Chapter 3: Here We Go

"Hello, Christine," I said as she came down the tube-way with the rest of the flight crew. I held out the single rose I had been holding as a peace offering.

"Mr. Malcolm," she said coolly, taking the stem from me and holding it to her nose. There was a shy smile on her face that said it was an act.

"I'm really sorry about last week; I'm sure it was awkward for you but..."

A new voice interrupted.

"So you're the one responsible for this bullshit?"

This was from one of the men. A quick check of shoulder bars said that this had to be Captain Hardwick. The guy behind him shaking his head in disbelief pretty much sealed it.

"Captain Hardwick, I presume," I answered. "It all depends on your point of view, Captain, but in the end — when you get right down to it — you bear the ultimate responsibility, since you're the one who started the whole problem. And before this discussion goes any farther, and you say something you'll regret, I suggest you find a phone and call HR. Among other things they will tell you that Christine will not be accompanying you on your flight out. She has been re-assigned. Christine, I know that sounds a little strange, but please don't be upset. There have been some developments, and if you'll just give me a chance — I promise I'll explain everything."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "David, don't be silly, I'm not mad at you, and of course I'll give you a chance to explain. Same rules as last week though; just because it didn't work out doesn't mean anything has changed. Deal?"

"Deal," I said, taking her bag and offering her my arm.

"So what were you saying to Hardwick about me being re-assigned?"

"Actually," I began. "I'd like to save that for later if you don't mind. And, if you will indulge me, I'd like a rain check on dinner. We're having dinner with some friends."

"We have friends?" she asked.

"Well, sort of. Our attorney, Anthony Cicarelli, and his wife, Tina."

"The attorney I met with last week?"

"The same," I answered. "We're meeting them for dinner."

"Let me guess," she said. "That's when you're going to tell me what's going on?

"Well, that was the plan," I said with a smile. "Or you could try to torture it out of me sooner; we do still have plenty of time to kill. Although I was hoping you could use some of that time helping me with my wardrobe? I need more clothes, and I'm just not cut out for shopping, not for things that matter."

"Okay, where am I staying?"

"Anywhere you want," I said. "Of course, I have an apartment now, sort of a one and half bedroom, so you can have your own room — or just tell me where and I'll book you a room."

"Uh-uh!" she said, shaking her head. "You promised you wouldn't spoil me this time, but I'm not sure I trust you." Then she smiled and said, "Your place will be fine."

I had left my car at the house and taken a cab so I could avoid the whole parking hassle; that whole "waving down a cab" thing is apparently just in the movies. Or maybe it's just in New York; here they are lined up in a neat little row, and you just take the first one. I handed Christine into the back seat, set her bag in the front, and then climbed in next to her for the ride home. She was a little confused when we pulled up in front of the house.

"I thought you said you had an apartment."

"I do," I said. "It's out back; come on, I'll show you." I paid the driver, and we headed up the walk toward the main house. Doreen was rocking in the shade, but she stood as we reached the porch, and I introduced them.

"This is my landlady, Doreen Willets. Doreen, this is Christine."

"Hello Christine, I'm very pleased to meet you ... My goodness, just look at you. David, you never told me how pretty she was."

Christine blushed and replied, "It's very nice to meet you, Doreen."

"David, Regina and Bobby are coming for dinner, will you be joining us?" she asked, and then added enticingly, "I'm stuffing up some pork chops."

"No, sorry, Doreen, but we're meeting some friends for dinner."

"Okay, suit yourself, but you're going to miss my peach cobbler."

"Ooh, peach cobbler? Then I am most definitely not coming. I swear I've put on five pounds already, and I've only been here a week."

"Ain't no harm in that," Doreen admonished me. "You're too skinny anyway. Besides, all that running you do every morning, a stray calorie don't have a chance no how. Go on now; run along, I got better things to do than stand here and watch you waste away. Be careful on your way through, I waxed the floors this morning."

Christine was impressed with Doreen's house and almost speechless when she saw the apartment out back.

"This is your apartment? How did you find it? My god, it's huge! And you have a private pool? I hate you!"

"Come on," I said, chuckling and holding the door. "I'll show you your room."

"It's ... nice," she said when she was inside.

"Liar," I said with a laugh. "It looks like a tomb, it has no personality. I was hoping you could help me with that too. Either that or I have to hire a decorator. Anyway, this is the office, and my bed is behind that middle bookcase. And your room is right through here..."

The rose petals all over the bed and floor may have been a little much, but she liked it.

"You're too cute," she said, kissing me on the cheek, "and I would like nothing more than to trash that beautiful bed with you, but it's going to be a couple days yet before I'm up for that, sorry to disappoint you."

"Biology is a part of life, Christine. Besides, if you recall, I'm not the rush into it kind, and you are very much worth waiting for. It's not a problem. Did you want to grab a shower before we go?"

We spent the afternoon working on my wardrobe. We had a bit of trouble when I asked her if she had a dress for dinner. She didn't have anything with her besides her uniform and a pair of jeans, and she wasn't really happy when I insisted on buying her one.

"David, you promised me you wouldn't do this again."

"I'm not trying to spoil you Christine, but since you just lost your job you might want to save your money." Her reply was about halfway out when she realized what I had said.

"Wait. What do you mean I just lost my job?"

"Didn't you hear me when I told Hardwick you wouldn't be leaving with them?"

"Yeah, you said I had been reassigned, you mean I got fired? I just knew this was going to happen! Damn it David..."

I put a finger to her lips, smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you like that. No, you haven't been fired; you're going to flight school."

"Shut ... up! I'm not going to..." Then she saw I was serious and her eyes got huge. "Oh my God! David that's ... No! You can't ... you're serious... ? I'm going to flight school?""

"With pay."

"What?"

I just nodded. She stared for a couple seconds; I wasn't even sure if she was breathing or not, but then suddenly she was hyperventilating. I sat her down to catch her breath and knelt in front of her. I was about to go in search of a paper bag when she suddenly burst into tears. That seemed to be enough to break the cycle, and the next thing I knew I was being showered with kisses. I let her appreciate me for a couple of seconds before hugging her.

"You're welcome," I said, shifting to sit next to her. "Now, what about that dress? We're meeting Tony and his wife for dinner, and I want everyone to know the prettiest girl is with me."

Finding a woman the right dress for dinner takes a lot longer than improving a guy's entire wardrobe. We talked while we roamed through a dozen different stores.

"When do I start?" she asked as we were sitting on a bench, taking a break between stores.

"I don't know. You'll have to take that up with HR; you're supposed to call them by the way."

"David!" she said suddenly. "What about Widget?"

"Who?"

"Widget; my kitty."

"Well, I just assumed you would bring her with you when you move."

"Ugh," she said. "Moving — I hate moving, and everything is so expensive here. I know, I researched it when I decided I wanted to go to flight school. That's one of the reasons I stayed in Atlanta; the commute is a bitch, but at least I already had a place. How am I going to afford it?"

"You could always take a second job," I suggested. "How are your secretarial skills?"

"My secretarial skills? David, I can't work and do flight school."

"Sure you can," I said. "Maybe not a typical nine to five job, but if you found something with flexible hours, part time, working for someone who only needs basic business things done, you know: paying the bills, checking messages, setting up the odd appointment, finding decent clothes to wear, maybe going to dinner or the odd social gathering when he needed an escort, that sort of thing."

Somewhere in the middle of all that, a light went on.

"Ah, I see," she said, nodding her head and slipping her arm through mine. "Let me guess, you know someone in need of just that sort of help. Say ... a young entrepreneur just getting his business off the ground. With a job that takes him odd places at all hours."

"Why yes," I said innocently. "As a matter of fact, I know of just such a position that is about to come available."

"How convenient," she said. "And what does this position pay?"

"How about rent on the apartment of your choice?"

"Really?" she asked.

"Well, within reason."

"I thought for sure you were going to say room and board. That was why you emphasized that that was my bedroom, wasn't it."

"Christine, I would never presume something like that, but you can use the bedroom while you shop for an apartment that takes cats."

"Do I get to fuck the boss?" she asked, like it was just another job perk.

"That is not part of your job description," I answered. "Christine, I don't expect..."

"Chill," she said. "I know you're not that kind of guy, or this whole situation never would have come up. You don't encourage someone to file a harassment suit so you can hire them and harass them yourself. What I meant was, does working for you mean I can't sleep with you, because if it does then I'm not taking the job."

"Oh," I said, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Just kiss her you idiot."

I'd all but forgotten about Jamie. Sitting side by side is not a very good position, so I stood and pulled Christine to her feet so I could kiss her properly.

"I'll let you decide that for yourself," I said. "Just so long as it's clear that there is no obligation involved."

"There it is," Jamie said suddenly as we were kissing.

"What?"

"The dress," she said. "Eleven o'clock; just past her shoulder ... See it, the green one? That will so bring out the color in her eyes."

"When did you start studying women's fashions?"

"Hello, every time one walks by. Duh!"

I looked where she indicated, and she was right. In the front of the store across from us, about two racks back, was a beautiful green dress. Not too dark, but not pastel either. In fact the color looked familiar. I was sure I'd seen it before, and I mentioned it to Jamie.

"Jasmine's dress is the same shade," she said.

"Yep, that's it," I agreed. "Come on," I said, tugging Christine's hand. "I think we just found your dress."

It even fit. Of course then she needed shoes...

We met Tony and Tina at the Hard Rock and ended up staying for drinks and dancing until about eleven. I spotted the tail about a block from the restaurant as we were headed home.

"Can you find out who it is?" I asked Jamie.

"Not on my own," she said. "I can't just wander around; I need a person to anchor to."

I gave a mental shout for Walter, and suddenly he appeared in the back seat.

"I need you to check out this car," I projected an image of the one I meant, so he could see it. "I need to know who they are."

He didn't even answer, just jumped out of the car and waited for the other one to catch up. A few minutes later he was sprinting through traffic to catch up again; which seemed odd considering he had just appeared in the back seat a moment before.

"I believe they are agents of your government, My Lord. They do not have the feel of those who meant you harm before."

"What do you think, sis? Did Rod send them to watch us?"

"I don't think Rod would be that stupid," she answered. "She's already killed two of his watchdogs, and if it were him, I'm sure he would have told them to be more careful after what happened to the others."

"Damn," I swore. "I wish I could call and ask, but I can't do that with Christine in the car."

"Walter," Jamie said. "Go back and let's see if I can use you as a focus to get close enough to merge with one of them. Or do you think you could merge with one of them?"

"I do not know milady, but I will attempt it. If that does not work, then perhaps your other suggestion will."

We were stopped at a light this time, so he didn't have to run to catch us.

"No milady, it seems I am barred from them."

"Okay, go back and wait for me. Jimmy, you may want to pull over somewhere in case this goes wrong, and I need you to come save me."

I didn't need to; an ambulance came through — overriding the traffic controls, and making us wait through two cycles. Jamie was back before the light changed.

"Shit!" she said. "You're not going to believe this; they're Atkins' people."

"What?" She was right, I couldn't believe it. "Damn, she had a copy of the official report, and probably our debriefing as well. Any suggestions?"

"Yeah, we need to tell Atkins to stay the fuck away before she gets someone killed. I'm going to put Christine to sleep, dig out your magic phone and ... oh wait; we can't let them see us calling her; someone may compare notes and realize the times match up. New plan, I'm putting Christine to sleep, lose these assholes."

The light turned green and the race was on. As Christine slumped in the seat next to me I floored the gas and burned a thousand miles off my rear tires as I charged into the intersection, then spun the wheel — cutting off the two lanes of traffic on my left — and made the long u-turn back the other way. My would-be tail was now mired behind the Detroit Steel Pretzel I'd left in the intersection. I even waved as I passed them going the other way, so they would know it wasn't an accident. A quick right at the next intersection followed by a left turn half way down the block put me in a small alley between two rows of office buildings. I killed the lights until I was out the other end, and then headed for the nearest parking structure.

Sandra Atkins didn't exist. Just ask anyone in Washington; chances are they'll tell you they've never heard of her. Poke around enough of the darker closets and you may encounter someone who does know her. You may also become part of an urban myth.

Sandra Atkins was one of those people that kept conspiracy theorists up at night not sleeping in a bunker instead of the house. You've heard of 'Cloak and Dagger'? Somewhere in Washington there is a closet in which Sandra Atkins passes out daggers to the guys wearing the cloaks.

We'd first encountered her when Rebecca was following up on a lead for me. I'd run across a girl — a thirteen-year-old runaway — who had provided the key piece I had been looking for in a very nasty puzzle. Almost immediately, Rebecca hit an officially locked door, and used her official FBI ID to get through it. Within hours she was ordered to Washington. Almost immediately after arriving, she was under house arrest at FBI headquarters being asked questions by a woman that didn't exist, a former US Attorney General, and a member of the Secret Service. Questions she couldn't answer.

Unfortunately, part of being an active field agent is authorizing your superiors to do things they don't talk about in polite company in order to extract information from you. You know, in case you're captured, brainwashed, and sent back as a rouge assassin or something like that. With a little help from me she survived the second interview; the one involving needles and restraints. She has no memory of what happened, but apparently she said — or didn't say — all the right things, and instead of being sent home with a stern warning to drop her investigation, Atkins actually shared what she knew about the person Rebecca was investigating. She was then given an off the books promotion with pay differential accruing directly to her pension and passed to her listed beneficiary should she for any reason not leave to see it. In return she was to stay away from the person in question, but pass along any information that came her way regarding the subject as well as anything she thought they might find interesting. She became a spy within the FBI. On the one hand it was part of the checks and balances all high-powered agency need, on the other ... oooh, need more hands to cover that.

Sandra Atkins was a scary individual; the personification of everything I feared about the government and what would happen if they ever found out about me.

Two dirty Las Vegas cops showed up looking for my little runaway on trumped up charges of arson and murder. When I say they were dirty I mean one of them had actually committed the crime she was accused of. Whether or not she was innocent wasn't the point. We'd done everything we could to hide her. Rod — Rebecca's boss and the head of the Las Angeles FBI office — had even had an, 'acquaintance' of his at Witness Protection create a new identity for her, complete with verifiable background information. When they showed up at her school asking about late enrollments we knew we were out of time, and out of options. I called Atkins to stop them. She refused because there was no way to interfere with what was — on the surface — a lawful investigation, without exposing herself or her organization. She was willing to sacrifice an innocent girls life to protect her invisibility. I wasn't. Now they're dead and Phoebe is, so far, still safely hidden.

When I say 'I' called Atkins, what I really mean is that I had Jamie call her, pretending to be the mysterious source that was helping Rebecca track down the Sandman.

Jamie is not an alternate personality in the sense of most suffers of Multiple Personality Disorder — MPD for short — but she does manifest some of the same characteristics. Most of the more common ones — different eye color for instance —don't show up because she is as close as I could ever have to a female biological twin. She is me if I had been born a girl. One of the more convenient characteristics that does appear is that her vocal and speech patterns are different from mine. In fact, if you were to record both of us, you would even get different voiceprints. Of course we didn't know this at the time — that knowledge came later during an experiment that Allison was doing — but we knew that our voices and speech patterns were far enough apart that no one listening to us individually on the phone would ever think it was the same person disguising their voice.

If 'David Malcolm' ever needs to speak to Atkins, I'll call, but when my 'source' wants to talk to her, Jamie will do the talking. The last thing I need is for someone like Atkins to figure out it's the same voice and realize it's been me all along.

"Atkins," came the sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

"Stay the fuck away from David Malcolm," Jamie demanded.

"What the ... son of a bitch! You again? What's the matter, afraid he'll lead us to you?"

"More afraid you're going to get your people killed, or did you think Hampton was making up the whole bit with the Black Queen?"

"The Black Queen? What's she got to do with Malcolm?"

"She's the reason he didn't want credit in the paper for rescuing Hampton's baby sister, and if someone over at the FBI hadn't shot his fucking mouth off, no one would know he was even involved, much less where he is."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"She wants the same thing you want, me. You want your people on the wall next to Barkley and Simmons?"

"No, of course not," she said contritely.

"Then stay out of the way and let us handle this."

"Who is 'us'?" she asked.

"You want to trade team rosters? Fine, send me yours first."

"Not likely," she scoffed. "How did you know it was my people?"

"The arrogant stench of federal invisibility," Jamie replied. "They just assumed that because they didn't exist, he wouldn't spot them following him. Rodriquez wouldn't have put people on him without telling him first, not to mention that he hasn't found him yet. What you don't know is that you're fucking up our countdown. LA is seeing how long it takes to find Malcolm without using the information they already have; that will give us a decent estimate on how long Henslith will take to do the same thing. Once Rodriguez finds him, then we know she won't be far behind, and it's going to be harder to spot her with your people getting in the way. Unless, of course, you piss her off. Then we can just follow the trail of bodies."

"You want her to find him?"

"She wants him alive; that gives us options. Now either you get your people out of harm's way, or I'll take them out myself, but I am not going to risk innocents getting hurt because one of your amateurs screwed up. Do I make myself clear?"

"Who the hell do you think you are calling me in the middle of the night and threatening my people?" she demanded.

Jamie exploded, "Threatening your people! What are you, deaf? I'm not threatening your people; I'm trying to keep them alive. They're out of their league, and if you don't get them out of there, they're going to get hurt." I hung up.

"Think she'll do it?" I asked after she hung up.

"Hell no, she's too damned sure of herself and too damn proud to admit she may have made a mistake. So what are we going to do?"

"Well, for starters, we're going to go home, wake Christine up, and put her to bed. Then we're going to call Rod and ask him where to have his counterparts in Vegas pick up Atkins' agents."

"Oh goody, play time!" she said. I could feel her wringing her hands in glee. "Where do you think they'll be? Wait, don't tell me. I'll bet I can spot them before you do."

"What's the wager?" I asked.

"Winner gets first turn with Christine when the Nile stops running red."

"Jamie! First off, Christine's not a prize. Second, that's just gross."