Chapter 4

How many people through the long history of the world have looked back on their lives and wondered, 'When did it all go wrong?' Do you suppose Napoleon ever asked himself that question?

The fact is that even if you knew precisely when it happened, what difference would it make? What could you possibly do with that priceless bit of information?

I can do some pretty amazing things, but time travel isn't among them. Unfortunately, one of the things I do have is an exceptional memory. Using the wondrous technology of twenty-twenty hindsight in combination with that keen memory I'm more than able to look back and point out the year, the month of that year, which week of that month, which day of that week and the exact hour of that specific day when it all started going left just as I was turning right.

The second of August, 1995... 4:49 PM, give or take a few seconds.

That's when my carefully arranged life began turning to shit. And even though I knew it was happening, I didn't become aware of what was happening until three and a half years later. So a fat lot of good knowing did any of us.

How pathetic is that?

The first hint that things weren't going to remain the way I wanted arrived as I was leaving work for the day. The second of August, 1995, 4:47 PM.

I'd finished haunting the various departments on my to-do list and was on my way home, going thru the lobby, past the metal detectors and security personnel. I started getting a serious itch at the back of my mind, as if there were something I was supposed to be paying attention to, but couldn't quite see.

Standing there in line, waiting for my turn to be scanned and have my briefcase searched, I took the opportunity to look around. The itch grew increasingly irritating and I began to become seriously annoyed. It was like having the eyes of the entire world focused on me but not seeing a single soul anywhere around. Little stabbing prickles darted all over the surface of my hands and face. Minute sensations of envy, distrust, loathing, fear, jealousy, desire, disgust, hatred along with a dozen others nipped and tormented me.

I started feeling claustrophobic and more than a little paranoid.

I twisted around, looking in every conceivable direction; over the heads of the lines of people in front, behind, and to either side of me. My eyes failed to spot anything out of the ordinary, but my feelings were going berserk and I started snarling like a trapped animal.

People began moving away from me, eyes wide with concern, clutching their bags and briefcases tightly, as if preparing to run for cover.

There was a brief instant when I almost thought I knew what was going on, and then ... it just stopped.

No more prickles, no claustrophobia or paranoia, no more anger. It all just stopped and everything went back to normal.

I should have known better.

Dr. Wills retired quietly, and without fanfare, from the CIA in June of 1998, a month after I was awarded my PhD, and I became officially what I had been in fact since 1996 -- Deputy Director of Internal Security.

"Don't let this job become the end-all and be-all of your life." he told me as we walked side by side down the hallway towards the elevator for the last time. "It's necessary and important, don't get me wrong, but it should never be the most important thing."

"So says the man who gave up his personal life for this job." I retorted good-naturedly.

He chuckled and shook his head. "I should know better than to give you platitudes. It's like playing straight-man to a comic. But seriously, I want you to think about what I'm saying. When I took this job, way back when, I didn't have any other life to speak of. For me there was no sacrifice. Can you say the same?"

Dr. Wills was a good, honorable, patriotic man who believed very strongly in public service and independent oversight for the most powerful instruments of our government. He taught me to give a damn about what my government was doing, and how they were doing it, and he taught me that I not only had a responsibility to be part of that government, but that I should want to be a part.

Izzy was appointed Dean of Students and Chief Administrator of Guilliford Academy in July of 1997. She'd been teaching at the school for more than four years and we were all very happy and proud when she was tapped to replace the retiring Dean. Her new responsibilities took a toll on the family though, as she began working longer hours and had to sacrifice more and more of her weekends and free time to the job.

By then, my wives and I had become more and more deeply involved in our personal lives, sometimes to the exclusion of everything else; me with my job at the CIA and finishing up my PhD, Izzy with teaching and then running the Academy, Peggy with her studies and the new veterinary practice she'd established, and Lilly with the children, running the household and taking care of the family finances.

We all did what we could to be supportive and covered for Izzy as best we could with the kids, but even as young as they were they began to notice and question her increasingly frequent absences. Lilly tried to explain and make the little ones understand, as did Peggy when she wasn't occupied with her practice. The three girls were skeptical, to put it mildly, but they were willing to go along with what Lilly and Peggy told them, at first. AJ, on the other hand, was not.

Initially he withdrew, becoming very quiet and sullen. He would cast angry glances at Izzy when she was home and we were all gathered for meals or other family events like birthdays or holidays. He changed dramatically from a cheerful, outgoing, friendly little boy, into a silent, morose, bad tempered little thunder cloud, who went stomping and storming around the house, avoiding everyone but his sisters, who seemed to be the only ones capable of restraining his fits of temper.

In December of 1998, Izzy failed to show up for the children's school Christmas Pageant, citing last minute budget meetings, and was called away on some other school emergency again on Christmas Eve. AJ hit the roof and the girls went with him. Nothing Lilly, Peggy or I tried cheered them up in the slightest. It was the most unpleasant Christmas in my memory, which is saying something. Worst of all, Izzy was completely oblivious to the negative effect she was having on the family.

And what was I doing while my family began to fall apart? Ever hear of Harold Roberts? Don't feel bad if the name doesn't ring a bell. Most people these days couldn't tell you who he was. In 1998 even fewer people knew his name. Harold was one of the most infamous spies of the twentieth century, right up there with the Rosenberg's, Kim Philby, and Arthur Flemming.

Harold Roberts worked in the FBI and had been selling secrets to Russia since the early 80's. I had just gotten wind of something irregular going on during the first week of September and had been banging my head against bureaucratic walls for the best part of three months trying to get an investigation started. Not the easiest thing in the world to do, as the FBI director at that time and I were not on particularly good terms. So the last thing on my mind were family problems.

It all came to a head a few days after New Years 1999.

That morning I woke in time to shut off the alarm clock, before it could scare the hell out of me. Why Lilly thought we needed an alarm clock louder than an air raid siren I never did understand, and I was never been able to get her to tell me where she found the damn thing. I'd have liked to visit the factory that made them and burn it to the ground, which could be why she wouldn't tell me.

I'd slid Peggy off my chest so that I could crawl out from under the blankets and reach the clock, and as she usually did, Peggy crawled over to cuddle up next to Izzy. Izzy grunted, pushed Peggy back towards Lilly, rolled over on her side facing away from the other two girls, tugging on her nightgown and whimpering ever-so-softly.

I noticed the unusual behavior, but in my hurry to head off the bells of doom I didn't give it much thought. If I had been paying closer attention I might have realized much sooner how Izzy had been pulling away from us for several months, physically and emotionally. I might have seen how her behavior had changed; she'd become jittery, reserved and withdrawn, almost since the end of September.

Izzy had, along with Peggy, always been much more sexually aggressive than either Lilly or I. It was usually one, or both, of them who instigated our sexual escapades. Don't get me wrong, when she got the itch, Lilly could be just as aggressive, but it wasn't an all-the-time kind of thing with her the way it was with Izzy and Peggy. I had my moments as well, but I did my best to reign in my more aggressive and violent tendencies, primarily because they seemed, at least to me, to be inexorably linked.

After shutting off the alarm I shuffled into the bathroom, took a piss, showered, shaved and dried my hair with Lilly's blow-dryer. Feeling much more awake, I went into the closet and dressed, pulled my hair back and secured it in place with the silver clasp Peggy had gotten me for my most recent birthday. I slipped into my shoes, and stepped out of the closet, facing the bed where my girls lay sleeping.

Peggy and Lilly had snuggled up together on Lilly's side of the bed while Izzy lay at the far edge of her side, a good three feet between them.

I felt a sharp twinge at the back of my thoughts.

Linking with them I proceeded to add a spark to their rings; first Lilly, who shuddered and sighed and pulled Peggy closer to her; then Peggy, who moaned and growled deep in her throat as she buried her face between Lilly's breasts; then Izzy ... who snarled "No, don't!" and flailed about, twisting the sheets around her and pulling a pillow over her head.

The twinge in my thoughts became a dull stab in my heart.

It suddenly occurred to me that the four of us hadn't had sex together since September. Lilly, Peggy and I had fucked individually and occasionally as a trio, nowhere near as often as we did before the girls were born, and much less often since AJ arrived, but we still made time. But recently there always seemed to be a reason or excuse for Izzy not to be with me, or us. And she'd started wearing oversized tee-shirts or honest-to-god nightgowns sometime around the start of autumn, something she hadn't done since we'd become lovers. And it had only just dawned on me.

I walked silently to Izzy's side of the bed and knelt down next to where she lay with her head still buried beneath the pillow.

I had avoided linking with my girls over the years, especially in the years since the babies were born, other than to give them their sparks and occasionally when we had sex. I thought of it as akin to spying and had vowed, to myself, that I wouldn't violate their personal privacy without a damn good reason.

I linked with Izzy and began broadcasting love.

Izzy shuddered and began to cry softly, as feelings of guilt, remorse, anticipation, lust, desire, panic and fear flooded down the link in my direction. The bright ring that held the sparks of love I'd given her over the years had become so reduced in size that I could barely recognize it, and it's blazing golden glimmer was shrouded by a dull, greasy white crystalline patina.

The dull stabbing morphed as each emotion my sister was feeling turned into a rusty, jagged blade and the lot of them proceeded to shred my heart.

"Izzy, what have you done?" I whispered to myself and clamped down hard on my broadcasting, cutting it off before the powerful feelings that were forming in me could make their way out.

I stood up and left the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. I peeked into my daughter's room and saw them sleeping soundly; each one a beautiful miniature version of her mother. It was all I could do, as I watched Belle curled up on her side with a stray lock of dark hair curling down over one eye, not to break out in tears.

I opened the door of AJ's room and walked in, taking a knee next to his bed and looking long and hard at his little face.

What was I going to do? Was there anything I could do after setting myself up for this sort of thing so many years before?

Confirm your suspicions. You don't know anything for sure at this point, so don't go off half cocked. Find out ... and then decide what, if anything, to do.

"It's not like you to council 'wait and see'. What's the deal?" I asked my darker self.

The way you're feeling right now, if you don't step back and count to ten, you're going to do something really stupid; something that could expose us publicly, something that would, without a doubt, adversely affect the children and that you'd regret for the rest of your life.

"Alright then." I agreed. I leaned down and lightly kissed my son's cheek then stood up and left his room.

I went downstairs, put on my coat and gloves, picked up my briefcase and left the house. I drove the hour and a half from our home south of Alexandria into McLean, parked the car and stalked thru security, where everyone gave me a very wide berth.

Up in my office I took my list of contact numbers from the wall safe, sat down at the desk and began dialing.

"McMurphy." the voice at the other end answered.

"Number three ... this is Dr. Blacktower. Do you recognize my voice?"

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?" the third of my five FBI moles instantly replied.

"Two things; one that's in the FBI's best interests and one that is for me personally. First off, you have an upper level section chief by the name of Harold Roberts in the Washington offices of the Bureau. I have reason to believe that he's taking money from Russian officials. I strongly suggest that you put a team on him. Follow him, tap his phones, read his mail, computers ... whatever you can get your hands on. You might also want to check on his bank accounts."

"Harold Roberts ... I'll get right on it. And the second thing?"

"As I said, the second is for me personally and I need it done very quietly and very quickly. I want a tail put on a woman named Isabeau Blacktower. She's the Dean of Guilliford Academy, an upscale grammar school for the children of diplomats, politicians and Pentagon big brass located in the suburbs of Alexandria. She should be arriving there about eight this morning. I want to know who she meets with and, if and when she leaves the school grounds, I want to know where she goes and who she goes with. And I want to know immediately."

There was a prolonged silence. "Understood sir."

"You have my numbers?"

"I do sir."

"Call me ... no one else."

"Understood. I'll be in touch."

"Thank you number three." I hung up the phone and spent the rest of the morning trying to concentrate on my upcoming presentation to the Senate sub-committee at the end of the month.

A few minutes after noon my private line started ringing. My hand shook slightly as I reached for the receiver and lifted it up to my ear.

"Blacktower."

"Three here sir. The woman and a man left the Academy grounds together in a red Mustang twenty minutes ago. Virginia vanity plates YPS AIC, registered to an Alex Chorney of Alexandria. He's one of the faculty at Guilliford, teaches history and general science. They are currently in room 319 of the Hyatt."

"Give me the address the plates are registered to and the address of the Hyatt. And a description of the man."

Number three read off the addresses then described the man. I copied all the information down onto the pad in front of me.

"Thank you number three. Pull the tail and forget you ever heard their names." I disconnected quickly and dialed Izzy's office.

"Guilliford Academy, how may I help you?" a prim female voice at the other end of the line answered.

"Yes, my name is Dr. Davidson, I'd like to speak with Ms. Blacktower please." I lowered the timber of my voice, making it sound more like my darker self.

"I'm sorry Doctor, the Dean is at an educational conference this afternoon and won't be available until tomorrow. Can I take a message?"

The sound of blood rushing thru the veins in my head very nearly drowned out the last of the woman's words. My heart was pounding so hard and so fast that it actually began to hurt, and I came very close to hyperventilating.

"No, thank you very much. I'll call back tomorrow." I very carefully put the receiver down in its cradle.

I sat behind my desk for several minutes, staring blindly at the wall before me, not one single thought in my head. Eventually I got up, put on my coat and headed for the elevator, telling Eric Watson, my office manager, to handle any calls and contact me only if it were a dire emergency.

I felt hollow inside; empty of all feelings, painfully devoid of any sensation whatsoever. No anger, no rage, no sorrow, no jealousy, no nothing at all. It was almost as if I had ceased to exist.

I rode the elevator down to the lobby, strode out past security into the parking lot and got into my car. I checked the address on the sheet of paper in my hand, put it down on the seat next to me, started the car, pulled out the lot, drove out onto the road and headed towards Alexandria.