PART 19
As Kermit approached the counter, Wagner looked up from the crossword puzzle poorly concealed underneath his clipboard. "Detective Griffin." A mixture of surprise and pleasure tinged his voice, and he looked as though he was about to begin an exchange of pleasantries or, worse yet, settle in for a session of shooting the bull. Too impatient to deal with either prospect, Kermit scowled at him. "What can I do for you today?" he asked, his demeanor suddenly all business.
"I need to see a member of your esteemed clientele." Kermit's voice dripped with sarcasm as he pronounced the last two words.
"Who?"
"A con by the name of Quirk." Griffin placed his badge and gun on the counter, then fished in the inside pocket of his jacket for the supporting documentation he'd crafted after his meeting with Blake. "He might be able to help answer some questions on a current case." He started to place the papers next to his gun, then changed his mind and handed them to Wagner.
The other man looked down at his clipboard, then glanced over the documents in his hand, his examination of their contents a cursory one. He muttered Quirk's full name, followed by "Yeah, I thought this was the one." Then he let out a low whistle. "Man, this guy is popular today."
Kermit raised one eyebrow and lowered his glasses, directing a quizzical look at Wagner. It wasn't possible that Alex Drako had been sloppy enough to visit Quirk, he told himself. No, that would be a phenomenal stroke of luck, the kind of happy coincidence that happened only in bad movies or when the criminals he ran across were complete idiots. "What do you mean?" His tone one of idle curiosity, he wagered even that faint show of interest would be enough to get the whole story out of Wagner -- or, at least, as much of the story as the other man knew.
"It's just that Captain Simms already came by to talk to the man. I guess that she must have forgotten to ask him something, huh?" Wagner shrugged, but regarded Kermit with renewed interest.
Wagner nodded so vigorously Kermit gave serious consideration to doing him violence if the bobbing head didn't still *soon*. "Yeah, that's what I figured. I know how that sort of thing goes." He ran one finger down the chart taped to the countertop in front of him, ascertaining which visiting rooms were free. "OK, I'll have him transferred to interrogation room three for you. Might as well use the same one she used, try to throw this guy for a loop if you plan on getting anything out of him." A broad smile creased his features. "Bet half the defense lawyers who meet their clients in here don't realize their special visiting room turns into an interrogation room when the cops want to talk to the prisoners."
Kermit offered the obligatory chuckle at the other man's oft-stated theory. "Only the new recruits to the public defender's office and the dumb ones, Wagner."
"Yeah, yeah, I guess." Wagner pushed the clipboard and a pen across the counter toward Kermit, then picked up the phone, dialed an extension, and spoke a few words into the receiver.
Griffin signed his name with a flourish, then set the pen on the clipboard and stared expectantly at the other man. "Now that the paperwork's out of the way, think I can get this interrogation over with?"
"Sure." Wagner took the pen without glancing at what Kermit had written, dragged a thick three-ring binder closer, and made a notation in his logs. "Good luck, Detective, this guy is something else." He paused to slide Kermit's gun into a lockbox and secure the container, then moved out from behind the counter. Almost as an afterthought, he handed Griffin back his badge before expanding on his thought as he led the detective toward the visiting area. "I mean, taking the 101st as hostages? Anybody who'd do that -- on Christmas Eve, no less -- really has to have a pair. Man, I tell you, he's lucky he hasn't met up with some sort of accident here. Especially since he's managed to antagonize half the prisoners who've passed through while he's been here just as much as he's managed to antagonize the guards. Thinks he's God and everyone else should bow down before him."
"Always did," Kermit muttered. Wagner went right on talking; glad he hadn't caught the slip, Griffin tuned him out to concentrate on what he intended to learn from Quirk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
More answers. That's what she needed, Karen decided, a hell of a lot more answers. She sank down onto the lakefront bench she'd sought out as a refuge where she could order her turbulent thoughts. Or, at least, she amended, she needed better answers than those she'd gotten so far.
In his zeal to paint himself as some sort of mercenary mastermind, Quirk had let slip several details she needed to confirm -- and then dropped a bombshell that put *everything* in a different light. Karen shook her head, still not quite able to wrap her mind around the fact that Quirk, of all people, had been the one to provide her the clue that might lead to Kermit's vindication.
The classified directive he'd mentioned was the key to clearing Kermit's name. Karen was sure of it. All she needed to do now was dig up some sort of proof that said directive actually existed, which common sense told her was far more easily said than done. Wherever the official documentation of Kermit's mission was, if indeed it still existed, the files she needed would be buried somewhere deep within the bowels of the federal bureaucracy. Karen grimaced, distaste for dealing with red tape warring with her determination to clear Kermit but failing to weaken her resolve.
*If*. She sighed, tasting the bitterness of the tiny word that placed conditions on her efforts to uncover the truth of what had happened eighteen years earlier. She could prove that Kermit wasn't guilty of murder ... *if* Quirk hadn't been leading her down the proverbial garden path when he'd dangled the carrot of that classified directive in front of her. *If* a copy of the official directive governing the mission on which Kermit had killed Kevin Drako still existed. And, most important of all, *if* she could find a way to get that evidence out from under lock and key long enough to prove the truth to Alex Drako.
Annie had been a great help so far, but Karen couldn't test their friendship any further. Not when she suspected that hunting down the directive could endanger them all as much as Alex Drako's quest for vengeance did. No, she had to find the evidence she sought some other way.
The notion of going to John for help yet again crossed her mind; she considered and discarded the idea. Better to reserve her in with MI-6 for later, in case that was the intelligence service to which Kermit had ostensibly been detached. Right now what she needed was someone who retained ties high in the U.S. intelligence community. Who in the hell could point her the right way?
Lost in thought, she tapped the heel of her pump against the ground, the staccato rhythm mirroring her frustration. Finally, a name came to her. He likely wouldn't have the answers she needed, but chances were that he could lead her to someone who would.
Karen rose from the bench and started to make her way back to her car. Kermit wasn't going to like this at all, her conscience nagged at her. And, if truth be told, she felt somewhat uneasy going behind his back, even if she did have his best interests at heart.
To hell with it. Alex Drako wanted Kermit in prison or dead, and it might be within her power to stop him from achieving his goal. No matter what he thought of his own actions, Kermit deserved far better than whatever Drako could dish out. Stubbornly setting her jaw, Karen vowed that she would do whatever she had to do to protect the man she loved ... no matter what the cost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Well, well, well. Long time no see, Kermit." Quirk punctuated his greeting with a snort of laughter
Griffin ignored him, turning instead to the young guard standing inches from the doorway he'd just entered. He allowed his gaze to flicker across the nameplate on the man's uniform. "Need to look at my copy of the documentation authorizing this interrogation, Officer Bradley, or do you want to go monitor this through the glass now and check the papers I gave Wagner later?"
"Not again."
Bradley groaned and moved past Kermit to the door. "I'll be right on the other side of the glass if I'm needed."
Griffin spared Quirk a brief, disdainful glance before replying, "You won't be. He's not as tough as he thinks he is." He waited until Bradley left the room before strolling over to the table and taking the seat across from his one-time colleague. "Been a long time, Quirk. Wouldn't have minded it being a lot longer." Leaning back in his chair, he added, "I've got a few questions for you about a certain past acquaintance of ours."
"Oh, so there was something your lover forgot to ask?" Quirk sneered. "I must admit that I was surprised to discover that Captain Simms was my mysterious visitor earlier."
"Were you expecting someone else?" Kermit *wanted* to hear Alex Drako's name in response, expected to hear his own, and wondered if he was an idiot to imagine that Quirk would let this conversation flow that easily.
Quirk shook his head in a classic show of disbelief. "No thumb screws in use this early in the interrogation? You *have* gone soft, haven't you, Griffin? Time was, you wouldn't have let a woman do your dirty work for you. Of course, time was when you would have fought your own battles instead of leaving those who relied on your skills wide open to attack. Instead of standing by while they fought your war for you." Tilting his head to the side, he smirked. "Might have been interesting, at that, if you'd been at the precinct on Christmas Eve. I'd have liked to have seen for myself exactly how much you'd been emasculated."
Despite his best efforts not to react, Kermit gripped the edge of the table in order to prevent himself from surging out of his chair and strangling Quirk then and there. Instead of giving in to the temptation, he forced a laugh and willed his muscles to relax. "I can and will walk out of here after you've given me the information I want. You, on the other hand, will return to your cell. Eight feet by eight feet. Bars on the door and window. Shared with a cellmate you haven't chosen -- a cellmate who may well go free before you've even started to serve out your sentence. Every move you make dictated by what the guards will allow you to do and when they'll allow you to do it." Silent for a few moments, he waited for his words to sink in. "From where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like I'm the one who's lost control of his life."
"Smugness never suited you, Kermit."
"The way it did you?" Amused, Kermit chuckled. "I'll admit I've known few people who approached you in that department. Now let's cut the crap and get down to the reason for my visit."
"And I thought an old friend was interested in commiserating with me." Quirk paused, then continued, "But I guess I shouldn't have expected that when your first visit occurred so long after I began my sojourn here. Then again, we never were exactly friends, were we?"
"But you and Kevin Drako were." Kermit schooled his features so that his expression would convey serious thought. "Tell me, though, is Alex more malleable than his father? Or is he the one in control? Considering that you're in here and he's still free, my money's on the latter."
Anger flooded Quirk's face before he managed to don a bland expression. Harsh laughter escaped his throat, then he warned, "I wouldn't get too complacent if I were you, Kermit. You think you're going to have the final say? Well, I hope you were listening to yourself when you summarized the conditions of my imprisonment."
"Some of us aren't as enamored of the sound of our own voices as you are, Quirk."
"Oh, that's funny. Ill-advised, but still ... very funny. I'd spend some time thinking about that part of our chat if I were you -- because you'll be living under these conditions yourself before long."
PART 20
Dividing his attention between his current conversation with Peter regarding the surveillance needs of one of the latter detective's cases and thoughts of the intense meeting he'd had with Kermit a while earlier, Blake pushed through the precinct's double doors and started down the steps. Almost immediately, he spotted Captain Simms halfway down the block. Her posture one of studied negligence, she stood on the curb next to his sedan, leaning back against the car.
Knowing the other detective as well as he did, he figured it was a lost
cause to expect Peter to steer clear of this whole mess, but it was worth a
shot anyway. Familiar footsteps sounded behind him; he stifled a groan and cast
a glance at the sky in supplication.
A moment later, his guess was proven right as Peter began following him again, his gait faster than before. Catching up with the ex-mercenary, the Shaolin cop matched his stride. "You know, Blake, whatever's going on, I can help."
Blake almost stopped in his tracks, nearly swayed by the confidence in Peter's voice. "Naw, there's nothing going on."
"Yeah, right." Was it a healthy skepticism he heard in Peter's tone or had the other man already crossed the line into suspicion? Involuntarily, Blake turned to meet the younger detective's eyes. "There's nothing going on, but Captain Simms is lying in wait for you. Sure sounds like business as usual to me."
Blake laughed, rather than yield to the urge to fight sarcasm with sarcasm. "This is about the Donaldson surveillance again, I'll bet. Sometimes I think this case would follow me halfway around the world if I tried to get away for a vacation." Peter's silence somehow conveyed enough disbelief to cause a trickle of sweat to make its way under the nosepiece of Blake's glasses. He continued walking, cursing the fact that he couldn't shake his shadow, as he reached up a finger to swipe away the moisture. "Captain Simms just wants to clear something up about my report and the admissibility of the surveillance tapes when this goes to the grand jury. I'm sure that's all it is. Like I said, we'll talk later, when I've got more time."
Blake turned away from Peter and lengthened his stride, leaving the other
man behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter stood atop the flight of concrete stairs leading into the precinct,
watching Blake draw near his car ... and Karen Simms.
Following his hunches had served him well in his time as a police officer, and right now those finely honed cop instincts were on full alert, telling him that his skills could fill a real need on this investigation. That is, if anyone would stop stonewalling him long enough to let him know what was going on. He made a face, disgusted that he'd taken both calls he knew about from the mystery caller, yet still had no real clue what was going on. All he did know was that the sound of the stranger's voice had sent a chill down his spine the first time he'd heard him speak, even before he'd claimed he had information on a murder committed by a cop. And since then ...
Since then his Shaolin senses had been screaming nonstop of the evil force that swirled around Kermit Griffin and Karen Simms, an indefinable whirlwind that threatened to destroy all in its path. Whether they liked it or not, they needed his help, he decided. Grimly determined, he turned to re-enter the precinct. He could feel in his bones the danger threatening people he cared about. There had to be some way he could stop that peril before it careened out of control.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Captain." Blake drew to a halt in front of Karen as he spoke, his tone neutral. "This may not be as private a conference as you think."
She glanced toward the front steps of the stationhouse, barely in time to glimpse Peter Caine disappearing behind its front doors. "I know. Detective Caine's a little too interested in the calls I've gotten, but that's the least of our worries right now. Peter's going to do what Peter's going to do, and there's nothing either of us can do to slow down his momentum. Much as I'm not happy about that, I think our resources are better expended on actually handling the matter at hand." She pushed away from Blake's car to stand erect, studying his reactions closely. At least, she would have had he exhibited any, she reflected. "A matter, I might add, that takes on graver dimensions as it unfolds. The more I learn about the Drakos the more I realize we need to stop whatever Alex Drako's planning before it gets anywhere."
"Agreed." Blake hesitated, toying with the frames of his glasses as though adjusting them. "Captain, you wouldn't take the risk of our being seen in public conducting such an ... intense discussion if that was all you wanted to tell me. You've read the report of my surveillance this morning, haven't you? Which means you know I share your awareness of how dangerous Alex Drako may be."
Karen inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Your surveillance report doesn't contain the whole picture, Blake, any more than what additional details I've ferreted out manage to do that. Suffice it to say that Alex Drako's agenda appears to be more complex than we originally thought."
"Wish I could say that surprised me," Blake griped. "I hate doing all this behind Kermit's back, Captain, but what do you need from me?"
Karen sighed, considering how best to phrase her request. "As I've told you before, I know that you don't want to betray Kermit, and I can respect that. With that in mind, there are two ways you can help me. The first you won't have any trouble justifying."
"Maybe I should be the judge of that." Blake looked down at his feet as he offered the suggestion.
"If I thought there was any doubt, you would be." Karen chuckled. "I was about to ask you to keep watching Kermit's back, as a personal favor to me. And I suspect that you'd intend to do that anyway." Once Blake nodded, she added, "The second thing I need to ask of you is a little more problematic."
Silence stretched between the two for several moments as Karen sought a way to handle the detective's visibly growing discomfort. "I have a feeling Kermit made the same discovery about Alex Drako's ties that I did within the past few hours and that he's shared it with you. If not, well, this is going to come as a surprise to you. Alex Drako's availed himself of a mentor with whom you and I are all too painfully familiar after last Christmas Eve. Quirk." Blake didn't even blink as she pronounced the name, which told Karen that he wasn't at all surprised about Quirk's involvement with the Drakos. "I paid a visit to Quirk at the city jail a little while ago. Although I did receive confirmation of my suspicions about his ties to both Kevin and Alex Drako, the visit raised some vital questions."
"Which you need my help answering."
"Yes. What I need from you -- and after this I won't ask anything else of you -- is to be steered in the direction of someone who can answer a few questions that were sparked by my conversation with Quirk. Questions about certain historical matters, if you get my drift."
Blake's answering grin told Karen that he had an inkling as to *which* questions she needed answered. "Do you need to talk to someone who was connected to the events that preceded Kevin Drako's death or someone in authority now?"
Karen squared her shoulders in determination. "The latter. I need to put a halt to this madness before anything else happens. It's time to do that through the official channels." Astonishment entered Blake's eyes, causing her to amend her last statement. "Through those who control the official channels, that is."
The ex-mercenary knitted his brows together in thought, then nodded, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "I think I know just the man who can help."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pocketing his keys, Kermit slammed his car door, then stopped beside the Corvair to gauge how far he was from the last-ditch information source he intended to consult. Far enough that he shouldn't be found, especially if he employed measures designed to throw anyone who might follow off his trail. He snorted at his own excessive caution, then reminded himself that he'd felt himself being observed several times over the course of the past two days. He and Alex Drako would meet, but not yet. Not until Kermit could control the circumstances.
The blare of a car horn rumbled in his left ear, startling him out of his thoughts. A wry smile touched his lips as he flattened himself back against the driver's door so that the delivery truck alongside could pass. Some mercenary he was nowadays, he chided himself. At the rate he was going, Alex Drako wouldn't need to exact his revenge on Kermit for taking his father's life. No, he'd save Drako the trouble by doing something idiotic, like walking into traffic because he wasn't paying attention.
Kermit waited for the truck and the four cars lined up behind it to get past the Corvair, then rounded its hood and blended into the teeming throng populating the bustling Chinatown street. He walked several blocks before slipping into the mouth of a narrow alleyway which snaked through the interior of several blocks.
Piles of refuse overflowed from dumpsters and garbage cans, their fetid contents strewn along the ground forcing Kermit to pay close attention to where he stepped. Rats scurried amid the trash, scavenging for food, brazen in their lack of fear of the human who walked among them. Discarded bottles of cheap liquor skittered away across the brick pavers as his foot struck them, the sound of one shattering against a dumpster failing to awaken the homeless man who slumbered in a nearby doorway.
Until he spotted the man, he'd been only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Now his rapid gait slowed as he took stock of the man's battered camouflage jacket and pants. His gaze traveled past the clothes to rest on feet encased in combat boots, then swept up to take in the hard-bitten features, ravaged by life on the streets, of a man who likely looked twenty-odd years older than he was.
Most people would have found it difficult to fathom what made a man end up like this. Kermit Griffin saw how easy it would be to slip across the narrow threshold dividing his comfortable life from the hardships that defined the other man's existence. All he had was fragile, and he feared it was destined to shatter into a million pieces. All he had, all he'd become, hung by a slender thread, a thread Alex Drako was determined to sever. He didn't deserve his own good fortune, the loyalty he'd somehow inspired in friends and family, the unconditional love he'd miraculously found as Karen became part of his life. Yet the idea of losing that good fortune frightened Kermit as little else did.
He could survive the destruction of his way of life, survive a world where his only options were imprisonment, escaping into a false identity and a life cut off from all he cared about, and joining the nameless ranks of the homeless like the man here in this alley. He could accept paying for Kevin Drako's death in his own blood. What he couldn't handle was losing Karen. And Drako, damn him, was liable to kill her in order to get to Kermit. "Unless I get to him first."
PART 21
Guilt stabbed at him for his failure to stop and do *something* to help the homeless man, but Kermit continued to hurry toward his destination. Right now, he couldn't afford to worry about a stranger's welfare. The danger posed by Alex Drako was far too palpable, the sword of Damocles poised over Kermit's head far too close to falling, for him to divide his focus.
His determination to find Drako and put an end to this game once and for all demanded that he put aside emotion and rely on logic. Detachment was one of the traits most people identified with him and had long been one of his strengths as both a mercenary and a police officer. Yet detachment was a mental state he found elusive as he tried to silence the doubts and fears racing through his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So I finally have the opportunity to speak to the infamous Mac," Karen quipped, her tone far more relaxed than she felt. "I'm just sorry that it had to be under such unfortunate circumstances."
The man at the other end of the line chuckled. "My reputation precedes me, I see. And not one my physics students would have believed."
Karen laughed, her tension abating a bit. "Actually, one could say that it was your e-mail that preceded you." Memories of her worry during Kermit's more than month-long disappearance -- and the cryptic e-mail she'd learned had precipitated his journey to Vermont -- flooded her awareness as she spoke. As troubled as she'd been then, she was surprised to realize that Mackensie's amiable manner put her at ease now.
"The three-line one?" Mac chuckled again, then confided, his voice dropping a notch, "Made a bet with him as to who would discover that clue he left -- Blaisdell's son or the woman Kermit had told me about. When Peter showed up, Kermit thought he'd been the one who accessed his computer and found the e-mail. My money was still on you, though."
"You both lose." Karen hesitated, considering. "Or maybe you both win. Peter beat me to Kermit's computer, but I was leaning over his shoulder when he read your message." She sighed. "All of which reminds me that Kermit's almost certainly called in every marker you ever owed him, between that situation and this ..."
"... matter with Drako? Well, as long as Kermit still expects me to spend my time finding things out for him, I suppose I can extend myself a bit more in order to help you."
Shaking her head, Karen smiled at his put-upon tone, which Blake had warned her she might encounter. "That's very good to hear, because I'm afraid the favor I need to ask of you is a rather large one. Mac, I've become privy to certain information concerning the circumstances surrounding Kevin Drako's death. What I need from you is for you to run interference with the Agency."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I hope to God your son has the clearance he'll need to pull the records of a certain classified directive issued eighteen years ago. Because apparently that directive puts official, if somewhat strained, sanction on an assassination mission targeting Drako."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
As he neared his destination, Kermit's steps slowed. God, if he could just turn back the clock and have that one mission to do over. Sure, killing Kevin Drako had been necessary. Hell, given the number of lives that could have been lost had Kevin gone free, Kermit probably could justify any step that might have needed to be taken to neutralize the threat Kevin posed. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there had been an alternative course he could have pursued that would have stopped the younger Drako's vendetta before it started.
If he had known all the facts revealed in the past couple of hours, if
he'd known about Quirk's connection to Kevin's schemes, maybe that
final confrontation would have gone down differently ... peaceably, as
he turned one conspirator against the other. Bitter laughter escaped
Kermit's throat as another thought struck him.
Squinting at the harsh neon lettering that spelled out "Mixed
Drinks"
on the grimy window ahead, Kermit shook his head. He couldn't allow
himself to be distracted by thoughts of what might have been.
Second-guessing himself would change nothing, nor was it likely that
his last encounter with Kevin Drako would have been any less deadly
had he known every detail of the man's operation.
The need to prevent that last possibility uppermost in his mind, Kermit shoved open the wooden door and made his way into a seedy bar where he knew some of Quirk's sleaziest associates hung out. Shadows enveloped the small room, but failed to hide the peeling paint or lessen the impression that years of dirt were caked onto the worn linoleum floor. Even this early in the day, when almost empty, the place reeked of stale beer and cheap whiskey. Just like hundreds of other dives in hundreds of towns on five continents where Kermit had sought answers over the years. He nodded in satisfaction as he stood in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. If there were answers to be had, this was the place to find them.
Kermit surveyed the room with a quick glance and decided that the two customers holding up either end of the bar were too drunk to register his presence, much less be of any help. Evidently this dive did the vast bulk of its business at night, for the two drunks and the bearded man wiping down the bar were its only occupants other than Kermit himself. So that limited his options to one if he wanted any chance of uncovering a clue to Drako's whereabouts. Kermit groaned inwardly and headed for the center of the bar, where he waited to be acknowledged by the bartender.
"What can I get you?" the other man asked, continuing to wipe down the counter.
"I'm looking for a man who just came into the area. Named Drako."
The bartender jerked his head up as the rag stilled in his hand. "Never heard the name."
Kermit raised one eyebrow in skepticism as he took note of the beads of sweat that had begun to appear on the man's forehead. "Maybe the name Quirk would mean more to you. Used to come in here on a fairly regular basis about a year ago."
"Might." The man started wiping down the bar again, studiously avoiding looking at Kermit. "Might mean a lot more if I was given some incentive to remember, if you catch my meaning."
Kermit snorted and reached for his wallet. Peeling three bills off a stack of twenties, he replied, "Oh, I think I can accommodate you." Wallet in one hand, he fanned out the bills on the scarred wood in front of him with the other. "How much does Quirk's name mean to you now?"
"More than it did a few minutes ago." The words were followed by a pointed glance at the money lying on the bar. "But my memory's still pretty foggy." The man stroked his beard, as if in deep thought. "Last year's an awful long time ago, you know."
Kermit added two more bills, one of them a fifty, to those already on the bar, then piled them neatly and picked them up again. Holding the cash just out of the other man's reach, he remarked, "I hope your memory's cleared up by now, because negotiations are closed."
"I'm remembering more by the minute. Said you wanted to know about a guy named Quirk, right? Pretty full of himself last I remember, bragged a lot about some big score that was about to go down."
"That's the one." Kermit extended the money; the bartender snatched the bills out of his hand and pocketed them. "What can you tell me about him?"
"You more interested in him or the guys he hung out with?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Involuntarily, Karen glanced at her watch as the intercom buzzed, indicating that Broderick was shooting a call through to her from the front desk. Half an hour was too soon for the solution to the Drako dilemma to be in her hands, she decided. Wasn't it?
Lifting the receiver, she listened to Broderick share the little he'd
been able to glean about the nameless caller about to be transferred
to her line.
"Expecting someone else, Captain?"
Karen stiffened. "Drako."
"Glad to see you recognize my voice, at least. Has Griffin admitted anything to you yet? Or has he covered his tracks well enough to con his lover into believing that the charges against him are trumped up?"
"What makes you think he'd admit anything to me or anyone else? An innocent man has nothing *to* admit."
"And a guilty man lies." Drako guffawed. "Touché, Captain. Griffin *wouldn't* admit anything. But I was hoping you were intuitive enough to recognize the danger inherent in harboring a murderer in your precinct." He hesitated. "I probably shouldn't do this, but you've proved such a worthy opponent that I'm inclined to give you a break. Call it professional courtesy if you will."
Karen bit back the words "I won't" and settled for asking, "What kind of a break?"
"I'll give you twenty-four hours, Captain Simms. Twenty-four hours for you to bring Griffin down yourself. I'll even allow you or your people to take credit for unearthing the evidence against him. Maybe I'm crazy, but I think I can afford that generosity. As long as I see Griffin in handcuffs by the time the day is up."
"And if that doesn't happen?"
Drako snorted, contempt evident in the sound. "In that case, I'll have no other choice but to take this matter to the media. I'm sure Sandra Mason at Channel 3, among others, will be quite eager to break the story of my father's murder at the hands of a police officer named Kermit Griffin. By the time tomorrow's six o'clock news is over, Griffin will be exposed as a murderer to the entire world -- and, while I *will* regret having to take that action, *you* will be exposed as his accessory after the fact."
"Nice try. A little late in the game to try to throw me off the scent, though, don't you think?"
"Let's make a deal, Mr. Drako," Karen gritted out, voice hard. "I can help you make sure the truth becomes known." She paused a beat, then added the phrase she hoped would lead him to deem her trustworthy. "In a manner that can benefit both of us."
Silence ensued, and Karen hoped she hadn't overplayed her hand. Then Drako's voice came across the wire again. "I guess I underestimated your attachment to power, Captain Simms. Or perhaps my mistake was overestimating your ties to Kermit Griffin. All right, let's deal. Face to face."
"Agreed. When and where?" She scrawled the meeting time and location on the legal pad atop her desk, then assured him, "I'll be there. And I *will* have a mutually beneficial proposal for you."
"I look forward to hearing it. I'm sure you'll have quite an intriguing proposition to offer."
"You can count on that, Mr. Drako," Karen murmured as she returned the receiver to its cradle. "Believe me, you can count on it."
PART 22
"Back again so soon, Captain?" Karen refrained from sighing as Ty Wagner went on, "Different case this time?"
"No. I need to talk with Mr. Quirk again."
"Did Detective Griffin forget to ask him something when he came by to ask him whatever you'd forgotten to ask him?"
It took a few seconds for his words to penetrate Karen's vision of the long, hot shower she intended to take once she'd dealt with both Quirk and Drako. "No, we've discovered a few more areas where he might be able to assist us on an investigation." Damn, that sentence sounded almost as lame as Wagner's query had been circuitous. Before, her skin had crawled at the prospect of first confronting Quirk twice in one day, then convincing Drako she was on his side long enough to do whatever was necessary to protect Kermit. Now, as if her suspicion that she'd never feel clean again wasn't bad enough, she couldn't even construct a plausible sounding reason for her second visit to Quirk.
No matter. Not when Drako had set a deadline she might not be able to meet if she waited for word from Mackensie's son. Not when she'd agreed to meet with the man long before that deadline passed. No, she needed an ace up her sleeve when she kept her appointment with Alex Drako. And, God help her, speaking with Quirk yet again might be the only way to gather evidence enough to sway Drako.
Air rushed out of her lungs in relief as Wagner, instead of challenging her vague reasons, picked up the phone and called for Quirk to be brought down. "Sorry to do this to you twice in one day, Captain, but I'll need your signature and your gun."
Moments later, having dispensed with the formalities of signing in and having her visit entered in Wagner's logs, Karen snapped closed the empty holster attached to her waistband as she waited for the guard to secure her weapon. Although Wagner talked nonstop as he performed that chore, she registered few of his words. Apparently she'd given the appropriate responses nevertheless, she mused as he ushered her down the hall to the visiting room, since he seemed to notice nothing amiss. Thank God, for she could lose her job for what she was about to do.
"Hope this guy gives you the information you're looking for." Wagner swung open the door as he spoke.
Karen stepped past him before she answered, unconsciously slipping her right hand into her jacket pocket as she entered the room. Her fingers brushed against the metal case inside, its smooth chill inexplicably comforting. She offered a silent thank you that the jail's rules dictated no search or pass through a metal detector or X-ray machine for on-duty police personnel, then said, "So do I, Officer Wagner. So do I."
~~~~~~~~~
"Anyone have a clue where Captain Simms went when she left?" Broderick raised his voice to be heard over the precinct's usual din. Dead silence greeted his query, along with an assortment of shrugs and shaken heads. "Kermit tell anyone where *he* went?"
Blake bit his tongue and forced himself to focus on the surveillance transcript in front of him. The bullpen's sound level returned to normal, then he caught the tail end of Broderick's phone conversation.
"If it's that important, I'll try to track them down for you."
Blake's hand froze on the corner of the page he was about to
turn.
Peter Caine surged to his feet and crossed the bullpen before Blake could react. "I'll take it, Sarge. Mac and I are old friends."
Peter appraised him for a long moment before stepping out of his way. Blake took the phone from Broderick. "It's me. Blake. Yeah. What do you have?" The unwelcome sensation of being the center of an eavesdropper's attention was strong, although Broderick had already turned back to his work as had most of the bullpen. Mary Margaret Skalany and Jody Powell watched with undisguised curiosity, but he was fairly certain their scrutiny had less to do with the call than with the way he'd intercepted Peter. That left one possibility as to the identity of the person trying to overhear his conversation.
He whirled, managing to catch Peter off guard. Without time to school his features, the younger man reddened in apparent realization that Blake knew he was trying to get close enough to hear both sides of the call. "Mind giving me some privacy, Pete?"
Peter started to speak, then checked himself, shrugged, and walked away. Blake waited until the other man was seated at his desk before saying, "I'll get the message to both of them. Just tell me what you want me to pass along."
~~~~~~~~~
Stifling heat, heavy with the threat of an impending storm, assaulted Karen as she emerged from the jail. Lifting the weight of her hair off the back of her neck momentarily relieved the sensation of being in a sauna, but not anywhere near enough. The sleeves of the navy linen suit she'd chosen in the cool of early morning clung to her arms like a second skin, causing her to damn afternoon's unseasonable warmth while she walked to the parking lot.
Russet's burnished tones caught her eye as she clicked open her car door. Karen brushed the leaves off her windshield, envying the inanimate objects the breeze that had blown them there. Right now, she'd give just about anything for the slightest whisper of wind to cool her skin. Sighing, she opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, turned on the ignition, and cranked up the air conditioning.
One hand crept up to the nape of her neck and absently
rubbed at the moisture there. Her neck felt gritty, and she
suspected that had little to do with the perspiration
trickling down her back.
Quirk had been predictable today, she reflected, a known (if despised) quantity. Alex Drako, on the other hand ... Lord, she couldn't believe the nerve of that man. How much of the sinister quality that had slithered through the phone lines had been nurtured by Quirk's guidance and influence? How much could be attributed to the inherent nature of the man?
Karen let out a short, disgusted laugh at her own musings. Did it really matter *why* Drako behaved the way he did? Damn him, if he thought that he could get her riled up enough to make the slip that would deliver Kermit to him, he was wrong. Much as the warning had spurred her to immediate action, his threat to contact Sandra Mason had been a mistake. There was no way in hell Karen intended to allow any member of the media, let alone one who had been a thorn in the 101st's side since before Karen's own arrival at the precinct, get wind of Drako's accusations.
A glance at the dashboard clock told her time was running out. If she planned to persuade Drako to abandon his schemes, she'd have to use only the ammunition with which she was now armed.
Karen slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and withdrew the device hidden there. The micro-cassette recorder rested lightly in the palm of her hand as she checked to ensure the voice activation had worked. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that the tape had moved, then fumbled with the buttons on the unfamiliar machine.
Once the tape rewound, she hit "Play". Quirk's voice surged out of the recorder, the clarity which made it sound as though he were in the car with her grating on Karen's nerves. She stopped the recorder and fast forwarded through much of the tape; the next words to greet her ears were those she needed. His tone dripping with self-satisfaction, which reminded her of how much she'd wanted to knock the smug smile off his face at that point, Quirk asked, "Don't you find it ironic that Griffin's love of his country will be his downfall? If he'd paid more attention to money and less to duty ..."
Her own voice cut in, radiating chilly condescension. "He'd have ended up dead, like Drako, or in prison, like you?"
Karen grimaced at his responding chuckle, finding the sound as infuriating now as she had several minutes earlier. "Your take on matters, Captain. I was going to say that he wouldn't be about to lose his life for want of any record of the classified directive sanctioning his actions. Might have had the satisfaction of walking away with the prize, too. Drako was getting a little too sloppy -- enough so that taking him out of the game looked like the only option." A shiver ran down Karen's spine as she listened to a chilling burst of laughter, then the boast into which she still couldn't believe she'd goaded Quirk. "Kermit doesn't know it yet, but I'm the one who made it easier than it should have been to get to my dear friend Kevin. But we can talk about that miscalculation at another time. Your visits are making my life quite interesting, and I'll be very glad to enlighten you further ... once your lover is dead."
PART 23
Karen's thumb slammed into the "Stop" button, and she nodded in satisfaction. There was more, but this portion of the tape should be enough. "Don't bank on it, you bastard," she murmured as she slipped the recorder back into her pocket. "Kermit's not dying if I can help it."
She was halfway out of the parking lot when her cell phone rang. "Simms." Karen listened for a moment, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes." She disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. If the message Blake had just passed on meant what she thought it did, she was about to obtain the proof she'd been hunting. And between that and Quirk's yielding to the temptation to brag ... Kermit's life would be saved.
Pale rays of sunlight struggled to emerge from behind the steel-grey storm clouds ahead. Although she'd rarely considered herself a fanciful woman, Karen took the brightening sky as a good omen -- the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
~~~~~~~~~
Kermit glared at the heavens, calculating the odds of making it back to his car before the skies opened up. Under his dark jacket, his shirt already clung to him, saturated from his long walk in the humidity. He snorted in disgust. At least the heat might break once the rains came, bringing back the crisp weather for which October was noted. Not that a hot spell that made the city feel like the jungle where he'd executed Kevin Drako wasn't a fitting metaphor for the hell his life had become yesterday morning.
Yesterday. Had it really been only yesterday that Drako's son had called Karen? Could he possibly have been following the Drako kid's labyrinthine footsteps for as little as a day? Waking up with Karen in his arms yesterday morning, when his life was still intact, felt like a lifetime ago.
A prickling sensation at the back of his neck told him that he was being followed. Cursing, he retraced his footsteps to the last corner and turned in the opposite direction from his car, hoping to ditch his tail. This guy was good; Kermit had to give him that. Despite the measures Griffin had taken to throw him off the scent, it hadn't taken long for him to pick up Kermit's trail once he left the bar.
Secure in his own ability to avoid a confrontation and become one with
the crowd, he'd told Peter once that he wasn't worried about being
followed.
But that had been when he lived his life in the shadows. When it was second nature to have an extra set of clothes and ID secreted at a location nearby. Long ago, when he'd learned the way to succeed on an assassination mission and made that skill part of the man he was.
If you could swing it, the best place to take out a man was in the midst of a sea of people so that you could easily slip away into the crowd. After all these years, it'd be one hell of a cosmic joke if that particular lesson came back and bit him in the ass. Kermit let out a short bark of laughter. This time, *he* was the hunted. Shit.
Instinct took him on a random path through the twists and turns of
Chinatown's snaking streets until the sense of being observed
inexplicably ceased.
If Karen didn't get to Drako first.
~~~~~~~~~
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Karen grimaced at the black cloud that filled the sky ahead, glad she hadn't risked leaving her umbrella in the car. The storm would hit before this meeting was over, and the idea of looking like a drowned rat when she met Alex Drako held no appeal. No, she'd need all the self-possession she could muster, including an impeccable, unflappable mien.
Karen shook her head in reluctant amusement as she spotted the sign standing outside the large stone house. If the building's architecture hadn't screamed so loudly of its earlier life as part of the university's northern campus, the sign would have told her this was part of the excess real estate sold off when the campus was closed. Years ago, when its lettering remained intact, the sign might have fit in to its environs. Now that it spelled out "RATHOUSE", its first letter glaringly absent and the shadows of an "ERNITY" barely visible in the gaping space between "T" and "H", the weather-beaten wood merely looked incongruous.
Especially when the ground floor tavern declared itself The Hornblower Pub, in the ornate Old English lettering of the sign attached to a pole that hung from a second story window. She rolled her eyes as she moved closer to the building. God forbid anything should be what it appeared at first glance.
~~~~~~~~~
Damn it to hell, why couldn't Karen have left well enough alone? As far as Kermit could tell, she'd been a step ahead of him the entire day -- and the implication of her remaining that step ahead frightened him more than did Drako's quest for vengeance. God, what if he didn't get to Drako before Drako got to Karen?
Kermit groaned. No matter how alluring he found Karen's fire, how much he loved and admired the strength and determination that allowed her to stand toe-to-toe with him, at this moment he wished to God that she wasn't so damn independent. A week ago, he would have said her intelligence was an asset. He'd have looked forward to matching wits with her, to long and stimulating conversations that encompassed subjects as arcane as many of his interests, to impassioned discussions that served as some of the most enticing foreplay he'd ever experienced. Today, he wished nothing more than that Karen was the kind of dull, compliant woman he'd never been attracted to, the sort of woman who let her lover dominate her entire life -- the kind of woman who'd listen when he warned her off.
Instead she'd reached Quirk before he had, most likely had gotten more
information out of the bastard than he had, and now God alone knew
where she was. Somehow, he had to find a way to get a step ahead of
her if he was ever going to protect her.
As if to punctuate that thought, the heavens opened up, torrents of rain pounding down on him. The temperature felt twenty degrees colder as an icy stream of water trickled down his back. Kermit grimaced at both the sudden chill and the sight of water cascading off his newly waxed (as of two days ago) car, wishing that he'd parked in the garage around the corner instead of in the street. But some irrational logic had suggested that anyone tailing him would find the car more easily in the garage. Of course, parking here hadn't thrown the observer off his trail, he noted sourly.
Hell, whoever had him under surveillance had seemed to know exactly where he was most of the time for the past couple of days. Shit.
Kermit dropped to one knee and cursed as his knee splashed into a
puddle, the water seeping through his pants to chill his leg.
~~~~~~~~~
Before Karen spoke, the bartender had seemed disinterested. Now, his eyes flicked over her and he hesitated. Heart pounding, she swore he was about to raise an objection to the damn idiotic password. Instead he nodded toward the hallway leading to the rear of the establishment, which she guessed housed the kitchen, storeroom, and offices.
Karen followed the corridor in the direction the man had indicated, passing the restrooms, the large double doors leading to the kitchen, and the arch leading to the stairwell. One of the two remaining doors proclaimed the room's function through a small sign at eye level which read "Storage". She opened the other door and stepped into a small office, taking in her surroundings with a single sweeping gaze.
Two men huddled around the desk in the far corner, speaking quietly enough that she couldn't catch their words. Karen closed the door behind her with an audible click. The man behind the desk, the one who'd be overlooked in a crowd, didn't bother to look up. The more expensively dressed man turned at the sound, then handed an envelope to his companion with a flourish and a joking "Don't get too comfortable behind that desk."
As he rose, his dark-eyed gaze raked across Karen, who had the distinct impression that she had stumbled upon a meeting she was not supposed to have witnessed. Patience with the mystery surrounding this entire endeavor wearing thin, she leveled a steady glare at him in return. He chuckled, as though he'd deemed her worthy of meeting some unspoken challenge, and brushed past her. "Wish I could stay, but I have other places to be."
Curiosity as to his identity sparked in Karen as he left the office; she tamped down the urge to know more before she directed her attention to the man who remained. "Did I interrupt anything?"
He smiled, the twinkle in his pale eyes suggesting recognition that her tone had conveyed how little she cared, and indicated that she should take the empty chair next to him. "Don't mind Rykker. He just doesn't like to be seen unless *he* wants that to be the case. Some people take the trade much too seriously."
Once Karen was seated, he extended his hand. "Karen, I presume? My name's Mac. Blake told me that you needed my expertise, and since Kermit had already dragged me into this, I was grateful when you called and asked for the documentation. Looks like you found the missing piece of the puzzle that the rest of us were scrambling to locate. And from Quirk no less. One of these days you'll have to tell me how you managed that one."
"Is there such a document authorizing that mission or was Quirk lying?" The brusque edge to Karen's voice intensified as she added, "I don't have time to fool around with following false leads."
Mac grinned and held up the envelope that had changed hands immediately after Karen entered the room. "Luckily, Kermit has many friends in this world who are willing to do just about anything to assist. You see, when you called I contacted someone close to me -- namely, my son --"
"Yes, you told me as much."
"-- and asked him to ship me the proper paperwork," Mac continued, his manner unruffled by the interruption. "Well, here it is." He opened the envelope and withdrew the papers inside. "I suppose I should explain that for some time I had figured that eventually Kermit would need this."
Karen stared at him, confused. If she'd been the one to find the missing piece of the puzzle, how had he known these documents existed?
"Although he never asked, mind you," Mac stated, looking a little hurt. "But then again, that's Kermit for you." He glanced down at the paperwork and fell silent long enough for Karen to realize he was scrutinizing the documents to ensure that they were the ones he had requested. "I didn't know about these specific documents until you called me, of course, but the moment Kermit brought this Drako matter to my attention, I put in a request to my son to find what he could find as far as the official version of Drako's demise was concerned."
"So he was already working on unearthing these papers when I called you." Karen let out a soft laugh.
Mac nodded. "Naturally, since I couldn't very well get this shipment delivered to my home without compromising my son's position, I called in a favor. From someone Kermit had already called in a couple of favors from, actually. Rykker received our package not long after you called me, not without some grumbling from the owner of this establishment, I might add." He snorted. "Not that he'd be immune from being talked into helping, given the right incentive." Mac handed the envelope and its contents to Karen. "It's good to have connections who can get you access to even the most highly classified materials."
Karen scanned the documents, focusing on the salient points. Kermit had been hired as a contractor for the Department of Defense, rather than the Central Intelligence Agency, although handwritten margin notes confirmed the Agency's interest in "retrieval of the virus and elimination of the threat". Even in classified documents, that blatant admission of the CIA's role surprised her a bit, especially since the marginalia instructed that this mission be hidden under a foreign aid line item in the defense budget and the operative considered an employee of the government which received the funds and subject to that country's laws, rather than those of the United States. The impact of this detail didn't hold a candle to that of the name of the foreign intelligence service to which Kermit had been detached so that the assassination could be argued to be legal.
"The *Mossad*?" Karen could hear the disbelief in her voice and, when she raised her eyes, became certain that Mac could read the astonishment written there. "When Kermit was hired to do this job, he was detached to the *Mossad*?"
PART 24
Adding to Karen's sense of surrealism, Mac's only reaction was to incline his head in acknowledgment. "One thing you have to keep in mind is that this assignment was the type you don't refuse. In the trade, there are certain requests those with a conscience just have to agree to. You see, one thing you may or may not know about Kermit is that he was always one of the ethical ones. He had morality, like Paul and a few others."
"Including you?"
"Some, perhaps more than we'd care to admit, were amoral. Aside from that -- well, there were many of us who let the world's injustices affect us so much we became numb to the horrors we saw. Kermit and a couple of others never allowed that to happen to them, no matter what they'd like others to think." Mac broke off and studied Karen's face, as if to determine whether he still commanded her undivided attention.
She suppressed the urge to point out that he was telling her nothing she didn't already know and shifted position in her chair to get more comfortable. If Kermit was important enough to this man that he felt obligated to defend him to her, she could grit her teeth and put up with what she suspected was an unconsciously patronizing tone. Her lover had been burned in the past by women he had loved, and few of Kermit's colleagues from his mercenary days knew her well enough to believe she would be the exception to the rule.
Karen sighed. More than ever, she wished she'd known Kermit back then. He really must have been something in those days to inspire such loyalty from so many for so long. In that regard, he hadn't changed much over the years. Conscious of Mac's continued scrutiny, she pulled herself out of her reverie and nodded to him to go on. He picked up his train of thought without missing a beat.
"That's not to say Kermit didn't go through some rough times when he didn't give a rat's ass about much of anything. Not an easy thing to get through. Some do, but lots don't. He did, though I'm sure there are times when he wouldn't see it that way." He paused, the distant look in his eyes telling Karen he'd become lost in a memory. "In any event, when he was 'asked' to do this job after the higher ups decided on a course of action, of course he said yes. Hell, Paul asked him to take the assignment, and we all know Kermit has never been able to say no to that man." A wry smile played at the corners of his mouth, then faded as he grew serious. "Kermit did the right thing, assassination or no. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last."
"Why do you think he's having such a hard time with this one?" Once they got past the danger Alex Drako posed, Karen swore to herself she'd ask Kermit, but she had to have an idea before she confronted the aftermath of this mission. If he carried this much guilt about every life he'd taken, he wouldn't have been able to function all these years. So why did Kevin Drako's death bother him so? No matter how hard she tried, she hadn't been able to figure that out yet. Perhaps someone who'd known him then would have better insight.
Mac glanced at the ceiling, as if searching for answers. "I don't know how much Kermit has shared with you about his past, and I wouldn't feel right disclosing too much that he hasn't, but I can tell you he had just escaped from the hell he had been held in for a while when this all happened."
Afghanistan, Karen guessed. He'd told her once that Jim's mother had left him while he and Paul were thought dead in Afghanistan. From the sound of things, they'd actually been imprisoned there for some time. Although Kermit had never hinted at such a lengthy ordeal, she wasn't surprised.
"From what I heard through the grapevine, Drako had a picture of his family he carried around with him. Even on black ops, which drove the higher ups crazy since it was a potential source of identification. The children were around the same age as Kermit's own son. I'm no expert on what anyone feels --" Mac let out a short bark of laughter. "Physicists make rotten psychologists, you know. But ..."
"But?"
" ... but there was never any mention of the photo in Drako's effects. I think Kermit saw the perfect little family in that picture, knowing he'd never have that himself now, and guilt edged aside the numbness he'd been feeling. He'd just eliminated any chance those children had at a normal life. Not that they had much of one with Drako as a father anyway, but he wouldn't have been seeing things so clearly. Not then. His own son believed him dead, and now he had just sentenced those children to the same fate as his own son. In his eyes at least. Who wouldn't be affected after that?" Mac met Karen's gaze; the flicker of sorrow that passed through his eyes made her wonder if he'd made a sacrifice similar to Kermit's. "I wouldn't be surprised at all if Kermit had kept the photo to remind him. As some sort of penance, if you will."
Fighting down the pain his last phrase caused her, Karen glanced at her watch and noted how little time remained before her meeting with Alex Drako. She arranged the documents more securely in the envelope and stood. "Thank you for all your help. I'm glad Kermit has friends like you."
Mac chuckled. "Funny, many of our adversaries would say Kermit never cared about anyone but himself. If that were true, then how could he inspire such loyalty in a man?"
As he echoed her own earlier thoughts, Karen wondered whether that loyalty would have been enough to make him and Rykker come forward with the truth if she hadn't picked up on Quirk's slip. It was a traitorous notion, and one instinct told her was unworthy to consider after the risks she knew Alec Mackensie had taken for Kermit. She shoved the thought out of her mind as Mac stood and shook her hand, pressing something into her palm.
"Wait a minute or so after I leave to make sure no one sees us together." He paused long enough for Karen to nod. "Oh, and I don't have to tell you that information is classified and you don't know where you got it from," he said with a wink before heading out the door.
Alone in the office, Karen glanced down at the small piece of paper he had slipped into her hand. Unfolding it, she saw a phone number, followed by the words "if you ever need help - Mac". Karen smiled and pocketed the number for future reference. Kermit *did* have a way with people, much as he'd deny it.
~~~~~~~~~
Clenching the tracker in one fist, Kermit floored the accelerator as he maneuvered the Corvair out of its parking spot. Sheets of rain cascaded down the windshield, the downpour too intense for the wiper blades to clear the glass. Paying little attention to the hazardous road conditions, he sped back to the precinct, careful to use the hand in which the offending device was nestled as little as possible.
A single empty parking space awaited him in front of the
stationhouse.
Several questioning stares were directed at Kermit as he charged into the precinct, no doubt because he looked as drenched as he felt. He ignored his coworkers' efforts to disguise their curiosity as he continued into the bullpen, elbowing his way through the throng clustered around Broderick's desk and storming over to Blake's. Without waiting for a greeting, Kermit slammed the tracker onto the desktop, leaned over, and braced his hands, palms down, against the wood.
"Care to tell me what the hell this was doing on my car?" His quiet, but tightly controlled voice was barely shy of lethal, and the speed with which the squad room fell silent told him he'd commanded attention he didn't want. The hell with it. Let the rest of the precinct speculate about what was going on. All he wanted right now was an explanation ... after which he might very well give in to the urge to slam his fist deep into the nose of his old friend.
Blake didn't even react for several seconds, pointedly hunting and pecking what must have been the last few lines of a report. Kermit fumed as he waited, dark thoughts about how he intended to repay this betrayal running through his mind. After what seemed like ages, Blake hit the Enter key, turned away from his computer, and picked up the tracker.
Without once acknowledging Kermit's glowering -- and dripping -- encroachment into his workspace, Blake devoted several seconds to examining the tracking device. Finally, he lifted his head and met Kermit's shielded gaze. "It's not one of mine."
~~~~~~~~~
According to the dashboard clock, their meeting was scheduled to occur in precisely two minutes. Narrowing her eyes, Karen took stock of the deserted corner of the industrial park. Her uneasiness increased. If she had to get away quickly, odds were she'd be able to get to the car, but the prospect of reaching the populated section of this warehouse district was dimmer.
Not the best contingency plan if things went sour, but the best she could do under the circumstances. Karen took a deep breath and checked her gun, then debated whether to carry the envelope and tape on her person. Acting on a last minute impulse, she dropped both into her shoulder bag instead.
A boom of thunder shook her sedan, and Karen couldn't help comparing the weather's violent turmoil to that she feared was housed in Alex Drako's soul. With only thirty seconds left before her meeting, she left the car behind and sprinted toward the warehouse.
The door gave way easily when she touched the knob. Karen shook off a growing sense of disquiet and stepped into the building. Using the action to mask her scan for possible escape routes, she shook the rain off her umbrella.
"Prompt, even in this weather." The man's voice came from the shadows. "Impressive, Captain Simms."
"But surely no more so than you anticipated." Karen stifled a gasp as the young man sauntered into view. After the passage of eighteen years, the boy had become a man, but a certain familiar quality to Alex Drako's features enabled her to recognize the youngest child in the photo Kermit still kept.
He laughed harshly, and her illusion that a shred of the child's innocence remained shattered. Drako advanced toward her, the calculating glint in his eyes almost murderous. She stood her ground, refusing to flinch or even blink as he approached. As God was her witness, she would convince this man of the truth -- or die trying.
PART 25
"It's a little rudimentary for one of mine. Besides, if it was one of mine, you wouldn't have found it." That last declaration was issued in a low voice, leaving Kermit unsure if it was Griffin or his own mild-mannered image Blake was trying to protect. All doubt was removed from his mind when the other man nodded toward Griffin's office. "Follow me, I'll show you something."
By the time Blake stood, Kermit had moved to block his path. Not that he was entirely sure why he'd bothered, but he suspected it might have a lot to do with his need to control *something* about this day before his rage ate him alive. Stepping around him, Blake headed for the back office. Kermit followed, suppressing a groan.
Once the office door was closed, Blake turned around to face Kermit and huffed in a breath that was half-annoyance, half-resignation. "Before we get into this, there are a few things you need to hear. And since Blaisdell's not here, looks like it's up to me to make sure you hear them. You're getting jumpy, Kermit. You're getting sloppy. What the hell is going on?" Kermit opened his mouth to reply, but Blake didn't give him a chance. "Not too long ago you never would have let the others around here know something was going on if it was connected to our past. Neither would I, neither would Paul. Christ, he nearly went down for a murder he didn't commit because he kept to the code of silence we all learned to keep about the things we did back then. But you -- that performance out there today --" Blake shook his head as his words trailed off.
"So I jumped to conclusions. God knows it isn't as though you haven't given me reason to doubt your loyalty over the past couple of days." Blake's startled blink told Kermit the accusation had struck home. Good. Blake was wrong; maybe now the electronics expert would apologize and get the hell off his back.
Instead, the blink transformed into a glare magnified by Blake's glasses. "Today wasn't the first time you let slip some connection to the past. I wonder if you ever stopped to realize how many times over these last couple of years you've done just that."
Kermit snorted.
"Go ahead. Deny it if you want. That won't alter the facts." Blake paused, his expression suggesting he was ordering his thoughts. "I'll give you an example of what I mean. When that whole deal in Vermont went down, you messed up and allowed Peter to find out where you'd gone, which then led him and Caine to follow you." Kermit's protest died in his throat as Blake's voice hardened enough to override it. "Don't bother to tell me you planned for Peter -- and Karen -- to stumble on that e-mail message, unless you want me to tell you you're a fool. You know what happens to someone who gets around that world without having been prepared for it. Yet you still went out of your way to involve people other than those you should have."
"Look, I had my reasons." Kermit's objection sounded weak to his own ears as the reasons he had sought to enumerate disappeared into the ether, every one of them tantalizing inches beyond his mind's grasp. Damn it, when Blake got like this, there was no arguing with the man.
"I knew Straker; at least I would have known what I was getting myself into if clues had been left for me. But you endangered them by pulling them into a world they knew nothing about. You're lucky things worked out so well." Blake sighed. "Then this whole mess. You find a tracker on your car and your first reaction is to come barging in here and accuse *me* in front of everyone." Blake advanced until he stood so close to Kermit the latter suspected he could discern the involuntary widening of his iris behind the dark glasses. "You know me better than that. Don't you blame or second-guess me for even one second. Remember, I've bailed you out of a lot of tight situations over the years, times when you should have died."
Kermit stared back at Blake, tacitly daring the other man to make a move that would give him an excuse to attack. "I know damn well what you've done for me, but I wouldn't put it past you to do something like this. Not with you suddenly on a first name basis with K- the Captain ever since this Drako threat first hit. If that device isn't yours, then how the hell did Karen find out even half of what she now knows? I know I didn't tell her, and the only other person in this town who knows even a fraction of what's going on is you. So why don't you go back to that persona you've created for yourself these past couple of years and tell me what the hell I want to know like a good little robot?"
A single charged second passed before Blake took two steps back and broke into mocking applause. "The best defense is a good offense, huh? Might work against some people, but I know you too well. And, by the way, your memory's pretty selective. You want me to count off everyone who knows just as much about this as I do or you want to admit any of them could be the Captain's source?"
Mac. Durham. Rykker. Even Lasher, as bad a taste as his involvement left in Kermit's mouth. After his run-in with Annie where he learned Karen had talked to her, maybe her old friend Steadman. Any of them could have fed Karen *some* of what she now knew. Shit. Maybe it *wasn't* Blake's tracker at all ... even though the Blake of old would have set a bug and twenty trackers on Kermit to keep an eye on him if doing so might lessen the danger his friend confronted.
And if it wasn't Blake's tracker, he owed him an apology. An
apology he wasn't particularly inclined to offer. Part of
that was the rage at the situation he couldn't have
relinquished if he'd wanted to. Part of it had to do with
how much it bothered him to watch what Blake was like now,
day in and day out. The Blake he knew might have excelled at
cloaking himself in a non-threatening persona and have
perfected the art of submissive demeanor, but he wouldn't
have allowed his colleagues to think of him as weak. Nor
would he have opened himself up to either the jokes about
"ol' shaky Blake" or the assumption his only competence was
in the electronics field, as had been the case these past
few years.
Kermit took a step closer to Blake and removed his glasses, hoping his naked eyes would be more intimidating. "If you didn't put the tracker on my car, can the Walter Mitty act and tell me how the hell Karen knew about Quirk and his connection to Drako. What have you been telling her?"
He studied the other man's expression for any trace of deceit; Blake neither flinched nor looked away. "I'm not going to lie to you and say I didn't tell her a few things once she approached me. But I'm not ashamed I did either. She cares about you. Why, I have no idea, after the way you've treated her the past two days."
"Neither do I." Kermit heard his own whisper as if it came from someone else.
"But she loves you nonetheless -- the same way Mary loved me, unless I miss my guess. So you'd better believe the only thing I'm ashamed of is that I had to be the one to tell her. Damn it, Kermit." Blake threw up his hands in disgust, turned, and paced away a couple of steps. "*You* should have told her. If you had confided in her about this, she wouldn't be out there investigating by herself."
"Who do you think you're kidding, Blake? I had one shot at keeping her safe -- and that was keeping her out of it. If you'd kept your mouth shut and confined yourself to doing what *I* asked you to do, Karen wouldn't be in danger now."
"What was I supposed to do instead?" Blake shot back, turning to face Kermit again. "I knew damn well that even if you asked for help, you'd make me swear to confine my help to the tasks you defined. Did you expect me to let you go about this by yourself with no back-up? Did you expect me to let you go out there driven by your own guilt and get yourself killed? Paul would never have allowed it and, goddammit to hell, neither will I."
"So you decided to take it on yourself to tell her." Kermit shoved one hand into his pocket and concentrated on using the other to shake free the remaining droplets coating the lenses of his glasses. As tempted as he was to ram an arm against Blake's throat and drive him up against the wall, such an action would carry with it two fatal flaws: the sound would carry to the squad room and Blake wouldn't be fazed. He settled for reiterating, "It wasn't your call."
Blake rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, she was the one who got the call about Drako in the first place. She was determined to get to the bottom of this long before she asked *me* for help." Kermit guessed his reaction had been visible when Blake continued, "That's right, she came to me before you did. Actually --" A half-smile crossed Blake's lips. "-- she was referred to me. How was I supposed to say no?"
"Same way you say no to me," Kermit snarled. "She'd never have made it a commander-detective issue. She'd have let it go. We both know that."
"Oh, for Christ's sake. This wasn't one of those ever more frequent slips of yours. This time your past came to her. She was going to find out the truth come hell or high water anyway. Our friend knew she'd need some help you wouldn't suspect. As far as what I told her, all I did was answer her questions as best I could. If she couldn't trust you to tell her why your past was reaching out to grab you by the throat, who else but your friends could she go to? And if you weren't going to ask for back-up, who better to provide it anyway?"
Kermit withdrew a clenched fist from his pocket and pounded the top of his desk with enough force to move his monitor three inches and send his keyboard flying off the desk. Ignoring both the crash of the keyboard against the floor and the ill-concealed murmurs that carried from the bullpen, he growled, "If I needed back-up, I'd have asked for it. And maybe I'd have asked you, but I sure as hell wouldn't have pulled Karen into this shit. This one's mine to do alone, Blake. *Alone*."
"You can't always do everything by yourself. Sometimes even the great Kermit Griffin needs help." Biting sarcasm gave way to a pensive tone with Blake's next words. "If it means anything, I haven't seen her so much as flinch at any of what she's found out. She's not like the others. Karen's the real thing, same way as Mary was for me. Don't blow this, OK? She's a cop -- and a damn good one at that. She's going to help you whether you like it or not. Wouldn't it be easier to stop fighting it? Wouldn't the two of you have a better chance against Drako if you worked as a team?"
Kermit closed his eyes against the regret that flooded his soul. Blake was right, damn him. If he'd told Karen everything when she asked, she wouldn't be out there on her own. Not that she wouldn't be out there, he acknowledged, but she wouldn't be alone. Neither one of them would be. "I wanted to protect her."
Blake's soft response told him he'd given audible voice to his desire. "I know. But you can't. Captain Simms chose the risks entailed in police work, and we both know I'm talking about being killed in the line of duty. Karen also chose to love an ex-mercenary. So did Mary. And everything I did to protect my wife didn't make a damn bit of difference. It wasn't my past that killed her.
"You don't have a say in the matter, any more than I did. You don't have an ounce of control over it. Yeah, Drako could kill Karen. Or she could get shot on the job. No matter what you do." Blake hesitated, then added, his voice cracking, "I don't have any regrets. I've still got grief, but I have no regrets about letting Mary into my life. My entire life, including my past."
Kermit slipped his glasses back on, making a studied effort to avoid his friend's pained eyes. He briefly placed his hand on Blake's shoulder in an awkward attempt at support, then crossed to sit behind his desk. "OK, now that we've established the fact I'm a grade A jackass, what can you tell me about that tracker?"
Blake nodded in acceptance of the veiled apology and settled into one of the visitors' chairs.
"And where the hell is Karen?"