“If we have that,” the AUSA replied. “What happens when he tries to contact Amanda Gleason by phone? You know he will. And there’ll be no weather to screw up his cell service.”

“We’ll take care of that.”

At that heightened moment, the office head’s BlackBerry rang. He glanced at the caller ID and blanched. “It’s her.” He gestured urgently toward the door, ordering everyone to leave.

* * *

Minutes later, urgent instructions arrived at the desk of the head network security analyst on duty. He thrust aside his current assignment and turned quickly to the task at hand. With a few mouse clicks, he disabled the targeted cell phone, transforming it into nothing more than an expensive paperweight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Patricia Carey couldn’t shut an eye all night long.

She was in her office, pacing restlessly about at 5:00 a.m. The current situation forced a flood of raw emotion to surface. How darkly ironic life was. As the Executive Assistant Director, she was the highest-ranking woman in the entire agency. All her life, she’d exceeded everyone’s expectations. In school. In training. In her rapid rise to a position of power. At forty-six years old, she was still successful at everything she did.

Except for the one thing that would truly have been her legacy.

Despite consultations with the most noted experts in the world, and the hundreds of thousands of dollars she’d paid them, she’d failed.

She blamed herself entirely. She’d waited too long. The rise of her career had pushed this onto the back burner. She’d climbed the proverbial ladder, all the while thinking that later would be fine. But when later came, Mother Nature had other plans. And her body refused to cooperate.

Tears. Trials. Injections. In vitro. Nothing had worked.

By the time she’d accepted the inevitable, even adoption was not in the cards. Her age, her now-greater set of professional responsibilities, and, most of all, her depleted emotional reserves-all those factors combined to rule out the prospect of adoption.

A baby was precious. But, for her, it was never to be.

So, yes, her circumstances had colored her thinking. But still she’d debated the current dilemma long and hard, forcing herself to be objective, to view things from all angles. She had the final say. And her primary responsibility was to the agency.

But at what cost?

The hours ticked by, slowly and painfully. Patricia drank her coffee and searched her soul. The decision would be hers. So would the ramifications.

Patricia’s bleary-eyed assistant, Sharon, knocked and then poked her head into the office. “It’s eight o’clock, ma’am. The contingent from New York has arrived. They’ve been driving all night to make this meeting. Everyone is assembled in the conference room as you ordered. Will there be anything else?”

“Yes,” Patricia replied. “I need to see Richard before I go to this meeting. Have him come to my office now.”

“Of course.”

A few minutes later, Richard Fieldstone, the Deputy Assistant Director of the Criminal Investigative Unit, and the Chairman of CUORC-the Criminal Undercover Operation Review Committee-stepped into his boss’s office. “You wanted to see me, Pat?”

“Yes.” She waved him in. “Close the door behind you and have a seat.”

Once he’d complied, she folded her hands in front of her on the desk. “I’m about to attend a very important meeting, one whose outcome will ultimately end up in CUORC’s lap. Let me bring you up to speed on the difficult situation we’re facing. Then I’m going to lay out the way I want this handled and the outcome I want you and CUORC to achieve.”

Richard’s brows rose. CUORC was a joint entity that consisted of their own representatives and representatives from the Department of Justice. The Committee met bimonthly at headquarters, and made its own independent recommendations. It was unprecedented-although well within Patricia’s power to do so-for her to insert herself in the decision-making process.

“Go on,” he said.

Patricia told him the entire story, omitting no details. She didn’t want him to be blindsided by a single thing that might and would be said when CUORC held its emergency meeting.

Richard listened without saying a word. When she was finished, he asked, “I just want to be clear about this- are you saying that if CUORC votes in favor of the Bureau and against the individual, you’ll override our decision?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Patricia spoke calmly and with authoritative finality. “I’m instructing you to hold the emergency meeting today, and I’m giving you the responsibility of shaping the outcome so as to avoid any confrontation. This way, the decision will be CUORC’s and no one will be the wiser. That said, if you come to me with any other recommendation, rest assured, I will overrule it. I’d prefer it not come to that, which is why I’m giving you a heads-up.”

Richard studied her unyielding expression. “Why this time?”

“Simple,” Patricia replied. “I will not be the one responsible for letting an innocent baby die. And I will not allow the FBI to be held responsible in the court of public opinion for letting an innocent baby die.”

* * *

Hutch was still asleep when Casey left the brownstone the next morning. But he’d clearly gotten up sometime during the wee hours of the morning, when she’d been out for the count, because his overnight bag was unpacked and his toothbrush was back in the bathroom.

Casey smiled. Tough as the situation was, she was glad he’d decided to stay. He had to be back at Quantico tomorrow anyway. And if they could grab one more night together, it would be worth the professional tension that permeated the air whenever their careers collided.

Nothing good was waiting for her at Sloane Kettering.

The minute she arrived at the PICU, Patrick warned her that Amanda was in a highly depressed state. Justin had had a fitful night, and Dr. Braeburn was concerned that there had been no improvement in his breathing or in his overall condition. The antibiotics should be doing their job by now.

Casey nodded, and then went down the hall.

She stood on the other side of the window, watching Amanda try to hold Justin. It was next to impossible with the ventilator and the chest tube in place. And she was clearly terrified about inadvertently jostling any of the apparatus, for fear that it would cause them to stop working-even for an instant.

It broke Casey’s heart to see Amanda bow her head and brokenly sob over this tiny little person who had endured so much in his few short weeks of life. Her shoulders quaked with emotion as she stroked his face, his downy head. Tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto the railing of Justin’s crib.

Dammit, Casey thought, squeezing her own eyes shut. Why couldn’t the FBI understand this? Why couldn’t she drag the whole miserable lot of them into this PICU to see the consequences of their actions, to see the result of their impeding FI’s search for Paul Everett? What if it had been their child whose life was on the line? What in the name of heaven could matter more? Some stupid case?

Tears brimming in her own eyes, Casey turned away. She’d lost all objectivity where it came to the FBI’s handling of this investigation. Obviously, whatever they were pursuing was major. But that wasn’t this poor baby’s fault. He deserved the right to live, to thrive. And-if he was lucky enough to do both-he deserved the right to know his father.

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