2 A Month of Mondays (5 page)

“Here you go. A porter and milk. Anything else I can get
you?” Shawn asked Giselle.

“Just a bill, sweetie. It appears my friend is ready to
leave,” Giselle said, her face glowing.

“I will be right back,” Shawn said, casting him an envious
glance.

If he only knew
, Jake thought.

Jake held her arm in his hand. He could feel her flexing her
triceps.

“Tell me this:  was this business or pleasure, Giselle?”

Sadness showed in her mouth.

“Both. Let me just say this, Jake.”  She shook off his hand
and stared up at him, something like hurt or possible hate in her eyes. “You
were never happy at Galbraith. Your memories had been erased. You were
manipulated by as many as three different players. Your skills
are
invaluable, Mr. Monday. Do not underestimate your own importance. If I am
trying to lure you to my side, then you can be assured you are an asset.”

“It seems that being an asset is also making me a target,”
Jake said.

“That is exactly correct. You are either valuable or expendable,”
Giselle admitted.

“I will remember that,” Jake said. He walked out of the pub,
into the warm, humid night. The smells of the river wafted along Water Street
as he hailed a cab.

Jake looked at his hands. They were shaking. He knew it was
from pent-up anger, frustration, and disappointment. What Giselle had said had struck
a chord with Jake. He had hated his job. That was one memory that was fresh in
his mind. He had been miserable and dissatisfied.

Maybe that was the real Monday. Maybe the real Jake wished
for a different life, for a life he could not remember. It was there on the
periphery of his existence. Jake stepped into the cab and gave the driver
directions. His fate was calling him and he finally knew with a certainty what
he wanted. It was finally time to go home.

What Are Friends For?

Hallie looked out the window. It was six am on Saturday and
the NY Times had not arrived yet. The paperboy once told her that the
distributor had delays and sometimes he waited up to an hour before he could he
could get his papers. She thought maybe her paperboy worked late on Saturdays. Who
could blame him?

The sun was bright and reflected off of her neighbors
windows. No one moved outside. In under an hour Mr. Vickers would be mowing and
trimming, Jacelyn Howard would jog by, waving, and the Corvec and Mendlehouse
children would be playing games and riding their bicycles.

She sat back at the breakfast nook and listened to the house
waking around her. She could hear Macy coughing, the birds chirping outside,
and old house settling. She picked at her blueberry muffin and sipped her
coffee, content in the direction of her life.

Jake had come home.

The first night had been awkward but she had pulled out the
sleeper couch and made him a bed in the living room. She had come down Tuesday
morning to the smell of bacon frying and Macy standing on a step stool flipping
pancakes with Jake helping from behind her. Jake had turned to her as she came
in and had kissed her.

Right then, it had felt as though he had never left. As if
he had never become an assassin. As if he had never lost his memory. She smiled
at her memory of that morning. She promised herself that no matter how
difficult the future got, she would hold on to that moment. They had been a
family again. Even though she knew Jake was not healed, he had made an effort
to fake it for her sake.

She finished the muffin and put away the dishes. Macy would
be up soon, so Hallie decided to read a book on her cell phone to pass the time.
She curled up on the couch and put a pillow on her lap.

She wished she could text Jake. Just a short love note. His
phone had been confiscated earlier and he had not been issued a new one yet. It
was not necessary since he had spent the rest of the week in meetings with psychologists,
doctors, other agents, and NSA specialists.

Jake had been most relieved when he had gotten the implant
removed from his hip. He asked the NSA agent in charge to deactivate the device
and then to frame it for him as a keepsake. Jake had recounted that the agent
had smiled wryly and refused. Jake had shrugged when he told her, saying that
the contraption was not a security threat once it was deactivated. Hallie had
explained that the technology used would provide a way to trace back to the
agency that had implanted the device in the first place.

Other than the content of some of his meetings with Evers
and the NSA agent in charge of the investigation, Jake had declined to talk
about his employment at Galbraith. Hallie understood. Her few weeks there had
provided a glimpse of its vast reach, its incredible power, and its complex
alliances. In fact, she had heard rumblings that internal strife at Galbraith
was beginning to rip the organization apart. It had become too big, too fast.

An organization like Galbraith that was dedicated to dealing
death and was corrupt internally was apt to have power struggles.

“Mommy?”  Macy called from the bottom of the stairs. She was
rubbing her eyes.

Hallie looked up from her phone. She realized she had
flipped through several pages yet had not registered the words she had read.

“Yes, honey?”

“I hear someone on the roof,” Macy said, her voice
trembling.

Normally, Hallie would assure her that the noise was a
squirrel or a raccoon trying to enter the attic. Hallie suspected that it was
much more than a rodent.

She moved swiftly, but did her best to not alarm Macy. Hallie
kicked off her slippers and grabbed a black Swiss bag from the closet. She did
not have time to put on more clothes. She wore only her pajama pants and a
faded NYU t-shirt with no bra. She had no time for decorum. Macy’s life was at
stake.

She picked up Macy and buried her face in her daughter’s
hair.

“It’s alright, Macy-baby. Momma’s got you. We have to leave
and go see Daddy. Okay?”

“But, I don’t have Bugsy,” Macy whined.

“We will come back later and get Bugsy, honey,” Hallie
consoled her. She looked up the stairs and glanced out into the back yard.

How could I think we would be safe?
She scolded
herself.

A better question posed itself. Why was her sense of danger
not alerted?  Was someone on the roof, or was she over-reacting. She took less
than a second to decide that their lives were not worth taking chances. She
would have to trust Macy and the feeling in her gut that she was making the
best decision.

Again, she wished Jake had a phone. When she got away safely
from the house, she would call Evers at the office and get them out to the
house. It was not unusual for the Secret Service to protect its own from
time-to-time.

Macy fidgeted, and begged to get down. Sometimes Hallie had
to remind herself that Macy was getting old enough to stand on her own. She
mostly resented being carried now. She enjoyed her independence. Hallie was
both proud of her and a little sad that Macy was growing up before Hallie had a
chance to enjoy her being a baby.

“Mom. I want breakfast first. I want some cereal,” Macy
complained.

“Not now. We will stop somewhere and get some breakfast,
honey,” Hallie promised. She slung the backpack onto her right shoulder and
pulled the case with the SIG Sauer P229 in it out of the bag. She put the
special sling across her left shoulder so the pistol hung loosely against her
ribs. She did not have time to hide it and Macy was used to the sight of guns
in the house. They had never made an issue of hiding them from her and had
taught her early on to respect and fear guns.

“Can we get some oatmeal from McDonald’s,” Macy begged.

“We’ll see,” Hallie said in the tone that parents everywhere
would recognize as defeat and acquiescence.

Then she heard it: footsteps thumping on the roof over the
back porch.
Why were they up there?
  Then, she knew. They were looking
for Macy. Hallie felt a chill like ice grip her heart and she realized that she
was squeezing Macy tightly.

“I’m sorry, Macy-baby. We have to go now,” Hallie said, her
breath coming out in a rush. Her mind raced ahead, making plans. She glanced
out the windows to the front of the house and saw no one. No unusual cars. From
the sounds on the roof, they had entered from the back of the house. If she
hurried, they could get out before they were seen. Her vehicle was still parked
in the garage. There was no way she would make it out in the car.

She led Macy to the door. She opened it carefully, knowing
that opening the door would create a vacuum and they would feel it on the roof.
She understood the risk, but she could not wait in the house for someone to
come and take her child.

As she put Macy out the door, she closed it carefully, not
allowing it to bang shut. The day was already beginning to warm. She looked up
and down Oriole Avenue. The homes were still. She could hear voices coming from
behind her. She looked down at Macy and smiled at her and held her finger to
her mouth.

She showed Macy how to walk away quietly. Macy liked this
game.

Hallie popped the strap open that held her SIG Sauer P229 in
place under her arm. She reached up and it came into her hand, a trustworthy
and familiar friend. She absently checked the chamber, dropped the magazine out
and slid it into place quickly. She had an extra magazine in the carry case and
a box of ammo in the bag across her shoulder. She pulled the slide back and
chambered a round.

Macy continued walking heel-toe, heel-toe in front of
Hallie, pretending to walk on a beam. Soon, they were on the road and Hallie
directed Macy to turn to the right. This would put them within the vision of
whoever was on the roof, but Hallie’s curiosity was getting the best of her.

Hallie had been in dozens of close situations. She had been
part of a team that guarded diplomats during United Nations Summits. She had
witnessed gunfire, physical attacks, theft, and murder. Never had she been as
nervous as now. She was not nervous for herself. She was worried about Macy.

Hallie gripped the pistol with one hand and held Macy’s
elbow as lightly as she could afford. Macy did not complain, but allowed her
mother to lead her down the road. Hallie kept a tall hedge between her and the
house with Macy in front of her. She looked back over her shoulder. When she
got to a place where she could see the back of her house, she stopped and knelt
down on the pavement. There was no sidewalk here, but many of the residents of
the neighborhood walked the main thoroughfare, enjoying the heavily populated
suburb setting so close to the concrete jungle to their south.

She saw two men on the roof. One held a piece of equipment
to the window. She could not see it from this angle, but Hallie knew what it
was. It would take out the window without evidence of breaking in.  Where they
were on the roof, no one from her neighborhood could see them enter. Her
neighbors uphill behind her were screened by a row of thick trees. These men
had chosen to take her daughter in broad daylight.

Now she was more mad than scared. She fought the urge to
fire her weapon. She wanted to go back and put a bullet in their temples.

The bigger man saw her. His face was red with exertion, but
he turned to her just as he was reaching up to help his team mate.

He said something to the other man and pointed. They both stared
toward her and Macy. The first man grabbed what looked like a cell phone and
held it to his mouth. Hallie did not wait around to see more. She turned in a
whirl, slapped the pistol back in place under her arm and grabbed Macy.

She ran for the main intersecting street. The plan that
formed in her head started with: get away and hide, call Evers, and get Jake
here. Her pride got in the way of her plan. She could handle them by herself. Despite
her confidence in her abilities, Hallie knew her weakness. If she allowed her
fear for her daughter to paralyze her at the wrong instant, it would cost them
both their lives.

She felt the pavement warm under her feet.

She heard the roar of an engine and the screech of tires. She
fought the temptation to turn and look. A black Ford Expedition raced past her
and turned sideways in the road at the last second. Its tires barked and the
big vehicle skidded to a stop.

Hallie set Macy down. She was screaming. Who could blame
her, poor thing? Hallie shut it out. She needed to concentrate on keeping them
both alive. She could not allow Macy’s screams to dampen her resolve.

The gun was back in her hand in an instant. A woman with
raven hair got out of the driver’s side and began walking toward them. She had
no weapon. She held her hands in front of her.

“I know you are frightened. We are here to help you. Jake is
in trouble. We need to get you to safety,” she said.

She sounded completely convincing, but Hallie had been
trained to see through a ruse.

“Stay right there,” Hallie said loudly, her gun trained on
the woman’s abdomen.

Two shots would put her down. Three would kill her. Hallie
was prepared to do either. In all her hours on duty, she had never had to
actually discharge her firearm. She knew she could. Knew she would.

The woman, to her credit, smiled and held out her hands.

“I know you are a mother protecting her cub. Just put the
weapon down, Hallie. We are here to help you and Macy, not hurt you,” she said.

She continued to be soothing and logical. It was a good act,
Hallie had to admit.

“Bull. I want you to put your hands on the vehicle. You,
inside, get out and put your hands where I can see them or I will put two
bullets into your partner!”  Hallie could hear footsteps coming her way. The
men from the roof.

“Hallie, my name is Violet. I worked at Galbraith. I am an
undercover agent for the CIA. We need to talk. Please. Put the gun down,” she
claimed.

Hallie had tried to stay out of the briefing room while Jake
had tried to recall all his actions at Galbraith. Much of it they already knew.
But, Hallie remembered Jake talking about Violet and Lars. He did not trust
them.

She did not trust them, either. In fact, there were less
than a half dozen people in the entire world she trusted. Was it Lars behind
the wheel?  That would figure, according to what Jake had said.

“I don’t care who you are. You are not taking us anywhere,”
Hallie said.

“Mommy, I’m scared!” Macy complained. She hugged her chest
with one arm and had one thumb in her mouth. She had not sucked her thumb in over
a year.

As irrational as it seemed, Hallie was angry that this woman
would make her daughter suck her thumb after Hallie had spent countless hours
learning how to correct her daughter’s habit.

Just then, she felt an object pierce the air near her right
cheek. Instinctively, she turned to that side and brought her pistol around,
both hands gripping it, her eye trained to focus on the rear sight and line it
up with the front sight. Easy, peasy.

     She pulled the trigger. She had forgotten how loud the
pistol could be. It bucked in her hand, the .357 SIG brass cartridge ejected high
beside her and her periphery vision caught its trajectory and her ears picked
up the ring of its clatter as it hit the pavement. She followed up with a
second shot that entered through the man’s collar bone. Blood peppered the air
behind his back.

She pulled on the trigger again from the first set point, a
smooth, eight pound pull. The shot went into the meaty part of his shoulder. Hallie
watched as the slug tore the fabric of the man’s shirt.

The man in the lead lurched, his eyes registering the
impossibility of his death. He dropped his pistol and pitched forward. The big
man behind him was slow to react. He looked up at her, shock and dismay on his
face.