What To Believe

The man moved away from the marble altar on which the woman’s ordeal was just beginning.

The man’s face was obscure by the dim light, the hooded robe he wore and the quality of the recording.

Donovan sighed, unfolded his arms for a moment and soothed an itch on the side of his nose before he crossed his arms again and turned his attention back to the video screen, but watching his team just as much as he was the tape.

She was bound by her wrists and ankles, spread-eagled on the top of the raised dais by what looked like leather cuffs. Without warning she screamed and a clear bite mark appeared on her breast, oozing blood from two deep puncture wounds…

Cody looked down, turning his head away from the screen for a second before looking back, and Alex tried hard to hide the way she winced, pressing the side of her arm against her own breast and beneath the desk, he saw she crossed her legs

Her screams continued, her back arched as though she were trying to escape from something… and she was suddenly slammed back against top of the altar as if something heavy had landed on her.

“Please, no!” She turned her head toward the impassive man watching, standing close. He reached out a hand to the injury on her breast and passed his fingers over the punctures. “Please… please… NO!!”

The way she began to move was unmistakable and her screams, higher and more frantic as the moments passed…

Monica turned her head to look in his direction. He looked away from the view screen, raising his intense brown eyes to meet hers. Her eyes flicked in the direction of the remote he held in his hand and then back to meet his. After only a moment he looked back in the direction of the screen.

She started to have difficulty in drawing breath, and between crying out, clearly in agony was sobbing alternately for her mother and for God.

A chair scraped against the floor of the briefing room and from the corner of his eye he saw Monica walk as quickly as she could without running toward the door. He sighed, and raised the remote, hitting the mute button to kill the sound. She stopped, and turned again, but did not raise her eyes to the screen.

His own eyes fell on the one member of the team seemingly unaffected by the gruesome images presented on the tape. Jake.

The video dissolved into snow and he stood up from where he had been leaning against the side of a bench. He had not much relished even having to hear the tape again. He’d already seen it and the first time had been more than enough.

“Makes compulsive viewing, don’t you think?” he said, not really asking a question. His voice showed his own distaste for the subject matter.

“What the hell was that?” Jake asked, scepticism in the tone of his question. “Please don’t tell me we’re getting involved in this shit.”

Donovan turned his head slowly to regard the wiry little member of his team steadily for a moment and asked, “What do you make of it Cody?”

He switched his gazed to the team’s technical expert.

“The tape?” Cody shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well without getting a better look at it I wouldn’t like to say too much but…”

He broke off and caught the small packet that Donovan had taken from the desk and tossed in his direction. The red hatches on the evidence bag providing a brief flash of colour in the otherwise darkened room.

“Look, they make this kind of crap all the time out west.” Jake sighed, “It doesn’t take a genius to…”

“Not with that kind of quality,” Cody argued. “Not effects like that… not even with a computer. Look at Blair Witch…”

“Jesus, not you too?” Jake stood up, “Listen Donovan, I know it’s that time of year and all, but I have better things to do with my evening than hang around here…”

He had already started walking away when the unmistakeable sound of a slide projector springing to life stopped him.

“Nikki Weston, twenty-three year old daughter of Senator Elizabeth Weston. Three months ago she was first approached by recruiters from the “Order of Law,” an extremely severe, metaphysical organisation operating out of Chicago,” Jake sighed as he was speaking and had turned to continue walking. Almost without pause in his briefing, and placing file folders in front of his team members and the two empty seats at the table, Donovan said, “Sit down, Jake.

“According to their own literature they follow Akkadian mythology which speaks of a race of superior beings known as the Irîn, whose return will empower those faithful to the organisation…”

“Cult, Donovan.” Monica took her place before Jake did. “The word you’re looking for is Cult.”

“No,” Donovan shook his head. “I deliberately didn’t use the word.”

“Why not?” Jake flicked open the cover of the file, leaning over the back of his chair, but, he noticed, making no effort to sit down. “Because it takes it out of our jurisdiction?”

“Too sensitive,” he answered, adding, “Sit down. The Justice department was very clear on not wanting to embarrass the senator by using emotive words.”

“Oh, come on, this is such a load of crap,” Jake threw himself into the chair, flipping the file closed. “She needs an Exit Team, not…”

“We’re it.” He pressed the button to advance to the next slide… a facsimile of a note, written in copper plate handwriting.

October 31st, the making of a woman.

“The note came with the tape, no prints except the girl’s. Handwriting is the girl’s too.”

“Duress?” Monica opened the file and took out the photograph of the note.

“No,” he answered almost softly.

“Guess the girl hasn’t seen the home video then,” Alex snapped sarcastically, still making no move for the file.

“Was she already trying to get the daughter out?” Monica put down the photograph and looked up at him. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” he said again, “Wasn’t even thinking about it until she got the tape. Said that Nikki was old enough to know her own mind and was happy enough…”

“Unquote,” Alex muttered, glancing at Jake.

“Then why?” Cody asked.

“This man,” Donovan advanced the slides again. A shot of a well dressed man, perfect image of an Armani clad business man appeared on the screen. His light brown hair was neatly tailored, well away from the collar of his overcoat. He was caught in the moment of turning, his gloved hand holding an umbrella as he showed another figure into the back of a large dark car. “Saul Grantham, handles all of the Order’s business affairs and may be in a position of authority within the Order itself, maybe even a front for the Order’s Head. At first the Senator believed it was something to do with legal action still pending against one of the Order’s affiliate companies, but they settled out of court two days ago… so the motive is still unknown.”

“And the girl is where exactly?” Jake shook his head as though he couldn’t believe he was asking the question.

“The Order of Law has chapters in Los Angeles, Chicago, Albion – New York State and New York City.”

“And let me guess, she could be in any one of those four.” Alex stood up and moved to the back of Jake’s chair. “I’m sorry Donovan, but I’m with Jake on this one. It’s not our party. Give it back to Exit and let’s go out Trick or Treating with the kids.”

“Why’d you cross your legs, Alex?” he asked softly, but fixing her with an uncompromising look until she shifted uncomfortably and took her seat again.

“Seems to me like we got an awful lot of questions though,” Cody piped up. It sounded as though he was trying to break the tension in the room.

“Yeah like, who, where, why and how…”

“The where, is New York City,” A new voice – tired, afraid and female – startled the whole team and as one, the agents drew weapons and pointed them in her direction.

She was small. Her startled eyes showed green and her shoulder length, brown hair was plastered to the side of her face, soaked, as was the shapeless dark blue dress she wore. She raised her hands fearfully.

“And why… because he wants me back?”

**

“Clasp your hands behind your head and face the wall.”

A man and a woman moved toward her. The man – she risked glancing at him – was tall, imposing. His short dark hair and goatee beard accented his deep eyes and added to the brooding look that would not have been out of place in the Order. She started to turn as he had instructed her, placing her hands behind her head, but she turned her head to watch the woman coming toward her.

She was smaller, softer, her golden brown hair framing a chameleon like triangular face. She had eyes that could have been kind, but glowered at her, hard and cold.

Cold… the thought of it reminded her how wet and cold she was. She shivered as the cuffs closed round her wrist and warm strong hands brought her hands down behind her back while the woman searched for concealed weapons.

Concealed… yeah right! Conceal anything in the dress she was wearing, and it would be a miracle.

“She’s clean,” the woman said quietly, and she was suddenly turned to face the man. Reflexively she dropped her eyes to the ground.

“Who are you?” he asked. “And how did you get in here?”

“My name is Rebecca Palmer and I…” she faltered. How did she get there… in fact, where was she?

“Look at me,” he lifted her chin, not roughly, but it startled her. She flicked her eyes up to his face, hesitantly.

“I don’t know where I am… or how I got here,” she confessed quietly. “Just that I’m here.”

“Not good enough,” the woman beside her snapped. The man let go of her and looked at the woman and frowned.

“I’ve been wandering,” she said, the trembling in her body increased and she looked down again. “Hiding… since I got out, they’ve been looking for me. I was cold…”

“Not surprised,” the golden haired woman stepped closer to the brooding man and standing on her toes and – Rebecca gasped – holding lightly to his arm whispered, “She’s not wearing anything under that, and it’s like tissue.”

She shivered…

The burning ache had spread from her wrist and ankles, her breathing shallow and rapid. She was SO tired… perhaps if she could just lie down. Hot, she felt so hot…

It was the chill that woke her, and the insistent fall of rain on her forehead. She sat up, shivering. Where to go… where could she go? Nicola… her friend… perhaps her mother would help.

“… but when I got there I couldn’t get near her for the police and FBI. I hid in the back of one of the cars. I was cold…” she added fearfully, as though that simple admission should explain everything.

“And no-one spotted her?” A new voice broke in on the extent of her small world, occupied only by the other woman and the man before her. She turned her head to look and instantly flicked her eyes away, cringing as though she had done something terrible. “I don’t think so.”

“Give it a rest, Jake.” Another woman… overwhelmed, she swayed, and then recoiled as the man caught her arm. She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the inevitable blow.

It didn’t come.

Cautiously she opened her eyes again as the man moved her forward, away from the wall and reached behind her, turning her slightly. He released the cuffs and as she carefully watched the ground at his feet called her name.

“Miss Palmer?”

He was holding his jacket, which – her eyes only reaching his chest when she looked up – he slipped around her shoulders. It was warm from the heat of his body, and as he pulled it closed around her she caught the hint of a scent, spicy and inviting.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down again.

“This man,” he gestured toward the screen by a table at the other end of the room.

“Saul Grantham…” she looked up and identified the face of one of the men responsible for her torment with a shudder. She felt challenging glances being exchanged across the room before her suspicions were confirmed as the other man spoke.

“She probably heard you.”

“Head of House in NYC, Second only to Mr Denzyl himself,” she continued.

“Denzyl?” the tall man asked. He started to lead her toward the table.

“Amasiah Denzyl,” she said. “He rules the Order. His family is descended from the Irîn. It’s how he’s able to contact them. It’s why he tried to raise them, he…”

“Bullshit!” the one called Jake interrupted as she was steered into one of the vacant seats. The tall man glanced his way and then reached for a small control on the top of the table.

She heard the sound of the something mechanical and then she was asked, “Is this him?”

She looked up at the screen again, and closed her eyes tightly. She didn’t need to see the slide to picture the face. In her mind she saw the strong jaw line, the full lips and the white of his teeth. He had a Roman nose that sat on his face in just the way to instil an air of confidence that he had in his appearance. His almost blonde hair was cut neatly and styled to keep it from his face. He could have been a movie star and thousands would have loved him.

But his eyes… Blue steel to match his temper. Harsh and cold to match the way he dealt with the people beneath him… shining predatorily.

“Yes,” she breathed fearfully, as thought she thought he might hear her betrayal of him. She glanced up at the slide again. “We were at the Order House in Iraq, before he found them… before the ascension…”

She almost screamed as the chair she sat in was swung away from the screen. The tall man crouched down, coming suddenly into the frame of her view. Somehow she could not look away, even though she feared to anger him by looking at him.

“Rebecca, we need your help,” he said and snapped his fingers toward the table. Someone handed him a photograph which he brought before her face. “She needs your help. I will personally give you my word that you will be protected every step of the way. But right now, we need to know everything you know about that man and his organisation.”

She reached out a hand to brush her fingertips over the photograph, before looking up, she nodded.

**

“He has finally lost it!” Jake snapped, looking up from the file as they each went about their assigned tasks.

“He’s trying to save a life, Jake,” Monica answered putting down her pen and taking a break from the profile she was writing. “What is your problem?”

“Her,” he answered. “She’s the problem. She just shows up out of the blue, right when we need a break and he just accepts her. It’s too convenient… it isn’t right.”

“Look, you know as well as we all do, in this game you have to take the breaks as they come. How many times have you taken a risk on a hunch, hmmm?” Cody asked, looking up from the computer where he was going through the tape frame by frame.

“That’s not the point,” he said.

“No, I’d say that was exactly the point,” Monica challenged. “You can’t stand not to be the one walking the wire…”

“Quit psychoanalysing me,” he said, irritated. “I just have a bad feeling about the whole damn shooting match.”

“With any luck it won’t be a shooting match,” Alex purred, bringing a tray with coffee for all of them. It was going to be a long night.

**

“Feeling better?” he set the cup in front of her on the table in the safe-house main room and took a sip of his own coffee.

Better? She felt more human than she had in years. She had showered, eaten a decent hot meal and the room was warm.

“Thank you, yes,” she said softly and pulled the soft towelling robe more snugly around her shoulders. It reached to her knees, smothered her really, as did the shirt he’d given her to wear – one of his, she surmised, since he’d taken it from his hold all. “Agent Donovan?”

“Frank,” he came to perch on the side of the table.

“That man you have working with you…”

“Which one?” he asked.

“Straight hair.”

“Jake?”

“Mmm,” she confirmed. “I know him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen him before,” she said. “A while ago now, it’s why I didn’t remember straight away. There was a raid on the House. I was in Los Angeles then. He was one of the agents that came in looking for the children that M… that Amasiah had taken.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded and he swore softly then added, “Tell me.”

“It must have been five, maybe six years ago,” she began, looking at her fingers as she started the story. “One of Amasiah’s wives – she got out, ran to her ex-boyfriend. Amasiah didn’t like it and took the man’s children… little boy and a baby girl. There was supposed to be an exchange, the woman for the children, but – no offence – the FBI thought they knew better.”

**

He smiled, genuinely amused.

“None taken,” he said, looking down at her. She was still playing with her hands, and almost the whole of the time she’s been around him she had never once looked up at him.   “Go on.”

“It was supposed to have been a co-ordinated strike I think, but,” she shrugged, “we got tipped off, and the men of the Order had time to arm themselves. There was a fight, two agents were shot, and Mr James, the head of the House there was killed. One of the agents died and your friend… he was upset, more so than if it was just a fellow officer, you know?”

He nodded, sighing. Damn the man, why was it always a competition with him? “You saw all this?”

“They arrested all of us,” she said, and added, “They wanted the children.”

“Anything else I should know?”

They moved to the couch, to be more comfortable as she told him the whole sorry story of what had happened back then and of her life in the order. He sensed an incredible sadness in her. A desire to have been as courageous as Melanie, or Peppy – the wife she said had run from the Order – to have tried to leave long before she evidently had. He tried to question her on that too, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him any more than she had already said and after telling the tale she had gone to bed, exhausted.

He sat on the couch, head back trying to catch a hold of himself. He was in danger of becoming unprofessional over this. She was vulnerable, sure, but he’d seen vulnerable and lost before and it had never grabbed him like this. It felt like she was pulling at parts of him that other people never got to see.

And Jake… why hadn’t he said something right at the beginning? Still… it helped to explain why he was being so difficult when Donovan had begun to believe that things were settling down between them. It did however leave him with another problem. If Rebecca had recognised him, then so would the others, no matter how well disguised. He’d have to go UC himself.

But he wasn’t about to go into a place like that without at least reading the official report on what had gone wrong last time. He got up from the couch and plugged in the laptop computer… logging in to the FBI database to try and see for himself.

Two hours? four…? He had no idea how long he’d been trying to track down the report and autopsy data and then reading it after it had been couriered to him – and looking at some of the most distasteful photographs he had ever seen in his life, that looked like something out of Ridley Scott’s “Aliens” movies than real life – before the noise registered… a soft whining noise, like an injured animal. It was coming from the bedroom.

Hoping to God she was just having a nightmare, he took his gun from the holster slung under his arm, released the safety and made his way across the room to the door.

He paused, taking a deep breath before reaching for the handle, opening the door and pushing it all the way back against the wall behind, swinging into the room, weapon leading, first one way and then the other.

The noise startled her awake with a tiny little scream, but thankfully the room was empty but for the two of them. He crossed quickly to the side of the bed and clicked on the bedside lamp. She was crying… huge tears that rolled down her cheeks as though her heart were broken. He reached for her and she flinched away.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry,” he murmured gently as he holstered his weapon, and tried again. This time when he reached for her she did not pull away, but allowed him to ease her into the warmth of his comforting embrace. Nothing more… just to offer comfort. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”

“He was here,” she wept against his shoulder. “Gloating over me… telling me I’d never get away from him…”

She trembled against him, her arms twitched as though she wanted to hold him, to take the comfort he was offering but daren’t.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, winding his fingers into her hair, “You can hold me.”

She tried, her hands shaking against his sides, but the gun holster was in the way. He let go of her for long enough to unfasten the buckle and shrug his way out of it, before gathering her up again, this time sliding her arms around him with the way he reached for her. He held her tightly for a long time, running soft caresses through her hair.

“A woman should never touch a man,” she whispered, turning her head toward his neck. “Unless she is told, or her hand placed on his body.”

He sighed and cradled her head more tenderly against his shoulder. “Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

He felt her nod, “Without instruction or permission…”

“I’m not one of them,” he whispered.

Aching knots of concern and desire tightened in his chest – like she was tugging at that place inside again, where Frank Donovan the man rested – waiting to be touched.

“I know,” she said, equally quietly as the fingers in her hair eased her head away from his shoulder and he looked straight into her eyes, captured them before she could even try to look away.

After a moment his eyes looked down to her lips, then he closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth against hers in a kiss that melted the both of them as she almost desperately responded, opening her lips to the questing of his tongue and tightening her arms around him.

**

His hands pushed up the shirt he’d given her, sliding hotly over her skin to cup her breasts in his large hands as she shook with need and struggled, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt to get it open… to be able to run her own hands over his muscled chest.

She hesitated as he pushed her gently back against the bed and bend his head to press the wet circles of his lips against her already erect nipples. She had never before needed physical love the way she did in that moment and she ran her hands over his shoulders to push back the shirt.

**

He paused to take off his shirt, watching as her fingers traced the scar on his side, her eyes following the touch of her fingers over his body. She must have felt him watching her, because she looked up at him and smiled.

“Gunshot,” he explained huskily. “Occupational hazard.”

“Is this an occupational hazard too,” she murmured.

“No,” he said. “Rebecca, believe me it isn’t, you…”

“Ssshhh,” she pressed a finger against his lips, and removed it a moment later to run her hand over his shoulder and down his spine. He growled softly at her touch, her fingers touching exactly where he was most sensitive, as though she knew everything about him.

“I need this,” she whispered. “I need you.”

**

He kissed her again at her quiet confession. He lay down to join her on the bed, passing another caress over her breast and sliding lower to touch that need expressed in the liquid softness between her legs.

She moaned as his fingers glided into her centre, and reached one handed to unfasten his belt, to unfasten his pants and then cup his risen heat in her hand, raking the nails of her other hand down his back.

With his help she freed him from the rest of his clothes, pressing him back against the bed as she straddled him. His moan matched hers as she sank down onto him, his fingers gliding down her back to cup her buttocks as she sheathed him completely.

She rocked against him, hard and hot inside her… open to him as he was to her and he drew her down against him to meet the kiss of passion that matched their shared need for fulfilment.

**

He rolled them so that he was over her, so that he could enter her again, lost in the feeling of the trembling of her muscles against him as he possessed her body, giving even as she too gave to him.

She moaned and raised her knees to wrap her legs around him and pull him deeper, matching his passion and the intensity of his lovemaking with her own. She knew him, moved with him almost as if she anticipated his every more, his every thought, like she was inside his head.

And with him, her muscles squeezing against the rhythm of the pulse of his climax, she milked him with her own. He growled his sweet agony against her neck as she called out for him, before sinking down to press his weight against hers, the both of them bathed in a sheen of sweat, their passion spent.

**

Weak sunlight filtered around the edges of the curtain and fell on his fluttering eyes. He rolled onto his side. His empty arms woke him, and for a moment he thought it had all been some kind of dream – the sweet passion, the shared need.

Relief poured through him as he opened his eyes to find her sitting in a nearby chair, staring blankly into space, wrapped in the counterpane from the bed. Relief became concern as she did not answer when he called her name. He reached for his shorts and pulled them on, before padding across to crouch in front of her.

“Rebecca, what’s wrong?” he caressed her legs as he spoke and this time she looked at him and smiled faintly… sad and afraid.

“This is,” she answered. “We are.”

She reached out a hand to caress the side of his face and he turned his head to kiss her hand.

“I’ll work it out.” he moved to sit on the arm of the chair and gathered her against him.

“Do you think you’ll get her out?” she asked after long moments, breaking the deep but gentle kiss he gave her.

“I’ll do everything I can,” he said.

“Only promise me you’ll be careful,” she craved.

**

“What the hell do you mean, I’m out of it!” Alex grabbed his shoulder and spun him around from where he was looking at the tiny button camera that Cody was showing him and the equally as tiny earphone for his ear.

“Just what I say, Alex,” he answered. “There is no way I’m taking you into a place that treats women like that.”

“You’re taking…?   What about Jake?” she sounded angry and surprised.

“Jake’s not going in.”

“What?” Jake snapped. Then he laughed. “Man have you got it bad!”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Frank,” Monica said quietly, “But I think you need to take a moment. Step a way a fraction and gain a measure of perspective.”

“Don’t!” he snapped and held up a hand, two fingers together and pointing in her direction. “I don’t need this. In just a days time a twenty-three year old woman is going to be subjected to exactly what you saw on the tape and then to the rest that you didn’t see.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, uncomfortable. Cody sighed and looked back at his computer screen. “Cody?”

He sighed again, and met Donovan’s eye. Donovan shrugged. “There’s a scene on the original tape Frank gave me that you guys didn’t get to see.”

“Which is?” Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, Gee boss thanks for trusting us.”

“It was never a matter of trust,” he said.

“Well what then?” Jake questioned in frustration. “She sure has you by the short hair.” As he started to walk away, Jake followed, calling after him, “You know she’s playing you, right? She’s playing you and you can’t see it!”

Jake’s words stung and he slammed the door behind him. He couldn’t explain the way he felt and that bothered him. He didn’t know what had happened the night before for him to lose control in the way he did and give in to the feelings, but he was glad that he had… and that bothered him too. He sighed as the door opened and closed behind him, in anger than matched his own. He knew without turning who it would be.

“What bothers you more, Jake? The case itself or the fact that you’re not the one going UC on this?” he snapped without turning or stopping walking. “Why are you behaving as if I’m such a threat to you?”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, Frank!”

“You want to talk about trust?” this time Donovan did turn, and pointed a finger squarely in the chest of the man behind him. “Why not tell me that you knew about these people…? About what happened in ninety-six?”

Jake stopped dead, and actually did him the favour of looking at least a little contrite.

“It’s not that I don’t want you going in Jake. You think I want to be the one playing the devil incarnate. Believe me if I thought you could get away with it you would, just that you can’t.”

“She recognised me?” Jake asked more quietly.

He nodded, “And if she did, you can be damn sure that other will too. What happened, Jake? Why so ashamed?”

“I had Freer’s back,” he said softly. “They thought it was dangerous enough to send us in threes…”

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                                                 What To Believe - continued