What Happened to Jamie Burke? Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Chicago, Illinois – Monday Morning

         Becky Lehmann woke up aggravated. The blaring alarm clock startled the bulbous calico cat from her perch on her owner’s pillow and she jumped with a thud on the Berber carpet. She slinked beneath the white dust ruffle and obscured all but her tail from view.
         Becky slapped the snooze button and groaned, struggling to move in the bedding that engulfed her pain-ravaged body.
         She hated mornings.
         An amorous Siamese crawled out from under the flannel sheets, blinking sleepily.
         “There, there, Miles,” the old woman soothed, gently petting the purring feline with a gnarly, twisted hand.
         The alarm sounded again and Becky Lehmann fought against the sheets to sit up. Her mattress heater eased her pain, helped her sleep but still, she groaned at the chore of waking up, at the challenge of moving her old, creaky body.
         She cursed under her breath. Miles the Siamese nudged her lovingly but she ignored his affection. Her head pounded with a vengeance reminiscent of her college days at the University of Illinois in Champaign. Oh yes. She and her best friend Mary Ann would sneak down the fire escape of the sorority house and slam beers with the guys until sunrise. Then they’d stumble back to their room and sleep it off until late afternoon.
         Last night was different. She was the guest of honor at her own personal party. She claimed to the world that she didn’t care, but it was a landmark day for her. It was her seventieth birthday, and Jack Daniels was her date.
         Her cell phone rang and she sauntered to the dresser to retrieve it. Unknown caller. Someone selling insurance or nursing care, she expected and flipped the phone open.
         “Hello.”
         “Agent Lehmann!”
         She was immediately suspicious. She hadn’t been addressed that way in ten years.
         “This is Becky Lehmann. What do you want?”
         “I have something that belongs to you,” the caller said with a faint accent. French? German? Scandinavian?
         “You’re a liar,” she snapped. “Who’s calling?”
         “Oh no, Agent Lehmann. I’m not lying. I have something very important to you.”
         Everything important in her life was right here in her Lake Shore Drive condominium. Her books, her cats, the view of Lake Michigan, her sanity. At least what was left of it after thirty-five years with the FBI.
         “Tell me what the hell you want, or I’m hanging up.”
         “I don’t want anything, Agent Lehmann. Just to tell you that I’ve taken something that belongs to you, because you took something that belongs to me.”
         By now she was plain old mad, and it was time for her medicine.
         “Get on with it, then, damn it. I don’t have all day.”
         The caller chuckled.
         “You must have forgotten about Jamie Burke, Agent Lehmann.”
         Good God, there was a name she hadn’t heard for – Jesus! – twenty-five years.
         Becky sighed and sank into the bedroom chair.
         “Okay, what do you want?”
         “Revenge,” the caller stated. “You took something of mine, so I’m taking something of yours. That’s only fair, don’t you agree?”
         She isn’t mine for you to take, Becky thought.
         Good Lord, no. The girl has been through too much already. Becky closed her eyes. Twenty-five years ago she had shot and killed Jamie Burke’s father. It happened at the climax of an FBI investigation called Operation Bankroll that had targeted fraud in the Chicago area banking industry. Jamie's father was indicted. Instead of surrendering, Raymond Burke had fought back and taken hostages. The rest was too ugly for her to think about. An internal investigation found she had acted in self-defense, but that didn’t change what had happened.
         No matter what Becky Lehmann did, Jamie refused to talk to her. Apologies and explanations went ignored until she finally lost track of Jamie Burke.
         “Nah,” Becky said. “That’s too old fashioned. Let her say hello to me so I’ll know you’re telling the truth. Then and only then will I talk to you.”
         After a brief pause, the caller agreed.
         “One word only. She can say one word, and then we hang up. You will receive further instructions within twenty-four hours. I promise you, Agent Lehmann, if you do not comply, I will put her through a slow, horrible death.”
         Becky shuddered.
         “Then let her talk, you rat bastard.”
         She heard a rustling sound, coughing, and the word she most dreaded.
         “Mom?”
         The phone went dead and retired FBI agent Becky Lehmann’s heart sank like a doomed ship in the middle of a storm.