Gideon shook his head. He was silent a while before he spoke. 'Our mother, she was a legal secretary. Died when I was ten. A bad car accident. . .'
Ruth prompted, 'Drunk driver?'
'No. Forced off a highway during a high-speed police chase. Some asshole broadsided her in a stolen car, trying to evade pursuit.'
'Did they get the guy?'
'The guy got himself. He jumped the median and plowed into the front of a bus. Dead on impact.
Poetic justice. If they'd prosecuted, he'd probably be out now.'
'I'm sorry . . .'
Gideon leaned back and stared at the ceiling. 'I just saw, later, what it must have done to my father, and Rafe. Dad was an FBI agent. Christ, I don't know if anyone could've idolized my father more than Rafe did. He wanted to be our dad—before . . .' Gideon closed his eyes.
'What do you mean?'
Gideon could picture his father's face, the broad smile, the eyes that smile never seemed to touch, that always seemed to grieve. 'Dad quit the FBI. Started having twisted feelings about law enforcement. Threw Raphael out of the house when he decided to become an FBI agent.'
'I'm sorry.'
'I think he regretted it, but was too stubborn to back down . . .' Gideon shook his head. 'Rafe idolized Dad, but I idolized Rafe. I don't think I ever forgave Dad—even if Rafe did. I tried for Quantico myself—' Gideon shook his head. 'I don't know if I was trying to follow my brother's footsteps, or trying to piss off my dad. Doesn't matter though, I couldn't hack it.'
'I can't believe that.'
'Why? Because I'm such a wonderful cop?' Gideon closed his eyes. 'I couldn't handle the pressure. Every day was a race against my dad, and against Rafe. Every test was measured against that yardstick, and more often than not I came up short. My whole time there was spent trying to prove something and failing . . .'
'I'm sorry,' Ruth said.
'I quit. Had to. I suffered a breakdown. Didn't talk to anyone, Dad, Rafe—not for nearly six months.
As if I blamed them.'
'I know what that's like, living in someone's shadow,' Ruth said, repeating her words from the subway.
Gideon nodded. 'I suppose you would—'
Gideon heard Ruth suck in a breath and he turned to look at her. He could see her eyes moisten. 'I blamed her,' she whispered. 'I mean, she had her reasons for not talking to our folks. Dad never quite understood her, what mathematics was to her. The arguments about college—' Ruth sniffed. 'Dad wanted the best for her, he just didn't know what that was. He saw an academic scholarship to an Ivy League university and that was it. They were recruiting her. I think it killed him when she decided to go to Berkeley . . .' Ruth shook her head. 'That was the first time I had ever heard Julia raise her voice.'
'It was bad?'
Ruth nodded. 'They were doing things at Berkeley that interested her. Dad didn't understand. He just saw the name, 'Harvard.' He thought she'd be throwing her life away. There was a three-hour argument that ended with Julia slamming the door. The episode left Mom in tears. It was like none of us in that house could breathe. Waiting- for the other shoe to drop—'
'What happened?'
'The shoe never dropped. Julia never walked back through that door. Somehow, I'm still not sure how, she managed to get Berkeley to pay for a flight out to California. She left home with just the clothes on her back and a full scholarship.'
'Hell of a runaway.'
Ruth chuckled, but there wasn't much humor in it. 'She had lined up a job on campus before the plane landed. The next I heard from her, she was in California. She was still a minor, and I think Dad was prepared to have the cops drag her back, but Mom started losing it. . .' She shook her head and put her face in her hands. 'I think I can understand why she did what she did. I can even understand how Berkeley could 'overlook' her age. But I'm the one who stopped talking to her.'
Gideon sat up. 'I thought she cut herself off from her family.'
Ruth shook her head. 'Our folks, yes. But she tried to stay in contact with me—maybe because I took her dreams seriously. But what her leaving did to our parents, I couldn't forgive.' She paused. 'No, that's wrong. When I'm really honest with myself, what I can't forgive is the way my parents were stolen. After she left, it was as if she became an only child. I became irrelevant.'
Gideon reached over and touched Ruth's shoulder. He could feel her shaking under his hand.
'I cut her off. We talked maybe a half-dozen times since she left. Never once did I call her—' Ruth leaned against him and whispered. 'Could this be my fault? Would she have done this if I hadn't abandoned her? If she wasn't alone?'
'No,' Gideon whispered. 'It isn't your fault.'
We ’re all alone.
3.04 Fri. Mar. 26
B Y the time Fitzsimmons had fully digested the contents of Tischler's little gift, and had reviewed the records on Agent Christoffel, it was time for his daily briefing with President Rayburn. It was scheduled in the morning, right after a Rose Garden speech about U.S.-Indonesian relations. Fitzsimmons came early and spent his time waiting in the Oval Office, sitting and looking over the files he had printed for Rayburn over the past two hours.
His hands were shaking.
Rayburn's booming voice interrupted his train of thought, almost making him drop the files he carried. 'Larry, you look like shit.'
Fitzsimmons stood and nodded, 'Mr. President.'
Rayburn stood in front of the door, closing it. He seemed to tower over Fitzsimmons. 'Okay, what is
it?'
Fitzsimmons took in a breath and said, 'I think you'd better take a seat.'
Rayburn scanned the room and realized that they were alone. A look of concern crossed his face as he took a seat across from Fitzsimmons. 'No expert witnesses?'
'No, I need to bring this to your attention before anyone else hears it.' Fitzsimmons handed the files to Rayburn.
Rayburn took the files and said, 'This is about Zimmerman, isn't it?'
'Not just Zimmerman, though.'
'All right, let's hear it.'
Fitzsimmons gave an abbreviated account of Tischler's meeting with him this morning. Rayburn frowned as he listened. 'Christ, they have us monitored that well?'
'The fact that the Israelis were willing to let us know that marks the gravity of what they gave us. They sacrificed a lot of U.S.-Israeli goodwill, as well as their assets in this country, to hand this over to us.'
Rayburn nodded. 'What is it, and how do we know that it isn't some piece of disinformation?'
Fitzsimmons stood and walked over to a table that held a pitcher of ice water. He poured himself a glass and drank, wishing it was scotch. 'It isn't, Mr. President. I've confirmed a number of isolated facts from our own records.'
'What is this they gave us? What does it have to do with Zimmerman?'
'Zimmerman is most likely in the hands of the International Unification Front, a State-sponsored independent umbrella organization that is interested—allegedly—in a pan-Arab, pan-Islamic union in the Mid-East. They organize terrorism, intelligence, espionage, and paramilitary training for dozens of smaller groups. Needless to say, the Israelis have the most complete records on them outside the IUF itself—' Fitzsimmons sucked, in a deep
