by T K Eldridge
JJ nodded. “You’re right. At least the guy she chose has a witch bloodline.”
“Fuck the bloodline, Johnny. The guy she chose loves her, cherishes her, and treats her like a goddess. That, my dear baby brother, is what is important. Be a better father to Emlen than our father was to us.”
“I’ll try, Vali. I’ll try.”
“I need to go. This burns a lot of energy. But, Johnny?”
“Yeah, Vali?”
“I’ll be watching you. I have been watching you. Don’t be a dick.” And with those parting words, Tina faded away.
Emlen lifted her hand from his arm and sat back, watching JJ as his hands lifted to cover his face, then scrubbed at it before he turned to look at them.
“I don’t know how you did that,” JJ said. “But if you drugged me…”
“Oh, for fucks sake, JJ, get over yourself. You’re not the only one in the room with power. I’ve been seeing ghosts for ages and only a few months ago figured out that if I touch someone, they can see them too,” Emlen snapped. “It’s not all about you, y’know.”
“Em, we need to go outside. The press are waiting,” Edmund said.
The two couples got to their feet and started for the door. “Wait,” JJ said, as he slowly stood. “I’ll come with you. I agree and support you in this.”
Emlen squeezed Cullen’s hand as they all walked out of the room, the agents following behind. She glanced up at the agent that had been standing inside the room the whole time and he looked a little wide-eyed but kept his silence. What was he going to say? He saw the President talking to an invisible person?
Chapter 8
Keith Simmons rocked the leather desk chair and ran his hands over the polished wood desk. Finally, he had what he believed he had always deserved – the power and prestige of Commander of the Order. Granted, he knew that Jackson truly ran things, but his face was the one the people would see when he sat at the head of the council. He’d even splurged and bought three bespoke suits for the occasion. Here he was, a little over forty years old, and head of one of the most powerful organizations in the world. Not bad, he mused, for a kid from the streets.
The phone rang and he hit the button. “Yes?”
“Simmons. Is everything arranged for the annual meeting?” Jackson’s voice rang out into the room.
“Yes, sir. Oglivy is the only one not attending. He’s still recovering from surgery. He’ll video conference in from London.”
“Fine. The old geezer is nearly ninety anyway. I’ll be conferencing in myself. The logistics of getting there and keeping it a secret are impossible for me now.”
“Understood, sir. Is there anything else?”
“Watch your tone, Simmons.”
Keith gulped, then replied more meekly, “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, I heard something interesting the other day,” Jackson said. “I heard that you were the one that shot my sister in the back in Vienna.”
Keith stared at the phone and his whole body trembled.
“Simmons?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is that true?”
“Why would I have done something like that?”
“Because my father ordered you to?”
“I would have said something to you by now, if that were true, sir.”
“Uh huh. Don’t be late tomorrow. It wouldn’t look good to have the so-called leader late to his own event.”
“I’ll make you proud, sir.”
“You do that.” The sound of Jackson hanging up the phone had Keith nearly wetting himself. He jerked to his feet and went to the cabinet. His hands shook so hard he slopped the whiskey into the glass and onto the tray beneath. The glass clacked against his teeth as he swallowed the costly liquor and closed his eyes. Jackson was going to kill him. He just knew it.
* * *
Peter Wolfe watched the bank of monitors in front of him. Nine screens displayed several camera angles of the inside and outside of the grand hall where the Order gathered for their annual meeting. Behind him, the room was filled with boxes and crates, ready to be shipped to Dublin. After tonight, he would be leaving the Mediterranean for Ireland and the next phase of his plan. After tonight, his beloved’s killers would all be dead.
Peter sipped juice through a long straw clipped to his shoulder. He watched the cameras as one hundred and fifteen of the world’s most powerful members of the secret society entered the building. The Order of St. Michael had been in existence for centuries. Yet, after today, if all went as planned, it would be ended. The camera strapped to Amir was the one he watched the most. It showed him standing off to the side of the hall, facing into the room as the guests took their seats. Tables covered with linen and fine china, flower arrangements, and crystal glasses of wine were set in a large oval. Other cameras picked up the white-jacketed waiter, hands folded in front of him. When Peter saw Keith Simmons enter and take a seat at the table at the peak of the oval, he leaned over and spoke into the microphone. “As soon as the doors are shut, that will signal that all have arrived. Make your move then.” Amir didn’t speak, he simply nodded at the instructions.
Four other agents were in the room with Amir, and as the doors were being closed, they made their way to the emergency exits. Once outside, they pulled chains from around their waists and proceeded to thread them through the door handles, fastening them with padlocks. One by one, they jogged away from the building and into the darkness.
“As soon as you complete your mission, Amir, I will transfer the funds. May the gods bless you.” Peter said into the mic, then leaned back.
Other waiters began moving among the tables, pouring wine, placing salads before the guests, and taking final requests. Amir waited. Once most of the staff had moved into the kitchens, he stepped towards the center of the oval and faced Simmons. A short bow was offered to the leader who looked at the man in confusion. Amir gave Simmons a faint smile and pressed the switch hidden in his hand.
The cameras inside the hall all went black while the cameras outside the hall filmed the explosion that blew out the walls and collapsed the roof of the building.
Peter smiled, then reached over and hit a button, transferring two million dollars to Amir’s family in Michigan. He saved the video file and leaned back to watch as people came running out of nearby buildings, then as the first responders raced to the scene. There would be no survivors other than perhaps some of the kitchen staff far from the event space. Peter felt a little pang of sadness for the innocents that were involved, but it couldn’t be helped. Sometimes innocent blood had to be shed for the greater good.
He fell asleep in his motorized chair, watching the screens.
* * *
Three days later, Jackson went over the reports again as he listened to one of his intelligence directors explain that they’d found cameras transmitting from around the blast site. The location couldn’t be tracked as it had bounced from server to server all over the globe. They were puzzled as to why no one had come forward and claimed responsibility for the bombing that left all but five event staff dead in the E Street attack.
The remains of the bomber could not be identified, other than that he was possibly of Middle Eastern descent. Even that they could not be confident about and hoped that forensics would give them more clues.
He dismissed them and turned to look out the windows at the Rose Garden. It was a relief to finally be sitting in the Oval Office at last, but that relief had been short-lived. His whole organization was gone. He had a few thousand foot soldiers left, but no one to pick up the reins of leadership. Even those soldiers were melting away, taking other jobs or retiring. Some had helped themselves to the resources of their local bases before disappearing. JJ had had to scramble to find people to secure the facilities and lock it all down.
He had missed seeing the explosion live as he hadn’t been planning on teleconferencing in until after the dinner. At least none of the feeds would track back to the White House and cause him even more
issues.
PLEA had already threatened to take over the facilities and round up any agents they could find, claiming a terrorist threat risk scenario. JJ couldn’t help but think that might be the easiest solution. He didn’t have time to deal with the Order chaos on top of being President.
“Tina, if you’re here, I want to talk to you,” JJ said. “I know I can’t see or hear you without Emlen, but I really need someone who is on my side.”
Silence met his words.
“I don’t know what to do, sis. I could really use some advice.”
The room was still silent.
“Goddammit, Valentina! Tell me what to do,” he shouted.
The door flew open and the Secret Service agent scanned the room, looking for whatever threat had the President screaming. “Sir?” he finally asked, seeing that the room only held Jackson. “Are you in distress?”
“Of course I’m in distress! I want to talk to my goddamned sister and she won’t answer me!”
The agent’s eyes went wide and he took a step back. “Understood, sir. Shall I send for Dr. Willoughby?”
“I don’t need a bloody doctor, I need Valentina!”
“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” The agent backed out of the room and shut the door, then turned to the secretary. “Call Dr. Willoughby. I think the President is having an episode.”
The doctor arrived and the agent hurried him into the Oval Office. Jackson was pacing the room, still yelling for Valentina. Half of the rebuilt Resolute desk had been wiped clear and the papers, pens, folders and decorations were scattered across the floor.
“Mr. President, sir. Dr. Willoughby is here to see you,” the agent said.
Willoughby set his bag down and proceeded to fill a hypodermic with a sedative while the agent tried to get Jackson to sit down.
“No, you don’t understand! I just spoke to her the other day. I promised her I’d try and do the right thing. I promised…” JJ’s voice trailed off as the doctor stepped up behind him and stuck him in the thigh with the hypodermic.
“Catch him,” Willoughby told the agent as the sedative took effect and the President slumped over. The agent gently lay him on one of the two sofas in the room, lifting his feet and pulling off his shoes before settling them up on the sofa so JJ was lying more comfortably.
“Do you have any idea what upset him?” Willoughby asked the agent.
“Sir, he’s been increasingly erratic over the past month. Since the E street bombing, it’s been worse. Some of his friends and associates were killed that day.”
“I see.”
“The National Security director was here about an hour ago, giving him a briefing. Maybe that pushed him over the edge?”
“It’s possible. But why would he be calling for his sister? Hasn’t she been dead for over twenty-five years or so?” Willoughby asked.
“She has,” the agent replied, then hesitated. “If I may add, sir. About a week ago, his daughter, her fiance, the Vice President and his partner were here, and I was on duty at the inside door.”
Willoughby nodded as he crouched to take the President’s vitals.
“He started talking to his sister then, staring at something that I couldn’t see, holding what appeared to be a full conversation with her.”
Willoughby arched a brow and looked up at the agent. “What did the others do?”
“They sat there, not saying a thing, while he held this conversation.”
“So, they witnessed his bizarre behavior. That helps.” Willoughby stood, disposed of the syringe and closed his bag. “I’ll have him transported to the hospital. He needs to be kept under sedation and monitored. We’ll gradually decrease the sedation and see if he is still distraught. I’ll make sure the psychologists are brought in to talk to him. Call Matthews. He’s going to have to take over for a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll set the protocols in motion, Dr. Willoughby,” the agent replied as he stepped out of the room.
The doctor sighed as he looked down at the unconscious man. “Well, you fucked it good this time, Jackson. I can’t cover this up.”
* * *
Emlen had been working on her laptop, the TV on in the background, when her phone rang. “Em here,” she answered.
“Em, it’s Edmund. Jackson has just been admitted to Walter Reed on a seventy-two hour psych hold. They had to sedate him in the Oval because he was screaming for Valentina.”
“Oh, holy shit,” Em said.
“Yeah. They’ve invoked the 25th and I’m acting President right now.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good. I’m going to see what I can do to clear up some of the backlog and get things moving again. He’s not been working well the last week or so. I also need to call Thomas and Connor. PLEA needs to step in and clean up what’s left of the Order. I have a stack of messages and emails that he’s ignored about properties all over the world that have been ransacked and raided by the Order’s soldiers with no one left to run the thing.”
“Well, at least he isn’t blaming the Garda for that bombing.”
“No, I think he knows that’s so far from what the Garda would have done, and the exact opposite of what PLEA would do,” Edmund said.
“If you need us for anything, Edmund, just ask, okay?”
“I will, Em. Patrick’s here and I’ll make those calls. Tell the planners to come to you or Patrick for any wedding questions. I have an overflowing plate here.”
“I’ll take care of it, Edmund. Go be awesome.”
“Thanks Em,” Edmund said and disconnected the call.
Emlen texted Cullen instead of shouting through the house. “Edmund is acting President. JJ is at Walter Reed on psych hold.”
A few minutes later, Cullen showed up with a smoothie and a kiss before he settled into the chair beside her. “Here, I brought you strawberry banana goodness.”
“I love you,” Emlen said.
“I know. So, what happened with JJ?”
“Apparently, he was trashing the Oval and screaming for Valentina. Willoughby sedated him and had him transported to Walter Reed for a psych eval. They invoked the 25th and Edmund is acting President. He’s going to call Thomas and Connor, and get PLEA to take care of the mess the bombing of the Order left behind. It seems a bunch of the Order’s soldiers ransacked the bases and disappeared.”
“Great. Just what we needed. A bunch of armed lunatics with no leadership.”
Emlen sighed. “I know, it’s nuts. Oh, I only have about thirty more files to go through and I’ll be done. So far I’ve found twenty-three potentials. There’s something weird, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Five of these guys were in Spain from about two months ago until about two weeks ago, just around the time of the bombing. Now they’re in Ireland. At least, that’s what their financials are telling me.”
“Ireland? Where in Ireland?” Cullen asked.
“Dublin,” Emlen replied.
Chapter 9
Jackson was back behind his desk in the Oval and Edmund was sitting in a meeting with Emlen, Patrick, and Cullen at Mayfield. Three weeks had passed since JJ had to be sedated and he was now being monitored by Willoughby on a daily basis. The press had been told that the President had to be hospitalized for kidney stones and that he was now well enough to work half days. In reality, he was on antidepressants and mood stabilizers, making the daily monitoring a critical necessity since he often refused to take his medication.
The two couples were finalizing the last few decisions for the weddings with their planners and the White House coordinator.
Emlen was so done with the questions. A long sigh and she looked up at Margaret, the White House coordinator. “Okay, let me make sure I have this right. We’ve made decisions about the cake, flowers, colors, invitations, and about sixteen hundred other things. I have my dress and shoes, the people standing up with me and their outfits all arranged. Cullen has his tux and his guys all set. We even have rings
– well, Cullen’s taking care of that. Now I have to decide on bridal party gifts? Is that the absolute last thing I have to deal with?”
“Yes, that should be it,” Margaret replied.
“Good, because I swear, I’m about ready to just elope.”
Margaret, her assistant Amy, and Kitty, the wedding planner, all looked like they were going to faint. “Oh, no, you can’t do that,” Margaret replied. “The American people are eager to see the nuptials and the event already has broadcast times and…”
Cullen slid an arm around Emlen. “What my fiancee is saying is that if you’re all supposed to be handling the details, then handle the details. We just want to get married.”
Patrick chuckled. “That’s pretty much where we are with all of this. At least we don’t have to change tuxes, just where we’re standing from one wedding to the next.”
“Also, when the President walks you down the aisle,” Kitty said.
“I’m sorry, when who does what?” Emlen asked.
Kitty blinked at her. “When the President, your father, walks you down the aisle, the cameras will follow front and back.”
“The President is not walking me down the aisle. James O’Brien is.”
“But…” Kitty started to argue.
Emlen got to her feet. “My father was not in my life until a few short months ago. He has not earned the right to walk me anywhere. He can sit in the front row and watch. He’s not participating.” With that, Emlen walked out of the room.
Everyone was silent for a moment and then Cullen smiled. “I guess we’ll see you in a few days. Do have a safe trip back to DC.” Then he followed Em from the room. He found her in the conservatory, hands curled into fists as she paced.
“Emmy,” Cullen said as he stepped into the room. She turned and hurried over to him to wrap her arms around his waist. “I really wish we just eloped,” she mumbled into his chest.
