“Mr. Biffles” was a silly name for a dog, but that’s what little eight-year-old Janice Tyler wanted to call this raggedy Scottish terrier her father got her for her birthday. Mr. Biffles soon became the first object of love in little Janice’s life. He slept at the foot of her bed, waited for her to come home from school, cried when she cried, even ate when she ate. Sometimes, to her mom’s consternation, from her plate. Mr. Biffles was her doll, her baby, and her best friend.
One day Mr. Biffles’s leash broke. Her mother, never one to waste a cent, decided that there was no reason to spend perfectly good money on a new leash. She simply took a twist tie from the box of garbage bags and attached the leash to the collar with it. Out the door went Mr. Biffles and Janice for his afternoon walk. A block from the house, a Labrador retriever was strutting down the street on the long leash of its owner. Mr. Biffles caught sight of the Lab and started barking and pulling at the leash. “No, Mr. Biffles, stay,” was reinforced by the usual sharp tug on the leash. Only this time the flimsy wire tie broke. Mr. Biffles, sensing freedom from the restraint, bolted across the street, right into the path of an oncoming car. The yelp the little dog made as he was run over echoed in her ears. She could still hear it. On that afternoon, little Janice Tyler learned two terrible lessons from life. They were indelibly etched in her psyche and would take years to correct. The first: if you love something it will die and go away, so never admit that you love anything. The second: being frugal sucks!
The next major developmental step on the way to becoming a psychologist came when she was sixteen and her father gave her, against her mother’s wishes, her first phone. It was a pink princess phone. While the phones of that day were big, bulky, and usually black, the princess was a cute oval design with the handset spanning an illuminated dial in the middle. It was the girl’s phone. Her mother’s fears were realized as Janice spent hours on it with her girlfriends. Talking god knows what, her mother would complain. What Eunice Tyler could never have fathomed, however, were the many nights and afternoons Janice spent with her friends on the phone as she first listened, then dispensed advice. Through these first “sessions” she discovered a natural gift for understanding the human condition.
When she was nineteen, Jimmy Shea was her crush, her love, and her boyfriend. Janice also became enamored with Jim’s mother. She was a psychiatrist. In the Midwestern town where Janice grew up, it was rare for a woman to be a professional. And she was divorced! There was a television show back then called One Day at a Time. To the media mongers in New York and L.A., it was a timely situation comedy about a single divorced woman wrestling with her career and kids. In Janice’s hometown, seemingly locked in the fifties, it was pure science fiction.
Being a doctor meant Mrs. Shea made a good income. Jim had a nice car, and their house was three times bigger than Janice’s. Young Janice also noticed and admired Jim’s mom’s confidence and that she never quibbled over anything as trivial as money.
When Jim broke up with her, Janice was devastated. Sadly, the girl who had helped all her friends solve their emotional dilemmas really had nowhere to turn when her own love life came crashing down around her ankle bracelet. Oddly enough it was Jim’s mother who talked her through it. Her wise advice and explanations of what Janice was going through taught her that being a psychiatrist was a good thing; you really could help people and psychiatrists made a ton of money. Enough money to never have to be frugal, stingy, or just plain cheap. With Mrs. Shea’s help, Janice had found her path.
As the whine of the engines lulled her to sleep, forty-five-year-old Janice Tyler, now the lead psychological investigator into the worst terrorist attack America had ever suffered, drifted off to sleep. Her last conscious thoughts were of Mr. Biffles and how he would tenaciously clamp his teeth into his tug toy and never relent, even if you picked him straight up in the air with it. Actually, she realized, that must have been the part he loved most — going straight up.
Hiccock learned that the U.S. Air Force plane rides, which he had ordered up like taxicabs, cost $18,000 for each coast-to-coast flight. At least in this particular case, he thought that Uncle Sam’s money was well spent. The message he planned to deliver to his team required more than a phone call. He had them flown “ultra class” to Washington from their temporary base at Admiral Parks’s home.
In the cold, featureless gray of the FBI’s Electronic Crime Lab, Hiccock peered into their faces trying to convince himself that what he was about to say was the best possible scenario. “I can’t divulge all the details at this time but I need to tell you our investigation is over.” As Hiccock expected, Tyler, Kronos, and the Admiral were mildly shocked by the news, but he noticed Hansen was not.
“Hansen, did you know about this?”
“I got the word twenty minutes ago that your subliminal machine is to be disconnected and moved to Datacom Systems.”
“What’s Datacom?”
“They are one of our subcontractors. Once an investigative phase is over, we farm out any special equipment that has evidentiary value to them. They are bonded and continue the chain of evidence during the trial phase.”
“I see. That way your FBI lab doesn’t get overrun with Justice Department lawyers looking for every angle.”
“Exactly. And don’t forget the defense attorneys. They bring in the proctoscopes.”
Hiccock looked around. “Well, people, the only thing I can tell you is that we will all know in less than twenty-four hours. I want to thank each of you. You’ve been so great to work with and I’m sure what we have discovered in this project will go a long way in convicting the guilty.”
“Yo, thanks, Hiccock. It was a real trip working with you, too.”
“Same here, Kronos, a real trip.”
“Back into the Washington regimen now, Bill?” Henrietta asked.
“Admiral, I don’t know. I think I made a few enemies here and without the head of the bad guy hanging off my belt, I am going to be walking a very tight rope.”
“Well, Bill, I think you are a well-balanced individual,” Tyler said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Janice. So here’s the way it will go from here. We will all be staying in Washington to prepare our final report. That should take about three weeks. Then you’ll be able to get back to your lives.”
“That’s great, I get to go back to the big El,” Kronos said sarcastically. “Can’t you put in a good word for me?”
“I’ll see if I can get Reynolds to call the warden at Elmira … see what they might work out. I guess we’ll move into my offices at the White House. I figure we’ll leave for there in about a half hour.”
With that, the Admiral headed for the ladies’ room. Kronos walked off with Hansen. Left alone, Hiccock’s eyes met Janice’s. “I’m sorry I took you away from your patients.”
“Not at all. I redefined a rare branch of behavioral study … ‘bi-stable concurrent schizophrenia.’ That should be good for a couple of papers, maybe even some grants … hell, a book deal!”
“Once the trial is over,” Hiccock added, finger pointed in the air, reminding her of the national security implications of their work.
“Once the trial is over. Yes.”
An awkward moment passed between them. Odd, Hiccock thought, for two people who were married to have an uneasy moment. Out of impulse, he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. She hugged back. Hiccock took a deep breath. Her hair smelled great and she felt good in his arms. “I could never have made it this far without you. I just want you to know I really appreciate your working for me as graciously and as professionally as you have.”