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Satellite. – First two chapters – Cat Connor
Don’t say Special Agent.
Don’t say Supervising Special Agent.
I took a breath and hit the button the intercom that sat on my desk. A faint buzz followed. A few seconds later, my office door swung open and my father ushered a harried looking gentleman in.
Dad smiled quickly at me then closed the door.
I stood, extended my hand to the man, and said, “I’m Ellie Conway, You must be Mr. Henley.”
He nodded and shook my hand. “Robert Henley.”
I motioned to the chair in front of my desk. We both sat.
“How can I help?”
Robert Henley peered at me from under a thick black mono-brow (that begged for a waxing). After a few seconds, he dragged a photograph from the breast pocket of his dark blue suit. He pushed the photograph across the desk to me. I could already see it was a child.
I took it.
Face to photograph with a pretty, open-faced child sporting blonde braids. I felt the pull of cold dread.
Bingo, we have a winner.
His voice cracked then broke. “My daughter Giselle.”
“She’s beautiful”
I held the picture out to him but he signaled for me to keep it.
“She’s missing. I want to hire you to find her.”
“How long has she been missing?”
“Four months.”
Damn, either that means a badly handled investigation or she disappeared without a trace. I didn’t really believe the later was possible. We live in an age where almost everyone has a camera, streets have traffic cams and surveillance cameras, and almost every store has a camera. Big brother is here.
“Who is handling the case?”
He fidgeted with his watch before answering.
“Local police. They think she ran away.” He became agitated. “I don’t feel they’re looking.”
“Missing children are reported to the FBI by police and sometimes parents. Do you know who at the FBI is involved?”
He shook his head.
It didn’t matter, I could find out.
The child’s pale blue eyes stared at me and I guessed her age to be eleven.
“How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
Close.
“Why do police consider her a runaway?”
“Is that important?”
“Yes. I want to determine the direction of the enquiry and looking for a runaway is different than looking for an abducted child.”
I pulled several forms from my desk and handed them to him with a pen. It took a lot of will power to stop myself slipping the child’s picture into my drawer so I couldn’t see her any more. Her blue eyes looked at me imploringly. Already I felt guilt.
He looked at me over the first form.
“Giselle and her best friend had a pact. If they weren’t allowed to go to the spring dance then they were going to runway.” He sighed. “Neither of the girls was allowed to go. The night of the dance, we took them to the movies. Giselle went to the bathroom about an hour into the movie and never returned.”
“We?”
“My wife and I.”
“Fill the forms out, give as much information as you can.”
He nodded.
“Take your time, you can use my office. I’ll be in reception making a few calls.”
“Does that mean you’ll help us?”
“Yes, it does.”
I stood and left the room.
Dad handed me a coffee as soon as I stepped through the door. I pulled my office door shut behind me.
“I’ll be in the other office.”
“Kid?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll see if he wants refreshments.”
“Thanks Dad.”
I took my coffee into the spare office and perched on the edge of the desk. My first call was to the FBI. I could’ve used my access and looked the file up myself but I wanted to talk to the agent handling it in person. I punched the number in, then waited and punched in an extension, then waited and punched in another extension.
The phone rang several times before someone answered.
“This is Ellie Conway, can you tell me who has the Giselle Henley case?”
I heard key’s tapping before a voice politely said, “That would be SSA Munroe.”
“Could you put me through please?”
“Yes certainly SSA Conway.”
The cold dread came back. She knew who I was. Who I used to be.
“It’s just Ellie now ma’am.”
“Old habits,” she replied without flinching. “Putting you through ma’am.”
I waited as another phone rang. Eventually
“Doug, its Ellie Conway. Can we get together to discuss a case?”
“Sure. Which case in particular?”
“Giselle Henley.”
“You got her parents asking for help?”
“I do.”
“I sent them over.”
And yet Robert Henley didn’t know who the agent was at the FBI?
“When?”
“This morning. What’s up?”
“Probably nothing. Mr. Henley didn’t know who at the Bureau was looking after the case, is all.”
“He has my card Ellie, he’s called me every day for four months. Every day at
“Okay. Guess he forgot?”
“Guess so,” Doug rumbled, his voice sounded like a train homing in on a station. “I’ll meet you at Starbucks on M, in forty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You going to tell him we’ve spoken?”
“Nope, I wanna find out why he’s twisting the truth, right off the bat.”
“Clue me in over coffee.”
I hung up.
This was the sort of case we’d hoped I’d be getting. Word had gone out through the Bureau to refer missing kids to me. I saw the memo before Director O’Connell sent it.
Doug had provided my first referral. Interesting that
That’s where I found my hand, at my throat, my index finger tracing a line that was almost faded. Someone else had me by the throat once.
Dad appeared in the doorway.
“I think your client is done.”
“Good,” I replied and handed my empty cup to him. “I’ll be going out in a few minutes. Have a meeting.”
“About this?”
“Yep.”
“FBI?”
“Yep.”
“Are you really retired?”
What a question! I crossed my fingers behind my back and plastered a tired look on my face.
“Yes, Dad. I’m a civilian. Ellie Conway Private Investigator, remember?”
“I do, but do you?”
I smiled. “I have contacts, I’m going to use them when I need too.”
He smiled. His weather worn face creased into deep crevices around his eyes as the smile extended.
Chapter two.
And so it began,
I met Doug at Starbucks and found he’d already ordered my legendary brew, a quad espresso and a mochachino. My coffee habits preceded me.
“Thanks,” I said and slide into the booth.
“You’re welcome.”
Doug handed a manila folder to me.
“I’ve copied the entire file for you.”
“Cheers for that.”
“Did you find out why Mr. Henley was confused about knowing who I was?”
“Nope. When I left him he was adamant he had no idea who was handling the case.”
“Poor memory, Alzheimers?”
I smiled. “When was last contact?”
“This morning.”
I chuckled maybe it was Alzheimers. “I’ve never met anyone as forgettable as you.”
“If you had you would’ve forgotten.”
I settled back and enjoyed my coffee while Doug talked me through the investigation.
I didn’t see how anyone could forget Doug. Not only did he sound like a freight train he was built like one.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“You worked the Hawk case, yeah?”
I nodded.
“How’d he blow the back of that kids head out?”
“Semtex, he’d filled a hair tie decoration with Semtex and added a small detonator – the decoration was metal. It was enough to blow a hole in the base of her head.”
“Nasty.”
“Uh huh, why the question?”
“We got one of those musical cards arrive at the office, addressed to you.”
“And?”
He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and handed it to me.
“The address caused suspicion. Know anyone in
I looked at the writing on the envelope. “I guess the return address is fake?”
“Yes.”
“And no, I don’t know anyone in
“That’s what Caine said. He called that Russian you worked with.”
Misha.
“He got one too, only someone in his office opened the card… they now have a gapping hole where his assistance desk used to be.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Semtex. Possibly some of the stolen Semtex from
I’d heard about that, everyone who had anything to do with security knew about the sixty-one pounds of missing Semtex and the missing detonators, presumed stolen from a depot in
“Anyone got any ideas as to why Misha and I were targeted?” A cold sick feeling crawled around my stomach looking for a corner to hide in.
“Ya think Hawk could be back?”
I willed myself not to smile. It took some willing as the image of Hawks last moments filled my head. There was an unmistakable sense of relief as he became nothing more than mist.
I shook my head. “No, Hawk isn’t back.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I had a feeling convincing the FBI that Hawk wasn’t back might prove a problem. I came up with a possible solution.
“I’ll give Caine a call and get together with him to go over the possibilities.”
“They’ve reopened the file.”
“Director O’Connell know?” I wasn’t sure how nonchalant I sounded.
“I wouldn’t think so.”
Someone else to call. Apart from me, she was the only other person from our agency present at the Pentagon that day to witness the NAVATAC information put to good use. (
cold - felt pens - stupid ugly bed!!!
Current mood: 
animated
Category: Writing and Poetry
It's cold. Freaking winter sucks.
Today we ventured to trolldom for felt pens, colored pencils, and drawing paper... it was a successful trip.
Brie's now has felt pen lines down one side of her face... guess that means she enjoyed drawing??
It became apparent at midnight last night that Brie wasn't happy in her new bed. Her sister was unimpressed as well... and woke me up. I lay down with Brie, who went back to sleep for over an hour, then woke up growling and said... "I hate the stupid ugly bed and don't want to sleep here. I want to go to your bed!!"
I sighed... and off we went back to my bed. Daddy was fast asleep... Missy the cat was fast asleep - not for long. I had to move her, she was in my half - all over it actually. She then prowled the bedroom for a while... eventually trapping Chris's feet... he wasn't impressed, even in his sleep. The cat went thud.
I eventually got back up and put her out in the hallway. Poor cat was not impressed. She's forgotten that until five days ago was not allowed in our room at night!! 
To make up for the cat's rude eviction last night I let her stay in my bed while we went out today. - well it was either lock in her in my room or Caoilies and she was already asleep in mine. (she sets off the alarm with her crazy antics if not confined... and that isn't cheap!)
Tonight I should do something constructive... I want to change Robin's name to Rowan ... and probably should. My shoulder aches, it's too cold. I think I'll do a quick find and replace then go lay on the sofa under a warm blanket. Maybe take some painkillers and have a nice cup of tea as well.
Tomorrow is grocery day - dear god no!!!!
It's a pain in the proverbial, it really is. Perhaps I should attempt a list?? What a crazy notion... not that crazy, cos I always make one - I just either forget to take it, or forget to look at it. My reasoning is, that I've committed to memory the contents during the writing phase. Clever huh? If it worked for every item, it'd be fucn awesome.
Okay off to make a cuppa.
Ohhhh just let me say this - Tish Cohen's Inside out girl was released today. This is one truly awesome read, and everyone should rush right out and buy it. (Fishpond are carrying it if you live down here) I loved it, LOVED it... couldn't put it down (the kids got a crappy dinner and I was almost late to pick up the squealer from school the day Inside out girl arrived at our house) and finished it in one day. (, and not just because I could identify with Len and having a special child, or because Olivia captivated me or Janie fascinated me, or I couldn't wait to see how Rachel would cope.. . 
)
 | Currently reading : Inside Out Girl: A Novel (P.S.) By Tish Cohen Release date: By 2008-08-12 |
an excerpt from Exacabyte
I struggled through a weird twist of conscience as I tried to determine if it was like cheating to have Bon Jovi in my head and Robin Grange in my bed? I let it go, after determining my alcohol intake probably prohibited reasonable thought.
I felt the bed shift as Robin moved.
We weren't exactly cramped but I knew he was there. The bed felt different. There was breathing, and part of me liked it.
All I needed to do was convince the rest of me that it was an okay thing to like. It felt like a memory and for a change, it felt like a good one. My eyes closed.
My legs moved, my feet felt heavy and constricted. I wriggled them. One foot shot out unexpectedly and I kicked myself.
I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
"Okay?" his voice sounded different, sleepy.
"Boots," I said.
"Me too," he replied.
I felt the bed move behind me as Robin pulled his boots off. They thudded to the floor one after the other. He flopped back down, with a sigh.
I tugged my right boot off first, there was a small fight as my fingers failed to grip the slippery leather. The left came off too quickly and the excursion tossed me backwards, my boot went flying across the room.
I felt Robins hand in the middle of my back pushing as I struggled back up. Laughter bubbled up and suddenly it was laughter, it was an over powering urge to vomit.
What a perfect end to a perfectly screwed evening.
I jumped to my feet and rushed to the bathroom. The darkness was almost as soothing as the cold porcelain.
I heard Robin say he'd get me a glass of water.
Light flooded the bathroom as the door opened. He flipped the light switch.
"That's always going to be weird, having the switched upside down like that," he said.
I had my head in the toilet!
This was the night that kept on giving.
Robin disappeared.
He came back and set a glass next to the sink. He crouched beside me, and held my hair. He held my hair, so I could vomit. I always thought my hair was too long to fall in the toilet, until the day it did. I was incredibly grateful that Robin helped prevent an embarrassing repeat. I wanted to fall into the fuc'n toilet.
Maybe this was what life was like in a sitcom. It pretty much blew. As a matter of fact it blew chunks.
I couldn't fathom any of it. Surreal didn't even begin to cover the madness. The only thing I could come up with at that moment was that expensive
And puking was disgusting.
Do I make a great impression or what?
I sat back on the floor and pulled a face cloth off the sink. I wiped my face. Part of me wanted to hold the cloth over my mouth and nose until it suffocated me.
"Bed," Robin said as he stood up. His hand reached for mine, it was much nicer using his hand rather than the toilet bowl to haul myself to my feet.
A wave of, what a fuc'n idiot hit, me with vengeance.
copyright Cat Connor 2008
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