The Day Before (29 page)

 

CHAPTER 29

The Paladin: she whose faith in humanity has the power to save humanity from itself.

~ Writings of The Student I3–2073

Tuesday August 6, 2069

Alabama District 3

Commonwealth of North America

“C
an you really call her a federal agent?” a bubbly redhead asked her television cohost. “I mean, if she's a fully trained agent, I'm a lawn chair!” The studio audience laughed on cue as Sam watched, detached from her public humiliation.

“You should turn that off,” Bri said over the crowd's roar of approval. “The lot of them are going to rot in prison for the next forty years, that's all you need to know. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's over, and you're free and moving on with your career.”

Sam hit the button on the hotel remote and stood up. “There was nothing else on.” She picked up the sweatshirt Brileigh had dropped off the first week. The hospital stay had been the worst weeks of her life. Therapy, isolation for psychological evaluation that she was certain she'd only passed by lying, and more interviews with various bureau officials who were all certain she'd done something wrong. In between, there were phone calls from her parents. Well, her mother at any rate. Her father's therapist had called to say he was in an emotionally delicate place right now, and something as drama-­filled as this wasn't what he needed.

If only her mother had been in a similar frame of mind. Somehow, through everything, her mother had latched on to the idea that she was quitting. When news of Sam's several failed escape attempts became a matter of public record, her mother started pushing her to resign. She was tarnishing her family name, ruining the reputation of the CBI, the only decent thing to do was to admit the whole law-­enforcement idea was a horrible fit for her and step away. Her mother even offered her a flat in Madrid, all expenses paid. But Sam couldn't bring Hoss. More importantly, she didn't want to quit.

Her mother had seemed more swayed by her loyalty to the dog than Sam's desire to stay with the CBI, but she'd still been disappointed.

“Do you want to pick up dinner on the way home? Jake said he didn't mind if we stayed out late. Celebrate Wednesday Lady's Night a little early since we're both on our feet again.”

Bri had been a lifesaver. And between her visits, Lacey Altin had stopped by to bring Sam updates the bureau wasn't willing to let her have. No one had been willing to let her testify for the public trial—­she'd given her version of events to the judges in private—­and to the world at large, she was nothing more than a junior agent who had become a victim.

The media feeding frenzy left her feeling isolated, and more than a little worthless. Even Marrins had more support. He'd been laid to rest surrounded by crowds of protestors, only some of them there to decry his crimes. There was no family left to bury him, but he'd found like-­minded souls in death.

“Sam?” Bri touched her elbow. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Just . . . a little tired. I didn't sleep well last night.” It was hard to sleep when all she did was relive the nightmare again, and again, and again. Repeatedly during the night, she woke up in cold sweats with a throbbing headache where an imaginary bullet had hit her. Marrins had never pulled his trigger, but her psyche didn't seem to accept that fact.

The only good thing to come out of the debacle was that Emir's machine was broken. No one was going to go back in time to prevent North America from unifying. No more bodies would be showing up from Emir's other iterations. With luck, and some heavy-­duty sleeping pills, she'd forget about the other-­Sam she'd seen and get back to normal.

“Let's go,” Bri said, picking up Sam's suitcase. “We'll pick up some steaks and cheesecake at the Fonteyn on our way home. It's never crowded on a weeknight.”

“Cheesecake is good.” Sam looked around the room. “Home . . . home is good.” She picked up a long purple envelope from the bureau that lay on the table. Tears welled up in her eyes. Home sounded empty. “I miss Hoss,” she said through a forced smile.

“MacKenzie will be there, too,” Bri promised as she held the door open.

“Maybe,” Sam said. Her ankle ached as she limped forward. “He said he was looking into finding a new place
.” It doesn't matter,
she promised herself. The envelope from the bureau rough in her hand.
It doesn't matter.

M
ac looked up as the door swung open, bringing the sound of crickets and the scent of Sam's perfume. He lowered his bowl to the table, so he could watch her. A white purse hung off her arm, matching her white skirt and jacket. “You're home early.” Could he say anything stupider? Home early? Why not,
I love you, Sam?
“I . . . I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.”

She froze, startled face pale in the moonlight. “I didn't see you there.”

“Sorry.” Mac muted the television. “I was eating.” Since that night at the lab, she'd been gone, and he'd fallen into the habit of watching TV with dinner since Agent Anan had ordered him away from the hospital.

Sam nodded, closing the door and locking it. “It's over.”

“I saw it on the news this morning. They threw the book at them It'll still be a few decades before any of them see daylight outside a barbed-­wire fence. I would have lined them all against a wall with a firing squad out front.”

She ran a hand across her face. Her lips pressed together as tears appeared in her eyes. “Emir . . . Emir wasn't there. They never found his body. The psychologists grilled me for a week, and now I'm not even sure what I saw. I thought he was there, but maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe all of this was a nightmare.”

Mac sighed. “No one else saw Dr. Emir that night. I sat in on the interrogations with Altin.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that. Marrins saw him. Maybe he kept the doctor secret from the rest of his team. Maybe they're lying.”

“And you don't believe them?”

She shrugged. “I saw what I saw. What did they tell the court?”

“Marrins was part of an end-­of-­the-­world sort of think group. Like preppers getting ready for zombies, but they never acted on it, just drank beer and talked about what they'd change. Some of the ­people were true anarchists, some just disgruntled and wanting a change, like Holt and Marrins.

“Late last year, Emir approached them and said he had a machine that could revolutionize the world. Holt said that originally, Emir promised them money, enough to buy back the Union from—­and I quote—­‘dirty foreign investors.' ”

“That's not how constitutions work,” Sam said.

“No, and Marrins was at least smart enough to figure that out. Emir told him about the device. For a long time, they thought it was only good for communicating. Marrins wrote an anti-­Commonwealth manifesto in morose code to send back to the first machine.”

She smiled bitterly. “And then we realized that the machine did more than that.”

“Yeah.” Mac sighed. “Holt was his second-­in-­command, along with Harley. I'm not sure why, but the others just took orders and didn't ask questions. Holt said they questioned Emir intensely about the machine before Marrins shot him—­”

“But she didn't see Emir after that,” Sam finished for him.

“Sam . . . I'm sorry.” He gave her an apologetic grimace. There was nothing he could do to fix the situation. “For what it's worth, Agent Anan took my testimony, and the penny. He looked over our reports, all the autopsies. He believes us.”

She shook her head. “One way or another, it's over. The machine's broken. There are not going to be any more extra ­people wandering around. I'm over it. I'm good.” Another breathy sigh, and she forced a smile. “I need to go upstairs and pack, I have a flight leaving tomorrow at noon.” She waved a purple envelope at him.

“Flight?” His heart raced. “Are you going to visit your parents?” The silence in the house was killing him. He missed her, wanted her back in his life. He'd been waiting for her to come home, to be with him, so they could have time to talk.

I love you, Sam.

“Not likely. My parents and I are no longer on speaking terms. But the bureau loves me. I've been transferred. The paperwork came in last week.” She hiccuped, swallowing a cry. “I'm sorry. I meant to tell you. I just didn't know how,”

She was leaving him. “Chicago?” Mac tried to keep the tone of hope out of his voice.

“Canaveral District in Florida. I'm reporting there tomorrow afternoon.” Sam leaned against the door, looking at the stairs. Tears sparkled on her cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“Dragging you into this?” Her voice was shaky. There was a laugh, soft and weepy. “I'm so sorry. Thank you. Just thinking about what he was going to do . . . I haven't slept well in weeks.” She looked at the floor. “I'm the butt of every talk-­show joke. ­People across the country are analyzing my life. I get letters, actual handwritten letters, telling me what a horrible person I am. A titty-­show Web site sent me an invitation to pose for them. I feel so dirty.”

“You aren't, Sam. Marrins was a manipulative bastard.” And Mac wished he could shoot him again.

“I feel like I need a gun for a teddy bear.”

He didn't know what to say. Mac rubbed his foot on Hoss's stomach. “You have us. I'm not much, but Hoss is good for security.”

“And you do amazing rescues.” Her laugh was brittle, but it was better than tears.

“Something like that.” The tension eased from her shoulders. “But I have a once-­a-­year rule. You aren't allowed to get kidnapped for another twelve months, or you void my warranty.”

The tears dried as a smile warmed her face. Sam licked her lips, distracting him. “Why Chicago?”

“What?”

“Why did you guess I was going to Chicago?”

“Oh, I have orders. I leave in three weeks. I was hoping I'd know someone there.” He shrugged nonchalantly and reached for his bowl of chili.

Sam moved toward him. Her walk wasn't the confident, brisk stride that it had been. Her movements were tired, a little jerky, but she was smiling. “What are you going to do without me?” She ran a hand through his hair.

“I don't know.” Mac leaned into her touch. “I love you.” The words tumbled out without preamble.

She moved away. “No you don't.”

“Sam.” He stood up, following her to the stairs. “I love you.”

“You love the idea of me.” She wouldn't look him in the eyes. “You love that I'm there for you. You don't love me.”

“I do.”

She leaned across the banister, and her fingers tangled in his hair, the angel blessing the penitent. “You need to get away from me. Get out and meet ­people. Eat dinner with someone other than me. When you get out there, you'll realize you don't. I wish you did, but I can't pretend you do.”

Mac watched her go up the stairs and collapsed back into the couch. He ate mechanically, watching the TV and trying to bury the hundred and one emotions that fought for dominance. The stairs creaked under a light weight. Hoss raised his huge head and grunted. The dog's nubbin of a tail thrummed with excitement. Even in sweatpants and a faded T-­shirt, she looked beautiful. It was his faded T-­shirt, too, one from his army days.

“What are you watching?”

Mac twisted back to the TV, not quite sure. “Some old comedy. Slapstick, humorous confusion, and a happy ending. I have a weakness for happy endings.”

Sam hugged herself. “I can't sleep. So . . . I . . . Can I watch with you?”

He nodded, and she sat down on the far side the couch, stopping to reach down and pat Hoss. Mac put his hand along the back of the couch, welcoming body language at its best.

Before the next commercial break, Sam was yawning, her head bobbing to her chest. “Go lie down,” he said even though he didn't want her to go. Sam fell sideways, head finding his leg. His hand fell from the back of the couch to her stomach.

“Can I have a blanket?”

“Sure.” Mac pulled the throw from the ottoman and draped it over her bare toes.

Sam caught his hand, pulling it back to her waist. “This is nice.”

“Yeah. Nice.” Long after she'd fallen asleep and he'd turned off the TV, Mac stayed awake. Guarding the only woman he'd ever loved from the darkness.

 

CHAPTER 30

True love is this: to lift, to heal, to defend, to enable, to create. Love makes a person greater than the sum of their parts, and true love is ever unfailing.

~ Excerpt from
A Discourse of Broken Hearts
by Finne Mari I3–2071

Monday March 17, 2070

Florida District 8

Commonwealth of North America

S
am watched the EMT roll away the last of the lab-­blast survivors. In her hand was the name tag of the last victim; Henry Troom wasn't walking out of this one. The police had pulled his plastic ID card out of the wall.

“Agent Rose?” The lab facilitator approached her cautiously. “I'm so sorry, why aren't they taking Troom out yet?”

“Because it's a crime scene, Dr. Morr, and because I can't allow anyone in there who doesn't have the proper security clearance. Someone will be here shortly,” she lied.

Drenmann Labs was a major source of contention between Sam and her oversight agent at HQ in Orlando. Drenmann was a secure facility attached to NASA and sometimes used by the naval post and Patrick Air Force Base. All of which fell under the heading of Too Classified to Think About in Public and within the boundaries of Florida District 6.

Senior Agent Petrilli of District 6 had a full staff with ten full-­time agents and two full medical examiners with class-­four or higher security clearance.

Senior Agent Samantha Rose of Florida District 8—­the Canaveral District—­had one junior agent, an agreement with the local PD and coroner's office, and a bunch of retirees stretched along the space coast like beached albino whales. The crime rate here didn't justify keeping a larger CBI force. Drenmann Labs was the exception; it needed a full-­time Marine Corps guard.

She stepped into a small conference room and locked the door behind her before calling the main office.

“Junior Agent Dan Edwin speaking, how may I direct your call, sir or ma'am?”

“Hi, Edwin, it's Rose.”

“Agent Rose!” Her junior agent's voice cracked. He was an excitable puppy of a person. Sometimes it seemed like a miracle he didn't jump up and lick her face.

“Did you get in touch with Petrilli yet? I need that coroner.”

“Petrilli has one out on vacation, and the other is elbow deep in something. I didn't get details.”

“That's not what I want to hear, Edwin. What I need to hear you say is, ‘Yes, ma'am. Your medical examiner will be there in twenty minutes.' Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, ma'am. I called around, and there was a conference in Orlando. One of the doctors has clearance, so I had him pulled off the plane. He should arrive shortly.”

“Orlando is over an hour away,” Sam said with a sigh. “Good try though.”

“Not to worry, ma'am. The air force had a set of fighters doing a refuel at the airport, so I commissioned one of them to bring the ME to the local airfield, and there's a car waiting. They should be touching down now, ma'am.”

Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You scrambled a fighter jet?”

“You said it was urgent, ma'am.”

“Tell me, Edwin, have you ever heard the term overkill?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Outside, Sam heard the whine of police sirens coming closer. “What kind of car did you have waiting for our kidnapped ME, Edwin?” She had a sinking suspicion that she already knew.

“I called the PD, ma'am. You did say fast.”

“Thank you, Edwin. Remind me to note your diligence and willingness to think outside the box in your next performance review.” Sam hung up the phone and shook her head. Excitable little pup. If he hadn't been a six-­foot-­ten Viking with curly red hair and an eager smile, she might have broken down and used her private nickname for him out loud.

Sam walked back into the main lobby as the ME walked in with police escort. Six-­foot-­something in shiny black dress shoes, dark hair, muscular, wraparound sunglasses, and wearing a thick black trench coat over black slacks and a black shirt. Wherever he was flying to, it wasn't in the South, where early-­spring temperatures were already making it shorts and skimpy dress weather.

“Dr. Morr,” Sam called, motioning for the facilitator to come over. “Our ME has arrived. Do you want me to go back with him, or would you like to be there?”

“Um.” Dr. Morr twisted a handkerchief in his hands. “Is it likely to be, uh, organic?”

“Most deaths are. But it would help us immensely if you could look over the scene and comment on the position of equipment, maybe tell us if anything is missing.” The doctor paled. “If you'd like to wait until after the body is moved, however, that's fine.”

Dr. Morr nodded.

“Agent Rose,” a familiar voice said. “You are the only woman I know who would scramble a fighter jet just to see me.”

“What can I say, Agent MacKenzie? I wanted to show you my corpse.”

THE END