The Retrieval... Ch. 03

"My apologies, General," Smith sat up and leaned closer to the phone. "I would never even think about disturbing you on a Sunday --"

"What part of get to it did you not understand?"

"Again, I apologize." Mr. Smith repeated and then stopped. "I need a favor, General."

There was silence on the other end of the line and Smith thought he heard another sigh. "Go ahead."

Smith explained what the favor was and the General was more than a little unhappy that he was being asked for such a thing...but as a long-time member of The Council, he understood just how important this project was and the kind of time restraints Mr. Smith was under. He told Smith he would get back to him as soon as the service was over.

"Thank you, sir, I cannot tell you --" Smith had sat back in his chair and was in the process of expressing his gratitude when he realized the General had already hung up.

****

Secretary McMillen, the man in charge of the Department of Homeland Security, sat at the head of the twenty person conference table located at one end of his spacious office in the DHS Headquarters building. He slowly looked around at the group of seven people sitting clustered at the table around him while he considered the proposal that had been put before them. He had already thanked each of them for taking time out of their Sunday afternoon for this meeting.

They had just finished reviewing the proposal. McMillen picked up his glass of water and took a long drink. After setting it back down on the coaster, he looked to his immediate right at his Chief of Staff. "Your thoughts, Kris?"

"I think it needs to happen." DHS Chief of Staff Kris Malone replied simply as he dropped his pen on the legal pad in front of him.

The Secretary's gaze moved on to Homeland's Executive Secretary. "Dr. Connelly?"

"I personally don't think there's any question," DHS Executive Secretary Dr. Katherine Connelly nodded. An attractive woman in her early fifties, Dr. Connelly took a quick look around the table and added, "We have to do this and rather quickly."

"Now hold on, Kate," Sterling Bronson spoke up without waiting to be called on by the Secretary. His position was General Counsel for DHS. "We don't have to do anything. Right now there isn't any evidence that a threat still exists. This is just a courtesy we are considering."

"I wouldn't necessarily call it a courtesy, Sterling," Deputy Secretary Alex Majors chimed in. As the second in command at DHS, his opinion mattered. "Let's not forget what happened in this very building last week."

Sterling Bronson opened his mouth to voice his rebuttal but held his tongue when Secretary McMillen held his hand up. The Secretary looked down the table at their guest from the U.S. Marshals Service. Mark Troutman was the Marshals' Assistant Director of Witness Protection and had known Seth McMillen for over twenty years.

"Talk to me, Mark," Secretary McMillen said quietly. "What's the Marshals Service official stance on this?"

"Officially, we see it as a potential threat. Not a single agency or department has completed their part of the investigation, so on paper nothing has been substantiated yet," Troutman shrugged. "Unofficially, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think the threat was viable. We've placed people in WITSEC for less."

Secretary McMillen slowly nodded. They were dealing with an unknown organization - one that wasn't afraid to take big risks. Or were they? Did the threat start and end with the mercenaries that had attacked the headquarters building? Or was this something else? Something bigger?

He had to take the threat seriously. Listening to the majority consensus of his people and the U.S. Marshals had done nothing but confirm his gut instinct that Leah Hartsall should be placed into the WITSEC program. It would be effective just as soon as the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence ruled that she wouldn't need to provide any further testimony. Once they had given her the all clear, she'd be whisked off into the program as soon as the Marshals could get everything set up and in place.

The Secretary spoke quietly and firmly as he explained why he was going to move forward with his decision. With the exception of DHS's General Counsel, everyone in attendance agreed with the decision. The U. S. Marshals Service Assistant Director gave his approval of the decision and was in the process of politely excusing himself from the meeting as the rest of the Homeland group was preparing to move on to the next item on their agenda when the seventh member of the group spoke up.

"Excuse me, Mr. Secretary," Deputy Under-Secretary for Analysis Henry Atwood cleared his throat. "May I make a couple of suggestions, sir?"

Secretary McMillen knew how just how integral of a role Hank Atwood had played in stopping the assault in Homeland's HQ building. He looked down the table and dipped his chin slightly for Atwood to continue.

****

Within the depths of the same underground facility that Leah and Jules had visited the day before, a visitor was sitting comfortably in one of the wing back leather chairs positioned across the desk from the unofficial Warden's desk. The facility didn't exist on paper, so the title technically didn't officially exist either. Unofficial or not, there was no question in anyone's mind that came to this black-site holding facility that the full bird Colonel sitting behind the large desk was in charge.

"I have to say," the Colonel chose his words carefully, "this is a highly unusual request."

"I understand that, Colonel," the handsome visitor nodded patiently and paused long enough to enjoy another sip of the Glenmorangie Single Malt his host had generously provided. "I also want to assure you that this request is not being made lightly."

"I would naturally assume that to be the case," the Colonel allowed.

"And the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs wanted me to extend his personal gratitude for your cooperation on this," the visitor continued and allowed himself a small smile when the Colonel visibly stiffened at the mention of the VCJCS.

"Of course," the Colonel nodded and cleared his throat. "And please let the General know that if there is anything else I can do to assist with this...situation, I will do so to the best of my ability."

"I'll definitely pass that on," the visitor smiled.

"I would appreciate that."

"And I hate to cut this short," the man in the perfectly tailored Brooks Brothers suit announced as he stood up and finished his tumbler of scotch in one swallow. He set the glass down, straightened the sleeve on his charcoal gray jacket and started to walk towards the door of the Colonel's office. "But I'm afraid I have a schedule to keep, Colonel."

"I understand, Mr. Smith," the Colonel called out and had to scramble out from behind his desk to catch up.

****

Mr. Smith had informed the Colonel and his armed escort that he would be just fine left alone with the detainee and actually preferred it that way. As this was against facility protocol, it took a few more minutes of reassurances and finally a lightly veiled threat to get his way. After the Colonel and his men finally left, the visitor stood alone in front of the cell of one Travis Rackley or as he was known in this place, TDR06891.

"Hello, Mr. Rackley," the visitor greeted the man who chose to remain prone on his concrete bunk with his arms comfortably behind his head.

"Afternoon, Mr. Jones," Rackley replied in a friendly tone. "Is it afternoon? And is it Mr. Jones today?"

"It's actually almost midnight," the visitor corrected him. "And it's Mr. Smith."

"Of course it is," Rackley chuckled and sat up, swinging his legs around to a sitting position. He comically looked around at his windowless cell and then shrugged at his visitor. "It's kind of hard to keep track in here."

"I can imagine it is," the man agreed.

"I highly doubt that," Rackley scoffed.

"Pardon?"

"The remote possibility that you would end up in a place like this doesn't exist in your world, Mr. Smith," Rackley explained. "You couldn't imagine what this is like if you tried."

The visitor looked up as if he was carefully considering Rackley's observation. He finally looked back down and smiled. "I suppose you are correct, Mr. Rackley."

"I know you didn't come all this way for small talk," Rackley said quietly as he stood up and came over to face Mr. Smith through the bars of his cell. "Why are you here?"

"Actually," Mr. Smith replied smoothly, "we have a bit of a dilemma that we'd like your assistance with."

Rackley studied the man in the expensive suit with a flat, unreadable gaze for more than a minute. He finally nodded his head for the visitor to continue.

"This current situation is proving to be quite problematic," Smith began as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his cell phone. "Our group has been unable to reach a consensus on the proper course of action."

"Is that right?" Rackley replied quietly and reached up a hand to rest it on one of the bars of his cell door.

"Yes, that is correct," Mr. Smith nodded and began scrolling through his phone.

"And?" Rackley prompted.

"We basically have two choices. We can lose a very valuable asset," the visitor paused to glance up at Rackley with a meaningful look and then went back to his phone, "who has served us well, but due to current circumstances is no longer of use to us."

"Or," Mr. Smith continued and then turned his phone around so Rackley could see the screen, "we could just eliminate the source of information that poses a threat."

Rackley silently stared at the image of Leah on the phone until Mr. Smith exited the screen and put it back in his jacket.

"It's fairly simple if you think about it...if one or the other was to simply cease being a factor in this annoying investigation," Mr. Smith explained. "Well, then there isn't any link to the group, is there?"

Rackley remained silent.

"I mean, if that was the case," Smith continued, "then we certainly wouldn't need to risk any more unnecessary exposure in pursuing the matter further."

Rackley continued to stand there stoically, the only indication of emotion being the knuckles of his hand turning white as he gripped the cell bar tightly.

"Your thoughts on the matter, Mr. Rackley?" the visitor asked pleasantly.

A muscle in Rackley's cheek twitched as every single fiber of his being willed the bars separating him from this man to disappear. Through sheer force of will he wanted them to magically vanish for just a minute...because sixty seconds would be all he needed.

Rackley suddenly smiled and shook his head as he began chuckling.

"Did I say something to amuse you, Mr. Rackley?" Smith cocked his head inquisitively.

"No....but I thought you said there was a dilemma?"

Mr. Smith raised an eyebrow.

Rackley leaned a little closer to the bars and his grin disappeared as he lowered his voice. "Go tell your puppet masters I know what needs to be done, errand boy...and I'll do it."

Smith didn't blink an eye or appear ruffled in any way. "That's your final decision?"

"It is," Rackley replied through clenched teeth.

Smith politely nodded his acceptance of the decision.

"Just so we're clear...I do this and there won't be any need to pursue it further, correct?"

"That is correct," Mr. Smith confirmed.

"Alright," Rackley sighed and went back to sit down on his bunk. "I'll take care of it."

"You have twenty four hours."

"Roger that," Rackley said quietly with a single nod. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

****

The trip had taken longer than Leah had thought it would.

Which made sense since rather than flying they had driven...which they really had no other choice but to drive since she did have all of her stuff with her. It didn't matter one way or the other to Leah. She felt like she was on her own again. She listened without comment as the Deputies from the U.S. Marshals Service gave her their final instructions. They asked her if she had any questions. She didn't. Satisfied, they handed her a list of emergency contacts. They told her they would stop back in to check on her in a couple of days, wished her good luck and left.

With the Marshals gone, Leah wandered from empty room to empty room. Now she really was on her own. Finally, she sat on the bare mattress in the bedroom. Moving into a new place was nothing new to the tall blonde. Once she had officially terminated her contract with the Agency, she'd spent the next six months moving around the country in search of that elusive place that she could call home. She thought she had found that back in North Carolina...but then a certain redheaded Federal Agent had come into her life and turned her world upside down.

As her thoughts began to dwell on Jules, Leah stood up and rubbed her palms against the thighs of her jeans. She missed Jules so much that her heart literally ached in her chest. Leah sighed and picked up her suitcase and dumped it on the bed. She began taking each piece of clothing out and separating it into a fold pile and a hang up pile. She had to do something to occupy herself or she thought she might cry.

Leah froze with a shirt in her hand. She cocked her head when she heard a fumbling noise at the front door.

It was more than likely the Marshals Service. Maybe they forgot to unload some of her belongings or they decided to make one last check on her...at this point it didn't really matter. Leah's instincts had already kicked in as she quickly dug in her suitcase and came out with a 9mm in her hand. She held it down behind her thigh as she quickly and quietly moved down the hallway towards the living room. She stopped at the end of the hall and peeked around the corner towards the front door.

She could see shadows moving along the small crack at the bottom of the door.

The door latch rattled loudly and then the knob turned. As the front door began to open, Leah brought the semi-automatic handgun up and took aim. She took a deep breath and held it as her finger took the slack out of the trigger. She was mentally prepared to eliminate the threat. As soon as she caught the first glimpse of auburn hair, she breathed out and took her finger off of the trigger as she lowered her weapon. Jules was standing in the open doorway with a huge grin on her face. Leah was stunned.

"You're early," Leah finally remarked. She carefully set the gun down on a small table in the hallway.

"Yep," Jules nodded as Hank crowded in behind her. Jules dropped her bags as Leah crossed the room and swept her up in a big hug. One of Hank Atwood's recommendations to the Secretary of Homeland Security was to give Jules the option to join Leah in the WITSEC program.

"You're early," Leah repeated with a smile and literally picked the redhead up off of her feet and swung her around. As she finally set Jules down, Leah began showering that smiling face with kisses.

Hank turned away in embarrassment and cleared his throat.

"Sorry," Leah shrugged and let Jules go from the embrace. Jules reached out and grabbed Leah's hand as they both turned to look at Atwood.

"No worries," Hank smiled at them.

"Can I get y'all anything?" Leah asked and took a step towards the kitchen. "You want some coffee or water or something?"

"No...no, thank you," Atwood tipped his chin. "I appreciate it, but I actually need to get going. I just wanted to make sure Jules got here safe and sound."

"Thank you for this, Hank," Jules smiled at him and let go of Leah's hand. She moved towards Atwood and wrapped her arms around him. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

"You're very welcome, Jules," Hank Atwood said affectionately. After hugging for another moment, he put his hands on the shorter redhead's shoulders and pushed her away to arm's length so he could bend down and look into her eyes. "You two just stick to the program. Follow the Marshals' instructions and stay out of trouble. You hear me?"

Jules nodded and Leah added, "Yes, sir."

"I'll be checking in on you every so often," Atwood announced as he turned towards the door. He gave Jules another tight smile and then motioned with his head at Leah. "Walk me to my car?"

"Sure," Leah replied warily.

She paused to look at Jules who smiled sympathetically and nodded her head encouragingly. Leah was confused by that, but went ahead and followed Hank Atwood out the door. There was a neat stack of boxes and another suitcase on the porch that Leah was sure belonged to Jules that they had to maneuver around. She trailed behind him down the porch steps, down the front walk and towards the blacked out Lincoln Navigator that sat idling in the driveway. Atwood nodded at his driver as they approached the vehicle. He stopped at the rear passenger door and turned to face Leah.

"Leah," Atwood said quietly as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out an envelope and hesitated with a solemn look on his face. He kept the envelope in his hand as in a hushed tone he informed her of the death of Travis Rackley.

Leah didn't move. She stood there with a blank expression on her face as Homeland Security's Deputy Under-Secretary for Analysis briefly explained the Black Site Prison's version of events. He then informed her that the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence would be closing their investigation. Her testimony would be sealed and they wouldn't be calling her again in relation to the events that happened in Andarab.

It was over.

Hank told her how truly sorry he was. He reached out a hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. She didn't pull away from it. She didn't do anything but stand there in stunned silence. He handed her the envelope and explained that the officials from the Black Site had found it in Rackley's cell. It was sealed and addressed to Leah. She took it without looking at it and held it down by her side as she continued to stare ahead blankly.

Atwood expressed his sympathy again and then told her goodbye. She just stood there and numbly watched Hank Atwood climb into the back of the SUV. She watched it back out of the driveway and pull off to disappear down the road. Leah slowly turned towards the house. Jules was standing on the porch. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold. Leah turned slightly towards the back of their little house.

"Leah?" Jules called out to her.

"I..." Leah said quietly and then had to clear her throat. "I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Leah shook her head. "I think...I just want to be alone for a little while."

"Are you sure?" Jules asked with her heart breaking. She wanted to be able to make the hurt go away, but knew there was nothing she could do for Leah right now.

"I'm sure," Leah nodded as she began walking slowly towards the back yard.

She walked across the yard and then on through the little patch of woods that was directly behind the house. She followed a little trail that eventually led down to a clearing which hid a small lake. She stopped and took a deep breath and then made her way down to the end of the short pier that jutted out from the bank.

Leah sat down and held the envelope from Rack in both hands. Her feet almost touched the water. She sat and just looked at the envelope for a long time. She finally opened it and with a deep breath started reading. As she read a small smile spread across her face at the memories Rackley's words conjured up. She was smiling while at the same time tears started to spill down her cheeks. Her hand went to her mouth as a small laugh escaped.

She continued reading and her smile slowly faded. Her brow furrowed. She shook her head slightly and started back at the top and reread the letter again. By the end, a look of resolve had replaced the tears. She held Rackley's letter tightly in her hand and looked out at the water.