The Triangle Conspiracy

“Sorry, I can’t,” Sean said. “If I start talking about it, then the whole thing’s blown.”

“And you think I have a way to help you keep her safe and out of sight?”

“I need a safe house,” Sean said abruptly.

Faith half-turned on the bench. “You need a what?”

Sean tilted his head back, looked at the sky, then looked at the ground. “Let’s cut the bullshit, sister. If you’re working for Department Thirty, you’ve got access to safe houses.”

At the words Department Thirty coming from her brother’s mouth, Faith leaned back as if she’d been slapped.

“Don’t do that,” Sean said. “Come on, you’re working for Thirty. ‘Special projects’ in DOJ? That only means one thing. Federal law enforcement is like a small town, Faith. Even if we don’t all know each other, we’ve all heard of each other, and we all have an opinion of each other. You were always interested in WITSEC when you joined the Marshals anyway. Thirty is just one step through the looking glass from WITSEC.”

“You’re quite the philosopher.”

Sean slammed a hand down on the metal bus bench. “Goddammit, Faith! I need your help!” He lowered his voice. “You do work for Department Thirty, don’t you?”

Faith was silent.

“Jesus Christ,” Sean said. “What do I have to do? Remember in the eighties? People started to hear rumors about this federal department called the National Security Agency-NSA. The joke was that it really stood for No Such Agency, and you didn’t talk about it. You just didn’t. Now the NSA’s got a website. A website, for Christ’s sake, Faith! Thirty is now what NSA was then. I understand that. I don’t agree with what it does, but I guess that’s not for me to say, either. Maybe all of what I know is myth and rumor. Doesn’t matter. I… need…your…help.”

“You’re putting me in an impossible position,” Faith said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Sean shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m your brother and I need help. I need access to resources you have. It’ll just be for a while.”

Faith bowed her head. “Dammit,” she muttered. She finally looked up and met her brother’s eyes. She folded her hands together and squeezed hard. “I have two safe locations in the metro area. One’s out in the Yukon-Mustang area, and it’s in use right now.”

“The other?”

“A house in Edmond.”

“Where’s Edmond?”

“Northern suburb. It’s the real white-collar suburb for the city.”

Sean smiled. “Kind of like Evanston is to Chicago.”

“We were going to sell the place, for several reasons, but I convinced my boss that we needed more than one safe facility in the area.”

“My baby sister, working in the deepest, darkest of the shadows. How do you like it?”

“That’s not a…” Faith stopped, tapped her foot, unclenched her fingers. Her knuckles were sore. She tried again. “I don’t think anyone likes Department Thirty, except maybe the director and the attorney general. It’s just…it’s what I do.”

Sean waited, but Faith said no more. Finally he stood up. “Well,” he said.

“I’m not sure what kind of furniture is in the Edmond house,” she said.

“Anything is fine. I just need to keep this girl safe and out of sight until I can…”

Faith raised her eyebrows.

“Complicated,” Sean said. “You understand complicated these days, I suspect.”

“That I do,” Faith said.

They started to walk back toward the corner of Fourth and Hudson. “I have the keys in my office,” Faith said.

“I appreciate this,” Sean said. “I appreciate you trusting me.”

Faith kept walking, not breaking stride. “But in return, you need to do something for me.”

“I already said, I can’t tell you anything about her or the job itself.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Sean looked surprised. “Then what?”

“I’m trusting you, now you trust me.” Faith gave him a long look.

Sean shrugged. He put his hands in his pockets again. Before he did, Faith saw his tremors. She pulled out her cell phone, called a number, and said, “We’re coming.”

Faith pointed the Miata north from downtown, then cut across to Western Avenue and turned north again. Just past the quirky Western Avenue strip of antique shops and bohemian boutiques, she pulled into a large parking lot beside an unmarked office building across the street from the sprawling campus of Bishop McGinnis Catholic High School.

She’d been silent the entire way, fiddling with the radio and ignoring Sean’s questions. “Here we are,” she said after stopping the car.

Sean got out, looking around. A few people were milling around the parking lot, some smoking cigarettes. There were a few older, well-dressed men and women, a few guys who looked like laborers, a couple of twentysomething girls who looked like punk rockers, complete with flaming pink hair and multiple tattoos. They all seemed to be waiting for something.

“What is this?” Sean said.

“Come on,” Faith said.

“Sister, what the hell is this?”

Faith led him through a glass door and into a small waiting room. The decor was neutral, with a couple of outdated but clean office-type chairs, a potted ivy, a couple of neutral pictures on the walls.

A tiny blond woman was walking toward them. “Hi, there you are!” she said.

“Hi, Cara,” Faith said. “Cara Dunaway, this is my brother, Sean Kelly. Sean, my friend Cara.”

Dunaway extended a hand. “Hi, Sean. Glad you’re here.”

Sean shook her hand. “Where exactly is ‘here’?”

Dunaway slid a glance to Faith, who only shrugged.

“Why don’t you come on back?” Dunaway said. “We’re about ready to start.”

Sean made more questioning sounds, but followed the two women down a short hallway, which then opened into a large meeting room. Rows and rows of folding chairs were set up, facing a slightly raised platform and podium. In one back corner of the room was what looked like a bar area, except no liquor bottles were visible. Faith and Sean smelled strong coffee brewing.

At the front of the room, next to the platform, was a series of framed photographs. On each side of the platform was a huge framed plaque. They came a bit closer, and Dunaway motioned them to seats. Others were filing in a few at a time. A couple of people spoke to Dunaway. One older woman hugged her.

As they grew closer, Sean read the first few lines of the plaque that commanded the wall at the front of the room.

We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Sean said in a stage whisper. He jabbed Faith in the ribs. “You brought me to an Alcoholics Fucking Anonymous meeting.”

Faith glared. “Keep your voice down, Sean.”

“No, I won’t keep my voice down. How could you drag me here? To this?” He swept a hand around the room.

“Because, dammit, you’re an alcoholic.”

“And you’re full of shit, sister.” Sean abruptly stood and worked his way along the row of chairs and toward the exit.

Faith was right behind him. She caught his sleeve just before he turned into the hallway. Behind them, a man in his fifties, in a flannel shirt and jeans, had ascended the podium. He introduced himself-Hello, I’m Ed, and I’m an alcoholic-offered words of welcome, then said something about a prayer.

“You must be kidding,” Sean breathed.

The assembled group, with no prompting, spoke in unison:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“This is a fucking cult,” Sean said in full voice.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Faith hissed at him. “Sean, you have a problem. You were an hour late to meet me this morning, even for something you say is vitally important, because you had to stop off somewhere and drink. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Do you think I can’t tell?”

Now the meeting progressed around the room, with each person-every single one of them, more than a hundred strong-introducing to the gathering at large, to which the gathering responded in turn.

I’m Jack, and I’m an alcoholic.

Hi, Jack!

I’m Denise, and I’m an alcoholic.

Hi, Denise!

Henry, alcoholic.

Hi, Henry!

Melissa, alcoholic and addict.

Hi, Melissa!

“I’m getting out of here,” Sean said. “This gives me the creeps. I can’t believe you brought me here.”

Faith looked back toward the group. Cara Dunaway was staring back with a concerned look on her face. Faith spread her hands.

“He may not be ready,” Dunaway mouthed.

Faith dropped her hands in exasperation and followed Sean down the hall, out the door, and onto the sidewalk. He spun abruptly, almost losing his balance, and grabbed Faith by both shoulders. “That was a shitty trick, Faith. I come to you for help and you bring me to some preaching, praying, AA group. If I wanted praying in unison, I’d just go to mass. What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s not what’s the matter with me, you fool,” Faith growled. “Don’t you get it? It’s not just recreational anymore. It’s not just getting plastered at a party anymore. It’s not even ‘taking the edge off’ anymore. The bottle’s holding you instead of the other way around. It’s going to destroy your life, piece by piece, until you don’t have anything.”

“I just wanted your help.” Sean turned his back on her and started toward the parking lot.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Faith screamed at the top of her lungs.

Sean stopped. He had never heard Faith shout like that. Never. She was always the one who was tightly controlled, able to wall off the emotions, able to hide behind intellect or ambition.

“My God, but you’ve changed,” Sean said in a low voice.