Moving Target

Chesca wanted a relationship like Gabe and Diana’s. She was envious of what they had, but that didn’t equate with jealousy. She was happy for them, and the genuine item they had become. Their relationship was real, something they could count on.

Thankfully the assassination plot on Gabe was shut down so his political career was secured, and his romantic affair with Diana was able to blossom.

It was those moments of happiness for her fellow graduates that Chesca loved to hear about. Between cherished memories of her youthful days at the Academy, and the inspiring careers and personal successes of her friends, there were some truly great moments to celebrate.

The darker moments, like this ongoing struggle with Arachne, were the moments that fueled the drive and passion of Athena’s graduates, the moments where their skills and expertise were best put to use.

As was the case last year, with Alex and Allison solving Marion Gracelyn’s murder and discovering that she had been blackmailed. The truth about Arachne would be found out, with both the Oracle network and Athena women not willing to let anything further happen to bring down what they all held so dear to their hearts.

Throughout the drive, Francesca was able to piece together some of the basic background information on the affairs conducted between Arachne and Giambi.

Between the case file she received from Oracle and the conversation she’d had with Allison, Chesca knew they were each much bigger players in this game than any of them would have originally anticipated.

The ongoing hunt for justice regarding this matter was fortunately being handled by those Chesca could trust. Beth James, gambler extraordinaire, had recently uncovered the connection between Arachne and Giambi, and as Chesca reached her halfway point, she decided to take Allison’s suggestion and dialed a distant friend to exchange information.

“Going back to your roots, are you?” Beth joked after the initial pleasantries of connecting with her former classmate.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. But, Boston seems to be where the action is, and thus that’s where I’m headed.”

Beth laughed with a familiar chuckle. “So no family dinners, I take it?”

“You know who I consider my real family,” Chesca said.

“Hear, hear. So, what do you want to run by me?”

Chesca was pleased to be able to connect with Bethany. Though she was a skilled blackjack player and a high-stakes poker natural, she donned a disguise each time she played, and kept her identity safe from casino bigwigs. Those who were aware of how well she made her living, however, kept a keen eye out and rooted for whatever persona Beth presented in any televised games.

It was a rush, imagining the sort of life Beth must lead, though Chesca knew all too well there was a good deal of personal vendetta involved. With Beth’s father dying the way he did, at the hands of someone who had been dealt a bad hand, it had become Beth’s personal crusade to bring down known cheaters, but she’d never herself succumbed to the dangerous lifestyle that no doubt tempted far too many a player in Vegas.

“Giambi and Arachne,” Chesca said, getting to the point. “Who’s blackmailing who?” It was half asked in earnest and half as a mockery of what these foolish criminals imagined they could get away with.

“You know the meat,” Beth said. “Giambi’s been making some hefty deposits to a bank account in Puerto Isla on a monthly basis for years. Quite the coincidence he’s also been spared by the IRS, don’t you think?”

Opening the driver’s side window just enough to let in some air on the damp spring afternoon, Chesca turned the volume up a notch on her earpiece. She didn’t want to miss anything Beth had to offer.

“And, I have it on good authority,” Chesca said with a smile, “Giambi came forward to the FBI to cover his assets.”

“You got it. But, Chesca, listen up.” And she did. As her friend took on a more solemn tone, she wanted to pay extra attention to any helpful bits of information. “He needed to do so for serious protection. Whoever was sent to attack him was doing a pretty good job. His car was blown up, for one thing, and that wasn’t the only attempt made on his life. So,” Beth warned, “whatever you’re up to, make sure you watch your back.”

“Will do. And Beth, am I right in this? Giambi referred to his blackmailer as the Queen of Hearts?”

“You’re right,” Beth offered, letting Chesca in on a bit more of Giambi’s background. “He was suspected of trying to firebomb an Arizona prisoner back in 1968, but walked away from the charges. It’s not impossible that prisoner was the Queen of Hearts and Arachne.”

To take down some notes and give Beth her undivided attention, Chesca took an off ramp to stop for a moment in a safe location. “But Giambi had bigger problems.”

“Right. According to him, in his confession of sorts, he admitted the prisoner was his blackmailer and he tried to kill her, but that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

Chesca’s pen was writing as fast as her friend could speak. Amongst the details Beth shared with Chesca, one thing stood out amongst the rest. “Giambi suspects his blackmailer may have been a CIA agent.”

Making a mental note to run this information by Delphi, Chesca was reeling.

If what Giambi confessed was true—though Chesca had known more than one criminal to say anything to get a safe haven—this mercenary, this Queen of Hearts, could have been intrinsic to the many attempts against Athena Academy.

Was it really possible one individual could have so much power, so many connections, as to be involved in such a conspiracy?

Chesca let the thoughts formulate in her head as steady traffic flowed by her on the expressway. She was parked securely off to the side, tucked into a carpool parking lot away from the chaos of the road, but the rumble of the cars couldn’t compete with the traffic in her mind.

What a history of corruption, Chesca thought.

For Giambi to try and kill his rival way back in 1968 meant their relationship went back even further. And he was still running from his blackmailer. Chesca had that gut feeling deep within her that whoever was capable of taunting someone for so many years would be capable of so much more.

She was beginning to get a sense of what she was up against.

But she was never one to tremble in the face of evil. Chesca had seen evil minds at work before, and this wouldn’t be the last she would encounter in her career.

“Thanks for the info, Beth. You’ve been a great help.”

As Bethany James wished her success in her investigation, Chesca returned to the road, eager to get her game on in uncovering the truth about Arachne and the Queen of Hearts. She’d put an end to the question: Are they one and the same?

It would only be a matter of hours until she arrived in Boston. There was so much to do, so many things to sort out. She took a moment to just breathe the air filtering through her window, letting the damp cool spring air refresh her senses.

It seemed any road trips Chesca embarked on were work-related, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to just take off from work, abandon all sense of responsibility, and travel the countryside with her hair in the wind, music blaring, and nowhere in particular to go.

She laughed, thinking it was impossible for her hair to blow in the wind, with the very short, and very—thankfully—low-muss, no-fuss closely cropped style she preferred. Not one to primp and spend hours of time in front of the mirror in the morning, she had long ago let go of the notion that there was a style to her dark brown hair. The look had grown on her to the point that she became annoyed when even an inch grew in before she had time to make a stop at the barber down the street from her apartment. A barber, for sure, when she discovered she could get the same cut there for a third of the price at one of the fancier salons in the downtown core.

And that whole notion of shooing off responsibility? A road trip might be something she would enjoy, but Chesca was never one to leave work that far behind her.

Perhaps it was the hard-core academic training she’d received prior to joining the Athena Academy. Or perhaps it was the discipline she’d honed while studying amongst the nation’s best. But Chesca prided herself on her ability to focus, set her goals, and go after them with the voraciousness on which her reputation had been built.

Really, she had only ever had one slight pitfall in her academic career, and that had nothing to do with learning or taking on a scholarly challenge. But it had everything to do with why the Academy had recruited her at that time.

That memory had already crossed her mind more than once since receiving this assignment from Oracle.

Returning to her hometown of Boston caused her stomach to turn with mild anxiety, and it wasn’t only her scandalous family that caused her to react as such.

There were other memories there that Chesca preferred to keep in the past. But the past had a funny way of catching up with the present, Chesca knew all too well.

Despite making every attempt to have a normal childhood amongst a family focused on greed, popularity and materialistic gain, Chesca didn’t have it quite so easy as her schoolmates might have thought.

Never would she deny that she’d had every opportunity afforded to her that money could buy, and for most of what her parents could provide for her, she was extremely grateful. She knew well enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she was fully aware she had it pretty darn good compared to some of her schoolmates.

Between being raised by emotionally vacant parents and not having any siblings to count on around home, Chesca had been unprepared for some of the social life she experienced outside of the formal dinners and fancy parties of the Thorne residence. It was difficult for her to connect with “normal” kids, whose families led happy lives and weren’t the subject of gossip for every other parent in the school district.

But that was nothing compared to what she’d endured in fifth grade. Nothing could have prepared her for that.

One of the few friends Chesca had made on the playground was kidnapped, raped and killed.

It stung the core of Francesca, not understanding how something like that could happen with school officials, guardians, and passersby being unaware.

Not only was it a blow to lose a friend to such a tragedy, there was no explaining how the criminal had hidden his identity so well from others.

The murderer was a schoolteacher.

One who had previously had respect and been highly regarded amongst the community. He let them down. He let Chesca down. She had enjoyed his manner of teaching, felt he had a great sense of humor and camaraderie with the students, and worst of all—she’d felt safe with him.

In fifth grade, to be such an age, and lose so much faith and trust in adults, in teachers… Chesca was traumatized.

How could someone like that be revealed as a pedophile who had killed more than once?

The counseling sessions began, then multiplied. No matter how many times a shrink tried to help Chesca heal those wounds, however, there was nothing anyone could do to take away the hate and disappointment she felt toward society.

Even now, so many years after the fact, Francesca Thorne could not make sense of what it was that drove some people to do such horrific things. As a child, it wounded her. But it also propelled her. To survive. To never let anyone get so close to her under such false pretenses.

To pay attention.

To observe and notice hints of personality traits that may subtly indicate something was at work other than what was at face value.

Though she hated admitting it, that unfortunate incident might well have been the foundation of how and why she grew a passion for digging deep into profiling people. It was part of her nature, perhaps, because she felt it had to be, from a very young age.

The old adage that from tragedy rises good, may have had some merit. Perhaps, had it not been for her personal experiences as a child, Chesca might not have taken such a keen interest in human behavior, psychology and social sciences.

Perhaps, had it not been for her own personal experience, she would not have taken her work to heart and excelled to the point that the teachers at Athena Academy noticed her gift almost immediately.

No matter what it was that had led her to the Academy, Chesca was grateful. And being reminded of her roots, the vast differences between her upbringing in a socially corrupt environment and in the nurturing environment of the Academy, was enough to fuel her senses and give her the push to settle the score made against that in which she believed.

She would find out the truth behind Arachne.

She would uncover the mystery of whether Giambi’s CIA blackmailer was the same woman who was doing everything in her power to destroy the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women.

She would ignore, as much as possible, the reminders of her home life while here in this city, and focus on her task at hand.

Was Arachne also known to some as the Queen of Hearts?

Chesca vowed to find out the truth.

For Oracle. For her fellow Athenians.

For herself.

This was not a social visit. This was about work.

And though her upbringing would argue otherwise, her stay in Boston was going to be anything but a tea party.

Chapter 4

After checking into the hotel, Francesca had quickly set up an appointment at Boston University before calling it a night. The drive had worn her out physically, but her mind was circling through the wee hours of the darkness as she contemplated the magnitude of this assignment. Then again, some of her best work was accomplished when in sleeping mode, letting her mind relax into a state of purity, where facts filtered and formed patterns, leaving her with a refreshed feeling of alertness upon waking.

During that next morning, Chesca made a list of things she wanted to accomplish, and she got right on the phone to start the wheels turning.

In a modest briefing with Delphi, they caught one another up on where Chesca was and what her initial plan of attack would be. Delphi agreed to dig up information on the possible connection between their blackmailer and the CIA.

Though she didn’t know exactly how Delphi found access to such highly sensitive government information, Chesca was assured she would have CIA files couriered to her when it was safe to do so. In the meantime, Chesca had an appointment set up to get the case rolling and she felt confident in her to-do list.

Once she had the hotel room feeling as close to home as possible for the next day or so, sorting out her work items from her wardrobe, Chesca set out again in the sporty Ford Edge to make the first stop in her investigation.

Despite being on familiar ground, Chesca couldn’t help but notice how much the city had evolved since she’d lived here as a child. She rarely found the time or made the effort to come back for a visit, except for the odd “required” social gathering she made appearances at as the sole offspring of the Thorne family.

Now, seeing the city as though she were a stranger visiting from a far-off land, Chesca felt bittersweet about her return. Focusing on the details of this assignment would be her saving grace and keep her from dwelling too much on the past.

Her first stop was the Computer Science Department of the Charles River Campus, where she would see if she could evoke some fond memories of someone who may have had the goods to be recruited by the CIA.

Allison had mentioned the apparent computer skills their suspect possessed, and thus Chesca had set up an appointment with the current department head.

While it was unlikely she would find anyone on campus that actually knew their suspect personally, given the time frame they were dealing with, it was worth a shot. And, wasn’t that what student records were for? If the computer science nerds couldn’t dig up history, no one else would have a clue.

Driving along Storrow Drive, Chesca took a moment to glance at the familiar territory and fight off her recurring historical demons.

This was not her personal alma mater but she’d always had a fondness for the institution. It was, in America, the first university to open all its curricula to women, and in some ways that reminded her of the mission of Athena Academy.

Though the views along the banks of the Charles River reminded her more of her playful youth.

In the summer after graduating from Athena Academy, Chesca had a few weeks to spend at home in Boston prior to attending an internship program in Quantico.

It was before she had actually set foot on her own college campus, and rather than witness the social niceties around the Thorne residence, Chesca found solace on a patio of one of the many coffeehouses on Commonwealth Avenue, and watched students go about their fevered summertime activities.

It was the perfect opportunity to spy on people her age, watch them flirt in hot-weather flings, shop for seasonal trends, and just be in the moment. It was also the closest Chesca got to living that life.

Though vicariously so, it was her way of participating in the excitement. In reality the patio table she sat at was often covered in texts and notebooks, even in the heat of summer. Of course it was her choice to bury her nose in books, but there was the odd time, like driving into the campus on this beautiful spring day, that occasionally made her nostalgic for a youth she hadn’t entertained.

While her youngest years were of the quieter, more studious sort, Chesca made some quality friends to share her teen years while attending Athena Academy. And despite what most of them would like others to believe, it wasn’t all academics and exams.

Those girls, though dignified in their behavior, knew how to have a good time amongst themselves. They enjoyed their wonderful and massive backyard, and when all else failed, they easily made up a myth or two about mysterious men shadowing the landscapes of the academic grounds.

Chesca laughed at her ability to so easily reminisce as of late. As she drove into the access for Cummington Street, she thought of how great it had been to speak with a handful of Athena graduates these past few days, despite the circumstances that had prompted such communications. To her, the women were more than friends. They were more than school buddies. They were her family.

Locating the parking lot just off Granby she had found with the help of an online mapping Web site, Chesca parked in the best place to get to the Math-Computer Science building.

When she got out of the candy-apple-red Ford Edge, she took a moment to smooth down its nearly metallic exterior, as though it were her own prized possession, but Chesca’s attention was soon diverted. To the southeast of campus, on the opposite side of the Massachusetts Turnpike, was the legendary Fenway Park. Though she had never been to a game, Chesca recognized its iconic status in proving that sometimes the underdog could indeed come out on top.

With spring training wrapped up and games starting, she could sense the smell of ballpark franks in the air as she waited for traffic to slow and a crosswalk to give the go-ahead for her to cross Commonwealth. Then, she walked along the pathway to the corner of Hinsdale and Cummington and took in the sights around her.

Being on campus almost made her wish she were back in school again, but that moment of nostalgia quickly disappeared as she remembered the all-night cramming sessions, bad cafeteria food and essay upon essay year after year.

Making the entrance into her location, Chesca quickly found the office and was pleasantly greeted with a smile.

“Miss Thorne?” the receptionist asked, upon Chesca’s entrance.

The large, ornate grandfather clock informed her she was right on time for her appointment, and she was grateful she hadn’t dilly-dallied too much down memory lane. Just one stop would have Chesca late for her meeting with the head of the Computer Science department.

She nodded in affirmation, then the neatly dressed woman said, “This way please,” and Chesca followed her through a bookcase-lined hallway to the corner office, which smelled of aged wood.

Though the department wasn’t nearly as old as the rest of the campus, its furnishings were consistent with aged academia, creating a sense of immediate respect within Chesca, as though she had just entered the quiet calm of a historic library.

The receptionist tapped on the door as she opened it and escorted Chesca through as she announced, “Mr. Brighton, your eleven o’clock, sir.”

“Have a seat, Miss…”

“Thorne. Francesca Thorne. Thank you for seeing me,” she said, holding out a firm hand.

She took a seat directly across from his finely crafted desk, polished to an immaculate shine. Though it was hard not to peer around at her surroundings, taking in all that his office showed of his personality, Chesca concentrated on the middle-aged man in front of her as he spoke.

“I’m not sure I can help you with your request, Miss Thorne. From what you said over the phone, you’re talking about a student who may have attended BU some time ago, if at all.”

His salt-and-pepper hair was close-cut, though evidently slicked with some sort of gloss, its highlights lighting up under the glow of his desk lamp, as he rocked back and forth in the aged leather chair.

“This person—woman—would have been memorable, Mr. Brighton. As I briefly mentioned, she would have possessed incredible computer skills, enough for her to be recruited by the CIA. I’m certain she would have exhibited other traits,” she said, hoping to imply more than her words said, “that such an organization would have found…useful.”

The department head nodded along, as though he understood every word Chesca said, but she could tell he was still having some trouble piecing it together.

The fact of the matter was, this college student would have had to possess a great deal more than computer savvy to be attractive to the CIA.

Granted, at that time computers weren’t as prevalent as they were today and someone knowing the inner workings of how to use and manipulate a variety of systems would have, indeed, presented a nice package to the government.

“I will add,” she continued, “that this woman is suspected of being quite a dealer in blackmail, and as such she may have developed that talent years ago.”

“Ah, well. I have only been the department head going on about twenty-five years, so thankfully I never experienced anything like that myself,” he said.

Taking his time with his words, Mr. Brighton clearly was thinking of something more than what he was saying. Francesca would simply have to wait for his thoughts to come to fruition and give her an indication of whether or not she had reached a dead end.

“I might like to mention,” he said after some time had passed between them. “It was quite odd for my predecessor to leave when he did. By policy, he had another decade left in him. Yet, something caused him to leave the academic world early, though I’m not certain if it is even relevant.”

Though she had not mentioned her professional affiliation, and didn’t feel it necessary to do so even now, Chesca made sure that when she twisted in her seated position, the inner pocket of her jacket flashed just the edge of her FBI badge. “Would you be able to point me in his direction?”

“I’ll have my secretary give you his address,” he said, as she suspected he would.

Mr. Brighton need not know whether or not this was official bureau business, and without her explaining it further, she suspected he wouldn’t voluntarily open up that discussion himself. Sometimes, Chesca knew, it was the unsaid that got things done, more so than the use of words.

“Thank you, Mr. Brighton. I understand your predecessor would have left well after this woman was gone from campus, if she were ever here at all, but it’s worth looking into.”