painful pinch.

'Ouch! Okay, I'll tell him, Miss Mushroom.'

'Good.'

She finished up in the kitchen while the men moved to the office. After washing up, she said her good-byes and went down to Kate's with a book from her library; an interesting choice, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

*

THIS TIME, KATE OPENED the door spontaneously.

'The kids are asleep. I baked some brownies. Please help yourself.'

Winnie thanked her and gave her a hug, 'They're waiting for you.'

'They?'

'Spike and a good friend, his name is Paul Jenkins. He's with USMS Cybercrime Unit. Don't worry; he's a nice guy.'

Kate didn't know what to expect. She knew Spike had made progress, or he wouldn't be asking her to come to a meeting. With heavy feet, she climbed up the step. With an even heavier heart, she knocked on the door.

Spike let her in, 'Come in.'

She stepped inside.

Spike and Winnie's apartment was a large two-bedroom unit. It had been renovated. Out with the old and in with the new. It was sleek with clean lines and finish, and also minimally furnished; devoid of knick-knacks like figurines and vases. The walls were warm grey, with white borders.

'In here,' he said as he led the way to the second bedroom which was being utilised as an office.

'There's someone I want you to meet.'

Kate followed.

The instant she entered the room, Paul looked as though he was nailed to the floor. Instantaneously attracted to the young petite Asian woman, he stood on the spot open-mouthed. Why wouldn't he?

She has a pretty face and fine, shiny jet black hair that went all the way down to her waist. She didn't look a day older than twenty-five, but Paul was sure she'd be much older unless she had Crystal at eighteen. His brain was busily calculating the small details.

Kate felt his attraction, and it embarrassed her.

Spike saw it, too, and groaned inwardly despite the poker face he presented. He was loath to think of would-be complications. He, however, had nothing to fear. Paul was all professional.

'Hi, I'm Paul. I'm here to help,' then he took the backseat.

Spike did most of the explaining, starting with who Paul was and how he fitted in.

'The laptop was a big help. The photos were stored in this folder here.'

Spike turned it around to show Kate what he was referring to.

'In the images of landscapes; mountains, farms, streams, and cabins, your husband had embedded some very nasty pictures.' Spike paused.

Paul picked it up from there.

'You may have an idea what the photos are about. They're concrete evidence that your husband, ex-husband, is a paedophile. You don't have to see them unless you want to.'

Kate gave him a thin, determined smile, 'I want to see them. I may be able to identify some of the kids; their parents need to know.'

The men looked at each other, worried that Kate might not be able to withstand the horror of what she was about to see.

Paul continued, 'I printed some of them. I selected the least lewd of the bunch, but still ...'

He looked to Spike for support, who didn't hesitate to jump in.

'Kate, they're not...'

Kate stoically extended her hand.

'Give it to me,' she said with a strength of conviction that belied her physical fragility.

Spike protested.

'You don' have to look at them.'

'I know, but I want to.'

Paul handed her the envelope. Her hands shook a little as she took them.

Before she could open it, Spike asked if she'd prefer to have a female in the room for moral support. She nodded slowly, and with gratitude.

Winnie was babysitting Crystal and Liam. He knew from Ralph that Jess was away on business, so Spike called Doris Seva, another deputy marshal, a member of his team.

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# 9: Most Evil

--------

AFTER COMPLETING HER ANNUAL PSYCH ASSESSMENT, Doris was relaxing in the privacy of her bedroom. She had recently gone back to her musical roots; singing and strumming her guitar whenever time permitted. Her form of relaxation used to be home-renovation, but since her house had been restored to within an inch of its life, there was nothing left to scrub, prime, paint, and drill or even attached a hook to.

Her cell phone rang loudly. The ringing could possibly be heard at the street corner, and her house was three away from it. Quickly, she answered it before Jack rushed up the stairs to check out what he might mistake for a smoke alarm.

She answered with a raised eyebrow when she saw the caller I.D., 'What's up, Boss?' Then, mouthed 'sorry' to Jack, who was staring at her with annoyance.

'Doris, can you come over?'

'Why?'

'Can't explain on the phone... it's very important.'

'This is not some kind of joke, is it, Boss?'

Spike sounded deadly serious, 'Doris, no, it's not. If you can come, I'd be very grateful.'

'I'll just change. I'll be right there in twenty.'

Being tomboyish, and without feminine vanity, she hastily changed out of her oversized T-shirt full of holes into a white V-necked tee, donned a pair of denim jeans, and a jacket. On the way out, she stuffed her feet into a pair of old boots and wound a scarf around her neck. She was ready to go in less than two minutes.

'Hey, hold on. Where you goin? You're abandoning me! Just like that!' pouted Jack, her blond Viking boyfriend.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm going to Spike's. Important matter he said.'

'Sure that's not a prank?'

Doris laughed.

Poor Spike, she thought. How had he managed to get that reputation?

It wasn't often he played a prank on anyone, albeit she had to concede each time he did, the occasion tended to be memorable.

'I'm sure,' she moved to kiss Jack on the lips, but he was quicker; he grabbed her waist and lifted her.

'I think the bedroom beckons.'

'Jack, it's very tempting, but Spike needs help. Wanna come?'

'I'm coming with you. I wanna punch him for taking you away tonight.'

*

'WE'RE HERE.'

They were surprised to find Spike waiting outside the building's entrance, funnily Jack and Doris had the same thought.

Winnie must have booted him out to the street, poor thing.

Doris talked as she walked towards Spike, 'If you think for one minute that I'm going to adopt you, you're mistaken.'

'No room in the Inn,' said Jack, seconding his partner-in-crime, who was also his partner-in-bed.

Spike frowned and pretended to feel wounded, 'And here I was thinking what beautiful friends I have.'

He greeted Doris with a warm hug. Jack, he deliberately ignored.

'I need to give you a heads up before you go up to my apartment.'

He led them to apartment one first. Winnie was there to welcome them with a hug and hot tea. The freshly roped-in couple didn't know Kate and the kids from a bar of soap, so Spike gave them a briefing and told them the unfettered truth. They sat silently absorbing the details. They had questions but saved them till Spike finished his narrative. In the end, the boss said, 'Basically all she needs tonight is moral support.'

Doris clasped her hands then blew air into them, her way of psyching herself up, 'Okay, let's go.'

Winnie noticed Jack had gone very quiet, 'Jackson, you're welcome to stay here or--?'

Jack didn't let her finish, 'It's okay, Winnie. I'll go with them.'

They went up, found Paul and Kate in sombre conversation in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Spike introduced everyone.

Doris tried to put Kate at ease with a wide smile.

This must be so hard for her. I'm a complete stranger.

Kate reciprocated with a reserved smile.

'The guys will wait out here. They won't leave us.'

The guys nodded, grateful to be offering moral support without having to dodge emotional bullets.

As soon as Kate and Doris went inside the home office, Spike asked the guys if they didn't mind him leaving to keep Winnie company.

'She's by herself. You know, in case, the kids wake up.'

The guys smirked at the lame excuse.

'No hanky-panky, the kids might wake up,' teased Paul.

Spike shook his head and bid them good-night. He ran downstairs two at a time. At last, a chance to spend time with his long-suffering fiancee. A chance just to hold her again, to feel human again, for a change.

*

THE GUYS WHO REMAINED paced the floor. Eventually, Paul sat and grabbed a fistful of hair. He had seen the photos, and it disturbed him greatly. No one could ever get used to them. They were appalling.

Jack stepped out onto the balcony. His eyes caught a line of deciduous trees springing leaves for the spring, the season of renewal. The juxtaposition was somewhat jarring. He walked back inside and glanced towards the closed door. He hadn't seen any of the pictures, but he could imagine the abomination. Sometimes, imagination was a whole lot worst. Later, he would find out he hadn't even come close to it.

*

DORIS AND KATE HAD fifty photos to look through.

After the tenth, Kate tearfully related to Doris that Paul had told her he only printed the photos he considered not too lewd.

'If these aren't too lewd, I'd hate to think what the others must be like.'

She recognised two of the girls, children of family friends. Holding the photos to her chest, she sobbed uncontrollably. These were kids who were like sisters to her Crystal. She loved them like her own. These were the kids she offered to look after so their parents could do other things. They trusted her, and she had failed them.

Doris cried with her. It was all she could do. Her helplessness grated in her soul.

They were nearing full meltdown by the time they got around to the fifteenth. They had to take a break to save their sanity.

Doris came out to get something to drink for Kate and herself. Jack gave her a hug. The affectionate move prompted a release of pent-up emotions. It surprised her how fraught she felt. She returned the hug tearfully, drawing strength from Jack.

'Are you okay? Can you go on?' He asked.

She nodded.

Paul stood up, 'Is she okay?'

Doris nodded again.

'She's a brave woman. She's hanging in there.'

When she re-entered the room, she found Kate writing the names of the kids on the back of the pictures. And as much information about the children she could remember or even how old they may have been when the photos were taken.

Three hours had passed; there were still more pictures to go through. Doris asked Kate to stop, to regroup emotionally or risk suffering a complete breakdown.

*

ABOUT THIS TIME, SPIKE woke up from his catnap. He opened his eyes, realised that he had been gone too long.

Winnie had fallen asleep on the couch, with a book opened on her lap. The poor dear.

Spike went up with a tray of brownies Kate had baked earlier. It was the least he could do. It was such a long night he couldn't remember if they were scheduled to escort a witness in court today, tomorrow or the next day.

It was already two in the morning.

'Are we doing anything important today?' he asked Jack.

'Yeah, we are. We're relocating a witness after a court hearing. We should stop now and start again after.'

When Doris came out, they told her what they thought they ought to do.

'Let me ask her what she wants; I'll be right back.'

Minutes later, they came out. Doris said, 'We will continue again tonight.'

Kate thanked them with a handshake and reserved her warmest hug for Doris.

Paul didn't have to work as it was his rostered day off. He offered to continue working on more folders and emails.

'Stay here,' Spike offered, simultaneously transforming a three-seater couch into a futon bed for Paul right in the office.

'See ya in the morning.'

Everyone, except for Paul, left; he battened down in front of the laptop.

At the landing, Jack said, 'We need our beauty sleep,' so he and Doris didn't hang around.

Winnie went up with Spike soon after.

*

ON THE DRIVE HOME, Doris sat impassively on the passenger seat. Jack, his voice coated with concern, said, 'Talk to me.'

Grimly, she said, 'Jack, today I saw the devil.'

She mentally aimed a .357 Magnum at Kenneth Fernandes.

Give me an excuse you miserable piece of shit.

Lucky for him, he was out of her reach.

And if he knew what was good for him, he'd stay put and not dare set foot in Chicago.

*

IN THE STILLNESS OF the early morning, when even the sirens of emergency vehicles had fallen silent, Kate reflected on how she survived one night in a living hell.

There were many times she felt that the best recourse for them was to live in denial, pretend they had no previous lives; erase everything about their past and never speak of them again.

She had learned, however, that the problem with living in denial was one had to exist solely to "whack the mole." One never knows when and where the truth might rear its head.

Hopefully, by confronting what had happened, and the person who had caused them this immeasurable pain, they could just face it once--and for all.

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# 10: Family

--------

WEARIED TO THE BONE, and with very little sleep, the women gathered at Kate's at the end of their workday.

Doris straight from a safe house after securing a witness. Jess from her office at the DOJ, and Winnie from her humble cubicle at the U.S. Marshals Service.

*

PAUL HADN'T LEFT SPIKE and Winnie's apartment. He'd been working non-stop, and in the process, discovered damning emails and other information from the laptop.

It was par for the course that there would be a hidden compartment within the hard drive; at the very least, one. Paul had dug deep.

He messaged Spike earlier in the day to say he'd cracked it.

'The Aladdin cave is open,' he wrote in a text.

'Aladdin cave?'

'That's what he called it.'

Spike went home briefly to check with Paul. One look at him and Spike knew the cyber guru hadn't bothered to wash or eat.

This geek was as tough as they come.

Needing a caffeine boost, Spike excused himself to get a latte. That's when he saw the pile of used coffee pods that had accumulated next to the machine. To stay upright, Paul had consumed a killer amount of coffee.

'So, Paul, what have you got to show for all your effort?'

Paul's bleary eyes came to life.

'Spike, first of all, this baby is top of the range hardware with heavy duty encryption. Kate's husband isn't just your average paedophile. He could be one of the main distributors.'

He paused to let Spike think about that for a minute, but it didn't take a minute. The penny dropped quickly.

'He's one of the main players.'

In the dark web, those that host paedophilia are heavily encrypted and controlled, and its members are carefully vetted. In every instance, site members are required to add to the portfolio of photos and videos. A situation of "we're all in this shit together. Therefore, we're all criminals together." Explicit participation guarantees the members' complicity and silence.

'We gotta inform the FBI. You've cracked something really big here.'

'Spike, just let me call Shoba.'

'Okay, call her.'

Shoba Mahtani was Paul's equivalent at the FBI. If there were one who could really give this a crack, it would be her.

Their little conference done, Spike invited Paul to go down with him. He said, in all seriousness, that he was in danger of fusing his bum to the swivel chair if he didn't.

'Give me a minute,' Paul replied, 'I'm close to finishing.'

Spike went to his bedroom to get a change of clothes for them.

'Here,' he said as he tossed a light pink-Polo T-shirt to his buddy.

Paul looked at the shirt.

'Pink?'

'What's wrong with pink? It'll show you're in touch with your feminine side.'

'You wear it then,' he said.

'Fine,' Spike grabbed the pink shirt in exchange for a red one.

'Not a word,' he warned.

*

KATE LOVED COOKING for big gatherings. She wouldn't take 'no' for an answer this time. Hosting and entertaining were what she did best in her previous life as a politician's wife. In those days, she had been expected to host big parties for political supporters. Now, she was simply hosting dinner for her family, and she loved it.

Showered and refreshed, Spike and Paul came down to join the impromptu gathering. Ralph and Jack had just arrived from shopping to top up the family's fast depleting supply. Far from boring, they had also bought lots of treats; chips, chocolates, cakes, and soda.

'Comfort food,' said Jack to Kate in their defence as she tut-tutted them for indulging the children.

Kate shook her head, feigning upset, as she watched the kids help unpack the groceries. Christmas had arrived early for Liam who was very happy particularly to have Pringles in the cupboard.

'Ralph, have I told you lately that you're my hero?' he said with a cheeky grin.

Ralph high-fived Liam.

'You keep that up, and you'll have a lifetime supply of Pringles.'

Soon, the apartment complex could smell the aroma of Thai cooking, which was surprisingly Kate's speciality.

Half-past seven in the evening by the time they gathered to eat. It was a grand feast for the atmosphere and the spirit of friendship, rather than the elaborate menu, servings, and presentation. Although it had to be said that the menu was elaborate, the servings were plentiful and the presentation elegant in its simplicity.

*

AFTER DINNER, RALPH and Spike stayed to clean and wash up.

Kate and Doris went up to resume the difficult task of identifying the children in the photographs; Paul and Jack joined them to resume their concerned pacing in the living room, ready to offer a shoulder to cry on.

Winnie and Jess stayed to get the children ready for bed.

Liam followed a strict routine. After bathing, he put on his sleepwear and brushed his teeth. When he was ready for bed, he said 'good-night' to everyone, gave Jess a hug, but stuck his tongue out at Crystal.

Winnie took him to bed, then read to him a chapter from Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. After a couple of pages, he was out for the day and being a deep sleeper; he won't wake up again till the morning.

Jess attended to Crystal. When the little lady was done with her evening routine, she asked Jess to sing her a song. The young woman, who was originally from Canada didn't know a lot of children's songs but knew one by heart.

She had grown up in the neighbourhood of Old East York in Toronto where she watched an Australian-made TV show for children on Cable television.

She sang it heartily.

'Bananas in pyjamas are climbing down the stairs...'

'Sing it again.'

Jess sang it again and again. On the fourth repeat, Crystal sang along, making an effort to learn the lyrics.

When they finished singing, Crystal tugged at her shirt, 'Why do you care so much?'

Jess got teary-eyed because even though she's a tough cookie, she was also sooky.

'Because you're my family and I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

Crystal hugged Jess for dear life.

'Are you staying? Mom's away tonight.'

'Your Mom is not away. She's just upstairs doing something very important. She'll be back soon, and I won't leave your side till she gets back.'

Crystal scooted over to one side; Jess laid down next to her.

The little girl fell asleep hugging her pillow, her back resting against Jess, someone who's got her back.

*

AS THE LITTLE APARTMENT descended into quiet, Spike asked Ralph, 'Are you okay?'

The young man nodded and smiled tightly, but bravely. 'I have to see someone,' he said. Before Spike could ask any further question, Ralph walked out.

For once, Spike didn't know if it was a good idea to let him leave; he seemed so fragile.

He chased after Ralph, 'Hey ...,' he said, loud enough.

Ralph turned back, gave him a dismissive wave and said, 'Don't worry, I'm fine.' Then he got into his car and drove off.

Spike watched him steadily disappear into the night.

'Stay strong, young man, stay strong,' he admonished into the wind.

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# 11: Heartbreak Road Ahead

--------

SINCE SHE DISCOVERED what her husband had done to Crystal, Kate had had a hard time dealing with the fact she married someone so vile and despicable. How had she not known what kind of man he was?  She couldn't get her head around it.

Today's task was going to be soul-destroying but also a necessary evil. She promised herself that she would plod on if it meant they could see justice at the end of it.

The process was slow-going.

At times, Doris, her support person, had to encourage her; but most of the time, she was there to stop Kate from ploughing through.

'You can't keep going till you fall apart at the seams.'

They would talk and cry or talk and laugh about some distant happy, funny memories, anything to take their minds off this filth. Then, they would return to the photos.

At one point, Kate stopped with a photo in her hand; shock evident on her face.

'Our godchild,' she mumbled in a barely audible voice.

'It's Bettina, George's only daughter. He's Ken's long-time friend. They've known each other since kindergarten. They were each other's best men.'

She sat in stunned silence as tears streamed down her face.

'I think of Little Bettina as my own,' she said when she found her voice.

Kate looked at Doris, her eyes red from crying, 'Do you think he spared anyone close to us?'

Doris knew the answer to the heart-rending question but dared not say it. Paedophiles are opportunistic predators. They take advantage of anyone's children; it doesn't matter whose, even their own. There's no one alive sicker than betrayers of kids. Her own tears answered Kate's question.

Deep within, Kate knew.

The question was rhetorical. It was just her way of hoping that maybe there were girls within their circle who had been beyond this animal's grasp.

After two hours of looking at pictures and documenting details, Doris asked Kate to take a complete break.

'You have to come out, too. It'll help you cope better if you get fresh air and remove yourself from these,' pointing at the scattered images.

They headed for the kitchen.

'Would you like a glass?' Paul asked as he was pouring wine for himself and Jack.

To his surprise, Kate said, 'Yes, please.'

Doris didn't wait to be served. She just took a sip from Jack's glass, which was his cue to get another for himself. He was glad to oblige.

They appear to be coping better today than yesterday, he thought. Or, maybe they're just getting better at compartmentalising.

With Liam now sound asleep, Winnie went up to ask Doris if she'd like to be relieved.

'Thanks, but I'm okay. I think it's best if Kate gets through this with one person.'

Winnie agreed it was best. She returned to the children's room to sleep next to Liam.

Spike was snoring on the living room floor; his body and mind had long given up.

*

WALKING ALONG THE LAKEFRONT, alone with his thoughts, Ralph battled with his demons. He had been harbouring fear and anxiety about his underlying motivation for being close to Liam. Hadn't it been said that abused kids became abusers, too?

No, he said to himself.

No way.

Dr Zali Gee's voice echoed in his mind.

'Not all abused kids become abusers. Some go in the opposite direction; they become protectors and defenders. In extreme cases, they become avengers.'

Regardless, he was aware that his brotherly relationship with Liam had been hampered with hesitation on his part. He often found himself pulling back even when all they were doing was playing Snap.

Many questions raced through his mind.

Would I be like that with my own child?

Would my future son feel the love from me?

Would I be able to hug him like my father once did?

Would I always be in doubt of what motivates me?

Will I always be on guard? Always conflicted? Always ambivalent?

All these questions made him beyond sad. What Chico had done to him had damaged and tainted him to his core.

He concluded morosely, that if it were ever to cross his mind to molest a child, he would hang himself first--end of story.

*

FINALLY, AROUND TWO in the morning, Kate came down with Paul, Jack, and Doris.

Spike, Winnie, and Jess all woke up.

'Thank you guys for your help,' Kate said sincerely.

'Don't mention it,' Jack said, speaking for the group.

The couples and Jess left for their respective places.

Spike had to explain to Jess that Ralph had gone ahead to see someone. Apprehension immediately clouded Jess' face.

'Don't worry,' Spike assured her, 'he probably just need to clear his head.'

Jess stoically agreed, even though her heart was thumping crazily with nagging concern.

'We'll see you guys tomorrow,' she said, giving them a hug.

*

PAUL LINGERED BEHIND. The young mother gave him a questioning look.

'Kate, I've had a breakthrough with the laptop. There's more--'

She paled and gasped involuntarily.

Paul quickly said, seeing the fright in her face, 'Don't worry. You don't have to see what's in it. I just wanted you to know I've had a breakthrough, let's just say that the FBI will be making some arrests in the U.S. soon. Those based overseas will be handled differently, of course.'

He rocked on his heels.

'That's all,' he said. 'Have a good night.'

'You, too.'

Paul left the front door with a heaviness in his heart. He wondered if it were possible for this family to heal enough to let him in. In such a short time, he had fallen in love; unreal for someone who didn't do subjective very well.

Paul sat in his car thinking no one could guarantee a positive resolution in Brazil. With her husband's wealth and strong political clout in a country where the wheel of justice turns slowly if at all, it's all hinky.

However, there's always a way.

He had been thinking that engaging the Interpol, alongside with the FBI, maybe the way forward, but the process would be long-winded and littered with bureaucratic hurdles. Just thinking about it made him extremely frustrated.

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# 12: Key to the City

--------

ANOTHER MONTH HAD PASSED since Doris and Kate completed documenting the names and profiles of the victims; and these from just a fraction of what was found in the Mayor's laptop.

Thus far, Kate was able to identify six young children who were either close family members or daughters of family friends and neighbours.

Throughout the discovery process, Paul had been amazing. Their estimation of him had increased five-thousand fold. He was slightly built like a human toothpick, but his spirit was formidable, and he was indefatigable.

He was single-minded in the task and had harnessed the manpower of the entire Cybercrime Unit.

Even with so many people involved, it was still hard going. There just wasn't enough time and manpower to do the job.

The main problem was that the Unit's mandate didn't just cover criminal apprehension. They were involved in a whole gamut of activities ranging from courthouse security to asset forfeiture. And, the criminals they track and apprehend covered everyone from murderers to white collar criminals and even domestic terrorists.

His job description was enough to drive a lesser human to oscillate between homicidal and suicidal. Yet, Paul wasn't one to allow anything to get in his way.

Years ago, his staff at the Unit had nicknamed him 'the Great White Ant' due to his slight stature, and because he's white and because nothing was too tough or too hard for him.

Paul was at it day in, day out. Night in. Night out. If he had a few hours to spare, he dug into that laptop.

He identified and tracked IP addresses linked to the laptop by cross-referencing them against email addresses of close contacts and associates. It was tedious work and required many man-hours and sharp, unrelenting focus on small hidden details.

*

AT THIS STAGE OF THE investigation, Shoba Mahtani of the FBI was also on board at Paul's behest.

The FBI has a much broader scope, bigger cyber manpower, and farther reach than Paul Jenkins could ever hope for at the USMS. Shoba didn't hesitate to harness and flex that bureaucratic muscle.

She had made some 'off the record' inquiries on her own accord.

'I've got good news,' she told Paul.

'What?'

'Brazil Interpol has a dossier on your guy, Mayor Kenneth Fernandes.'

'They do?'

'Been watching him for years but couldn't find concrete evidence to nail the bastard, but you have it, right?'

'Yeah, I do. Where do we go from here? How do we do this? Whom do we call?' Paul asked excitedly in rapid succession.

''Well, this is gonna to be an intercountry, interagency and inter-jurisdictional cooperation. So, why don't you try baby-stepping your way around it? Start with, ah, maybe someone at the Department of Justice?'

'Are you kidding me?'

'No one said it's going to be easy. Hey, you know DOJ better than I do.'

'That's just it,' he said with frustration boiling over. 'This feels like a losing battle. I feel very dirty already. It's like swimming in crap.'

'I know what you mean; sometimes I feel nauseated. At times, I can't sleep. It's driven me to distraction.'

*

ONE DAY, THEIR STRESSFUL situation was compounded by a mind-blowing political development.

Jess, always awake at 4:30 a.m. come hell or high water, was watching CNN. The news feature stunned her.

'Bloody hell!'

She hurriedly roused Ralph.

'Get up, quick. The news.'

He half-sat on the bed as Jess pulled his right arm, 'Jess, do you know what time it is? It's not even five yet.'

Duh, of course, I know what time it is.

'Come back to bed,' he urged

'No, I can't. Get up. You need to see this.' She pulled him out of bed into the living room.

He caught the headline as it was being repeated.

'What the hell?'

He stared transfixed at the television, listening to the broadcast, grim-faced.

Meantime, Jess had already sent out a group message to Jack, Doris, Spike, Winnie, and Paul. The message was classic Jess. Urgent, frantic, swear word and all: "Get Up! F'ing news channel now."

Almost as one, they turned their TV on.

The newscaster was reading from the news prompter: 'Sao Paulo's two-term Mayor, Kenneth Fernandes, has accepted his counterpart's invitation to visit the City of Chicago. The Brazilian politician, who is currently campaigning for the Office of Governor, and his entourage, are expected to tour Chicago within a couple of weeks for bilateral talks with political, civic, education and business leaders. During the official visit, Mayor Fernandes will be given a key to the city.'

They couldn't believe their ears, the key to the city?

'The Sao Paulo Mayor will have an opportunity to look at ground-breaking, innovative pre-schools that Chicago is very proud of. The Mayor will be meeting teachers and the little pupils...'

They all tuned out after hearing the word 'pupils' not caring anymore about the rest of the newscast.

Pupils! Over my dead body!

Doris realised she must have said it aloud because Jack nudged her.

Their first thoughts were of Kate and the kids.

*

SPIKE'S CELL PHONE VIBRATED; it was Doris calling.

'Spike, can you handle this? Break the news to Kate? Hopefully, she hasn't seen it yet.'

He sighed.

In truth, he would rather not deliver bad news. The thought of telling Kate her husband was coming to town was enough to make his knees feel weak, but he has to man up.

'I'll do it.'

Overhearing his half of the conversation, Winnie tapped him on the shoulder then pointed to herself, indicating she would go in his place.

'Thank you,' he mouthed with a restrained smile, feeling very grateful.

He turned his attention back to Doris, 'Winnie will tell Kate. We've gotta move them out of the city. We can't let the kids hear or see the news.'

Doris agreed, 'Where to?'

'I know a cabin. Let me make a call. I'll ring you back.' Then, he realised the sun wasn't even up yet.

'It's too early to call.'

And since they all had to be at work in a few hours, whatever needed doing had to be done now.

'Let's all meet at my place instead.'

Minutes later, everyone arrived to discuss their plan of action. The espresso machine worked overtime.

They agreed that ideally, the family should be moved out of the city ASAP. They didn't want to risk the children hearing about their Dad on the radio or seeing him on television, the internet or the newspaper.

They also agreed that Winnie and Spike should drive the young family to the cabin and stay with them for a couple of days since their rostered day off was coming up.

Then, they would do a rolling close protection detail on the family for the next nineteen days. Thankfully, witness relocation and protection was their expertise.

*

KATE WAS ALARMED TO hear knocking on the door so early. Her heart was beating wildly, she approached the door quietly then looked through the peephole. She was relieved to see who it was.

'What's wrong Winnie? Do you need anything?

Winnie held Kate with icy hands which sent a jolt up her arm. With a sense of restraint urgency, Winnie guided her to the couch and said, 'Sit down.'

A sense of dread crawled up Kate's spine.

Winnie folded a leg under her, then tried to compose herself to deliver the news as gently as she could, although she knew that regardless of how she delivered it, the news would be devastating.

'Kate, your husband is coming here in two weeks for an official visit.'

The young mom looked shell-shocked.

'What?'

'I'm so sorry, Kate. Can I get you something?'

The young mother didn't respond. She just hung her head in defeat.

Just when we're gaining grounds.

Winnie sat quietly next to her. It would be an outright lie to say 'It's gonna be okay.' Instead, she offered her wordless support; her being here was more important than hearing anything she might have to say.

Shortly, Spike came down with news of his own. He squatted in front of Kate, held her hands and gave her a reassuring smile, 'We're going to take you and the kids to a holiday cottage not far from here. It's a place that holds beautiful memories for us,' he reached out to squeeze Winnie's hand.

'It has no radio, television, and internet. Just wilderness, fresh air, great wildlife, and cosy home. What do you think?'

Kate was relieved.

'When do we go?' she asked softly, just above a whisper.

'We'll be off in a couple of days, enough time for me to organise some things in the office. In the meantime, don't let the kids turn on the radio or TV, okay? Jack's bringing his X-box and games over so the kids have something to keep them occupied. If there is anything else you can think of to make the two days go quickly, just let us know.'

'Do you think he knows we're here?'

'We don't think so,' assured Spike, 'there's no way he could have known. You've been very careful.'

*

LITTLE DID THEY KNOW their shocking day wasn't over, in fact, their nightmarish day was just beginning.

They arrived at the US Marshals Office thinking it was going to be just another day when they were told to head straight to the Briefing room.

'The Chief Deputy is waiting.'

'What? That's not good,' said Ralph.

They whispered among themselves.

'Another evaluation? Another mind-numbing training day?'

They couldn't be more wrong.

In the staid briefing room, the Chief Deputy was waiting impatiently, playing an imaginary piano on the conference desk. Not that they were late. He was just early. Confidential folders were neatly stacked at the centre of the table.

Upon their entry, he smiled at Spike specifically.

'Good to see you're all here. I heard your team is the best. I'm assigning you guys a high-level witness relocation. This is a priority. Drop everything you're doing and put these people in place.'

He pushed the stack of files towards Spike, got up to leave before anyone can say a word.

On the way out, he said without breaking stride, 'Keep me informed.'

Damn!

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# 13: Interpol

--------

BRAZILIAN NATIONAL, Rogelio 'Roger' Rodrigo, entered the United States via Chicago's O' Hare International Airport. As usual, he exited the Immigration and Customs' Area with no drama.

The slight, bespectacled, and moustachioed man was an officer of the International Police, commonly referred to as Interpol.

These days, things happen at warped speed. With faster transport and the advent of the internet, the way the world did business had changed. As a result, criminal activities have also become globalised--crossing borders and often operating with impunity. However, international law enforcement was not as fast.

Previously, when a country requests assistance, it can take anywhere from twenty-four hours to eight weeks for visas to be issued to law enforcers. To resolve this, the Interpol Executive Committee endorsed the creation of an Interpol Travel Document so its authorised officials can enter member-countries whenever and wherever they were needed.

So, since 2009, the Interpol Travel Document bypasses lengthy visa requirements, allowing quick entry.

Rodrigo, definitely, had urgent business to deal with. He knew it the minute he received a call from Jessica Kidman of the United States' Department of Justice. Their conversation lasted only five minutes, but a single word, 'laptop,' was enough to convince him this was the break he had been waiting for.

Pushing aside all other business concerns, he booked a flight, grabbed his permanently packed suitcase from under his desk and his coat from the stand and was at the Airport bound for Chicago within three hours of that call. That had been yesterday.

Today was the day of reckoning. For him, at least. After five years of working solidly on the paedophile ring's dark web, the case was about to crack.

Finally, his first big break in the case!

Hopefully, it would have a totally different outcome to the case of the other infamous former Mayor, Adail Pinheiro.

*

FOR MANY YEARS, THE remote Brazilian town of Coari has been run by a gang of predatory paedophiles-headed by its Mayor and powerful political allies. It had been rumoured that they used money from the public coffers to finance the abuse and rape of hundreds of girls between the ages of nine to fifteen. All, allegedly, on the order of the Town Mayor at that time, Adail Pinheiro.

The Mayor was known to prefer the very young, particularly virgins for whom he was said to have paid as much as five thousand Brazilian Real.

Over several years, no fewer than seventy investigations were started against Pinheiro. Each one was halted by corruption and a web of protection. In fact, he was first arrested in 2008 but spent only sixty-three days in jail despite shocking allegations of paedophilia stretching decades.

Finally, in 2014, he was arrested again.

Allegedly, however, while in prison in Manaus, he was still running paedophile rings from inside his cell. Even then, there were fears he would be out again shortly, just like in 2008. Meanwhile, his cohorts were still in place in the municipal council. In effect, not much had changed.

With respect to the Pinheiro's case, there was one specific voice recording that Rodrigo could never be able to erase from his memory. At times, it was the first conversation he hears in his head when he wakes up from a restless sleep. At other times, annoyingly, it's on repeat throughout the day.

The conversation went like this:

"She a little baby, chief, now I'm looking at her properly, what a baby," said the voice at the end of the line. "Beautiful smile, white skin, long hair. Makes your mouth water."

"My God, bring her to me to see right now," came the excited reply, arousal clear in his voice.

The call between two paedophiles lining up their next victim was being recorded by police, of which Rodrigo was a part of, representing Brazil's Interpol.

It left them, all hardened investigators, in utter disbelief; and, the nation of Brazil in a state of shock when the recording was aired for public consumption.

The first voice on the tape was that of Adriano Salan, the Minister of Administration in Coari, a town of seventy-seven thousand inhabitants in the Brazilian Amazon.

The other voice was Pinheiro's.

When the recording came out, families started to come forward. It was then that the authorities learned the extent of the malaise. Poverty-stricken parents had sold their daughters in exchange for cash, cell phones, jobs, and houses; but some had been forced to do so under duress.

It was sickeningly abominable.

*

AND, HERE HE WAS AGAIN on the trail of yet another-and this one was worst, allegedly. Now, he's on a quest to remove all doubts.

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# 14: The Laptop

--------

THE TEMPERATURE INSIDE THE BRIEFING ROOM approximated a furnace.

It was going to be a really long day. Eventually, Spike got up, 'I'm getting water, who else wants one?'

Simultaneously, several arms went up. They were all thirsty, and their throats were constricting with the tension.

On his return, armed with six bottles of water, Spike asked them for suggestions.

Doris was forthcoming. She said, 'I'd like to apply for my ten-day paid leave.'

Being a Federal employee, this was part of her work entitlement, not that Uncle Sam's employees ever manage to go on leave regularly.

Spike nodded. There would be no arguments from him. If Doris were on leave, at least one of them was guaranteed to look after Kate and the children. In the meantime, they would proceed as planned.

He mulled over the situation. From his perspective, he and Winnie were still okay to drive the family to a secure location and stay with them for a couple of days.

However, with both himself and Doris unavailable, the heavy lifting would be left to Jack, who was his second-in-command and the newbie Ralph. He trusted them to be able to cope with the workload until he got back in a couple of days.

Around the table, they began to study the files. Their first task was, always, to get to know who was going to be in their custody.

The profile page told them that it would be a daunting task. The man had a big family; wife, six children, ranging in age from twenty to five; and a mother-in-law. He had demanded they all join him.

Once the witness, code-named Joe Doe by a not-so-creative DOJ official, has finished testifying, they will escort him to a temporary accommodation. Most likely to one of those out-of-the-way, nondescript motels, until a suitable home is chosen.

In the meantime, it's their business to secure all family members until relocation has been completed.

Contrary to Hollywood's interpretation, WITSEC is not simply about driving witnesses from one location to the next. U.S. Marshals are not glorified taxi drivers.

The process of witness protection is taxing, expensive and time-consuming.

Those who enter into it, typically do it for life. So little, if any, is left to chance. Everything has to be thought through as lives depended on it. And, those who implement the Program, typically do so with their lives on the line, even for people who don't deserve their protection.

In the business of witness relocation, family members are sometimes able to make certain decisions and prepare for their new lives. Some, however, are forced to move quickly; even leaving within moments of the marshals' arriving.

The Program requires all participants to leave everything behind--relationships, assets, and identity. Innocent family members are faced with an impossible choice: join the program and lose your identity or stay and potentially lose your life.

Relocation sites are often chosen by WITSEC marshals, although families are allowed to choose from several options. Once chosen, the location is disclosed only to a few within the Program.

After giving witnesses and family members their new identities, marshals then coach them about their new life history and back stories. They assist, especially children, in remembering their new names and practising writing them.

In the early days of the Program, when it was still developing, there were many oversights with long-lasting ramifications. There was a child, back in the day, who was not given a birth certificate and since he was not able to get one, he couldn't play sports. Later in life, he had a difficult time enrolling in college and getting married.

As time passed, those bugs have been worked out. These days, legal name changes, new social security cards, birth certificates and drivers' licenses are routinely issued. Medical and school records are quickly transferred, and fake credit histories are created.

Since 1971, close to nine thousand witnesses and eleven thousand family members have been protected by WITSEC, and no one who has followed the Program's guidelines has ever been killed.

*

WITH SO MANY TASKS AHEAD, Spike trusted Jack and Ralph to be able to get the job done. He had to, no ifs or buts.

Later, as Team Leader, he would beg and borrow more personnel from other teams. In the meantime, they would have to make do with limited manpower.

They focused on the profile of other family members. Three of the offspring were teenagers. From their experience, teens are and will always be problematic. They don't like leaving their schools and friends behind; their resistance often bordered on combativeness.

Spike delegated managing the teenagers to Ralph. Being in his early twenties, the Team look to him to talk sense to young people.

Ralph shrugged with pained acceptance.

*

AFTER THE ROUNDTABLE DISCUSSION, they broke for lunch.

Ralph left the building to get some fresh air. He walked aimlessly, needing to see green grass and blue sky. He needed to be out in the open, so he could breathe. Unbeknown to him, Doris was following discreetly like a stalker.

An almighty headache had been threatening to split his head wide open since this morning. He bent down to hold his head in a vice grip.

He couldn't breathe. He recognised this as the onset of a panic attack.

You're okay. You're gonna be okay.

He repeated this to himself like a mantra, as if these were magic words with powers to expel his demons.

Doris watched from a safe distance.

'Slow it down,' she urged, encouraging Ralph from afar. Briefly, she debated with herself whether to approach or to leave him alone.

These recent events had triggered turmoil; dredged up long-buried filth that had lain at the bottom of his soul, and it's muddied the surface.

Poor thing.

She looked at her watch; it was time to head back. Ralph didn't make a move; she realised he'd likely forgotten the time. She made a stealthy approach, then gently placed a hand on his shoulder, 'Do you need more time?' she asked softly.

The kindness in her voice pressed a psychological button. Tears welled up in his eyes. He fought it back.

She had evidently, and inadvertently, turned on the tap.

'I can stay here with you if you like.'

Ralph shook his head, 'No. Go ahead. I'll be there shortly.'

Doris squeezed his shoulder.

'Okay, but if you're not there in ten minutes, I'm sending the Cavalry.'

Ralph smiled thinly in spite of himself.

Doris turned to leave.

He stared at nothing for a minute, then put his hand inside his pocket for his hankie. As he pulled, something that looked like a pebble came tumbling out. It glinted in the sun. He picked it up; it was a piece of broken glass.

Earlier in the day, on the way to Spike's, he had found a broken bottle. It had shattered on the pavement in pieces. He pocketed every shard, then transferred them to his glove box for a mosaic he was planning to make.

He fingered it, feeling the smoothness of the surface. The edges were jagged, but over time, they would become smooth, too. Time has a way of smoothing out the sharp, uneven edges.

It gave him hope. Hope anchored his belief.

*

RALPH WAS THE LAST to return from break. He was going to apologise for his tardiness, but Spike was quick to let him know, with his eyes, that there was no need for one.

He nodded with gratitude.

They were deep in discussion when they heard a rap on the door. A head popped in just as it opened wide enough, 'Can I come in?'

'Jess,' they chorused.

'What are you doing here?' Ralph asked, surprised as the rest of the team.

'Above your pay grade,' she joked.

'Okay, what's up?' they asked simultaneously.

She motioned for someone behind her to come in. A middle-aged man appeared. He reminded them of Inspector Clouseau, although he was shorter than the English actor who played the literary character.

Jess introduced their visitor.

'This is Rogelio Rodrigo. He's with the Interpol, and he's Brazilian.'

'You can call me Roger,' the visitor said in a faultless American accent.

They all sat straighter, cleared the table and invited both visitors to join them. Jess introduced the team to the Interpol officer.

'Didn't expect the accent,' said Spike, as the others nodded in agreement.

Rodrigo explained that he had studied in the U.S. in his youth and had been Brazil's Legal Attache in the United States Interpol Headquarters in Washington, D.C.

Once formality had been done away with, Rodrigo didn't beat around the bush.

'We've been working on penetrating a child-porn ring which we thought was being run in the U.S. We were wrong. It was actually based somewhere in Belgrade.'

Then, he flashed his iPhone with a photo of someone familiar, Mayor Kenneth Fernandes.

'This man,' he said, 'is one of the main players. We have made his connection to the Belgrade Mafia, thanks in no small part to Paul Jenkins and Shoba Mahtani of the FBI.'

Jess interjected at this point.

'Actually, it's thanks to a brave woman.'

Everyone in the room held their collective breath, fearing Jess might accidentally spill the beans about Kate and the kids, but they had nothing to worry about. Jess simply added, 'but that's beside the point.'

Rodrigo nodded slowly, 'One day, I would want to shake this woman's hand. Mayor Fernandes had been a difficult one to catch and definitely, a big fish.

Continuing, he said, 'We want him to face justice as soon as possible, preferably before he becomes Governor. The state election is next month. He's slippery enough being a mere city Mayor. God forbid, he gets elected to higher office.

'He's leaving Sao Paulo on the 13th. His itinerary includes a two-day stay in New York. Then, he and his entourage will fly here for an official visit. Ideally, we would like to make our case in Brazil while he's visiting you.'

'How can we help?' asked Spike.

'We can't,' replied Jess. 'This is officially, and entirely, a Brazil-Interpol operation. Roger's here just as a courtesy and because I want you all to know things are starting to happen.'

Rodrigo took over again. 'My first priority is to make the case against Fernandes airtight. When I heard about the laptop,' he looked at everyone present, 'I knew then that we've got him. I need to get to take it back with me to Brazil. In fact, we would need to return it to his possession.'

As one, they protested loudly.

Spike angrily rose from his seat and queried whose side he was on. Rodrigo put his hands out defensively.

Jess slapped the table. It shut everyone up.

'Wait, listen. Just listen. There's a plan.'

Rodrigo swallowed, thankful for Jess' intervention. A second ago, he thought he was dead meat.

He explained further, 'We can use the laptop, but first, we need to return it to him. We'll wipe it clean. It can't have any traces of your prints. Then, we'll transfer his prints back on it.'

'You have his prints on file?'

Rodrigo smiled, 'You better believe it.'

'So, that's it? That's your plan?' challenged Ralph.

Rodrigo put his cards on the table. He had to show that he trusted them.

'The plan, he said, 'is to apprehend him with the laptop in his possession. It's very incriminating.'

Spike motioned to Jess. They got up and spoke in whispers in the adjoining room.

'Do you trust him?'

'I do,' said Jess with conviction. 'He's one of the good guys. I can vouch for him.'

'You realise that once we surrender the laptop, that's it, right. We have no recourse.'

Jess sighed.

'I know, but we gotta trust someone, sometime.'

Fingers crossed.

When Spike and Jess returned, they discussed the minutiae of the operation.

Rodrigo, as expected, was forthcoming with a few details but tight-lipped with the majority of information. The team understood that he was operating under rules of secrecy and confidentiality. Nevertheless, it still rankled.

*

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, after the DOJ had been satisfied that everything was copacetic, it gave the order for Paul Jenkins to surrender the laptop to Rogelio Rodrigo at Jessica Kidman's behest.

Paul watched them leave with it. His heart heavy with apprehension.

What if, he thought, we trusted the wrong man?

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# 15: Operation Swift Justice

--------

LATE THAT EVENING, Rogelio Rodrigo of Interpol boarded Air Paradise International Airline, a non-stop flight from Chicago's O'Hare International Airport to Sao Paulo's Guarulhos International. But non-stop didn't mean quick--it was close to eleven hours.

The economy class seat was a tight squeeze. Luckily, his flight wasn't fully booked.

He should have been able to rest with three seats to himself. Instead, he was wide awake for most of the night, worrying. He liked to worry. He thrived on it. If he were blase or comfortable, he felt he hadn't planned for all contingencies.

His main worry was that he didn't have much time to put everything in place. The chance to nab Kenneth Fernandes arose suddenly; it was now or never. He couldn't pass it up. Thankfully, he already had the right man in mind for the job.

Operation Swift Justice would have to be put in play immediately, as soon as Mayor Fernandes leaves for the United States.

He and his cohort would have just two weeks to get an arrest warrant issued for Fernandes, in time for his eventual return. All of it had to be done hush-hush and speedily.

Fernandes had been in his sight for a long time, but the politico had proven to be elusive, careful and influential. The laptop was the first tangible proof he'd been able to obtain. It was a long time coming.

Sao Paulo -

Rodrigo's plane landed at nine in the morning, local time. Waiting for him at the airport was an average looking man, a grey man. So-called because there was nothing distinctive about him and therefore hard to remember. He didn't stand out and had always embraced obscurity.

If witnesses were to describe him, they would say: "Mulatto, approximately 5'8, weighs around one hundred fifty pounds, and has no distinctive features." In effect, they would have described nearly every Brazilian male.

Even his surname, Silva, was common. Ten per cent of the entire Brazilian population carried this last name; approximately twenty million people.

They made eye contact. It was the only acknowledgement they gave each other.

Silva pivoted on the balls of his feet in the manner of a graceful footballer as he headed for the exit.

Rodrigo followed with one hand on the laptop and the other pulling along a wheeled hand-carry luggage.

The second Rodrigo stepped outside the air-conditioned building he was immediately hit by stupefying hot and humid air. And, pollution that permanently blankets his city.

Being situated in the Southern Hemisphere, Brazil's weather is the opposite of the United States and Europe.

It had been a wet and cold spring in Chicago when he left. Cruelly, he landed on a hot and humid autumn in his city. Just his luck that today's weather was nowhere near the average, balmy fall weather of seventy degrees Fahrenheit; this was closer to eighty-five. He blamed climate change.

They walked swiftly towards the car park, expertly navigating against the crisscrossing flow of human and vehicle traffic.

Rodrigo easily spotted Silva's trusty fifteen-year-old Toyota Corolla. It looked funky now that it has four different colours, each a result of a traffic accident.

He thought momentarily that he might actually regret asking Silva for a lift.

Silva opened the trunk to store Rodrigo's small wheeled luggage.

Rodrigo climbed into the passenger seat. Just seconds later, Silva was sliding into the driver seat.

'Ola como vai?'

'Todo bem,' Silva replied tiredly.

That was the extent of their conversation.

Rodrigo closed his eye, not just to rest them, but to avoid seeing the way people drive. It would be next to impossible to relax if he has to see the chaos in the streets. Nevertheless, he felt every swerve, sudden braking and acceleration, but with his eyes closed, he could pretend to be riding a roller coaster.

Soon, they arrived at Rodrigo's house in the outskirts of Sao Paulo. Immediately, he secured the laptop in a wall safe, then changed out of his sweaty, clingy shirt into a clean one; and just like that, his mood improved.

He joined Silva, who was already in his kitchen helping himself to a bottle of ice-cold beer.

'You've got your priorities right,' he said with a grin.

Silva responded by tossing a cold one to him. They raised their bottles in a toast before chugging the cerveja down to the last drop.

Silva leaned his torso against the fridge. After he had drunk half the content, he asked, 'So what's the plan?'

'The plan is for you and me to become bandits.'

A pair of eyebrows rose.

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# 16: Silva

--------

PEDRO SILVA, THE TACITURN Interpol agent, looked at Rodrigo without comment, playing bandit got his interest.

Before moving down south to Sao Paulo, Silva used to be with the elite police unit in Rio de Janeiro, the Batalhao de Operaçoes Policiais Especiais, commonly known as BOPE, Brazil's SWAT equivalent.

It was a stint served in hell, except it was on earth. Back then, his neck of the woods was the favelas, Portuguese for slums.

The favelas are a sprawling, poverty-stricken, drug-infested, crime-ridden, hell-hole of a place. Rio is littered with them. One, in particular, Cidade de Deus (City of God), became world famous after U.S. President Barack Obama visited and walked down its street to wave to adoring Brazilian fans.

Census data gathered by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics showed about six per cent of the population lived in slums in 2011, equating to over eleven million people. That number is increasing on an almost daily basis.

Suffice it to say, Silva's expertise was urban warfare. With BOPE, he had a lot of practice being shot at, challenged to a fight, verbally abused and pushed to the limits of his endurance. In comparison, the gig at Interpol was a cake walk.

Even though curious, Silva patiently waited for Rodrigo to reveal the details of the Operation, code-named Swift Justice. It wasn't in his nature to talk too much, which made him a very good field operator.

Rodrigo commenced.

'We're gonna create a situation that would result in police being able to enter the Fernandes' family home without a warrant. We'll give them a probable cause--a robbery in progress.'

Silva smiled; he could see where this was going.

Rodrigo carried on.

'While we're robbing his house, we're gonna search every square inch of that damn place for evidence, and we'll leave that laptop to be discovered by detectives. Shortly, of course, we will "happen by" the scene and will become members of the first responders. So, how's your burglary skills?'

'A little rusty, but nothing a little practice can't fix.'

'In that case, we better get started. We've only got two weeks to prepare.'

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# 17: Garden of the Gods

--------

IN CHICAGO, SPIKE HAD finalised Doris' paid leave of absence with Human Resources in record time by pulling his weight and putting on the charm.

His last words to Jack and Ralph, before heading off for the day were, 'Keep me informed.'

Spike was stuck in congested, peak-hour traffic when his cell phone beeped. It was a text message from Winnie. Bad news, she texted, our cottage is not available, it's fully booked for the month.

Since the flow of traffic wasn't moving, he felt okay to call her on his hands' free gadget. Winnie answered swiftly. They had small talks before she said, 'I know a friend who owns a cottage we might be able to use. I gotta go. I'll give him a call.'

Spike teased her.

'Since I have to cut this conversation short, there better be a place booked before I get home.'

Winnie laughed at him.

*

FOR WINNIE, IT WASN'T as simple as calling any old friends. She poured herself a glass of wine to steel her nerves while she waited for Edward to answer.

Edward was Edgar's identical twin, the gorgeous young man she loved, whose life was tragically cut short by a low-life. Winnie smiled tightly as she recalled the unusual set of circumstances that led to her meeting Edgar.

She had been selling a pre-loved business textbook on the City Colleges of Chicago's online bookstore.

The City Colleges were composed of seven colleges and six satellite sites across the width and breadth of Chicago.

She was, at that time, a student at the Harry S. Truman College, located in Uptown on the North side.

Edgar was at Wilbur Wright College, which was on the Northwest side of the City. So, ordinarily, they wouldn't have met in the normal course of their daily lives.

As fate would have it, Edgar had bought the book she was selling. She posted it to him, and he sent the payment.

Done deal! She thought nothing more of it.

Alas, when he received the book, there was a black and white photograph of a bright-eyed, long-haired young woman wedged within its pages.

Edgar claimed he fell in love with the woman in the picture right from that moment. Unable to resist the urge to find out who this woman was, he tracked her down by any means available.

He wasn't disappointed when they met. The first words that came out of his mouth were, 'You're even prettier in person,' which made her laugh out loud.

She didn't play hard to get. Not at all. She really did like Edgar from the get-go. The liking slowly percolated to a boil and became romantic love.

Two years went by quickly. Fresh out of college, life was full of promise, and their future seemed bright and secure.

She immediately found employment with the DOJ after completing her college certificate in Human Sciences. He went on to become an IT technician in the telecommunications sector.

He was kind, gentle and surprisingly creative. Before meeting Edgar, she thought all nerds were uninteresting and dull. Not Edgar. He dabbled in anime design (a little nerdy, but that was beside the point).

He collected Dr Who, Star Wars, Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica figurines (again a little nerdy, but that was also beside the point).

The point was he wasn't uninteresting and dull.

They weren't engaged, but they were as close to being without being. Their happiness ended abruptly when Edgar was killed for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

How had queuing to see a Disney movie be the wrong place at the wrong time?

They were just standing in line outside the theatre to see Shrek 2. Suddenly, there was a sickening strafing sound of automatic gunfire. All she could remember of that moment was cradling his head as he bled to death.

It had been nearly ten years now, but a tinge of rawness still remained. It is not true that time heals all wounds, she thought.

Some, but not all.

His murder was her closest encounter with unimaginable tragedy. Her father had told her, on the day of Edgar's burial, 'Into each life, some rain must fall.'

Her Dad then wiped her tears before she collapsed into his arms in a heap.

*

HER CALL WAS ANSWERED with a delighted tone, 'Winnie, it's been a while, how are you?'

Her stomach flipped. She nearly audibly gasped. She was hearing the voice of her previous, precious boyfriend, except he had been dead for a decade.

It's disconcerting, she thought.

Forcing a smile in her voice, she said, 'I'm good and you?' She rested her backside on a bar stool, raised the wine glass to the light and watched the hue of her drink change from amber to liquid gold with the play of light.

Edward, friendly and chatty as ever, said he's glad to be home for the time being.

'I can't believe that I like it here, but I miss Bali very, very much.'

The mention of a foreign place didn't surprise her. The vagabond in Edward had not been willing to stay anchored in one place.

They carried on chatting about life in general and work in particular, then she asked, 'So how's your Mom doing?'

He chuckled.

'She's been feeding me all day. But if you want to talk to her, she's not here at the moment. She's volunteering at the local op-shop. Bullying everyone, you know her.'

Edward laughed at some distant memories. It didn't seem so long ago when his mother, Edna, was bullying the school canteen staff, then the high school fundraiser committee. It made sense that she would eventually progress to the op-shop volunteers. He jokingly said, 'St. Peter better be preparing the Angels; they would be next.'

Then, getting to the point, he asked, 'So, okay, what can I do for you?'

'Ouch that hurts,' she replied, 'you make it sound like I only call when I need something.'

The jokester gave out a soft laugh.

'I was just being flippant. You're still sensitive. That man of yours should cure you of that, what's his name again?'

'Ed,' she said in pretend reprimand. 'I didn't call to discuss my love life. I already have dozens of people who put my life under a microscope. That reminds me, what's her name again?'

'Which one?' He replied laughing.

She laughed with him. His joie de vivre was infectious.

'Okay,' she tried to sound serious this time, 'I was wondering if you still have the cabin in the Garden of the Gods.'

'Yeah, I do. You need it?

'If you don't mind,' she said.

'I'll let the caretaker know you're going to use it, and I'll text you her details. You can arrange to get the keys from her directly. Her name is Mariana.'

Winnie drank the rest of the wine. A minute later, her phone pinged. It was Mariana telling her she'll be leaving the key under a flowerpot by the door.

That done, Winnie called Kate to let her know of the trip to the Garden of the Gods Wilderness.

'We're leaving tomorrow; pack for three weeks, Kate. You only have to be there for two, but you'll never know. We'll be heading off at six-a.m., is that doable?'

The young mother laughed, 'Can it be earlier? They're driving me crazy asking every five minutes if we're going yet.'

*

IT WAS GOING TO BE a five-hour drive, maybe six, depending on how frequently they stop to rest.

It would be cramped in a car with three adults, two kids, two birds, and backpacks. So, Spike rented a seven-seat van much to the delight of the children.

Liam and Crystal were beyond happy, but their joy turned sour when they couldn't agree who gets to have the long back seat. Soon, sour turned acrimonious.

The adults conferred how best to approach the meltdown, then a light bulb appeared on top of Spike's head.

'I've got an idea.'

He called the kids over, 'I'm sorry, but neither of you can have the back seat.'

'Why?' Liam wanted to know.

''Cause Mr and Mrs Smith need the back seat. If they can't have it, they can't come, and we'd all be sad. Do you want all of us to be sad?'

Crystal was quick to reply.

'I'll be sad without them. Mr and Mrs Smith can have the back seat. Right, Liam?'

The five-year-old nodded. Problem solved.

*

THEY AVOIDED THE PEAK-hour morning traffic snarl because they were going in the opposite direction of the city, so the flow was in their favour.

They stopped once after three hours to stretch their legs, use the restrooms and let the kids run. They ate brunch at the park and enjoyed spring's floral display.

'We should picnic more often,' Crystal told her mom, with her face beaming with delight.

'Yes, we should,' agreed Kate.

Deep within, she was saying to herself, if we could.

After an hour break, they continued on with Winnie on the driver' seat this time.

Before the road trip, Spike had thought the kids would be sufficiently entertained with onboard DVD player, music, and electronic games. He was mistaken. For in spite of the entertainment at their disposal, the kids couldn't wait to reach their destination.

'Are we there yet?' Crystal and Liam asked in alternating frequency. A gazillion time, the adults replied, 'Not yet.'

They had been on the road for over six hours now. The kids were getting antsy despite the stunning views outside, which were to-die-for. Or, perhaps it was because of it.

Spike amused the kids with fun facts, pointing out trees, birds, wildflowers, and sceneries and telling them some quirky stuff about them. The kids were massively impressed at his expertise and wealth of knowledge; he was, of course, googling about it.

The Garden of the Gods Wilderness was part of an uplifted sandstone plateau. Soaring rocky formations, canyons, bluffs and ridges, carved over millennia by wind and water, stretched out for thousands of miles. The magnificent rock formations attract all sorts of people, from the artistic, introspective types to the athletic, nature lovers. Of the hundreds of canyons in the wilderness, Rock Branch Hollow was said to be the most beautiful.

'Are we there yet?' Asked Liam for the nth time.

With a wide smile, Winnie said, 'Five minutes and we're there.'

Finally, when she could see the chimney of the cabin, she pointed it out to the children, who excitedly leaned down, straining against their car seats to see out the window.

She stopped the car on the gravel drive in front of the house. The kids were halfway out of their car seats before she could turn off the ignition.

Kate just managed to stop them from rushing out of the van and tumbling out of it.

Spike found the key under the flower pot.

'Are you ready?' He asked.

They all cheered.

'YESSSS!'

'Mother,' he said handing the key to Kate, 'please open the door.'

As Kate did, the kids squealed with delight. The living room was decorated with several helium balloons, their strings waving in the air.

'Wow.'

They were greeted with the aroma of chicken casserole; and freshly baked cake. They found a scrawled note on the bench. 'Hope you like the little surprise.' It was signed by Mariana, the caretaker, on behalf of Edward and Edna.

Winnie called Ed to thank him.

'It wasn't necessary,' she said.

'Yeah, I know, but I wanted to make the gesture.'

He could hear the unmistakable sound of children's voices in the background.

'Who are those? I didn't know you and Spike had kids.'

Winnie left the cabin surreptitiously, closing the door behind her. She strolled out in the nature reserve, then told Ed part of the story.

'Had I known, I'd have arranged more surprises,' he said.

'You're a very special person.'

'Hey, I'm not the one in the rescue business. Any time, Winnie. I'm glad I could help.'

She had just finished with Edward when Spike suddenly put an arm around her.

'You disappeared,' he said.

'Sorry, I just had to make that call. It was a little too noisy inside.'

They returned to the cabin arm-in-arm.

*

THERE WAS JUST TIME to unload the van and assign a bed for everyone before the kids were at each other's throats. Cranky and irritable; signs that they were very tired.

Kate put them down for a late afternoon power nap, while Winnie made coffee.

When Kate came out, Spike asked her something he'd been wondering about for a while.

'Have you ever wondered how your husband is explaining your absence to your family and friends? If I were one of your old friends, I'd be asking about you.'

Kate exhaled.

'That makes me wonder too. It's been nearly nine months since we left, and no one seems to think that maybe something had happened to us.'

It made the young mother pensive.

Have we been that alone in the world that no one inquires?

Spike was surprised that he hadn't thought of trying to find out, until now.

'You know what, I'll do some checking.'

*

THEY SPENT THE FIRST DAY hanging out in the cabin, playing board games and being silly. Yet, for all the fun and games, Kate felt melancholic. When she was single and hoping to find a husband, she only dreamed of someone kind. That Kenneth was also rich, highly-educated and good-looking was a bonus. Little did she know this was how it would turn out; that he would be a devil incarnate.

Her eyes fell on her beautiful daughter who, just now, appears to be unaffected. She was the epitome of a mixed race child, and Liam, too, of course.

Crystal, with her perfect oval face with a pert nose, fair skin, light brown eyes, long limbs, tapered fingers and kissable lips, was indeed a stunning girl.

They used to admire their daughter while she slept, and she said things to him like, 'When she grows up, you'd have to be so protective.' Except, their little girl needed protection from him.

The betrayal stabbed her like a double-edged, serrated knife.

There were times, many times, when Crystal was not herself. She uttered a prayer that, eventually, gradually, Cris would be able to come to terms with what had happened and be able to move on healthily and strongly.

*

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, they woke up to a crisp new day. They ate breakfast by the river and explored the wilderness. There was so much to see, a lot to do and many places to discover, which was just as well as there was no television, no radio, no internet and no electronic games.

At dinner, Spike announced, 'Jess and Ralph are gonna be here tomorrow, as soon as they get here, Winnie and I are heading back to Chicago.'

'What's this, said Crystal, feeling happy and in her element, 'the changing of the guards?'

Seeing her happy was priceless.

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# 18: Rediscovering Innocence

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THE NEXT DAY, AFTER breakfast, they spent an hour exploring their environment, this time going in the opposite direction. The idyllic surrounding enticed them to take pictures with their smartphones. Crystal with her artistic eyes took the best ones. She had the technical grasp of her phone camera's settings; the rest of them just pointed and shot.

They turned back when their tummies demanded to be refuelled. Kate went about setting the table with cut fruit and a variety of sandwiches.

After brunch, Winnie and Spike excused themselves to have a bit of couple time; a chance to share romantic moments.

On a yellow, bench-like porch swing that was mounted to the ceiling, Crystal curled up to Kate. She rested her head on her mother's lap.

Kate gently rocked them back and forth, stroking her beloved daughter's hair.

Gazing up, Crystal watched mesmerised at the leaves as they swayed in the breeze. Then, she smiled at her Mom as though to say moments like these, spent with you, are what I love.

*

JUST BEFORE LUNCHTIME Jess and Ralph arrived. They were all surprised.

'So soon? Asked Spike, 'How fast were you driving?'

Ralph dramatically sprawled on the floor.

'What happened to you?' asked Liam

'He's winded,' replied Jess, giggling. 'I did the driving, and he held on for dear life.'

'Oh, God,' said Winnie.

'Exactly,' said Ralph.

*

THEY WERE SEATED AROUND the dining table chatting about everything and nothing when Crystal innocently sat on Spike's lap.

No one thought anything of it.

Not until Crystal noticeably started to rub Spike's thigh. He was instantly alarmed. He locked eyes with Kate, who was clearly distressed. Winnie, Jess, and Ralph held their breath.

Spike instinctively knew that moving Crystal off him too quickly will be misinterpreted as a rejection. For a young girl, already in a fragile emotional state, that would be downright devastating. He played it cool, though his heart was thumping wildly inside his chest.

He firmly, and gently, held Crystal's hand to stop the rubbing. Then, he lifted her off him and turned her around to face him. He focused on her eyes.

Crystal dropped her gaze.

'Did I do anything wrong? Are you upset with me?'

She was doing what she had been conditioned to do by an adult male. It made Spike's blood boil. He valiantly tried to temper his emotion.

He smiled.

'No, you didn't. Crystal. I want you to know that you are a very special child.'

Spike paused. Paedophiles groom their prey by praising them; he didn't want what he was about to say associated with that gruesome betrayal.

'You're very special just for who you are. Not for anything you say or do.'

In the back of his mind, he was thinking: How does a child comprehend the concept of uniqueness and just being? Adults have a hard time of it, let alone a girl of seven.

So, to his surprise, Crystal nodded. With quivering lips, she said, 'I've always wondered if I was special just because--'

Her eyes watered and left the rest unsaid.

There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

It was what she needed to hear. She needed to be affirmed.

Then, Spike remembered Mrs Appleby, his old Principal at his former elementary school in the Bronx. She always waited outside the school gate hugging as many children as needed it or who wanted it.

She used to tell parents and guardians, 'Kids need good hugs. When they get lots of good hugs, they will know what a bad one is, so please, don't be afraid to give them plenty of good hugs.'

So, Spike asked Crystal, 'Would you like a good hug?'

She nodded slowly.

They hugged tightly.

When they separated, they both said, 'Thank you.'

It didn't stop there.

Everyone gave Crystal a hug; warm, sincere and full of affection.

*

EVENTUALLY, IT WAS time for Spike and Winnie to leave. In fact, they've left it a little late.

Everyone went out to wave them good-bye. Ralph walked over to his friend for a handshake, but Spike surprised him, 'Do you want a good hug?'

Ralph was, at first, taken aback. Speechless, he just nodded; then, they hugged in brotherly love.

Tears ran down his face for this was the first time, since he was thirteen, that he willingly, consciously, hugged a grown man.

That day, both he and Crystal, rediscovered their innocence.

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# 19: Ready, Set, Go!

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AT A SAFE HOUSE, NOT far from Sao Paulo City, Operation Swift Justice was officially in motion.

Rodrigo brought out the laptop. It was hermetically sealed.

'This, he said as he began to explain to Silva, 'had been wiped clean. Inside and out. All we have to do is transfer Fernandes' prints on it. It'll be done in a secure forensic lab.'

*

THE MAYOR'S HOUSE HAD strong, reinforced glass windows. Normally, it would be watched twenty-four hours, seven days a week, by armed guards. However, when he leaves the country in ten days, he would be taking his security with him, leaving the mansion and its occupants vulnerable.

This was going to be their chance to break in.

In the meantime, every day, Silva and Rodrigo practised stealth and covert entry. They worked with lock picks until they could open the toughest locks in five seconds flat.

They organised black suits and every paraphernalia they could possibly need; a circular glass cutter, suction cups, high-grade leather gloves, sunglasses, mini Maglite; but no firepower of any kind. This was meant to be a simple burglary.

It saddened them that there will be collateral damage. It couldn't be helped. The mansion, while less secure, will have many staff present. Six as of last count: a butler, two maids, two cooks, and a live-in chauffeur. They all have to be subdued. Hopefully, none of them will fight back. It would be a shame to have to smack them around and threaten them with violence.

*

BACK IN CHICAGO, DORIS had by now replaced Ralph and Jess. She proved to be the perfect nanny, even though she had no idea how to look after children. If it were left to her, they'd be eating chips, doughnuts, and cookies all day long. And that was what made her a star in the eyes of Liam and Crystal.

Kate made sure they all ate well, rested when needed and slept on time. Left to their own devices, Doris, Liam, and Crystal would have rocked all day and night.

*

AT WITSEC, SPIKE WAS busy arranging the formalities of relocation for eight people.

Ralph was tied up with massaging the feelings of two teenagers and a pre-teen who were all dragging their feet and moaning of leaving their lives behind as they knew it.

Jack concentrated on logistics. It was hard work selecting, preparing and securing various locations and trying to recruit more personnel. Asking for assistance was never easy with staff shortage being the DOJ's permanent state of affairs. So, it was going to have to be quid pro quo, meaning he had to return the favour sometime later.

Winnie acted as a conduit, keeping everyone in the loop.

Jess kept a distant, buy close eye on Rodrigo. In other words, she had been spying on him; not that she didn't trust him. She just didn't want anything to go wrong. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

*

IN SÃO PAULO, PARTNERS Rodrigo and Silva travelled to one of the most upscale neighbourhoods in Brazil.

Alto de Pinheiros was an exclusive enclave where mega-rich locals mixed with successful immigrants and expatriates, mostly Americans and Europeans.

Dressed as power maintenance workers, Rodrigo and Silva went to reconnoitre Fernandes' walled mansion. Silva climbed up the electrical pole that overlooked the residence's eight-foot fence. He put on an ultralight, hands-free binocular-glasses. Using the pole as cover, he pretended to work on the cables, but with eyes on the house instead.

He took note of the security cameras' position in relation to the main entrance, and the gaps between cameras. This will help them, later on, to figure out where the blind spots were.

The guard's house was located about fifteen yards from the main gate. It was the first line of defence. With any luck, only two thugs will be left to secure the house in the Mayor's absence.

Silva timed the guard's walk around the perimeter; it was more or less a constant fifteen-minute loop. The guard didn't vary his timing and his route, just went about his job by automation, laziness or boredom.

An hour later, there was a change of the guards. Just like the first, the second guard walked around the premises and Silva timed his loop at a fifteen-minute interval as well.

He didn't see the guard dogs but knew through the grapevine that there were three.

Ideally, they would want to get inside, but with security checks being stringent and with so much at stake, the best they could do was plan their entry and exit using a blueprint Rodrigo had obtained. Stole, if one had to be technical, from the architect's office. He could have taken photos of the plan, but Rodrigo decided that lifting them was easier and faster.

In Chicago and in Sao Paulo, they were all so busy that time flew quickly.  Before they knew it, the day of Reckoning was a-coming.

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# 20: The Thirteenth, Friday

--------

THE SUPERSTITIOUS WOULD say that it was hardly an auspicious day to travel being Friday, the thirteenth.

Kenneth Fernandes travelled First Class bound for New York with his Chief of Security, a very young-looking Personal Assistant, and his Public Relations Manager. The rest of his entourage flew in the back of the plane.

They arrived in the City of New York on the evening of the same day.

Here, the two-term Mayor of Sao Paulo was not a big shot; just a little fish in a supersized pond. He liked it this way; it gave him license to do as he pleased with no potential for political ramifications. He gets to have a lot of personal time with his P.A., who was barely of legal age. In fact, many suspected that she wasn't old enough to vote. She would be gone in a few months. There had always been a new model every half year or so.

*

OPERATION SWIFT JUSTICE KICKED OFF.

Alto de Pinheiros was tranquil, like every millionaire row. The suburb could easily have been in any European city with lots of greenery, parks, and amenities.

At midnight, Rodrigo and Silva arrived at the same time, but separately, in dark-coloured Honda motorcycles. Eight out of ten motorbikes sold in Brazil is a Honda, so to say they were commonplace would be an understatement.

Fortuitously for them, it was a moonless night. Nevertheless, they were prepared. Nothing was left to chance. They removed their full-face helmets to reveal faces that were heavily smeared in black camouflage paint. Their hair was wrapped securely in black fishnet; not a strand escaped. Dressed in all-black leather outfits, they looked totally menacing and nearly invisible in the dark.

They scaled the fence as they had practised for days. Using a new generation, high-performance, line-throwing appliance, an Assault Line with a grappling hook, they climbed up the eight-foot fence like Ninjas, entering via a tree-covered area.

What could have given them away was the mad barking of three ferocious-looking Dobermans, but Silva neutralised them by throwing sedative-laced T-bone steaks into their cages. The sedative wouldn't work quickly, but the smell of fresh meat did. Within seconds, only the satisfied chomping of beef could be heard from the cages.

Rodrigo timed his run. His first task was to disable the alarms and the cameras. Silva went to the backside of the house, the children's former bedroom. He cut the double-glazed glass window with a circular glass cutter. Then, using suction cups, he removed the cut glass carefully.

He was setting it down when Rodrigo appeared by his side. Using sign language, Rodrigo indicated he would climb in first. He was in charge of "staging" the crime scene.

In through the window, they waited behind the door to check for footsteps and to let their eyes adjust to the dark.

There were no movements; the house staff was asleep. That was good; they would much rather do what they came to do without interruption.

They tip-toed out quietly after a few minutes, heading for a room they hoped was being used for what it had been intended; the home office.

No dice. That room had been converted into an exercise room, with its own bathroom/toilet and a mini-bar.

According to the blueprint, the entire mansion had been built with seven bedrooms, all with en-suites, and five other rooms. They will have to open every door to find the new home office.

They found it after the third try.

What used to be the master bedroom had been converted into a home office. A huge executive desk made of walnut burl had replaced the marital bed. It faced the double French door which opened to a resort-style swimming pool.

Silva smirked, thinking what perverted viewing delight the Mayor must indulge in while supposedly working.

Off the side was a long conference table with eight cushioned swivel chairs for meetings. Hopefully, work-related, but they doubted it.

A search of the wardrobe yielded an immediate result. A photographic library, trophies of perversion, of little girls in various stages of undress. The filthy bastard!

They scattered the photographs on the floor to give the house an appearance that it had been burglarised. It had always been the plan.

Rodrigo left the laptop on the desk, now with the Mayor's prints on every key.

Silva found a safe hidden behind an ancestral portrait. He's not a safe-cracker. It wasn't part of his skill set, but he had a very useful mini torch.

Rodrigo came over to check what Silva was up to.

A small hole had been cut in the safe. Their faces cracked a smile. This could be really good. Silva kept at it. Soon, he was able to open the safe.

In it were jewellery, a rare coin collection, a bundle of cash of different denominations and Bearer Bonds in the hundreds of thousands. Silva put them in a sack; time to think of retirement after this job.

Rodrigo read the temptation on Silva's face and grabbed the bag.

Silva sniggered.

There was one more thing to do. Disturb the house staff and rough them up a bit; the burglary had to be believable. If there had been a way to do the job without inflicting undue trauma on hapless, innocent people, they would have preferred that, but someone really frantic had to call emergency services.

The butler, two housemaids, and two cooks were in the servants' quarters. The chauffeur was on leave, his services not being required while the Mayor was away.

They made a bit of noise that woke up the butler, who investigated what it was about. He got whipped in the head for his trouble, duct-taped and trussed up.

They did the same with four other staff but tied one of them loosely.

They hurried out the way they came but stayed lurking within close proximity. They stripped off their black leather outfits and hair nets while listening to their police scanner. So far, nothing.

They were scrubbing the black camouflage paint off their faces when they heard the call to 197, Brazil's emergency number for Civil Police regarding a burglary.

Flashing sirens would be on the scene soon, but this was Brazil, so it won't be too soon. They have to beat everyone else to the house. If crooked investigators get there before them, all the evidence would be covered up. Money talks here, just as everywhere.

The next call went to the Chief of the Mayor's Staff, George Mendoza, Kenneth Fernandes' long-time friend. Loyal as ever, he was at the scene soon after Rodrigo and Silva, who flashed their cred as Interpol Agents.

'We just happened to be in the area, so we're on the scene first,' Rodrigo explained when George Mendoza found them in the Mayor's home office, looking at photos of naked little girl scattered on the floor.

If Mendoza had known of his Boss' predilection for little girls, he didn't show it. He appeared to be in a state of shock himself.

Under the light, one photo was spot-lit. It was Pepita, his daughter. He stood nailed to the floor. Then he squatted down and slowly picked it up.

His heart broke into a million pieces. The betrayal was profound!

Rodrigo and Silva looked at each other. They couldn't have known.

*

WHEN THE CIVIL POLICE ARRIVED, a little late for action, Rodrigo had already claimed a stake in the investigation. No doubt, his head would roll, but hell, after this case, he was ready to quit anyway.

He called Shoba Mahtani of the FBI. They chatted like old friends then, he said, 'Interpol found a laptop that might interest you.'

This, too, was part of the plan. The earlier Interpol and the FBI could get their hands on the evidence; the less likely corruption could cover up the crime.

*

SHOBA MAHTANI WASTED NO TIME.

Within hours, she was on her way to Sao Paulo though she had missed the non-stop commercial flight for her destination. Instead, she got a seat with the U.S. Marine Corp. It wasn't the most relaxing type of transport, but beggars can't be choosers.

The U.S. has a Naval Detachment in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It belongs under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Navy Fourth Fleet. As luck would have it, that day, a military plane was on its way where she was headed.

Oh, the joys of working at Quantico!

*

MEANWHILE, IN THE SOUTHERN hemisphere, George Mendoza, distraught and vengeful, was at the airport waiting to fly to New York as a last-minute passenger.

No one paid him any notice as he sat alone in a corner, his face masked with anger, clenching and unclenching his fist.

He will pay.

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# 21: The Fourteenth, Saturday

--------

THE INCIDENT AT THE MAYOR'S HOUSE made headlines all over Brazil that early morning. It was the hottest topic on radio and breakfast television.

By mid-morning, Reuters and the Associated Press had picked up the news bulletin and disseminated it worldwide.

By the evening, the news had gone viral all over the world, but not for the burglary.

Someone had leaked to a member of the Press Corp a photo of a young girl, naked except for a pink ribbon on her hair. Sadly, that little girl was the Mayor's niece, the only daughter of his younger brother, Raul.

The photograph couldn't be published for legal reasons. More importantly, in order to protect the identity of the innocent victim. However, its existence strengthened the veracity of allegations that the Mayor was morally bankrupt, to say the least. In the minds of those who had long suspected it, it was no longer just rumours.

Nevertheless, back in New York, the Mayor was still unaware of the hurricane that was about to hit. For many hours, he had been holed up in a hotel room, role-playing Daddy and baby with his young Personal Assistant.

*

RODRIGO LEFT SILVA at the Mayor's residence to collect Shoba Mahtani who had by now arrived by military plane.

They greeted each other with a warm handshake, 'Thanks for the heads up,' she said. 'Shall we?'

He replied, 'We shall,' as he led the way to their ride. It was their first meeting, if she were truly as nice a woman as she seemed, Rodrigo thought that this collaboration would not be their last.

They raced to the scene to secure the evidence and to make sure they get to take the lead in the investigation. It was the only way to ensure corruption was minimised. It would be tricky as they would be stepping on many toes, but Shoba Mahtani had come prepared.

By the time they arrived, Silva was already in the middle of a confrontation. Rodrigo and Mahtani braced themselves for a fight.

The Chief Superintendent of the Civil Police was not happy at their interference. The burglary and the consequent discovery of kiddie porn at the Mayor's house happened within his jurisdiction; to be elbowed out would not look good for him and his department.

Rodrigo, Mahtani, and the Chief Superintendent took the matter behind closed doors.

Under no circumstance would the Sao Paulo civil police chief agree to their request, the Chief Superintendent said. In the long run, it was a matter of pride and loss of face more than anything else.

Precious time was wasted bickering, manoeuvring, and politicking, in the end, Rodrigo and Mahtani were able to persuade the Chief Superintendent that it wasn't in his interest to lead the investigation involving a long-serving politician.

'Who,' she asked, 'would want to be in the middle of a maelstrom such as this?'

To tighten their hold on the case, she said, without mentioning names, that one of the victims was an American citizen. And, that a criminal case was in the process of being lodged against the Mayor. She crossed her fingers behind her back.

The Chief Superintendent was persuaded when Rodrigo said that the Interpol and the FBI were not after glory. The Civil Police could take credit for the outcome, without having to do the heavy lifting; it didn't seem so bad, after all.

*

IN THE PUBLIC ARENA, this early in the situation, the might and the machinery of the clan, headed by its patriarch Senhor Francisco Fernandes, had started to be felt.

A battery of lawyers had been hired to quash the news. First on their agenda was the muzzling of the free press. E-mails and letters threatening lawsuits arrived at various editors' desks, including those based overseas.

Public relation firms were engaged to manipulate public opinion, and to control the masses' insatiable appetite for newsfeed.

*

FINALLY, AS NIGHT FELL, the Mayor emerged from his hotel. Immediately, a throng of reporters and photojournalists who had been staking out the Four Seasons' since the news broke converged on the Mayor.

Kenneth Fernandes was initially bewildered by the attention until he realised the questions were not about his official visit to Chicago.

His Chief of Security and the rest of his security detail tried to break up the impromptu, curbside press conference, to no avail.

Juan Salazar, his Public Relations Manager, offered to answer any questions, but the media people were not interested. They were singularly obsessed with hearing from the Mayor.

The reporters could smell blood. They circled the entourage like sharks attracted to the sight of a decaying food source. The Mayor was media fodder of the day; he might even be for weeks on end until the next big story.

Questions in two languages came thick and fast.

A young reporter shouted over the din, 'Mr Mayor, is it true that child porn was found in your house?'

Kenneth Fernandes had the nerve to look offended.

'Mr Mayor, the FBI issued a statement saying they're close to making an arrest, were they referring to you?'

'Mr Fernandes, is there truth to the persistent rumour that your wife and children are in hiding from you?'

What? Who asked that?

He looked frantically around to see who asked about his family. It was a stunning, blonde Brazilian reporter.

She got his attention now, so she asked again, 'Mr Mayor, what happened to your family?'

The Mayor was astounded by the audacity of the woman but replied with practised ease.

'They're in Europe. My daughter's enrolled in a European boarding school, so my wife and young son are staying near her.'

'No one has seen them. If they were alive, someone should have seen them in the market, park, and medical centre. But they've actually not been seen for roughly nine months now. Are they dead, Mr Mayor?'

'They're not dead!' the Mayor screamed.

'So where are they?'

Enraged, the Mayor shouted, 'How the hell do I know?'

'So, they're not in Europe, are they?'

*

YES! A CHEER WENT UP inside a room at WITSEC HQ.

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# 22: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

--------

EVENTUALLY, HIS SECURITY detail managed to escort him back inside the hotel. It was agreed it was safer to hide in their hotel rooms until it was time to fly to Chicago. No charges have yet been laid against him. Therefore, he was a free man and entitled to the presumption of innocence.

'It's all innuendos,' the Mayor said angrily to all who could hear him.

He checked his phone for the first time since arriving in New York. There were around seventy missed calls; most of them from his father.

He would be livid, he thought.

He turned on the television to cable news channel where he was the topic of conversation. Seething, he paced in his room. Angry at his people for not informing him beforehand. They had left him unprepared and vulnerable.

Cowards!

Juan Salazar entered the room nervously. The ungrateful City Mayor threw a glass at him, missing his head by millimetre.

That was the last straw! Tired and sick of the horrible boss he had served for six years, he resigned on the spot.

'Actually, I just came in to say I quit.'

Fernandes couldn't believe it. His long-serving ally was turning his back on him.

He felt a pang of regret for his outburst. Now, there was no one to spin a story, but he was too proud to stop Salazar.

As the PR man exited the building, he was met by a pack of news-hungry media, so he made a grand announcement for himself.

'Effective immediately, I'm no longer the Mayor's Public Relations Manager.'

'Why, after six years as his media liaison guy, have you resigned?'

'Can you elaborate on the circumstances that led to your resignation?'

'Does it have anything to do with allegations of paedophilia?'

The newshounds were relentless.

Juan Salazar elbowed his way out of the pack and said loudly, 'No comment.'

He hailed a taxi, jumped in quickly and slumped in the back seat. Instantly, he felt relieved. Free. The weight on his shoulders lifted. It would have been unconscionable to spin stories for the Mayor after what had been discovered.

*

KENNETH FERNANDES SAW Juan Salazar get grilled live on his TV screen. That scene had just unfolded right outside his hotel. He couldn't believe it.

While his eyes were glued to the television, every one stealthily left him.

One by one they left.

Woe to the last man left standing by the Mayor's side!

When he turned around again, he was alone. Abandoned and left to the sharks.

Sin had caught up with him.

He didn't know it yet, but his problem had only just begun.

*

HIS PARTNERS IN CRIME in Belgrade weren't happy with the development; overnight, he had become a liability.

'Make him disappear,' the Big Boss ordered.

That very day, a beautiful East European assassin boarded a flight for New York. She was travelling without luggage. She wouldn't need a change of clothes; she'll be in and out before the cock crows.

*

KENNETH FERNANDES PACED the floor in his room throughout the night, debating with himself: Stay or go.

Perhaps, I should cancel Chicago and head back to face the music. But that would be tantamount to admitting it. No, I should carry on with the visit to Chicago.

Once the decision was made, he still thought the situation could be salvaged. All he need was his Chief of Staff. George Mendoza was his go-to man, always reliable. With that thought, he tried Mendoza's number, but the call went straight to voicemail.

He was unaware that his Chief-of-Staff was his way to him with murderous intent.

Unaware, too, that an assassin had been sent from Europe to off him; and, that the Interpol and the FBI had connected many dots.

He still thought he could get away with it.

He had gotten away with it for twenty-four years.

He was sixteen when the sexual urge towards the young first reared its ugly head in his soul. He liked 'playing' with his baby sister.

His baby sister was now a thirty-year-old chemist. She wanted him dead, too.

*

GERALDINE FERNANDES was watching the news. Her facial features hardened. The animal she had been forced to endure was being talked about and finally exposed.

The abuse had ended when she turned fourteen, which was when she started to menstruate. He discarded her like a used tissue. She remembered the confusion she felt.

She hated him for messing with her, but it was the rejection afterwards as she was becoming a teenager that did her head in. It compounded her grief.

She had been in therapy for years but still couldn't disclose to her therapist who had caused damage to her.

It's time.

She picked up the phone to speak to her therapist.

'Are you watching the news? She asked.

'No, give me a second,' he replied. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pressed the ON button.

'He was the one,' she said. It's all true. What they're all saying.'

The counsellor said he was sorry, 'I'm here for you any time you want to talk.'

Briefly, Geraldine was silent; then he heard her exhale before saying, 'I'm done talking, thank you for everything.'

She hung up and turned off her cell phone.

He called her back. He attempted four times; each time it went to voicemail. He weighed up the whole conversation, thinking back to what she said last, 'I'm done talking, thank you for everything.'

He didn't think his client would do anything stupid and assumed she merely wanted to let him know who had hurt her; just a matter of getting it off her chest.

*

GERALDINE WENT TO HER medicine cabinet and took a vial out.

I should have stopped him.

Inside her fragile mind, a debate raged.

Don't do it. You'll be jailed.

The other said: Like she's not in jail now? Whatever, she has to do, she should have done years ago.

This went on back and forth. This debate that raged and confused her. Finally, she smiled. She felt peaceful, resigned to her fate.

*

MEANTIME, THE FERNANDES family launched a counter-attack against the FBI and the Interpol for taking an active role in the matter.

The team of lawyers appointed to protect the Fernandes' good name, and reputation wasted no time to discredit the so-called evidence, attributing them to his political opponents.

'The defamation and the smear campaign has been relentless. Our client will not sit idly by while the FBI drags his reputation through the mud. Our client intends to fight all charges.'

The head lawyer said on television.

*

WITH NO ARREST WARRANT and no charges laid in court, the Mayor was still free to travel, but in Chicago, there was increasing pressure from the public to cancel the invitation. People were demanding on TV and talkback radio for the 'paedophile' not to be given the red carpet.

The security nightmare became too much to ignore that cancellation was deemed best.

'Don't say we're cancelling his visit,' said the City Mayor, 'just say, we're postponing his visit until this fiasco dies down.'

A press release was issued to that effect.

'The official trip has been postponed...' announced the reporter on TV.

Another almighty cheer went up at WITSEC.

Kenneth Fernandes was stunned at the news. His life was quickly unravelling.

*

AFTER THIRTEEN HOURS in the air, George Mendoza finally arrived at Newark Liberty International Airport.

He queued for a taxi. Standing next to him was a sexy blonde. She was travelling without luggage.

On the expressway, Geraldine was driving; in her purse was a vial of poison she concocted in her laboratory. She would bloody her hands, but she felt justified.

I've suffered enough.

Meanwhile, the Feebies at the New York City Bureau were still scrambling. A young recruit said off-hand and in jest, 'Let's just kill the bastard.'

'Death would be too quick and easy,' said a veteran. 'Do you know what they do to assholes like him in jail? He'd wished himself dead every day.'

Yes, a painful existence. Hell on earth would be a more appropriate punishment. Death would be way too easy.

The New York Bureau Chief said.

'We need a break, guys. We need something. We've got to arrest him for something before someone gets to him. I've got a feeling his days are numbered.'

Kenneth Fernandes felt it too.

*

'BOSS, MR. FERNANDES on the line for you.'

The recruit handed the cell phone to his Boss.

'Special Agent Hutton, what can I do for you, Mr Mayor?'

The soon to be ex-Mayor asked to be placed in protective custody.

'Okay, we'll be right there.'

Hutton called a couple of agents. They were instructed to go to the Mayor's hotel to babysit and later to move him to a safe house until the fury died down and he could safely return to Brazil to fight the charges in Court.

*

THE TWO MEN IN SUITS were waiting for the elevator to take them to the twelfth floor. With them were a very delicious looking blonde, a Hispanic man and the depressed-looking young woman. They piled in. One of the suits pressed '12'.

No one pressed any other button, strange, they all thought to themselves.

They looked around and acknowledged each other with a smile, except for the assassin who didn't care for niceties.

They stepped out of the elevator on the twelfth floor. They all went down the corridor, then turned left. At this point, they all started to wonder: What the heck is going on?

George Mendoza slowed, so he was at the back of the group. He sensed they were all going to the same room. They all stopped in front of room 1258.

The Feebies drew their weapons and raised them, but aim at whom?

The others did the same, except Geraldine, who had no gun.

The more senior FBI guy put his palm out, calling for restraint. Slowly, he holstered his gun, 'Okay, we shouldn't waste ourselves for the asshole in there.'

Everyone followed his example.

The FBI knocked on the door; no one answered.

'Mr Fernandes, this is Special Agent Cutter, please open the door.'

No answer.

'Everyone back off.'

He kicked the door.

Mr Mayor was on the bed. A thin wire was looped around his neck. Like all victims of strangulation, his eyes were open, his tongue hanging out like the dog he was in life.

The younger FBI man exhaled.

'Now we have to do a murder investigation.'

Special Agent Cutter said, 'Are you kidding me? That's New York's detectives' mess to deal with.'

They all piled out of the room.

FBI reported the murder to NYPD, who sent two still-wet-behind-the-ears police juniors.

Whoever did him in, deserved a medal anyway.

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# 23: The Avenger

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RAUL FERNANDES WAITED ANXIOUSLY for a message. It came shortly after five-p.m.

It was brief, 'It's done.'

He didn't exactly know how he'd feel, would he feel better?

Until he received the encrypted message, he didn't know. Now, it struck him how hollow the death of his brother felt.

No one and nothing could restore my daughters' innocence.

When he had found out what Kenneth had done to his daughters, his father's grief was unimaginable. Having now avenged them, he remained despondent, because while his brother is dead, his wife and kids were still beyond broken.

*

KENNETH FERNANDES WAS the first born of four siblings. There were three sons and a daughter.

He was a high achiever, good looking, and politically inclined. On his shoulders hinged the political ascendancy of the Family, as they jokingly referred to it.

After Kenneth was William, the rebel, who disowned the Family before it could disown him, in a sense, he was the lucky one because he escaped the stain of corruption that political influence and privilege brought.

Raul Fernandes was third in line. Not much was expected of him; all he needed to do was not to bring disrepute to the family name, whatever that meant.

The family patriarch need not have worried for Raul was a peacemaker. He wasn't ambitious, and he toed the party line.

Third in line, he reckoned, wasn't bad at all. He got privileges and not much responsibility.

Being the youngest male offspring meant he could escape the controlling Fernandes patriarch by joining the military.

At nineteen, he found himself at the Academia Militar das Agulhas Negras, the bastion of education for military officers based in Rio de Janeiro.

There was no argument when he enrolled to become a military officer, after all, several graduates of this prestigious academy, the first military school in the Americas, became Presidents and Prime Ministers of Brazil.

He graduated with honours without even trying because what he lacked in ambition, he more than made up for in brains.

He commanded well but left his Commission as an Officer a year ago to work on his brother's campaign for Governor of Sao Paulo at the behest of their father.

*

IN THE EARLY DAYS, one of his serving men was Pedro Silva, also known as Cobra for being fast, graceful, stealthy and because he could kill quietly.

They worked together very well until Silva left to join the Military Police.

Until two days ago, Raul Fernandes had lived in ignorance of his brother's heinous desire for young girls. That was until he was dispatched by the Family Matriarch to complain how their Kenneth was being treated.

Raul went to the Interpol office to see Rogelio Rodrigo who oversaw the investigation. There, he was delighted to bump into Silva again.

'Had it been ten years?' He asked.

Silva shook his hand and said, 'It felt like yesterday.'

The warmth of friendship was still there.

*

WHEN RAUL FERNANDES went to see Rodrigo to smooth things over, he got more than he bargained for. He hadn't expected to be identifying kids who were known to him personally.

Before Rodrigo showed him a photo, he said, 'this will come as a shock you, are you sure you can do this?'

Raul nodded, thinking, surely there had been a mistake. A misunderstanding. There had to be an innocent explanation for these pictures they're all talking about.

Rodrigo handed him a photo. Crystal's.

''Do you recognise the child?'

Raul turned a shade ghostly. His throat was suddenly parched.

'That's my niece, Crystal.'

Then, there were more photos and more and more and more.

The last two remaining photos were upside down on the table. Rodrigo's eyes were full of compassion.

'Mr Fernandes, you don't have to see these.'

Raul Fernandes felt the world tipped on its nose.

'What are you saying?' He asked, wanting to be sure.

Rodrigo was ambivalent, but he had no choice now, 'It's your daughters.'

Raul sat unmoving.

He didn't mind being overshadowed by Kenneth, but his children weren't Kenneth's to do with as he pleased.

'You're right; I don't want to see them.'

'I'm so sorry,' Rodrigo said as though he was the one who should apologise.

Raul gathered himself as best he could, then said, 'I'm done here.'

On his way out, his eyes met Silva's gaze. It was all he needed to know that he had found his Avenger.

He called Silva that night.

'Two hundred thousand U.S. dollars and a bonus of another one hundred thousand for a painful death.'

'How would you know it's painful?'

'The Coroner's Report.'

Silva said, 'Consider it done.'

That night, he told Rodrigo he needed to do some errands.

'I'll be back in two days.'

Silva, the Cobra, would have done it for free if he didn't need the money.

Detectives found a calling card, with an image of a cobra, on the side table next to Kenneth Fernandes' body. This bit of information was kept secret.

*

A WEEK LATER, RAUL Fernandes went to a bank to open a safe deposit box. He put two hundred thousand dollars in cash in it.

Pedro Silva went to the same bank to open a safe deposit box of his own. He brought along an official looking envelope to put inside it. It was empty, though, but it looked impressive.

Five days later, they went back separately at roughly the same time. As they passed each other inside the vault, they swapped the contents of the boxes.

Raul whispered, 'Obrigado, meu amigo.'

*

THEN, RAUL WAITED FOR the coroner's report.

It would be months before it was completed. Hopefully, then he would find satisfaction.

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# 24: Gathering of the Faithful

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MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

They decided it was time to celebrate.

Everyone gathered at apartment one, including Paul. Even Shoba got an invite.

It was an eclectic mix of American, Asian, Irish, and Canadian feast--fusion of culture, tradition, food, drinks, and music.

At the party, Shoba gave Kate an envelope, courtesy of Rogelio Rodrigo.

Kate opened it. She was in shock at the contents. There were jewellery, rare coins, cash of different denominations and Bearer Bonds.

Curiosity got the better of Tiny Liam, 'What are those, Mommy?'

She replied, 'They're Bearer Bonds.'

The child pursed his lips and said, 'Ah,' as if he understood.

Jess explained, 'Bearer Bond means whoever bears the bond, bonds with the money.'

Everyone laughed.

Ralph couldn't help it, he grabbed Jess and hugged her tightly.

'You're too cute.'

Kate allowed the children to stay up past their bedtime; they couldn't possibly go to sleep anyway with all the noise. The only one quiet as a country mouse was Paul. Liam noticed.

'Why are you so quiet?' He asked.

Paul nearly died.

What should I say to this young fella?

'Oh, I don't know a lot of people here except Spike and Winnie. Well, I know the others, but not very well.'

Liam astutely said, 'But how will you get to know them if you don't talk to them?'

Paul stared at the precocious boy.

You got me there!

He chuckled, 'You're right! I should mingle and talk to people, starting with you.'

The child said, 'What would you like to know?'

Paul decided that his game wasn't up to scratch, he's way in over his head. He gave it his best shot, anyhow. 'What's your favourite treat?'

'Pringles.'

'Favourite TV show?'

'Pokemon.'

'Favourite movie?'

'Anything with Batman.'

'Favourite drink?'

'Juice.'

'Favourite book?'

'Where the Wild Things Are. My turn,' Liam said.

Unfortunately for Paul, the noise had quietened down a lot by this time.

Ralph and Jess had sequestered themselves in a two-seater couch, whispering sweet-nothings. Spike, Winnie, and Kate were huddled in the kitchen. Doris and Crystal were talking about music, and Jack was silently observing.

His voice loud and clear, Liam asked Paul, 'Are you in love with my Mom?'

Every head turned to their direction. Paul was floored and flabbergasted. Poor thing wanted to disappear.

Then, all heads turned to Kate.

And Spike?

Spike didn't help Paul's cause at all when he blurted out, 'I knew it!'

Winnie smacked his behind, and her eyes said shut it.

The evening ended a little awkward for Paul and Kate, but, there's always tomorrow.

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# 25: Romantic Interludes

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JACK AND DORIS WENT away on a little trip together. They watched the bright twinkling night stars on the back of an open top jeep, listened to music and just generally enjoyed the peace. They erected their pop-up tent on the back of the jeep after they counted enough stars.

Inside the tent, they felt snug inside their twin share sleeping bag with body warmth and padded clothes to keep them from hypothermia. The tent would be enough to trap the warm air; they hoped.

'Do you think we're foolish, doing this?' asked Doris.

'We will know in the morning,' said Jack cheekily.

'Or not!' they both said.

The next morning, they woke to a bright morning sun, the glare penetrating through the tent's canopy.

'Good morning, lover,' Doris said.

'Good morning, my Juliet,' replied Jack.

'Corny,' they both said.

*

RALPH AND JESS STARTED their mosaic project together. They had enough broken ceramic and tile pieces to create a small mosaic-patterned round patio table. First, they googled the topic "how to make mosaic", studied them carefully, bought all the tools they'd need and decided on the pattern they wanted to create.

The last one was a little bit tricky. Agreeing on the design wasn't easy for two determined, bull-headed people. Jess wanted a heart pattern, but Ralph wanted a star.

'Not a star,' said Jess, 'It's lame.'

'And the heart isn't?' challenged Ralph.

They solved the stand-off with a game of poker. Jess won.

Ralph protested, 'You cheated.'

Jess stood on a low stool to be eye level with Ralph, remonstrated with her arms and said, 'It's a game of poker, for crying out loud.'

Ralph thought she was so cute.

'Just kidding. Heart, okay, heart.'

They spent the weekend on the project, but at the end of each day, they had more glue on themselves than on the back of the tiles.

While they were busy creating their first mosaic, Ralph asked Jess about the 'beautiful woman' who taught her the life lesson on 'making a mosaic out of broken pieces.'

Jess paused, 'My grandmother. I met her for the first time when I was twelve. You probably couldn't tell, but I'm eighth part Inuit.'

'You are?'

Then, Jess told her story. 'My grandma was of the Inuit tribe in Quebec. She was raped by a white man at fifteen. She had just turned sixteen when she had my Dad. She was going to keep him, but the Government took Dad and placed him in a residential school. It was a forced assimilation program. My Dad was one of Canada's stolen generation.'

Jess continued, 'After Dad had left residential school, he searched for his mother. But the damage was done. They couldn't reconnect in any meaningful way. Dad committed suicide when I was little. My mum and grandma raised me.'

She was in tears now.

They hugged and dedicated their first mosaic to Jess' Aboriginal grandmother, one who lost her innocence at a tender age, lost a beloved child, lost a generation of love but gained an earthful of wisdom in its place.

*

WINNIE AND SPIKE HAD a kitchen moment.

It was a lazy afternoon, the lady of the house challenged Spike to an onion cutting event, 'Bet I'm tougher than you. I won't cry cutting onions.'

Spike studied her and decided she's bluffing.

'Okay, I'm up for the challenge. What do I get?'

'What do you mean `what do I get'?'

'It's a contest. The winner has to get a prize.'

Winnie thought about it for a minute, 'The loser will take off his clothes.'

Seriously!

I'm liking this already.

Spike rubbed his hands gleefully.

'Bring it on!'

Winnie gave him an onion; she has one.

'Ready, set, go.'

Before cutting hers, Winnie popped a piece of bread in her mouth. When Spike attempted to get a share of the bread, she said, 'Ah, ah, this is mine. Sorry, there's none left.'

Spike shrugged his shoulders.

Before long, Spike was in tears, but Winnie was still happily chopping onions, her tear ducts unaffected. When she was done, she put her knife down triumphantly, 'Time to take off your clothes.'

Spike was certain she cheated, but he couldn't figure out how. Anyway, his girlfriend was ordering him to strip and who was he to complain. When he stood in the middle of the kitchen naked as a baby, it was Winnie's turn to be embarrassed and looked away laughing.

'Excuse me,' he said, 'You asked for this.'

Winnie gave him an apron.

'Fine,' he said.

Spike went back to chopping the rest of his onion, and absent-mindedly popped the remaining pieces of bread in his mouth.

He chopped. No tears!

Winnie looked at him.

They locked eyes, and she bit her lower lip. She could see the cogs of his brain start to spin.

The game is up!

Winnie hastily retreated to the bedroom and locked the door.

Spike walked over; she heard him say, 'You know this is pointless, right. You know I can open the door with a paper clip.'

She gingerly opened the door.

'Now, you can take your clothes off.'

She protested, 'The contest was over.'

Spike wasn't letting her get away with it.

'You cheated. You're not getting away with this. Besides, I've seen it all before. No need to be embarrassed,' he encouraged.

'Yeah, but this is different,' she said.

'Ow, you didn't think of that when you made me take my clothes off,' he said.

Well, since there was no way out of it, she did it but was really shy about it.

Spike went to get a fresh apron from the cupboard. He came over to her, garlanded the apron around her neck and tied the string around her waist, 'You're beautiful,' he said.

*

PAUL DIDN'T KNOW WHAT to do now that Operation Swift Justice was concluded. He really liked Kate, but he wasn't sure if she was ready; it's only been ten months since she left the monster. He determined however that they could at least be friends. He made it clear to her that he wasn't in any hurry to have a romantic relationship.

Kate accepted the offer of friendship.

*

CRYSTAL AND LIAM CONTINUED to grow in hope and faith, love and laughter.

One day, Ralph's Dad and step-mother came to visit.

Liam thought that Ralph's Daddy looked quite old.

'Hey, you look old,' he said with characteristic failure of diplomacy, but nevertheless stated it with a charming, cheeky grin.

Raffy squatted down to meet the little boy who reached out to touch his face, tracing the deep lifelines around his eyes.

*

RALPH 'RAFFY' CURTIS, SR. had gone to prison for killing Chico.

Thankfully, the Police reduced the charge from first-degree murder to involuntary manslaughter when the defence proved that he had not intended to kill Chico.

He had only gone to confront him. It was only when the bastard had placed the blame squarely on Ralph, claiming the child had seduced him, that Raffy saw red.

In a rage, he shot Chico. Not with a gun that belonged to him, but Chico's own.

The community rallied around Raffy, declaring that he ought to be given a medal instead. Public pressure didn't mean Ralph Curtis, Sr got off scot-free. However, the judge had been lenient and sentenced him to the lowest possible term Chicago's Criminal Court would allow--three years.

In prison, he found Cristina Alejandro. She had written to him as part of her church's prison ministry. Their friendship grew over time through correspondence. Later on, she visited him on weekends.

She had also helped look after Ralph; checking in with the boy every now and then.

One day, as they were driving to Cook County Jail, Ralph asked Cristina, 'Do you love my Dad?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Isn't he a killer in your eyes?'

'No, he isn't. Bad things happen to people, Ralph. And, people can do the wrong thing as a result. Our mistakes shouldn't define us. We should only be defined by who we want to be.'

That made an indelible mark in his life.

Three years later, they waited for Raffy to come out of the prison's gate. Then, she and Raffy got married pretty much soon after.

*

RAFFY AND CRISTINA came to visit to offer support and friendship to Kate. Connected by a common experience, the empathy was strong.

While in the kitchen preparing a meal, the older woman offered a word of wisdom. She said, 'Crystal had no control over how she was injured, but she has control over how she heals and how long it takes her. Make sure she knows that, in a way she can understand.'

It was so profound.

Kate held Cristina's hand and brought it to her cheek, very grateful for the advice.

'Thank you,' she said.

'I hope you don't mind if in this case I don't say you're welcome.'

The kids found themselves a new set of grandparents.

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# 26: Treasures

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A BIG SIGN WAS STRUNG between two giant trees, courtesy of Jess and Ralph. It said, 'Happy Birthday.'

Crystal was celebrating her eighth.

It was going to be a grand outdoor event with everyone invited. Cristina Curtis organised it and had even managed to keep it a secret from Kate and the children.

Kate was told to bring the kids to the park for a day of fun and games. They arrived at a scene right out of a Hollywood set. There were banners, balloons, a magician, an inflatable jumping castle, and lots of food and drinks.

There was a huge cake on the centre of the trestle table.

'Can I have some now?' Liam asked as he eyed the cake greedily.

'Not yet, but soon,' said Cristina.

Jack and Doris arrived with two cases of beer, Jack being a beer man. And, bags of munchies.

Food, Doris had insisted, was necessary. When Jack heard food, he thought she meant peanuts, crisps, and dips.

Spike and Winnie were already there. They were the earliest as they were in charge of setting up. They hired tables and chairs as befitting a proper celebration.

After much food and drinks later, it was time for the cake. They lit eight candles and sang the 'Happy Birthday' song three times.

Then, they all moved over to a table laden with gifts all wrapped in pink. She opened her presents one by one. There were thanks and kisses and hugs and tears when Crystal opened Jess's gift. It was a portrait of her.

Crystal held it at arm's length and admired the life-likeness of the sketch, done in pencil. It reflected her innocence and charm.

'It's beautiful,' she whispered.

She went over to Jess who said, 'It's because you are.'

Jess gave her a good hug; she has been getting a lot of those lately.

In all the merriment and gift unwrapping, Liam couldn't help but feel a little ignored. He felt sad because it's really hard to understand why Crystal was getting all these gifts and he had none.

Wisely, Paul had anticipated this. When Crystal finished unwrapping her gifts, he opened a big box of toys for Liam and all the big kids.

Spike took one for himself, an action figure.

'Obi-Wan Kenobi, I always wanted one of these.'

They all took away treasures that day, mostly in the form of beautiful, candid photographs.

At the end of a magnificent day, Crystal brought home an armful of gifts and a portrait, drawn by Jess, of how she'd like to remember her childhood.

--------

The end

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# A Gentle Plea

Thank you for taking the time to read Mosaic.

It is my hope and prayer that this story has touched you and encouraged you.

If you are one of those who has experienced what Crystal and Ralph have been through, please do not suffer in silence. You are not alone.

There are many organisations in your country that can assist with trauma counselling, legal advice, or even if all you need is a shoulder to cry on.

I am not an expert by any means, but if you think telling someone, even though she's a stranger who lives far, far away, you can connect with me. My email address is writingangel.at@gmail.com.

If you enjoyed reading this book, please consider telling your friends. Word of mouth is an author's best friend, so your kindness is much appreciated.

Also, please consider posting a review on Goodreads or on any media platform of your choosing. Alternatively, please give it a rating.

Love,

Angelin

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# Bonus Previews

Promise Me

By Jack O. Daniel

+

The Man in the Shadows

By Angelin Sydney

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# Preview of Promise Me

# By

# JACK O. DANIEL

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# 1: The Woman at City Hall

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THE SIREN SOUNDED AT the New York State Police's Bomb Disposal Unit (BDU) headquarters. The sound every bomb disposal expert secretly liked to hear, but dreaded at the same time.

They trained every day on disarming and disposing of bombs so were keen to show their mettle. Earn their battle scars. Show what they're made of and prove themselves. But then, it's the sort of job where one wrong move could mean disablement or death.

Members of the Bomb Squad quickly dropped everything and gathered around the front desk. 'This is not an exercise, people.' The State Police's Deputy Superintendent himself was there to address them. A Colonel in the NYSP, Edgar Holleran was a twenty-year veteran of the Force. His demeanour as he stood in the middle of the room waiting for everyone's full attention indicated there was serious trouble brewing.

'There's a bomb strapped to the chest of a woman, wearing a wedding gown, outside City Hall,' he said.

'Is there a Thomas Steel here?'

Someone raised his hand, 'That's me,' he said.

Holleran cast an eye on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal expert. Thomas 'Easy' Steel's reputation preceded him. His nickname, Easy, was bestowed on him by fellow cadets at bomb school. According to legend, he was so easy going, he was almost horizontal even when defusing a live bomb. They often joked that he had no pulse.

But to his wife, he was and would always be 'Tommy.' To old friends and acquaintances, and people who knew him outside of the Force, he was 'Thomas' or 'Tom.'

'The call came into my office two minutes ago. The caller said, and I quote, "Thomas Steel must attend to it." You were named specifically with the additional threat that if someone else tries to disarm the bomb, he'll trigger it. That's it for now. Go! Save that woman.'

The BDU is responsible for disarming improvised explosive devices, recovered military ordnance and commercial explosives and overseeing fireworks throughout the upstate area, the portion lying north of New York City.

This particular incident should, technically, be a job for NYPD Bomb Squad, since it was occurring on their patch, but as the bomber was specific in his demand, NYSP would take the lead in this case. In saving lives, jurisdiction played second fiddle, as it should.

The Colonel passed the baton on to Sergeant Dylan Lane, who said snappily, 'Let's go, guys.' His men and two women were already getting into their bullet-proof bomb squad vans, ready to rock and roll.

*

THE THREAT WAS A SERIOUS worry for all. Just three minutes had elapsed since the drama unfolded and already the world's eyes were on New York City and this unfortunate woman.

The iconic New York City Hall is in one of the busiest places on earth. The area around it is referred to as the Civic Center, which is smack bang in the middle of Lower Manhattan, between Broadway, Park Row, and Chambers Street.

Most of the Civic Center consists of government offices, City, State and Federal. There are also many upscale residential dwellings converted from old buildings, not to mention architectural landmarks like St. Paul's Chapel, St. Peter's Church, the Woolworth Building, the Tweed Courthouse, the Manhattan Municipal Building, and the Park Row Building. The list goes on!

The bomber couldn't have picked a more visible location to make his point.

*

THEY ARRIVED AT CITY HALL in a scene that resembled the start of a parade. People were four to five-deep in sections. They looked up and saw people practically clinging off roofs' overhangs. They could only shake their heads.

Uniformed police had managed to secure a wide perimeter to get the many nosy parkers with selfie sticks from harm's way. Evacuation of surrounding buildings was still in progress, but this was not their concern; this was where NYPD came in, and they would do a quick job of it.

Members of the Bomb Squad stood from a safe distance quietly observing. A uniformed officer gave them a short briefing, 'She hasn't moved an inch in fifteen minutes. We're not sure if she can't or won't.'

'Who phoned it in?' said Steel.

'It was an anonymous caller, who said a woman was strapped with a chest bomb, and he demanded Thomas Steel defuse it. I was sent to confirm whether it was a genuine threat or a hoax. I think it's genuine.'

'You think?' asked Steel, his brow furrowing in uncharacteristic contempt.

'She wouldn't let me come near, kept repeating, "Don't. He'll detonate the bomb." She's absolutely terrified.'

Steel patted the officer on the shoulder, 'Thanks, buddy. Looks like this job is cut out for me.'

He put on his Kevlar vest, then took a deep breath. The other paraphernalia could wait; first, he had to determine the type of bomb the lowlife had attached to the poor woman; whatever he put on next would depend on what it was.

He walked towards her confidently but felt his knees buckle when he came face-to-face with his wife. She was wearing her wedding gown. Made to wear it.

Bianca's face was streaked with tears, mascara staining her fair skin. She tried to smile at him, raised her hands from her side. They were shaking. He took hold of them, caressed and kissed them. Sweat was pouring out of her although it was a cool day, leaving a dark, wet patch on her white satin and lace gown.

People at the scene were riveted at what they were witnessing, until Lane said, 'It's Bianca.'

'Who's Bianca?' asked one of the forensic technicians.

'His wife.'

*

STEEL WAS SHOCKED.

Who could do this to her?

He was determined not to be beaten by fear, but fear was so overwhelming, it threatened his belief in himself. For once, he feared that he might fail to defuse this bomb.

The first thing Bianca said to him was, 'I love you, Thomas Steel.'

'I love you Bianca Florentine Steel.'

Then, she said, 'Whatever happens, promise me you'll live. If you can't defuse it, promise me you'll walk away. Promise me.'

He couldn't speak. Sweat and tears rolled down his face.

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# 2: Four Hours Earlier

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BIANCA PLAYFULLY KICKED her husband under the blanket. 'Your turn,' she said in a whisper.

He let out a sleepy 'Hmm?' He was pretending to be asleep, but he wasn't fooling her.

'Your turn,' she said again, this time, she pulled the blanket off him.

It generated a reaction, he turned around and looked at her with squinty eyes, 'My turn to do what?'

'Feed the dogs.'

April and May, named after the months they were adopted, were outside their bedroom door making a fuss. He was silent for a minute wondering how on earth these two still slept inside the house when he, at great expense and considerable effort, built them a dog mansion. It was out there in the backyard, a barren symbol of his love and devotion to them.

He turned to Bianca, 'I have a better idea,' he said thoughtfully, 'let's get rid of them.'

She pouted.

'I'd get rid of you before I get rid of them,' she said.

'What did you just say?'.

'Nothing.'

She rolled out of bed, looking alluringly bedraggled if there was such a thing. She was about to head for the door when she felt a sharp tug on the edge of her nightdress, his old T-shirt, and heard him say, 'Where do you think you're going?'

She fell back on the bed; he quickly straddled her, 'You're not getting rid of me, ever.'

Upon hearing his voice, April, the German-Shepherd, and May, the Yorkshire terrier, got all excited. Turning towards the closed door, he shouted, 'Shut up' which excited the dogs even more. She laughed at him, and he smiled at her.

'What will I get if I feed them?' He asked. She played with strands of his curly hair, glanced at the time and suggestively said, 'Tonight.'

Losing the smile, he said, 'What's wrong with now?'

'It's six. You need to be out of here by seven or else...'

He tilted his head back and groaned, struggling to contain his arousal. Just to torture him, Bianca pulled him towards her and licked his lips.

'That's very naughty, Mrs Steel.'

She laughed and pushed him off.

'Go, have a cold shower. I'll feed them.'

Half an hour later, he joined her in the kitchen and helped himself to a bowl of cereal, which he drowned in a quarter litre of milk.

'What are you up to, today Munchkin?'

Her eyes twinkled.

'I've been invited to a reception at City Hall. The City is honouring some of the best forensic scientists in the State.'

He stared at her. Reading his mind, she smiled, 'No silly... not me. But Imogen Suzuki, my boss. I'm just a tag-along.'

'And a beautiful one,' he said as he kissed the tip of her nose. 'I better get going. Need to set a good example for the kids.' Steel was referring to the three newbies in his team. Not the dogs.

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# 3: Not Just another Day at the Office

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HE ARRIVED AT HQ AT eight in the morning for a 09:00 start. Sergeant Dylan Lane was already in, no surprises there. All along, it had been suspected that the Fearless Leader had a hidey hole somewhere in the building.

'Coffee, Sarge?'

'That would be nice,' Lane replied with a smirk.

From behind, Steel produced a cup of Starbucks' cappuccino. Lane smiled, genuinely, this time.

'Sit down,' he said.

Steel sat, stretched his long legs out, and clasped his hands behind his head. Evidently, he was grateful for a chance to have a relaxed chinwag with the Boss.

Lane fired the first question, 'You've been a Team Leader for three months now. So, what do you think?'

Steel leaned forward to tap the table with his long fingers before answering.

'I like it. Don't know why I didn't fight to get it years ago. I'd have been promoted to your position by now,' he said, his trademark grin stretching his face.

'Don't get too ambitious, Easy,' Lane said, adding, with a poker-face, 'I just finished writing a report on your first quarter performance. Just wrote here that you have no idea. No idea at all.'

Steel gaped at Lane, not daring to draw breath.

His superior continued, 'Seriously, you have no idea how good you are.'

He laughed and shook his head.

Lane tapped his hand, 'There's your team. I want them running on the treadmill until they pass out.'

*

AT PRECISELY NINE IN the morning, Bianca arrived at City Hall and quickly found her way to the reception hall. She'd been a government employee for seven years but had never set foot in the famous landmark. She had no reason to visit until today.

She heard someone call out her name and knew from the sophisticated French accent it could only be her manager, 'Hey, Boss.'

The head of her division was American-French Canadian, born in Montreal, raised in New York.

'How many times must I tell you my name is Imogen, not Boss. Boss Suzuki just sounds ugly.'

'I'm sorry, Imogen' she said with a smile, 'well, look who's here?' She let him peck her on the cheek. Takashi Suzuki, Imogen's husband, was another one of the six honourees. The husband and wife team were formidable bright minds and advocates of medico-legal approach to crime solving and policing.

*

AT TEN TO TEN, AN ANONYMOUS caller phoned 911 to let them know a woman was standing outside City Hall with a bomb strapped to her chest.

Fifteen minutes after that call, Thomas 'Easy' Steel stood face-to-face with that woman; his wife.

He closed his eyes as he gripped Bianca's trembling hands; she was unable to stop the tears.

'Sit-rep,' murmured Lane, almost hesitant to intrude but must.

Steel heard his radio crackle and forced himself to focus on the voice in his ears asking for an update. He confirmed what they already knew, so just for the record, he said, 'It's Bianca.'

The fact he had stated it categorically made them all stop what they were doing, frozen on the spot. Their blood ran cold.

'What the fuck?' said Frank Knight, one of the three newbies in his Team.

'Shit,' said Lea Kearns, one of the rare breeds of women who was into dismantling bombs.

With the Team Leader otherwise occupied, the Bomb Squad Boss, Dylan Lane stepped to the plate. 'Yamamoto, I need you in the Command Truck. Kearns, stay close, you're my second. Knight, I need you to coordinate with the patrol officers. Make sure everyone's been evacuated, and the perimeter is tight.'

'Copy,' he said.

'Martin, find out what Bianca was doing here at City Hall.'

'Copy.'

*

THIS BOMB SQUAD UNIT was a microcosm of the racial diversity that was quintessentially New York. Jean Martin, a dual citizen, was formerly of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police until he switched sides. He was nicknamed 'Traitor' for this reason. 'It's okay,' they often teased, 'he's our Traitor.'

French by ethnicity, but Canadian and American by citizenship, Martin was multilingual. Aside from his proficiency with bomb disposal, he was also a trained sniper, martial arts instructor; not to mention tall and drop dead gorgeous.

Aiza Yamamoto was second generation Japanese-American. Also, multilingual, computer whiz kid, gymnast, parkour practitioner, and cute as a button.

Frank Knight. According to his resume, also multilingual (British English, American English, Australian English, New Zealand English and Irish English), dive specialist, frustrated comedian, and cool as a cucumber.

Lee (short for Leandra Rose) Kearns was African-American and a force to be reckoned with. A former Marine, she was second-in-command to Thomas Steel. He often said, 'She's the one, and she's got my back.'

*

TEN MINUTES LATER, Martin returned. He was with Tack and Imogen Suzuki. 'Sarge, this is Imogen Suzuki, Bianca's Boss. Tack Suzuki, her husband.'

Lane smiled, 'I know them.' He and Tack studied at the Police Academy about the same time.

Tack said as they shook hands, 'Long time, no see, my friend. I just wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Imogen works with Bianca, so I'll get out of the way, but I'll catch you later.'

He turned to his wife, 'I'll be outside, hon.'

Lane got down to brass tacks, 'Can you tell me what happened in there?' he asked.

They had gathered around Imogen; she looked at their concerned faces.

'Six forensic scientists, myself and Tack included were being honoured for our work. Bianca is my guest. We were in the reception hall around nine. We caught up for a little bit, then we were ushered to our seats.

'Around nine-thirty, she excused herself to go to the ladies. When she didn't return after some time, I went to look for her. She wasn't in there but her purse...,' she gave it to Lane, '...was. I found it lying next to the sink.

'I told Tack what happened; we decided it was so unlike Bianca to disappear like that, so we alerted security. Not long after that, the building was being evacuated.'

Lane consulted a clipboard, 'HQ received the anonymous call at around nine-fifty.'

'Sarge,' interjected Yamamoto, 'the bomb maker has to be close. Around nine-thirty Bianca left to go to the toilet. At nine-fifty we got a bomb call. That's just twenty minutes to abduct Bianca, put her in her wedding gown and strap a bomb to her. The subject has to be here, maybe in that building.'

*

'DID YOU HEAR THAT, Easy?' Lane asked.

'Copy,' he said as he wiped Bianca's tears away.

He helped her slow her breathing. He glanced at the timer strapped to her chest, 4:47:01, it said.

'What happened at the ladies?' he asked.

She swallowed. Haltingly, she explained how it happened.

'A man... he was wearing a cleaner's uniform. He knocked on the door, said he was just bringing in a vase of flowers.

'I said, "Okay, come in." I was surprised when he came in with his cleaning trolley. But before I knew what was happening, he had me in a chokehold. I passed out.'

She was sobbing again. Steel wiped her tears and encouraged her to continue, 'He gave me smelling salts. When I came to, I was already here, dressed in my wedding gown. And I had this strapped to me. He said he would detonate it if someone else other than you came to defuse it.'

She reached up to touch his face.

'He said he'd prove that he's better than you.'

He listened to her narrative, but like any Alpha male, he was already thinking of another angle.

How did he get hold of our wedding gown?

Bianca sensed it, knowing the man she married. She explained without being asked, 'I took my gown to the dry cleaners yesterday....'

He sighed. That's better, he thought. Better than if the creep had managed to get inside their house to obtain the gown.

They were silent for a minute. Her vision narrowed; she was in a state of panic.

'Promise me,' she repeated, 'that if you can't defuse it that you will walk away. Promise me.'

He looked at the electronic timer, 4:30:55 it said. The bastard wants this to play out long and hard.

He gazed at her lovely face.

'I only promised you Eternity. That's what I promised you.'

That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

'Sarge,' he said.

'Yeah, Easy.'

'I'll focus on the bomb... you guys find the bastard.'

'On it, Easy ... on it.'

*

IN FRONT OF CITY HALL, with the eyes of the world watching, Steel and Bianca squatted down. Just the two of them. From afar, they looked like lovebirds with no time for all others. As though the world began and ended where they sat.

He began to study the bomb.

In the back of his mind, he already knew that the bomber was from his past. No one from his present called him 'Thomas' anymore. He was either Tommy, Easy, Steel, or Tom depending on their relationship with him.

*

NOT FAR FROM WHERE they sat, someone from Thomas Steel's past was watching.

And he was feeling triumphant.

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# Preview of The Man in the Shadows

THE MAN IN THE SHADOWS begins with the story of Charley Kiernan, the daughter and the primary caregiver of her father, Arthur, an ALS-sufferer. Their situation compels her to decide to find work as an escort. The first time she goes on the job, Phil Wayne, a mysterious man, intercepts her from her client.

It is to be the beginning of several rendezvous. Their meetings, in dark rooms, are full of intrigue, mystery, and tenderness.

Eventually, they are surprised to find that love has found its way into their hearts in this most unusual of circumstances.

The Man in the Shadows is a deeply moving, tender, and unconventional love story.

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# 1: Sight Unseen

HE HAD BEEN WATCHING HER since he pulled into the parking bay. Ten minutes was long enough for him to know that she was nervous as hell. She had been fidgeting and pacing next to an old Beetle in the Park Hyatt's car park.

Underneath all the make-up that made her look sophisticated and womanly, he was certain that she was young. Looks can be deceiving. Dress a young girl in sequinned mini and high heels, and she could appear old enough to pass herself off as a twenty-something. But his gut was telling him it was more likely that she was barely a month past legal. He could be wrong, but he doubted it.

He sighed. Deep in thought, he put his hand over his mouth as he kept watch.

She pulled down her mini dress for a hundredth time as though it could stretch. It wasn't going to no matter how hard she tugged at its hem. Eventually, she stopped before she tore the dress to shreds.

Concealed within his Mercedes Benz with tinted windows, he watched as she took a deep breath under the glare of the car park's LED light.

There could be many reasons she was working up the nerve to go inside the hotel, but he'd been around the block to know of only one that made sense. It wasn't just because her dress was short. More to the point, there just wasn't enough material to make a handkerchief out of her attire; the backside was so low it only covered her bottom; the front barely covered her breast.

She continued to pace, occasionally also running her fingers through her hair as though doing it could remove all fears. She was at pains about what she was here to do. The decision, however, was made for her. The phone in her hand lit up. Someone was calling; someone who was probably as impatient as she was scared. Apprehension was visible on her face as she put the phone to her ear.

It was a brief call. It confirmed his suspicion.

At last, she was ready to move; she opened the Beetle's door to get her silver clutch bag. She put her smartphone in it, then locked the car and put the keys in there too. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. She took a tentative step then clumsily tripped on her foot. She stopped her fall by bracing against her dusty car.

He smirked to himself. She's not even used to wearing heels.

He got out of his car as he made a spur of the moment decision, one that would later make a significant impact on their lives. He made a beeline towards the hotel lobby. He would be at the front desk way ahead of her, considering how she was barely walking on her five-inch poles.

He was a regular. The hotel had had his details on hand for years.

The night clerk greeted him amiably, happy to see a frequent guest.

'Mr Wayne, how are you?' They always greeted him by his last name. It was too formal for his liking; he preferred Phil. But the staff had to follow specific protocols; not being overly familiar with guests was one of them.

He signed a card, then passed it back to the clerk to exchange it for a key to his room.

'A lady will enter right after I leave. Give her a key; tell her there has been a change of room number.'

The instruction was necessary. She would have been given a specific room number and would head there directly unless he intercepted her. It was such an out-of-character thing for him to do--hijacking a prostitute--that even he was surprised at his audacious meddling.

But there was something about her. It was as though she needed saving.

*

THE DOOR TO THE LIFT was closing as she walked into the main entrance. He didn't hang around to wait. The night clerk would do as he was told.

Phil opened the door with the electronic key card. He closed the door slowly and deliberately, panther-like almost, just because it had become ingrained in him to act in a measured way. He removed his suit, then draped the Armani jacket on the back of a chair. Like always, he opened the curtain slightly, enough of a crack to see the Sydney Opera House across the water. He closed the black-out curtain again; it enveloped the room in complete darkness.

By feel, he removed his personalised cufflinks and pocketed them. He was rolling his sleeve when he heard the door click. Languidly, he slid into an armchair that was facing the door, his back against the wall.

'Hello?' she said.

Her voice was tentative and soft.

She held the door open. The only source of light was the one in the hallway.

'Hello?' she said again.

'Close the door,' he instructed in a manner that was gentle yet firm.

He could see her silhouette in the ambient light behind her.

Briefly, she stayed rooted to the spot, then asked if she should turn on the light.

'No,' was his short reply.

She wondered what to do next. If she closed the door, the room would be shrouded in darkness. Should she wait for him to do something? Should she ask what he wanted? She was new to this and to be truthful she could count the number of times she had had sex: only once.

'Close the door,' he said again.

She did it this time.

'Make yourself comfortable. Take off your shoes and sit.'

She waited for her pupils to adjust to the absence of light before making a move. Now, she could see the bed. It was still untouched. The pillows were as they should be, and the bed sheets and the down comforter were flat as a pancake and tucked in. Nervously, she removed her shoes before sitting on the edge of the king-size bed.

She waited for him to say something.

Seconds and minutes ticked by.

There was nothing but awkward silence, not even the sound of heavy breathing.

From the source of his voice earlier, she knew he was behind her, sitting on her right. She wanted to glance back but hesitated.

Perhaps he didn't want to be identified.

Will he kill me if I see his face?

The thought gave her the chills; goose bumps rose on her arms.

It didn't help that the room was very cold. The thermostat must have been set at the lowest possible temperature. She dropped her head a little, then hugged herself to rub her arms. It didn't do anything to warm her up.

Her nervous gestures didn't escape his notice.

He asked,

'What's your name?' in an attempt to calm her.

She sighed softly, trying her hardest to keep her anxiety under control.

What's my name?

She didn't think she'd be asked that.

Why would he bother? Why would he, or anyone for that matter, be interested?

She decided to give him what the name that Madame had christened her with.

'Lola,' she said.

'Really?' he said in disbelief, adding, 'You can do better than that.'

'My name is Lola,' she insisted, a little angry. She felt a tad insulted, too.

'We both know your name is not Lola.' He paused before continuing. 'What's your name? And don't bother making one up, I'll soon find out.'

What does he mean by that? she thought. How could he find out?

But she didn't want to risk his ire. Besides, it was unlikely that they would meet again. A second rendezvous was highly improbable.

'Charley with an E Y,' she finally admitted. She didn't have to tell him how to spell it, but she had gotten used to saying it. It was just an automatic response, like saying 'Liza with a Z'.

'That's a nice name,' he replied with sincerity.

Charley sensed a subtle movement behind her. She had the urge to look back to see what he was up to; after all, he could be about to strangle her. Instead, she decided to do something about it. She got up and positioned herself adjacent to the door, ready to bolt. She was hoping she wasn't too obvious with her defensive move.

She didn't have to worry; he was merely undoing his pants.

His silhouette revealed a man who was tall and lean.

He dropped his pants to the floor.

That was no reason to bolt, she told herself. This was to be expected since she had come to do a particular service. So far, she had been lucky because he hadn't insisted on anything, nor asked her to perform.

'Just tryin' to relax,' he said. 'Sit. Don't tire yourself.'

He, too, sat on a chaise lounge as he proceeded to remove his socks. He reclined on it, played jazz on his phone, then closed his eyes.

She watched his chest rise and fall in time with his breathing.

She didn't know what to do.

Should I go?

But she hadn't been paid. Rifling through his wallet to get money would be the wrong thing to do.

She decided to give him an hour, and then she would wake him. She lay on the bed and tried to relax. Her muscles were sore from the tension. She had been uptight the whole day, worried sick about this appointment.

Half an hour later, he was wide awake.

He picked up his pants off the floor, opened his wallet and asked, 'How much?'

The Madame had told her to ask for three thousand dollars and not one cent less. She belonged to a stable of high-class escorts, not some street hooker working for a pimp.

She debated with herself. She hadn't done anything to warrant three thousand dollars, but the price had been negotiated beforehand. He would know how much. He was probably testing her.

'Three thousand,' she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

He walked towards her.

For the first time, they touched. He took her hand in his and pressed the cash into her palm.

The skin of his hands was thick, just like her Dad's had been, back in the day when he used to work in construction before his body became trapped by the ravages of motor neurone disease.

'It's all there,' he said. 'I need your work number. Leave it on the desk, and then you're free to go.'

She looked up, but he had already turned to move. All she saw was his back.

'Work number?' she asked stupidly.

Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed that he was laughing at her naivety by the sound of his voice: 'Your Madame's, if you need me to be precise.'

He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

She waited until she could hear the water in the shower before putting on her shoes and walking out.

*

IN THE CAR, SHE WAITED a couple of minutes to compose herself. She couldn't believe what just happened; at the same time, she was confused by it.

Bewildering, she thought.

She switched her phone on before engaging the car's engine. Immediately, the Huawei went ballistic. It pinged in rapid succession, announcing numerous voicemails and text messages.

She listened to the first one in the queue; it was from the Madame.

'Where the hell are you? The client is waiting.'

She froze!

Well then, who the hell was that?

|  |

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# 2: Caller Unknown

THE MADAME WAS FURIOUS! And, that was putting it mildly.

Rosie, the high priestess of Society Women, had been serene and high-brow when they first met, but now she was spewing filthy language at her. Charley pulled the phone away from the left ear to save her hearing. She regretted returning the call.

Almost immediately, tears welled in her eyes as she realised the impact of this mistake on her new career - If one could call it that.

She needed this job. What future had she got if she couldn't even be a reliable escort? How stupid could she be?

She tried to butt in: 'But I've just been with the cli-'

Rosie railed again, livid that she dared talk back.

'I was paid,' Charley insisted. 'I was. I have the money.'

'Stupid bit-!'

The rest was left unsaid. Charley was saved by another phone ringing at Rosie's end, one of several that clients use to reach Rosie for bookings. The Madame hung up on her without even so much as a hasty goodbye.

Still fuming, Rosie took several deep breaths to steady herself before answering. When she did so, she did it seductively.

'Hello, Society Women, how may I help you?'

'I want Lola exclusively.'

'Lola?' she replied with a surprised inflexion. It took her a moment to remember the pseudonym she gave her brand-new girl.

Then, the penny dropped.

This was the man Charley had been insisting she was with! She was telling the truth, then. It was just a "misunderstanding", for lack of a better word.

'Lola, of course, she's such a darling,' Rosie said with effortless charm. 'I take it that she made you happy?'

'Very much so,' he said. 'She has to be mine exclusively. How much?'

Rosie dramatically exhaled; it was deliberate on her part.

He must have heard that.

She could sense that he knew what would come next - an astronomical price which he would have to bargain down to a realistic figure. It was all part of the business, a game they would both play before settling on a price.

'Ten-' Rosie paused for effect before adding: '-thousand.'

The caller, who hadn't even introduced himself, didn't say a word.

Fearing that she might lose a potential long-term client, she clarified her position.

'Lola's new. She's young. She's everything a man wants. I can easily book her many times in any given week.'

In a measured tone, he said, 'You can book her as many times as men would want her, but I doubt she wants to work more than once a week. She's not that kind of a girl. So, how much?' he asked with a tone of finality.

'Five thousand.'

'Does that include your commission?'

'Yes.'

'How much of it does she get to keep?'

'Sixty per cent.'

Icy silence followed.

'Hello, are you still there?' Rosie asked.

She heard a faint, 'Uhm.'

'Look, honey, I run a business. I'm not running a non-profit, non-government agency. Forty per cent commission is standard.'

'Fair enough,' he said. 'Same time, same place, next week.'

'Hold on, before you go, you owe me my cut for tonight. How do you propose we settle this?'

Any merchant with a virtual terminal can submit payment details remotely; no physical card had to be presented. Quickly, as though from memory, he gave Rosie his credit card details and its verification code, but not his name. She didn't need that information to get his money, so she didn't ask for it.

He waited for her to confirm that the payment went through before hanging up unceremoniously.

*

CHARLEY WAS STOPPED at a well-lit car park outside a 7-11 convenience store, pulling on a long T-shirt over her skimpy dress so she could buy milk and bread. She was about to put on a pair of tracksuit pants when her phone announced a call from Rosie.

The caller I.D. gave her anxiety. She didn't want to be lambasted again. Her ear was still ringing from the last time. She hoped Rosie had since cooled down.

'Hello,' she said in a small voice.

'Hi, darling,' the Madame said, her voice dripping with honey. 'I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I was just upset, that's all. I've provided the other guy with a replacement girl and a discount for his next booking, so it's all sorted. Meantime, the guy you were with tonight wants you again. In his words, "Same time, same place, next week." He's a man of a few words, isn't he?'

Charley was stunned.

He wants me again? Why?

'Did you hear me?' Rosie asked.

'Yes, yes, I heard you.'

Rosie sighed. 'You're not going to go with another man in another room next week, are you?'

'No, of course not. I swear it wasn't my mis-' She stopped as she caught herself being defensive once again. 'Never mind. I'll be there.'

*

PHIL COULDN'T SLEEP. Insomnia had become his life sentence.

His life, for years, had been one of endless tragedy.

He didn't know why but she made him feel as though he could still be redeemed.

|  |

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# 3: Afterthoughts

CHARLEY SILENTLY CREPT INTO THE APARTMENT UNIT she shared with her father.

Arthur would be asleep now. Even if he were awake, he wouldn't be able to get up to welcome her or reprimand her for coming home late, as fathers of young women were wont to do. At any rate, she wouldn't want him to wait up for her anyway since it was close to midnight.

She tiptoed into his room to check on Arthur.

A desk light was left on, illuminating a depressing setting. A wheelchair had replaced the grey swivel chair they bought from IKEA many years ago. He now slept on a gurney instead of a bed. An oxygen tank and a drip stand stood where a bookcase used to be. A seven-year-old Toshiba laptop and a box of medical paraphernalia occupied his desk; it had once been covered by drafts of building plans. His room looked more like a hospital ward than a bedroom where one escaped from the daily grind.

She stood at the foot of his bed to study him for a moment. He looked tired and helpless.

It always worried her, pained her, to leave him even for a few hours. She always imagined the worst every time she went to do errands, like what could happen if he swallowed his tongue while she was away.

She pulled the wheelchair close so she could sit next to him. She traced the veins in his hand lightly with a finger. They used to be such strong hands, but look at them now, she thought. The fingers were bent, and the skin was dry and paper-thin. She wrapped her hand in his middle and ring finger, as she used to as a child. She closed her eyes and recalled how she used to draw strength and joy from him this way. It was now her turn to give those things back. She willed to give him the last ounce of her energy after an exhausting day.

*

SHE WAS JUST TWELVE when Arthur had been diagnosed with ALS, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a motor neurone disease. In six years, he went from a man in complete denial of his diagnosis to someone completely denied independence. At this stage, he would not survive without round-the-clock care.

She couldn't understand why such a wonderful man should suffer such a debilitating disease. It just wasn't fair.

It had always been just the two of them for as long as she could remember. She had no mother to speak of, never had one. At least, not one she knew. She had only known day-care and kindergarten teachers when she was tiny.

When she turned five, Arthur purposely rented an apartment next to her school so she could walk there by herself. After school, she stayed in the library until it closed. The holidays were a lot trickier, but they had managed somehow.

It had been Struggle Street for them from the word go, but they were happy. Contented to have each other - then this happened!

Three years ago, at just fifteen, she became the decision maker. Deciding to ditch school to look after Arthur wasn't a big deal; that was nothing. Forgoing regular employment didn't bother her either. She was alright with being a stay-at-home carer. That was until the Government got stingy and reduced her fortnightly carer's allowance to way below the poverty rate. Their rent alone took nearly seventy per cent of it. Making up her mind to join Society Women as an escort was a no-brainer. They needed money. It was the only job where she could earn enough to cover their bills in the least possible time away from Arthur.

But one day, very soon, she would have to make the hardest decision of all.

She held her breath as the thought fleeted by. She really couldn't fathom putting her dad in hospice care. Not now, not ever.

'No, Daddy, it's not going to happen,' she said stubbornly in a whisper.

*

ESMERALDA, THEIR NEIGHBOUR, was sleeping in the other room.

Earlier in the week, Charley had organised for Esme to look after Arthur for the night. Now, she would either have to sleep in Arthur's room or bunk down in the living room. She chose the latter.

But first, she had to remove her make-up and cheap perfume.

In the shower, she reviewed the events of the evening in her mind. She had more questions than she had answers. Primarily, she found it strange, very strange, that the man hadn't touched her. Not that she'd wanted him to. The way it happened was just perfect!

On reflection, it had been first-time-lucky for her. The arrangement with the client was for an all-night romp; that was what that price bought. The fact that her mystery man sent her away after only an hour of no-sex was a blessing beyond her best expectation. She had been very lucky, indeed.

But she couldn't shake the thought that it was weird.

He's probably impotent, or maybe he sensed my anxiety.

Could he tell I was inexperienced?

Am I not seductive enough? Or appealing enough?

On second thought, he must have thought well of her, since he had asked for her again.

Will he collect next time?

Will he force himself on me and make me do things...?

She made herself stop before she frightened herself senseless. She told herself that she had been cautious and practical. A skerrick of protection, no matter how flimsy, was the reason she joined a licensed brothel instead of going solo because, presumably, the Madame had a record of who was booking their services. This was what she was paying commission for. Otherwise, why bother?

She could have done it alone, not that she knew the slightest thing about starting a prostitution business. Of course, everything could be googled these days. But she didn't need a search engine to tell her that going it alone was hazardous; it wasn't worth the risk to keep every dollar for herself.

This way, at least, if a sexual sadist murders me, he'll be found.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to set the morbid thought aside.

She mumbled, 'I can't afford to be murdered and quartered. That's not an option.'

Leaving Arthur in this state wasn't an option.

--------

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Over time, their friendship had deepened to the point Josh called on his childhood friend, ex-girlfriend Abigail Senna to help sort out his feelings for Pippa. His visit revealed Abigail was dying with a few months to live. Her concern was for him was to experience life fully and to find lasting love.

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# About the Author

Before becoming a full-time author, Angelin Sydney was one of the most prolific contributors to fanfiction and fictionpress where her compelling style of story-telling had strong followings.

She was a journalist for a daily business paper in the Philippines.

Since moving to Australia many years ago, she has had numerous incarnations. She was a banker, insurance seller, housing loan broker, home-stay mother to hundreds of international students, small business operator, casual kitchen hand and a nanny. She's really been around.

Her most consistent role, however, is being a mother to four wonderful people. Sadly, one of them has gone ahead, leaving her to write stories to help others to heal, laugh, hope, and continue to dream.

In all honesty, the only thing active about her is her imagination. It is as fertile as the rice fields of the Philippines where she was born.

 **About Her Stories**

They are original, funny, swoon-worthy, and thrilling to the core. She's the self-styled queen of romantic comedy and romantic thriller.

Follow her on Twitter: @Angelin_Sydney

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