![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanaquiljallTitle: New Day Rising
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: General
Words: 15,970
Summary: A time-travel AU, sequel to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scribblesinink’s Times Like These. Sent back in time, Jake Green has successfully prevented the September nuclear attacks. Armed with the memories of nearly a year of events that haven't happened, he must pick up his life and find a way to fix relationships that are once more broken. (Minor crossover elements with Supernatural.)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Huge thanks tooptimouse for the awesome cover art and to scribblesinink for the cheerleading and beta! This story is part of the Timetravel!verse, being jointly written by Scribbler (scribblesinink) and Tanaqui (tanaquific). The titles of the stories in the ‘verse are taken from the lyrics of the Foo Fighters’ Times Like These, which plays out the end of the Jericho episode Coalition of the Willing (episode 1.21).
This story was written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bigbang ficathon, and is initially posted only at my Dreamwidth journal as part of the Three Weeks for Dreamwidth fest. It will be posted over here (and at our private archive and AO3) on or after 1 June. Meanwhile, you can read it over there and comment there or over here. ETA: now posted here.
oOo
Jake watched the building super waddle away down the hallway, jangling her keys, before he pushed open the door to his apartment. The room had the musty smell of somewhere that had been shut up in the heat for too long. Almost a year since he’d been here—or just five days. Five days since the creature Gabriel, inhabiting Bill’s body, had yanked his younger self out of here and into the future, and sent him—the Jake who had lived through the September attacks, and fought a war with New Bern, and flown Hawkins’ bomb to Texas—back in his place.
Jake closed the door behind him and crossed the room to slide open the balcony door and let in some air. Turning back from the window, he paused for a moment to stuff the rent receipt crumpled in his hand into the washed-out peanut-butter jar on top of the TV, adding it to the stack of yellowing papers already crammed in there.
The handful of bills Jake had offered to the super—a few day’s early, even—when he’d made his request to be let in to his apartment had certainly improved her suspicious attitude. Not that providing him with a handout to tide him over hadn’t been the least Hawkins’ paymasters could do, Jake thought. After all, he had saved millions of lives, and given the CIA enough intel to roll up not just the terrorist cells but those controlling the network—and their friends who would benefit: John Smith, Thomas Valente, John Tomarchio, half the J&R board.
Next stop on Jake’s journey was the fridge, to grab a beer. As his hand closed around the bottle, he found himself chuckling at how easy it was to fall back into old habits. A week ago in his personal timeline, being able to open the fridge and take out a cold beer would have seemed as unlikely as flying to the moon. As would hot showers, the ball game on TV, air conditioning: he glanced around the apartment and considered how many things he’d taken for granted before the bombs. Some of which he’d be glad to reacquaint himself with, and others he suspected they’d maybe been better off without.
And not all the changes created by the bombs had been for the worse.
He was suddenly assaulted by the memory of Heather’s hand in his, the feel of her in his arms as he held her close, the taste of her as she returned his kisses, her lips parting under his. He closed his eyes, aching with need for her—but she’d said it herself: how could their happiness outweigh the lives of millions?
Just his happiness, now, though. Because, back in Jericho, there was a Heather who scarcely knew he existed, much less that he loved her. Who’d arrived home last night from that field trip with her class perfectly safe, if a little late. And who had probably only ever heard of Jake Green as the no-good, black-sheep son of Mayor Green. Because all the other hard-won gains of the past year were gone too: his father’s respect, his brother’s friendship, Stanley and Mimi’s love. Forty million people were safe, and his life sucked.
Drawing in a deep breath, Jake away pushed the memories—Heather’s scent, her laugh, the touch of her hand on his arm—and reminded himself he needed to find his spare set of keys. Taking a swig of beer, he rooted in the nightstand drawer, idly wondering what had happened to the set he’d had on him when he’d run from San Diego the day before the bombs. Last he remembered, they’d been somewhere in the mess in his old room back at his parents’ house. Bill—Gabriel—had explained that if he sent Jake one way, he’d bring the other Jake forward so they didn’t each face the complication of having two Jakes around. Somehow, Jake doubted Bill had been so considerate about something as trivial as house keys. They’d probably vanished from existence the moment he’d finally convinced Hawkins that he really had been sent back in time, and the two of them had begun taking the first steps to stopping the explosions.
At least he’d had the keys for the Roadrunner on him when he’d been sent back, Jake thought with a wry smile as his hand closed on the spare key to his apartment. Not that it would’ve been the first time he’d broken into and hotwired a car.
Pushing the drawer closed, he registered there was a crisp white envelope propped between the phone and the answering machine. For a mad moment, he though that Bill—Gabriel—had left him some kind of directions about what he was supposed to do next. Or maybe his younger self had scribbled a note for him. Then he realized that it was only the resume he’d put together for the charter company. He’d forgotten the exact day he’d originally dropped it off at their offices out at Montgomery Field, but it must have been the day he’d pitched up on Hawkins’ doorstep in the middle of the night and they’d frantically tried to chase down enough evidence about Sarah, Valente and J&R to take to Hawkins’ bosses.
Jake sat down on the bed and took another drink of beer while he looked at the envelope. He shook his head as he thought about walking away from a job—a pretty good job at that—because of... what? Fear? Shame? He wasn’t sure now why he’d made that choice. What was it mom had said? You’re not that guy any more.
Jake raised his beer in ironic salute to his younger self. Sure, somewhere in a file in J&R’s personnel department was a record of what he’d done in Saffa. Goetz had told him as much, and he’d always suspected it. But J&R wasn’t going to blab about that to any prospective employer; they wanted it kept quiet as much as Jake did. In point of fact, he didn’t think he’d have any kind of problem with the reference they’d give him: they’d tried hard enough to persuade him to stay on when he’d quit after Saffa. And the charter company wouldn’t have cared either: J&R was no less respectable than Blackwater or KBR, if you didn’t look too closely at any of them. Or at least, it wouldn’t be any less respectable until the metaphorical—rather than literal—fallout from the bomb plot engulfed it in the next few days. Even then, as a lowly employee, Jake could hardly be blamed for what was going on in the boardroom.
He’d still have to live with what he’d done in Saffa, of course. Still have to see that girl’s face at odd moments—though he realized she’d been crowded out by some of the other things he’d seen since. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. And all the lives he’d saved, millions upon millions: they didn’t wipe out the lives he’d taken with his own hands. But he was beginning to understand what Dad had meant when he’d said I know what war can do. He’d regretted that he and Dad had never managed to have that conversation. Maybe now they could....
Finishing the beer, Jake came to a decision. He’d head to that internet café again and fix up his resume, and then drop off the new version at the charter company. Maybe he still wouldn’t get the job—maybe they’d already found someone—but it would be stupid not to try.
Reaching out and picking up the envelope, planning to throw it in the trash along with the bottle, he saw the light on the answering machine was flashing. Getting to his feet, he hit the play button and headed back towards the kitchen area, wondering if there was anything still edible around, or if it had all grown mold.
“Hey, man.” Jake stopped and turned at the sound of Freddy’s voice, staring at the answering machine in shock. He supposed he’d known in the back of his mind that Freddy was still alive, just like Dad was alive and Bonnie was alive, but there’d been so much else going on that he hadn’t had time to think about it. Well, Freddy had still been alive when he’d made this call. Which was probably a few days ago now.
The rest of Freddy’s message confirmed it, his voice coming tinnily through the speaker: “I got us a gig lined up. Call me.” First time through, Jake had been at the bar when Freddy had taken the call about the job with Ravenwood. The job that had been bad news from the moment Freddy had answered his phone.
The answering machine gave a short bleep, letting Jake know there was another message, before Freddy’s voice once more filled the small apartment. “Hey, buddy. Pick up if you’re there.” There was a long silence, and then Freddy spoke again. “Call me, okay? Or come by the bar. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Jake winced as he listened to Freddy hang up and another beep from the machine. No, but you might....
“Hey man. What? You think I got the clap or something? You not talking to me any more? Just call me, okay?”
Even through the hisses and crackles of the recording, Jake could hear the slight edge of panic in Freddy’s voice. He guessed Freddy’s new friends, with their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, were growing impatient. He wondered what Freddy had promised them, and what excuses he’d used to fend them off.
Another beep, and now Freddy was sounding seriously scared. “Where the hell are you, man? You’re not answering your phone. You’re not at the bar. I come by the apartment and you’re not there.... Jeez, Jake. Just call!”
Jake was already moving toward the phone when the long double beep told him it was the last message on the machine. Grabbing the handset, he dialed Freddy’s cell—he had to drag the number from his memory—and waited, heart in mouth, for the call to connect and Freddy to pick up.
He let out the breath he’d been holding when the phone was answered at the second ring and he heard Freddy’s exasperated, “Dammit, man. About frickin’ time!”
Jake could also hear relief in Freddy’s voice. Which was probably going to be pretty short-lived. Just as long as it took Jake to find out just how much trouble Freddy had gotten them both into, so he could try and figure a way to get them out of it. “Freddy—.“
Freddy interrupted him before he could get another word out. “Never mind where you been. All you need to know right now is that I got us a sweet deal lined up. Eight weeks, a hundred G's, all cash.”
“No.”
“What?” The word came out almost as a squeak.
“I’m not doing it.” Jake shook his head, even though Freddy couldn’t see him.
“Come on." Freddy sounded disbelieving. "You don’t even know what the job is.”
Jake snorted. Thanks to Agent Hicks, he knew better than Freddy what Ravenwood was up to. But he couldn’t exactly tell Freddy how he knew. Still, he’d guessed near enough first time they’d had this conversation what the job was likely to be. It hardly took a leap of imagination. “That kind of money?” he pointed out. “It’s gonna be somewhere I don’t wanna go with someone I don’t wanna go with.”
“So?” Jake could almost hear Freddy’s dismissive shrug. “So maybe we have to put up with a little crap.... But in a couple months," Freddy’s tone turned persuasive, "you’ll be on a Mexican beach, knee deep in bikinis and Benjamins, with enough money in your pocket to open that flight school....”
Jake sank down onto the bed and wearily scrubbed his hand across his eyes. Freddy had talked himself into this knowing full well the only good part was the money—while choosing to ignore the many, many ways in which this was so not a good idea. And he was obviously convinced he could talk Jake into it too. Which probably meant he’d already told Ravenwood that Jake would do the job. “What did you promise them?” Jake asked cautiously.
“That I know the best pilot in fifty states.”
Jake allowed himself a wry chuckle. Flattery wasn’t going to get Freddy anywhere, and he needed a straight answer. “That’s not what I meant. Did you tell them I’d do the job?”
“Come on, man. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because—.” Jake stopped. It wasn’t about not wanting to go back to Afghanistan now. It was that he could no longer close his eyes to what Ravenwood was capable of. Outside Saffa, they had at least been under fire. Whereas in Rogue River, in New Bern, in the Richmonds’ kitchen.... Not that he could explain any of that to Freddy. Instead, he simply asked, “Did you take their money yet?”
“Hey, the money’s cool. Moment you say yes, there’s a nice fat envelope waiting for you.”
Jake grimaced. “That’s not what I asked. Did you take any money from them yet?”
Freddy didn’t answer for a moment, and Jake closed his eyes, fearing the worst. Then Freddy said, “No. They’re waiting on you saying yes.”
Jake puffed out a breath. That was something, at least. “Look, just don’t get yourself any deeper in with them, okay? I got a few things to do, and then I’ll come by the bar and we’ll figure it out.”
“Jake—.”
“Freddy, trust me: we do not want to take this job.” Sensing Freddy was still unconvinced, he added, “I got your back, okay?”
“Yeah, I know, bro. Me too.”
Hanging up, Jake put his head in his hands. Somehow, saving the whole country had seemed so much easier.
oOo
It was almost dusk by the time Jake made it to the bar. He’d spent the afternoon fixing his resume, and then slogging across town to drop it off at the charter company’s offices. He hoped they’d still be as interested as they’d seemed last time, when he thought the job had been his for the asking—if he hadn’t let his stupidity get in the way.
The bar’s colored lights were just starting to shine out, and the noise from the patrons had reached the tipping point where everyone would start talking louder and louder just to be heard over each other. Pausing in the entrance and looking around, Jake spotted Freddy at a table with four or five other men. Something about the set of their shoulders and the way they lounged—confident, and yet a little edgy—brought back Anna’s words a year ago, when she’d asked him to help Freddy: like soldiers, but not.
Ravenwood.
Jake gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to talk to Freddy alone, and find some way of stalling on giving Ravenwood his answer. Yesterday, Hawkins had told him that, sometime within the next couple of days, J&R and its subsidiaries would be locked down—bank accounts frozen, IT systems blocked, staff told to stay at home—while the Feds tried to figure out just how deep the conspiracy went. And only this morning, Jake had watched gray-faced executives being pushed into the back of police cars on the rolling news playing on a screen in the corner of the CIA’s DC office, as half the J&R board was arrested.
Now Freddy had taken the option of waiting for Ravenwood to become impotent out of his hands.
While Jake’s mind raced, trying to come up with another plan, a group of guys pushed past him into the bar, bumping him with their shoulders, and he realized he was blocking the entrance. Even as he stepped out of the way, Freddy looked up and spotted him. A relieved grin—yet there was tension in it—spread across Freddy’s face. With another word to his companions, he got to his feet and hurried toward Jake.
Jake saw one of the Ravenwood guys twist in his seat to look across the bar after Freddy—and Jake’s breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he reached for his gun.
The gun he wasn’t carrying any more.
Maybe that was just as well. Because if Jake’d had his trusty Beretta on him, he might not have been able to stop himself from putting a bullet into the smirking face turned towards him: John Goetz.
The last person Jake had expected to see—and yet, he realized wearily, someone he wasn’t really that surprised to be running into.
“Jake, my man!” Freddy’s punch in the shoulder dragged Jake’s attention away from Goetz. “Finally.”
“Freddy....” Jake caught his arm and tugged him a step sideways, though there was no getting away from the expectant gazes of Goetz and his men. Jake turned his head away, grimacing.
He realized Freddy was still babbling at him, a relieved grin plastered on his face, and that he hadn’t picked up the warning in Jake’s greeting. “—boss flew in this afternoon. Very keen to meet you—”
“Freddy!” Jake hissed his name more fiercely and his concern seemed to get through to Freddy at last. Some of the swagger went out of him, and his expression sobered when his eyes met Jake’s. Jake swallowed. “I said no, and I meant it. And I’m going to go over there and tell them that.”
For a brief moment, he considered whether he should say yes, just to get rid of Goetz for a few hours. But from what he remembered of the original plan, Goetz’s team would already be a day behind schedule, and he had a nasty feeling he and Freddy might get bundled straight onto a plane—or at least be babysat until their departure. No: the way to beat Goetz had always and only ever been to face him down—and better here, in the early evening bustle of the bar, than in some dark alley or empty warehouse.
“They’re not going to like it, man.” Jake could hear the edge of fear again in Freddy’s voice.
“I know.” Taking a deep breath, Jake led the way back to the table.
Freddy darted past him at the last moment and flapped his hand at Jake. “Guys, this is Jake. Jake, this is John Goetz....”
Still sitting, Goetz held his hand out to Jake, a cocky grin on his face. Jake supposed he thought the deal was already done. Ignoring the hand, but meeting Goetz’s gaze directly, he said quietly, “I’m sorry if Freddy gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not your man. I’m not taking the job.”
“Hmmph.” Goetz made a surprised noise. Tilting his head and giving Jake a falsely pally smile, he said, “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Jake continued to hold his gaze, hoping that would be the end of it—but knowing it probably wasn’t going to be.
“Well, now, I’m disappointed.” Goetz got to his feet and took a step forward, moving close enough to make Jake want to back away. Jake held his ground. They were about the same height, but Goetz was broader, and radiated physical menace. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jake. Your J&R corporate dossier makes you sound like just the man for a job like this.”
This time, when Goetz brought up the dossier, Jake didn’t flinch. Whatever he’d done in Saffa had been nothing to what Goetz had done: in Rogue River and New Bern and Jericho. And he wasn’t going to let Goetz use it to bounce him into doing something even worse. It was a terrible secret, but it was time to stop running from it.
“I’m not.” Jake tried to keep his voice quiet and level. “Find someone else.”
He saw anger flash in Goetz’s eyes and he was aware, at the edge of his vision, that the rest of the Ravenwood crew were shifting in their seats, readying themselves for action. Close behind him, he could feel Freddy tensing, just like on countless other occasions when Jake hadn’t seemed able to avoid picking a fight. Further away, the swell of early-evening sounds from the bar—music and barks of raucous laughter and the annoying tinny tunes of cellphones ringing—seemed to mute as Goetz squared up to him.
“I really would like find a way to... persuade you to join us, Jake.” Goetz hesitated just enough in the middle of the sentence for Jake to know that the “persuasion” wasn’t going to be a few flattering words, or a speech about how they’d be making the free world safer. He began to wonder just how many ways he would have to say no before Goetz accepted he meant it.
“Freddy? Is everything—?” Jake heard Anna’s voice from a pace or two behind him. She must have picked up on the impending brawl as well.
Cold fear trickled down Jake’s spine as he saw Goetz’s attention shift over his shoulder toward where she must be standing. The last thing he wanted was for her to get caught in the middle of this.
Not turning his head, not taking his gaze away from Goetz, he said sharply, “Anna, get back behind the bar.”
“What—?” He could hear the confusion in her voice: her experience might mean she could spot a fight brewing between drunken frat boys and deal with that, but Jake knew she had no idea what these guys were capable of.
“Now, Anna.” Jake didn’t have time to sugar coat it. He just hoped she wasn’t close enough already for any of the Ravenwood guys to make a grab for her.
“Just do it, baby,” Freddy added quietly.
From the way Goetz’s eyes moved, Jake knew she’d done as they asked, and he let out a relieved breath.
Goetz brought his attention back to Jake. He must have read Jake’s determination in his expression, because he took a slight step back and relaxed a little, letting out a forced chuckle. “Jake, Jake. I don’t want a fight with you. Is it the money that’s the problem? You know, maybe we can find a little more. Ten, twenty Gs, whatever it takes.”
Jake blinked. How the hell—? J&R might have always paid pretty well, if you ignored that most of it was danger money, but they didn’t toss their cash around casually. They certainly didn’t give someone as far down the food chain as Goetz the authority to negotiate with those kind of sums. Suddenly, he realized how Goetz was managing to make the offer.
“Isn’t that going to cut into your take?" He gave a little jerk of the head, not bothering to keep his contempt out of his expression. "Put a dent in whatever you’re skimming off the job?”
He knew he’d guessed correctly—that Goetz had intended to pay them less than his bosses had budgeted, and pocket the difference—when Goetz swayed back a little, a slightly shocked expression crossing his face for a moment. From the way his eyes flicked right and left to his men, Jake reckoned they weren’t in on the deal.
Jake plunged on, sensing he’d finally got Goetz on the back foot. “Or maybe you’re planning to make your money by upping the price of the Stingers once you get them to Afghanistan?”
This time, Goetz did take a step back, as if Jake had punched him, although he rallied quickly enough. “What are you talking about?”
“That cargo you want me to fly?” It was Jake’s turn to sneer. “Stinger missiles. Once you get them in country, you’re gonna truck them into Zabul province and sell them to the Taliban so they can use them against our guys.”
“What?” Goetz gave a little shrug of the shoulders and huffed, as if what Jake was saying was preposterous, but Jake saw the fear in his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not doing the job,” Jake repeated. He hesitated and then plunged on. “And if you won’t take no for an answer, then I reckon pretty soon there’ll be some interesting new entries in your J&R corporate dossier. We both know J&R don’t give a damn about what they sell and who they sell it to, but put your hand in their pocket....”
He saw Goetz swallow. He knew threatening him was dangerous, but after what had happened to Freddy last time, Jake reckoned they were already in a world of trouble. And Goetz would be pissed enough already that Jake knew the details of the job that getting him more pissed wouldn’t make much difference.
They locked gazes for a moment and then, with a visible effort, Goetz relaxed and gave a harsh laugh. “You’re making a big mistake, Jake.” Though he managed to inject a certain amount of menace into the words, there was a beaten air about him.
Jake kept his gaze steady. “Yeah, I’m good at those.”
Goetz snorted, and then half turned, waving a hand at his crew. “Come on.” He stalked past Jake, deliberately barging him with his shoulder. The rest of his men followed, and Jake tensed, waiting for one of them to land a passing punch or pull a weapon. But they seemed too busy casting black glances at Goetz’s back, or exchanging uncertain looks between themselves: seemed like Goetz might have his hands too full with his own crew to bother with Jake for a while.
Only once they were past him did Jake turn around. He let out a breath as he watched them leave the bar.
“Man....” Freddy puffed out his cheeks. “Are you sure about this, Jake? That’s a lot of money you just turned down.”
“Yeah.” Through the crowds knocking back their beers and cocktails, he could see Goetz and his crew had stopped outside, gathered on the boardwalk that ran along the edge of the beach. It appeared that Goetz was detailing a couple of his goons to stay and watch the bar. “Trust me. We do not wanna be around that guy.”
Freddy followed Jake’s gaze. “I’m not sure we want him this pissed with us, either.” Underneath the bravado, Jake could hear Freddy’s nervousness, and he remembered the increasingly panicked messages on the answering machine. He reckoned Freddy had gotten a pretty good idea of what Goetz was capable of, even if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes like Jake had.
“Yeah.” Freddy had a point, but Jake was still counting on the job falling apart in a few days as the Feds tightened the noose around J&R and its subsidiaries. He reckoned that getting even with the two of them would be the least of Goetz’s concerns at that point. He and Freddy just needed to stay out of Goetz’s way until that happened.
Trouble was, last time they’d tried that, Freddy had ended up dead. They needed to be smarter this time.
At Jake’s side, Freddy was shaking his head. “How d’you even know all that stuff, man?”
Jake snorted. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. “I’ll explain later,” he offered, hoping Freddy wouldn’t ask again, or that by then he’d have been able to come up with something that sounded a little less crazy than the truth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna approaching and he turned to face her. “Sorry. I just—.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. I get it.” She sounded subdued, a little scared, even. She peered over her shoulder: Goetz and most of his team had gone, but the two who’d been left behind were eyeing the three of them balefully. “Will they be coming back?”
Jake nodded. “Probably.” Glancing around the bar, he remembered how Ambassador Travis had smuggled him and Hawkins out the Texas embassy through a neighboring property. He looked back at Anna. “Can we get into the bar next door out back?”
Anna nodded. “There’s a service alley runs all the way along.”
“Okay. You need to get someone to cover your shift, and then we need to go.” Jake squinted out of the front of the bar again, checking that Goetz’s goons were still loitering. “Without them seeing us.”
“Go where?” Jake could definitely hear the fear in Anna’s voice now.
He thought quickly. “The airport. First flight out. Doesn’t matter where it’s going, as long as those guys don’t know where we’re headed.”
Freddy snorted. “Man. I don’t have enough moolah for a bus ticket....”
“It’s okay. I got it covered.” The bills Jake had handed over earlier for his rent had been just part of the bundle of cash that Hawkins had conjured up from some CIA slush fund, and Jake reckoned they had plenty enough for tickets and a nice hotel somewhere. “We just need to stop by my apartment.”
“Since when?” Freddy was looking at him disbelievingly. “Last time I saw you, I had to stand you a beer.”
Jake shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Just....” He caught Freddy and Anna by the arm and pulled them towards the bar. “Anna, set us a couple beers, make it look like we’re staying. Then fix up someone to cover you for a few days. Tell them it’s a family emergency.”
“Jake, I can’t just....” She shrugged off his hand but, much to his relief, rounded the end of the bar and reached for the beers he’d asked for.
“Anna, I’m sorry. We have to get out of town.” He caught her gaze and held it, giving her a slight nod to confirm his words. “It’ll just be for a few days.”
The phrase hung in the air, and suddenly Jake found himself gasping for breath. He turned his head away, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together as he remembered Heather telling him the same thing. And how badly that had turned out.
A wave of longing swept over him as he recalled the feel of her as he’d hugged her goodbye. What he wouldn’t give to hold her in his arms again right now. And yet... somewhere out there was a happy, innocent schoolteacher, who would never know hunger or cold or fear, or face the threat of kidnapping and execution....
“Jake?”
Anna’s voice brought him back to the present. Drawing in a shuddering breath and swallowing down the lump in his throat, he opened his eyes and looked back at her, forcing himself to concentrate on the here and now. “Please?”
She hesitated for a moment longer, and then nodded reluctantly, before heading along the bar to talk to one of the other bartenders.
oOo
In the end, they got out through the fake Irish pub three bars along. Squinting back over his shoulder, Jake could see the Ravenwood guys anxiously peering into the bar where Anna worked. It looked like they were trying to spot where Jake—the last of them to leave as they’d slipped away one by one—had gotten to. Jake hoped, as he hurried along the boardwalk with Anna and Freddy in tow, that meant the three of them had a good head start.
He led them back to his apartment as quickly as he could. He didn’t really want to go back there at all, but they needed to pick up the rest of Hawkins’ cash. He just hoped Freddy hadn’t told Ravenwood his address, or they hadn’t managed to figure it out on their own.
He remembered that someone else did know where he lived when he saw the door to his apartment standing open a crack. With a silent sigh, he pushed it open: he should’ve expected Hicks would turn up right after he’d met with Freddy and Ravenwood, just like he did last time.
“Who—?” Anna’s question was cut off by a startled squeak as another of Hicks’ black-suited goons came up behind them.
“They’re from the NSA.” Stepping further into the apartment and heading for the kitchen area, Jake indicated the weasel-faced man sitting at the table. “This is Agent Hicks. Freddy and I had the pleasure of meeting him when we were in Iraq.”
His tone belied his words; it had been no pleasure at all: Hicks had been riding Jake since the day he’d waylaid him in a J&R cafeteria in the Green Zone and indicated he knew far too much about Jake’s past—and would be quite happy to dredge up enough of it to have Jake hauled back to Kansas to face charges if he didn’t cooperate.
“Freddy.” Hicks’ lips twitched as he turned his attention from Jake to the other two when they followed Jake inside and stopped by the foot of the bed. “And who is this charming young lady?”
Anna edged closer to Freddy; Jake guessed she’d had quite enough of menacing-looking strangers for one day. So had he. “None of your concern.” Jake’s words dragged Hicks’ gaze back to him. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms. “What do you want?”
Again, Hicks smirked. “You’ve been making some interesting new friends, Jake.”
Jake snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Not exactly.”
Hicks picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his pants. “Not very nice people, I’m afraid to say. Lucky for you, your timing is perfect. We’re looking to nail Ravenwood.”
Hicks pulled some papers across the table toward him and Jake realized he was about to flip open the file with the photos. He’d only seen them for a few minutes last time, but he remembered they’d been bad enough to turn his stomach. He didn’t want Anna to see—to find out what kind of stuff he and Freddy had gotten tangled up in over in Iraq. Stepping forward, he slammed his hand down flat on the file before Hicks could lift the cover.
Hicks raised his eyebrows a little. Jake tilted his head in Anna’s direction and said quietly. “She doesn’t need to see.”
Hicks raised his eyebrows still further, but took his hand away from the file. Letting out a breath, Jake straightened and backed away. He met Hicks’ gaze. “I already told them: I’m not doing the job.”
“We know.” Again Hicks offered Jake a thin-lipped smile. “I suggest you reconsider. That cargo—.“
“Yeah, I know.” Jake nodded, his gaze not wavering. “Stinger missiles to sell to the Taliban.”
A few feet away, Anna let out a faint gasp—Jake guessed she hadn’t heard that part of his conversation with Goetz from behind the bar—and quietly said Freddy’s name, disbelief and shock evident in her tone.
Hicks looked across at her, the smirk back on his face as he judged just how to use Jake’s evident desire to protect Anna against him. When he spoke, his words were as much for her as for Jake and Freddy. “Not the first time,” he pointed out, his tone smug. “And it won’t be the last—unless you help us put an end to it. We need someone working for them that they’ll consider credible.”
Jake let out a humorless chuckle. “Then you need someone else. After what happened earlier, Goetz won’t trust me further than he can throw me, even if I do take the job.”
Hicks looked back at him. “Oh, you don’t need to be drinking buddies with him. Just be there. Just be close enough to get us the evidence we need.”
Jake leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms again. He suspected Hicks was going to prove as difficult to dissuade as Goetz had been, but he reckoned he had an ace up his sleeve for Hicks as well. He just didn’t much want to use it unless he had to. He shook his head. “No. There’s no reason on earth will make me say yes.”
Hicks pulled another file from the stack. “Even though you know firsthand what they’re capable of?”
Jake turned his head away, grimacing. He guessed Hicks had pictures from Saffa; he’d heard rumors that a freelance photojournalist had pitched up there a day or so after the firefight—and, a day or so after that, when the guy had gotten back to Baghdad, his Al Hamra hotel room had been broken into and all his film and cameras stolen. But as the memories—the girl, her dark hair spread around her pale face, eyes closed as if she was only sleeping the most vivid of them—came back to Jake for the third time that day, he knew he wasn’t afraid of Saffa any more, and that he wasn’t going to let what he’d done there push him into doing worse things.
He faced Hicks again. “Yes. I know what they’re capable of. But I’m not your man.” Reaching into his back pocket, he fished out his wallet and pulled out a business card tucked inside it. Hawkins had given it to him before he’d left DC: a simple cream rectangle with nothing but a phone number. He handed it to Hicks.
Hicks raised his eyebrows as he took the card. “What is this? A get-out-of-jail-free card?”
“Something like that.” Jake nodded at the card. “Just make the call.” He tried not to show his fear that whatever the number led to—Hawkins hadn’t exactly been specific—it wouldn’t work the magic he was looking for.
Hicks gave him a sneering look, but pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. His expression turned suspicious when the phone was answered after three rings and whoever was on the other end spoke, though Jake couldn’t make out the words, just the faint, tinny sound that told him someone was talking.
Hicks flicked his gaze up to meet Jake’s as he answered “This is Agent Richard Hicks, National Security Agency.”
There was a moment before the person on the other end responded; when they did, a look of pure shock crossed Hicks’ face. He dropped the business card and, groping in his jacket pocket, produced his ID. His voice was a hoarse croak as he confirmed, “Yes, that’s my badge number.” He had opened the badge and was staring at it as if he was trying to work out how the person on the other end of the line knew.
Another question from the mysterious voice brought Hicks’ attention back to Jake. “Jake Green,” he told the voice. “That is, Johnston Jacob Green.” After a moment’s pause, he added. “Junior. What—?” He stopped, apparently cut off by a peremptory demand to hold the line.
There was a long silence, and then the voice was back. Whatever it said, Hicks didn’t like it one bit. His face darkened, and he tried to interrupt several times. The voice seemed to be having none of it. Eventually, Hicks snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the table. He stared at it for a long time, his lips clamped into a tight line, before he finally looked back up at Jake.
“Well, you have been making interesting new friends.”
Jake tried to keep his face neutral, not sure what Hicks had been told, and not in the mood to offer his own explanation.
Hicks absently put one finger on the phone and spun it around on the glass tabletop. “Seems you’re in the middle of a critical operation for the CIA, and the NSA is not to interfere or take any action that might be prejudicial to that mission.”
“What? CIA? Since when, man?” Freddy’s surprised question fell into the silence that followed Hicks’ words. Jake had been so intent on Hicks—of finding a way to get him off their backs—that he’d almost forgotten about Freddy standing a few feet away with his arm around Anna.
Jake looked across at him and shrugged. “I couldn’t let you know,” he offered. Which was true enough. Last time he’d seen Freddy, he hadn’t even known Hawkins existed, let alone that the man was about to drag Jake into the biggest conspiracy of all time. He looked back at Hicks. “You have your answer. I can’t help you.”
“Come on, Jake.” Hicks was smirking at him again. “Help me out here. Sure, I don’t want to tread on the CIA’s toes—” He sounded like he’d love nothing better that to throw a spanner into whatever the rival agency was up to. “—but maybe we can work something out, you and I?”
“No.” Jake pressed his lips together He was tired of arguing with people who didn’t seem to understand what the word meant. “Forget it, Hicks. Whatever you have on me, it’s not gonna work. Not any more. Nobody’s going to care what I did in Kansas or Iraq.” Not the authorities, at least: Hawkins had promised to get his records cleaned up. Jake dipped his head and added, “Not even my family.” He suspected that maybe wasn’t quite true yet, but he knew they’d come around. If he took the chance life had given him to prove himself again to them.
The smirk didn’t leave Hicks lips, but Jake saw a touch of tension creep into the muscles around his eyes. “So Ravenwood gets to go on selling weapons that are gonna be used against our troops, and go on murdering civilians?” Hicks tapped the folders again. “Gee. I sure hope you sleep well at night, Jake.”
Jake snorted. After what had happened the past year, and after all the frantic activity back in DC—it felt like he’d been up five days straight, though he’d snatched a few hours here and there—he reckoned he’d sleep like a baby when he finally got a chance.
Besides, he’d helped save forty million people in the past week, and he reckoned there wouldn’t be much left of J&R or Ravenwood once the Feds were done with them. He smiled wryly. “You don’t need me.” He tilted his head toward the TV set. “You must’ve seen the news this morning. J&R’s going down. By tomorrow, they’ll have hundreds of Feds crawling all over them and their subsidiaries. You’ll be able to get all the evidence you need.”
“Outfits like Ravenwood don’t leave a paper trail,” Hicks countered. “I need eye-witness testimony, Jake. I—.” Hicks jumped as his cellphone buzzed. He picked it up and flicked it open. “Agent Hicks....” The next moment, he straightened from his contemptuous slouch. “Yes, sir.” His gaze went to Jake. “Yes, sir.” Hicks looked increasingly pale as he yessirred several more times in response to the flurry of orders and instructions that were apparently being hurled in his direction. “Yes, sir. Immediately, sir. Sir—?”
Jake could hear the connection go dead, cutting off Hicks’ question. Slowly, Hicks lowered the phone and looked around at the rest of his goons, swallowing hard. “That was Deputy Director Inglis. He.... We’re to move immediately on the Ravenwood squad in San Diego and arrest them. We—.” Hicks looked down and, noticing his cellphone was still open, closed it and slipped it into his pocket. Still seeming dazed, he picked up his badge and stood.
Turning his attention to Jake again, he gave a defeated shrug. “Seems you were right. I don’t need you any more.” He sounded a little sad about it. “Have a nice life, Jake.”
Jake allowed himself a wry smile. “Thank you, Agent Hicks. And good luck with Ravenwood.”
This way to Part Two
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: General
Words: 15,970
Summary: A time-travel AU, sequel to
scribblesinink’s Times Like These. Sent back in time, Jake Green has successfully prevented the September nuclear attacks. Armed with the memories of nearly a year of events that haven't happened, he must pick up his life and find a way to fix relationships that are once more broken. (Minor crossover elements with Supernatural.) Warnings: None
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Huge thanks to
optimouse for the awesome cover art and to scribblesinink for the cheerleading and beta! This story is part of the Timetravel!verse, being jointly written by Scribbler (scribblesinink) and Tanaqui (tanaquific). The titles of the stories in the ‘verse are taken from the lyrics of the Foo Fighters’ Times Like These, which plays out the end of the Jericho episode Coalition of the Willing (episode 1.21).This story was written for the
au_bigbang ficathon, and is Jake watched the building super waddle away down the hallway, jangling her keys, before he pushed open the door to his apartment. The room had the musty smell of somewhere that had been shut up in the heat for too long. Almost a year since he’d been here—or just five days. Five days since the creature Gabriel, inhabiting Bill’s body, had yanked his younger self out of here and into the future, and sent him—the Jake who had lived through the September attacks, and fought a war with New Bern, and flown Hawkins’ bomb to Texas—back in his place.
Jake closed the door behind him and crossed the room to slide open the balcony door and let in some air. Turning back from the window, he paused for a moment to stuff the rent receipt crumpled in his hand into the washed-out peanut-butter jar on top of the TV, adding it to the stack of yellowing papers already crammed in there.
The handful of bills Jake had offered to the super—a few day’s early, even—when he’d made his request to be let in to his apartment had certainly improved her suspicious attitude. Not that providing him with a handout to tide him over hadn’t been the least Hawkins’ paymasters could do, Jake thought. After all, he had saved millions of lives, and given the CIA enough intel to roll up not just the terrorist cells but those controlling the network—and their friends who would benefit: John Smith, Thomas Valente, John Tomarchio, half the J&R board.
Next stop on Jake’s journey was the fridge, to grab a beer. As his hand closed around the bottle, he found himself chuckling at how easy it was to fall back into old habits. A week ago in his personal timeline, being able to open the fridge and take out a cold beer would have seemed as unlikely as flying to the moon. As would hot showers, the ball game on TV, air conditioning: he glanced around the apartment and considered how many things he’d taken for granted before the bombs. Some of which he’d be glad to reacquaint himself with, and others he suspected they’d maybe been better off without.
And not all the changes created by the bombs had been for the worse.
He was suddenly assaulted by the memory of Heather’s hand in his, the feel of her in his arms as he held her close, the taste of her as she returned his kisses, her lips parting under his. He closed his eyes, aching with need for her—but she’d said it herself: how could their happiness outweigh the lives of millions?
Just his happiness, now, though. Because, back in Jericho, there was a Heather who scarcely knew he existed, much less that he loved her. Who’d arrived home last night from that field trip with her class perfectly safe, if a little late. And who had probably only ever heard of Jake Green as the no-good, black-sheep son of Mayor Green. Because all the other hard-won gains of the past year were gone too: his father’s respect, his brother’s friendship, Stanley and Mimi’s love. Forty million people were safe, and his life sucked.
Drawing in a deep breath, Jake away pushed the memories—Heather’s scent, her laugh, the touch of her hand on his arm—and reminded himself he needed to find his spare set of keys. Taking a swig of beer, he rooted in the nightstand drawer, idly wondering what had happened to the set he’d had on him when he’d run from San Diego the day before the bombs. Last he remembered, they’d been somewhere in the mess in his old room back at his parents’ house. Bill—Gabriel—had explained that if he sent Jake one way, he’d bring the other Jake forward so they didn’t each face the complication of having two Jakes around. Somehow, Jake doubted Bill had been so considerate about something as trivial as house keys. They’d probably vanished from existence the moment he’d finally convinced Hawkins that he really had been sent back in time, and the two of them had begun taking the first steps to stopping the explosions.
At least he’d had the keys for the Roadrunner on him when he’d been sent back, Jake thought with a wry smile as his hand closed on the spare key to his apartment. Not that it would’ve been the first time he’d broken into and hotwired a car.
Pushing the drawer closed, he registered there was a crisp white envelope propped between the phone and the answering machine. For a mad moment, he though that Bill—Gabriel—had left him some kind of directions about what he was supposed to do next. Or maybe his younger self had scribbled a note for him. Then he realized that it was only the resume he’d put together for the charter company. He’d forgotten the exact day he’d originally dropped it off at their offices out at Montgomery Field, but it must have been the day he’d pitched up on Hawkins’ doorstep in the middle of the night and they’d frantically tried to chase down enough evidence about Sarah, Valente and J&R to take to Hawkins’ bosses.
Jake sat down on the bed and took another drink of beer while he looked at the envelope. He shook his head as he thought about walking away from a job—a pretty good job at that—because of... what? Fear? Shame? He wasn’t sure now why he’d made that choice. What was it mom had said? You’re not that guy any more.
Jake raised his beer in ironic salute to his younger self. Sure, somewhere in a file in J&R’s personnel department was a record of what he’d done in Saffa. Goetz had told him as much, and he’d always suspected it. But J&R wasn’t going to blab about that to any prospective employer; they wanted it kept quiet as much as Jake did. In point of fact, he didn’t think he’d have any kind of problem with the reference they’d give him: they’d tried hard enough to persuade him to stay on when he’d quit after Saffa. And the charter company wouldn’t have cared either: J&R was no less respectable than Blackwater or KBR, if you didn’t look too closely at any of them. Or at least, it wouldn’t be any less respectable until the metaphorical—rather than literal—fallout from the bomb plot engulfed it in the next few days. Even then, as a lowly employee, Jake could hardly be blamed for what was going on in the boardroom.
He’d still have to live with what he’d done in Saffa, of course. Still have to see that girl’s face at odd moments—though he realized she’d been crowded out by some of the other things he’d seen since. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. And all the lives he’d saved, millions upon millions: they didn’t wipe out the lives he’d taken with his own hands. But he was beginning to understand what Dad had meant when he’d said I know what war can do. He’d regretted that he and Dad had never managed to have that conversation. Maybe now they could....
Finishing the beer, Jake came to a decision. He’d head to that internet café again and fix up his resume, and then drop off the new version at the charter company. Maybe he still wouldn’t get the job—maybe they’d already found someone—but it would be stupid not to try.
Reaching out and picking up the envelope, planning to throw it in the trash along with the bottle, he saw the light on the answering machine was flashing. Getting to his feet, he hit the play button and headed back towards the kitchen area, wondering if there was anything still edible around, or if it had all grown mold.
“Hey, man.” Jake stopped and turned at the sound of Freddy’s voice, staring at the answering machine in shock. He supposed he’d known in the back of his mind that Freddy was still alive, just like Dad was alive and Bonnie was alive, but there’d been so much else going on that he hadn’t had time to think about it. Well, Freddy had still been alive when he’d made this call. Which was probably a few days ago now.
The rest of Freddy’s message confirmed it, his voice coming tinnily through the speaker: “I got us a gig lined up. Call me.” First time through, Jake had been at the bar when Freddy had taken the call about the job with Ravenwood. The job that had been bad news from the moment Freddy had answered his phone.
The answering machine gave a short bleep, letting Jake know there was another message, before Freddy’s voice once more filled the small apartment. “Hey, buddy. Pick up if you’re there.” There was a long silence, and then Freddy spoke again. “Call me, okay? Or come by the bar. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Jake winced as he listened to Freddy hang up and another beep from the machine. No, but you might....
“Hey man. What? You think I got the clap or something? You not talking to me any more? Just call me, okay?”
Even through the hisses and crackles of the recording, Jake could hear the slight edge of panic in Freddy’s voice. He guessed Freddy’s new friends, with their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, were growing impatient. He wondered what Freddy had promised them, and what excuses he’d used to fend them off.
Another beep, and now Freddy was sounding seriously scared. “Where the hell are you, man? You’re not answering your phone. You’re not at the bar. I come by the apartment and you’re not there.... Jeez, Jake. Just call!”
Jake was already moving toward the phone when the long double beep told him it was the last message on the machine. Grabbing the handset, he dialed Freddy’s cell—he had to drag the number from his memory—and waited, heart in mouth, for the call to connect and Freddy to pick up.
He let out the breath he’d been holding when the phone was answered at the second ring and he heard Freddy’s exasperated, “Dammit, man. About frickin’ time!”
Jake could also hear relief in Freddy’s voice. Which was probably going to be pretty short-lived. Just as long as it took Jake to find out just how much trouble Freddy had gotten them both into, so he could try and figure a way to get them out of it. “Freddy—.“
Freddy interrupted him before he could get another word out. “Never mind where you been. All you need to know right now is that I got us a sweet deal lined up. Eight weeks, a hundred G's, all cash.”
“No.”
“What?” The word came out almost as a squeak.
“I’m not doing it.” Jake shook his head, even though Freddy couldn’t see him.
“Come on." Freddy sounded disbelieving. "You don’t even know what the job is.”
Jake snorted. Thanks to Agent Hicks, he knew better than Freddy what Ravenwood was up to. But he couldn’t exactly tell Freddy how he knew. Still, he’d guessed near enough first time they’d had this conversation what the job was likely to be. It hardly took a leap of imagination. “That kind of money?” he pointed out. “It’s gonna be somewhere I don’t wanna go with someone I don’t wanna go with.”
“So?” Jake could almost hear Freddy’s dismissive shrug. “So maybe we have to put up with a little crap.... But in a couple months," Freddy’s tone turned persuasive, "you’ll be on a Mexican beach, knee deep in bikinis and Benjamins, with enough money in your pocket to open that flight school....”
Jake sank down onto the bed and wearily scrubbed his hand across his eyes. Freddy had talked himself into this knowing full well the only good part was the money—while choosing to ignore the many, many ways in which this was so not a good idea. And he was obviously convinced he could talk Jake into it too. Which probably meant he’d already told Ravenwood that Jake would do the job. “What did you promise them?” Jake asked cautiously.
“That I know the best pilot in fifty states.”
Jake allowed himself a wry chuckle. Flattery wasn’t going to get Freddy anywhere, and he needed a straight answer. “That’s not what I meant. Did you tell them I’d do the job?”
“Come on, man. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because—.” Jake stopped. It wasn’t about not wanting to go back to Afghanistan now. It was that he could no longer close his eyes to what Ravenwood was capable of. Outside Saffa, they had at least been under fire. Whereas in Rogue River, in New Bern, in the Richmonds’ kitchen.... Not that he could explain any of that to Freddy. Instead, he simply asked, “Did you take their money yet?”
“Hey, the money’s cool. Moment you say yes, there’s a nice fat envelope waiting for you.”
Jake grimaced. “That’s not what I asked. Did you take any money from them yet?”
Freddy didn’t answer for a moment, and Jake closed his eyes, fearing the worst. Then Freddy said, “No. They’re waiting on you saying yes.”
Jake puffed out a breath. That was something, at least. “Look, just don’t get yourself any deeper in with them, okay? I got a few things to do, and then I’ll come by the bar and we’ll figure it out.”
“Jake—.”
“Freddy, trust me: we do not want to take this job.” Sensing Freddy was still unconvinced, he added, “I got your back, okay?”
“Yeah, I know, bro. Me too.”
Hanging up, Jake put his head in his hands. Somehow, saving the whole country had seemed so much easier.
It was almost dusk by the time Jake made it to the bar. He’d spent the afternoon fixing his resume, and then slogging across town to drop it off at the charter company’s offices. He hoped they’d still be as interested as they’d seemed last time, when he thought the job had been his for the asking—if he hadn’t let his stupidity get in the way.
The bar’s colored lights were just starting to shine out, and the noise from the patrons had reached the tipping point where everyone would start talking louder and louder just to be heard over each other. Pausing in the entrance and looking around, Jake spotted Freddy at a table with four or five other men. Something about the set of their shoulders and the way they lounged—confident, and yet a little edgy—brought back Anna’s words a year ago, when she’d asked him to help Freddy: like soldiers, but not.
Ravenwood.
Jake gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to talk to Freddy alone, and find some way of stalling on giving Ravenwood his answer. Yesterday, Hawkins had told him that, sometime within the next couple of days, J&R and its subsidiaries would be locked down—bank accounts frozen, IT systems blocked, staff told to stay at home—while the Feds tried to figure out just how deep the conspiracy went. And only this morning, Jake had watched gray-faced executives being pushed into the back of police cars on the rolling news playing on a screen in the corner of the CIA’s DC office, as half the J&R board was arrested.
Now Freddy had taken the option of waiting for Ravenwood to become impotent out of his hands.
While Jake’s mind raced, trying to come up with another plan, a group of guys pushed past him into the bar, bumping him with their shoulders, and he realized he was blocking the entrance. Even as he stepped out of the way, Freddy looked up and spotted him. A relieved grin—yet there was tension in it—spread across Freddy’s face. With another word to his companions, he got to his feet and hurried toward Jake.
Jake saw one of the Ravenwood guys twist in his seat to look across the bar after Freddy—and Jake’s breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he reached for his gun.
The gun he wasn’t carrying any more.
Maybe that was just as well. Because if Jake’d had his trusty Beretta on him, he might not have been able to stop himself from putting a bullet into the smirking face turned towards him: John Goetz.
The last person Jake had expected to see—and yet, he realized wearily, someone he wasn’t really that surprised to be running into.
“Jake, my man!” Freddy’s punch in the shoulder dragged Jake’s attention away from Goetz. “Finally.”
“Freddy....” Jake caught his arm and tugged him a step sideways, though there was no getting away from the expectant gazes of Goetz and his men. Jake turned his head away, grimacing.
He realized Freddy was still babbling at him, a relieved grin plastered on his face, and that he hadn’t picked up the warning in Jake’s greeting. “—boss flew in this afternoon. Very keen to meet you—”
“Freddy!” Jake hissed his name more fiercely and his concern seemed to get through to Freddy at last. Some of the swagger went out of him, and his expression sobered when his eyes met Jake’s. Jake swallowed. “I said no, and I meant it. And I’m going to go over there and tell them that.”
For a brief moment, he considered whether he should say yes, just to get rid of Goetz for a few hours. But from what he remembered of the original plan, Goetz’s team would already be a day behind schedule, and he had a nasty feeling he and Freddy might get bundled straight onto a plane—or at least be babysat until their departure. No: the way to beat Goetz had always and only ever been to face him down—and better here, in the early evening bustle of the bar, than in some dark alley or empty warehouse.
“They’re not going to like it, man.” Jake could hear the edge of fear again in Freddy’s voice.
“I know.” Taking a deep breath, Jake led the way back to the table.
Freddy darted past him at the last moment and flapped his hand at Jake. “Guys, this is Jake. Jake, this is John Goetz....”
Still sitting, Goetz held his hand out to Jake, a cocky grin on his face. Jake supposed he thought the deal was already done. Ignoring the hand, but meeting Goetz’s gaze directly, he said quietly, “I’m sorry if Freddy gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not your man. I’m not taking the job.”
“Hmmph.” Goetz made a surprised noise. Tilting his head and giving Jake a falsely pally smile, he said, “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Jake continued to hold his gaze, hoping that would be the end of it—but knowing it probably wasn’t going to be.
“Well, now, I’m disappointed.” Goetz got to his feet and took a step forward, moving close enough to make Jake want to back away. Jake held his ground. They were about the same height, but Goetz was broader, and radiated physical menace. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jake. Your J&R corporate dossier makes you sound like just the man for a job like this.”
This time, when Goetz brought up the dossier, Jake didn’t flinch. Whatever he’d done in Saffa had been nothing to what Goetz had done: in Rogue River and New Bern and Jericho. And he wasn’t going to let Goetz use it to bounce him into doing something even worse. It was a terrible secret, but it was time to stop running from it.
“I’m not.” Jake tried to keep his voice quiet and level. “Find someone else.”
He saw anger flash in Goetz’s eyes and he was aware, at the edge of his vision, that the rest of the Ravenwood crew were shifting in their seats, readying themselves for action. Close behind him, he could feel Freddy tensing, just like on countless other occasions when Jake hadn’t seemed able to avoid picking a fight. Further away, the swell of early-evening sounds from the bar—music and barks of raucous laughter and the annoying tinny tunes of cellphones ringing—seemed to mute as Goetz squared up to him.
“I really would like find a way to... persuade you to join us, Jake.” Goetz hesitated just enough in the middle of the sentence for Jake to know that the “persuasion” wasn’t going to be a few flattering words, or a speech about how they’d be making the free world safer. He began to wonder just how many ways he would have to say no before Goetz accepted he meant it.
“Freddy? Is everything—?” Jake heard Anna’s voice from a pace or two behind him. She must have picked up on the impending brawl as well.
Cold fear trickled down Jake’s spine as he saw Goetz’s attention shift over his shoulder toward where she must be standing. The last thing he wanted was for her to get caught in the middle of this.
Not turning his head, not taking his gaze away from Goetz, he said sharply, “Anna, get back behind the bar.”
“What—?” He could hear the confusion in her voice: her experience might mean she could spot a fight brewing between drunken frat boys and deal with that, but Jake knew she had no idea what these guys were capable of.
“Now, Anna.” Jake didn’t have time to sugar coat it. He just hoped she wasn’t close enough already for any of the Ravenwood guys to make a grab for her.
“Just do it, baby,” Freddy added quietly.
From the way Goetz’s eyes moved, Jake knew she’d done as they asked, and he let out a relieved breath.
Goetz brought his attention back to Jake. He must have read Jake’s determination in his expression, because he took a slight step back and relaxed a little, letting out a forced chuckle. “Jake, Jake. I don’t want a fight with you. Is it the money that’s the problem? You know, maybe we can find a little more. Ten, twenty Gs, whatever it takes.”
Jake blinked. How the hell—? J&R might have always paid pretty well, if you ignored that most of it was danger money, but they didn’t toss their cash around casually. They certainly didn’t give someone as far down the food chain as Goetz the authority to negotiate with those kind of sums. Suddenly, he realized how Goetz was managing to make the offer.
“Isn’t that going to cut into your take?" He gave a little jerk of the head, not bothering to keep his contempt out of his expression. "Put a dent in whatever you’re skimming off the job?”
He knew he’d guessed correctly—that Goetz had intended to pay them less than his bosses had budgeted, and pocket the difference—when Goetz swayed back a little, a slightly shocked expression crossing his face for a moment. From the way his eyes flicked right and left to his men, Jake reckoned they weren’t in on the deal.
Jake plunged on, sensing he’d finally got Goetz on the back foot. “Or maybe you’re planning to make your money by upping the price of the Stingers once you get them to Afghanistan?”
This time, Goetz did take a step back, as if Jake had punched him, although he rallied quickly enough. “What are you talking about?”
“That cargo you want me to fly?” It was Jake’s turn to sneer. “Stinger missiles. Once you get them in country, you’re gonna truck them into Zabul province and sell them to the Taliban so they can use them against our guys.”
“What?” Goetz gave a little shrug of the shoulders and huffed, as if what Jake was saying was preposterous, but Jake saw the fear in his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not doing the job,” Jake repeated. He hesitated and then plunged on. “And if you won’t take no for an answer, then I reckon pretty soon there’ll be some interesting new entries in your J&R corporate dossier. We both know J&R don’t give a damn about what they sell and who they sell it to, but put your hand in their pocket....”
He saw Goetz swallow. He knew threatening him was dangerous, but after what had happened to Freddy last time, Jake reckoned they were already in a world of trouble. And Goetz would be pissed enough already that Jake knew the details of the job that getting him more pissed wouldn’t make much difference.
They locked gazes for a moment and then, with a visible effort, Goetz relaxed and gave a harsh laugh. “You’re making a big mistake, Jake.” Though he managed to inject a certain amount of menace into the words, there was a beaten air about him.
Jake kept his gaze steady. “Yeah, I’m good at those.”
Goetz snorted, and then half turned, waving a hand at his crew. “Come on.” He stalked past Jake, deliberately barging him with his shoulder. The rest of his men followed, and Jake tensed, waiting for one of them to land a passing punch or pull a weapon. But they seemed too busy casting black glances at Goetz’s back, or exchanging uncertain looks between themselves: seemed like Goetz might have his hands too full with his own crew to bother with Jake for a while.
Only once they were past him did Jake turn around. He let out a breath as he watched them leave the bar.
“Man....” Freddy puffed out his cheeks. “Are you sure about this, Jake? That’s a lot of money you just turned down.”
“Yeah.” Through the crowds knocking back their beers and cocktails, he could see Goetz and his crew had stopped outside, gathered on the boardwalk that ran along the edge of the beach. It appeared that Goetz was detailing a couple of his goons to stay and watch the bar. “Trust me. We do not wanna be around that guy.”
Freddy followed Jake’s gaze. “I’m not sure we want him this pissed with us, either.” Underneath the bravado, Jake could hear Freddy’s nervousness, and he remembered the increasingly panicked messages on the answering machine. He reckoned Freddy had gotten a pretty good idea of what Goetz was capable of, even if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes like Jake had.
“Yeah.” Freddy had a point, but Jake was still counting on the job falling apart in a few days as the Feds tightened the noose around J&R and its subsidiaries. He reckoned that getting even with the two of them would be the least of Goetz’s concerns at that point. He and Freddy just needed to stay out of Goetz’s way until that happened.
Trouble was, last time they’d tried that, Freddy had ended up dead. They needed to be smarter this time.
At Jake’s side, Freddy was shaking his head. “How d’you even know all that stuff, man?”
Jake snorted. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. “I’ll explain later,” he offered, hoping Freddy wouldn’t ask again, or that by then he’d have been able to come up with something that sounded a little less crazy than the truth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna approaching and he turned to face her. “Sorry. I just—.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. I get it.” She sounded subdued, a little scared, even. She peered over her shoulder: Goetz and most of his team had gone, but the two who’d been left behind were eyeing the three of them balefully. “Will they be coming back?”
Jake nodded. “Probably.” Glancing around the bar, he remembered how Ambassador Travis had smuggled him and Hawkins out the Texas embassy through a neighboring property. He looked back at Anna. “Can we get into the bar next door out back?”
Anna nodded. “There’s a service alley runs all the way along.”
“Okay. You need to get someone to cover your shift, and then we need to go.” Jake squinted out of the front of the bar again, checking that Goetz’s goons were still loitering. “Without them seeing us.”
“Go where?” Jake could definitely hear the fear in Anna’s voice now.
He thought quickly. “The airport. First flight out. Doesn’t matter where it’s going, as long as those guys don’t know where we’re headed.”
Freddy snorted. “Man. I don’t have enough moolah for a bus ticket....”
“It’s okay. I got it covered.” The bills Jake had handed over earlier for his rent had been just part of the bundle of cash that Hawkins had conjured up from some CIA slush fund, and Jake reckoned they had plenty enough for tickets and a nice hotel somewhere. “We just need to stop by my apartment.”
“Since when?” Freddy was looking at him disbelievingly. “Last time I saw you, I had to stand you a beer.”
Jake shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Just....” He caught Freddy and Anna by the arm and pulled them towards the bar. “Anna, set us a couple beers, make it look like we’re staying. Then fix up someone to cover you for a few days. Tell them it’s a family emergency.”
“Jake, I can’t just....” She shrugged off his hand but, much to his relief, rounded the end of the bar and reached for the beers he’d asked for.
“Anna, I’m sorry. We have to get out of town.” He caught her gaze and held it, giving her a slight nod to confirm his words. “It’ll just be for a few days.”
The phrase hung in the air, and suddenly Jake found himself gasping for breath. He turned his head away, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together as he remembered Heather telling him the same thing. And how badly that had turned out.
A wave of longing swept over him as he recalled the feel of her as he’d hugged her goodbye. What he wouldn’t give to hold her in his arms again right now. And yet... somewhere out there was a happy, innocent schoolteacher, who would never know hunger or cold or fear, or face the threat of kidnapping and execution....
“Jake?”
Anna’s voice brought him back to the present. Drawing in a shuddering breath and swallowing down the lump in his throat, he opened his eyes and looked back at her, forcing himself to concentrate on the here and now. “Please?”
She hesitated for a moment longer, and then nodded reluctantly, before heading along the bar to talk to one of the other bartenders.
In the end, they got out through the fake Irish pub three bars along. Squinting back over his shoulder, Jake could see the Ravenwood guys anxiously peering into the bar where Anna worked. It looked like they were trying to spot where Jake—the last of them to leave as they’d slipped away one by one—had gotten to. Jake hoped, as he hurried along the boardwalk with Anna and Freddy in tow, that meant the three of them had a good head start.
He led them back to his apartment as quickly as he could. He didn’t really want to go back there at all, but they needed to pick up the rest of Hawkins’ cash. He just hoped Freddy hadn’t told Ravenwood his address, or they hadn’t managed to figure it out on their own.
He remembered that someone else did know where he lived when he saw the door to his apartment standing open a crack. With a silent sigh, he pushed it open: he should’ve expected Hicks would turn up right after he’d met with Freddy and Ravenwood, just like he did last time.
“Who—?” Anna’s question was cut off by a startled squeak as another of Hicks’ black-suited goons came up behind them.
“They’re from the NSA.” Stepping further into the apartment and heading for the kitchen area, Jake indicated the weasel-faced man sitting at the table. “This is Agent Hicks. Freddy and I had the pleasure of meeting him when we were in Iraq.”
His tone belied his words; it had been no pleasure at all: Hicks had been riding Jake since the day he’d waylaid him in a J&R cafeteria in the Green Zone and indicated he knew far too much about Jake’s past—and would be quite happy to dredge up enough of it to have Jake hauled back to Kansas to face charges if he didn’t cooperate.
“Freddy.” Hicks’ lips twitched as he turned his attention from Jake to the other two when they followed Jake inside and stopped by the foot of the bed. “And who is this charming young lady?”
Anna edged closer to Freddy; Jake guessed she’d had quite enough of menacing-looking strangers for one day. So had he. “None of your concern.” Jake’s words dragged Hicks’ gaze back to him. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms. “What do you want?”
Again, Hicks smirked. “You’ve been making some interesting new friends, Jake.”
Jake snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Not exactly.”
Hicks picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his pants. “Not very nice people, I’m afraid to say. Lucky for you, your timing is perfect. We’re looking to nail Ravenwood.”
Hicks pulled some papers across the table toward him and Jake realized he was about to flip open the file with the photos. He’d only seen them for a few minutes last time, but he remembered they’d been bad enough to turn his stomach. He didn’t want Anna to see—to find out what kind of stuff he and Freddy had gotten tangled up in over in Iraq. Stepping forward, he slammed his hand down flat on the file before Hicks could lift the cover.
Hicks raised his eyebrows a little. Jake tilted his head in Anna’s direction and said quietly. “She doesn’t need to see.”
Hicks raised his eyebrows still further, but took his hand away from the file. Letting out a breath, Jake straightened and backed away. He met Hicks’ gaze. “I already told them: I’m not doing the job.”
“We know.” Again Hicks offered Jake a thin-lipped smile. “I suggest you reconsider. That cargo—.“
“Yeah, I know.” Jake nodded, his gaze not wavering. “Stinger missiles to sell to the Taliban.”
A few feet away, Anna let out a faint gasp—Jake guessed she hadn’t heard that part of his conversation with Goetz from behind the bar—and quietly said Freddy’s name, disbelief and shock evident in her tone.
Hicks looked across at her, the smirk back on his face as he judged just how to use Jake’s evident desire to protect Anna against him. When he spoke, his words were as much for her as for Jake and Freddy. “Not the first time,” he pointed out, his tone smug. “And it won’t be the last—unless you help us put an end to it. We need someone working for them that they’ll consider credible.”
Jake let out a humorless chuckle. “Then you need someone else. After what happened earlier, Goetz won’t trust me further than he can throw me, even if I do take the job.”
Hicks looked back at him. “Oh, you don’t need to be drinking buddies with him. Just be there. Just be close enough to get us the evidence we need.”
Jake leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms again. He suspected Hicks was going to prove as difficult to dissuade as Goetz had been, but he reckoned he had an ace up his sleeve for Hicks as well. He just didn’t much want to use it unless he had to. He shook his head. “No. There’s no reason on earth will make me say yes.”
Hicks pulled another file from the stack. “Even though you know firsthand what they’re capable of?”
Jake turned his head away, grimacing. He guessed Hicks had pictures from Saffa; he’d heard rumors that a freelance photojournalist had pitched up there a day or so after the firefight—and, a day or so after that, when the guy had gotten back to Baghdad, his Al Hamra hotel room had been broken into and all his film and cameras stolen. But as the memories—the girl, her dark hair spread around her pale face, eyes closed as if she was only sleeping the most vivid of them—came back to Jake for the third time that day, he knew he wasn’t afraid of Saffa any more, and that he wasn’t going to let what he’d done there push him into doing worse things.
He faced Hicks again. “Yes. I know what they’re capable of. But I’m not your man.” Reaching into his back pocket, he fished out his wallet and pulled out a business card tucked inside it. Hawkins had given it to him before he’d left DC: a simple cream rectangle with nothing but a phone number. He handed it to Hicks.
Hicks raised his eyebrows as he took the card. “What is this? A get-out-of-jail-free card?”
“Something like that.” Jake nodded at the card. “Just make the call.” He tried not to show his fear that whatever the number led to—Hawkins hadn’t exactly been specific—it wouldn’t work the magic he was looking for.
Hicks gave him a sneering look, but pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. His expression turned suspicious when the phone was answered after three rings and whoever was on the other end spoke, though Jake couldn’t make out the words, just the faint, tinny sound that told him someone was talking.
Hicks flicked his gaze up to meet Jake’s as he answered “This is Agent Richard Hicks, National Security Agency.”
There was a moment before the person on the other end responded; when they did, a look of pure shock crossed Hicks’ face. He dropped the business card and, groping in his jacket pocket, produced his ID. His voice was a hoarse croak as he confirmed, “Yes, that’s my badge number.” He had opened the badge and was staring at it as if he was trying to work out how the person on the other end of the line knew.
Another question from the mysterious voice brought Hicks’ attention back to Jake. “Jake Green,” he told the voice. “That is, Johnston Jacob Green.” After a moment’s pause, he added. “Junior. What—?” He stopped, apparently cut off by a peremptory demand to hold the line.
There was a long silence, and then the voice was back. Whatever it said, Hicks didn’t like it one bit. His face darkened, and he tried to interrupt several times. The voice seemed to be having none of it. Eventually, Hicks snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the table. He stared at it for a long time, his lips clamped into a tight line, before he finally looked back up at Jake.
“Well, you have been making interesting new friends.”
Jake tried to keep his face neutral, not sure what Hicks had been told, and not in the mood to offer his own explanation.
Hicks absently put one finger on the phone and spun it around on the glass tabletop. “Seems you’re in the middle of a critical operation for the CIA, and the NSA is not to interfere or take any action that might be prejudicial to that mission.”
“What? CIA? Since when, man?” Freddy’s surprised question fell into the silence that followed Hicks’ words. Jake had been so intent on Hicks—of finding a way to get him off their backs—that he’d almost forgotten about Freddy standing a few feet away with his arm around Anna.
Jake looked across at him and shrugged. “I couldn’t let you know,” he offered. Which was true enough. Last time he’d seen Freddy, he hadn’t even known Hawkins existed, let alone that the man was about to drag Jake into the biggest conspiracy of all time. He looked back at Hicks. “You have your answer. I can’t help you.”
“Come on, Jake.” Hicks was smirking at him again. “Help me out here. Sure, I don’t want to tread on the CIA’s toes—” He sounded like he’d love nothing better that to throw a spanner into whatever the rival agency was up to. “—but maybe we can work something out, you and I?”
“No.” Jake pressed his lips together He was tired of arguing with people who didn’t seem to understand what the word meant. “Forget it, Hicks. Whatever you have on me, it’s not gonna work. Not any more. Nobody’s going to care what I did in Kansas or Iraq.” Not the authorities, at least: Hawkins had promised to get his records cleaned up. Jake dipped his head and added, “Not even my family.” He suspected that maybe wasn’t quite true yet, but he knew they’d come around. If he took the chance life had given him to prove himself again to them.
The smirk didn’t leave Hicks lips, but Jake saw a touch of tension creep into the muscles around his eyes. “So Ravenwood gets to go on selling weapons that are gonna be used against our troops, and go on murdering civilians?” Hicks tapped the folders again. “Gee. I sure hope you sleep well at night, Jake.”
Jake snorted. After what had happened the past year, and after all the frantic activity back in DC—it felt like he’d been up five days straight, though he’d snatched a few hours here and there—he reckoned he’d sleep like a baby when he finally got a chance.
Besides, he’d helped save forty million people in the past week, and he reckoned there wouldn’t be much left of J&R or Ravenwood once the Feds were done with them. He smiled wryly. “You don’t need me.” He tilted his head toward the TV set. “You must’ve seen the news this morning. J&R’s going down. By tomorrow, they’ll have hundreds of Feds crawling all over them and their subsidiaries. You’ll be able to get all the evidence you need.”
“Outfits like Ravenwood don’t leave a paper trail,” Hicks countered. “I need eye-witness testimony, Jake. I—.” Hicks jumped as his cellphone buzzed. He picked it up and flicked it open. “Agent Hicks....” The next moment, he straightened from his contemptuous slouch. “Yes, sir.” His gaze went to Jake. “Yes, sir.” Hicks looked increasingly pale as he yessirred several more times in response to the flurry of orders and instructions that were apparently being hurled in his direction. “Yes, sir. Immediately, sir. Sir—?”
Jake could hear the connection go dead, cutting off Hicks’ question. Slowly, Hicks lowered the phone and looked around at the rest of his goons, swallowing hard. “That was Deputy Director Inglis. He.... We’re to move immediately on the Ravenwood squad in San Diego and arrest them. We—.” Hicks looked down and, noticing his cellphone was still open, closed it and slipped it into his pocket. Still seeming dazed, he picked up his badge and stood.
Turning his attention to Jake again, he gave a defeated shrug. “Seems you were right. I don’t need you any more.” He sounded a little sad about it. “Have a nice life, Jake.”
Jake allowed himself a wry smile. “Thank you, Agent Hicks. And good luck with Ravenwood.”
This way to Part Two
