Betrayal (5 page)

“I guess you had.” Cassidy winked and started to turn away when she felt herself being pulled into Alex’s lap. She looked into the agent’s eyes and within less than a moment she lost herself there.

“I love you, Cassidy O’Brien,” Alex said. “Thank you.”

“For?” Cassidy asked, allowing her gaze to linger.

“For everything.”

“Je t’adore, Alex.”

“Mm…enough to share paperwork,” Alex poked.

“Enough to share everything,” Cassidy said seriously. Alex nodded her understanding. She felt so much pain and loss, but somehow just a few moments with the woman in her arms and she felt a warmth that she knew would help her to heal. “Everything, Alex.”

“Yes, you are,” Alex whispered, following her words with a tender kiss.

The man at the center of the room stood straight, his posture stiff and guarded. He listened carefully, expressionless. Standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders; his gray hair highlighted his blue eyes and his fair complexion. He was an intimidating presence. “Mr. President,” he began, “there are expectations. You understand?”

The newly sworn in president was a far less imposing figure. Lawrence Strickland stood several inches shorter and had a soft manner about him. Always a background player, he now found himself sitting in a chair that had been held by some of the strongest and most savvy men on earth; if not always the most intelligent. What the newly sworn in president possessed was just that, a mind-blowing intellect. If John Merrow had occupied the seat with strength and honor, Lawrence Strickland would claim it with intellect. There were many differences between the two men. Colonel John Merrow believed in loyalty to his country. He understood the need for order, both to give and receive orders. His life was spent not weighing all the pros and cons, but executing plans. His life was not one guided by ambition, but ruled by a sense of duty. Once Governor Strickland was as ambitious as he was intelligent. His sense of duty to anything other than the service of his own desires was questionable. “I understand,” Strickland answered.

Jonathan Krause stood at the far side of the Oval Office. His eyes scanned the room. Behind the president’s desk still sat his friend’s personal photos. It was impossible to control the tension in his face as his eyes narrowed to slits. Pictures of three beautiful women; Jane Merrow, Alexandra and Stephanie Merrow, all three smiling, sat beside a picture of six people, five men and one woman all in Army uniforms, giving the ‘thumbs up’. Just behind it stood a photo of the president’s parents. He bit the inside of his lip so hard that he could taste the trickle of blood it set forth.

“Jonathan,” Lawrence Strickland looked at the man across the room. “I am sorry about John.”

Krause’s expression was severe. “Jonathan,” Admiral Brackett said carefully, prompting a sarcastic smile from the CIA agent. “We have a great deal to do,” the Admiral continued. “Sympathy will be high.” Krause felt his stomach twist. ‘Sympathy,’ he silently thought as the admiral went on. “Congress will be hesitant not to pass any measure that the president supported. You need to capitalize on that Larry. Express how important these measures were to him; how much he was committed to our foreign relationships and security. We need that resolution amended. This will, at the very least, delay any vote. There are transactions set for next week. This will provide a needed distraction.”

Jonathan Krause struggled not to release a sigh of disgust. In his mind he played his thoughts, “transactions? That’s what this is, John. You and me, just transactions.”

“I understand,” the new president answered.

“Good. You need to address the coming European initiatives with the French Prime Minister when he calls.” Strickland nodded. “Accept his wishes and open the dialogue. You need to say very little; he will understand simply by the situation at hand. We cannot allow any tighter port restrictions.” Strickland again nodded his understanding. “Jonathan?” the admiral turned to the younger man. “I need you to go to Moscow.”
Krause flinched slightly and the commanding admiral pursed his lips. “You know you cannot be at the funeral.”

Krause understood. His relationship with John Merrow was not one that most would or could ever know about, at least not those out of these circles. His brother, at least the only man he had ever felt was his brother, was gone and he would mourn that loss alone. There was no choice. There were only two people in Jonathan Krause’s life that he ever completely trusted; only two people that he could claim he truly loved. One was now gone and the other would never give him her heart. It did not change the fact that they both held his. Duty. He and his brother were destined for duty. This was his duty. There was little room in a life that was centered on following orders for love. John Merrow once told him that falling in love changed everything. The brick wall that one erects as a strong façade in a life bound by duty becomes a pane of glass when a person falls in love. The constant threat of shatter becomes a heart-wrenching reality. The CIA agent looked at his hand. The long scratches were still a fiery red from the glass he had shattered with his knuckles earlier. “Appropriate,” he thought. Again, the wheels were turning. They had never stopped. Only for a few people, for a few moments. Now they would spin again and Krause wondered if that spinning could ever truly be controlled.

“Cassidy, be reasonable,” Christopher O’Brien said through the phone.

“It’s perfectly reasonable, Christopher.”

“Do you really hate me that much?” he asked.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but everything I do is not about you,” Cassidy answered.

“Obviously. I’d like to see Dylan when you get here.”

“Of course,” she said. “We’re coming back Sunday afternoon. I figured you would want him to be with you Saturday.”

“Saturday night?”

“Yes….”

“That’s not good for me.”

“I’m sorry?” the teacher asked for clarification.

“There is a dinner at Senator Levy’s Saturday. I need to be there.”

Cassidy shook her head and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Of course you do.”

“Don’t start, Cassie.”

“No, Chris…really….it’s fine. Take him for the day then.”

“Why can’t he just stay Friday?” the congressman asked. “I’ll take him after the funeral.”

“No.”

“No?” he responded.

“Right. No.”

“Why not?” he raised his voice.

Cassidy sighed. “We are spending Friday evening with friends of Alex’s.”

“I don’t think friends of Alex’s trump Dylan’s father.”

“Chris…”

“Who are these
friends
?”

Cassidy moved to the front window and watched Alex boost Dylan onto the lowest branch of the small tree. “We will be with the Merrows.”

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Christopher, you know that Alex was close to the president.”

“I know they knew each other.”

“Well, no matter. I’ll bring him over on Saturday.”

“Cassidy, we need to talk about
this
.”

“Talk about what?”

“You and this FBI agent. What are you going to do when she….”

Cassidy laughed. “Chris, there is nothing for us to discuss. Give Cheryl my regards. We’ll see you at the funeral.”

Congressman Christopher O’Brien threw his phone across the desk. “FBI bitch,” he muttered.

Michael Taylor stared at the photo in his hands. “Mutanabbi,” he said aloud. “What the hell, Colonel? What is it about Mutanabbi Street?” He set down the picture and retrieved a file from the corner of his desk. A slight gasp escaped him as he surveyed the photo of the carnage. The street was unrecognizable. Papers littered the ground, dust lingered in the air and blood stained nearly everything in sight. “How did we even survive?” he mused to himself. “Shit. Colonel, what the hell is it about that day? What could you want Alex to know?” He sifted through the papers, searching. “Dammit!” A burst of anger sent the files soaring across the desk and he rubbed his temples with his palms. “Brackett. Follow Brackett. What the hell could Agent Brackett know?” Taylor shook his head and pushed his chair back. “Follow Brackett. Not Claire…..that’s it……it’s not Claire he meant.”

ictor, ya tam budu zavtro.Net...netu povoda tebe deystvovat
.

Zhdi menya
(Viktor, I will be there tomorrow. No...There is no reason for you to act. Wait for me),” Krause instructed.