Confrontations

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Jeff growled back. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a headache was starting, fueled by lack of sleep and the heavily emotional undertones of the debriefing.

"I'll elaborate," Scott snapped, smacking the desk top with the flat of his uninjured hand. "What the hell do we think we're doing, sending out these... civilians... to do a job that they're not trained for? Our agents go out at your command, armed with little more than their own experience and common sense, into dangerous situations against people who will stop at nothing!"

Didn't I just have this conversation with Virgil? Jeff asked himself, now rubbing the bridge of his nose and trying hard to keep his eyes open and his mind focused on what his eldest son was saying.

Scott continued. "Look at this last so-called 'intelligence gathering' foray! We send in a clueless aristocrat who figures that a brunette wig and some phony papers would camouflage her, and whose shapely ass we've had to pull out of the fire more than once for doing similarly stupid things. She's backed up by an ex-convict, a female firefighter, a doctor who hates guns, and an arthritic cab driver! Some covert operation! And what happens? Everything goes sour; the agent's cover is blown, the back up crew has to go in and extract the dumb blonde and we end up with a fatality! I'm surprised we haven't had one before this!"

He spun away from the desk, walking out into the lounge with his hands spread wide. "Now, we have agents questioning whether what they are doing is worth the cost... and a young family deprived of both husband and father!" He turned suddenly, returning to the desk to stab a finger at Jeff. "What the hell were you thinking? And what do you propose to do about it?"

All during Scott's tirade, Jeff's eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together tightly. His headache was growing even as his fuse was shrinking. When Scott asked him those last two questions, he stood suddenly, and put one hand on his desk, then leaned over and grabbed Scott by the shirt with the other. Scott didn't back down, instead, his hard blue eyes matched those of his father's as they glared at each other, their faces inches apart.

"Now," Jeff said, in a rumbling voice both dangerous and level. "You listen to me. First, you will not speak of Lady Penelope that way ever again. She is a friend of this family and will be treated with the deference and respect that she deserves." He paused for a quick breath. "Second, no one could have possibly foreseen that the man she went to visit was our enemy and hers, the Hood. Not me, not Penelope, no one. Nor could we predict that she would be recognized."

He let go of Scott's shirt and came out from behind his desk, every step measured and deliberate. Scott folded his arms across his chest, his and his father's eyes still locked together. "And even though the actual mission went sour, our operatives achieved their objective and we gained some invaluable intelligence in the process. Now we know where the true threat to our security comes from and we can better plan to meet that threat head on."

His voice softened. "I am sorry about Peter. He was a good agent and a good man, and he'll be missed. You know I'll make sure his family wants for nothing..."

"Nothing but Peter, that is," Scott replied savagely. "You don't get it, do you, Father? Our agents, your agents, aren't cut out for this! No damn training! No damn equipment, other than that fancy communications crap you give them! They used to keep an eye on things for us around the world, but it took someone from the outside to discover this damn plot! The agents who should have alerted us had no damn clue! And they can't just call us up if they get into a bind. The only one who possibly has that option is your girlfriend." He shook his head. "You expect too damn much of them, Dad. Just too damn much."

"So, what the hell do you expect me to do?" Jeff was angry again, and not just because of Scott's tone and attitude. "And for the record, Lady Penelope is not my 'girlfriend'. Never has been, never will be."

"Could have fooled me!" Scott shot back. "What do I expect you to do? Disband the whole damn network! I bet that if you went through the lists you wouldn't find a dozen people who could do what you expected of Peter and the other agents last night! And don't tell me that Penelope is trained to do this either! We've had to save her pretty little ass far too often. She missed something important when she took Espionage 101!"

There was a long moment of silence, then Jeff asked curtly, "Are you through?"

"No," Scott barked. "I should have been able to use a missile instead of sending Peter in with an incendiary. He'd still be alive today if you had let me take out... whatever it was he took out. Everyone could have gotten out of there in one piece..."

"NO!" Jeff roared, his face suffusing red with anger. "I told you then and I'm telling you again now! I was not going to give that bastard Alvarez any ammunition whatsoever against us! And I'll stand by that call, especially now since I know who he really is! It's bad enough that he may have gotten vid of you attacking that damned helijet! Heaven help us if he did, because he'll twist it and find a way to nail our asses to the wall with it!" He stepped forward again and stabbed his immobile son's chest with a finger. "Do not second guess my orders! I have my reasons for them and I'll stand by those reasons!"

Father and son glared at each other again, then Jeff made a motion toward the door. "Get the hell out of my office. Come back and talk to me when you're sane again."

Scott held his pose for another moment, then turned and wordlessly stalked out of the room, slamming the ornate grillwork door between the lounge and the study with a resounding bang! He wished he could have done the same to the door to the study, but that one swished obediently out of his way before he reached it. It was only when he reached the hall that he noticed a sharp pain in his hand. Looking down, he saw slivers of glass embedded in his palm, and slices of red across his fingers.

"Damn," he said softly and with disgust, then he lifted his telecomm to ask Brains for some medical help.

Jeff watched his eldest son go, his red face losing its bright color as he outwardly calmed. The door's slamming didn't even make him wince but he didn't move until he was sure Scott was out of the study. Then he returned to his desk. Sitting down heavily in his chair, he leaned forward on his elbows, raising trembling fingers to rub his throbbing temples. His motion pushed the laptop forward and it bumped the remains of the broken glass, which fell and shattered. He sighed, then pushed a button on his desk.

"Kyrano?"

"Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"Please bring a dustpan and broom to the lounge."

"Mr. Edwards?"

The tall blond man favored the rental agent with a smile. "Yes. I'm Derek Edwards."

"Your rental plane is ready, sir." The mustachioed man behind the counter held out a card with a chip in it. It would be used to activate the ignition system and allow the customer to actually start the plane. Without it, the aircraft went nowhere "Have a safe trip."

"Thank you."

Jim Franks sauntered out to the tarmac. He had to wait for the officious little man behind the counter to deal with Ramirez first; after all, the secretary of a World Government minister took precedence over a mere traveler. But once the more important client was dealt with and sent on his way (in a rented helijet, flown by His Excellency's personal pilot), the clerk extended the same courtesy and quick service to Franks as he had to Ramirez.

The blond slung his bags into the passenger compartment of the plane. It was a trim little craft, subsonic, but that didn't bother him. He would pick up something with a little more power in Havana and then jet on to Asheville. He really didn't expect to find Lucinda still loitering around Asheville. Knowing her, she probably went into hiding the very next day. But she had neighbors, and they might be persuaded to tell him what he wanted to know. And if that doesn't work, I still have one more way to flush her out, he thought as he strapped himself in and began to familiarize himself with the controls. Starting the plane, he asked for clearance from the tower. Luci, here I come, he thought as he taxied down the runway and the little aircraft lifted into the blue Caribbean sky.

"Alvarez" picked up the folder that "Alison" has left, and strode out of the hacienda. He took a well-worn path into the foliage surrounding the house, brushing aside the greenery that kept growing back and hanging over the pathway. Fifteen minutes of walking brought him to a small cement block building in the middle of the jungle. An armed guard, well shaded from the hazy sunshine, threw down his cigarette and jumped to attention as he approached.

"Is he awake?" Alvarez asked in the local patois.

The guard shrugged. "I think so." He received a searing glance for his answer, then sat back down in the shade.

The false minister put a palm up to the pad beside the door and it opened obediently for him. He stepped inside, squinting a little at the difference between the bright sun outside and the dreary, barely lit interior of the building. Once his eyes adjusted, he walked down a short corridor and knocked on a door. It opened, and another man, large like one of his bodyguards, peered out. Seeing who it was, the man pulled out a handgun, and stepped into the hallway. "Come," is all the command he needed.

Across the hall, and down a few yards was another door, this one with a lock similar to the one on the building. The guard cocked his pistol, and leaned up against the wall next to the door. His employer put his hand up to the palm scanner and the door swished open. The bodyguard reacted quickly, entering the room before "Alvarez".

They needn't have bothered. The man they came to see was curled up on the filthy bed, staring off into space. He was thin, but not emaciated, and his greying hair, long and wild, almost covered the part of his face that a dark, bushy beard did not. He wore a pair of filthy, wrinkled, cotton trousers, now too big for his frame, and a stained t-shirt.

"Carlos!" Gaat called. "Carlos! Can you hear me?"

There was no response other than a convulsive tightening of the figure's huddle. The eyes now looked down, and the limbs were pulled closer to the body.

Gaat made a noise of disgust, and strode over to the pitiful creature. He grabbed a skinny wrist, and attempted to pull the arm away from the body. But the real Alvarez, for this shell of a man was he, fought back simply by tightening already lean muscles, holding his hand back by sheer, unthinking reflex.

His assailant let go of his wrist, grabbed him by his lank and greasy locks and forced his head up. His eyes were tightly closed, but a few cuffs to the face caused him both to whimper and to open his dark, hopeless eyes.

It was all Gaat needed. His eyes flared a sickening yellow and burned into the orbs of Alvarez. He uttered a word of command.

"Give me your right hand."

Slowly, the wreck reached out with his right hand, and Gaat grabbed it. Positioning the folder's lock beneath the dirt-encrusted thumb, he pressed the two together. The little lock thought for a moment, then flared green, and an audible "snick" signaled its release. Gaat dropped Alvarez's hand, then turned and left the room. The bodyguard followed, keeping his eyes on the real minister as he backed out. The door swished shut on the figure, still reaching blindly out with his right hand.

His mission completed, Gaat put on the mantle of the security minister once more and walked back to the main house without a thought spared for the poor wretch he had left behind. He stepped into the cool halls and entered the office, putting the folder on the desk. A bodyguard came to the door and knocked.

"Yes, Paulo?"

"The Interpol inspector is here."

"Excellent. Show her in."

He schooled his features to a deep, concerned frown and turned to meet the representative from the police.

The headache was still there, even after a dose of pain reliever. Jeff had tossed and turned on his bed for more than an hour, his mind wrestling with what both of his sons had said.

How can I dismantle the agents' network? The agents have been helpful in many ways and I don't see how we can function without them. As for Penelope, this is what she trained for. She's had a lot of successes. But Scott is right; she's made a good number of errors as well, errors that have very nearly been fatal. What do I do? How can I ask her to step down? Do I even want to?

He got up, his mind still whirling. It's obvious I'm not going to get any sleep. I need to get away from the situation for a little bit; clear my head. Maybe a walk on the beach would help.

Taking out some clean clothes, he dressed in shorts, a light polo shirt, and put his feet into a pair of leather sandals. He gave a quick glance to his dresser, where his telecomm lay. No. I need to be away from the family. They'll know where I am thanks to the chip... His eyes lighted on his satellite phone. But... I could use some advice. Slipping the device into his pocket, he opened the glass door that led directly to the balcony, and headed away and down to the beach.

Damn these old houses and their antiquated plumbing!

Cindy Lou stood over the toilet in the master bedroom's en suite bath, a plunger held in her hand. The tile floor around her was covered with sopping wet towels, evidence of the household malfunction that had disrupted her afternoon. She reached out and pulled the opaque tape she had covered the sensor with to keepthe commode from flushing. Removal of the tape caused the mechanism to do its job and she stared at the porcelain fixture as if daring it to overflow again. Spot wandered in, sniffing at the towels, then looking up, she favored her owner with a questioning, "Mayow?"

"Whatchu lookin' at, cat?" Cindy Lou asked with a frown. The cat picked up one wet paw and shook it, then turned around and stalked out.

"Well, at least the damn thin's workin' agin," she said with satisfaction, putting the plunger back where it belonged. She bundled the wet towels into a basket and hauled the heavy, sodden load down to her kitchen, then down to the basement from there. She filled the washing machine with half of the towels, and started it up. As she pushed the button, she heard the ringing of her vidphone. "Damn. What lousy timin'."

Taking the stairs two at a time, she skidded into the kitchen, and hurried over to the vidphone. It rang again as she pushed her red curls back into place and took a deep breath. Then, pressing the button for picture and voice, she said, "Hello, Cindy Lou heah. Who may Ah ask is callin'?"

"It's me. Jeff." was the answer. He sat out on the beach, returned to a spot that he had discovered years before when he was stranded there during his astronaut training. He pulled the phone away from his ear so he could see the red-haired woman with the big smile. He returned the smile, though halfheartedly. "Hi, stranger."

"Hello theah! It's good t' see yew," she replied. Her smile faltered a little. "What's th' mattah? Wheah ah yew?"

He sighed. "Out on the beach. Using my satellite phone. I--I needed to get away. There's been a... tragedy... a death..."

Her eyes widened and she gasped, "A deahth? Who? When?"

"Listen, can we dispense with Cindy Lou? I'd rather talk to... just Lou."

"Is yoah phone secure?"

"As secure as it can be."

She nodded. "Well then, shoah, sugah. Jes' a minit." The screen went dark, the words in white proclaiming he was "On Hold". He let the phone down for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Cindy Lou strode through her house until she came to her office. Closing the door firmly behind her, she shut the blinds and pulled the curtains across, then went to her desk.

"Shoo, Moofums!" She waved a hand at the fluffy gray cat that was curled up on her chair. Moofums got down, and walked away just a few feet, deciding it was time to sit and groom her nether parts. Cindy Lou ignored her, sat down on the warmed chair, and transferred the call from the kitchen to the office and her own satellite phone. Jeff's startled face filled her screen.

"Okay, Jeff. I'm here. Now, tell me everything."

It took a long time for Jeff to tell Lou everything, mostly because though he thought his phone was secure, he still felt the need to mask much of what he was saying. He went over what he'd heard in the debriefing, and the confrontations he had with both of his sons. "The problem is, Lou, that they both have good points. Many of our employees don't have the training to do what I might ask of them and could possibly end up in a situation that's way over their heads."

Lou nodded. "I did wonder a bit at what you expected little Mrs. Soo to do there in the hospital. She wasn't exactly armed and if someone came in who was, she could have gotten hurt before she was able to holler for help."

He groaned, and looked down. "You're right. I had expected her to call for help if someone came after you again. I... I wasn't thinking of weapons."

"Jefferson Tracy, sometimes you are an incorrigible idealist," Lou said with a smile and a shake of her head. Then her face grew sober. "Unfortunately, we don't live in the best of all possible worlds. Maybe it's time for you to look at your network again and make some changes."

"Maybe. Or maybe I should just shelve the whole idea. Get rid of it, like Scott said."

"Jeff, has the network been helpful? Have your employees been of assistance?"

"Yes, of course. Remember when there were some imposters posing as members of our 'family business' a couple of years ago?"

Lou thought for a moment. "Yeah. I think so. What happened?"

"There was an astronaut floating around in space and we needed to... retrieve him, but because of the imposters and their crime, we couldn't. We'd be shot out of the sky, or traced back to our base. So we had to find the imposters and fast. One of our people noticed some tire tracks where there should have been none and kept an eye out. He ended up finding the imposters and stopping them."

"Hmm," Lou said, her face showing approval. "Have there been other times where they've been of help?"

"Yes. I can count on them to deliver messages anonymously, to notify security forces that our equipment is on its way and give us names of key people to contact as we come to an incident. Occasionally they've prepared the way for us when we've had to use hospitals for our people, and kept a watchful eye on them while they've been there. They've passed on information that they think would be of use to us or would impact our operations. Very seldom have we used our agents in this manner, as back up for a covert operation."

"Sounds like a lot of what they do is communications oriented."

"Yes, but we've always required them to be flexible, ready to do whatever was needed."

She sat back and regarded him frankly. "Maybe you should go through and perhaps codify what your employees can or can't do; what your expectations are. Treat it like giving them different security levels."

"That's a possibility." He was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Do you think I should tell them about Peter?"

Lou's face was thoughtful. "Yes, I think you should."

"I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I'll lose a lot of operatives. And a lot of friends."

It was Lou's turn to be quiet. Jeff waited for her to speak. Finally, she sighed and said, "Jeff, they have a right to know. A right to know that the job they've undertaken for you isn't a sinecure. And they have the right to choose whether to continue or not." She smiled slightly. "If I were one of your people, I'd want that knowledge. And that choice."

He nodded. Then he asked, half-facetiously, "Would you be one of my employees?"

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Figures you'd ask now. Seriously, Jeff. I'll consider it. But not until we get this Franks situation settled once and for all." She sobered. "You know that I don't want that son-of-a-bitch anywhere near you or your island."

"I know."

They were quiet for a few minutes, then Jeff asked, "What's your opinion on... Penelope? Should I ask her to... step down?"

Lou shook her head. "No. I think she should have the same choice as the others. Since she was involved in this last scenario, I'm sure she'll be doing some soul-searching about her role, both in it and in your family business. I know I would be."

"You may be right. In that business with the imposters, she went out to capture them herself. Went out to the back country where this agent, a hillbilly friend of mine, lives. She wore a designer dress and stiletto heels, and if my friend hadn't had a 12-gauge shotgun and his wife didn't can a particularly... ah... combustible type of beans, she may have been shot and killed by the men she went to apprehend."

Lou began to laugh. "Combustible beans? What did they do? Explode on impact?"

Jeff looked sheepish. "Well, uh, yeah."

Lou laughed even louder. "Oh my, Jeff! That would have been something to see! Organic explosives! Has this employee thought of manufacturing them?"

Jeff smiled. "No, I don't think so. Perhaps I should mention it to him."

"Perhaps you should." She calmed down, then asked suddenly, "Does Mrs. Soo know Chinese? I mean, can she read it, translate it?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. She's third or fourth generation Chinese, I think."

"Oh, okay," she replied.

"Why do you ask?"

Lou grimaced. "I got a communication from my friend Tony Cho the other day. I've been able to get it roughly translated, but there are a couple of characters that are defying the software I'm using. I was looking for someone live to decipher it for me. I think it's important and it has something to do with your family business."

"Hmm. John might be able to do the job. He's fluent in Cantonese and Mandarin. Pass it along via Marvin and I'll see what he can do." Suddenly, he remembered his conversation with Piers Donovan. "Speaking of Tony Cho, a Mr. Piers Donovan, from Interpol, wanted to talk to you about an Anthony Cho. Is that the same person?"

Lou nodded. "Yes." Her brows knit in a frown. "When did you talk to Donovan? What did he want?"

"Oh, he called my New York offices a few days ago and I returned his call. He wanted to get in touch with you and asked for your address or phone number or even an email address. I didn't give him any information, but I did promise I'd pass on the message. I'm sorry it took so long, but this matter with Penelope and finding Franks..."

"I understand, Jeff, really. I'll figure out some way to talk to him and stay anonymous. I wonder what he wants to know about Tony? After all the man is dead... "

"Dead?" Jeff asked, incredulous.

Lou nodded sadly. "Yes. That email message he sent me may have been his last communication. I'll know more when I get a better translation."

They both sat silent for a while, then she asked, "So, when are you coming to New York? I'd like to visit with you again."

Jeff sat up, surprised. "I--I hadn't thought about it. I'll see what I can do."

"Good!" Lou said, smiling. "We can explore my new town together."

"Do you think we can find an Italian place as good as Vincenzo's?"

She shook her head. "No, never. But there's a little Greek restaurant that looks promising. Do moussaka and baklava tickle your fancy?"

"Sounds great. I'll let you know when I'm out that way again." He looked up; the sun had risen much higher in the sky that he had anticipated. "We've been on for a long time, haven't we? I bet your cats are getting antsy for food."

"Yes, they are," Lou replied wryly, glancing over at Moofums, who was still in the room, pacing in front of the door and meowing her absurdly tiny "mew". "And I bet your family is looking for you."

"They can find me if they really want to," Jeff explained with a rueful tone. "I am now microchipped."

Lou laughed. "I'm glad you are. Don't want to lose you." Her laughter died down to a smile. "You look whipped, Jeff. Go home and go to bed. Get some rest. Then do what you need to about your employees."

"Will do, Lou. Thanks for the talk and the advice."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

They smiled at each other, each loath to break the connection. But a shout from down the beach drew Jeff's attention. "Gordon's come looking. We'll talk again soon."

"I'll hold you to it. Bye, Jeff."

"Goodbye, Lou." He broke the connection and sighed, then stood and started walking toward Gordon.

Lou sat back in her chair, nibbling thoughtfully on a fingernail. So, Franks is with Alvarez, and Alvarez isn't himself, but Gaat posing as him. This just became a whole lot more complicated... and dangerous. Her musings were broken by a fluffy gray and peach body leaping onto her desk and walking back and forth before her keyboard. "Moofums! Okay, okay. I get the message. C'mon. Dinner for you and the others, and a quick supper for myself. Then, forward that email to Jeff and do some more investigation into that anti-IR website."