A short fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Note: First, thanks to all of you who've read both of my earlier Without a Trace pieces, Nothing Gold Can Stay from last year and more recently, In Extremis: Epilogue. I truly appreciate your kind and generous support, it really does make a difference hearing from you, it helps me write better.
A big huge Debt of gratitude to my friend and advise giver and most excellent editor, Christy. Thanks Pard, without you, this story wouldn't be here.
Warning, this story might be long, (those of you who've read my Magnificent Seven Fic's know how hard it is for me to write short stories. Stop laughing Laramee, I can hear you!)
Without Further interruption, let the tale begin.
Jack watched as Vivian spoke quietly with Abby Harrison. This story did have a happy ending. It wasn't often enough that he got the chance to deliver good news. Despite the ordeal she'd endured for the last three years, little Abby was handling the situation well. Kids were funny that way, very resilient. Vivian and two doctors had talked to her about what happened.
"He's not dead?" Abby whispered, eyeing the man with the sad eyes next to her.
"No, sweetheart, he's not," Jack answered, ruffling her hair. "And in a little while, Agent Johnson is going to take you on a plane back to Maine. That's where he lives now."
"Can I talk to him?"
"We're trying to call him now," Vivian answered. She wondered where Jack had gone. While she was updating the lawyer for David Hughes, he'd excused himself when his phone rang. He'd been gone until a few moments ago. Something was up, she could tell by the new spark of light in his formally weary eyes. Was is a break in Danny's case? Or had the missing nun turned up?
Jack's saw Vivian's dark eyes questioning him as she dialed Robert Harrison. He would update her on his urgent message after she was finished. He found a smile for the small girl whose large blue eyes were trained on the phone in Vivian's hand. She turned and walked over to him when he got closer.
"What if he doesn't know me?" Abby whispered fearfully.
"He loves you," Jack reassured her, tapping her nose with his finger. "He's been looking for you every day. He could never forget you."
"Do you have a little girl?" she wondered.
"I have two, one is your age and one a little younger. I know how much I love them and that's how I know your daddy misses you very much."
"Mister Harrison?" Vivian spoke into the phone as she smiled and reached over to take Abby's hand. "I have good news..."
"You found her!" Robert Harrison cried out, his heart soaring.
"There's somebody here who wants to talk to you," Vivian replied and handed her Abby the phone. "Go on honey."
"Daddy?"
"Oh God, thank God... Abigail... I can't believe..."
"Don't cry daddy. The police lady is going to bring me home on a plane. Is that okay?"
"Yes, honey, that's fine. I can't wait to hold you. I love you, Abby."
"I love you too daddy. I missed you. I thought you were in heaven."
"No honey, that was a lie that bad man told you. I'm fine and I can't wait to bring you home. Just know that I love you very much."
The conversation continued for several moments, with father and daughter sharing thoughts and concerns. Then the little girl handed the phone back up to the nice lady who'd talked to her.
"Mister Harrison?" Vivian asked again.
"Where are you? What happened? How did you find her?" he demanded.
"We're in Phoenix. Your ex-wife had her in Sedona." Vivian hesitated then taking a short breath. She wasn't quite sure how to tell him this child he idolized wasn't his. She certainly wouldn't do it on the phone. "She was living with David Hughes. They've both been arrested. They planned this together."
"But why? how?" he wondered then thought on his miracle. "Abby? She's really alright?"
"She's beautiful, Mister Harrison and she can't wait to see her father. I'll fill you in on the details when I see you. I'm leaving for the airport now, we're catching a red-eye. We'll land around six a.m. I've notified the local branch of the Bureau and they'll escort you to the airport."
"I don't know how to thank you, all of you. You have no i...de..a..."
"You're welcome," Vivian smiled, choked up as well. "And you just said it beautifully. Hold on."
She handed the phone to Abby and walked a few feet away to where Jack was standing.
"So are you gonna tell me now?" she asked of the mysterious message he'd taken when he'd stepped away.
"I got a call from Helen Bacon. Father Paulo turned up in San Diego. It took a few phone calls to confirm it, but he's in a hospital there. He's in bad shape but he's expected to live. I'm leaving now for the airport."
"How did he get there?"
"The army raided a suspected rebel camp in the hills outside Costa Rica. They found some dead prisoners, some very ill. Father Paulo was with them. He's in bad shape. He's sick and weak and from what Helen said, he'd been beaten pretty badly. He's well liked in that area and the army got him on a plane, fearing he'd go right back to help those people if he got the chance."
"And the rebels would kill him?'" Vivian thought aloud.
"Oh yeah..." Jack nodded. "Plus the State Department put some pressure on the army to find him. I'm on a plane in a less than an hour. You get some sleep tomorrow, that's an order. We'll touch base later tomorrow. If I can't get you, I'll call Sam."
"Alright," Vivian said watching him walk towards the exit. She was halfway back to where Abby was waiting when he called out.
"Agent Johnson?"
"Yes?" She frowned.
"Good job," Jack grinned and nodded towards her. "I ever tell you that you're one helluva a federal agent?"
"Thanks, Jack," she smiled back and arched a brow. "And you could mention that a little more often."
The swirls of blood quickly turned from red to pink as the water washed them down the drain. As Peter Gibson washed the blood from his hands, he cursed his lack of self control. He vowed to be more careful next time. He couldn't do that again, losing control caused mistakes. He'd planned this too well to make a critical error now.
Gibson winced and dabbed the cut over his eye with antibacterial ointment. His lip was also cut badly and his body ached. He had to give the feisty fed credit; he fought well, in a losing effort, of course. He was careful not to break any bones, but that damned mouth of Taylor's wouldn't be sassing him for awhile. The battered body wouldn't be leaving the bunk in his cell for a few days either.
Rinsing the last of Danny's blood from his hands, he thought on his problem again. He had a schedule to keep and couldn't afford to waste any time. It had to go off just exactly as he'd mapped it out. But the shapely blonde was in a hospital instead of in her cell. That changed everything
"Think... think..." he chastised himself.
The first order of business would be to ascertain how Spade was and how the investigation was going. Then he had to find out where Jack Malone was. He knew that Malone and Johnson were in Phoenix, but the news of Spade's accident would no doubt bring him back. He thought for a moment and picked the phone up.
Chris Boone was in the bullpen area of his office when the phone rang. He shoved the lukewarm Chinese food away and reached over the large pile of folders, photos and case notes on Danny Taylor and picked up the phone.
"Boone."
"Chris, I was supposed to meet Jack. I can't get a hold of him. Is he there?"
"Hey Snake," Chris sighed, rubbing his tension lines near his eyes and sat back in his leather chair. He rocked back and forth and drained his coffee. "Sorry, he's not here. He and Vivian went to Phoenix. They found that little girl, Abby Harrison."
"The cold case, yes he mentioned that to me. That's great news." Gibson shifted the phone to the other hand so he could write notes.
"Yeah, he'll need it today. You hear about Sam Spade?"
"I heard a news report, I've been busy this evening, how bad?"
"Critical. But she's a tough kid, she'll pull through." The blond predicted. "She took a nasty fall in the old Bulldog Brewery. Her spleen ruptured, did some internal damage. A few broken ribs and they're not sure about her head injury. They said her brain was bruised pretty good."
"Head injuries can be tricky." He smiled, still seeing her fallen body lying like a broken doll. "Brewery? What was she doing there? That placed was closed years ago."
"It seems they got a call from Danny Taylor or someone pretending to be Taylor. The call mentioned the brewery and they went to check it out. Someone was waiting for them and she took a fall."
"They? She has a new partner? Or one of your men?"
"No, Fitzgerald was with her. They were off duty."
"So you have an idea who did this? Fitzgerald, did he see this man?"
"No, nothing, we got zip. Listen Snake, I'm pretty busy..."
"Sorry Chris," he smiled. "If you need any help. You know to call me. Does Jack know about Samantha?"
"Not yet. I've left a few messages on his cell. I finally got Sanchez, the SAC out there. Jack left for San Diego. He got a break on that missing nun case."
"Really?" The curiosity in his voice was genuine. What lead could Malone have possibly found in San Diego?
"Yeah, some priest she knew from years ago turned up half dead in a hospital. He's going to see if the guy knows anything about her. Johnson is bringing the kid back to Maine to her father. So she won't be back here in the city until tomorrow sometime."
"Thanks, Chris, and please call if I can help."
"Thanks, Snake, will do," Boone promised and hung up.
"Doable," Gibson sat forward and pursed his lips, nodding his head. A plan formed, his spirits lifted and a smile caused his puffed lip to split. But he didn't mind the pain. The vacant cell wouldn't be empty long. This time, his plan would work. He'd have to move fast to get the unsuspecting victim before Jack Malone returned.
The hours seemed to fall sloppily into each other to the dazed man who wandered through the hospital. The tests were negative, of course, Martin knew they would be. His low blood sugar and low blood pressure kicked in and he'd passed out. He was given a temporary bed until his vitals went up. He was glad for that. For some reason, the sterile atmosphere with strangers was a fitting place for him. Sort of like being lost in the twilight zone. The blue-eyed opossum feigned sleep both times Chris Boone came to check on him. He didn't want to see anyone and certainly didn't want to speak to anyone. Martin knew he was postponing the inevitable.
He waited until the change of shifts, got dressed and slipped out of his room. He hit the stairwell, going to the third floor. The words 'Critical Care' seemed to burn a hole in his heart. He'd asked overnight several times how she was. The only reply was she'd come out of surgery well and was holding her own. She was 'guarded but critical'. What the hell did that mean? Martin tiptoed to the door and peered through the glass. He couldn't get inside, he wanted to but they had strict rules. No visitors until 11 a.m. He squinted hard, pressing his face against the glass door. There were bodies sleeping and resting in glass cubicles around a central nursing station. Some of the nurses were checking on their charges. He couldn't tell where she was. Then one of the nurses moved and the shell-shocked agent's heart sank. His voice was a barely a whisper as the realization hit hard.
"Oh God..."
There she was. Her blond hair had been pulled back and secured behind her. Oxygen ran into her nose and several monitors were behind her, giving off tiny, technicolor blips. Two IV lines ran into her arm and she was unnaturally still. She was so awfully pale, as white as the sheets she was lying on. She looked so small an and frail. He put his hand up, covering the part on the glass where, to his eye, it covered her hand. With a heavy heart, he raised his damp eyes skyward and made a moving plea
"Please... don't let... her die. Please..."
Vivian Johnson's head turned when the sharp cry of joy pierced the early morning air. The airport wasn't very crowded so it was easy to pick out the tall, handsome man with gray hair wearing a tearful grin.
"ABBY!"
"Easy, Abby."
Vivian held on tightly to the little girl's hand as they exited the entry area. The local F.B.I. agents had driven the very anxious Robert Harrison to meet the plane. She let the little girl's hand go and bent down. The child seemed anxious to run to the man but hesitant at the same time.
"Honey, that's your father. Remember we talked about this on the plane?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Abby nodded and peeked around the agent's brown trench coat to view the man who was wiping tears from his eyes. "Is he sad?"
"No," Vivian replied, rubbing the little girl's back. "Those are tears of happiness. They're for you, he loves you that much. He always has..."
"Daddy?" the blonde girl slowly walked over to where her father was squatting and opening his arms.
"Oh Abby I've missed you so much..."
"Daddy!" she cried and ran to his open arms.
Vivian swallowed the lump in her throat as the happy reunion took place. It wasn't often enough she got to witness such wonderful closure on a case. Cold cases were especially difficult and usually ended with a dreaded visit after a body was recovered. Seeing this man overcome with emotion holding his only child was something she'd keep for a long time. She would tuck it away inside for those days when she needed that envied ray of hope.
"I'm just about starved," Abby decided, spotting a big sign with french toast and cinnamon. "Can I have some breakfast please?"
"Sweetheart, you can have the moon served up on a silver platter if that's what you need." He walked over and purchased her a child's breakfast, some juice and a cookie. He bought four coffees for the adults and carried the container to a nearby table. He returned to the counter to get the child's meal and he saw the female agent pointing to the table where Abby was sitting.
"Mister Harrison, can I speak to you a moment?" Vivian asked, "Agents Smith and Capshaw will remain here with Abby."
"Alright." He put the meal down in front of the anxious child and kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back, honey. Here are some napkins."
"Okay," she agreed, tugging on his hand. "But not too long..."
"I promise, buttons," he vowed and saw her lips turn up.
"I remember that..." she whispered, her large eyes darting , "Goodnight buttons... and a big white book with gold pages."
"Your favorite book of fairytales," he squatted down and smiled. "I have it by your bed at home. We read together every night" He watched the old memory bring a smile and some confidence to the little girl. He ruffled her pale hair and rose. He took a single cup of coffee with him and handed it to the agent who was across the wide aisle of the corridor.
"There's something you need to know about Abby," Vivian began. "It concerns the man who your wife was found with."
"He's the man who fathered Abby," Robert's eyes never left the pretty blonde child happily dipping French toast sticks in syrup.
"You knew?" Vivian's dark brows drew together.
"That I wasn't her natural father? Yes, since she was about two." He recalled the event that lead to the discovery. "Both Abby and her mother became very ill with a nasty case of the flu. They were both hospitalized. I saw her blood type, I wasn't compatible. I knew somebody else had gotten Karen pregnant."
"You never said anything to Karen?"
"No, there was no need. I loved her and we had a good life together at that time. I couldn't love that child more if I had created her. "He zipped his jacket." Shortly after I found out I was in a gift shop near the hospital, buying flowers for Karen and a stuffed toy for Abby. I saw a mug on the shelf that said 'Anyone can father a child, but it takes someone special to be a father'." He smiled again, "I bought that mug and use it everyday."
"I'd say she's a lucky little girl," Vivian hugged him and waved to Abby. "A very lucky girl. We'll be in touch before the trial. I have a plane to catch. The two agents will see you home. You remember what we discussed earlier? That she'll need counseling, she's been through alot."
"She'll have the very best. We have a whole lifetime to share... and I can't thank you enough. I wish there were someway to repay you and your partner for all you've done."
"I'll tell you what Mister Harrison," Vivian replied thoughtfully. "You give her all the love and guidance she needs and give this world a shining star. We need all the bright lights we can get."
"She's the brightest, I can tell you that.," he agreed and shook her hand before walking back to the table.
Vivian sipped her coffee and watched the father and daughter sharing their first moments of a very warm reunion. During the ride back to Maine, she'd talked for quite some time to the little girl. She found her to be a very bright and well adjusted child, despite the ordeal. Vivian was confident that with counseling the pretty eight-year old would be just fine.
She eyed the overhead monitors and saw her flight was boarding. While she made her way down to the right gate, she pulled out her cellphone and checked her messages. There were four messages, two from Jack, one from Chris Boone and one from Martin. Jack's first message was short and clipped with a very tense 'Call me as soon as you get this'. The second one added that Sam had been injured badly in a fall. Chris Boone's was next and he relayed that her blonde partner was in critical condition and to go right to the hospital when she landed.
"What the hell happened?" She murmured, quickly dialing Jack's cellphone.
"Malone."
"Jack, how's Sam? What happened?"
"Vivian, thank God." Malone slumped in the unforgiving plastic, hospital chair. "Sam and Martin got a call from Danny or someone pretending to be Danny from that old brewery. Sam called Eric Keller, he lives close and he met them there. Keller and Sam headed inside to find Danny. Martin was supposed to stay outside," Jack paused, kicking the bedside table. "Dammit!"
"My plane's leaving Jack..." she pressed.
"They saw what they thought was Danny but couldn't reach him. They split up and Martin claimed he saw somebody run into the building and he followed this mystery man. He caught up to the guy just as he was about to attack Sam. He jumped the guy, they fought and Sam fell over the third floor ledge. The guy got away and no sign of Tayloranywhere."
"Oh no... Sam?"
"Internal injures, brain bruise, spleen something or other..." Jack sighed hard, raking his hand through his hair. "It's not good, she's in CCU in a coma."
"Uh... okay..." Vivian stammered, absorbing the news. "First flight out is into Newark, I'll be home in an hour."
"Find Boone first get an update. He should be at the hospital, he wants Martin to have a psych workup and I okay'd it."
"Jack?" she questioned and waved to the annoyed clerk at the counter who was trying to herd the last straggling passengers onto the plane.
"It's warranted he fucked up again... he had a gun on the guy and let him walk away. If this guy was connected to Danny's kidnapping..."
"Ma'am, you have to turn that off now." The annoyed clerk pointed to the doorway. "Or this plane will leave without you."
"Alright, alright." She handed her ticket over. "Jack, I have to go, the plane is leaving."
"Call me later."
As she ran down the narrow gangplank that led to the plane, she pushed the last message on her phone.
"...Viv it's me... Sam and me thought we found Danny in a warehouse but... there was a guy there. I didn't... I can't... she fell Viv... it's bad, she might die. Hurry okay?"
"Oh Martin." She snapped the phone shut and hurried up the aisle to her seat.
"Danny!"
He ignored the voice and the pain the loud call brought to his tender skull. He dared not move, for even breathing caused intense pain. There wasn't an inch of flesh or bone on him that wasn't screaming in protest. Somewhere within the red haze in his brain a vague memory of a fight flashed up; distorted images of a brutish hulk with icy eyes and a jackhammer fist. He ran his tongue around his mouth and the metallic taste turned his already queasy stomach.
"DANNY!"
"Shut up, Jack..." he murmured, wondering what his boss was doing inside his apartment.
"Get your ass up Taylor," Malone replied.
His swollen fingers found a metal edge and he frowned. His bed wasn't metal. Hospital? Was that it? Was that why Jack was calling him? He pressed his aching head to remember what had gone down. New case? Old case? Chasing a perp? Suspect that got out of control? No, nothing was coming to mind.
"Ja..ck... hap..pen..ed...?"
"You got your ass whipped again, Taylor."
"Harvard?" he whispered in a rough voice.
With a force known prior only to Hercules, he pried his eyes open. He could see only half of a room. Everything he could see was very blurry and totally unfamiliar. He moved his hand upward to find the source of his missing field of vision. One eye was swollen completely shut and there was something rough covering the brow above it. He tried to sit up and cried out in pain, but forced his body to move. His legs landed with a thump as his feet hit the floor.
"Shit... holy shit..." he gasped as the room spun wildly and he held onto the bed so as not to fall out of it. His stomach began to protest and he closed his good eye, swallowing the bile and breathing hard. Finally the awful spinning stopped and he peeled his eye open. The room wasn't as blurry and on the large screen on the wall he saw an image of himself, Jack and Martin at a boxing ring.
"Max's..." he croaked of the gym near the office. He and Martin often went there to work off steam after a hard case. He watched Martin peer down at him in the ring and the red logo on the front of the sweatshirt. "...PAL..." Then it came back to him, the Police Athletic League sponsored the matches to raise money for the organization.
He saw the small frig across the way and found his wobbly legs. He staggered badly, hissing in pain as every breath through the badly bruised ribs caused agony. Finally he made it; collapsing in a chair and reaching to open the door. He grabbed a can of soda and pressed it to his face. The cold went through the throbbing pain, dulling it somewhat. He finally popped the top and drank the Ginger Ale. As he relieved his dry throat, memories flickered to life in his muddled head. The beast who laid him out had a face now One who'd caused him physical and emotional anguish. . One he'd not forget.
"I will kill you, Gibson," he vowed, crushing the can. "Mark it down."
"Is he awake yet?"
"In and out," the nurse replied to the very disheveled F.B.I. agent. He'd been there most of the night and left briefly to take care of some business and get something to eat. "Coffee?
"Please." Jack entered the room and made his way to the bed. He sat down hard in the bedside chair and rubbed his temples. He couldn't remember when he'd had a headache quite this bad. He was wondering if his real name was Murphy, since that was the way his luck was running. Of all times to be stuck across the country from home; one agent missing, one in a coma and one a basket case. Thankfully, Vivian was heading home. He tried to ignore the call that he knew would be coming. Chris Boone told him Victor Fitzgerald called twice and he wasn't happy. As much as he itched to be on a plane to New York, he needed to speak to Father Paulo.
Frustrated, he dialed the hospital in New York and got the nursing supervisor. She told him exactly what Chris had, that Sam was in critical condition with a serious brain bruise. The surgery went well and she was having the lost blood replaced. Once she stabilized they would do further testing to determine if there was any more damage to her brain. He got the switchboard operator again and had her transfer him to the room Martin was in. He was supposed to be waiting for the doctor to sign the orders for his evaluation.
"I'm sorry for the delay, sir. We don't have a Martin Fitzgerald in the room."
"What?" Jack saw forward. "What do you mean? He's being kept there for a psych workup. He was admitted last night. Check again."
"Alright." She punched in the info and came up blank again. "Hold on a minute.' She put him on hold and dialed the admissions office. They confirmed the admittance and the room, so she dialed the floor. "Connie? It's Sandy from Communications. Do you have a Fitzgerald on your floor, an F.B.I agent admitted last night?"
"We did, he checked out an hour ago. I wasn't on duty yet. The kid who delivers the breakfast trays said he saw the man in that room leave just as he was about to bring his breakfast. We notified the point of contact and left a message."
"Okay, thanks." She got back on the phone and relayed the message. She found the silence that followed curious "Sir? Did you hear me?"
"Yeah, thanks," Jack replied and hung up. "I'll nail his scrawny ass to a post! Jesus Christ I need this shit..." He punched in Martin's cellphone, which was busy. "Where the hell are you? You call me as soon as you get this. Don't fuck around with me Martin, you're on thin ice and it's cracking fast."
As he hung the phone up on the bed stand he saw two very weak eyes looking up at him. He wasn't sure of the extent of the old mans lucidity. He leaned over and gave the ill man a smile.
"Father Paulo?" He saw the frail head nod. "I'm Jack Malone. I'm an F.B.I. agent from New York. I need to ask you a few questions about Sister Michael." He paused, flipping his notebook open. "Francesa Maria Alvarez." He waited and studied the blank face peering up at him. "Father do you understand me? Can you hear me?"
"Si."
"Good, do you speak English?" Jack asked and the head nodded. The frail hand wavered and the eyes turned towards the water pitcher. "I should have thought of that. Let me find out if the nurse says it's okay and I'll get you a drink." Jack ducked outside and caught the nurse's eye. 'He's awake, okay to give him water?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact he needs fluids. I'll call dietary and get some broth and juice sent up."
Jack nodded and returned to the room. He found the previous blank stare now a very puzzled one. He poured the water, shoved a straw in the top of the plastic lid and set the cup down. He pushed the button raising the bed up until the injured man nodded. Then he held the mug out and watched the thirsty man drink.
"Easy... there's plenty." Jack waited and saw the head nod again. "More?" The head shook negatively and he put the cup down. "You let me know, okay? Good. What can you tell me about Sister Michael? I'm particularly interested in her family. I was told a man visited her down in Costa Rica. I thought she was an orphan."
"She had no family, Senor Malone," the weak priest replied. "I do not understand. What is your purpose here? What do you wish this information for now?"
"Well she's missing, Father, we're trying to get leads on who might have taken her." He paused at the odd expression the old man wore. Father Paulo's head shook a bit and his dark eyes narrowed.
"There must be some mistake," he turned to the federal agent. "Sister Micheal is dead."
Vivian's phone rang as soon as she cleared the arrivals area. She was hurrying to her car in order to get to the hospital and get an update on Sam. She picked up her car and slid behind the wheel. Rush hour traffic in this area was murderous, the sooner she was out of the airport the better. She was about to call Chris Boone when her phone rang.
"Hello."
"Vivian?"
"Martin? Is that you? I can barely hear you..."
"I found her...
"Who? Where are you? Martin?"
"...car... to... Pietro's Villa..."
"That's not far from here," she hollered into the phone. The Italian restaurant and winery was once a real tourist attraction. But over the years as new, trendier places opened in the city, the quaint place fell on hard times. "Martin what are you doing there? Jack said you were in the hospital"
"...called... hotline... was... office..."
"Who? Who called you?" She strained to hear.
"Sister Michael..."
"Did you call it in?"
"...Boone... 911... on... way..."
"Martin, I can barely hear you. Are you sure it's her?"
"...pretty sure... Catherine... Lady... Grace... said it... her voice..."
"Alright, I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Don't ..." She pulled the phone away and heard a burst of static. "Martin?" The line went dead and she dialled Chris Boone's office and got one of the team. "Brendan? It's Vivian Johnson. Is Chris around?"
"Hey Vivian, I heard about the Harrison case. Congratulations, that's a damn good piece of work."
"Thanks Brendan. Do you know where Chris is? It's urgent."
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry about Samantha. Trish went with Brendan to the hospital to talk to Keller again. He was over there first thing. What's up?"
"Well, I got an odd call from Martin Fitzgerald. He claimed to have spoken to Sister Michael..."
"That missing nun? Where? When?"
"This morning I guess. His cell phone broke up. He said she called from Pietro's Villa. I'm just about to leave NewarkAirport, it's right off the first exit."
"But..." Gavin hedged, hearing her uncertainty.
"But something isn't quite right. Martin is supposed to be in a hospital and he's not on duty. He knows that. He's already in a deep hole and now with what Jack told me about Sam and him last night." She paused, "Unless he called the office from the hospital and got the message."
"He's not thinking clearly, Vivian, he might have seen this as his chance to redeem himself."
"Big mistake," she confessed and nodded, thinking it was something he might be inclined to do.
"Rookie mistake, they happen," Gavin replied. "I'll call the state troopers, they can meet you there. I'll update Chris, too. You call me back okay?"
"Okay, Brendan, thanks." She tried to redial Martin and had no luck. She called Jack's cellphone and got his voicemail. She left a message and turned on the freeway. It was only a few moments and she took the exit ramp that led to the road where the old winery was. As she pulled up the pathway, she saw flashing red lights in front of the entry to what looked like an old storage building at the end of the property. She pulled closer and saw another car that appeared to be Martin's next to the police car.
As she entered the building, she pulled her gun out and cautiously eyed the well stocked storeroom. Large cans of pizza sauce and jars of peppers and olives lined the shelves. In the distance a radio or television was playing, the low voice was giving a local weather report.
"F.B.I.!"
"Hello? I am in here..."
Vivian kept her gun drawn and followed the voice. She entered a large room that appeared to be an office and saw a middle -aged woman huddled in a chair wearing a policeman's jacket around her shoulders. The dark eyes that met hers were full of fear. The woman was trembling and began to babble in Spanish. A broken pair of rosary beads were entwined in her fingers.
"Sister Michael?"
"Si... yes... Thank God... Thank God..."
"Are there any other policemen here?" She wondered why the missing nun was left alone.
"They chased him... I ran... I called the number... my picture was on... the poster... but he found me. They ran... out back..."
"Alright... calm down." Vivian said.
Then she saw the woman's eyes shift to the right and realized her mistake too late. As something sharp stung the side of her neck, she turned and fired, hitting the wood paneling on the wall beside the door. The narcotic was very strong and she was unconscious before she hit the floor. She didn't see the tall, well built man step out of the shadows and holster the dart gun.
"Excellent, my dear." Gibson moved over to the frightened woman. She turned away from him, shaking her head and wringing a tangled set of rosary beads. "Now we discussed this, it has to be done. You know that..."
"I don't like it. You hurt her, you didn't say... you would hurt her."
"She's asleep there are stronger pills being sold at drug stores that what I gave her. Come on, we have work to do back at the base" He effortlessly lifted the fallen female agent and took her out the side door, dumping her in the back of the white van. His accomplice didn't say anything and wouldn't sit with him, choosing instead to sit with the prisoner in the back. He took out the computerized recording device and pushed on the voice scrambler. The he queued up the music on the CD in the van and dialed Jack Malone's office phone.
"Little boy blue come blow your horn, the sheep are waiting by a wall for their heads to adorn. So Jack be nimble, Jack be quick before the gilded heir turns fatally sick."
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