“Are you okay, Dad? Maybe that hit on the head—”
“My head’s just fine,” says Judd. “Earlier today you talked about running the ransom note through the Message Switch System using Sprout Social on Teddy’s friends.”
“So?” says Clay. The stars and moon emit enough light for Clay and Judd to see each other’s faces. Clay catches a glint in his father’s eye. “What’s going on here?”
“My God,” says Judd. He stares at Clay dumfounded. Lipsparted. Brows hanging heavy over his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you how to investigate a missing person? I didn’t think I had to. You’re supposed to—”
“You know,” says Judd, “one thing has never made sense to me. Why would West Point recruit a player good enough to play European soccer? They must have known you’d leave the army as soon as you served your five years. Why make that investment in you if you were going to just take off?”
“They recruited me because they wanted a good soccer team.”
Judd shakes his head. “No, Clay. They didn’t. Tell me the truth. Were you double-timing it over there?”
“Double-timing it?”
“Soccer player by day. CIA by night?”
Clay hesitates, then says, “Dad, let’s get you to the hospital.”
“You’re CIA,” says Judd. He looks calm. Almost happy. Almost thrilled, even. “Or you’re working for one of the other intelligence agencies. You didn’t walk away from your country. Professional soccer was your cover.” Judd smiles. Smiles at his son in a way Clay hasn’t seen since he told Judd he was headed to West Point. “What were you really doing over in Europe? Eyes-and-ears kind of stuff? Recruiting informants?”
Clay wants to deny it. Knows he should deny it. But denying it would only make the search for Teddy worse. More difficult. Less focused. And for all of Judd’s faults, Clay knows his father can be trusted. He is, despite their fractured relationship, a man of honor and a patriot. A man who tries to do the right thing.
He makes eye contact with Judd, and calm blankets the two of them. “I was in Warsaw playing a friendly,” says Clay. “Galway against Legia. And my cover was blown. That’s why I had to rush back home. And it’s why I’m not coaching in Europe or MLS or at a university. Riverwood, Minnesota, and Dorset-Cornwall is as far from the spotlight as I can get.”
“I’ll be,” says Judd. “I was right.”
“And you have to keep this to yourself,” says Clay. “It’s a matter of national security.”
Judd looks like he’s going to cry. Cry tears of happiness. “I’m so proud of you, Clay. Just so damn proud.” Judd sticks out his hand to shake Clay’s.
Clay steps back.
“What’s the matter?” says Judd. “Can’t a father congratulate his son?”
“You have judged me on what I do, not who I am, ever since I was a little kid. You didn’t like me because I played soccer. You gave me no credit for working my ass off to be an elite player. Same with violin and same with academics. I didn’t want to hunt so I wasn’t a real boy. I didn’t want to sit in a boat so I wasn’t a real fisherman. I read Dostoyevsky instead ofSports Illustratedso I wasn’t a son worth paying attention to. I went to West Point and all of a sudden, I was the golden boy. I told you I quit the army to play professional soccer and I was back to persona non grata. Now you find out I never stopped serving my country and I’m the greatest son a father could ever ask for.”
Clay looks hard at his father and adds, “Let me know when you decide to care about me as a person instead of only caring about what I do or don’t do. And not one word about thisto anyone, including Braedon. He has no idea.” Clay turns and walks away.
Judd walks after him. He feels proud of his son and ashamed of himself because he knows Clay has spoken the truth. Both about continuing to work for his country while in Europe, and about Judd judging Clay for what he does, not who he is. He swallows. Swallows the hard truth that he’s been in the wrong for decades. He can’t just apologize for forty-two years of bad fatherhood and make everything okay. Regaining Clay’s trust will take some time. Maybe a lot of time. He’ll have to earn it step by step.
“Hey,” says Judd, “I was thinking about something you suggested earlier, and you’re right. We should bring Zoey Jensen in on the kidnapping.”
Clay keeps walking but says, “You want to bring in Zoey? That’s a big change.”
“I trained her for three months,” says Judd. “She’s a bit of an odd duck, but she’s good police. She’s not as close to the case as you and I are.”
“You don’t have to sell me,” says Clay. “I’m all for bringing Zoey in.”
A pair of headlights crests a swell in the road. Judd stands on the yellow dotted line and waves down the vehicle. It appears to be a sedan, but Judd and Clay can see two headlights and not much else. The car stops twenty feet short of them, and they hear a window roll down.
“Judd?” says a voice.
“Mike?” says Judd. “Is that you?”
Mike Wahlquist leaves the engine running and gets out of the car. He approaches Clay and Judd still wearing hisRiverwood police uniform. “What the hell are you two doing out here?”
