Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2011 23:14:27 +0100
From: Micheal Chukwu <michealwitluv@gmail.com>
Subject: The Game 15

                                    The Bait

   So he was back in Australia.
   Strong instincts told him that Danny's father knew nothing about their
arrival here -- a deep-seated sense of safety, a kernel of peace, settled
inside his soul and wouldn't be shaken by his old friends; fear and
distrust. Whoever these people were, whatever they wanted from him, they
were not in Falcone's pay.
   Five years ago he hadn't been outside Kingsford-Smith International
Airport. He had only seen parts of Sydney from the air. A change of clothes
and hair color, a wig for Danny and using fake passports ready for them,
they had flown straight to Wellington in New Zealand. Escape, completely
according to plan.
   And he and Danny vanished from the world. Anonymity for five lovely
years, with no sign of Falcone -- until McCall found them.
   "Sandwich, Jacob?"
   Jake started and turned to the blond American, who had only introduced
himself as Mike. Yeah, right, and his last name was Brady. He was so
innocent and wholesome.
   Jake refused to identify with McCall's people. Arguing over ethics was a
waste of time, sitting with a bunch of flak-jacketed heavily armed people
after evidence.
   He shuddered. They had changed tactics, that was all. They hadn't found
what they were after by intimidating and arresting him, so they were trying
some overdue kindness. The protective stance that had gotten McCall almost
everywhere with him...
   Not again. Control!
   "Thank you." He took two plain meat sandwiches, unwrapped one and gave
it to Danny, then ate his in silence, looking out over the fading horizon
of the sunset.
   "Where are we Daddy?" Danny mumbled, half-asleep.
   He patted his son's tousled dark mop of hair. "Don't talk with your
mouth full. We are in Australia. You'll have to ask that man there if you
want to know where." He gave McCall's boss an ironic glance, which he
returned with a bland, unconcerned smile. He obviously didn't give a hand
what he thought or felt.
   Unlike McCall, who should be here any minute. McCall had radioed his ETA
to his boss a short while ago.
   Wherever they were, it wasn't heavily populated. A vast flat land of red
earth, pea-green scrub and stunted, twisted trees standing beside their
taller, proud, ghostly cousins -- the famed Australian eucalyptus trees,
perhaps -- and this deserted airstrip with the scrub-and-rock carpet beside
the red earth landing strip. Ready for as soon as they drove off, or flew
away to cover all traces of their presence.
   Fight it as he would, Jake felt a horrifying sense of kinship to these
people -- a creeping sense of belonging. No names, no permanent identity,
change at a moment's notice. Leave no traces behind. Even his house in
Renegade River would be empty now -- the faceless removalists who'd never
seen him or spoken to him would have his stuff in storage.
   And, even though he knew he had no choice, no say in this crazy life he
led Danny and himself free from Falcone's putrid corruption, his stomach
churned and his heart slammed against his ribs. He'd judged these people
for living the same life as he did. He had no idea what they'd given up to
live like this, or why they had done it. He had just hated them, despised
them without the benefit of fair hearing.
   And he had judged McCall most of all.
   A small, blinking light appeared above the fading horizon, like the
first star of evening, like the reassuring wink of an old, loved friend. He
was coming.
   "You have to make a choice, Mr. Silver."
   The quiet voice made him start. The rugged, handsome American was beside
him. He looked as if he saw everything going on through his head and
understood his dilemma. Jake gave him the same dignity, refusing to
prevaricate. "Give me the options."
   The young man smiled a little, refusing to charm him. "Only in whose car
you ride, Mr. Silver. The rest are non-negotiable you're going to one of
our training facilities, west of the outback town of Bourke. No one can
even scout the place from thirty thousand feet without out complete
knowledge. You'll be safe there."
   "I never understood the premise in books and movies that an isolated
place, like a shack in the mountains can be safe."
   His bland remark made the man's smile grow; yet still he gave him
nothing, and he sensed that was the Nighthawks regular way of life. He
seemed invincible yet somehow elusive, insubstantial as a tired phantom
walking beside him in the night. "This house had trip wire every five yards
for the first mile in, a tracking system so intense that we can trace a
mouse after crops in the next property. Everything's hooked up to our
satellite system. Nothing for ten miles moves or breathes without our
knowledge and the system is unbreakable. There is a runway and four planes
in the back hangar ready to go should we need them."
   He nodded and his heart thudding again, watched in silence as the small
plane landed before them
   "Your choice." The man said quietly.
   "Does... have he..." Jake clamped his mouth shut, aghast the he had even
started to ask. What power was there inside this strange -- McCall -- that
inspired confidence against his will?
   McCall's boss gave him a single glance, and answered his unasked
question in blunt honesty, words with rough edges, telling the unvarnished
truth. "He's never compromised a case for love -- not until now. So make
your choice, Mr. Silver. But remember, even men who walk in shadows, who
don't have names are human. They feel pain and bleed like any other human
being. They have heats just like yours."
   Jake bit his lip; but by the time he'd turned to face him there was only
gentle half darkness, as if he'd melted into the dusk. Another one of the
disappearing people.
   Just like him.
   Then McCall's plane was landing and every other man vanished from his
thoughts. With his heart knocking a soft tattoo against his ribs, he
watched as McCall brought the Cessna in with a grace. McCall vaulted out
from the plane within moments, landing catlike straight from the cockpit.
   McCall didn't even look at him. He crossed to where his coworkers were
rolling out the carpet of earth and scrub and helped them cover the
runway. McCall didn't so much as turn in his direction. He smiled down at
Danny as his little boy jumped around McCall like a puppy, but he didn't
speak to him.
   I don't want you anywhere around near my son.
   McCall was obeying him, yet he felt snubbed. McCall had turned his back
on him just as he had done, and it hurt. A lot more than he had allowed
anything to get to him since...
   Since Brendan had been taken from him ten years ago.
   Denial was his only life preserver in a storm-tossed ocean. Loving
McCall might not be option he had, but whether it brought him to his knees
or not, he would maintain control. For Danny's sake. McCall would take
Danny's trusting heart and crush it beneath that cloaked heel as he strode
away from them, back to his world of shadows and phantoms.
   Until Falcone was gone from his life for good; until McCall spoke, until
McCall stepped out of his protective darkness and gave him what he needed
to know, he dared not risk his son's heart -- or his own -- on a man who
had only promised to save them from Falcone, not to stay forever. Danny had
been hurt enough, lost enough, without losing the dream of a family as
well.
                                             **************
   "Nothing sir," Blake - the guy that had been made to look like Jake --
reported quietly to Anson. The entire team had been at this remote outback
site for more than twenty-four hours and Jake had given them absolutely
nothing to work with. No evidence, no admission to his name -- even when
Anson played the tape of his voice talking about Falcone -- and nothing to
show his ID as anything but Jacob Silver. "I've been through his things
four times and searched his twice." Blake went on. "Not a sign of any
identification that he is anyone but Jacob Silver and no sign of the tape."
   "The house?" Anson snapped at Panther.
   The lean, sleek man, dark and elegant and dangerous shrugged one
shoulder. "Empty. I even took his garden apart, broke the few pots left. He
had the place cleared out by experts."
   "And what the hell are we?" Anson growled, pacing past each of them
while they stood in silence like recalcitrant chiloutwit trained
professional?" His gaze flicked to the monitor making sure Jake and Danny
were still there.
   Blake spoke again. "Maybe because he's a trained professional? This man
either appeared from thin air, lived as an illegal immigrant all his life
or is a current or former pro to the game, with a life and identity we
can't crack. Have you sent his prints to all the relevant organizations to
be sure?"
   "Of course I have." Anson retorted. "He's absolutely clean."
   "But it seems to me that this man has played with the big boys and just
disappeared. He has evaded Falcone's men - and us -- for years, sir. He's
been in the game, in my humble opinion. We just need to know whose
chessboard he was -- or is -- playing on." Heidi the only woman on the team
said.
   "With the utmost respect, sir, I agree." Nightshift, Team Commander
Three, intervened. "No single man with a child could have made it this far,
evading even detection, let alone capture, by so many professionals without
being a pro -- or having expert help. He hasn't had that as far as we can
see."
   Anson gave a short, return to Nightshifts opinion, but then any other
answer was unthinkable for the unbeatable, indestructible Ghost.
   As team commander, McCall needed to be privy to the lives and
backgrounds of every operative in his region, but he knew only the basics
about Anson. Like McCall, Anson had dragged himself up from a neglected
childhood on the street, but he'd come from the swampy dirt and muck of New
Orleans rather than gang-ridden street of L.A., to make it this far through
guts, ability and decades of hard work. No man like Nick Anson would handle
the news that a young man alone -- and burdened with a small child at that
-- had outwitted his best handpicked team, yet again.
   McCall watched Anson's internal battle against disbelief versus
unassailable facts in silence, feeling raw and idiotic, and relieved that
it wasn't only him that had been so stupid or blind. Did all his operatives
believe Jake was a current pro? He looked around at his fellow operatives
and saw them all nodding, with complete lack of surprise that meant they
had already had the idea in their minds.
   And if this had been any other case, with any other man, he would have
been the first to toss the idea in the air. It explained the ease with
which Jake flew planes and raced speedboats, got an identity and accent so
damn flawless that it took the Nighthawk years to crack. They had known of
the existence of Jacob Silver for three years, yet Jake hadn't even become
a strong probable for Jacob de Souza until a casual cross-referencing with
the actual written records in Dunedin proved that no Jacob Silver had been
born there within twenty years of Jake's age. It also explained Jake's
stoic silence in the face of arrest and search, the perfection of his
escape system and his code with Donna Richards.
   McCall flicked a glance at the monitor. Yeah, Jake was playing perfect
daddy, reading a children's book to Danny. Yet despite the storybook
loveliness of the picture that made, too many pegs were fitting right into
the holes. If Jake was in the game, it was no wonder he had twisted him in
knots. Jake would know how to get an operative on edge, even knowing the
way that would make him back off, if Jake had a dossier on him.
   Turnabout was fait play. Time to go for the double bluff.
   With all the coolness he was far from felling, McCall doused the heat of
the argument. "With all due respect sir, we can thrash this out all night,
or we can test the theory."
   All heads snapped his way, their eyes filled with startled respect, and
McCall realized how close he had come to losing point on this operation
because of his personal involvement. Anson's eyebrow lifted in the way it
did when he didn't want to concede the right to someone else. "Well? Are
you going to throw the bomb and leave it there or defuse it for our
delectation?"
   McCall grinned, feeling sudden adrenaline kick in. Anson was willing to
give him point still. "It's obvious that Ghost has told most of about my
involvement with Jacob, before his involvement with Falcone. And this man
and I have the same kind of attraction, have done from the minute I walked
into his studio."
   "And?" Anson snapped a pencil between his fingers.
   His heart started knocking out of knowing he was right. Yeah, this was
going to work. It had to. "This man wants us to believe that he is a single
father on the run from an obsessed lover, mistaken for Jacob de Souza. So
let's call him on it. He told me he never married Danny's father, which
means if he told me the truth; that he's free, so let's give him the one
thing he won't be able to resist."
   "You're not Shakespeare, Flipper. We don't appreciate the dramatic
pauses here," Nightshift interrupted irritably. "If you have a point, I'd
appreciate it if you would let us in on it. It's been a long two days with
little reward thus far."
   "It's obvious, Nightshift." Anson was grinning now, all but laughing
with the boyish look he always got when he had the chance to outwit someone
who had got ahead of him. "Give this man the full Monty. We offer him a new
name, a new country and identity, and a husband. All fully documented and
tied in a red ribbon, complete with a wedding ring."
   "Make me Danny's legal father, too. Give him the anonymity he craves and
see what he does. An active pro with anonymity as his top priority would
take the offer and try to take me out within hours, by temporary
disablement or death. An innocent man genuinely attracted to me, seeing me
as a man tortured with love for him and willing to let him escape and
disappear again will be grateful for the help, touched by my pain... and
maybe he'll trust me with the truth."
   "And you get lucky in the interim." Blake commented languidly from
behind him. "Damn lucky with that body and face. He is one superb man."
   "Now that's what I call a perk of the job." Nightshift added, his
irritability vanishing with the quiet joke. "But of course, I don't play in
your team."
   "That will do." Anson interrupted, his tone clipped. "We have work to
do, so let's get on with it. What do you need, Flipper?"
   McCall turned to Braveheart, one of his two most trusted team
members. "Get the details into Births, deaths and Marriages stat. I'm a
dual American-Australian citizen -- make Jake one too, dated the marriage
back by at least two years. Give Jake an American background, living in
Australia. Get him onto the U.S. records now -- have him born there,
preferably Texas or New Mexico but came out here at least twenty years
back, to account for his accent. It's mostly only Aussies and New
Zealanders that can tell their accents apart, so Falcone's men will swallow
that Danny and Jake are Australians."
   Braveheart, US born and Australian raised, a man of action who loved
tinkering any kind of gadgetry, computer or otherwise grinned and
nodded. "You got it. Sir. This is gonna be fun." He left the room within
seconds.
   McCall turned to Wildman next, a Texas boy and a fully trained Para
Rescue Jumper, the other man on his most trusted list. "Form a team,
Wildman. Whoever you want, it's your call, but at least twelve CSAR
experts. Your job is to follow us discreetly when we run. You'll need to be
ready for anything -- rescue, arrest, whatever happens. Have all equipments
ready to go at any time. Full military-rescue ability at all times."
   "Hoo-yah, sir." Wildman saluted him and marched out.
   Anson lifted that eyebrow again. "What's my job?"
   "I need a doctor and nurse here, stat, preferably Irish and Songbird if
you can recall them. I need a team ready to attack us -- people the subject
has never seen and will see again."
   Anson nodded. "Done." He picked up the phone.
   "And me sir?" Panther said in dark, sinister growl of his that led to
his code name. "What do I do?"
   McCall chuckled. "With your expert marksmanship? You work with
Nightshift on his op. you get to face us if you have no other
recourse. You're the official fall guy."
   Nightshift lifted an eyebrow and spoke in his elegant, drawling British
accent. At this point in the proceedings, I almost dread asking, but what
exactly is my task?"
   McCall held in the exuberant laugh. Man, this was taking point in a way
he'd never dreamed when joined the Nighthawks under Anson's irascible and
unquestioned leadership. He hadn't had the chance to get so inventive since
he left the SEALs. "I saved the best for the last... and it's a job right
up your alley." McCall told his fellow team commander, a man he liked and
respected a former operative in MI5 -- a real life James Bond. "I need you,
Heidi and Blake to set up a murder for me."
   He was going to bait Jake and see what he caught.
   Yeah, he was so going to play this game.