What Lies Beneath-Chapter Nine

4247 Maplewood Dr.

Saturday, September 7, 2002

4:30 AM

“Hey.” A hand gently patted Jenna’s cheek. She opened her eyes to see her Dad bending over her.

“Have you been down here all night?” he asked.

“I think so,” Jenna lifted her head from the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes. “Most of it, anyway. We were talking and then we must’ve fallen asleep. Where’s Christy?”

“She’s on the sofa,” Dad said. “Which I might add is a lot more comfortable than a table. Let’s keep quiet, though, huh? We don’t want to disturb her.”

“Dad, Christy sleeps like a log,” Jenna said. “You could run a marching band through the family room and she wouldn’t even open her eyes.”

Dad smiled. “Even so, it’s awfully early.”

Jenna’s eyes focused on the red letters on the oven’s clock. “It is awfully early,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine—I just couldn’t sleep.” Dad reached up into one of the cabinets and grabbed the coffee filters. “That must’ve been some talk the two of you had.”

“I guess.”

“What happened?”

“Well I had a nightmare, so I got up to get a glass of water and—”

“Wait a minute—you had a nightmare?” Dad asked. Jenna nodded. “Why didn’t you wake us up?”

“I’m thirteen—I can’t wake you up for every little thing,” Jenna said. “Besides, it wasn’t a really bad nightmare anyway—just a normal one.”

Dad slowly shook his head as he poured water into the coffeepot.

“Are you mad at me?” Jenna asked.

“No of course I’m not.” Dad spooned coffee into the machine and turned it on. There was a crackling sound, and within moments the aroma began to fill the room. “It’s just—I really wish you didn’t have any kinds of nightmares at all.”

“Me too.” Jenna said. “But anyway when I came down here Christy was on the sofa and she was crying—I couldn’t just leave her here all by herself.”

“You’re a good friend.” Dad said. “And right now that’s what Christy really needs.”

“Yeah,” Jenna was silent for a moment. “What happens now?”

“Well, she’s going to have to be questioned, to see how much she knows about her father’s activities.”

“You mean debriefed, right? Like I was?”

“Pretty much—except we’re going to do it here,” Dad said. “Right now it’s not safe for either of you to be out of the house.”

Not safe. Jenna felt a chill go through her body at those words. “Things are that bad?”

“Afraid so.” Dad’s expression was grim. “There’s a team posted outside guarding this house, but if something goes wrong we can—”

“Go wrong?” Jenna interjected. “Why would something go wrong?”

“Calm down. I’m not saying that something will go wrong—just that it might. And if that happens we can always move you to a safe-house.”

A safe-house. That’s where they’d been planning to go that one night—the night before—the sound of gunshots echoed in Jenna’s head—memories of falling to the ground, the growing burning in her leg— unable to control the muscles as they spasmed or hold back the whimpers of pain—her Mother’s voice—

*~~*

“Lee, she’s been hit!”

*~~*

—Jenna stared hard at the kitchen table, trying to push those memories back into her head.

“Jenna?” her dad’s voice. Jenna looked up at him.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I had a little moment but now I’m okay.” Dad’s expression was skeptical. “Really, I am.”

Dad sighed. “I’m so sorry—you shouldn’t be mixed up in all this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jenna, Peter Blakeney wants to use you to get to me,” Lee told her. “If it wasn’t for me and our jobs you might have a normal life right now.”

“Maybe, but if it wasn’t for you and Mom and your jobs, Gary Johnston might have killed me two years ago. You can’t think about what-if’s”

Dad poured himself a cup of coffee and stirred in some creamer. “How’d you get to be so smart, anyway?”

Jenna smiled. “I had good parents.”

“That you did.”

“Christy wasn’t so lucky, though—not with her Dad—was she?” Jenna asked. “It’s funny—she used to tell us how great he was and how much fun they’d have when he came home.”

“Well sometimes we see people the way we want to see them—not the way they really are—especially your parents. Remember when you thought your Mother and I might be gangsters?”

Jenna winced. “I was trying not to remember that,” she said. “What’s going to happen to Christy and her Mom after this is all over?”

“I really don’t know—hopefully they’ll be able to put this behind them and live a normal life again.” Dad took another sip of coffee. “Would you like some breakfast? I can make you some toaster waffles or cereal.”

“No, I’m not really hungry,” Jenna looked at the cup he held. “I would like to try some coffee, though.”

Dad hesitated. “I don’t know—I’m not sure how good coffee is for someone your age.”

“Please Dad? Lisa says she drinks it all the time.”

“All right—well how much coffee? Do you want creamer with it? Milk? Sugar?”

So many choices. “I’m not sure,” Jenna said finally. “Whatever’s the best way, I guess.”

“Here.” Dad took a smaller cup, pouring coffee and stirring some creamer in. “This is the way I like my coffee—try that and see how it tastes to you.”

“Okay.” Jenna took a cautious sip of the hot liquid—then resisted the urge to spit it right back out again. “Ugh—it’s so bitter.”

“What did you expect it to taste like?”

“I don’t know,” Jenna admitted. “Not like this, though. It smells so good, but the way it tastes—”

“I guess it’s something to get used to. Can I get you anything else?”

“Yes—cereal would be awesome—maybe some juice too?”

Dad laughed. “Anything you want, munchkin.”

SMK SMK SMK SMK

11:30 AM

“Who are you guys?” Christy asked. She was curled up in the armchair—knees drawn against her chest— arms wrapped around her knees—it was the same protective posture Lee remembered Jenna assuming during her debriefing, except with Christy it was worse. It was almost like she was trying to blend back into the upholstery. “You don’t look like the police.”

“Actually we’re federal agents,” Billy said. “We assisted during Jenna’s kidnapping—which is why her parents called us in to speak to you.”

“So what my dad’s involved in is federal?” Christy asked. “It’s a federal crime?”

“Well we think so,” Francine replied. “That’s why we need to ask you these questions. Just try and answer as honestly as you can, okay?”

Christy shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Before we start, is there anyone you’d like to leave the room?” Francine asked.

“Actually I’d like everyone to stay.” Christy said. “You too, Jenna—please?”

“I’ll be right here,” Jenna said.

Francine pressed the button on the machine. “Interview starting at 11:32 AM,” she said “Christy, can you tell us when you first started to suspect that your father was involved in something?”

“Probably about a week after he got out,” Christy said. “He carried this briefcase with him everywhere and he started making all these strange phone calls—almost like he was trying to get people to buy something. And then on Labor Day weekend I was listening outside his room and it sounded like he was arranging to meet someone—I can’t remember the name but when he ended the call he said a weird thing—it sounded like odik joy or something.”

`Odikjoil—Chechen for goodbye. Blakeney had been talking to Basayev, Lee realized—plotting to lure him out and then murder him.

“And after that you went to Chincoteague?” Francine asked.

“Yes,” Christy nodded. “It was a spur of the moment thing—Dad disappeared for a few hours while we were there. Mom said he was visiting the Art Show—but he’s never liked art before, so I thought it was a little weird. And then the next day when I came home Dad was talking to someone else—I was about to open the door and I heard him talking to someone named Ustinoff. Dad told Ustinoff that he would have to bid for the discs—the information—just like everyone else.”

“These discs here?” Francine indicated the jewel cases on the coffee table—the ones that Christy had removed from her backpack.”

“I think so,” Christy said. “That’s what was in the briefcase. When Mom tried to look at it he-he hit her, and after that Mom to stay with Aunt Marie.” Her voice faltered slightly. ”I probably should’ve gone with her, but I didn’t.”

“So what made you finally decide to leave?”

Christy wiped at her eyes. “When I found out what he had planned for Jenna,” she said. “He wanted me to bring her to the house—at first I thought he was being nice. I was even mad at Jenna for not being allowed to come over. But then after the thing in the parking lot when he grabbed her arm—I started to wonder what he wanted Jenna for.” Christy paused. “That’s when he showed me.”

Billy’s expression darkened. “What did he show you?”

“He grabbed my shoulder and dragged me up to the attic.” Christy’s voice was toneless. “He had painted the windows over so no one could see inside—he’d even bolted some manacles to the wall—it was like a dungeon or something. Dad told me that a person could scream for hours and never be heard.”

“Oh my gosh,” Amanda said softly. Jenna was silent, her hands balled up, eyes staring straight ahead.

Looking at his daughter Lee had a sudden and vivid mental image of her trapped in a dark airless room where no one could hear her cries—the mere thought made his stomach churn. If he ever got his hands on Blakeney—

“I was just so scared,” Christy said. “Dad said that if I didn’t bring Jenna to him that’s where he’d put me. After that I had to run—I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

SMK SMK SMK SMK

“I think she’s told us everything she knows,” Billy said. “We’ll take the discs back to the Agency—have them analyzed by our IT department and see what they can tell us.”

“Poor girl,” Francine’s blue eyes clouded as she spoke. “How any man could do that to his own daughter—”

“He’s a piece of murdering scum, that’s how, Francine,” Lee said. Amanda squeezed his hand.

“You realize that Gambit’s not going to give up on those discs, Scarecrow—the stakes are too high,” Billy said. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider a safe-house?”

Lee nodded. “Given the circumstances I think it’s best we stay here—changing locations at this point would risk exposure.”

Billy nodded. “Understood,” he said. “Just watch yourselves— because whatever Gambit’s next move will be —he’s bound to make it here.”

SMK SMK SMK SMK

5:00 PM

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” Christy said. “I just—everything was crazy.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” Kathryn said. “I’m just glad to know that you’re all right—you have no idea how worried I was—I love you so much.”

“I love you too Mom—”

There was a sudden knock on the door. “Sweetheart I have to go—I have company. Can I call you later?”

“Sure,” Christy said. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Kathryn hung up the phone. The knock came again, louder this time.

“I’m coming,” she called. Kathryn slid back the deadbolt and chain and opened the door a crack—it was Peter. Panicking she tried to shut the door but by that time he’d already shoved his way in, flattening her up against the wall.

“Peter,” Kathryn said. “What are you doing?”

Peter smiled—the expression sent a chill through her body. “The question here, my dear wife, is what are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kathryn gasped as his forearm pressed against her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” Peter mimicked her tone perfectly. “Now that couldn’t have been Christy you were talking to—could it?”

“What if it was?”

Peter’s response to her question was to press his forearm deeper into her neck, pinning Kathryn’s body against the wall.

“Peter—please.” Kathryn whispered. She felt tears on her face.

“You’re going to tell me where she is, Kathryn.” Peter said. “And you’re going to tell me now, before things get unpleasant for you.”

“You can’t make me tell you.”

Another smile. “Oh believe me,” Peter’s other hand ran down her cheek. “I can make you—and I will.”

Sunday, September 8, 2002

4247 Maplewood Dr.

12:00 PM

The doorbell rang while Lee was in the kitchen making a sandwich.

“I’ll get it,” he called out. Slowly Lee unholstered his gun as he approached the door.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Visitor for you, Mr. Stetson,” Agent Hudson said. “He says he has some flowers.”

Looking through the peephole, Lee could see a man dressed wearing a jacket and a matching cap which was pulled down to obscure his features. Even with the get-up, Lee recognized him immediately.

“It’s okay, Hudson—I’ll deal with him.”

“All right—let us know if you need anything else,” Agent Hudson said.

Lee threw open the door, causing his visitor to take an involuntary step backwards.

“Augie, do you mind telling me just what the hell you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

“No need to get so uptight, it was the only way I could think of to get in touch,” Augie’s eyes widened as he saw the gun that Lee still held. “I hope you weren’t planning on using that right now.”

“No,” Lee sighed as he put his gun back in its holster. “You have something for me?”

“The flowers,” Augie held out the basket in his hands. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”

“Fine,” Lee handed him the twenty and grabbed the basket. “Now—what is this information?”

“Look at the note,” Augie instructed. Lee shot the other man a glare as he pulled the note out of the envelope.

“What the—” Lee said as he read the note and looked up at Augie. “7:30 tonight at Rock Creek Park? How can there still be an auction when there’s nothing to trade?”

“I don’t know,” Augie said. “All they told me is that everything is expected to go on as planned. Look, I have to go Lee—I can’t risk being observed.”

“Bye Augie,” Lee closed the door, his eyes still fastened on the paper in his hands. A trap? He wondered. Always a possibility—but he lead had to be followed up on—it was standard procedure.

Lee just wished that he could quell the growing uneasiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

1:30 PM

“Ustinoff, anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Peter said. “The auction will go off as planned—right on schedule.”

“I don’t see how that can be,” Ustinoff said. “Since my sources tell me that you no longer have the items—the discs—in your possession.”

“Your—sources, don’t know what they are talking about.” As he spoke, Peter glanced at the prone form of his wife, lying face down on the sofa. “Trust me—I’m not going to have any problems getting my hands on the information.”

“I sincerely hope not, my friend. My backers would be very concerned if they discovered you had been lying to me.”

“Yeah well you can tell your backers to cool their jets—I’m on top of things. Goodbye, Ustinoff.” Peter disconnected the call, putting his cell phone back in his pocket. Walking over to his wife, he grabbed her hair, lifting her head roughly. Kathryn gave a soft groan, her eyes barely focusing.

“Listen to me, darling—” he said. “In just a little while you and I are going to call our daughter—I’m sure she can’t wait to see you again. Nothing to say, Kathryn?” he shook her slightly. “Huh?” He watched as his wife’s mouth opened—trying to form words, but then her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness. Peter let go of her hair and let her head drop back onto the sofa.

“That’s right,” he told her. “Get some rest.” Peter caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled. “You’ll need it for what’s to come.”

TBC