Chapter 46: Epilogue

The face of the little girl... 
An image can sear itself into the brain, stuck there forever, or at least until the viewer passes on. In the end, it’s how a person’s life is related to others that determines their fate on this Earth. Good person or bad person, it’s how they are remembered that matters.

Jamie’s face flashed before Michael’s eyes, only it was the Janet/Jamie. Jamie’s slightly different face on Janet Wells’ body, sitting at the corner table in the outdoor Paris cafe, flanked on either side by her friends Angie and Carol. The sight warmed him, especially as he caught her eye, the familiar smile directed at him as she had so many times. She would always be the warm, friendly, and devoted person consistent to both of her personas. That is the only way he could see her now.

Michael Christiansen opened his eyes slowly, feeling the lingering affects of premium painkillers and wishing more than anything for a drink of water. His body felt weak, as if he had not moved in ages, and the immobilization of his arm via a cast over most of his chest brought back memories of his time in Germany.
His mind cleared and the realization of events hit him like a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick. He had almost died, once again, and had survived, once again. Only Jamie had not. The pain was familiar and even more unbearable than the last time with Tanya.
“Oh, God.... Why? Why don’t you fucking take me already? I’m here! I deserve it!” His eyes welled up with tears, tears he could let flow now without any personal shame. He’d earned that courtesy at least. 
“It should have been me as well.” Hadn’t he paid enough yet? That damned Oarsman and his toll. Fucking tight-wad...
“ ‘Exact change only’? ‘Fuel Surcharge?’ What the hell does it take to die anymore...”
The door to the hall opened and Priscilla stuck her head in, trying to smile warmly without seeming too perky.
“Sounds like you’re awake. I’d know that complaining anywhere.”
“Hm.” Michael wasn’t sure he wanted to see her, or anyone for that matter.
“Thirsty?” 
She poured a glass of water and let him drink it through a straw, taking care of one minor misery. “You’re looking better than when they brought you in. No one thought you would make it.”
“When was that?”
“About two weeks ago. You’ve been in and out since then, but none of it was coherent. It seemed like nightmares or something, really.” Her soft hand brushed some hair from his forehead and the touch made him wince from the pain in his heart at the familiar gesture.
“What’s happened since then?”
A frown was there on her face, the remnants of a lot of grieving and pain. “A lot. Most of it isn’t something you need to know right now. There’s plenty that involves you directly.”
Michael wasn’t surprised. “Such as?”
“Jamie is dead. She died in your arms, and in spite of the attempts to repair her there really wasn’t anything they could do.”
“It was her time. She had finished what she was given life for, and she earned the right to go home.” The tears started again as he spoke, running down his cheek as he continued to think about those moments in time. “She told me that she could see her parents and friends. She was so beautiful... Her smile...” 
“The place has been emptier without her. Maria has barely moved from their room since then. Mario keeps taking her food and trying to help her, but she’s hurting too much. The girls have all lost a lot of friends.” There were signs, though, that Maria was starting to come around, and that was a good thing. 
“Tell her that I want to see her. That should get her moving at least.” Michael had to help Jamie’s friends. It was his job as her family. He wiped his eyes dry and settled down to hear the rest. “What else is there?”
“Petris wants you strung up for your actions. Destruction of a building in Milan and seriously disrupting freight movement through there. Wanton disregard for public safety. Disregarding direct orders to return to Rome... And then there’s Jamie... police found a body of a man whom she killed and stole a car from. They’re looking at you for your failure to control her.”
“I was a bit tied up at that moment, I’m sure. Jamie was acting beyond even my control towards the end. There was nothing I could do to stop her.”
Priscilla pulled a chair closer and sat down, holding his hand in a friendly way. “I know. Belisario told me about her phone call. He and Bergonzi were discussing her data when I popped in a little while ago. Her data recorder took a hit as she was fighting, but what they got from it told them enough. Janet Wells was the person killing her way to Amherst, not Jamie.”
“No, that’s not entirely true. They were both there. Janet was whole again, but it was because Jamie made her complete.” He could see that it really did not make any sense to Priscilla, and really very little to himself. “Things got pretty confusing there at the end.”
“I bet.” There was a trace of a smile on her lips, enough so that Michael gave her a questioning look for it. “Still... What you did was amazing. I’ve talked to some friends in Europol and they’ve said that the heat that came down on Excalibur sent ripples through the industry, and that several more informants have come forward about other companies like them, looking for the authorities to hit them hard like Ex Co. Suspected linked abductions are down for the first time in forever, and it’s because they’re afraid someone is actually going to come down on them for once.”
Michael tried to digest that, rearranging it in his head to make it fit with the enormity of Jamie’s and Tanya’s sacrifices.
“That’s... That’s good to hear, I guess. To be honest, I don’t really know if even that was worth it.”
“I can understand that.” Priscilla nodded, knowing the shock he must still be feeling. 
“In any case, at least she they died for something. I know Jamie would have wanted it that way.”
Several minutes of silence ensued, a broken and battered man with a good friend, taking time to reflect and comprehend events that were largely beyond their control. Michael rubbed his eyes with his movable left hand, happy for that at least.
“Okay, Priscilla. Hand me my chart. I need to see how bad this is.”
“You sure you’re up for it?” She pulled the chart from beside the door and held it while he flipped through the pages, reading quickly in spite of the drowsiness he still felt lingering in his head.
“Hmm... Collapsed lung, cracked ribs, multiple lacerations with two serious resulting in heavy blood loss, gunshot to right shoulder with associated breakages of bones, and a fractured ankle. I think I’m getting better at the entire lone-wolf assault game.”
His sense of humor seemed to be returning and Priscilla could only identify that as a good sign for his recovery. Unfortunately, his future wasn’t looking too good at this point. Someone was going to take the fall for his actions and Lorenzo was going to make sure it was Michael.
“Listen...” She could not think of a way of warning him that would be less than obvious to the microphones she knew were listening. They were taking no chances with Christiansen. “If- if there’s anything I can do...”
Michael read her discomfort, his mind already warming up to the situation and possibilities.
“Stop by tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll think of something I need.”
“Okay. I’ll bring you something to eat as well. I know how bad the food is here.”
He smiled at her, genuinely warmed by her efforts. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Priscilla left and a nurse entered to tend to his needs with the cold air of a winter storm. It was going to be a long recovery.

Chief Lorenzo stepped from Maria Petris’ office and paused to look at the folder in his hand, the twelve count indictment of one Michael Christiansen. Regardless of how quiet it was going to be kept, it made Lorenzo look very bad, perhaps worse than anything else that had happened so far. Keeping the Else de Sica incident under wraps was easy compared to this. 
“Damn him...”
Ferro stepped beside him and added another file on top- the police investigation into Raimondo Moretti’s death. “That’s all of it. The prosecutor is requesting a few more credits for terrorist captures. That’s cheap at the price.”
“Christiansen has cost us a lot in this cover-up. I’m still deciding what will be a fitting punishment.”
“What did the Secretary have to say?” She fell in alongside him as they walked through the ministry building, shoes clacking on the polished marble floors.
“That he is my responsibility. She’s already started moving the misinformation to the public. The warehouse was a terrorist attack on the Milan rail system for whatever reason, and the chase through the streets was Camorra in-fighting. Nothing to see here.”
Ferro’s mind wandered to Michael, feeling some concern for him now that things were going squarely on his shoulders. It had only been two weeks since he had awoken from his coma. They were acting fast. “And Michael?”
Lorenzo just continued to stare straight ahead as they walked, his face impassive as he replied, “you need not be concerned with Christiansen’s fate. I’ll handle the details myself.”
The last time Ferro had heard that statement was just before Captain Raballo’s accident. The eeriness of the memory was probably why the chill swept through her body. 
At least she hoped that was why.

Jean was called into Lorenzo’s office the moment they returned to the agency, the door locked, and it stayed that way for several hours, placing Ferro on the defensive paperwork-wise. When Jean finally emerged, his face betrayed nothing at all; a state that she had learned meant serious business.
Ferro blinked, wondering when it was that she had become so concerned about Michael’s safety. She had to admit that he had a way of getting under a person’s skin. Whether it was annoying or endearing, he made an impression on everyone he met, and that impression was lasting.
“Ferro.”
She blinked out of her thoughtful daze to find Jean standing there, perhaps concerned since his words to her had just been entirely ignored.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just thinking about the current situation.”
“Hm. Please go over to the medical center and tell Christiansen’s doctor that we’re transferring him to a city hospital. Here are the details.”
Ferro accepted the pages and watched him walk away, feeling entirely out of sorts from her normal self. She was supposed to be beyond emotionalism. She had to be, as it was the only way to succeed in her job. They valued her for her cold, calculating grasp on every situation, under every circumstance.
Ferro had been almost everything possible for an intelligence specialist and coordinator. She had killed people, in hot blood and cold. She had planned out orchestrated campaigns against factions, the depths of which had never been fully realized. There was even a stint as a ‘service’ maid in order to get the info that she needed from a Camorra kingpin, a disgusting act she had never fully been able to forget.
Never, not once, had she ever felt like a patsy: an expendable individual tasked with a dirty and unwholesome task.
Until now.
A glance at the paper showed an exact time that Michael was to be taken from the med-center, and the exact route the specified drivers were to take. Every detail was meticulously thought out, and there was no doubt that Michael was to get where he was going on time. 
“Another traffic accident...”
The whispered words resonated in her head like a gong as she crossed the compound. Something was going to happen to Michael Christiansen before he arrived in the city. It wasn’t very original, but it was clean and efficient. After all, accidents happen all of the time.
The papers were delivered to the doctor, but Ferro paused in the hall, thinking about whether to warn him about it. She wasn’t sure exactly what he could do on his own, and certainly everyone who communicated with him was being watched carefully by this time. Jean never did anything in half measures.
“Ferro!”
Priscilla coming down the hall from the entryway carrying a fast-food bag and handful of movies halted Ferro’s step towards Michael’s room.
“Priscilla. Are those for Michael?”
“Yes.” She smiled warmly; something Ferro had seen almost none of from anyone in recent weeks. “The food here is terrible and every now and then I sneak some to him. He’s bored, too, so I thought I would grab a few movies for him.”
“I see.”
For a long moment, Priscilla thought that Ferro was going to squash the idea. Security had been increased around Michael quietly rather than noticeably, but it was there. Even he could feel it.
Ferro took the bag and glanced inside, then took a few fries for herself before handing it back, surprising Priscilla with her forwardness.
“What? I’m hungry too.” She walked off towards the building entrance, canceling her plans to see Michael. It was entirely out of her hands.

The doctor stepped quietly into Christiansen’s room and pulled the sedative syringe from his pocket, steeling himself for another distasteful task. Being of dubious moral integrity, he was the one the agency called on to deliver truth serums to prisoners, as well as keep them alive after particularly harsh interrogations. Civilized intelligence service, to be sure.
The monitor was beeping quietly and slowly in the early morning darkness, meaning that the target was asleep. He’d stay that way until he arrived at where he was going.
The bed curtain parted quietly and the doctor peeked through to make sure everything was quiet, but stopped, stunned, as he looked at the empty bed. There was a device attached to the machine, evidently bypassing the alarms that would sound when the patient was unplugged. Other than that, there was no sign of Michael Christiansen.
The doctor went immediately to the nurse’s station, getting her attention with only the urgency in his face.
“Is something wrong, Doctor?”
“Christiansen is gone. Where is he?”
The nurse frowned, unsure what was going on but knowing she was in the middle of it. “Another nurse came by a couple hours ago and took him to Radiology. Here’s the note from Doctor Romani.” She pulled the paper from the file and handed it over.
A glance told him that it was fake: Doctor Romani was left-handed while this was obviously written by a right-handed person. “When did she bring him back?”
“I didn’t see them, but the monitor came back on a half-hour or so later. I was making rounds at the far end.”
“I see...”
It was half past three A. M., but he made the call anyway, dialing Jean Croce’s cellular phone and knowing that he wasn’t going to be happy.
“It’s Gerstweller... There’s been a complication.”

“And he just disappeared?”
Lorenzo could not believe what he was hearing, but remaining calm about it was the sensible thing to do. They would get Christiansen. He could not have gone far in his condition.
Jean was not as easy-going about the matter. Lorenzo could sense a considerable amount of anger being suppressed, which meant that the security breach was being taken personally.
“He had assistance, beyond what his limited physical condition would allow. The security was remotely hacked and the video looped to cover their movements outside of the hospital. Technical is working on how it was done, but it’s looking like someone infiltrated the compound and disabled it from inside. The only clue we have on his leaving is a food service van that entered and left the compound on schedule. The driver was a woman and matched the description of the person we have on file, and her I.D. card was verified. Still, I can’t think of any other way he could have escaped in such a short time. It was only an hour before his being wheeled out that the duty nurse checked on him.”
“Three hours at most.” Lorenzo had a feeling something else was going on as well. Christiansen wasn’t the type to simply escape, even while making it look so easy and making them look like blind fools.
The intercom beeped, breaking him from his reverie. 
“Chief, Doctor Bergonzi is here, and he needs to speak to you immediately.”
“Send him in.” 
He gave Jean a look, having a feeling that the day was going to be extended considerably.
Bergonzi stepped inside and moved quickly to the desk, setting down a few pages of a report. “We have data missing!”
Jean blinked, surprised. “Missing?”
“Stolen. The computers logged a remote access to the database last night. I did some looking and found all of Jamie Christiansen’s data was gone. Everything! Down to the test results from her experimental prosthetics. She does not exist in the system.”
A look passed between Lorenzo and Croce, both admitting that they had once again underestimated Christiansen. “What about the back-ups?”
“Hacked as well. I can’t even begin to understand how they would have known what to look for, given the technical nature of the filing system. If they were going to harm us, why not the rest of the data?”
Jean was already thinking ahead. “Given the nature of the loss, how long does this set us back on the final phase?”
“A year, maybe a little less. The more serious matter is that with Jamie’s complete data, they can make cyborgs, given enough time and resources for reverse-engineering.” 
There was a knock on the door, likely more news to add to the already outstanding day Lorenzo was having. “Come in!”
Ferro entered, an envelope in her hand and a frown on her face. “A note from Christiansen. A courier delivered it twenty minutes ago.”
Lorenzo took it and opened the already-cut flap, withdrawing the single sheet inside. “It reads: ‘Jamie belongs to me and only me’. That’s it.”
“I’m not sure whether that tells us he’s insane or just emotional.”
Lorenzo wasn’t impressed. “ It tells me all I need to know, Jean. Find him, and find that data. I don’t care how or in what condition.”
“Yes sir.”
“Americans. Humph!” He crumbled up the paper and tossed it across the room.

Ferro Milani closed the door to her apartment and locked it, sighing as the fatigue of the day, and even the week, seemed to lay heavier on her shoulders. She knew what would help take some of it off, so she undressed quickly, taking time to set aside her suit neatly for the cleaners, and slipped into a warm bath, closing her eyes and relaxing for once. It was hard to be serious all of the time, but it was who she was. She had made a determined effort to shake off all of the relaxed air she had developed courtesy of Michael Christiansen. 
It was six months since Michael had made his chaotic, if quiet, escape from the agency. Everyone had been grilled mercilessly by security at Lorenzo’s behest. 
Everyone except her. 
Ferro was beyond reproach. Trusted beyond all others because she was the ultimate professional. Nothing could possibly cause her to make an emotional move.
Nothing except Michael Christiansen...
She nearly fell asleep in the tub, her thinking turning to daydreaming of sorts until she felt as if the world was slipping away into unconsciousness. A reluctant burst of strength helped her get out and towel off, and she slipped into her favorite silk robe, the short one that showed off her curves and no one would ever see her in. She couldn’t let anyone get that close.
If there were one other weakness she had to keep from others, it was her habit of drinking milk from the carton right after the bath. She never did it any other time, but somehow it felt right after a bath, along with a few moments of the cable news channel to catch up on anything she might have missed during the day.
The remote was on the table and Ferro switched the TV to an American news outlet, breaking from her usual BBC whimsically. It was that kind of night.
“In other news, CIA Deputy Director of Operations George Rathbone was killed in an auto accident yesterday on the D.C. inner-belt. The director and his driver were declared dead on the scene after a fuel tanker lost control and flipped over in front of their vehicle, rupturing and catching fire immediately, engulfing their vehicle instantly. The driver of the truck...”
As she slowly drank from the carton and listened to the story, a drop of water rolled down her neck, but the goose bumps she suddenly had were from another cause, one more alarming.
Ferro slowly lowered the carton and turned to look at the man standing in the kitchen doorway, his pistol leveled at her heart, and maybe a look of amused surprise on his face.
“I knew there was something very erotic about you the moment we met. I had hoped to see it first hand at some point.” Michael had to admit, Ferro was definitely easy on the eyes when wearing only a robe.
“What are you doing here, Michael?” Her hand started shaking a little, gently sloshing the milk in the carton. She could not tell whether she was afraid or angry at his intrusion. She was powerless at that moment.
“Lets talk in a more comfortable setting.” He motioned her to the bedroom with the gun and her face betrayed a moment of panic, amusing him a little. “Don’t worry. I’ve never had to force anyone to get what I wanted.”
She calmed and was able to get her mind moving again, planning ahead the moves necessary to get to her nightstand gun. He let her lead the way into the bedroom and she sat down on the bed next to the nightstand, within reach of her gun if she could only open the drawer.
“I know of a few people who would disagree if you hadn’t tortured them to death.”
Michael shrugged and smiled. “Touché” 
Ferro felt his eyes on her, a discomforting feeling that she had not had in a very long time. Still, a part of her was satisfied with the knowledge that someone felt her to be attractive.
“So...”
He leaned against the door, the gun never wavering from her. He couldn’t take chances. “I came to say thank you for the warning.” His left hand pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and tossed it into the air, the white paper splotched with vegetable grease from the fries in the bag she had dropped it in. “I had a feeling something was going to happen, but they moved faster than I thought they would. I just barely had time to arrange for my escape.”
“If I had known what you were going to take with you, I wouldn’t have made the effort. That research was important.”
“That research was a person, someone who was close to my heart, and I could not sit by and let them treat her memory or her contribution as mere data.”
“You’re too emotional!”
“And you’re too damned cold. You wouldn’t understand how I feel.”
Ferro blinked, the statement stabbing her in the heart. Somehow, Michael’s rebuke hurt more than she could have expected. She was cold, to everyone. But to hear it from this man made her feel it more.
“No. No, I wouldn’t.”
Michael nodded, continuing on. “I loved her. I only allowed myself to realize how much at the end, and then it was too late. She left this world knowing how I felt and I was not going to allow anyone else determine what value she had. 
Ferro didn’t respond to that. There really wasn’t anything to say. “So... What are you going to do now?”
Michael stepped closer and sat down on the bed, his gun never leaving her. “Some friends and I have gone into the charity business. We used the CIA cash to open up a missing person’s business, specializing in lost kids in human trafficking prone areas. We get a call they’re missing, and we look for them until we find them. Usually they’re dead, but sometimes they’re alive. Regardless, the people behind it are no longer an issue.”
She thought back to an Intel report that things had been happening in Amsterdam and other hot spots of Europe, where known gangs were going missing almost overnight. “That’s... very American of you.”
“I know. But it’s what Jamie would have wanted, and it’s a worthwhile cause no matter how you look at it. Just the few that we’ve saved have made the effort worth it. That and the fear in the eyes of their captors...”
Ferro watched Michael’s eyes as he said the words, knowing then that he was more dangerous than ever. He didn’t just have a taste for blood, but also for power. Gone was the professional operative who could follow orders, and in its place was a professional who gave them and expected results. She admitted to herself that he intimidated her now. The minutes of silence between them were drowned out by the fearful, or was it excited, beating of her heart.
“Why are you here tonight?”
Michael shrugged, letting the gun slip to point at the floor. “Because something told me that I needed to talk to you again, if only to thank you.”
It was the way he said the words that made her nervous, the combination of invasions of her security that normally made her feel so strong.  Now she felt weak and uncomfortable, enough so that she put her hand on the nightstand, a move that prompted no change in Michael’s eyes.
“I’m the only one they don’t suspect. Everyone else in the office has been questioned and Lorenzo hasn’t figured it out. Seeing the frustration of everyone else because of my impulsive act... I cannot begin to describe how much it bothers me.”
“That’s because deep down you’re a caring person.” He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret.
“It’s because I’m not the type to go against orders.”
“And why did you?” Michael flashed a soft smile... The smile of someone who knew the answer but knew that forcing an answer to it would bend her to his will.
If there were a way for Ferro to mark her life like a report card, that moment in time would have earned a failing grade in self-control, objectiveness, and general intelligence. Her body swayed weakly and indecisively, a product of her instincts and relaxed control telling her to do something her mind would never allow otherwise. Was this power he had over her new? 
It was the realization that he had always had it and had been merely suppressing it that snapped her out of her trance enough to slip her hand inside the nightstand and close on the Sig232. Michael had leaned closer already but never stopped as she leveled the gun in his gut. His lips touched hers and she never shied away, her body refusing to even as her mind worked to resist even a little. 
The gun in her hand clicked loudly in the silence. It was her last act of resistance against a moment she realized she had been longing for since he had stood up to her in Venice. A part of her mind refused to concede and continued pulling the trigger, even as the rest of her gave in and responded passionately.
Michael finally pulled away and looked at Ferro, her eyes closed and an unmistakable look of unsatisfied longing in her features.
“You’re beautiful when you let your humanity show. You should stop trying to hide it.”
Her eyes opened and watched him holster his gun and step to the door, pausing to look at her emotionally weakened form, still holding the gun in her hand.
“Don’t...” She did not want him to leave; only she could not speak the words.
“Sorry, Ferro, but I only stopped by to say goodbye, and to give you that gift.”
“You’ll never get out of this country alive.” Her threat was a veiled attempt to convince him to stay.
Michael smiled again, a smile of the victor in a long battle, though Ferro could not tell whether it was with himself or an enemy.
“No one can stop me, Ferro. You can’t stop someone who is everyone, yet does not exist.”
Ferro sat stunned as he left the apartment, the door closing on the most frustrating and intense chapter of her life. He was an enigma, and his actions tonight had only made it crystal clear to her that she would never understand him as she desired to.
“Damn you, Michael Christiansen.”

The street was silent as Christiansen stepped calmly to the car that was waiting for him and climbed in.
“All set?” Emily Lanstrom smiled at him in the weak light of the distant streetlamp.
“Yeah.” He leaned over and kissed her gently, still warming up to the recently surfaced admission of his feelings for her. Her hand found his and held it, and he dropped the eight rounds of nine-millimeter Browning ammunition that he had taken from Ferro’s gun into it.
“Hmm... You kissed her, didn’t you?”
“Hm, yes.”
Emmy smiled softly and put the car in gear, driving slowly down the darkened street. “One day you’ll chase a woman that is not so easily disarmed or overwhelmed. The gun pointed at you will be the last thing you hear. What will your last thoughts be?”
Michael smiled to himself, watching the city move past him. “That I will marry her.”
“Interesting.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was through chasing. 
For Michael Christiansen, the Light of his life would flicker, but never fade. He had loved and lost, and still he loved again. The Darkness that surrounded him had been washed away by the ever-brightening Light, and having seen the Light from the Darkness, he knew which way to go.
“I love you Emmy.” He would never withhold those powerful and priceless words again.
Her eyes darted to him, catching the sincerity in his face with a passing streetlamp. She gave it a moment’s thought before deciding to start the game, her smirk of amusement hidden in the darkness.
“I know.”

The END (finally)