Broker was pulled back finally by cops, and Clare took charge, perfectly calm in the tornado of emotions in the room.
She spoke to him softly and asked him to take care of the hostages. She raised her voice when he stared at her blankly, not caring that she saw his tears and anger and bitterness and rage. She slapped him then, bringing him back to the present.
He nodded dumbly and moved to the hostages, the mechanics of activity pushing thought and emotion away.
Clare sat next to Zeb and held his hand.
She saw his cold pallor and looked at the medics and saw it in their eyes.
She stood numbly as they swiftly loaded the body, and followed them to the waiting ambulance below, shielding her face from the media who’d turned out in force.
Alone in the back of the ambulance, the two medics constantly attending to Zeb, she forced herself to think and plan, making up a story to spin to the media and to the FBI. The last vestige of her iron control deserted her then, and she sobbed deeply, uncaring of the medics’ presence.
Zeb was her protégé.
She didn’t notice the medics straighten, didn’t notice them bend over the body, didn’t see them rapidly attach various devices to his body, became dimly aware of someone calling her, and she turned around.
She looked into Zeb’s open eyes. He whispered slowly, ‘Don’t tell anyone.’
It took him four months to recover. Four months of punishing himself to get back to the fitness levels that he demanded of himself, that his job demanded of him.
She tested him hard, threw him into the bear pit that was the Agency’s training ground, where the best SEALs and Special Ops agents trained, and he healed. He became better than what he was before.
She spoke to the doctors, and they marveled at his recovery.
His body was in such fine shape, and his mind, a thing of beauty waxed one doctor, had shut down everything but the barest mechanisms to keep life alive. They thought all his martial arts training and mental conditioning had been responsible for that vital intervention. That, with the immediate and constant medical care, had led to his survival.
No, they’d said, his brain hadn’t suffered any damage because it hadn’t been deprived of oxygen.
He’d been adamant that he should be declared dead. ‘I’m a magnet for trouble and will not put anyone else at risk again,’ he’d said stubbornly. She urged, debated, threatened, and cajoled him, but he didn’t budge.
‘What about Cass?’ she asked, playing her final card. Cassandra, his sister, who was close to Clare.
‘I’m already dead. She’ll survive,’ he’d said harshly.
He was her best agent, and for all that he’d done for her and for the country, this was a small favor that she could grant, the deception not very difficult to maintain.
The doctors and medical staff were all sworn to secrecy — they never knew his real identity — and his medical records were altered to remove his existence.
Zebadiah Carter didn’t exist anymore.
They stumbled to the chairs before her, struggling to grasp the enormity of the revelation.
‘Where has he been all this time?’ Bwana asked, the faintest tremble in his voice.
‘You know I can’t answer that’ — she smiled to disarm the words of any offence — ‘but he has been on some assignments… in Pakistan, those areas.’
Zeb had been undercover in Pakistan for several months, identifying several key Al Qaeda commanders, who were then taken out by drones based on his intel.
Color returned to Chloe’s cheeks, anger tingeing her tone. ‘We were,’ she corrected herself, ‘are his unit. We deserved to know! This was such a massive deception for such a long time. We should’ve been in on it.’
‘It was his to tell,’ came the simple answer.
Clare could see what was coming, knowing them well, and fended off their growing anger, unable to hold back her laughter at one point when Roger threatened to make public all their projects. He looked embarrassed as soon as he finished. They just weren’t wired like that.
Three hours later the standoff continued, the anger turned sullen, and she saw the first signs of hurt.
‘You think he doesn’t want to work with us anymore?’ Bwana voiced their fears, not meeting her eyes, afraid of her response.
Clare sighed. For such an intelligent bunch, they sometimes didn’t see the woods for the trees.
‘You think he was shadowing you guys and saving your sorry asses because he didn’t have anything better to do? You’re his only family. He’s got no other ties, bonds. Sure, he has Cass, but that’s an entirely different relationship. Do you really think maintaining this lie was easy for him?’
Broker started to speak but stopped when she held her hand up. ‘I know what you’ll say. This is Zeb. He can control his emotions better than anyone and walk away without a second glance, without a second thought. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel, you idiots.
‘He made this decision, right or wrong, but ultimately it was his call. He was the one who nearly died.
‘Maybe you should get this through your thick heads; he disappeared not because he cared for you less. Maybe it was because he cared for you guys so much.’
She looked at them individually, saw it sinking in. ‘Before you ask, he’ll come when he’s ready. You know the Zeb style by now,’ she added drily.
Chloe brushed back her hair with fingers that trembled slightly. ‘Do you have a number for him?’
‘We have a number to leave messages for, and then there’s a number for him when things go nuclear.’ She gave them the messaging number. They’d been with the Agency long enough to know that the nuclear number was for just that.
Chloe looked at the number, back at Clare, a may I expression on her face. Clare nodded and watched as she dug out her satellite phone, looked at Bear and the others for assurance, took a deep breath, and dialed.
‘Umm, Zeb. We heard you can come back from the dead. How about showing us you can walk on water?’
It was a brilliant morning with the sun smiling down on them, the skies azure and not a cloud in sight, when they made their way to Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.
Broker had acted very secretive around the family, and Elaine Rocka got her only clue when Broker asked her what kind of headstone they would like for Shattner.
On the day, Broker told the kids they’d be visiting their dad’s final resting place, and when he drove into the cemetery, Elaine Rocka realized where they were heading and mouthed a silent, ‘Thank you,’ when she met his eyes in the mirror.
Broker had done his usual — negotiate, cajole, charm, convince — and secured a site at the renowned cemetery and had ensured that the grave and headstone was ready and in place. They’d decided, with Elaine Rocka’s consent, that the children didn’t need to be subjected to a burial service. It was far easier for them to visit the grave and mark closure.
The family got another surprise at the grave.