CJ Johnson, Writer
Willing Spirit
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| Website Content (c) 2007 CJ Johnson, Writer ©2003 webtemplateszone free templates |
Cry of the Seagull
Excerpt (c) 2009
"Are you Adam Michael Westfield the third?"
"Yes." Adam answered automatically, his mind still focused on the badge
and identification of the two FBI agents standing before his desk. "What can I
do for you?"
Special Agents Carter and Ferguson took their time settling into the chairs
positioned in front of Adam's desk. Nothing about them gave him any clue
about why they were here asking - demanding - to see him. From their dark
brown, department store suits to their blank expressions, they were poster boy
perfect examples of what Adam expected federal agents to be. Bland,
unassuming, able to blend into their surroundings and both still staring at him.
Adam had an insane urge to jump up and shout "boo" just to see if they would
blink. Their scrutiny unnerved him - and he knew without a doubt he had
nothing to fear from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Would you gentlemen care for coffee while you decide to tell me whatever
it is you came here to say?"
Agent Carter, the older of the two if his gray hair was any indication,
allowed a slight twitch of his lips to pass for a smile.
"No thank you, Mr. Westfield. You can relax. You're not in any trouble . . .
at this time."
Adam raised one eyebrow at the implied threat and pasted the same phony
half-smile on his own face.
"I never thought I was, Agent Carter,” Adam answered truthfully. "Unless
the FBI is now collecting on unpaid parking tickets, there's not one thing in my
life to warrant federal intervention. Do you plan to tell me why you're here?"
"In truth, Mr. Westfield, this would be a lot easier if you had more in your
background than thirty dollars in outstanding tickets and two hundred eighty
dollars and fifteen cents in questionable deductions on last year's tax return."
"State your business or leave me to mine." Adam hoped his voice didn't
betray the sudden churning in his stomach. If the FBI took the time to know all
the little details of his life, this was serious - very serious.
"How well do you know Amanda Lawrence?"
"Amanda? I haven't seen or heard from her since last summer. Why do
you ask? Is the FBI recruiting high school home economics teachers?"
Adam glanced at the painting hanging on the wall beside his desk. The
brilliant blues and greens gave life to the small stretch of Gulf Coast beach,
frozen forever on canvas. He didn't think the agents wanted to know that there
wasn't a minute of the day when he didn't think about Amanda Lawrence.
Every night the memories of her in his arms filled his dreams. Every time he
looked at that painting, he felt the warm sand, heard the cry of seagulls, and
mourned for what might have been.
"Where were you yesterday between noon and three o'clock?" Agent
Carter's single-minded monotone voice was beginning to annoy Adam.
"In Washington in a meeting with two Senators and a representative from
the EPA. Now, that's the last question I answer until I know what the hell this is
about."
"We'll need the names of the men you met with to verify your statement."
Adam stared at Special Agent Carter but he didn't volunteer the
information. Hell, all it would take is a call to his secretary and the two agents
could have his itinerary for the past three years, but Adam refused.
"Can you think of anyone who would have a grudge against you or Ms.
Lawrence?"
When Adam failed to respond again, the agent lost some of his glacial
control. "Look, Westfield. We can do this the easy way or we can do it
officially down at the police station. The choice is yours."
Adam reached for the telephone, punching in the numbers for his
secretary's desk.
"Abby, will you please get Terry Beauvais on the phone for me." Returning
his attention to the FBI agents, Adam placed the receiver against his shoulder
to wait for his call to go through. "As my attorney, I feel certain Mr. Beauvais will
want to be present when we get to the station."
"Cancel the call, Mr. Westfield." Special Agent Carter's glare contrasted
sharply with the softer tone of his voice.
Adam waited for several heartbeats, measuring Carter's sudden
capitulation. Disconnecting the line, Adam again called his secretary and had
her cancel his call. It would be simple enough to contact Terry if Carter or
Ferguson tried the threat business again.
"Okay, Westfield. You asked for it - you get it. Straight up and
unvarnished. Yesterday afternoon between noon and three p.m. someone
kidnapped one of your sons."
"You've wasted your time and mine, Agent Carter. I don't have children - of
any variety." Adam couldn't believe he'd spent the last half-hour tap dancing
with two FBI agents who'd made a mistake. A major mistake. He probably
would have gotten angry about it if Agent Ferguson didn't look so sorrowful and
sympathetic.
"No, Mr. Westfield. There is no mistake. Amanda Lawrence gave birth to
twin sons on the thirty-first of January. The babies were ten weeks premature
and have only been out of the hospital for two weeks."
Adam felt his world slow to a crawl. Numbing cold settled around his
shoulders despite the sunlight pouring through the wall of plate glass behind
him. Like watching a movie in slow motion, Adam watched Agent Carter reach
into his breast pocket, pull out an envelope and place it on the desk. He forced
himself to unclench his fists, pick up the envelope and open it. Inside were
photocopies of two birth certificates with the name of the father highlighted in
yellow fluorescent marker. Adam Michael Westfield, III.
"Mr. Westfield, when you said you have no children are you implying that
Ms. Lawrence lied on the birth certificates?"
"No." Adam barely recognized his own voice. Clearing his throat several
times didn't help. "Amanda didn't . . . I'm the father. I--I just didn't know."
"Ferguson keeps telling me I can be a bastard and this time I guess he's
right. Child abduction is a major sore spot with me and given the difference in
lifestyles between you and Ms. Lawrence . . . Look, I'm sorry if I assumed the
worst, but in this business that's usually what we find."
"What happened?" Adam wasn't interested in hearing apologies. He
wanted answers. He had sons! He wanted to see them; wanted to hold them -
both of them. He wanted to see Amanda. He needed to see Amanda.
"According to Ms. Lawrence's statement she fed both babies around noon,
put them in their crib and went to her room to rest while they slept."
"My wife stayed so tired with our first that she'd fall asleep in the bathtub. It
has to be twice as hard with two."
Agent Ferguson smiled and Adam envied him his memories.
Giving his partner a look that clearly said 'keep quiet', Agent Carter
continued.
"She woke up around three o'clock as near as she can figure, surprised
that one of the boys didn't need to eat, but unwilling to wake them. The kids
next door came home from school at three thirty with their radios blaring. Ms.
Lawrence was afraid the noise would frighten the babies and went in to check
on them. That's when she discovered one of the boys missing. She
immediately called the police. We were called in this morning."
"Why just take one baby?" Shock and strain make Adam’s voice husky and
rough. "You can sell two infants on the black market just as easy as one."
"That's why we were called, Mr. Westfield. When the Mobile police found
out that you were the father . . ."
"They think I kidnapped my son?!" Adam roared in disbelief.
"No. Yes. Mr. Westfield, ninety percent of all kidnapping incidents involve
non-custodial parents. Ms. Lawrence assured us that you knew nothing about
her pregnancy. She was very determined that we not consider you as a
suspect."
Agent Ferguson interrupted his partner with a quiet chuckle. "She said
sneaky wasn't your style. If you'd wanted the boys, you'd come through the
front door and announce to the world that you were taking them. And you
wouldn't have left one son behind."
"We'll verify your whereabouts for the record, but our focus now is on
blackmail. We haven't discarded any possibilities; but since only one child was
taken, we don't believe it involves black market sales. Like you said, double
the income with the same risks. No one at the hospital spent more time with
one baby over the other. No one showed any special interest in the babies
after they came off the critical list. Twins just aren't that uncommon.
Unfortunately, Mr. Westfield, with your money and position, blackmail or
revenge makes more sense."
"What can I do?" Adam never felt so completely useless in his life. From
the dawn of time man was supposed to protect and provide for his family. It
was why he was bigger and stronger. Never mind that he didn't know he had a
family who needed his protection. He had failed the one test that could destroy
lives - his, Amanda’s, his sons'.
"We'd like to set up recording equipment here and at your home in case a
ransom call comes here."
"Do whatever you have to do, Agent Carter. I'll issue instructions for my
staff to offer whatever assistance you require." Adam was already pulling his
briefcase from under his desk, mentally reviewing the things he needed to do
before he left.
"We appreciate that, Mr. Westfield. When we get everything arranged, a
field agent will come to your house and go over the procedures . . ."
"Excuse me, Agent Carter, but I won't be there. I'm going to Mobile. I can't
undo what has already happened, but you can bet your ass the son-of-a-bitch
won't get to my family again."
Without a backwards glance at the two agents, Adam picked up his
briefcase and walked out of his office, telling his secretary that he'd call her
from his car and to do anything the two men in his office wanted. Before his
BMW cleared the parking lot, Adam had called his attorney, his banker, and his
Chief of Security. He had no doubt that the FBI was quite capable of dealing
with the situation, but he felt he had to do something.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
Excerpt (c) 2009
"Are you Adam Michael Westfield the third?"
"Yes." Adam answered automatically, his mind still focused on the badge
and identification of the two FBI agents standing before his desk. "What can I
do for you?"
Special Agents Carter and Ferguson took their time settling into the chairs
positioned in front of Adam's desk. Nothing about them gave him any clue
about why they were here asking - demanding - to see him. From their dark
brown, department store suits to their blank expressions, they were poster boy
perfect examples of what Adam expected federal agents to be. Bland,
unassuming, able to blend into their surroundings and both still staring at him.
Adam had an insane urge to jump up and shout "boo" just to see if they would
blink. Their scrutiny unnerved him - and he knew without a doubt he had
nothing to fear from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"Would you gentlemen care for coffee while you decide to tell me whatever
it is you came here to say?"
Agent Carter, the older of the two if his gray hair was any indication,
allowed a slight twitch of his lips to pass for a smile.
"No thank you, Mr. Westfield. You can relax. You're not in any trouble . . .
at this time."
Adam raised one eyebrow at the implied threat and pasted the same phony
half-smile on his own face.
"I never thought I was, Agent Carter,” Adam answered truthfully. "Unless
the FBI is now collecting on unpaid parking tickets, there's not one thing in my
life to warrant federal intervention. Do you plan to tell me why you're here?"
"In truth, Mr. Westfield, this would be a lot easier if you had more in your
background than thirty dollars in outstanding tickets and two hundred eighty
dollars and fifteen cents in questionable deductions on last year's tax return."
"State your business or leave me to mine." Adam hoped his voice didn't
betray the sudden churning in his stomach. If the FBI took the time to know all
the little details of his life, this was serious - very serious.
"How well do you know Amanda Lawrence?"
"Amanda? I haven't seen or heard from her since last summer. Why do
you ask? Is the FBI recruiting high school home economics teachers?"
Adam glanced at the painting hanging on the wall beside his desk. The
brilliant blues and greens gave life to the small stretch of Gulf Coast beach,
frozen forever on canvas. He didn't think the agents wanted to know that there
wasn't a minute of the day when he didn't think about Amanda Lawrence.
Every night the memories of her in his arms filled his dreams. Every time he
looked at that painting, he felt the warm sand, heard the cry of seagulls, and
mourned for what might have been.
"Where were you yesterday between noon and three o'clock?" Agent
Carter's single-minded monotone voice was beginning to annoy Adam.
"In Washington in a meeting with two Senators and a representative from
the EPA. Now, that's the last question I answer until I know what the hell this is
about."
"We'll need the names of the men you met with to verify your statement."
Adam stared at Special Agent Carter but he didn't volunteer the
information. Hell, all it would take is a call to his secretary and the two agents
could have his itinerary for the past three years, but Adam refused.
"Can you think of anyone who would have a grudge against you or Ms.
Lawrence?"
When Adam failed to respond again, the agent lost some of his glacial
control. "Look, Westfield. We can do this the easy way or we can do it
officially down at the police station. The choice is yours."
Adam reached for the telephone, punching in the numbers for his
secretary's desk.
"Abby, will you please get Terry Beauvais on the phone for me." Returning
his attention to the FBI agents, Adam placed the receiver against his shoulder
to wait for his call to go through. "As my attorney, I feel certain Mr. Beauvais will
want to be present when we get to the station."
"Cancel the call, Mr. Westfield." Special Agent Carter's glare contrasted
sharply with the softer tone of his voice.
Adam waited for several heartbeats, measuring Carter's sudden
capitulation. Disconnecting the line, Adam again called his secretary and had
her cancel his call. It would be simple enough to contact Terry if Carter or
Ferguson tried the threat business again.
"Okay, Westfield. You asked for it - you get it. Straight up and
unvarnished. Yesterday afternoon between noon and three p.m. someone
kidnapped one of your sons."
"You've wasted your time and mine, Agent Carter. I don't have children - of
any variety." Adam couldn't believe he'd spent the last half-hour tap dancing
with two FBI agents who'd made a mistake. A major mistake. He probably
would have gotten angry about it if Agent Ferguson didn't look so sorrowful and
sympathetic.
"No, Mr. Westfield. There is no mistake. Amanda Lawrence gave birth to
twin sons on the thirty-first of January. The babies were ten weeks premature
and have only been out of the hospital for two weeks."
Adam felt his world slow to a crawl. Numbing cold settled around his
shoulders despite the sunlight pouring through the wall of plate glass behind
him. Like watching a movie in slow motion, Adam watched Agent Carter reach
into his breast pocket, pull out an envelope and place it on the desk. He forced
himself to unclench his fists, pick up the envelope and open it. Inside were
photocopies of two birth certificates with the name of the father highlighted in
yellow fluorescent marker. Adam Michael Westfield, III.
"Mr. Westfield, when you said you have no children are you implying that
Ms. Lawrence lied on the birth certificates?"
"No." Adam barely recognized his own voice. Clearing his throat several
times didn't help. "Amanda didn't . . . I'm the father. I--I just didn't know."
"Ferguson keeps telling me I can be a bastard and this time I guess he's
right. Child abduction is a major sore spot with me and given the difference in
lifestyles between you and Ms. Lawrence . . . Look, I'm sorry if I assumed the
worst, but in this business that's usually what we find."
"What happened?" Adam wasn't interested in hearing apologies. He
wanted answers. He had sons! He wanted to see them; wanted to hold them -
both of them. He wanted to see Amanda. He needed to see Amanda.
"According to Ms. Lawrence's statement she fed both babies around noon,
put them in their crib and went to her room to rest while they slept."
"My wife stayed so tired with our first that she'd fall asleep in the bathtub. It
has to be twice as hard with two."
Agent Ferguson smiled and Adam envied him his memories.
Giving his partner a look that clearly said 'keep quiet', Agent Carter
continued.
"She woke up around three o'clock as near as she can figure, surprised
that one of the boys didn't need to eat, but unwilling to wake them. The kids
next door came home from school at three thirty with their radios blaring. Ms.
Lawrence was afraid the noise would frighten the babies and went in to check
on them. That's when she discovered one of the boys missing. She
immediately called the police. We were called in this morning."
"Why just take one baby?" Shock and strain make Adam’s voice husky and
rough. "You can sell two infants on the black market just as easy as one."
"That's why we were called, Mr. Westfield. When the Mobile police found
out that you were the father . . ."
"They think I kidnapped my son?!" Adam roared in disbelief.
"No. Yes. Mr. Westfield, ninety percent of all kidnapping incidents involve
non-custodial parents. Ms. Lawrence assured us that you knew nothing about
her pregnancy. She was very determined that we not consider you as a
suspect."
Agent Ferguson interrupted his partner with a quiet chuckle. "She said
sneaky wasn't your style. If you'd wanted the boys, you'd come through the
front door and announce to the world that you were taking them. And you
wouldn't have left one son behind."
"We'll verify your whereabouts for the record, but our focus now is on
blackmail. We haven't discarded any possibilities; but since only one child was
taken, we don't believe it involves black market sales. Like you said, double
the income with the same risks. No one at the hospital spent more time with
one baby over the other. No one showed any special interest in the babies
after they came off the critical list. Twins just aren't that uncommon.
Unfortunately, Mr. Westfield, with your money and position, blackmail or
revenge makes more sense."
"What can I do?" Adam never felt so completely useless in his life. From
the dawn of time man was supposed to protect and provide for his family. It
was why he was bigger and stronger. Never mind that he didn't know he had a
family who needed his protection. He had failed the one test that could destroy
lives - his, Amanda’s, his sons'.
"We'd like to set up recording equipment here and at your home in case a
ransom call comes here."
"Do whatever you have to do, Agent Carter. I'll issue instructions for my
staff to offer whatever assistance you require." Adam was already pulling his
briefcase from under his desk, mentally reviewing the things he needed to do
before he left.
"We appreciate that, Mr. Westfield. When we get everything arranged, a
field agent will come to your house and go over the procedures . . ."
"Excuse me, Agent Carter, but I won't be there. I'm going to Mobile. I can't
undo what has already happened, but you can bet your ass the son-of-a-bitch
won't get to my family again."
Without a backwards glance at the two agents, Adam picked up his
briefcase and walked out of his office, telling his secretary that he'd call her
from his car and to do anything the two men in his office wanted. Before his
BMW cleared the parking lot, Adam had called his attorney, his banker, and his
Chief of Security. He had no doubt that the FBI was quite capable of dealing
with the situation, but he felt he had to do something.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
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| Cry of the Seagull Chapter One |