I really liked the dramatization of this conversation between President John F. Kennedy and Curtis LeMay during the Cuban Missile Crisis in the film Thirteen Days.
Scene from Thirteen Days (2000)
Actual recording of the conversation between JFK and Curtis Lemay:
we watched Thirteen Days in APUSH this week and all i have to say is that i can’t believe there isn’t more edits and love for Bobby in it. hes so #cute just like irl
quick someone start making edits of the cute little freak bobby kennedy in Thirteen Days. ive searched far and wide. ive made my own. but my soul grows weary. i yearn.
summary: Dave is utilising every recourse he can to find out who kidnapped you, and a new lead emerges.
content warning: mentions of kidnapping, violence, Dave abusing his resources, intimidation. mention of blood and brief reader being attacked. Dave refers to you as his wife even though you’re not married yet :(.
word count: 1.4K
This is the last thing he wanted to deal with. His mother. You were missing; and he was here instead.. barging through his mothers front door after he’d finally had enough of the incessant voicemails she’d left; each one becoming more degrading about your worth as a wife and mother. She meets him at the doorway, about to scold him on your behalf for not picking the kids up.
“Don’t you say another goddamn word about her. She’s missing,” he said in a harsh whisper, the last thing he wanted was his girls to find out their mother had been kidnapped.
“If you care about me or your grandchildren you’ll have them stay here with you for as long as it takes for me to get her back.” He had never spoken to his mother like this before, but he was growing increasingly agitated about the situation.
“Maybe she just up and left—“ Dave barges through the threshold of his mothers house, towering over her as his eyes darken.
“How dare you?” He snarls between the two of them, and the look on his mothers face settles into realisation. That you hadn’t just wondered away from Dave and your children.
Dave looked awful, he’s rigid and his hands are trembling as he points to his mother. “You take care of our children, tell them their mother loves them.. and think of a damn good apology for when she returns.”
Dave wasn’t asking, and his mother knew better than to challenge him when something like this was going on, she knew it was taunting him, the darkness of whatever happened was rotting him from the inside out.
With that, Dave left the house, rushing down the cement footpath with long, calculated strides and into his car.
He dials the number of a man he worked closely with in the CIA years ago, but had relied on often since the downfall of the operations force that Dave was previously employed by.
“Where are you?” Dave interrogated as soon as the call was answered, the man on the other side of the line stuttered before answering.
“My hardware store. I was just closing up for lunch.. but I’ll unlock the store for you.”
The man knew that whatever this was.. that Dave was calling for—he seemed desperate. When Dave was desperate, he was dangerous.
“I’ll be there in five.” Dave ends the call and presses his foot down to the floor on the gas pedal, his car screeching and speeding down to Harding Street where Elvoy owned his store.
“Dave, what’s going on?” Elvoy closes the door behind his friend as he storms in. They walk down the hallway through to the staff room. Where Elvoy has a dozen computers, databases running and police scanners.
“She’s missing. My wife.” His voice is strained. “I need you to hack into the government computers, federal and local authorities. I need access to security cameras in and around the area of Alfred Park. Time stamped from 11:50-12:20pm today.”
Elvoy sits down and uses his already hacked database to scan through and access the files of the security tapes first, carefully monitoring the footage from a few different locations.
The best footage comes from a surveillance camera across the street. The image is zoomed up on and the number plate is blurry. But Elvoy is efficient, and manages to capture a perfect image of a black truck.
Dave snatches a pen and writes down the registration, make and model of the van before tossing the pen onto the desk. “I need information on the registration.”
His demand is quickly met, the information can be accessed on a public forum, and Dave squints, reading the name. “Registered to a Roger Andrew’s.”
Why’d the name seem so familiar?
As the footage reruns on a loop, the van is stopped at the park for less than a minute, two men get out of the van, and they are seen dragging—you into the sideways door.
It’s quick, professional. And they’re gone within fifty eight seconds. It was personal, this was no random kidnapping, this was intentional. You were targeted.
“Reply it,” Dave’s voice cracks. The video plays again, and he watches you.. as the men man-handle you. And as you fight, attempting to claw at the men and attacking with whatever might you could muster.
But it wasn’t enough.
He felt a wave of anguish and guilt. You’d voiced your anxiety this morning to him; and now you’re the one that’s been taken.
“Send that to my burner. Gain access to the police scanners around here. Whatever you find, send to me directly,” he instructs. “Don’t send it to the police or any of my associates.”
Dave takes a few steps towards the door, turning to face his old friend. “Elvoy..”
His friend turns away from the dozen screens to look at Dave.
“You keep this to yourself.”
“Of course Dave.”
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His next course of action is at the scene of the attack, your kidnapping. His stomach felt nauseous, like each organ suddenly constricted as he walked down the pathway he’d often run each morning before the daylight rose, before you had even woken up.
It’s quiet, even now, passed midday. The park is unusually quiet. As he follows the pathway, he ends up by the lake, watching the ducks in the water only relieves him of his discomfort for a moment, before he turns, sitting on the bench seat with a frustrated grumble, his head hanging in his shaking hands.
He thought he’d hallucinated it at first, the glimmer of red. Some larger parts are still sticky, undried yet compared to the smaller red spots stained on the cement.
Blood.
Was it yours. Or that of your attacker?
He rushes forward out of the chair and kneels to the stain, searching his pockets for something, he grasps a small unused tissue and collects the sample of blood off the cement.
Finally—a lead.
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“I need a favour Daniels.” Dave rushed through the crowded room of the hospital building, finding his old colleague.
Daniels, who is shocked to see Dave barging through the line of people seeking medical help, uncaring to their irritated and angry dismissals of being cut off in line.
“Come through, this way.” Daniels leads Dave through to a small room, closing the door and the blinds.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I need you to get me a reading off this. I need it now, Daniels. You understand me? Not within forty eight hours. I need it now.” Dave fishes through his pocket and tosses the small tissue covered in blood into the table.
Daniels puts on some gloves, and manages to swab the blood off the tissue fibre before the blood dried completely. He adds a few drops of liquid—and he puts the sample under his microscope, inspecting it. He transfers it to a small blood test kit, and waits a few minutes for the result.
“What’s going on with you Dave?” Daniels stares at the man he knew as composed, cold.. now an absolute mess.
“My wife.. she’s been taken. This blood was found at the scene. I need to see if it’s a match for anything in your database.”
“Dave, you’re asking me to defy patients' confidentiality. That’ll cost me my licence if anyone ever finds out I did this.”
Dave watches the kit obsessively. “I don’t need anyone else knowing about this. Keep your mouth shut and you’ll keep your job. Now read the results!”
Daniels inspects the kit. “Blood type is A+. Let me put this sample into our system.. see if anything comes up a match..”
Daniels is waiting for the information to upload when the computer uploads, there is a match. And a goddamn photograph to match the man.
“There’s a match to a man named Roger Andrew’s. Says he’s been admitted a few times before in regard to heart operation.”
Dave can’t believe what he’s seeing. Roger Andrews. The face and name he now recognised. He’d only met the man once. The sack of shit had now been tied to the scene through the van, and the blood.
He’d met the man through Kovac. One of his few friends.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t have been. Kovac had joined Dave this morning on their second hit— leaving you alone with Resnik when you had been taken.
That fucking sack of shit had something to do with it, Dave just knew.
“Print me a copy of that, now.”
With a copy of the evidence in hand.. Dave had a house call to make.
Kovac had a hell of a shitstorm coming his way.
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some tags for people that were interested in chapter 1. Message if you wanna be removed from tags. :)
look. say whatever u want about thomas astruc. im not in the business of defending anything he’s ever done. BUT i wont lie. there is something very euphoric about seeing some crazy tweet about mlb going ‘wow what an idiot’ and then a day later seeing him reply to it w the french white middle aged man equivalent of ‘KYSSSS KYS RNEOWWWWW’
