by Jeff Gunhus
But not as soon as he wanted.
The Director was dead. The asset she’d deployed in the field had laid out the details in the message, but he’d skimmed over that. There would be time for that later. Time to analyze the series of events that had led to the failure. Time to grasp on to the lessons learned. Time to make adjustments.
But right now it was time for him to be angry.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d invested himself in moving the timetable of his plan forward. Now, with the prospect of a year or more delay, it seemed an interminable wait.
And it was his fault. His poor judgment had insisted she go to America for the meeting. A stupid decision, especially when the stakes were so high.
He slammed his hand on his desk, trying to purge his self-pity. It was a wasted emotion and he hated waste.
This was a setback, nothing more. The plan would continue. In fact, if he manipulated the Council to put the right person into the Director’s chair, he would be able to use that person the way he’d planned to use Wendy Roberts. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait the extra year or two after all.
He straightened and drew in a deep breath to steady himself. The plan wasn’t ruined, he could see that now. In the long chain of history, this was no more than a blink of the eye. Even if Townsend released his book, or if Scott and Mara Roberts kept at their investigation into Omega, it wouldn’t be in time. That was where the Council and the Director had both been wrong. Focus on such trivial matters was beneath him.
Because, if things worked out as planned, all of those people would be dead soon enough.
Feeling better, he decided to make a trip to his lab the next day. Deep in underground facilities in the mountains of Berchtesgaden, his scientists closing in on the final solution to the world’s more intractable problem.
Man.
His scientists were the best in the world. They and their families had all been promised a spot in the new world he would create, so their loyalty was absolute. They were close, so close. Their fault so far was that their solution was too efficient, too perfect. Ryker didn’t want to kill off the entire human race. He wasn’t a madman.
The men whose books surrounded him had been geniuses of their age. Creators. Like them, he would also create a new civilization out of the ashes of the old. But for that to happen, he had first to set fire to the world.
And he took great pleasure at the thought of it.
CHAPTER 47
Mara stared at the door that led to the Oval Office, apprehensive about how she’d react when it opened. Her dad sat in a chair across from her, head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He didn’t seem to share her anxiety, but that might have been because of the pain meds. He wore a full cast on one leg and a sling on his shoulder.
Joey ran into the waiting room followed close behind by a Secret Service agent, who looked like he was having just as much fun chasing his little protectee as the kid was having running from him. The agent caught himself once he entered the room, withering under the disapproving stare of President Patterson’s executive secretary, a stern, ancient woman named Ms. Ferris. The agent stood up rigidly, assuming the don’t-screw-with-me look all the Secret Service had down to perfection. Mara found it funny the old woman could have such an effect on the large man.
“Agent Hallsey says there’s ice cream in the mess,” Joey said, running up to Mara.
“The mess?” Scott said, opening his eyes barely enough to look at the agent. “Are you turning my grandson into a navy brat?”
The agent let a smirk turn up the corner of his mouth for all of two seconds. “No, sir, I’m an ex-Army Ranger. I’d advise the young man to stay far away from the navy.”
“You’re talking to an ex-Marine,” Scott said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Agent Hallsey said. “But it’s not my fault you chose the Marines.”
Scott grinned, gave him a nod of approval, and closed his eyes again.
Joey tugged on Mara’s sleeve. “He says they have all kinds of flavors down there.”
“Is that right, Agent Hallsey?” Mara said.
“Yes, ma’am. Chocolate. Vanilla. And, sometimes, mint chocolate chip.”
He delivered the list as if sharing state secrets, and Joey ate it up.
“Can I go? Hallsey said he’d take me.”
“Can I go, too?” Scott said.
She pointed to her dad. “You’re staying here.” Then she turned to Joey. “And it’s Agent Hallsey.”
“I mean, Agent Hallsey. Pleeeease.”
Mara laughed. She was amazed at Joey’s resilience. Since being recovered from the safe house, he’d fallen back into his routine faster than any of them had. True to his word, Hawthorn had kept Joey comfortable the entire time. Even equipping his room with a PlayStation along with a box of games. Joey had actually asked when he could go back to the house for a visit.
By comparison, Mara’s own state of mind was bordering on paranoia. Everywhere she turned she thought she saw evidence of Omega. Once she was reunited with Joey, she’d demanded he be put into protective custody.
But the agents assigned to her were junior people she didn’t know, which only made her more paranoid that they could be working for the other side. It took three days before she’d let Joey leave her sight. Now, a week out, she was finally starting to feel like herself again.
“So, can I go?”
“Only on one condition,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“That you bring me back some ice cream.”
“Yes,” Joey said, his tiny hand clenched in a fist. He turned to the agent. “You hear that? We can go.”
The agent gave his own fist pump and mimicked Joey’s, “Yes!”
As Joey left, Mara said, “Thank you, Agent Hallsey. You’re making his day.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. He’s a good kid.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but he glanced over at Scott and seemed to think better of it. “We’ll be down at the mess. If you want to join us after your meeting.”
The agent left the room and Mara felt herself flush. She thought maybe she’d read into the man’s tone, but when she turned, her dad was grinning at her.
“What?”
“Picking up dates in the White House? Now that takes game.”
“Shut up.”
Another Secret Service agent entered the room, his thick, barrel chest blocking the doorway. Once he passed through, Jordi appeared behind him, looking nervous and uncomfortable.
Unlike most White House visitors who dressed up to meet the dignity of the office, he wore Bermuda shorts and a tattered T-shirt that said, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE 127.0.0.1. Mara had seen him wear the shirt before and knew the numbers referred to the IP address of a local host computer, essentially whatever computer the wearer happened to be in front of. Jordi definitely looked like he would have given anything to be home back in front of his computer instead of standing just outside the Oval.
Mara jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around his wide girth. “I can’t believe they got you to come.”
“They didn’t give me much of a choice,” he whispered. Mara noticed there was almost no trace of his fake English accent. He was scared.
Scott extended his hand. “Good to finally meet you in person.”
Jordi shook his hand. “If we go to prison, I’m counting on you having my back.”
“Sorry,” Scott said. “The president gave me a full pardon. I can give you some good pointers on prison yard etiquette, though.”
Jordi wobbled on his feet and staggered over to a chair. It groaned as he plopped down in it, drawing a look from Ms. Ferris, the secretary.
“You’re terrible,” Mara said, taking a seat next to Jordi.
“No, I’m terrible,” Jordi said. “All those top-secret systems I’ve broken into, tweaking their code so funny sayings pop up on people’s screens. Poop emojis. I can’t tell you how many senators and congressmen have poop emojis show
up in their documents because of me. And Area 54. I was just curious. I didn’t know what I was going to find there when I broke in. I’m a bad person. Maybe just because I can do something, doesn’t mean I should. That’s a saying, right? People say that?”
Scott and Mara exchanged a look. “I can’t let you be this miserable,” Mara said. “Listen close. The president is going to give you a blanket pardon, absolving you of any acts you committed while assisting us. And all acts prior to this. That’s why you’re here.” She grabbed his hand, noting it was covered with cold sweat. “You’re not going to prison. You’re being handed a get out of jail free card.”
Jordi took a few seconds for the words to register; then he lit up. “Not only for what I did to help the two of you? Are you saying ... ?”
“Everything,” Mara said. “In exchange for you keeping Townsend’s document secret, like we discussed. But it doesn’t cover anything on the go-forward. So I suggest you keep your nose clean from here on out.”
He grinned. This time when he spoke, his accent was back in full force, as if channeling Dick Van Dyke’s chimney sweep from Mary Poppins. “Would’ve thought they’d have given me a medal or something nice like that. A pardon? Still better than a finger in the eye, ain’t it?”
Ms. Ferris picked up a phone, listened, and then hung up. “You and Mr. Roberts can go in now. Mr. Pines, if you would wait here,” she said.
Mara swallowed hard as she prepared herself for the interview ahead. Her dad got to his feet next to her with the help of his crutches.
“In my experience,” he whispered, “it’s better not to hit the president in the face when he’s talking to you.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
Mara turned the handle and entered the room.
* * *
Mara had seen the Oval Office so many times on TV and in movies that it felt unreal as she stepped inside. What made it even more surreal was there wasn’t only one president of the United States waiting inside, but two.
Ex-president Townsend sat on a sofa, while President Patterson rose from the chair in front of the fireplace. If press accounts were to be believed, Mara thought she was witnessing the first time the two had been in the same room together since the campaign.
Patterson, then vice-president, had publically rebuked his old boss, trying to distance himself from the scandals. It’d made the way Gore sidelined Clinton in the 2000 election look like nothing. Entire books had been written about the bad blood between the two men, but there they were, sharing the same space together. Still, the body language between the two men told a story. And it wasn’t one of forgiveness.
“Mara,” Townsend called out as if they were the oldest of friends. “How’s Jim Hawthorn doing?”
Mara shook his hand politely, her head spinning as to what his presence meant. “Jim’s recovering at Walter Reed. A broken rib punctured a lung, but they expect a full recovery.”
“My old man always said Jim Hawthorn was the toughest son of a bitch on God’s green earth. He’ll be up on his feet in no time,” Townsend said.
Patterson waited for Townsend to quiet down, clearly used to his old boss trying to be the center of attention. Townsend seemed to remember himself and nodded to Patterson. “Have you met the president before?”
“Kyle Patterson,” the president said, as if genuinely feeling the need to identify himself. He extended his hand and Mara shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. President. Thank you for ordering the protection for my nephew. I really appreciate it.”
“It was the least we could do,” the president said.
“And thank you for my father’s pardon, although I’m not sure if he deserved it completely.”
“I have done some pretty terrible things,” Scott said. “Have you ever heard me sing? That’s something that shouldn’t be forgiven so easily.”
Patterson held up his hands as if he was worried Scott might break into song to prove his point. He focused his attention on Mara. “The pleasure’s mine, Agent Roberts. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“Not agent,” she said. “Just miss. Recently retired.”
“I heard,” he said, indicating to the couch facing Townsend for both she and Scott to sit. “I’d like to talk to you about that.”
They all sat, Mara glancing over to Townsend, who regarded her without expression.
“Preston filled me in on the details of what really happened at the Tribune Tower in Chicago,” he said. “I didn’t think animal rights activists had the skill to pick apart the Secret Service that way.”
Scott squirmed in his chair. “That pardon extended to everything, right?”
“Hell, Kyle probably wants to give you a commendation or something for punching my lights out,” Townsend said. “I didn’t come here to complain about you. I wanted him to know everything so he’d know why we can’t afford to lose the two of you.”
“Preston brought me an interesting idea,” Patterson said. “We have a problem. Based on the debrief I read, you both agree that Omega remains a threat.”
“Wendy may have risen to tactical control,” Scott said, his voice strained at the use of her name. “But Omega existed before her and it certainly exists now. Their mission hasn’t changed. I believe”—he glanced at Mara—“we believe that while their reach and influence may be overstated as a tactic to sow confusion and paranoia, they are dangerous.”
“If you take their mission at face value, their goal is no less ambitious than the complete destruction of society, to rebuild it with themselves at the head,” Mara said.
“Do they have the resources? Who is at its head?” Patterson asked. “If Wendy Roberts had tactical control, who was setting strategy? Whom did she report to?”
“And just how deep have these little buggers burrowed into our institutions?” Townsend added.
Mara remained silent. None of this was new. Her dad and her had been discussing this for the last week. If her mom was to be believed, Omega was everywhere. And their mission was to reduce the world to rubble so that a new society could grow. If that was true, then it was impossible to know who to trust.
“You want us to set up shop and go digging,” Scott said slowly.
“You’re half right,” the president said. “Yes, I want you to set up shop. Your own people. Ones you trust. You’ll report directly to me through Jim Hawthorn. But let’s be clear, when it comes to Omega, I’m not asking you to go digging,” the president said. “I’m asking you to go hunting.”
* * *
Mara held Joey’s hand as they waited for the elevator in Walter Reed Medical Center. She smiled when he reached up and took his grandpa’s hand on the other side. Scott looked down and gave him a wink.
“Was that cool meeting the president?” Scott asked.
“Yeah, are you friends with him?”
Mara chuckled. “Kind of like friends. Grandpa works for him now.”
“Do you work for him, too?” he asked her.
“I’m thinking about it. My most important job is to take care of you.”
“But who’s gonna take care of Grandpa? Isn’t he always getting into trouble?”
“Hey, bub, I heard you like getting into trouble yourself,” Scott said.
“Sometimes,” he giggled.
The door opened and the questions stopped as Joey’s world condensed down to who got to press the button inside the elevator. But she caught a questioning look from her dad.
She hadn’t been ready to commit to the president’s proposal the way he had, and he hadn’t tried to talk her into it. When she’d brought up her concern about Joey, the answer had been that she could work in an analytical capacity. No fieldwork.
That was better. But after almost losing Joey once, and knowing their adversary would stoop to threatening kids to reach their goals, she couldn’t stomach putting him at risk again.
Townsend’s argument had been the strongest. His were
the words that rattled in her head since leaving the Oval Office.
They rode up together to the fourth floor, where they passed through a security checkpoint before being given access to the hallway where Hawthorn’s private room was located. The armed guard outside the door had been on a shift during an earlier visit, so he gave them a nod and waved them through.
When they entered the room, Hawthorn was gingerly pulling on his suit jacket, looking like a man who hurt everywhere.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scott said. “You’re not supposed to be released until tomorrow.”
Hawthorn adjusted his jacket and straightened his tie. “I got a phone call from the president. He told me he wanted me back to work when I was ready. I’m ready now.”
“Is he going to fall over?” Joey asked.
“He might,” Mara said. “If he does, you catch him.”
Hawthorn sat on the edge of the bed, a bit out of breath. He looked at Mara. “So?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant by the question.
“Jim,” her dad said, ready to tell him to give her space. But she put up her hand to stop him.
“Townsend asked me a question when we were in the Oval Office,” she said. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“What’s that?” Hawthorn asked.
“What if I don’t help and Omega succeeds? What then? Where would that leave us? Where would that leave Joey?”
Hawthorn glanced over to Scott, then back to Mara. “Maybe with all of our efforts, Omega still wins. But if they do, we’ll have thrown everything we have at them to prevent that from happening. That’s all we can do.”
Mara picked Joey up off the ground and settled him on her hip. On reflex, he wrapped his arms around her and she hugged him tight. This was the reason to fight. This was the reason to go to war.
“I’m in,” she said. “Let’s go hunting.”
