Sparrow & Tulip

There was a folded paper next to Ted's bowl of grits, his weekly food bill. He glanced at it before shoving it in his pocket. Sister Mildred had started charging him as soon as he'd been able to make a little extra money helping at other grows. None of them paid him much, and Junior's mother found all sorts of way to make it come out a little more than Ted ever managed to make.

She didn't mind, just added the remainder to next week's bill, "along with a little extra for the extra trouble." Ted wasn't sure what the total was anymore, he didn't much want to know how far in the hole he was now.

"Brother Elmer is supposed to pay me tomorrow, Sister. I'll pay you then."

"I'll talk to him and make sure," she said.

Behind her back, Junior rolled his eyes and Ted looked down to keep from laughing.

~~~~

Junior was ranting about something or other as they drove into town, but Ted only half-listened. Junior was always on the knife edge between suspicious paranoia and despair. Mostly it had to do with Julie Greer, the girl Ted was supposed to be marrying their senior year. The Good Brother, spiritual shepherd of all the tobacco grows in the valley, as well as the Mayor of Watson's Hole, arranged the marriages among his followers. It didn't matter if Ted, or Julie, or anyone else, objected. There were dark rumors about what had happened to those that had decided to run instead, but Ted was fairly sure the stories were made up. The Church was a big deal in the valley, everyone around here knew better than to try and run from the Good Brother.

"...so you keep your mouth shut, Runtling!"

Ted blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Me and Julie's cell phones!"

"Oh for...I helped you get them, Junior! Why would I tell anyone?"

"I'm freaking out, okay? This time next year we'll be seniors, and then you're marrying her!"

"Would you relax? I aim to be long gone, but even if I ain't, you can marry her in secret and live with us. I'll tell everyone we took you in out of charity, what with the brain tumor and all. Then you can drool on yourself all you want and won't nobody say a peep."

Junior barked a laugh as they pulled into the parking lot of the tiny school. "The things you come up with."

"You think I'm kidding, you donkey? I'm gonna write it backwards on your forehead, I do not want your girl! She's already plenty mean enough for me, and I just work for her. Ain't one single man capable of dealing with as much mean as that woman has stored up!"

Julie was a only a year older than Ted and Junior were, but they'd let her skip her senior year, so that she could oversee her father's grows and all. Ted did most of his outside work there as well, doubtless in the hopes tin getting the two of them to bond. They'd become friends, but it hadn't gone any further than that for either of them.

Ted thought she was pretty enough, but he wasn't interested in any of the girls from the Hole. He planned on leaving as soon as he turned eighteen. He'd grown up around farmers, legal and otherwise, ever since he could remember and the endless cycles of planting, complaining about the Feds, harvest, slaughter, all of it seemed worse than living death. There was only the occasional ATF raid to liven things up, and Ted especially didn't want to end up chain-ganged with Junior's dad in the Westerville Work Camp. But if he got married to Julie there'd be the mandatory children and the only way to pay for that was growing tobacco and the only place that went was being stuck here forever.

Julie had already dropped off her younger sister and was waiting for them as Junior circled the lot. A few of her friends were hanging around the truck and Junior groaned.

"Why can't they run late like they always do?" Junior groaned, parking nearby. "Can you go up and distract 'em?"

"No, being a stepbrother only goes so far. I've been thinking though. They're going to announce that the 'bac seedlings are ready today or tomorrow. Jump up and do a witness. Say you'll plant a tithe share in honor of, I don't know, make something up."

"On top of already puttin' in momma's share, right. And why would I do that?"

"Because there's only one place with enough free room to plant a tithe share," Ted explained. "I've been going around figuring out how much drying space there is, the Greer farm is the only one with any spare room. Tithe share doesn't get filled until everything else is planted. We were working past dark last year, you hearing me yet?"

Junior looked at him in awe. "I'm smelling what you're selling, Runt. What am I gonna witness on?"

"I dunno, Good Lord wants a emphysema ward?"

It worked flawlessly, except for when Junior started cussing out the Feds in the middle of his witnessing.

May 4, 2041

City of Waxahachie

North-Central Texas

"C'mon, sit up for God's sake!"

He gave her another minute, but the old woman didn't even twitch. Hands shaking, Lyle dialed the phone. His fingers felt huge and clumsy as he fumbled around, trying to push the three little buttons.

There was an immediate answer. "911, where's the emergency?"

"Uh, hello? I'm at Crestwood Heights Apartments, there's this lady, she's older, and well, uhm, she's slumped over her table and she's not moving, and her head is down and..."

"Okay, slow down. Where is she, sir?"

"Across the courtyard, I mean our apartments face each other and I can see her through her window and her head is on the table but I usually see her in the morning, but I didn't see her this morning. And I don't think she's asleep and..."

"Sir, take a deep breath. I need you to slow down a little bit, okay? How long has it been since she moved?"

"I don't know! I noticed her over there when I got home, uhm, ten minutes, I think? She usually has her curtains closed but..."

"Okay sir, just stay calm for me. Help is on the way."

An ambulance followed the police car into the apartment parking lot. The apartments were in a quiet neighborhood and they'd left the sirens off. Still, the flashing lights drew a crowd. The police officers were out of their car first, a young rookie and a middle-aged sergeant. The paramedics were next, fussing with getting the rolling stretcher out of the back. The two police officers looked at each other and the veteran rolled his eyes and nodded toward the building lobby where a heavy-set bald man was waiting. The pair headed for the door. The paramedics would eventually catch up.

The manager was nervous and visibly sweating as they followed him into the building.

"I never had this happen before," the man blurted out in the elevator. "I called the owners."

"That's fine, sir," the sergeant said in his "soothing" voice. "What's the tenants name?"

"Barbara Louis."

The sergeant nodded. "You know if anyone else lives there? Or anyone that visits often?"

"She lived alone, and I never noticed any visitors. But I don't pay a lot of attention to that unless they're loud or late with rent. She was polite but kept herself to herself."

They got out and headed down the hallway. The manager pointed at the door of unit 302 and fumbled with his ring of keys.

"Just stay back here for the moment, okay?" the sergeant said while the junior officer knocked on the door.

"Police, Ms. Louis, everything okay?" he called.

He knocked again but there wasn't an answer. The sergeant motioned for the manager to unlock the door. The fat man stood back while the two officers called out again as they stepped inside. The TV was on in the living room and cheerful news anchors went on about something or other.

They found her sprawled at a small round table in the kitchen. Her head was down, her sightless eyes staring into the kitchen and her arms hung down, hands almost touching the floor. The sergeant knew it was probably pointless, but he felt for a pulse. Nothing.

There was a bowl of cereal that had been knocked to the floor. Neither it, nor the woman, was ripe. She'd passed this morning, the sergeant figured.

"Andy, have a look around. Remember to take notes," he told his rookie and pulled out his own small notepad.

The paramedics finally made an appearance and the sergeant watched as they checked her pulse. They looked at the sergeant and he nodded. She was carefully moved to the stretcher.

"See anything strange?" the sergeant asked. They were a long way from pathologists, but it never hurt to ask.

One of them shrugged. "Nope. Just looks old, y'know?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Lots of meds in the bathroom, sarge," Andy called. "Some for high blood pressure."

"Okay, be there in a second."

He went to the door where the manager was waiting. "Sir, do you know if she had any family or friends?"

"I checked before you got here, she didn't have anyone else listed on her lease."

"Okay, we'll take a look. Andy, check for anything that might list a next of kin."

The sergeant was an eighteen-year veteran. He'd done enough welfare calls to figure that they wouldn't get far with this one. There wasn't much personality to the place, not even pictures of family, just some generic looking art. Whoever she'd been, she'd lived simply and quietly. It seemed that she'd died the same way.

"What did the manager say her name was?" Andy called from the living room a few minutes later.

"Barbra Louis."

"Okay, then who is Genevieve Rosseau? Or Karen Wilson?"

The sergeant walked into the living room where Andy had been looking through the desk drawers.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a bunch of passports here, sarge. Looks like the same woman but they all have different names."

"You yanking my chain, kid?"

Andy held up a stack of little books in different colors. The sergeant was relieved to see that he was wearing latex gloves.

The sergeant sighed. "Remember what I said about Fridays? Leave those on top of the desk and write all this down. Good job, but don't touch anything else. I'm gonna call the lieutenant."

An hour later, a cheerful looking man in a gray suit got off the elevator and tapped on the door of 302. A young patrol officer opened the door.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The man held up his ID. "Don't think we've met before, Special Agent Fred Bates, FBI."

The young man suddenly stood straighter, almost at attention. "Yessir! The Lieutenant is in the living room!"

Bates smiled and nodded at the kid as he walked in. The place wasn't memorable, he'd seen hotel rooms with more personality. He didn't notice a single personal item as he walked through to the living room and the agent felt a tickle of interest. In the living room there was a thin man in a rumpled sport coat talking to the sergeant that had been made the discovery.

"Well, howdy Detective Nance. And how's it going Mike?"

The sergeant and detective gave him friendly nods.

"Howdy yourself, Fred," Nance said. "I figured we'd be seeing someone pretty quick on this."

"This is the most interesting thing to come through in months. And in Waxahachie of all places. Get anywhere on her identity yet?"

"Nada. There's a driver's license that matches the name on the lease and her car registration but that's where it ends. Crime Scene are checking the rest of the place out now."

The agent looked through the eight passports, now each sealed in its own evidence bag.

"Wow, these are really nice work. Check out the wear and creasing on them. They kinda look beat up? That's professional work, very high-end. Now, if you look at the edges..."

He was still showing the sergeant and detective the finer points of counterfeit passport quality when an evidence tech came out of the bedroom.

"Detective, I think you'd better come take a look."

Bates raised his eyebrows and followed Nance to the bedroom. There was a piece of drywall on the floor and the tech was shining a flashlight in the hole.

"It fell out of the wall when I moved a picture. There's a couple metal cases stashed in there."

Nance glanced at Bates. "You think your guys are gonna take this over?"

"I'd imagine that someone is arguing about that right now. Let's at least see what Mr. Martinez found before one of us gets kicked out of here."

There were two cases and the evidence tech pulled them out and put them on the bed.

"Well, she wasn't planning to get her deposit back tearing up the place like that," Detective Nance said. "Let's start with the big one."

The tech examined the box carefully before opening it, while another photographed it. Lifting the lid revealed a layer of black foam. On top of it was another set of identification cards held together with a rubber band. Bates pulled on gloves and picked up the little bundle. He slid the passport out and handed the rest to the detective.

"Huh. It looks like we can add Nina Jenkins to her list of names."

"Same name on the rest of these," Nance said.

The FBI agent nodded. "Then I'll bet we're looking at something closer to our mystery woman's real ID. What else is in there?"

The evidence tech carefully lifted the thin sheet of foam, revealing a collection of firearms.

Bates whistled. "Nice stuff."

"I don't even know what that is," Nance said.

"The assault rifle there is an Steyr AUG-50," Agent Bates said. "High tech, not very common. I've never actually seen one of in the flesh."

"What do you make of those things next to the pistols?"

Martinez half lifted one with the end of a pen. "Looks like silencers."

Nance rubbed his face. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Bates peered at the black cylinder and nodded. "Sure enough. Good quality too, all this stuff is. The pistol there is a Remington R1, very chic. Ms. Barbra Louis is turning out to be a fascinating woman. Okay Mr. Martinez, what do we have behind door number two?"

The technicians went through the same process with the other case. This time, all three of them whistled as the lid was opened.

Bates squatted down, examining the stacks of bills closely. "This looks like a lot of cash. And a laptop, how... convenient."

"Always on a goddamned Friday." Nance said. "My kid has a game tonight."

"Looks like there's more underneath the laptop," Martinez said.

"Okay, wait a second," Bates said. "I'm getting a bad feeling. Let's go stand somewhere else."

He left the room without saying anything else. Nance followed him, waving for the technician and police officers to come along. Bates was standing in the hallway waiting for them.

Nance looked at him curiously. "What's wrong?"

Bates began ticking points off on his fingers. "First, she's got high end, professional looking hardware and there's a lot of cash stashed with it. Her apartment is generic, no trace of personality. I'm starting to think that we've got ourselves a high-level critter here. But why would she do something stupid like leaving those passports where they could be found so easily? And Mr. Martinez's powers of observation aside, those cases weren't hidden very well either."

"Maybe she got sloppy," Nance said.

"Could be. Or we could be looking at some bait. I'd strongly recommend that both those cases need to be inspected by EOD before they're moved, or even touched again."

They all looked around as door opened and an elderly woman stuck her head and glared at them. "Tryin' to watch mah stories," she snapped.

"Sorry to disturb you, ma;am," the rookie said.

"And it might not be a bad idea to get everyone out of here," Bates added, after she slammed the door shut.

"Yeah, better safe than confetti," Nance said. "Mike, you two start getting everyone out. I'll send in some help."

The sergeant and patrolman began knocking on doors as Bates and Nance headed for the elevator.

"Pretty sure those passports mean this is going to be your baby," Nance said. "Sorry about your weekend."

"Nah, I haven't had one of those in years now. Enjoy your son's game."

Two hours later Detective Nance was sitting next to his wife at a Little League game. His youngest was on strike two when he got a text from Bates:

Disposal found four pounds of plast-ex wrapped in ball bearings. You owe me a beer.

Nance deleted the text and put his arm around his wife. She smiled and leaned against him. They watched as Jacob swung wildly at a pitch and struck out.

I owe you a goddamned keg, my friend. What the hell was that all about?

May 5, 2041

Training Facility Echo, Operations

REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED

In a cramped windowless room, a man was just sitting down with his second cup of coffee when one of his people came in.

"Jeff, I just forwarded an urgent heads-up from one of our Feds. They found Nina Jenkins dead."

"Wow, the Nina Jenkins? Any idea who retired her?"

"I checked and it wasn't us. There's an autopsy scheduled, our guy said it looked like plain old natural causes. He included a list of other names she might have used."

Jeff turned around and opened a browser. "Natural causes, who goes and dies of natural causes? Okay, let's see where these names take us"

Twenty minutes later he was walking quickly through the tunnels that led to the Big Office. Nora, the Boss's assistant was at her desk like she always was. She waved him in.

"Hi Jeff. What brings you out of the twisty-little- passages-all-alike?"

"Hey, Nora. Turns out that Nina Jenkins was found dead. In Waxahachie."

"The same Jenkins as Iowa? Good news. What's a Waxahachie?"

"It's a place in Texas. I've got more the Boss will want to hear."

"She's with a...delegation, I guess you'd call it. She'll be glad to hear Jenkins is gone. What else should I tell her?"

"Okay, Jenkins had a bunch of cover identities. The one she was living under had been used, she left tracks. It got classified as Need-to-Know but I evacuated from the same R&D as the boss, so I know exactly what happened, okay? I'll need more time to check forensic data but..."

"Jeff, take a breath. What are you saying, exactly?"

He took a deep breath. "Right. So, Nina Jenkins had a cover identity, Barbra Louis. She was careful but there's a little data attached to that name. Maybe enough to track down her nephew. I brought what I have so far."

Nora tapped something on her keyboard. "Remember when I always said you would never surprise me? You win."

There was a chime and she tapper her headset. "Hi. There's something she needs to hear abo...no, Mirjam. She needs to hear this right now. I'm going to buzz him in."

Jeff's eyes were a little wide. "Mirjam is in there too?"

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Where else would she be? You know the drill? Three steps inside, hold out your arms and slowly turn in place. Follow her instructions from there."

"Jesus."

"You'll be fine, just relax," Nora said. "And remember not to make any sudden moves."

May 8, 2041

Southern Border of the United States

Southeastern Texas-Northern Coahuila

Marisol Gutierrez followed the rest of the migrants, jumping down from the back of the panel truck. The only light was a dim red glow from a light held by one of the coyotes.

"Border is that way," he told them, bored. "Go west when you're past the fence. West only, North and east is a big road, lots of Border Patrol. Small roads to the west, no towns."

Marisol made sure her water supply, formerly two bleach bottles, were tied down tightly before heading for the fence. Once she'd climbed the homemade ladder up and over, she looked around. The only light was a dim glow to the east, probably the freeway lights around Langtry. A middle-aged woman was having trouble with the last rungs and Marisol helped her down. The ladder immediately slid up and disappeared over the fence as the coyotes pulled it back.

The woman thanked her, and Marisol smiled before starting to walk away.

"You're going the wrong way," the woman said. "We're to go this way."