"What I am trying to say is hard to tell and hard to understand ...unless, unless... you have been yourself at the edge of the Deep Canyon and have come back unharmed. Maybe it all depends on something within yourself -- whether you are trying to see the Watersnake or the sacred Cornflower, whether you go out to meet death or to Seek Life." - Elder of the San Juan Pueblo
Special Agent Kennedy Ryan clumsily shifted the copies and files from one hand to another while reaching for the knob on her office door, thinking back to her office in the X-files division. "There were advantages to sharing your office with a copy machine." she mumbled. The door opened and the smell of fresh paint stung her nose. The maintenance staff had finally gotten to painting the offices right about the time the agents had finally settled. Ah, the aroma of advancement, she thought, smiling to herself. She quickly moved in and dropped the armful of papers on her desk. Looking down at the pile, the smile fell from her face ... and the price of advancement.
She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair and then closed her eyes. Rubbing her neck, she tilted her head trying to relieve the stiffness. It was early for her. She had been in the office with the rest of the gang until the wee hours of the morning and, after all the others had left, had fallen asleep on her office couch. Then found herself waking up at five a.m. to fumes and a headache and, of course, to all this copying.
"Looks like you've hit the big time, Ken." a husky voice said from behind her.
Kennedy whipped around to see a large man spread out along the couch. His feet and head propped up comfortably on opposite arm rests. Even in the shadows she could make out his sculptured features and five o'clock shadow.
"Jeez, West, you scared me half to death! What the hell are you doing here?" she said, trying to gain composure and look natural. It wasn't just the way West had surprised her that put her immediately on edge, but also the uncertainty his presence meant.
West had been a good friend, but that friendship had changed of late. Changed to a strained familiarity but without a name or category. It wasn't just West... Kennedy had felt uneasy and awkward interacting with any of the old crew since the spilt. It still wasn't clear why she and the others had made the cut to Special Ops while others hadn't... Michael and Abbe didn't say, and she didn't ask either. Kennedy had overheard Drami Johnson state the obvious only a week ago: "There is us and them, and that's all there is to it." West had tried to get past the chasm that separated the "us" and "them," by wishing them well and occasionally stopping by to say hello.
Looking at West sprawled across her couch in her fancy new office, a bit of guilt crept through her mind simply because she was good at her job and made the grade to Special Ops. Any of the old crew could have done the same, given perseverance, dedication and professionalism. And Kennedy knew that the brass looked down at West's somewhat unorthodox appearance and, knowing of his unorthodox methods, she could easily conclude the reasons for his exclusion.
"Just wanted to see how the you were adjusting to your new assignment," he said with a grin. Upon closer examination, Kennedy saw the grin was a forced one... and it set her on edge. Putting on a face of her own, Kennedy walked to the chair behind her desk and fell into it. "I'm... adjusting. Just a lot of paperwork and little sleep. Getting things set up was half the battle." She paused before continuing. She had to ask. It was the polite thing to do. "How are things in the other wing?" she said, nodding behind West.
"Actually that's what I came to talk to you about," he said as the grin slipped from his face and he turned to a sitting position. "But the fumes in here are getting to me. Mind if we take a quick walk outside?"
Looking down at her hands, Kennedy replied, "West, I am just swamped right now. How about a lunch date later this week. I'd love to catch up ... but there is just so much work here."
She wasn't lying. There was so much to do. They had been giving an extensive staff, but the new agents needed training. Not to mention all the paper work that had come with her new position. She could delegate the report for the "Dark Rising" case to Stillwater, after all he had solved it with little help from her. But she still wanted to hash some things out with him on that one. She sighed. It seemed lately, if she wasn't training someone, she was copying, typing or making phone calls.
West looked at Kennedy. His stare was intense, and she felt an uneasy chill run down her spine. "Ken, I've got to talk to you. It's very important and I just can't do it here ... with the fumes." His voice had a strange, controlled quality.
She knew that look from experience: He wouldn't give up until he got what he came for. Reluctantly she stood. "Okay. But just for a couple of minutes. I really have a ton of work to do."
*****
It was a very warm morning for February and the walk was actually a pleasant break. She got a chance to stretch her legs and work out the kinks in her back. They walked down to the reflecting pool and sat down on an empty bench. Kennedy watched as a jogger passed behind them. West had talked a little about how the changes had affected the other X-files agents. The conversation was frank and helped shorten the distance that had been between them. When the two sat down, though, West's face dropped its levity and took on a very serious look.
"Ken, there is something I need to tell you. Ashka and Tex are dead." As he said the words, he pulled a manila folder from under his trench and handed it to her.
Kennedy looked at him in disbelief. The blunt announcement hung in the air. Special Agent Ashka Terrance had worked with her on several cases including the infamous "Tower case." She was extremely intelligent and a perceptive agent. Ashka had been one of the original agents taken in when the division started to expand beyond Mulder and Scully. She had also been very close to West, a relationship that was rumored to be "more than friends." And Tex Indus had always been a bit of a pain, constantly asking for help with crossword puzzles while the rest of the agents wrestled with clues to far more important puzzles. But he was just a kid. Nearly the same age, in spirit, as Jon.
Shaking her head, she managed to ask, "How ... when ...?"
West watched her expression as if measuring it. He stared at her as she fumbled her words and fought past the shock and sorrow. "It happened last night. In Albuquerque." He looked toward the pool, then continued. "They were on assignment. A strange lead on Mulder and Scully's disappearance. We got a bouquet of flowers two days ago with an anonymous card included -- it read: 'Sorry about your loss. I think your SACs may have been out-Foxxed. B.'
"We traced the purchase back to a florist based out of New Mexico. They were sent ahead.... you know the drill. If they found anything we would send backup. They never checked in. They were found by Airport security in their rental car."
The expression on his face turned into one of contempt and harnessed fury. Turning back toward Kennedy, he added, "They'd been strangled. Very professional and very precise. Not one damn piece of forensic evidence. The car was clean. Absolutely clean."
"Dear God," Kennedy whispered.
His face turned red and a sneer spread across it. "The case was taken away from us last night," he said harshly. "After knocking some heads together I found out your 'new division' will be taking over this morning." Nodding back toward the Hoover Building, the sun's rays beginning to peak above gray walls, he added, "They're probably getting wake up calls as we speak."
"We'd better get back," she stammered, starting to rise, but West grabbed her arm.
"Sit down. There is one last thing you need to know," he said, pulling her back to the bench. His tight grip hurt her arm. "I wasn't exactly happy about the case being ripped away from us. They were our people."
The way 'our' sprayed through his clenched teeth made her realize that things were truly different between the two divisions now. She swallowed hard, listening carefully.
"I wasn't ready to hand over this case so easily, and neither was Drami. So we stayed up all night working on computer records and paper copies sent to us by the florist. There was a ton to go through, but it's all we had left to go on."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I found the receipt. It was paid for by credit card. Nobody has seen this but me ... and now you." He passed the paper to Kennedy.
Kennedy unfolded the sheet of paper. Looking down, she read the name on the charge receipt aloud: "Kennedy M. Ryan."
She looked up at West, extremely confused. "I don't get it..." she said, shaking her head.
"Neither do I." West said, still studying her face.
"You don't think that I ... West, you can't possibly think ...." Her mind was reeling, trying to grasp the meaning ... trying to understand.
"No, Ken, I don't, but someone sure wants to make it look that way. The order was placed by phone. The call could have been made from anywhere," he said. "I don't know how long you'll be able to keep a lid on this. The stuff we were going through last night were only copies. The originals are kept in New Mexico. It won't be long before the 'new division' dispatches one of its elite out to check it out," he said with obvious sarcasm.
"I can catch a flight to New Mexico in an hour and try slowing them down. But ..." he said, grabbing both her arms and looking her straight in the eyes, "you help us with this one Ken. I want the guy who did this to Ashka, and there is an obvious tie to you ..."
"But who ...?" she said, trying to get a hold of herself.
"That's what you need to figure out. And when you do, you tell me." He released her arms. "Understand?"
She nodded dumbly and stared down at the paper in her lap.
A strange smile spread across his face. "Good. I knew we could work this out. Now, who do you think would set you up like this?" he asked, dropping his arms.
"I don't know ..." Her eyes moved as she searched her mind. "It could be the same men who killed Brad, but I don't know why they would kill Tex and Ashka. They weren't investigating any type of bank fraud were they?"
"No, they weren't on any case. That's why they were sent ahead. Who's Brad? ... Oh yeah, your partner." He had heard the stories and the rumors surrounding Brad's suicide and how Kennedy had done everything in her power to try and prove it was a murder rather than suicide. She must of gotten close, because it wasn't long after that she had been transferred to the basement; she still had a copy of the file. "Well, what information do you have on them?" he said finally.
"Very little. It's at home." she said slowly, regaining a bit control. "But I can fax you what I've got when you get to New Mexico... and I'll fax any other possibilities I come up with in the time it takes you to fly there."
He smiled. "That's a girl," he said as he stood. "I'll call you as soon as I land. Can you make it back to HQ on your own?"
She nodded. God, she hated it when he called her girl.
Her mind raced with ideas and possibilities. She placed the credit card receipt into the file and tucked the folder under her arm. She was recovering her footing.
"I'll call your office as soon as I land." With that, he turned and walked briskly away.
Kennedy watched after him. Then she realized what had transpired. "You help us with this one, Ken. The words finally hit her."
Like hell! she thought and turned toward the office.
*****
Kennedy's mind raced as she opened the door to her office and slipped in. The bullpen was still dark when she got back from her unsettling meeting with West. She closed the door and leaned against it closing her eyes. Dear God, she thought, get control. Think clearly. Don't overreact.
She opened the file West had given her and pulled out the copy of the charge slip. She quickly walked to her desk opened the drawer and removed her wallet. Sitting down at her desk and opening up the wallet, she removed her Master Card and FBI issued American Express. After comparing the numbers from the slip, she found that neither was a match
. Letting out a sigh, she pulled out the phone book and dialed up the DC credit bureau. After answering all the questions to the clerk's satisfaction, she requested her credit report faxed, hung up the phone, and made her way down the hall to the fax machine. She shook her head as she walked and mumbled, "This is impossible."
"What's impossible?" a voice croaked from a side office.
Startled, she turned and squinted into the dark office. "Vic? What are you doing here? I thought I was the only one in."
Vic Maxiss flipped on his desk lamp and stretched his arms above his head. "I put my head down to rest my eyes late last night, and I must have fallen asleep at my desk."
He tilted his head to stretch his stiff neck. The motion revealed a paper clip stuck to the side of his face. Kennedy smiled.
"What's so funny?"
Kennedy pointed to the side of his face. "You should really clear your desk before doing that."
Vic reached up questioningly and brushed the clip from his face. "Yes, yes I should." He smiled. "So what's impossible?"
Kennedy's face faltered for a brief instant and then she made a face. "Just ... impossible to work in that office with the paint fumes."
"Yeah pretty overwhelming. You're welcome to join me in here till it airs out. My office is your office " he said with a grin and a dramatic arm sweeping motion.
"Been there, done that." she said with a smile. "Thanks anyway." With a little wave, she turned back down the hall. All the time hoping to God he hadn't heard West in here earlier. She wasn't ready to answer any questions just yet.
The report was just being sent. She grabbed each sheet as it fell from the machine. There were eight pages in all. She scanned them as she walked back down the hall. The address listed at the top of the page was her Virginia condo. Every thing looked normal.
Passing Vic's office again, she pulled the papers close to her chest.
"How 'bout breakfast, then?" he asked. "I'll even treat. I think I still owe you one." Vic walked out of his office adjusting his tie and wiping the arms of his jacket.
"Not hungry, but thanks anyway" she said, keeping the papers tight to her chest.
Looking at her grip on the fax, Vic asked "What's that?"
"Personal." she said simply as they reached her office door. She opened it, pausing to add, "Have a good breakfast."
Looking at Vic, she could see he was considering whether to push for more information. If her carriage hadn't let him know something was wrong, the 'personal' reply certainly had. Kennedy was about the most open and frank person in the office. Like Mulder, her fall from grace had been in the rumor mill far too long to be called secret, and there was little else she kept to herself.
She had to distract him, so she added, "Could you pick me up a cup of coffee on your way back? I don't have the energy to make a fresh pot and it will be a good hour before anyone else comes in."
He looked at her for a long second, then said, "Sure, I'll bring back a bagel, too and we can have a picnic at my desk. It'll be like old times. No fumes." He smiled and then turned toward the door.
Kennedy opened to the door to her office. Great poker face, Ryan, she said to herself after she had closed the door behind her. She didn't have much time to figure out what to do. It wouldn't take Vic long, and the others would be here soon, too. She sat down and reviewed the fax.
According to the sheets in front of her, she now had seven credit cards. Seven? They had all been issued in the last three months. Only two of them she herself had actually applied for: her Master Card and a JC Penney store card. Now, she apparently had two gas cards, a personal American Express, Visa and Discover. They were all had very generous limits, and all had at least $400.00 charged on them. The payments had been made on time, and other then the fact she had never applied for them, they looked very normal.
She scanned the account numbers and matched the Visa number to the one on the slip West had given her. "Damn," she whispered under her breath. "What now?" she wondered, staring at the evidence before her.
The phone at her elbow rang. Kennedy flinched and then shook her head at her jumpiness. She picked up the phone, "This is Agent Ryan."
Sally's familiar, albeit sleepy morning voice rang through the phone. "Agent Ryan, there is a delivery here at the front desk for you."
"A delivery?" Kennedy asked. "What kind of delivery?"
"Ummm ... a special one I'd say," giggled Sally.
Kennedy rolled her eyes, sighing. "Thanks, I'll be right up." She hung up the receiver and then placed all her fax sheets in the file before her, and put the entire file in her top drawer. She uncharacteristically locked the drawer, dropping the key in the inside breast pocket of her suit before heading upstairs.
As she approached Sally's reception desk, her eyes grew huge. She could hear Sally giggling, but she was obscured from view by a huge bunch of two dozen or so helium balloons and ribbons.
"Agent Ryan, they are so beautiful. Is it your birthday?"
Still looking, open mouthed, at the balloons, Kennedy managed to say, "Umm ... uh ... no, it's not. Are all these for me?"
Sally's head poked out from the display. "Yep. I just signed for them. They are certainly cheery. Someone special must have sent them," she said, looking at Kennedy. Sally was a fairly new receptionist, but she had already proven her detective skills, and was well graced in all the arts of gossip.
"Must have," Kennedy agreed, taking the fist full of ribbon and quickly retreating downstairs. Wondering who sent them, she thanked God it was early and no one was on the stairs. Then she glanced at the card... it was still sealed.
She reached her office and with some difficulty, she pushed the bunch through the door. Dropping into her chair, she ripped the card open and read it.
Agent Ryan,
I meant to send these to you in the hospital, but I got tied up with a railroad deal.
No pun intended.
So sorry to hear about your recent losses.
All my love.
B.
Swallowing hard, she unlocked her top drawer and pulled out the file. Paging through the sheets,
she found the Xerox copy of the card from the flowers the other X-Files division had received.
They both had the FTD Nationwide Delivery symbol at the corner and Felly's Flowers -- 1030
Wisconsin Ave - Washington DC - 1-800-555-7896 - Voted DC Area's Favorite Florist -- printed
in an elegant script across the bottom.
She picked up the phone and dialed the toll-free number. A cheery voice, much too enthusiastic for this early, greeted her. Kennedy gritted her teeth, and in the nicest voice she could muster said, "My name is Kennedy Ryan. I just received a bunch of balloons from your store. They are absolutely fabulous, but there wasn't a card included. I was wondering if I could find out who sent them?"
The girl put her on hold and returned a couple of minutes later.
"Umm ... the charge slip wasn't sent ... says the buyer would like to remain anonymous." She then added a half hearted, "Sorry."
"Could you tell me where the order was placed?" Kennedy forced a laugh, before saying, "I just hate this secret admirer stuff."
The girl laughed on the other end. "Yeah, I understand ... umm ... looks like it was placed by phone at a FTD site in Arkansas. Does that help?"
"Yes ... Yes, it does. Could you tell me when the order was placed?" she asked.
"Well it was called to us yesterday at noon, but I don't know when the order was placed in Arkansas."
Kennedy thanked the girl and hung up. She looked down at the card again. She puzzled over the words. This person not only knew about Mulder and Scully's disappearance, but also knew about her hospitalization. That had been nearly three months ago. But there were times it felt like yesterday... the case still fresh in her memory.
She had been abducted during an investigation and seriously injured, physically, mentally and emotionally. It was amazing that she had been allowed to live at all; her abductor had made it clear that he rarely left survivors in his wake. It was thought he was responsible for several mass deaths in recent years. Some had even pegged him as the missing man in the Oklahoma bombing. Kennedy had started her own personal file on him her first day back from medical leave.
Then a thought struck her with pure terror. She leaned over and opened her file cabinet and pulled out the file.
She leafed through the pages of official FBI reports and newspaper articles until she found the one she was looking for. She had gotten it from a friend upstairs working on the Oklahoma case. It was a Washington Post article on a train that had went off a bridge and into a river bed. Five people had died and many more injured. Written in red magic marker across the top was a simple, two-word question: "Your guy?"
The article had reported two witnesses seeing a lone man on a hill overlooking the tracks moments before the train fell. The investigation of the site had revealed that some railroad ties had been pulled up purposely. The newspaper report took the angle of militia right wing activism, but none had yet taken credit. The article was dated about two months ago.
Her head started to pound. She flashed back in her mind to an empty warehouse. She could feel his hand touching her cheek and the pain as he slapped her. She closed her eyes as she remembered his breath on her face as he spoke to her from the shadows between the sane and the insane.
These images were the same ones that had haunted her dreams ... her nightmares ... for months. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the slight white scarred area around her wrists where she had been cuffed to the pole. She balled up her fist and slammed it down hard on her desk. "No more!" the words seeped out between her clenched teeth.
*****
Abigail Beck had just taken her coat off and was about to make her way to the coffee pot to start the morning's toxic brew, when she heard a bang from inside Kennedy's office.
"Ken, is that you?" she yelled from outside her office door. Boy, she was here early ... oh, unless she'd pulled an all-nighter and crashed in her office. That was probably it, Abbe rationalized. She herself had done it on many occasions, and knew that tell-tale sound of files thumping against the floor as the body adjusted to various cricks and bends, the mind shaking off the disorientation. That's what it is, she told herself. Then, laughing, she approached Kennedy's office. Time to tease.
"Let me guess ... you fell asleep here last night, right? That's the only reason you'd be here this early...." She opened the agent's office door and stared at her colleague. "Ken, are you okay?"
Kennedy looked up sharply at her. Her face expressed an emotion somewhere between anger and fear. Abbe had never seen it before ... and hoped never to see again. But then, rather quickly - too quickly, thought Abbe - her face changed to one of a child being caught doing something she shouldn't." I.. I stubbed my toe", she said with a weak grimace.
Abbe knew she was lying and was about to tell her so when her mind registered all of the balloons in the room. "What the hell.. " she muttered with another glance at the balloons, then back to Kennedy with a frown. "It's not your birthday, is it?" Abbe asked tentatively.
Kennedy smiled. Usually Manda took care of birthdays, anniversaries and other such celebrations. Even if knee-deep in the Everglades on a case, Manda would came up with the perfect card for everyone to sign. Kennedy knew that Abbe was thinking Manda had forgotten to remind her. Or worse that Manda had forgotten completely and that would disturb the natural order of things.
Kennedy thought fast and said, "No, they're from my brothers. Five years today they convinced me to quit smoking"
Relief passed over Abbe's face and then she flashed a rare smile. "That's great Ken! What did they do? Maybe we can try it on Michael."
Kennedy shot Abbe a yeah right, whatever look, trying not to look down at the article on her desk. Abbe shrugged as if to say, You never know. Then the phone in Abbe's office rang, and she hurried back to her office and picked up the receiver.
Kennedy quickly re-assembled the folder she had been leaned over trying desperately to shield with her body. She closed it and shoved it in the top drawer to the desk... then quickly locked the drawer, feeling the need for secrecy... but why? From who? Her friends? Her colleagues... Jesus, Kennedy, you really are spooked.
Then looking out her office door across the bullpen into Abbe's office, she caught sight of that very familiar concentrated look on the senior agent's face as she spoke into the phone. Why? she wondered to herself. Why hadn't she told her? And for that matter, why hadn't she told Vic? Kennedy had never kept anything back from either of them... ever. Over the past year, they all believed, perhaps a bit foolishly, that together they could protect each other from anything... so far, it was working. She knew each and every person in this division would put their lives on the line for another without a second thought. But none of them had looked into its eyes. She had. It made her sick to her stomach.
One of the large red balloons floated into her peripheral vision. It hung there, taunting her. Two agents were dead; she had that responsibility on her shoulders already. She couldn't and wouldn't let it happen again.
She watched Abbe hang up her phone and put on her suit jacket, forcing a simple smile that she hoped looked natural as Abbe walked across the bullpen and entered her office again. "That was Michael," she said, "On his cellular. He's just walking into the building... Skinner called him and asked that the four of us be in his office in - " she paused to look down at her watch "- in five minutes. Have you seen Vic this morning?"
"Umm... yeah. He just stepped out to get coffee." Then seeing Abbe's questioning look - Vic didn't drink coffee, only Pepsi in the morning - she added, "The coffee's for me. He should be right back. What does Skinner want?
"It sounded like a case to Michael, and..." But before she could finish her thought, Michael and Vic's voices erupted into the bullpen, as their in-depth conversation on who made the best bagels in the DC area, filled the basement rooms.
Kennedy got up, putting on her own jacket and smoothing the sleeves, pausing to adjust the cuffs to cover her wrists once more. "Maybe we should get up there... be early for a change?"
"Good idea," Abbe said, moving into the bullpen.
*****
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's office was, as usual, very warm. The only agent not noticeably affected by the heat was Michael; the others noticed it immediately, accustomed to the cool chill that hung in the basement. Skinner's face was unchanged as he greeted the agents and passed a case file to Michael O'Leary.
Michael glanced at it, scanning the contents, then handed it to Abbe, nodding as Skinner related the unsettling news of Indus and Terrence. His account was identical to West's... except for the evidence of the charge slip. There was also one other glaring detail, noted Kennedy.
Both X-files divisions had been told long ago that all case leads on Mulder and Scully's disappearance were to go through Skinner himself before being acted upon... understandable, considering the typical false leads and lost hopes. Apparently, however, the other division had disregarded this order, sending the two agents off into the field without authorization. To add insult to injury they had not immediately reported the deaths of the agents Indus and Terrance. Skinner took no efforts to hide his anger.
Kennedy could feel the perspiration around her collar as Skinner went into great detail, every inch of the report where West and Johnson had messed up, broken with procedure or just made a judgment error. For an instant, she frowned... It wasn't some sort of competition to find Mulder and Scully, for God's sake....
Skinner summed up the situation by adding, "And now the credit card reports sent to us from the florist are missing!" Kennedy flinched slightly as the A.D. slammed his copy of the report on the desk for added emphasis. Still standing, the A.D. put his hands to his hips, obviously exasperated. "At any rate, I don't expect there to be much left for you to investigate. The crime scene being tampered with as it stands, and with all of the other problems...." He paused. "I do want the credit card followed up on, although I doubt there will be anything there."
Skinner glanced out his window, then turned back, his gaze carefully moving over each of the Special Ops agents. He nodded to the file in Agent Beck's hand. "This guy was a pro and I doubt he left anything as simple as billing records to chance. Also, you won't be able to get any answers from Agent Johnson or West... they have been suspended pending a disciplinary hearing. Everything you need should be in that report. Any questions?"
Michael looked behind him at his co-workers questioningly and then back to Skinner, answering for the group, "No, sir. I think we got it all."
The four agents remained unusually quiet on the way down to the basement. As they opened the door to the offices, the morning chatter drifted into the hall... they entered. The looks on the four senior agents must have been alarming because the conversations dwindled and finally stopped.
Michael faced the group and asked everyone to take a seat at the conference table. He somberly informed them all of the deaths and quickly explained the circumstances around them. Then, asking Abbe to join him in his office for further discussion and planning, he walked away. The group started talking in hushed tones to one another.
Kennedy simply retreated to her office.
*****
"Would you people please stop asking me about those damn balloons!"
Kennedy turned around to face a shocked Manda. "And when where you in my office anyway?" she asks angrily.
Manda paled. After the bad news about Indus and Terrance, Manda was hoping there might be something positive to talk about that day; she had heard about the balloons from Sally, and it was the first Ken had been out of her office all morning. Manda had jumped at the opportunity to bring up the festive balloons she had seen earlier.
"When you were upstairs. I... I... was just watering your...."
"Well, don't! Stay the hell out of my office!" Kennedy said, her face red. She turned and brushed past Sam Viperstone and Vic. They stared after her, with mouths open, as Ken kicked her office door open and went inside.
Abbe, Michael and Vic exchanged looks, and then looked back to Kennedy's office. Abbe walked over to Manda, who still held the coffee pot just above Ken's mug, for quiet reassurances as Michael started to for Kennedy's office, intent on talking to the usually calm and friendly Kennedy Ryan.
"I got it..." Vic said softly to Michael, side-stepping the table and walking to her door. Michael nodded, gesturing toward the door.
The door was slightly ajar but, holding the knob carefully, Vic knocked anyway.
"Come in," Kennedy said.
Vic walked in and shut the door behind him. The office was nearly dark, except for the pale yellow light from her desk lamp. Kennedy had her back to the door, watching the balloons dance slowly back and forth as the air hit them from the vent in the ceiling above them. She turned her chair to face him, her face blank. "I'm sorry... I don't know what got into me. Is Manda okay?" Kennedy asked softly.
"Yeah, she's okay. But you owe her an apology," Vic said slipping into a chair. Then after a long pause, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Kennedy forced a smile. "It's just the fumes. Makes me crazy. I..." She broke off her words, looking at Vic's face... she knew he wasn't buying it. It was hopeless. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Then opening her eyes, she turned back at Vic. "Their deaths have really shook me up, Vic. More than I expected."
Vic said nothing, waiting for her to continue, his hands folded in his lap. Kennedy leaned forward in her chair. "It could have been anyone. It could have been you or Manda or..." she said, motioning toward the bullpen. Then looking back at Vic. "Or me."
"But it wasn't," Vic said matter of factly. There was a pause and then he said, "But that isn't the only thing bugging you. You had something on your mind before we even entered Skinner's office"
She was so tempted to come clean. To tell him everything. But that was not prudent. In fact, it was dangerous. "I'm dealing with some... personal issues right now." Her eyes flashed him a warning: Don't Push This.
He pretended not to notice. "Ken, whatever it is I can help. You just got to let me in..."
"Vic, there are somethings a person just has to deal with themselves," she interrupted. "And you, of all people, should understand that!" Her eyes were cold and her words fell like a rock.
Vic tilted his head slightly to one side and then stared back at Kennedy. He brought his hands up to the arm rest and pushed himself up. "You know you're right." He said very matter of factly, no malice and no facial expression. Then he leaned over Ken's desk as he added, "But when you need me, my office is right down the hall." With that he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Kennedy looked at the closed door, dumbstruck. Had she really expected anything different from him? No, she decided. Vic had always know how to work a room. Not unlike Michael, his cool head and measured expression had gotten him out of more than one tight spot. But Ken also knew he hadn't completely given up. He had just changed tactics.
*****
Vic walked down the hall toward his office, deep in thought. Until a slight grin crossed his face. He passed right by his office and walked into the copy room, shutting the door. He approached the fax machine, pressing a few buttons in the proper sequence as he'd seen Manda do before. And waited.
The fax machine spit out a single page. At the top, it read "Log report" and below a short history list of the day's faxes. After scanning the sheet, he turned back to the fax and hit "Memory #1." Several minutes later, eight pages appeared, printed fresh from the machine's memory, as if they'd just come through via normal channels.
Vic briefly scanned Kennedy Ryan's credit report, frowning. Some sort of financial trouble? he thought as he opened the door to the hallway. He heard voices ahead... agents coming back from lunch, he decided. Not a good time to do this. Folding the pages and tucking them into his pocket for later review, he then walked back to the security of his office.
*****
Later that night, Abigail Beck turned away from the computer screen to look at the clock and sighed. It was quarter after ten and she was still working. She rubbed her eyes and stood up to stretch, wondering if she should give Ken a phone call and check up on her. Then, remembering Kennedy's outburst that afternoon, Abbe decided better of it.
Abbe had been surprised at Ken's angry outburst at Manda; tt was so completely out of character for her. And she had been equally surprised when Ken interrupted the senior agents' afternoon meeting, barging into Michael's office to request a leave of absence. A personal leave of absence.
Kennedy had claimed that Indus and Terrence's deaths had thrown her and that it had brought up some personal issues that she needed time to deal with. Downtime. But when Michael hinted toward seeing the Bureau shrink, she adamently refused. She just needed some time with her family and herself, she'd said.
Neither Michael or Abbe had been surprised when Kennedy Ryan had strolled back into the offices two weeks after being released from the hospital last fall. After the incident... there wasn't any other way to describe it, and it had been decided to keep all discussions of what happened out of normal day-to-day activity. For Kennedy's sake.
And if anyone could understand the need to jump right back in, to get back to work, become absorbed in other things, away from the thoughts and nightmares that so easily plagued a troubled mind, it was Michael and Abbe. So they offered kind words and support, checking in from time to time, sometimes it was obvious, and others... well, covert seemed to be another one of her middle names, according to the Rats.
Abbe frowned again, looking at the clock once more. Another minute had passed. Time seemed to disappear so quickly these days. She sighed, her eyes flickering down to gaze upon the leave request form with Kennedy's handwritting... it seemed a bit shaky. Perhaps she was in a rush. Perhaps.
And perhaps it was something else. Aside from Kennedy's new habit of playing with the cuffs of her jacket, she had returned to work with a vengeance. But something was still not right.
The harsh ring of her phone shook Abbe from her thoughts. She leaned over and lifted the receiver to her ear. "Agent Beck."
"Well, Abbe, aren't we working late this evening."
Abbe rolled her eyes and fell back into her chair. She regonized the voice instantly; it had always been like nails on a chalkboard. "What do you want, West. I'm busy." She could hardly contain her distaste, but tried nonetheless. Abbe had never forgiven West for Michael's suspension following the events in Iowa, even after Ken and Michael had, months ago. In her book, an agent didn't let another take the heat for his, or her, own mistakes... ever.
"Well, Abbe," he continued in what she was certain he believed was his most charming of voices... Abbe wondered how quickly she could end this phone call, short of hanging up on the man, but decided to attempt to maintain her professional demeanor. "Actually I'm looking for Ken, but I got transferred to your line instead. Is she around?"
"No, West, she's not here. All of her calls are being forwarded to me." Abbe said, closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. "So I repeat: What do you want?"
"She's not at home either, you know," he continued, dodging the Icy tone. "Is she on assignment?"
"West, you know I can't tell you that. You're on suspension," Abbe said with a mischievous grin. How does that feel?
"And since when have you ever been married to protocol, Abbe?" West spit into the phone. Abbe tightened her grip on the receiver. "I need to know where Ken is and I want to know now!"
"None of your damn business," Abbe slammed down the phone, cursing out loud again as she transferred her calls to voice mail. She decided she was going to sleep in a real bed tonight instead of the office couch. With that thought, she turned off her computer and grabbed a manila file. Two copies and I am out the door, she thought as she walked out to the bullpen.
On her way down the hall, she noticed the light creeping out from beneath Vic's door. Understandably curious, she knocked. "Vic, are you in there?"
"Yeah, come on in."
Abbe opened the door, entering. Vic was at his desk. Piles of papers were in front of him, on the floor and even on the couch. "The florist records?" she asked with a sweeping gesture.
Vic nodded and then took a sip of his Pepsi; Abbe noticed at least an empty six pack in the trash can... he'd been at this all night, most likely. "Yeah, they found them this morning in Drami's office, next to that damn snake. MacBeth brought them over on his way out at five." He rubbed his eyes, adding "They had been conveniently lost all day."
Abbe smiled slightly, nodding at the old trick. "I see," she said, leaning against the door and crossing her arms. "Did you find anything?"
"They were all out of order... it took a while to get things straightened out. But I couldn't find any orders to D.C.," he said leaning back in his chair. "Then I thought I was missing a few more receipts, but once I got them back in order, by job number, I found all but one. I was just about to go through them all again and see if I misfiled it somewhere or if it's under a Nestle bar in Drami's desk." He grinned.
Abbe glanced back into the hallway... her eyes seeking the clock. She suppressed a sigh; so much for bed tonight. "Well, let me make a few copies and I'll come in and help."
Vic nodded, turning back to the receipts as she walked over to the copy machine. As she was adjusting the toner on the machine, the fax rang. Abbe jumped at the sound and then glanced at the machine's internal clock; tt was late for a fax, but maybe Vic was waiting for something to come through. A white cover sheet fell into the tray.
To: The Icicle
From: Guess
Comments: Don't EVER hang up on me again!
Pages including cover sheet: 2
Abbe chuckled and shook her head. West, you are such a pain in the ass. Then the next sheet fell in
to the tray: It was a copy of a credit card receipt, and it looked like the ones that cluttered Vic's
office. She picked it up and stared at it in disbelief.
The copy was bad and the fax hadn't helped but she could make out the name and number with ease. Vic looked up as Abbe walked into the office. "You can start over..." He paused. "Are you okay?"
"Is this the number you're missing?" she said with a controlled voice, passing the faxed page into his hands.
Vic looked down at the sheet and nodded. "Hmm... that might explain this," he said, pulling Kennedy's credit report from his top drawer. He handed it to Abbe, tapping the page. "She called for that this morning." He looked down at the receipt again. "Where did you get this?" he asked quietly.
"A dear, dear friend," Abbe said with distaste. Then she picked up Vic's phone. "Which play was
Michael going to see tonight?" *****
Abbe checked her voice mail and then slammed Vic's office phone down in disgust. "Damn!" she said looking down at Vic. "Either Michael's not wearing his pager or he has it turned down. Still no message."
Vic was looking over Ken's Credit report for the tenth time. It was past eleven now, and he was tired and tense and concerned. "So where do we go from here?"
Abbe turned away, moved a stack of receipts from couch and then sat down. "I'm not sure," she said flatly. "We're stuck betwen that damned proverbial rock and a hard place. I can't hide this from Skinner, but I can't turn this over to him either," she said looking down at the receipt still clutched in her hand. "Jesus, Vic, this is Kennedy... not some psycho."
"A-ha!" Vic said suddenly, looking up. "I found it!" He extended a hand filled with several pages. She shrugged, taking the credit report. As he pushed the rest of the papers from the couch, she glanced down the page of letters and numbers, wondering what it was he had found. "Look... these credit cards were all applied for at the same time. Including the card used to buy the flowers."
"Yes, so I see. And?" Abbe said not quite sure she understood the meaning.
"Well, look at the dates," Vic said with a big grin. He grabbed his desk calendar, flipping through it. "At first, I thought someone was just using her card number." He paused at one date, then turned back a few pages. "Ah, here it is." Abbe took the calendar from Vic. "Look at October eighteenth," he said.
Abbe looked at the date and then back to Vic, frowning. "I don't get it. All that's here is a canceled scout meeting." She passed the calendar back to Vic.
He tossed it back on to his decsk. "I canceled that meeting to go up and spend the evening with Ken in the hospital. Remember Manda and you and Ken. We all played cards that night."
"Yeah, I remember... but..." Then it hit her. Abbe looked back down at the credit report, nodding. "Of course! She was still in the hospital. Kennedy wouldn't have been filling out credit card applications on October twelvth. Because, for starters, her hands and wrists were all wrapped up in that gauze..."
"And Manda had to hold her cards for her."
Abbe stood, pacing, as Vic walked over to the mini fridge and popped open another can of Pepsi. He tapped the can; Abbe shook her head, her mind still reeling. "So," she finally said, "this person didn't steal a credit card... he got his one of his own under her name! We just need to get a copy of the application form and a copy of Ken's signature. That should clear Ken, right...."
"Yeah. Except now we just have to find Ken."
They exchanged a glance as silence filled the tiny office. As Abbe reached for the phone again, Vic took a sip from his soda.
*****
The woman pulled a brush quickly through her short, raven-colored hair. Dropping the brush back into an oversized bag on the passenger seat, she reached for a tube of bright red lipstick. She paused, looking in the rearview mirror, marveling briefly at the stranger looking back at her. It was as if she had been erased... as easily as her dark red curls.
Her eyes, dulled by the tinted contacts, followed the path of the lipstick around her mouth as she carefully applied the cosmetic. Closing the lipstick with her hands, she pushed her lips together, blending the bright color. Perfect. Tossing the tube absently into the bag, she pulled out a pair of Ray Bans and slipped them on. Her hand reached below the steering wheel as she turned the key, bringing the car to life. The car purred in the fading afternoon light.
Then, the woman reached into the bag a final time, pulling out a cigarette box and gold lighter. She tapped the filter against the box, placed the cigarette in her mouth and ignited the end.
Pulling out of the Motel Parking lot, she pushed the tape into the cassette player. The wind swept through the open window stealing Anson Funderburgh's rough lonely voice out to the empty highway.
~ To Be Continued... ~
| MAIN | NEW | CHARACTERS | GENERAL | CURRENT CASE | PAST CASES | OTHER CASES |