Landfall - 12. The Rest of the Story....

I'm waking up, cool sheets against my chest. Looking around, it appears that I'm in a hotel room somewhere. The drapes are open and it's dark outside. Bedside clock shows 9:00 pm. There's a human form, I think, sitting on the sofa across the room. Have to blink, try to clear the fuzz off the eyes.

“Mr. Evans, you're awake. Good! Glad to have you back.” The form stands and moves closer, turning on the lamp by my bed. “I'm Danny Brock, I'm a paramedic. I'm with the FBI and I'll be taking care of you for the next day or so. Is there something you need?”

“ID?” Manage to croak that out; throat is like a desert.

Danny pulls his wallet out of his jeans, opens it up. His badge on one side and official FBI ID on the other.

“Thirsty”. I try moving to drink from an offered cup of water and discover I'm sore as hell. Left arm bruised at the shoulder, already blue-black. Drop the sheet back below my waist. A couple of really big bruises, one just left off center of my chest, the other almost on the shoulder above my right pec. A big bruise on my belly. And the cool water is great.

“Yeah, you probably feel like you've been hit by a car. There's also a nice lump just above your right eye that bruising, too. If your vision is a little blurry, that's the reason why, but it'll be clearer by morning.”

Still in a fog, can't quite snap out of it.

“I'm hungry, can I get some food?”

“Sure, Mr. Evans....here's a menu. Just select what you'd like, you stay there, I'll have room service deliver it.” Danny smiles and waits.

“Cheeseburger with all the fixings, fries, iced tea.” That'll do—and don't hafta try to read a menu. Danny's right; the vision is blurry.

There's a coded knock at the door. Danny goes over to answer the door.

“Mr. Evans, here's someone to see you. He'll answer all your questions.”

Danny moves aside and welcomes our guest.

“Danny, would you excuse us? I need to discuss some things privately with Mr. Evans.”

“Certainly, sir.” Gotta be someone important with Danny giving automatic deference to the guy. “I'll be outside the door, Sir. Let me know if you need something.”

“Will do, Danny. Thank you.”

A chunky man in his late 50's, bald head with closely-cropped grey hair on the sides, wire-rimmed oval glasses, warm smile, steps up beside the bed and offers his hand.

“Barry, I'm Sid Gladstone, I'm the Assistant Director of the FBI. I'd like to fill you in on what's going on, if you're up to talking about it. Is that ok?” I nod, throat still dry, so sip my water.

Sid grabs a chair from the breakfast set adjacent and spins it around to sit. “Before I go any further, I want to say “thank you” for your help on this case. Everyone at the Bureau is aware of the great personal sacrifice you've made and the extraordinary lengths you've gone to that have made our jobs easier. It's been tough on you—and we all know it. You've lost your wife and now given up your sons and your old identity, but your help has put a whole fleet of drug kingpins, swindlers, and a variety of violent criminals off the streets. And there's more coming—the ripples from this case will lead to a bigger group of criminals in all parts of the country getting the justice they deserve. And, by the way, those are some great boys you've got.” He grins at that, but it's unclear if he knows the scam the boys were pulling.

“Now, on to the details of the plan you created. For a non-security professional, you crafted a great approach. Everything had to be carried out in secret, though; that's when I became involved. And the timing on all this was critical.”

“Your original plan was to be publicly 'assassinated' after your testimony. That way, your boys would be forever safe—if you were out of the picture, they couldn't go after your boys to get to you, and there'd be witnesses to your death. You couldn't just disappear and leave questions about your whereabouts. But, the Attorney General reviewed our plans, and we couldn't do that before trial's end and the jury verdict.”

“There's not a consistent court opinion on this, but had you 'died' before their sentencing, some courts have ruled that the death of a witness during a criminal trial is cause for a mistrial since they couldn't be called back for cross-examination, or the death would prejudice the jury. We couldn't risk a mistrial, and having these guys getting out and maybe leaving the country.”

“The Director and I started looking at other options when your old bosses brought up the potential of a plea bargain. That became an even bigger issue when we learned that your bosses had murdered several lower-level drug dealers, as well as your wife, despite the distance they tried to put between themselves and your wife. They were looking at a certain death sentences, and that motivated them to negotiate a plea.”

“When we got word over the weekend that we were close to an agreement on the plea arrangement, I revised the plan to have you 'killed' after the plea agreements were signed, and before the trial could start—and end. It was the last chance to have you 'killed' in public and stop the mob before a future attack could occur on either you or your sons. Those plea agreement were signed this morning at 7:00 am.”

“I finalized the plan last night with the Director and the A.G., and they concurred with the approach we developed as a modification of your original plan.”

There's a coded knock at the door. Sid goes, opens it—and Danny's there with my burger and fries.

“Bring it on in Danny, I think our guest is hungry.” He grinned.

Danny brought the food over on the tray. I assembled the burger with condiments and offered to split it with Sid.

“Thanks, but I've already had dinner. However, Danny, would you get me a Coke from the machine down the hall?”

“Sure thing, sir.” Sid offered Danny a couple of bucks to cover the cost, but Danny waived him off as he headed out the door.

When the door closed, I held up my hand to Sid. “Before you go any further and before he gets back, how is Dave? Where is he?”

“David is down the street at Parkland Hospital. He's basically uninjured, other than some big bruises like you've got and a minor concussion from his head hitting the pavement when he fell. He's been asking about you, too. We need to talk about him in more detail, but let's do that after Danny leaves in a minute, ok?” He smiles an easy-going smile.

There's the coded knock on the door, Sid retrieves the Coke from Danny, thanks him, closes the door, and returns to his chair by the bed. He opens the Coke, swallows a big slug of it, and smiles at me again. “Damn, that hits the spot. Between the press briefing and staff reviews, I've been talking a lot today.” I just nod agreement as I continue to wolf down my burger.

“You mentioned David, and I suspect he may have wondered what was going on, but I haven't discussed it directly with him. He woke up early in the morning hours before any of you were up, called in, and asked for a patrol unit since the unit you all were using was just a stock shuttle vehicle. It wasn't equipped with extra arms or ammunition and didn't carry bulletproof vests. I'd instructed our dispatcher's supervisor to tell him that all such units were already assigned, and we'd get it to him as soon as possible. But, he wasn't to risk displeasing the court by being late, so to go ahead to court using the current vehicle if we couldn't get it to him in time—after all, we had a secure entrance to the building. He swore, bitched, and moaned, but we stuck with the plan and deliberately withheld the patrol unit from him. He did head out on time, though—and that was crucial for the rest of the plan to work.”

“Our plan staged the wrecked cars driven by our agents at the entrance of the parking garage, along with our crews of two in the ambulances. Only the fire truck was real, staffed by non-agents, and it left moments after you turned to make the block, so they aren't witnesses to any of this. That wreck allowed us to force you to go through the front of the building, in front of our snipers, as well as having our agents on the ground to take care of your bodies after the shooting started.”

“Our snipers were on the roof of the parking garages across the street. You're familiar with paintballs, right? Well, what we used is a much larger version of a paintball. It's filled with sterilized blood so when it hits, it looks real. But because it's bigger, we have to shoot 'em through bigger calibers of a gun. The impact of them is quite painful and they're strong enough to knock you down, as well as leaving bruises and that head lump you've got. The balls themselves shatter into tiny pieces when they hit and dissolve in water, so with the rain there's no scene evidence.”

“Once all of you were down, the paramedic agents of ours ran over and while appearing to check you out gave you, Jonathan, and Greg sedatives so that you'd appear to be unmoving and dead. Only David missed out on that, since the plan was that he'd stay “alive”. That's why you've been asleep 10 hours or so.

“After that, our guys moved you three here. You're here at the Citadel, in the Annex, on an unoccupied floor, which we got management to open up for us alone. Greg and Jonathan are just down the hall. They ought to be awake by now. You're the first up, so I'll go over things with them when I finish with you.”

I just nodded, my mouth full with the last of the fries. I know the Citadel. It's a major convention hotel, maybe 2500 plus rooms, multiple auditoriums and performance venues, indoor tennis courts, squash, jogging trails through a 30-acre sculpture park, olympic-sized indoor pool plus several gyms. Plenty of restaurants and bars spread through the main building and the north and west towers. The Annex was added between the two towers and contained suites plus ultra-luxury suites used for visiting heads of state, the President, and big shots who could afford it. The Annex even has a helipad on the roof.

“As I mentioned, David is at Parkland,” Sid continued. “Our cover story was that he's in critical--but now stable--condition. I'm anticipating we'll have a press conference tomorrow afternoon and then he'll be moved to a 'private care facility'...which will be here.”

“Since Greg and Jonathan are from Florida, and already have their ID's there, we've made up fake names and bio's on them and photoshopped pictures of them for release to the press. Thankfully, the videos of the shooting don't clearly show their faces. We'll take care of their funerals. But in reality, nothing will change for them, they'll go back to their lives in Florida, and their careers with us.”

“Your boys will be issued a death certificate for you, with your funeral and financial arrangements for them already in place with your attorney, as you set up. You'll be issued a new social security card, and later, a new passport and driver's license once the second phase of your plan goes into place. Your pictures will need to be current on those, but we'll take care of all of that for you. And as per our agreement with you, we'll arrange the transfer of your personal funds to the bank of your choice. We've also arranged for the purchase of a car for you; all you need to do is go to the dealer at your new location and pick it out.”

“I think that's about it for now, at least for the first part of the plan. We'll implement the next phase of the plan tomorrow. During phase two, you can go back to Florida if you want. After a few weeks there, you can come back and start your new life at your new location. We'll tell you just before you leave Florida about the business we've gotten for you.”

“And one more thing: You realize that now that Frank Cavauto is dead, you can have no further contact with your boys. No calls, no letters, nothing. If any of this were to ever get out and back to any of the remaining mob bosses, your life—and the lives of your boys—will be in danger all over again. Agreed?”

Always understood that it would come down to this; after all, that was the goal of the plan I'd made--to protect my boys. And that means Frank has to die. But now that reality is here and it's sinking in. This is it.

I'll never see my boys again. Never see the men they become. Never be a part of their wins and losses. Never be a part of their lives.

Ever.

Yeah, I thought I was ok with it and I am—intellectually. But my heart aches at the losses they've already had. They've lost both their mom and their dad in less than 45 days. They've had their education interrupted. Whatever life they had in Dallas is gone. And who knows what else lies ahead for 'em—and I can't be there to help 'em with any of that. Just need to get my heart to line up with my head.

Bitter tears flow down my cheeks.

Knock away the lump in my throat and wipe my face.

“I know. I'm doing this for them. And I'm not going to endanger them.”

A small, lost-boy voice comes out. “I'll be good.” And more tears.

“Ok. Now, any questions?” Sid smiles patiently, waiting for me.

Wiping my cheeks again. “Yeah, lots, but I can get most of 'em later from Dave. First, who all knows about this? In addition to you, I mean. You mentioned the Director and the Attorney General—I'm assuming that's the United States Attorney General. Who's left to know? The President?” The Joint Chiefs of Staff?” I tried to question it in a light-hearted tone, just hope it came through the scratchy, still-lump-filled throat. I toss in a lopside grin.

“This was on a 'need-to-know basis' and the Joint Chiefs don't yet need to know.” He grins back—he gets my idle curiosity. “Both the President and the Vice-President have been briefed and are aware of this operation.”

Wow.

“Look, Barry, you still don't have the full picture here. Your banksters and their mob bosses have their tentacles linked up with other groups nationwide. New York, LA, Miami, Detroit, Denver, Houston, New Orleans, Chicago, Seattle....every major American city is involved in this. Now we're unraveling those tentacles. Because of what you've done, we may well be able to set organized crimes and heavy drug dealing back 50 years or more. And I'm not talking casual pot, I mean heroin, crack, cocaine and the like—the life destroyers. You may not believe it and even though you were in it, you've turned it around and are now something of a hero. And that's also why you can't risk your boys—there are too many that'll go after 'em for revenge if it's discovered you're alive. Now, next question”

Wow. Just...wow!

“How are my boys?”

“They're about what you'd expect, Barry. They're in shock, they have times they keep it together for a while; others, they just sit and cry. They're inseparable. Think having their brother there is helping each of them deal with it all. They saw the video of the shooting. Trey fainted, hit the coffee table with his cheek when he fell, so he got a couple of stitches put in and a bandage on his cheek. The Bureau has a counselor on standby for them when they're ready to talk.”

“And, just so you know, the plea agreement with your mob bosses and coworkers gives them one week with monitored bracelets to take care of personal business before checking into prison. They all got life without parole, with a couple of exceptions. A couple of the lesser players got 20 years with no parole. We'll keep security with the boys for the remainder of the summer till school starts--at that point there should be no more threats for them. Next question.”

Good. My boys can live their lives safely. That makes all this worth it.

“Can I talk with Dave tonight?” Geez...that sounds like a spoiled brat whine.

Sid's face softens. “David is a stand-alone topic, and I'm glad you brought him up.” He pauses. His face is one of genuine concern.

“David tells me that you're having some issues dealing with all of these changes, is that right?”

“Yeah, it is. I've kinda shoved Jackie's death to one side, I'm now dealing with losing my boys, my life has been uprooted, and...”

“Go on.”

Deep breath. “I've developed deep emotional feelings for someone while in Florida...and I don't know what to make of 'em.” There, I've kinda admitted to Dave's and my involvement, but don't think I've given him away.

Sid chuckles. “Ok, ok. Let's take those backwards. First, David has been up front with me about his attachment with you, and what he believes is your interest in him. Stop—don't look so shocked. David is one of our best agents and we know he's gay. He only mentioned it to me because he was questioning if he could still do his job well with someone he cares for deeply. He wants to protect you as much as possible.”

“In fact, during our conversation, he even offered to resign from this case if I thought it would impact your adjustment.”

What?

“I told him that I didn't have a problem with it, as long as you're both sure of what's going on and that you're making those emotional moves consciously—that you aren't something of a 'Stockholm Syndrome' victim. Based on everything he tells me, I don't think you are but you need to make sure.”

“And dealing with the loss of your sons and your wife all at once, and not being able to deal with it immediately has got to be a hell I can't comprehend. Along with starting a new life, anyone would be pushed to the edge.”

“No question here; the Bureau will provide for professional counseling, it's just a matter of when. Do you want to start today? When you're back in Florida? When we get you set up in your new job in a couple or three weeks? You tell me what sounds good.”

Dammit, back on me again. Shit.

“Ok, Sid, let's go to phase two of the plan and I'll go back to Florida. Maybe with the pressure of the trial gone and the finality of my 'death', I can just relax, keep this shit boxed in my head—and we can start with the professional help when I come back to my new career.” Deep breath. “I'll make it.”

“But, lemme make this clear—Dave has been nothing but professional—and a solid, stand-up guy. Don't even think of assigning anyone else. You do...well, you'll have a real basket case on your hands.”

“And since Dave was up front about his feelings with you....I'm going to do the same. I think I may be falling in love with him, and I've never had feelings for a guy before. So yeah, I've got a lot of work to do up here.” I pointed to my head.

Sid chuckles and grins big. “Yeah, you certainly were enough of a womanizer, I'm sure all this is new to you! You take the time you need; we'll get you sorted out—with all of it. And having a professional in your new career will help there, too.” He reaches over, pats my foot and then squeezes it under the cover.

“You'll see, Barry, this is all gonna be just fine. Now, any more questions? I'm going to Greg and Jonathan and fill them in on everything just like I have you.” And with that, he reaches over to the bedside table, fumbles in the drawer, pulls out a notepad, and writes down a number. “That's David's secure Bureau phone. I'm certain he's got it on him. Give him till after 10 or so, then call him, ok? And you'll see him tomorrow when they move him here.”

Can't wait to talk to my big lug of a lawman......only 30 minutes to wait....