CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Two Months Later…
“A toast,” Michael said. “To a job well done.”
Faith lifted her glass with the others gathered around her dinner table: Jessica, David, Greg Rogers, and Jeff Hammerton.
Glasses clinked, and they downed the champagne, a ridiculously expensive French brand that Michael had bought for the occasion with a portion of the substantial bonus he’d received.
For ease of paperwork, Smythe had chosen to credit Michael as the FBI lead on the case.
Faith had received an equally substantial bonus, and everyone in the Bureau knew it was David who had really spearheaded the investigation, but like every government organization, they dreaded paperwork, and no one minded if Michael’s was the name printed in the papers.
In fact, Faith preferred it. She was ready to slip into obscurity, or at least as close as she could get.
“To friends,” Jessica said, lifting her glass again.
“Hear, hear,” Faith said.
Turk, standing in between her and David, barked enthusiastically.
They touched glasses again, drank again. Greg grinned at David. “I’m still pissed at you for going without us.”
“Hey, that was Jayce’s idea, not mine.”
“Yeah, where is he, anyway?” Jeff asked. “I want to congratulate him for being the only man to ever knock me out.”
Smiles faded slightly. Michael cleared his throat and informed the two agents, who had only recently been returned to active duty, "He’s still liable for his part with the 93rd.
He’s going to get a cushy plea deal, but he’s probably still looking at some time.
Less than a year, but it’s unavoidable. It’s like that short story about the guy who saved the ship from the loose cannon, but he was the guy who failed to strap it down in the first place. ”
“No idea what that short story is, but I’ll take your word for it,” Jeff said.
Faith squeezed David’s shoulder and gave her husband a smile.
He returned a sad look of his own and placed his hand on top of hers.
Jayce’s time would be about as soft as possible, and he was guaranteed a job with the FBI when he got out, probably with Cybercrimes, but it still sucked to think of him going to jail because his boss was evil.
Speaking of that.
“What about the CIA?” Faith asked. “Nothing’s going to happen to them?”
Michael scoffed. “No. The US remains allergic to prosecuting its own ‘we can do whatever we want’ arm.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jessica spat. “So, what, they’re just throwing Chastain and some low-level grunts to the wolves meanwhile the bigwigs behind all of it get off scot free?”
“‘Fraid so,” Michael said. “That’s how it always happens. Anyone can commit a crime, but only the little guys get prosecuted for it.” He sipped some champagne and said in a less bitter voice, “The low-level guys are probably only going to get five years, out in two. Maybe if some evidence comes out that any of the handlers were particularly brutal, they’ll get ten out in five.
Chastain will get life since they’re pinning everything on him, and honestly, it looks like this was his brainchild. ”
“The latest version of it was,” David said, staring morosely into his glass.
“But they’ve been doing crap like this since the CIA began.
This is all being swept under the rug and diminished to some animal trafficking scheme.
No mention of what the CIA was trying to do.
If anyone puts two-and-two together, they’ll be dismissed as tinfoil-hat-wearing kooks.
As long as they keep getting away with this, someone else will show up and create some other problem. ”
“You’re not wrong,” Faith agreed, “but that will be someone else’s problem to solve.”
Jessica lowered her eyes briefly at that. She still hadn’t come to terms with Faith’s choice to leave the field. But she would. She was young, and the beauty of youth was that the future always looked bright and clouds always passed. Hopefully Jessica would hold onto that hope for a long time.
“Yeah,” David agreed reluctantly. “What about Whitaker? Anyone find her?”
Once again, smiles faded. While all fifty dogs had been recovered and were now undergoing therapy and veterinary treatment at the FBI K9 School campus, a few of the handlers had escaped during the brief skirmish between Oklahoma City PD and the fleeing CIA vehicles.
Two of the handlers were caught within fifty miles of the city, but Whitaker, the handler whose abrasive attitude and clearly abusive behavior toward Sierra had first sparked David’s suspicion, was still at large.
“No, she’s in the wind,” Michael said. “If she’s smart, she’ll stay in the wind. Change her appearance, change her voice, and get a working-class job under an assumed name in a stopover city.”
“Meaning she’ll never be brought to justice,” David said bitterly.
Michael smiled empathetically. “We do the best we can. We don’t always get everything we want.”
“What about the agent who accosted David at his office?” Faith asked. “Has he been named among the defendants?”
“Pharaoh? No. As nearly as my NSA insider can figure out, he’s being painted as an internal investigator who decided Chastain was going off the rails and decided to let him derail rather than shut him down himself and risk the CIA being liable for the crazed actions of one of their employees.
It’s all CYA bullshit, but Pharaoh was the one who ordered the armed agents to stand down and submit to arrest. I’m not advocating for a statue of him anywhere, but if he hadn’t seen the writing on the wall, we might have been looking at casualties. ”
“That’s all good, but where is he now?” Faith asked. She was more concerned with him carrying a vendetta against David than whether or not he was going to interfere with justice.
“He’s been reassigned to Europe,” David said. “Assistant Section Chief. A promotion in name but a screw-off-here-until-we-decide-if-your-career-is-dead-or-not in reality.”
Faith sipped her champagne. She didn’t feel wonderful about it, but she hoped Pharaoh didn’t suffer career consequences. She wanted no animosity between her husband and the CIA anymore. She couldn’t handle losing him.
“Well, I guess I’ll take what I can get,” David said. “God knows I’ve learned I’m not cut out for what you guys do.” He nodded at the FBI agents at the table.
“Hell, I’m not cut out for what we do anymore,” Michael said. “This case reminded me why I left the field. I can’t wait to go back to sitting in my office and eating donuts while crabbing at my hardworking agents for clerical errors.”
Faith grinned. “Following in the Boss’s footsteps, I see.”
“Monroe was a master,” Michael said, lifting his glass in honor of his and Faith’s former boss. “I can only hope to be as surly as him someday.”
“Meanwhile, I find myself short a partner,” Jessica said, smiling wryly at Faith.
“Oh, that’s right,” Michael said. “You’re stepping away again. How’s Smythe take it?”
“He’s in denial,” Faith said. “He cajoled me into agreeing to consult from my desk.”
“So, he’s going to try to convince you to consult in the field,” David said dryly.
“Yeah,” Faith replied. “But he’s going to fail. I really am done this time.” She looked at Turk and ruffled his fur. “Time to let the old guy relax. He’s done enough.”
“Well, from what I understand, you guys will have another young pup in the family soon. Maybe she’ll step into Turk’s shoes one day.”
David brightened at that. To no one’s surprise, he had insisted on adopting Sierra.
Once she finished rehabilitating at the FBI campus, she was coming straight home to them.
Faith couldn’t imagine working with anyone other than Turk, but she was still far from old, and she couldn’t rule out the possibility of wanting to get out there again.
There was a saying in the Marine Corps: you can take the Marine out of the Corps, but you can’t take the Corps out of the Marine.
Faith had done a pretty good job divorcing herself from her military past, but her FBI field agent past had stronger hooks. Maybe…
No. No more maybes. Whatever happened would happen when it happened and not a moment earlier.
As of right now, Faith was Chief Instructor of the K9 School, husband to a brave, sweet veterinary doctor, human companion to the best, most loyal dog that ever lived, and friend to the greatest comrades anyone could ask for. That was enough.
She lifted her glass again. “To a bright future, wherever the road may take us.”
Michael lifted an eyebrow along with his glass. “Damn, Faith. That was poetic.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll write poetry in my spare time.”
“Doubt it.”
They touched glasses and drank. Faith scratched Turk behind his ears and accepted his kisses in return. “Good boy,” she said. “You’re a good boy.”
Turk barked in agreement, and Faith laughed and hugged him tightly.
She couldn’t wait to watch him enjoy himself without worrying that a suspect would get the better of him and take him from her before his time.
He’d get to grow old and die in comfort and peace with the people he loved surrounding him.
That was all Faith could ask for. All anyone could ask for.
“I love you, boy.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that same love reflected, the sweet reward of a job well done.