Commitment Page 31

  “You son of a bitch,” Fallon’s loathing of the man before him was transparent.

  “That’s no way to speak to your superior,” Michael Taylor smirked. “So, who’d you call, Agent Fallon? Was that Alex? No? Tate perhaps?”

  “Fuck you,” Fallon shot.

  “You know, that is insubordination,” Taylor shook his head. “You couldn’t be content to be the inconspicuous FBI agent, huh? Had to get involved. You should have listened to Alex.”

  “So, this is all about drugs?” Fallon asked, referencing the open carton now on the floor.

  “Hardly,” Taylor laughed. “Gave you more credit than that,” he said.

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?” Fallon told the NSA Director.

  Taylor laughed. “I’m afraid our time is too limited to give you all those details,” he offered his insincere apology.

  Fallon was unwavering. He faced the gun that was pointed directly at him as if it was a simple toy. “She saved your life. How could you?” Fallon asked. He found the presence of the man before him revolting.

  “Alex, you mean?” Taylor shook his head. “I suppose she did. Although, if she’d been paying more attention to what was going on around her instead of pining after that Iraqi girl….well, maybe we wouldn’t be here now,” Taylor admitted. He sighed and shook his head. “Alex could never leave well enough alone. And now, look at all the people she’s dragged down with her.”

  Fallon scowled at Taylor and chuckled. “You are disgusting,” Fallon said.

  “I have a job to do,” Taylor said.

  “Yeah? Murdering people? Selling arms to terrorists? Running drugs? Quite the resume,” Fallon responded.

  “Oh, you are just like her. Pious. Give me a break, Agent Fallon. What did you think you were getting into?” Taylor said. “For whatever it is worth, I am sorry it has come to this. I can’t have anyone knowing I was here. And, I have things I need to take care of. With the congressman away….well, you understand,” Taylor explained.

  Fallon took a deep breath and nodded. He felt his heart skip several beats as Taylor moved around him and placed the gun at the back of his head. He scoured his thoughts for a way to disarm the NSA Director, but he knew he would never be able to react quickly enough. Fallon closed his eyes and thought of his wife and children, silently begging forgiveness of all the people he felt he had failed.

  “It’ll be quick,” Taylor promised. “You’ll appear a hero. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Just do it,” Fallon demanded. There was no sound. Fallon felt something hot running down the back of his neck. It took several seconds for him to realize that he was still standing.

  “Don’t move, Agent Fallon,” a voice instructed from behind him. Fallon held his breath again. “You walk straight out of here. Don’t turn around. Don’t breathe. Just walk out the way you came in, slowly.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fallon stuttered.

  “Trust me, agent….you do not want to be here with a dead NSA Director. I have work to do. Just get out of here….”

  “Who….”

  “You just tell Toles that there are people looking out for her interests. Pick up your phone and get out of here. Now,” the voice ordered.

  Fallon’s nod was almost imperceptible. He took a deep breath and made his way deliberately for the front door and exited the congressman’s townhouse. Stepping into the cold January air, he reached for the back of his head and felt the blood that soaked his short hair, grateful it was not his own. The falling snow had kept the streets clear, and Fallon said a silent prayer of thanks as he slid into his car and lifted his phone.

  “Jesus, Fallon! Where did you go?” Tate blared.

  “Director Taylor is dead,” Fallon told his boss.

  “You killed Michael Taylor? Shit….where are you now?” Tate asked.

  “I didn’t,” Fallon said.

  “I don’t understand,” Tate replied. “Who…”

  “I don’t know. Sir, there is enough cocaine and heroin in that townhouse to keep all of Washington D.C. high for a month,” Fallon said.

  “Listen to me Fallon; get in the car and drive to the lot where I had you take Cheryl,” Joshua Tate instructed Fallon.”

  “Sir, I am a mess….literally,” Fallon answered.

  “Fallon, trust me….just do it. Get out of there right now,” Tate ordered.

  “What about calling in….”

  “Fallon, by the time anyone gets there it will be too late. Just go,” Joshua Tate repeated the order to Fallon. He disconnected the call only to place another one immediately. “It’s Tate. No….It’s Agent Fallon…..No…..There’s been an unexpected development……Fine…..No, I understand. You make that call…all right. Where? Are you certain? We’ll be there.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Claire Brackett’s voice blared through the phone.

  Christopher O’Brien fumbled with the device in his hands. The snow was beginning to fall more steadily, and the fog of whiskey seemed to make the road in front of him fuzzy. He was preoccupied with the hand that was insistently massaging his inner thigh, and Claire’s interruption did nothing except irritate him. “What do you want?” he slurred.

  “Where are you?” she repeated.

  “Got lonely,” he whined. “Not lonely anymore.”

  “Are you a fucking idiot? What the hell is wrong with you?” she screamed. “Get back to the house. Now!”

  “Exactly what I am doing,” he assured her.

  “Are you alone?” she asked.

  “Mm…no….” his reply came as a slight moan of pleasure.

  “You are the stupidest person I know. You’re going to get us both killed before this over. Who is she?”

  “Shanna? Shana?” he glanced to the seat beside him. “Whoaaaa…” he chuckled.

  “Get back to the house,” Brackett repeated.

  “On my way,” he chuckled again. “That’s……..hey…oh…”

  “O’Brien?” Claire heard what sounded like a scream in the background.

  “Shit……..” Christopher O’Brien’s voice trailed off with a sudden bang.

  “O’Brien! Shit….”

  “Jonathan?” Eleana’s voice came through the phone.

  “Eleana, I didn’t expect to hear from you until later this week,” Jonathan Krause answered.

  “Where are you?” Eleana asked.

  “Just heading to my hotel in Boston,” he answered.

  “Good, you aren’t that far. I need you to meet me,” she said urgently.

  “Now? Why? Eleana….”

  Eleana Baros looked at the tire tracks that were fading quickly in the falling snow. “I think I know where Claire took the congressman,” she said.

  Nothing more needed to be said. Jonathan Krause’s reply was simple. “Send it over now. I’m on my way.”

  Brian Fallon paid little attention to the direction in which Joshua Tate was driving. He had been surprised that the assistant FBI director had remained silent. Fallon was thankful for what he knew was sure to be only a brief respite. It allowed him to close his eyes and order the images that were scattered throughout his brain. Fallon was sure that he would be called upon to recall every sound, sight, scent, and even taste that he had experienced while in Christopher O’Brien’s townhouse. He felt the car gradually reduced speed and opened his eyes. He watched as Joshua Tate pulled the vehicle into an underground parking garage.

  “Where are we?” Fallon asked. Joshua Tate’s only response was a reassuring smile.

  Fallon followed Tate to an elevator only a few steps away. Normally, the FBI agent would have been full of questions and assumptions. Fallon felt confident that wherever they were headed, he would both be safe and expected to produce information. The elevator doors opened to reveal the corridor of what looked to be an office building. Fallon studied the building curiously. “No security?” Fallon asked; his question more of an observation.

  Tate kept moving forward. “They see us,” he ass
ured Fallon. Tate led the way to another elevator. Fallon watched at the older man pressed several buttons. Within seconds, the small box carried them away again. When the door opened, Fallon nearly stopped breathing at the face that greeted them.

  “Agent Fallon.”

  “Mrs. Merrow?” Fallon responded weakly.

  Jane Merrow winked at Joshua Tate and took Brian Fallon’s hand. “You look like you could use a drink, Agent Fallon,” she observed. Fallon numbly followed her lead. He had played through many scenarios in his mind about who might be greeting him. The former first lady was nowhere on that list. “Go get yourself cleaned up,” Jane said. “You’ll find everything you need down the hall.”

  Fallon stood shell shocked for a moment. “I just…I don’t understand….”

  Tate removed his jacket and made his way to a chair in the corner of the large penthouse. “That’s the most he’s said in an hour,” Tate said lightly.

  Jane Merrow looked at Brian Fallon sympathetically. “Agent Fallon, I promise that I will explain things to you. I would prefer to do that without the…” she pointed to Fallon’s blood stained coat and person. “Well, I would prefer that we all be as comfortable as possible. You have questions. I understand. Go on,” Jane encouraged him. “Take your time.”

  Fallon nodded his agreement and followed Jane’s simple directions to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. He regarded the clean clothing that had been laid out on the bed before heading into the spacious bathroom. Blood was an odor that Fallon’s stomach never tolerated well. He had learned how to mask his queasiness while on the job with years of practice. Not even his wife had discovered his secret; that his stomach eventually always made its displeasure known. Fallon discarded his soiled clothing and leaned over the toilet, retching violently. He wondered how many hours might have passed before he was able to gain the strength to reach his feet and turn on the shower. Fallon stood under the scalding flow of water, desperate to cleanse his body and mind of the last few hours. Any relief would be short lived. Fallon washed away the grime on his body, but his soul still felt putrid. He groaned softly, taking a few more moments to don an air of control before making his way back to Joshua Tate and Jane Merrow.

  “Well, Agent Fallon; you look refreshed,” Jane Merrow said warmly. She directed the FBI agent to have a seat and offered him a drink.

  Agent Brian Fallon had crossed paths with the former first lady several times over the last year on a personal level. He had observed the closeness that Jane Merrow shared with both Alex and Cassidy. Alex had told him that Jane worked within the agency, but Fallon had been led to believe that Jane Merrow took more of a passive role in the CIA and The Collaborative. He chanced a quick glance to Joshua Tate and saw the relaxed nature of his mentor. “I’m sorry if I seem,” Fallon began.

  “Confused?” Jane finished his thought. She handed him a glass of scotch and took her seat. “You look like you could use that,” she smiled. “Listen, Agent Fallon….There are many things you don’t know. There are many things Alex does not know. The fact is….there are many things Joshua and I don’t know. When John died, he passed some things on to me. He entrusted me with them. Do you understand?” she asked.

  “I think I might have an idea,” Fallon said.

  “You already know that John suspected Michael Taylor of a different agenda than his administration’s for a long time. It’s why he initially wanted Alex to stay at the Pentagon rather than work directly under Michael. But, Alex…well, she is determined, and there were advantages to having her at the NSA and close to Director Taylor,” Jane explained.

  “So, why encourage her to go to the FBI?” Fallon asked. “And, what does that have to do with today?”

  “It has everything to do with today. There was no mistake in her assignment to Joshua at the FBI. He trusted Joshua; so do I,” Jane said. Fallon looked at Tate again. Assistant FBI Director Tate’s expression gave little away as to his thoughts. Jane Merrow watched Fallon carefully as she continued her explanation. “Michael Taylor has been a money man for years, Agent Fallon. There are very definite advantages to having a license to invade an individual’s private conversations and a corporations’ public records at your whim. Taylor leveraged that for years. The question that we still haven’t answered is on whose behalf.”

  “Maybe his own,” Fallon suggested.

  Tate took the opportunity to intervene. “No question that he benefited, Agent Fallon. None at all, but Michael Taylor was not always at the National Security Agency. He didn’t start there. The CIA has been watching him for years. Just like Taylor used the NSA to watch those people who might compromise his efforts…all of them,” Tate explained.

  “The issue now,” Jane took over, “is who saw fit to bail you out, Agent Fallon.”

  “I’ve played the voice in my head over and over. It was vaguely familiar, but we see agents, we listen to conversations every single day. I can’t place it,” Fallon said, frustrated by that reality.

  “Forget the voice for now,” Jane said. She moved to sit beside him on the small love seat. “What did Taylor say?”

  Fallon combed his memory of what he had thought was going to be the last moments of his life. “Taylor…he didn’t say much. Said he couldn’t have anyone knowing he was there. Told me he’d make me a hero. Oh, and he called Alex pious,” Fallon seethed in disgust.

  “Did he? Interesting,” Jane said.

  “Why is that interesting?” Fallon asked.

  Jane ignored the agent’s question and urged him to continue. “And the other man; what did he say?”

  “He said to get out; he had work to do. Then he said to tell Alex there were people looking out for her interests,” Fallon repeated the words as he remembered them.

  “See? Interesting. Interesting he is worried about something that he perceives as Alex’s interests,” Jane observed.

  Tate broke into the conversation deliberately. “Agent Fallon, this creates on opportunity for us.”

  Fallon pondered Tate’s statement and found himself perplexed. “Opportunities?”

  Jane Merrow chuckled. “There’ve been some other developments, Agent Fallon. We believe that Taylor was working with Viktor Ivanov. You are already aware that Michael Taylor orchestrated my husband’s assassination,” she inquired as a matter of assumption. Fallon nodded. “Yes. So you know that he was also complicit in the attack on the embassy in Russia.” Jane watched as Fallon conceded that knowledge as well. “What you don’t know is that Assistant Director Tate and I have come to believe that there is another partner in both affairs.”

  “Who?” Fallon asked.

  “The president of the united states,” Jane Merrow answered.

  “Strickland?” Fallon startled slightly.

  “The political propaganda is not a mistake, agent,” Jane told him. “The Russians tie us to terrorists. We call the Russians liars, and Strickland makes the claim that pro-Markov entities in Russia attacked us. He denies the United States has any ties to terrorists formally and accuses Markov’s government of failing to secure our interests in the region. And, the spin begins,” Jane said flatly.

  “To what end?” Fallon asked. “And Taylor…”

  “Michael Taylor is the perfect accomplice. He has access to everyone, quite literally. He was John’s friend publicly. Strickland knows that Taylor is partially responsible for putting him in The Oval Office….To what end? You can only run guns and drugs so long, Agent Fallon. That makes a few people a great deal of money. What can stimulate an entire nation’s economy, boost patriotism, and empower those already in power even more?” Jane put the questions to Fallon.

  “You think they are seeding a war?” Fallon asked. “That’s what all of this is about?”

  Jane Merrow shook her head. “No. There is not one war that has been waged in more than seventy years that has improved the economy of any nation. Nor has it bequeathed leaders with more power. It has done the opposite. War lines the pockets of a few players, many of wh
om you have become familiar with. Carecom, Technologie Applique, ASA, among others. But, no, Agent Fallon, not a war…a Cold War.”

  Fallon looked to Tate and back to Jane Merrow. “And Taylor’s death? How does that create opportunities?” Fallon asked as he attempted to process what he was hearing.

  “We create a different story, Agent Fallon,” Tate said.

  Jane smiled at the FBI agent. “Brian,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Get yourself together. Call your wife. You’ll be away for a few days,” she said.

  “Where am I going?” Fallon asked apprehensively.

  “We are going to see a friend,” Jane said as she began to make her way out of the room. “I am expected elsewhere. Get some rest,” Jane suggested. “A car will be here in the morning.”

  Fallon stared blankly at Tate for a moment. “There’s more to this…”

  Tate gave Fallon’s shoulder a squeeze. “There is always more. Get some rest, Agent Fallon. You are going to need it.”

  Eleana Baros stood outside her car at the side of the road. From her position, she could see the rescue crews working franticly to put out a fire. Something drew her to come back to Connecticut. Something told Eleana that Claire would seek her out in their special place. Eleana hadn’t had the opportunity to decide if she was relieved or disappointed when she found her home empty. Her personal thoughts about Claire had immediately transformed into professional inquiry when she saw the empty bottle of whiskey on her counter, men’s clothes strewn throughout her bathroom, and her Jeep missing. She had just reached the garage when her phone rang. Eleana was, quite literally, frozen in place now. She heard a car pull closer, saw the faint glow of parking lights as it came to a stop, and heard the door close, but she did not move. She could not take her eyes off of the nightmare that was unfolding below her.

  Jonathan Krause made his way to stand beside his friend. “What happened?” he asked.

  Eleana shook her head and turned to Jonathan with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s her.”

  Krause looked back toward the scene unfolding in the woods below. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You think that’s Claire? Eleana why would Claire be here?”