Nandita To Nandini
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Second Thoughts And Last ChancesChapter 30 free porn video
I'd never been to Justice before. Congress had seen to that. Frankly, during my first years at the CIA, I never thought I'd need to. I didn't do laws or trials, so what was the point?
Just goes to show, nothing stays the same.
I had one of our new employees drive me over to the Federal Triangle and drop me off at the corner of Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues. I got out, went inside, walked up to the main reception desk and presented my business card to one of the young men sitting there.
He looked at my face, down at the card and then back up at my face.
"I'd like to speak with the Attorney General." I said.
"Do you have an appointment," he looked back down at the card in his hand, "Doctor Blacktower?"
"No."
"I'm sorry sir, but the Attorney General is a very busy man. You really should call and make an appointment."
"Just tell the man I'm here. He'll make time for me." I insisted.
The young man, who looked to be about five years younger than I was, frowned, picked up a phone from the bank of electronics in front of him and began speaking in low, urgent tones.
I exhaled sharply, shook my head and started swallowing the city's emotions as rapidly as I could.
Was it always going to be like this? Was I never going to be able to sit down with someone who disagreed with me and work out our differences in a civil manner?
Granted, I wasn't the Secretary of State or the Secretary of Defense ... or even the Secretary of the Interior for that matter, but that shouldn't have automatically disqualified me in their eyes. It shouldn't give them the impression that I was someone they could bulldoze whenever they chose to.
I linked with all the people behind the reception desk and fitted them with rings.
"Get the AG on the line and tell him I'm coming up." I instructed the young man I'd been talking with.
"Yes sir." he parroted.
"Where's his office?"
He gave me the directions and location of the AG's office and I turned around in time to see a small group of uniformed and plain clothes security people heading towards me.
More rings ... hell, I went all out and put rings into every single person within eyesight.
"My name is Ike Blacktower ... Doctor Ike Blacktower, CIA Deputy Director of Internal Security." I said loudly enough to be heard over the mass of people in the lobby. Everyone stopped moving and turned to listen. "Remember my face, remember my name." Then I poured one fifth of the emotions I was holding into their rings, searing myself into their souls. They'd remember.
"Alright, I want the five most senior security people with me, everyone else go about your business."
There was a brief huddle, while security worked out who would accompany me. Then the small mob dispersed and I was left with three men and one woman in plain clothes and one man in uniform.
"Where to sir?" the man in uniform asked politely.
"The Attorney General's office."
He nodded. "Follow me please." He performed a passable about face movement and headed off in the direction of the elevators. I followed and the four security people in suits fanned out behind me.
Suffice it to say that before long I was standing in front of the AG's office door. There hadn't been any additional delays or distractions, primarily due to the liberal application of rings. By the time we reached the AG's office I'd turned no fewer than two hundred and twenty employees of the Department of Justice. Even adding in the ATF people I'd taken before, it was only a drop in the bucket ... but put together enough drops and in time you'd end up with one hell of a flood.
I wrapped my fingers around the door knob, turned it and the door swung out quietly on well oiled hinges. I nodded to the five armed security people behind me, stepped inside and shut the door behind me.
The gray haired man behind the desk looked up from the papers he was reading, a quizzical expression on his face. He dropped the bundle on the desk, reached up and quickly removed what I assumed were reading glasses.
"Good morning." I said pleasantly, walked up and took a seat in one of the brown leather chairs in front of his desk.
The man set his glasses down on top of the papers he'd just been holding and eyed me curiously.
"Do we have an appointment?"
"I didn't feel like going thru all your gatekeepers, so I just dropped by. Have you got a few minutes?"
He reached quickly for his phone. I held up one hand, palm towards him. He stopped moving and watched me warily.
"There's no need. I told them to hold your calls until we're done."
"I'm expected at the White House in thirty minutes." he said.
I shrugged. "I'm sure they'll understand if you're a little late."
"Ike Blacktower." He said my name as though it were an accusation.
"The one and only. I understand you've been trying to have me arrested. Well, here I am. Want to tell me why?"
James Edward Barrett, the Attorney General of the United States, fifty eight year old former minor league baseball player, political activist and Superior Court judge, glowered at me.
"You violated the restrictions of your office's mandate, interfering with and impeding an ongoing investigation with serious national security implications."
I nodded. "An ongoing investigation? The NSA had stopped actively investigating that particular case more than a year ago. The FBI couldn't have cared less ... they couldn't even be bothered to clean up an espionage agent I handed them on a silver platter. No one had so much as a clue until I got involved. I solved and closed your investigation, including its national security implications."
"What the NSA or the FBI did or did not do is irrelevant. You had no business involving yourself in matters outside the purview of internal CIA security. The law is the law, and it's my job to insure that the laws of this country are respected and enforced."
I rolled my head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Uhhhmmm ... yeah. Seriously though, you and I both know that laws don't mean spit if they can't be enforced. You sent sixteen men out to Treasure Island with orders to disrupt my investigation and arrest me. Whatever happened to them? You sent a small army out to Andrews with orders to take me into custody. All but one of them now work for me. Face facts, when push comes to shove, you can't make me obey your interpretation of the Law."
I leaned forward, and as I did, Barrett eased back farther into his chair. "When I first decided to come here this morning, I thought there might actually be a chance that you and I could work out some sort of agreement — some form of compromise. Live and let live, you know? But I see now that's not going to be possible. You're hung up on the idea of Law, whereas I'm hung up on the concept of Justice."
"Justice is achieved by following the Law! By obeying the rules society has agreed should apply!" he insisted angrily.
I sat back, shaking my head. "Society agreed? I don't recall anyone asking for my opinion on the last thirty years worth of Presidential and Congressional decrees. You know which ones I mean ... the ones that no one outside the federal government ever realized were put into effect; the laws that society never had the opportunity to agree with? No, Mr. Barrett. Obeying the rules is how the people who make laws endeavor to control those who don't make the laws. Justice, on the other hand, means everyone plays by the same rules, and that those rules will be applied to all members of society in precisely the same way. No exceptions. But ours is a society of law, not justice, isn't it?"
"I'm not going to get into a discussion of semantics with you."
"No, I realized that while I was still out on Treasure Island. Your position on the matter became crystal clear when you sent those sixteen men after me in California. And, of course, what with you being the Attorney General, you're automatically right and I am, by default, wrong. Unfortunately, you failed to take one very important fact into consideration before staking out your position."
"And that would be... ?"
I smiled coldly. "Your laws don't apply to me."
"The law applies to everyone, including jumped-up CIA Deputy Directors."
"Not if you can't enforce them ... and as of today you're 0 for 3."
Barrett's lip curled into a faint sneer. "My lord but you're an arrogant sonofabitch."
"Yeah, well no one's perfect. Look, I've been giving some serious thought to taking over the government and I figured you were just the man to advise me on how I should go about it."
I smiled at the horrified expression on his face, linked and gave him his ring.
Two hours later my helicopter landed out front of the CIA safe-house near Spotsylvania, I got out, small gym bag held in my left hand, jogged to the rail fence, put my right hand on the nearest post, vaulted over then ran up the porch stairs and knocked on the front door. Behind me, the helicopter lifted off, rolled neatly around in a ninety degree arc and headed back towards Langley.
The moment it vanished beyond the tree line armed bodies began to materialize as if from nowhere. From behind hay bales and tree trunks, around corners and out of shadows cast by the most innocuous objects imaginable.
I looked around, matching emotions to faces, checking to be sure the numbers added up.
The front door swung open abruptly.
"'bout time you showed up." he groused.
"Cut me some slack, would you? It's not that easy arranging for twenty one people to completely cease to exist and twenty one new people to magically appear from nowhere."
"I bet it wasn't all that hard to do."
"Cost me my five FBI guys."
Jones shrugged. "It's not like you can't replace them."
"Yeah, I know ... but it won't be the same." I lifted the gym bag and let it dangle, swinging slightly from side to side and smiled.
"Payday, Mr. Jones."
His eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. "All of it?"
"Three hundred thousand; as promised. I told Accounting to give me only hundreds; to save space. I didn't think you'd mind."
"A check would have done just as well you know."
I smiled. "Yeah, but with the way things are right now, do you really want the IRS to know that you're contracting with the CIA?"
He finally smiled in return. "No, I don't suppose that would be too smart ... all things considered."
I opened the screen door, Jones stepped aside and I went in. I spent the next hour bringing David and Anya up to date on what had led me to contracting their services. After that I provided instructions and directions for transporting their charges to the NSA the following day, paid a brief visit to Lucy and Lam Fan and informed them what would happen the next day then called the helicopter back, said good-bye to everyone and returned to the office.
The remainder of my day was long, tedious, and frustrating; half a day filled with spread sheets, graphs, charts and reams of paper populated by one of my favorite things in all the world... numbers
Budgets, payrolls, expense reports, inventory lists ... and on and on and on. In a way I'd brought it on myself. There'd been a lot less paperwork when the department had fewer than ten employees.
To top it off, Thanh Duc Fan, his brother Kim and their two non-English speaking cousins arrived in Philly and called Eric for instructions. I got on the line, gave them directions to the storage facility Eric had arranged for and then another set of instructions explaining how to get to the Spotsylvania safe house.
By the time I left for the day I'd become convinced that Hell, if there was one, was neither hot nor cold but eternity spent multiplying tiny columns of barely identifiable numbers without the aid of calculators or computers.
I had since returning, and I don't know why exactly, completely lost my normal cheery outlook. The world seemed much darker, less appealing, less inviting and infinitely more foreboding than I'd become accustomed to. In the past, when I'd felt that way, all I had to do was spend some time with my children and their mothers and within a matter of hours I'd be right as rain.
That hadn't been working for me in the two days since we'd moved back to the ranch, and I didn't for the life of me know why. I was tense, on edge, keyed up and constantly felt as though I were being watched.
I was not a happy camper.
I'd dozed off during the helicopter flight home, waking up as the pilot circled the ranch preparing to land on the front lawn.
I became aware of four new sets of randomly shifting emotions at about the same time I noticed a strange vehicle on the drive sitting next to Lilly's mini-van. One emotional mass felt somewhat familiar, and that vague familiarity wiggled and tickled around the back of my brain in search of recognition. The other three were completely unfamiliar, and rather than tickling my memory, they grated on my nerves, setting off alarms and demanding immediate attention.
In addition to the four new bundles of feelings I could make out each of the girls as well as the four children. Izzy seemed a tad stressed and uncomfortable, but none of them felt panicky, fearful or alarmed so I resisted the impulse to go charging in and immediately fry the newcomers.
I got out of the 'copter, waved him off once I'd cleared the rotors and headed for the house. I opened the front door, stepped in, hung my coat on the coat rack, shut the door and moved toward the living room, which is where I felt the newcomers were located, briefcase held loosely in my left hand. Peggy's voice called out to me as I walked down the entryway.
"We're in here Ike!"
I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting on the couch next to Izzy was my father, who raised a hand and smiled in greeting. Lilly and Peggy were sharing my large recliner, which was positioned at an oblique on the couch's right side. But what stopped me cold were the three additional people sitting on the couch next to my father.
The woman was very blond and had her hair cut short in a mock crew-cut; had an artificial looking golden bronze tan, was noticeably buxom and tasted strongly of self-obsessed superiority. The young boy on her right (I estimated his age at around ten or eleven years) was slightly darker than the woman (though it looked more natural on him), but bore an exceptionally strong physical resemblance to the man on his right. The man got to his feet and turned to face me full on.
I looked into his muddy brown eyes for a long moment before running my gaze over his entire frame in a single brief sweeping evaluation.
He was a good looking man in his mid-thirties, with early stage wrinkles around and under his eyes, five foot nine or so, roughly two hundred pounds, stocky build, heavy legs and chest, powerful arms and shoulders, brown hair so thick and dark it appeared black, high sharp cheekbones and skin that was nearly the same shade as Izzy's. His clothing was expensive, but obviously intended to suggest casual wear without stooping to cheap scruffiness. Around his neck hung a thick gold chain and three of his fingers bore heavy gold rings. His nails were obviously manicured and his hair, thick and with faint traces of silver strands, had been styled rather than cut. This was a man for whom appearance was more important than substance. He and the large blond were clearly two of a kind.
He looked up at me, his face expressionless and immobile. He took a deep breath, expanded his broad, deep chest to the point where I could almost hear the seams of his shirt straining to hold together and gave me a short nod of the head.
I took my eyes off the man, and shifted my gaze over to where my father and sister sat side by side. Izzy's eyes and expression were silently pleading with me; my father's face and feelings radiated simple resignation.
"Hello Ike." The man's voice was somewhere between tenor and baritone, his tone overly friendly, aggressively cheerful and faintly patronizing. I remembered it all too well.
My eyes snapped back to his face which had acquired a slightly twitching curl around the left corner of his mouth.
I opened my hand and let the briefcase drop heavily to the floor, where it hit with a dull thump. My eyes never left his. I nodded my head fractionally.
"Ivan." I said, acknowledging my brother's presence.
We hadn't spoken to one another since before I'd turned fourteen; hadn't seen one another since our mother's funeral, and yet my gut reaction to hearing his voice was almost exactly the same as it had been eleven years before.
Colossal indifference combined with utter loathing. Not an easy combination to pull off successfully, but I'd had a lot of years to work on it.
I clamped down hard on those emotions. It wouldn't do to start broadcasting those kinds of feelings with the children in the house.
"They got here not more than fifteen minutes ago." Izzy announced, her tone was artificially enthusiastic, in stark contrast to the building stress she was feeling. Izzy was worried.
It took no great leap of imagination to figure out why.
"Where are the children?" I asked, flicking my eyes from Izzy to Lilly and Peggy.
"Upstairs playing on Tink's computer." Peggy informed me.
"Children? You have children?" the blond, green eyed woman, Ivan's wife Svetlana, inquired. Even after all her years in America, there was still a definite Slavic accent.
"Tink is my daughter." Peggy answered as I moved into the living room, around the couch and past my brother. When I reached the chair where Lilly and Peggy were, they both stood up, one on each side and allowed me to sit down. Then they each perched on the arm rests, leaned in and draped an arm around my neck.
"I have a daughter and a son; Rose and AJ." Lilly said, laying her cheek against the top of my head.
"My daughter's name is Belle." Izzy added, pressing closer to our father.
Ivan had watched me move past him with a wary expression, sitting back down at the same time I had.
"I wasn't aware you had a daughter Isabeau." Ivan said shortly, giving our father a frosty look.
"I wasn't aware you had a son, so I suppose that makes us even." my sister replied sweetly, but with a definite underlying edge that I'd have picked up on even if I hadn't been able to feel it.
"This is our son, Buck. Buck, say hello to your Uncle Ike." Svetlana said, nudging the boy's shoulder with her elbow.
"Hullo." the boy parroted in a surly tone. Svetlana beamed down at the boy as though he'd discovered radium.
I clamped down even harder on my emotions. Buck? Buck Blacktower? Jeezus ... I hoped for the kid's sake that it was only a nickname.
"Do you have any children Ike?" the woman asked, fluttering her eyelids. I cringed inside and ignored her question.
My father jumped in and saved them all from my response.
"Ivan, Svetlana and Buck were visiting when Izzy called and told me that the children were ill. They decided to come along and see if you needed any help." he explained.
"How very thoughtful." Peggy said, running her fingers along the back of my neck, kneading the increasingly tense muscles that lay over and around my spine.
"I told them it wasn't necessary, but Ivan insisted." my father continued.
I crossed my right ankle over my left knee, slipped each arm behind and around Lilly and Peggy's waists and smirked.
"Ivan's always been rather insistent." I said, linked with Izzy and sent her a brief burst of loving admiration. She smiled, perked up noticeably and flashed me a warm smile.
"Well, that's what family's for, right? To be there when you need help?" my brother replied with a straight face.
How he managed that little trick I'll never know. Maybe he actually believed it, because I didn't get any sense that he was lying or joking. More likely my big brother had become a salesman of some sort.
"Yeah, that's what family is for." I agreed. "Girls," I said, giving Lilly and Peggy light but firm pats on each of their bottoms, "why don't you take Svetlana and Buck upstairs and introduce the kids? I'm sure they'd like to meet their cousin."
Peggy gave me a quick kiss and hopped off the armrest. Lilly's kiss took a bit longer and then she slid off and stepped behind the chair to catch up with Peggy.
I got up out of the chair and nodded towards my father. "Why don't you go on up with them Dad? Ivan and I are going to take a little walk around the grounds and get caught up."
Svetlana, a puzzled look on her face, got up, pulled her son up by the shoulder of his shirt, and followed behind as Peggy and Lilly led the way out of the living room. Izzy and my father trailed along behind them, leaving Ivan and I alone.
"Look, Ike..." he began. I turned and headed for the hallway.
Ivan got quickly to his feet and followed behind me. I turned down the hall and upon reaching the front door snagged my overcoat off the rack and began removing the contents of my pants and shirt pockets, stuffing them randomly into the coat's pockets.
Ivan caught up, yanked his bulky overcoat off the coat rack and shrugged into it. I opened the door with a flick of my wrist and stepped out into the chilly evening air. My brother followed, closing the door behind us.
I was off the porch in two long steps and began striding down the driveway. I heard Ivan hurrying to catch up with my longer steps. Five heartbeats later he was at my left shoulder, still buttoning up his coat.
"Was that a helicopter I heard out here just before you came in?" he asked.
"Yeah. Langley's too damn far away to commute by car, so the Agency let's me use one of theirs to get back and forth."
"Dad said you were a psychologist." he said, glancing up at me.
"Among other things."
"Shrinks must make pretty good money around these parts. This place of yours must have set you back a few million." my brother said observantly.
"The ranch isn't mine; it belongs to the girls."
"What does that make you, their boarder?"
"That's one way of looking at it."
Ivan smirked and winked knowingly. "Nice landlords." he chuckled.
"Yes they are." I agreed.
"You schtupping just one or both of them?"
I stopped abruptly and turned on the shorter, broader man. I glared down and felt heat building behind my eyes.
"Watch your fucking mouth, brother." I suggested mildly, all the while radiating menace and impending violence.
Ivan bristled, backed up a step and rolled his shoulders forward. "Don't get all high and mighty with me, runt." At that point I started wondering what sort of magical fantasy world he'd been living in. I looked down at him from my eight inch height advantage and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I'll say what I want, when I want and to who I want." he snarled.
"No you won't. Not about them and sure as hell not to me. In case you hadn't noticed, it's dark and you're all alone." His expression never changed. "Think dark alley, shit-for-brains."
I could tell from his lack of emotional response that Ivan didn't remember what he'd told Izzy the day of our mother's funeral.
"You know many psychologists who get dropped off at home by helicopter?" I asked.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You're supposed to be smart Ivan, work it out!" I growled. I began to understand some of what my darkness must have gone thru while trying to get me to see what was right in front of my face. Pig-headed obtuseness must run in my family.
"Agency? What agency? Dad said you were a psychologist."
"I have a practice in DC. A very exclusive private clinic; which means I see who I want, when I want and charge what I want."
"Clinic, not agency?"
I sighed loudly. "The Agency. The Company?" I shook my head. How dense could one man be?
"You work for the CIA?" he said after a long pause. His feigned surprise wasn't all that convincing. If he was some kind of salesman, he couldn't have been very good at it.
"Technically, yes."
"Doing what? Giving psych evaluations to neophyte James Bonds?"
I rolled my eyes, turned away and started walking back down the drive towards the access road.
"Even CIA shrinks don't get to use official helicopters as a taxi service." Ivan pressed on with his line of thought.
"Very observant ... now how much is two plus two?"
"Christ almighty you're an arrogant asshole!"
I stopped again. I'd been hearing that a lot recently.
"And you're an insufferable prick. But then, you always were."
"And you were a chickenshit little pussy, afraid of everyone and everything, including your own shadow."
I smiled faintly. This was the brother I remembered. Forget the expensive clothes, the jewelry, the manicured nails and the stylishly cut hair. He might have polished and refined his image, but deep down where it counted, Ivan was still nothing more than a schoolyard bully.
"There's really no need for us to dance around like this Ivan." I told him. "If you want to fight, just say so."
"God, I'd love to knock that smug look off your pasty face."
"Why? What have I ever done to you?"
"You were born, that's what!" he snarled.
"Yeah, yeah ... and mom loved me more than you. Grow up!"
I could feel his muscles tense; feel his growing anger and irritation. I saw his body shift, pushing his left shoulder forward, drawing the right side of his body slightly away from me, his weight balanced directly over his hips.
My dear brother was getting ready to take a swing at me.
My first memories are of loving Izzy ... of wanting to hold and be held by her.
Not so with Ivan.
I never liked him. Not once, not ever. It wasn't that I hated him — exactly. He'd ignored, taunted, threatened and abused me for most of my childhood. We'd never been pals or buddies, never had the fractious fraternal relationship that I'd observed between other siblings, including my own. I'd feared him, which considering the difference in our ages was not an unreasonable reaction on my part, and having feared him for so long I suppose it's also not unreasonable to think some degree of hatred might have existed. But once I got to be taller than my brother, things changed between us.
No more slaps to the head, punches on the arm or in the stomach. Oh, he still taunted and threatened; more often than not he simply ignored me, but the physical abuse stopped.
Even the harsh words pretty much dried up after the infamous hunting trip.
But time dulls most people's memories, and apparently it had completely blunted my brother's sense of self preservation while it was in the neighborhood.
So, without changing expression in any way, I snapped out my left hand, balled into a loose fist, and popped him in the teeth. At the same time I linked and drained his emotions.
Ivan's head snapped back at the impact, but apart from that he didn't move so much as an inch; just stared back at me, surprise writ large across his face.
I smiled at my brother.
"'And am I, then, a man to be belov'd?
O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought!
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,
And whiles I live t' account this world but hell,
Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand between me and home;
And I - like one lost in a thorny wood
That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way and straying from the way
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desperately to find it out... '"
Ivan blinked twice, shook his head sharply and spat a bloody wad out onto the ground.
"Is that how you see yourself? Poor pathetic Gloucester plotting to revenge himself on the world by becoming king?" he asked, partially distracted by his own lack of emotional response at being punched.
Well, what do you know? Ivan had actually managed to pick up a little culture in his travels. It wasn't really all that surprising ... there aren't many complete morons in my family line.
"Well, you have to admit, there are similarities. However, it is a fairly accurate representation of the way certain other people feel about me."
"How would you know what people feel?" Behind his eyes I could feel my brother trying to work himself back into an aggressive and angry state.
"How do you think?" I asked lightly.
Ivan's emotions went from tart and tangy to sour in a heartbeat.
"Remembering what Granddad told you, huh?"
I grinned, drained his feelings and popped him in the mouth one more time.
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