No Way Out Ch. 05

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack Muscone invited me to lunch at the Cop Bar. Somewhat to my surprise, he had someone with him: current FBI Deputy Director Lawrence Lance. My initial impressions of him were confirmed: he looked like a cross between a harassed Police Captain and a determined pit bull.

"Pleasure to meet you." Lance said as we shook hands before taking our seats. "Though under unfortunate circumstances." He meant the retired DepDirector's death.

"Yes sir." I said.

"Are you going to the funeral?" Muscone asked.

"Laura worked closely with him, and they were good friends." I replied. "She wants me to go, as her escort and bodyguard if nothing else."

"I met Dr. Fredricson some years ago." said DepDirector Lance. "She was pregnant with your daughter, which did not stop her from giving a very chilling briefing on the technology being used by nations that are hostile to us to steal Government as well as industrial secrets. She really knew her stuff, too."

"Yes, she's forgotten more about some things than most of us will ever know." I said.

"And that was one reason I insisted the FBI take responsibility for that team's actions." said Lance. "I understand your lawyer and ours came to an accommodation?"

"I think so, sir, and I appreciate you stepping up on behalf of the FBI for that." I said. Mike G. Todd had informed me that the FBI had not blinked in agreeing to a ten million dollar overall settlement, some of which would be in the form of repairing and refurbishing The Cabin.

"Of course," I continued, "you've got the DNI gunning for you now."

"Chapel?" grunted Lance. "He's almost as batshit crazy as Curtis Halsey was. But I understand that U.S. Senators Nunn, McGill, and others in this region came down on Chapel like a ton of bricks for what happened to your home and your daughter. After she helped bust Marcie Harper, your daughter is a hero of Law Enforcement and Senators alike. Senator McGill especially thinks highly of her. Halsey made a bad, bad mistake trying to shoot Carole."

"I daresay." I said, knowing exactly what price Halsey had paid for that inexcusable action towards my daughter.

Jack Muscone hastily moved to change the subject by saying "And one reason Laura wants you to go to the funeral... is so you can see the DNI for yourself, if not meet him."

I nodded, then said "What's going on with Isley and her Task Force?"

"After her broken nose heals up," said Lance, with a big grin on his face, "she'll go back to carrying Chapel's water, like she was doing before. The Rovers BAU team is being broken up and reassigned all over the country... against my advice, by the way. And with Halsey pretty much in liquid form after somebody dropped him in that metal grinder, Coleman and Black got out of Town while the getting was good."

"Why did you advise against splitting them up?" asked Muscone. Lance noted that I had not asked.

"It's like a virus." said Lance. "Contain it in one place, and it sits there, and can be watched. But scattered out? Each piece goes out and infects the place it goes to, or is a mole within its new organization. That's how Chapel and the other Swamp Frogs like to work." I nodded.

"There is one other thing that might interest you, Don." said Muscone. "That computer whiz, who we call 'The Geek'? He's gone missing."

"Nobody told me he'd been found in the first place." I said, with a tinge of acerbity in my voice.

"They gave him back to Chapel after he was arrested in Palmyra County with Keiko Shimono." said Lance. (Author's note: 'Long Cool Woman', Ch. 03.) "He was back to being their tech equivalent of a 'meth lab slave' under a plea agreement. We think he may have been behind that forged custody document, but when it was shown to be a fake, and it was clear he'd done such a lousy job with it, they took it out on him. Maybe we'll find his body somewhere soon."

"It would not hurt my feeling one bit if you did." I said. "So what now? Are they done trying to mess with me?"

"Which implies the question 'Why were they messing with Don in the first place?', of course." said Muscone.

Lance said "Things are going on in Washington, and on a national scale. Owen Lange believes they were trying to get you out of the way, Don, so they could implement their plans in this State and the Region. That also implies that they are on a timetable, so now that their gambit to take you out has failed, they'll continue with their plans anyway."

"And what would those plans be?" I asked.

Lance replied: "We think the Swamp Frogs, if I may use that term, want to gin up incidents and unrest all over the Nation, in order to consolidate their power within the Washington Establishment. They fear their candidates might be opposed by people more loyal to the Nation than to the Establishment. Brendan Chapel is a man who will never run for President himself, but knows he can control the puppet strings from behind the scenes IF the right candidate is elected."

Lance continued: "So all these Antifa people, and these Environmentalist Wackos, are merely Chapel's agents in the field to coax otherwise good people into what I call a 'state of rage', and get them to commit violent acts they otherwise would never do..."

Part 23 - Requiem

Wednesday, January 29th. I drove Laura, Cindy Ross, and Sheriff Griswold to the City for the DepDirector's funeral in Laura's Mercedes. Laura was in all black, with a black veil and matching black pantyhose, and black high heel pumps that made her taller than me but with no objection from me. Cindy, the Sheriff, and I were in our formal uniforms with ribbons and of course Medals of Valor around our necks. I was going as Laura's bodyguard, and Cindy as the Sheriff's bodyguard.

It was a Who's Who of Washington Elites that assembled at the City Cathedral. U.S. Senators Bill Nunn and Lorraine McGill greeted us, and I sat with them while Laura sat on the front row, as she would be speaking at the ceremony. Jack Muscone came with Tanya Perlman in her van, Tanya in her formal Police uniform with ribbons, and Jack sat next to me at the end of the aisle as Tanya parked her wheelchair next to him.

FBI Special Agent Julius Jefferson has agreed to be a pallbearer, even though Jefferson despised Martin Nash. Owen Lange, Ted Crenshaw, Tim Jenkins, and Ashton Cardigan were also pallbearers of the American-Flag-draped coffin.

Claude Cardinal O'Leery, who had come to the ceremony awarding Father Romano the Police Cross (Author's note: 'Man of God', Ch. 02.), led the Funeral Mass. Martin Nash spoke of his uncle as a family man. Laura spoke of her friend's long career fighting injustice and racism. Other FBI Agents and Washington bureaucrats that had known the DepDirector very well also spoke.

After the ceremony and the interment at the National Cemetery, with Martin Nash being given the American Flag as the DepDirector's last living relative, people were gathered in clusters. Martin Nash had been talking with FBI Special Agent Sandra Speer. I did not try to approach her, but some moments later she left Nash and approached me as I talked to Julius Jefferson and Lindy Linares.

"Hi Don." said Sandra. "I'm glad you came today. Mr. Hargreaves respected you very much."

"And I him." I replied. "How's Greta doing?"

"She's fine." said Sandra. What was not being mentioned is that when Sandra had taken Greta to New York City, she had attempted to get a restraining order against me. I'd fought that (through my lawyers) vigorously, knowing that Leftist strongholds liked to use restraining orders to strip law-abiding Citizens of their 2nd Amendment gun rights. So we ended up with a custody decree by a New York judge, where I could not have contact with my daughter until she was 18 years old.

I'd learned that Sandra had done that partially out of fear for Greta's safety, and I couldn't argue with that after the threats against my other children, especially Carole. She also had done it out of fear that I would try to control her through Greta. In any case, I could not see my own daughter. And yes, it hurt, but as long as Greta was safe and well-cared-for, I conceded the point.

Further conversation suddenly stopped as it became eerily quiet around us. FBI Agents were moving out of the way, and I saw why: the Director of National Intelligence was approaching us.

Brendan Chapel was in his fifties, fairly tall, still fairly lean. His brown hair was a bit naturally curly, but still styled combed to one side like most Washington professionals (some because that's how toupees work). His also had a brush mustache, and his cheeks were prominent, as if intentionally blown up with air inside his mouth. His face was a bit florid, a potential indicator of high blood pressure.

I knew he'd been in the 82nd Airborne Division as an Enlisted man, then later was commissioned as an Officer. And his personality reflected that: he had the leadership bearing of an Officer, but couldn't hide that hard-drinking, hard-partying demeanor that many Enlisted personnel had, no offense to anyone.

As he came up to us, though, I felt his aura of power, not as much as the late DepDirector and the Chairman of the Joint Chief's had (and some say that I had), but still present. But I also felt something else. I remembered an old 'Calvin & Hobbes' cartoon, where Calvin said that if he had power, the thing he'd like most was crushing people that got in his way. Brendan Chapel was like that; I could sense he amassed power for the purpose of controlling others, with a sinister tinge of evil behind it.

Laura had appeared at my side as the DNI approached, and Chapel spoke to her first:

"Dr. Fredricson," he said, "thank you so much for speaking at the funeral today."

"It was my honor." said Laura, then used the old-style manners that her mentor, the Old Mother whose name could not be spoken, but Carole was partly named after, had taught her: "Director Chapel, may I present my husband, Commander Don Troy. Don, Director of National Intelligence Brendan Chapel."

"The Iron Crowbar." said Chapel as he examined me with his roving eyes. He extended his hand and I shook it firmly. "How many jumps did you have?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Seventeen," I replied, "including the one with the Israeli 55th Paras." I knew he had a lot more with the 82d Airborne, but my Israeli jump wings were good compensation versus his 'Master Blaster' status. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Cindy's look of disapproval at that parachuting line of discussion, as well as our alpha-male games.

"Ah yes, the Israelis." said Chapel, almost sneeringly. "I've heard a lot about you, Commander. Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir, I think." I said. "But today I am merely the man who is accompanying Dr. Fredricson to the service."

"Yes." said Chapel. "Again, nice to meet you. Dr. Fredricson, it was good to see you again. Stop by my office the next time you're in Washington."

"I will." Laura 'promised'.

After Chapel left us and went to greet others, I said "I know one six-year-old who will not approve of you going to 'meetings' with that man. And her father will be in agreement.

"As will her mother." Laura said.

As we were leaving, reporters rushed up to us. They had been cordial and respectful to us and given us space up to this point, but now their restraint was broken, and I had an idea why. I got Laura, Cindy, and the Sheriff into the car, then went around the driver's side.

"Commander Troy!" yelled Priya Ajmani, who was leading the pack of hound dogs... er, reporters up to us. "What do you think of the latest developments in Midtown?"

"They impeached the Governor?" I asked, very sure. The reporters looked a bit crestfallen that I'd guessed correctly. Then I said "I'm not surprised. They've been on a witch hunt for him for years now. If they want to embarrass themselves and waste the taxpayers's dollars on a useless exercise that is destined to fail, that's their decision... and their legacy."

There was a lot of subtle meaning in my comment, and the reporters knew it. And with that, I got into the Mercedes and drove off.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the way home, we listened to the KSB radio newscast: "And once again, our lead headline: in a bipartisan vote, deeply unpopular Governor Val Jared was impeached by the State House. All of the Democrats voted to impeach, and one-third of the minority Republicans, led by Minority Leader Wilson Hammonds, joined them in voting to impeach. One-third of the Republicans voted against the Articles of Impeachment, while the last-third voted 'Present'."

"Cowards." I muttered to myself, but loud enough to be heard. "Vote one way or the other, but take a stand and vote."

"You got that right, Crowbar." growled Griswold.

The radio announcer said "Two Articles of Impeachment passed, accusing the Governor of Abuse of Power and Obstruction of the State Legislature. The third Article, accusing the Governor of misspending State funds to arrest Undocumented Workers and turn them over to ICE for deportation, had strong Republican support, but the Democrats voted it down on a strictly party-line vote..."

"Whoa, why did they do that?" asked Cindy.

Sheriff Griswold growled in reply: "Just to rub the Republicans's faces in it, and intentionally walk back on what the Republicans thought was a deal. And the Democrats might want to misspend State funds in the future, so they're letting that one lie dormant..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Martin." said Sandra Speer as she came up to him sitting at the bar at the local FBI's favorite watering hole in the City. "Why aren't you over there with the rest of us? Julius didn't come."

"Guess I'm not in the mood for company." said Nash.

"I'm sorry about your uncle." said Sandra. "They said he died of natural causes, but it was still unexpected?"

"Don't tell anyone this," said Nash, "but he was diagnosed with a progressive muscular disease, and was starting to slowly deteriorate. But that was potentially years off. So I guess it was 'natural causes'... if hemlock is a natural cause.

Sandra nodded. "The Iron Crowbar behind it?"

"I don't think so." said Nash, but saying no more.

"So, are you transferring to New York, staying in Pennsylvania, or going to Washington?" Sandra asked.

"Washington." said Nash. "Grimes still wants me on his OPR team, as does the Director and the DNI. I can do that."

"That's good." said Sandra. "Come visit when you're in New York." She was about to get up to leave when Martin stopped her.

"Tell me something, Sandra." Martin said. "You really went to New York City to get away from the Iron Crowbar? I thought that was to get away from Julius, or me, or Team Lazarus."

Sandra said "Some of all of it. I wanted a fresh start. But yes, I don't want Don to have influence on Greta. His daughters Carole and Tasha are already being influenced by him. Carole put herself in harm's way to save her dog... her frickin' dog... and Tasha is already being attacked and called racial slurs because she's his daughter. I don't want that for Greta."

"I totally understand." said Martin Nash. "It's either his way or the highway... and if you don't do it his way, you get screwed, even if 'the highway' is the right way. He's already got Jack Muscone taking his side over the FBI's..."

"Well," said Sandra, "Jack's wife-to-be has a lot of influence over him in that direction. But you're right... you're either with the Iron Crowbar, or you might as well be against him..."

Part 24 - Not Sorry

The Cabin had been put back together in a remarkably short amount of time. Most of the furniture had been replaced, as well as the television monitors. I'd taken advantage of the opportunity to put two double beds in the third bedroom instead of one king-size bed. And Laura had taken the opportunity to 'upgrade' the bed in the Master Bedroom. That Sleep Number bed was more than a little expensive, but I would come to appreciate that it was worth it.

Cindy Ross had flipped houses in the past, and 'The Vision' acolytes had often built or fixed homes as part of their charity work. So I learned a lot as she and I rebuilt the bathrooms, putting in whole new toilets (the tall ones, this time) and lavatories. Only the destroyed bathtub in the 'common' bathroom on the second floor was not fully replaced yet, but would be an easy-enough fix once the new unit I'd ordered came in.

Only the basement rooms, Molly's bedroom suite, Ross and Ian's bedroom, and what we called 'Molly's Man Cave', were not done yet; the FBI had hacked huge holes in the drywall down there, and torn out wiring. And the fireplace between the greatroom and front room was not operational; the glass sides were repaired, but the gas valve had been damaged; indeed, we were somewhat lucky there had not been a gas explosion on the day it was destroyed.

Jim and Ross had industriously begun taking what was left of the Lego structures apart, and separating Legos into piles of similar sizes and colors in preparation of rebuilding. The train system was taking longer; Ian and I had had to go through and test which tracks were still usable, and it would take an order to replace half of what we'd had laid to get us back up to speed. It was greatly fortunate that my Santa Fe 'Warbonnet', the Amtrak locomotive, and all the other engines either still worked or their motors could be replaced. Some freight cars had damaged bases and wheels, and were out of commission... as, of course, was Ian's railcar, now in its plexiglass box on Ian's bedside table.

The metal furniture had been retrieved from the mountainside below the deck, and only the umbrella over the metal mesh round table needed replacing.

And finally... the valuables that I'd taken out of my office and hidden away were brought back. I'd put the 'tiny slip' in a box, along with the real tea caddy and porcelain cups that were worth thousands of dollars, the 'Crowbar Katana' and its companion short sword, my appointment as Advisor to the Emperor of Japan, my Gold Star of a Hero of the Russian Federation and it's accompanying certificate, and other valuables, and taken them to Teresa and Todd's house next door, whereupon Teresa hid the box under the floor of their safe room. Perish forbid what might have happened to them if I had not secured them!

The wall of the south side of the greatroom, which was to the left as one looked out the windows to the back deck, had been repaired and repainted, and I took the opportunity to start something that would be a lifelong tradition. I put baby photos of six of my children, Carole, Jim, Ross, Ian, Tasha, and Greta in a row on the wall. And below each photo I put more recent photos, such as Carole's school picture.

But because Sandra would not send me more recent photos of Greta, the space below her baby picture had one of her as a toddler. And I hoped there would be a day that I'd be able to add Betsy's photo to the line. But that secret was not officially out, and it was not my secret to tell...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the evening of Saturday February 1st, we were back at The Cabin for the weekend. Present were me, Laura, Paulina Patterson, Molly, and Sheriff Griswold, and of course Carole, Marie, Jim, Ross, Ian, and Tasha. Cindy, Callie, and Betsy joined us for dinner, but would not be staying.

Tasha was very happy to be back, and I had seen her earlier on the back deck, surrounded by Tiger Mom and now-grown young cats. 'Bull' had been run off, as he was a male, but the others that remained were rubbing their bodies against Tasha, indicating she was their human, as she happily petted them.

Carole and Marie were doing Carole and Marie things in the greatroom, mostly coloring in books. Betsy was 'collaborating' with Bowser on a coloring book, which wasn't getting done because Betsy was spending more time petting Bowser than coloring. Jim and Ross were in the attic room (where else), making big plans for a great new Lego City. But Ian was in the front room, watching television and petting Buddy, who was taking one for the team and allowing himself to be petted for a long, long time.