by Akart, Bobby
Alpha addressed the pilot through his headset. “What’s your heading?”
“Sir, just before your request, we received a call from Mr. Harris,” the pilot began to reply. He took a moment to explain the reasons to Alpha, who then turned around to the group.
Cort, who wasn’t wearing a communications headset, had his eyes closed with his head leaned back against the padded headrest, exhausted and deep in thought. His head rolled back and forth as turbulence shook the helicopter.
He was recalling every second of the deaths of Briscoe and Schwartz, just as Alpha said he would. He had no regrets and was glad he’d added the final touch of burning the bodies. If a forensic team were to be dispatched to the location, it would look like a murder-suicide, fueled by alcohol.
Cort continued to consider the ramifications of what he’d done. Further investigation would reveal that the two men hated each other. Both men were on the run. Schwartz, wanted by the FBI for financial crimes and conspiracy, and as Cort had learned from X-Ray, Briscoe was wanted for questioning in the double murder of his caretaker and the man’s wife.
Cort had seen this before. Setting aside the fact that all county law enforcement personnel were overworked due to the collapse, as far as investigators would be concerned, the deaths of Briscoe and Schwartz were well deserved and allowed them to push several files off their desks.
His mind continued to wander from the lodge and then to his family, who were still at the Trowbridge estate. He considered sleeping until he was interrupted.
Alpha had leaned forward and patted Cort on the leg. “Cort, you awake?”
“Yeah,” Cort replied, forcing himself to become more alert. “Yeah, Alpha. What is it?”
“They’ve routed us to your father-in-law’s place. It was requested by someone named Harris.”
“Yeah, okay. Um, did they say why?”
“He said to tell you it’s time.”
Cort closed his eyes again and gently beat the back of his head against the seat. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Then he spoke under his breath.
“Well, here we go.”
Part V
Chapter Forty-Five
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
Alpha and the team hung back as Cort exited the helicopter and raced across the back lawn of George Trowbridge’s estate to greet Meredith and Hannah. There was a misty chill in the air as a breeze brought moisture off Long Island Sound, but that didn’t dampen the reunion of the Cortland family. Cort, who’d spent the majority of the flight from Pennsylvania recalling the events of the past twenty-four hours, didn’t think about his appearance. As he approached his girls, he was puzzled as to why they suddenly stopped short.
“Cort, are you hurt?” asked Meredith as she looked him up and down. Cort’s predominantly white coat had blood splatter on it, and there was some of Briscoe’s flesh embedded in his hair. “Is that your blood?”
“No, honey. I’m so sorry. There, um …” Cort stammered as he struggled to find a plausible answer that was far from the truth. “There was an injury and I didn’t have time to clean up when the call came through about your father. It’s nothing, really.”
Hannah didn’t care about the blood. She rushed into her father’s arms and held him tight, as only a loving child can do.
“Hi, Hannah-bear. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Daddy,” she responded before pulling away. “You’re sticky. Let’s get you out of these nasty clothes, mister.”
Hannah’s parents began to laugh because her tone of voice was so motherly.
“Yeah, mister,” teased Meredith. “You need to get more presentable, Cort. Dad’s been asking for you, and the doctor has urged me …” Her voice trailed off as she glanced down at Hannah.
His young daughter, who’d matured exponentially in just a few weeks, finished her mother’s sentence. She grabbed Cort by the hand and began to pull him toward the mansion. “Daddy, Grandpa isn’t doin’ so well. I was in there when he got sicker, and the nurses came rushing into his room and made me leave. I tried to tell them that I’ve seen people dying, but they still made me leave.”
Tears streamed out of Meredith’s eyes as Hannah spoke. Her child had experienced the worst of humanity in a short period of time and, rather than being traumatized, she began to grow up.
“Well, let’s go see,” said Cort as he allowed Hannah to pull him forward. Meredith caught up to them and hooked her arm through Cort’s. Her tears subsided and a smile came over her face as the comfort of being by her husband’s side took hold.
With the help of the estate’s staff, fresh clothes that fit Cort were procured from the members of the security team. He quickly showered and gave Meredith an update on the Haven, even though he’d spent very little time there over the last forty-eight hours.
She told Cort that her father could die at any time, and whatever conversation he had with him could likely be his last. Cort quickly dressed and led Meredith across the marble-inlay landing that separated the guest bedrooms from the master bedroom suite—a prison cell of sorts that had restrained Trowbridge for many months.
Cort took a deep breath and pushed the doors open, revealing a flurry of activity around his father-in-law. Harris stood to the side with his smartphone in hand, intently watching his boss of many years in case he spoke. The doctor and the nursing team scampered about, checking Trowbridge’s vitals, monitoring the equipment that was providing him life-sustaining assistance, and generally trying to keep the dying man comfortable in his final moments.
“Hi, Doctor,” Cort said, announcing his presence. “I’m glad you reached out to me.”
The doctor’s response reflected his surly mood. “Young man, you really shouldn’t have left. He’s been in and out of consciousness. When he was coherent, he asked for you repeatedly.”
Cort took a deep breath as guilt washed over him. He really thought he had more time. Time to take care of business.
“Yes, and I do regret that. Please give me his status.”
“I’ll keep it simple,” the doctor began with a huff. “He’s dying now. I mean right now. Everything we’re doing is to keep him comfortable so that he can pass away in peace without experiencing a fit or seizure in his final moments.”
“Is he sedated?” asked Meredith.
“No. He insisted against it,” the doctor replied and then paused his activity as he stood to face Cort. “He wanted one final opportunity to speak with Mr. Cortland.”
The doctor stepped back from Trowbridge, and he nodded his head at the medical team to do the same. They retreated to a round table in the corner of the room, where they could sit and rest while still being able to keep an eye on the medical devices hooked up to their patient.
While Meredith flanked her father on one side of the bed, gently squeezing his wrinkled, bony hand, Cort took the side where Harris was standing. The dutiful assistant seemed shocked at the prospect of Trowbridge passing away. He’d been the old man’s constant companion and trusted aide for many years. Reality seemed to be setting in.
“Harris, I don’t know how to thank you for not only being by George’s side in his final days, but for being his devoted friend and ally. I know that he leaned heavily on you, and I can only imagine the sacrifices you made on his behalf.”
Harris managed a smile and nodded, keeping his eyes on Trowbridge’s face, ready to lean forward to listen to any words he might utter. “Thank you, Cort. He’s a great man. Often misunderstood and unpredictable, but that’s what kept his adversaries off balance, a true key to his success.”
Cort studied his father-in-law’s face and whispered to Harris, “He probably was unaware of my admiration for his accomplishments. Our conversations were always very businesslike. When he and, well, you know.” Cort was about to make reference to the falling-out between Trowbridge and Meredith but stopped short, as he didn’t want her to hear it.
“He admired you
, as well, Cort. His plans for you are greater than you can imagine. There are just a few loose ends to deal with and then—”
“Two of them are eliminated,” said Cort matter-of-factly, without averting his eyes from Trowbridge.
“Say again? Are you referring to—?”
“Yes, Harris. Both of them. No longer part of the equation.”
Harris’s face lit up and he squeezed his phone as he looked down at the display. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to make the call.”
“Call?” said Cort with a bewildered look on his face. “The call to whom?”
Harris didn’t respond and bolted toward the doors. He held his phone high over his head as he scurried out.
“What was that all about?” asked Meredith.
Cort looked at her and shrugged. He joined her side and the only family members of George Trowbridge stood vigil, a death watch, as they hoped for one final opportunity to speak with him before he passed on.
Chapter Forty-Six
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
For the next few hours, Meredith and Cort remained by Trowbridge’s side. Meredith would leave at times to check on Hannah, who remained in her room reading. Harris wandered into the room for only a brief moment before the harried aide would leave again to attend to some important matter or another. Cort, however, never left. His guilt began to overwhelm him as he thought of the words he’d say to George if he woke up.
The doctor dismissed the nurses and approached Cort. His tone of voice was far different than earlier. “Young man, I want to apologize to you. My statements earlier were out of line and based solely upon my personal emotions, something that should never be interjected into my medical responsibilities to the patient, or his family.”
Cort smiled and patted the doctor on the arm. “You’re much more than that, Doctor. You’ve been a devoted physician who has taken a personal interest in George’s care. We couldn’t possibly ask for more. Besides, you were right. I deserved every word of what you said, and the way you said it.”
“Well, young man, I’m truly sorry, both for my attitude and Mr. Trowbridge’s condition. He and I have had many conversations about you. He thinks of you as his son, but more than that, he believes you’re destined for greatness. I’ve known George for a long time. Since our days at Yale together, he’s never been one to idly pass along compliments.”
“Wait. Are you a—?” Cort’s question was completed by the doctor.
“Bonesman? Yes, young man, I am. George and I have had a relationship spanning several decades. In fact, he was instrumental in my getting a fellowship at Johns Hopkins. My career, and any success I’ve enjoyed as a physician, can be traced back to George’s unselfishness and our kinship as fellow Bonesmen.”
Cort shook his head and looked down at his father-in-law. “Well, I had no idea.”
“This will not be the last of the surprises you’ll experience,” began the doctor, who abruptly stopped. He pushed past Cort. “Excuse me.”
The doctor pulled out his penlight and flashed it across Trowbridge’s eyes. The patient’s lids fluttered.
“Kenneth, I’m not dead. Get that light out of my eyes, please.”
The doctor began to laugh, and the spontaneous eruption of emotion was contagious. Cort joined in, and soon even Trowbridge seemed to allow the corners of his mouth to turn upward.
“I’m here, George. I’m sorry I’ve been away.”
“I know, son. I’ve been listening to you both for a minute.”
“Eavesdropping?” asked the doctor with a chuckle.
“Yes, Kenneth. My old friend, will you find my daughter and that darling child? I need to see them, but give us a moment alone first.”
The doctor nodded and squeezed his patient’s hand. A look of recognition came over his face. He appeared to fight back tears as he leaned over and kissed Trowbridge on the cheek. He’d comforted patients like his old friend many times.
“Yes, of course,” he whispered into Trowbridge’s ear. “I will miss you, old friend.”
“As will I. Godspeed, Kenneth.”
Trowbridge raised his hand to touch the doctor’s arm before he left. Then he motioned for Cort to come closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“There isn’t much time, son. There is so much to say, so I will as long as I can.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” interrupted Cort, trying to give hollow words of encouragement. He could see death beginning to overtake Trowbridge.
“No, my days are almost over, mercifully,” Trowbridge said. His voice grew weaker, but he could still whisper. “I wish we had more time together. There is so much to teach you. Relationships needed to be built.”
“I know,” said Cort, fighting back the tears.
“You left to deal with—” Trowbridge’s sentence was cut off by a wince of pain.
Cort stood upright and looked toward the door. The room was empty, and he considered chasing after the doctor. “What can I do to help?”
Trowbridge shook his head. “Just listen. Is it done?”
Cort leaned in to whisper, “Briscoe and Schwartz are dead. I did it myself.”
“A rite of passage,” whispered Trowbridge. “I have been there myself. There are no obstacles for you now. Son, you must lead with confidence and vigor. You must never exude any form of weakness.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yes, you are. You must be. Too much is at stake.”
Cort could hear footsteps outside the doorway and he glanced over his shoulder before speaking. “Meredith and Hannah are coming. What am I supposed to do?”
“Trust the plan,” the dying man whispered.
“Plan? I don’t know what it is.”
Trowbridge wagged his finger for Cort to come closer. He whispered instructions as the bedroom doors were opening.
Cort’s voice rose. “What? But how?”
Trowbridge mumbled the words, “Remember what I said about destiny. Godspeed, son.”
“Honey, is everything okay?” Meredith’s question was fraught with concern. She and Hannah rushed to the other side of Trowbridge’s bed.
He gave Cort one last look and a slight smile. Then he leaned over to accept tear-filled kisses and hugs from his daughter. Hannah held it together for as long as a child could when watching a grandparent die; then she burst out in tears. She begged her grandfather to hold on. There was so much to talk about.
Trowbridge’s eyes darted from Cort to Meredith to Hannah. He squeezed Meredith’s hand with the last of his strength and then he spoke to Hannah first and then to his daughter.
“Hannah, darling child, I will miss your precious smile. My sweet daughter, I have always loved you. Do not cry for me. Just know that you’re the most precious gift God has given me. I will protect you and your family from above. It’s time for me to be with your mother.”
Then George Trowbridge closed his eyes as he left to meet his Maker.
Chapter Forty-Seven
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
Cort held his wife and daughter for several minutes. None of them spoke a word as they wept. Meredith sobbed as she lamented her father’s death and chastised herself for being petty during the years prior. Hannah didn’t understand the complications of adult relationships, she just focused on the fact that her grandfather appeared to be resting peacefully, never to be awake again.
Cort felt genuine sadness and remorse. His mind raced as he recalled the memories of his interactions with Trowbridge. In hindsight, and with his newfound perspective, he began to see the signs. The fatherly advice. The gentle nudge to make decisions that were in his best interest. The assistance as Cort rapidly climbed the political ladders available to only a few Washington insiders.
Cort was more than his daughter’s husband. He was, for all practical purposes, George Trowbridge Jr., kept at arm’s length distance because of the
strained relationship between father and daughter.
Cort had been reluctantly thrust into a position of immense power and influence, yet he could look back during this emotional moment to realize that this was Trowbridge’s plan.
Either you control destiny, or it controls you.
Cort’s destiny, as determined by the man who’d controlled him for years. That was what his words meant on New Year’s Eve.
Trust the plan.
The plan was what was happening in this moment. The plan had been triggered on New Year’s Eve and was meant to come to fruition upon Trowbridge’s death. But would it? And how?
Trowbridge’s final, dying wish reverberated in Cort’s head.
This isn’t over—not by a long shot.
A gentle tapping on the door caused the family to pull apart from their embrace, although Cort’s mind had detached itself already. The solid wood door opened with a heavy sigh, as if it were also saying goodbye to its master.
Harris slowly entered the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Cortland, Hannah, I am so very sorry for your loss. George Trowbridge was a great man. An unsung hero who loved you all dearly.”
“Thank you, Harris,” said Cort as he approached the longtime aide to offer a hug.
The two men embraced, and as they did, Harris whispered in his ear, “Sir, they’re waiting for you.”
Cort pulled back and asked, “Who? Who’s waiting?”
Harris ignored the question and motioned towards Meredith. “Mrs. Cortland, members of the staff are awaiting you and Hannah in the guest suite. They’ll have hot tea, or a sedative, if you choose. I understand that your family is of the Southern Baptist faith. May I contact Pastor Coburn from Trinity in East Haven to come speak with you?”
Meredith, who was still emotional, became confused and stammered as she answered, “But we’d like to, um, I suppose I need to speak with Cort first.”
