Alex And Cassidy: Betrayal Part 3

"Yes, you are," Alex whispered, following her words with a tender kiss.

The man at the center of the room stood straight, his posture stiff and guarded. He listened carefully, expressionless. Standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders; his gray hair highlighted his blue eyes and his fair complexion. He was an intimidating presence. "Mr. President," he began, "there are expectations. You understand?"

The newly sworn in president was a far less imposing figure. Lawrence Strickland stood several inches shorter and had a soft manner about him. Always a background player, he now found himself sitting in a chair that had been held by some of the strongest and most savvy men on earth; if not always the most intelligent. What the newly sworn in president possessed was just that, a mind-blowing intellect. If John Merrow had occupied the seat with strength and honor, Lawrence Strickland would claim it with intellect. There were many differences between the two men. Colonel John Merrow believed in loyalty to his country. He understood the need for order, both to give and receive orders. His life was spent not weighing all the pros and cons, but executing plans. His life was not one guided by ambition, but ruled by a sense of duty. Once Governor Strickland was as ambitious as he was intelligent. His sense of duty to anything other than the service of his own desires was questionable. "I understand," Strickland answered.

Jonathan Krause stood at the far side of the Oval Office. His eyes scanned the room. Behind the president's desk still sat his friend's personal photos. It was impossible to control the tension in his face as his eyes narrowed to slits. Pictures of three beautiful women; Jane Merrow, Alexandra and Stephanie Merrow, all three smiling, sat beside a picture of six people, five men and one woman all in Army uniforms, giving the 'thumbs up'. Just behind it stood a photo of the president's parents. He bit the inside of his lip so hard that he could taste the trickle of blood it set forth.

"Jonathan," Lawrence Strickland looked at the man across the room. "I am sorry about John."

Krause's expression was severe. "Jonathan," Admiral Brackett said carefully, prompting a sarcastic smile from the CIA agent. "We have a great deal to do," the Admiral continued. "Sympathy will be high." Krause felt his stomach twist. 'Sympathy,' he silently thought as the admiral went on. "Congress will be hesitant not to pa.s.s any measure that the president supported. You need to capitalize on that Larry. Express how important these measures were to him; how much he was committed to our foreign relationships and security. We need that resolution amended. This will, at the very least, delay any vote. There are transactions set for next week. This will provide a needed distraction."

Jonathan Krause struggled not to release a sigh of disgust. In his mind he played his thoughts, "transactions? That's what this is, John. You and me, just transactions."

"I understand," the new president answered.

"Good. You need to address the coming European initiatives with the French Prime Minister when he calls." Strickland nodded. "Accept his wishes and open the dialogue. You need to say very little; he will understand simply by the situation at hand. We cannot allow any tighter port restrictions." Strickland again nodded his understanding. "Jonathan?" the admiral turned to the younger man. "I need you to go to Moscow." Krause flinched slightly and the commanding admiral pursed his lips. "You know you cannot be at the funeral."

Krause understood. His relationship with John Merrow was not one that most would or could ever know about, at least not those out of these circles. His brother, at least the only man he had ever felt was his brother, was gone and he would mourn that loss alone. There was no choice. There were only two people in Jonathan Krause's life that he ever completely trusted; only two people that he could claim he truly loved. One was now gone and the other would never give him her heart. It did not change the fact that they both held his. Duty. He and his brother were destined for duty. This was his duty. There was little room in a life that was centered on following orders for love. John Merrow once told him that falling in love changed everything. The brick wall that one erects as a strong faade in a life bound by duty becomes a pane of gla.s.s when a person falls in love. The constant threat of shatter becomes a heart-wrenching reality. The CIA agent looked at his hand. The long scratches were still a fiery red from the gla.s.s he had shattered with his knuckles earlier. "Appropriate," he thought. Again, the wheels were turning. They had never stopped. Only for a few people, for a few moments. Now they would spin again and Krause wondered if that spinning could ever truly be controlled.

"Ca.s.sidy, be reasonable," Christopher O'Brien said through the phone.

"It's perfectly reasonable, Christopher."

"Do you really hate me that much?" he asked.

"This may come as a surprise to you, but everything I do is not about you," Ca.s.sidy answered.

"Obviously. I'd like to see Dylan when you get here."

"Of course," she said. "We're coming back Sunday afternoon. I figured you would want him to be with you Sat.u.r.day."

"Sat.u.r.day night?"

"Yes...."

"That's not good for me."

"I'm sorry?" the teacher asked for clarification.

"There is a dinner at Senator Levy's Sat.u.r.day. I need to be there."

Ca.s.sidy shook her head and let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Of course you do."

"Don't start, Ca.s.sie."

"No, Chris...really....it's fine. Take him for the day then."

"Why can't he just stay Friday?" the congressman asked. "I'll take him after the funeral."

"No."

"No?" he responded.

"Right. No."

"Why not?" he raised his voice.

Ca.s.sidy sighed. "We are spending Friday evening with friends of Alex's."

"I don't think friends of Alex's trump Dylan's father."

"Chris..."

"Who are these friends?"

Ca.s.sidy moved to the front window and watched Alex boost Dylan onto the lowest branch of the small tree. "We will be with the Merrows."

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"Christopher, you know that Alex was close to the president."

"I know they knew each other."

"Well, no matter. I'll bring him over on Sat.u.r.day."

"Ca.s.sidy, we need to talk about this."

"Talk about what?"

"You and this FBI agent. What are you going to do when she...."

Ca.s.sidy laughed. "Chris, there is nothing for us to discuss. Give Cheryl my regards. We'll see you at the funeral."

Congressman Christopher O'Brien threw his phone across the desk. "FBI b.i.t.c.h," he muttered.

Michael Taylor stared at the photo in his hands. "Mutanabbi," he said aloud. "What the h.e.l.l, Colonel? What is it about Mutanabbi Street?" He set down the picture and retrieved a file from the corner of his desk. A slight gasp escaped him as he surveyed the photo of the carnage. The street was unrecognizable. Papers littered the ground, dust lingered in the air and blood stained nearly everything in sight. "How did we even survive?" he mused to himself. "s.h.i.t. Colonel, what the h.e.l.l is it about that day? What could you want Alex to know?" He sifted through the papers, searching. "Dammit!" A burst of anger sent the files soaring across the desk and he rubbed his temples with his palms. "Brackett. Follow Brackett. What the h.e.l.l could Agent Brackett know?" Taylor shook his head and pushed his chair back. "Follow Brackett. Not Claire.....that's it......it's not Claire he meant."

ictor, ya tam budu zavtro.Net...netu povoda tebe deystvovat.

Zhdi menya (Viktor, I will be there tomorrow. No...There is no reason for you to act. Wait for me)," Krause instructed.

"Yesli frantsuzy ne soglasiatsa (If the French will not comply)," Viktor Ivanov answered.

"Enough, Viktor. Edmond will handle that situation. There has been enough bloodshed," Jon Krause said.

"Do I sense hesitation, my friend?" the Russian answered.

"You sense caution, Viktor. Don't be rash. This is not the time," Krause responded. He held a large envelope in his hands, turning it endlessly. "Reaction is not the same as action."

"Very well. You must understand what we..."

Krause studied the envelope in his hand. "I understand fully. We have already taken unnecessary risks."

"You do not agree with the actions?" the Russian inquired.

"Whether or not I agree does not matter. It has opened a dangerous path that someone will want to follow."

Viktor Ivanov considered the statement. "It is not the first time, Jonathan."

"No. But it is a different time, Viktor. A very different time." Krause began to unseal the large envelope. "I will see you tomorrow."

"I don't understand," Claire Brackett raised her voice to the man across from her.

"What don't you understand, Claire?" her father answered.

"You had John killed?"

"Claire, I am surprised at you."

"Well?"

The admiral's temple twitched. "You almost sound as if you had feelings for the man. Did you?"

The young redhead's gaze blazed now. "What is your point?"

"Claire, what are you doing with O'Brien?"

"What do you think I am doing with the congressman?" she shot back.

"Be careful, Claire. O'Brien is hardly John Merrow."

"Now who sounds like they had feelings for him?"

The admiral stood and straightened his posture. He looked out the large window at the side of his office and considered his words. With a lick of his lips and a heavy sigh he turned back to his daughter. "John Merrow was a man of integrity, Claire. He was a soldier and a leader and he, better than anyone, understood the risks of our work. None of us are indispensable. None of us. Men like O'Brien do not see that. Men like Strickland, now."

"Well, then...you'll forgive my confusion," she said.

The admiral smiled. His daughter possessed many of the attributes that made for an excellent agent. She was highly intelligent, physically coordinated, and she was a master manipulator. The one thing that the admiral hated to admit, but was growing to understand more daily, was that his daughter did not feel a sense of commitment, but rather ent.i.tlement. That concerned him. For Claire, this was an elaborate game. Perhaps it was, but the stakes were nothing short of life and death and John Merrow was hardly the first casualty; nor would he be the last. The admiral took stock of the woman before him. She was no simple child anymore. He deliberately walked toward her and stood just a pace away. "John Merrow was like a son to me, Claire."

"Doesn't say much for my future, does it Daddy," was her acerbic reply.

"It says that we make choices, Claire. You keep an eye on O'Brien, but you keep your head where it belongs," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't be a smart a.s.s. You opened this can of worms when you decided to keep playing with Fisher."

"I thought you wanted things kept in the family," she answered his accusation with a sarcastic confidence.

"You presume many things. Fisher was cut loose for a reason."

"Well, than why get him FBI credentials?" The admiral smiled knowingly. "You set me up." He shrugged. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"It's a reminder, Claire. You may be my daughter but you still have your orders and I have my reasons. Careful. Toles will be watching."

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Call it my insurance policy," he said. "Stay in line. Taylor and Toles are a dangerous combination. You keep O'Brien away from her, understand?"

"That might not be as simple...."

His gaze narrowed. "Make it easy. Toles saw Merrow before he died."

"So? Why not just take out...."

"Take out Agent Toles? Don't think I haven't thought of that. Not in our best interest. She is smarter than you think. And, there is more."

"What more?" the young woman asked skeptically.

"I'm not convinced NSA took out Fisher."

"Of course they did," she said.

"Mm. Things are not always as they appear, Claire. I thought you were smarter than that. You watch O'Brien. Threaten him if you have to."

"We did that."

"No. Threaten him. Make him feel it...where it hurts."

"You mean his career?"

"I mean you do whatever you have to so that he does not fire up Toles anymore than she already is."

Alex walked out of Dylan's room and shut the door quietly. It had been a long few days. Her nightmares were back and for the last few nights she had only been able to sleep when Ca.s.sidy would rock her. She felt like a helpless child, but she had no control over the way that the dreams would awaken her. Tomorrow they would need to leave for Washington. Dylan would need to be back Monday to start school and Alex hated to admit that she dreaded his absence during the days. She had hoped that her reinstatement to the bureau would happen quickly, but with the president gone things were more uncertain than ever. "Ca.s.s?" she called into the kitchen and heard a voice call back from below.

"Down here!"

Alex followed her lover's voice down the stairs. She stopped halfway and a smile swept over her face. Ca.s.sidy was standing behind the pool table racking the b.a.l.l.s, a familiar long denim shirt falling down her form. "What are you doing?" the agent asked.

The teacher shrugged. "I recall...You owe me a lesson."

"Uh-huh. So you want me to teach you to play pool? Honestly?" Ca.s.sidy offered the agent a playful glance. Alex chuckled and shook her head. She needed some levity. She needed Ca.s.sidy, and somehow the woman across the room seemed to understand that. She finished the short trek down the stairs and took the triangle from the teacher's hands, allowing her hand to brush over her lover's. "Okay, first; watch." Ca.s.sidy complied happily, watching as Alex ordered the b.a.l.l.s and shook the plastic triangle gently around them. "Now, you have to learn how to break." Alex guided Ca.s.sidy to the other end of the table and took a place behind her. "You know, I think maybe you just want an excuse to get me to hold you," Alex flirted.

"Oh? Is that what you think?" Ca.s.sidy could feel her heart beat beginning to race and she bit her lip gently to try and slow her breath. "You just get on with this lesson. I am tired of you and Dylan making fun of me," Ca.s.sidy said.

Alex leaned into her lover and whispered her instructions, "then you promise me we finish this game."

"Are you implying that I cannot resist you?" Ca.s.sidy asked keeping her eyes on the table.