Chosen (14 page)

Michael invited the three of them to his house to discuss what would happen when the
Finding
DVD wound up in the hands of the media. Mariah arrived early so she could enjoy time alone with him and Abigail. When Thomas appeared, she knew her smile was friendly but distant, because she had practiced it in front of her bathroom mirror. But his lazy grin and steady eye contact made her heat speed up a bit.

Frannie would arrive later, Michael informed them, having been caught up in some bureaucratic business from which she could not escape. As they waited for her, they began to discuss their strategy in dealing with the press. Since Thomas was the expert in this field, Michael and Abigail excused themselves and left to prepare some snacks.

Thomas sat on a leather footstool across from Mariah. After a few minutes of conversation, he cocked his head and said, “I’d rather talk about you then this nightmare you’re expecting. Tell me about Mariah Carpenter and where she’s buried all the skeletons.” Her lopsided grin charmed him.

“Okay, you asked for it,” she said. “I have an older brother and sister, and we grew up in Massachusetts. Judith lives in the mountains in New Hampshire with her husband and twenty or so rescued cats. They also have a business on eBay, buying and selling antiques.

“Stephen is an eccentric genius and teaches at Harvard grad school in, get this, “Organismic and Evolutionary Biology”, something to do with his major, molecular phylogeny. Don’t even ask me what it’s about: I can barely pronounce it. When we forget ourselves and ask him about it, he makes about as much sense as someone speaking Klingon. We all assume that’s why he studied it. Okay, now you.”

“Right. I come from a big family; three brothers, two sisters, mother, and father. Plus my grandfather and aunt on my mother’s side live with us. We were far enough outside of Pittsburgh to be considered country, so we collected an assortment of animals from hamsters to horses. Mom is Italian, dad is Spanish; with those two explosive nationalities, we lived loud and chaotic, but everyone loves it and each other.”

He tapped her on the knee, a signal for her to continue. “I got kicked out of Hebrew School when I was a kid because my teacher said I disrespected God. I thought I was asking normal kid questions like where God lived, how old he was, stuff like that. And I drove my mother crazy, always asking questions about everything. She told me I was cross-examining her.” She returned his grin and nodded.

Picking up his previous thread, he said, “I was a wild kid, always getting into trouble with my little brother who was only eighteen months younger than me. It was kid stuff: dropping water balloons on people’s heads, short-sheeting my sisters’ beds. Oh, and I put a little frog in my mother’s flour canister. I got the big spoon for that one.”

Mariah chuckled. “I bet you’re still getting into trouble. I can see it in your eyes.”

“What else do you see in my eyes?” he said, his voice soft, the banter gone. Caught off guard, her own eyes became soft and inviting. Then she blinked.
Flirting is as natural as breathing to him, Mariah thought. It means nothing
.

Ignoring his question, Mariah told him about her white glove incident at the synagogue when she was nine years old. Since he seemed tickled rather than put off, she continued with the
Finding
of her friend, Marty.

Thomas reached for her right hand which rested on her leg. She tensed, finding it difficult to concentrate.
He’s just trying to be friendly, that’s all
. She didn’t want to relinquish the contact, but in her world, this was a bright scarlet flag. She gently withdrew her hand in the guise of drawing her legs underneath her.

Thomas was pleased with Mariah’s response. That slight sexy smile he gave her when he first arrived had the desired effect: she smiled back but her eyes held uncertainty. He also knew that he made her uncomfortable when he took her hand.
Good
. He wanted her to get used to him being close before he took this to the next level. When she removed her hand from his to sit on her legs, it confirmed what his instinct told him: he needed to proceed with caution if he wanted this woman.

He left the footstool and sat down on the sofa next to Mariah. Far enough away so they could look at each other; close enough to maintain the tentative intimacy.

“Our house was always full of friends, relatives, even relatives of relatives,” he continued. “My mother cooked like she was catering a convention. At the risk of sounding conceited, all of us kids are good-looking and intelligent, but we were taught to be humble, do right by others, and be self-reliant and happy with ourselves.”

“How I envy you the close family bond and the normalcy.” Mariah shook off the envy. “While the rest of my family could be considered somewhat normal, I was the burr under my mother’s saddle.” She was happy that she made him laugh out loud.

She told him how she felt growing up, being careful not to make it sound like a plea for pity.
You’re telling him way too much, way too soon
, a little voice inside her said. Even though she felt vulnerable, she just couldn’t seem to stop; it felt good, and his interest seemed to be genuine.

When Frannie arrived, Michael rejoined them. Frannie took the footstool previously occupied by Thomas, and Michael eased down into his recliner as he caught her up on their previous discussion.

She began without any preliminaries. “The Chief is talking to the public relations department as we speak, and they’ll find us the best qualified candidate.” Mariah’s frown elicited a grin from Frannie. “I know you’d probably like to pick your own PR person, but what do you know about them? We’re going to need one tough dude, someone who’s been around awhile and has dealt with just about everything. You, young lady, do not have to like him or her; you just have to follow their instructions.”

While the publicized
Findings
would be great for her career, Frannie’s excitement diminished a bit. She never had to factor in someone else’s life, and this someone sitting in front of her meant a great deal to Frannie. Her eyes narrowed: this someone didn’t seem to be as disturbed about being exposed to millions of people as Frannie had expected because, if correct, she was, at the moment, more interested in the man sitting next to her.

Frannie’s frown deepened: she had no doubt that Raphael was coming on to Mariah. There was no telling what his intentions were. Mariah’s potential celebrity was a big attraction, maybe something he would use to further his own career. And if their relationship became physical, there were big bucks in his future if he sold a tell-all.

If Mariah fell hard for him, she would not know how to handle his deceit. Frannie would have to pay close attention to this budding romance. If Raphael came even close to hurting Mariah, she would disembowel him.

“Yah, yah, yah. I knew this was coming,” Mariah grumbled. “I think I’m more afraid of the publicist then the people he or she will be protecting me from. Almost. I want an angry, snarling, drooling pit bull, howling and snapping at the media and foaming at the newspaper journalists and the tabloid creeps.”

Thomas grinned. “Don’t forget the unauthorized biographers and producers of movies and video games, and the marketing exploiters who’ll plaster your likeness on tee shirts, dolls, and underwear!”

Everyone burst out laughing, but they knew these were accurate assumptions.

Not usually pessimistic, Michael nevertheless added, “And you haven’t even mentioned the religious circus: people who’ll be healed in your name by charlatans, potions made supposedly from your hair, fingernails, or skin. Maybe a whole new religion with you as the supposed head!”

“Thanks a lot, Michael. I hadn’t thought of that.” She slapped her hands onto her thighs. “Well, let’s be honest: I’m doomed no matter how you look at it. I think my apartment complex management is getting ready to ask me to leave because of all the commotion I’m causing. Where am I going to hide?”

Not missing a beat, Thomas said, “You can bunk with me. I have a spare room. But we’ll have to share the bathroom.” Seeing Mariah’s eyes widen in alarm, he added, “Just temporarily, until you can find another place to hide.”

Frannie caught Michael’s eye and winked. Out of the four people in the room, Mariah was the only one who seemed unaware of Thomas’ interest in her; nonetheless, it was, to Michael and Frannie, as clear as a cloudless summer sky.

On her way home, Mariah made a fierce attempt to concentrate on the traffic. He was
not
serious. No way would he want her to move in and cramp his style with other women. She was angry at herself because she hadn’t thought of something flip to say. However, that he could even joke about them living together must mean that he didn’t see her as a freak, even though he knew she would never take him up on his offer. Right?

Men: if you gave them what they wanted, they weren’t interested. If you didn’t want them, it just made them to try harder. In either case, they still made you nuts.

Alone in the office he had created off the master bedroom, Jude Ciriatos’ cracked leather chair groaned as he leaned back, staring at a DVD clutched in his left hand. His third brandy, camouflaged in the normal wreckage of his desktop, was forgotten.

A lifetime of honesty and morality warred deep inside with a gut-wrenching fear of the future as he justified the theft. Threatened with financial disaster, he was convinced there was no other way to solve his problem. This disk looked ordinary, but was worth (he hoped) a quarter of a million dollars.

Closing his eyes, he grunted as a grimace twisted his face. For the umpteenth time he told himself that this DVD would have wound up in the hands of the media whether he sold it to them or someone else did. He further rationalized that Mariah Carpenter’s life had become a train wreck months before the
Finding
of Sophie Duval was documented, and it would only get worse.

While the DVD played, he had stolen glances at Mariah, admiring her calm demeanor as she sat with her hands folded in her lap breathing evenly. But the signs of stress were obvious to a professional interrogator; her upper teeth worrying her lower lip, an imperceptible shift, a deep breath held a second then let out in a sigh.

It was toward the end when he began formulating the plan to steal the DVD. The urge to repress it had been fleeting. That saddened him even more than the thought of the theft.

He was again impressed by her composure when the lights came on. When she caught and held his gaze for several seconds, he had squirmed and looked away. Was she able to read his mind and know what he planned? But her gaze shifted from his face with no outward change in her expression, and he figured he was safe.

Jude assumed it would be difficult, but not impossible, to steal the DVD. He also knew where to find the technology. He tamped down the anxiety that threatened to burst from within. He was a good strategist: he would come up with a foolproof plan.

And when Jude saw the DVD clutched in Osterman’s hands, he knew where it would be kept.

An image formed in his mind as he sat in the semi-darkness: his mother in the nursing home, his father clasping her hands as he watched her sicken before his eyes. The facility had taken most of their retirement savings before MediCal moved her to a cheaper one and started to pay for her care. His father begged him to find a more up-scale nursing home where she would receive the best of care, and Jude agreed. He, too, wanted the best for his mother. She was moved to a state-of-the art residential institution, but the difference between what MediCal paid and what this place charged was a thousand bucks a month. For six months, the additional payments had come from the stash his wife, Priscilla, had hoarded for an emergency.

Priscilla agreed without protest when he asked for the money. She loved his folks, too. Nevertheless, Jude knew she was as frightened as he about their future.

The stash was nearly gone. Jude’s stocks, purchased with the pittance he could afford, weren’t worth much. The mortgage payments on the house and raising three children kept their budget tight. He felt overwhelmed.

Later that day, Jude entered the security lab and found the first thing he needed: a recently-developed sealant in aerosol form which, when sprayed on the hands, would prevent agents from leaving their fingerprints on items they touched at crime scenes.

He sprayed both hands then tried to “borrow” several highly specialized tools from the lab. He was caught by the lab chief but, anticipating this, claimed a legitimate reason: he had never worked with the anti-intrusion devices and wanted to practice. The lab chief even showed him the fastest way to manipulate the settings. His instructions over, the chief headed back to office. After glancing around, Jude pocketed the devices he felt he would need.

There would be no reason for the lab chief to remember his visit when the theft of the DVD was discovered. First, need to know: the lab chief would have no knowledge of the disk. Second, many agents used his lab to practice on the latest field equipment. The chief was used to being asked for his assistance.

As he left, Jude sighed with relief. Still, he prayed that the lab chief would not connect the dots if word leaked out about the theft.

Luck was still with him. Exiting the elevator on the floor where Craig Osterman’s office was located, he ran into the gentleman in the hallway. When Jude casually asked where he was off to, Osterman growled something about “taking a dump.” He knew he had little time; Osterman would not be gone for more than a few minutes.

It was quarter till five and Osterman’s office was down a dead-end corridor. It took him forty-nine seconds to coerce the code from the anti-intrusion mechanism on Osterman’s office door using the radio frequency listening device he had taken from the lab.

Just as Jude was about to enter, he heard voices down a cross aisle. Sweat erupted from his pores, and he froze. When the pair turned down another aisle, he exhaled convulsively.

Once inside, he went straight for the desk, hoping it was the most logical place Osterman would keep the Carpenter DVD. On the bottom left-hand drawer, he found a remote keyless entry lock with an encryption algorithm. It was a new technology used by many on the managerial staff. Jude applied the second tool he took from the lab: an ultra-sophisticated, destabilizing vibration device to sense and align the tumblers.

After a long two minutes, the drawer clicked open. Rummaging through the papers, he found the DVD. Jude shook his head; so much for hiding it in plain sight.

As he removed a blank disk from his jacket pocket to replace the Carpenter one, the phone rang. Nearly dropping the disk, his heart beat loudly against his chest. After the usual four rings and Osterman’s greeting, he heard the Bureau Chief’s voice say, “I’ll be down to see you in about five minutes.”

Jude stuffed the Carpenter disk into the same pocket the blank had come from, stuck the blank under the mound of papers, and activated the sequence that would secure the lock. It slid smoothly back into place, the infiltration undetectable.

He opened the office door half an inch: no one was in sight. Hands shaking, he reactivated the locking device on Osterman’s door and fled to his cubicle where he removed the DVD from his jacket pocket and stuffed it into a bag designed to eliminate static electricity. After slipping it into his briefcase, he grabbed his suit jacket and strolled out of the FBI building with the rest of the five-o’clockers. His conscience and accelerated heart rate made him feel slightly nauseated.

Priscilla was in the kitchen was Jude arrived. He immediately disappeared into his study and never re-emerged. She knew something was seriously wrong: he always greeted her and the kids before doing anything else.

Entering his office without waiting for an invitation, Priscilla became alarmed. The lights were off; her husband sat in the shadows cast by the streetlight that filtered through the gauze curtains. She sat in the guest chair and waited for him to speak, her unease exacerbated by the small amount of brandy she noticed in the bottle.

Jude held up the DVD. “Behold, the solution to our problems,” he said. “Thirteen years of clean law enforcement wiped out by a three-minute robbery. I’m now on the same level as the thugs I put away.”

Then he told her what was on it. Shocked, Priscilla stared at him and the DVD. She was aware of the
Findings
through newspaper accounts; however, what he told her was beyond belief. With words slurred and boozy, Jude tried to make her understand why he took the disk. He became defensive when she started to protest. Priscilla cut him off and left: she needed to get dinner on the table.

It was a tense, joyless meal that night. Jude and Priscilla ate in silence while the kids looked anxiously from one parent to the other.

After dinner, Priscilla put the children to bed early then spent several hours with her husband attempting to find an alternate solution. They discussed the merits of her working but, in the end, his argument won out. With three children under the age of six, any money she made would just cover day care expenses and not solve a thing. She broached the subject of a second mortgage; he had already checked into it. They just didn’t have the money to pay for it.

“How can you destroy this woman’s life for money? And what happens if you’re caught?” Priscilla said. “You’ll be fired and disgraced, and more than likely jailed! What will happen to your folks then, not to mention me and the kids?”

“Believe me, Pris, I took every precaution. Besides it’s not like we’re going to start spending money like crazy. With my record, they’re not even going to look in my direction.” Jude took her in his arms, his murmured words more to reassure himself than her. Still, she worried for him. She knew he prided himself on being an honest lawman, going from years of police work to this more prestigious career in the Bureau.

He did his homework, he told her in a broken voice. He had called NBC from a throw-away cell phone, offering the DVD to Tom Brokaw, a man he greatly admired and felt could be trusted to treat this information with professionalism and dignity. At least if he had to contribute to ruining Mariah Carpenter’s life, he would not turn her over to some sleazy tabloid show. And the money they offered pending verification of authenticity was more than he hoped for; enough to take care of his mother’s needs for as long as she lived, plus start college funds for the kids.

Sometimes life just deals you a shitty hand,
Jude thought, the words no consolation.