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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.”
As he got up to shake her hand, once again offering his slightly callused but warm palm, he nodded.
“I suppose he’ll tell you himself, if he sees reason to, so there’s no harm in me mentioning this.” His tone captivated Chesca and she made sure to drown out the sound of a nearby photocopier rallying to distract her senses with its repetitive output of paper. “Those last years he put in were indeed a struggle for him. Believe me, I worked day and night beside him, being mentored along the way. Something within him had changed. Whatever it was, it was eating at him long before he decided to call it quits.”
Through his forced smile, Chesca could see pain, maybe even regret. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Brighton. As you’ve said, he’ll likely bring that up himself if it’s relevant.”
Not yet letting go of her hand, the slightly robust man, equal in her height, made sure to meet Chesca’s eyes.
“Do understand, Miss Thorne, I respect that man. He never so much as hinted at any personal problems he may have experienced, and I never asked. I would prefer if you do not mention this little conversation we have had.”
“Certainly, sir. Not to worry.”
Following his lead out of the office and down the hallway back to the reception area, Chesca caught the scent of something earthy percolating. The receptionist was preparing a tea set complete with cookies and fruit.
“Give Miss Thorne the contact information for Mr. Schneider,” Brighton instructed of his attentive receptionist, then added, “I’ll take my tea now.”
Knowing that was her cue to receive the information quickly and make her way out of the office, Chesca respectfully thanked each of them for their time and made a polite exit so that Brighton could get on with his evidently important and likely ritualistic tea service.
As she crossed Commonwealth Avenue to head back to the parking lot off Granby, Chesca momentarily checked her watch. She had been less than an hour with Brighton. Not bad. With the majority of the day left to her disposal she would be able to get a number of leads taken care of, and hopefully make some diligent progress on her assignment.
Or so she thought.
Chesca slowed her steps when she approached the rental car.
She could hardly believe it, given the short amount of time she had spent in the campus building.
From her stance directly in front of the car, it was clear someone had keyed the body on each side. Lines tracing the length of the automobile were etched deeply into the no longer fresh red paint.
When she noticed the tires were also gashed and flattened, she scooted down to the pavement and checked the undercarriage for anything to suggest further foul play.
Satisfied, but with more damage than she would have liked to have seen, Chesca let out a heavy sigh. Her day would evidently not be as cut-and-dried as she had hoped.
Now, added to her tasks, she would have to replace the rental car—and apologize profusely to the company, though fortunately she had insured the car against such predicaments—and due to the nature of the damage, it seemed Chesca would also be making a friendly stop at the local police precinct.
Once the quick and necessary phone calls were made to each, Chesca took a moment to sit on a concrete parking slab and rest her head in her hands, digging her elbows into her lap.
As she sat there, letting her temper at this inconvenience subside, she allowed a few moments to pass before she was able to admit the inevitable.
