Half-Past Dawn

CHAPTER 4

Mia wore a black dress, long, elegant, her lithe legs gliding along the floor as she walked arm-in-arm with Jack across the marble lobby of her parents’ house. The stately home was just short of a mansion, a brick dwelling with large rooms and high ceilings that dated back to the 1920s. Servants scampered around, carrying trays, adjusting floral arrangements, preparing for a party.

Jack readjusted a birthday gift under his left arm. Wrapped haphazardly in fishing-themed paper, the eighteen-inch-square box was awkward and difficult to carry.

They opened double doors and entered a small, cozy gentleman’s den. An oversized desk sat before the bay window, nothing on it but a brass elephant paperweight and a humidor. A life’s worth of books filled the shelves, and family pictures were scattered around, of Mia with her mother and stepfather below a white lighthouse, at the beach, skiing, of friends, family, and life, of Mia standing with a strong military man in dress uniform.

“I know it’s a day early, but happy birthday,” Mia said.

On the red button-tuck leather couch sat a white-haired gentlemen, his broad shoulders projecting strength despite the evident years on his face. Dressed in a pale green blazer and dark slacks, he had an exacting style that matched his demeanor. He finally looked up with cold, assessing eyes at Jack and Mia.

“Your mother will use any excuse for a party,” the man said. His voice was deep, with no sense of celebration.

Jack handed the gentleman the colorfully wrapped package. The man’s dark eyes narrowed as he took in the crinkled paper of the unevenly wrapped gift.

“The girls spent a lot of time picking out that paper,” Mia said as she pointed out the bigmouth bass and the fishing rod. “Open it,” she urged him.

He sat back on his leather couch, placing the package on the coffee table in front of him. He pushed aside his newspapers and muted the TV.

He was born on July 1, and his mother named him Samuel, as her due date had been the Fourth of July and she had grown attached to it. But Sam Norris hated that name and hadn’t gone by it since grade school.

Leaning forward, Sam wrapped his large hand around the present and tore off the wrapping, revealing a polished wooden box, its cherry wood waxed to a high sheen. He lifted the lid of the furniture-quality case to find an assortment of small individual packages adorned in the crooked bows of a child’s hand: a fly-fishing reel, flies, string, lures.

“The girls are still waiting for you to live up to that promise of taking them on one of your fishing jaunts.”

Mia’s stepfather smiled as he held up the box, looking at its detail, at its perfect joints and recessed hinges.

“Jack made the box,” Mia said.

“A box?” Sam looked at Jack, a playful taunting in his voice.

“Well,” Jack began, trying not to sound defensive, “actually, it’s a-”

“Dad,” Mia cut in, “he spent a lot of time on that.”

“Thanks.” Sam smiled as he looked at Jack, stood, and headed for the door.

And as he passed Jack, he leaned into his ear, out of Mia’s range, and whispered, “I hear the campaign is kind of rough.”

“Well,” Jack said, “if it doesn’t work out, I can always make boxes for a living.”

Sam looked back at the box, tilting his head in doubt. “I don’t know much about carpentry, but if you need help with the campaign, you let me know.”

Jack smiled. “Happy birthday, Sam.”

Norris opened up the door to reveal a massive party in full swing, the crowd noise pouring into the den as he walked out.

Jack watched Norris disappear into the crowd of well-wishers, who slapped his back, patted his shoulder, and shook his hand, greeting him as if he were king.

“He never should have retired,” Mia said. “What did he say? Was he taunting you about the campaign numbers?”

“Mia.” Jack laughed. “He was just expressing his appreciation.”

The couple turned and stepped through the doorway, into the joyous mood of the party.

“I don’t believe you. It’s not funny,” Mia said as she grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and passed one to her husband. “For once, I wish he would just say thank you without having to add a comment.”

“Mia, when you’re the former director of the FBI, it’s hard to let go. Sometimes you still need to throw your weight around.”

“Not at the people you’re supposed to care about. Not at family.”

Jack leaned over, looking his wife in the eyes. “He’s a dad. He takes pleasure in ribbing the man who took away his little girl, his only child.”

“After sixteen years, it’s time for him to get over it.”

“You think I’ll be any different with our girls?” Jack smiled.

“Yeah, I do.” Mia paused with a smile. “You’ll be worse.”

“Damn straight.” Jack put on a false grimace.

“How’s your headache?” Mia asked. “I’m sure tonight is really helping.”

“No big thing; two Tylenol and two Cokes, and it’s almost gone.”

“Yeah? Well, I think I’m catching it-”

“Hey, Mia,” a gruff voice whispered.

Mia turned to see a bespectacled, older man.

“Mr. Turner,” Mia said. “You are the last person I expected to see here tonight.”

“And I’ll be the first one to leave,” Turner said. “Already saw your father. I just wanted see you, say hello, and remind you that you really belong on the world stage. The FBI is so limiting.”

Mia smiled. “When it’s time to make a change, you know you will be my first call.”

Turner nodded gruffly and headed for the front door.

In point of fact, Stuart Turner was a man known for tactical genius not only within the world intelligence community but inside the Beltway of Washington. He had been CIA director for the past three years, deputy director for six years before that, and had spent his earlier career in various State Department posts throughout the world. Known as a man who could cut through the bullshit and get things done, he possessed an abrasive manner that struck fear into those who didn’t know him. But after knowing him for eighteen years, Mia couldn’t help but smile at his social peculiarities.

“Jack.” A man approached, his brown hair perfectly parted, his suit perfectly pressed. He warmly grasped Jack’s shoulder as he shook his hand.

“Peter,” Jack said.

“Hi, Mia,” Peter said as he leaned over, giving her a kiss.

“Hey, Peter. Is Katherine here?”

“No, I’m solo. She and the kids are out in the Hamptons. Figured I had to show up to kiss the ring of the man.”

“He’s retired, Peter. No need for anyone to kiss his ring or his ass anymore,” Mia said with a knowing smile.

“But you know that’s my specialty, kissing ass and currying favor.”

“Spoken like a true politician.”

Peter Womack was, in fact, a federal prosecutor. At the age of thirty-six, he was the youngest U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York, overseeing the federal government’s most important and visible office. He and Jack had worked together on occasion, while their wives had become friendly at one too many political functions.

“Special Agent Keeler?” a deep voice called out.

Mia spun around to see the current director of the FBI, her boss’s boss, Lance Warren, standing in the hallway behind her. A career government man, having previously served in the military, the CIA, the NSA, and the State Department, Warren was the rare breed favored by both political parties not only for his finesse in coordinating between foreign and domestic intelligence agencies but also for his tenacity and get-it-done yesterday approach. A handsome man, he stood tall in a blue blazer with his hand thrust out toward Mia. Mia took it as he shook it in congratulatory fashion.

“So many jobs well done, Mia.” Warren said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mia…” Warren said admonishingly.

“Lance.” Mia relented. “You know my dad raised me formally in addressing my elders.”

They had known each other since Mia was in high school and Warren and her father worked together in Washington. He had helped to shepherd her career far more than her father had.

“Jack.” Warren turned. “How have you been?”

“Terrific, Lance. And you?”

“Great. How’s the district attorney’s office? You ever thinking of leaving there?”

“Every day.” Jack smiled. “We’ll let you guys catch up. I’m going to find some food.”

As Jack and Peter both turned to a passing waiter, grabbing bacon-wrapped scallops, Warren’s face grew serious. “I understand there may be an evidence file that is missing.”

“Missing?” Mia smiled.

“I got a call from Gene Tierney about a murder earlier this week at a hotel.”

“Yes, the Waldorf.”

“He mentioned a number of people are interested in reviewing the case, seeing the evidence.”

“Of my case?” Mia was never one to hide her emotions, even from her superiors.

“Mia.” Warren threw up his hands in surrender. “It’s your case, I just got the call. I’m not pulling rank, especially for someone like Tierney.”

“Thank you.”

“In confidence, you haven’t lost the evidence file, have you?”

“Just misplaced.” Mia shook her head and smiled. “We’re working with New York City on this. Evidence administrators filed it under the wrong name. No one likes to admit how often it happens.”

“Ah,” Warren said with relief as he raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to hating the bureaucracy that employs us.”

Just after midnight, Mia kissed her mother and father good-bye and slipped out of the party that was finally winding down. She and Jack ran out the front door into the pouring rain and climbed into his white Tahoe, slamming the doors and exhaling, taking a moment to enjoy the silence,

“Live to fight another day,” Jack said with relief as he took off his wet sportcoat and laid it on the console between them. “I ran out of small talk two hours ago.”

Mia reached into the back and grabbed a blue button-down sweater, pulling it on and buttoning it up, shaking out the cold rain from her hair.

Settling back in the passenger seat, Mia took Jack’s hand and gently squeezed it, a warm, loving smile washed over her face. “Thank you. I know how much you hate those things.”

Jack leaned across the seat and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I’d survive far worse than your father for you.”

“You’re just saying that in hopes of getting lucky.”

“Is it working?” he said with a laugh. He started up the car and drove out into the rain-soaked night.

“No,” she replied, but her serious look quickly dissolved into a smile. “Well… the kids are sleeping at your mom’s. Suppose it would be an awful waste of freedom to let the evening pass us by.”

“It would be a shame; you know what they say about opportunity lost?”

“Guess that means your headache’s gone,” Mia said as she ran her hand through his hair.

“Headache? What headache?” Jack smiled.

As they drove up Route 22, Mia spied a lump in the breast pocket of Jack’s sportcoat on the center console. She reached in his pocket and withdrew a blue jewelry box.

She turned her head, raising an eyebrow, and opened the small box to find a gold cross attached to a simple gold chain tucked into the black velvet slit.

“You haven’t even taken it out of the box yet,” Mia said.

“I know.” Jack laughed a guilty laugh. “I will.”

“I got that for you weeks ago. You need a little bit of faith, Jack. I can’t even remember the last time you were in church.”

“You know me, as long as you believe in me and I believe in you, that’s all the faith I need. Besides, when have you known me to wear any jewelry? I don’t even wear a watch.”

“When you wear this”-Mia held up the box like a spokesmodel, withdrawing the gold cross-“you can think of me.”

She leaned across the center island of the car and put the cross around Jack’s neck.

“I don’t need a piece of jewelry to remind me of you. How about you wear it?”

“Because I got it for you.”

They came to a stoplight in the middle of nowhere, the red light shining on Jack’s sudden smile. “In that case,” he said as he took the box out of her hands and lifted the velvet interior to reveal a second necklace.

Mia leaned forward, looking at it. “It’s beautiful.”

The chain was platinum and suspended an intricate pattern of varying blue stones: topaz, blue onyx, and small sapphires. Shards of blue light danced and leaped through the polished stones’ crystal centers, seeming to bring the necklace to life.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jack removed the necklace from the box. “Indulge me.”

Jack leaned forward. Mia reluctantly obliged, tilting her head down as he clasped the necklace around her neck. He gently removed the single pearl choker he had given her for their wedding anniversary and tucked it into the jewelry box, then slipped it back into his pocket.

He tilted his head, assessing the piece as shards of light refracted off its precious stones. Jack unbuttoned the top two buttons of Mia’s sweater and loosened the top of her dress to expose a bit more cleavage, allowing the blue stones to contrast against her skin. He ran his finger around her soft white neck, trailing it down her chest. “It looks great on you.”

“I don’t think you’re looking at the necklace.” Mia smiled as the light turned green. She pointed at the light and cleared her throat for effect.

Jack gave her a smirk, turned his attention back to the road, and continued up the highway.

“You know you were already on your way to getting lucky tonight?” Mia said. “You should have saved this for a day when I’m angry with you.”

“There are so many of those, how could I possibly choose?” Jack smiled.

Mia reached over and stroked her hand down Jack’s face. “Thank you.”

They headed up Route 22 toward Byram Hills, both in silent thought as the rain pounded the windshield, its pitter-patter competing with the thumping of the rhythmic wipers. As they approached Rider’s Bridge, they could see the raging river fifty feet below, a churning cauldron that rose well above the banks, pulling anything and everything into its rapids-like flow.

As the SUV hit the bridge pavement, the rear wheels lost their traction, and the Tahoe went into a sudden fishtail. Jack held tight to the wheel as the vehicle skirted left to right and back again, pulling hard to bring it under control. Mia’s right hand shot up and gripped the passenger strap above the door. Their collective breath caught in their throats as the car spun headfirst toward the guardrail.

But Jack finally gained control. Slowing down to catch his breath, he had turned toward Mia with a that-was-close smile when the flashing red lights lit up his rearview mirror and the back of the car.

“Tell me you didn’t have more than two glasses,” Mia said as she caught her breath.

“God, that was close,” Jack said as he pulled over to the side of the two-lane overpass that spanned the rushing Byram River. “I’m perfectly fine, though I think I shaved five years off my life with that little maneuver.”

The flashing roof light slowly passed them. It was atop a black Chevy Suburban, and it came to a stop just in front of them.

Jack rolled down his window, the pouring rain instantly soaking his arm and the interior door of his car, stoking his mood. “This is bullshit.”

“Shhh, let’s keep it in check,” Mia said as she smiled and rubbed his leg. “Take the ticket like a man, and we’ll be home in ten minutes. Then you can continue playing with my new necklace.”

They both sat silently, staring straight ahead, the thump of the windshield wipers rhythmically droning as a man in a dark suit approached. Jack glanced at the blue necklace and Mia’s cleavage, motioning with his eyes.

Mia, feeling exposed, buttoned up her sweater.

Suddenly, to Jack’s shock, there was a gun in his face, the black steel barrel coming to rest inches from his left eye.

“Hands on the wheel,” the man in the black suit said quietly. His blond hair was plastered with rain to his head. He looked at Mia, “And you, hands on the dash.”

Mia slowly put her hands on the dashboard above the glove compartment and turned to her right to see a second man in black, skinny, with a sharp long nose, his gun aimed at her head.

As if on cue, both doors were ripped open, and Jack and Mia were violently pulled from the car into the pouring rain. The skinny man thrust Mia against the car.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Quiet,” the skinny man snapped, his red hair already soaked in the storm.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Mia said through gritted teeth as the rain ran down her face. “You may want to open my purse and check my badge, because, I swear to God-”

The man brought the gun to rest inches from her eye, silencing her. He was painfully thin, his neck and jaw almost skeletal. With the rain running down his face, over his unblinking eyes, he looked like something out of a nightmare.

The blond man spun Jack around, kicking his legs out as he assumed the position of a perp. The man frisked him from stem to stern, pulling the blue box from Jack’s pocket. He opened it and spied the pearl choker. Without interest, he closed the box and threw it into the car. He grabbed Jack by the neck, punched him hard in the kidneys, and threw him to the rain-soaked pavement.

The skinny assailant spun Mia around, running his hands up and down her torso, her legs, frisking her through her soaked sweater and black gown, while a third man, linebacker-sized, in a black suit, popped the trunk of their Tahoe.

The team of three operated with military efficiency, as if every move was planned, as if they had a singular goal to accomplish on a hair-trigger timeline.

“Where is the case?” the skinny man demanded.

Mia just stared at him.

“Case seven-one-three-eight?” The thin man leaned in, his breath assaulting her senses.

Mia looked at Jack and began to mouth something-

“Got it,” the third man cried out as he hoisted a long black metal box from the rear of the Tahoe.

As the skinny man looked through the teeming rain at his partner, Mia drove her knee into the man’s crotch, following it up with a hard elbow to the nose. But while her FBI training was thoroughly ingrained in her mind, it didn’t prevent the powerful blow the man countered with and unleashed into her jaw, driving her 125-pound body into the car as he rammed his pistol into her forehead.

At the same time, Jack, who lay on the bridge, spun his leg left, sweeping out his assailant’s legs, sending him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the pavement, his gun skittering away. Jack dove on top of the man, drawing back his fist and unloading it into the man’s throat, stunning him. He continued to pound his knuckles into the man’s face but was suddenly grabbed around the neck and yanked backward. The third man was much larger, pushing 275. His fist crushed into the side of Jack’s head nearly knocking him out. For extra measure, the man didn’t stop, hitting Jack twice more, opening up a large gash on his brow and his cheek.

And then a gun exploded, the crack of the percussion echoing in the rainy distance. Jack collapsed, a bullet lodged just below his shoulder. He looked up to see the bloodied, raging face of the blond man he’d beaten, leering down on him in anger before he was tugged away by the linebacker.

The skinny man dragged Mia toward the black Suburban as she kicked and screamed, fighting with all of her will to break free and get to her wounded husband.

Jack struggled to focus in spite of the pain that coursed through his body, his heart aching as he could barely move, unable to stop the men who were taking Mia.

“Let her go!” Jack shouted through a bloodied mouth. “Take me, take me, please…” As his words faded, he was hoisted up and tossed into the passenger seat of his car.

The large man climbed into the driver’s seat, threw the car into neutral, and hit the gas, revving the engine to redline. With a last bit of strength, Jack tried to get out of the vehicle, but the man drove a punch into his bullet wound, sending crippling shards of pain through his body.

The man kept his foot on the gas pedal, the engine howled with pent-up energy, and he threw the Tahoe into drive.

The wheels screamed as they spun on the wet bridge, struggling to gain traction, smoking until they finally caught and launched the SUV into the rail of the bridge. The linebacker dove through the open driver’s-side door, hit the roadway, and rolled clear.

Inside the vehicle, Jack looked with half-mast eyes to see Mia break free from her captors and chase after the Tahoe. He then caught a sudden glimpse of the small blue box that lay on the seat next to him and, without a thought, picked it up, holding it tight, as if it was the last piece of Mia he would ever touch, and slid it into his pocket.

The car crashed through the rail, sailing out over the river like a bird taking flight, but gravity soon took hold, and the Tahoe began its arc toward the rushing waters, knifing into the raging river, an explosion of water hurled nearly bridge-high. The car bobbed, quickly caught in the flow, tossed around as it slowly sank. As it neared the river bend, its taillights finally disappeared, their red glow hovering below the surface before fading to nothingness.

• • •

Despite the driving rain and the churning waters, there was a silence over the valley, the white noise of the downpour obscuring and absorbing all other sounds, creating a quiet over the Byram River, as if in reverence. The downpour continued to rage, roughing up the waterway, the storm surge carrying the water high up on the banks.

And then, out of the black water, climbing up into the dark night, he clawed his way onto the shore. His shirt was torn, hanging from his body, and blood poured from his shoulder.

He crawled through the mud and finally collapsed, gasping for air, rolling onto his back. His mind was blank, as dark and empty as the night around him; it struggled for purchase. Jack reached up, pressing his fist into the bullet wound on his shoulder, and his mind finally cleared, his thoughts returned, pouring in with panicked awareness as he realized…

Mia was gone.