Author's note:
Chapter 12 of 13. Thank you Tim413413 for selfless editing.
The Perfect Pieces - Chapter 12
You know your life is right when everyone in it is happy. That is not a difficult thing to accomplish when you don't have many people in your life. After nearly a year at school, Lizzy was fully settled in. I had lost my office and gained a happy girl. She negotiated more than bunk beds, and I truly feared her entering high school. We were the strangest and happiest family you would ever want to meet. That is how I saw us now. A family. We didn't seem to need the paperwork that satisfies most people. The school easily treated me like a father, even though I was listed as a legal guardian. They didn't care as long as Amber and I put in some time once in awhile.
Something broke in Amber and she began telling me everything. I had to get her to stop. Some things I was better off not knowing. It was just nice that trust was in full effect. Lizzy treated me like a father, but always called me Mark. It worked best that way. I wasn't exactly father material, but I wanted to be able to put my foot down if I thought she was doing something stupid. Luckily, she wasn't a stupid girl.
We were a little on the doting side. I guess that comes from there only being one child. I could have made her ride the bus. Instead, we took turns driving her. It cut her trip down by fifteen minutes and gave us time to talk together without competing with Nickelodeon. Our life became a set of comfortable patterns. We would hit the town on the weekends and make a day of it. It always included to stop to see Tracy and lunch or dinner. I liked the routine and Lizzy needed it. Amber was simply in love with the family thing. From what I could piece together, her mother was not completely stable. She had moved Amber constantly from place to place when she was growing up. Things made more sense when Amber's history began to emerge. I thought it best that Lizzy didn't follow that pattern.
I was driving Lizzy home from school when she informed me her best friend wanted her to sleep over the coming weekend. I had bought Lizzy a phone, all the other kids had one, to shorten the distance between her and the friends she met at school. This particular friend, Melinda, was a bit on the chatty side. I felt she was teaching Lizzy to talk with no purpose. Entire text conversations with nothing but acronyms for the sake of using acronyms. I let it be. Amber said she had to find her own way with her friends. I guess it wasn't hurting me. Maybe I didn't like sharing one of my few friends.
"So would it be okay?" Lizzy asked me. I could hear the apprehension in her voice. Yep, I didn't like the idea of her spending the weekend with someone else. Our routine would need to be altered. I thought it was a really bad idea.
"It's fine with me," I lied and lied well, "you'll have to check with your mother." I was hoping Amber would find fault with it. It hit me that if Lizzy was gone for the weekend, Amber and I wouldn't have to be so quiet. Lizzy did need a social life, after all. "We'll see if we can talk her into it," I added with vigor. I was horribly selfish.
"Thank you," Lizzy announced, "I going to tell Melinda you said it was okay." Her fingers moved like lightning on her phone.
"I'm sure your mom will want to talk to Melinda's mom," I added. Lizzy nodded and kept typing. I was smiling as I pulled down the drive. My thoughts were on the weekend. I didn't expect the two sedans parked in front of the house. "Visitors," I warned Lizzy. She looked up.
"Who's here?" Lizzy asked.
"I have no idea," I said. They looked like government vehicles. We parked off to the side since my usual spot was already taken. I headed toward the house as soon as Lizzy came around the car. For some reason, I felt it was important she be close. Two men, cheap suits, exited the house and Amber followed, in handcuffs.
"What is this about?" I called as I approached. Two more men exited the house. I held Lizzy back as the lead man produced a folded paper.
"Warrant for the arrest of Samantha Donaldson," the man said, "I'm Agent Thorton, Drug Enforcement Agency." I knew the paper would be legit so I didn't touch it. Amber was falling apart at the sight of Lizzy.
"Mom!" Lizzy called. I held her in front of me.
"Where are you taking her?" I asked.
"Stay with Mark, baby," Amber cried. Lizzy was shaking as she watched her mother be put in the backseat of the first car.
"We have a warrant to search the premises," Agent Thorton continued. I handed him my keys, workshop key held out.
"That's to the workshop," I said, trying to remain calm as I nodded to the garage, "lots of glass in there so be nice. Again, where are you taking her?"
"DEA holding cell in St. Louis," Thorton said while taking the key, "Can I ask you to wait outside while we search?" I nodded.
"There's a .45 in a locked file cabinet in the utility room," I continued, "key is on the chain. Permit is in my wallet. May we speak with Am.. Samantha?" He looked at me for a moment trying to judge if I was a risk.
"From outside of the car," Thorton said, "she has been advised of her rights. No physical contact." I was surprised he was going to let me at all. Maybe my cooperation with the search was worth some tolerance.
"Thank you," I said as I moved to the car.
"Don't let them take Lizzy from you," Amber said quietly as I approached.
"Where are you going?" Lizzy asked, panic rising in her voice.
"I have to go away, baby" Amber said, tears flowing down her cheeks, "you stay with Mark. He will take care of you."
"Don't say anything," I advised, "I'm going to send a lawyer to you. I will get you out of there as soon as I can." She looked at me and shook her head.
"They arrested Pablo," Amber said, her eyes finding the floor, "he's talking." I should have killed the bastard.
"Say nothing," I said, "and don't give up hope. I will get you out of there."
"Don't let them take her," Lizzy's tears matched her mother's.
"It's okay, baby," Amber soothed poorly, "you listen to Mark." I did the only thing I could do. I pulled out my phone and called Frank.
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Amber had been gone two days when Frank got back to me. The DEA had nailed Pablo red-handed and he was talking for a lighter sentence. Others were doing the same. They had arrested Samantha on conspiracy charges. They were going to make an example of her. There was no hope for leniency from any quarter. The lawyer I had sent knew less than Frank, but agreed with the sentiment. He recommended she plead guilty and serve ten years. Bail was denied. Samantha's history proved she was a flight risk.
Lizzy wouldn't stop crying. My heart was torn to shreds. Anger filled me. My country owed me. I decided to become very un-American.
"We are going to get your mother back," I told Lizzy. Her red eyes ignored me as I turned on the computer and began typing. My memory was good, too good. They trained me that way. They should have taught me to forget. I remembered most of the names. Federal officials, targets and even some of the pilots. The dates, times and locations were etched in my skull. I was surprised how quickly it all came back. It took most of the night, but I emptied my brain into the computer. Then I printed. Seventy-eight pages of memories in neatly ordered lists sorted by date and time. Ten copies. I didn't have enough paper for an eleventh copy.
I encrypted and stored a couple of digital copies in two online drives just in case. I bound each paper copy with large rubber bands and put them into the same manila envelopes I ship patterns to customers for approval.
"You ever been to Washington DC?" I asked Lizzy. She shook her head. "We need to take a trip. I'm afraid you're going to miss some school and your weekend with Melinda."
"Will it help Mom?" she asked.
"I hope so," I said. Either that or I'll be in prison myself. I had no idea what would happen to Lizzy in that case. I was waiting for a call from family services. I'm not sure they would let me keep her as it was.
"I want to go then," Lizzy agreed. We packed and left the next morning. I stopped at Hamond's Country Store and spoke with Tom. He agreed to hold the packages for two weeks, then mail them if I hadn't returned to pick them up. I assured him it was a monumental conspiracy that would make the shooter on the grassy knoll look like a boy scout. He smiled and put the envelopes in the safe. Okay, I now had five friends and one lover.
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It is fairly difficult to find someone to talk to in the State Department. There were receptionists who would barely give me the time of day. People to talk to about going abroad for travel or a possible job. Not many people thought me credible since I had a ten-year-old girl in tow. I finally convinced a secretary for the Coordinator of International Information Programs that I needed to meet with someone. It was a place to start.
They brought me into a room to placate me. I was a taxpayer after all. Lizzy and I shared some ice water as we waited. After about ten minutes, a young man with dusty blond hair entered with the idea that we needed a presentation of what their department does. It took me a few minutes to turn it around. I handed him the envelope filled with my memories and watched his face as he began skimming.
"Ah," the blonde stammered, "I need to get someone else."
"I suspect you do," I said. He left quickly. I looked to Lizzy and smiled. "The ball is rolling now."
"Are they getting Mom?" she asked.
"Not yet, sweetie," I said, "but hopefully soon." It took a few more hours of climbing up the chain of command. Each person reading a few pages before they realized it was above their pay grade. Lizzy was incredibly patient. By the afternoon, I was seated with the Deputy Secretary of State and two FBI agents.
"What the hell is this?" Deputy Singer asked. She wore a pencil skirt suit, her face as starched as her blouse. She was waving my report at me. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, the government wasn't as righteous as she had assumed.
"Language please," I said, smiling a Lizzy. Singer paled and then smiled at Lizzy.
"Maybe the child should wait in another room," one of the FBI agents suggested.
"She's not leaving my side," I said. Lizzy scooted her chair closer to me. "You recognize those addresses?" I asked Singer. I had printed off the addresses of six embassies representing the countries I was most active in. At the bottom of the list were the addresses to the New York Times and Sixty Minutes.
"This can't be true," Singer said, "we don't work this way." The State Department may not work that way, but the DEA does. Her pride in her country was weakening. I disliked being the cause of the sadness in her eyes.
