Sean looked forlornly at Katie who stood next to a team of agents who were sworn to protect Katie and James until the US Marshalls who were relocating her to Austin arrived.
Sean lifted James in his arms and took him back to Katie.
“Daddy needs to go to work baby, he’ll be back soon!” promised Katie, a tear ran down her cheek which Sean wiped away carefully.
He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek and James on the forehead, before turning and rushing back to the waiting airplane.
“Be safe!” shouted Katie.
“Come home soon Daddy!” shouted James.
Why the fuck didn’t I just go the fucking beach, thought Sean as he boarded the plane, trying desperately not to look back. But couldn’t not. He had to see them one last time.
“Lovely family!” offered Smith as the aircraft door closed.
“Yes,” replied Sean returning James’ excited wave. The poor boy had lost his dad once and he had just lost him again. Having lost his own dad he knew how hard that was going to be.
“We should arrive in Washington at around midnight local time. I’ve to get you straight to Langley from there. Is that OK?”
Sean nodded, as the jet rushed down the runway and Katie and James disappeared into the distance. He was surprised just how much of an impact that was having on him.
“Drink?” repeated Smith, having been ignored on the first asking.
“Sorry, yes please.” Sean shook himself back to the real world.
Smith gave him the drink and after two sips Sean was sound asleep. He woke with a start four hours later with Smith staring at him. “Are you ok?” he asked.
“Fine,” replied Sean defensively, his body was covered in sweat.
“You were moaning and squirming in your chair,” offered Smith as an excuse for his concern.
“You ever heard the name Dr Joseph Mengele?” asked Sean, realizing Smith was on his side.
“Sure, Angel of Death, wasn’t he?” replied Smith, referring to Mengele’s nickname from Auschwitz death camp.
“Well I just dreamt I was on his operating table!” replied Sean, even mentioning it caused a cold shiver to pass through him.
“Welcome to Washington,” announced the captain through the tannoy system, thankfully interrupting the conversation.
As the plane stopped, the steps were lowered, a car pulled up and the door opened to reveal an elderly gentleman.
Before Sean had a chance to exit the plane, another two cars approached at speed and cut in front of the original car. The doors burst open and four men jumped out, their badges in their hands and held aloft.
“Sean Fox, FBI, you are under arrest!” informed the agent, who, Sean assumed, had the greatest seniority.
The elderly man stepped forward. “What in the hell is the meaning of this?”
“This is FBI business, Sir, please stay back,” instructed one of the agents as two of his colleagues placed Sean in handcuffs.
“That man is helping us on a matter of National Security,” he protested.
“You are?”
“Mike Ritter, CIA!” replied Mike forcefully.
“He’s on the list,” shouted one of the agents leading Sean to one of the FBI cars.
Mike was promptly arrested and both were transported in separate cars back to the FBI’s field office.
The first sign that things were seriously worrying was the line of cars outside the FBI office. It would have looked more appropriate at a movie premier. Despite their limitless resources, Sean was certain that chauffeur driven limousines had not become the new fleet car at the FBI. There was some serious muscle inside the building and it was almost midnight. Not good.
Sean was shown straight through and placed in an interview room. The sound of raised and exceptionally angry voices echoed down the corridor and as the door closed, they instantly stopped. The room was very well sound-proofed, another bad sign. He looked up at the camera that watched him. The table and four chairs. The red light was extinguished. The recording had been stopped. He tried to check the time but his hands were still cuffed behind his back. He closed his eyes. He may as well take advantage of the downtime he thought.
Obviously that wasn’t what his captors had in store. No sooner had he closed his eyes than the door burst open and two exceptionally pissed off suits stormed into the room.
“Do you have any idea what you have done, Son?!” demanded the grey haired suit slamming his hand on the table.
“Become the most wanted man on the Los Zetas Cartels hit board?” asked Sean.
To say that took the wind from their sails was an understatement. Neither had considered the position he had ended up in himself, just the impact his plan had had on their investigations. Both knew just how vicious and ruthless Los Zetas were and neither would want to spend their lives in Sean’s shoes with the bounty on his head.
“Hi, I’m Sean,” Sean pushed his shoulder out in place of his hand that remained cuffed behind his back.
Both interrogators looked at each other and shrugged. “Jack Anderson, DEA,” and pointing to his colleague, “Howard Franks FBI,” replied Jack, taking a seat.
“You realize you have broken God alone knows how many federal laws?” asked Howard taking the seat next to Jack.
“I also saved a little boy and his mom from some very dangerous men. And not forgetting ridding you of the Los Zetas crime boss,” confirmed Sean, adding up the positives.
“The only problem with that is that his replacement is far more worrying, I’d take El Jefe over Juan Torres every day of the week,” replied Jack, adding, “And let’s not forget, you’ve exposed every ongoing investigation into the East coast crime bosses and their families and given those same crime bosses direct access to the Los Zetas cartel. Which will increase their profits and ultimately their power.”
“You have set back our war on drugs by years!” argued Howard. “And somebody has to pay!” he added looking directly at Sean.
Sean was confident it was all bluster, just to put CIA back in their box. He really didn’t have time to listen to anymore.
“Charge me or release me!” he said with real conviction, confident of the latter.
Howard stood and shaking his head left the room. One minute later, he returned with two other officials, one from Homeland Security and the other from the US Marshall’s office.
Homeland got to go first and the list of charges was impressive. The US Marshall was next. Sean thought their exclusion from the initial meeting gave them both first dibs. Five minutes later and with the four law enforcement agencies wrapping up their list of charges, the door flew open. An unsteady and less than healthy Vincent Black stood in the doorway. There was a man that Sean had not seen so pissed off since Sean had totaled his car when he was eighteen.
Sean sat back. Vincent on a roll was a thing to behold and he was about to rip these guys some new assholes.
Vincent turned to the law officers. “Gentlemen, would you mind giving me a moment with Sean,” he asked very politely.
Sean also noted that he had said Sean, not his agent, not his man, Sean.
Vincent turned to Sean and let loose a torrent abuse that between the f’ing this and f’ing that he struggled to actually work out what was being said. One thing however was very clear. He was not on Sean’s side and in Vincent’s own words “he would be standing back while he was prosecuted to the full extent of the law!”
With that, he stormed from the room and all but removed the solid soundproofed door from its hinges, as he slammed it behind him.
Sean sat totally bemused by what had just happened and began to consider the distinct possibility that he may be spending the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary. He began to wish he had just gone to the… but stopped himself. He was happy he hadn’t. He had saved Katie and James’ lives. What would be, would be.