David Baldacci - Simple Genius

“Maybe Monk just did it for the challenge of finding the treasure. But the guy was a genius. Maybe he was just planning to take the jewels. They’d be relatively easy to carry.”

“And when Monk said to Len Rivest that it was ironic-” Michelle began.

“Right, it was ironic that the greatest secret-keeping organization in the world was clueless about a secret treasure right under its nose.”

When they got back in the limo, Whitfield said, “We need to finish the deal.”

“The copies of the video?” Sean said and Whitfield nodded.

Sean told the limo driver where to go. Sean had gotten the copies from Horatio and hidden them in various safe places. After they collected the copies, he handed them to Whitfield. The man looked at them and handed one back to Sean.

Sean said, “Ian, they’re expecting five. If you only deliver four you could be having an accident in China too, not to mention what’ll happen to us.”

“I’ll make another copy from one of these four. You didn’t hear it from me but when dealing with CIA it’s always best to keep an ace up the sleeve. I’ll emphasize that we have no way of knowing if you made other copies. That should keep you both safe.”

The limo took them back to their apartment and they got out of the car. Sean turned back. “Look, I know we probably won’t be seeing you again, but if you ever need help, you’ve got a couple of friends in Virginia.”

Whitfield shook both their hands. “If I’ve learned anything in this business it’s that real friends are damn hard to come by.”

IT WAS A CHILLY DAY in early November when Sean drove Michelle to Horatio’s office.

“I don’t want to do this, Sean. I really don’t.”

“Hey, you came back from Camp Peary alive. And if I know one thing about you, you never go back on a deal.”

“Thanks for your support,” Michelle said bitterly.

Horatio was waiting for them.

Sean started to leave but Michelle gripped his hand. “Please stay with me.”

Sean looked at Horatio. “That’s not a good idea,” the psychologist said.

“But I want him to.”

“You’re just going to have to trust me on that, Michelle. Sean can’t stay.”

After Sean left the room it didn’t take long to perform the hypnosis.

Horatio spent a few minutes getting Michelle back to the age of six. And he took another few minutes placing her in that night in Tennessee when her life had changed forever. Michelle’s eyes were open, even though her conscious mind was no longer in charge. Horatio watched with great professional interest and also with growing pain as she recounted what had happened. Sometimes she talked as a child and other times with the reflection and vocabulary of an adult whose subconscious mind had grappled with that night and tried mightily to make sense of it.

The man in uniform had come that night. Michelle didn’t remember seeing him before. She must have always been asleep when he came. But that night her mom was very nervous and kept Michelle with her. Her mother told the man she didn’t want to see him; that he had to leave. He thought she was joking at first, and when it was apparent that she wasn’t he turned angry. He started taking off his clothes. When he reached for Michelle’s mother, she told Michelle to run. The man started pulling her mom’s clothes off. Her mom was trying to stop him but he was too strong. He was forcing her down on the floor.

It had taken Michelle only a second to reach it. She had sometimes held her father’s gun when it was unloaded of course. She pulled the soldier’s gun from the holster he had thrown on the sofa with his other clothes. She had pointed it at his back and fired one time. A big red mark appeared on the man’s back, dead center. He had died quietly, slumping over on top of Michelle’s mother. The woman was so shocked she’d fainted.

“I killed him. I killed a man.” Tears came down Michelle’s face as she spoke about this long-buried event in her life.

She had been standing there with the pistol in her hand when the door had opened and her father came in. Michelle didn’t know why he had come home early but he had. He saw what had happened, took the gun from Michelle and pulled the man’s body off his wife. He tried to revive her, but she was still unconscious. He carried her up to bed, ran back down and took Michelle by the hand, whispering gently to her.

“He took my hand,” Michelle said in a small voice. “He said he had to go away for a while, but he would be back. I started screaming, screaming for him to not leave me. I grabbed his leg, I wouldn’t let go. I wouldn’t. Then he said he was going to take me with him. That we were going for a ride. He put me in the front seat of his car. Then he went back inside and carried the man out and put him on the floor in the back.”

“Why not the trunk?” Horatio said.

“It was full of junk,” Michelle immediately answered. “So, Daddy put the man in the back. I saw his face. His eyes were still open. He was dead. I knew he was dead because I shot him. I know what happens when you get shot. You die. You always die.”

“What did your daddy do next?” Horatio asked quietly.

“He put newspaper over the man. And an old coat and some boxes, whatever he could find. But I could still see the man’s eyes looking at me. I started crying and told Daddy. Daddy, I can still see the man’s eyes, he’s looking at me. Make him stop looking at me.”

“And what did your daddy do?”

“He put more stuff on him. More stuff until I couldn’t see him anymore. No more eyes staring at me.”

“And your daddy drove somewhere?”

“Up in the mountains. He parked the car and went away for a bit. But he promised me he’d be back. And he did. He came back.”

“Without the man?”

Michelle’s breath caught in her throat and then she sobbed, “He took the man away. But I couldn’t look down at the floor. Because he might be there. He might be there looking at me.” She bent over in her anguish.

“Take a rest, Michelle,” Horatio instructed. “Rest for a few moments, it’s all right. None of this can hurt you. The man is not coming back. You can’t see him anymore.”

She straightened up and finally the cries stopped.

Horatio said, “Are you ready to continue?”

Composed, she nodded and said, “And then we drove home to Mom. My daddy drove me home.”

“Was she awake then?”

Michelle nodded. “She was crying. She and Daddy talked. Daddy was mad. Madder than ever. They didn’t think that I could hear, but I could. Then Daddy came and talked to me. He said he and Mom loved me. He said everything that had happened was a bad dream. A nightmare, he said.

He told me to forget it. Never to talk about it.” She started crying again. “And I never did. I promise, Daddy, I never did tell anybody. I swear.” She sobbed heavily. “I killed him. I killed that man.”

“Take another rest, Michelle,” Horatio said quickly and she sat back in her chair with the tears dampening her face.

Horatio knew that what was destroying Michelle was keeping this all inside. It was like a wound that had never been cleaned; the infection just built until it became lethal. She’d carried the knowledge of her mother’s adultery and her father’s covering up a death with her all this time. And yet Horatio knew that paled in comparison with the guilt she must feel for killing another human being.

He recalled something she had blurted out when he had been at Babbage Town; that maybe her problem stemmed from her brutally murdering someone when she was six. Horatio had thought she was being a smart-ass, but her subconscious had been talking to him. He’d just been too slow to see it.