If . . . At The End

                                                                     Chapter 1

Even after all the years and everything that has happened I can still remember quite vividly the first time I ever saw him.

I’m an artist – oh not with paints or pastels, but with words – a poet, though I hate that word as it conjures up images of musty, wrinkled old men writing unfathomable verse. So… I was sitting beside the river, watching. Watching nature, watching the few people that went past. He was one of those people.

He had been running, and for quite a while I’d say.    The singlet he wore was damp with sweat, showing the muscled planes of his chest through the fabric as he jogged along the towpath. His muscles moved in harmonic counterpoint to the pistons his arms had become. He was breathing hard, in time with his long striding steps and looked every bit the athletic, fit young man I believed him to be.

I found myself suddenly breathless as he got nearer, but he was so lost in his little world that he didn’t see me at all. Or so I was to believe for quite a while.

We actually met about a week later in the Northern Trust Bank on South La Salle. I hate banking at lunch time. It’s always crowded and hurried, but I had little choice that day. I’d received a royalties cheque, thank God… because my account was about to go the wrong side of the wire thanks to my bastard of an ex-husband who had yet again refused to pay his share of the mortgage.   Although we were divorced, and had been for a couple of years, as part of the settlement, he’d agreed to still pay one forth of the mortgage. I really needed to get that money into the account.

We arrived at the same time, he and I, and I almost turned right around and walked the other way in spite of the urgency of my situation, but at the very moment I was going to turn around he looked up and straight into my eyes.

I was like a deer, caught in the headlights of a car, and I know that’s a cliché, but that’s exactly the way I felt. Captured in his dark eyes and fascinated by the way the goatee beard framed his full lips that looked incredibly inviting even if they were set into a firm line.

Then he reached out and opened the door.

“Please,” he said, indicating with a wave of his long fingered hand that I should go before him. But his voice – it wrapped itself around me like a warm blanket.

“Thank you,” I virtually whispered.

“You’re welcome.” His ushering hand settled in the briefest of touches in the small of my back and I felt as if I’d been touched by a live wire.

I couldn’t remember the last time a man held a door for me… especially one as masculine and almost classically divine as he was. The thought somehow helped me to catch a hold of my wits and to remember the promise I’d made to myself not to get involved with another man for a very long time.

“Not from around here are you?” I asked as he moved to stand behind me in the line.

“No,” he said quietly. “I just moved here.”

I think he was going to say more, but his pager went off. The sudden sound made me jump and he raised an eyebrow, and then moved the bottom of his jacket aside to glance at the pager. He sighed.

“Duty calls, hmm?” I asked, though truly it was none of my business.

“Yes it does,” he said and sounded worried. “Excuse me.” And he turned around and walked from the bank. Such an innocuous beginning.

UC CRIB: 6.30am Friday

He loved it at this time in the morning. None of the rest of the team would be in until at least eight. It gave him the chance to maintain the essential technical equipment. And keep his reputation as untarnished as it was.

Bringing his coffee to the briefing table he turned on the many computers and logged in.

“Incoming mail,” The wav sound played as the computers finished booting up, not unusual. There was usually a string of mail and most of it garbage, which he sorted through, and separated into the ones that were relevant or important to the many cases and those headed for the oblivion of the recycle bin. Cody took pride in his work.

It leaped out of the screen and hit him right away, marked highest priority as it was, and addressed to the UC team. He opened it cautiously after running three separate virus scans on it.

It was a short message, but something about it sent a tight whorl of knotted worry into his belly.

To: uskel2321197@fbi.gov
From:laiuqo@hotmail.com
Subject: Case relevant. Vital importance

I don’t know how you might do it, but I beg of you, please don’t let Donovan take the Masterton case.
SCF

Still feeling the unwelcome knot, but now with something to push against, he set to work on the mail, as he set the “trace-route” programme running he skated his chair across the panel of computers and snatched up the headset that was attached to the computer controlling the com and hit a sequence of keystrokes, before returning to the original pc.

“Come on Jake, pick up!” he whispered as the programme sent back the results. Whoever sent the mail hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks, but… he swore softly. The originating computer was in a downtown library. He’d put money on the account being just some poor unfortunate that happened to have forgotten to log out properly.

**

RESIDENCE JAKE SHAW: 6.40am Friday

He groaned as he finally registered the telephone ringing and that it was not going to stop. It meant it had to be one person.

“This had better be good Cody!” he said crossly as he snatched up the bedside receiver and rubbed his hand across his eyes and looked at the clock.

“I need you down here as quick as you can – and definitely before Frank.”

“What’s going on?” Suddenly he was wide awake.

“I’ll tell you as soon as you get here.” Cody hung up before he could ask another question. He sounded odd, as though he was trying to hold some kind of stress under wraps. And in before Frank…

He leaped up out of bed. Cody must have finally cracked the encryption on the file they had found in Donovan’s personal record. That had to be it. He checked his watch. If he hurried, he could be there in thirty minutes.

**

UC CRIB: 7.15am Friday

“It could have been sent by anyone,” Alex argued, looking at the printout that Cody had given her. “Like you said, whoever this SCF is, she or he, I mean you’re only assuming it’s a woman, sent it from someone’s email account at a public library.”

“And we don’t even know that Frank’s going to be bringing in a case of that name… what the hell is it anyway?” Jake added. Alex thought that he looked disappointed.

“Until we do we should just…”

“Hello?” Cody exploded. “Trouble for Frank involves us. It means trouble for us. Or maybe you’re forgetting that. I don’t believe you guys, we could be in serious trouble and you…”

“All right Cody, all right,” Monica put a hand onto his arm. “We hear you, we do, but can’t you see that we just don’t have enough to go on we…”

“When has that ever stopped us?” he mumbled, throwing himself back into his chair and retrieving the data for the woman whose email account had spawned the mail that had thrown him into this mood that Alex saw as being close to panic. She frowned.

“We don’t even know if this is legit,” Jake protested.

She looked over at him. He was the only one of the group that hadn’t softened in the face of the mood that Cody had inspired.

“Jake,” she called softly, stopping his tirade. To Cody she added, “How would it be if we agreed that if Donovan comes in here with this “Masterton” case, we’ll consider investigating this, hmm?”

Cody sighed.

“Good enough I guess,” he said softly.

It was two weeks before I saw him again.

I’d had THE morning from hell. A meeting with my attorney had gone badly. Alan was refusing to make the payments any longer and what’s more he was demanding that I buy him out of the house altogether. I was left with the conclusion that I was going to have to either sell the house or take out a second mortgage to be able to do that. I wasn’t about to take that lying down.

Then a meeting with my agent had topped it off with the gem that unless I gave them ten more folios for the poetry collection that Capunburn were going to publish, they were pulling the plug altogether. It wasn’t that I couldn’t give them the extra work, just that it put more pressure on me that I just didn’t need. I felt like crying.

“Hi again.” His voice drew my face up from the table top of the café I often frequented on my business mornings. I tried to smile. I think it came out as more of a grimace because he added, “You want me to get out of your hair right?”

“What?” I didn’t… if anything the opposite. Any other person and yes maybe I would have told them to get lost, but I simply found him the most amazing enigma, and once more forgot totally about my promise.

He was handsome – more than that he was perfect and should have long since been snapped up, but there was not evidence of a woman in his life. He was masculine to the point of appearing hard and dangerous and yet he had been the first man in more time than I can remember to hold a door for me, and he was sensitive enough to know that I was having a dreadful day as he continued.

“Looks like you’re having a hell of a day?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “You could say that.”

“You want some company?” he asked.

“Thanks, I’d like that.” I blushed. I actually felt the progress of the flush as it spread over my face. He didn’t mention it.

“Refill?” He pointed at the coffee cup I was cradling. I nodded and thanked him again. He shook his head, meaning that it was not a problem as he signalled the waitress. “Frank Donovan,” he said.

“Saran Farlain,” I responded, and then sat back as the waitress refilled my cup and poured coffee into his empty cup.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“Thank you, I’m fine,” he said. “Saran?”

“No, no.” I said. “I’m good thanks.”

He glanced at the waitress, summarily dismissing her and turned those dark eyes back in my direction.

“I apologise for running out on our last conversation,” he said quietly.

Of all the things he could have said it was the last thing I expected and it made me laugh. He smiled a little, more in his eyes than in his face.

“When you gotta go…” I said recovering from the laughter but not from the warmth the smile kindled in me. “I hope it was nothing too serious.”

“We got a result,” he answered, the smile fading. I knew not to ask any more of my enigmatic companion on that subject.

“That’s good,” I said instead.

“And how about you?” he asked and I frowned in confusion then gave him a startled look as he said, “That day beside the river. You looked as though you had the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

I could have died. I didn’t think he’d noticed me, and to think he must have seen the way I had been looking at him… watching him. I swallowed hard.

“No,” I assured him. “I was just watching the world go by, waiting for inspiration.”

“Artist?”

“Of sorts,” I answered with a soft smile.

“I’d be interested to see some of your work,” he said seriously and I felt that rising colour again.

“I hardly know you,” I protested and then kicked myself. It was a ridiculous thing to say and gave him the perfect opening.

“Then maybe we should have dinner some time,” he suggested.

Dinner, dear god the man didn’t hang around – and I bolted. Dinner was a big step for me, especially since I was already breaking my word to myself even in having coffee with him.

“I erm… I really don’t know I…” I stuttered

He reached across the table and gently laid a warm hand over the top of mine. His fingers were long, and I could feel their strength. The contact sent a tremor of something extremely needful and personal through me that had me almost bucking and agreeing in the next breath.

“Saran, it’s okay, really,” he smiled. “Why don’t I give you a call some time? Let me have your number and next time I’m around we can maybe have coffee.”

Coffee… coffee was safe. I reached into my purse for one of my business cards and passed it over to him.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry, I…”

He held up a hand to stop me from struggling any further. “It’s fine, really. Not a problem, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have to get back to work.”

“Of course,” I blushed again – I was starting to hate that. I watched him reach inside his jacket for his wallet and slipped my card inside. Until he did that I was sure I’d never see him again. Afterward, I was almost certain that I would. He bid a quiet farewell and walked over to the counter to pay for the coffee, before leaving.

A few moments later the waitress returned to the table and set down a fresh cup of steaming hot coffee in front of me and a folded piece of paper.

“From the gentleman that just left,” she said and returned to her station. I opened the piece of paper and read…

“In case you change your mind, Frank. 312-555-4311”

UC CRIB: 7.50am Friday

Frank blinked in surprise as he walked in and saw the whole team waiting for him.

“Good morning,” he said softly, frowning in confused suspicion as he put the files down onto the table top. “Thank you all for being so punctual.”

“You want some coffee?” Alex answered, handing up a coffee cup into his now empty hand and taking the slide carousel from him to fit it into the projector.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” he said, feeling more than a little off balance. Everyone looked at Monica, so he did too.

“They’ve spent the last eight months giving you a hard time,” she shrugged, a note of speculation in her voice. “Maybe they’re feeling guilty.”

He gave her a look and she shrugged again, by which time Alex was back in her seat and they were all looking at him expectantly. Letting it go for the moment, though not forgetting the prickling sense that he was being excluded from something he placed the files onto the table in front of his agents and turned out the main lights, at the same time hitting the button to bring the projector to life.

He shivered as the first of the slides came into view on the screen, a tall man, jogging, in sweat pants and a green t-shirt that hid nothing of his bulky physique. His short brown hair was slightly windblown and he had a furious expression on his face.

“The subject’s name is Iain Reeves-Masterton,” he schooled his voice to be neutral, deep and low to avoid any emotion that might have crept into it, as he flicked through the slides that accompanied his briefing.

“Investigations almost conclusively proved that he was responsible for several arms deals involving military forces in the former Soviet Union and several Middle Eastern underground organisations.

“Then without any warning the case was buried, and most of the evidence lost until several years later when allegations of arms shipments to rebel forces in Eastern Europe began to surface. He was the obvious candidate, but attempts to detain him were unsuccessful and even requests to question him made by AFT agents were denied before finally they were ordered to drop the case, their superiors citing the death of one of their agents several years previously as the reason for cessation of their involvement.

“Sixteen months ago he orchestrated an elaborate,” he sighed, and swallowed a mouthful of coffee – cold by now – to cover the slip, “distraction to throw investigators off the paper trail that might have led to the identity of his collaborator; the name of the man that had ordered the closure of the investigations.”

He pressed the button one last time to flick to the one slide guaranteed to get a rise out of his team: A picture of Agent Iain Reeves-Masterton taken in the line of duty.

“However, since the sudden marked increase in domestic terrorism, the director has ordered investigations be re-opened as he believes Reeves-Masterton may be behind the supply of armaments. Naturally, ATF don’t want the case, even though it is within their jurisdiction, so Bloom suggested that we might be able to get to the man at the top and take both him and Reeves-Masterton down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jake finally exploded. Frank almost smiled. If he could have picked one of them to object it would have been Jake. He watched his agent point to the screen. “That guy is a Spook.”

“Very astute of you, Jake,” he said. “He is indeed CIA, which may also mean that this reaches higher than anyone is comfortable with.”

He paused, looking over each of his horrified agent’s faces. It appeared that uncomfortable didn’t even come close to describing the feelings of his team.

“I will personally authorise a temporary leave of absence to any of you that feel unable to work on this case,” he said.

Not one of them moved.

We met for coffee several more times before I actually agreed to entertain the notion of dinner. He was patient and persistent, I’ll grant him that. He was also good company and very positive.

I can’t ever remember him saying the word “no,” in all the time I knew him. It was almost as if it wasn’t in his vocabulary. If I suggested something that he obviously didn’t like, he would make a alternative suggestion and listen to my response – more than just the words I was saying – until we came up with something on which we could both agree. It was almost as if we were negotiating the progress of our relationship

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

After our fourth coffee meeting, as he left, he actually tried to kiss my cheek. I think I might have offended him a little when I pulled away, because it was a while before he called again to suggest another meeting, but I couldn’t help myself.

I was so startled that he would do that I just pulled back and stared up at him in astonishment and afterwards I sat there at the table, my heart racing and kicking myself – and cursing Alan for what he’d done to me.

I’d not been quite as miserable as I was in those three weeks that passed without seeing Frank in a long time and then out of the blue he called me.

“Coffee?” he said as I answered. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Frank!”

“Who else would be calling you at this time in the day and suggesting coffee?” he teased. It made me look at my watch. It was five forty in the evening. He must have heard my hesitation because he said, “Just coffee – no problems.”

“Frank I…” I meant to apologise for the last time we saw each other.

“You want me to pick you up?” he didn’t let me.

“Would you?” It would have taken me about an hour to get to our usual haunt at this time of the day.

“Sure,” he agreed. “Be there in ten.”

“Where are you?” I frowned. He had to be fairly close if he was going to get here in ten minutes.

“Corner of West Washington and North May,” he answered. “Just a second.”

He went quiet for a moment, no doubt negotiating the corner, and I started fretting. He was going to be here really soon and I was nowhere near ready – not fit for any company, let alone his. I made a grab for the cordless and high tailed it up to my room to change.

“You still there?” His voice purred in my ear.

“Yep,” I answered, pulling the sweater off over my head and grabbing a more respectable one.

“What are you doing?” he asked, I could hear the frown of puzzlement that would be on his face.

“Changing,” I confessed.

“I’m sure you look fine.”

“Shows what you know,” I quipped, and he chuckled. It was nearly my undoing and I had to sit down heavily on the bed as all the breath rushed out of me at the warm, almost suggestive sound in my ear.

“Okay, Saran,” he said on the end of the chuckle. “I will let you finish changing and see you in five.” He hung up before I had a chance to say anything else.

About a minute later the phone rang again and thinking he’d called back I picked up the telephone and answered cheerfully, “Hi again.”

“Well hello to you too, bitch.”

“Alan…” I gasped.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” he snapped. “I told you, no argument.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I told him. “I said all I was going to through my attorney, and if you want to take it further, you’ll have to speak to him.”

Before we got caught up in arguing again about me buying him out of the house I hung up the phone and pulled on the rest of my clothes, ignoring the phone when it rang again. That would come back to bite me in the ass, but I didn’t want to deal with it just then – or the way he always made me feel vulnerable and under pressure.

Frank arrived and I could quite easily have thrown a hug around him. I didn’t, but I thought about it. Which again made me wonder just what I was getting myself into with these frequent meeting. It might actually have been that moment that started me thinking about accepting his dinner invitation.

“Hi,” I greeted him, somewhat subdued, and still ignoring the ringing phone.

“You want to get that?” he asked, “I can wait.”

“No it’s okay. If it’s important, they’ll call back,” I said, a little flat and he turned his head on one side to give me a querying look. I shook my head.

“Okay,” he said. “You have your keys?”

When I nodded, he reached past me and closed the door for me, and then with that same slight contact as when he ushered me into the bank all that time ago, he guided me toward his car.

We settled into our usual corner table and the waitress, shaking her head and smiling in amusement brought out habitual coffee to the table, leaving right away.

Sitting opposite from me Frank peeked down at my lowered head and asked, “You want to talk about it?”

I sighed. “My ex is being a prick,” I said.

“And that was him on the phone, right?” he surmised. I nodded. “Will you be okay?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to talk about this and the concern – genuine concern that I felt from him as he asked that – brought me one step closer to dinner.

“Saran?” he reached out and took my hand. “You can tell me to mind my own business if you want to, but if you need my help, you call me, right? It doesn’t matter the time.”

I looked up at him and smiled faintly. “Thank, but would you mind… I really don’t want to talk about Alan.”

He nodded and suggested cake to go with the coffee.

“If you can risk eating cake that is,” he teased. It had the desired effect and made me laugh… although I blushed as well – damn the man!

So we had cake… and it wasn’t quite dinner, and nor was it just coffee, but I was comfortable with that. I don’t know how long or about what we spent the evening talking, I don’t remember, but it all came apart when his cell phone rang unexpectedly. He checked the display for the number.

“Excuse me, I need to take this,” he apologised and answering said, “Donovan.”

His face fell into the serious expression it had when we had first started seeing each other – where the hell did that thought come from – did having coffee together on a regular basis count as dating?

“What?” he continued and he gave me an apologetic look. I knew he was going to have to go. “When? How long ago?”

“It’s okay,” I mouthed to him, but he frowned and shook his head.

“I will be with you as soon as I can,” he told the person on the other end of the phone. “Saran, I’m sorry, that was work. I have to go.”

“I know. I guessed,” I answered, and reached out to put my hand – trembling from my earlier musing – onto his arm, standing up at the same time he did.

“I’ll call you soon,” he sounded frustrated. “Will you be all right to get home? I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, but I…”

“It’s all right,” I said, recognising that whatever had prompted the call was urgent. “Go.”

“You’re sure?”

“Frank…” He reached out to briefly brush his fingers down the side of my face. I froze, determined not to flinch. The touch of his fingers liquefied not only my knees but my entire body, insides, outside – everything – and then it was gone as quickly as it had begun.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

My eyes had close and when I opened them he was at the door. Something made him stop and turn back, and then come back to my side. I looked up at him in query at just the moment he leaned down toward me. Before I even had a chance to register his intention to kiss me, his lips had landed softly against my cheek, his light beard scratching slightly, enlivening the kiss. My hand pressed against his chest, not that I’d registered even moving it, to feel his heart beating strongly and a little fast against my fingers, and then he once more straightened up.

“When the lady is ready, call her a cab.” He told the waitress, and raised his eyebrows in my direction to prevent me from arguing. I couldn’t have contradicted him if my life depended on it. I was still reeling from the sudden breech of the unspoken restraint that was between us.

UC CRIB: 7.40pm Saturday

“Is this where I say, ‘told you so’,” he asked quietly as Jake and Alex came back in from where they had been trying to find the owner of the email address. “Or did you actually manage to find something.”

“Has he gone home?” Alex asked.

”Nope,” Cody answered. “Upstairs with Monica, working out the details of Jake’s cover.”

“So you haven’t managed to start the decryption software on the file we found?” Jake asked.

“Oh it’s running,” he answered. “Just not getting anywhere.”

He reached out and flicked the switch on the bottom of a monitor, while glancing up toward the stairs.

“Don’t want to get your juices flowing or anything,” he said, “But one thing I have found about it. It’s the same basic encryption pattern as Frank’s file.”

He glanced at the screen and then waved a hand toward where the numbers were flicking through the millions of combinations possible for the decryption of the file.

“Nada!” he hissed, frustrated. “What about you two?”

“Vague description of a woman at the library that the librarian said looked, quote/unquote, “tense” – list of names of all the people registered to use the computer bank that day – that’s all. No-one with the initial SCF,” Alex answered.

“Let me have the list, I’ll run them all,” Cody offered, and took photocopy of the list from her. “Jake?”

“I got a meeting with a guy from the AFT that worked the case at nine,” he answered.

“Where?”

“Barnardo’s, down town,” Jake answered, and then added, “Yeah, yeah, I know, Alex. I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” she said. “If you’re going UC, last thing you want is a messed up face.”

**

FRANK DONOVAN’S OFFICE: 10pm Saturday

He’d long since sent them home, but couldn’t go home himself. He closed his eyes and sighed. The cover was good – Monica had worked hard on it. Everything was all set to go. Why in the hell did he feel so uneasy about it?

There had to be something he’d missed – some key that would let him crack the case this time and put the bastards away for good. At least then he knew that, wherever she was – if she was still alive… he growled away the thought – that she would be safe. And he could finally lay the other ghosts to rest.

He shuddered and let out another long slow sigh.

He flipped open the file – the one he hadn’t shown any of the others – and then covered his face with his hands and let out his breath in a rush. He didn’t need to see the photograph that he knew would be staring up at him out of the file.

He knew every inch of her face, of all of her. He could still see the sky blue in her eyes, framed by long dark lashes and the light brown of her hair, with the red gold flecks that ran thought it; the pale peach of her skin and the blush of her full lips, but he took his hands away to look none the less, to stop the thoughts of the way she fit him perfectly, even thought she was a small, slight little thing that he probably could have broken like a twig…

                                      ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

                                       If . . . In The End - Chapter 1 continued