Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Hartsdale, New York
Informal cookouts were not part of the company's way of life. Not ones like this.
Most operatives were expected to live ordinary lives, or at least lives ordinary enough to pass casual inspection. Public familiarity with other agents invited questions. Questions invited curiosity, and curiosity risked exposure.
Distance between friends was a necessary sacrifice.
Nicolaus Toles had spent most of his adult life accepting necessary things. Acceptance didn't negate regret.
In recent years, he had expanded Carecom's interests beyond medical supplies and into research and development. The shift served several purposes—some useful to the people to whom he answered, some useful to Carecom, and some useful to Nicolaus's own private edification.
One unintended benefit had been the occasional excuse to see old friends in places where old friends were not supposed to gather.
Today's barbecue violated nearly every unwritten code of conduct for both the Collaborative and the company. Nicolaus imagined Bill Brackett and Don Waters sitting in some dark corner, bristling over the accepted invitations and cataloging every possible compromise to their life's work.
That image alone had made his attendance irresistible.
He stepped into the backyard and immediately caught the gaze of a man he had not seen in a decade.
"Nick!"
A smile spread across Nicolaus's face before he could prevent it.
"Jim."
Jim McCollum crossed the yard and took his hand, pulling him into a brief embrace. "I didn't know you were coming."
"Well, I wouldn't have?—"
"Couldn't resist Jack's burgers?"
Nicolaus laughed. "Should I trust a man who genetically engineers cows to cook my dinner?"
Jim shrugged. "He might have added a tasty gene."
Nicolaus shook his head, still chuckling.
"I am surprised to see you," Jim said.
"I had a conference in the city this week. It gave me an excuse not to manufacture another excuse."
"Mm. Does Bill know you're here?"
"He knows."
"That must've gone over well."
Nicolaus offered a mild shrug and looked past Jim toward another familiar face. "Marjorie is here?"
Jim followed his gaze and waved to Marjorie Brackett.
She smiled back, then bent to say something to the two girls sitting in the grass at her feet.
Nicolaus studied them for a moment.
"Is that Cassie?"
Jim turned back, and the pride in his face softened everything about him. "It is."
"God, she looks like Rose."
"She does."
Nicolaus looked again. The older girl sat cross-legged in the grass, her fair hair catching the sunlight as she held something out to the toddler beside her. A flower, maybe. Or a blade of grass. Whatever it was, the little girl accepted it gratefully.
"Is that Claire she's entertaining?"
Jim nodded.
"Huh," Nicolaus said. "Marjorie came all the way from Virginia?"
"Jack and Rachel's daughter is only a few months younger than Claire. They went through the fertility program around the same time. Became close, from what I understand."
"You can bet Bill asked her not to come."
Jim laughed. "I don't think Marjorie is particularly interested in taking Bill's directions."
"Safe bet."
They watched as Marjorie approached.
"Well," she said, opening her arms, "look who decided to grace us with his presence."
Nicolaus accepted the hug. "Hi, Margie."
She pulled back and thumbed at the gray near his sideburns. "Good God, you got old, Nick."
Jim laughed.
Marjorie turned her attention to him. "What are you laughing about?"
Jim lifted both hands. "Nothing."
"Wise answer."
"Claire's gotten big," Nicolaus said.
Marjorie glanced back at the toddler in the grass and smiled. "I know. I can't believe she'll be two in a couple of weeks."
Jim's gaze drifted to Cassidy and Claire again. "It goes fast."
Marjorie's expression softened. "Jim."
He smiled, but there was an evident sadness in his eyes.
"Cassidy is a sweet girl," Marjorie said.
"Gets that from her mother," Jim replied.
"Obviously," Nicolaus said.
All three laughed, and for a moment, it almost felt ordinary.
That was the strangest thing.
Ordinary had once been possible between them.
Nicolaus had met Jim through Edmond Callier, his college roommate and the closest thing Nicolaus had ever had to a best friend.
Edmond and Nicolaus had both inherited ties to the company through their parents.
In those days, their connections could still exist in daylight.
The network had been smaller then. Not innocent. Smaller. More contained.
There were fewer eyes on them, and a na?veté about the things men behind uniforms, in the closed doors of campaign headquarters, and in the Oval Office.
Edmond introduced Jim to Bill Brackett, and Brackett began what Nicolaus had always considered less a recruitment effort than a seduction. James McCollum was brilliant, curious, disciplined, and just idealistic enough to believe dangerous men when they said the work served a higher purpose.
They had all been ambitious young men. Their ambitions had taken different shapes. And their paths set different limits.
For a few years after college, Toles, McCollum, and Callier enjoyed outings, playing pool, drinking scotch, and swapping stories.
As time passed, their visits became shorter.
More guarded. Eventually, it became an occasional phone call made with care.
Then Jim's scientific work progressed, and the methods surrounding that work grew more controversial.
Distance became prudent. Then necessary.
Nicolaus had heard about Rose. He had seen her picture. Jim had sent photographs of Cassidy over the years, along with congratulatory notes when Nicolaus's children were born.
But Nicolaus had never met Jim's family.
He looked back toward the grass, where Cassidy leaned closer to Claire, saying something that made the toddler laugh and reach for her hand.
It felt sadder than it should have been. These children whose parents had once been the closest of friends should have grown up together. Another sacrifice.
Claire pushed herself to her feet with the determination of a child who had only recently discovered her ability to walk and had already decided it was insufficient.
Marjorie glanced back. "Claire, honey?—"
Too late.
Claire took off across the grass in an uneven rush, her arms lifted for balance, her curls bouncing with every unsteady step. She made it three strides before momentum got the better of her. One foot caught the edge of a small dip in the lawn, and she pitched forward.
Cassidy dropped whatever she had been holding and sprinted to Claire, catching her beneath the arms before the toddler could hit the ground.
"Oh!" Cassidy said, startled by her own rescue. "Careful."
Claire blinked at her.
For one suspended second, everyone nearby froze.
Then Claire laughed. It wasn't a frightened laugh. It was a bright, delighted burst of sound, as if falling had been part of the plan and Cassidy catching her had been the expected ending.
Cassidy laughed.
Claire reached for Cassidy's face and grinned.
Cassidy smiled and guided Claire back to sit beside her on the grass.
"There," she said. "Maybe start a little slower, huh?"
Claire tilted her head at the older girl, then laughed again.
Cassidy shook her head, an innocent affection shining in her eyes. "You sure are silly," she said.
Nicolaus watched the moment with a stillness that surprised him.
There was nothing extraordinary about one child catching another. Children stumbled, and older children helped. He'd watched his daughter catch her brother more times than he cared to count.
Something about this moment unsettled him. Or maybe it moved him.
Jim had gone quiet beside him.
Marjorie saw it, too. Nicolaus could tell by the way her expression softened. She looked from Claire to Cassidy, then to Jim.
"She likes her," Marjorie said.
Jim smiled, though his eyes remained fixed on the girls. "Cassie has that effect on people."
"She's sweet," Marjorie said.
"Gets that from her mother," Jim replied.
"Obviously," Nicolaus offered.
Jim huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly.
Across the lawn, Cassidy leaned closer to Claire and whispered something that seemed almost conspiratorial. Claire answered in the serious babble of toddlers, reaching out to grip Cassidy's hand. Cassidy listened as if every word made perfect sense.
Rachel called to her daughter, who had wandered too close to the edge of the driveway with a fistful of grass. Jack stood near the grill, calling for Jim's opinion about what shade of pink made a burger undercooked.
Jim shook his head and yelled, "Just make sure it doesn't moo!"
Everyone laughed.
It was ordinary.
That was what made it so dangerous.
Their lives had become their work. And their work demanded measured distance. It begged the containment of variables. Names separated from faces. Work separated from family. Relationships sidelined before they became liabilities.
And yet, here they all were.
Jim was here because Jack was his coworker and there was nothing suspicious about his attendance.
Marjorie was here because Rachel had become her friend, which was the sort of personal complication no one could foresee, and therefore never prevent.
And Nicolaus was here because a conference in the city had made avoiding the invitation more conspicuous than accepting it.
It was just life unfolding.
Life, with its maddening habit of slipping through the narrow spaces powerful men could not seal.
Claire tried to stand again.
Cassidy tightened her hold. "Wait. Let me help."
Claire frowned, deeply offended by the suggestion.
Cassidy looked over her shoulder. "Daddy, she doesn't listen very well."
Jim laughed.
Marjorie chuckled, too.
"She must get that from you," Nicolaus said to Marjorie.
"No doubt," Jim agreed.
Claire tugged on Cassidy's hand, determined to move. Cassidy rose carefully, bending at an awkward angle to keep hold of her.
Claire grinned.
"Oh," Cassidy said. She looked across the large yard to where a group of boys were running.
"You want to play with the boys?"
Claire grinned wider.