Homegrown

Chapter 17 It had been Johnny’s idea that they carpool today. Things hadn’t gone so well the night before and he hated to let problems fester. Johnny drove and Carrie read over some paperwork she had assembled for the day. Finally, Johnny broke the ice. “It’s my job,” he said softly. “I know,” Carrie replied evenly while keeping her eyes on her reading. He tried again. “I don’t consider my work to be any more important than yours. Normally, I’d do anything to be more supportive.” “I know,” she said without any inflection in her voice. “But I don’t have any choice this time.” “I understand,” she said, still keeping her eyes on her work. They drove a while longer and then Johnny said, “As for Gracie, you know my parents will watch her any time we ask." Carrie put her papers away and looked at her husband. “That’s not my main concern.” “So what is?” He asked carefully, already knowing the answer. “I want my daughter to grow up with a father.” Johnny sighed. “She will. I know this sounds bad, but it’s not that big of a deal.” Now she turned in her seat to face him. “It isn’t? Let me ask you something. Suppose this whole thing were reversed. Suppose I told you last night that my editor wanted me to infiltrate a hate group to do a story. Suppose I said I’ll be spending weekends at white supremacist gatherings, preparing for a big one later? How would that go?” “That’s not fair,” Johnny said softly. “Why not?” Carrie shot back, growing angry now. “Your job, my job. You get your assignments and I get mine.” “This is different,” he said weakly. “Really? How’s it different?” “I’m not saying you couldn’t pull it off, and I’m not saying I wouldn’t be worried about you. But I’m trained for this and you’re not. I’ve been through this before. I’d rather spend the weekend in Kentucky with some nuts like this than the people I dealt with in Afghanistan and Iraq.” Carrie didn’t reply. Johnny exhaled slowly and said as gently as he could, “We had this conversation last week. We’ve had it several times before that, but nothing changes. I can’t pick and choose my assignments. I got into the agency because of my military background. Assignments like this are going to come. So either I quit or I do my job. You know that you and Gracie mean more to me than the FBI. I’ll do whatever you want.” Carrie’s eyes began to fill.”I don’t like my choices. Either way one of us will be unhappy, but at least you’d be safe if you quit.” Johnny was afraid to ask the next question. “Is that what you want me to do?” Carrie thought for a moment and then gave the same answer she’d always given. “No. I don’t want you to quit. But I want you to tell me what you’re doing. How’s this going to work? How will they not know what you’re up to? And what will happen if they find out? I need information, Johnny. My imagination runs wild when I don’t know things.” Johnny couldn’t remember being more conflicted. He had a good life. He could retire tomorrow. With a resume that included Penn State, the Special Forces and the FBI, he could land any number of well paying jobs. He had a friend, a former state trooper, who retired early and now worked in the anti-fraud department of an insurance company. He makes nice money. He leaves the house at eight-thirty and is home by five. There was no danger, just good old fashioned investigative work. He could do that, so what was stopping him? The guilt was coming back, but he caught it. He’d been too hard on himself, way too hard. Sure he liked the action, and maybe there was some selfishness in that, but there was a higher purpose at play here as well and maybe he needed to remind both of them of it. He exhaled slowly and placed a hand on Carrie’s knee. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you what I know so far. But I want to tell you something else first.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and turned to look at him. “Okay,” she said softly. “Yesterday, during one of our breaks from the briefing, Special Agent Vernick, the woman I told you about last night, suggested that Taylor and I review some records of past extremist group activities. We did, and just by coincidence, I came across a photograph and story I hadn’t seen for a long time. The photo was taken just after the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. You know the one I mean. It’s a photo of a fireman carrying an injured infant from the rubble. Her name was Baylee Almon. She was limp in the firefighter’s arms, and her face was covered with blood. She had dirt and soot all over her body. The fireman’s name was Chris Fields. It’s a gut-wrenching photo.” “Heartbreaking,” Carrie said. “I remember it.” “The little girl’s legs were bare, but she had these tiny socks on her feet. I don’t know why, but I just kept looking at her socks. I visualized her mom or someone putting them on her in the morning, probably talking to her as she did it. You always talked baby talk when you put Gracie’s socks on. It reminded me of that.” Carrie was crying now. “I miss that.” “The little girl died a few hours after the photo was taken.” Carrie didn’t speak. She couldn’t. “There was a day care center in the federal building that bastard destroyed, and nineteen of the victims were babies and children.” “I know,” Carrie said, barely audibly. Johnny put his hand back on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead, but his eyes didn’t seem to be on the road. They were someplace more distant. “I have to do this, Carrie,” Johnny said quietly. “There are bad people in the world, whether they’re in Bagdad, Iraq or Lexington, Kentucky, there are evil people, planning who knows what. I have a job to do, Carrie. I’m sorry. I really am. And I promise to be careful. But I have to go.” Carrie nodded and whispered, “I know.”