American Heroes Series - 01 - Resurrection (7 page)

“Political Science. Then I got my law degree at Stanford.”

“Really?” Olivia’s face lit up. “So you’re a lawyer?”

Ethan grinned modestly, looking between Olivia and her mother. “I’m registered with the California and New York Bar Associations, but I don’t practice.”

Cydney still wasn’t over their last conversation but she found herself willing to put it aside; he seemed genuinely friendly towards Olivia and that oddly touched her. Other than her grandfathers, uncle and, on occasion, Stu, Olivia didn’t have much opportunity to speak or interact with men, mostly because Cydney was so protective over her only child. But the conversation with Ethan seemed harmless enough.

“Lucky for the FBI that you picked them over a lucrative law practice,” she wriggled her eyebrows at Ethan, a twinkle in her eye. Then she put her hand on Olivia’s shoulder and tried to shove the girl past Serreaux. “I thought you wanted to see the exhibit. You can’t keep Mrs. Marquez waiting in the parking lot forever.”

“Okay, okay,” Olivia wouldn’t be pushed away so easily; she was still gazing up at Ethan’s handsome face. “Would you tell me sometime how you got into college and went into the FBI? I’d like to know how you did it.”

Ethan shrugged easily. “Sure; anytime.”

Cydney was still pushing, trying to move her daughter into the gallery she had been so fired up to see. But she paused long enough to give Ethan a now-you’ve-done-it expression.

“She’s on to your scent now,” she told him. “You’ll never get rid of her; it’s like feeding a cat. She’ll make you tell her everything until she’s sucked your brain dry.”

Ethan laughed softly and turned to follow them; he had actually been heading out to make a phone call but quickly decided the phone call to the West Los Angeles FBI office could wait. Cydney and her daughter, at the moment, had his attention cornered.

“I have nephew like that,” he told Cydney as they entered the main part of the gallery. “The kid wants to know everything about life and he wants to know it right now. He’s four going on forty.”

Cydney grinned at him as Olivia suddenly remembered what had lured her to the gallery in the first place and very quickly picked up the pace, leaving Cydney walking behind with Serreaux. 

When Cydney realized they were alone again, the unsettling feeling from their earlier conversation returned. More than that, she realized she was somewhat nervous to be around him. 

“In my family, it’s just Olivia,” she tried to focus on his statement to keep her mind off her jiggling nerves. “She’s the only grandchild. I have a younger brother and he doesn’t have any children yet, much to my mother’s disappointment.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty- four.”

“Give him time,” Ethan watched Olivia plant herself in front of The Lucius Robe case. “He’s still young.”

Cydney pursed her lips. “You don’t know my mother,” she snorted softly. “She came from a big family. She could never understand why Brad and I only had one child. Honestly, it was just because we were both so busy with school and careers. Then when Brad passed, my mother only gave me a year before she was harping on me about remarrying again and having more….”

She abruptly stopped, realizing she had divulged far more information than she was comfortable doing. It had all come spilling out.  Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and struggled not to feel like a complete idiot.

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat again. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to get into anything heavy. Just… well, thanks for being so kind to my daughter. I appreciate it.”

Ethan was gazing down at her, his dark eyes riveted to her.  There was an odd expression on his face, a mixture of appreciation, sympathy and interest. When Cydney finally dared to look up at him, she was struck by his countenance.

“When did your husband pass?” he asked gently.

Staring into his deep brown eyes, she couldn’t have pulled herself away from him if she tried. She didn’t want to talk about Brad but it came out anyway.

“Eight years ago,” she muttered. “Car accident.”

He sighed faintly. “Wow,” he murmured. “I’m really sorry. I’m also sorry if I stirred up any feelings earlier by calling you Mrs. Hetherington. I didn’t mean to.”

She waved him off, struggling against the intense emotion the man seemed to provoke. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, thinking now would be a very good time to go and join Olivia. “I shouldn’t be so touchy, but… well, if it makes any sense, my husband used to call me Mrs. Hetherington. It was like a nickname and… and, anyway, don’t worry about it. Calling me Cydney will be just fine.”

Ethan smiled warmly at her, the first time he had done so since their association. “Whatever you want, Cydney.”

Giving him a somewhat awkward grin, she joined her daughter by The Lucius Robe case.  Ethan watched her walk away, thinking she filled out the faux-suede skirt quite nicely. In fact, she filled out all of her clothing quite nicely. She was an incredibly beautiful woman.  With just the brief conversations he had with her, he was coming to understand her a little and liking it so far.

“Hey,” Agent Lowell was suddenly beside him, nudging him in the arm. “Dickerson just called me. He said you’re not picking up your phone.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered on Cydney a moment longer before moving to take his cell phone out of his pocket. He looked at the display with the missed call and shrugged.

“No reception in these thick walls,” he replied. “I was just heading outside to call him.”

Lowell hadn’t missed the look that Ethan gave Cydney; he’d been doing it for the better part of the day. In fact, the man was still looking at her and Lowell grunted softly.

“Hey,” he bobbed his head in Cydney’s direction. “What’s the deal?”

Ethan looked at him. “What deal?”

“With Hetherington.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “No deal,” he shook his head, heading back towards the front door to the museum as if suddenly anxious to get out of there. “I’ll be right back.”

Lowell didn’t believe him for a minute, on either account.

***

“The chatter has died down and that’s very concerning on many different levels.”

John David Dickerson had been a terrorist expert with the Federal Bureau of Investigation for fifteen years. A good-looking African American in his late thirties, he had first been interested in international intelligence when he had watched sixty-six Americans being released from the Iranian Embassy in nineteen eighty-one.  The whole incident had captured his interest and carried on even now.  He was one of the best in the business in isolating and identifying terrorist threats, specializing in obscure religious sects and extremists. The threat to the Western Pacific Museum of Art and Antiquities had been identified and developed by J.D. Dickerson and he had a very strong interest in the situation on a minute to minute basis.

On the other end of the line, Ethan was trying to move to an area of the park-like entry of the museum that didn’t have quite so much street noise.

“Why is that?” he asked.

At his desk in West Los Angeles, J.D. kicked back in his chair. “Because it probably means they already have their plan set. It means they are organized and have shut down any further discussion. I don’t like it.”

“So what are we expecting?”

“I’m not sure,” Dickerson dug into his bowl of M&M’s and popped a candy into his mouth. “We’ve already been through the briefing for this; this group has been known to do fairly sophisticated stuff in Europe, political assassinations and stuff like that. It always seems to be well organized and financed. Remember that they’ve been around for at least fifty years that we can deduce, ever since the end of World War Two. But we think that was just the emergence; evidence suggests the group has secretly been around for centuries. It was the Nazis that brought them out into the open; three of their leaders are descended from documented Nazi families but, more importantly, they have very powerful support. They have connections both financially and within the political world that most radicals couldn’t dream of.”

“And we have no idea who the connections are?”

“None,” J.D. went on. “They keep the identity of their leader very well hidden but if I had to guess, I’d say it was someone of extreme political or even religious power. This group is too well supported for their leader not to be someone of tremendous importance. Anyway, there’s been a lot of chatter from this group about The Lucius Robe and the fact that it’s in a relatively unprotected place. They have been deeply interested in it for about six months. To that end, I would expect something sudden and violent; maybe even an armed incursion. They’ve made it obvious that they want it.”

“And we’ve determined these guys aren’t your run-of-the-mill skinheads?”

“Not at all. They’re smarter and better financed. Like I said, they’ve got money and people coming out of the asses but we can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”

Ethan inhaled slowly. “I’ll tell you; this place just isn’t set up to handle an organized assault. It’s even worse than we initially thought. Old people and college students comprise their security force, plus they’ve got big unreinforced plate glass windows, unreinforced skylights….”

“Exactly; which is why I recommended shutting the museum down.”

“And I told you that I suggested that to Mr. Hemeshuk but he said they couldn’t afford it. He said that they had pre-sold a lot of tickets to this exhibit and was determined to see it through.”

J.D. snorted. “So it’s all about the money. That’s just great.”

Ethan couldn’t disagree at the sarcasm. “I’ll need to have a meeting with the FBI team tomorrow morning before I go in and brief the museum’s regular security force,” he said. “I’ve set up the observation posts and need to give everyone their assignments before the regular museum personnel go on duty.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s what we’ve got to work with.”

J.D. grunted. “All right,” he said begrudgingly. “I’ll be there, too.”’

Ethan smirked. “You’re coming? Since when do you do field assignments?”

“Since this one might turn out to be a pretty damn big one,” J.D.’s feet came off the desk. “Besides, it’s the best place for me. Right in the middle of it.”

Ethan’s grin broke through. “J.D., I’ve known you for nine years. You’re an analyst; you spend most of your time deciphering intelligence and bossing the rest of us around. You have never, in all the time I’ve known you, come out into the field.”

J.D. lifted a dark brow. “And I’m going to come out in to the field and kick your ass if you don’t shut up. I’m not so old that I can’t take you down, Serreaux.”

Ethan laughed. “You couldn’t take me down even when you had the chance.”

J.D.’s eyebrows rose as he pretended to be outraged. “I see how it is,” he snarled. “You just couldn’t let it go. You had to bring that up.”

Ethan was laughing harder. “It wasn’t my team that got its butt whipped in the ’93 Rose Bowl.  I seem to distinctly remember running through your defensive line to score a touchdown. So, clearly, you can’t take me down.”

“If I’d known back then that I’d be working with you today, I would have broken your legs.”

“You’d have to catch me first and we know that’s not going to happen.”

“I’m driving over there right now to take your smug-ass down.”

Ethan hooted. “No, don’t do that,” he said. “I apologize. I don’t want an ex-linebacker after me.”

“Too late. If we survive the museum opening, it’s on between you and me.”

Ethan shook his head; J.D. had always been sensitive about the ’93 Rose Bowl when Ethan’s team had beaten the Washington Huskies, J.D.’s alma mater.

Ethan and J.D. hadn’t known each other back then. J.D. had been a defensive end in that game; Ethan had been a wide receiver because at six foot four and a half inches, he had the triple-whammy advantage of height, a long wingspan and astonishing speed.  He had also been a big boy to boot at around two hundred thirty pounds; an offensive coach’s dream.  He’d been Homecoming King in high school, Class President, team captain and every other accolade that could be bestowed upon him for his good looks, athletic prowess, academic achievements and good character.  He’d had a full ride to the University of Michigan and a month after graduating from college, he had returned home to marry his high school sweetheart.  She had rewarded him a few years later by divorcing him and taking their son three thousand miles away.

It was something Ethan didn’t think about as much as he used to. He’d just put it from his mind. As he listened to J.D. rant about the slow and painful death he had planned for him, Ethan found himself remembering those college days and not particularly missing them. 

“The museum opens at ten,” he interrupted J.D.’s bullying. “Employees arrive by nine, so I will want to brief them as soon as they arrive. What time will you be here?”

“I’ll be there at seven a.m. with the rest of the team,” J.D. was successfully diverted. “We’ll want to walk the galleries and property perimeter.”

“Already done,” Ethan told him. “I’ll take you around and show you what I feel would be the best solutions.”

“Good enough,” J.D. replied. “Can we get access at seven a.m.?”

Ethan immediately thought of Cydney, the Director of Operations who he would undoubtedly be working more closely with by virtue of the sheer nature of the assignment.  The thought did not distress him.

“I think so,” he replied. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“The sooner the better. I have to let everyone know.”

“Understood.”

“Do you want to watch the Lakers tonight at Mahoney’s?”

He was referring to the bar they all hung out at in Westwood. It had become their department’s home away from home and they spent more time there than they probably should have. But Ethan shook his head.

“Not tonight,” he replied. “I think I might just go home and crash. Long day tomorrow.”

“All right,” J.D. stood up from his chair, ready to end the call. “Let me know about early morning access.”

“You got it.”

Ethan hung up the phone, heading back inside the museum to track down a certain Director of Operations.