The Reunion Pt. 03: Conclusion

Part Three

I'd been home for six weeks, going utterly stir-crazy when Sydney came back to Washington, unusually, in the middle of the week.

I greeted her. By then I was on my feet more and was actually able to stand and greet her with a big hug and held her there for as long as I could manage. Just holding her like that aroused me and, feeling my erection poking into her, she looked up at me and grinned.

"I guess you're feeling better."

"Loads. What brings you here in the middle of the week?"

"Paul Goodhue called me to ask if I thought you were feeling good enough to come into the newsroom this afternoon."

"Damn. I'd love to get out of here for a while. It will tire me out, but I don't care."

"I think they're planning a little 'Welcome Back' celebration in your honor. "

"I hate those things. I don't need any big welcome."

"Stephen, maybe they need to do something in your honor. I've been impressed. People really seem to care for you, and they haven't been able to see you for more than a month now."

"Alright. It will be worth it if it means getting out of here."

"Okay. Let's go pick out a suit for you. And you need to shave."

Sydney fussed over me for a while and I got in the shower and shaved, then put on a suit, a necktie and bent over to tie my shoes. The process was only modestly painful now compared to when I first got home when everything was excruciating.

When we were ready to go, a little before noon, I told Sydney that I'd call an Uber.

"No need," she said with a bit of a grin. "You're a VIP now. The Post has provided you with a car and driver for the foreseeable future. They're very eager to get you back to work."

"Oh, man...I don't know about that."

"It's part of your security arrangements. The security team doesn't want you to travel to and from home by yourself. They think it's too dangerous."

"I can't live like this Syd," I said. "I can't live like a VIP, with an entourage all the time. I won't be able to work like that."

"It won't be forever. The newspaper is too cheap to do it for long. Let's just enjoy it for today."

After a short drive in the security team's big, black SUV, we arrived at the Post with time to spare. Everyone from the guards at the front desk to the admins we passed along the way seemed happy to see me, and I heard more than one person shout "Welcome back, Mr. Bradley."

But when I entered the newsroom, I was blown away.

Sydney and I walked in from the corridor, and we were greeted by Cindy Park, who came over and gave me a big hug and a kiss on my cheek. When Cindy let me go, I realized the whole newsroom was on their feet applauding. Paul Goodhue came up to greet me, as well as all the rest of the top brass at the paper. I walked around for a while, greeting people and shaking hands when Goodhue, looking at his watch, called me over in front of a big screen TV that had been set up in the newsroom.

"Folks, I'd like to call your attention to this screen." Then he grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. On the screen a woman I recognized as an editor from the New York Times was at the podium at some big gathering.

"And the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Non-Fiction goes to Stephen Bradley of the Washington Post for his book "Plunder: How a minor insurance broker ripped off the government for $1 Billion."

The newsroom again erupted into raucous applause, complete with hooting and hollering and cries of "Way to go Bradley!"

Paul again asked for quiet. "The Pulitzer Committee called me last week after they'd decided to give Stephen the award. Said they knew he probably would not be able to come to New York to collect his prize, so they sent it to me to award to him."

Paul turned to a small table behind him and opened a box, pulling out the usual framed medal. "Stephen, congratulations. I know I speak for everyone here when I say that no one could deserve this more." He handed me the award and shook my hand and then continued. "I'd like to point out that no one in the history of the Pulitzer Prize has ever won five times before now."

Paul turned the podium over to me and as I stepped up to speak, I realized that we were on camera, and my little acceptance speech was being carried live in New York at the awards luncheon.

"Thanks to all of you. Thanks to the committee for this incredible honor. I am humbled by your selection and will rededicate myself to the pursuit of uncovering inconvenient truths." More applause, both in the newsroom and in New York.

"Most of you know that I experienced a little altercation a few weeks ago with two men who seemed to have taken issue with some of my work." There was some laughter at that understatement. "I came out of it quite a little bit the worse for the experience, but I'd like to make it clear today, that no matter what threats we face or what intimidation we experience, we can't allow that to deter us from pursuing those inconvenient truths. We need to look out for each other, but we need to continue the work, continue holding people to account." More applause.

"My recovery from that experience has been long and painful. I'd like to thank the two people who have made it immeasurably easier." I reached past Paul to Cindy, and took her hand, pulling her up close to me. "These two women -- my love Sydney Thomas and my best friend, Cindy Park -- have been with me every step of the way these last two months. I literally could not have made it without their help."

While the newsroom applauded them, I gave them both hugs and the festivities began to break up.

Later, in my office with Sydney and Cindy, I was starting to sag.

"I thought I'd want to stay and work the rest of the day, but I'm really feeling the fatigue," I said.

"The docs said you're going to feel that way for a while. You might have to settle for working half days for a while."

"I know... I just have so much I need to do."

"You have a team now of ten people, me included," Cindy said. "Put us to work."

With that, we called the team into my office. Syd excused herself, and Cindy started introducing me to some of the newer faces. I think everyone of them was under 30 or 35 maybe, and I had them start by filling me in and letting me get a lay of the land.

"Okay. I'm going to ask Cindy to honcho this, but we need to create a timeline, starting from when the book was published on November first through today, chronicling every step Jerome Beckwith took and another timeline chronicling every step Rodney Cameroon took since then up to Cameron's death. These two travel all the time, and they don't fly coach. Billy, do you know anyone at the FAA who can get you the tail number of Beckwith's private plane?"

"I can get that," he said.

"Okay, once we have that, let's start tracking that tail number. Find out where he was immediately before Cameron's death, and where he was the night I was attacked. Kevin, what have you heard from HHS about the security video and the visitor logs."

Kevin smiled broadly at that -- he put a stack of documents and two thumb drives on my desk. "It's all there. I ran through the visitor logs, didn't find anything that stood out, but I might not know what to look for. There are dozens of entries there from Beckwith's company -- people coming and going on work for the NHIA. But you'd expect that. And there's hours of video. It will take me days to review it all."

"Okay, good work. I'd say give me the files. This is stuff I can do at home, but you should be reviewing it too. Between us, we might find something."

Kevin nodded. "Those are dupes. I've got all the originals. I'll get started on the video after lunch."

I made a mental note that Kevin was making real progress. He was more self-assured and seemed to have a better grasp on the work than he did a few months ago. I needed to talk to Paul about moving him up.

The meeting went on in that vein for another half hour before Cindy, seeing that I was about at the end of my endurance, adjourned the meeting and sent the kids back to work.

"You go home and go to bed, mister."

"Yes, ma'am." I replied. "You won't have trouble talking me into that. Do you know where Sydney went?"

"Yeah, she texted me and told me she took an Uber to your place. The security detail will take you home when you're ready."

"This whole security detail thing is a drag. I'll never be able to meet sources again until I ditch them."

"Right now, you're not really strong enough to defend yourself from even the smallest attack. Let's get to the point where you're all the way back and talk about it then."

"You sound like this was your idea."

"Well, mine and Syd's." she grinned. "We figured that this way you can leave the house when you want to and you'll have security close at hand. Otherwise, we'd have to lock you up in your townhouse."

"Okay. I give." I said. "Seriously, though, thank you for everything you've done. I mean Sydney loves me, but you're under no obligation to me. I appreciate it."

Cindy came over next to my chair and leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Has it ever dawned on you that I might love you too?" she said, quietly. "We'd be no good together, I know that, but that doesn't have a lot to do with me loving you."

She turned and walked to the door of my office.

"I'll tell the detail you're ready," she said as she walked out the door. At the last second, she turned back to me. "Sydney knows how I feel, by the way."

I did go to bed when I got home. It must have been two hours later that I heard the unmistakable sounds of Sydney putting together dinner. I got up then, and ravenously hungry now, went out to the kitchen to see her. She was standing at the stove stirring something in a skillet when I came up behind her and put my arms around her and pulled her tight against me.

"I don't know what you're cooking, but I could eat a horse."

I was kissing her neck, and nibbling her ears. "

"No horses on the menu tonight. Just Scampi."

"Awesome. Did you get bread? I never got any lunch."

She grabbed a baguette off the counter and broke off a hunk, pointed me toward the butter and said, "Now let me finish and if you're lucky we can mess around later."

"Mess around?" I smiled. "What are we in community college?"

She turned around then and put her arms around my neck.

"Ever since you were hurt, I've dreamt about us when we were back at school. I keep trying to make it come out differently. It doesn't of course."

"But we have each other now. And don't think you're getting out of this. I'm hanging on tight."

While Sydney puttered around in the kitchen, I grabbed the laptop, booted it up and stuck one of the flash drives into the USB port. I quickly realized that what I actually wanted was on the other drive and swapped them. I found the footage from the security check point and started watching it. I'd fast forward through the sections where no one was entering the building, then play at regular speed taking a close look at the faces of the people entering. Maybe I'd spot something. It was a long shot, I know. I started around noon on the Thursday before Cameron was killed and had gotten through Thursday before dinner was ready.

We ate dinner at my little dining table just off the kitchen and I wolfed down the first plateful, then slowed down on the second and ate until I was stuffed.

"That was wonderful," I told Sydney. "If you cooked for me like that all the time I'd gain fifty pounds."

"In that case, you better cook some too."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd ever had my cooking."

"I figured, that's how we stay nice and trim. By eating very little when you cook!"

Sydney went to clean up the kitchen, over my objection, and I went back to the laptop footage and moved on to Friday of that week. I was alternating fast forwarding and going back, looking again at faces of each person who came in through the front door. On the time clock on the security footage, it was just about 4 p.m. when I found it.

"Holy shit!" I just about yelled it out. "I found the bastard."

"You found who?" Sydney asked.

"The SOB who killed Rodney Cameron."

Chapter 13

Upstate New York, 1988

"I broke up with Jackie," I told Syd between holes at the worst -- and only -- miniature golf course in town on a warm April evening.

"Uh-oh. What'd she say."

"You really want to know?"

"That bad?" Syd asked with raised eyebrows. "Okay, I can take it."

"She said, and I quote, "Are you fucking that black whore now? Is that why?"

She went on to make a few other racist remarks, but I wouldn't have shared those with Syd.

"Oh, fuck her. When I see her I'll be sure to tell her I'm not a whore. I do it for free." Syd laughed, and soon I joined in too, and spent the rest of an uneventful round of mini-golf making fun of Jackie.

Over beers at my place later, I told her I didn't really understand it.

"It's not like she was all broke up about it or anything. She didn't really care if I stayed with her or not. She just didn't want me to be with you."

"Did you explain to her that you're not 'with me' in that sense?"

"Yeah. She doesn't believe me. Told me I've been in love with you since day one."

Syd didn't really respond to that and we settled down on the ratty old sofa in my apartment and watched a rom-com on my ancient VCR. There were places on the tape where the audio turned to static and others where we got just a black screen for a couple of seconds. I promised to complain about it when I took it back to Blockbuster the next day.

Watching the movie, Sydney cuddled up against me, and I had my arm around her. I was blissfully happy, as I was pretty much any time I was with Syd.

"So have you been Stephen?" she asked.

"Have I been what?"

"In love with me since day one?"

"Oh, I just told her she's full of shit. You and I are just best friends."

Silence again. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, especially with Syd cuddled up against me like that. And then Syd seemed to shrug it off, turning in her seat and putting her arms around me."

"Hold me tighter."

In part of my brain, I thought I knew where Jackie was coming from, because in most ways, Syd and I behaved like a couple. We hadn't had sex, and we didn't kiss romantically, but we did everything together. We finished each other's sentences, laughed constantly over inside jokes. Held hands, hugged and touched one another virtually all the time we were together. Once Jackie and Richard were out of the way, we had no reason to stay apart and spent virtually the whole of our waking hours together, save for the time we spent in class.

But there was this big unspoken issue in our lives, and one we were determined to leave unspoken.

I desperately wanted to make love to Sydney, and I suspected that feeling was reciprocated. I hungered for it. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I was utterly crazy about her. I wanted everyone who saw us as a couple to be right. But I was scared.

Scared that if I said any of those things, the spell would be broken, months before it had to be. I was at war with myself, sometimes being resolved to tell her, at other times firm in my commitment to leave things as they were. I was mostly miserable when I was alone. I had gotten to the point that I couldn't stand to be with Jackie, hated her, really, when she went off on one of her racist rants. Breaking up with her was the easy part. The hard part was being alone whenever Syd was too busy to be with me. I had gone home for Easter the previous weekend and my mom could tell that something wasn't right with me. I didn't mention Syd, of course, not to my mom. She wouldn't have approved. So I told her I was going to break up with Jackie. That I was stewing over it. That seemed to satisfy her. She gave me a hug and said, "These things are always hard, but you'll know if it's the right thing to do."

Little did she know that I would go to bed at night and dream about Syd. Masturbate to thoughts of Syd, who was, in my opinion, the sexiest woman on the planet. That's what was hard. Throwing Jackie out was easy.

I hadn't really seen Richard since the fight and when I would see him across the room in the Student Union, for instance, he'd quickly turn away from me and talk to his friends. Syd wasn't so lucky.

I was waiting for Syd in the Pioneer office before we went to lunch, when I heard something of a commotion in the adjacent common area. I went to see what was going on -- the newsman in me intrigued -- when I saw Jackie, confronting Sydney. She was shouting at her and making a terrible scene and Sydney was trying to ignore her and keep walking.

"Did he tell you what I said?" Jackie shouted. "I told him you were just a fucking whore. If he wasn't careful he'd get syphilis from you!" Syd kept walking, but then Jackie reached out and grabbed her arm. "Don't you walk away from me, you whore."

Sydney stopped and looked at her. "Get your hands off me," she said as calmly as she could muster.

"Make me bitch."

I could have told Jackie that Sydney was a black belt in Tai Kwon Do, but she never asked. I could have told her that her specialty was sparring with guys twice her size, but she wouldn't have cared. I thought about intervening but thought that might just set Jackie off even more. Instead, I watched and closed the distance in case Syd needed me. She didn't.

Sydney shrugged Jackie's hand off her and started walking again when Jackie attacked her. She was in the midst of throwing a punch when Syd executed a perfect palm block, diverting the punch, then using Jackie's momentum against her in a classic move, threw her over her right hip to the floor. Syd then controlled her with a kwan jyel sul, a painful joint lock on Jackie's elbow.

Jackie was howling in pain. Syd let her go, and Jackie lay on the floor holding her elbow and crying. Syd got in her face.

"You say so much as one more word to me and I won't be as gentle next time. And for the record, Stephen broke up with you because you're a racist pig and he has principles."

She turned and walked to me and gave me a big hug where Jackie could see.

Chapter 14

Washington, DC

This couldn't wait. I called Cindy, who grabbed Henry and Kevin and the three of them came to my townhouse.

"Okay, this is the challenge. We know which person is the right one. He's the same man who attacked me. I recognized him. We know when he came into the building. We don't know his name, but we have all of these visitor logs. He had to log in when he got there. Had to show the guard some ID. We just have to match the names on the logs with the faces on the tape. Start with person one at 8 a.m. when the building opened. Be careful -- if you see them showing ID, that means they're an employee and aren't on the login lists. But if we do this right, we do this carefully, we should be able to come up with the name he gave to the guards.

"I want each of you to do the matching. If you all come up with the same name, then that's probably right."

"What if he used a fake ID?" asked Kevin.

"It's virtually certain he used a fake ID. That's one way we confirm that he's the guy. If we all get to the same guy as we check off names, and that person doesn't exist, then we know we've found the right person."

The three of them started in on the admittedly odious task. My energy was fading fast, so I let them do it. About 45 minutes later, Kevin finished first.

"I think I've got it," he said.

"Okay, write the name down on a piece of paper and give it to me."

One by one the others finished. All three had the same name.

"John Smith -- that's original. But he gives an address in Silver Spring. Let's check it."

Cindy had the county's real estate database open. She ran the address through it and with that, did another search for those people.