| If . . . In The End By Eirian |
| Chapter 4 When you come to think about it, when you come to look back on your life and ask yourself if you did what was right, I think all of us at some point would answer “no,” where we have acted out of fear, grief, hate… a million and one other negative emotions. My mistake – I forgot about the only force that has the power to actually change lives, to save lives, and to make an improvement in the quality of the life we lead as individuals and with the others that touch out lives. My mistake was not that I didn’t trust in Frank’s ability to have worked it all out and to keep me safe. I forgot to trust in love. If… In the end… at the end of my life I look back and have one last message for those I am to leave behind me it would be that. Have faith and trust in love. RESIDENCE ALEX CROSS: 11.30pm Saturday The television played unheard in the background. She had – for the second night running – fallen asleep on the couch. Plagued by nightmares she found no rest in her bed. Granted she had been drinking, but not that much, but even here, the nightmare found her, and her head tossed against the arm of the couch that supported her head. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and then soaked through the top she wore. She moaned softly – a sound of denial… her breathing quickened and she shivered. She cried out and sat up, awakened but disoriented as the telephone rang. Coming back from the darkness into which she had been slipping, she snatched up the receiver. “Yeah?” she said breathlessly. “Alex?” the voice said. She stiffened. This was too much… way too much. “Look,” she snapped. Whoever this was, they were playing with their head, recordings of Donovan’s voice, no doubt edited to anticipate what she might say. “I don’t know who the hell you are you sick fuck or even where you got this number but…” “I need your help, Alex,” he interrupted. “Yeah, you need help all right, buddy,” she replied sarcastically. “When you’re done playing at being a dead guy, maybe you could…” “Maybe I could what?” he snapped, and the tone of his voice made her suddenly doubt her initial impression that this was some kind of wind up. “Make you feel better? I don’t have time for this. Monica, Cody and Jake don’t have time for this. Meet me at South Morgan and West Fortieth.” He hung up before she had a chance to say anything else. What if it really was Donovan? A flush of hope went through her, but faded as she remembered Jake telling her that his death was for real. Jake wouldn’t lie to her. He was her partner, her life depended on him more times than she could remember… but what if he didn’t know either? Tears of confusion claimed her eyes. It didn’t help that she was so tired… but then – she looked at her watch. There was only one way to find out… before going anywhere, she walked upstairs to the closet and uncovered the box on the floor. She hadn’t been able to do it before… it was too painful, but now she had no choice. She was not about to go out to meet this… well whoever it was, without some kind of weapon in her hand and this was all she had. It had been his – John’s. She ran her fingertips over the grip, emotion rising again, before in a sudden almost desperate grasp, before she changed her mind, she grabbed it and thrust it into the waistband of her pants. She grabbed a shirt and jacket against the night air, and left. ** UC CRIB: Midnight Saturday/Sunday “So now what?” Cody asked as he turned in his chair, away from the computers. “Go down there and pick her up? The flight doesn’t leave for several hours yet.” “No,” Monica shook her head. “She’s going to DC… what’s in DC?” “Hmmm,” he mused sarcastically, “Let me think. Smithsonian, Pentagon… the White House. Hey the White House… maybe she’s going to petition the President to make them give her back her baby!” Until then she had been ignoring his sarcasm, but she turned to him with a glare that made him shrink back in his chair. “Quit screwing around Cody, I’m serious,” she snapped. Pointing to the computer she added, “What, to do with this case, happened in DC?” Hesitating only a moment longer until she glared at him and pointed again, he turned back to the computers and called up the encrypted files. This time it was his encryption. Accessing the files took less than a moment and then he was entering search after search, trying to find something that would make sense, would give them a lead. “Nada,” he hissed in frustration after several long moments of typing search strings. “Zip!” “There must be something,” she said crossly. “Like what?” he implored her to give him a clue rather than yell at him when he didn’t come up with the goods. He was as frustrated as she was. “I don’t know,” she said. “Do what you do – find something off the wall.” “Hey, you’re the profiler,” he pointed out less than gently as he started throwing crazy searches that made no logical sense at the computer. Finally, by accident or maybe because his fingers were so used to entering the NCIC search code, he did just that. The computer beeped at him obediently and then returned a result. “Whoa!” he snapped his fingers and gestured to Monica to come back. She had started towards the stairs. “This is interesting.” ** CORNER OF S MORGAN AND W FORTIETH ST: 12.05am Sunday He was cold. Literally shivering in spite of the overcoat he’d put on. He didn’t suppose the fact that he was so damn tired was helping much or that now that the pain medication he hadn’t even been aware he was on had started wearing off he had a growing ache down the entire length of his right side, front and back. But at least he was on his feet. A hand grabbed his shoulder, mercifully his left one, but even as he sighed with relief of that small fact the hard cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck, pointing upward. “I’m going to step away, and I want you to turn around real slowly,” Alex voice was strained. “You should know I’m a very good shot and if you try anything stupid I’ll take your head clean off your shoulders.” “If you’re such a crack shot, how come I have to sign off on so many rounds?” he asked softly. When her hand came off his shoulder as though she had been scorched, he slowly turned. “Donovan,” she whispered, her arms lowering from where she was pointing the gun in his face. He smiled faintly. “Good to see you too,” he said. In the next moment she stepped forward and slapped his face, hard. He closed his eyes as her palm impacted against his cheek and turned his head to the side. He heard something metallic clatter to the ground and cautiously opened his eyes in time to see Alex back up a step, and then she cover her face with her hand to catch the sob swept over her. “You bastard!” she said on the edge of the sob. “You didn’t think to tell me?” He reached for her. She leaned against him, holding the front of his coat when he caught her, holding her lightly around the back of the neck, and as she let go of the emotion driving her anger, he rested his right arm across her back, ignoring his own pain to comfort her. “I thought you knew,” he explained softly. “Frank, I am in so much trouble,” she whispered tearfully against his chest as he held her. “We all are,” he said, finally easing her away. He took a deep breath to breathe away the tired dizziness, and the cold and said, “Alex, I’m sorry, can you drive… we can talk in the car.” “Where are we going?” she asked as she wiped the remaining tears off her face and moved, somewhat awkwardly out of his arms and bent down to retrieve the gun she’d dropped. “Airport,” he said. “And I need your phone and a file from my office.” “Are you sure you should be out of the hospital?” she asked him astutely. “I need to finish this,” he said firmly and for once, she didn’t argue. ** ESTATE OF ANTHONY QUILLER, WASHINGTON DC: 1.15am Sunday Jake couldn’t remember a time when he had felt more uncomfortable walking into a situation on a case. Going UC was one thing but Deep Cover – with no back up, no one to cover his ass… not even any communication with the others on whom, he realised, he’d come to rely – that was something else entirely. He was led into an opulent lounge where, late as it was, a young woman sat rocking a small baby in her arms, while the child fed. An older man looked on, playing with the baby’s hand that clenched and unclenched as it sucked on the half full bottle. “Do you like children, Mr Kale,” the man asked without looking round. “Never really thought about it,” Jake responded in his Anton-whisper voice. “I guess maybe one day I might… but for now I’m content to just play with the ladies, you know what I mean?” He leered at the young woman holding the child and she shrank back, making the man turn around to finally look at him – and Jake set eyes on the man that had been the object of so long a search by the man that had become his uneasy friend, and that, ultimately, had been responsible for his death. He looked every bit the refined gentleman the estate claimed he was. Even dressed in casual pants and a light shirt he had presence that would have cowed a lesser man, but it was the eyes that most disturbed Jake. Ice cold and steel blue they bore into him. He had to be strong. He couldn’t back down, so raised his brown eyes to meet the blue. The man turned a second later to pick up the child from the woman’s arms, out of the blanket that shrouded it… no not it… her. The child was a girl. “You don’t want to leave it too long, Mr Kale… children are such precious things.” He carried the baby over to Jake and all but thrust her into his arms. He cradled her gently while trying to look awkward; amazingly the baby didn’t start crying. “Millie and I – we tried for years – just never happened. So we’re adopting. She’s beautiful, don’t you think? Go on… take a look.” “What happened to the child’s mother?” Jake asked. He felt a flush of the most dreadful feeling, like fear going through him, only not for himself any more, but for the child in his arms. He looked down at her, and but for the fact of the men behind him would have staggered as the truth of it hit him… dark hair, darkening eyes, the same sharp nose and oval face… “She died.” Quiller answered. “At least she will.” Before he had the chance to look up at the man, his mind racing to try and think what Kale would say, pain erupted from the small of his back out in all directions, stealing the strength from his legs and sending him sprawling forward. Reflex alone made him tighten the arm that held the child to pull her closer against his chest and stretch out the other arm to catch himself as he hit the floor. The punch to his kidneys was followed by a strong hard kick to his stomach… low, almost in his groin and he retched at the sudden pain, but still shielded the child as a second kick came in. “No,” he gasped, “God, no!” A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. He found himself looking into those cold predatory eyes. “You see…” The man imitated the whisper that he used as Kale. “We’ve heard that you really like kids… Jake.” ** CHICAGO O’HARE INTL AIRPORT: 1.40am Sunday Monica watched as the co-pilot came racing back across the tarmac toward where she waited by the steps up to the private jet. “What’s the delay?” she yelled to be heard over the noise of the wind and engines that were slowly warming up. “Sorry, Agent Davis,” he yelled back, leaning toward her. “We’ve been grounded.” “No!” she shouted. “This plane has to leave… and it has to leave now!” He shook his head. “Not going to happen.” She saw the flashing lights before she heard the sirens, evidently, so too did Cody, because he appeared at the top of the steps and then started down as he saw her reach inside her jacket for her weapon. “What did we miss?” she yelled at him as he came to her side and reached for his own weapon, retrieved from the flowerbed of his uncle’s home, neither of them able to see into the car escorted to the side of the plane by the two airport security vehicles. “Not what…” he smiled, lowering the weapon as the passenger door of the car opened. “Who.” She followed the direction of his gaze to see her boss and friend climbing to his feet. She went to help him up. “You’re crazy,” she told him. “Is that your professional opinion?” he asked and she smiled. “There’s some equipment in the back of the car… we’re going to need it.” She nodded, becoming serious for a moment and then nodded again and smiled faintly as Alex got out of the driver’s side of the car and walked around the back to start unloading. “What’s going on?” Cody asked as he joined them as they started pulling silver cases out of the back of the car. Then greeted the other member of the team, “Hey Alex.” “Hey Cody,” she answered faintly. “When did you last see Teague and the others?” Frank asked. “Early Saturday,” Monica answered, glancing at Cody. “Then I’ll explain on board,” Frank said, handing a case over into Cody’s hands. “Right now we don’t have any more time.” ** ESTATE OF ANTHONY QUILLER, WASHINGTON DC: 2.30am Sunday “Are you okay?” The young woman’s voice, high and afraid, registered as he started to regain consciousness. He tried to move, found he hurt in more places than he thought possible, but he was alive, he was breathing. He was having trouble processing everything they’d thrown at him during the beating – as he tried to protect the child, so clearly Frank’s daughter. Frank… they’d told him he was alive… that Monica had lied to him; let him believe that he was really dead. He understood why, but still… He opened his eyes to find the young woman looking at him in concern. Evidently his taking a beating had convinced her he was an okay guy. Thank God for small mercies, he mused sarcastically. “I think so,” he gasped. “You?” “They haven’t touched me,” she came over to crouch beside him, to help him sit up and then gave him a damp cloth to wipe the blood from his split lip. She took it off him a moment later when his hand trembled so much as he raised it. “The baby,” he asked breathlessly, and wincing as she pressed the cloth against the many cuts and bruises on his face. She shook her head and smiled. “Not a scratch,” she said. “You took it all.” He closed his eyes in relief and worry and trepidation all rolled into one, only to open them a moment later when her fingers brushed over his eyebrows, still dark, the way his hair used to be. “Is she yours?” she asked him. “Is that why you fought so hard to keep her safe?” Automatic weapon fire cut off anything he might have said in answer. It came from outside, accompanied by the sound of helicopters and the flash of searchlights. The woman at his side stiffened in fear. He tried to get up, but it hurt too much. “Help me up,” he asked her, feeling her arm slip around his aching shoulders. With her help and loosening up – feeling the pain fade to an overwhelmingly dull ache as he started to move – he made his way to the window to look out on the scene outside. Quilter’s men, all armed, had sealed off the estate, and beyond the gates he could see the unmistakable sight of SWAT vans and agency operatives. It was a stand off… they were under siege. He swore softly… if there was one thing he hated it was being trapped in a hopeless situation. He turned back to face the woman that was looking at him fearfully. “You never did tell me your name,” he said softly. “Alana,” she said, looking at his hand as he dropped it onto her shoulder. “I’m Jake. I’m a federal agent. I’m not going to promise to get you out of here, but I am going to need your help. You think you can do that?” He smiled when she nodded, then started asking her what she knew about the house. ** US AIRSPACE: 3am Sunday The three of them sat speaking quietly about all the revelations, all the pieces that had fallen into place. Healing old wounds and trying to rid themselves of the awkwardness that had first been between them. Cody glanced over to where Frank Donovan was reclined in a seat, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling softly in the rhythm of sleep. “You think we should wake him?” he asked softly. Both women shook their heads. “Let him sleep, he probably needs it,” Alex said. “He’s been struggling since we met.” “Man should still be safely tucked up in his hospital bed,” Monica added. Her voice was tinged with worry. “And what about Alethea?” he said, still looking at Frank. “No!” both women said together. “The less he has to worry about, the better.” Monica insisted. “This is already going to be so high profile that the pressure is going to be enormous. You heard what he said on the phone…” “Yeah, and if Quiller suddenly throws at him that he has his daughter in there?” Cody hissed back. “What’s that going to do to his blood pressure?” “I still say no.” Monica answered. “He needs to have as clear a head as possible. It’s a risk we have to take because this is already way too personal for him. If it looks like we’ve no alternative, then I’ll tell him… and I’ll take whatever crap he throws at me for not telling him sooner.” “If this is so personal, then why let him do this at all?” Alex asked and Cody could see that she shared his concern. “Because he needs closure… just as you needed to be pushed to let yourself grieve for John.” He saw Alex sigh. “And with anyone else running this operation, he won’t get that.” ** SIEGE LOCATION, WASHINGTON DC: 4.40am Sunday All around her there was noise, and light, and men in uniforms and bullet proof vests carrying weapons, and wearing protective glasses. It was like something out of the movies, or form news reports she’d seen her colleagues give from war torn countries, not from her own beloved nation’s capital city. “Shelley you set?” her team were waiting for her to begin the report and all she was doing was gaping around her. She cursed herself for being so unprofessional. “Okay in five,” she said and started a countdown as the cameraman shifted the camera onto his shoulder and the sound technician set the levels. “We’re here outside of the city home of the Presidential Aide, Mr Anthony Quiller, where a remarkable siege is taking place. Unconfirmed reports number the civilian staff inside the estate to be around thirty, in addition to Quiller and his family, all held hostage in the tense standoff between the terrorist aggressors and the law enforcement personnel. “The situation began around two hours ago when shots were fired from the estate onto a joint police, CIA and F…” “Get these people out of here,” the softly accented voice interrupted what she was saying. She turned, as did her cameraman to watch the tall man coming closer, his dark eye bore into her and his full lips, framed in the goatee beard were set into a firm line. Behind him, two women and another man, all carrying silver suitcases were walking with a purpose. “All right people,” A nearby police office started waving at them to move away. “You heard the man, let move it on back now.” Far from obeying, Shelley moved in the opposite direction, toward the man that had given the order to clear out her news team, to protest. She caught his arm and he swung around to face her. She found herself once more on the receiving end of those darkly handsome features, glaring at her intensely. “Now you just wait a minute mister!” she snapped as boldly as she could muster under that stare, “You can’t do that. I have rights here, protected under the con…” “I’m not denying you your constitutional rights Miss,” he cut her off softly. “You may speak as freely as you wish, but you do it from behind that line.” He pointed over her shoulder, two fingers extended to indicate the line he meant and she couldn’t help but turn her head to look. “You are ill equipped to be in a situation like this and I won’t allow you to endanger yourself in this way.” He continued. “Then give me a vest and put me somewhere I can work fro…” “Behind the line Miss Riocco,” he repeated. ** He was about to turn away, sure she would not comply when the urgent shout came from the front line of the law enforcement officers. “Incoming!” Reflexively, without thinking of the current, somewhat fragile state of his health, Frank reached out to grab the high profile woman reporter and hooking an ankle around hers to unbalance her, to throw her down and cover her – shielding her with his body. For a moment the shock of the impact against the woman and the ground stole his breath and sent a surge of pain rolling over him. Then the explosion happened, and a hot wave chased away the early morning chill, forcing him down more protectively over the woman. It was accompanied by screams of pain, and also of fear and panic from the many gathered spectators, before debris started to rain down all around him. The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Cautiously he raised his head, to see many people doing likewise. The woman beneath him was whimpering softly. Slowly he forced himself to his knees, breathless and trying to force his lungs to inflate even as he helped her to sit up. “Now do you understand?” he said, still breathing hard. She nodded mutely. “Go.” He leaned forward onto his arms as she scrambled out from where she was still partly beneath him. Swallowing hard he prepared to get up when arms hooked under his and gave him the help he needed. “You okay, Frank?” Monica asked softly, and he could see she was giving him the once over. “Winded,” he gasped. “I’m okay.” He went to move, but found his three agents standing in his way. They were all of them looking at him in serious concern. “What?” he asked sharply. “Put it on, Donovan,” Alex was holding out a vest in his direction. Sighing, but knowing that she was right; he shrugged off his overcoat and allowed her to help him on with the vest. “Frank,” a voice he’d not heard in almost seven years came to his ears. “Good to have you back.” He turned to face the suited man, similarly clad in protective armour that was holding out his hand toward him. “Nick,” he shook the man’s hand. “Just temporary I assure you. This is my team…” He introduced the others to the man that had been his partner, raising his eyebrow at Cody when he looked as though he was going to say something smart. “Let me show you your ops centre… we did the sweep like you asked…” “And?” he asked. “Nothing we could find, but if you want your tech-op to take a look.” “Cody,” “I’m on it,” Cody followed the man close behind into the non-descript van nearby. ** “Boss,” the man behind the bank of computer screens and monitors called to Quiller. He paced away from the window, glaring at Jake as he passed, where Jake sat protectively beside the woman and child. He was starting to worry that perhaps the man was just a little insane as he authorised his men to open fire, not with automatic weapons this time, but with a rocket launcher that had taken out one of the squad cars parked outside his estate, and according to the man that came to report back, a good number of officers too. That made him dangerous. “We just lost sound and vision,” their technical man continued as Quiller got to his side. “So, my friend does learn from past mistakes,” he said, and sounded amused. Jake shuddered and looked across to the baby held in the woman’s arms. He sighed and then gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Alana. She didn’t deserve this. She’s been hired as a nanny for the child who, he presumed, had been snatched from Saran to make her do what they wanted with Donovan. He only hoped the team could keep Saran safe from whichever of his people Quiller had decided would be the ones to kill her as he had hinted earlier when talking about the adoption of the baby “Why don’t you let the woman go?” he voiced the thought about the nanny, nodding toward her as Quiller looked in his direction. “I don’t think so,” Quiller answered smoothly. He was interrupted by the telephone. “Why not put it on the speaker, lets all hear what our man Frank has to say.” “Quiller,” he said confidently as line was answered. “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say,” Frank started. “Frank,” Quiller greeted him enthusiastically. “This is not a social call, Quiller.” His answer was low and dangerous. “You have domestic staff in there with you and they don’t need to be involved in this. Let them go and then stand your men down.” “I’m not going to do that. You know that.” Quiller answered. “If you don’t, I have no other alternative.” Frank’s voice sounded frustrated. “You won’t come in here, Frank. You won’t risk the hostages… you forget how well I know you.” “You have until six,” he answered, almost growling the words, before the white noise took the place of the contact. ** “Son-of-a-bitch!” Frank snapped and ripped off the headset, tossing it onto the desk and leaning forward into his hands. His tiredness – his pain was getting the better of him, making it hard to think; to know what to do for the best. “He’s got you in a no win situation,” Monica leaned forward to speak with him. “He knows that there is nothing you can give him. He’s right– you won’t risk the hostages unless you’ve absolutely no choice left. He has nothing to lose because already too many people know what he’s done. It’s an impasse.” “There’s no such thing,” he growled. “There’s always something these people want. The only hope he has is getting off US soil, but I can’t give him that either.” “You can’t?” she asked softly. “Or won’t.” “Have you any idea how this man has used his position and betrayed his country? How many lives have come apart because of what he’s done… how many people have died because of his operation…?” he lowered his voice to speak almost in confidential tones. “And you think that if you give him what he wants then people are going to believe you don’t care about all that?” she queried, obviously trying to follow the way his mind was working. “What I care about is getting those hostages out alive,” he answered, shaking his head in denial of her uncannily close assessment of where his thoughts were… close but not spot on. If he gave this man what he wanted then he betrayed not only his brother’s memory – but everything he ever shared with Saran. They were the people whose memory, whose opinion, of what he did in response to this case mattered. If he let this man go, what did that say about his feelings for them…? “Frank…?” Something in the way she laid her hand on his arm, the tone in her voice made him look up at Monica with serious concern in his eyes. “You say that, but you need to believe it too. You gotta reach inside for the top negotiator you are, but I need to tell you something that’s not going to make it easy for you.” He closed his eyes and sighed, calming himself enough to be able to listen. ** He noticed that the man was not comfortable with his orders as they were being taken back to the nursery… the room that was serving as their temporary prison. He was afraid. He was hesitant… the way he held the gun, not quiet centred on them. “You know, don’t you, that in two hours time the FBI and SWAT and whatever other government agency they’ve got out there is going to come swarming in here like the wrath of God, and they’re going to be taking you guys down,” Jake said. “Not waiting around to find out which of you knows the difference between right and wrong.” He looked at the man’s hand, his left. He wore a ring. “And what is your wife going to think, hmmm?” he pressed. “When the cop turns up on her doorstep to tell her you’re never coming home? What about the kids? You got kids, hmmm?” “Two,” the man answered. “Both boys.” “I know what it’s like, growing up without a pop. Believe me, you don’t want to do that to your kids,” Jake sighed. “Give me the gun.” “And what would you do with it?” the man asked. “There’s no way for you to get out of here. They’d take you down before you got ten feet from the house.” “You let me worry about that,” Jake smiled, and reached out to put a hand on the man’s shoulder as he lowered the weapon. Even though he did not relinquish it, Jake knew he had made an ally. “I’ll find a way to get out of here… just like you will.” The man sighed, meeting his eyes. He saw indecision, conflict of conscience over orders. Jake nodded. And finally the man handed over the weapon. ** “Frank,” He opened his eyes at the sound of Cody’s voice. “There’s movement up at the house.” “Somebody coming out?” He moved behind the man and leaned down to look at the screens, wincing and taking a sharp breath at the stab of pain that hit him at the sudden movement. “You all right?” Cody asked casually. He nodded. “Not sure, hold on…” The view they saw zoomed in to show five men, internal security for the estate by the look of them, coming out of the front door of the house and walking down the driveway. They looked nervous. ”This is important,” Frank mused and picked up the headset. “Team leaders, this is Donovan. Tell me what you can see.” ** The agent was right, this wasn’t worth dying over… this wasn’t worth arrest and years of imprisonment. He had to trust in God, and in the ability of the taskforce outside to get him and the four other men he’d convinced to turn against Quiller, safely away. “What’s going on, Andrews?” One of the armed men on the gate asked as he got closer. “We’re leaving Jensen. This isn’t right.” He didn’t pause, his heart pounding as he opened the side gate. He and his companions kept walking. They raised their hands as they cleared the gate and behind him, he heard Jensen calling back inside the house to Quiller. He knew what was coming. “Run!” he yelled, but even as he did he felt the first of the bullets hit him in the back of the leg. ** “Damn it!” Frank hissed. “Team leaders, give those men covering fire.” The sound of gunfire grew louder for a time, before it died away altogether. Looking at the monitors he saw that two of the men were lying on the ground. Both were clearly still alive. ”Get them out of there,” he ordered. “And have EMTs standing by.” Straightening up again he left the relative warmth of the ops van to go out into the cold morning air to see first hand as a small team of men moved cautiously out toward the injured defectors on the ground behind riot shields. A spray of automatic fire had everyone moving to cover and the men, exposed in the no-mans-land between the estate and the law enforcement vehicles ducked behind the shields, covering themselves still further. “Cody,” Frank uncurled himself from beside the squad car and adjusted the mouthpiece on the headset. “Get me a line in.” “Quiller,” the confidence was still there in the man’s voice, unwavering even after what had just happened. “Don’t be a fool, Quiller,” Frank said softly. “A leader that rules over his men through fear is nothing more than a bully. The thing about bullies is that there is always someone bigger, harder and stronger that will come along and take them down.” “Are you that man, Frank?” Quiller responded, softly sarcastic. “The bigger bully, come to take me down?” He tightened his jaw, fighting with himself not to respond to the man’s so obvious goading. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ In . . . In The End - Chapter 4 continued |