arrested a media-savvy, ex-military political radical, a terrorist investigation that had been closed six months ago was suddenly reopened, and a dead Iranian man had returned to the land of the living.
In this state of mind, he wasn’t exactly surprised when the operator buzzed him. “Kelly, you have a Debrah Dee on the phone. She says it’s important.”
“Debrah Dee...I don’t know the name. Will you send the call over to—”
“She says you’ll know her from the Bay Area, but that she’s moved to Washington D.C. since then.”
“Washington—Dee?—oh, shit, put it through.” In the seconds between the operator’s click-off and the connection, he put it all together, and when the phone clicked in, he said, “There’s a reason to be discreet, I’m guessing.”
“Yes,” said the caller. Her voice was measured— and not with the usual toughness of a female politician practicing her craft. Something was scaring her and she was trying to control it. Kelly knew firsthand that very few things scared Debrah Drexler. “I’ve got a problem.”
“We should start a club,” Kelly said. He had leaned forward in his seat, but now that he knew it was Debbie, he eased back again and put his feet up.
“I tried calling your cell phone, but I couldn’t get through.”
“It’s off. New protocol they’re trying out. No cell use permitted inside CTU. You know this call will be logged, too?”
“That’s not a problem from this number. But I didn’t want your secretary hearing the name. I need help. Real help, and you’re the only person I could think of.”
Kelly felt his face flush like a schoolboy. All he could think was pathetic . Twelve years later, and still
the thought of being her knight in shining armor set his heart to beating. For a guy who’s supposed to be some top-notch field operative, you don’t learn much from the facts, Sharpton.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She told him. When she reported her conversations with the Attorney General, and her encounter with the mystery man, her voice reacquired the crisp, direct tones of the Senator everyone knew from television. But as she concluded, the quaver returned. “I ...I don’t know how anyone could have known that, Kel. It was so long ago. No one knew me back then. You were ...you were the only one I ever told.”
Her words were part plea, part accusation. He could tell she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—believe he had betrayed her, but she was bewildered and desperate. She had to know, but couldn’t bring herself to ask. He would have done the same thing in her place.
“It wasn’t me, Deb. You know that. Besides, why would I tell the AG? You know how I feel about the NAP Act.”
She stifled a sob. “Yes, I know.”
Politics was all they could ever talk about anymore. This was ironic, of course, because it was politics that had driven a wedge between them a dozen years ago. She’d been the Mayor of San Francisco and he’d been head of the special response unit there. That made him the head of security and, ostensibly, her chief bodyguard. They’d danced around each other for several months. There was reason to hesitate—she was several years older than he was, for one thing; for another, a relationship, while technically permissible, was wonderful grist for the rumor mill. They’d finally taken the leap after a security briefing for a visit by the president-elect. She’d insisted on sitting in—even though the mayor had very little to say, and less to do, about the visits by the Federal government—and he’d enjoyed her biting style of questioning. In the general hubbub that inevitably follows one of those briefings, he’d managed to slide her a quick invitation to dinner. They’d each expected to be disappointed. How interesting could a law enforcement man be? How pleasant could a feminist politician be? And yet they’d each found a diamond in the rough and become fascinated. He had done undergraduate work at UC
In this state of mind, he wasn’t exactly surprised when the operator buzzed him. “Kelly, you have a Debrah Dee on the phone. She says it’s important.”
“Debrah Dee...I don’t know the name. Will you send the call over to—”
“She says you’ll know her from the Bay Area, but that she’s moved to Washington D.C. since then.”
“Washington—Dee?—oh, shit, put it through.” In the seconds between the operator’s click-off and the connection, he put it all together, and when the phone clicked in, he said, “There’s a reason to be discreet, I’m guessing.”
“Yes,” said the caller. Her voice was measured— and not with the usual toughness of a female politician practicing her craft. Something was scaring her and she was trying to control it. Kelly knew firsthand that very few things scared Debrah Drexler. “I’ve got a problem.”
“We should start a club,” Kelly said. He had leaned forward in his seat, but now that he knew it was Debbie, he eased back again and put his feet up.
“I tried calling your cell phone, but I couldn’t get through.”
“It’s off. New protocol they’re trying out. No cell use permitted inside CTU. You know this call will be logged, too?”
“That’s not a problem from this number. But I didn’t want your secretary hearing the name. I need help. Real help, and you’re the only person I could think of.”
Kelly felt his face flush like a schoolboy. All he could think was pathetic . Twelve years later, and still
the thought of being her knight in shining armor set his heart to beating. For a guy who’s supposed to be some top-notch field operative, you don’t learn much from the facts, Sharpton.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She told him. When she reported her conversations with the Attorney General, and her encounter with the mystery man, her voice reacquired the crisp, direct tones of the Senator everyone knew from television. But as she concluded, the quaver returned. “I ...I don’t know how anyone could have known that, Kel. It was so long ago. No one knew me back then. You were ...you were the only one I ever told.”
Her words were part plea, part accusation. He could tell she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—believe he had betrayed her, but she was bewildered and desperate. She had to know, but couldn’t bring herself to ask. He would have done the same thing in her place.
“It wasn’t me, Deb. You know that. Besides, why would I tell the AG? You know how I feel about the NAP Act.”
She stifled a sob. “Yes, I know.”
Politics was all they could ever talk about anymore. This was ironic, of course, because it was politics that had driven a wedge between them a dozen years ago. She’d been the Mayor of San Francisco and he’d been head of the special response unit there. That made him the head of security and, ostensibly, her chief bodyguard. They’d danced around each other for several months. There was reason to hesitate—she was several years older than he was, for one thing; for another, a relationship, while technically permissible, was wonderful grist for the rumor mill. They’d finally taken the leap after a security briefing for a visit by the president-elect. She’d insisted on sitting in—even though the mayor had very little to say, and less to do, about the visits by the Federal government—and he’d enjoyed her biting style of questioning. In the general hubbub that inevitably follows one of those briefings, he’d managed to slide her a quick invitation to dinner. They’d each expected to be disappointed. How interesting could a law enforcement man be? How pleasant could a feminist politician be? And yet they’d each found a diamond in the rough and become fascinated. He had done undergraduate work at UC
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