

Kate's Gifts

David F. McDonald

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 David F. McDonald

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. the names, characters, and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental"

Acknowledgments

My anonymous friends,

I stand on the shoulders of giants.

You've never let me down, and I am forever grateful.

My editor John Paine,

who guided me along and at times talked me down

from the mountain.

My family,

for their endless love and support.

For Amy

You are my greatest gift.

Author's Note

I'm writing the final words of this manuscript right where it all began--on a train rolling through the darkness of New Jersey. A lot of miles have been covered, and I've worn out a few laptops, but this train is finally pulling into the station.

_Kate's Gifts_ is a political thriller, a genre that many an agent has told me doesn't sell these days. That's okay by me because that's not what it's about. The thriller angle, although pretty scary and timely, is what Alfred Hitchcock called the "McGuffin," a plot device around which the characters change, grow and overcome the adversity they face.

This is a novel about God, free will, and gratitude, or at least my humble perception of them. Being that you're reading _this_ sentence, I guess I haven't scared you off yet. Good for you.

Writing _Kate's Gifts_ has given me a glimpse of divinity, creating worlds and giving life to characters that I love unconditionally, even the bad guys. When souls must be reaped, it is not because I love them less; it is because I love them more, for their sacrifice serves a greater purpose. Like words on a page, every life has its own place and purpose, which can stand apart from or contribute to the sentence, becoming a part of the paragraph, which is part of a chapter, which becomes the story. Looking at the words, you can guess what it's all about, but it is only at the end that you fully understand.

Native American writer and theologian Vine Deloria Jr. said, "Religion is for those who're afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for those who've already been there." I am a spiritualist, having had first-hand experience with some of the worst that you could bring upon yourself. I am a product of Divine intervention, dragged back from the brink for God only knows why. I do know that had He not, this book would never have been written. I am eternally grateful.

I ran into a train conductor recently I used to see years ago when I started writing. He asked me how the book was coming. I said it was almost there. Then he asked me if it had a happy ending. I told him I'd let him know. No spoilers.

Prologue

As you walk by the charming house on a lush tree-lined street in this quiet suburban neighborhood, you hear the music every Thursday afternoon and wonder, _"What's she doing in there?"_

The flagstone path leads you past a dazzling array of potted mums. Inside the front door, the incredibly tasteful decor and meticulous detail seem almost like a movie set, or a real estate open house, with fresh cut flowers and the aroma of cookies baking in the kitchen. The rooms are set in warm hues with deep cherry wood furniture. The music draws you down the hall, past pictures hanging on the wall of a handsome family. Shots of vacations with wet dogs, winter fun with snowmen, and beautiful portraits. As your eyes shift from frame to frame, you feel a slight tinge of jealousy and envy. In the large living room, vanilla-scented candles have been placed on the coffee table, floating in bowls of water rippling from the sound waves pouring from the speakers. The music is classical, a deeply moving, haunting and bittersweet melody. It is Prokofiev, Suite Number One from _Cinderella_.

On the couch that faces the fireplace, you see the beautiful blond woman in the photographs. She is older than in the pictures, but still wonderful to gaze upon. Her eyes are a stunning blue. She shifts on the couch, and you realize that she is more than lost in the music. You blush and feel the urge to leave, but you have to stay, watching her as the music spirals upward to the crescendo. Then a silent gasp, a sudden shudder. The music begins to fade, as does but the smile on her lips.

Who is she? Perhaps Cinderella, alone with her prince, for this moment lost in a world that is hers alone.

But you know how the story ends. Eventually the clock will turn to midnight and the pumpkin and mice return. Looking at her you wish it wouldn't, but it always does.

Everything in life has its end, no matter how sweet. So, sadly, you decide to leave before the music dies. You don't want to turn your back on the ballerina you see in your mind, in your own secret world, the glowing white figure on the receding stage. You don't need to see the finale, for there is enough heartbreak in the world already.

What you don't see as you close the door is that her eyes are open again, and that a tear has fallen down her flushed cheek. There used to be more. Soon there will be none.

The more we endure the pain of what we hoped to be and have failed to become, the less we seem to care. Those dreams may change from hopeful fantasy to pleasant memories, but their power to move us still remains.

A slight smile returns to the woman's lips as she stares out the living room window, seeing in this world, but for now living in another.
Part I

" _I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way._

Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home."

-From "The Tavern" by Jelaluddin Rumi

Chapter 1

New York

It has to be providence. It's the only possible explanation for the pretty but worn-looking brunette sitting alone at the bar, soaking up vodka like a sponge. She doesn't want to be a drunk on a barstool, in the midst of an ugly relapse, not that there are any pretty ones, but that's exactly who she is. As any survivor of alcoholism can tell you, sobriety _is_ a gift. If you lose it, there's no guarantee you'll get it back, and most don't.

It sucks when God's plan differs from your own.

There are two sources of music in the small midtown Manhattan watering hole, the jukebox playing vintage hits, and the orchestra inside her head. Her music always makes her happy, but never makes her well. Just like the booze.

She hates the clutch of young women at the other end, stealing glances, judging her.

She hates how they can sip their delicate little Cosmos.

"Can I _help_ YOU?"

All she gets back is a tittering little laugh, and the whispered dismissal of "Drunk."

"Fuck. You," she says, making the pretty boy bartender clear his throat. He doesn't want to cut her off, but if she keeps it up, he won't have a choice.

She hates God for what he's done to her, but Kati considers herself in good company. "I'm not the only one he's screwed over."

She hates herself, for allowing her marriage to crumble, and worst of all, for what he had done to her children. That thought makes her drain the glass.

The Christmas lights that never come down adorning the mirrors remind her of that. She came in early, around three. It is nine now. The theater folks have come and gone, leaving only the pros to go the distance, like her. The guys hitting on her find out real quick she isn't looking for company. She is there to drink, alone in a crowded bar. She doesn't have to look for trouble because it always seems to find her.

She gestures for another and the bartender gives in again. She keeps the cash coming and he likes her look, a flattering black business suit with a little black lace something under the jacket, an attractive bag for a laptop and nice shoes. Being off the night before, he doesn't know she is sitting in the same place and wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

"Thank you," Kati smiles sweetly. Despite the buzz, the pain returns, brought on by the images flashing into her consciousness. Some make her wince, like those of her children. Then pass the faces of the people she's betrayed, the ones who had kept her sober and those she herself had helped. "Sorry, guys."

The young women down the bar get up to leave, one giving her a last look with a sympathetic pout.

"Good Christ..." The depth of the deceptions still amazes her. Her lies were the only truth she really knew, blending perfectly with reality. _"A real fucking fairy tale...and this is how it really ends."_

Kati's eyes open to see the dark grain of the wooden bar as a tear runs down her flushed cheek.

Bar boy can't take it any longer. "Enough," he says softly. "Ritchie!" he calls to the ex-Golden Gloves bouncer. The hulking man comes over as the bartender leans to her. "That's it, honey, we're closing soon anyway."

Her head snaps up, eyes bloodshot from the booze and the bawling. "How about one for the road, handsome?"

"Tomorrow, sweetie, and the first one will be on me. Ritchie, please help this nice lady into a cab."

Ritchie moves to help her up.

"Don't touch me," she says icily.

That make him pause, "Okay then, after you."

But she doesn't move. In addition to her considerable pain is also a ton of anger in desperate need of release, the byproduct of the simmering rage from all those gifts she's lost.

"Please, I'm not going to ask you again," Ritchie warns, although he wouldn't mind having a chance to put his hands on her hot little body. Smiling, he leans closer to her.

She can feel his breath. She sees herself, and him, in the mirror behind the bar. Still, she does not move. He puts his meat hook hand on her upper arm. She jerks it away.

"I said, _don't_!"

"Come on, lady, don't make this hard," the bartender whines, offering her a last chance, but the adrenaline has already shot into her system, the fuse is already lit. She could have made it simple, gone the easier softer way, but she could not. She wants this, no _needs_ this.

The waiting ends. The bouncer grabs her.

The fight really isn't fair, but life seldom is. It is over in seconds, five blinding moves, with a frightening severity and viciousness that stuns the room. The bouncer takes two steps back before collapsing, wide-eyed but out like a light. Nary a soul moves or utters a word, but Patsy Klein keeps singing "Crazy," not knowing any better.

Slowly gathering her things, she places a twenty-dollar bill under her glass and holds up another for the bartender to see. "This is for him," nodding at the bouncer. "Tell him I'm sorry, but I warned him."

She stuffs the bill in the empty glass, and heads out the door as the bartender watches.

"Don't let me see you in here again!"

She turns at the door and smiles. "You'd better hope you don't."

Kati wades slips into the current of the night. The rush is wearing off, replaced by the dread of her new regrets, a new failure to add to her collection.

She has to move on, sure they'll call the cops. A run-in with New York's finest would be bad for all involved because there'd be no telling where it would stop. She doesn't want that. All she wants is another drink, and everything will be right as rain.

She mixes with homebound show crowd. _"I had a home once!"_

The thought quickens her pace, adding to the increasing desperation for the next cocktail. She finds the liquor store she visited that morning, but the door is locked.

CLOSED FOR THANKSGIVING.

"A little early for that," she says dryly, giving the door a little kick. It throws her off balance, nearly spilling her onto the sidewalk, but an overflowing garbage can breaks her fall. A passerby pauses to glower at the visibly intoxicated woman. "What are you looking at, shit head?"

Luckily, there is another place up the street, next to her cheap tourist hotel. She always hated going to the same liquor store twice in one day anyway.

No turkey, pumpkin pie, or touch football this Thanksgiving, doubtful that she'd be able to keep any food down anyway. All she has is the muffled TV in the room next door, the bottle of vodka and dread. Turning off the lights, she gets onto the bed, but doesn't get undressed. She places the laptop bag under her pillow and lays back, hugging the bottle like a teddy bear while holding the 9mm Sig-Saur 244 she'd taken off the woman who tried to kill her, and got her head blown off for trying. She chambers a round. Her troubled mind, filled with every possible aspect of despair, doesn't let her be.

Cruel loss...her sons, never to see them grow to become men. Her friends, who she be too ashamed to face anyway. Her love, the single redeeming spark she had waited for all her life, given to her suddenly, only to be taken away quicker still.

Just then, the door to her room opens. Blinding light floods in from the hallway. Shakily, Kati sits up, pointing the gun at an appearing silhouette, framed by the door. Slowly the female figure approaches, but Kati doesn't move. The woman sits on the edge of the bed, pushing the gun away. Now the red neon light from the sign outside reveals her face.

"You can't be..." Kati starts, but a finger gently placed on her lips stops her.

" _Shush, Kati, time to rest,"_ the visitor soothes. " _You did not live to die like this."_ She lightly brushes the bangs from Kati's eyes. _"There are gifts you have yet to receive and to give."_

"My boys..."

The visitor smiles, _"Yes, your boys and much more, but you must fight for them."_

"I'm so tired of fighting, tired of the pain. They're better off without me...I'm better off dead."

" _Then who am I to deprive you? Death is door that opens, not a door that closes."_

The anguish is unbearable, more than any human being should ever have to bear. Shaking, in silent empty sobs, Kati brings the gun to her head.

" _You are so brave, Kati, more than I ever was. That is why I love you so."_

It had to stop, as it should have so many years ago.

"Forgive me"

The hammer comes back, and she pulls the trigger.

The visitor smiles with sweet sadness.

It has to be God's will.

THURSDAY

One Month Before

Chapter 2

Char Qala District, Kabul, Afghanistan

"Inshallah," the pudgy shopkeeper says in Arabic, gazing down the filthy street. The local kids call him Mr. Sami. They know him as a kind man, who will pay a few Afghani for any salvageable stuff they scavenge out of the festering dumps.

A few blocks down he spots a Westerner. Normally such a stranger is easy prey, but as the man draws closer, Sami realizes why he's walking alone, unbothered. This one is a Russian. There's no pack of grubby children around him looking for handouts; they know better. The only thing they might get is a swift kick in the ass. He has come to see Sami and his powerful friends. As he enters the shop, the women in black burkas hurry out.

"Sasha, my old friend...come in, come in!" Sami gushes from the door, looking to see if he's being followed.

"Hello, Sami, it has been too long," the Russian says.

There is no traditional greeting with kisses, though Sami is genuinely happy to see the brawny blond with British-accented English, just like the Nazis in his favorite American war films.

"Come, have some tea," Sami says as he ushers Sasha into the back room, where the real business is done. A small TV flickers with Arabic music videos while a beam of orange sunlight cuts through the darkness between them. The illuminated particles drift lazily in the heavy air like gold dust. Sami fixes a tray with hot tea and sweets. "It is much too long since you visit me, my friend."

"The business climate has changed considerably," Sasha replies, mopping his forehead. The heat is stifling.

Sasha plays nice, even though he despises Sami, and that thought forces him to consider what he himself has become, and why he is here. Sasha's heyday was behind him, but he still has to make a buck, and still has one last card to play

"So, what brings you here, my old friend?"

"I have some information that will interest your friends in Tehran."

A muffled BOOM from a distant shell or car bomb seems to underline his words.

"I admire you, Sasha, keeping abreast of things. Yes, my friends are always in the market for good information. They have a just cause, and deep pockets, so I am always ready to help them."

Sasha regards his tea. "And the Americans?"

"They don't pay as well, and besides, their time here will be short," Sami assures. They hear the sound of diesel engines and commotion in the distance "Speak of the devil," Sami grins.

Sasha cuts to the chase. "Well, I have something they will not be able to resist."

"Tell me!" Sasha says, putting his cup back on the tray and leaning across the table.

"My people have commando teams hidden inside America, poised to unleash hell upon its people."

Sami's eyes grow wide.

It is the final jumping point. From here, there is no return. This would be his last deal, one way, or another. Sasha braces for it, then steps over the line.

"I know how to activate them."

Chapter 3

Abington, PA

Thousands of miles away, Kate Wilson turns as if she hears something. Her cat stands motionless atop the granite kitchen countertop, a paw poised to knock over a glass. She smiles. "Get down from there, you!"

She's in no mood to play. Her boys will be home any second and she has a surprise waiting for them. Not only is the cute little blond your typical suburban "super mom," she's also a part-time karate instructor, and her boys are her best pupils...most of the time.

Outside on the sidewalk, Robbie Wilson and his older brother Tom assess the situation. Thursdays mean Mom is home, and lying in ambush for them, an idea she got from the old _Pink Panther_ movies, with her filling in for Cato.

"You take the upstairs this time," Robbie says.

"Didn't I take it last time?"

"No, I did." His lie doesn't work.

"I know, we go in together."

After they drop their book bags, they go right for the front door, Slowly, quietly, Tom works the hardware and glides through the door open.

The silence is deafening; they usually hear a radio or the TV, left on too loud to cover their Mom's movements.

Not today.

With a look, they start for the stairs.

At that moment they realize their mistake, but it is too late.

"HI GUYS!"

Kate makes them jump out of their skins. From behind the door, she swiftly grabs them in a hug, attacking her ticklish boys.

"MOM!!!"

"That has to be the oldest trick in the book!"

They both manage to wriggle away.

"You are sooo weird!" Tom laughs.

"Yes, and that's why you love me." Kate smiles, giving them both a kiss. "Go start your homework before we go," she says, bouncing out of the room.

The boys look at each other, Robbie mocking his brother over his frightened reaction.

"Robbie! Don't tease your brother!" Kate warns. Tom smiles, because he hears the irritation in her voice. Her accent always comes out with her anger. It's barely perceptible most of the time, like a song that you just couldn't place, and adds a cool exotic air about her.

Under the watchful supervision of the cat, Kate finishes the laundry. While folding up boxers and balling socks, she admires the fading autumn light outside and how it appears to set the turning trees on fire. It is her favorite time of year: the welcome cool after a hot summer, the coming holidays and the new school year. There was a time when such things went unnoticed, thanks to the distorted view through a bottle.

With her svelte athletic physique, she is easily mistaken for a woman ten years younger than her forty-four years. Get a little closer, however, and the slight hints of a rough road traveled reveal themselves; faded scars from another life. It doesn't bother her, looking at it instead as an attribute very few of her sister suburbanites shared.

" _Something to be grateful for..."_ The thought reminds her call her sponsee Sheila, just to make sure she's held on for another day.

"Hi, Sheila..."

"Hi, sponsor lady."

Kate can immediately tell something is wrong. "What's the matter, sweetie?"

"Brian and I had another fight," Sheila says, referring to her fiancée. Although not mentioned in AA's "Big Book," sponsorship is often the key to an alcoholic's recovery. As a sponsor, Kate shares her own experiences, becoming Sheila's confessor, therapist, and friend. More importantly, Kate is helping herself.

"Are you okay?" Kate asks.

"Yeah, he got all pissed because I didn't want him to go out. I said, why don't you just stay home for once? It went south from there."

"So, you thought of drinking?"

"It's hard, Kate."

"I know, but you know what? You didn't, and instead you did exactly what I told you to do, you picked up the phone and called your sponsor."

"Is that what it's going to come down to, Brian or a drink?"

Kate's heart sinks. It almost came to that in her own relationship with Michael her husband. "I don't know, sweetie, I hope not, but it might."

The truth is, she really didn't know.

Chapter 4

Kabul

"Another day in paradise, boys," Sergeant Daniel McDowd of the 10th Mountain Division, 110th Military Intelligence Battalion tells his buddies. They are tagging along with a squad of Afghan National Police on a sweep for Taliban. As advisors, their job is not to lead, but to point the way, and hopefully not get killed by the people they are training. Very soon, they'll be completely on their own, ready or not.

He's a smart kid, Robert Redford good looks, the combination of an Irish father and a Jewish mom. As a kid, he had dreamed of becoming an FBI agent, doing one better than his old man, who'd been a NYPD borough commander. He graduated from Quantico at the top of his class, so they sent him to do some graduate language work at NYU. That's when his dream was derailed.

On September 11, 2001, McDowd was riding his bike, steadily making the climb up the wooden plank walkway of the Brooklyn Bridge on his way to a Russian literature class when the world changed before his eyes. That night, watching the sunset through the smoke from his roof deck, Dan McDowd, like so many American sons and daughters, knew what he had to do.

Getting a deferment from the FBI, he joined the United States Army. With his training and education, he moved fast. The Army recognized his gift for language right away and with his knowledge of Russian, they gave him the challenge of learning Pashto, Afghanistan's most widely used language. All this landed him on a dusty street, trying to do something to fix the shattered country while they still had a chance.

"Chiller!" his partner shouts from across the street.

McDowd wanders over through the mostly foot traffic. The people pay cautious to indifference to them as long as they keep moving.

"What's up, Bone?" McDowd asks Sergeant James Washington.

"Don't look now, but your red Volvo's right around this corner."

Their Afghan counterpart catches up with them, along with Lieutenant David Dobson, a kid fresh out of West Point.

"McDowd, did you find your target yet? This place is a shit hole, and these kids are worse than flies." Dobson has attracted a swarm of children.

"Right around the corner, LT," McDowd says.

"Good. Which house?" Dobson sighs, already beat from the heat.

"Third house, left side."

Dobson turns to the Afghan commander. "Okay Hakeem, all yours."

Bone smiles and pats the Afghan on the back. "Go get'em, brother!" The imposing reservist beams with pride as his student rushes into action.

"You should try this tactic at home," McDowd sadly comments. Bone hails from Philadelphia. When his reserve unit got called up, his job as a city detective gave him the option to stay behind. The Army and his country had been good to him, giving him the education, training and discipline to escape the mean streets. Philly needed him, but his country needs him more.

"No doubt." Bone sighs, thinking about the nonstop Philadelphia violence, and his two sons right in the middle of it.

McDowd reads his buddy's mind; he's known to do that. "How are the boys?" he asks while watching Hakeem and his men storm the building. McDowd has family in Philly area too, so he knows what Bone's kids are up against.

"So far so good. My little guy Russ is a little sweetie, but James? He's got too much of his mother in him, God rest her soul. He's starting to need me more than these people do. I hope my mom can handle him until I get back."

The muffled rattle of AK-47 fire suddenly comes from inside the house. Instinctively McDowd and Bone crouch and hug the wall.

"How old is your mom?"

Bone has to think a second. "Sixty-one. Why?"

Now there is soft BOOM from a flash grenade, then shouting in Pashto over the radio.

"Well, she's young. I wouldn't worry. After all, she didn't do such an awful job with you."

They hear a burst of a male voice screaming over the radio.

"You better not be dissing my momma, son."

"I ain't dissing your momma, I'm dissing you!" McDowd laughs.

Dobson scurries next to them, just a few doors down from the operation. "McDowd! What the fuck is going on in there?"

"Gee, L.T., it sounds like they're having fun."

"That didn't sound like a fun scream."

"They haven't asked for help, LT."

"Just find out."

"Yes sir!" McDowd switches to Pashto. " _Hakeem! What's going on?'_ he shouts into the radio.

Hakeem shouts loudly over the screaming.

"He says he's fine, sir."

Less than a minute later, a nearly naked man bursts from the front door of the building, with Hakeem and his men right behind.

McDowd recognizes him as the target. The man drops to his knees and throws up his hands, sobbing hysterically. Bone doesn't speak a lick of Pashto, but he knows when someone has taken to begging.

A moment later, Hakeem smacks him in the head with the stock of his gun.

The Americans approach for a closer look while the suspect crawls towards them in a cloud of dust.

"Please! Please! Do not let them take me!"

McDowd uses his a retinal scanner on the suspect. "Looks like we have a winner, Hakeem."

The Afghan slaps the suspect again. "Iranian pig!"

Two of his men grab the suspect by the arms and drag the sobbing suspect away.

Bone and Dobson shake their heads while another GI videotapes the whole shebang. Every operation is recorded, along with all the onlookers.

"Good job, Hakeem," Dobson says. "But I think we might have to work on your bedside manner."

" _God willing_ , L.T., _God willing_. We'll see you back at the base."

"Saddle up, boys!" Bone shouts to his men. As the Americans gather up, McDowd lingers to watch the pick up truck disappear into the orange dust.

"God's will." Sometimes it makes him wonder.

Chapter 5

City Line Avenue, Philadelphia

Fear is a great motivator.

"Get down..." Kate whispers, ducking behind the Slurpee station in the back of a 7-Eleven. Kate, along with her boys, her neighbor Julie and her two daughters have just finished karate class and have stopped for a little refreshment. A minute later, somebody's robbing the place. Kate noticed them the moment they walked in, but thankfully, they haven't seen Kate and company.

"Shhh! All of you," she hushes them. One look at her face and they can see she's not fooling around. A burst of profanity from the front of the store makes the situation clear.

"Don't make a sound," she whispers, hoping it'll be over in a minute. Quietly, she shifts on her feet. Using the reflection off the glass refrigerator doors, she assesses the situation.

"That's it? That's all you got, old man?" says one voice.

"No more cash. Here, take cigarette."

"Fuck that. I know you got more. Give it up, motherfucker!" another voice demands.

" _Two of them,"_ she sees, kids not even old enough to drive, but one of them has a gun.

"Safe locked! Cannot open." The old man starts to lose it as the gun points over the counter, backing him to the wall.

"Come on, Boo. We got something, let's go man."

The kid with the gun hesitates. For a moment, it seems to be over.

CLANG!

Robbie knocks over a bottle. It doesn't break, but it rolls for what seems an eternity on the hard tile floor. Robbie's face twists as if listening to fingernails being dragged over a blackboard. When it finally stops, he looks to his mom to say, "I'm sorry."

There is dead silence. She knows they heard the bottle. She waits for the reaction while slipping off her clogs.

"Somebody else here?" The kid named Boo thumbs back the gun's hammer.

" _Shit!"_ Kate acts, she has to. Her children are in the same room as some skell with a gun. She is swift and silent, like a wave of dark magic. She grabs a can of dog food as she soars down the aisle directly behind the hooded robbers, staying low. About ten feet out, she launches the can with a dazzling overhand pitch. As it leaves her hand, she shouts, "HEY!"

Boo turns. The can is eight inches away from his face. He has no time to react before it strikes him square between the eyes. The last thing his brain registers is the word BEEF. The impact makes a sickening _THONK_ , and he drops like a brick. His buddy catches him, but not the falling gun. Kate snatches it out of the air and brings it's business end to within an inch of the other kid's eye as he helplessly holds his stunned partner.

"Get out."

The kid doesn't take his eyes off the menacing barrel, telling her it is loaded. She backs away to give him room to drag his dazed pal out the door. Kate looks over to see Tom's stunned face.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" the owner jabbers. Kate pays no attention as she looks to see where they've gone. With a deep breath, Kate spins around.

"Okay, guys. Let's go, everybody out," she calls.

"What just happened?" her neighbor Julie asks, emerging from the back. They've heard the commotion but saw nothing.

Kate hides the gun behind her back. "I guess they got scared and ran off. I didn't think I smelled that bad."

Both the shopkeeper and Tom look at her puzzled.

"I said, let's go." She prods Tom to get them moving out the door.

"No, you must stay for the police. You hero!" the owner pleads. Tom gives his mother a sideways glance passing by.

Kate grabs Julie by the arm. "Julie, I'll call you later."

"Okay," Julie says with hesitation, but Kate doesn't let her go.

"Please, let's keep this to ourselves."

"Okay, Kate."

Then she tells Tom, "I'll be there in a second."

Kate goes back into the store. The old man is out from behind the counter now. "Please, stay, the police are coming!"

Kate shakes her head. "No. I don't want get involved, okay?"

"But you help, they should know!"

"I don't want them to know. Now, you must do _me_ a favor..."

The rush is still with her as they ride silently home, the endorphins tingling her entire being. Kate tries to resist the enjoyment; it's dangerous for her. Finally, Robbie speaks up. "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm sorry about the bottle."

"You're an idiot," Tom scolds.

"I'm sorry! It was an accident!" Robbie shoots back.

"It's okay, sweetie," Kate chuckles. "Just be more careful next time, especially when I ask you seriously to do something."

"Like don't move."

Tom looks over at his mother. Only he knows how serious the situation was, and he's not quite sure how to handle it.

Feeling his eyes on her, she slowly droops like one of those Mylar party balloons, unwanted, unneeded now that the fun is over. _"It's not you, Kate,"_ she tells herself. There is another voice somewhere that Kate knows will tell her otherwise, that it _is_ her, that she's damaged goods and beyond the expiration date. But she doesn't listen to that voice anymore.

Minutes later, they pull into driveway. Her husband Michael is home unexpectedly early. They spilled into the kitchen with a chorus of hellos.

Michael is a few years younger than Kate and still holding on to his college day's athletic build and good looks.

"Dad! Guess what, we saw a robbery!" Robbie shouts.

"What?" Michael spins around.

"At the 7-Eleven, after class," Tom says, passing his dad.

Kate, still holding karate equipment, kisses her husband. She smells booze on his breath, not that it matters, just that it's just another surprise. "It was no big deal. Some kids tried to rob the place when we were getting Slurpees."

"The one on City Avenue?"

She nods.

"I told you guys to stay out of that place." Michael says, helping his wife with the stuff.

Kate tries to minimize it. "Just a couple of kids."

"With a gun," Tom adds, returning to the kitchen.

Kate grimaces.

"Jesus! Honey..." Michael groans.

"I didn't see the gun." Robbie says with disappointment.

She can't lie. Honesty isn't a best policy; it's a survival tool. She can, however, be less than forthcoming about the truth. "They didn't even know we were all there. They got scared and ran off."

"Well, thank God," Michael says with relief.

Kate shoots Tom a look of warning not to say anymore. "Guys, go finish your homework and then get ready for bed." They shuffle off grumbling, but Michael, a journalist, suspects there's more to the story. Once they've cleared out, he's back to making his sandwich, but she knows better.

"Why you home early?" Kate asks. Michael's job as news director at the number one local station usually keeps him at work until after eleven.

"So, what really happened?"

He knows his wife of eighteen years pretty well and knows she'll be honest. She has a lot at stake. It had taken Kate years to regain Michael's trust after her drinking.

Michael listens to her replay.

"My God, Julie was there..."

"Robbie did what?...Dog food?..."

Then it is over.

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. I reacted, just like I'm trained to do." Kate sighs.

"And Julie saw this? The whole town will know. The next thing, the cops will be knocking."

"She didn't see a thing, she was hiding with the kids. I really thought the whole thing was going to blow over, and then Robbie knocked over the bottle. I acted. I was afraid for the kids."

Michael considers this, and suddenly his thoughtful face changes to fear. "But that doesn't make it right. That was pretty stupid. You could have gotten somebody killed!"

Now it's her turn to be irritated. Her accent slips out a little bit. "Yeah, or maybe I saved a few lives...and maybe you could take them once in a blue moon!"

Michael holds up a hand, "All right, I'm sorry," he says. "It's just that I'd hate to see anything happen to you guys"

"I know," she says quietly, looking down.

Coming over to her, he gently lifts her chin back up to kiss her. "No more Slurpees from there."

"Okay,"

He kisses her again. "And it's a good thing you're on our side."

She says nothing, wondering as she kisses her husband about what to do with Boo's gun, and trying hard not to wonder about where her husband's been. She smells the alcohol on his breath, beneath the toothpaste and the body wash. He's not a drunk. He's allowed to drink. That's not the concern. It's who he's been drinking with that makes her wonder.

Chapter 6

Kabul

It is dawn, and a sleepy Sami waits on a nearly deserted street. He watches two dogs fight over garbage in the brightening orange light and considers throwing rocks at them. A car speeds towards him trailing a cloud of dust. The white Mercedes sedan flashes its high beams, and he raises his hand in greeting. As soon as the sedan slides to a halt, the passenger side back door swings open. After hesitating for an instant, he climbs in.

There are two other men inside, plus the driver. "Salam," Sami says, but gets no greeting in return. The man sitting in the back with him says something in Farsi, which Sami doesn't get, except for " _cocksucker"_ left in English for him to understand. Everyone laughs, except Sami.

"My name is Ish," the man says. "My boss says you can help us kill Americans. Is this true?"

"Perhaps, if you have the money to pay the Russian," Sami replies.

They all laugh again. "Yes, we have the payment for him indeed," Ish smiles. "And we have something for you."

Sami isn't feeling the love right now. He laughs nervously, hoping that God's will is in tune with his own.

Chapter 7

Camp Phoenix, Kabul

To the sounds of Willie Nelson, McDowd and Bone are on the road again. Turning out of the sprawling base and onto the main road, they get a departing salute from "Rambo", the burly Afghan gate keeper the Army adopted when it moved into the former trucking company's compound. He used to be a driver before the war, but when the Taliban killed his wife, he made it his mission to protect the American's and their base ever since, using only his trademark lead pipe and nerves of steel.

While reviewing the after-action videotape of their recent outing, Bone's cop eye spotted something odd, a blond haired guy in a neighborhood he shouldn't be in. So being the inquisitive lads they are, and being that it's their job, they're brining the video tape to the spooks at the embassy annex to see it they can ID the guy.

It is a short drive, barring any unforeseen events like roadside bombs. Bone drives while McDowd keeps an eye out ahead for anyone running away, a good indication of a nasty surprise. Their nerves are a bit frayed by the time they park. They go inside via elaborate security doors to the awaiting Marine guard detail at the reception desk. "IDs, guys."

As McDowd pulls out the paperwork, someone shouts from behind the entryway. "Sergeants McDowd and Washington?" a voice asks from across the hall.

Walking towards them is a trim thirty-something blonde guy, medium build with a civilian business casual look to him. His IDs dangles from a lanyard.

"They're okay guys, they're with me," he says, extending a hand. "Dave Edwards. Your CO said you'd be stopping by. How was the drive over?" Edwards asks as he leads them along, down stairwells and halls. McDowd knows that the unassuming guy could just as easily snap a neck as drone on about Kabul traffic. Spooks have to be the best liars; their lives can depend on it.

"The real work gets done in here," Edwards says as he swipes his access card next to a door.

"Dang!" Bone smiles as they walk into a large room that is a maze of computers, flat-panel TVs and hanging wires framed by glass-partitioned cubicles along the walls.

"Looks like a Vegas sports bars," McDowd says mockingly.

Edwards chuckled, "Every now and then we do put on a game."

The countless screens flicker with live feeds from the mixed assortment of the Unmanned Aerial Vehicles buzzing over the country. From the small model airplane sized "Ravens" his guys used to the "Global Hawk," there are probably more aircraft in the air here than over New York.

Edwards slides open one of the cubes and ushers the men inside. "Guys, this is Lynn. She's one of our video wizards."

A simple "Hi" is all they get.

"You got that tape?" asks Edwards.

McDowd hands it to Lynn. "It's cued up."

"Let's see what we've got," Edwards offers cheerfully. The taped rolls and pops up on the screen. "There, in the door." McDowd points.

Edwards leans in for a better look. "See him, Lynn?"

"Got him," She takes digital still from the tape. "Give me a couple with him."

Then an attractive young lady in cammos joins the group. "How's it going, guys?"

Edwards introduces Private First Class Darcy Davis. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, "but I thought it would be nice to offer Sergeant Washington a tour."

He looks at McDowd, who shrugs. Bone is no fool, but he doesn't mind being run off, especially by such a cutie. Besides, he doesn't have clearance for this kind of stuff. Bone is regular Army, not Intel. "Cool, I could do that."

"He'll be up in the mess when you guys are done," Davis says.

"Later, man," smiles McDowd.

After they leave, McDowd turns to Edwards. "Nice move."

"Ignorance is bliss, I always say." He nods to the screen.

A few more clicks of her mouse, and Lynn hits the return key. A program begins running on the image. Halfway down the frame, Edwards laughs and picks up the phone. "Bob, I'm in bay three, wait till you see who turned up."

McDowd looks at him quizzically. "You know this guy?'

"A blast from the past."

Bob shows up a minute later and Edwards points to the screen. The sixty-ish guy, looking more like a high school principal than the CIA's assistant chief of station, lifts his glasses off his nose. "Good Lord! Where'd you find that?"

Edwards looks to McDowd for the explanation. "Char Qala, yesterday. ANP were grabbing a suspect on a tip."

"Four Castles, huh..." he says aloud, using the name. You could almost hear the wheels spinning in Bob's head.

"Find him. I want to know what he's up to, and who he was visiting," he orders, then turns to McDowd. "McDowd, right?"

"Yes sir."

"I guess you've been re-assigned. Welcome to the Central Intelligence Agency."

The little hairs on the back of Dan McDowd's neck tingle. Edwards points at the image.

"That's Sasha Isovich Malekov. Ex Spetsnaz, ex-GRU, ex-KGB, ex–SVR and an extreme fuck up. Even the Russian mob didn't want him." He turns around to make a drinking gesture. "Once upon a time, he was a real tough guy, but got his ass kicked by the bottle, and for a Russian, that's saying a lot."

They were winding their way through the halls now, heading back the light away from the world of shadows.

McDowd looks at the picture, "One hard looking dude."

"He works for Kosmipol Pravda as a photographer, but I'm sure he wasn't in that shit pit to sight-see."

"Iran," McDowd says.

Edwards grins, "So, your file says you're here on an FBI deferment, and you're going home soon."

"Soon, I hope."

"Well, don't worry, we won't keep you. You have an interesting background. You speak Russian, Arabic and Pashto?"

"And a smattering of Hebrew. I grew up near Brighton Beach. My dad was a cop," McDowd says.

"Huge Russian community, and they're saving you a spot in counter intelligence?"

"You trying to recruit me?" McDowd smiles.

They stop outside the cafeteria door. "Hey, we're always looking for talent. I was just thinking, you'll be a big asset to them, doing translations in some nice cubicle. They're stretched thin these days."

It was a dig, but probably a correct one. They enter the busy cafeteria. McDowd spots Bone at a table surrounded by food, waving at them. Seeing this, Edwards stops and faces McDowd again. "Did you ever consider the Agency?"

McDowd starts to object, but Edwards cut him off. "I caught your vibe. You my friend are a player. We aren't too far apart. We have that edge. You go back home now and all you're going to do is follow people around. You'll be bored senseless. This..." he dramatically points downward, "is where the fun is. The rush ain't happening there, it's here."

They both know he's right, and Edwards can see him considering it. "No way, I'm outta here," he says laughingly.

"Just think about it," Edwards suggests, handing him his card. "Besides, spy chicks are way hotter than those stuck up FBI broads."

Chapter 8

In the dusty heat of his old orange Fiat, Sasha waits for his future. He knows what to expect, and what they might try to pull on him, but he's ready. He lights another Marlboro and takes a nice deep drag off it, savoring the moment.

"This shitty place, this shitty car, this shitty vodka," he thinks, glancing at the bottle, "will be a thing of the past. _"_ He flicks the butt out the window, and then takes one last, long pull off the liquor, finishing it. Checking himself in the rearview mirror, he doesn't like what he sees, and hasn't for a while.

"That will change, starting now."

He puts on his sunglasses, and out the door he goes. Being European, he has no problem getting into the hotel and up to his floor. The vodka always makes him cooler and calmer, but it isn't dampening his excitement.

Once off the elevator, he stands listening, letting his ears look ahead for him. All seems quiet as he pads down the hall to find the room. Again, he listens, straining to hear beyond the door. He adjusts his MP-433 Grach pistol in the small of his back. Finally, he knocks, not too loud, not too soft. He hears Sami's muffled voice inside telling him to wait, and in less than a minute, he opens the door. A smiling Sami ushers him in, and Sasha walks into his future, the door softly closing behind him.

Chapter 9

McDowd is snoozing away when he feels a kick on his foot. He opens his eyes to see Bone and Edwards standing over him.

"Your Russian's turned up," Edwards says.

Bone makes a cutting gesture across his neck.

"Really?"

"Yeah, found him about a half hour ago," Edwards says.

"Cool, so we're done?"

Edwards smiles, but Bone answers. "Captain Taylor says he wants his best people on this one."

"In other words, I'd like to keep some real cops around a little longer," Edwards says.

An old Peugeot wagon taxi is waiting for them with two scraggly looking guys in the front. Edwards makes the introductions.

"Chiller, Bone, this is Joey Mayo and Tommy Freaks. Freaks and Mayo for short." They shake hands all around before pulling out.

"You guys Company or contractors?" Bone asks. They look like special operators.

"S.A.D." Freaks tells him with a smile.

The Special Activities Division is the CIA's paramilitary group, the guys and girls who are America's human swords. They don't come any sharper, having been forged in the fires of the SEAL and DELTA teams.

Every branch of the military has their bad asses, the highly trained soldiers who put the "special" in Special Forces. The cream of _that_ crop gets invited to try out for the varsity teams. However, being a _razor_ has drawback. It doesn't pay very well. Like military pilots, they can make a ton more cash working in the private sector. Patriotism doesn't pay for a kid's college education. The happy medium is working for SAD, if you are gifted enough to get in.

Word is getting around fast about the dead Russian, especially since the hotel has about as many journalists as bedbugs. McDowd is happy to see that Captain Taylor has sent over their squad of M.P.'s to secure the place. They call them the "Bone Heads", a group of young men that Bone has been training not only to be good soldiers, but also good cops when they return to the world.

They salute smartly as Bone, McDowd and Edwards enter the hotel lobby.

"Morning Boss. We're on the top floor, premises is secure," a young PFC named Sweet tells them.

"Good man. Only spooks allowed up there. Get somebody to pull the surveillance drive, if they're working," Bone orders.

Sweet eyes Freaks and Mayo warily. Freaks winks.

They get the low down on the elevator ride up. "The maid came in to clean the room. Then runs out screaming. No body seen noth'in."

"Whom was it registered to?" McDowd asks.

"Dubai businessman, checked out for a morning flight," Sweet reads from his notes. "We're checking the airline to make sure he got on."

They find another M.P. waiting for them when they get off.

"Who's been inside?" McDowd asks.

"Just the maid and her supervisor," Hassan answers. "You'll see. Very bad."

Edwards smiles at McDowd. "You awake for your crime scene classes at Quantico?"

"You bet."

"Well, you tell us if we're about to screw up." He nods to the group. "Shall we?"

They walked in. It smelled like shit, literally.

Bone lets out a long and mournful "Danggggg."

"Try not to touch anything," McDowd warns.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Bone says in disgust.

It is a large room, laid out for longer stays with a kitchenette. Blood is spattered all over the sink, likely from the cordless drill with a long quarter inch bit in the basin. "Not very neat."

"No wonder the maid was upset," Bone says.

"Yeah. This is going to be a bitch to clean up," Edwards breathes.

They enter the bedroom area.

"Whoaaaa!" Edwards laughs. McDowd just whistles. On top of the bed are the remains of Sasha Malekov, duct taped to one of the room's chairs, face down. The mattress is soaked in his blood.

"See the feet?" Bone says. There is a hole in the heel of each foot.

McDowd takes a close but careful look. "Now I know what the drill was for."

"Yeah, well, that's just half the fun," Bone says, looking around for something. "Yup, see here?" He points to an electric toy train transformer. "After the holes, they put these here electric wires in, and zappity-doo-dah."

McDowd blushes. "Hey, it's the training, Bone-man."

Edwards takes a close look at the drill work.

"This is looks like VEKAK. I'll bet you a steak Iranians did this," Bone says.

They moved around the room silently, letting their eyes travel from place to place.

"Hell of a mess," Bob comments as he enters the room. "So what do you think, Detective Washington?"

"Well, at least three perps. This guy is pretty big to handle, but there doesn't seem to have been too much of a struggle. Two did the dirty work, by the amount of paper towels at the sink." He places the back of a finger to the vic's neck. "He's still pretty warm. Obviously, they wanted something out of him, and quick. Either they didn't have time to clean up, or they didn't care. They'll take the DNA for the hell of it."

"So we know how and who, but why?" Bob asks aloud.

McDowd has found his pants, and his wallet with cash still in it. "Seems that robbery wasn't the motive."

"What else you find in there?" Bob asks.

"IDs...here's an address," he says, handing it to Hassan.

The Afghani looks at it. "This is where we were yesterday. Down the street."

"I say we check it out," McDowd concludes.

Bob's phone chirps with a text message from Mayo downstairs. "Russians are here."

Edwards looks at his watch. "Good news travels fast."

"Tell you what, you boys go check out the house. I'll have somebody toss his place," Bob says.

"What about this guy, we just gonna leave him there?" McDowd asks, gesturing to Malekov.

"Hassan buddy, have your folks take him down to the morgue, no ID okay?" Bone suggests.

"Good idea," Bob says. "The Russians know they have a dead one, but they don't know who. It'll buy us a little time."

They file out and get the elevator down to the lobby.

"Hell of a way to go," McDowd says with a final backward glance.

Moments after they step off the elevator into the lobby, three men approach them. Leading the way is "Uncle" Yuri Dimitriov. The sixty-something guy is wearing a rumpled business suit, and his crazy mop of gray hair has him looking more like a mad scientist than the top Russian intelligence officer in Kabul. The SVR's _Rezident_ , or Chief of Station, storms down the hall, followed by his security thugs, or _siloviki_.

Sweet and Freaks move to cut them off.

"Guys, let them by," Bob says.

"Robert! Shame on you! How can you let such a thing happen? It's bad enough that you have tossed this country down the shit hole, but now this? A Russian citizen, murdered right under your noses! Shame!"

"Hold on, Yuri, what are you talking about?" Bob shoots back.

The two old spooks have a long history of competition between each other, and Bob knows his bluster is for show.

"I want to see our citizen!" Yuri shouts dramatically.

"If you're referring to the body found upstairs, we have not confirmed a nationality, let alone an identity. You'll be able to see him at the morgue. If he turns out to be yours, you can be assured that we will do everything we can to help the Afghan authorities bring you and the Russian people justice in this horrible crime."

"This is an outrage!" Yuri shouts.

Bob pulls his aside, "It's an active crime scene, and we have to limit access to avoid contamination. I'm sure you understand."

Hassan's men carry in a stretcher and place it on the floor. He looks over the mess, trying to decide where to begin. Finally, he settles for just pulling the body off the bed. It is the last thing he ever does.

In the lobby, everyone drops to the ground as the room shakes from the concussion of the explosive above. Edwards and McDowd land across from each other, face to face. Both men can accurately guess what happen, and gauge how lucky they are.

Seeing the yellow fireball rise from the hotel's top floor down the street, Ish smiles as he pulls his white Mercedes into the busy Kabul traffic.

Chapter 10

Woodcrest Road

A gentle frost has come overnight and the first rays of the rising sun have turned it into glistening gold. Kate lives for her morning runs, but today's chill reminds her of the coming winter and the darkness that will soon to be joining her.

" _Thank God for Saturdays."_ It will be a busy and important one. She reviews her day yesterday, which had been easy, just dealing with paperwork. "Easy," however, depended on how you look at it. It can be inspiring to see how her clients managed to survive their situations at home. It can also be heartbreaking. So many families wrecked by the combination of culture and substance abuse. She's seen how kids grow up too fast, becoming adults before their time. "But for the grace of God," she huffs.

The sun has taken off the chill now, and the light is brilliantly setting off the spectacular fall trees. Her pacing is good, even breaths, steadily increasing as she prepares for her route's big hill. Now she prays. The gratitude always comes first.

"Thank you for the gifts you have given me all these years. The gift of salvation, the gift of sobriety, the gift of my loving boys. I am so thankful, Lord, but the gift of free will I must give back to you, for it is destructive in my hands. God, please, help me be deserving of your grace, relieve me of the burden of self, and grant me the knowledge of your will for me. Let me hear your voice, see your signs, feel your presence, and guide me away from the darkness, and to your loving light."

She finally crests the top, once again amazed by how prayer makes things so much easier, and for this too she gives thanks.

" _Downhill from here."_

A half block from home, she slows to a walk, bringing her to the end of her daily five-mile run. Strolling up the flagstone path, past her dazzling array of potted mums, Kate finishes her communion.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Thy will, not mine, be done."

" _The courage..."_

Standing in front of her house to cool down, she takes in the morning, so crisp and fresh, beauty she can recognize only because of the gift she's been given. Recovery from addiction is not all that different from having a near death experience, and with it comes a new appreciation of life. Her reality exists on different level than most, one in which faith has been transformed into conviction and where miracles are as commonplace as sunrises. A feeling of warmth washes over her. In this moment, she feels connected to her surroundings, to the universe...

"You're here," she whispers, the words carried off on the breeze.

Opening the front door, the scent of the brewing coffee throws her off. During the week, she sets the timer so it is ready when she comes in. Today she finds Tom at the kitchen table eating Froot Loops, strangely awake for a Saturday, and she knows why.

"Wow! Thanks for making coffee, sweetie!" she says. "And what's this?"

An envelope lies on top of the machine, addressed to MOM.

"I don't know," Tom replies.

She opens it. It is a card with Snoopy hugging his little bird pal Woodstock on the cover with some corny cliché inside. "Dear Mom, we love you and are very proud of you. Happy anniversary! Love, Tom and Robbie."

Kate goes over and kisses Tom on the head. "Thank you, sweetie!"

"You're welcome. Keep up the good work," he says, but despite the smile she can tell something is bothering him, and she knows what it is. They hadn't talked about the 7-Eleven.

"Mom, you really freaked me out the other night."

Kate smiles. "What do you mean, honey?"

"Come on, Mom, you almost killed that guy!"

She sits down with her coffee across from her son. "I was protecting you and your brother." She states as a fact. "I will do everything and anything in the world to do that." She reaches for his hand, which he gives her.

"I know, Mom."

Then she breaks the solemn mood. "Besides, what good is being a third-degree black belt if you never get to use it?"

"Yeah, but..." He stops, considering what he wanted to say.

"But what, Tom?"

Tom focuses on his Froot Loops. "It looked like you enjoyed it."

A wave of regret pushes her back silently into the chair.

When he finally looks up at his mom, shame has saddened his face.

"Ohhh, honey . . ." Kate isn't sure what to say, at first feeling wrongly accused, but then humbled and disturbed over what her son had seen. His sensitivity and ability to read people has improved.

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"I don't know."

"Yes. I did, and I'll tell you why. I felt empowered. I was scared at first, afraid for you guys, especially after Robbie knocked over that bottle, but after things started happening, it was an adrenaline rush. It felt good."

"You could have been shot!"

"Maybe, but so could've you, or Robbie, or the rest of them. I had surprise on my side. It was instinct. I felt that God was moving me." She lets that sink in for a minute.

"Does that answer your question?"

"I guess,"

"Good. After all, honesty is the best policy."

She changes the subject, and with it the mood. "So, what do you want to do in class today?"

"You're teaching?" Tom reacts with surprise.

"Sensei Michelle asked me to fill in for her, so I said sure."

Just then Michael shuffles into the room, totally disheveled and most likely too hung over to sleep. Tom takes the cue from his mom's suddenly darkened mood and leaves the room.

As Michael fumbles for coffee, she chuckles snarkily.

"What's so funny?" he grumbles.

"Late one?" Kate says with a cheery tone.

"The budget is due," he says.

"And you were working on it in a bar?"

"We brought it in," he says with an edge. "What's going on, something I should know about?"

"You have no idea what today is, do you?" Kate says with pleasant sarcasm.

"I'm really not in the mood for twenty questions."

"It's my anniversary," she says. "And here you are, hung over and still smelling like booze."

She sees the anxiety hit him. _"You can't hold it against him. He isn't like me. I can't expect him to understand,"_ Kate tells herself.

It is Kate's sobriety date, ten years without a drink, and a major milestone for a person in recovery, especially since at one time ten minutes seemed like an eternity.

"Shit! I'm sorry. Congratulations, honey. Tonight we'll celebrate," Michael says, giving her a hug. His breath makes her recoil, but it is the slight, yet unmistakable scent of another woman that makes her sick.

"Okay," Kate says, now understanding why his hugs lately have seemed so empty.

Chapter 11

Tehran

" _Come to prayer, Come to success, God is great! There is no God but God,"_

The _Muezzin_ calls to the faithful of an upscale suburb of Tehran. For some, it is time for prayer. For others, Allah is found in sweets and tea. His friends wasted no time in getting him on a flight. Sami would have liked to freshen up after his long trip, but his hosts are anxious to receive him and his information. Only after being ushered into the pleasant reception room of the mansion does he realize the depth of the shit he's stepped in. Few of the seated clerics in the room notice Sami, but those who do show their contempt. This chills him more than the air-conditioning, and he is sweating like a pig.

One of the younger clerics stands and greets Sami with a smile. "You must be Mr. Faquir! Welcome, I am Hamdi. I want to thank you for coming. We know you have had a long trip. I promise we won't keep you long."

Hamdi leads across the room to another set of doors. He won't be joining the group.

"It is indeed a blessing from Allah that you have given us this extraordinary information. My friends have told me all."

"May he be praised," Sami agrees.

"And your fee is so modest, as opposed to that of the infidel's."

"I am a humble man, in the service of our merciful God."

"The rewards are bountiful for those who follow his way," Hamdi beams in agreement.

One of the men who had driven Sami hands Hamdi a folder, which he leafs through as they walk.

"These instructions seem quite simple," Hamdi remarks. "Once we are assured of Allah's direction, how long will it take to see results?"

"I am told from seven to fourteen days, no longer. That is the timeline."

Hamdi closes the file with a smile. "Excellent!"

Now Hamdi shifts to a slightly more serious tone. "On a personal note, Sami, there is something that concerns us."

Sami doesn't like where this is going. "Please, how may I be of service to Allah?"

"I will be frank with you Sami," Hamdi sighs. "We are aware of your indiscretions."

Sami's eyes widen as the double doors open before them. Two men, covered in black from head to toe stand waiting. On their foreheads are headbands that read in classic Arabic the Islamic creed. " _There is no God but Allah and Mohammad is his prophet."_

"I pray Allah will have mercy on your soul, Sami."

The men set upon him, but Sami resists. The blabbering pleas build as he runs around the room to avoid capture, his sweaty skin preventing them from getting a grip. When they grab him by the shirt, Sami manages to slip out of it, making the scene all the more ugly. As much as he would hate to admit it, Hamdi can't help being amused.

They corner him, but Sami is a big guy, pushing them away. With a sigh, Hamdi returns to the large room as his fellow Council of Guardians members begin to make their way to afternoon services, discussing Allah's gift of free will. The moment he closes the door, a shot rings out, followed by a heavy thud.

Chapter 12

Kabul

Darkness has fallen on Char Qala, and McDowd and Bone's unit have just set up a parameter around Sami's shop. They are all simmering after the hotel explosion and Hassan's death, and trying hard to stay focused. The ideal time for this kind of operation would be around two or three in the morning. Now the whole neighborhood is beginning to pull up chairs to watch the show.

Bone cringes when he sees Captain Taylor waiting with Lieutenant Dobson at the door as they drive up with Edwards.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Who will explain why we have raided an empty store?" Taylor asks with annoyance.

"Good evening to you, Captain Taylor," Edwards smiles. "I want to thank you for your help, and lending me the excellent assistance of Sergeants McDowd and Washington. Your fine skills have obviously rubbed off on these men."

McDowd catches Dobson rolling his eyes as Taylor cuts Edwards off.

"Enough, Edwards." Taylor drones. "You've nearly gotten them killed."

"That was my fault, sir," Bone says.

"Bullshit. You're a cop Washington, not a spy or an EOD. Now let's get this over with fast," Taylor says as he scans the gathering crowd. "The natives are getting restless."

The Explosive Ordinance Disposal team has been hard at work, given what happened back at the hotel. Silly string has been sprayed all over the shop to find trip wires, followed by a pass from innocent-looking golden Lab with a gifted nose for nitrates named Gunner. Even after getting a clean bill of health, the place still has the crew on edge. It's Freaks who hits paydirt first. He whistles them over, and then pushes the refrigerator out of the way with surprising ease, revealing a narrow staircase. McDowd shouts down in pashto for anyone in there to come out, but there is no reply. With a wink, Freaks readies a flash bang grenade, but Bone shakes his head. Instead he cracks a light stick and tosses it down the stairs. He hesitates, not liking the idea of going first.

"Here," Freaks says handing him a can of silly string.

"Thanks," McDowd smiles. "This makes it all better."

It's a short descent into the basement room. After a quick scan, he shouts, "Clear!" The sweeping flashlight beam adds to the eerie touch to the green glow of the chemical light as it reveals a collection of children's pictures stuck to the walls.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary," Bone exclaims. "Would you look at this shit!"

"This must be the party room," Freaks says, looking over the bed, boom box, water pipe, stash of liquor and children's toys. He picks up a stuffed Sponge Bob doll and imitating the cartoon character's voice, he says to Mayo, "Aw, Mr. Crabs, you gave me crabs!"

"Not from me, laddie, ye musta got'em from Squidward," Mayo replies in a brogue.

"A picture is worth a thousand words," Bone says, plucking a Polaroid off the wall and handing it to Taylor, who passes it to McDowd. "Now we have face to go on."

A smiling young boy posed with a fat, bald, middle-aged Arab man. The wall is covered with them. Different kids, same guy.

"And a name, Samir al-Faquir," McDowd says, reading some paperwork.

"Let's see if we can get anything from the street," Bone says as he takes pictures from the wall. "The neighbors will get a kick out of these."

"Don't we have better things to do than chase pedophiles?" Taylor asks in frustration.

"May be, Captain, but we still have that dead Russian and the possible Iranian connection," Bone says.

"Killed for kiddy porn?" asks Dobson.

"I doubt it, unless this guy rented the place out to big wigs," Edwards says.

"Blackmail?" McDowd offers.

"Possible," Bone says flipping the mattress, revealing what looks like a diary. "Well, looky here! Dear diary!"

It's too good to be true.

"This might give us something." He hands it to McDowd, knowing he can read the language.

McDowd leafs through it. "Yup, a diary, all right. This will be interesting."

He gets to the last page. It ends in a single word, written in English.

"Katrina."

Chapter 13

Kreichek and Hutnikov leave Sasha's apartment, passing a group of armed Dark Claw International contractors on their way in. Kreichek says hello, but Hutnikov, carrying a box, just scowls at them.

Given Sasha's usual lack of hygiene, Kreichek had expected his place to be a shambles, but instead he was struck by the incredible neatness, everything in perfect order, almost as if it was ready for snap inspection. There had been more to the man than the hopeless drunk, after all. They'd done a pretty good job of tossing the place, with Hutnikov adding a little gratuitous destruction. Regardless, there is nothing to be found, and that doesn't make Yuri happy.

"You've got to be shitting me!" he speaks loudly over the phone, causing Kreichek to move it away from his ear.

"We got out just before the Americans came. We were a little rushed, but we have his personal papers and the like."

"Bring them here."

Hutnikov passes Kreichek the photograph they had found, a graduation picture of Sasha Malekov's class at the Red Army Military Law Academy, the GRU officer's spook school. It was easy to find Malekov among the proud young faces. Hutnikov pointed to the instructor next to him.

"No wonder you kept him around. You taught him at the academy," Kreichek says.

Yuri pauses with surprise. "It was a different time in a different world."

"Perhaps his death is related to the past, not the present."

They can almost hear Uncle Yuri thinking that over.

"I'll think about it. In the meantime, get back here and make room for him in the freezer."

Yuri hangs up as they begin to complain. He is looking at the very same picture, framed on his desk. "You were quite the group, the best the Soviet Union had ever produced," he tells them. "Especially you," he says to the solitary woman in the shot.

Not many were still around. Afghanistan, the Russian White House Coup, and Chechnya had thinned the herd. A few threw in with mobsters and did quite well. Most had vanished. Now Sasha was dead, and Colonel Yuri Petrovich Dimitriov of the SVR is left to figure out why.

"Something in the past," Suddenly a wave of anxiety hits him, nearly causing him to drop his butt.

"Holy God, no!" He looks back at the picture. "That's crazy," trying to shrug off the thought, but he'd best eliminate this possibility. He calls an old friend in Moscow.

Chapter 14

Char Qala

A little Raven UAV buzzes low over the street, annoying the onlookers, but the sound is a comfort to the troops keeping watch outside the shop. The model airplane on steroids is less of an attention getter than a chopper, but it's almost as good a surveillance platform. After a final pass, it dives back up into the darkness. It can see just about everything, but it is only as good as its operators.

"Whoa, shit! That's nasty," Sweet says, looking at the Polaroid that Bone has just handed him.

McDowd hands out a few more. "Here ya go. Don't say I never gave you anything. Show these around to the neighbors, see if they know where he is."

"This shit will cause a riot, dawg," Sweet grimaces.

"Yeah, but they might loosen up once they see what this guy was doing to their kids." Bone gestures to the onlookers.

Bone's neck explodes in a cloud of pink with a sickening SMACK. Blood sprays all over McDowd's face. The sound of the shot comes a moment later, delayed by distance and the thick air. Bone's hands come up to his throat as he drops to his knees, more in shock than in pain.

"MAN DOWN! MEDIC!" McDowd and the Boneheads scream.

Bone looks at McDowd in confusion, as if he wants to ask "why" before keeling over.

The scene collapses into chaos, men dropping for cover and searching for targets in the direction of the shot, the onlookers scattering. Dobson calls in for a Medivac as the Doc shows up with his tools.

"LT! It's Bone! Bone's been hit!" McDowd shouts as the medic starts working on Bone, trying to compress the entry wound.

"It's the carotid," the Doc mumbles, "and right through the airway..."

McDowd leans in close to Bone's face, pulling the big man's hands away. "Bone! Hang in, man. Hang in."

He's bleeding out. Bone can't speak, but he doesn't have to. His eyes say it all. " _I'm afraid."_

The Raven team crackles over the radio, "Muzzle flash! One block west, corner building, rooftop!" Dobson will ask them later why they didn't see them in the first place.

Freaks and Sweet dash in that direction, followed by a Humvee. The turret gunner swings his .50 caliber machine gun forward, targeting the house. Now the sound of a chopper, approaching fast, adds to the crazed scene.

"Stryker team, this is Claw 2-6. You guys need a light?" ask the contractors from Dark Claw International, who happened to be monitoring their frequency. Dobson points the little Kiowa chopper in the right direction. Suddenly the dark sky explodes with light as the pilot throws on his "night sun" spotlight. After a moment they spot a target.

"You've got two tangos on the northwest corner house, they're bolting," the Kiowa reports. "You want us to drop them?"

"Affirmative Claw, take them down! Repeat, take them down!" Dobson yells into his radio.

"Roger that, Stryker, have the wetvac ready." The door gunner racks his M-60 machine gun, swinging it out as he stands on the chopper's landing skid. The pilot brings the chopper back in low and hovers broadside to the rooftop. The targets run for a door, but a short burst from the M-60 cuts them off, forcing them to change direction. It doesn't matter. They disappear in a cloud of dust kicked up by the downpour of lead and blade wash.

"Give Allah my regards, boys!" the gunner yells down at the now lifeless bodies.

Freaks and Sweet burst through the ground floor door of the building, the red dots of their laser sights leading the way. They make their way quickly and quietly up the stairs to the roof. As Freaks passes a window, he sees a figure out of the corner of his eye. In an instant, a red dot sits on the forehead of a man across the ally. It is a typical Arab face, beard, mustache, dark features. He wears green surgical scrubs and his hands are empty. In less than a second, Freaks makes the decision that he is not a threat, and moves on.

"Dark Claw, friendlies coming onto the roof," Freaks radios before opening the door. When they do, the light and dust from the chopper wash is nearly blinding. When they get to bodies, Freaks' heart sinks. "They're kids! No weapon!" He realizes that he just let the shooter go.

McDowd hears the fire down the street, but Bone doesn't. The Doc tries to get him some air by cutting a trachea hole and getting a bag pump on him. Mayo, pulls up next to them with the Peugeot wagon. There is no place for a chopper to put down safely near them, so they all lift Bone into the back and tear into the night.

"Shoot for the Annex," he doc shouts to Mayo, while frantically working on Bone.

Now it's a question of whether he'll bleed to death or drown in his own blood. McDowd tries keeping him engaged. "Come on, Bone, hang in there, man."

McDowd holds tight to his partner's hand, but feels Bone's grip getting weaker. They're trapped in a real horror movie where everything seems to be in black and white, all except poor Bone's blood. Passing streetlights briefly illuminate Bone's face, and each time his eyes seem little more distant, drifting, softening, as his fear melts away.

Some believe the eyes to be the windows of the soul. Somewhere between the darkness and light, McDowd can see that Bone had let go of his. He stares in stunned silence.

The Doc closes Bone's eyes, then closes his own, shooting off a small prayer. Then sitting back, he manages to lights a smoke despite his slippery, bloody hands, and sticks his head out the window to catch as much of a breeze he can.

On a Kabul street, major combat operations for Sergeant James Washington came to an end, and peace was finally at hand.
Part II

"Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path."

Alcoholics Anonymous

Chapter 1

MOSCOW

They call the headquarters of the GRU the "Aquarium," perhaps because there's always something fishy going on inside. The Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie, or GRU, is the Russian army's intelligence wing, not unlike the American Defense Intelligence Agency. Although things had changed and changed again for the civilian spooks, the view from the fish tank has remained the same. Near the top of the food chain is Major General Petre Valarie Kurtsin. He is enjoying the morning with his young protégé Lieutenant Colonel Elayna Boradin. They meet in Kurtsin's large office every day, even on the weekends; the job demands it. After seeing their power and influence shrink for years, now Russia is pushing back, trying to correct the great catastrophe of the Soviet Union's fall..

The weekend meetings are relaxed and brief, more of a working breakfast. They go over e-mails, field reports, trawl the web and news outlets. Elayna compiles what Kurtsin needs to see.

"Here's something interesting. The _New York Times_ seems to have gotten its hands on operational plans to remove Pakistan's nukes if it goes fundamentalist," Elayna laughs.

"You mean _when,"_ Kurtsin replies.

He treats her almost always as an equal, and she has a reputation as a serious and dedicated officer. Not only did she graduate from the Frunze Academy, Russia's equivalent to West Point, she excelled, going on to airborne school and surviving. Only a few women had completed the full Spetsnaz training, a brutal task for a man, nearly impossible for a woman. One of Kurtsin's gifts is to spot talent, and Elayna stood out.

Since that time Elayna has become like a daughter to him. His real daughter died very young, an unfortunate victim of a drunk-driving accident. His wife's devastation resulted in suicide. He'd been struck by Elayna the moment he saw her, such stark contrast to the world around her _._ He saw his daughter, right down to the blue eyes and dark brunette hair, the woman he imagined she would have grown to be.

His secure phone rings, and he answers it on speaker.

"Kurtsin."

"Petre, Yuri!"

His eyes grow wide. "My God! Yuri, you sloppy bastard, where are you?"

"Still in Kabul. When are you coming to visit?"

"Never! You poor fuck!" He checks his mouth as Elayna frowns, shaking her head. She's been trying to get him to work on that.

"Listen, I'm calling with bad news. It's Sasha."

"Of course, what has the drunk done now?"

"With the czars."

Kurtsin's face changes to an expression of sadness. "It is not surprising."

"I know, but that is not the worst of it."

Elayna and Kurtsin listen to Uncle Yuri's story, and the more they hear, the less they like it, even though he has spared him the most gory details.

"The question is why?" Yuri asks.

"He wasn't on our payroll."

"Well, he was on somebody's. His account was credited five million euros yesterday. He checked his account balance online and hours later, he turns up dead."

"Bait..." Kurtsin concludes.

"With a very expensive worm. Petre, I must ask you, when he was in Washington..."

Kurtsin grabs the handset, taking the phone off speaker. "What about it?"

Elayna can now only hear one side of the call, which irks her, but doesn't show it. " _What is he keeping from me_?"

Kurtsin has turned away from her so she can't read his face.

"That was quite some time ago. I'd have to go back and check the task assignments. Can I get back to you on Monday?"

He faces her again but avoids making eye contact. "I promise. Listen, if I thought it was a problem, I'd have my people jump right on it. I don't think we have anything to worry about. Sasha would never do such a thing."

He listens again. "Yes, and we'll catch up on things. Good. I'll reach you there. Take care."

He places the phone gently on the receiver.

Elayna is on the edge of her seat now. "What is it?"

He turns from the phone and walks to the large window. It is a cold, wet morning, the gray fitting his now sullen mood.

"I don't know yet." There is a long silence, which she respects.

"You need to go to the archives and pull the files for Sasha Malekov. By that I mean copy and delete. I am also giving you clearance for the Buran files. I think it may be time to purge them out of the system. Copy and delete. Have any archive hard copies shredded and burned and bring what you save to me."

"For Monday?"

"No, now."

Chapter 2

The Sahara Club, Glenside, PA

Kate draws a crowd when she speaks, and her girls usually take the seats in the front row of the crowded clubhouse, hanging on their sponsor's every word. Sitting next to them, an older woman, Kate's first sponsor Lydia, is beaming proudly. Those who have heard Kate's story knows it is a testament to the power of the program. Her story has heart wrenching sadness and passionate inspiration, seasoned by her strange but knowing sense of humor. Even in her deepest despair, Kate has a gift for finding the lighter side, one of her many sponsees would agree. Above all, it is her honesty that hits home the hardest.

"I do a lot of house cleaning. Perhaps that's what my husband loves about me the most." This drew laughter from the women in the room.

"It's something I can fix easily, and it helps me fix myself. There's a certain Zen to it for me, and it's an opportunity to go inside myself and take my own inventory. Some people would say that's a dangerous place to go, so I take along a flashlight and a gun. My husband knows there's something wrong when I break out the sponge, and knows it's serious when I start attacking the closets."

She likes making people laugh, especially in the face of a deadly disease.

"I drank to escape from me, what was inside, the guilt, the resentments, the fear, and the only way I knew to deaden the pain was to drink, and in doing so I was killing myself, not only physically, but emotionally. We all wonder when it was that we crossed that line, for me, from party girl to alcoholic. There is no specific point, no last cocktail that I can pin down, but I know how it happened. It was when I lied about my drinking for the first time. From there it began, and it took a long time to get back. I wasn't magically transformed when I first sat down in a meeting. It took some real scrubbing to uncover all the crud that had built up, and it hurt." Kate pauses from the memory.

"I feel with conviction that we in this room are some of the most courageous people on Earth, because every day we sit here, the only way we can stay here, is to face the truth. The worst lies I ever told, are the lies I told myself. It's no coincidence the first paragraph of "How it Works" speaks to that very fact. _That_ , I believe is when we "get" the program, when we come to realize the necessity of being rigorously honesty. It is the truth that sets us free. When we accept that truth, and begin to live life on life's terms, we are free to find ourselves again, the living, giving souls that God intended us to be, and most importantly, to follow that little voice in our heads. This program, that voice, and the miracles I see in these rooms, will keep me sober today, and I pray, that it's God's will, that it will be that way for as long as I live. Thanks for listening. That's all I got."

Kate blushes as the room bursts into applause. As she leans back into the big wooden chair behind the rickety old desk, she smiles at her misty-eyed sponsees and gets a wink from Lydia.

The rest of the meeting consists of members sharing from the floor. Most compliment and thank Kate for her message and talk about how her story relates to their own. Some just dump what they've been holding inside. It can be irritating, but if it keeps them sober, it's all good.

Finally, the chairperson calls on Lydia. I'm Lydia, and I'm a grateful recovering alcoholic."

"Hi, Lydia!"

"Thank you for your message Kate. Boy were you one hot mess when you came in here."

Everyone laughs at that. Kate tries, but the thought is still very painful.

"We all were, but we're not anymore, thanks to this program. You've come a long way, and on behalf of the group, I'd like to give you this," Lydia says as she comes over. In her hand is a large bronze coin. In the center is a big X, the Roman numeral for ten. The group applauds as they hug.

"Thank you, Lydia." Kate says, misty eyed.

"Call me sometime," Lydia tells her.

It almost sounds like a warning to her. "I will." Kate says with a final squeeze.

Afterward, Kate corrals Sheila hanging out with the smokers outside. "So, you all right?"

"Okay, I guess," she tells Kate with a hint of doubt.

"Okay? Honey, this is like the hardest thing you may ever do, outside of childbirth. Remember, we're only as sick as our secrets."" On top of dealing with her fiancé Brian's bullshit, Sheila is working on her fourth and fifth Steps, the pivotal house cleaning the Big Book suggests every AA member do.

"You'll be ready, right?"

"I'll be ready," despite looking down at her feet.

Kate smiles. "It's cleaning house, just like I said."

Sheila pulls back her long curly brunette hair, wrangling it into a knot. "Okay, sponsor lady."

"Okay! See you tomorrow."

As they part ways, Kate turns to watch Sheila's skinny little frame bounce down the sidewalk. She is cautiously optimistic about her. Not all of Kate's sponsees are success stories; one ended in suicide. Kate still remembers the pain she'd felt after that, but it only made her more determined. Those kinds of things are God's will, and you have to trust that they all work out in the end.

"Do I really believe that?" she whispers to her new coin, the one she has received for being sober for ten years. She smiles. "Yup, I really do."

Faith is funny that way.

Chapter 3

GRU Archives, Moscow

In the basement of the Aquarium, Elayna finds the files.

"Ancient history," the librarian comments.

"Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it," she smiles.

She loves to torture the young guys, and this one is especially shy, a little geeky, but not bad looking. To his credit, he is respectful, trying very hard to ward off her charms.

" _Good idea,"_ she thinks, noting the wedding band he fidgets with.

The information is stored on tape, so Elayna has him put the files on disk for her. As he goes to take the reel back to storage, she stops him.

"Hold on there, handsome," Elayna calls him over with a playful leer.

The techie looks puzzled. Taking the reel from him, she looks at the new folder he's created on his computer desktop.

"I need you to delete that," she say, pointing to the screen.

"I am sorry, Colonel, I do not have authorization to do that."

Elayna smiles at him. "I do."

She stops by her own office to load the information onto her own laptop, wanting a look at the infamous files. The details of Buran, the blinding snowstorm that will bring down America flash across her screen

"Wait," she says, pausing at a picture. Her eyes grow wide. "No way!"

"It's her. It had to be her!" Elayna thought the legend to be a myth, a comforting bedtime story to ease a young female recruit's mind. "Yet here she is, and according to this she's still alive!"

A thought comes to mind, along with a mischievous grin. "Yes, there is much we can learn from history."

Elayna walks into Kurtsin's office to find him at the window again. He doesn't acknowledge her presence.

"I think I see our problem," she says.

"Do you now?"

"Buran. Ten groups placed 1989. Six members per team." She reads from her notes. "Sasha Malekov handled a team out of Washington."

Kurtsin walks over to the office couch and sits down. "Go on."

"So when the teams were deactivated, their weapons remained in place, and it's the location that you suspect he sold."

"That is the best-case scenario, if there is one."

"Why do you say that?"

He paused for a moment. "The teams were never removed."

"You're joking."

"The European teams were easy to recall. The U.S. teams were more difficult. It was decided to leave them in place."

"What are you trying to say?" She knows the answer, but wants to hear it from him.

"It could be that he sold the activation key code."

"But he was involved so long ago. Surely that would have been changed, especially after he was pulled out."

He went for the vodka on the credenza across the office. She didn't see this often. "No," he says as he pours. Judging by the amount, what he is about to say warrants it. He pours her one too, considerably smaller.

"These groups in particular were so deeply placed there could be no contact after insertion, except on activation. They are self-supporting, with specific targeting, and once activated, could not be recalled. Even if they expelled every single diplomat, they would remain. Look at the member profiles." he says, handing her the glass. "These people are perhaps the best we produced, save Sasha. Dedicated, loyal. They gave up everything, family, friends, their country, even the service they loved. All were willing to give up their lives all for a mission they may never be called upon to do."

"Delusional fanatics and sociopaths." Elayna offers a different view. "But do you think that after all this time, living in American society, they would give _that_ up?"

Kurtsin downs his drink with an ever-so-slight grimace. "They were screened with that very thought in mind, even Sasha. "

"Of course, being he was one of them."

"Yes and no. He was the handler, but not one of the team. He didn't make the cut, but it wouldn't matter anyway. If they were called up, an attack was imminent, and so would world war three."

"So contact the current handler and have him refuse to relay any future orders to activate the team."

"The handlers are SVR now, so that would mean involving the Defense Minister."

"You don't want him to know about this."

"Smart girl, but perhaps too smart," he thinks to himself. "It's best this little burden falls only on our shoulders," he says after downing a smaller glass and capping the bottle.

Elayna understands. Plausible deniability.

"Besides," Kurtsin continues, "I think it highly unlikely that Sasha would betray this information, but this gives us an opportunity to clean the whole business up."

Kurtsin returns to the couch and takes the stack of tapes and files from her. She notices the vodka has given him a rise. Shuffling through the files of the various teams, he selects one and hands it to her.

"This team. Last known addresses and all. I want you to find and terminate them. Yuri is sending you help."

"An SVR man...?"

"A trusted friend."

She looks at the pictures. The last update was over ten years ago, some of the photos even older. One in particular had her interested, but she didn't let it show. _Not her!_

"Yuri knows when to use discretion."

"Why didn't you have Sasha Malekov terminated when he got recalled?"

"I have my reasons, and now I realize that mistake." He reached over and brushed her dark bangs away from her blue eyes.

" _Ewww!"_

"Not a single one of them can fall into the hands of the Americans. Do this quickly and return quickly," Kurtsin says. "It will ensure your future as my replacement, the first woman to head the Second Directorate. I've had enough of this." His hand falls to her lap and slowly moves to her knee. He likes her in jeans.

"You're asking too much."

"Not from you. I know what you're capable of."

She smiles and gently removes his hand. _"You have no idea_."

She stands up, leaving him on the couch. "It will be done," she says, taking the file and walking away.

He calls after her. "Elayna..."

She stops and turns around.

"Sasha Malekov was my son," Kurtsin confesses in a sigh.

Now she understands. For so many years Elayna had been in constant awe by the depth of his wisdom and unrelenting strength. Only now is the weakness revealed, foolish sentimentality. "How pathetic! I should have known better."

Elayna has a lot of thinking to do. What else has he lied to her about, hidden from her, this man, the only person in whom she had complete trust? She feels betrayed, dirty. As she opens her office door, anger is replaced by a shudder of fear, remembering what someone had told her once.

" _The less a potential adversary knows about you, the less they have to use against you."_

It was Kurtsin who told her that. All his trusting ways were now all bullshit, and now she knows too much, and knowing too much usually gets you killed.

"You old bastard!" she smiles. "I'll fix your little red wagon!"

She gets her gun out of the wall safe and sliding a clip in place, chambers the first round. The temptation to kill him is hard to suppress and control. She's always had a problem with control, but that's why they considered her so dangerous and keep her so close. Kurtsin's pet cheetah. "Not now," She says to herself. "You deserve something better."

Chapter 4

Oak Lane Apartments

The life of Ellen Washington isn't an easy one, but it isn't bad either. Whatever this life denies her, Ellen knows there's a reason for it and that the answer will always be found with the Lord. Five days a week, sometimes six, she makes the trip out of the city to the fancy nursing home to make a living off the dying. One of the comforts she takes is that at least she has it better than most of her fellow riders, but always keeps that to herself; pride can be a hurtful thing.

Every morning the bus drops them off at the suburban malls, the hospitals and the like, and every night it would takes them back out. She'll admit they're like migrant workers, filling the jobs the better off don't want, but it's a living. It's a decent wage, saving a good amount for her grandsons. She can easily afford a car, but the bus is just fine for her.

Being Saturday, she's looking forward having tomorrow off, and services!

"They call it Sunday because that's the Lord's Day to shine," she reminds herself with a smile, hoping that she'll get her eldest grandson James to go with her this time. The younger one, Russ, always goes; he's the good one, who takes after his father. James, however, requires prayer, thanks to that lost soul of a mother.

"May she rest quietly," Ellen whispers.

Ellen hopes it isn't too late for "Little James." She's confident that when his daddy finally came back home, he'd set him to the straight and narrow. A boy needs a man around.

"At least he has a father," she says quietly. At sixteen Little James isn't little any more, and even though he has a soft manner with his grandmother, outside he was developing a real bad reputation, and running with some shady characters. Ellen had heard down in the laundry room that his friends call him "Boo" on account of how scary he can be.

The automated voice announces her stop and Ellen says her goodbyes to the regulars. Thankfully, Ellen's tidy garden apartment is not even a block away from the stop. They live in one of the city's better neighborhoods, right on the boarder of an affluent suburban county. By next year she hoped to move them all across the street and to a better school district, although she likes the city charter school they attended.

She makes her way into her building, hoping that later they'd all go over to the strip mall, rent a movie, get a pizza. Since it looks like rain, she might even have a chance at getting James to stay in for once.

Right now all she wants to do is get out of her smelly whites and wash up.

Ellen doesn't noticed the pale green Chevy Impala with government plates in the parking lot across from her building, nor the people inside waiting.

James hears his grandma come in, but can't break from the game just yet. He is close to beating the level he's been stuck on. Suddenly, a horrible scream erupts from the front room, more like the wail of a hurt animal that makes the hair on his neck stand up. As he rushes out, he sees his grandma sitting on the floor, looking up to the ceiling, hands on her face. Nellie her neighbor who had been watching his brother is next to her, holding her tight and Russ next to them, wide-eyed in fear. Then he sees the Army people, three of them, hats in their hands.

When Ellen sees her oldest grandson, she screams again. Arms wide open, she begs him to come to her.

James nearly knocks her down. "Gran, what's wrong?"

She strokes his face frantically, seeing her son's face in her grandchild. "Your daddy, sweetie, he's been killed over there."

Stunned, he doesn't hear the rest. It's almost as if he's gone deaf. The world becomes distant, drifting away.

"The good Lord has taken him from us, your daddy...MY SON!"

Ellen falls back into hysteria, seeing the anger begin to build in James' eyes. He can take no more and bolts past the soldiers into the hallway and past the gathering nosy neighbors. They call after him, but he will not stop.

A cold rain has begun to fall, but he doesn't notice. It is as if he's being chased by an angry mob, running for dear life, full of fear. He runs until he can run no more. Eventually he staggers to a stop beneath an overpass, realizing the futility of trying to outrun himself. Boo scurries up the concrete wall to a shelf where the embankment meets the road, pulling his knees to his heaving chest. Below him, the misty rain adds a glow to the pavement as cars splash by. Exhausted, he begins to return to himself and the anger he holds for so many things. First, it was his mom, and now it's his dad.

"They left me. How could they do that?"

He remembers the last time he saw his dad, standing in the hallway in his chocolate chips, ready to ship out.

" _You the man now, Shorty. Keep things cool, keep an eye on your brother, and mind your grandma."_ They leaned their heads together, forehead to forehead. _"I love you, son. When I come back, I'll be back for good. Cool?"_

And then he was gone.

Later that night, James creeps back into the apartment, cold, wet, and tired. Taking a blanket out of the closet, and clutching his framed photograph of Sergeant James Washington, he slides into the bed next to his sleeping grandmother and little brother.

His father will be coming home soon, this time for good. He always did keep a promise.

Chapter 5

Warrington, PA

The Wilson family sits at a booth in the back of a busy Chinese restaurant. Kate prefers to be away from the door and never sits with her back to it. Outside, the weather has taken a nasty turn, the rain ushering in a cold front and a raw reminder that winter is on its way. It's a perfect night for dinner and a movie. They have caught the early show, and now are catching the tail end of the dinner rush. It has become Michael's impromptu celebration of Kate's anniversary.

"So what's everybody going to be on Halloween?" Michael asks while dipping a soup noodle into the hot mustard.

"I'm going as a lion tamer!" Robbie blurts excitedly.

Kate smiles. "He has this really clever idea. It's going to be really cute," she says proudly. "You know, you have to come up with something for Julie's party."

"You could be my lion, Dad," suggests Robbie.

"No kids at this party, honey," Kate tells him.

"I'll think of something," Michael says.

"It better not be I've got to work," she says, flashing an angry eye at him.

"What about you?"

"It's a surprise."

"Mom's just full of them these days," Tom offers.

Kate gives him a "don't even go there" look.

Michael sees his way out of the party plans so he takes it. "Really, how so?"

"I kind of got the jump on Sensei Justin during karate class."

"Really?"

"Mom nearly took his head off. You'd better be careful, Dad."

Michael pauses for a moment while sipping his tea. When he looks up, Kate is staring right at him. There is no smile and he gets a slight chill.

Tom goes on describing the scene at karate, and how she stunned them all with an incredible flying kick from a standing position that, if it had connected, would have put the big karate instructor out cold. But instead of pride, Kate hears a little anger in Tom's voice, and is at a loss over why.

Michael's cell chirps with a text message. A TV news director is never really off. The rest of the family frowns. He knows they're pissed, but he has to call back. "Don't worry, I'm not going in," he reassures them as he gets up to make the call.

She waits a beat before asking Tom, "What's with the attitude?"

"No attitude." he says looking down at the duck sauce.

"Don't lie to me."

Tom considers carefully what he's going to say next. "Can't you just be a normal mom?"

Kate straightens with surprise, genuinely hurt. "What do you mean, honey?"

Tom continues to stir the duck sauce with a noodle. "You're like always the center of everything."

"I'm just being me. Do you think I'm crowding you or something?"

Tom thinks for a moment, "Yes, well, no. I mean, it seems to always be about you."

Now it's her turn to think and she quickly comes to a conclusion. "You know? You're right. But I don't do it on purpose," she says. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll be more sensitive to that, but you can't be afraid tell me when I do it, okay?"

Still stirring the duck sauce, Tom agrees. "Okay."

Michael returns, just as the food arrives.

"What's wrong with the world now?" Kate sighs as Michael settles back down.

He quietly tells her as the guys tear into the food, "Another local guy got killed in action in Afghanistan, somebody from around here. It just crossed the wires."

They both are quiet. The war is coming closer to home.

Chapter 6

Washington, DC

It is an unseasonably warm night, and everyone seems to be out on the streets of Georgetown. Mahmoud Barabi is just emerging from a pricy steakhouse after entertaining a group of his organization's supporters. It has been a good night for him and the Free Iran Movement, one of the many exile groups working to overthrow the theocracy running the country. The FIM is one of the larger ones, whose members are sure to be influential in the new Iranian government and who will hopefully remember their friends. Those friends know him as Moody. It sounds less Arab, and some, behind his back, will say it fits his bipolar nature perfectly. He's okay when he's on his meds.

If Moody has a gift, it is his ability to lie, derived from having only a wisp of a conscience, thanks to his father the butcher. It's the ready answer when friends ask him why he's vegetarian, one of the few truths he tells. But what his friends don't know about him is that he's a double agent and working _for_ the mullahs that rule Iran. A lot of people are in jail or in the grave back home thanks to him.

When he arrives at the P street town home rented for him by FIM, he sees a message waiting for him on his desktop.

You've been tagged in a video.

He goes to his Facebook page and follows the link to the video, posted by one of his many friends from home. He downloads the video and deletes the .mp4 label and opens it up. Although the NSA keeps a watchful eye on every form of communication coming and going, some get less scrutiny than others, especially those considered allies, like Moody. They prefer to focus on the bad guys. Now Moody opens the file. It looks like gobbledegook unless you know what you're looking for. He does, and it makes him cringe. It's encrypted.

" _This can't be good,"_ he thinks as he decodes the message.

He's right.

In the name of Allah the merciful,

My brother, it is of the utmost importance to the revolution that you must follow my instructions. First, you must lose any surveillance that has been placed upon you immediately. Second, you must immediately identify and contact a man named Vanya Ustinov. His address is believed to be at the Russian Embassy's residence compound. He is a part of an operation against the Americans that must be accomplished at all costs. The next message will contain coded contact information that you must follow to the letter. You are then to extract the operational details of his mission, eliminate him and assure the completion of the task. An operative from home will arrive shortly to assist you. This is of the highest priority. Failure will not be tolerated and will be punished in the most extreme manner, from which I will be unable to protect you. It is time for you to earn your keep.

Hamdi

He reads the message three times. First he thinks it's a joke, although he knows Hamdi has no sense of humor. Then it begins to set in, and he begins to panic. "This is madness!" His world has begun to crumble around him, all the prestige, all the elegance, the lifestyle and admiration that commanded. "And they want me to kill!" he says in astonishment. He has done it before, but he hated it, especially the blood.

"Why?" he asks the ceiling, thinking God or the accounting firm above him will have the answer.

The answer doesn't come. All he knows is that something dark is coming his way.

Chapter 7

Woodcrest Road

"I'm sorry," Michael says to Kate mournfully in the darkness of the bedroom. Their time alone together didn't quite have the ending she had hoped for, nor did it have much of a start. He was restless, unable to get comfortable or fully aroused.

"It's okay. It happens," she says in a comforting way as she rubs his chest. _"Though lately more often,"_ she thinks.

"Perhaps in the morning, get a good night's sleep," Kate tells him, pulling on her kimono.

"It's the stress," he tells her.

"I know just the thing," she says while getting up. "How about some tea?"

Moose the cat awaits her outside the door and follows her to the kitchen. Kate puts on the teapot. She could just microwave the water, but she's in no hurry to get back. The tea is for her anyway. He'll be asleep.

" _No resentments, Kate. How many times did you pass out before?"_

"Plenty."

Moose hops up on the counter, looking for attention. "You like me, though," she tells the purring monster. "Too bad my soul mate in this life time is a cat."

Next to him on the counter is Michael's cell. A thought crosses her mind, one she quickly dismisses. _"Trust."_

She turns back to the stove and her pot of tea. A moment later, something falls to the floor behind her.

The cell phone, courtesy of Moose, is on the floor. A saying comes to mind from a man she used to hate but has come to admire. "Trust, but verify," Kate says to herself.

It doesn't take long before her blood begins to boil. "Really?" she says in condescending surprise. Sad, pathetic, trashy texts, like something a mother would find on a teenager's phone. The she sees the picture, a close-up of the woman's crotch-less panties. Thrashing anger wells up inside her. The impulses to smash, to throw, to kill, are hard to control. Moose makes a run for it- he's been tossed before. She needs release, and running won't do it.

"A drink would..." Kate seethes, knowing that isn't an option either. Then, the solution comes to her, a late night meeting of sorts. One she hasn't attended in a long while.

Chapter 8

Kensington, Philadelphia

Everyone has a drug, that little something that gets us by. Something we run to and sometimes we run from. It can be anything; booze, dope, food, sex, meditation, exercise, knitting, the list goes on. They all have the same effect—they send us away on those little vacations from ourselves. They can be innocent escapes, and they can be dangerous.

The man standing alone in a room of a forgotten warehouse is about to depart on his own little trip. His drug of choice is inflicting suffering on others. It is a very powerful drug indeed.

The single bulb hanging from the ceiling of the room is so dim he doesn't see the scurrying rats, the garbage or profane graffiti scrawled on the walls. On any other night, this part of the place is a crack den, with spent vials scattered across the filthy floor and a wretchedly stained mattress.

He's white, blond hair, built like an upside down pyramid with broad shoulders and upper arms as wide as a regular man's leg. Outside, a crowd is waiting. He can hear them as he focuses his mind on the task ahead. They call him "The Gardener," for that's his day job, the greens superintendent at a small religious college. Tonight he will beat a man to within an inch of death, for the amusement of his audience, and himself.

He hears his name _"Stani, "The Gardener, Braddock!"_ His music begins, Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir," and he goes through the door. The Gardener has some pruning to do.

It looks like a scene from some post-apocalyptic movie. The gallery is a pound filled with human mutts in every shape and model. They are here to watch what's known as cage fighting, ultimate combat or street fighting, but not the kind you see on cable. This is human dog fighting. Stani is a crowd's favorite, mostly because he runs the place. He doesn't fight himself very often, but when he does, he's a crowd pleaser. He started years ago ironically with real dogs, but vicarious violence wasn't enough for Stani. No, he needed the real thing.

The young black fighter waiting in the octagon cage dances with anticipation. Kesean Taylor has great aspirations, seeing himself soon on TV. His handlers have told him that coming here is his first real test, a rite of passage that must be made. He laughed when his trainer told his opponent is more than thirty years older than he, but after seeing Stani for the first time, he isn't as amused.

An older man waits for Stani at the door to the cage. It is his partner, a retired cop named Nate. "Ready for this?"

Stani nods. "How much is on this now?"

"About seventy Gs, He has a good following." Nate tells him. It's a fair amount bet on a rookie and an old man.

"Good," he says, glancing over at a group of ganstas sitting ringside, including Kesean's manager, a thug named Powder Blue. Stani gets a nod and a smile, a sarcastic one, he gathers.

Stani steps into the ring and the cheers swell. With a single wave of his arm, he acknowledges the crowd. When he removes his robe, there is the usual hush. It's not because of his magnificently sculpted, glistening body. It's the scars, so extensive he makes Frankenstein look like a Cover Girl. When asked about them, he jokes that he had a blender accident, even though it's obvious that a number of them are bullet wounds.

Kesean is football player big with a karate black belt and a bad attitude, but now he's trying not to get freaked out. They come face to face for the instructions, but Kesean doesn't make eye contact. Stani knows why. He doesn't even hear the instructions from the ref. They touch gloves. As Stani goes to his corner, he turns to the referee. "There is an ambulance here, yes?"

The ref just smiles, but Stani isn't joking.

The fight begins. They circle slowly, looking for that first opening. Kesean gets the first shot in, a clean right that would flatten anyone. Stani smiles at the surprised look on his face.

Kesean circles around the outside, looking for an opening, throwing jabs, and feigning a kick with his right leg, trying to lure Stani in, trying to get him to take the bait. Stani knows better. He follows him, relaxed, his arms more at his side than in a fighting stance. Kesean doesn't want to go to the mat because the ground game isn't his strong suit. He wants a knockout, and wants it soon because going the distance with the geezer would be almost as bad as losing to him.

"Come on, old man!" he taunts Stani.

Stani obliges, starting with a left but looking to connect with his right. Most are half-hearted blows, because there is a bigger picture here. However, nothing in life is free, and in this ring, Stani sets the price for victory. He gets in a body blow just above the kidney that radiates up and down Kesean's spine. The second blow nearly staggers him. If either of the blows, nearly as powerful as getting hit by a bus had connected to the head, Keasan would be unconscious. Both men know it. Stani backs off with a smile. Now Keasan start throwing and gets in a glancing uppercut to Stani's chin. Stani stumbles backward and goes down to the mat.

Kesean moves in to pounce and finish the job, but the ref cuts him off.

Kesean is stunned, and so is the crowd, many hemming and hawing because of the obvious fix. After a moment Stani slowly rises, but it's too late now. The fight is over.

Kesean begins to jump with joy in front of the crowd, quite pleased with himself. Joining his opponent and the ref in the center of the ring, the victor's hand is raised. Even under such seemingly barbaric circumstances, there are measures of decorum. One is that you be a gracious victor and thank your opponent for a good fight as the loser congratulates you.

Instead, he has to get his attitude on. "Get the fuck outta the ring, old man, next time you won't be so lucky."

Stani smiles and blows him a kiss.

Kesean lunges at him, but his crew hold him back.

"You'd better not let me see you again, you old fuck! I'll kill your saggy ass!"

Stani ignores the punk. With a look of pity and apprehension, Nate hands Stani his robe as he exits the ring. He knows it is hard for Stani.

"Cheer up, my friend, this is the price of business," Stani says with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Time for a drink!"

Nate watches him as he heads back to his room. He knows he won't be there for long. He knows this isn't over.

A cold light rain falls outside in the parking lot. The few lights from the street add an orange sparkle to the wet vehicles and pavement. From a side door Kesean, a bottle of Hennessey in hand, spills into the night with his posse, laughing and living it up after his great victory. After a moment they notice the hooded figure leaning on their car.

"Get the fuck off of that car, mother fucker!" one shouts, starting to pull out his piece, but Kesean stops him.

Stani removes his hood and begins to approach them.

Kesean bursts into laughter. "Oh, you want more, old man? You one stupid mother fucker."

They circle Stani.

"You have some talent, but you don't know how to win, because you don't know how to lose."

Silence hangs in the wet air, until they all burst into laughter.

"I would advise the rest of you to remain out of this," Stani warns as he removes his hoodie. "Would you mind holding this for me?" he asks the crew member closest to him.

More laughter, but the man he's holding his jacket out for isn't amused.

"Mother _Fucker_..." The guy pulls a knife and lunges at Stani. In a blur something happens, they don't know what, but they hear the sickening wet snap of a bone, followed by an agonized scream. The man falls to the pavement, and when Stani turns to face them again, the knife is in his hand.

The crew is stunned for a second, but then one of them pulls a gun. Stani flips the blade into his hand and throws it right into the guy's arm. This time Stani doesn't wait to act. He goes to the third guy closest to him because he's going for a gun too. It's in his waistband, but Stani is on him before he pulls it out. Stani grabs it with his left hand, still in his pants while he elbows the punk between the eyes. Finding the trigger finger, he gives it a squeeze and the gun goes off into his foot, then he pulls it out. Keasan has no gun and just stands there, unsure what to do, slowly backing away. There is no corner man to guide him.

The other punk manages to pull the knife out of his arm and now moves for the piece he's dropped. Stani cuts him off, kicking it away.

"Stick him!" Kesean shouts.

He'd like to, but he's shaking with pain. Stani punches him square in the face with the sickening crunch of a broken nose. He's out cold before he hits the pavement.

Stani turns to Kesean. He looks ready to bolt. "Do not run. It only confirms to me that you are a coward, yes?"

Stani calmly walks right up to him, not an arm's length away. "I even give you first shot."

Kesean looks undecided.

"One shot, but hurry. It is getting past my bedtime," Stani tell him.

Kesean goes for it, a real clocker right to the side of the head. It would put down a mule. It doesn't put down Stani.

"Now it's my turn."

An upper cut tags him right under the jaw, a blow that would take another person's head off. Stunned, Kesean staggers back and Stani follows.

"Do you know where the salute comes from?" Stani moves as the Kesean tries to come back with a right, but Stani lands a brutal jab.

"It is from the days of the knights. The face shield," Stani gestures, then lands another jab to the eye. "It is a sign of respect."

The next is a combo, starting with a left jab followed by a big right, sending Kesean into a parked car. Kesean looks at Stani, totally confused as he slides down the side of the car to the wet pavement.

Stani picks up the fallen knife and then returns to his prey. Now he sees what he's after, what he needs to get by

Fear.

In the eyes of another.

Helpless, powerless fear.

He yanks Kesean up by his collar and backhands him in the face.

"I saw that you noticed my scars back in the ring," he says in a pleasant conversational tone. "But I didn't see any on you."

Kesean tries to break free, but Stani won't have it. Another brutal shot to the gut makes sure of it. Kesean soils himself.

"Perhaps your scars are hidden, yes?"

Kesean shakes his head.

"No?" Stani snickers. "Scars are the measure of a true warrior. Souvenirs you never lose." Now he holds the blade to Kesean's face, close to his eye. Stani's euphoria is almost rapturous. "I have given many men and women scars."

"Please..." Kesean manages, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Please? You want me to give you a scar?" Stani laughs, giddy with the excitement that has now become erotic. He rips open Kesean's shirt.

"I have skinned greater men than you..."

"STANI!" A shout comes from behind him. He knows it is Nate and suspects he's holding his shot gun again. "Let him go."

"We are just having a pleasant conversation, Nathan. I am teaching him great things!"

"Lesson's over, big man," Powder Blue the manager says. "He's got the point."

Stani considers the glinting blade in his hand. "Do you get the point?" he asks Kesean.

He nods.

With a flash of the knife, Stani slashes Kesean's cheek, a little bit more than a paper cut, but enough to stick around. "Now you do, and every time you look in the mirror you will remember."

The cut may be small, but it will sting for a long time.

Powder Blue tosses Stani his hoodie. "Fucking Kesean needed some whup-ass."

Stani stops next to him. "Please, this is the last time I do this for you, especially for shit like that," he says with an icy stare.

"Right on, brother," Powder Blue replies evenly.

As Stani walks away, Powder eyes Nate with a warning. They wait until Stani's well beyond earshot.

"You'd best be talking to your boy. He can't be fuckin' up my dogs," the gangsta tells the retired cop.

"Yeah, right. You tell him," Nate scoffs.

"I ain't scared of that shit," Powder says.

Nate laughs, "Oh yeah? Well, you should be," Nathan says as he walks away. "'Cause I sure as shit am."

Chapter 9

In-Flight over England

Elayna is settled into her first-class seat aboard a United flight from Munich to Newark Liberty, having picked up the items waiting for her at the terminal, including her cover identity. The GRU are perhaps the best in the world with documents.

She lays out her plans, while listening to a classical mix on her iPod. Mozart. Handel. But being Russian, Prokofiev holds a special place in her heart. The more complex the composition, the better. To Elayna, a good operation is like a great orchestral piece, its many instruments working together with precision along a timeline and arriving at a predetermined point. Just as she can focus on a single instrument's interaction, now she turns her attention the orchestra's members.

"And what about you two?" Elayna asks the pictures of Yuri's men, Kreichek and Hutnikov. "Do you play well with others?"

Both are around thirty and unmarried. She'll be able to determine right off if they're gay. That would leave her womanly charms ineffective. Either way, they'd resent her authority. They would also have similar information about her and probably peg her as a dyke. She'll tweak her clothing to make them think otherwise.

On to the targets. Four middle-aged men, probably soft from living the good life. They'll never see her coming.

Then there is the legendary Katrina, a true hero of the Motherland. An example to which any a Russian girl can look up to, just as Elayna had. "Our paths are so very similar..."

She stops reading.

"What do I want out of this?" Then the idea came to her, not in the form of a light bulb, but more like something you'd find on the road to Damascus.

It was an idea that would change everything. " _Will it work?"_ She smiles to herself.

"Yes, I'll make it work."

Elayna gets excited now. She looks at Katrina's birth date, 11/11/62. "That's easy to remember," she says to herself. Smiling, she changes the password to her laptop and encryption key, though she doesn't know why.

Happily, she begins to redo everything she has planned; it's a labor of love one might say.

Chapter 10

City Line Avenue

The sudden cold snap has little effect on those inside the Ezekiel Baptist Church on this late October Sunday. The news about James "Bone" Washington's passing has traveled fast through the community, and Ellen's friends didn't ask to come to her side, they just came. It has been a rough night for her, rejecting a sedative or a sleeping pill for comfort.

The church pastor, the Reverend Ellwood Wall, stands at the pulpit. He is a lifelong friend to Ellen and her family, and was practically a surrogate father to Bone. He shared the joy of his wedding, the euphoria of the birth of his sons, the heartbreaking loss of his wife to drugs and alcohol. Wall knew that Ellen, more than anything, would want, no _need_ , to come to Sunday worship, so he sent a car around for her.

His reading is from to John 16. "The time will come, that whoever so killeth you, will think that he doeth God's service."

The passage has a chilling relevance, and stranger still, he'd chosen it the week before. The reverend continues from the chapter in which Jesus tries to tell his disciples the ugly truth, or at least as much as he thinks they can bear. Truth can hurt, but given the Lord Jesus' gentle nature, he tried to soften the blow.

"I have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now," he says, slowly gently closing the book as he steps from the pulpit, despite not having finished the text. Gently smiling at Ellen in the front row, Wall comes over with soft words, only for them to hear. "Will you and the boys join me after, Ellen?"

"Yes, thank you, Reverend, bless you."

"No, bless you, dear," he strokes her face gently, and then reaches out his hand to Boo and Russ.

He turns back to his flock. "James died in the service to his country. He is a hero. So why is it that heroes like him have to die? _How_ , can that be a part of God's plan?

Ellen looks up at the large cross at the front on the church in search of and answer.

Chapter 11

In Fight over Ireland

The image lingering in Dan McDowd's mind as he sits in the belly of an airborne C-17 isn't that of Bone's flag draped shipping casket. It is of the nurse at back at Bagram, gently kissing the fallen warrior once she was done cleaning him up. He had been ordered to escort Sergeant Washington to Dover. After that, his discharge from the Army will be effective, and he could move on to his position at FBI. In a way, he was glad to be going home, but the circumstance of his return and the mystery he was leaving behind will haunt him forever.

Edwards and his team had discovered, in the slain Russian's apartment, located behind the kitchen cabinet, a set of papers and a photo binder. The pictures were typical shots of people mugging for the camera, army buddies. Russia, Afghanistan, Angola, Chechnya, but one troubling page featured pictures...from Washington.

Edwards had settled on one in particular, a typical tourist pose in front of the capitol with a woman, faded and blurred. She appeared in other shots too.

The caption on the back read: "Katrina", the same name found in the diary.

Chapter 12

Kabul

Dave Edwards was dreaming of doing belly shots off Martha Stewart when his phone rings, making him jump like a frog out of a biology class. Scrambling to answer it, he crawls over the new friend he'd brought home from the bar.

"Start moving, now."

"Bob? What's up, man, did I miss something?"

"No, but you will if you don't move your ass and get out to Bagram ASAP. I'll meet you there in an hour." Bob hangs up.

"Shit!" Edwards looks around at the room, trying to see if he could find his brain.

He's dressed quickly, grabs his "go bag" and is out the door. The heat and light hit him like a shovel to the side of the head, but he manages to catch a chopper shuttle and get there on time. Bob Stevens waits for him at the stairs of a Gulfstream G-V executive jet inside the agency's hanger. It belongs to Savannah Air, a front for the CIA. The spooks have their own fleet of aircraft to get around, handy for those discreet "renditions" jobs.

"Get in." Bob laughs at the sight of Edwards, waving to the pilot to start it up. They sit down next to each other in a pair of large leather chairs as a pretty Air Force master sergeant tells them to buckle up. Sitting across from them are Freaks and Mayo. Freaks has a Brian Green physics book to read while Mayo settles into Candide in its original French. The plane moves the moment the door closes, out of the hangar's shade into the hot noonday sun.

"Where we going, boss?" Edwards asks.

"You're dropping me off in Dubai. You're going back home."

That wakes him up.

"I had a rather disturbing talk with Uncle Yuri this morning over at the morgue while he was collecting what was left of his countryman." Bob tells him. "Although he was less than forthcoming, he gave up enough to get me going. Malekov was a Spetsnaz operative in Washington. Back in the bad old days, they put teams in to fuck with us if the balloon went up. Whatever it was that Malekov told the Iranians, it's got Yuri so scared he's already sent people after them."

"Shit, that was fast," Mayo mumbles.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Bob sighs. "Yuri gave me the names of the people he's sending. I'll call ahead and see if we can get a tail on them when they land. Perhaps they'll lead us to them."

"What are you going to do?" Edwards asks.

"I'm going to take a little side trip to Tehran, see what I can turn up there."

"Now you're scaring _me_ ," Freaks says.

"Here's a history lesson," Bob sighs. "You know why the KGB ended up running Russia? It's because they had control over the WMD. All the codes and the keys come from them." He points to the picture in Edwards' hand. "Old Yuri was there to instruct those folks on how to use them."

The silence lasts for a while.

Chapter 13

Washington, DC

The FBI surveillance teams used to call Vanya Sergeyevich Ustinov "Santa Claus" because of his impossible resemblance to the old King of the North Pole, but that was years ago when they believed he was a real player. At one time he couldn't cross the street without G men in his shadow, but not anymore. Now he's just another cold war relic, at least that's everybody thought, himself included.

For thirty years he's worked as one of the resident janitors at the Russian Embassy. For security reasons, most embassies bring in their own people instead of hiring locals to clean toilets or empty the trash. After all, one person's trash can be another's intelligence treasure.

It is exactly as it is supposed to be, a seemingly innocent wrong number. The conversation however was scripted long ago, and followed precisely as planned. He is quite surprised when he gets it, sitting alone in his small room, in his underwear, drinking tea. At first he's confused. It just shouldn't be, after all this time, that he would receive such a call.

" _Perhaps it is a test? A chance to prove my loyalty, to see if I am still up to the task?"_

It can be the only explanation. Things have been different since the fall of the Soviet Union, but a call to duty is still a call to duty. He puffs himself up. "They will see that Vanya Sergeyevich is more than ready!" As the seventy-five-year-old rises proudly from is chair, a twinge of sciatica hits him, but he braves through it, filled with new vigor and a new meaning to a life that had seemed all but forgotten.

The brief call is sucked into the machinery of the NSA. The system analyzes the conversation, determining origin, language, voice recognition and content. Anything out of the ordinary is flagged. In this case it is the word Katrina.

Chapter 14

Moody is slowly losing his mind. He has been sitting now for hours down the street from the main entrance to the Russian Embassy residence compound, looking for Santa Claus. Since he can only cover one gate, he sits in continuous fear that his choice is the wrong one. He tries to remain calm and weigh his options should he fail, but none of them are pleasant. When you get caught in the middle, there is always the risk that you can get it from both sides.

"Merciful Allah, I beg your forgiveness for straying, for falling to the temptations of the great Satan..." he prays, hoping a last minute deal can be made. "I will attend prayer dutifully, I will abstain from evil spirits and follow your will."

At the gate appears a fat man with a white beard who starts heading down the street with a small wheeled piece of luggage.

Moody blinks in disbelief. _"Allah Akbar..."_ he whispers.

The Lord does work in mysterious ways.

Chapter 15

Glenside, Pa

It has been an unsettling Sunday for Kate, up until now. While the rest of the world seems to be watching the Eagles take on the Giants, Kate and Sheila are taking on their deadly enemy alcohol in the pitched trench warfare of Sheila's fifth step. It is just the thing she needs right now, an opportunity to get out of her own simmering shit by helping somebody else.

In the large and nearly empty Barnes & Noble, they sit in a secluded corner on a couch near the store's coffee bar. Bookstores hold a special place in Kate's heart. Lydia, her old sponsor, owns a little used bookshop, and that was where they would meet.

"Now what?" Shelia asks.

"Just go with the flow of your new life, for today. As they say, yesterday is done, done over. Tomorrow is yet to come, but today well lived is a gift. God has this way of only giving us only what we can handle, so when you're tested, you can always look back to what you did today, and the strength and courage you found to do it."

Kate lets that sink in. Shelia is only twenty-eight years old, with a lot of her life ahead, but Kate has a good feeling about her. Sheila's road had been rough, but not nearly as bad as many, herself included. Kate suspects that Shelia has "gotten it," the point of true understanding that goes beyond mere words. However, you never know what is really going on inside another's head, where the real truth hides, and the real demons prowl. This too she knows all too well.

The worst lies an alcoholic tells are the lies they tell themselves. This thought makes Kate draw her hands back. "Now, I want you to take that inventory of yours, and put it in a safe place, and a year from now, we'll see if you have to add anything to it."

"Kate, I cant tell you how much..."

Kate cuts her off. "Don't. I should be thanking you, for keeping me sober one more day." Shelia hugs her tightly, relieving the tension that had built up.

"Easy! You're gonna squeeze all the coffee out of me. I'd better hit the sandbox. I'll be back in a sec." Kate laughs.

Taking care of business and freshening up her makeup, Kate starts thinking about dinner and sitting across from Michael at the table. Looking into the mirror, she stops. A wave of anxiety washes over her, or is it fear? She senses something is terribly wrong. After rushing out of the bathroom and back to the couch, the chill of darkness, like a cloud's passage before the sun, sweeps over her body. It is from the glimpse of a man disappearing behind an aisle of books. She closes her eyes and shakes her head before looking again. Seeing this, Sheila rushes over.

"Kate! Are you okay? What's wrong?" she asks, holding Kate's shoulders.

"Whoa! I just got really dizzy," Kate laughs.

"My God, it looked like you just saw the grim reaper."

"Did that just happen?" Kate thinks, trying to regain her composure. "Maybe I did, or it's early menopause, or a lack of food. I'd better get home and get some dinner going for my boys. Come on, Sheel, let's get out of here."

They say their goodbyes with a final hug, but not without Kate giving a final backward glance at the bookstore.

She goes back inside.

Walking slowly down the center aisle, she looks left and right, back and forth, as if she's watching a tennis match from center court, but this is no game. Then she sees him, back turned to her. She knows he doesn't need to turn around. She knows _he_ knows she's there. Like nearing the edge of a cliff, the closer she gets, the greater the fear. Kate would prefer the cliff.

"Hello, Mrs. Wilson, what a coincidence meeting you here," the man says without turning around.

"Hello, Stani. I thought it was you."

Stani turns around. They are in the self-help section, and he's holding a Big Book. "Interesting reading, this. This is what you use, yes?"

"I use what works. Looking for advice?" she asks. She can smell his breath.

"Just saying hello. It has been much too long," he smiles.

"It's over, Stani, you know that."

Stani frowns. "Now, Mrs. Wilson, how can you say that? It will never be over. Wasn't that you I saw last night, stopping by to see your champion? " he asks, lightly touching her cheek, feeling the slight tremble.

"What are you doing? Coming to me for a cheap thrill?" she says, using the bravado to steel herself against the imposing figure of Stani. He doesn't like it, and the flash of anger is seen in his eyes.

After a moment, he smiles. "No, I'm just reminding you of who, and what, you are. The kind of person who is ready and willing to go over to the edge, for the taste, for the rush, just like me."

She turns away from him, wanting to ignore him, but she can't.

"I remember when you used to be a regular at my little fight club, and boy oh boy, did they like you! Perhaps this book hasn't changed you as much as you would like to think, " Stani says, handing her the Big Book. "Which I certainly hope is true. After all, you never know what the future will bring for us," he tells her with a flashing sarcastic smile as he walks away.

"Get over it, Stani. It's time to move on. We're done," she says to his back.

Still moving, he turns and wags a finger at her. "Delusion is a terrible enemy. Good night, Mrs. Wilson."

And he is gone, leaving her standing there, Big Book in hand.

Chapter 16

Regional Train 193

What does it take to turn a person into a killer? The answer is usually fear. Fear of being killed oneself, fear of loss, or fear of being caught. Some consider it sport, and there are more of them than you might think. How easy it is to commit the act depends on a few different things. One is proximity. It's simple for a UAV operator to pull the trigger on a terrorist halfway around the world as it is on a bad guy in a video game. That separation between predator and prey eases the second consideration, conscience. But even those who possess high moral standards are not beyond rationalizing what is universally known to be fundamentally wrong. And if you take into account other species, the majority of us have blood on our hands. Life is life.

Moody is one of them. His father the butcher exposed him to blood at an early age. The first one was a chicken. He followed his father's careful instructions on how to kill the _Hallal_ way, the Islamic method of ritual killing. Although he'd seen in done many times before, doing it yourself is different. It horrified him, especially seeing the poor bird run across the dusty dirt yard with its head hanging to one side after losing his grip on it. Right now, motivation is abject fear, and that kind of fear clouds judgment.

He has followed the Russian onto a Northeast Corridor Amtrak train, buying a ticket to New York. He has no idea where they are going, but he has to make contact and win the confidence of the target, but he knows he can't do so empty handed. No, he has to do something, and fast.

The train is mostly empty, and dark. A middle-aged woman walks by him and pauses at the toilet at the front of the car. His fear takes over. It is impulse, desperate but he has no other ideas. He grabs his backpack, fishing out his Swiss Army knife as he goes. He looks over his shoulder; no one notices him.

Moody comes up fast behind the woman as she steps into the bathroom. Before she begins to turn to close the door, he grabs her from behind, covering her mouth. He takes the blade and digs the point into the back of her neck until it hits bone, then with a jerk, it slips between two disks, severing her spinal cord. The woman goes limp and urine pours out of her. With his foot, he slides the door closed.

Chapter 17

Woodcrest Road

There is little sleep for Kate that night. She reads from her own Big Book, and then prays long and deeply, yet her troubled mind still resists sleep. Eventually, she finds her big rocking chair and snuggles into a favorite blanket. This is the refuge where Kate spent many a sleepless night, nursing her colicky sons, nursing hangovers, the shakes of withdrawal, and the shame of guilt. Right now she just wants her fear to go away.

Outside, the final leaves of fall whisper to her on the breeze, warning of a cold dark winter ahead. Something stirs deep within her, something she'd prayed had been forgotten, locked away in the dark attic that exists in us all, the place where we put the parts of us we never want to see, but cannot throw away.

"God only gives you as much as you can handle," Kate recalls telling Shelia, what Lydia had told her. Either way, she will face it, for she cannot run away. She has to remember that most of all because in the silence of the night, beyond the attic door, she hears her disease calling to her, and she recognizes the voice.

Chapter 18

Regional Train 193

"Mind if I join you?" Moody asks Santa Claus at a café car table. Vanya tries to hard to hide his surprise by the bold appearance of his new shadow. He picked up on the tail after he turned onto M Street off Wisconsin on his way to the Metro. At first he thought the man was an amateur, but now it seems his method is deliberate, and he guesses he's about to find out why.

"No, please." Vanya smiles. "It seems we've been traveling the same path for some time now. A curious coincidence. Should I be afraid?" He isn't, especially with the 9mm in his now open bag on the seat next to him.

"Ah yes, you noticed me," Moody blushes. "No, you have nothing to fear. I am here to help you. Consider me your guardian angel."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." Vanya smiles, but his eyes hold the stranger in an icy stare.

Moody is on his game now. "I think you do. In fact, I know you do," Moody says with the same insincere smirk.

For a moment, the two men stare at each other in cold silence.

"I'm still at a loss..." Vanya begins.

Moody cuts him off. "I know you received a long overdue phone call this morning. I know what you are about to do. I am here to make sure you succeed."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Perhaps you have me confused..."

"We have a mutual friend, Katrina."

This time the denials stop.

"There are many who think you are too old for this. I am not so sure, but nevertheless, I have been ordered to watch over you. Think of me as a safety net."

Moody gets up to leave. "By the way, the loo in the next car is out of order. It's a filthy mess."

With that, he is gone.

Vanya sits for a few minutes, puzzled by all this. They will be at his destination, Trenton, NJ, in about ten minutes. He grabs his bag and goes to the next car. He comes to the bathroom and sees that it is says, "occupied," but a handwritten note shoved in the jamb warns, "Toilet clogged". Looking around and seeing no one, it only takes the old KGB operative ten seconds to open the lock.

He looks in. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says to the woman sitting on the commode, head between her legs and her jeans and panties down around her ankles.

He begins to shut the sliding door, but she doesn't even flinch.

He gets the picture and relocks the door, instinctively using a hanky to smear any prints, not that it will matter anyway.

Chapter 19

Newark, New Jersey

Elayna enjoys the sparkling view of Manhattan as her plane makes its final approach into Newark Liberty International Airport, reminding her of the images she'd seen of 9/11. She thinks of how barbaric but brilliant the attack had been, having studied every detail she could get her hands on. Russia too had fallen victim of savage acts of terrorism: the Beslan School attack, the apartment bombings, the Moscow theater debacle, the Groznyy hospital...the list is long. The blood of innocents is a terrible thing to endure, but it is the nature of war. In all struggles, victory goes to those willing to sacrifice what they hold dearest, let it be freedom, morals, souls, and sometimes all of the above.

She breezes through customs like any British businesswoman coming off a red-eye, with only carry-on luggage. Since her new partners wouldn't arrive for at another day, she'll try to get some shopping in.

Before long, she finds the car left for her in the long-term parking lot, pays the bill and goes south on the New Jersey Turnpike. The ridiculously large SUV handles well enough, but it is nothing like her little BMW. She laughs at the sight of other women driving beasts like hers. "No wonder they invaded Iraq. They need the oil to feed monsters like these."

She finds her hotel with the GPS, stopping at a home supply store and a supermarket along the way, parking in a spot right in front of her ground-floor room. It's not the Ritz, but it is better than the travel lodges back home. She rolls in the big suitcase that had been waiting for her in the truck and closes the door. Unzipping the top flap, she begins to take inventory of the tools she has to work with.

"Nice stuff," she smiles, sliding a magazine into one of the new 9mm Sig-Saur handguns and then laying it on the bed. The other two will be for her partners, after making a few adjustments.

Then a little snack will get her ready. She is after all, a nocturnal predator.

Chapter 20

Trenton Transit Center

Vanya finds Moody waiting for him at the top of the escalator in the Trenton train station. He waits until the other disembarking passengers file by and go out of earshot. "Who was she?"

"Someone who took great interest in you, since Union Station. Perhaps my presence distracted you?" Moody suggests, playing on his self-doubt.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Vanya counters. "So what do you want?"

"Like I said. I am here to help you."

Vanya still hesitates. "We'll see about that. In the meantime, help an old solider with his bag."

Part III

"Our civilization is founded on the shambles, and every individual existence goes out in a lonely spasm of helpless agony. If you protest, my friend, wait till you arrive there yourself!"

-William James

The Varieties of Religious Experience

Monday

Chapter 1

Woodcrest Road

It had been a long and difficult journey, but Dan McDowd is finally home. Bone was safely in the hands of the mortuary staff of Dover AFB. Someone had tipped off the FBI that their wayward recruit had returned, and so he finds his soon to be boss, Special Agent Shelly Haddad from the New York office of the Joint Terrorism Task Force waiting for him. It wasn't the homecoming he had hoped for, but a ride is a ride.

After about an hour's drive, McDowd and Haddad sit in front of a charming house on a lush tree lined suburban street. At 8:30, the mad dash that starts the workweek is in full swing. Minivans and school buses dash here and there while tired teens lug their impossibly heavy book bags through piles of orange leaves.

"This is it, brother, this is what it is all about. This is what you fought for. This is what your buddy Bone died for. This is what we have to protect now," Haddad observes philosophically.

"It looks like cereal a commercial. Will Bone get his picture on the front of the box?" McDowd asks.

Haddad laughs. "No, but some Dominican making twenty million dollars a year playing baseball will."

Two girls burst from a house and race past them, causing McDowd to smile. "My nieces, and there's my sister Julie right behind them."

Haddad sees the warm fuzzies hit McDowd from the Rockwellian scene. "Is it worth it, Dan?"

He doesn't have to think. "Yeah, it's worth it."

McDowd jumps out of the car after Julie passes. "Julie!"

She takes a second to react, but when she does, it's worth all the waiting in the world.

"Dan! Oh my God!" She runs at him, nearly knocking him down, then almost squeezing the life out of him. "Please, Lord, let this be real." she says, her eyes clenched tight, as if doing so would make it happen.

Julie pushes him away to get the full view, patting him to make sure he's all there. Satisfied, she hugs him again. "For good, right?"

"For good."

Now the tears come, but she maintains her composure. "Good, come on and say hello," she says, dragging him down the block.

Haddad can't help getting a little misty himself. "I just love happy endings. I just hope this one lasts."

Taking McDowd's stuff out of the trunk, he holds up a locked box, making sure McDowd sees it before placing it inside the folded parka.

McDowd shouts to him. "Thanks, I'll call you."

Haddad emphatically gestures again to him the importance of what he was leaving behind, but McDowd's look assures him he understands.

"Hey, kids! Look who I found!" Julie calls out.

"Uncle Dan!" The girls come running over, leaving the other kids and moms standing at the bus stop. The women get all aflutter at the sight of the handsome young solider, some despite their feelings about the war. As Julie makes the introductions, one woman in particular catches McDowd's eye.

"Hi, Kate!"

Kate comes over and gives him a big hug. "Welcome home, soldier." There is the instant electricity when they touch, and it unsettles them both.

"Julie told me you were coming home yesterday. We're all proud of you, and happy you're here."

"Thanks, Kate, you look great. Still running, huh?"

"Yeah, but life keeps catching up with me," she laughs.

The sudden squeal brakes of a school bus break the spell.

Julie's youngest knows an opportunity when sees one. "Mom, can we stay home with Uncle Dan, please, just today...huh?...huh?"

"No way!" she tells her bouncing kitten. "He's not going anywhere. Besides, it looks as if he could use some sleep."

Dan nods as he strokes his niece's head. "I'll see you tonight."

The kids file onto the bus, and as it pulls away, the moms wave to their babies before getting on with their days.

"I'll call you tonight, Julie!" Kate shouts, rushing off, waving. "See you, Dan, and welcome home."

Calm begins to settle back on the neighborhood and holding hands, brother and sister shuffle back to the house.

"You stink," Julie says.

"Thanks," he says, picking up his stuff. Julie grabs some as well, but McDowd makes sure he gets the box Haddad left for him.

"Something to hide?"

"It's my service piece."

Being a cop's kids, it is nothing new, but it brings them back to a place neither wants to go: their father, guns and booze.

"Did you get any meetings over there?" Julie asks.

"A few."

"Ask Kate for meeting suggestions," she says, pausing at the door, but not opening it. "I know she can use the diversion. She's having a hard time with Michael."

"How so?"

"She doesn't seem to want to admit it, but it seems he's been cheating on her," Julie says, opening the door.

"He needs to get his head examined," he tells her.

"I'll say."

"Well, I'll be sure to ask...about the meetings, that is."

Dan's drinking hadn't been that bad to begin with, but the potential was there. AA meetings always kept that in perspective. Dan is a "high bottom drunk", the pain that brought him into the rooms wasn't as bad as many others, but that means he has a lot farther to fall if he ever goes out again. It only gets worse, never better

Julie, on the other hand, got lucky. She doesn't seem to have the genetic "on" switch, blessed with their mom's genes, not their dad's. That doesn't mean she got off scot-free. Booze took it toll on her too. Alcoholic parents really can fuck up a kid's head. Her nightmarish childhood memories of their father's drunkenness were just as bad as Dan's.

She takes him up to the extra bedroom, where the large bed calls to Dan. She neatly puts down the things she carried. "I've got some errands to do. Make yourself at home, this _is_ your home."

"Thanks..."

She come over and hugs him again. "I'm so glad you made it back in one piece." Soaking up the wonder of holding him, she doesn't want to let him go.

"You know, a lot of people around here commute up to the city," she says, beginning her campaign to keep him _here_ for good, but he cuts her off.

"Save it, we'll talk later."

"Okay." Julie walks to the door, but pauses before going out.

"Do me a favor, though?" she says, without turning around.

"Sure."

"Put that thing away, I don't want to see it again," she says to the box with his new service weapon on the bed.

Chapter 2

Tehran

Americans aren't the most welcome folks in Iran. After all, "Death to America" is still the number one chant at every government rally. So rather than cause a stir, Bob has transformed himself into Hans Schalgher, a German telecom executive. In the spirit of cooperation, the BDN has provided Bob his cover, made even more credible by his near perfect German, a leftover from his cold war posting in Berlin.

The Iranians, like the Chinese, quickly recognized that technology such as social networking sites and smart phones are a threat to regimes that don't want their people to speak, or plot, freely. As a result, the government has the welcome wagon out for anything that can help them keep the lid on chatter. Unfortunately, the waiting room where Bob has landed is filled with foreigners willing to help.

"Herr Schlagher, the Minister will see you know," the male secretary tells him.

Getting up, he gets angry glances from the mix of Asian and Latin American businessmen who were waiting long before he arrived.

"Right this way." The secretary leads him through double doors into a spacious office where the Minister of Commerce stands behind his desk, back to the door as he finishes reading a report.

"Mr. Schlagher, welcome back to Tehran," the Minister says cheerily. He is an elegant man, finely tailored in an expensive Italian suit. He should be, for Mohamed Reza is for all practical purposes Iran's top businessman and a member of the Revolutionary Guards, helping it to manage its nearly twelve billion dollar empire. His mood quickly changes when he turns to welcome his guest. He was not expecting this Hans Schlagher.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Minister," Bob says in accented English as they shake hands. Before Reza can say anything, a side door opens, and an armed military officer enters. Bob doesn't even flinch, even though his being here is kinda like putting his head in the lion's mouth.

"This is Colonel Ramzi of our Interior Ministry, I've asked him to joins us. I'm sure what you have to say will interest him a great deal."

No handshake here. "Yes, spying is my specialty."

"Well then, I'm in the right place!" Bob says with a chuckle.

"So please, what do you have?" Reza asks.

Bob is too cool to be rattled by the military man. "A solution to a challenge. I know you're having problems with monitoring e-mail accounts. You have the ability to do deep packet inspections, but the increasing volume slows service down, therefore revealing your surveillance. Yes?"

Reza glances at Ramzi, who casts a wary eye.

Bob shrugs, "This is common knowledge now. I don't need to be a spy to know this. It was written in _The Wall Street Journal_ , but it seem you prefer _The Onion_."

Bob pauses to let the dig settle in. "We can offer you a technology bundle that will optimize your existing system and dramatically increase your capacity."

"How soon?" Ramzi asks.

"We could begin within a few weeks," Bob says smoothly.

"And a price?" Reza asks.

"That will depend on integration logistics, but somewhere in the thirty million Euro range."

"I would assume that number is flexible, based on the possibility of future projects?" Reza suggests.

"Perhaps," Bob says, "But the window of opportunity to do business with you is beginning to narrow, considering the political climate..."

This pisses off Ramzi. "Then we will do business with the Chinese!" he says loudly, standing in offense.

"If you'd prefer a cheap knock-off, please be my guest. You have to pay for quality."

"Now Colonel, let us not be too sensitive. It is a business reality, but although windows close, windows also can open," Reza soothes.

"So diplomatic," Ramzi sneers sarcastically. "You must excuse me, the air has becomes somewhat stale," he says, storming off.

"I did not mean to offend," Bob says with surprise.

Once Ramzi is out of the room, Reza places a small frequency-jamming device on his desk and flips it on. "What in God's name are you doing here? Are you out of your mind? You'll get us both killed," Reza says under his breath, simmering in fear.

" _Us?_ I don't think so. You? Sure. Me? I'm too valuable. You're spoiled goods in my book."

"Do your bosses know you're here?"

"No, why don't you pick up the phone and call them? I know they'd like to hear from you. They're worried about you," Bob says sarcastically.

One key to being a good spy, like everything else, is moderation. It's the greedy ones who usually get busted. Reza's involvement with the CIA goes back to the days before the revolution. Recruited when the two countries were still pals, he had been home on break while getting an MBA at Georgetown when the revolution started. Being a student got him in on the ground floor, thanks in part to his friend who now happens to be President of Iran. At first, he was a gold mine, helping to set up the Iran-Contra deal, and then later feeding information on Iraq during the first Gulf war. But as Iran's seemingly benign isolationism became malignant, with its support of Hammas and Hezbollah and then its pursuit of nukes, Reza's love affair with the west began to fade. He didn't need the CIA's money anymore, but he failed to understand that once you're in, you're in for good. Bob thought it a great opportunity to remind him.

"What do you want, Herr Schlagher?"

"Your people took out a Russian. I thought the Russians are your friends. They tortured him for information. I want to know what they got," Bob says cordially. He can tell by Reza's reaction he knows something.

"I do not know the specifics, something about tricking Russian commandos into pulling off a terror attack. That's all I know."

"Well, I'll tell you what I know. I know we have you on videotape from your last transaction in Zurich. The one that made your secret account fatter by about twenty-five million, thanks to that Chinese company. I'll bet your bosses would find it interesting, say if it was posted on _YouTube_."

The color begins to drain from Reza's face.

"Actually, we have a few other clips to post. They'll be posted automatically if I don't make it home on time tomorrow. So, your memory better improve, real quick."

Reza realizes he doesn't have a lot of options. "All right. The man's name is Hamdi, of the Guardians. He has close ties to the Supreme Leader. I know he has a brother-in-law in the States. His name is Mahmoud Barabi. He is a top member of the _Free Iran Movement._ If anyone were to be involved, it would be Moody."

"Well now, wasn't that easy?" Bob says, getting up. "I certainly hope it all works out, for your sake. We like to keep our friends in high places. We never know when they'll come in handy. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch. "

Reza is not a happy camper right now. Sitting back down, he begins to weigh his options. He would like Bob dead, but he can't have him killed, not until he holds up his part of the deal. Then he thinks of that Swiss bank account and how much is in it. It makes him wonder, _"Why am I sitting behind this desk, instead of sitting in lounge chair on a South Pacific beach?"_

It is a very good question indeed.

Chapter 3

Morrisville, Pa

_TRENTON MAKES, THE WORLD TAKES_ boasts the red neon sign on the bridge spanning the Delaware River between New Jersey's capital and Morrisville, Pennsylvania. At one time it was true, but not anymore. The days of busy mills and factories are long gone, and if not for the state government, Trenton would have suffered the same fate as Camden, collapsing into a black hole from which there is little hope of escape.

Morrisville does its best to keep the trash out, however very now and then a body turns up, usually drug related. In the deep undergrowth by an old canal is a fresh one, and this time it is a bit unusual.

It is the classic crime scene. Yellow tape flutters in the cool autumn breeze, a photographer snaps pictures, detectives talk into cell phones, and the uniforms take full advantage of a chance to bullshit. The press catches wind of it, and the choppers from Philly show up.

A New Jersey Transit Police supervisor, hearing about all the commotion, stops by for a look while on his way to the NJT yard in Morrisville. "Heard you guys got quite the show going on here," he says to the local cops, all of whom he knows.

"Odd one. Throat cut ear to ear. No wallet, no ID. Looks like he got cut up there and rolled down," the investigator says, pointing up the embankment.

The NJT cop looks up at the assembled rouges gallery of gawkers. "Who found him?"

"Crack heads come down here to light up."

"Anybody see anything?"

"That bunch?" the investigator scoffs.

It is a silly question, but he had to ask. "Mind if I have a look?"

A cop pulls back the tarp to reveal the remains.

"Hoooolllyyyy shit!" the NJT cop moans.

"You know this guy?"

"Hell yes! It's Santa Claus!"

"I guess that makes the Grinch our prime suspect."

Chapter 4

Learn to Live Charter School, Philadelphia

Kate is trying hard to not fall victim to the Monday blues. It started by waking up next to Michael. She's already beginning to recognize a mental distancing, and it hurts. Then her supervisor stops by her office. "Hi Kate, thank goodness I caught you."

"Hi Joan, what's up?"

Joan lowers her voice. "I need you to do a home visit tomorrow, grief counseling. One of our tenth graders. He just found out his dad was killed in Afghanistan."

"Oh no! I read about that. Sure, let me look at my schedule." Kate says as she re-opens her office. Unfortunately, the violent death of a parent isn't that uncommon in her school district, though things had been getting better recently. Even so, Kate still makes at least six such visits in a year.

"Let's see, I can do it at two?" she says looking at her calendar.

"Great! Stop by my office tomorrow morning for the paperwork."

"Okay, see you then. Bye, Joan."

"Bye, Kate."

"Such a shame," she says to herself. At least these kids would be cared for. The government had seen fit to increase the death benefits. Crossing the parking lot, Kate is lost in thought, trying to reconcile a child's suffering with God's plan when it hits her; the tingle of a presence. Someone is watching her, probably Stani. Without a beat, she gets into her car, thinking of an errand she is now determined to do. The warning in the side view mirror makes her smile.

Objects appear closer than they seem.

Chapter 5

North Philadelphia

Once again, Moody's mind is doing a number on his head. He hasn't been involved in the operation even a day yet and he's already killed two people. He tries to stay calm, watching TV in the seedy motel room he found along Route 1, but the guilt gnaws on his brain. He feels he is sinking into a dark hole, the walls slowly rising around him. He got what he needed out of the Russian, but then things got messy. He didn't want to kill the old man, but he had to.

"Am I possessed? My Lord, is it you, or a demon?" he thinks aloud. There is no answer.

"I almost cut off the old man's head," he moans, "Like the chicken!"

A picture from his childhood flashes in his mind, the butchered bird on the run and the blood in his father's butcher shop, running down the drain. Right now Moody has more than he can handle.

He is on the edge of a panic attack. Usually it's nothing his Xanax can't fix. Problem is, he doesn't have any, left home in the rush. Without his meds, he is an unbalanced chemical catastrophe. His bipolar nature swings between self-assuredness to freezing phobias, all driven by the post-traumatic stress disorder, the result of his childhood and sparked at the sight of Vanya's river of blood.

He begins to sing a song from his childhood, the one he used after his father gave him to that man for a night, the one who wanted him to dance.

" _All the animals in the forest, all the fish in the sea. Allah loves all his creations, especially little boys like me."_

He repeats it again and again, until he falls asleep. He tries to take comfort in the thought that the worst is over. If only he knew how wrong he was.

6

Woodcrest Road

Between the big comfortable bed, lavished with pillows, and the quiet of the suburban neighborhood, and the emotional roller coaster of the past few days, sleep comes easy to Dan McDowd. The nightmares are not far behind.

An eight-year-old Danny McDowd sits on the corner of his bed, holding a shoebox. He can hear the sound track of _The Odd Couple_ somewhere in the distance. The audience laughs every time Felix clears his sinus with a _honk!_

He looks to his left, and sitting next to him is Bone, blood soaked and covered in yellow dirt. A bloody foam oozes from his wound.

"Take the box to your daddy, Chiller," Bone smiles.

Little Danny gets up and goes into the kitchen where he finds his disheveled and obviously drunk father sitting at the kitchen table. He hands the box to his dad, who starts to sing _Oh Danny Boy._ Reaching in, he pulls out a gun and holds it to his head.

Julie is downstairs in the laundry room when she hears the screaming.

"Dad! No! Don't do it dad, don't shoot!"

She bounds up the stairs and into his room, finding her little brother, violently thrashing in the bed. She tries to grab his hands, hoping to rouse him. "Dan! Wake up! You're dreaming!" she shouts.

It takes a minute, but he comes out of it, confused and shaken.

The fear has caught up to Julie, and she bursts into tears. "Dan, it's only a dream. It's just a dream..."

Slowly, he remembers where he is, and begins to relax.

"Dad was going to kill himself..."

"I know, but he didn't, and he's okay," she tells him. They'd both seen it happen, a long time ago.

Just as she's done countless times before, Julie stays with her little brother until he falls back asleep, and stays that way until well into the following day.

He too has a box, tucked deep under his bed. The apple hasn't fallen very far from the tree.

In the corner of the room, under a pile of dirty clothes, his cell phone buzzes away, set on vibrate. Dan McDowd can't come to the phone right now, being some place far away and long ago.

Chapter 7

Newark Liberty Airport

From a distance, it seems a happy reunion of family or friends back home from a long trip. The woman's pretty smile buys her a few extra seconds from the cop in front of terminal B as she picks up the passengers. The mood changes as soon as she pulls away. Elayna tries to keep the tone friendly, deciding it the best way to play it for now. They reek from booze.

"You guys must be beat."

"Yes, a damn long flight," Kreichek drones.

"Where are we going?" Hutnikov wearily asks from the back.

"I have hotel rooms in the area of operations. It's about a two-hour drive, if you want to nap."

"Good idea," he replies.

She looks at Kreichek, already asleep, but she knows it won't take much to wake him. She heads south once again.

" _Sweet dreams, boys_. _No telling how many you have left."_

Elayna takes her time traveling down the congested highway, not terribly concerned about being followed, because she knows she is.

She wouldn't have it any other way—in fact, she was counting on it—but no one will be pulling any surprises tonight.

8

Newscenter 7

Actionable intelligence is information that can be used in advance of an event to alter the outcome, or to enable her to gather evidence in support of an investigation. It has been a long open case, but only because she's allowed it to be that way.

" _Was there love?"_ Kate wonders as she pulls into the station's parking lot. She glances at Tom next to her, then Robbie in the mirror _. "There is love, just not the way I imagined it."_

After years of sobriety, she recognizes the truth, but those years she spent working on herself, not on her marriage. _"You had to do that, Kate. Everything you put before your sobriety is the first thing you lose."_

By the time she was able to be the wife and mother she was supposed to be, the damage was done. _"Could it have been fixed?"_

She did try, countless times, fixing herself and rebuilding his trust. For a while it did seem to be working. Yet the family tree, her marriage, despite its outward strength, had rotted inside.

The only thing left was to cut it down, before it did any more damage.

Actionable intelligence.

Michael Wilson's producers have gathered in his office for the 6pm show's post mortem before breaking for dinner. They are mostly single women, attracted to journalism by its altruism and a high glass ceiling. The meetings are brief because they all have to come back to do an 11pm show. Susan Hayward, the executive producer, is trouble shooting a mistake on a live shot when Kate and the boys come in.

"Oh, hi guys," Michael says, interrupting.

"Sorry, I thought you'd be done by now. We just thought we'd surprise you with some dinner," Kate says, smiling.

"Wow, I wish my wife would do that every now and then." says the lone male producer. Dan makes brief introductions for those who hadn't met.

"Family, news staff. News staff, family."

"Hi Kate," Susan smiles, having met Kate before. "And Tom, you're turning into a real stud muffin."

The younger women voice agreement, turning Tom into a human tomato.

"We're done. See you all in an hour," Susan says.

Kate usually hangs out with Susan at the obligatory station functions, chatting about Susan's autistic son. It isn't Susan who concerns Kate. She feels the awkward tension in the room, and suspects Susan's chitchat is trying to distract her. Before long Kate targets her competition, the leggy blonde on the couch next to Dan's desk.

She looks anxious and avoids making eye contact as she leaves.

"Oh, and happy birthday, Caroline."

Caroline turns abruptly, confused. Not knowing what to say, and how Kate knew, all she can say is a nervous "Thank you."

Seeing this, Susan knows her boss is busted. She gives Kate a knowing smile. "It was good seeing you, Kate, enjoy your dinner."

"Good seeing you too, Susan."

Now Kate turns her attention to Michael. The boys tear into the food like wild baboons, minus the shrieks.

"I hope we didn't ruin any plans," Kate says.

He is bland and polished as always. "No! It's a great surprise."

A huge window makes up most of his office wall that faces the newsroom. Kate goes over to pull the blinds. "How about a little privacy?" she suggests, not waiting for an answer. She sees Caroline watching her intently from across the room. Kate smiles at her as she closes the shades.

Michael has no idea about the bus that's about to hit him.

Chapter 9

Willow Grove Naval Air Station

It has been a very long haul home, but finally the Gulfstream V comes to a halt and the engines begin to wind down for a well-deserved rest. Rising, stretching and yawning, the boys begin to head for the exit and get the customary send off from the flight crew as they head out. A black Chevy Suburban pulls up as the men descend from the aircraft. A suit rolls down the window, "Dave Edwards, right?"

"That's me."

"Shelly Haddad, FBI. Bob sent me to meet you guys. We're keeping tabs on some Russians for you. Hop inside."

"How do you know Bob?" Edwards ask as they pull away.

"A little friendly cooperation between sister agencies. We worked together on a job out of Iraq involving Al Qaeda."

"So now you're watching Russians?" Freaks smiles.

"Everything old is new again. We're calling it a training exercise, which is all I hope it amounts to. We've got us some rooms at the Bachelors Officers Quarters, just down the road here. The base is mostly deactivated, so we pretty much have the run of the place."

"Nice and quiet," Edwards yawns.

Freaks knows better. "More like the calm before the storm, I'll bet."

Chapter 10

Newscenter 7

The Wilson family has enjoyed their Chinese picnic dinner.

"Hey, Dad, can we go check out the chopper?" Robbie asks.

"Sure. Tom, go with him," Michael says.

"Hold on, guys! Get back here," Kate shouts after them. The boys stop dead in their tracks and do an about-face. "Give your father a kiss goodbye."

"Bye, Dad," says Tom.

"Bye, Dad," says Robbie. Then they bolt out.

Now Kate and Michael are alone. The time has come. She stands like a high diver at the edge of the platform, not looking down but ahead to the horizon. She is afraid, but she is also determined. All it takes is the firing of a few synapses, setting into motion something that can never be undone, launching her into the abyss.

"I hope we didn't screw up any plans. She seemed pissed." She doesn't look at him for the answer.

"What, who?"

"Caroline."

Kate sees his deer in the headlights look. He knows he's walked into a trap, frozen in fear about setting it off.

"This is your last chance, Michael," Kate tells him. She owes him that. She is not beyond forgiveness. He is a man, after all, but there is a limit to what any woman will tolerate.

"Who? I don't get what you mean," he bumbles.

Kate walks over to the closed blinds and reaches for the cord. She smiles. "I'll bet that when I open these blinds, Caroline will be looking right in here."

"I don't get it, honey," he says.

" _Do I really want it to end this way?"_ she asks herself, but another voice inside

says _,"Fuck him!"_

Slowly Kate pulls the blinds open. Caroline looks right in. The moment she makes eye contact with Kate, she looks away. Michael does too.

Kate holds up her cell phone. "Did you ever read the technical manual for your phone?"

Michael doesn't respond. If he could ask for an attorney, he'd be doing it right now, because anything he say will be used against him, probably in a court of law.

"No? Well I did," she says with a snarky smile. It's not like her. She notices it, taking pleasure in another's pain. She continues anyway. "It has this really cool feature for texting. It will forward messages to another phone."

The color drains from Michael's face.

"I've been reading all about your little plans with her. About how you promise to top your last performance if she wears her little black dress."

There is a knock at the door. Both turn to see Caroline standing there. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need this script approved."

Kate shudders, her will overpowering the impulse to remove the threat to her and her family, once and for all.

"That's all right, I was just leaving."

"Kate, wait. It's not what it seems."

"No, Michael, it is. It's over. We're done."

He knows he cannot defend the indefensible, and that his shame and guilt have only begun. "Kate...I'm sorry..."

"Don't, Michael," she tells him dismissively.

With a smirk Caroline backs away as Kate leaves, but Kate walks right at her, forcing her against a desk. The smirk vanishes. Kate gets in her face. "You have no idea how lucky you are right now," she tells her sweetly. "Let's hope you never do."

Susan has watched it all from afar, shaking her head at the whole sad affair. She wouldn't have minded at all if Kate had hauled off and smacked the young woman. As the dust begins to settle, she goes into Michael's office.

"I warned you."

"Don't you have a show to produce?"

"It's beyond me how you can be so stupid."

Michael has an automatic door closer, which he uses now. Susan crosses her arms.

"You're right, Susan, you don't. It's like living with Mother Theresa, a water walker that can do no wrong. She spends more time with that program than she does with me!"

"How would you know? You're never there. She's trying to stay sober. You don't know how lucky you are, Michael, and still you're willing to give it all up? What is this, a midlife crisis? Get a Harley."

"To be honest, she was more fun to be with when she was drinking. I don't know who she is anymore," he says to the family picture on his desk. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever did."

Driving home, they glide through the dark suburban streets, past homes and families, surely each with their own dramas, great and small. She wishes that she could jump from her own life and hide in another, but then again, she's already done that.

"What's wrong, Mom?" Tom has sensed her troubled thoughts for a while now, sitting in the front seat next to Kate. Only when he notices a tear slip down her cheek does he ask. She looks over at him.

"Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. We do them because it's the right thing to do, even if it's hurtful to ourselves, and because it's the best thing for others. Sometimes, it's as simple as facing the truth."

She looks in the mirror to see if Robbie is listening. He is rocking out on his iPod.

"This has something to do with Dad, doesn't it?"

She smiles at his splendid innocence. "Sometimes, I just miss your father."

"You think he is cheating on you?" She notes the _He,_ as if he has already taken a side.

"Tom!" she scolds, but isn't surprised by his perception.

"But is it true?"

She lets out a sigh. "There is a line we all come to, between good and bad, right and wrong, and sometimes good people cross that line, but it doesn't always make them bad people, because in the end, it's what _they_ think, not what others think, that is most important to themselves."

"That didn't answer my question."

"Yes."

It is an honest answer. Her old sponsor Lydia had warned her it would happen. In order to live, people in the program have to change, but their loved ones don't have to, and although an alcoholic may survive, more often than not, the marriage does not.

Nothing in life is free, not even sobriety.

"Now what, Mom?" Tom asks.

"I wish I knew, sweetie."

Kate may not know, but a little voice deep inside her has plenty of ideas, and none of them are good.

Alone in bed, the gravity of her actions has begun to leech in, like a leaking oil tank contaminating the ground around it. Kate finds herself almost wanting to hear the door unlock and the muffled footsteps of Michael slinking in. Then she thinks of where, and whom he is probably doing right now, and the anger builds again.

To say she is not in a good place would be an understatement. She is wandering in a minefield, but doesn't fully realize it. Regardless of how wrong her relationship with Michael is, or was, it was _safe._ She had spent years building the seemingly sturdy walls of fortress Kate. Now those walls are being tested, not only from the outside, but also from within.

"You did the right thing, Kate," she reassures herself, "for the boys, for your sobriety."

Walls keep bad things out, but sometimes they keep bad things in. They are only as strong as the foundations they are built upon. Kate is beginning to realize her walls are built on sand.

Chapter 11

Kabul

Yuri is dozing in front of his computer when he hears a knock at the door. "Come in, it's open," he calls, swiveling around in his desk chair.

It is one of the GRU guards from the front desk who handle embassy security. "Aha, Stolichi! You are here late, or is it early?" Yuri says with genuine surprise.

The young NCO, a funny-looking kid with eyes set strangely apart, smiles oddly. "I thought I would check on you before leaving, Uncle. You've had a rough couple of days," he says closing the door behind him.

That makes Yuri furrow his brow. " _What is he doing?"_

"Not as rough as some," Yuri grins, thinking of Sasha.

Stolichi laughs, but it is followed by an awkward silence.

" _Damn it! Where is my gun?"_ Yuri thinks.

"You've been spending too much time with the American CIA, Uncle," Stolichi tells him, reaching into his coat.

"You know, Stolichi? I was just thinking the very same thing."

Yuri's gun is across the room. If he had had any doubts about being too old, they're gone now.

" _Oh well, it's been a good run,_ " he thinks, giving himself a little solace. No time to debate if his life had made a difference. He turns back to his desk and the nicely framed picture of his family, taken on the day of his daughter's graduation when his bride was still alive. He thinks of how wonderful it will be to see her again. He closes his eyes and pictures her waiting for him as Stolichi pumps three rounds into his head, sending him on his way.
Part IV

"The monkey may be off my back, but the circus is still town."

-George Carlin

Tuesday

Chapter 1

Woodcrest Road

Kate is a little sore after having really pushed herself on the morning run It is going to be a hard day. It started with Tom's mournful look as he walked out this morning, followed by Robbie's questions about why his dad didn't come home. He knows something is wrong, and Kate is trying to figure out how to break the news to him. It is almost as if a thick fog has enveloped her life. Thinking about the day ahead, she doesn't see it getting much better by going to visit a grieving family.

The apartment complex is just over the city line, not far from the karate school. After parking, she goes over the file once more. The younger Washington boy, Russell, is in school where one of her coworkers is working with him. She has the older boy James. He seems a bright kid and had done well in school, until last year. Not a good sign. Sixteen is a bad age and one might correctly guess that substances are getting a test drive.

" _Poor Kate. Life is so bad for you, isn't it?"_ That little voice inside seems to be getting louder. _"But being the brave soul you are, you'll just let yourself suffer."_

Kate ignores it and gathers up her files and gets out of the car. She begins looking for the Washington home. As she crosses the courtyard, she sees Dan McDowd emerge from one of the entrances, making her smile. It's the first little beam of sunshine God has sent her way today, and it's just in time.

"What are you doing here?" she smiles.

"I was just visiting the family of a buddy of mine who was killed in Iraq."

"Oh my gosh, the Washingtons?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"A wild guess, I'm on my way there. I'm with the school system. I'm here to see James."

McDowd sighs, "Good, he sure can use some help. He's one angry kid."

"Did you know his dad well?"

His face hardens imperceptibly. "I was with him when he died."

"Wow, I'm sorry," she says, drifting for a moment, as if she can relate to it. "You brought him home."

"Yeah, I brought him home, but life has to go on, right?"

"It doesn't brake for heroes." Kate looks at her watch. "I've got to run. You'll be around for a while, at Julie's?"

"Yes, probably for a few weeks."

"I'm glad," Kate says, starting to walk away backward, not yet ready to say goodbye. "How about a meeting?"

"I'd like that."

She stops and walks back to him with a mischievous grin, taking off her shades.

Her pretty blue eyes grab him. There is an odd energy, a vibe or karma. She comes within a few feet of him now, to keep her words private. "Life on life's terms, right?"

He's about to ask her how she knew, but Kate answers the question before he gets the chance. "Julie."

"It figures. She sure can talk a lot," she says with a smile, but then becomes suddenly serious. "She told me about you and Michael. I'm sorry."

Kate looks down at her shoes. "Yeah, well, what is it they say? All good things must come to an end, or all bad things come to a beginning?"

There is an awkward silence as they both twist in the wind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." McDowd starts.

"No, it's okay, really," Kate cuts him off, going backward once again. "I'll stop by later. Got to run!"

"Good luck in there."

"I can only try to help, the rest is in God's hands. Bye."

"Bye."

Kate gives his a shy little smile before walking away. McDowd watches her for a couple of moments and heads off. When he glances back, he catches her doing the same.

He smiles. _"There is something very cool about her._ " Then it hits him, her accent. It is ever so slight, a minuscule hint. Few would ever notice. He decides he'll ask her about it some time.

Chapter 2

Huntington Valley, PA

The sun has burned off the morning frost covering the rolling grounds of Wynn Marh Cathedral. It seems an odd place for the elegant and stately structure, but it had been there long before the surrounding suburban sprawl. The cathedral's white gothic spires reach high above the bright orange trees of the surrounding parkland. The grounds are an enormous swath of finely kept gardens, forests, and fields. It is a stunning landscape anytime of year, thanks to the gifted greens keeping of Stanley Braddock.

Although many favor the exploding colors of spring, Stani loves the fall's brilliance, the softening sunlight, and promise of a winter's rest. Right now he's in the middle of the great lawn's final cut of the year, guiding his massive mower in perfect lines, creating patterns with all the artistry of a Japanese rock garden. Then it's on to the leaves.

Stani comes to the end of a long run and swings his machine around with graceful precision, lining up his next pass in the direction of the church. At the far end of the field, he notices a man walking in his direction. "Who the fuck is this?" he wonders aloud.

He rides up to the waiting man, turning off Prokofiev's _Romeo and Juliet, The Knight's Dance_ on his MP3 player, but he doesn't shut down his machine.

"Can I help you?" he shouts over the engine.

"You are Stani?" the middle eastern man asks.

No one uses that name. He shuts off the mower. "Who are you?" he asks with the edge of a threat.

"My name is Moody. I am here in place of Vanya."

Stani stares at him, long and hard, processing, his senses on high alert. He looks around, suspecting that an FBI SWAT team is waiting to pounce on him.

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," Stani says, becoming suddenly pleasant.

Moody stands his ground. "I don't think so. Vanya is dead. I received the phone call. Katrina is going fishing."

Stani takes a deep breath as a huge knot begins to tighten in his gut. Once upon a time he used to carry a gun everywhere he went. Right now he feels practically naked. He still has his hands, and with this man at least, they will be more than enough. He hops off the big mower to confront him, removing his shades to expose the rage in his eyes. "This is no longer amusing. You'd better leave now. You're trespassing." He towers menacingly over Moody, but still he holds his ground.

"You are refusing a direct order?"

Stani narrows his eyes. "We are talking about the authorizing the release of nuclear weapons. There is nothing in the wind to indicate this."

Moody isn't sure heard right, but he can't question something he should know. "Now you question your commanders. Perhaps you are no longer capable of carrying out your orders."

"Don't test me. I will finish you."

"As you wish, I am only the messenger. I have done my job, lets see if you can do yours."

With that, Moody turns and walks away, leaving Major Stanislaw Lysenko of the former Soviet Union's GRU Second Directorate Special Forces wondering what to do next.

Once in his car, Moody vomits onto the passenger side floor.

Chapter 3

Amtrak Southampton Facility

The police didn't take long to identify the woman found in the toilet once they found her bags left on her seat. The question about how she rode all the way to Boston dead in the bathroom will be asked later. In the meantime, they have a murder on their hands. Since Amtrak is a government-run agency, and the crime crossed multiple state lines, the job is handed off to the FBI. The investigation seems simple enough; somebody on the train killed her. Only a few dozen people rode it, including the crew. It would start as a simple process of elimination. On top of that, every station is well covered by cameras, so there was an excellent chance they'd get a picture of the perp.

Increasing the FBI's chances is that the family of the woman immediately made themselves available to the press, her mother being wildly distraught in front of the cameras, which makes good television. The _New York Post_ called it "Death Train _,_ " and the story spread across the Internet and TV.

Sometimes the dots get connected. Sometimes they don't.

Chapter 4

Willow Grove, PA

Elayna is about to bang on the door to the room a third time when it finally opens. She holds up two bags of fast food with one hand while carrying her laptop in the other. Her hair is loose, falling to her shoulders and matching the color of her clingy black turtleneck with form-fitting jeans. Though still groggy, Kreichek instantly notices her shapely frame.

"A little food." she says, handing Kreichek a bag and tossing the other onto Hutnikov, still lying in bed. At least Kreichek is dressed.

"How may we be of help?" Kreichek asks.

"Didn't they tell you?"

Hutnikov begins to move slowly, as if in pain. "We have to help you clean up some sloppy pile of GRU filth."

She places the laptop on the room's only table and sits down in front of it.

"Yes, very simple, very quick. Five targets and we're done."

" _Make that six."_ Kreichek smiles to himself. "Where are these targets?"

"All in this area. First, we must confirm the locations, check patterns, and then we move. Our flight out is late Saturday night. We move on Friday," Elayna summarizes.

"Why wait so long? Let's go now," Hutnikov says.

"We're not ready. In case you didn't notice, a small army of FBI followed you here," she tells them. "They knew you were coming. You've been compromised. Not surprising, you are SVR, after all."

That makes Hutnikov mumble a curse under his breath.

"But don't worry, I anticipated this and have taken steps to correct it."

"Wonderful," Kreichek smiles. "But why not just buy them all a ticket home?"

"These are Spetsnaz, not the gangsters or goat herders you are accustomed to dealing with. They are like trained attack dogs. They do not think. They act. Being told to go home is not a part of their programming. We have to get them cleanly, quickly and quietly. Not one can get away, and not one of them can fall into the hands of the Americans."

"I think perhaps you give them too much credit," Kreichek says.

"Trust me, I know. They are NOT your garden-variety spies. They are elite killers. The information we have on them is dated, so we must be sure before we strike. There is also the question of where they have stored their weapons."

"You don't know?" Hutnikov is surprised.

"We suspect they have been moved. Besides, a little homework never hurts. We need to get this right the first time."

Kreichek nods to Hutnikov. "She's right. Okay, what about our own weapons?"

"In the truck, but you need not worry. I will be doing all the work."

Both men balk at this. "Then what are we doing here?" Hutnikov raises his voice.

"You are operational security," she says firmly, her voice also rising.

Kreichek politely clears his throat. "That is not our understanding."

"They told you whose operation this is?" Elayna challenges.

The two men look at each other. "I'd prefer to consider it a partnership between our two services, but yes, since it is primarily the GRU's operation, we would naturally defer to your direction," Kreichek says, showing off his diplomatic skills. After all, the president started out in this business.

Hutnikov shoots him a look, but Kreichek responds with a sly wink that's not for Elayna to see.

"Good, then we are on the same page," she says with a smile.

" _That was too easy,_ " but it confirms her suspicions, leaving no doubt about her plan of action. Now, onto the details.

"I see neither of you has operated in the States before, but your English is excellent, although accented," Elayna says, evaluating her new partners. "The police here can be rather attentive, and so can the residents. We have the terrorists to thank for that. We have to be discreet. The targets have been trained to detect observation."

"Do they ever meet?" Hutnikov asks.

"Only when operational. Then we need to identify the cache of their primary weapons, and notify the Americans."

"Why is that so important? Can't we just leave them a note?" Hutnikov's wiseass suggestion angers Elayna. She sits back in her chair and removes her glasses, which are more for looks than anything else. "Do you know what this cell has been tasked to do?"

Kreichek narrows his eyes, bracing himself for the answer while Hutnikov offers his own. "They are a commando team tasked to disrupt communications." Elayna smiles. "That's correct, with weapons of mass destruction."

With this news Hutnikov chokes on his coffee. The color drains from Kreichek's face while Elayna nearly bursts into laughter at the sight. "Surprised?"

"Yuri, you old prick," Hutnikov swears under his breath.

"It must have been an oversight," suggests Kreichek. "So how do we find them?"

"If the cell goes active, they'll lead us right to them. Otherwise, we forget about it. The only people who have the key codes for the weapons will be dead. If found, they'd be useless."

"How much time do we have, if they've become active? I don't want to get vaporized," Hutnikov objects.

"According to the operational plan, and based on when we think your friend Sasha Malekov expired, the earliest would be this Saturday or Sunday. By then we'll be gone and our unfortunate comrades dead," Elayna concludes, closing her laptop for dramatic effect. "Any other questions, boys?"

Kreichek shrugs, but Hutnikov can't resist. "Yes, why don't we all share a room?

It would be so much more cost effective, and cozy."

Elayna's look tells him he'll die trying. "Meet me down in the lobby at six. We'll take a little drive and see the sights." With that, she leaves.

The boys wait before talking.

" _Pizda!"_ spits Hutnikov. "I'm going to wring that old fuck Yuri's neck if I see him again."

"Not if I get to him first." Kreichek starts scheming while checking to see if Elayna left a bug.

"We should just fucking whack her and get the fuck out of here," Hutnikov mutters.

"Like it or not, we're stuck here, so we may as well do it her way. She's done the homework." Kreichek says. "Besides, it seems rather nice here," he says, having admired the shopping malls, car dealerships, highways, fast food, and Starbucks. Russia might be like this one day, if the greedy oligarchs ever shared their wealth. "You know, Nicky, I'll bet that whatever they've got would fetch pretty penny on the black market."

"Stephan, that's an interesting thought."

Unfortunately for the boys, someone else has the same idea.

Chapter 5

Dulles International Airport

Bob's seemingly endless flight is finally over. Though comfortable, it was maddening being out of the loop. A kid from the agency meets him on the end of the jetway and ushers him out an access door down to the noisy tarmac and a waiting car. He starts playing catch up as soon as the door closes. He calls Edwards to find out what's going on.

"We've tagged three Russians. The two Yuri tipped us off on and a woman who picked them up,"

"Any ID on her?" Bob asks.

"Our Bureau brothers are working on it. We've got a team from the New York Joint Terror Task Force _."_

"Far out. You listening in on our guests?"

"Working on it, but we need a linguist."

"Hey, how about the McDowd kid? He's from around there."

Edwards smiles and gives Freaks a kick on his shoe as he listens in with one ear, relaxing in a lazy boy in the BOQ's living room. He mouths _McDowd_ to him. "Good idea. So what you going to do?"

"I'm heading to the ranch to do a little research on one Mahmoud Barabi. I want to keep this as close to the vest as possible. I need something solid on this before we kick it up. You're working with Haddad, right?" Bob says.

"Yup, he's calling this a training exercise. I wonder where he got that idea?"

"Beats me. Good man Haddad. Worked with him before on a few jobs in Beirut," Bob tells him.

"Yeah, but we're hunting Russians," Edwards says.

"Yeah, a little throw back to the good old days. I'll call you later."

It is about a forty-minute drive from Dulles to the CIA's Langley campus in McLean, barring any traffic. He has been granted an audience with the DCI, Dr. Richard Tillman. The two men are actually old friends. Their wives were college roommates. "Doc" Tillman has served three Presidents, two as Director. Although there are many threats facing the country, Tillman knows that the agency's greatest adversaries live inside the Washington beltway. He's known as one of the smartest and most savvy operators around, yet always manages to do the right thing. His shelf life is proof of that.

Tillman's administrative assistant shows him right in.

"What are you doing here?" Tillman asks with a wary smile, extending his hand.

"I'm fine! Thank you for asking," Bob smiles. "How are Alice and the girls?"

"Great, thanks." He doesn't ask Bob about his wife. The split was ugly.

"So, what's up? Heard you were in Tehran."

"Fishing. We might have an issue. Deep-cover Russians," Bob says sitting down.

"More? The FBI just rolled up a bunch," Tillman says.

"Not SVR. GRU Spetsnaz," Bob says. "One of them turned up dead in Kabul." He hands Tillman the picture of Sasha with a woman. "The job had Iranian fingerprints all over it. I talked to old Uncle Yuri about it and my asking uncharacteristically freaked him out. So he tells me the guy was part of a first strike team. He tells me not to worry, that he'll take care of it."

"Oh boy," Tillman says, rolling his eyes. "Now you're scaring _me_."

"Tell me about it, that's why I had to go visit Reza. Fortunately, he had a come-to-Jesus moment and gave me the name of an operative here."

Tillman looks up from the photo for more.

"Yuri gave us the names of his crew too, with the promise we don't keep them. They came in yesterday, picked up by a woman. FBI is on them."

"Who's this broad?" Tillman asks, looking at the woman in the picture with Sasha.

"Don't know, but on the back it says Katrina. That name turned up in a suspect's diary in Kabul," Bob explains.

Tillman ponders for a minute. "You're afraid these are _Buran_ operatives."

"You said it, not me," Bob says sternly. "Do you even mention it in the presidential transition briefings anymore?"

"Not since forty-four. You helped clean out a West German cell back aways, didn't you," Tillman recalls.

"Eighty-nine. We had to kill them all, and they took three from the BDN with them. They're like animals. No thought, all instinct and reflex."

"But if there is a cell here, they must be, what, in their forties or fifties?" Tillman asks.

"A rusty razor can still cut off your balls," Bob replies.

Tillman takes it all in, calculating not only the threat, but also the aftermath. He is an excellent chess player. "Do what you have to, but as quietly as possible. You have a PAC?"

"Azure Rapture," he confides.

"Good. Call it a drill. Keep it to your FBI pals. If DHS gets wind of this it will be like putting a pile of coke in front of a fan."

"Got it," Bob says getting up. He has one more question to ask, and he doesn't want to ask it. "I need a contact over at Energy."

Chapter 6

Oak Lane Apartments

"Ms. Washington?" Kate asks the woman who answers the door.

"No, I'm Ellen's sister, Beverly. Ellen is resting right now."

"I'm Kate Wilson. I called before, I'm from James' school."

A large man with a clerical collar opens the door wider. "Mrs. Wilson, hello, I'm Reverend Wall. We spoke earlier. Would you please come in?" he says, offering his hand.

"Thank you."

"May I take your coat, miss?" Beverly asks.

"Yes, thank you." Kate wriggles her coat off while still holding her bag.

"Right this way," he says, ushering her into the small living room, made smaller by the collection of flowers. The reverend offers her a chair.

"Ellen had to go lie down for a spell, we just had a rather emotional visit with one of her son's friends from the service. She asked me to thank you for coming, and hopes to join us before you leave," the big bear like man says as he sat down.

"I understand," Kate replies with a soothing compassion.

Across the room is a picture of Bone, his smiling service photo with the flag backdrop.

"I'm grateful for James' service and sacrifice," Kate says.

"So are we. I just hope his loss is not in vain," the reverend sighs.

"We're all in God's hands."

Reverend Wall lights up with this. "Yes, we are." His confirmation signals approval of her understanding of the true nature of things. "So, young James."

"Yes, the school offers crisis counseling to students who are facing loss. I'd just like to start with a little chat to see where he's at, as if he doesn't have it tough enough, a boy of his age. How well do you know him, Reverend?"

She makes a quick assessment of the home. The apartment is tidy, the furniture tired but well cared for. Sergeant Washington had been gone over a year and despite his absence, he still must have had some influence on the kids. Kate can imagine the struggle of wills developing between the boy coming of age in a world of bad influences, and a hardworking, old school, religious grandmother. But now with the father gone for good, she was sure the worst is yet to come. Family clergy are an excellent source of intelligence, probably much better than poor Ellen Washington.

"I've known him since birth, just as I knew his daddy. But he's got a little too much of his momma in him, and she was a sick soul. She passed some time ago. Fell to the pipe, God forgive her."

Genetics is a leading ingredient in the psychological soup of a child's developing mind, and addiction that Kate knows all too well. She hasn't even met him yet, but she can see the path he's on.

"How is he taking all this, in your view?"

"I've been trying to get him to open up, but the boy is tighter than a clam."

"Has he shown any emotion?"

The reverend shakes his head sadly. "No."

" _Bad sign,"_ she thinks. "There'll be time. Right now he's probably in emotional shock. We all handle grief in different ways. It's especially hard for teens. They're just getting to know themselves and their place in the world."

"It's such a shame. The streets take too many of our young men's fathers. But here was one just doing the right thing, only to end up the same way, leaving another one of our sons at risk." The reverend closes his eyes, sending a quick petition to the Lord.

Kate leans closer to him, lightly touching him on his knee. "You won't lose this one, not if I have anything to do with it."

He opens his eyes again, immediately seeing the conviction in Kate's blue eyes, determined, with a hint of mischief.

"I'd like to get started," Kate smiles softly.

Reverend Wall smiles as he gets up. "Right this way."

Kate follows him into the hall, where he points. "Third door. He knows you're coming."

She smiles and whispers, "Thank you."

Kate hears the video game as she knocks. "James? I'm Kate Wilson. May I come in?" She sees the reverend waiting for her to go in.

"It's open."

He is lying on his bed, eyes glued to the set and the game. He's lanky but young.

"S'up?" he asks, and then yells, "Damn!" as his running back fumbles.

" _OH MY GOSH!"_ If he had been looking at her, he'd see the stunned look on her face and perhaps remember. Kate recognizes him instantly. She's always been good with faces. It's the kid from the store the other day, the kid she almost killed. _"Boo,"_ she recalls.

" _There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason..."_ she reminds herself.

Kate takes the chair at his desk. "Perfect place to put it on pause," she says, reaching over to his controller and pushing the button. "Hi. As I said, I'm Kate. Your family thought it might be a good idea that we have a little chat."

He is aggravated that his world is put on hold, but accepts that he has to deal with this lady. She'll be gone soon enough. Kate recognizes the grudging politeness, something considered a weakness out on the street.

"You a shrink?"

"I'm a psychologist. Do you know the difference?"

"You ain't a doctor, right?"

" _Smart kid,"_ Kate smiles. "Well, kind of. Does that matter?"

"No, so what you want to talk 'bout?"

"You. How's James doing today?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know, that why I'm asking."

"How you think? My daddy's lying in a box up the street. How you expect me to be?" He is becoming agitated, the cool starting to melt.

"Well, I can guess. You're pissed, mad as shit at the whole world, at God, maybe even at your dad. You feel guilty for being mad at your father, or over something you did or didn't do, didn't say and didn't get a chance to make right with him. You're afraid. You don't know what's going to happen now. You're sad because you love him and miss him, but you're afraid to show it." Kate pauses for a second, watching him react to her litany.

"You let me know if I get something right, all right?"

James pulls his legs up to his chest and buries his chin in his knees. "I don't know what I feel," he concedes.

"It's called being confused. You have so many things to feel, and you can't focus on any single one. It's like they all cancel each other out and leave you numb." She lets that sink in. "You don't have to be a tough guy and suck it up. You know why?"

He just shakes his head.

"Because it's like drinking acid, rotting you away from the inside. I know. I've been there."

"What'ch you want me to do?" he finally said.

"Talk, just let it out. People out there want to help you, like the reverend. He helped your dad, and you can tell me whatever you want, and it will be private."

"How the hell can I trust you?"

She's been waiting for this moment. "Because I didn't rat you out...Boo."

He shoots her a look. _"Whaaa?"_

"That welt on your head. I gave that to you."

Kate sees the wheels turning inside, his mind trying to figure it out. "You don't recognize me?"

He still can't make the connection.

"The 7-11, last Friday night."

Suddenly his eyes go wide. "Oh shit!"

"Oh yeah. Now you remember me," Kate says with a grim.

James looks as if he's going to bolt in panic.

"Chill," she says, holding out her hand. "I took care of it. Five-O isn't looking for you, but I wouldn't go back there, if I were you."

He still looks wary and unaccustomed to the good will.

"You trust me now?" she asks.

He nods.

"Good, now I want you to think about a few things, okay?"

He nods, starting to relax a little.

"What did Dan McDowd tell you about your dad?"

"He said he's a hero."

"He is, and you know what? Every day he's going to be with you now, and he'll never let go. But you also have to forgive him, for dying, for being a hero."

Finally, the tears begin to fall. Kate moves next to him on the bed as he opens up, stroking his back as she would for her own son. The tough street kid is gone now, replaced by the real James Washington.

"It's all right, James, and I bet your dad is proud of you right now."

It isn't a floodgate, but it's a start.

"Here," she says, handing him a tissue. "You know, they say crying and laughing are the same release, so if you don't want anybody to see you crying, try laughing." He looks at her oddly, then chokes out a sob-soaked giggle.

"I'll tell you another trick I use. When I feel like crying and don't want anyone to know? I take a shower. It's noisy and wet and private, okay?"

"Okay." he sniffles.

She's done for now, gently planting the seeds of hope. It is an excellent start. She grabs her bag and fumbles through it for a card and some pamphlets.

"Here's my number, you call me anytime if you need to talk. Also, here's some stuff to read and think about."

Her own emotions beg for attention, and she needs a deep breath. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for you, James. It's going to be a rough couple of days, but you have to remember, you're not in this alone. That family out there loves and needs you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Can I come by and see you again, maybe tomorrow?"

He perks up at that. "Okay."

"All right then, tomorrow. I'll tell them out there you're going to jump in the shower." Kate gathers her stuff to leave, but pauses at the door to smile back at Boo.

"Good job, James. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ellen Washington is waiting for her in the living room.

"Ms. Washington? I'm Kate Wilson, the school psychologist." Kate reaches out her hand.

"Thank you so much for coming and please, call me Ellen."

"I'm so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you all."

"Thank you, Ms. Wilson."

"You're welcome, and please call me Kate." They both smile, almost laughing.

"How is my James?"

"Better. As I was telling Reverend Wall, he's at a tough age, and losing your Dad—"

"Yes, I know," Ellen nods. They were still holding hands, and now Kate squeezes tighter.

"But we made excellent progress, right off the bat." Kate also directs this to Wall, who raises a bushy gray eyebrow in surprise.

"I gave him a little direction and I think he'll be okay, but there's a lot of work yet to be done." Kate let go with a final squeeze. "I gave him my card, and here's one for you both. Call any time, day, or night, even if you just need to talk. I'd like to stop by tomorrow if that's all right?"

"James is being waked tomorrow. Could you come by there?"

"Of course. Is four okay?"

"Yes, it will be nice to take a break."

"I'd like to spend some time with you too, Ellen."

"I'd like that very much." Ellen says with a tired smile.

"Good, then I'll see you both tomorrow. By the way, James asked me to tell you he's going into the shower."

They exchange goodbyes and Kate is out the door.

" _That went well."_ Kate thinks to herself, feeling proud of her abilities, a little pat on the back. Now she thinks ahead, karate, then dinner. It is time for the evening rush.

Walking out to the car, at first she doesn't believe it what she sees, Stani walking to her across the lot, but then her astonishment gives way to anger. She is in no mood for his bullshit. "You're really pushing it, Stani," she says, removing her keys.

"Hello again, Ms. Wilson," he says brightly.

"I'll save us both a lot of time. The answer is no," she says, opening the car door.

He pushes it shut, making her turn in anger. It makes him smile.

"What the fuck do you want!"

"I'm glad you feel so comfortable in our relationship to speak to me this way. I have no problem with your honesty, but I will only tolerate it when we are alone."

She turns away, brooding like a scolded teenager. Stani genuinely likes her, which makes what he is doing all the more distasteful. "I have received a message from home."

"This is my home!" she shouts.

"Dear Mrs. Wilson, this may be where you live, but it will never be your home."

"No. It's over," she says, shaking her head emphatically.

"You should know better than that. It is never over," he smiles. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She looks intensely into his eyes, searching for the punch line to the joke she suspects is there, but does not see it.

"My God. You're serious!" she says in disbelief.

"Yes," he tells her. "It is bewildering, but it is not our job to question or debate. We do what we have been trained to do. Do you understand?"

The shock is only beginning to settle in. All she can do is nod.

"Good girl. We will meet Thursday at eleven at the tree," he tells her as he walks off.

Kate leans back on her car, stunned by the confrontation. Then Stani issues a parting bit of advice. "Don't make me come and find you...Katrina."

Chapter 7

Woodcrest Road

McDowd is parking his car in Julie's driveway when his cell phone rings.

"Dan?"

"Yes?"

"Hey, it's Dave Edwards."

McDowd is about to ask him how he got his number before realizing how stupid the question would make him seem. "Boy, you are one tenacious guy, what's up?"

"I'm in town, so what do you say we get together, you know, shoot the shit."

"You're here?"

"See the Crown Vic down the street?"

On the next block, Edwards waves out of the driver's window.

McDowd laughs. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Mayo says hello."

McDowd hears him break into a chorus of _Oh Danny Boy_.

"Got dinner plans?"

"Actually, I do."

McDowd watches the car creep up the street and park right across from him.

"How's Bone's family doing?" Edwards asks, still on the phone despite being feet away.

"Getting by. The funeral is Thursday," McDowd says.

"I'll try to stop by. So we're here on business," Edwards says.

"Isn't there a law against that?" McDowd cheerily points out. "You're not supposed to spy on Americans."

"We're not," Edwards says as he gets out of his car and hangs up. McDowd does the same as Edwards crosses the street, followed by Mayo.

"Nice ride, '68?" Edward says, admiring the pristine Ford Mustang.

"'67," Mayo says as he begins his inspection.

"What are you saying?" McDowd picks up, watching the Delta guy nervously.

"Russians brother, lurking right here, all thanks to you."

"Sounds a little far-fetched, buddy. Besides, you should be telling this to the FBI."

"They know. Now so do you."

McDowd doesn't like the sound of that, nor where any of this seems to be going. Edwards leans on the Mustang.

"Watch the paint," McDowd points.

"Sorry. "

"So why you bothering me?"

"We got a tip on what that Malekov character might have been up to. Turns out he was a part of a sleeper cell, Special Forces. We think he sold the Iranians or other miscreants the key to activate them."

McDowd is right. He doesn't like it. "Oh, come on. Is this another one of those fear-tactic schemes?"

"Real deal, brother, we wouldn't be here otherwise," Mayo says.

"They're deep, Dan," Edwards says. "Woven real tight into the fabric, and they're not here to sightsee or steal secrets. They're hardcore killers. They could be anyone, living normal lives." A neighbor catches his eye. "Shit, maybe even her!"

Edwards gestures down the street. Kate is getting out of her car and walking up to her house.

"What do you need me for?"

"Translator. The Russians have a hunter team here that we're gonna listen in on. We figured you speak the language, plus you know the area."

"We need Da Chiller," Mayo proclaims, leaving no room for debate.

"What about you finding Bone's killer?"

"It's on the list, bro. Right now we're worried about the living," Edwards says, gesturing to the surrounding neighborhood and its kids shuffling home from school.

"We're not asking you, Dan. We have a chance at jumping on this before it gets out of control. You follow?"

"What is this, the fucking Mafia?" McDowd balks.

"We have a better healthcare plan. Come up to the base tomorrow, hangar nine."

"Fine," McDowd sighs in submission. "Now get out of here, you're scaring the kids."

Edwards backs away, beaming broadly. "Fun times!"

Chapter 8

Kate drops her bags the moment she opens the door, flying to the kitchen sink, feeling she's going to be sick. Gripping the basin with both hands, she stares out the big window at the familiar world that now seems as alien to her as Mars.

"I cannot believe this is happening!" she growls. "God, why?"

No answer. The fear becomes anger, directed at herself for carefully cultivating the garden of lies, for so very long and so very well. All those pretty delusions, growing beyond ripe and now dying on the vine.

"It figures," she laughs wickedly. Now the worms of inner rage begin to feed on the dread of her self-deception, for not having a plan, for becoming attached to a fraudulent life, for being weak, for falling in love, for getting married, for having kids, for getting sober, for being alive.

Then she hears it, an echo, a whisper without a voice, but its loud enough to turn her around. It can't be helped.

It is the thought of a drink.

Life is filled with peaks and valleys. Alcoholics in recovery like to stick to the plains. They may be flat and boring, but most have had enough excitement to last several lifetimes. Right now Kate is trying not slip into the great abyss. It's not a very nice place, she knows because she's been there. They say religion is for those who are afraid there is a hell. Spirituality is for those who've been there. This she remembers now, staring down the dark hole of the garbage disposal, how her last drink almost led to her last breath, staggering down the hill to the tracks with Tom and Robbie.

" _They were so little then."_

She was going to take them onto the tracks....

"STOP."

She catches herself. "A drink right now is the last thing you need, sweetie. You've got trouble enough."

It removes the desire but not the problem.

"How could I be so stupid?" Such a long list of _if onlys,_ with no way to undo what has been done in a life she has no business living.

Kate looks up from the sink to see her boys outside with Julie's girls, talking to Julie's brother Dan about his cool old car, no doubt.

" _My sons..."_

"What have I done?"

Try as she might, there is no stopping the tears now. The boys are the source of her greatest joy, and now of her deepest sorrow. She is awash in a complex mixture of emotion that can only be defined as love, and _how_ she loves them. She hugs herself for comfort, bringing on a sad smile as a familiar slogan of the program comes to mind.

" _The past is gone, the future may never come, but today, well lived, is a gift. That's why they call it the present."_

"Please, God, help me make this right." She starts to calm down, turning her away from the dark clouds ahead. _"_ It isn't a done deal yet, Kate."

She may not be able to see into the future, but she can project. One thing is for sure: she won't be caught unprepared again. Even if the worst-case scenario happens, she'll be ready. She doesn't delude herself to the truth, or the fact she'll have to face the storm ahead and what lies inside.

Katrina is waiting in there, and she can be a very thirsty girl.

Chapter 9

"What's cool about this car is that it was made in Canada, so when it's really cold, I can plug it in and warm it up!" McDowd loves showing off his Mustang.

"I guess this is the year the new ones are based," Tom says.

"I think they took the best of the early designs and morphed them together."

"Can you take us up to karate in it, Uncle Dan?" Julie's youngest asks.

"No fair!" Robbie objects.

Tom pushes his head. "He's not your uncle."

"Well, I guess I can fit you all, if it's all right with your mom."

McDowd looks as Kate crosses the lawn, wrapped in an oversize sweater. "We were just talking about you," he says.

"Dan says he'd take us up to karate," Tom tells her.

"Really?"

"Sure," McDowd shrugs.

Kate smiles, "Okay by me. Go get ready."

The boys scramble to get their gear. McDowd picks up on Kate's somber vibe and red, watery eyes. "You okay?"

"Allergies, happens every year at this time."

"How'd it go with the kid?"

Kate smiles again. "Really good. He's pretty tough, but still a kid inside. He'll be fine, with time and some work."

The boys return on the run, each landing a drive-by kiss on the way. "Thanks for taking them. I'll pick them up."

McDowd nods. "Cool, I'll see you later then."

Amid a chorus of good-byes Kate watches them pull away.

" _It's not the last time...yet."_ The thought is a comfort, but it doesn't stop her from imagining the moment to come.

Chapter 10

Abington, PA

Elayna spends much of the afternoon alone in a coffee shop, complete with comfortable chairs and free Wi-Fi hot spot. She's not too worried about her two partners, telling them that she'll pick up the hotel bar tab if they stay put and out of trouble. While listening to chamber music she catches up on the news via the Drudge Report and then goes over the operation step by step, mindful of the discrete company who have joined her. Before long, it's time to return to pick up the boys at the hotel.

Elayna is pleased to see that they've cleaned up nicely, making them slightly more tolerable. They're also much less gruff once they've gotten a few drinks in them.

After a surprisingly cordial dinner at a pizza place, they start work on the site surveys back in the hotel bar. She knows there are eyes upon them. Looking around, they're easy for her to spot. She even exchanges a smile with one young guy.

They look at Google Earth on her laptop.

"Over there," she says, pointing to long, single-story building across the street.

"This building?" asks Hutnikov.

"Here, if we're lucky, we can kill two birds with one stone. Misha Rostow and Valarie Torikno. They are partners in this business, and should be together. They own a number of these auto shops, but this is where they have their office."

"You see what happens to you in America? You become a grease monkey." Hutnikov laughs.

"These grease monkeys make millions of dollars a year," Elayna tells them.

"That's quite a business to give up." Kreichek says.

"It would seem so, and believe me, we thought of that. However, they have been well conditioned, and we have backups," Elayna explains.

She pulls up their pictures. "These two are muscle for the group. They're supposed to close at eight o'clock. We'll see what happens."

"Lets hope they're creatures of habit." Kreichek says.

"Then, we'll go to the next location, Eddy's Bike Shop, he's the technician for the group."

"Another entrepreneur?" Kreichek comments.

"It's the American way," Elayna laughs, glancing at their FBI partners. _"Get a good look, sweetie. This is the last you'll see of me."_

Chapter 11

Woodcrest Road

Kate lets the answering machine pick it up the incoming call. She can see it's Michael.

"Asshole," she says to the phone.

"Kate, it's me."

She should be at karate with the kids, and he knows it. _"Fucking coward."_

"Kate...I'm sorry. I fucked up, badly."

" _No! You think?"_

It's the cherry on top of her fucked-up day. Sometimes Kate is amazed at how stupid he must think she is, but it's her own fault. For years the only thing she thought about was her next drink. A lot went unnoticed back then, even her husband who didn't seem to mind and the vodka erased the rest. Just another lie to herself. She's slipping and knows it.

Kate undresses and turns on the shower. She stands before the mirror and admires the results of her hard work.

That echo from the past hits her again, but this time it is loud and clear.

" _How beautiful you are. Such a shame. Such a waste. Now you are finally beginning to see what a crime your life has become, giving yourself away and never giving to yourself. You are sooo deserving!"_ The voice inside whispers seductively, making her freeze.

"Nooo!" she says loudly with a violent shake of the head, as if waking up as her image slowly vanishes in the fogging mirror.

" _Aren't you done with your lies? About whom you are and what you have become? You are not a Baba, a housewife, a man's possession. You are powerful. You are not Kate Wilson, you never were. You, are Katrina."_

She wipes the mirror clear.

"Not anymore."

The moment seems to have passed. Kate has caught herself from falling, a slip on the ice. For an instant, she feels elated by the victory as she moves under the hot shower spray, but it is fleeting as reality washes back in.

"She's right."

An intense wave of anxiety jolts her from the realization. Slowly, she slides down the wall, her hands slipping over the pink tiles as if hoping to find something to hang onto, only to end up on her knees. The sobs come from deep inside, the empty cold storage of emotion nearly forgotten over the time. Her despair, convulsing, uncontrollable grief, is as if her very soul were being ripped away.

It is, for Kate Wilson is dying, not that she ever really lived.

She wretches, and then pulls into a fetal position in the corner of the stall. The release of her agony slows to soft whimpers, barely heard over the falling water. She has let go absolutely, emptying herself of the destructive self- pity, shame and pain.

She can't turn herself in. They would force her to betray her team, and she knows where that would go. They would kill her family—everyone, even Michael's grandmothers, aunts, uncles, even the cat. She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself, hoping an answer will come.

The rest of the evening goes by as any other night. She picks up her boys from karate, gives them dinner, and sends them off to finish homework and to get ready for another day. As Kate reads to her sweet young Robbie the next chapter of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ , he falls asleep before she's finished. She checks on Tom, already asleep, and gently kisses him on the forehead before turning off his light.

Finally, the day's performance is over. "You haven't thought of it that way in a

long time Kate," She tells herself, feeling like ballerina, lost in her role, dancing as fast as she can.

Chapter 12

Washington, DC

It is not until the early morning hours that Moody finally return to his town house. Now his plan is simple: get out as fast as he can. It is only a matter of time before the police catch up to him. As far as he's concerned, he's done his job, and then some. Yesterday he was a player on the Washington scene. Now he he's on the run with the blood of two people on his hands.

He glances up and down the street before opening the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. He enters the dark quiet of the house, scattering the mail shoved through the slot with his foot. _"Didn't I leave a light on?"_

He can't waste any time. First he goes to the computer to book the first flight he can. He goes right to his desk and flips on the lamp. Suddenly, he is uneasy, feeling as if someone has been, or still is, there. He takes out the gun in his desk drawer and places it on the desktop, putting him more at ease. _"Perhaps because of the medication,"_ he thinks of his paranoia.

He finds an Emirates nonstop to Bahrain, leaving Dulles at 4pm this afternoon and books a business-class seat.

Next, he will have to go to the bank to retrieve the contents of his safety deposit box. Inside are the usual ingredients for blackmail compiled against a host of business associates, diplomats and a few members of congress from both sides of the aisle. Nothing major, just the typical indiscretions that can provide insurance if needed. He's been prepared for a quick exit. The money, millions in contributions to the movement, can be wired once he gets out of the country. His personal account is already in the hands of a Swiss bank.

"Relax now," he tells himself "Just a few hours, and this will be over." He arms the town home's alarm system and stretches out on the couch for a nap, with the gun in his hand, just in case, safety off for good measure.

Chapter 13

Woodcrest Road

It starts all over again, but what had once been a model of suburban bliss has now become a recurring nightmare. After seeing the kids off to kids to school, Kate makes a trip to the bank. She hasn't been to the vault for a very long time. It brings back many memories, all of them bad. One way or another, it will be the last time. Walking in, She's struck by how well she is coping. After a few minutes of retrieving the oversized safety deposit box, finally she is alone in a booth.

She places the duffel bag she's brought on the counter. Slowly, she opens the lid. None of the contents are Kate Wilson's; they all belong to Katrina. One by one, Kate places the items in the bag.

She has a collection of various passports and drivers licenses with different identities, all with a diverse range of appearances. There is cash, U.S., Mexican, Canadian, close to a $100,000, and credit cards. Next comes the tools not found at Home Depot. A small medical kit containing morphine, syringes, forceps, sutures, and a scalpel—items that come in handy for treating a gunshot wound. Next, her guns: two Glock 9mms with extra clips, loaded with Kevlar-penetrating rounds, an ultra light Kevlar vest, a frequency scanner, collapsible baton, and her favorite butterfly knife.

Then she freezes.

At the very bottom of the box is a pint of one hundred proof vodka.

" _Your glass slipper, Cinderella!"_ a muffled voice reminds her.

She forgotten it was there, but Katrina hadn't.

Like an evil aura, the dreaded memories radiate from the bottle. Instead of running, she closes her eyes and stands against them, welcoming the misery and letting the darkness flow over and through her.

Her mind flashes back to the face of a child, lying on dark street, his dead green eyes looking at her as the black halo of blood grows on the pavement beneath his head. She didn't see him dashing out after the ball, and she was too sloshed to react in time.

It was the beginning of the end, the point where she fell off the cliff and into the abyss of the bottle. At first, she would drink at the kid; he should've been more careful. Then she tried to drown the guilt from letting her partner take the blame. He had protected her and she had never even said thank you.

That brought more pain and more booze, pouring it into the empty hole in her soul until even the vodka couldn't help her. And so, the agony of what her life had become ten years ago had led her here, to get her guns and take the lives of her children and end her own miserable life.

Then she'd been given her first glimpse of hope; the gift of desperation, bought by the distant memory of whom she once was, a beautiful little ballerina, innocently begging in a whisper _. "Please, Kati, don't kill us. I love you."_

"I love you too," she whispered then.

"And I still do." she whispers now.

She thanks the manager on the way out with her little bag of tricks, filled with all sorts of nasty surprises. The nastiest and dangerous of them all is the one Katrina slipped in when Kate wasn't thinking.

Kate has taken the bottle.

Chapter 14

Pennsylvania State Police Homicide Division 4

Stress affects one's ability to think. The old saying _haste makes waste_ is especially true when someone is trying to hide evidence. Cops say that even the biggest of schemes can come undone by the smallest of trifles. In Moody's case, it is a piece of paper. Although he did his best in a rushed state to leave Vanya without any ID, he missed his Amtrak receipt in a back pocket. Vanya used his real name.

The investigators quickly figure out who Vanya is, and that he was on the same train as another murder victim. From there, they get the surveillance tapes from NJ Transit and the first pictures of a suspect, seen walking out of the station with Vanya. This leads to Moody's second mistake. By cross-referencing the passenger list they easily come up with a name to go along with the face— because he used his own name. By midday every cop along the Northeast Corridor has Moody in his sights, and their preparedness is about to become a major headache for Bob.

Chapter 15

King of Prussia, Pa

For Elayna and the boys, it's show time.

They pause outside the hotel entrance in the sparkling fall morning and look around, not knowing exactly how many eyes are on them. "Come on, gents. Time we got a little privacy," she says with disgust, putting on a red Phillies cap and her big sunglasses.

They hop into Elayna's SUV, leading the FBI on a well-planned tour of the Philadelphia suburbs. She meanders west along the Pennsylvania Turnpike in the heavy morning traffic, and then turns south on I-476.

The FBI agents, mostly from the Philly office, diligently follow in five different vehicles, constantly switching position, but never losing sight of their quarry. They have to rough it today because no chopper is available and the UAV, well, it's not really supposed to be used for this anyway. The front car sees Elayna put her turn signal on.

"Taking the next exit, Mall Boulevard," the lead agent announces.

"Roger that, Mall Boulevard," Haddad repeats over the encrypted channel, just in case anyone happens to be listening in.

"A little shopping, perhaps?" an agents laughs. They can afford to be laid back. The GPS tracking device on Elayna's truck is showing their precise location, along with the tail cars, on several of the many big screens now set up in the hangar.

"Perhaps," Haddad says.

The King of Prussia Mall is one of the world's biggest shopping areas. Two huge malls sit side by side, creating one enormous cathedral of capitalism, big enough that it has its own zip code and almost fifteen thousand parking spots.

"Stay tight on them. I don't care if they make you." Haddad says over the radio.

Elayna dials a number into her cell phone. A woman's voice answers, "Hello, this is Anna."

"This is Elayna, are you ready for us?"

"Yes, level three, middle lane. A white Honda mini-van. Good luck."

"Thank you for your help," Elayna says as she turns into a big parking garage placed between the two malls. "Grab your stuff, boys, time for some fun."

"They're going into a garage!" the lead agent says. "I'm going in after them. Cover the exits!"

Hearing the Russians are on the move, Mayo, Freaks and Edwards show up just in time to see the GPS signal on the truck flicker out as it enters the multi-level concrete garage.

"Oops," Freaks says.

Haddad has begun to sweat.

Inside, Anna's husband Steven starts their white Honda mini-van. After a minute, Elayna's SUV turns into their lane. With a flash of high beams, Steven knows what to do. They hope it's important, because there is a good chance their cover will be blown. They are just two of well over a hundred Russian immigrants in the U.S. still connected with the SVR. They are more observers than spies, gathering information and sending it back. They've been living a quiet life, raising a family in Marlton, New Jersey, home of the giant defense contractor Lockheed Martin. Anna's a homemaker and Steven is in real estate. Between the PTA and the Kiwanis club, BBQs and bowling leagues, they gather whatever they can on the people they meet in the community from Lockheed Martin, and anything they can use.

With a sad look, Anna gets out of the van and disappears into the sea of cars. Steven watches as Elayna's truck passes behind him.

He sees the car following, throws the van into reverse, then guns it.

His timing is perfect.

BANG

He T-bones the Chevy Malibu violently and deep into the cars across the aisle.

"FUCK!" the agent screams! "It's a pick! She set us up!"

The driver gets out of the car and starts walking towards him. He looks for a gun in the man's hands, forgetting the chase and now thinking of his own skin. He tries to muscle his way out of the mess, spinning rubber and crunching metal. The man comes closer, his hands raised in contrition.

"I'm losing them, I'm stuck! Who's got them? Anyone have them?"

"What's going on, people? Talk to me!" Haddad demands.

"We're on the exits!" a voice calls out.

"Blue two on foot in the garage."

"Kevin, what floor are you stuck on?"

"Third floor! Third floor!"

"This is six! I got them, South exit. South exit!"

"Do you have a positive ID, six?" Haddad shouts, as if the volume will help matters.

"Stand by," says the voice over the speakers. On the tracking screen, the target reappears.

"Got her!"

"Are you sure? You have a visual on the driver?" Haddad asks.

"Yes, same truck, same hat, glasses, confidence is high. Turning onto Route 202 northbound."

"You'll have to pull them over if you want a positive ID, you know," Edwards warns.

"No, you think?" Haddad says.

Back in the garage, another FBI vehicle picks up the trapped agent, forced to crawl out of the window. He hops in, leaving the car and the other driver for later. They speed out of the garage to follow in the chase. Steven shrugs. He isn't going to run without Anna. He's not terribly worried. The worst that will happen if they're captured is a few weeks in jail and then sent home.

In the hangar, the team watches the display as the FBI vehicles begin to converge behind Elayna's SUV.

"Blue two and three, stay with the garage," Haddad orders.

"Not enough coverage," Freaks says to Edwards under his breath.

"Shelly, pull them over. You've got to make sure, dude!" Edwards warns.

"FUCK!" Haddad surrenders to the obvious. The operation is blown anyway. "Blue team, pull them over to confirm IDs."

"Ten-four. Taking them down," a voice says.

Anna knows cop cars when she sees them, having noticed the unmarked vehicles as soon as they pulled in behind her. Suddenly, they all turn on their lights and sirens. One pulls up alongside. The man in the passenger seat gestures to her to pull over. She doesn't turn to look, only watching him out of the corner of her eye. Another passes and pulls directly in front and puts on the brakes. Her tour of duty in the States seems to be at an end. She decides she might as well have some fun doing it and perhaps be on TV.

She slams on the brakes, then cuts a sudden right turn into a parking lot, then hits the gas. The big SUV flies across the lot and onto a side street, swiping a parked car or two along the way.

"Shit! We've got a runner," the lead car says into the radio.

The situation has gone from bad to real bad. A discreet surveillance job is quickly morphing into an episode of _Wildest Police Chases._ Anna has turned the truck into a cop magnet as she barrels down the busy streets. At the intersection of Gulph Mill and 202 South, a local police cruiser has positioned itself in the middle of the street. It doesn't stop Anna. She plows into the back of the car, spinning it around and keeps on moving. This changes everything. Now it's a case of assault with a deadly weapon against a police officer.

Haddad can't believe this is happening and begins to curse in Arabic. One of the agents manning the radio has some sickening news for him. "Local news choppers are going up."

"End it now!" Haddad orders coolly.

The driver of the lead FBI car nods to his partner. "Tires."

The agent pulls out his gun, and as the car pulls alongside, he takes careful aim at the front driver's side wheel. Just as he squeezes off a round, they hit a pothole. The shot goes high into the door.

The round tears through the door and into Anna, making the truck suddenly veer to the right, onto the sidewalk, across a parking lot and crash into the glass display wall of a Crate & Barrel store, finally coming to a smoking stop. Seeing the blood pouring from her side, she passes out.

Cars swam the location, and two dozen cops and agents, guns drawn, rush the truck through the shattered glassware and kitchen fixtures, shouting a chorus of "Hands up!" and "Out of the vehicle!"

The driver doesn't comply. One nervous rookie local cop lets off a round by accident. Not knowing where the shot came from, all of the locals open fire, some of them emptying their magazines. Once the downpour of lead ends, an agent moves in and violently opens the door, grabs the driver and drags her out and onto the glass-strewn floor. That's when her hat and dark colored wig come off. Anna doesn't resist as they cuff her. She's already moved on to a better place.

"Decoy! Decoy!" the agent shouts into his radio.

They don't have to hear anymore. They have grossly underestimated the suspects. As a result, they have a full-blown cluster fuck on their hands, and nothing to show for it, but just when they think things can't get any worse, they do.

It comes over the speakers. "Cancel the bus. Notify the M.E."

Chapter 16

Woodcrest Road

Having lost their American watchers, Elayna and the boys have a look at the first location on the list, the "housewife" living in a nice suburban neighborhood.

Elayna smiles, relieved that the first part of her plan went so well. She has a tinge of remorse over having to use the SVR couple, but that's what they're there for. They certainly threw the Americans totally off guard, probably because of a lack of experience of dealing with skilled operators.

Now, they just have to be smart about what they do, like right now. A strange car in a quiet neighborhood eventually stands out.

"We've been here too long, Elayna." Kreichek says as a dog walker passes them for a second time.

"I think she likes this one," Hutnikov teases.

" _Ebyona mat!"_ Elayna snaps in a vicious cat like spit that takes both of men aback.

"You may have struck a nerve Nicky," Kreichek chuckles.

"Look!" Hutnikov says, ducking lower in his seat.

Emerging from the house on the corner is a well-dressed blonde woman.

" _Katrina!"_ Elayna grins to herself.

"Is that her?" Kreichek asks with surprise. "She doesn't look that old."

"Too pretty for me to kill," Hutnikov says.

"I doubt you could if you tried," Elayna warns.

They watch as she gets into the car and drives off.

"Do you think she made us?" Hutnikov asks.

"No, she would have come this way if she had," Elayna concludes. "And probably killed us all."

Chapter 17

Mills & Sons Funeral Home

"Hello, Ms. Kate," Boo says shyly, waiting outside and glad to escape the stifling scent of flowers and formaldehyde inside the funeral home. It's been a busy day so far and he's happy to see her. Kate is genuinely happy to see that he has a faint smile.

"How you doing, James?"

"Okay, I guess, I'll make it."

" _I think so too, thank God,"_ she concludes, touching him lightly on the sleeve.

"You certainly look handsome," she says, complimenting him on his dark blue suit. It's always so sad for her to see fine young men dressed so nicely for a funeral. Suddenly, her mind pictures Tom and Robbie dressed the same way, standing over her box. A pang of dread hits her.

"We'll talk in a little bit, but first I'd like to chat with your grandma."

"Come in, I'll get her."

The place is drowning in flowers, and Kate realizes that a visit to a funeral home isn't such a good idea after all, given her own her potentially impending doom. _"It's not about you,"_ she reminds herself.

Ellen Washington comes out of the viewing room to greet her. "Hello, Ms. Wilson," she says warmly.

Kate corrects her with a laugh. "Please, Kate."

"That's right, Kate," Ellen blushes. "Let's go in here."

She ushers Kate into an adjoining empty room. She too is ready for a break. "The Lord knows I love my son, but this is getting to be a little too much!" she sighs, sitting down on one of the folding chairs, looking tired but still together after the long day.

Kate sits next to her, smiling at her strength. "They say He only gives you as much as you can take."

"We'll see about that," Ellen says with skepticism. "I want to thank you for your help. I don't know what you said to that boy, but it made a world of difference. He's even talking with Reverend Wall."

Ellen tells her about the past, filling in the family history, and the sad spiral downward of James' mother.

"It truly isn't anyone's fault," Kate explains. "Some cross that line where nothing else, children, family, self worth, is more important than the next buzz. It takes something special to get back across that line."

"A gift," Ellen tells her.

Kate smiles. "Yes, a gift. It's there for the asking, but sadly not everyone asks."

Ellen sighs again, touching a tissue to her eye, the painful understanding of her daughter-in-law now a little clearer. "Well, it seems as if James has accepted your gift."

"No, not mine, but we just have to make sure he doesn't lose it."

"Will you help us, Kate?"

"That's why I'm here," Kate assures her, taking her hand. "As long as I can."

Ellen hesitates before saying what she's thinking. "May I ask you a personal question, dear?"

"Of course, you can ask. I may not answer though," Kate warns.

"I see something in you I haven't seen in a long time." She squeezes Kate's hand with a puzzled look, trying to come up with the right words. "I saw it in my daughter-in –law, this profound sadness. I see it in you."

It would have knocked Kate back had she been standing. This woman can see right through her.

"Aren't I supposed to be helping you?"

"Sometimes, the best way to help yourself is to help another."

Kate nods. The concept is one of the very foundations of the program; you can't keep it if you don't give it away.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You hide it real well, like you're used to it, but even the smallest burden eventually becomes too heavy to bear."

"I know, and I'm grateful for your concern, but it is a burden I must carry alone."

"Kate, you can only be so strong. If there's anything I can do, please, just ask."

"Thanks, Ellen, I will." Kate smiles, thinking that it might just be a good idea.

"Will we be seeing you at the service tomorrow?" Ellen smiles sadly.

"I'm sorry, Ellen, I have a meeting I can't get out of."

"What a shame," Ellen says.

" _It is, isn't it?"_ Kate thinks, of how much she'd rather go to a funeral, than do what needed to be done.

Chapter 18

Washington, DC

Moody has a plane to catch. He comes out of the door of his town home with his wheeled carry-on in tow. He doesn't make it more that ten feet down the sidewalk.

"Mahmoud Barabi?" a man with an earphone and wearing a flak jacket asks, walking up to him. Moody sees cars pull up from both ends of the street. Bob hangs back halfway down the block.

The man shows a badge. "We're with the Department of Homeland Security, Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Sir, would you come with us please, we have some questions about your visa." It is total bullshit, and the "cops" are actually CIA. Bob has to grab him before anyone else. If Moody entered the system, it would be a mess. Everyone from the FBI to the Morrisville, PA, police would want to get their hooks into him, so Bob jumps the line.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Just get in the vehicle, sir," the man insists.

A couple of cops gently but firmly guide Moody to the black SUV and deposit him inside, despite his protests.

Chapter 19

Willow Grove N.A.S.

Without any solid leads to follow, the team is forced to dig. They've pulled stills from the hotel video cameras of the Russians woman and her pals and distributed them across the state, but they are so normal-looking that unless they break the law, there's little chance they'll be spotted.

McDowd, Mayo, Freaks and Edwards are engaging in data mining, trolling the Internet and databases.

"How you doing there, sport?" Edwards asks McDowd.

"I'm getting the hang of it."

"Who's that?"

McDowd has run Kate's name, just for shits and giggles. "My sister's neighbor."

"Cute, so what'd you find out?"

"You name it, social on her, school transcripts, credit report, bank accounts..."

Edwards leans in and lowers his voice, "Besides the chic."

"Well, trying the names, there are only seventy-nine Katrinas in the area.

"Only?" Edwards balks.

"There's a big Russian community around here."

"But they'd be legal émigrés"

"I know, so I'm checking pre-1985."

"Hey!" Mayo calls out. He waits until he has everyone's attention. "NSA kicked something out." McDowd and Edwards come over to his machine to look.

"We gave them the names on our list. They got a hit on Katrina from ECHELON. Yesterday, a call to a cell in Washington, same billing address as the Russian Embassy residence. The call came from a cell listed as business, the Free Iran Movement. Mahmoud Barabi!"

"You got a name on the Russian account?" Edwards asks.

"Vanya Ustinov," Mayo smiles.

"Well, that's two dots connected!"

A burst of profanity in Arabic echoes across the hangar from Haddad's direction, followed by shattering news. He storms over to his team of agents working the phones and Internet. "They want to shut it down."

"Whoa! What's up with that?" Edwards balks.

"The clock is ticking, despite having shot and killed an unarmed woman. The only reason I'm still here is we've just happened to stumble upon a nest of Russian spies. Thankfully, we got a bunch of intel at her house. Enough apparently to save my ass, and the operation, for now."

"Our targets are still out there," Edwards warns.

"To quote Assistant Director Sullivan, we're chasing ghosts based on a hunch," Haddad replies.

"Not anymore. We just connected a Russian Embassy staffer to an Iranian and the Afghan intel we have. Besides, the Russians we're chasing weren't ghosts," Freaks says.

"Do you have the Russian staffer?" Haddad asks.

"Yeah, but he's dead," Edwards says.

"And the Iranian?"  
"Bob has him," Freaks throws in.

"Fine. But will he talk?"

Edwards smiles, "He'll talk, all right."

Chapter 20

Northeast Philadelphia

Stani stands alone in the empty fighting cage in his empty warehouse. The echoes of glory past fill his mind. He smiles. He has won many battles here, and lost a few, but those losses only made him stronger. Now the real fight will begin, at last. There will be no mercy, no retreat, and no surrender. The past builds to the present, and becomes the future.

A voice calls out from across the empty space. "It's okay to look back Stan, just don't stare." It is Stani's business partner, Nate.

Stani laughs, "Ha! Victory never loses its sweetness, my friend."

"Well, when you get to be my age, that's all you have left. You still have plenty of fight in you. You should take on that Kesean punk again. This time for real," Nate tells him.

"The parking lot was enough for me. I have much bigger fish to fry," Stani says with a sinister smile.

"Oh yeah?" Nate laughs.

Stani's smile fades slightly as he stares down at Nate from the ring. _"He is a good man. If only he were with us,_ " he thinks to himself. "Come, let me show you something,"

Nate follows him out of the cavernous space.

"I remember how you used to poke fun at me for spending so much on this place," Stani says.

"I still think you're crazy, even though you've made your money back, and then some."

They come to a stairwell. Stani throws a light switch and leads him two flights down, upsetting a rat or two along the way. "Crazy as a fox! The upstairs is just a part of the setup. I needed the space for something else entirely."

Nate has never been down here. The physical plant of the facility is filled with pipes and cables. The light is faint and the smell is dank, moisture laced with fuel oil. A large steel door looms at one end of the hall, like one found on a vault.

"What is this, some kind of bomb shelter? You one of those preppers?" the old cop laughs.

"In a way, yes!" Stani chuckles as he types in a code to the electronic lock. "The previous owners had it built during the cold war. I had it updated, as you can see," he says.

The bolts release with a pop, and he swings open the heavy thick door. "Ironically, to protect themselves from the Russians!"

Nate doesn't get the joke, but he laughs along with his pal anyway. It sounds funny. When Stani throws on the light, it's not so funny anymore.

Nate's jaw drops as he follows Stani inside. The room is an arsenal with wall-to-wall weapons, seriously scary-looking stuff. "Jesus-H-Christ, Stani! What the fuck is all this shit?"

Stani beams. "You like?"

At first Nate is amused, but then the gravity of what he's looking at sets in. "Is that a fucking rocker launcher?" he asks, pointing to a stacked case against the wall.

"Stinger anti-aircraft weapon," he smiles.

"My God, Stani! You shouldn't have any of this shit. What, are you selling this stuff?" At this point Nate remembers of his old off-duty piece in his ankle holster.

"This is nothing. Come here, I show you something really cool," Stani says, waving him over to yet another vault-like door. After dialing up the combination, Stani pulls open the double doors and steps away for Nate to see. Two large steel suitcases, both with a dull green paint finish and lettering that he can't read, but knows it's Russian. Then he hears a series of metal clicks.

Turning around slowly, he finds Stani holding up an AK-47, stroking it in admiration. "But of all these toys, this is perhaps the finest. Brilliant in its simplicity. Rugged, durable and cheap to manufacture."

Nate is seriously shitting now. Sweat begins to make his brow glisten. He wants to go for his gun, but he and Stan have known each other for years. "What's in the suitcases, Stan?"

Still admiring the weapon, Stani breathes deeply, then releases it as a sigh. "Nightmares, Nathan, nightmares." He racks the first round into the chamber. "They are tactical nuclear weapons, bought here some twenty years ago. Now I have to set them off."

Nate really wants to think he's kidding. He starts to crack a smile, but he knows its no joke. "Stani, what the fuck? Why would you want to do that?"

Stani shrugs. "I have to. Those are my orders, you see."

Now Nate's head is racing. The old cop never thought retirement would come to this.

"We have been friends for a long time. Do you trust me, Nate?"

"You know I do, Stan..."

"You have been like an older brother to me, so believe me when I tell you, I do this because I love you, and I don't want you to suffer as the others will."

Stani levels the assault rifle and places a round right between Nate's eyes. He is dead before his hits the floor.

"Good night, my good man. I will see you on the other side," Stani says softly.

Chapter 21

Elkton, MD

Along a quiet little road that runs to the edge of the Elk River is a big house that seems to be rarely used. Now and then the neighbors see lights on and SUVs in the driveway, but never any people. The rumors about who owns the place range from sports figures to actors. Someone said they once saw Brad Pitt outside, but since the traffic going to and from usually consists of dark sedans or SUVs instead of Maybachs or Lamborghinis, no one can say for sure. The mailman doesn't even know, since there is never any mail.

What lies beyond the stylish but intruder-sensitive fence is a safe house, a quiet place where government agencies can hide witnesses or other guests. The "guest" today is Moody, and although the accommodations will satisfy any celebrity, he is far from comfortable. He's been cooling his heels for a while now in a locked bedroom with sealed windows when a couple of guys come to take him downstairs to the interview room, sparsely furnished with a couple of chairs and a table space with a one-way mirror. He can't help to notice the drain on the floor.

Bob is waiting for him. "Ah, Mr. Barabi. Come in and have a seat."

"I want a lawyer, I know my rights. You cannot hold me without charge!"

His escort pushes him into the chair.

"Oh, I know, but I don't think you want a lawyer right now. I think that you'll want to hear us out, and actually give us a hand with something," Bob smiles.

"I have done nothing wrong. I am a friend of your government...."

"Mr. Barabi," Bob talks over him, "or may I call you Moody?"

"Who are you?" Moody demands.

"My name is Bob, and right now I'm the only thing standing between your freedom and spending the rest of your life someplace very bad, one that will make Gitmo seem like a country club.."

Now Bob has his attention.

"You are wanted in connection with two murders, a U.S. citizen and a Russian national. Even if you do get a lawyer, I can assure you, you will be convicted. If we don't have enough evidence, we will create it. If that's not enough, we'll charge you with espionage, that is if we don't hand you over to the Saudis. You see, we know what Hamdi has asked you to do."

Moody's swallows hard.

Bob smiles at the sight. "Surprise! You've been betrayed." Moody looks at Bob dumbfounded, but a hint of opposition lingers in his eyes. Bob knows how to take care of that. "You are alone, Moody. No one knows, or probably cares, that you are here. If you don't want to help us, we will convince you otherwise. This room has a great track record of convincing. Perhaps you noticed the drain beneath you? Better men than you have seen their resistance flow down it, if you get what I mean."

He gets what he means. "What is in it for me?"

Bob is tolerant. "You want to negotiate?"

"Let us call it a signing bonus," Moody suggests smoothly. The fact that the CIA man even heard him out tells him they are desperate.

Bob sits back. "We want whomever you contacted here. Do that and we'll put you on a plane."

"And I also want a half million is cash."

"Anything else?" Bob asks pleasantly.

"I will need to think about it."

Bob stands up and heads for the door. "Well, you do that. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to freshen up?"

"Thank you, that would be nice."

"My pleasure."

The door opens for him, and as Bob steps out, three men step in, one carrying a medical backboard. Bob grabs the last guy before he goes in. "Make it fast, and try not to kill him."

"Your never going to let me forget that one, are you Bob?" the guy grumbles, shaking his head as he closes the door.

Chapter 21

Woodcrest Road

When the going gets tough, the tough go to a meeting. In true twelve-step tradition, she's reached out to another alcoholic in need of support, Dan McDowd. The pull of the bottle is strong, but regardless of how bad things are for her right now, they'll get even worse if Kate picks up a drink. So off she goes, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. God, however, loves to throw curveballs. A soon as she opens the door, she sees Michael waiting for her on the sidewalk, giving her a wave of anxiety. She keeps moving, head down. She can't deal with him now.

"I'm late for a meeting, Michael, what do you want?" she says evenly, rushing by him.

"I need to get some things."

"Not now, not when the kids are home."

He grabs her arm. She stops and looks at his hand with an icy stare, making him let go. He knows what she's capable of. "They're my kids too."

"Not now. Email me what you need. I'll leave it on the porch."

Now McDowd comes walking down the sidewalk, feet crunching on the dry leaves.

"I'm taking Julie's brother to a meeting. I've got to go," she says, leaving him standing in the driveway.

Seeing McDowd pisses Michael off. "You're far from perfect yourself, Kate!" he shouts after her, but Kate ignores him. "I'm not as stupid as you might think I am. We all have our secrets, don't we, Kate?"

Kate stops dead in her tracks. He's got her attention now. _"There's no way he can know...can he?"_

She wants to have the discussion now. She wants to ask him what he means by that, but she can't, not now. Not in front of McDowd. "Send me the email and call my cell tomorrow." They get in and drive away, leaving Michael standing there.

"Sorry, you had to see that," she says.

"It must be tough, but that's why we have meetings, right?"

"Thank God for that," Kate sighs, not sounding entirely convinced anymore. She feels like an old camel, already struggling under the weight and having another steamer trunk tossed onto her back.

"Are we going to be late?" McDowd asks.

"Naw, it's just five minutes from here," but she drives as if they will be.

"So how's Bone's family doing?" he asks.

"They're a strong bunch. Really nice people, deeply spiritual. Thankfully, it's all over tomorrow."

McDowd shares his bittersweet memories about his pal until Kate parks and they both get out. "Are you going to the service?"

"No, I have a meeting I have to go to. I guess I'll miss seeing you in uniform," she smiles.

"I can always wear it for Julie's Halloween party."

Kate scowls. "Isn't there a rule about that?"

"I guess it might be a little too frightening for some," he laughs.

The meeting clubhouse is located in a small strip mall in the center of town. As they near the entrance, McDowd quietly asks, "So, what kind of meeting is it?"

"A closed speaker meeting," Kate tells him.

"Who's speaking?"

"How about you?"

Dan stops in his tracks. "You're joking, right?"

"My speaker called in sick. I can ask someone else."

"Well, you know . . ." McDowd waffles. There aren't many social faux pas in AA, but one is declining an invitation to speak, if you're qualified.

"How much time do you have?"

"About two years, but..."

"And when was last time you spoke?"

He paused before answering. "I don't remember."

She lets him come to his own conclusion.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Some things just fall into place. Did I mention it's a woman's meeting?"

He stops dead in his tracks.

"Only kidding, come on," Kate giggles as they go inside.

Across the street, an old friend watches Kate as she goes inside. He is far from a secret admirer. He watches because it is his job. Just like the alcohol, he waits for the slip, the little mistake that regardless how careful we are, we make regardless. He wonders who this new man is, and if he is what he's been waiting for. Either way, he knows Stani will be interested.

Chapter 22

Elkton, Maryland

The tool has been honed over time. The Inquisitors of the Catholic Church called it _The Water Cure,_ a divinely revealed method of obtaining the hidden truth lurking in the mind's darkest shadows. It was as easy to administer then as it is now.

Moody is strapped upside down to a medical backboard, totally immobilized as if he has a back injury. His mouth is stuffed with a rag and a pillowcase is pulled tightly across his face, both soaked by the constant stream of water supplied by a garden hose. He is drowning. His body convulses and shudders. His mind knows they won't let him die, but his body can't be reasoned with. All he can do is pray they won't do it again. Unfortunately, they will.

Whether or not they will do so a third time will be entirely up to him.

Moody cowers when Bob comes in.

"Good morning," he says cheerily, holding out a steaming cup of tea and a wool blanket. "Are we done playing games now?"

Moody nods his head _._

"Will you ID the contact you made here?"

"Yes," Moody shivers.

"Are they armed with nuclear weapons?"

"Yes, that is what I am told."

Bob throws him the blanket, "Where?"

"Pennsylvania," he says, holding his hand out for the hot beverage.

Chapter 23

Glenside, PA

In the back of the Sahara Club is a pay phone. When it rings, someone picks it up because it's usually an alcoholic in trouble. This time it is Kate's sponsee, Sheila.

Kate pulls up to a small house at the end of a dead-end street. The block is filled with starter homes and rentals, places for those on the way up or on the way down. Sheila moved in with her fiancé close to six months ago.

A cold breeze makes the dry leaves clatter like little bones, and a wind chime rings out a lonely note. As she climbs the porch stairs, Kate sees that front door is ajar. Looking down the dark hall, in the kitchen's fluorescent light, she can see a chair knocked over. She instinctively reaches for the gun she doesn't have.

Every muscle tightens, every sense becoming hyper aware. She takes a breath and slides inside, and then pauses to let her eyes adjust and her ears search the surroundings.

" _The furnace, the refrigerator, and upstairs, the shower."_ Kate can see the place is a mess. Sheila's bag has spilled on the floor.

" _She's here."_

Kate climbs the stairs, staying close to the wall, following the sound of the running water. At the end of the hall, the bathroom door is half opened, and steam rolls out from the top. Slowly she pushes the door open.

"Kate?" Sheila whimpers.

Kate rushes in and pulls back the shower curtain, finding Sheila curled up on the tub floor. The little remaining clothing she has on is torn, and a thin ribbon of red streams to the drain from underneath her.

"You always said to cry in the shower."

Kate turns off the water and gets in, gently pulling her sponsee to her. "Oh, Sheel, what hap—" Kate stops in mid-sentence when she gets a look at her face, one eye nearly swollen shut, and the other well on its way.

"What happened?" Kate's anger betrays her accent again.

"He came home drunk and wanted me to party too," Sheila snivels. "I didn't drink, Kate, aren't you proud of me?"

Kate gets her up and out of the stall, wrapping her in a bathrobe and her head in a towel, covering her face. "You bet your ass I am, but we've got to get you to the hospital, girlfriend. Just hold on to me." Taking her will be faster than an ambulance.

Kate guides Sheila down the stairs and sits her on the landing to scoop up her bag. Suddenly headlights blast through the front windows.

Brian is home.

The lights and the Metallica turn off, returning the two women to darkened silence.

Leaving Sheila sitting there, Kate bounds out the door, straight down the stairs directly at Brian, staggering with a six-pack under one arm.

He doesn't notice her until she's upon him. "Who the fu—"

She first strikes the kneecap, inverting the joint with a sickening _CRACK_. Almost instantly, she springs to deliver a sweeping roundhouse kick to his head, silencing his scream, nearly spinning him around. The attack is swift, vicious and brutal but at the same time graceful and flowing. Landing at the ready, Kate takes a second to assess the effects. He should have hit the ground already, but the booze keeps him up, numb to the pain that would have made even her pass out. Instead, he begins to organize a counter strike, extending an arm in an attempt to form a punch with his right.

She feels not an ounce of fear, despite the bum being nearly three times her size.

" _Finish him!"_ Katrina smiles in her inner darkness.

The impulse is difficult to resist, like that of a wild predator set off by the scent of blood. All the rage stored inside—Michael, Stani, her past, her future, all ready to be released.

" _NOW!"_

The command is like a sudden suicidal impulse to turn the steering wheel into oncoming traffic. An unseen power is waiting to pull her over the line—but Kate, not Katrina, is in control.

"No."

Kate lets the arm move past her as he stumbles forward. Moving left, she grabs his wrist, stepping inside to trip him and using his falling weight to dislocate his shoulder with a horrible pop. He drops face first into the lawn, his nervous system finally giving in to the agony.

Kate stands over him. A couple of well-placed shots to his throat will cause his larynx to swell, cutting off his airway.

"That could be me," Kate reminds herself. "He's sick, just like me." She knows she has no right to judge the poor slob. She's just as powerless over alcohol as he is. Her simmering rage begins to cool, but she still has a job to finish.

One by one, she opens the cans of the six-pack and pours them on the unconscious Brian. The sweet smell of the yeast sickens her, and each pop of the can calls to her with its tempting promise. Her lips frown in disgust as the golden liquid glints in the streetlight, a pool of white foam expanding around his head.

Kate lets the last empty fall from her hand, bouncing off Brian's head with a TONK.

"Last call," Kate whispers, and then dashes back inside.

"Did I hear Brian?" Sheila asks as Kate guides her to the car, the towel still covering her blackened eyes.

"He passed out, honey, don't worry about him."

Chapter 24

Holy Redemption Hospital

It is a slow night in the ER, so poor Sheila is getting special attention. Kate makes a quick call home to check on Tom and Robbie. Everything is under control, and she promises not to be home too late. She returns to the cubical where they are treating Sheila.

Despite the beating she took, she has suffered no fractures, but she'll need stitches above one of her eyes. Luckily, the husband of ER's head nurse, a plastic surgeon, offers to do the needlework for the physician's assistant. On the whole, she'll be all right, though they'll keep her overnight for observation and to keep the lawyers happy.

When Kate returns, the social worker on duty is talking to Sheila.

"Kate, this is Leslie," Sheila says.

"Hello."

"Hi, Kate, could you give us a minute?" Leslie says with quiet discretion. "We need to discuss something privately."

"No, no, Leslie, it's okay. Kate brought me in, she's my best friend." The social worker seems hesitant. "She's my AA sponsor," Sheila adds.

"Oh, okay then." Leslie seems relieved. "We were talking about the assault."

Another woman knocks gently on the door, this time a nurse. Leslie makes the introductions, adding, "Alison is a Sexual Abuse Nurse Examiner."

"A SANE nurse. There aren't a lot of us around here, pardon the pun," Alison jokes.

"They want to know if I'm going to press charges," Sheila explains.

"To be honest with you, sweetie, you should feel lucky to be alive," Kate nods. "The next time, you may not be so lucky. Any man that would do this to a woman should be locked up."

"But he was drunk."

"I'm not a cop," Leslie says, "but from what I understand and what I've seen, this is border-line between aggravated assault and attempted murder."

Kate leans into her friend. "Sheel, you know me, I'm willing to give anybody the benefit of the doubt, but this," she shakes her head, "is just too far over the line."

"Everything was fine until I quit drinking, you know. This is your fault."

At first Kate isn't sure if she heard right. Something allowed the delusion to sneak back in. Kate realizes her sponsee is at a crossroads, suddenly in danger of being lost, perhaps for good. If Sheila decides against pressing charges, that very will might happen. Kate can see her future; Sheila and the fiancé Brian will get back together again. He's in desperate need of the program too. He'll quit for a while, but the pressure will build. Eventually they'll be right back in the same place, only worse.

Kate slowly rises from the edge of the bed and turns to the two women. "Girls, would you give us a couple? My pal here and I need to chat." She shoos then out into the hall, slides the glass door shut, and pulls the curtain closed. Kate looks at Sheila, and her heart sinks. "God, I love her so much, tell me what to do."

When she sees a hand mirror sitting on the counter, she recognizes God's answer and sits on the bed next to her.

"Sheila, Sheila!" The kid is starting to fade. "I want to show you something."

Sheila opens her one good eye and looks at Kate, and then the mirror. "Oh, Christ! No!" she moans.

"Sheila, sweetie, _I_ didn't do this, _you_ didn't do this. Booze did this!"

"Please, Kate."

"You've been given another chance, a new chance to get free. You can't save him; only Brian can save Brian. You have to save yourself and stop him from doing this again, if not to you, maybe to your kids, your daughter."

"Kate, stop!" She tries to turn away, but Kate forces her head back.

"Look at this, damn it! This isn't love! You came between him and his booze, and what did he do after he did this? He went out and got some more!"

Sheila breaks down, but Kate doesn't let up.

"That's right, feel the pain, and never forget it! If you do, you'll never have to feel this way again." Kate nuzzles up to her. "Please, Sheila, I don't want to lose you."

"Why does it have to be this way, Kate?"

"I don't know honey. I know it isn't fair, nobody said it was going to be, but it's real, it's the truth. God only gives us what he thinks we can handle. So I guess it's because we can take it."

After a few minutes, Kate lets the two women back into the room. Before leaving, Kate gives Sheila a kiss on the head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As she walks out, Sheila stops her. "Kate!"

She turns.

"I love you, Kate." The shyness in Sheila's voice makes Kate smile.

"I love you too."

Then she leaves to let the women do their work.

Kate has almost left the hospital when a male voice calls her name. "Kate, hey wait up."

It's John H., her cop friend from the _rooms_.

"Hey, I heard about Sheila. How's she doing?"

"She's really got smacked around, but she's tougher than a lot of people give her credit for. She'll be all right," Kate assures him with a tired smile.

The cop jabs his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the ER. "We just brought in the boyfriend. Anonymous 9-1-1 call. Found him out cold on the front lawn. She going to press charges?"

"I hope so, poor kid. Why'd you bring him here?" Kate asks, surprised.

John H. pauses, thinking deeply about what he is going to say next. "You brought her in, right?"

"Yeah, why?''

"Did you see him when you were over at the house?"

"No. He wasn't there," Kate answers, twisting the truth a bit. "Why?"

"Well, looks like he tuned up himself," John confides.

"Fall-down drunk."

John shakes his head. "Not this. Broke knee, arm almost twisted out like a hot wing. Somebody poured a whole six pack on his head."

That makes her laugh. "Well, that's just too fucking bad, poor guy!"

John knows Kate's abilities. Several times a years, she gives a class to the department on advanced self-defense techniques. He steps in closer and lowers his voice.

"You _sure_ you weren't there when he got back, because I'd understand. He doesn't remember, and none of the neighbors saw or heard a thing."

They stare deeply into each other's eyes, John searching for a truth and Kate trying to conceal it, but she cannot lie to him. "You know, I've met Brian before, a real nice guy when he's sober. Sheila called the clubhouse after he took off. He was gone by the time I got there," Kate says with defiance.

John knowingly grins, the uncomfortable moment made more so by his jingling pocket change. "My guess is that he pissed someone off and they followed him home. I say _they_ because of the damage."

"Drinking beats up all of us, John. All we can do is hope we learned something from it," Kate nods solemnly, convinced the jig is up.

Then the cop smiles. "Well then, I'd better get back. Good night, Kate."

"Night, John." Kate begins to relax, but then he stops, looking at something in his hand.

"By the way, I found this at Sheila's. Maybe you dropped in when you were there."

Between his finger and thumb, he holds up a bronze AA coin, the Roman numeral X is at its center. She smiles as he hands it to her.

"You must have dropped it _before_ you went in. I found it under Brian."

Her embarrassed blush is unmistakable.

"You did good, Kate. Thank goodness you're on our side," John says walking off with a smile, leaving her holding the coin.

25

Woodcrest Road

If all those king's horses and all the king's men had managed to put Humpty Dumpty together, he would probably have suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. It's hard to fix a broken mind. No matter how carefully you glue it back, it's never going to be the same. The cracks will always allow the nightmares to seep through, as they do into poor Kate's dreams.

Looking up, white streaks of snow come out from the darkness, while others float lazily across her field of vision.

" _How beautiful,"_

It makes her happy for a moment, the wet flakes tickling her nose. She almost giggles. Then the cold comes back, and the nauseating pain.

"What happened, where am I?"

She wipes a flake from her eye, only to see streaks of blood, " _MY blood?"_ smeared across her pale arm.

"My pants!"

It returns now, where she is, and what has happened. It always does.

Painfully, she tugs the long winter coat back down to cover her legs as far as it will go, and pulls it closed across her. She looks left and sees the barracks and the orange glow from the windows, smoke rising up into the black. Then she looks right, the bottle of vodka, stuck in the snow. She crawls over to it. "Still some left!"

On her knees, she guzzles it down, indifferent to the pink wisps of blood in the backwash. It stings her mouth, until the warm rush takes it all away.

"Thank the saints I'm still drunk!"

A muffled burst of laughter comes from the building.

"Fuckers," she growls, remembering more details.

" _Too bad it hadn't happened in blackout,"_ she thinks _._ They had been like brothers to her. No longer.

Shakily rising to her feet, she staggers to the barracks door, the seething rage and the vodka erasing the pain. Slowly and quietly, she enters the dark hall and a few of the flakes follow her in. Behind a closed door, comes the smell of tobacco, the sound of music and spurts of laughter. She smiles; they are enjoying themselves.

" _I'll give you something to laugh about, comrades."_

She removes an AK-47 from the gun rack on the wall. Calmly, quiet as a mouse, she checks the magazine and chambers the first round _._

" _I can use this on myself, or use it on them. Either way, I'm dead,"_ she giggles. There is no way she will let them get away with it, not after the trust they broke. The only justice they will receive is from her.

The training has done its job, relieving her of the burden of conscience. She has lost it, and actually finds herself enjoying the madness. The weapon hangs from her right arm, close to her coat as she opens the door to the room. At first, they don't notice her, then one of the two facing the door, cigarette dangling from his mouth, looks up. His surprise spurs the other to turn around. He bursts into laughter, "Hey, look! I told you she'd be back for more!"

She can't help giggling herself, picturing her wet matted hair, the striped T-shirt, ripped winter overcoat, naked from the waist down.

She squeezes the trigger.

The smile still hangs on his face even after she places the second round dead center into his forehead, sending the contents of his head onto the green wall behind him.

"Christmas colors!" she giggles again.

The two with their backs to her are next. One shot each, perfectly placed at the base of their skulls, exceptional shooting. Everything moves in slow motion as if she has all the time in the world. The fourth begins to stand, hand fumbling for a sidearm.

She laughs once more, making him stop, thinking perhaps she won't shoot. The smell of gunpowder crosses the threshold of her mind. He is about to say something, so she purposely shoots him in the mouth, throwing him back over the chair.

Still alive and awake, but powerless to do anything, all he can do is watch as she approaches. The gun he tried to pull is now out of his reach. He is inhaling blood, coughing and choking as the wound bleeds into his throat. She makes sure he sees her, giving him a kick in the leg. Their eyes meet. His are filled with fear, but her eyes are distant, like the eyes of an animal, a predator.

Her training is finished. She is now exactly what they wanted. They had plenty of whores, they wanted a killing machine.

One last smile, one last shot. He closes his eyes before it comes.

"All done."

The radio continues playing its sad accordion music, mourning lost love. Looking up, she sees the commanding officer, Major Petre Kurtsin, standing at the door in a T-shirt, suspenders dangling from his uniform pants. There is nothing more to say or do, she does not raise the gun. He looks over the scene, and then at her, quickly understanding what it means, looking pleasantly surprised. Then his face changes slightly, looking past her. She doesn't understand until something slams into the back of her head, creating an explosion of colors. She collapses to the floor.

Now she is the one looking up, and recognizing the face that appears above her, she understands.

"Sasha, why didn't you protect me?"

Part IV

"Since mankind has existed, wherever life has been, there also has been the faith that gave the possibility of living. Faith is the sense of life, that sense by virtue of which man does not destroy himself, but continues to live on. It is the force whereby we live. If Man did not believe that he must live for something, he would not live at all."

\- Leo Tolstoy

Thursday

Chapter 1

Moscow

Anton Khordikofski is first among equals. As one of a number of deputy defense ministers, he is top dog because he is closest to the minister himself. He is the trusted protégé of a powerful man, and with that trust comes many privileges, and more money than he'll ever be able to spend. Back in the old days, no one was really above suspicion, bread by the paranoia of the communist state, and anyone who remembered Stalin could understand why.

Thankfully those days are long gone, and many suspicions or transgressions can be easily over looked with a little bit of cash. For Anton this is a very good thing, because he is also a spy.

He is not motivated by ideology or religion, nor has he been blackmailed into betrayal. His motivation is simple greed, although he has never accepted a single euro for his work. His currency is information, which often is priceless.

He learned this early on, starting his career in the archives, where all the bones are buried. When someone had something pulled, he made a point to read it, if and when it was returned. He is not surprised when the file he's interested in now is missing. It only confirms it's importance, and value. No big deal, he gets what he needs somewhere else. Now he just has to send it along its way. They're just pictures, after all.

Although Khordikofski would never be considered a security risk, he gets a security detail for his own protection, which can make things a bit challenging. His Mercedes S class sedan comes complete with a coveted blue flashing roof light, and an armed and skilled driver, allowing him to speed through the crazed Moscow traffic. It makes for a nice life, most of the time.

The material he wants to pass on is time sensitive, which makes it even more of a challenge, meaning that he may have to fudge some of his own security rules, like planning. So he wings it. "Sergie, I need a good fuck," he tells his driver.

Sergie looks at his passenger in the rearview mirror. With a smile he diverts to his bosses' favorite cathouse. He doesn't mind the side trip. Although Sergie could never afford the girls there, the boss always springs for a few drinks and a lap dance, the price for his silence should Mrs. Khordikofski ask. After all, we all have our secrets.

Once they arrive at the lavish flat, Anton disappears behind the beaded curtains while Sergie relaxes in the spacious and well appointed waiting room. Before he knows it, the thirty minutes are up and Anton emerges with his usual big smile. Sergie downs the rest of his drink, gets the boss his coat, and leads the way out into the chilly night.

"A short one, boss," Sergie comments.

"I think the young lady would beg to differ, Sergie."

Khordikofski smiles, thinking not only of the adorable young woman, but also of the small flash drive he left behind.

Chapter 2

Abington

After seeing her boys off to school, Kate has an appointment to keep. She'll park far from the meeting location and run from there. She normally doesn't run with a fanny pack; they come loose and throw her balance off, but she has to make the exception today to carry her gun.

Elayna follows, thrilled by how cute she looks in her running outfit.

"And she has two children? Astounding shape!"

While Elayna tails Kate, Kreichek has the two mechanics and Hutnikov the bicycle man.

She follows her to the campus of the local college, where Kate parks next to the track. After a stretch, she begins by running around the oval.

Elayna sips on her coffee as she watches Kate runs off the track, then out of the lot and out of sight.

"Shit! Where are you going?"

She starts the car and pulls off after her. At the entrance to the main street, she sees her receding down the rolling country road.

"Damn it!" If she follows, she'll be spotted. Elayna calls her partners.

It is a perfect day for a run, not too hot, not too cool. Kate wears the right balance of clothing. Her black spandex running tights keep her warm while her yellow and black trimmed running jacket's front zipper regulates the upper body. Her long blond ponytail keeps time to her pace, and her yellow tinted shooting glasses add a warmth and clarity to morning sunlight. She loves the area, the last real stretch of country, holding off suburbia. The sight of the dazzling red maples set against the cloudless cobalt sky thrill her. The road takes her past horse farms and estates, their big pastures framed in white fences, the grass mellowing to autumn gold.

Kate goes through her morning prayers, expressing her gratitude. But now she must break a rule, one that's she's tried to hold herself to since she's received her gift of sobriety.

She prays for herself.

"Dear God, I don't ask for a lot. Will you give me the courage to accept what it is you have planned for me?"

She must have prayed a zillion times for those who do dark things so that others can live in light. Only now does Kate finally realize she'd been praying for herself all along.

Chapter 3

Ezekiel Baptist Church

"I want to read to you an e-mail I received from James," Reverend Ellwood Wall says from his pulpit while putting on his reading glasses.

"Dear Ellwood, I hope this finds you and yours in good spirits. I just now had an opportunity to call home, but couldn't get through to anyone. So the next best thing to a phone is an e-mail. Today is a good day, believe it or not. There was a time when I thought this place was broken for good. I know you always told me to never give up hope, and I feel ashamed that I'd forgotten that. Not anymore. As long as it's alive in someone's heart, it will grow and spread like the morning light. I can see it now every day, like in the smile from a child, a thank-you from a shopkeeper, and every now and then, some halfway decent BBQ ribs."

That makes everyone chuckle. Wall waits for them to quiet down.

"I feel good that in a small way I've made a difference here, regardless of the why. If I can leave this place just a little bit better than I found it, then I've done my job. I don't know the Lord's plan, but I'm starting to see the results, and what they mean for everybody at home."

Edwards gives McDowd a sideways glance.

"Speaking of home, I'm counting the weeks left, and this time, it should be for good. With luck, I might even be home in time for Christmas. Tell my Mom to keep an eye out for a package I've sent, and tell her it's got a nice letter in there. When you see my boys, surprise them with a hug for me. Please tell them how much I miss them, that I love them and to mind their Grandma. I am so thankful for them all, and for your friendship.

Godspeed, James."

Wall folds the letter. "Thank you James, and Godspeed to you son."

The choir gently starts singing "Amazing Grace." It is getting tough for even a hardened delinquent like Edwards to keep a dry eye. Ellen and the boys go up to the casket, a magnificent deep cherry wood, for one last look at Bone. The boys steady their grandmother, her resolve to be strong terribly tested. The sight is gut wrenching, but both men are hoping the same thing, that Bone did not lose his life in vain.

Sometimes hope needs a hero.

]
Chapter 4

Huntington Valley, PA

Kate runs down a wooded path in the nature reserve next to the big cathedral. Its tall white towers peek through the bright foliage. It is not far now and she slows to a jog, and now stops to listen. Voices in the wind drift in her direction, guiding her. She is calm, although she is about learn her fate, like walking into a doctor's office for the results of a biopsy.

At the top of the rise, she sees them standing under a large oak, passing around a bottle. They fall silent when they see her.

" _You should_ _kill them all. You won't have the chance again,"_ Katrina warns.

The well-tended spot overlooks a sea of tall amber grass glowing in the autumn sun, a twisted contrast to the horror the small group has in mind.

"At last, the party can begin!" Eddy says.

Kate keeps her mouth shut, fearful of what might come out. It becomes harder to control her fear—and Katrina's rage; she wants to come out and play so very much.

"Enough pleasantries," Misha the mechanic says. He turns to Stani. "We've got a business to run. What's going on?"

The big gardener makes sure he has everyone's attention. "We have orders to proceed," he tells them.

Stunned silence falls over them as they all make sure they heard right. Kate sits down on the bench, her hands between her legs.

Val suddenly bursts into laughter. "Ha! You almost had us, you fuck!" The others look hopeful, thinking that perhaps it is just a sick prank.

Stani smiles sadly. "No joke. I have received the orders. Our nice little vacation is over."

"Stani, this is impossible. Things might get a little testy at times, but an all-out attack? That's impossible," Eddy says.

"There's no way it can be real," Val adds, offering the bottle to Kate. She shakes her head, making him raise an eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter. The order is clear. We have seventy-two hours. "

"This has to be a mistake, Stani," Eddy presses.

" _We_ do not question orders!" Stani says with an annoyed edge. "Obviously you have forgotten who we are. _We_ are Spetsnaz! Our nation, our brothers and sisters and their children are depending on us to do what we have been trained to do."

Kate can no longer hold back. "Stani, I have children here."

"Ha! See? I warned you, Stani, they should have spayed her like the stray she is!" Eddy laughs. "Do we have to drown the kittens?"

She snaps.

With blinding speed, Kate moves from a sitting position and springs at Eddy. With a sweep to the legs, she takes his feet out from under him and spins him face down into the dirt while pulling out her gun. With her knee in his back, she pulls his head back by the little hair he has, placing the barrel on his temple.

"Say it again, you shit!"

Before he can answer, she hears the unmistakable sound of another gun being cocked, just behind her ear. "Kati, ease up," Stani says soothingly.

Kate shakes, trying to control the rage.

"That's an order, Lieutenant," he says more firmly.

After a beat, she drops his head and eases the hammer back. Then, spitting at the ground next to him, she springs back to her feet like a gymnast.

"Well then, a quick reminder of respecting rank, but I'm happy to see I'm not the only one who's stayed sharp."

The others had been content just to watch, but now they help Eddy up.

"Next time I will let her kill you," Stani warns. "Now, we must complete the task before Saturday night."

He continues to lay out the plan and issues orders to the stone-faced group.

"Our jump-off time will be four AM Saturday. Katrina and I will prep the weapons tomorrow. You three," Stan says to the men, "are to update the target information. We will have an equipment check tomorrow afternoon."

Then Stani eases his demeanor slightly. "Fortunately, we are lucky that we can tie up our loose ends before leaving, but don't make me have to find you. That will not turn out well. Understood?" Major Stanislaw Rostov warns. "No one will be allowed to jeopardize the mission."

"Yes sir," they respond, but not very enthusiastically.

"Good, you have your orders. Dismissed," he tells them.

As they start to move off mumbling, Stani gestures for his second in command to stay. He says nothing until the others are gone.

"Where have you parked, Katrina?"

"Over at the college track."

"I'll drive you over."

They walk down a path leading to the groundskeeper's compound.

"Not only have you kept your edge, you've sharpened it, Katrina."

"How so?"

"I've never seen you turn down a drink."

"I stopped ten years ago."

"It is amazing how the time has gone by. I was worried about you back then."

This observation chills her, but she doesn't show it. People who worried their superiors usually ended up dead. He points to his truck and they both get in.

"But," he continues, "I gambled that once Sasha was gone, things would turn around for you. I was right."

They ride in silence, letting the fall countryside roll by, until Stani finally states the obvious. "Eddy is right; you should not have had the children. That was a selfish thing for you to do."

"I know," Kate says sadly, realizing more fully the extent of the tragedy. "It was a gamble I should never had taken." She had put their lives at risk the moment she gave them life.

"Do I have to worry about you?"

It is a real life or death question, and how she answers is just as important as the answer itself. " _Perhaps I'd be better off."_

"I know my duty, and the debt I owe the _Rodina_."

"You know what will happen if they become a distraction."

"I understand," she says, projecting stoic obedience.

"Good girl. You're one of the best. If it had been anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

She shifts in her seat. "May I speak freely, Major?"

"Always, Katrina."

"With all due respect of your fucking rank, your being alive is proof of my commitment. So now it won't be necessary for you to ever question my fucking loyalty again."

That shuts him up, but makes him smile.

"If I was you, I'd worry about those other slobs. They've got a lot more to lose than a pair of brats and a cheating husband," she continues, pushing the paranoia away from herself.

Stani laughs. "Hah! They're too afraid of me to run."

"That's me over there," Kate tells him as they pull into the lot.

He pulls next to her car. "Are _you_ afraid of me, Kati?" he asks, looking straight ahead.

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Not even God?"

"What God?"

Now he turns to her, looking for the lie, but he doesn't see one.

"Good! Then I'll see you tomorrow at noon. We'll prep the weapons," he says.

"I will be there." With that, she gets out.

Chapter 5

Kate lies on the hood of her car, basking in the warmth like a cat on a sunny windowsill. "I'm sorry I had to lie, I don't do it often," she tells God. "So, now what?"

God doesn't answer, but Katrina does. " _You've been such a good girl. I bet you're happy it's over."_

Kate closes her eyes, imagining she is standing before the door to the attic of her mind, the place where we all store the things we no longer want, but can't bring ourselves to throw away. When she was reborn by sobriety, this is where she locked away Katrina.

Kate opens the door and climbs the stairs to the only place they can come face to face. In a dusty corner, Katrina sits on the box Kate has filled with a life's worth of regret, illuminated only by the one small window.

" _You used to be so good at being bad,"_ Katrina says with a devilish gleam in her eyes.

"I'm beyond that now," Kate assures herself.

" _Are you, now?"_ Katrina laughs in surprise _. "But apparently not beyond delusion. You forget, your lies are no different than mine, they give us what we want."_

"I'm different now. I'm a good person."

" _Yes, a good friend, and a good mom,_ " Katrina agrees. " _And you're an exceptional liar and killer. It's all right here."_ Katrina taps the box. " _All the lies and all the bodies you think you can erase with your new and well-intentioned life. You can't, Kate, and it's that kind of bullshit that's landed us right where we are now."_

"That's enough!" Kate warns.

" _It's done, Cinderella, just mice and pumpkins. Time to come home. Only I can save you, Kate, from them and from yourself,"_ Katrina reasons. _"We only have each other now."_

"And the boys?" Kate asks.

" _I love them too, but they can't come with us. We'll have to let go of them, just like our mom did, for their own good,"_ Katrina says. _"But they'll be safe, I promise."_

"Can you promise me that we won't drink?"

" _Stop the bullshit. That's why never told your sponsor about me."_

That makes Kate stop dead in her tracks.

" _It's the lie of omission. Why? To protect me. You always wanted to come back, to me and to your magical glass slipper."_

That hurt. Katrina remembers everything Kate has chosen to forgot, especially the pet name for her bottles of vodka, her little glass slippers, just like the one left in the safety deposit box.

"I can change that!"

Katrina giggles again _, "And spend the rest of our life behind bars?"_

"The witness protection program."

" _You know they'll find us, and the kids—that is, if Tom and Robbie will have anything more to do with you. My mother, the terrorist, the spy! My God, how you'll break their hearts."_

"Stop!"

" _It doesn't matter how long or how far you run. The truth always catches up to you, doesn't it, Kate? Don't you see, it has to be this way!"_

"No, it doesn't."

Katrina sighs, _"You stubborn bitch. You're willing to risk it all over your stupid convictions."_

"My convictions are keeping us alive."

Chapter 6

Elayna's patience has paid off. Instead of freaking out, she waited for Katrina to return. After contacting Hutnikov and Kreichek, they concluded that the Spetsnaz group had met, and although Hutnikov thought it a missed opportunity to take them all out in one blow, Elayna knew better. Five Spetsnaz against one and a couple of SVR clowns were bad odds. Relaxed now, she watches as Katrina lies on the hood of her car, taking to herself, obviously upset.

"Were those bad men mean to you, sweetie? I'll fix them, you'll see," Elayna says sympathetically. "Just keep it together a little longer, and it will all be over."

Elayna knows Kate could easily come undone, having read about Katrina's dark past. The psychological assessments indicated post-traumatic stress disorder from her training incidents, with a dash of symptomatic schizophrenia. Her behavior, the killings, the cruelty, was calculated, not crazy. That's what makes her so unique and dangerous; there seems to be no limit to what she will do. "That's why she's here, one of the very rare."

Elayna reads aloud, just because she likes to. "Lieutenant Katrina Svetlana Primorski, GRU Spetsnaz, Second Directorate. Born in Leningrad. Became a ward of the Soviet Union at age six. Parents were dissidents and sent to the Gulag. Excelled in school, a leader in the party youth corps, applied to the Bolshoi but didn't get in, but served the state in the Red Army. Attends Frunze Military academy, top female graduate, third overall in her class. Assigned to GRU. Applies to Special Forces and survives. Special training with KGB, explosives, martial arts, marksmanship, field work in intelligence and counter intelligence. Afghanistan. Scores high on every evaluation, but no mention of the booze."

She knows the stories of how she can drink almost any man under the table, how she took her revenge on the men who raped her, and how she got caught up with Kurtsin's pig of a son. Then there were the killings in the labor camp, the dark ritual of Spetsnaz training, a barehanded kill.

"I wonder if she ever knew who her victim was?" Looking at the name on the dossier, even she can't help from getting a tinge of emotion. "So cold. So very cold."

Katrina had discovered she had a talent, and a taste, for murder. Elayna wondered if she herself could drift so far from humanity as to do what Katrina had done.

"Kabul is murky. The home office began to see your potential, and it scared the shit out of them."

The thought gives her pause. "A threat to Kurtsin himself? That's it, they controlled you with Sasha, and the alcohol. So that's why they didn't kill you. Instead they sent you both here, out of the way, poor thing."

"What a waste, but I'll fix that too, you'll see sweetie." she smiles.

Both Kate and Elayna looked up to the sky at the same time, drawn by the growing roar of military jets swooping down over the trees. Seeing the formation, Kate knows where they are going. They follow the A-10 Thunderbolts across the sky, low and slow in the missing man formation, honoring a fallen warrior. Both women realize that as soldiers they will never receive such an honor. Their kind never do.

As Kate watches the aircraft pass overhead, once again she gets that feeling that someone is watching her. Oddly enough, this time she doesn't feel threatened, and it makes her wonder why.

Chapter 7

Woodlawn Cemetery

The service for Sergeant James Washington, 3rd Battalion, 10th Mountain Division of United States Army, draws to the end. It has been a celebration of a man's life, a tribute to a fallen hero, and a heartbreaking goodbye to a father and son. Reverend Wall stands over Bone's casket and begins the 23rd Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."

Ellen leans on her sister, and the boys lean on her in the chairs lining the grave atop green AstroTurf. She thinks she'd be cried out by now, but it isn't the case.

"He maketh me lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me besides still waters..."

Wall recites dramatically with soothing, compassionate assurance. He rests his Bible on the flag covering Bone's casket, delivering the passage as if the mourners are hearing it for the first time. Bone is hearing it for the last.

McDowd stands behind the officer in charge of the honor guard. He looks at Edwards, and although they both wear sunglasses, they know they're making eye contact, mindful that the shadow of death is upon them all.

" _Speaking of my enemies_ ," Edwards discreetly steals a glance at his watch. " _Day's wasting."_

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord, forever."

"Amen." the assembled say.

Wall nods to the honor guard, and they set to work.

"Detail! Present arms!" the captain barks. The firing party snaps into position, the clacking of their weapons starting and stopping in unison.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!"

The gunshots jolt everyone. Ellen nearly jumps out of her seat. All those in uniform stand at attention, saluting as the fire team repeats the volleys twice more.

The last shots echoes off the nearby suburban homes and into silence before the bugler begins "Taps." Nearly to the second, the flight of A-10's arrive, and as they reach the gravesite, one breaks off and into a steep climb, its big twin engines thrusting it into the heavens while the soldiers fold the flag.

Once finished, the sergeant in charge presents the flag to the captain. After inspecting and adjusting the fold, he turns and stiffly walks over to Ellen and the boys. Bending over to her, he offers her the flag, but her sad smile stops him.

"Please, young man, not to me. To the boys." Ellen asks, remembering her friend.

Kate's suggestion.

The officer holds the star spangled banner out to Boo and Russ. "Gentlemen, this flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation of your loved one's honorable and faithful service."

Tears stream down their cheeks as they take the flag, the symbol of the country for which their father, in some way, had died protecting. The officer steps back and smartly salutes.

Reverend Wall offers the final prayer. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of eternal life, through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Closing his good book, and closing his eyes, he asks one last favor from his fallen friend. "Rest well, James."

Edwards remembers an old saying that used to freak the shit out of him, the one that says survivors of a nuclear war will envy the dead. He likes it even less now.

As the gathered begin to disperse, the gravediggers wait patiently at a respectable distance until only Edwards and McDowd remain.

"Go ahead, guys," McDowd shouts over to them.

"Thanks for getting me back here with him," he says to Edwards.

The winch begins lowering Bone into his hole and as they watch the grim labor, both dwell upon their own eventual departures.

Edwards is first to snap out of it. "Well, back to work, son. Let's see if we can turn this around." Edwards says, turning his cell phone back on as he walks off.

McDowd gives Bone one last look before following Edwards. "See ya, buddy."

Something makes him pause; a presence. He spots a flash of yellow off in the distance. He doesn't see who it was, but he knows somehow it's Kate.

Chapter 8

Elkton, MD

Hamdi did not rise to his place in the Council of Guardians on the merits of his pious nature alone, though it didn't hurt. Like any good chess player, it is his ability to look into the future and anticipate the moves of not only his foes, but also his friends, that have made him successful. That is why he has sent Ish to care for his brother-in-law.

There are no good places for Ish to watch the house for any extended period of time without being noticed. Instead he has to take his chances by watching where the country road meets the state highway, the only way in and out and the route they'll have to take to get to the interstate. The parking lot of a diner gives him a lucky perch. It's busy enough to not be noticed.

Around 11:30am, a pair of black SUVs emerge from the road. He cannot see past the tinted glass, so he has no idea if Moody is inside. He does, however, feel quite confident that the little coward has betrayed the cause. He has no choice but to follow. He will know if he's made the right decision when they get to I-95. When they head north to Philadelphia, he smiles. He likes Pennsylvania, especially their lax gun laws, thinking of his new Remington .306 in the trunk.

Chapter 9

Willow Grove Diner

Elayna and the guys sit in a window booth overlooking the runway of the Naval Air Station. The dinner rush has their waitress running, so she doesn't care that they've camped out at the table. Hutnikov thumbs through a men's magazine and Elayna works on her laptop. Kreichek points to an article in the local paper for Hutnikov to see. He reads the headline, "Deadly chase leads to Russian spy ring...they killed that poor woman."

"She fucked up." Elayna announces without looking up.

The two men look at each other, stunned at her disregard.

"Ten people were arrested, our people, and an entire operation blown. Doesn't that even faze you?" Kreichek asks in amazement.

"No. Those idiots hadn't produced anything worthwhile in years. I checked. This operation is far more important than the garbage they were sending back," she explains. "If even one of these people gets away, or falls into their hands, the threat to the Rodina will be devastating."

"Better them than us," Hutnikov concludes.

That makes her smile. "I knew you're smarter than you look."

He gives her the finger.

" _One cold bitch,"_ Kreichek smiles. "So now what?"

"There are motels nearby. They probably have video grabs of us by now, so be evasive. You and I will check into one as a happy couple," she tells Kreichek, who looks at Hutnikov with raised eyebrows. "And you will check into a different one down the street. They will be looking for three together. Not a couple at one and a single at another."

Hutnikov looks hurt. "Why do I have to be the odd man out?"

"Because you're a man, you're odd, so you're out."

"And tomorrow?" Kreichek asks.

"We wait until dark and then move. First, the mechanics, then the bike man, the woman and the gardener. The weapons must be in his possession, most likely on his property."

"Yes, we figured that as well, but how do we find them?" Kreichek says.

She takes from her bag what looks like a smart phone. "This is a gamma radiation detector. It doesn't have much range, but once we're in the area we'll find them."

" _That's all we need to find our payday..."_ Kreichek thinks as he stares at the device. _"Once we have that, who needs her?"_

Chapter 10

Willow Grove Naval Air Station

"Dave? Bob. We're just getting off the highway."

"Wow! That was fast! What'd you'd bring us?"

"Hopefully a way out of this."

"That would be nice," Edwards tells him.

"Mr. Barabi has agreed to help us identify the man he met, but he's still a little foggy about exactly where that was. He tossed his directions, so we'll have to find the place."

"So when?"

"First thing. I don't want to show up empty-handed. I want a full tactical team on this. These people are military, after all."

"I'm sure Haddad will be happy to oblige," Edwards says sarcastically.

"Yeah, well, we'll talk about that. We can't afford another fumble. Our info on this is solid. We're stopping at a diner, you want us to get you something?"

"Got a pen?"

"Go ahead," Bob says as the driver finds a spot in the crowded lot. The second truck isn't so lucky. Bob's driver gets the other SUV's order and tells them to go on ahead.

With the list, Bob hops out of the truck and Moody tries to do the same.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bob says.

"I have to take a piss," Moody explains.

At first Bob hesitates, but then relents. "Stay with him," he tells the driver.

Edwards' lengthy list of delicacies include: fries with gravy, a pizza burger, aka "the red death," apple pie with cheddar, corned beef hash and eggs and a tuna melt. Bob considers a Reuben while holding the diner's front door open for a knockout brunette leaving the place. She gives him a dark smile in thanks.

Ordering a coffee at the counter, he takes in the classic American scene. Blue-haired seniors catching a bite before Bingo, second-shift workers in name-tagged uniforms, a spattering of cammos from the base, shirts, ties, and women in business suits bought from Macy's. The waitresses are straight out of central casting: rock candy, sweet but hard. Not a stitch of Armani or Prada to be found anywhere.

Bob is a little envious of his fellow diners; they have no clue of what is going on. Ignorance is in fact bliss.

"More coffee, sweetie?" the waitress asks.

"Sure, thanks."

His spot at the counter gives him a little entertainment, listening to girls chitchat and gripe about their customers.

"Finally got rid of those campers, huh?" one says to another.

"Yeah, those three didn't leave much, damn foreigners."

Bob smiles and shakes his head. His mind plays back the smile of the woman he had held the door open coming in.

Moody and the driver return from the john, and Bob gestures for him to take a seat at the counter and wait.

Chapter 11

Instead of a spot, Ish finds an opportunity, eyeing the large glass windows of the diner, and a parking lot across the busy four-lane street. From here, he can see everything going on inside the diner. Adrenaline jolts through his veins when he recognizes the old CIA agent sitting at the counter and Moody right next to him. He now knows what he must do, what Allah has created him for. He moves quickly to get the rifle from the trunk of the car, grateful for the darkness. No one will see him.

The gun is not properly sighted, but the distance is not that great. He chambers the first round before looking through the scope. He knows that he will only get off two or three shots at best. Now he finds his first target through the scope.

He smiles. "Sitting duck, they say..."

But whom does he take first?

Chapter 12

"You ordered me cheese fries?" Freaks angrily says to Edwards.

In response, Edwards holds out his hands in an expression of innocence. "An innocent mistake. My bad. You don't have to cry over it."

Freaks pulls on his jacket, scowling at Edwards. "I said cheese fries, not fries with gravy!"

"Jesus! Don't have a cow, brother! Just call him and tell 'em to change the order." Edwards didn't alter the order by accident. He prefers gravy. It is a prickly point that goes way back between the two men. It started as a debate, but escalated into an argument, and once nearly to blows when Edwards suggested that a preference to cheese fries is indicative of a lower IQ, despite Freaks having two master's degrees.

"Fuck that. It's two minutes down the road," he shouts. "Besides, it stinks in here!" he adds, storming out.

McDowd grabs his coat too. "Hold on, Freaks, I'll keep you company."

Chapter 13

The waitress behind the counter places the bags of food in front of Bob. "Here ya go, sweetie, don't get a tummy ache."

"Uh-oh, that doesn't sound good," Bob replies.

"Oh, it's good, just greasy."

The crash of breaking glass, not an uncommon sound in a diner, makes Bob turn around. An instant later, hearing a wet-sounding thud, he turns back to see a small red hole in the waitress's forehead, and blood sprayed all over the wall behind her, before she collapses to the floor. A woman screams.

The second shot brings down the whole front window. Bob drops for cover, pulling Moody with him, wondering where the second shot went. When he looks at Moody next to him on the floor, he knows. The round got him right in the eye.

Bob's driver crouches over him, screaming into the radio for help. Guns drawn, they look for targets. As Bob begins to move, he slips on the expanding pool of Moody's blood. He checks for a pulse that is no longer there.

Ish tosses the rifle into the back seat, jumps in, and tears out of the parking lot. He missed the CIA devil but did get the traitorous pig. Now all he has to do is get clear. By the time the police respond, he'll be long gone, and thanks to the darkness and the distance from the target, it is unlikely anyone would have seen enough to provide a description. He'll be out of the country in hours.

Hearing what's happening over the radio, Freaks punches it. He has his Crown Vic going so fast, he almost blows by the diner. He slams on the brakes, nearly throwing McDowd through the windshield and t-boning a car coming out of the lot across the street. Like a deer trapped in headlights, they see its driver look right at him. Freaks never forgets a face, and recognizes this one in an instant.

Kabul. The man in the window across the alleyway the night Bone was killed and his shit eating smile.

"Mother fucker..."

He punches the pedal again, throwing McDowd back into the seat. "What the fuck are you doing?" McDowd shouts, stumped why they're leaving the shooting scene behind.

"That's the fucker who shot your pal Bone."

Ish pulls out, not terribly concerned but watching the stopped car recede in his mirror. He glances away ahead, beginning to relax, but when he looks again, he sees the car coming on fast with its flashing lights. He too hits the gas of his rented Dodge Charger, weaving wildly between traffic on the busy street, hoping that sheer speed will scare off whoever is chasing him. He passes seventy. There is little margin of error now as he barrels through intersections without regard. He misses a mom in a mini-van packed with kids by a foot. No horn. No warning for the janitor crossing the street. The impact hurls him nearly fifteen feet into an oncoming truck.

That makes Ish smile, hoping that their pathetic empathy will make them give up the chase.

McDowd wants to help, but all he can do is give the play by play over the radio of the carnage left behind. Sideswiped drivers emerge from their cars, only to be scared shitless by Freaks' lights and siren screaming by the broken glass and twisted metal littering the intersections.

"Freaks! Dude!" McDowd warns.

"This fuck isn't getting away," he says.

"I know."

Looking back, Ish frowns seeing the flashing lights emerge from the pockets of chaos he's created. Time to try something else.

He jerks the wheel left, crossing into oncoming traffic, and then flies down the exit ramp to the turnpike. He shoots past the tollbooth doing eighty, and starts heading east in the westbound lanes.

The traffic is surprisingly light, with good reason. Cones block two of the three lanes. They're speeding the wrong way into a construction zone. Ish pushes his car past one hundred.

"Now I will expose you to be the cowards you are."

They have the empty lanes to themselves for a couple of miles, until they round a bend and see the yellow flashing lights of work vehicles ahead. Instead of backing off, Freaks puts the pedal to the metal.

They gain quickly on the car; the Crown Victoria's P-70 interceptor engine presses them into their seats. McDowd shoots Freaks a worried look, but he just smiles back.

"Watch this..." Freaks hits the high beams and rams the car, but it is not the classic pick maneuver.

The lights from behind and ahead nearly blind Ish. Then comes another jolt. He floors it trying to create some space.

The construction zone is less than half a mile away, but Ish is more focused on what is behind him than in front of him.

Freaks hits the siren, trying to get the attention of the work crew, but they can't hear it over the jackhammers. By the grace of God, one of crew looks up and sees the approaching lights and frantically alerts his coworkers.

With three hundred yards left, Freaks hits the brakes.

Ish see this and smiles, pleased with his seemingly correct assessment of the infidels.

What he doesn't see is the parked dump truck in front of him, until it is too late. He tries to veer around it, but catches the edge of the truck's front bumper, instantly making him lose control. The car slams into the wall sideways, bounces off and flips, rolling several times until it finally comes to a stop in a white cloud of concrete dust, illuminated by big work lights.

Freaks skids to a halt, and they jump out of the car. Guns drawn, they approach the overturned vehicle, its wheels still spinning. A rod of steel rebar has punctured the fuel tank. The smell of gasoline fills the air.

Heart pounding, aiming inside, McDowd stoops cautiously to look in. Ish hangs upside down, the seat belt holding him in place. "He's still alive," he shouts to Freaks. All Freaks does is offer him his own gun. McDowd looks up at him, confused at first, but then he understands. They hear sirens now, growing louder by the moment.

"We don't have much time," Freaks says quietly.

McDowd looks at the gun, but after a moment he shakes his head.

"I can't," he says sadly, although every ounce of him wants to.

Freaks nods solemnly.

McDowd walks away, leaving Freaks with the moaning suspect, pleading for help. Freaks crouches down to have a little chat with the man. "Tell me whom Barabi made contact with, and I will let you live," Freaks tells him.

Ish chuckles painfully, "This is America. You have your pathetic rule of law. I want a lawyer."

"I will ask you only one more time," Freaks presses as he fishes out a pack of cigarettes.

"I have the right to remain silent," Ish sneers back.

"Well, if that's really the way you want it," Freaks says as he lights up.

Ish suddenly realizes what is about to happen. "You cannot do this!" he shouts defiantly.

Freaks gets up and walks off. About ten feet away, he glares at the cigarette, and flicks it over his shoulder. "These things are deadly," he says aloud as it lands into the expanding puddle of gasoline behind him.

Chapter 14

Route 1, Northeast Philadelphia

Elayna and the boys pull into a motel parking lot, the classiest of the dozen or so hot sheet joints along the sketchy stretch of the city's main drag. Elayna gets out of the truck and walks back to Hutnikov's car.

"We're staying here. Go to that next one up there with the red sign. We'll meet you there at seven am."

"You're sure you don't want me to stay with you?"

She doesn't even dignify his last-minute appeal. "Go straight there and stay there. No trouble."

"Whatever," he drones, driving off.

Kreichek waits at the lobby door and they start acting the happy couple, though Kreichek's hands overplay the part.

They find their room, and the lovey-dovey charade ends.

"How unfortunate they only had rooms with king-sized beds," he jokes.

Elayna offers a mock laugh as she takes her bag into the bathroom and locks the door.

He knows there is probably no point in trying. " _Such a shame."_

Inside, Elayna opens her bag and takes out what she needs. _"A martini would be nice, a cosmopolitan better, but this will have to do,_ " she says of the plain vodka.

Getting undressed, she checks herself out in the mirror and likes what she sees. "I suppose it would be silly to pass up an opportunity, if time permits," she mumbles before taking a nice long pull from the French bottle. Its warmth hits quickly.

Elayna has been in the john for some time, leaving Kreichek to worry that if she fell asleep in the tub or something. He's heard the shower, then the sink, then the toilet, the sink again and then back to the shower. At one point, he began to smell burning hair. " _Has she set her head on fire?"_

After an hour, she finally comes out wearing a towel twisted up on her head and nothing else. Kreichek's jaw drops and he blinks to make sure what he is seeing is real. Elayna is beyond description, beautiful, perfectly toned, cut like a cat. He sits up as fast as his erection. She crosses the room, gently lobbing the vodka to him and draws the curtains closed, pausing a beat for him to take in the view.

He drinks mindlessly, not taking his eyes from her, recording the images for posterity. She reminds him of one of those lingerie models, but she has no secrets to hide.

Elayna turns off the desk lamp, plunging the room into the blue flickering light from the TV.

Hoping onto the bed, she straddles him at the knees.

"Well, let's see what you've got," she tells him. He needs no additional encouragement, undoing his pants to bring himself out.

Elayna smiles. "Well, looks like you've got some talent after all. Show me you know how to use it."

She tosses a condom onto his chest, then gets off him and goes to the dresser mirror. Watching him undress, she likes what she sees. He has a good build and not too much fur.

Elayna takes her hair out of the towel and brushes it. It finally dawns on Kreichek what she'd been doing all that time.

" _Cool. She's a blonde now!"_ He starts getting back into bed.

"No." She stops him, leaning suggestively with both hands on the dresser. "Over here, I like the mirror."

Kreichek is careful not to say a thing out of fear of blowing it. For her part, she has to admit it he's a handsome man. He gently runs his hands down her back and begins to massage her, working his way down. If she were a cat, she'd be purring. As one hand returns to her neck, the other reaches around her waist, reaching for her moist warmth.

" _Mmmmmm...Nice touch,"_ she thinks as his long fingers stroke her with gentle firmness, first with one finger, then two. Suddenly, a finger slides all the way in, causing her to moan with delight. His other hand moves from her neck to her breast, which he cups, his thumb rubbing the nipple. Now she can feel him against her cheeks. She lifts to meet him and reaches around to guide him in, slowly, wonderfully filling her.

He begins with her slowly, shallow strokes sprinkled with sudden deep thrusts, both drawing pleasure from watching the other and themselves. She likes her new blond hair, wet and wild. His rhythm increases, and his fingers return to her. Feeling him get close, she pulls away to slow him down. She is in control, and he doesn't mind.

He continues fingering fucking her, and before long Elayna reaches behind for him again, but this time he doesn't need her help. Now his rhythm is more intense, having regained his composure. She moans, "Yessss, hard."

She grips the top of the dresser as if holding on for dear life, his thrusts lifting her higher and higher, again a hand stokes her in front. It is dizzying.

"Now, call me Katrina."

Chapter 15

Willow Grove Diner

Edwards and Haddad find Bob sitting at the counter of the empty diner dipping a few fries into ketchup, unfazed by the death and destruction around him. Edwards laughs at the surreal scene, but Haddad tastes a tinge of nausea. He hasn't seen anything even close to what his CIA brothers have seen.

"The perp is dead," Edwards declares, stepping around Moody's drying pool of blood.

Bob sips his soda. "Why am I not surprised?"

"The car caught fire," Haddad says.

"So Freaks killed him." It isn't a question.

"It was an accident," Edwards says.

"Did he consider we might want to ask the guy a question or two?" Bob asks while chewing.

"He tried. No luck."

Bob pushes the plate away, "Great. Well, we did get something from Barabi, a general location and this," he says, unfolding an artists sketch.

"Where is that?" Edwards asks.

"He said the man he met was cutting the grass at a church with a tall white tower," Bob tells him.

"Well, let's go!" Haddad says, eager for a little redemption.

"Where? There has to be dozens of places like that around here, colleges, seminaries, churches. We can start, but it will take forever to check them out," Bob tells him.

"He said it was a large place. We'll start with the Main Line schools," Haddad sighs.

16

Route 1, Northeast Philadelphia

When you tell someone like Hutnikov not to do something, chances are he'll go right out and do it anyway, especially if he's a thirsty man.

Hutnikov finds his oasis, a liquor store with a restaurant and bar attached. First, the bar _. "Just a couple while I wait for the food."_

The couple becomes four in an hour, giving him a reasonable edge, but also the "poor me's" for being alone.

"They are probably fucking their brains out," he mumbles. Only the thought of killing her provides some comfort.

When his food is finally ready, he gets a six-pack and a pint of vodka, pays up and takes off. He continues to grumble as he walks to his car, juggling the packages trying to get out the keys. He drops them.

"Bastard!"

Across the street, hidden behind the tinted windows of a silver Ford Crown Victoria, someone is watching. The car idles with only its parking lights on, the exhaust rising into the cool night air. Hutnikov doesn't notice it, but its driver notices him.

He doesn't even get a quarter of a mile before the unmarked car hits him with the lights. At first, he doesn't think the cop is after him, but after the car follows him into the next lane and blasts a few _Whoops_ from the siren, his situation is pretty clear.

" _Pizda!"_ he spits, pulling into the parking lot of a vacant strip mall.

Highway patrol officers are the elite of a police department's members. Their uniforms hearken back to the style of the old mounted days: leather jackets, riding boots and attitude. Back then, though, there were zero blacks on the force, let alone on the Highway Patrol.

The cop makes Hutnikov stew a few minutes while he runs the tags.

"What the fuck is he doing?" he squints, trying to see beyond cruiser's blinding spotlights aimed into Hutnikov's mirrors.

Finally, a shadow alerts Hutnikov that the cop has gotten out of his car, and he watches his imposing silhouette grow unsettlingly larger in the mirror.

"A monster! This is not good _."_

He knows his documents are good, so he tries to relax. The cop is alone, but there will be another soon.

"Boy, did I fuck up," Hutnikov says to himself.

He quickly considers his options, none of them good, and to make matters worse, the buzz he has isn't making his head any clearer. The idea of spending the rest of his life in an American prison flashes in his mind.

He rolls down the window and slides out the gun Elayna gave him, checking the clip and chambering the first round. It will need to be a head shot.

Now the cop is upon him, his flashlight in his left hand and his right on his holster. He shines it right at Hutnikov's smiling face.

"Good evening, sir."

"Is there a problem, officer?" He watches the cop's eyes. It's up to him how this scenario will go down.

"Sir, you made an illegal lane change back there."

"I'm sorry, officer, I am a tourist."

"Sir, I detect a strong odor of alcohol. Have you been drinking tonight?" the cop asks with military sternness.

"A cocktail with dinner."

"May I have your license and vehicle registration, please?"

Hutnikov has them ready, handing them to the cop with his left hand. The officer's eyes travel from Hutnikov's face to his lap, where under the rental agreement he sees the barrel of a gun pointing right at him.

Hutnikov smiles as he pulls the trigger.

"CLICK."

It doesn't fire.

"Ohhhhh, FUCK!"

The cop doesn't wait. Dropping the flashlight, he draws his weapon and steps back into a combat shooting stance.

Hutnikov tries again.

Nothing.

There is no order to drop the weapon. Helplessly, he holds up a hand defensively while fumbling to get the car in gear.

The cop opens fire. First a neck shot. Hutnikov's hand starts to reach up but stops as the second round breaks off a chunk of his skull. With muzzle flashes mixing with the patrol car's strobes, all to the beat of the gunfire the scene has become a disco of death.

He keeps shooting as the car starts to roll away, placing slugs in the door, the rear driver's side window, another to his head, then the rest into the shattered rear window. When the officer pulls on an empty chamber, he let the magazine drop and then slams another one in.

The car rolls into a concrete base of a light pole, spilling Hutnikov half out of the door. The cop holds his fire, waiting for movement, but the body hangs limply. Everything is quiet again: just the idling engines, the radio traffic and the white noise of the freeway. The cloud of gun smoke drifts into the cool night breeze, taking Hutnikov's

soul along with it—that is, if he ever had one to begin with.

Chapter 17

Woodcrest Road

"Mama, when is Dad coming home?" Kate's son Robbie asks, all snug in his bed. She's dreaded this coming moment, when she would have to lie to her little boy, or worse, tell him the truth.

"I'm not sure, sweetie. Do you miss him?"

"A little."

She can see the wheels spinning in his little head, thinking hard while looking out the window into the starry sky.

"Mama?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What happens when people die?"

Her heart skips a beat. "Where did that come from, honey?"

"Just looking at the stars. Is that where people go?"

" _Why are you doing this to me, God? What do you want me to do!"_

"I don't know, honey, but I have an idea. I'll show you."

She leaves him for a moment and returns with a lit candle.

"What's that for?" he asks as she sits on the edge of the bed.

"Now, let's pretend this is old Moose here." The cat is indifferent to being sacrificed. Robbie nods with hesitation.

"Watch what happens." She puckers her lips and blows. With an abrupt puff, the candle goes out.

"See, even though the flame is gone, the smoke remains. The fire changes to something else." Robbie watches the wisp of smoke rise and dissipate.

"Breathe in with your nose."

The wrinkling of his nostrils makes her smile.

"There, something you cannot see, the smell of the candle is still there. Now, close your eyes, try to picture what you just saw. Can you see it?"

"Yup." He opens his eyes with a sleepy smile.

"You see? Nobody really goes away forever. They just change, and they stay in our hearts and our memories forever."

"Do they come back if you light the candle again?"

"In our memories, and sometimes in our dreams."

That seems to answer the question for her little boy, and in a way, it is reassuring for herself.

"I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, honey. Good night."

Before closing his eyes, he looks out his window once more at the night sky. A shooting star zips across the sky, widening his eyes. He quickly makes a wish, about his mom. He wants her with him forever, just like the memory of the candle.

Part V

Dare to look up to God and say, "Make use of me for the future as Thou wilt. I am of the same mind, I am one with Thee. I refuse nothing which seems good to Thee. Lead me whither Thou wilt. Clothe me in whatever dress Thou wilt."

-Epicetus

Friday

Chapter 1

Route 1, Philadelphia

The crime scene is awash in blue and red police lights, framed by yellow tape and littered with numbered markers where the shell casings from the highway cop's gun fell. Cops from all over the city have arrived at the scene, mostly standing around and bullshitting. Once the smoke cleared, the sector patrol sergeant recognized Hutnikov from the hot sheet distributed at roll call and gave the FBI a call.

Haddad and special agent Linda Carpenter from the Philly field office, both sporting their blue FBI raid jackets with the big yellow letters on the back, show up for a look.

The body is still hanging out of the door for pictures. They find the lead investigator from the Internal Affairs shooting team.

"Finally!" they hear Lieutenant Chavez say as they walk up.

"Chavez? I'm Special Agent Haddad," he extends his hand. "And this is Agent Carpenter."

"You didn't say those people were cop killers," Chavez says evenly.

"News to us too," Haddad says.

"Well, you'll find the officer in there if you want to say thanks, or apologize." Chavez says, pointing to a big boxy ambulance.

"What happened?" Carpenter asks.

"He pulled the perp over on suspicion of DUI. He walks up to the window and the guy tries to punch his ticket. Bipity, ipity, bop, end of story."

"Here's why." Another cop, hearing the conversation, comes over with the suspect's gun. His gloved hand points to the firing mechanism.

"Check it out. No firing pin. Boy, is Darnell going to shit when he hears this," Chavez says about the highway cop.

Haddad and Carpenter look at each other.

"You guys mind if we take a look?" Haddad asks, gesturing to the car.

"Being you asked so nicely but hurry, will ya? We're getting sick of looking at this fuck."

They walk over, both slipping on gloves.

"Emptied the magazine," Carpenter comments, looking at the damage. She stoops down to look at the man's face. "Yup, that's one of them."

"Yeah, but not who we're really looking for," Haddad sighs.

"Did a little shopping, but not enough food for three," Carpenter comments, poking through the bag on the seat.

Gently, she goes through his pockets and finds a room key and shows it to Haddad. "Right down the street," she says.

"Maybe we should stop by, unannounced."

Chapter 2

Comfort Courtyard Inn

Riding on top, Elayna is close and so is Kreichek, but he won't finish this way. He pulls her down to his chest and rolls her on to her back for the final sprint. With a dramatic pause first, he thrusts into her, making her grunt with pleasure. He feels her rise and as she convulses, gasping, pawing his face and gripping the bed sheet, he lets go into her with a jolt, lifting her up. The endorphins explode into their blood streams, the final reward for their primitive, savage act.

Exhausted and dazed, they lie there staring at the ceiling, no longer strangers, not quite friends, watching the changing shades of blue from the TV. Slowly, the real world begins to return with its regret and shame.

Elayna rolls away from him, ready to sleep. Kreichek doesn't mind. After a minute he slips out of bed. _"Time for a smoke..."_

"Go outside," she orders, all civility gone.

He doesn't argue but makes sure his grumbling is loud enough while pulls on his pants and throws on a shirt before stepping out on the little balcony, wondering if the smoke is really worth it. After the first drag, he concludes it is.

He listens to the white noise of passing cars and the hum from the florescent lights. A thought makes him chuckle. _"Poor Niki, all by himself over there,"_ he thinks, looking across the street at Hutnikov's motel. _"He will be jealous!"_

That's when he sees them. Dark sedans pull up fast and quiet outside the building and shadowy figures spill out. He realizes he doesn't see Hutnikov's car. He moves out of the light, cupping his cigarette. "This is bad..."

"Elayna, wake up! The police are across the street," he blurts, rushing back in.

She springs into action, grabbing a gun before grabbing her underwear. "Fuck! What did that idiot do?"

"We've waited too long to do this. It should be over!" he says coldly.

Her grip tightens on the gun, fighting the impulse to shoot him in the head right then and there. " _You still need him. Besides, he's right."_

In only a few minutes they collect everything together and get out, trying hard not to leave anything important behind.

Chapter 3

Wynn Marh Cathedral

Stani is thinking of fire. He's already started to burn his bridges, so to speak, by killing poor Nate. Now he's thinking of something bigger, the cathedral. He's got plenty of fuel, and it would make for quite the sight. It's all going to burn anyway. He's on a twisted course of sparing those he's fond of from the inevitable nuclear inferno that he is about to initiate, and he is very fond of the church, more so than just about any human being. For decades he's nurtured it, helping it to retain its beauty despite its years. As he stands outside his work shed, looking up to the illuminated spires, he smiles at the irony of how his life has turned out. All this time attending the Master's house, and never knowing the Master.

He swigs on the bottle of vodka again. He decides he will start with his house, then move to the sanctuary. In reality, only the roof will go, and the sturdy wood interiors. The white stone will only be charred black, but the insides, like his soul, will be beyond reclamation.

From out of the darkness comes laughter. Three forms materialize in the light. One of them is his last cage fighting opponent, Kesean Taylor. He too has something to drink, and a bat. The other two have guns.

"Looks like the party's started already," Kesean announces merrily.

"This motherfucker don't look so bad, Key. Some old drunk," one of his pals says in disgust.

"He is when he gets the drop on you, ain't that right, Stan-leee," Kesean taunts. They all laugh, circling their prey like hyenas.

Stani watches carefully, sobering up from the threat but still pretty drunk, and armed only with the bottle.

One of the thugs aims low and pulls the trigger. It cuts through Stani's leg. He drops to his knees.

"There ya go, Key, all teed up now," the triggerman smiles.

"Fuck you," Stani sneers, waiting for Kesean to get closer.

He hands the bottle to his other pal and slowly swings the bat as if to loosen up. "You, motherfucker...no one cuts me and gets away with it."

Stani tries to get up, but the gun comes closer. "Don't you fucking move, motherfucker."

All Stani can think about is the regret of not killing this man when he had a chance. He has gotten old and sloppy. He accepts that he is deserving of this end. Regardless, he will not go easy. He grips the bottle tightly, he will be able to throw it at the gunman's head, then hopefully get to Kesean before the other can open fire.

He begins to laugh maniacally.

It throws off their concentration.

"I'll give you something to laugh about..." Kesean threatens, as he winds up is swing.

Suddenly, the front of the gunman's head explodes in a cloud of pink.

Then the other punk drops to the ground.

Stani no longer laughs, but the smile remains. Panicked, Kesean looks around in every direction. Stani rises before him, his face locked in the smile. He betrays not a hint of pain.

Kesean swings the bat at him in desperation. He might as well have been trying to break granite. Stani dodges the swing, then buries his fist into Kesean's kidney, staggering him. Stani simply pulls the gun out of his hand as he buckles. The young fighter is stunned.

Now a shadowy figure appears, just outsides the fall of light. "I hope I'm not interrupting something," the shadow calls. Into the light emerges Eddy, cradling a big ass M-14 Saber rifle, fitted with a long sniper barrel and silencer.

"Not at all, just a little going-away party," Stani smiles.

Eddy looks at Stani's leg.

"Only a flesh wound," Stani assures him.

Frozen in fear, Kesean has no idea what to do.

"It's a good thing I came along. I wonder what would have happened if I didn't," Eddy laughs.

"I guess we'll never know," Stani replies.

Kesean decides to run for it. Stani and Eddy burst into laughter.

"He's fast!" Eddy says.

Stani snatches the rifle from Eddy. "Yes, but you can never outrun a bullet." The night-vision scope allows Stani to follow Kesean easily as he runs across the dark field, making for the woods. Stani squeezes off a round. A perfect, but messy head shot.

"No, you can't," Eddy agrees.

Stani hands the rifle back to Eddy. "So, just happened to be around, yes?"

"It is my job, providing operational security. I check up on everyone," he smiles, slinging the rifle over his back as he begins to gather the bodies.

"Are you worried about me?" Stani asks.

Eddy stops for a second. "No, Stani, not you. I am worried about Katrina."

Chapter 4

Glenside

When she runs in the dark, sometimes she is surprised where she ends up. The quiet and solitude give her a chance to clear out her mind, with the hope of finding some solution to the problem at hand. A key component of her mission training was the removal of the capacity to care. Her drinking greatly helped in that goal. Still, all the conditioning and the booze were never able to fully extinguish what, ironically, is the key to her sobriety. Her conscience.

Kate knows that she is no longer capable of fulfilling the mission. If indeed the orders are legit, she cannot do anything that will alter what has already been put into motion. Other teams would be on the move, and one of them probably has the very same mission.

" _It doesn't matter. I have to stop it, mistake or not."_

She should just grab the kids and vanish. The devices need two separate codes to arm them, the so-called _two-man_ rule. Stani has one, she another, but Eddy has a backup should either Katrina or Stani become unable to do it. So running isn't the answer.

That leaves her little time and fewer options, and none of them good. Murder and betrayal are Katrina's strong suits, but not Kate's.

On the dark quiet street, Kate becomes aware of a car behind her, slowing down as it approaches. She slides her running bag to front and unzips it halfway. Reaching in, Kate flips the safety off her gun, sensing trouble.

Out the corner of her eye, she sees the car glide up next to her on the left. The passenger window rolls down.

Kate stops dead in her tracks. The car rolls by her, but then it too comes abruptly to a halt. It waits in the middle of the road for what seems an eternity. Then the door opens, and a man gets out. She will not hesitate if she sees a weapon.

"A little late for a pretty lady like yourself to be out alone, don't you think?"

She didn't recognize the car, but she recognizes Dan McDowd's voice. She puts the safety back on and zips up the bag. "With drunks like you out here, you might be right." Kate starts walking over to him. "Going my way?" she asks.

"Think so," he says getting back in. The drive is a short one, barely allowing them to start a conversation. "Midnight run, huh?"

"Just a short one. It will help me sleep," she answers.

"Guilty conscience?"

At first she balks at the comment, then lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah. You just never seem to get out from under the bad decisions you made drinking. That guilt just hangs on, always there, always reminding you, never letting go, and always bringing you back to a drink."

They pull up to Kate's house. McDowd puts it in park. "We've all made bad decisions."

Kate laughs. "You have no idea, mister. Ask your sister one of these days." She gets misty thinking about some of them. A flash of an afternoon on the way to a train. A kid bleeding to death on a darkened street. Children lost, children saved. Past, present and future.

"Yeah, but that pain, those memories are supposed to keep us from getting in trouble again," he reminds her.

She appreciates his kindness but resents his naïve conclusion. She turns to look at him. An errant tear has streaked her cheek, but it goes unnoticed in the dark.

"I could've drank today," he tells her, looking straight ahead. "I came this close," he says, his index finger and thumb almost touching.

"So why didn't you?"

"Because I saw you."

"Yeah, right," she says with a dismissive laugh.

"No, I'm serious! The Elbow Room, just down the street. Open till two. Then the VFW Hall after that."

She can hear it in his voice, the edge of a plan gone sour. She believes him.

"A man died tonight, and I let it happen. I'm supposed to be better than that. Now I feel guilty! I mean, how fucked up is that?" Then he turns to her, their eyes finally meeting. "So tell me, Kate, why are you out here?"

"Because I want a drink."

If there were a bottle in the car, the might have split it. They do, however, have the next best thing, each other, to try to heal the hurt, and to give in to the desire they've both tried to resist. McDowd searches her face for a sign. Slowly, he moves closer, and Kate does not move away. Instead, she closes her eyes.

Their lips meet, and it is as if a thousand volts pour through her body, awakening her like sunlight on an orchid. Their kiss is gentle, sweet and fragile at first, timid as if they are stepping into a flowing river, unsure of what awaits them. Slowly, their confidence grows, wading deeper into the current. Hands begin to flow over their bodies, taking them deeper into the current. The feel of his muscular shoulders and arms thrill her, and her body responds.

They come up for air, lips barely separating. Sweating again, Kate slips off her jacket, revealing her shapely sports bra. Passion. Lust, she'd forgotten the feeling, lost in an empty marriage, in the existence as a housewife and mother, returning with intensity she'd never felt before, in the clarity of sobriety.

His hand touches her neck, and she begins to melt into the current, letting go without concern of where it will take her, but knowing it will be wonderful, and knowing it will be all right.

Kate's reaction to his touch makes McDowd begin to ache, becoming desperate now for release. His hand slips down her back, and her mind follows with it, drifting to the small of her back, to her... _"GUN! The waist pack!"_

She jolts away, startling McDowd. "I'm sorry..."

As Kate quickly pulls her jacket back on, he notices something on her arm, a large scar, like from a bad burn.

She grabs his hands. "No! Don't be. Just, not now. Not here. Besides, it's late."

"Yeah, it's late."

She sees the dejection written on his face. Kate kisses him again, just enough to reassure him. "Were you planning to be at Julie's party?"

"I am now."

"Good. I'll see you then." With one last parting kiss, she is gone.

Chapter 5

Stani's shop

Stani treats his wound without help from Eddy. It's just another souvenir to add to his large collection. What really hurts is the doubt that Eddy has planted in his mind about Katrina. "She would never betray us. This I know with certainty."

"Perhaps not willingly, but perhaps to save her children," Eddy presses.

Stani begins to get irritated. "Do you forget who we are talking about? She is tougher than the two of us combined! She is Katrina!"

"Stani, that was a long time ago! I don't care who she _was_ , people change."

"We need her to arm the weapons. It is that simple," Stani says flatly.

"You know that is not true. You know I have the override code," Eddy replies carefully.

It is difficult for Stani to accept this, but he knows some of Eddy's motivation comes from spite. He never liked her, or having to answer to a woman, for that matter. Still, Stani has to admit his points are valid.

"You should also know this. It seems the husband has left. The other night I followed her. She was with a new man. I did some digging. He is U.S. Army Intelligence."

Stani looks up with his cold steely eyes, "If she betrayed us, we would not be having this conversation."

"True, but do you want to want her to have that option?"

Stani takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Do what you think you must."

Chapter 6

Woodcrest Road

The quiet of the night has passed into the commotion of the morning. The boys have gone to school and Kate goes through the routine like any other morning. It is no different without Michael being there; she never really saw him anyway. Next to her side of the bed, she gets down on her knees with her Glock resting on the down comforter before her. Kate closes her eyes and recites the Seventh Step prayer. She has said it countless times before, but never with such conviction or sincerity.

"God, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that you now remove from me every single defect of character... _Katrina_... that stands in the way of my usefulness to you and my fellows. Grant me the strength, as I go out from here, to do your bidding."

She knows God hears every prayer and answers one way or another. "Your will, not mine, be done. Amen."

Kate Wilson stands, takes the gun and sticks it into her waist behind her back, underneath the long leopard skin-patterned coat into which she's sewn Kevlar panels. _"Fashion with function,"_ she murmurs. Looking at herself in the mirror, she laughs at the thought that she too is an endangered species. She shakes it off. "Just one foot in front of the other, Kate. He heard you," she says, strengthening her resolve. As she walks out the door, she can't help but to wonder what Katrina would pray for. "Don't kid

yourself, you know damn well what she wants."

Chapter 7

Knight's Rest Motel

The forensic people are just finishing up with Hutnikov's room, having found little to help them except the cell phone he left behind. The agents checked the SIMM card but only got one number out of it, the same number listed as an incoming call. The account is a European one, and the NSA is on it.

"So now what?" McDowd asks Haddad as they stand outside the motel in the cold morning air.

Haddad looks up and down the busy highway. "We can canvas the area, see if we can turn something up."

Another agent comes out with the box of Hutnikov's stuff, and Haddad takes out the phone.

"Or we can try giving this a try," Haddad smirks, handing the phone to McDowd. He calls the last incoming number.

After one ring, a woman answers, letting loose a barrage of profanity in Russian. The screaming a tirade is jolting, forcing him to hold cell away from his ear. Both men stifle their chuckles.

"What do you want from me?" he says in Russian.

There is a long pause after that. She knows.

"Is this Elayna?" McDowd asks, switching to English.

"Why yes it is, and who is this?" Her tone changes from irate to sickening sweet.

"This is Special Agent McDowd of the FBI. How are you today?"

"I'm a little confused. I was looking for my friend."

"I'm afraid he can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?" Haddad leans in to hear.

"Your accent is good, St. Petersburg?" Elayna comments.

"My instructor was from there, yes."

Elayna is several miles away, sitting in the parking lot of her first business appointment. "So what did you do with him?"

"He's in the morgue."

"You've killed someone trying to help you?" she asks, raising her voice.

"He tried to kill one of our police officers. Fortunately, the firing pin on his gun was filed down."

She doesn't respond.

"We're trying to avoid people getting killed here, Elayna. Why don't we work together to bring these people in? It would be faster and safer for us all," McDowd suggests.

"I'm sorry, Agent McDowd,"

"Call me Dan."

"I'm sorry, Dan, but that's out of the question. Orders are orders, you know. It's a matter of pride, you see, taking care of our own mistakes."

"If the local cops get to you first, they won't be as cordial. If you come in, we'll protect you, help you get your job done, and send you back to mother Russia safe and sound."

"You're very kind, but I'm afraid I must decline."

"Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you. Give me a ring at this number if you change your mind."

"Goodbye, Agent McDowd."

"Oh, Elayna, does your other friend know what's in store for him?"

She hangs up.

Had McDowd been able to see her face, he would have seen her wince from fear of Kreichek hearing what he'd said.

"Well?" Haddad asks.

McDowd shrugs, "She tried not to sound concerned. Something else is going on here. They really don't want us getting our hands on the team members."

"What happened?" Kreichek asks.

"They killed Hutnikov."

He shudders. "Why?"

"Because he was a stupid fuck, that's why."

He slumps into his seat, stunned by how wrong everything has suddenly gone. "Now what do we do?"

Her head snaps to him. "We have a job to do, we do it!"

In reality, she's thinking that Hutnikov is one less thing to worry about. "You must admit, he was a liability."

"He was my friend."

"I'm sorry, but he was also an idiot. We leave him on his own for a second and he gets himself killed trying to kill a policeman! He put the entire mission in jeopardy. We're lucky to still be alive ourselves." She pulls back the slide of her gun to chamber a round, adding to her point. "Now keep an eye out. I don't want us to be next. If I'm not out in ten minutes, come in after me."

Chapter 8

Oak Lane Apartments

Boo answers the door. "Hi, Miss Kate."

"How you doing, James?"

"Okay, I guess."

"It was a long day yesterday," Kate offers in sympathy.

"I know," he agrees, taking her coat. "I was hoping I'd see you at the service."

Boo takes her into the living room. It's hard to miss the framed picture of his Dad adorned by flowers.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it, but I stopped by the cemetery latter in the day to pay my respects," Kate tells him, sitting down. "So, how are you feeling today?"

"Tired, sad and a little relieved it's over," Boo sighs. Then suddenly, he perks up. "I wrote a letter to my dad last night, just like you said."

"Great! It made you feel better, right?"

"Sure did. You want to hear it?"

Kate hesitates. "Only if you want to."

Boo pulls the pages of white lined paper out of his back pocket. Clearing his throat, Boo starts:

"Dear Dad. I love you and miss you so much. I keep trying to think of the last time we spent together in my head, 'cause that's where you are now. I know that more will come to me as time goes by. I was real angry at you for leaving us here, and maybe I still am a little, but that's just a kid missing his dad talking. I know sometimes we all gotta do things we don't want to do, but we got to do them for the folks we love. If we don't do them, somebody else will, and that might mess things up. I remember when I was little, you had to call the police to come to take mama away. I know you didn't want to, but you had to, and I remember how you cried. I was just a shortie then, but now I know what it was all about, that mama was sick, and she needed help, and that you didn't know how to give it to her. You did what you had to do, even though it broke your heart."

" _God is talking to me,"_ Kate thinks, trying but failing to hold back tears.

"I hope I never have to face something like that, Dad, but if I do, I'll remember how brave you were. I only hope that now, you are with Mama again, happy in heaven together. I hope you don't mind if I wait a while before I meet up with you."

"Good," Kate whispers at the healing humor.

"Please don't worry about us. I've been talking with this nice lady from the school to help me handle things. She told me to write you this letter, which I think is a good idea. I'll keep writing. Yesterday, I could tell you were looking down on us, I could just feel it. I love you and miss you Dad. I'll write to you again soon. Love, James."

She sits looking at the young man across from her with his shy smile and sniffly nose. Dust hangs motionless in the light, seemingly frozen by the silence of the room, and her heart. She can't feel it beating, or hear it cries and it frightens her. The emotional surge has shut off her feelings, protecting her like a circuit breaker.

" _What will Tom or Robbie say in their letter to me? Will they be that forgiving, that understanding? Would they still be able to find the love? Or will they shut down, just like me?"_

In her mind, Katrina whispers a warning. _"I know how to help you Kate,"_

Boo looks for approval, but his smile ebbs looking at her. The tears go untouched on her cheeks, lips unmoved in an empty expression, and the eyes, beautiful, but they too are dead, like those of a doll. It is as if she isn't there. "What'd you think, Kate?"

The pause is uncomfortable, but before he asks again, she snaps back from the abyss where she'd been.

"That was just beautiful, James," she says softly, and the smile he knows returns.

Chapter 9

Glenside Bike Shop

Eddy is in the back of his bike shop, preparing to settle a long overdue score. Resentments are like cancer. The longer you let them fester, the more they eat you up inside. He's been suffering for a long time, enduring the indignity of having to play second fiddle to the ever wonderful Katrina. Not anymore. All night he's been plotting, fantasizing, of how he will do it. He wants to humiliate her. He wants her to suffer, and above all, he wants her to die. He will be waiting when she gets home, just in time to see her children die...

The door chime announces an arrival to the showroom.

" _So early_." He finds an attractive blonde wandering among the rows of bikes.

"Hello, can I help you?" he calls across the room.

The woman jumps, holding her hand to her heart. "Wow! You startled me."

"I'm sorry," he says, approaching her.

"Are you Eddy?"

"That's me."

She offers her hand. "My name is Elayna. I called yesterday."

"Oh yes, the Hybrids! I put some aside for you," he tells her as if they are in short supply.

"I'm sorry I'm early," she apologizes, following him deep into the maze of wheels and frames.

"No, not at all," he tells her as they enter the workshop area. "How did you find me, in the yellow pages?"

"No. In the GRU archives," she says in Russian.

He takes a second to process what he's just heard. His eyes dart about, looking for anything he can grab as a weapon.

"You are FBI?" he asks.

"Put your hands in your pockets, and turn around slowly," Elayna orders.

Eddy does as he is told. Seeing the silencer, he knows his guess is wrong. She is farther away from him than he thought, holding the gun in a combat stance and aiming right at his head. He doesn't think she'll miss.

"I'm from the home office, here to terminate the mission." Elayna plans to play with this one, like a cat with a mouse, and it won't be pretty. To her, every one of them is Petre Kurtsin, and every death is a revenge to be savored.

"The bombs, I know where they've hidden them. You can take them, they will get a good price."

Suddenly, off in the distance but inside the building, a woman's voice calls out, "Eddy? Where are you, honey?"

Both Elayna and Eddy share the same thought, " _Shit!"_

Neither takes their eyes off the other. Elayna scowls at him to explain.

"My girlfriend."

Elayna expected variables and wonders where Kreichek is, and how he missed the woman. " _Fucking Hutnikov."_

The voice comes closer. "Eddy?"

Eddy sees the scowl on her face turn into a sinister smile.

"Please, let me get rid of her," Eddy begs in a low voice.

"If you don't, I will." Elayna may be a psycho, but she is not without scruples. Collateral damage comes with the territory, but if it can be avoided, her training has taught her to consider the option. The gun goes into her overcoat pocket.

"There you are! Oh, I didn't know you had a customer."

The woman enters the room with a bag of food. "Hi, honey." She glances at Elayna who has a smile for her, admiring the cute woman.

She gives him a kiss. "I got us some bagels."

"Tell you what, take them to your place. I just have to take this nice lady's money and lock up," he says. "We can have breakfast in bed, perhaps a little sushi?"

He says it loudly enough so that Elayna can hear. It shocks his girlfriend, making her turn bright red.

"Eddy!" she scolds him, but shocking _her_ is not his intention. It's Elayna's reaction he's betting on, a natural response to turn away from another's shame.

It works.

Elayna turns her back, giving him a small window of opportunity to act. In a flowing movement, he scoops up a screwdriver from the workbench, spins and springs at Elayna, going for her neck.

Perhaps it is the distance he has to cross, or the gasp from the girlfriend, or a change in the light, but Elayna senses his coming. She launches herself away from the diving Eddy, at the same time spinning herself around, crashing backward into a rack of bicycles.

Eddy's screwdriver misses as he tackles her, pushing Elayna into the metal mangle of bikes, causing her searing pain, but it's the girlfriend who does the screaming.

Elayna is pinned under him, her hands still in her pockets. With his left hand, he pushes her head to the side, pressing it into a wheel and exposing her neck, moments away from driving the tool into her head just behind the ear.

His hand comes up.

She angles the gun barrel up as far as she can manage and squeezes the trigger, not seeing or caring where the rounds go. The first rips into his thigh.

The screwdriver glances off her shoulder and down the back of her neck, but he takes the pain and winds up for another try.

She fires again, this time into his groin. He may be Spetsnaz, but that gets him off of her, allowing Elayna to roll away free.

Getting up, she staggers backward, nearly falling again on bikes. Eddy writhes in pain, curled in a fetal position. Elayna touches her neck. When she brings her hand back, it's covered in her own blood.

"You FUCK! This is my favorite sweater!"

Eddy's girlfriend has dropped the bag of food, frozen in fear, eyes and mouth wide open at what she is seeing.

"What the _fuck_ are you looking at?" Elayna raises her gun and drops the poor woman with a single round to her forehead. "So much for being nice, that'll teach me."

She takes her coat off to see how bad he got her; the adrenaline is still taking the edge off the pain. "Shit." With one hand, she feels the wound, finding it to be more of a gouge than a puncture, and it seems to have missed any big pipelines. Now relieved, her attention turns back to Eddy, trying to crawl away. She crouches down in front of him to head him off.

"Where do you think you're going you selfish prick? You see what you made me do?" His agony prevents him from uttering any more than a moan, his teary eyes bulging as if they will pop out of his head.

"You'll bleed out in a few minutes, and right now I'd like nothing more than to watch those last miserable moments, but I've got a few more stops left."

The door chimes again. Elayna aims the gun, but seeing Kreichek, she brings it back to Eddy's head. After their eyes meet, she ends his misery.

Chapter 10

Along PA Route 263

McDowd and Haddad head back to the Naval Air Station with a whole lot of nothing, no tangible leads, and a growing collection of stiffs, none of whom are the people they need.

"This really sucks," McDowd sighs.

"If it's any consolation, these people have gone to great pains for the past twenty or so years to avoid being found," Haddad says.

"Yeah, but everyone trips up eventually, right?"

Haddad shoots him a glance. He's about to say something snarky when he catches a glimpse of a tall white spire through the brilliant foliage. "Hey, look!"

McDowd follows his finger and sees the cathedral. "That matches the Iranian's description."

"Got that artist's drawing?"

McDowd holds it up.

They pull into the ornate entrance to the campus and follow the signs for deliveries, leading them to what looks like an administration building. Before long, they're in the human resources office, talking with the director. After the proper introductions, McDowd hands her the sketch. "Ever seen this person before?"

"Why, that's Stanly. Our greenskeeper."

The two men look at each other and smile.

Chapter 11

Willow Grove N.A.S.

Bob surveys the circus he's put together, and it isn't pretty. The hangar is abuzz with an assortment of suit and tie agents, scruffy-looking SOCOM types and heavily armed SWAT team members dressed in black, looking at maps, working the phones and laptops. Rollaway blackboards have the pictures of dead people, as well as the video still taken of Elayna and the boys. It's impressive looking, but it all adds up to a big fat zero.

Bob's phone gets a text. "Wheels down WGNAS." It is from the last asset he can put into play, the one he hoped to avoid.

"Edwards!" He shouts across the cavernous space.

He jogs over to his boss. "What's up?"

"Lets take a walk."

They head in the direction of the partially opened hangar door, away from the rest of the mob.

"I've been holding a little something back from you the past couple days. It was _need to know_. I was hoping we'd have this mess wrapped up by now, so I didn't want to unnecessarily concern folks, but we're beyond that now," Bob tells him.

The noise of a taxiing prop aircraft becomes louder as they near the door. Two black C-130 prop planes, bristling with antenna, head in their direction. They have no markings on them.

"I called them in this morning. They're NEST."

Edwards swallows hard.

Chapter 12

The Warehouse, Kensington, Philadelphia

Stani isn't entirely surprised when Kate walks through the door of the empty warehouse, even though she is a half hour early.

Kate nonchalantly checks the gun behind her back, a round already chambered. _"How quickly the things we are given can be taken away, into the past as the present appears, never to be held again."_

She smiles as she approaches Stani.

" _Dosbindonya_ , Katrina Svetlana," he calls a little too cheerily.

"Good morning, comrade Major," she replies, sticking to English.

"Any problems?" he asks.

Kate shakes her head. "None whatsoever. Why do you ask?"

He tries to get a read as to whether she's run into Eddy. He doesn't get one, which makes him tense. _"Either she has, Eddy is dead, and she suspects I had something to do with it, or he's planning on taking her out later,"_ Stani calculates. _"I'll call him to find out. However, she is here, by herself. Does that not speak to her loyalty? Perhaps Eddy just wants to settle an old score. I never doubted her..."_

"Are any of the others here?" she asks, looking around.

"No, not until later," he says, gesturing her to follow him.

He takes her past empty storage shelves to a stairwell. The cool damp air has the scent of moldy concrete and something else...death.

Stani flips on a light switch before they descend. Crumpled in the corner is a body, covered with a tarp. She can tell by the feet. She stops as the hair on the back of her neck tingles. Stani sees her taking notice. "A former business partner. He wanted out of our relationship."

She hasn't dealt with this kind of shit for a long time, and it's unnerving. "Is that how you got the limp?"

"No. That's a different story. He was a good man. I wanted to spare him the misery of what is to come."

They enter the weapons room. He flips on the overhead light, illuminating their tools. Body armor, automatic rifles with various sights, radio equipment, handguns, grenades, plastic explosives, timers, anti-armor weapons, medical supplies, everything the well-outfitted commando unit would desire.

" _What_ is to come, Stani?" Kate asks.

"These," he says, opening yet another large wall safe.

Dramatically, he pulls the double doors open. He lugs out two large metal suitcases and lifts them up onto a sturdy metal table in the center of the room. Kate doesn't remember feeling this level of anxiety before. She had hoped it would never come to this. She feels a strong impulse to run.

Stani steps back and chuckles. "You never did get used to these things."

"Behold, I am the destroyer of worlds," she whispers, gently placing her hands on the two containers of mankind's greatest, and most horrible, scientific achievement. It _is_ exciting, like the first time driving over a hundred miles per hour or holding a loaded gun. The power of a thousand suns beneath her fingertips is intoxicating.

"Here, I charged these last night," Stani says, handing her two brick batteries. "You remember, yes?" She knows what to do with them.

He watches her power up the devices, thinking that the years have been good to her. The mischief still in her eyes makes him smile. _"She has always been a good soldier..."_ An idea pops into his head. _"Could she have killed Eddy?"_

After a nod for her to go ahead, she flips the power switch. Instantly, current flows into the capacitors, starting an ascending whine as the charge builds, like a camera's flash. A small panel next to the battery slot holds the electronics, the trigger, the locking mechanism and the system test button. A green light flashes, indicating the charge is ready. She touches the test button and with an unexpectedly loud "SMACK," the system fires.

It still makes them both jump. She catches herself smiling before the gravity of what she is doing hits hers, as if she had almost stepped off a curb in front of a bus.

"Check the other one," he says, turning away. Stani retrieves the binary element of the fission package, the high explosive and the sealed cores, and begins the final assembly.

She thinks of her gun. " _I can end it here_." Kate is good, but Stani is better. That's why he's in charge. _"He's probably thinking the same thing."_

Somehow, she has to stop this from happening, and if not, at least minimize the loss of life.

"Stani, do you get the feeling that something is wrong about all this? I mean, why now, after all this time?" Kate asks casually, scattering the seeds of doubt, but Stani is rocky soil. She has to be careful not to make it sound like she is talking him out of it. He'll kill her.

"Yes, I've been thinking about it. It does seem odd," he relents.

"I'd hate to think this is some stupid mistake," she says.

"You're thinking too much, Katrina," he chuckles. "There are many safeguards to prevent that. We must trust our country and our leaders. This world is in desperate need of a change anyway, and we will help that take place."

"But wouldn't you agree that there are other methods to do that?"

"Yes, of course, but desperate times demand desperate measures. The people that will benefit from this the most—the poor, the destitute, the oppressed—in the end will reap the rewards of what we will do, and the rich, the greedy and the depraved will be gone. The meek will inherit the Earth because the rich and powerful will kill each other off!" Stani assures her.

"And the innocent? What of them?" she counters, thinking of her own children, and fighting to stay composed.

"Is anyone really innocent, Katrina? Life is a crime, always punished by death."

Stani puts the final elements into the bomb housing, and the bombs are ready to go. The devices require two sets of combinations to unlock the triggers once they've been assembled. He has one set of numbers, which he now enters into the panel. Then he steps away and gestures for Kate to enter hers. She doesn't move.

"Please insert your code, Katrina."

"Only just before the devices are to be deployed That is the procedure. Why would you ask me to do that, Stani?"

They stand staring at each other, neither reacting for long moments. He doesn't need her numbers because Eddy has another set. Kate suspects what Stani is up to. If she inserts her code, she's dead.

"Because I am ordering you to. Are you disobeying a direct order?" he asks coolly.

"It is not a legitimate order, so there is nothing to be disobeyed. Do you really need to be reminded of them, Comrade Major?" she asks.

They stare at each other warily in more uncomfortable silence.

"You know, Eddy wants to kill you. He doesn't trust you. He thinks you're a threat to the mission."

"Right now you are the biggest threat to the mission, Stani—"

"He thinks you told your new boyfriend all about us," he says, cutting her off.

She gives him a _what the fuck are you talking about_ look, but then she understands. "Eddy has no fucking idea what he's talking about. That _boyfriend_ is my best friend's brother. I'm helping him stay sober."

He sees the truth in her eyes.

"When we get to the target area, then and only then, or ask Eddy for his," Kate says defiantly.

"Good, by the rules, as I expected." Stani reaches over and closes the case, trying to regain his balance.

"Speaking of targets, Willow Grove Naval Air Station would be a waste. The Anti-Submarine Warfare wing is no longer there," she warns. For now, the best she can do is try and get the bombs as far away from her children as possible.

"Yes. That leaves us without a primary target," Stani says.

"No target, no mission." She holds her breath, knowing she's crossed the line.

"If you have a suggestion, Mrs. Wilson, now would be a good time to share it."

Kate smiles to herself. A prayer has been answered. _"You're out there!"_

Yes, Mrs. Wilson has a suggestion.

Chapter 13

Willow Grove Naval Air Station

The propellers of the lead black HC-130 _Combat Shadow_ cut off and begin to wind down. Over the decades the venerable cargo plane has been produced in many different forms, but none more sinister than this. A door drops down a short set of stairs and a young woman with a tied-back mop of red curly hair bounces out. Even with her green jumpsuit and black aviator glasses on, you wouldn't mistake her for military. The pink Converse high tops are a sure giveaway. She's followed out by an Asian guy with a ponytail. Together they head over to the welcoming committee.

"Hi there. Looking for Bob Stevens," she says cheerily.

"That'll be me," Bob says, extending a hand.

"Jill Abrams. This is Kevin Lee. We're with the Department of Energy, Nuclear Emergency Support Team," she says.

"You guys are looking for something, we hear," Lee says with a sarcastic smile.

Bob motions them to follow him inside the hangar. "Something the red cat dragged in," he explains.

"I'm guessing this really isn't a drill," Jill says.

"Would it matter?"

"Not really," Lee replies.

As Bob briefs the two new team members, Edward's stomach starts to feel a little queasy. The newcomers work at Sandia National Laboratory, the less advertised magic shop that tries to keep the country a few steps ahead of the competition and provides the locks and keys for America's nuclear arsenal.

The nuclear weapons business is a far-flung and secretive industry, but also very lucrative. It has to be to attract the best scientific minds America's universities produce.

Dr. Jill Abrams is an alumnus of MIT and Caltech who, when she isn't designing the next generation of Permissive Action Links, the locks the U.S. puts on all our nuclear weapons, she tries to untangle super symmetry.

Dr. Kevin Lee came to Sandia via Princeton and Stanford, where his dissertation on Quantum Gravitation still has the best minds scratching their heads. Instead of rock climbing or skydiving, they get their thrill out practicing for the unthinkable. Their job is simple; if someone finds a nuclear bomb, they make sure it doesn't go off.

"So what's the game plan?" Bob asks.

"As soon as we refuel, we start flying. The birds have super sensitive radiological detection devices. We try to get a hit, pinpoint the location, then move in."

"Sounds like looking for a needle in a haystack," Edwards says.

"More like thousands of haystacks, but with really powerful magnets," Jill explains.

"Radiation is pretty hard to hide. If it's out there, we'll find it," Lee tells them.

"And if you don't?" Edwards asks.

After a reverent pause, Jill answers him. "Then we won't have anything to worry about, because we'll all be dead."

"What was it Oppenheimer said?" Bob asks openly.

Dr. Lee has the answer ready. "Behold, I am become death, destroyer of worlds. Hindu scripture."

"Boss!" Mayo shouts across the room, holding a phone. "Haddad and McDowd found the church. They've got an ID."

Chapter 14

Wynn Marh Cathedral

Fifteen minutes after Haddad hangs up on Edwards, a UPS truck arrives and pulls to the front of Stani's workshop. In the back are six heavily armed FBI SWAT team members. Sweeping in from the woods behind the shop are another fifteen assorted agents, led by Freaks.

Mayo, brown uniform and all, jumps out of the truck's door, package and scanner in hand. He rings the buzzer at the shop door and waits as over a dozen fingers flutter on triggers. He hears no movement inside, so he rings again, followed by a sturdy knock. Nothing.

Now he tries the door. It's unlocked. Mayo gently pushes it open and calls inside. "Hello, anyone home? UPS delivery!" After a moment, he steps back away from the door.

The back of the truck swings open, and the men inside silently move into action. They begin their sweep, whispering their progress, adding a narrative to the images beamed from helmet cameras to monitors in a nearby truck, and back to the hangar for Bob to see.

Moving from floor to floor, room to room, they find no one until they check the back of the barn. A shoe protrudes from under a blue tarp. They silently surround the spot. Freaks eyes a bag of seed and hefts it onto the mound, but nothing happens. Somebody grabs a corner of the tarp and flings it aside.

"Looks like three bodies here, black males, twenties..." an agent says over the radio.

Freaks and Mayo take closer looks. "All three GSWs," Mayo adds.

Once every corner and closet has been checked, the all-clear goes out over the radio.

Haddad and McDowd come in for a look. Freaks meets them at the door. "Our guy isn't here, and hasn't been for a little while. Come check out the kitchen," he says with a nod of his head.

On the table in the center of the room are bloody bandages and other spent first aid items.

"Some one has a boo-boo..." McDowd comments.

"Big boo-boo," Haddad adds.

"He had company too," Mayo says, looking at the empty glasses.

"We'll toss the place. Maybe we get lucky."

Luck does have a tendency to change. Not six hundred yards away, a car tries to pull into the entrance, but the cop standing there waves them off. The couple inside wave okay, then drive off.

"Shit," Elayna says, looking back.

"Too late?" Hutnikov asks.

"Perhaps, but it won't matter. They won't take him alive, and he'll take a few with him. It will teach them a good lesson."

Chapter 15

Glenside Bike Shop

Stani is standing outside Eddy's shop, looking at the BACK IN A FEW MINUTES sign hanging on door. When he peers inside, he can see things aren't right. Getting back into his car, he drives around to the back of the building. His leg has increasingly been bothering him, but he's not concerned, yet. Using the key Eddy gave him years ago, Stani lets himself in and pulls out his gun. Almost instantly, he can tell no one is there...alive.

The instinct proves him right when he enters the workshop and sees the body of Eddy's gal pal face down on the floor. A few steps farther, he sees Eddy. Surveying the wounds, particularity the shot to the groin, he shakes his head. "Boy, you must have pissed somebody off good! I wonder who?"

He has a pretty good idea. He goes to the surveillance system he helped Eddy install. Stani rewinds the tape and smiles. Another instinct proven right, or so he thinks.

Chapter 16

Langley, Virginia

The endless stream of data is dizzying. An avalanche of information nearly buries America's intelligence agencies every day. Video feeds from Reaper UAV's over northern Pakistan, e-mails and cable traffic from embassies, radio signals, voice calls, satellite imagery, fiber optic intercepts, wire taps, and that just the stuff that's already been filtered. It is a maze of secrets hidden among secrets. Managing the information and the complex routing and protection of it is such a daunting task that the agency has its own agency just to handle it, as well as for the other seventeen intelligence agencies. After 9/11, authorities realized that the clear warning signs of the attack hadn't gotten to the people who needed to know, and that even a direct warning from a friendly foreign government was either not passed up the ladder or was just flat-out ignored. Never again.

When critical information from a high-value credible source is received, it now gets to where it belongs. So when the office of the Chief Information Officer, which has direct access to the Director of Central Intelligence, receives information from a highly classified source inside the Russian defense ministry, Doc Tillman will see it. Knowing what to do with it is another question. Within seconds of seeing the information, Tillman knows exactly what to do with it.

Chapter 17

Stani's Shop

The team has no obvious clues to work on, though they know they're headed in the right direction. Stani has been trained too well. So now FBI forensics has to turn something up, and fast. The blood from the bandages gives them DNA for identification purposes and for a criminal case, not that there will ever be one. Right now they need leads, and they don't have any, dead guys included.

"These guys are still kinda fresh," Haddad says, surveying the pile of bodies.

Linda Carpenter checks her PDA. They've already taken digital fingerprints from the dead men and learned their identities. "Two are local gang-bangers. The big guy is one Kesean Johnson, a mixed martial arts tomato can from Philly."

Freaks takes a closer look. "Good shooting. Looks like .308 caliber, military issue. Single shots to the head. Poor Kesean here will have to have a closed casket," he tells them. The entry wounds are always smaller than the exit wounds, and since Kesean was shot on the run, from behind, most of his face is gone.

"Well, Stanley is our man. Let's find the connection to these guys. McDowd, find the dumpster and go through the garbage," Haddad orders.

"Huh? Wha? Why me?" McDowd balks.

"Low man on the totem pole, son," Haddad smiles. "Get a suit from the CSI, dudes."

McDowd sulks off. The rest of the guys at least wait until he's out of earshot before they begin to chuckle.

Chapter 18

Second Life Book Shoppe, Abington

The bell on the door tingles as Kate enters the cozy used bookstore. As she removes her sunglasses and gloves, the memories of the untold hours spent here rush to greet her like a warm hug. This is where Kate got sober.

When she first came into the program, she was lost, in desperate need of being found. Thanks to Julie, she found Lydia. She took Kate under her wing, becoming her sponsor, pulling Kate away from the edge of that pit of despair and self-destruction. Lydia became her guide, her teacher, mentor, and friend. Gradually, Lydia showed Kate an entire new way of living. When the time came for Kate's fourth and fifth steps, their bond had reached a new level. Lydia was like the big sister she never really had, a person with whom she could share all her darkest secrets, except one. It is the secret she needed to share the most.

Their relationship was never the same again.

The still attractive but slightly worn Lydia appears from a backroom behind a counter cluttered with books. She starts out with a cheery and helpful "Good afternoon," but stops upon seeing Kate. Her perky expression melts away.

"Hello, Lydia," Kate says, closing the book she has been reading and placing it back on the shelf. It is her favorite, _The Varieties of Religious Experience._

"Great Kate, the sponsor who doesn't need a sponsor. Who should I thank for the honor of your presence?"

"That sounds like resentment Lydia," Kate says smoothly, but with a smile.

"Maybe it is, but I won't hold it against you."

An unsettled moment passes between the two women as they remember mutual triumph and tragedy, fear and joy, friendship and finally estrangement. Regardless, they are both happy to see each other.

"Do I smell coffee back there?"

"Come on," Lydia grins.

The small office is made even smaller by the endless piles of books, but it is always large enough for the two women.

"How's business?"

"You know, not great, not bad. How are the kids?" Lydia notices Kate's face is filled with anxiety and despair. Lydia freezes, about to pour the coffee, cup in one hand and pot on the other.

"Are they all right?"

When Kate looks up, tears have started to run down her cheeks. "Lydia, I've done something horrible."

"Did you slip?"

"No," Kate replies, agitated.

"Well, as long as you didn't drink. We're not saints, as the book says."

Kate looks at her bewildered, unable to hold her composure. "That's _all_ you think there is, don't you! You could commit murder, but as long as you didn't pick up, it's just ducky."

Lydia is flabbergasted by Kate's rant.

"There's more to life than not drinking. There's another level of evil beyond this," Kate says, trying to make her understand. "Would you drink to save a life, your life, Lydia?"

Lydia sees the frustration in her eyes, but still can't understand, and isn't sure she wants to. "I don't know Kate. That's up to my Higher Power."

Kate leans in closer, squeezing her eyes shut as if it hurt by what she needs to say. "If I put a gun to your head and gave you a choice between death and a drink," she opens her eyes and stares deeply into Lydia's, "what would you do?"

Lydia doesn't answer. Instead, she gazes back at Kate with a mournful, pleading look. "What happened, Kate?"

Kate looks down in shame. "It's what I've done, and it's what I have to do. I have to go, I have to leave my babies, to protect them from who I was, who I am."

In the long smothering silence that follows, Lydia can feel the pain radiating from her old friend. "What are you running from, Kate?"

She looks up at her now, the emotional frailty fading away.

"From myself. You told me once, we're only as sick as our secrets. Well, I'm pretty fucking sick, Lydia. There are things I didn't tell you about me, about who and what I really am. Everything I ever told you about me, from the very beginning, was all a lie."

Lydia recoils in disbelief. "No, Kate. That can't be," Lydia shakes her head, not wanting to believe.

"It's all bullshit."

"So tell me and get over it! The past is gone, and lies can be undone."

Kate's low, cold voice chills Lydia. "Not _my_ past, not _my_ lies."

Lydia sits back, "Oh, my God, are you dying?"

"I wish it was that simple."

"Tell me how to help you."

Kate opens her purse and pulls out a piece of paper. She hands it to Lydia. "These are my sponsees. I need you to take care of them now, especially Sheila. She's getting out of the hospital today. She really needs someone."

Lydia isn't sure, but she thinks she saw a gun in her Kate's bag. "You're not going to hurt anyone, or yourself, are you?" she asks cautiously.

Kate stands up. "I hope not. I've done enough damage."

She turns to go but stops, not wanting to leave the safety of the room. Closing her eyes, Kate remembers what she once said to Lydia, and the irony of what Sheila said to her.

"Sheila told me she loves me," she says with a pitiful laugh. "The same way I told you once. We love the ones who help us, or the ones we help, until they break your heart, or you break theirs."

"Stay, Kate, we'll talk it out."

Kate looks around, recording the images she may never see again.

"It's too late now. I learned so much in the time we spent in this room. I'll never

forget that, Lydia, what you've done for me."

Kate comes over and gives her a hug.

Lydia wants to follow her, but she knows she cannot. She calls after her, "How did I fail you, Kate?"

Kate stops, tuning at the door with a mournful smile. "You didn't fail me, Lydia. I failed."

The little bell on the shop's door tingles again, and she is gone.

Lydia stares at the door long after Kate leaves, confused by what just happened. We are all capable of only seeing what we want to see. That piece of Kate that was missing had always bothered Lydia,. She just ignored it.

She had thought she knew Kate better that anyone, but not anymore.

" _No, the good is real. You can't fake that."_

Now Lydia finally understands the source of the sadness Kate hid so well: the pain of having to live a lie. Lydia knew in her heart that whatever was going on, the good inside Kate would save her, somehow.

Her heart also told her, she would probably never see Kate again.

Chapter 19

Stani's Workshop

Freaks picks up a crowbar and heads over to the big metal dumpster with McDowd inside.

BANG BANG BANG!

"FUCKING SHIT!" McDowd shouts, jumping out of the container. "What the fuck are you doing, Freaks!"

"Come on, Bob finally got us some pictures of the Russian cell. We're heading back."

"Hey, McDowd, you find anything in there beside stink?" Mayo laughs.

He laughs back sarcastically. "You're a real funny guy there, Mayo."

Mayo turns suddenly serious. "What do you mean, _funny?_ Like I'm a clown? Like I'm here to amuse you?" he says, playing out the famous scene from _Goodfellas._

Haddad puts it to an end before it starts. "Enough nonsense. What did you find?"

McDowd hands him a sheet of paper. "Just this. It may explain the connection to the cage fighter."

"Mixed Martial Artist," Freaks corrects.

"Whatever."

Haddad reads the crumpled page aloud. "Tuesday Night Fights at The Blue Horizon. Could be a connection. It isn't far from here. You guys get back to the base. I'll check this out."

He suddenly realizes he's too close to the smelly McDowd. "You. Go home and take a shower, and get back fast."

Chapter 20

Moscow

The head of Russia's foreign intelligence service, the SVR, is finding it very hard to sleep. On the desk before him is an assortment of newspapers, most notably the _New York Times_ , trumpeting the round up of a nest of Russian spies, leaving one of them dead. It can be a messy and dangerous business. Fredrik Karlov knows this all too well, having come close to meeting his maker on several occasions. If that mess isn't enough, he also has a missing embassy worker in Washington, and a dead chief of station in Kabul.

He would like to think that it's all just a run of bad luck, plain coincidence. He knows better. There are no coincidences, just like the knock on the door.

"Come," Karlov says loudly enough, and his deputy enters holding several folders.

"The New York office just finished debriefing the remaining operative from the New Jersey cell," Leonid Tosten says, handing him one of them.

"This should be good..." Karlov breaths.

"You have no idea. They were activated by the GRU."

"You're joking, yes?"

"I know. It's part of their operational plans "to assist our sister agency when requested," but wait, it gets better," Tosten adds, handing his boss another folder. "Just in from Kabul, the report on Yuri."

Karlov eyes the report. "Caught red handed passing state secrets to the Americans? Resisted arrest and was shot and killed by GRU security?" he reads incredulously.

"These pictures are of him with the CIA station chief, though there are no images of a handoff, or proof of payment. They say the documents were recovered in his office, but they won't say what they are. Classified by GRU."

"This is bullshit. I've known Yuri for over twenty years. He'd never give up anything, unless it was absolutely necessary," Karlov says dismissively.

"Well, you may be right," Tosten says sitting down. "It seems there's more to this. The pictures were taken at the city morgue. He went there to pick up the remains of one Sasha Illyich Malekov."

A distant neuron fires in Karlov's head. "Malekov. I know that name," he says, trying to remember.

"GRU, attached to the embassy in Washington. Expelled after a fatal traffic accident," Tosten reads.

"What was he doing in Kabul?"

Tosten shrugs. "Freelance, but he died under enhanced interrogation."

"The Americans?"

"No. It was in a hotel room. It had Iranian fingerprints all over it."

Karlov leans back in his chair. The two men sit quietly for a few minutes while their mysterious stew simmers.

"It seems a lot of people are going to a great amount of effort to cover their tracks," Karlov finally says, thinking out loud.

"Before he was killed, Yuri sent his two operatives to the U.S. We also have information the CIA man flew commercial from Dubai to Washington, after a stop in Tehran," Tosten adds.

"What was Malekov doing in Washington, do we know?"

"He was Second Directorate..."

"So he could have been running agents," Karlov guesses.

"Or wet work, a hit squad perhaps? Let's find out. We need to have a little chat with the GRU."

"Call the defense minister?" Tosten asks.

Karlov thinks a moment. "No, We'll talk to the 2D guy himself, Petre Kurtsin."

Chapter 21

Willow Grove Naval Air Station

"Hey! Where've you been?" Bob shouts playfully to the returning crew.

"Why you in such a good mood?" Edwards asks warily.

"Because someone up there likes me," he answers, pointing to a computer screen. A program is running, seemingly on every screen, searching through DVM files of driver's licenses. The facial recognition program compares the new photos they received from Tillman to those in the state database.

"How long is this going to take?" Freaks asks.

"God knows, but it's progress, not perfection."

Edwards eyes the hard copy of the photos of the Spetsnaz team. "These gotta be twenty years old," he warns.

"Aging isn't supposed to be a problem. The FBI uses it on cold case missing kids. The basic facial framework, so I'm told, remains the same, though the trait isn't as unique as a fingerprint or retinal scan. We might get several hits on one picture," Bob explains.

Just then a chime sounds, and a printer jumps to life. "Looks like we may have a winner already!" Bob says, handing Mayo the sheet.

He reads it aloud as he enters the information into a second database. "Edward Fisher. 727 Easton Road, Glenside." The location comes up on a map. "Ten minutes from here. It's also a business address. Eddy's Bike Shop."

"Go. You've got the first one," he says to Mayo. "Take Team One."

"Roger that, Boss," he says, while making a taunting face at Freaks. In return, Freaks gives Mayo the single-fingered salute he heads out the door with ten other heavily armed men.

"We have to let the locals know," Edwards warns.

"You're right. You call," Bob smiles.

Chapter 22

Woodcrest Road

Kate knows death. Not as well as some, but better than most. She has seen it at her job, in the eyes of children who lost parents to the streets, some quick and violently, others slow and painfully.

Death, inflicted by others, the butchery she witnessed in flowing fields of Afghan poppies.

Death, inflicted by herself over the barrel of a gun and the hood of a car.

Death, with her bare hands, remembering the sickening snap when she was forced to break the neck of the woman in the prison camp.

Death circles every life, coming ever closer in the vortex of time, eventually snatching each of us up in its tender embrace.

Death circles Kate Wilson now, patient, knowing it's only a matter of time. Just like her disease, just like Katrina, and none of them wholly unwanted.

This is what Kate is thinking as she forms a meatloaf at the kitchen counter as her sons do their homework. In her experience, sudden death is the best. Here today, gone tomorrow, no lingering or dreaded anticipation. That was how she wants to leave her boys. No shame, no anger. Just loving memories and the hope that she had gone to a better place.

" _Enough! Not yet, not now."_

Now is for counting freckles on Robbie's face, and watching Tom blush when asked about his girlfriend. Now is the time for laughter. There would be plenty of time for tears later. If only she could be there to help them cry and move on with their lives.

23

Eddy's Bike Shop

All Officer John Harris of the Abington Police Department knows is that someone from the FBI asked that a patrol car meet an agent outside Eddy's Bike Shop. He had just put his car in park when a slew of unmarked vehicles sweep in around him, and nearly a dozen of agents in full tactical gear spring into action.

"What the..." Harris says, scrambling out of his car.

The team breaches the building in seconds. He's worked with the FBI warrant squad before, and these guys aren't them. They look military, more like those scraggly looking contractors he's seen on the TV news. Only one of them wears an FBI raid jacket, a woman. He catches up with her because she's stopped over a body. As he approaches, she holds up a finger for him to wait. She's calling the office. Edwards answers.

"Hey, it's Linda. We've got two DOA's. White male, late forties. Multiple GSWs. Second is a white female, early forties, single GSW to the head, dead center forehead. I'm sending pictures in a minute."

"Linda!" Mayo shouts from the back room.

"Hold on, Mayo's found something..." she tells Edwards.

Linda Carpenter finds Mayo in the back office. He's found the video system. He plays it back. It's captured the entire killing. "Edwards, we've got a tape, but the perp doesn't match the description of the Russian woman. The killer's a blonde."

Officer Harris cranes his neck for a look at the deadly blonde.

Chapter 24

Woodcrest Road

The Wilson boys are in the basement playing a video game. Upstairs, Kate sits naked in her big rocking chair, looking at her costume laid out on the bed. Prokofiev's _Cinderella_ suite plays gently on her CD system. Just like the hapless young girl in the fairy tale, she too had enjoyed the ball, pretending to be someone she isn't. Now as the clock grows closer to midnight, she knows what has to happen. However there is still time for a final performance before the curtain falls. A parting gift.

Tonight, she will be the little girl from long ago who danced in the light. A child again, innocent and unfettered by the stark and awful reality of her destiny, her sentence and her madness.

She gets up to dress.

Chapter 25

Moscow

The door buzzer startles Kurtsin out of his sleep in his posh apartment. He is supposed to have a guard at the door. He wraps himself in a bathrobe and stuffs his pistol in the deep front pocket. He goes to the door and looks through the peephole. What he sees makes the hairs on his neck stand up.

He quickly opens the door to let Karlov in, followed by Tosten. Two other SVR men wait outside, along with Kurtsin's guard.

"Comrade Director," Kurtsin says, now fully wide-awake.

Karlov glides past him, bringing the darkness of the night with him. "Please forgive the unexpected hour of our visit, General. However, we have something of importance to discuss with you," he says, sitting on the couch without taking off his black fedora and raincoat. Tosten discreetly helps himself to a look around to see if anyone else is there. The modern one-bedroom apartment is furnished with all the tackiness of bachelor pad.

"I'm sure a phone call in the morning—"

"No, in the morning I will be talking to the president. I wanted to talk to you before then. You see, I want to hear from you personally about what has been going on."

"If this is about Yuri, it is out of my hands—"

"Tomorrow, the President will ask me how it came about that eleven of our deep-cover operatives were exposed. What do you suggest I tell him?"

"I don't follow you, comrade director, " Kurtsin responds.

Karlov takes out his glasses so he can read his smart phone. "From the operative who gave the FBI the slip..." he says, pointing to his phone, "Request for assistance in breaking active surveillance came from Major Elayna Boradin, GRU."

Kurtsin stand motionless, trying to decide how to play it. "That can't be. She's on vacation in Thailand."

Tosten glances at Karlov to see if he's buying it.

"Well, it seems that isn't the case, but that is besides the point. She works for you, General. In fact, I am told she's your closest associate. You have no idea what she is doing in the United States, trying to shake the FBI off her tail?" Karlov asks, sympathetically wanting to understand.

Kurtsin shakes his head in disbelief. "This is beyond impossible. She must be running some sort of rouge operation. I don't know what to say. I will get on this instantly, comrade Director!"

Karlov glances at Tosten. "A rouge operation of some sort, then. This is what I will tell the president, and that you are working hard to get to the bottom of it."

"I promise you, we will get you the answers," Kurtsin says with confidence.

"She must be particularly cagey in order to fool such an experienced man as yourself," Karlov suggests.

"Everything in my power will be undertaken on this. You have my word, comrade Director," Kurtsin assures him stoically.

"Excellent. I am sure that our end bears some culpability as well," Karlov says, getting up. "The death is regrettable, but the operation was not critical. It is an unfortunate set of circumstances that we will learn from," Karlov smiles. "We will save the Yuri incident for another day. In the meantime, there is one more thing you can help me with."

"Certainly, comrade Director."

"What was Sasha Malekov's capacity when he was in Washington?" Even in the dim light, Karlov can see the color drain from Kurtsin's face.

"Malekov. The name is familiar. I will find out for you," he tells the two, eager to usher them out the door.

On the bookcase is a framed picture, a strapping man and a beautiful blonde, a summer vacation picture. They stand warmly together, posing in front of the U.S. Capitol. Karlov picks it up for a closer look. Kurtsin squirms inside.

"Thank you. As soon as you can," Karlov finally says, placing the picture back. "Good night, comrade General," Karlov says as he puts on his hat and walks out the door.

Downstairs, on the street, Karlov looks back up at Kurtsin's apartment.

"He's lying like a cheap rug, and he's not protecting state's secrets," Tosten says.

"I know. I think I am beginning to understand. His first wife's maiden name was Malekov. Put full coverage on him and make sure he knows it."

"And what about the defense minister?" Tosten asks.

Karlov just smiles before getting into the car.

Chapter 26

Val Tires

The day for Misha and Valarie has come to the end and so has their time in America. The official plan is to take one of Stani's packages to a place known as Site R, a National Command Authority bunker complex just outside Ft. Ritchie, Maryland, one of several such places around the Washington area and particularity close to Camp David. There they are to detonate the weapon, taking the facility out. They have a different plan, though, like making a run for the Mexican border with the nuclear bomb for sale.

Misha is emptying the office safe.

"How much?" Valarie asks as he packs a few personal things along with his weapons.

"Twenty-five," Misha tells him.

Val snorts in disgust. "We should have gone to the bank."

"In Mexico, this will keep us drunk for some time," Misha reassures him.

"Yes, but we will have to get used to tequila."

Misha closes the safe. "I can think of worse things to get used to."

"Like being dead?" Valarie suggests. They both laugh at the gallows humor. They stop, hearing a rapping at the front door.

They both freeze. If it's Stani, they're fucked.

"Who is that?" Val snarls.

"What do I look like, a psychic?" Mish snaps.

Val grabs his gun and shoves it into his coverall pocket. "Put that shit away, just in case it's him."

Val cautiously heads to the storefront. Outside is a rather attractive blonde. For a second he thinks it's Katrina. Behind her, steam spills out from under the hood of her car. He waves her off. "Closed! Closed for the night."

"I'm afraid to drive any farther and break down on the road. It's been smoking for a while. Could you at least tell me what I should do?" the young woman pleads.

"Who is it Val?" Misha calls from the back room.

"A young lady in need of help."

He unlocks the door for her. "You can leave it here and we'll look at it first thing in the morning," he suggests.

"Do I just leave you the keys?" Elayna asks.

Misha comes out from the back room, looking past them at the car outside. "Oh oh, angry car." he playfully frowns, trying to make light of the situation. " _Good-looking chick,"_ he thinks as she smiles back.

"It's never given me problems before," she says nervously.

Val gestures to her to join him at the counter. "It's probably just a hose. Let me get your information, and I'll write up a ticket for the morning crew," he says, grabbing an invoice.

She waits until he is ready with the pen. "It's Kate Wilson, 7209 Woodcrest Road."

Val jots down the information as Misha looks over his shoulder, doing his best to flirt, which she doesn't seem to mind. "Okay, I just need your keys."

"Here you are. By the way, do you have a bathroom I could use?"

Misha smiles. "Just around the corner."

"Thanks!" she says. They both watch her ass as she walks away. Misha raises an eyebrow.

"Do we have time for that?" Val smiles.

"I don't see why not, we're never coming back here." Misha grins darkly.

They walk back to the office, which looks out over the service bays. Val places the work order in the "to do" box out of habit. Suddenly, they turn to find the woman standing inside their office door.

"You guys have been great," she says, slinking into the room. "Have you ever gone two on one?"

They look at each other, both with a bemused face until they look back at her. Now they both look and feel stupid, seeing her silenced 9mm.

"What the fuck is this? A robbery?" Val asks angrily.

She answers in Russian. "The only things I need to take from you are your lives."

Their jaws drop. "Who are you!" Misha demands.

"I am from the home office. I am to terminate your mission."

"Well actually, we weren't going to carry it out!" Val laughs.

Elayna laughs along too. "Oh, really? Wrong answer. We don't like it when people refuse to carry out orders."

Misha tries to say something, but Elayna cuts him off with a perfectly placed round to his forehead and two to the chest. Her shooting astonishes Val as he watches his friend go down. Misha's face doesn't even react. Realizing it's his turn, he looks at her, but for some reason she doesn't shoot. She just continues to smile.

"Don't fuck with me, honey."

"You seemed willing to fuck me," she taunts. He can't argue with her.

"You're right, I should," She shoots him in mid-sentence, right in the mouth. The two in the chest are followed by one more in the groin after he's down. She stands over them now, the rush coursing through her veins, her heart pounding. It feels incredible. Even the pain from Eddy's wound is gone.

"Wow!"

She doesn't want to moment to end, breathing in the metallic scent of the blood and reaching into her pants to touch herself. All the power of the universe is flowing through her, right to the tip of her finger. She feels not a hint of remorse. A thought deep down inside says, " _More."_

She turns off the lights and locks the front door and calmly strolls over to the truck and gets in.

"Any problems?" Kreichek asks.

"Not a one," she smiles.

He pulls out, heading off to their next stop for the night.

Across the street, Stani puts down his scope. He doesn't have to go after the pretty blond-haired woman. He knows she will come to him.

Chapter 27

Woodcrest Road

The Wilson brothers have been lured upstairs by the promise of pizza. What they find is something they never could have imagined. In the hallway stands the ghostly image of a woman, dazzling in white, like a partial lingering memory from a dream, or a ghost. At first they are startled, the strange light around her freezing their senses, enchanting and at the same time frightening, amazed that such ineffable beauty had been there for so long, right under their noses. Before them is not some storybook princess or fairy, but it _is_ someone they've never seen before. Her hair flows around her like a golden veil, her bangs mischievously concealing her eyes. Her make up is exaggerated by normal standards, but perfect for the stage. The gown she wears hangs just above the knees, light and flowing, fragile as a snowflake but not so concealing as to hide her dancer's figure, feminine yet strong. It takes a few moments for them to get their bearing and realize whom it is.

"Mom?" Tom says in amazement.

She gives them a graceful twirl.

"Are you an angel?" Robbie asks excitedly. Kate glides past them down the hall and then suddenly turns back.

"Cinderella, silly!" she tells him. "What do you think?"

Tom is a little apprehensive. "You look almost...hot."

They both blush.

"Didn't think your old lady had it in her, huh?" Kate says slyly.

"Not really," Tom says.

"Whatever. I won't be late, probably home before midnight."

"Before you change back to what you were before the ball," Tom reminds her.

That stops her dead in her tracks, and in her darkness, Katrina grins.

"I'll always be your mom," she says, turning to them, but they're already gone. With that, she sweeps into the night.

She feels as if she is gliding, just an inch above the ground as her dark hooded figure moves down the sidewalk to Julie's, giddy and excited. There is madness in the air, spreading like a brush fire over a dry landscape, thirsting for fuel. Her own firewalls are down, leaving her willingly defenseless to the flames, and her own insanity. She hears the laughter and music of the party as she draws closer to the house, its walkway lined with candles burning in white paper bags, and the porch adorned with spooky trappings. For now, she is the giddy housewife, the friendly neighbor, and the good mom letting her hair down the only way she can. She imagines her entrance, the envious eyes of the other women and their whispers about how fabulous she looks, followed by the lingering glances from the husbands that will make them jealous. She wishes Michael could see her, an realized the incredible mistake he's made. Perhaps the eyes of a new prince will behold her, younger and more eager.

Kate breathes in deeply as she approaches the door. This is her time, her turn, to take the stage, dancing not for the mirror, but for herself. What a performance it will be.

Chapter 28

Val's Tires

Cops see things most people don't. Tonight, one of Abington's finest spots something at the crazy Russian guy's garage. While making his rounds, swinging his cruiser by the strip malls made up of pizza joints, dry cleaners and supermarkets before the real Friday night fun begins, he sees an open door.

"29-5 to central."

"Go ahead, 29-5," the female dispatcher responds.

"Out at Val's, checking an open door."

"10-4, unit 29-5. Out at Val's, 20:17 hours."

With his big club-like flashlight in his left hand, his right casually resting on his holster, the cop gets out for a look. Everybody is on edge after the double murder up the road. First, he checks out an oddly parked car in front, locked with nothing visible, the hood still warm. Then he goes over to the front door. It's locked, with no visible sign of tampering. He can hear Willie the guard dog inside going nuts, but he can't see her. Usually, she's left out front where her bed is. He shines his flashlight into the back room and sees that the floor safe door is open.

He keys his shoulder mike and flips of the holster safety guard off.

"29-5 to central, requesting back-up at Val's Tires, 2211 York, cross is Hamilton. Possible 2-11 in progress."

He plugs in his radio's earpiece, killing the speaker and goes to his cruiser.

"10-4, 29-5. All units, Officer requesting backup, 2211 Broad, cross is Hamilton. Units responding,"

While the cop waits, he types the New York plate into the cruiser's computer.

"29-5, what is your 20?" The dispatcher asks.

"I'm inside the RP, central."

They come fast and quiet, killing their lights as they approach. He gets out before the computer system has processed his search on the plates.

Chapter 29

Eddy's Bike Shop

Now the town's top cop has joined in the festivities, with one ear on the radio about what's going down at Val's. Chief Joe Turco is a big guy who could stand losing a few, but you wouldn't want to mess with him. Right now the FBI is messing with him, and he's slowly on the boil. He wants answers, and Linda Carpenter isn't giving him any.

"I just want to know what you people are doing in my town!" he says, arms up in frustration. While he's been debating, he also has one ear tuned in to his radio, following what is going on over at Val's.

"I understand, Chief," Linda tells him. "But you have to understand, this is a national security issue. Right now we need you to assist us with perimeter security. Let us do our job, and you do yours."

Harris interrupts them. "Chief, you hear that? Two more stiffs up at Val's!"

"Val's?" Linda asks.

"Val. He's our crazy Russian mechanic. He works on all the department's cars," Harris explains.

The Chief turns back to Linda and scowls.

Chapter 30

Woodcrest Road

"Good Christ!" Julie says, getting the first whiff of her brother as McDowd enters by way of the backdoor.

"Like my costume?" He laughs. The Halloween party is in full swing. Costumes do weird things to people. In Afghanistan the people wearing masks were trying to kill him, or were the Afghan cops trying not to get killed.

"What happened?"

"Don't ask."

"Well, go upstairs! You smell worse than when you first got home, and that was bad," she says, about to push him along, but quickly pulls back her hands, deciding not to touch him.

McDowd slinks past the collection of pirates, devils, doctors and kitty cats, many at this point half in the bag. Of all the costumed guests, the pretty ballerina across the room draws his attention the most. She seems real in a room of fakes, as if she's not in a costume at all, like this is who she was always meant to be. Even the light seems to adore her, caressing her with a loving glow. It's beauty, he decides, plain and simple, but a kind he's never seen before, not in any prom date or college girlfriend, and it surprises him.

Their eyes meet and Kate smiles with a blush. She wades over to him, getting waylaid along the way by some of the mice. They continue to exchange glances until finally they come together.

"Where's your costume?" she shouts over the music.

"I left it at work. You look great. Let me guess, Cinderella?"

"How did you know?" Kate looks pleasantly puzzled.

"Just a guess, it's the only ballet I know. My mom dragged me to see the Kirov at Lincoln Center when I was a kid."

Her eyes drift for a second in thought. "And you survived?"

"I got over it. Actually, Prokofiev became my favorite composer," he tells her.

"Wow! That is just too weird, he's my favorite too!" She is genuinely amazed, and her face shows it.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you." McDowd moves closer to her so he didn't have to shout. "You have a slight accent. Russian, isn't it?"

Her eyes go wide with a hint of fear, but all Dan McDowd can see is how pretty they are. "I studied Russian," he explains.

"I grew up in Brooklyn, Brighton Beach," she says nervously.  
"Okay, now that is just too, too weird," Dan says with a laugh, shaking his head. "I'm from Brooklyn too!"

She stares at him, not knowing what to say.

" _There are no coincidences,"_ she thinks now, but afraid of the _why_. She wonders what her God is telling her now.

The next thought shocks her. It is something unexpected, unknown to her, at least since she'd gotten sober. It is a feeling she can't control, perhaps because it isn't hers to begin with. As thrilling and scary as an exploding sun.

" _Love?"_

It lasts but an instant, for this joy too, like so many others, is washed away by the reality of who she truly is.

" _Why? Why now?"_

McDowd catches a whiff of himself. "I'd better get upstairs."

"Yeah, good idea. You are kinda ripe," Kate laughs.

As he heads up the stairs, Kate's gaze follows him and sees him turn around for one last glance.

She turns back to the party. "What am I doing?"

Chapter 31

Willow Grove NAS

Bob is pleased that the trail is starting to lead somewhere. On one of the blackboards are the pictures of the Russians matched with the pictures they'd gotten from Tillman, and three of the five have big red X on them. His optimism, however, is tempered by the fact that two of them still remain out there, possibly with a nuke.

"Now, let's take a look at the woman. What do we think? Are these all the same chick?" he asks, comparing a still of the female seen in Eddy's shop video, the Russian file shot and the picture from Malekov's Kabul apartment.

Freaks and Edwards stare hard at the photos.

"The shot in front of the Capitol is too faded out at this point, I couldn't say," Edwards says about the faded picture. "But why would she be killing her buddies?"

"Cover her tracks? Maybe she was tipped off somehow," Bob wonders.

"Yeah, but our pal Stanley hasn't turned up yet. Maybe we just haven't found him," Edwards says.

"Run her through the software. How long is this going to take, Freaky?" Bob asks.

"I'll start with the Pennsylvania DOT, twenty minutes per or something like that," Freaks replies in a distant way. The both look at him.

"What's up?" asks Edwards.

"Not sure," he says, continuing to stare at the woman's picture.

Edwards has now reached Haddad. "Shelly, where are you?"

Haddad is sitting in his car along a sketchy stretch of North Broad Street. "Not where you'd want to be. I showed Stanley's picture around down here at this boxing place. Seems like they're spooked, and I can't say I'd blame them, but one guy gave me a tip on a fight club location at a warehouse nearby. I'm going to check it out."

"What's the address? I'll send some back up," he asks while grabbing a pad and pencil.

"I'm good. Let me take a look first before you send anyone," Haddad suggests.

"Whatever. Just don't do anything stupid."

"No, really?" Haddad says sarcastically as he hangs up.

With the help of GPS, he finds the building after about fifteen minutes, set back from the trash-strewn street by a big weed-filled parking lot. He _is_ a little apprehensive. The area looks like a post-apocalyptic, industrial wasteland of rusting factories, made creepier by the darkness. The nearest working streetlight is two blocks away. Even the rats probably avoid the place, and the cops only visit by day. He knows he should get somebody down here with him, but he doesn't want to get caught crying wolf again.

As he gets out, he pops open the trunk to get his shotgun, vest and raid jacket. "However, if there _are_ rats here, they're probably big," he says to himself.

Chapter 32

Woodcrest Road

"Easy, damn it!" Elayna snarls. Kreichek is doing his best to gently replace the bandage on the gash Eddy gave her.

"This could probably use a stitch. You're lucky."

"Am I? How so? I would have been lucky if you'd seen the woman!"

"I can't be in two places at once," he drones.

While he applies a coating of ant-bacterial ointment, Elayna text messages the

Americans about where they've been, keeping her word.

"All done," she says, finishing. She climbs over the seat to the middle row to change.

Kreichek can't help sneaking a peek in the rearview mirror. "Now what?"

She struggles into a new black turtleneck. "The woman."

They are parked just down the block from Kate's house.

"Someone's having a party. I guess we weren't invited," he says. It is a lucky turn, allowing them park on the street unnoticed.

"You take care of her," she orders from the shadows. "I need a break."

"And the family?"

"That's up to you." She hands him a gun. "Either way, you have enough rounds in here."

He checks the magazine, just to be on the safe side, then takes a deep breath. "Whatever," he tells her, getting out.

Elayna watches him walk up the block and smiles. Her money is on Katrina. After all, the fix is in.

Up the street, alone in the darkness, Cinderella waits for her prince. Sitting on the bed, listening to the running shower. Her own existence feels drained like an empty pool in winter, where only leaves and murky water remain to remind her of the memories of summers past. It is a dark and dismal place, suffocating with regret and dread. But there is one place left where she can go, a place of solace and comfort. There she will find a true friend, a shoulder to cry on, as long as she could put up with the " _I told you so_."

It is there that Katrina waits for her silly little ballerina.

The water turns off with a squeak. She hears the sliding glass door open followed by the soft rustle of a towel. It is as if a mist has settled in her mind, obscuring her reality, turning everything whitish grey. The door opens and McDowd emerges from the steamy brightness into the darkened room. He's futzing with his phone and doesn't notice Kate.

"Hi there..." she says, making him jump despite the softness of her voice.

"Jesus! Kate!"

She leans back suggestively on his bed. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd scare so easily."

He recovers quickly. "I don't. I'm just a little jumpy. I've only been back a week, you know."

"I didn't think I was that much of a threat," she smiles.

"Either did I." he laughs, and then glances back to his phone. He's missed several calls from Edwards, and a text message saying _ET phone home_. He tosses the phone onto the bed. "Guess I was wrong," he says, sitting down on the edge. He needn't ask about what's up, he's already feeling it. He has very hot and hungry looking cougar in his room, and he's on her menu.

Kate sits up next to him, getting close. "You don't have to worry. I don't bite..." she says quietly, bringing her mouth close to his. "Unless you want me to."

Their lips meet. The kiss is soft at first, but the flame of passion is slowly fed by the fuel of lust. Her hand finds his leg and slides up under the towel. He shudders ever so slightly when she grips him and begins to stroke downward again and again from the top of his increasingly slippery shaft, but neither of them can endure this for very long.

Kate gently pushes him onto the bed. He doesn't resist. She opens the towel and straddles him under her flowing costume, rubbing herself slowly against him. McDowd reaches under the skirt with both hands to find the line of her tights and panties. His touch is light and easy, pulling them down and one leg at a time, she wriggles out of them. Now nothing is in their way. As she rubs slowly against him, he feels coarseness of pubic hair, tickling, teasing at first, then giving way to her softness. He lets her direct the choreography, seeing the perplexing pleasure and pain on her face, for as long as he can.

As her sweet spot finds him, any apprehension Kate had about what she was doing vanishes. A tear rolls down her cheek as all of her troubles fade away, replaced by the warm flush, kept from her, taken from her, first by her sobriety and then her husband. She does all she can to relish it, slow sips, trying hard not to gulp.

McDowd has not been in this position for quite a while. His ability to maintain control is beginning to buckle. He wants to do this right for her, not wanting to jump the gun. He needs to slow things down. Gently he rolls her off him and onto her back, but instead of diving headlong into her, he makes his way south for now, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

Her tears become the renewing waters to her parched existence, and everywhere, everything is in bloom. She wipes her eyes before pulling him to her.

The cell phone goes off just as Kate reaches to guide him in. He freezes. She can see the angry hesitation on his face, torn between what he wants to do and what he has to do. She touches his cheek, trying to pull him back into the moment. When the phone stops, the ruse almost seems to have worked, until it starts ringing again.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Let me try to get rid of them."

He moves off her and takes the call.

She stares at the ceiling as the mist of the dream drifts away. It is gone, never meant to be, and never to return. Kate rolls away, hearing the shouting caller on the other end. She doesn't need to hear any more.

"I just got out of the shower...I'm getting dressed now...Ten minutes. I'll be there in ten minutes," he says, turning to Kate, but she is gone.

Just down the block, Elayna's neck is still throbbing, but at least the Tylenol has taken the edge off. The pain of doubt is an entirely different matter.

"What if that dumb bastard actually does his job? I'd hate to have to kill somebody I just fucked."

She dismisses the thought. "Impossible, he's not even in the same league as her, poor slob," she laughs.

Then she spots someone walking out of the party and raises her night scope. "It looks like we're about to find out," she smiles, recognizing Katrina. Suddenly, she is not alone.

"Shit! Holy shit! It's the boy toy!"

She double-checks, just to make sure. " _Ebitskaya sila!_ If he goes inside with her..."

After throwing himself together, and getting a weird look from his sister as he dashed out the door, he catches up to the dark hooded figure down the block. "Kate! Kate, wait!" he calls charging after her.

She doesn't stop, forcing him to gently grab her. "Kate, hold on...I'm sorry." When she turns around, he sees she's crying, shattering his heart. "Oh Christ, Kate, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she says, trying to choke down the tears. "It was a crazy idea anyway. I'm the one who should be apologizing. What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have been there."

"No, what you did was wonderful!" he soothes. "It was just the wrong moment. I want to do this right, together." He pushes back the hood of her cloak, thinking how beautiful she looks, even in the face of sorrow. He places his hand beneath her chin so he can look at those knockout eyes. "What do you say?"

"Of coarse. I shouldn't be so upset. It's just been a rough week. I don't seem to be able to catch a break."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"You have to go," Kate tells him, finally returning to the now and its sobering possibilities.

"Ten A.M. meeting, right?"

"Right," she says, managing a smile.

He kisses her, but not like before. The kind of kiss a husband gives to a wife as he goes out the door.

"Tomorrow..." he reminds, reluctantly backing away, until he turns to run.

Kate stands on the sidewalk until she sees him drive away. "Good-bye, Dan."

Turning to her home, she thinks of her sons and the heartbreak yet to come. "You wasted the little remaining time you had with them trying to get laid, you selfish cunt," Kate tells herself. She thinks of how easily she could just end it all, remembering how she once had made that choice for her and her sons.

The plan is simple: spend the last few hours she has left with her boys, then slip away after they're asleep. They would never know the truth, which was better than believing a lie. Besides, if her orders were legitimate, the outcome wouldn't matter anyway. "Help me, God," she begs, walking up to her front door.

Elayna starts breathing again. "By the czar's whiskers! That was close," she exhales with a laugh. "This is the most fun I've had in years, and to think I wasted all that time as Kurtsin's office girl!"

She laughs at all the twists and turns that seem to have no regard for plans, sitting back to see what happens next and who walks out the front door of Katrina's fancy house.

Kate shuts her eyes and pushes the door closed with her back, bracing for what lie ahead. She whispers to herself, "God, please help me, give me the strength to save me from myself."

When she opens her eyes and looks into the dim light of the living room, she sees Tom and Robbie on the couch facing her with duct tape over their mouths.

Sitting in her favorite chair next to the fireplace is a stranger. In his hand is silenced automatic, pointing at her boys.

"We were beginning to worry. Come in, Katrina, we are waiting for you. Please move slowly, and if you do as I say, they will be unharmed," he tells her in Russian.

She edges away from the door. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"My name is Kreichek. I am here to terminate your mission," he says, finally getting a good look at her. _"This is the fearsome Katrina? You must be shitting me!"_

Her mind desperately tries to process what she's seeing.

"We've already visited with Eddy, Val and Misha. After our time together, we'll be visiting Stani."

"You mean the orders were fake?" she asks with relief.

"Yes. They were fake," he smiles.

"Thank God! I was going to try to stop them anyway," Kate says, moving toward her children, but a pointed gesture from Kreichek's gun stops her cold.

"My orders are also to terminate you. As you can imagine, this is a very embarrassing mistake, so they don't want any loose ends," he says with genuine sympathy.

"I won't tell a soul. Nobody has to know. I haven't betrayed our secret—"

"I wish it could go let you off the hook," he says, cutting her off, "but orders are orders."

Kate looks at Tom, then at the tape sitting on the coffee table. Kreichek hasn't bound their hands yet. The boys look more confused than afraid, thinking that she might be pulling another one of her crazy surprises.

"It's okay, guys. I'll treat you to Slurpees after this." She hopes Tom gets the hint, desperately searching his eyes for the answer. "What about them?"

He rises out of the chair, the gun still on her kids.

"I'm here for you, not them."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't, but you can." He switches to English. "What's the little one's name?" he asks, switching to English.

"Robert."

"Robert, please take that tape and wrap it around your mom's hands at the wrists, now!"

"No! Do not make him do that. Robbie, don't you move from that seat, young man!" she screams like any angry mom.

Kreichek looks at her, puzzled. "Do you _want_ me to kill them?"

"Yes! If you're going to kill me, they come with me!" Kate says chillingly in Russian.

Her coldness begins to freak him out, and Kate can see it.

" _Fuck!"_ He'll have to suck it up, but only because he has to. It will make killing Elayna that much easier.

He has made a serious mistake by using the boys. Fear is a great motivator, initiating the instinct of fight or flight. A mother of any species will always choose to fight when cornered with her young, but this one is a trained killer.

Kate knows what she's going to do. It's just like riding a bicycle; you never forget how to kill. She sees the sloppy way Kreichek is holding the gun. It is unlikely he'll be able to place a deadly round on the first shot. She also considers the caliber: a 9mm has stopping power, but one round isn't going to stop her from attacking him, not with the lives of her children at risk.

All she needs is an instant.

The gun drifts off the boys as he looks at her. When he looks back at the kids, the instant arrives.

Kate slips sideways out his peripheral vision.

He sees the movement and tries to target her.

She rushes him, but she is just too far away.

" _Shit!"_ She braces herself, shoulder first, reducing her profile. He'll get a shot off.

" _CLICK."_

She slams into him, knocking him back but not down. Katrina smirks, focusing all her power into a vicious attack. The first blow goes to his throat, fingers out and right above the Adam's apple. Stepping into him, she nails his chest with her elbow like a battering ram, right into his breastplate. Then she grabs the arm with the gun while violently connecting with his groin with a scoop kick. Waves of agony crash over him, loosening his grip on the weapon. As he falls backward, she connects with a roundhouse to the jaw. Then Kate steps out and points the gun at him.

From a combat stance, she works the trigger to place one round in his head and two in his chest, but again it doesn't fire.

Up until now the boys weren't sure if it was all just a Halloween prank, but the blood is real and their mother's attack is chillingly violent.

Tom moves, grabbing the fireplace poker without asking his mom for permission. With a big wind up, he smashes the tool into Kreichek's face with a sickening _smack._ The hook part of the poker gets stuck in Kreichek's eye socket, and as he pulls it back, it yanks Kreichek around before it comes loose, making him scream.

Tom winds up again, swinging for the bleachers. This time it sounds like he's broke something.

Going down, Kreichek's head catches the corner of the heavy wood coffee table, and he hits the floor out cold, a bloody mess.

Tom prepares for another shot, switching from baseball to golf.

"Tom! Stop!" He freezes in mid-swing.

Kate, Tom, and Robbie stand staring at Kreichek on the floor, Kate in her white blood-splattered ballerina costume, and Tom and Robbie still with the tape over their mouths. Tom rips his off.

"Robbie, dial 911!"

"Robbie, Wait, honey," Kate says. Tom looks at her, bewildered.

"We have to run away first. Tom, go upstairs and get a change of clothes for you and your brother, quickly!"

Like a good son, he does as he's told. Kate drags Robbie to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder to make sure Kreichek is still down. She sits Robbie down in a kitchen chair, crouching in front of him and, as gently as she can, removes his tape. "Honey, are you okay," she asks in a calm, even voice.

"Wow! Is this for real?" Robbie asks in awe.

"It's going to be all right, it's over now."

She hears the thudding of drawers upstairs. "Hurry up, Tom!" she yells. He runs down the stairs and into the kitchen with a bag.

"Stay here for one second."

Kate takes off for the basement, shedding clothes along the way. In the seconds it takes her to get to her bag, she's naked. She throws on her work clothes, a tee shirt and black coveralls. She hasn't worn them for a while, but they still fit. She dashes for basement fridge, pulling everything out onto the floor. Under the crisper drawers, she removes the false bottom and removes four thermos containers, stuffs them into the bag, and sprints back up the stairs.

"Mom! What's going on?" Tom pleads for an answer, but none comes.

"Get your shoes on," she says evenly while taking out a tab of Valium to give Robbie, then goes to the hall closet for a pair of sturdy hiking boots and a black field jacket. Tom watches in stunned disbelief.

"He was going to kill us, Tom, and he isn't alone. We have to get out of here fast," she tells him, closing the door.

From behind the door Kreichek grabs her. Somehow he's managed get himself up and going again, and the open closet prevented them from seeing his coming. He has her from behind, around the neck, lifting her off her feet, trying to find the leverage to snap her neck.

"You bitch! You don't have to worry about your brats. They'll be right behind you," he growls.

She struggles furiously, elbowing him violently, but unable to get free.

"Run! Get out!" She manages to scream despite his vice-like grip, trying desperately to counter the building pressure on her neck, feeling her strength slipping away and the breaking point fast approaching.

Robbie runs off, but Tom freezes in fear.

Kreichek is close now. She knows, she's done it herself.

She looks into Tom's terrified eyes, telling him that she loves him without saying it. Kate summons all her energy for one last shot to break free, but the effort isn't any good. Heartbreak sweeps over her.

Suddenly, Kreichek roars like a beast, but instead of a final burst of strength to finish her, his grip eases. Her feet touch the ground again, and she gets lose. Kate turns to attack, only to see Kreichek crazily reaching behind him. Kreichek drops to his knees, looking at Kate, and then drops face down to the floor.

In the hallway behind him is Robbie, and sticking out of Kreichek's back is the handle of her extra huge chopping knife.

"Robbie!" she says in disbelief, but she should known better; apples never fall too far from the tree. "Good boy!" she says, hugging him, her voice sounding raspy. "We have to get out of here."

Elayna is seconds away from going in when all the lights go out. She sees the side door open with a glint of light reflected from the corner streetlight. She raises her night scope, then smiles. "Good girl! I knew you could do it!"

Gun drawn, Kate shepherds the kids into the family truck and tears off, lights out, into the night. Elayna doesn't have to follow her. She has placed a tracking device on the truck. "See you in a little while, but I hope you do everybody a favor, find a place to get rid of the kids."

Seeing that everything is calm, she hops out and walks up the street to the side of the house. With one last glance around, she goes inside.

With her gun out Elayna listens to the dark house. She follows the gurgling noises and in the faint orange light from outside, Elayna finds Kreichek sprawled on the floor.

Elayna takes a knee next to him. "My poor Stephan, what happened to you?"

Her voice is gentle, but her sarcasm is lost on Kreichek. "Were you mean to that nice lady?"

He attempts to crawl away from the threat. It makes her laugh. "And where do you think you're going?"

A cat peers at her in the darkness. "Hi, kitty!" she says with a cute little wave.

Then she chambers a round.

"I guessed you and Hutnikov were told to kill me, so I filed down the firing pins. My bad, as they say, but better safe than sorry. If I was wrong, I hope you'll forgive me," she says, standing up. "If it's any consolation, you were a pretty good fuck. I thought you'd like to know."

She gazes the framed photos on the walls, fall fun in the pumpkin patch, wet dogs and lakes. Katrina's gallery of lies. She was enjoying a very nice life. Elayna sees one particularly good shot of Katrina and her boys and places it in her coat pocket. In the living room, she finds Kreichek's gun and picks it up, thinking it will come in handy again.

Back to her dying partner, she sees that he's made some progress, having crawled

partially into the closet to hide. "Well, I've got to run, love. Thanks for all your help. _Dosbindonya_ , and pleasant dreams."

The single shot to the back of his head sends the cat running for cover.

Chapter 33

Willow Grove NAS

"Jesus! It's about time you got here, McDowd," Edwards says as he enters the hangar.

"My sister was having a party," he reminds them.

"Well, don't take your coat off. We have a party of our own to go to."

"So fill me in," McDowd coaxes.

"On the way."

They've almost out the door when Edwards' phone rings. At the same moment, Freaks shouts across the room. "Hey, McDowd! Get back here!" Seeing McDowd has sparked his memory.

"Hold on," Freaks says, going back into the history of McDowd's search. When he finds it, he points the screen. It is Kate's DMV picture.

"My sister's neighbor, what about her?"

Freaks then drags another picture next to it. It is considerably older, but frighteningly similar.

It takes McDowd a second to process what Freaks has already figured out.

Panic, fear and dread hit him all at the same time. "Sweet Jesus."

"You know her?" Bob asks in disbelief.

"I was just with her." McDowd feels sick.

Edwards comes over, still on the phone. "Linda Carpenter found a name at the tire store to run," he tells them. Looking at the name on the screen, he realizes they won't have to.

"Kate Wilson," he says.

"Where she is now?" Bob asks.

"I just walked her home from my sister's party." Then another thought hits him.

"Oh shit! She's got kids in the house!"

He bolts.

"Freaks, Dave, go with him!" Bob says, but the two men are already moving. As Freaks grabs his AR-15, Bob adds, "Tommy, alive this time."

"That's up to her." Freaks says in a warning.

Cops and agents from Val's rush to the Wilson house, but McDowd gets there first. He's out of the car before it stops.

"Dan! Wait up!" Freaks calls out, trying to get him into a vest before rushing into the dark house. When they get to the side door, they see that it's open. Linda Carpenter, and her people arrive nearly silently and the agents in dark FBI raid jackets jump out with guns drawn. She points some to the front and others around back, then joins the others at the side. Once everything is set, she issues the order softly into her radio.

"Go."

Freaks leads the way with night-vision goggles, fast and quiet.

"Movement!"

He comes within a nanosecond of shooting the cat, trying to scamper out the door. Flashlight beams slice the darkness as they sweep from room to room.

"Tango! Center hall!" The radio crackles.

"FBI! Freeze!"

Freaks and McDowd move from the kitchen to the hall. On the floor in a pool of flashlight beams is a male body. Freaks checks for a pulse and shakes his head.

The search goes on, with the dead body kicking up the intensity and McDowd's anxiety.

He is reliving every moment with Kate, now recognizing the signs he'd missed. Her accent, the way she handled herself, even the way she drove. His "Chiller" sixth sense had been blinded by her spell.

" _That could be me,"_ he thinks, stepping over Kreichek. The shock deepens, metastasizing like a cancer into his bones. Despite this, he still believes the truth he knows about her. " _You can hide darkness, but you can't hide the light,"_ he remembers hearing once. " _That's why I'm so afraid for her and the kids."_

The "all clears" come from the various parts of the house, and the tension eases.

They meet back at Kreichek's body, and Carpenter finds the lights.

"Signs of a struggle," she says. "On top of this big-ass knife in his back, she gave him a shot to the head," Carpenter observes, taking a closer look.

"She might have gone to my sister's house!" McDowd starts.

Carpenter grabs him before he runs out. "Wait, you're not thinking. If all those cars out there are for her party, you'd be scaring a shit load of people."

"Let him go in there first to sniff her out, see if she's there...quietly," Freaks suggests.

Carpenter agrees. "Go," she says, handing him a radio and earpiece.

McDowd enters his sister's kitchen from the back yard patio while the tactical team takes up perimeter positions outside. The party is still going on, driven on by the pros. Julie, trying to get a jump on cleaning, is surprised to see him.

"You're back?" she says all tipsy.

"Have you seen Kate or the kids?"

"No, but she left some of her stuff behind. You fucking my girlfriend?" she asks with a sly smile.

He grabs her and pulls her outside.

"Dan! What's going on?"

"Has anyone come looking for her?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea where she might go if she was in trouble?

Julie looks past him, her eyes drawn to the moving flashlights in Kate's backyard. Then she notices her brother's jacket and bulletproof vest. "What's happening, Dan?"

"She's in deep shit, Sis."

Julie laughs in his face. "Kate Wilson? Mrs. America? Are you kidding me? That woman shits ice cream."

"She's not who you think she is."

"Who is?" Now she gets angry. "Stop it, the woman's a saint. Do you have _any_ idea how she helped me through Tim's death? Do you have any idea how she's turned her own life around, what she's been through? She's like my sister."

Linda Carpenter comes down the driveway. "Any luck?"

"No. Linda, this is my sister Julie."

"Pleased to meet you, Linda Carpenter."

She turns to McDowd. "We're trying to find the husband. Seems he's not at work and isn't responding to text or phone. Does Kate Wilson know what you do?" she asks.

"No. I never told her."

"So you don't really know her that well," Linda presses.

"She's my sister's best friend. We became friendly, their kids hang out together, karate school."

"What else?" She continues to press.

McDowd has to think about that. Anonymity, the program, his job and the question of whether or not to give that up, and what about Kate's? He has to be honest. "She's in a twelve-step program."

She sees the hesitation. "How do you know?"

"Because I am too," McDowd relents.

She raises an eyebrow. "Really. Well, you're in good company. I used to be in narcotics," she assures him with a wink. "Does she have a good program?"

"You mean, will she do the right thing?"

"Exactly," she replies.

McDowd has to think about that one. In every room of AA, there are one or two members who talk the talk and walk the walk, but never get honest. As the Big Book says, " _Those who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves, there are such unfortunates_."

What Carpenter really wants to know is if Kate has a conscience. Both of them know it's the key to successful sobriety. He searches his mind to justify the answer he wants to give. Then he remembers the night before when taking the kids to karate class. She said she had allergies, but now he knows she'd been crying. He also recalls the feeling he got seeing her in the rearview mirror driving away, just standing there, until they were gone. She loves her two sons. Then again, how can we ever really know someone else, when most of the time we hardly know ourselves?

" _You can hide darkness, but you can't hide light."_

"She'll do the right thing," he finally says.

"How do you know?"

He remembers when she kissed her son Tom, and how she closed her eyes to savor it.

"I just do."

She eyes him warily as Freaks walks up to them. "Her car is gone. Looks like she packed stuff for the kids and herself. I found a small stash of weapons in the basement. I'd say she's on the run."

"With kids in tow," Carpenter laments.

"Where the hell is Haddad?" Freaks asks.

Seeing her dismay, McDowd pulls Julie out of earshot. "It's a very long story that I can't talk about, but her life is in danger."

"Oh, my God!"

"If you hear from her or think of anything, call me on my cell."

"Is she going to be all right Dan?" Julie asks.

"I don't know, Sis. I really don't know."

Chapter 34

The Warehouse

The full moon provides the only illumination inside the beat-up old building, spilling through the broken skylights and windows. Haddad has a flashlight but doesn't use it. The light would let him see, but others could also see him. Water drips somewhere in the distance, and besides the occasional scurry of a rodent, the place seems empty. He's about to turn around to leave when a tingle enters his consciousness. At first he thinks he's imagining it. He strains to listen.

Music. From a radio...

" _Shit."_

He heads in the direction, slowly, trying hard to mind his footing amid all the debris. He gets about fifty feet across when he inadvertently kicks a bottle across the floor. It seems to roll forever, sounding more like an avalanche than an empty Bud light. He freezes for a long time to see what happens.

Nothing does. The radio plays on. He advances again, this time with the flashlight. Panning the light around, he reveals bleachers and a makeshift MMA octagon.

"This is stupid, call for backup," he tells himself. Usually pride trumps common sense, but not this time. He takes out his phone, but he can't get a signal. Reluctantly, he presses on. The radio draws him to a stairwell. The heavy metal music is becoming louder with every step. It's real head banger stuff, more shouting than singing. He moves tactically, the gun moving in sync with his eyes in sweeping motion, following the flashlight beam. He begins to make his way down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he pauses to listen. The music is to his left, down the black corridor, yet he senses something to his right...

The beam stops on the open eyes of a dead man, mouth open in a gasp.

He jumps.

Then he senses movement behind him. He spins. All he sees is a muzzle flash.

He doesn't even hear the gun.

Chapter 35

Oak Lane Apartments

Ellen Washington is sitting down for 11 o'clock news when her buzzer rings. Getting back up, she knows she won't miss anything, just more of the same yellow crime scene tape, flashing lights, fat white cops and dead black people. Boo has stayed home tonight, not ready yet to venture into his new fatherless world. Little Russ is already out cold on the couch. The buzzer sounds again.

"I'm coming," she says, ambling to the intercom. "Hello?"

"Ellen? It's Kate Wilson. Can I come up?"

Perplexed, Ellen looks at Boo. It must be important for her to be calling so late. "Come on up, dear."

She turns to her grandson. "Now, what do you think this is all about?" but all he can do is shrug.

When she opens the door, the sight of Kate with her boys makes her smile at first, but after reading her face, she thinks differently.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Ellen asks, watching them come in, the boys with backpacks.

Kate takes her lightly by the arm, down the hallway away from the boys. "Ellen, I need your help." Her eyes are welling up as she speaks. "I'm in trouble. The story is too long to explain. I need to leave the boys here with you."

Ellen hesitates.

"Only for a few hours. My husband or a friend will come for them."

In Kate's eyes, Ellen sees desperation and cannot resist.

"They can put their stuff in James' old room." Ellen says.

Kate hugs her. "Thank you."

Robbie is practically asleep, so Kate carries him down the hall.

"Tom, grab your stuff," she grunts, following Ellen to the room. Ellen stands next to the door to Bone's room but does not follow them in, closing the door behind them.

Kate collapses onto the bed with her little boy, then pauses there, capturing the image of his little freckles and long brown eyelashes as he nestles into sleep.

"Robbie sweetie, be a good boy."

"Good night, Mom, love you," he says sleepily.

She kisses his cheek deeply. "I love you too, sweetie."

"Are you going to finally tell me what's going on now, or am I going to have to keep guessing?" Tom demands with a tinge of anger.

She continues to look at Robbie as she answers. "I don't know how much he'll remember of this, but if he asks, tell him that I stabbed the man. Not him. It was a bad dream."

Turning, she slides over to the end of the bed and grabs her bag.

"Sit down," she says, unable to make eye contact with him. If she did, she'd lose it. "I need to show you this."

Unzipping the bag, she removes one of the 9mms. Tom's eyes grow wide from all the stuff in it. "This is the safety. If you can see the red, the safety is off and the gun will fire."

Despite all her resolve, she begins to sob her way through the explanation while angry tears run down Tom's face.

"You release the magazine this way."

"Mom! Why are you doing this?"

"The magazine is full. There are fourteen shells."

"Stop it!"

"Shut up and watch, Tom! You pull back on the slide and the first round goes into the chamber. Now it's loaded and the safety is on."

She places it into his backpack. "Just in case." Tom yanks her arm, but she pulls it back until the gun is safely put away.

"When you get back home, go see Dan McDowd and give it to him."

Time freezes for a moment, both overloaded with emotions, waiting for their brains to catch up.

Slowly, Kate slips on the bed next to her firstborn. She has regained a measure of control again, prepared with steely determination for what she is about to say. "I have to leave you, go away. I'm a part of a something I thought would never happen, and now I may be the only one who can stop it."

"That guy was Russian..."

"So am I, Tom... and so are you," she says with a hint of pride.

"Then why did he want to kill you?"

"I can't tell you, Tom, for your own good."

"You told me never to hide from the truth."

Kate closes her eyes again. " _Tell him, Kate, the fucking truth that everything he knows about you is a fucking lie."_

It's hard to speak, so hard to do, so hard for her to say goodbye. "You'll hear things about me, but only one thing matters, regardless of what anyone says. I am, and always will be, your mom," she says. "And I will always love you and your brother. I will always be with you."

"Why you? Why now?" Tom begs, choking in tears.

"I guess it's the way God wants it to be, honey."

He slumps into her, a young man but still a boy. She comforts her son, as she had many times before, but now for what could be the last time. Tom weeps into her shoulder, hugging her tight. As Kate strokes his hair, she looks up to the ceiling, looking for God.

Her resolve slowly returns. She has to stay strong now, for Tom. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do, but we have to do them because it's the right thing." Her upward gaze turns into a scowl. "I don't know what will happen, but I promise you," she hesitates for a moment, afraid of telling another senseless lie even though it will ease Tom's pain. "It will be all right."

Kate lets him cry for a little while longer. _"God, if you won't watch over me, watch over them. They are good boys and they'll serve you well,"_ she prays. " _Besides, they're all better off without me anyway."_

Finally, it is time, and with a final squeeze she pushes him away. "I have to go."

"Mom, please tell me what it is you have to do."

Kate pauses. "I have to stop a war."

She lays her hand on his cheek. "Mind your father, and forgive him for being who he is. Watch over your brother. Say a prayer for me."

Kate kisses him on the head. "One day I hope you'll be able to forgive me. I love you," she says, melting away from him, and abruptly she is gone.

Chapter 36

Woodcrest Road

The Wilson home is now a crime scene, in more ways than one. Now that the lights are on, McDowd can see what was once a happy family is now shattered beyond repair, a crime in itself. Their faces are everywhere; her husband must be into photography. He comes upon gorgeous shots of a younger Kate, all with her mischievous eyes. They are different now, worn by having seen too much of life.

"So now Elayna still has two more targets left, since this guy screwed up," Edwards says, standing over Kreichek.

McDowd frowns, not liking Kate being called "A target."

"So now we've got Rachel Ray running around about to set off a nuke," Carpenter breathes.

"She's no mass murderer," McDowd tells them.

"No, just one at a time," Edwards responds, gesturing to Kreichek. "Here, have a look at this," He hands McDowd some sheets of paper. "It's her rap sheet."

The printout is in Russian. Edwards and Linda watch him as he reads, flipping through the pages, seeing his color slowly drain away.

"Good Christ," McDowd whispers.

"Afghanistan?" Edwards laughs, "Her shit makes Abu Ghraib girl look like the sugar plum fairy. She was scareing her own people."

McDowd looks at him. "This has to be bullshit."

Edwards shrugs. "Who knows? Hard to believe a woman could do that to another woman."

McDowd slaps the papers onto Edward's chest, then walks away. "Thanks," he says with dripping sarcasm.

"What's up, what am I missing?" Carpenter asks.

"You don't want to know. Apparently she had some real nasty interrogation techniques, crazy shit."

"So, what's she doing here?"

"I guess it would have been a shame to waste her, so send her as far away as possible."

"Put her where she'd do the least damage, until she had to do the most," Freaks adds.

"McDowd's too close to her," Edwards warns.

"How the hell could he have known? We need everyone we got. Besides, his guilt trip will keep him honest...I think." Freaks says.

"Let's hope," Edwards says, and then turns to Carpenter. "What happened to Haddad?"

"Good question. His phone goes right to voice mail."

Outside, the harvest moon looms in the night sky, and Dan McDowd has a question for it. _"Where is she, and what will she do?"_

The file really rattled him. To think that the kind, loving mother and sponsor, the woman he knew and came to care about, had been capable of doing the horrible things that the report revealed. McDowd had heard in the rooms the countless stories of rebirth and redemption. People with bottoms unimaginably low becoming completely different, leading new lives in the world of light instead of darkness. Was her transformation for real, or all an act for the role in which she'd been cast?

Am I any different? Have I really changed?

Freaks, Edwards and Carpenter find him on the corner.

"Hate full moons," Edwards says.

Freaks joins in. "Makes people whacky."

"Mayo's pulling together everything he can find on the Wilson woman. You two round up the hubby," Edwards tells them.

"I doubt she'll be going there."

"She has to dump the kids somewhere, they'll just slow her down." Edwards says.

"Oh, I get it." McDowd says indignantly.

"Hey, it's business, nothing personal. But, don't you worry, big guy, we're better off taking her alive."

"Call me when you get down there. You're the agent in charge on the scene until Haddad shows up," Carpenter says, patting him on the shoulder as she leaves with Edwards.

"Come on, let's roll, Chiller man," Freaks sighs, bummed over his own B-Team status.

Carpenter and Edwards walk back to the house.

"Aren't you worried about Haddad?" he asks.

"Yes. We're trying to GPS track his phone," she tells him.

"What about an alert for Wilson?"

"It's going out as an Amber Alert. Locate but do not approach. Suspect considered armed and dangerous."

Chapter 37

Kate's SUV rushes quietly through the suburban back streets, but inside her screaming rants are deafening.

Screams of anger, "OH, MY FUCKING GOD! WHAT AM I _DOING_!"

Screams of agonizing loss, "MY BOYS! MY SWEET BOYS!"

Screams of rage, "WHY HAVE YOU TAKEN THEM AWAY?"

And screams of shame, "WHAT HAVE I DONE?"

Her thoughts and feelings are all over the place. Waves of despair crash into her, slamming her violently. At one point, she almost goes back to get the boys, but she resists the urge. After twenty minutes, all that is left is acceptance. She gave Tom and Robbie life, but now the greatest threat to them is their own mother.

"I DIDN'T FUCKING GET SOBER FOR THIS!"

Cunning, baffling, powerful, and patient, Katrina has waited a long time for this very moment and for the pint bottle of vodka in the bag in behind the seat.

" _I know what you're thinking. It's all right, Kate. God doesn't want you to suffer, you've done enough."_

Usually, Kate would instantly blast such a thought away with a determined _NO_!

Not tonight.

" _God will forgive you, Kate. Has he not forgiven all that you've done, and still he blessed you with your boys? God forgives all, even to those who hate him, like you."_

The black pavement under her seems to sparkle in the moonlight while the old hunger grows and her resolve fades.

" _I will forgive you,"_ soothes Katrina.

"I won't be able to forgive myself," Kate whispers.

" _So you're better than God? How nice it must be to hold oneself in such high regard!"_

"Fuck you."

" _So why did you get sober anyway, Kate?"_ Katrina mocks

There is no answer, just angry silence.

" _No? Well I'll tell you, then. It was out of love for your boys. God gave you sobriety because he loves you and your sons. You've been a wonderful mom, and they will be wonderful men. Now it's God's turn watch over them. Don't you see? He's taken that burden away. You're free."_

Kate catches herself licking her lips.

" _It's time for the pain to go away! Don't you see how wonderful God is? He's given you the opportunity to do that, because he understands, because he loves you. That bottle has been locked away for years, yet now here it is."_

Kate didn't think she had any tears left, but these come because she can almost taste the sting, and feel the wonderful warmth that will follow.

" _There are no coincidences."_

"No."

" _You've been so good for so long, and as you said yourself, it's not always about the drink. Even Bill W. begged for one on his deathbed. Do you really think any one who loved him would have denied his last request? I thought we were over deluding ourselves to the truth?"_

Ultimately, Kate believes what she wants to believe. Truth, like religion, is based on personal belief, validated by a conscience, that little voice that divides right from wrong. Now the only voice she hears is Katrina, reminding her that the truth is she's a drunk. She might regret giving in, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter.

" _The ball is over. It's midnight. It's time for you to turn back into who you really are. There is no prince coming for you, but in that bag is your glass slipper and it fits you so well."_

The final barrier is breached, and a single neuron in a dark lonely place inside her brain fires.

If asked, many alcoholics who have relapsed can offer no explanation for picking up. There is every excuse, and no excuse, but the simplest, truest explanation, is because they want to. It never is, never was, and never will be rational. It is, insanity. That is the nature of the disease, and of Kate's desire.

Kate reaches back into the open bag, her hand searching for the bottle while still watching the dark road ahead, but can't find it. She unbuckles her seat belt and turns around to look, taking her eyes off the road. It's too dark. Kate glances back to the road before turning on the interior light.

A deer.

In the middle of the road. Frozen in her headlights, the glowing green eye shine rapidly closing on her.

" _SHIT."_

With one hand, she swerves around it, just missing the huge doe.

But then her hand slips off the wheel.

Slamming on the brakes, she frantically fumbles to get a grip. The damp air, combined with fallen leaves, have made the road as slick as ice. Desperately she tries to regain control, working the wheel to get the truck out of its sideways skid, heading directly at a big fat tree.

" _Come on!"_

Impact is moments away. Kate braces. At this speed, without the seat belt, she'll be thrown through the windshield and killed.

Not yet.

Suddenly, the tires find their traction and she steers out of the slide. The truck's rear fishtails into the tree and bounces off, actually straightening the vehicle again.

"Not yet!" She laughs.

The truck slides to a halt on the gravel shoulder. She sits with a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, heart pounding, and breathless, staring straight ahead, and shaking like wet cat. No words yet, no other thoughts, just the hum of the engine and a lazy orange leaf falling through the headlight beams. She looks in the door mirror, and in the full moon light stands the ghostly figure of the deer, still in the road, looking right at her.

That pisses her off. Kate hops out of the truck and, opening the rear door, tears open the bag, grabs the bottle, and storms down the road at the animal.

"GET the FUCK out of the ROAD!" she rages, launching the bottle at the deer. She instantly regrets it, not because of the booze, but because she might hit the animal. The bottle arcs high into the pale light and shatters with a wet pop between them, showering glistening glass across the road.

Yet the deer remains, and it gives Kate a chill. She slows to a walk. The animal stands its ground, as if challenging her. About ten yards away, Kate stops. They look at each other, held by an eerie enchantment that gives her goose bumps. The doe lowers her head, and something stirs in the brush at the road's edge. In the shadows, Kate makes out two fawns.

"You nearly killed us," Kate tells the doe, "but you saved my life. Thank you."

As the two mothers regard each other, Kate thinks she hears one of the fawns, in Tom's voice, call out:

" _Come on, Mom!"_

The doe looks in the direction of her young and then back to Kate. She somehow senses concern from the animal, concern about her in some strange maternal empathy.

"I'll be all right, go on to your kids."

The doe starts to turn away.

"You know, I envy you," Kate sighs. "Maybe one day I'll be able to go back to mine." The doe raises her head, and with a flick of her white tail, bounds into the woods.

Once again, Kate is alone, left looking at the broken glass, as booze soaked and shattered as her life. At one time she'd have thought it a waste of good liquor. Instead, she regards it as another gift.

Getting back into her truck, Kate closes her eyes and whispers, "Thank you."

She knows what she has to do. The rest is up to God.

"This is bigger than me," Kate concludes, having found her rational self in the quiet, calming eye of her storm. She can hear herself think again because something is missing, and it makes her happy. Katrina is gone.

For now.
Part VI

"The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle. The moment I jumped off of it was the moment I touched down."

- _Thank U_

Alanis Morissette

Saturday

Chapter 1

Kalchuga, Russia

Fredrik Karlov has a good reason to drop by his boss's country home for a visit. The two men are not great friends, but also not enemies. Both came up through the ranks, but power is all about whom you know, and what you have on them. Rostov had been closer to the action, and the money, so he was in the catbird seat when it was time for the previous old drunk of a president to get lost.

President Rostov's palatial dacha, sits in a stand of white birch trees on the edge of a sparkling lake. Karlov finds him in the large bright kitchen.

"Ricki, good morning," Rostov says cheerily.

"Good morning, thank you for squeezing me in."

"Take off your coat, sit. How about some tea?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Fredrik doesn't mind so much playing his part of respectful formality. Perhaps one day it will be his turn.

"So, what's up? Is this about the arrests in America? Don't worry, we'll send some of them here packing!" he asks, putting on the pot.

Karlov takes a beep breath, "Not exactly. Did Markov tell you about the Buran cell problem?"

"He mentioned something in passing. Why?"

Karlov nods. "An old cell has been activated.

"What?"

"A GRU operator was sent to the States to stop them. She called upon my people for help. That's how the FBI found them. Well, now it seems now that the GRU operator sent to do that may actually want the team to succeed."

The PM stops what he's doing, "Why do you say that?" he asks before cracking an egg into the pan.

Karlov smiles to himself. "Revenge. Do you know what this all means?

"Do I need to?"

Karlov shrugs. "Yes. It means that if the Buran cell completes their orders, they will have detonated two tactical nuclear weapons in the United States, most likely in or around Washington, DC."

Karlov can see the growing rage. "How did this happen?"

"Well, to begin with, the teams should have been called back a long time ago. It's the result of a fuck up by the GRU Second Directorate chief," Karlov pauses while his boss digests this part, "and the defense minister's willingness to let it slide."

"Go on."

"Buran operators do not retire. They are terminated, and for good reason. A former communications officer for a Buran team sold his old team's activation code to the Iranians." Karlov hands Rostov a picture. "Sasha Malekov was the son of Petre Kurtsin."

Karlov can clearly see that he's rattled. "I have provided the Americans with the complete information they need to find the team members. Now we have to think of the very real possibility of what the U.S. will do when our nukes detonate on American soil."

"My God, they have to know this is an accident!"

"I'm sure that will be of great comfort to them," Karlov replies with sarcasm.

"Markov assured me it wasn't a threat."

"Too bad you believed him."

"What do we do?"

"Well, I think I can say confidently that neither of us _wants_ to fight a thermonuclear war, but it's going to cost us one way or another."

Rostov can no longer mistake the gravity of the situation, and Karlov is glad he isn't in Rostov's shoes.

"That's even too much for me. Fuck it. Now what?

"Pray for a miracle," Karlov suggests.

Chapter 2

The Warehouse

Kate pulls around to the back of the old warehouse by the loading docks. She warily eyes the open doors and trunk of a dark blue Crown Victoria bearing New York plates parked there. Next to one of the bay doors is an RV, with luggage waiting to be loaded. It seems Stani is ready to go. She pulls out her gun and chambers a round, then shoves it into her jacket pocket and heads to the RV.

"Stani, you in here? It's Katrina," she says, climbing cautiously inside.

Empty. She turns to exit, but suddenly stops, thinking of the contents of her bag. "Perhaps I should leave this here." Pleased by the thought, Kate removes a pair of thermoses and stashes them under the kitchen sink, then takes her bag to the coat closet and throws it in. On the shelf she eyes a bottle of booze. "Jesus! Is there no escaping this stuff?" she asks, slamming the door shut.

She heads into the warehouse to find Stani by the stairs. _"He must have cameras..."_

"Good, our Katrina! Now the party can begin," he smiles, waving a bottle. He seems drunk and looks sweaty. "Of them all, I knew I could depend on you."

Kate slings her large bag off her shoulder. "Someone tried to kill me."

Stani's smile vanishes. "When?'

"Just hours ago, at my home."

"Really! Americans, probably C.I.A."

"No. He spoke Russian. Where are the others? Have they shown up yet?" she asks.

"No. Come, I want to show you something," he says, gesturing for her to follow.

"He said the mission is terminated, and they were wiping us all out!"

"A trick, just what our teachers had warned us about, but yet here you are!"

His limp is much worse and she can smell the infection. The body of his friend is still dumped at the bottom of the stairs, now with a blanket over his head. "I killed him, but there must be more. Where did that police car come from?"

He backs out of the door to let her pass. "An intruder, see?"

Sitting on the floor, handcuffed to a pipe, is a man in an FBI raid jacket. He turns to look at her. His face is a bloody mess.

"I tried to shoot him, but his vest is very good," he smiles, tossing Haddad's I.D. onto the table. The picture bears little resemblance to the guy now.

"They know where we are!" she says with a start.

"Doubtful. If they did, they would have been here by now."

"But his phone..."

He holds up a small electronic device. "Cell phone jammer. I'm afraid he's all alone, and so are we, Katrina, apparently just as you wanted."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She doesn't like his tone.

"You've been a very busy girl. Eddy I could understand, he never did like you, but Val and Misha? That was an unpleasant surprise," he leers.

"What are you talking about?"

"You killed them, I saw you. Now I suppose you're going to kill me."

"That's insane. Your leg is making you think crazy things, Stani. Let me look at it," she says.

It's the only rational explanation for his rambling. Then he points to the laptop on the table, unnoticed by her until now. On the screen is a grainy image taken from the video at Eddy's shop. A blond-haired woman stands over a body on the floor.

Kate is dumbfounded—and then very, very afraid. "That's not me! It couldn't be..." she says, stunned and confused.

"I also saw you leaving the tire shop, Katrina. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to sabotage the mission."

When Kate looks back at him, he has a gun in his hand.

"But I know that isn't the case. Otherwise, you would have killed the only person left who has the code for the weapon, yourself."

For a moment, she wishes she was wearing Haddad's vest, before realizing that when he does shoot her, it will be in the head. The two in the chest won't matter.

"Stani, you're wrong. I can't explain it, but it isn't the truth. You have to believe me," she says in a calm, even voice.

"Then prove it to me. Enter your code into the weapon. Then I will believe you, and your commitment to the mission," he replies.

"You know I can't do that. It's against orders."

"So is killing your comrades. Enter the code, Katrina," he says angrily.

"Your leg is poisoning you. Let me help you—"

"Do it now, or I will shoot the American."

When he hears the word _Amerikanski_ , Haddad looks up. He can't understand Russian, be he has a pretty good idea about what's going on. "Don't do it, lady, whatever it is he wants you to do."

Stani hurls the bottle at him. "Shut up!" He turns his attention back to her. "Do it...now!" he orders, underlining his point by cocking the gun.

She can no longer pretend to be what she no longer is. Kate can sacrifice herself for the greater good, but she cannot make that choice for another. She opens the case on the table and dials in the code.

"Now, step away, Katrina. Eddy was right about you all along," he tells her as she retreats. He closes the case, lifts it off the table and begins to back his way out to the door. "You got lost in the lie you've been living in, forgotten who you are. Obviously we expected too much of you. Such a shame. Thankfully, it isn't a critical mistake, and one easily—"

With a loud, wet thud, Stani's forehead explodes, spraying blood, bone and brains all over the room. His body continues to stand there mawkishly and then collapses forward to the floor.

From out of the darkness a blond-haired woman appears, holding a gun. "Don't shoot, Katrina, I'm one of you." Elayna says in a cautious tone, hands raised slightly while stepping over Stani. "I'm one of you," she repeats in Russian.

" _Now what?"_ Kate asks herself. Quick as lightning, Kate has her gun trained right on Elayna's head.

"Who are you?" Kate asks incredulously.

"Lieutenant Colonel Elayna Boradin. Second Directorate. I'm your new boss," she says, extending her hand, but not putting away her gun.

Kate doesn't flinch.

"I can't begin to say what an honor it is to finally meet you, Lieutenant Primorski," Elayna tells her. "We have much to discuss, but right now we've got to get out of here while we still can."

"You just killed my team leader—"

"Who was about to kill you," Elayna says mater-of-factly. She doesn't press, letting it sink in.

"And you killed the others. Let me guess. I'm next," Kate growls, pulling back the hammer.

"No. If I wanted you dead, I had plenty of opportunity to do so."

"But you didn't stop the man who came to my house, did you?"

"He was FSB. They want _both_ of us dead. I just didn't get there in time. I'm sorry," she says, reaching into her jacket.

"Don't move!"

"I have something for you. I saved it from your house," Elayna says.

"Slowly..." Kate warns.

Elayna pull out a photograph. It is an image of Kate, Robbie and Tom, taken from a frame on a table in her front hallway. Gently, she places it on the table between them. "My orders are to bring you, and your boys, home."

A pang of emotion hits Kate. The picture is only about two years old, but the difference in the boys is significant. _"They're so young..."_

"First, we have to get you and the bombs out of here. We can't let the Americans get a hold of them, or you."

" _Could this be the way out I've been hoping for?"_ Kate wants to believe her, that there can be a happy ending after all _. "The only way to know is to find out,"_ she tells herself. Kate lowers the gun.

"I can't say that I blame you not trusting anyone, but soon all your hard work and sacrifice will pay off. Right now we've got to get moving," Elayna warns, handing Kate a rag to remove the splatter of Stani's blood from her face. Then she sees Haddad for the first time. "I didn't know you had company," she says in English with a hint of disgust.

"You two should do yourselves a favor and call it a day. Just let me go. It will be easier on everyone," Haddad manages.

"Well, aren't you considerate," Elayna remarks sarcastically. "I would just worry about yourself," she adds, pulling her gun back out.

"Stop! What are you doing?" Kate shouts, moving between her and Haddad.

"Putting him out of his misery."

"No, leave him," Kate says evenly, making it clear that she'll stand her ground.

After an uneasy pause Elayna gives in. "As you wish. Perhaps a little goodwill might pay off."

They pack up the cases and move them out to the RV by way of a freight elevator, storing the suitcases in the luggage compartment. They return for the few remaining bags of things Kate says they should take. Before leaving, she opens a medical kit and takes out a few cold compresses and kneels next to Haddad. "Here, use these," she says while placing them in his free hand. "I'm sorry about this."

"Thanks, but I'm warning you, if you run now, it's suicide. They'll kill you for those bombs. Come in with me. I can protect you," he says in a low voice so Elayna can't hear.

"Where's your cell phone?" Kate asks.

He looks down at his jacket. Kate reaches in and finds it.

"When we're far enough away, I'll let them know where you are," Kate says quietly.

"She will kill you," Haddad warns a final time.

"Next time, Agent Haddad, call for the backup," she warns right back with a slight smile.

He watches her leave. "Yeah, if there is a next time.

Chapter 4

I-95 South

Kate drives, and so far it's been a quiet one, just directions. Both have had a rough day and longer night.

"You want to tell me now what the hell is going on," Kate demands.

"Your activation was fraudulent. You've been sold out by a former member of your group," Elayna says. "The Iranians got you for a mere six million Euros."

Never in a million years would Kate have believed such a thing, but the claim isn't that far-fetched.

"When the SVR found out, their solution was to kill all of you, with the blessing of the head of our department himself. He gave them all the information they needed. That's how I found out about them. He actually asked me to give it to them. He asked me to betray my own people, because they were just doing their job."

"We needed to be stopped, if the activation was a mistake."

"Yes, but not like that. You are not fools. You could have been reasoned with."

That makes Kate laugh. Stani would never have bought it. "Some perhaps, but not all."

Elayna sighs deeply. "I know. I thought if I could save you..."

Kate shoots her a quizzical look. "Me?

"I know everything about you, Katrina. I may be your biggest fan. You've been my inspiration, my hero. You are a legend at the academy, in the service, an icon every girl looks up to. You know what they say, what I said in the darkest days of my training, brutalized by filthy men?" Elayna pauses, not for dramatic effect, but out of reverence.

"Katrina did it, she survived and made them pay. The little ballerina fucked them back!"

Kate hears the pride in Elayna's voice. _"She's talking about me?"_

"You gave me hope no one else could, a light that illuminated my darkness."

The way Elayna says it chills Kate, but she isn't talking about Kate Wilson. No, she is talking about Katrina.

"I never knew," Kate blushes.

"That's because they didn't want you to know! That's why they buried you here, in this pathetic lie of a life, hoping you would fade into memory. You were a threat to them. Yet they were wrong. You never faded from our memory."

"Our?"

Elayna slides off the seat and moves closer. "There are many of us, Katrina, like you, like me. Women of courage who refuse to give in or to bow down to any man," Elayna tells her proudly.

She lets that sink in, watching Kate's face, admiring her natural beauty and how little makeup she needs at her age. Elayna is pleased with how things are going, but she isn't done yet. She still has a few more buttons to push.

"I'm just glad I was able to get to you in time, especially for the sake of your sons. My boss could have cared less about you or them. It sickened me, especially considering who he is."

Elayna says nothing more until Kate looks at her for the answer.

"Peter Kurtsin, Katrina...Peter Kurtsin."

"Bullshit!" Kate snaps.

"I'm sorry. I know he was like a father to you, but I'm afraid it gets worse. The person who sold you out was Sasha."

Kate sees a flash of him in her mind. Young, handsome and happy. A trapdoor opens beneath her, dropping her to a new level of emotional distress. The anxiety is so intense she shudders.

Elayna genuinely pouts; she doesn't relish hurting her.

"I'm sorry, Katrina, but as terrible as it may be, I have to tell you this, because it is the truth. Sasha had become a broken-down drunk, with nothing to give the world but pain. He was beyond the capacity of caring about anyone, including himself, including you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Kate blurts, her heart crumbling.

Elayna leans forward. "Because I know how important the truth is to you and how it has kept you alive, the rigorous honesty your Big Book talks about."

Elayna's quotation startles Kate.

"I owe you the truth for what you have done for me,"

Elayna knows she has Kate hooked. Now it's just a matter of reeling her in.

"We have a common enemy who enslaves us, uses us, and then throws us away like a sack of garbage," she spits in anger.

"Men?" Kate laughs incredulously. "I have two sons!"

"Yes, I know. Made strong by a strong mother. Do you think they would do to a woman what has been done to you, or me? Abandoned, betrayed? No, that is not what you have taught them, is it?"

It is the truth. Kate begins to wonder just what she locked away with her alter ego Katrina. Now it's as if the attic door has been left open, but Katrina is in no rush to escape, know she doesn't have to. Katrina is not bad. There just wasn't a place for her in the world where she had to live.

They regard each other. Kate sees in Elayna what she had been fifteen years ago. In Kate, Elayna sees a kindred spirit, a mentor, with much to give. They could be good friends and more, Elayna hopes, in time. Looking at her in the soft morning light, Elayna realizes that the photos don't do her justice; they don't capture the spark in her eyes.

"What do you want, Elayna?"

"Freedom and revenge for both of us. It starts with Petre Kurtsin. He put us here. He ordered our deaths. He allowed his fucking son to betray you, Katrina."

Kate hasn't heard another speak his name in a long time, and it comes with a tinge of dread. "He spared my life after—" Kate starts, but Elayna cuts her off.

"After you killed the men who raped you? Did you ever wonder why Sasha wasn't there to help you?"

Kate freezes at the question. " _Oh, my God."_

"That's when your drinking really took off, wasn't it? That's when you crossed the line, because you had to. You had to drown that one single fact, that truth that you just couldn't live with."

After all this time, she remembers. Elayna can see it in her face; she doesn't have to explain.

"Sasha liked his little plaything, even when the other boys were playing with her, and so did Daddy."

"No, you're full of shit," Kate says, venomously challenging her.

"It's in Kurtsin's diary. I'm his protégé, his new plaything. I have access to everything, but you know it's true, don't you."

Kate looks out the window, beyond angry, hurt, and trying to hold back the tears with a sarcastic laugh. "Par for the course," she says, attempting to minimize the staggering blow. She had buried the nagging question so far down, but it is such an important part of her history, her being.

" _The worst lies I ever told were the lies I told myself"_ The lie of omission, but now she has to face it, forced to face the mirror, just as she had done with Sheila.

"Katrina, you can stop now, you no longer have to pretend. You are free to do what you want. Now it's time to get even with those who enslaved you, a little payback as they say. We can do it together."

Elayna slowly stands and takes her bag from the floor. Resting it on the seat, she begins to open it.

Abruptly she turns back to Kate. "It's the only way you will get back your sons."

That snaps Kate attention away from the self-pity. With narrowed eyes she glares at Elayna. "Don't fuck with me,"

"I'm not." Elayna pulls out her laptop. "In here is the entire Buran file, complete with the profiles and activation keys to every Spetsnaz group in the U.S. They will give you whatever we want for this, including Tom and Robbie."

Kate eyes her carefully. "You would do that for me?"

"Yes, but you must help me." Elayna nods as if prompting her to agree. Kate's

gaze shifts from the computer to Elayna. "How?"

"If one of those little bombs of yours doesn't go off, Kurtsin will never be held accountable for his sins. Finish the job, and when we get out, we make the trade."

Elayna watches her carefully. The lights from the highway pan in rhythm across her face. Kate stares straight ahead, looking beyond the road and into the future. "It will kill too many. The Americans will retaliate."

"They'll blame it on Iran, or terrorists. It's a small device, but big enough. The whole world must know, so it never forgets, and who knows? Maybe it will convince them to get rid of the horrible things once and for all."

Elayna sees the hesitation in her eyes.

"Katrina, sometimes it takes a terrible tragedy, to prevent a greater one."

Kate see these reasoning, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Do we have a deal, or are you afraid?"

Kate laughs, "You have no idea what frightens me!"

"Perhaps you are right." Elayna places the laptop back in her bag to get something else. "But I think you might be surprised."

Kate looks on as Elayna pulls another trick out of her bag.

Elayna smiles smugly, watching the color drain from Kate's face. Gently, she places the fifth of vodka and two little cups on the consol between them.

"I think _this_ calls for a toast!" Elayna says cheerily.

At first Kate's eyes can't look away from the shimmering liquid. When Elayna sees the mix of repulsion and desire, loathing and love, she tries not to grin.

"What's wrong, Katrina?" Elayna asks with false concern.

"You know I can't," Kate meekly replies.

"Oh come now. I hate to drink alone," she says, filling the two cups halfway.

"Why are you doing this?" Kate wants to be angry, but instead is surprised to feel the onset of relief.

Elayna places the glass in the cup holder, "We have to face our fears, Katrina. I know this is yours. _This_ will set you free."

Kate looks at the glass.

"This is your true self, whom God intended you to be."

Kate looks at her, pleading.

"It is God's will, Katrina."

The very things she's used to stay sober are the things that now have turned against her.

" _It fits you so well,"_ Katrina reminds her.

"I know you've fought long and hard, but it's not up to you. God has taken that weight from you now."

"I can't."

"You must, because I too have a plan to follow. You don't have to die for a drink, but if that's God's design, so be it."

Elayna slowly thumbs the hammer back of her gun until it clicks, unseen under the table, but the message is clear.

"I don't need Kate Wilson, I need Katrina Primorski, the real you, free from fear, free to be herself."

" _Is this what you want?"_ she silently asks herself.

"Maybe I need to phrase this another way. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for Tom and Robbie, so they can stay safe and sound, with the Washingtons."

The seeds of doubt begin to flower, growing from the fertile ground of her shattered being.

"I'm sorry I have to say this, but if that bomb doesn't go off within the next twelve hours, they will be in grave danger."

The power greater than herself, who helped her overcome the desire written into every one of her trillion of cells, seems to have forsaken her.

"I'm going to do this with or without you, Katrina, but I did not save you to die like this."

God hears all prayers. Every day, loving parents will pray for their dying children. Some pleas will be answered and some will not, for reasons we will never understand. So many years ago, Kate in her desperation also prayed, and in His infinite wisdom, God reached out across his vast creation and gave it to her, a broken-down, suicidal, hopeless drunk. Kate never knew why, until now.

In her mind, in her conscience, she hears a single word in reminder.

" _Hope."_

Elayna raises her glass. " _Nastrovia,_ Katrina,"

" _Let go Kate, let go."_

Kate picks up the glass and gently touches Elayna's.

" _Nastrovia_ ," Kate says quietly.

She holds her breath and downs it while Elayna watches, and then she too drinks.

The sting in her throat, the shudder, the goose bump chill, her mind didn't have to remember, her body does and like satin sheets, it is arousing.

One drink. That's all it takes. It sets off a chemical reaction that triggers what some consider to be an allergy, that becomes an insatiable craving, that is practically impossible to stop.

"You see, just like riding a bicycle, you never forget," Elayna smiles.

The wonderful warmth spreads over her, flowing through her, the winter morphing into spring as the liquid sunshine melts away the ice of her frozen being.

" _Don't be ashamed. Everything happens for a reason, even this._ " Katrina smiles, welcoming Kate to her new home in the attic with the rest of a life's memories.

" _You'll be back,"_ Kate says.

"I know I will."

"What was that?" Elayna asks.

"I said, how about another?" Kate smiles, holding out her cup.

Katrina is free.

Behind the wheel of the ungainly RV, Katrina has a nice little buzz going. They're always nice in the beginning. In a very short time, she'll be back to drinking not only the way she used to, but worse. Her disease will have progressed as if she'd never stopped. Although she has an edge on, her thinking remains clear. She had a plan to derail Stani, but now the situation is even worse. One of the bombs is primed, and Elayna knows it. She doesn't need Kate to set it off. Somehow, she needs to get it out of her reach. She also has to consider the kids. Elayna could be bluffing, but she can't take that risk. Katrina glances at Elayna, staring straight ahead, assured of her course. Maybe it's the buzz, but a part of her wants to buy into the crazy plan. The thought of revenge against the pricks responsible for the mess is tempting. She would kill them herself if she could.

" _Stop it! You can't go down that road, Katrina,"_ Kate tells her. " _Is your act of revenge worth the lives of innocent people?"_

Katrina almost says "Shut up" out loud.

" _You're no longer who you used to be either, Katrina. You've changed just as much as I have."_

Despite all the planning, the camper needed gas, so she pulls off the interstate into the rest area, surprisingly busy for such an early hour. That's just fine with Elayna, since they are less noticeable. Katrina stops short of the pumps and opens the door. "I have no idea what side the tank is on," she says, answering Elayna's concerned look. As she walks around the back, she sees Elayna checking her out in the side mirror.

"Left side," she says, getting back behind the wheel, then maneuvering the monster up to the pumps. "Do you want to do this, or should I?"

Elayna tries hide her uneasiness about being separated, but Kate reads it on her anyway. "You go ahead. You seem to know what you're doing," Elayna responds.

Kate pulls on her jacket and sets to work.

" _This is it Katrina. This is your last chance. You have to let them help you stop her. Otherwise, you're going to have to kill her,"_ Kate warns.

" _Cash or credit?"_

At that moment, almost without thought, Katrina decides what to do. "Intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us," Katrina says to herself, quoting the Big Book.

" _Perhaps we're not so different after all?"_ Kate goads.

Katrina uses her own credit card. By now the FBI will be watching her account, and she knows it. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Elayna watching, just a shadow across the side mirror, unaware that Katrina just tipped off the cops where they are, though by the time they can do anything, they'll be long gone. She knows the tip won't be enough. As the pump continues to run, she walks over to the little min-mart and goes inside.

She takes out Haddad's cell phone and hits redial number while ducking into the men's bathroom.

Chapter 5

Newscenter 7

It didn't take long to find Kate's husband. A number of staff readily gave up his whereabouts- across the street in the hotel with his nearly universally reviled concubine Caroline. In fact, some took great relish in seeing him returned to the station in handcuffs.

For hours now, McDowd has been grilling him on family history, trying to find something in the past that may provide a clue to what she might do in the future. His distain for Michael is palpable, but McDowd is determined to remain professional. He

takes copious notes about stuff like how they met, family trips, friends, college careers.

McDowd's phone rings, and he sees that it's Haddad's number. "Shelly! Where are you, man? You okay?"

"This is Katrina Primorsky. Listen carefully..."

He goes pale as he walks out of the room. "Kate! It's Dan McDowd! Where did you—"

At this point Katrina is beyond her capacity to be surprised, though hearing Dan does make her hear skip a beat. "Shut up and listen, Dan. The FBI agent is alive, in the basement of a warehouse at 1313 2nd Street. The cross is Erie—"

"Kate! Don't run. Give yourself up," McDowd pleads, gesturing to get Linda Carpenter to start a trace.

"My kids are in danger, Dan. "

"Where are they?"

"Oak Lane apartments. They're using them as leverage. I don't have much time."

"We'll get them. Kate. You're gonna get killed," he says, looking at Freaks, who reluctantly nods in agreement.

"I wish. That would be the easy way out. Listen to me. I'm going back to Maryland. The balloon..."

The line goes dead.

"Kate? Kate!" It's no use. She's gone.

"Still checking." Linda Carpenter says.

Freaks is already on the phone to Edwards, giving him the location of the warehouse.

On his desk, Michael's cell phone suddenly rings, making everyone jump. He seems afraid to answer it.

"You'd better get that." McDowd says.

He grabs it, and McDowd leans in close to listen. "Hello?"

"Dad, it's Tom."

Michael smiles, his eyes quickly becoming glassy. "Thank God! Tom, where are you? Is Robbie with you? Is your mother with you?"

"I'm with Robbie, we're okay, but Mom left."

McDowd reaches out for the phone. Michael has heard all he needs to hear for now.

"Hold on, Tom," he says before handing it over.

"Tom. It's Dan McDowd. Where are you?" He listens and writes down the address, then hands it to Freaks, who holds up a finger to tell him to hang on.

"Okay, listen carefully. An FBI agent named Linda Carpenter is going to come for you and Robbie. Stay put. Don't answer the door for anyone else. I'm going to have you stay on the line with your dad until they get there. Okay?" McDowd tells him.

Tom looks at the bag with the gun in it. "My mom gave me a gun, just in case, she said. She said to give it to you," Tom says, looking a picture of Boo's dad, standing next to McDowd.

"Did your mom say where she was going?" McDowd asks.

"She said she was going to try to stop a war."

Chapter 6

Chesapeake House, I-95

Watching Katrina walk inside, Elayna didn't immediately freak out. She nearly bolts out of the camper with her gun in hand, but she instead places it on her seat. She scans the mini-mart and then rushes to the ladies' room. One by one, she checks the stalls, her panic building with each empty one.

"Fuck!"

She rushes for the door. Opening it, she comes face to face with Katrina.

"Hi there, looking for me?"

"I was beginning to worry," Elayna says cautiously.

"You should. I went into the men's room by accident! See what happens when I start drinking? I think you'd better drive now." Elayna pushes Katrina against the wall,

giving her a pat-down.

Instead of resisting, she just laughs. "Whoa, what the fuck?"

She takes the truck keys. "Don't mind me, I'm just making sure you don't do anything stupid." Elayna then rushes into the men's room, making a quick sweep of the place to see if Katrina had left anything behind.

"Hey, lady, what are you doing?" a male voice calls from behind her. It is the gas station attendant.

"I'm sorry," she says, coming out. "My friend here has been drinking, and got a little confused. I'm just making sure she didn't leave anything behind."

"Well, I hope she's not driving," the twenty something kid with bad skin says.

Elayna holds up the keys with a sickeningly sweet smile. "I am, but thanks for your concern."

He looks at Katrina. "A little early, don't you think?"

Katrina shrugs, "Or late, or noon somewhere."

The smile fades the moment they turn away. God only knows how many times she'd used that excuse. The guilt has no power over her. The craving does, and all she wants is more. Once alcohol had come between her and the kids before, and it could again. At least she can recognize it. She's done what she can to save them. Now all she can do is do the right thing and hope for the best.

Once back in the RV, Elayna gets behind the wheel. She hesitates, looking back at the mini-mart. The kid is looking right at her. Katrina knows what she's thinking. "Leave him, he's just a kid."

"He can call the police."

"They'll know it was us. There are cameras everywhere. We have a big head start. You kill him, you'll cut that lead down," Katrina tells her. "Plus, they'll have an idea of our direction."

Elayna continues to weigh the option. She waves to the kid, who in turn waves back. She mumbles something about regret and then starts the truck. "You've gotten soft in your old age," Elayna half jokingly tells Katrina.

"Older but wiser," she replies, lifting another short one.

Elayna smiles, trying to conceal her disgust. _"How can somebody so strong be so weak?"_

Chapter 7

The Warehouse

An assortment of plainclothes agents and SWAT team members sweep through the building, the beams of their flashlights crisscrossing. Eventually, they find the stairwell, and Haddad.

"Geez, Shelly, you okay?" Edwards asks as soon he sees him, bloodied, sitting on the floor and chained to a pipe.

"I walked into a door. Do you mind?" he replies sarcastically, holding up his handcuffed hand.

Edwards lets him loose, then takes in their surroundings.

"Wow! Look at all this shit." Mayo laughs like a kid walking into a candy store as he checks out the variety of weapons lining the walls.

An EMT comes in to start taking care of Haddad. "I'm all right," he tells the woman.

"Who's this?" Mayo asks, gesturing to the body on the floor.

"Gotta be the leader. He got the drop on me. There's another stiff down the hall," Haddad answers between winces, brought on by dabs of hydrogen peroxide.

"Stanley the gardener. So who dropped him?" Edwards asks.

"The GRU chick. She took the bombs and the other woman."

"That's weird. Why didn't she whack her too?" Mayo thinks aloud.

"Don't know, but I'm glad she didn't. The GRU chick was going to kill me, but the other one stopped her," Haddad tells them.

"Kate Wilson. She tipped us off on where to find you," Edwards adds.

Jill Abrams and Kevin Lee, the NEST geeks, arrive. Their radiation detectors start chirping the moment they turn them on.

"A little warm in here," she says, going directly to the spot where the bombs had sat.

"Nothing to get hot under the collar about, though," Lee jokingly adds. "Just residual levels."

The crew has received their first confirmation that they are dealing with nuclear material. Jill starts typing into her smart phone a message to her boss that will echo around the world. "NUCFLASH-PINNACLE- RADIOLOGICAL CONFIRMATION OF FISSION DEVICE BY DOE/JTOT- ACTIVATE SEARCH RESPONSE TEAM- TARGET 1-95 CORRIDOR BETWEEN NEW YORK TO WASHINGTON."

"So this is for real," Edwards breathes. He sends Bob a text message, BOMBS ARE REAL. This changes everything.

"If Wilson is trying to help, then why is she playing along with Boradin?" Mayo wonders.

"We're assuming that the GRU woman is here to stop an attack," Edwards throws out to the group. "Perhaps she's here to make sure it happens."

"Or maybe she's here to steal them," Mayo adds.

"Or maybe she has some kind of leverage. Either way, you detonate one just to prove you've got the real deal. A nuclear explosion can be a great diversion," Haddad concludes.

"Wilson must be in on it. A two-way split, instead of six ways," Mayo figures.

"Greed. Could it be that simple?" Haddad asks.

"It usually is," Edwards replies.

"So where do we go from here?" Mayo asks.

"How about to hell in a hand basket?" Haddad offers as an answer.

Chapter 8

Manchester, VT

Dawn yawns over the Green Mountain valley. The majority of the residents are asleep, but they all heard the commotion the night before when the President arrived. The famed Equinox Hotel has been a favorite getaway for presidents since Abraham Lincoln, and although not a Vermonter by birth, the current president has made it one of his homes away from the White House.

The stately buildings, lovingly restored, had all the fabulous amenities old money could want. With its proximity to the Battenkill River's excellent trout fishing, a reasonable golf course and ski slopes in winter, it became a favorite year-round destination. At first, the locals were thrilled with their new guest, but the novelty wore off when the inconvenience set in. However, The President is considerate, so instead wreaking havoc on Rt. 7 during the day for his runs, he does his three miles early.

Two agents run a few steps behind him, followed by a pair of black armored Chevy Suburbans gun cars while a UAV keeps an eye on things overhead, looking for heat signatures in the surrounding mountains and farmland. Although a big production, his little runs are one of the few escapes afforded the most powerful human being on the planet.

As the parade quietly moves through the center of town, one of the agents suddenly sprints up to him. Mustang takes out one of his headphones.

"What's up, Nate?"

"Pinnacle priority message via OPREP-3 from NCA."

One of the war wagons pulls alongside. He slows to a walk and then stops.

"Shit," An agent hops out and hands him his iPhone so he can read his text. All he needs to see is the word NUCFLASH. The truck takes off the moment it closes back up.

They're back at the hotel in five minutes. The agent in charge of his detail and Mark Simon, his sleepy Chief of Staff, greets Mustang with a towel and a bottle of water.

"What's going on?"

The agent hands him the full message that lays out the situation.

"Dr. Tillman is at his office, and he DNI and SecDef are being awakened."

They enter a small sitting room that opens onto a garden where a secure phone has been brought in.

"I'll talk to Tillman first." He takes the phone. "Doc, you there?"

"Morning Mr. President." He brings his boss quickly up to speed. "As of now We have four suspects down, but we're still hunting two and the weapons."

Mustang wipes his brow, still cooling down from the run.

"Well, that ain't very good, Doc. What's the hold up here?"

"The Russians held back critical information that would have helped us."

"Why would they do that?"

"I guess they didn't want to compromise their operation by risking us capturing one of them."

"Do we know the target?"

"We can guess, but apparently they have flexibility in executing their orders."

A bright red male cardinal catches the President's eye out in the garden, lighting on a birdbath. "What do you think, Doc?"

Tillman hates being an odds maker, but he has to be honest to his boss. "It will be down to the buzzer, sir."

"That's kinda close when we're dealing with American lives."

"Sir, the Russian president is holding for you," the Chief of Staff tells him.

"What does this jackass wants?"

"I suspect he wants to know what we'll do when they miss the basket."

Chapter 9

Newscenter 7

When Michael Wilson sees his sons from across the large newsroom he runs to them. The group hugs, shedding the tears of joy and sorrow. Linda Carpenter walks right by them.

"You won't believe where they were, the home of one Sergeant James Washington," she tells McDowd.

"Weird shit is going on. You couldn't make this stuff up if you tried," McDowd comments.

"It _is_ a full moon," Freaks reminds him.

"And Halloween."

It's a stretch for him to think that any good will come of this, thinking of Kate. He's seen the stories of mothers abandoning their kids, even killing them. Could she really be that kind of woman? No, she left them in perhaps the safest place she could. He's seen her with them. She left them behind for their sake.

"The older boy gave me a thumbnail of what went down at the house," Linda says.

"Yeah?" McDowd snaps out of it.

"The male perp came in, held the kids and waited or her to come home. She killed the guy."

"A mother protecting her young," Freaks nod with approval.

A new commotion occurs draws their attention across the room. Edwards, Haddad and Mayo walk in.

"How many rounds did you go?" Freaks recoils at the painful sight. The swelling has gone down, but he's still raw to look at.

"Enough," Haddad mumbles.

"What were you thinking, Shelly?" Linda asks.

"I wasn't, but I got lucky. Wilson saved my life. The Boradin woman has been playing us all along. She must have some leverage on Kate."

McDowd looks at the Wilson boys. "Not anymore."

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that," Freaks says.

"So what _do_ we know?" Haddad asks.

McDowd flips back through his notes. "Background information, but nothing jumps out," he says.

" _Going back to school....balloons_ ," Kate's voice echoes in his mind.

"Wait..." He flips back through his notes from his interrogation of Michael, not really knowing what for.

Haddad comes over. "What's up?"

"Don't know yet..." Then suddenly, he sees it. "Meteorology?"

Freaks comes over too. "Weather?"

"She took metrology in school, in college, the University of Maryland."

Freaks starts putting it together. "Weather balloons."

"You string the package up, the balloon lifts it," Mayo guesses.

"Clever! A low-altitude electromagnetic pulse weapon," Freaks says grabbing a map. "See what the wind is doing on Weather Underground."

It takes a minute to find the info on McDowd's iPhone. "From the southwest."

Freaks finds the school and traces his finger northeast on the map. "Here, Fort Meade, home of the NSA, America's ears. If you are plotting an attack, thats a good place to start."

"I'd think the place would be hardened from the EMP," Haddad says.

"Yeah, you'd think they would know that." Edwards says darkly.

"It will fry the civilian electrical grid for a hundred miles, and give off a shit load of heat. Anybody outside will get toasted," Mayo says.

"Try around fifty thousand, right out in the open," Freaks adds.

"What do you mean, Freaks?" Edwards asks.

"Good football team, Maryland. I got them by seven and a half over UVA."

"That much?" Haddad is surprised.

Freaks looks at them both, then back to the map. "Maryland is at home."

Chapter 10

I-95 South, Jessup, MD

The twilight has given way to a crisp fall morning. Watching Elayna drive, Katrina is feeling pretty good. The first buzz of the day is always the best. She marvels at how easily it washes away all one's trouble, those pesky things like family, responsibility and dignity. She is not completely in alcohol's grip yet. It never comes on too strong, too heavy handed, lest it scare off the apprehensive. It comes on softly and gently, as if one were slipping into a perfectly drawn bath. Only later does one realize that you're in the process of being cooked.

"So, Katrina, what's the plan?"

"The Earth Sciences building. All we have to do is park the camper, bring the case in, set up and inflate a balloon, set the device, and up it goes. That's it."

Elayna looks at her. "That's it?"

Katrina giggles. "It will be enough, depending on the altitude we set. It could destroy every unprotected electrical component from Baltimore to Washington if we want it to. It could even take out the NSA."

"What about escape?" Elayna asks.

"We have a safe house just steps away. Stani rents it out to college students. In the garage there is a jeep we've protected. It will get us out of the area."

"Good, and I'll get us the rest of the way. We'll find one of those storage places, stash the second device, and by Sunday night we'll be sipping champagne in first class on our way to Rio. Have you ever been?"

"No, no exotic vacations for me." She can't help imagining the scene, the beach, cool drinks, and hot bodies. It sounds like fun. "But they'll be looking for us. They probably already are."

Elayna reaches over and lightly touches Katrina's hair. "You let me worry about that. You'll make a cute brunette."

Katrina smiles at the thought, but it quickly fades.

"Poor Katrina! It must have been torture, living that life, but you must have found some diversion, some way to let the bad girl come out and play?"

Katrina sighs. "No, I was a good girl. We could not risk the mission."

Elayna falls silent, thinking. "It's strange, the rules we choose to live by and the rules we choose to ignore. You used to break many rules."

"That was the alcohol. I was so out of control..." Her thoughts drift back to where once again she finds the guilt and remorse she had put behind her, the phantom pain of a missing limb that can never be soothed.

Elayna can see her slipping. "And you gave it up for the mission. Well, you no longer have to make that concession."

"Maybe," Katrina says in reflection.

Kate has made many concessions, all at Katrina's expense. _"But what did you get in return, Katrina?"_ Kate Wilson's life may have been a fake, but the gifts are real.

"You know, Katrina? I admire you. I couldn't have suffered the way you have, deprived yourself of life's simple pleasures. What duty, what sense of honor."

Elayna moves her shoulder, groaning. It isn't easy driving the big camper with her wound.

"What's wrong?" Katrina asks.

"I ran into a little problem with Eddy."

"That's too bad," Katrina says with a smirk. "He always was a prick,"

remembering how he degraded her at the meeting in the woods.

"I was just in time, too. I know he had it in for you and your kids, " Elayna tells her, working her arm out of her jacket and top.

Katrina pulls Elayna's hair gently to the side. The bandage has a wide dark red stain in its center, and as carefully as possible, Katrina peels it off, making Elayna wince.

"Yikes!" Katrina cringes. "Did you put something on this?"

"Not a very good job, huh?"

"No, and it could have used a stitch or two. You'll have a nice scar."

"I saw a first-aid kit back there," Elayna tells her.

Katrina goes looking, seeing the vodka first.

" _More."_ It's impulse; the old obsession she had begged God to remove from her is back. She picks up the bottle and takes a good pull from it, careful to prevent Elayna from seeing her, just as she had done with her kids, or her husband. Just like the old days.

Katrina returns with the medical kit. "How much further is it?" Elayna asks.

"Not far, fifteen minutes."

Katrina gently goes to work, gently cleaning the wound.

"Such a delicate touch," Elayna tells her.

"With two boys, I have a lot of practice."

"You know, I was a little worried when I saw you with the young agent."

Katrina freezes for a moment. How close she had come to the flame she never realized was there. _"Dan McDowd, FBI. It figures."_

"So why did you send in that guy to try and kill me?"

"I'll be honest, I needed to see if you were still up for the job. Call it an audition, and when you ran with the kids instead of running to him, I knew I didn't have to. I knew I couldn't—" Elayna stops in mid-sentence, starting to well up, fighting to keep her composure. "It would have been like killing myself."

Katrina pauses at her work, taken aback by this stranger's admiration.

"I didn't know what I would do once I met you. We place our heroes on high, but are often so disappointed when we face them in person."

"And now?" Katrina asks in a low voice.

"I admire you even more. You gave everything, and asked for nothing," Elayna says with a sniffle. "I'm sorry. I'm usually a tough little girl," Elayna half laughs, regaining her composure.

"Nobody's perfect," Katrina says, stroking her hair, feeling slightly sorry for her.

"So that's why, Katrina. You have to help me because you'll be helping yourself. I want to get you everything you deserve. It's why we have to finish what's been started. The only way we can get Kurtsin is if that bomb goes off. Someone will have to answer for it, and it will be him, with his life!"

"You've put my sons at risk. I should fucking kill you for that," Katrina says flatly.

"But you won't because you love them too much. I'm sorry I have to do this. I don't want to, but it's the only way I can bring you into the fold. I'm sorry. _This is_ my only chance, _our_ only chance, to make things right. Justice, Katrina...for you...and me."

Katrina can hear the anger and desperation in her voice. Elayna nervously watches Katrina out the corner of her eye, feeling a sudden vulnerability sitting behind the wheel, in control of the camper, but less so of her emotions.

"I am sorry, Katrina," Elayna says, trying to fight back tears. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"How can I forgive you, Elayna, if I can't forgive myself?"

Chapter 12

Newscenter 7

It is Saturday morning in America. Soccer moms drag their little warriors to the fields of battle. High school cheerleaders pretty themselves in the mirror. Fathers give their sons a fortifying pep talk before the big game. Munchkins sit cross-legged in pajamas, eating cereal while watching cartoons. Party animals climb into bed, or wake up next to someone new.

"She's outside Baltimore!" Linda shouts across the room.

"North or south of the city?" McDowd asks

"North. Last seen headed south. Maryland State Police found Haddad's phone in a rest stop bathroom. Wilson used her credit card there to by gas."

"How long ago?" Bob asks over the conference call, on his way back to Washington in one of the company planes.

They've moved out of the newsroom to a conference room at the station, using it as a staging point for whatever came next.

"Less than two hours. Brown RoadMaster RV, South Dakota plates," she relays.

Hearing this, NEST aircraft are now directed into the area in the hope of getting a radiation signature.

"We've got to put every cop on the street between Baltimore and Washington," the FBI director says.

"UAVs are going up. The College Park scenario, where does that come from?" the DHS chief asks.

"It's a hunch, but an educated one," Edwards tells him.

"How many people does that stadium hold?" Tillman asks.

"It's got to be around at least twenty thousand," Haddad guesses.

"Try fifity," Freaks corrects.

"So what do we do, tell them all to run for their lives?" Bob blurts into the phone.

"What time is the game?" Edwards turns to Freaks.

"One o'clock."

Hunches are tough sell anyone working with a narrow margin of error, but the FBI director buys it anyway. "Alert Maryland State Police, check every car heading into that school. I'll send HRT with Deputy Director Sullivan to be in charge, and let's get NEST into the area."

McDowd balks, but before he can say anything Haddad shoots him a look. He turns to Freaks, leaning against the wall.

"I've got to get down there, Tommy. I can get through to her."

"Oh yea?" He knows the kid is right. He shrugs, "Then let's go."

While the conference call continues, Haddad sees they're leaving and catches them before they get out the door.

"Where are you going?"

"We're getting some air," McDowd says.

"Bullshit."

"I'm taking the kid down there," Freaks confesses.

Haddad rolls his eyes. "How you going to do that?"

Freaks pats him on the shoulder, and in his best wise guy says "Fageddabout it."

"Please don't do anything stupid," Haddad warns.

"Like you?" McDowd says, marching off down the hallway and leaving Haddad wondering.

"So, what's the idea?" McDowd asks, catching up to Freaks.

"You're going to be a fine Fed, kid. Already you're asking too many questions," he says laughingly. McDowd follows him out a pair of double doors, and as soon as they get outside, McDowd figures it out.

Across the parking lot sits SkyEye 7, a Bell Jet Ranger 270B, the Cadillac of news choppers that only the top markets can afford.

"You're going to steal the chopper?" McDowd says.

Freaks smiles. "Not me, you are. I'm not supposed to be here, remember?"

"Dang," McDowd groans.

"Just tell him it's a matter of national security," Freaks laughs.

"How about marshal law?"

The pilot is sitting halfway out the open door, doing paperwork. He sees the two men approaching, one carrying an AR-15 machine gun in his arms, the other with an FBI jacket. McDowd holds out his ID. "FBI."

The pilot isn't impressed. McDowd looks at Freaks, who goads him on with a nod. "We're commandeering the aircraft."

"Well, that's a first. You got a pilot?"

"Ummmm."

"Yes," Freaks interjects with a wink.

He starts to make himself at home, opening the rear door and placing his weapon inside. "Any gripes on this thing?" he asks the pilot.

"Nope, only thirty hours out of the shop. It's been clean," The pilot looks at Freaks narrowly. "You look familiar."

"Yeah, you too, I think you gave me and my buddies a ride a few years back to Tikrit."

" _Yeah_ , that's it, you're one of those Delta boys."

The two have a little reunion while they go over the controls. Looking around, McDowd sees Haddad sprinting over to them as the turbines click to life and the rotors lazily begin to move.

"I'm coming along to keep an eye on you." Then he sees Freaks at the stick, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Oh shit! Don't tell me he's driving."

"He showed me his license." McDowd shrugs.

"Merciful God," Haddad whispers.

"Get in!" Freaks yells. McDowd runs around to get in front, as Haddad climbs into the back. They all put on headsets.

"So, you've flown one of the things before?" McDowd confirms.

"Kinda."

"Kinda?" Haddad says from the back.

"Fly one you've flown them all. They all work the same, just like a bicycle." Freaks nods.

Haddad, having second thoughts, starts reaching for the door, but a blast of power lifts SkyEye7 off the helipad and Haddad back in his seat. It's a wobbly start, and the chopper begins drifting toward an office building.

"Big fucker!" Freaks comments with surprise.

"Tommy, you see that building right?" McDowd lightly warns. It's impossible for him not, but wants to make sure anyway.

Haddad crosses himself as Freaks adjusts the tail rotor, changing the direction and McDowd's view. Now instead of the building, he sees the chopper pilot running for cover.

"Tommy, we want to rethink this?" McDowd offers.

"You got a problem with my flying?"

"Me? Naw, but I think you're scaring Haddad, he looks a little pale."

"Just getting a feel for her boys, here we go." The chopper's nose tilts down, the rotors dig into the air and the chopper leaps forward. Freaks gets on the radio to let air traffic control know who they are.

"City Center, SkyEye7, squawking 161.5. Proceeding South on VFR to 5 thousand. Law enforcement on board." The flight controller repeats it all back, advising them about airport traffic ahead.

"How long will it take us to get down there?" McDowd asks.

"Just over an hour. We've got three hours of fuel."

It is a pretty day to fly. The cobalt blue sky, a sprinkling of puffy white clouds above are a perfect complements to the sparkling bay to the right and the orange carpet of changing leaves flowing beneath them. " _September 11 was a beautiful day too_ ," he reminds himself, hoping this one will end differently.

Just as they are getting comfortable, Freaks offers up a thought.

"You guys know what auto-rotation is?"

"Sure, is something wrong?" McDowd asked.

"Wrong, what do you mean wrong? What's auto-rotation?" Haddad says nervously, thinking a joke is coming. At first McDowd thinks Freaks is just fucking with Haddad, so he smiles. Freaks explains, "It's when a chopper loses power and we use the wind for lift so we can crash land."

"Why are you telling me this?" Haddad asks.

"If we get hit with EMP, at least we'll have a chance." Freaks says, with a wink to McDowd.

"Thank God for small favors," but the new FBI agent is no longer smiling.

Chapter 13

College Park, MD

"Shit," Elayna says as they creep down Route 1, seeing the flashing lights of police cars ahead.

"I see them," Katrina tells her.

"They'd better not look in here. They'll be in for a big surprise," Elayna says, placing her gun on her lap.

"Wait! They're campus cops, they're not searching vehicles," Katrina smiles, figuring it out. "They're directing traffic! There must be a game!"

"Game?" Elayna asked.

"American football, the school has a big stadium for home games," Katrina explains.

The cops wave them by and Elayna waves right back. "How big is big?"

"Fifty-five thousand..." Katrina's voice trails off.

This changes everything. That many people out in the open... _"Now you can add mass murder to your I never list, Katrina."_

She can see the trepidation on Katrina's face. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now?"

"We can find someplace else to do this," Katrina tells her.

" _Really_? How long do you think we'll be able to drive around with these things? We're lucky we've got this far. We stick to the plan."

"There are too many people..."

"Since when do you give a fuck about other people? Back in Kabul you used to shove hot curling irons into women," Elayna spits. "You did shit nobody else could do. You're a killer, Katrina, a cold-blooded, merciless murderer. You'd better think real hard about this, especially if you ever want to see your kids alive again."

The dejection is clear on Katrina's face.

"We'll set the trigger for a higher altitude, alright?"

Elayna smiles inwardly. "Do us both a favor, Katrina. Go have another drink."

Despite the dig, it's an invitation that's hard to decline.

They are herded to the RV lot, filled with partying tailgaters. Elayna chuckles at the sight, smoke rising from grills, delicious smelling BBQs, lawn chairs, canopies, flags, even big screen TVs.

All Katrina sees is the booze.

"It looks like a refugee camp. Did you ever do this?" Elayna asks.

"All the time," though she can't remember the end of a game.

"Over there, the tall building," she directs Elayna. It has been a few years since she's been here, but it looks pretty much the same. Katrina points to the silver retractable canopy on the roof. "Up there."

Elayna spots a parking space occupied by two young guys stretched out on lawn chairs. She rolls down her window, "Hi guys, can we squeeze in there?"

"Sure thing, babe!" one of them says.

Elayna mumbles something under her breath as she parks and turns the camper off. Turning to Katrina, she asks, "Ready?"

Katrina looks out over the parking lot.

Elayna follows her stare. "Numbers. Just numbers. Aren't you the determinist? If they're supposed to die, they'll die."

A shout comes from deep within her. _"No! Katrina, we can't do this!"_ Kate pleads, banging on the attic door.

Katrina might have followed through if it meant just setting the bomb off high in the atmosphere. It would have created a terrible mess, and in all likelihood killed a few people if it went off as planned, but the age of the device, and its trigger mechanism, it's just too much of a risk with so many innocents involved, even for Katrina.

Katrina opens the attic door it, Elayna having given her the key. "I know," she tells Kate.

Kate has already accepted she may never see her boys again, even thought Elayna has dangled that big juicy carrot in front of her. Katrina bought it hook, line, and sinker, but Kate could never be that selfish. It is all in God's hands now, the lives of her boys, of all these people and her own.

"You're right," Katrina tells Elayna, who despite the assurance, looks wary. Perhaps it's how she says it, or a look. For a moment, Elayna isn't sure if she's dealing with Katrina or Kate. "Let's do it. We have a plane to catch," Katrina says, flashing that devilish smile.

What Elayna can't see is that somewhere inside the woman in front of her, among the trillions of sparkling neurons, a new entity has come into existence, born from the humility and wreckage that was once Kate and Katrina. The elements had been there all the time. What Katrina had lost, and what Kate had found and saved until they were ready to share it.

A gift, given by a power greater than herself.

An identity, a being filled with selfless compassion and a fearless understanding of reality's truer nature. She has become the child she once was, and had always been. All that the years and man had taken away, lovingly restored to her. The innocence may be gone, but it is replaced with the wisdom of experience.

It comes to her in a voice from that distant past, a loving mother's call to her little ballerina, _"Kati! Come home, sweetheart!"_

A mother's love never dies; it lives on in the heart of a child, just as she told Robbie.

Kati smiles, finally at peace. She is home...and free.

In the lower cargo holder are the two big suitcases on wheels, the kind luggage handlers hate. Inside, wrapped in heavy lead-lined blankets used by dentists, are the bombs. It takes both women to lug them out.

The two frat boys in the lawn chairs, sunglasses on and cold beer in hand, watch in amusement. A football bounces off the side of the camper.

"You girls need a hand?" one of them asks. Elayna and Kati looked at each other.

"Sure!" Elayna says.

"No, no, we don't," Kati glares at Elayna.

"And what are your names, cuties?" Elayna asks.

The slightly taller one answers. "I'm Jay, he's Randy."

"Well I'm Elayna, and this is Katrina."

"Kati," she corrects.

Elayna gives her an odd look. "Kati."

Kati turns to Elayna. "Get your stuff. We're not coming back here." While she chats up the guys, Elayna gets her things. A minute or two later, she emerges with a bag.

"You go, and wait for me."

"Don't be long," Elayna cautions. "Just bring the bottle!"

"Right behind you." She climbs back inside. Kati goes to the space beneath the sink and grabs the thermoses of her own blood she's brought. They were trained to keep it handy, but she'd never thought of using it like this. She carefully pours one out on the carpeting in front of the bed. Then she takes the rest into the bathroom, pouring a little into the sink, and the remainder into the shower stall, careful not to get any on her.

" _All gone_." Then gathering up the containers and her bag, she is almost out the door when she stops and turns around.

The vodka.

Its pull is irresistible. _"Might as well,"_ she thinks.

Today will be written off. She is facing having to do things that she'd never do sober, and the alcohol takes all those inhibitions away. It's been a while since she's killed, though she hopes it won't happen.

She laughs, "The Lord does work in mysterious ways."

After a couple of good deep pulls, she stuffs the bottle into her bag, and takes off, locking the door behind her and tossing the empty thermos containers into the parking lot's garbage cans.

The building is open, and now Kati will take the lead. It's her turn to be the alpha female.

Chapter 14

In Flight, Outside Baltimore

SkyEye 7 is nearly there, just clearing Baltimore and working around the BWI Airport traffic.

"Shelly, see if you can get that camera working back there," McDowd suggests to Haddad.

Freaks gives him a nod. "Good idea, we're about ten minutes out."

They are flying between I-95 and the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. Off to the southeast, they can see the black box of the NSA's main building. Suddenly, they hear a familiar voice in their headsets.

"Hey, news helicopter, you guys lost?" It is Edwards.

"What's up, boss? Where are you?" Freaks laughs.

"Look west," Edwards tells them.

Off in the distance, they see the NEST team's HC-130P Combat Shadow.

"I thought you guys didn't follow hunches," McDowd says.

"A hunch is better than nothing at all, so we figured we'd check out the school. You know what's going on there, right?" Edwards asks.

"A game," McDowd says.

"Yup, that stadium is sold out. That's fifty thousand out in the open."

Haddad has the camera figured out and turns it to the other aircraft.

"Geez, that thing has some serious heat," Haddad comments. They look at the LCD camera monitor. Haddad was panning from the nose of the plane to its tail. The thing looks like a porcupine of antennas and firepower.

"You overpack for this trip?" McDowd laughs nervously.

"Let's hope so. If this thing gets a radiation hit, HRT will get us at the College Park Airport and we'll chopper in."

The Combat Shadow with its cannons and machine guns pulls ahead, a bird of prey with an elusive quarry McDowd knows as Kate.

Chapter 15

Earth Sciences Building, University of Maryland

Elayna is waiting for Kati by the elevator alone, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. When Kati catches the scent of gunpowder, she knows why.

"What did you do?" Kati asks evenly, walking up to her.

"Me? Nothing, why?"

Kati slams her against the elevator door, getting right in her face. "Where are they!"

"In the janitor's closet. They got fresh."

"They were kids!" She slams Elayna into the door again, but she resists doing it a second time because of her wound.

"Ouch! They were threats. Besides, have you forgotten I outrank you?"

They are nearly nose-to-nose. "I'm not in your fucking army anymore."

Kati sees that instead of causing fear, Elayna seems to enjoy the challenge.

"They're not _your_ kids, but they could be."

" _My God."_ If Kati had any lingering doubts of how loony Elayna is, they're gone. She just hopes that she won't hesitate if she has to kill her. With a final push, she lets go.

After making their way to the top floor, things begin to move fast, with Elayna following Kati's instructions. They start inflating a large balloon.

"This thing is going to lift all that?" Elayna asks, looking at the heavy suitcase.

"No, just the device. The case is lead-lined to avoid detection."

The far end of the large room has a retractable hangar roof that opens up for balloon launches. The compressed helium from a feeder hose begins doing its job, and the balloon grows quickly.

"Keep an eye on the coupling, so it doesn't slip out, or we'll be here all day," she tells Elayna.

Kate goes over to the suitcase, and laying it down, kneels before it. She whispers a prayer, "God, please help me do this. Forgive me for what I have done, and for what I couldn't do. Guide me now, so I can do your will."

She lifts back the heavy lid and removes the device.

"Whoa! There it is! McDowd was right!" Dr. Jill Abrahms exclaims, pointing to her instrument screen in the NEST aircraft.

"Plutonium, 248," Dr. Lee confirms.

"Can you get a location?" Edwards asked.

"We need a couple of orbits, but it's down there."

Edwards looks out the window at the school and the slowly filling stadium below.

"Ah, shit! Now what?" He looks at the aircraft's guns, and Lee sees him doing it.

"Bad idea, you don't want to shoot those things at it. Depleted uranium." He explains about the rounds for the cannon.

Edwards grabs the radio. "McDowd, Freaks, we got a hit! You were right, Chiller."

McDowd looks at Freaks. They are just coming over to the campus.

"It has to be that building with the hangar on the roof," McDowd points. Haddad swings the chopper's nose camera forward and zooms in.

Over the hissing of gas, Elayna hears the chopper. She leaves the hose and goes to one of the large windows to see. "Kati dear, we have company!"

"Damn it!" Edwards slams the radio mike. "HRT is at least a half hour out!"

Only a handful of state police, locals from Prince Georges County, and the campus cops are available.

Haddad focuses on the large windows on the top floor. Suddenly the face of a blond-haired woman fills the screen. McDowd can't tell if it's Kate.

"Hey, Haddad, how good is your shooting?" Freaks asks.

"Pretty good actually." He gets the idea and picks up the AR-15.

Elayna watches the chopper's slow approach with her binoculars, but then thinks she better duck behind the wall next to the window, peeking around.

"It's a TV helicopter! How much more time, Katrina?"

Kati is careful of what she was doing. "Almost there, but don't have Stani's code..."

Elayna narrows her eyes. "You mean it isn't armed?"

If she gets caught in the lie, she's dead. All Elayna has to do is come over and look. The little blinking light next to the word "Armed" says it all.

"No..."

The moment seems to hang for an eternity.

"I didn't think of that before I killed him," she says, still looking out the window. She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Here, master codes," she says, waving the scrap.

" _Shit!"_ Katrina retrieves them. _"It was a long shot anyway. On to plan B, whatever that is."_

She kneels before the open case, frantically thinking of how to sabotage it. The device is so simple, any tampering would be obvious.

A chill shudders through Kati as Elayna approaches. _"Too late!"_

Elayna kneels next to her. "How will it detonate?"

"The trigger is set to an altimeter. As soon as it reaches a certain height..."

"Boom," Elayna finishes her sentence. "How long will we have to get away?"

"It depends on the weight. I would say ten minutes. There are service tunnels in the basement. They'll protect us from the blast, then we get out that way."

"We'll be able to get the second device out through there?"

"Yes," Katrina tells her. _"The second case..."_

Elayna checks the connections. "Lets make it ten thousand feet," she says, setting the altimeter. Elayna quickly goes over to her bag, returning with an electronic device.

"Just to be on the safe side," she says, going to work. "A remote trigger. God forbid your old altimeter fails to do its job."

Horrified, Kati watches as she wires in a detonator, so fast it's as if she'd done it before. Once done, she closes the case and locks it.

In that instant Kati knows she had no other choice but to kill her...if she can.

Suddenly a large aircraft buzzes the building, and Elayna runs to the window. The aircraft climbs and banks. It's obviously a military plane, and now the helicopter is closer. She looks again with her binoculars. In the front seat she recognizes McDowd. Elayna realizes she's been had.

The chopper and the circling Combat Shadow are beginning to be noticed by the game crowd and the TV cameras. A buzz begins to spread that it is a TV stunt, or a movie shoot. For the most part, no one seems to care. It is close to game time.

Despite the buzz, the soft fog of alcohol that takes the hard edges off of life has not stilled the inner voice that speaks without words. She listens to it, and acts as if it is an impulse, without thinking. She moves as effortlessly as breathing. She attaches one extra cable. The balloon is close to full inflation and Kati retracts the roof. Like a convertible, it folds back to expose the end of the building to the sky. The balloon tugs at the release cables holding it in place. Now she makes a dash for her bag and gun.

Elayna turns to see her moving from the opening roof, going for the bag. "Oh no, you don't, you BITCH!" She opens fire.

Kati has to change direction, knowing she won't make it to the bag. She dives and slides behind a worktable.

Freaks moves the chopper broadside so Haddad can shoot out of the door.

"Let's go, Annie Oakley! Make your shot," he tells him.

"You have another clip?"

Freaks pats his jackets, then his shoulders droop slightly. "Damn it! I knew I forgot something."

Elayna keeps coming. "You told them where we were going, Katrina. You lied. I guess I expected too much from you. "

Kati watches her approach from beneath the table, looking for something to help her. She has to release the balloon, thinking that perhaps they'll shoot it down, but she has to get Elayna too.

"You're really willing to let the man who screwed us both get away with it? The man who pimped you out to his son like a common whore? And your poor sons, now they'll have to suffer too. Don't worry, Katrina, I'll take care of them. You can bet on that."

"Shelly! How many do you see?" McDowd shouts.

"Just one, she's moving!"

"The roof is open, guys! I'm shifting it over there," Freaks says.

McDowd is helpless to do anything. It's all beyond his control

Elayna turns to see the chopper as it appears around the building by the roof opening. "Your fucking boyfriend is here, Katrina!" Elayna snaps.

She turns and storms at the chopper, shooting as she goes. "Get lost, you fucks!"

"Shit!" McDowd covers his face as Plexiglas starts popping in front of him. A round tears through the door, grazing his hand and lodging in his seat. "Gee-juzz!"

"Shelly! Would you shoot already?" Freaks screams, pulling back on the stick to get the bird out of her line of fire. Haddad squeezes off a burst. The shots go wide, but they send Elayna running for cover.

She darts back inside as the chopper peels off to the left. They'll be back, but in the meantime...

Katrina scrambles for the cable release.

"You've really fucked this up, Katrina. I should have known better than to trust a drunk!"

Kati looks over her shoulder to see her coming.

"Why, Kati? Why?" Now her voice is eerily calm. Elayna points the gun at the back of Kati's head. "You betrayed me. You betrayed the Rodina, you betrayed every woman in the world!" Elayna is tearing up now. "And in doing so, you even betrayed your sons!"

Kati closes her eyes and offers a final prayer.

"God, grant me the serenity..."

"What are you doing? Praying? Hah! Go ahead, it won't do you any good." Elayna cackles.

"To accept the things I cannot change..." The regrets of the past flash into her mind. Again, she sees the image of a dead child's eyes, on a dark street, in her mind.

"I only wish I could kill you slower, Katrina, but I just don't have the time...."

"The courage to change the things I can..." Kati sees her sons laughing.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Elayna shouts.

"And the wisdom to know the difference." Remembering the mother deer in the moonlight, she smiles.

"Roll the fuck over, bitch! I want to see you die!"

"Thy will, not mine..." she says as she moves. "Be done."

As Kati rolls over, she pulls the release.

The wind takes the balloon, dragging the case bouncing across the floor. With a final bounce it is gone.

Elayna smiles at first, until she sees another cable trailing behind. In horror she watches it drag the second suitcase across the floor and off the roof. She lets out a wail of anguished sorrow. "Noooooo!"

Katrina stands. She can run or fight. She knows neither will work. She'll be dead before she reaches Elayna, and there is nowhere for her to hide.

Wild-eyed, Elayna spins around to aim, tears running down her face. She aims right between Kati's defiant blue eyes.

"Elayna, listen to me. I can still help you..."

" _Really_ , Katrina? I think you've done enough." She hesitates, looking at the woman she had wanted to be. Looking at the strength in Katrina's eyes, she begins to consider that perhaps she was wrong.

"You sacrifice yourself, and your children, for strangers?" Her finger trembles on the trigger, no longer wanting the strength to pull it. "Poor Kati, I didn't want it to end like this, but at least you'll live long enough to see your bomb go off. "

Kati closes her eyes, bracing herself for the end with the serenity she had always wanted, but tinged with regret. "I'm sorry, guys," she whispers to her sons. "I did what I could."

In Haddad's scope, the blond-haired woman's head drifts into the center of the cross hairs. He squeezes the trigger. After a moment, the woman's head bursts into a pink cloud, and she collapses onto the floor.

"Nice shot! Why didn't you do that a minute ago?" Freaks shouts.

"She was shooting at us!" he says defensively.

McDowd feels sick at the sight, trying to convince himself it isn't Kate.

"Fuck! What about the balloon!" McDowd cries.

"Tommy, swing around so I can get a shot at it." Haddad says.

"No! Don't shoot! You could hit the case." Kevin Lee says over the radio. He and the others aboard the Combat Shadow until now had been helplessly listening and watching. He Lee runs to the flight deck. He leans over the pilot's seat and points ahead to the balloon.

The balloon, with the added weight of the second case, rises slowly.

"If you guys know how to use the Fulton, now is the time," he says, referring to the Airborne Retrieval System.

"Anything you say, Doc." The pilot swings around steeply to gain altitude on the rising balloon.

"What are you doing?" Edwards shouts from behind them.

"The nose," Lee points out the cockpit windows at the large protruding rods that look like antennas. "We can catch the balloon. We're set up to remove a threatening device the same way. That claw catches them."

"You mean you've done this before?" Edwards asks.

"Piece of cake, right, Skipper?"

The pilot gives them a wink. "There's a first time for everything."

"Tommy, put this thing down," McDowd says. His hand has stopped bleeding, but it hurts like hell.

"Good idea."

Freaks sets the chopper down on the large quad. The three men hop out, McDowd cradling his hand. Off in the distance, the crowd from the stadium roars as the band starts into the school's fight song. It's game time, but many have turned to watch what the chopper, the strange aircraft, and what the big red balloon is doing. If they're lucky, they'll only be blinded when the nuke goes off, and not incinerated.

They run into the building and head to the stairs. Freaks leads the way, being in the best shape of them all, but Haddad is a close second. Suddenly he slows to a stop.

"Do you smell that?" he asks Haddad without looking at him.

"Gas..."

McDowd, however trails behind, his hand throbbing. As he is about to enter the stairwell when, at the opposite end of the long hallway, movement catches his eye. He stops to look. A door closes shut.

"Freaks! Down here!" he shouts after him.

All they needed was a sliver of an excuse. Freaks and Haddad stop and look over the railing. McDowd doesn't wait. He dashes the length of the long corridor to the door. Inside is a stairwell that leads to the basement. He takes the stairs two at a time, going all the way to the bottom. The door he opens takes him into a dimly lit access way, filled with pipes and electrical conduit. The college has a main physical plant that provides steam heat and power to all the many buildings on campus through access tunnels. In one direction, it is nearly dark. As he takes a step, the crunch of glass under his foot tells him why.

"Kate!" he shouts desperately down the seemingly infinite corridor. "Tom and Robbie are safe! We have them!"

There is no response.

"Kate, you don't have to run..."

A voice calls out from ahead, not loud, not soft, or could it be a thought? "Don't let the balloon go above ten thousand feet."

Before he can say anything, the voice continues urgently, "Hurry! Go! Now!"

He feels as if she is next to him, within easy reach of a tender gesture, a gentle stroke of her hair.

Kati can feel him too, but instead of running to him, as her heart so desperately desires, she must run away, as fast and as far away as she can.

There really is nothing more to be said between them, for to do so would just belabor the heartbreak. They have, after all, said goodbye.

McDowd rushes back, catching Freaks and Haddad once again on the stairs. He bolts past them, cell phone in hand, dialing on the run.

"Dan! What the fuck?" Freaks shouts, once again making an about-face after him. This time Haddad has someone else to follow.

Aboard the Combat Shadow, Lee and Edwards watch nervously, the pilot and co-pilot begin their run on the target, growing larger by the moment. No one is thrilled with the idea of driving head on into a pair of nuclear bombs at two hundred miles per hour, but they have little choice.

"Deploy arrester," the pilot says, and through the large panels of cockpit glass, they see the long lobster-like claws open.

"Jill, you tethered in?" Lee asks over the headset.

"You bet!" In the back, Dr. Abrahms checks her line and gives the loadmaster the thumbs up. He opens the tail ramp with a whoosh of nippy autumn air.

"Looks dead on, Skipper," the co-pilot says.

"I'd hate to have to go around again," the pilot says, adding play by play as the balloon quickly fills their view. "Or catch it in a prop."

"Ah, shit!" Edwards braces himself as the red target quickly grows larger until it fills the giant windscreen.

It slams into the windows with a muffled _FUMMPH!_

"Gothcha! Close da claw!" the pilot orders.

"You mean da craw?" The co-pilot jokes as he secures the balloon's tether. They hear the cases bouncing their way back down the fuselage.

"Coming your way, Jill," Dr. Lee warns, then pats the pilot's shoulder. "Nice job, Skipper. Take us up to ten thousand and get us out over the Atlantic," he says before running back to cargo area.

On the open cargo tailgate, the loadmaster points to Jill's side of the aircraft and as she looks, the cases appear, twisting in the wind. Going to the edge of the platform, she focuses on the cable instead of the seven-thousand-foot drop below her. Reaching out with a boat hook, she snags the wire and begins to pull them in as the crewmen reach for the cases.

Lee stands behind them with his bag of tricks at the ready as they haul the cases onto the deck, then the loadmaster cuts the cable. "We've got them, Skipper. Let it fly." With that, the big red balloon is free once again. In an instant, the plane banks to the left while the pilot pushes up his four turboprops for the sprint for the coast and the desired flight level.

McDowd bursts from the building, holding his phone out with his good hand and trying to dial with his thumb.

"What are you doing, Dan?" Freaks calls out behind him.

McDowd can see the aircraft climbing away, its dark exhaust trailing behind.

"The bomb is set to detonate at ten thousand feet!"

"Quick, the radio in the chopper..." Freaks makes a dash for it.

All McDowd gets is a busy signal from Edwards' line, because he's on the phone with Bob. "We have both packages! We're neutralizing them now!" he shouts over the aircraft din with a smile.

Freaks yanks the door of the chopper open, and gets on the radio.

Haddad follows the tunnel, drawn by the growing sound of the stadium crowd ahead. It's a hunch, and even though the last one nearly cost him his life, the cop in him still has to play it. He comes to a stairwell and follows it up, keeping his gun out, but at his side. The crowd noise tells him he's beneath the stadium.

He climbs the stairs, taking them two at a time until he comes to the next landing. The door opens takes him to the stadium's ground-floor hallway, teaming with people. He looks left and right. There is a fifty-fifty chance he'll make the right decision which way to go. He goes left, he doesn't know why. He pushes through the crowd. He's not the tallest guy in the world, so every few feet he jumps up to get a better view. He comes to a railing and climbs on it, desperately scanning the moving sea of people. He begins to doubt his choice. Then he sees it- a blonde ponytail. There are plenty of them around, but this one is the one he's looking for.

Kati wants to run, as fast and as far as she can. Her heart is pounding as if she's sprinting, sweating like a cold beer on a hot day. Every fiber of her being is needed to resist her urges, to bolt or to stop for a drink. The resistance comes from beyond herself.

Just as she clears the stadium entrance, a hand grabs her upper arm from behind. She spins, ready to attack. At first she doesn't recognize Haddad, with the bandages and the reduced swelling on his face. He doesn't let go. Kati looks at his hand, and the gun discretely at his side as fans flow around them.

Kati narrows her eyes with a grin. "I'm glad they found you, Agent Haddad," reminding him of the favor he owes her.

"So am I, Mrs. Wilson," he replies, letting her know it doesn't matter.

He glances at what looks like to be a laptop in her hand, then back into her eyes. He's not sure what he sees there, something otherworldly, an eerie serenity. It confuses him, and he lets go of her, feeling strangely embarrassed that he dared to touch her.

At that instant, there is a bright white-orange flash, followed by a _WHUMPH!_

They turn to see the windows of the top floor of the Earth Science building spewing a rolling cloud of flame in all directions.

A collective gasp rises up from the stadium as those who can watch the huge fireball rising from the top of building.

When Haddad turns back to Kati, she is gone. This time, he doesn't follow.

From the back of the Combat Shadow, they see the explosion.

"What the fuck was that?" Edwards shouts.

Then, over the headset, they hear Freaks desperate plea. "Edwards! Keep it below ten thousand!"

Hearing this, the pilot takes no chances, and points his nose downward, just five hundred feet shy of forever.

Jill just shrugs, "Okay, important safety tip. Now comes the hard part!" she shouts to Edwards watching from a distance, not that it will matter if they make a mistake. Lee gets a canister the liquid nitrogen ready while Jill does a quick scan with a portable x-ray.

"Simple device. Drill right here," Jill says, pointing to a spot on the side.

Carefully, Lee drills a small hole as Jill monitors his progress on a small monitor.

"Good!" She says, holding up her hand. Now Lee inserts the tube from the nitrogen canister, and opens the valve. In a few moments, vapor begins to flow out from the closed case.

"Jesus! You've set it on fire!" Edwards screams at the gas pouring from the suitcase.

Jill rolls her eyes and chuckles.

"Relax, it's only liquid nitrogen!" Lee says, trying to calm him.

With deep breaths, they open the case. Despite the unspeakable danger, they're as excited as kids on Christmas morning.

"It's hot," Lee cautions as the wisps of the frozen gas dissipate. Suddenly their expressions change from excitement to bewilderment.

Edwards sees this and doesn't like it. "What! What's the matter! What's wrong?" he jabbers, trying not to freak out. The two Ph.D.'s look at each other, concerned by what they are seeing.

"What!" Edwards shouts.

She points at the altimeter. It is indeed set at ten thousand feet.

"How did they know that?" Lee wonders.

"Beats me, but if that second suitcase hadn't been there, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Chapter 16

Fireman in bunker jackets and bright yellow helmets poke around inside what's left of the lab with their hooks, looking for left over hot spots while the black body armored SWAT guys stand around bullshitting. None of them are aware of just how close they came to having a really bad day. A blue tarp lies over the charred remains of what is initially identified only as a female. The details will have to be determined by a medical examiner. McDowd and Freaks just watch, left numb by their experience.

A white-helmeted fire inspector comes up to them to offer his initial thoughts. "The gas line was opened, looks like a bullet hole. Something sparked- then poof."

"Nice. Good thing you dragged us downstairs, Dan," Freaks says with a hint of suspicion.

"What," McDowd asks.

"Kinda convenient, don't you think? Covering tracks? Destroying evidence?"

"Or a diversion, and by whom?" adds Haddad as he walks up to them.

"I guess that depends on who _that_ is," Freaks says, nodding to the nearby body.

"So where were you?" McDowd says with a concern to Haddad.

A piece of singed paper on the floor catches Haddad's eye. He picks it up and chuckles. "Chasing a ghost, I guess."

Freaks nods to the body, "Well, you gonna have a look?" he asks McDowd.

Haddad answers for him. "No, leave it for the M.E."

He hands the paper to McDowd. It is the cover page of a term paper.

Storm of the Century- The Lessons of Katrina

Freaks looks over McDowd's shoulder, then bursts into a sarcastic laugh. "The Big Guy sure has a sense of humor," he says, patting McDowd on the back as he leaves.

Haddad just smiles and shakes his head. "He sure does."

The smile is contagious, but McDowd knows there's more to the strange coincidence than they're aware. The student's name on the front page is Bill Wilson.

Chapter 17

Woodcrest Road

Julie McDowd sits alone in her living room watching the news, bathed in the flickering blue light from the TV set, tears streaming down her cheeks. The top story is about her best friend. They explain how thugs stormed into her home, God only knows why. They say she saved her children, killing one of the attackers, but now she is missing, and the cops feared for the worse.

She doesn't stay to watch the story about a gas explosion at a college, or how terrorists killed a Russian minister. She has seen enough for now, perhaps enough to last a lifetime. Turning it off, she is suddenly plunged into an empty darkness. The countless questions in her mind float like fireflies, and there may never be answers, for they all rest with Kate. Julie's sadness takes her back to her husband's death, and how Kate helped her through it.

Now she feels that same sad emptiness of loss once more. She looks at the ceiling, imagining the bedroom above her where Tom and Robbie sleep, two sons who have lost their mother. "How did this happen, Kate?" she asks out loud.

In the empty darkness, she cries herself to sleep.

Upstairs, the boys are still awake, and both had been listening to the news coming through the floor. They are sharing the queen bed in Dan's room for now, Robbie laying his head on his brother's chest. They are worn out physically and emotionally, and the full impact of what they've been through hasn't hit them yet. Tom stares out the window at the twinkling stars above.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Will we see Mom again?"

"Sure, we will, but I don't know when." He knows Robbie needs a little assurance, and giving it helps him too.

"In heaven?"

Tom doesn't answer.

"Mom told me about death, you know,"

"What do you mean?"

"She said people are like candles. Even if they go out, they live on in other ways and they always live on inside us."

That makes Tom smile, picturing the conversation. "Mom's pretty smart."

Then, they are quiet for a while, both lost in their memories. Tom notices Robbie's lips moving. When he stops, he asks him about it. "Who you talking to, Robbie?"

"God," he whispers.

"What did you say?"

"I asked him to watch over Momma."

"What did he say?"

"Okay."

Tom looks back out the window, into the night sky, wondering if He's really out there.

"And Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"He says to ask your heart if we'll see her again, and don't be afraid of the answer."

"I will, Rob, now get to sleep."

His little brother yawns and rolls off him.

Like magic, the little guy falls right to sleep. Tom is amazed how Robbie can be so at ease. He thinks he know why, so looking at the stars, he asks his heart about his mom.

It tells him yes.

More important, he believes it.

Soon, Tom too is asleep. Side by side, the brothers share the same dream. When they wake, it will be gone, but it will have deeply touched them in ways they may never fully know. It is locked away somewhere deep inside for safekeeping.

They dream of a sweet and beautiful ballerina, glowing like as if in a fairy tale. She gives them a gift, a love beyond words, and as she hugs them, she gives each a kiss. She leaves them with a feeling stays with them forever, like the very gift of life itself.

A gift that only a mother can give.
Part VII

"Those who aim at great deeds, must also suffer greatly."

\- Marcus Licinius Crassus

Sunday

Chapter 1

Qom, the Islamic Republic of Iran

The Grand Ayatollah does not receive many visitors, and he summons even less. As he ages, he spends as much time as he can with the Holy Qur'an, leaving the day-to-day tribulations of governing to younger men. However, at times the spiritual world and the material world meet, spurring him to reflect on how Allah moves men to do his will, and how Satan can corrupt them.

A student cleric crosses the large room with a tray of tea as echoes of verse drift from the seminary across the courtyard.

"He is here," the young man says, placing the tray on a low table.

The nod tells him to see the visitor in. After a moment, he stands to welcome the leader of the Council of Guardians.

"Salaam Aleichem," Hamdi beams. The older returns the greeting and bids Hamdi join him at the table. They exchange pleasantries and then the Ayatollah gets down to business. "Tell me of this operation in America. You did not consult me before proceeding with it."

This makes Hamdi defensive, "Allah would not put a sword within our reach and not have us use it."

"Are you suggesting that you have a clearer interpretation of His will than I?"

"That is not my intention,"

"I fear that I am to blame for this, Hamdi, for allowing you such independence. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I assure you that it will not let it happen again."

Hamdi turns around. Two men, dressed in black ninja-like clothing, their faces hidden by black scarves, approach him. They both wear black headbands with white embroidered Arabic, _There is one God but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet._

They grab the young cleric and drag him kicking and screaming, to meet Allah.

The Supreme Leader filters out Hamdi's protests, the pleading, begging, and then the sobbing by turning his focus to a small ornate birdcage hanging near the window. A little sparrow flutters inside, chirping merrily, as if mocking the groveling Hamdi. One last sustained scream is followed by abrupt silence that restores the serenity of the setting.

"Poor Hamdi, such arrogance," he tells the little bird while feeding it sesame seeds. He will pray Allah bestows his mercy on Hamdi and receive him in paradise, despite such misguided intent.

Chapter 2

Moscow

Petre Kurtsin had loved his son, but when he should have held onto him the tightest, his own selfishness let him go. Love never comes without sacrifice, there is no easier or softer way. Instead of helping Sasha, he helped himself. Yes, he had saved his son's life in the literal sense, but he had also condemned him. When Sasha was expelled from the U.S. after the accident, Kurtsin could have gotten him the help he needed, but that would have been a sign of weakness and not a good career move.

He may have tried to covered his tracks, but the Defense Minister's sudden death revealed the writing on the wall, not doubt written in part by Elayna. It is only a matter of time now. That's why he sitting alone in his dark office, drinking all night. His gun is in front of him. He knows that before the dawn he'll have to use it.

Outside his office, he hears the elevator doors open to his floor, followed by footsteps. He hears their slow advance. They even have keys to unlock his door. Two dark forms wordlessly enter the office, as if he wasn't there. One sits down on his couch and lights a cigarette.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't be coming," Kurtsin tells them, still gazing at the sky.

The other man goes to the window, and as he comes into the muted light, he sees that it is Karlov. "Then you know why we're here."

"To arrest me."

The FSB man shakes his head. "No."

Kurtsin understands.

"The President asked that I take care of this personally," Karlov says, walking over and casually picking up Kurtsin's gun. "Do you want us to do it, or will you do it yourself?" he asks, handing the pistol his partner.

Slowly, dramatically, Tosten begins ejecting the rounds from the magazine, all but one. Then he goes over to the office bathroom and flips on the light. Standing outside the door, he says; "It's easier to clean up in here."

There is nothing more to say. No point in begging, no point fighting, for neither will work. As Kurtsin rises, the FSB man smiles sadly and watches him lumber to the washroom. Halfway there, he turns around to ask, "Did they stop them?"

Karlov says harshly, "You nearly got us all killed, you old, stupid fool. Please, hurry up and die."

Kurtsin smiles, "Too bad."

He takes the gun from the Tosten's outreached hand and goes inside, closing the door behind him.

Patiently waiting, Karlov flips through a folder on Kurtsin's. He pauses on a picture of an attractive young woman in uniform. Her eyes are enchanting. "You certainly look like trouble," he tells her. Outside, the first rays of the sun begin to illuminate the treetops. Neither man jumps when the gun goes off, followed by the heavy thud of the body hitting the floor.

Tosten opens the door for a look. He knows he doesn't have to check for a pulse. Slowly, gently pulls it shut and nods to his boss. With a final look at the picture, he closes the folder and turns off the desk lamp.

Chapter 3

Washington, DC

Weeks later, after tying up loose ends of the investigation, their work is summed up in a ten-minute briefing with the FBI director. The highly classified report would be passed up the chain, compiled, along with the CIA report, by the director of National Intelligence. Recommendations would be made and the whole report will go to the White House, where action, if any, would be taken.

McDowd is worried he'll miss his train home late on this Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. Finally, the Director flies in with a deputy.

"Sorry, gentlemen," he says taking the seat at the head of the long table, "This is Deputy Director for Intelligence Jon Sullivan."

Hands are shaken all around.

McDowd slides the folders across to table to them.

"So, how did it all go down?" the director asked.

McDowd says, "Our conclusion is that although the device was armed, it was weighted down by the second case."

"By whom and why? "

"Inconclusive. All of the Russian personnel and the cell were accounted for, except one."

"The woman," the Director says, his folder opened to a photograph of Kate.

"Katherine Wilson, aka Katrina Primorski," Haddad says. "Her prints were on the weapon case, but not found at the scene. Prints were also found in the camper. Witnesses in the parking lot have given conflicting accounts as to one woman or two in and around the vehicle. However, a large amount of blood was found in the camper's wastewater receptacle and on carpeting, which was determined by DNA to be that of Katherine Wilson. The amount of blood found represents a terminal blood loss for a woman her size. In all likelihood, it would seem that at some point, she was killed in that vehicle, possibly dismembered, and the parts disposed of. On several occasions, she tipped us off to her intentions. She may have been trying to play both sides out of fear her children were in jeopardy. The GRU woman may have caught on and killed her." Haddad elaborates.

"Then how did the second device end up getting connected?" the director asks.

"Accidentally, perhaps. "

"Or, the Wilson woman wants us to believe she's been killed," Sullivan suggests.

"But that takes us back to the amount of blood." McDowd offers back.

"So she could be dead, or she could still be out there," the director summarize.

"Either way, we can't confirm," Haddad tells them.

"What about tape?"

McDowd and Haddad glance at each other. "The record on hard drives shows Boradin entering with the two dead kids, then it stops."

Sullivan laughs. "How much more proof do you need?"

"Unfortunately, the necessity to keep this low-key prevented us from conducting as thorough an investigation as we would have liked," Haddad said.

"The CIA SAD operator radioed the NEST aircraft not to go higher than ten thousand feet. Where'd he get that from?"

"From me," McDowd says. "It was a hunch."

"You were filled with them that day." Sullivan says suspiciously.

"Hunches did a good job keeping me alive for two tours in Afghanistan."

"You knew her prior to this, didn't you." The director says flatly.

After a long moment, McDowd lets out a sigh. "Yes. I did."

Sullivan smiles to himself.

"How?"

"My sister's neighbor, but we never really _knew_ each other."

Haddad tries hard not to look at McDowd.

"Do we consider her a threat?" the director asks Sullivan.

Sullivan opens a folder. "If she's alive, and we get her, she's facing murder, conspiracy to commit with a weapon of mass destruction, espionage. Those are the head-liners, and all carry the death penalty."

The director gives him an irritated look. "This will never see the light of day, but the question remains, is she a threat?" This time the director looks directly at McDowd.

"Her mission is over. In our opinion, and based on the psychological profile we have in the report, and her attempts to help us, she doesn't constitute a threat."

The director is back to Kate's picture, the smile and the eyes. She looks like a nice person, but then again, so did Ted Bundy. "So why didn't she just turn herself in?"

"Would you?" McDowd asks. The question causes everyone else to cringe. None in all honesty, would say yes.

He closes the folder. "Katherine Wilson is now a missing person, among the many thousands out there. It would be best for everyone involved, especially her, if she stays that way."

The FBI director gives them both a hard look, expressing his disappointment in them both. After a moment, he closes the folder. "Thank you, agent Haddad."

It takes a moment or two for him to get the message before Haddad mournfully gets up and leaves. "I'll be outside," he tells McDowd.

They wait until Haddad quietly closes the door behind him to continue.

"Dan, we'd really like you to reconsider joining the bureau," the director begins. "Although your training and military record are exemplary, I just don't know if you're a right fit."

"That's not to say you'd be perfect in another branch of service, and we'll give you the highest of recommendations."

This doesn't come as a surprise, but it still stings.

"It's up to you, but I thinks best for everybody if we just called it a day," the director nods with a sympathetic smile.

Haddad doesn't have to ask what happened, he sees it in the slumped shoulders and long face. They make their way out onto Constitution Avenue, where the early rush home before Thanksgiving is under way. The two men have one final piece of business to discuss. McDowd extends his hand. "Thank you for up there," he tells him in a low voice, as if they can still be overheard by J. Edgar Hoover.

"I owed her. Some things have to be above and beyond the law. I know bad shit happens to good people..." He pauses, considering carefully his next words. "I know she's good people," he says with a wave of his finger "But don't you go looking for her, Dan. The kind of bad luck she has rubs off on people."

"What is it they say? If you love someone, let them go. If they don't come back, they were never yours to begin with," McDowd tells him, then starts heading up Constitution Avenue toward Union Station to catch his train home.

"Find yourself some nice _young_ girl."

McDowd laughingly shakes his head.

"You did good, Dan. Bone would be proud," Haddad calls after him.

Chiller turns around. "I know, Shelly. He is."

"Be careful getting home," he smiles, gesturing across the street.

Turning, McDowd sees a dark Chevy Tahoe idling at the curb, just as his cell phone starts to ring. He has a strong suspicion who it is.

"Need a ride?" Edwards asks cheerily. In the background, he hears Mayo break out into _Oh Danny Boy_ again.

Freaks rolls down the driver's side window and waves him over. McDowd, against his best judgment, relents. It looks like its about to start raining anyway.

"Where to, Chiller?" Freaks asks.

"Union Station."

"Back to you dad's for Thanksgiving?" Edwards asks. It isn't a lucky guess.

McDowd just laughs.

"Bob sends his regards. So, job hunting next?"

"Yes, you hiring?" McDowd says with a smile.

"I don't know if he'll pass the background check." Freak's says.

"Or the polygraph," Mayo adds.

"Oh sure he can, unless we ask him about Katrina Primorski." Edwards says.

"I can get out up there," McDowd points ahead to the station's taxi stand.

"Dan, it would be really bad if she should ever turn up again," Freaks explains.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, boys. Thanks for the ride, and have a happy Thanksgiving."

"What time should we be there?" Mayo asks.

Edwards rolls down the window as McDowd gets out. "You know, we might be able can get a waiver on the polygraph. My offer still stands. We have an excellent vision plan."

"I see plenty good," McDowd waves.

"I hope so. Just remember, you're on the outside now Danny. Her old pals are probably wondering the same things we are. We wouldn't want you to get caught in the middle of that. They don't love you like we do."

The boys watch him until he vanishes into the station. Freaks pops the truck into gear. "Don't worry boss, he'll be back."

"I know." Edwards says, his mind drifting off as they pull into the rainy street.

Chapter 4

New York, Thanksgiving Eve

Alone in a worn hotel room, Kati lies back with a tight grip on her bottle of vodka and her gun. Her mind is filled with every possible combination of guilt, shame and remorse.

The shifting lights from the street move like ghosts across the ceiling, inviting her to come and play. A song plays in her head, Avril Levigne's "Home _."_

She sings in a whisper, drifting closer to the edge. She considers praying to God for help. She knows He will give it to her. She just doesn't know if she wants it anymore, because everything comes at price. The only gift she has left is her life, and she isn't sure she wants that either.

The gun is a comfort in her hand, knowing that if the bottle won't stop the pain, a bullet will.

Suddenly the door to her room opens, and the blinding white light from the hallway sweeps away the darkness. She can't tell if it's real or a hallucination. She doesn't move as the female form moves toward her in silhouette.

As the woman sits on Kati's bed, the dancing light from outside reveals her face.

"You can't be," Kati starts to say, but a finger gently placed on her lips stops her from saying more.

"Shush, Kati, time to rest," Elayna sooths. Placing her hand on Kati's gun, she tells her, "You did not live in order to die like this."

She wipes away solitary the tear on Kati's cheek. "There are gifts you have yet to receive _and_ to give."

"My boys."

"Yes, your boys, and much more, but you must fight for them."

"I'm tired of fighting, tired of the pain," Kati sighs. "They're better off without me. I'm better off dead."

"Then who am I to deprive you?" Elayna says, removing her hand from the gun. "Death isn't a door that closes. It is a door that opens."

She is way beyond the point that any normal human being can endure. She begins to sob, shaking as she brings the gun to her head.

"You are so brave, Kati, more than I ever was. That is why I love you so."

It has to stop, as it should have long ago.

"Oh God! Forgive me." The hammer comes back, and she pulls the trigger.

Somewhere far away, Elayna smiles at how clever she is.

"Like you always said, Katrina, you can't keep it unless you give it away."

It is Kreichek's useless gun.

The deepest, darkest despair, the kind that pushes one to the act of suicide, is now overshadowed by the agony of having tried but failed.

"Noooo!" she wails, throwing the gun across the room. Elayna's ghost has abandoned her. She tries to get to the window, falling from the bed.

She tries, but cannot stand. Now crawling, Kati manages to get across the room, and pull herself to the sill, only to find that the window will not open for this very reason. In one final act of desperation, enabled by a primal rage, Kati manages to get to the room's desk chair, and with the last of her remaining strength, launches it at the window in the hope of breaking through. It simply bounces off. Kati collapses to the carpet sobbing, until she mercifully passes out.
Part VIII

Epilogue

Thanksgiving Day

For the recovered, every day is Thanksgiving. There may not be the stuffed bird or the necessity to listen to _Alice's Restaurant_ , but the saved need to give thanks for another day sober, and perhaps give back in the hope of being deserving of the priceless gift they have received.

It is a brilliant late fall morning, a little cold, but the sunshine thaws the bite. Dan McDowd can't help but to smile as he sees parents with their rosy red-cheeked little ones rushing past him on their way to the parade. He's got plenty to be thankful for, so he's decided to express his gratitude by returning to the place where his new life began, the beginner's meeting at the Murray Hill Mustard Seed.

Nearly ten minutes late, he sneaks in as quiet as a mouse, slipping into a seat in the back row. The place is packed. It's been a while since he'd counted his first ninety days here, or sat in the "hot seat," where newcomers are strongly encouraged to share, even if all they have to say is hello. He recognizes a few old-timers, and some of them recognize him with a nod or a smile.

This is the emergency room for drunks. In the dimly lit basement room, a guy in an Armani suit is sitting next to a ragged street person, and every now and then he might get a little vomit on those expensive threads, but he knows it's all good. The famous and nameless, a hint of Chanel and urine, mixing together with a singleness of purpose: to stay sober, and to help another achieve sobriety. Not every alcoholic makes it to a room like this, and even fewer stay. That is why those who do remain consider themselves to be living miracles. It is also why they are so thankful.

One by one, the newbies come up front and sit in the solitary chair, sharing their trials and tribulations as they begin their journey. Most come up voluntarily, but some need to be called upon.

The chairperson, a young woman with a bolt of bright pink hair, surveys the group. "Is there anyone else who's counting days who hasn't shared?"

A few folks up front turn to look at a dark-haired woman at the end of the row in front of McDowd. He cranes his neck for a look, but all he can see is a shaking hand, barely in control of a cup of coffee.

"How about you?" the chairperson asks softly with a gentle knowing nod.

A woman next to her whispers some encouragement, while taking the coffee cup from her. Frail and jittery, she slowly makes her way to the chair. It is painful to watch, but it is something they all need to see, a stark, raw reminder of where they came from, and where they may yet have to go. Some are moved to tears, knowing the incredible courage it takes to do what she's doing. McDowd closes his eyes, _"But for the Grace of God..."_

The single lamp at the chairperson's desk next to the hot seat doesn't reveal much. It doesn't have to. There is a long, uncomfortable pause before she speaks.

"My name is Kati, and I'm an alcoholic," she says, struggling.

"Hi Kati!" the room responds loudly.

McDowd recognizes something in the voice. He looks up, but the long, dark hair obscures her face.

"I have one day back..."

The group explodes with applause, and one or two actually stand.

She pulls one side of her part to reveal a pained smile as someone shouts, "Welcome back!"

McDowd doesn't hear much else after that. The tide of emotions flowing over him washes all else away. The feeling of warmth remains with him the rest of the meeting. In the end, they all manage to form a circle and join hands.

"A moment of silence for the sick and suffering inside and outside of the rooms," the Chairperson asks. "Followed by the serenity prayer...Kati, will you take us out?"

"God, grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the difference to know the difference. Your will, not mine, be done. Keep coming back, it works if you work it."

As most of the group disperses, a number of women gather around Kati. He walks out with the rest of them, but lingers down the street on the corner, until he watches them come out. Dan knows that by helping her, they will be helping themselves. That's how it works. Perhaps they'll take her for a cup of coffee, or even invite her into their homes for Thanksgiving dinner.

They'll tell her their stories, and she'll tell them hers. He knows she has a gift of a story to share, the kind that comes from the heart, the only place a gift of love comes from. It is Kate's gift, the one she had to give away, in order to keep it.

A thought makes him smile. One day perhaps, he'll hear it too.

About the Author

Dave is an Emmy award winning Writer/Producer/Director who was pushed into the world of international intrigue at an early age when his family moved to Beirut, Lebanon during the wild 1970s. It would be an experience that would stick with him throughout his life, leading to his pursuing a minor in Political Science while voraciously consuming Tom Clancy novels as fast as they could print them.

His true love, however, is film and story telling, a craft in which he has made a successful career. From the moment he picked up his father's super 8mm movie camera until now, the mixing of images and narrative, whether in a film, documentary, theater or 60 second commercial, has been Dave's passion. His debut novel _Kate's Gifts_ reflects that in the way the story is told in a visual context, almost like a screenplay.

Dave pulls from his extensive professional knowledge of current affairs and the shifting geo-political landscape for the novel's backdrop, but it is from his experiences in the recovery community from which he draws the material that gives _Kate's Gifts_ its heart and soul. His volunteer work as a recovery support group facilitator and sobriety coach, as well as the experiences of his own family's struggles with substance abuse, are in part reflected in the lives of his characters. _Kate's Gifts_ is a story about the heartbreaking depths of addiction, but it is also about the soaring joy of triumph over substance abuse, and the hope from the knowledge that no matter how far one may fall, there is a way to climb out.

For more information about _Kate's Gifts_ , including additional material, visit

katesgiftshome.com. For more information about Dave's work, or to contact him visit thecreativecritter.com

