First Family kam-4

by David Baldacci

  "By the way, my name isn't Fred."

  "I know that. 'Cause that's the name I gave you. What is it, then? Your real name? I didn't see your ID that good or how you signed the will."

  "Eugene."

  "Is that an Indian name?"

  "No, but it is what my mother named me."

  "How come?"

  "Because she was white."

  "And she really lived to ninety-eight?"

  "No. She was dead at fifty. Too much booze. She drank even more than me."

  "Can I still call you Fred?"

  "Yes. I like it better than Eugene."

  "Tell me the truth, Fred. How much longer you got to live?"

  "About a year, if I'm lucky."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I. How did you know?"

  "Seen a lot of death in my day. The chest hack you got. And your hands are too cold and your skin under the brown is too pale."

  "You're a smart man."

  "You know we all got to go one day. But now you can enjoy what time you got left a thousand times better than you would've a few hours ago." He pointed a finger at his friend. "And don't leave nothing for me, Fred. I won't be needing it."

  Quarry drove off in a swirl of dust.

  When he got back to Atlee the first plump drops of rain from an approaching front were starting to fall. He walked in and went straight to the kitchen because that's where he heard her. Ruth Ann was scrubbing some big cook pots clean when Quarry's boots hit the kitchen floor. She turned and smiled.

  "Gabriel was looking for you."

  "Told him I was going into town with Fred."

  "Whatcha go into town for?" Ruth Ann asked as she worked.

  Quarry sat down and took the document out of his jacket and unfolded it. "What I wanted to talk to you about." He held up the paper. "This here is my last will and testament. I got it signed today. Now it's all official."

  Ruth Ann put down the pot she was scrubbing and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

  Her brow creased. "Your will? You ain't sick, are you?"

  "No, at least not that I know. But only a fool waits until they're sick to make a will. Come on over here and take a look at it."

  Ruth Ann took a hesitant step forward and then quickly crossed the room and sat down. She took the paper from him, slipped a pair of drugstore glasses from her shirt pocket, and put them on.

  "I don't read all that good," she said, a little embarrassed. "Get Gabriel to do it for me mostly."

  He stabbed a finger at one part of the paper. "It's mostly lawyer talk, but right there is all you got to pay attention to, Ruth Ann."

  She read where he indicated, her lips moving slowly as she read the few words. Then she looked up at him, the paper trembling in her hands.

  "Mr. Sam. This ain't right."

  "What's not right about it?"

  "You leaving all this to me and Gabriel?"

  "That's right. My property. I can give it to whoever I damn well want to, 'scuse my French."

  "But you got family. You got Mr. Daryl, and Miss Tippi. And your other daughter too."

  "I trust you to take care of Daryl, if he's still around. And Tippi. And Suzie, well, I doubt she'd want anything from me seeing as how she hasn't even called me in over four years. And you and Gabriel are my family too. So I want to provide for you. This is my way of doing that."

  "You sure 'bout this?"

  "Sure I'm sure."

  She reached across the table and took his hand. "You a good man, Mr. Sam. You probably outlive all of us. But I thank you for all you done for me and Gabriel. And I take care of everybody, Mr. Sam. Everybody real good. Just like you would."

  "Ruth Ann, you can do anything with the property you want. Including selling it if you need the money."

  She looked appalled by the suggestion. "I ain't never gonna sell this place, Mr. Sam. This here's our home."

  There was a noise at the doorway and they looked over to see Gabriel standing there.

  "Hey, Gabriel," said Quarry. "Me and your ma just talking about some things."

  "What things, Mr. Sam?" Gabriel looked at his mother and noted the tears sliding down her thin, flat cheeks. "Is everything okay?" he said slowly.

  "Come on over here, you," his mother said, beckoning to him. He ran to her and she hugged him. Quarry patted Gabriel on the head, folded up his will, put it back in his pocket, and left the room.

  He had another letter to write.

  And he had to go see Tippi.

  And then he was going to the mine.

  It was getting close to the end now.

  CHAPTER 46

  FOR THE SECOND TIME in as many days, Sean and Michelle listened to a preacher talk about the dearly departed. It was a rainy, blustery afternoon and black umbrellas were braced against the elements as Pam Dutton was laid to rest in a cemetery five miles from where she'd died. The children were in the front row under the canopy with their father. Tuck's head was bandaged and the man looked like he had downed a few cocktails and a handful of pills. His sister, the First Lady, sat next to him, her arm protectively around his shoulders. Colleen Dutton was perched in Jane's lap. John was snuggled against his father. Next to Jane was her husband, who was dressed in black and looking solemnly presidential.

  A wall of "A-team" Secret Service surrounded the burial site. The surrounding streets had been cleared and shut down, with every manhole cover in the roads the motorcade had taken welded shut. The cemetery was closed to everyone other than the bereaved family and invited friends. A regiment of journalists and TV crews waited just outside the gates hoping to catch a glimpse of the president and grieving First Lady when they left the graveyard.

  Michelle nudged Sean and inclined her head to the left. Agent Waters of the FBI was in attendance. And his gaze was dead on Sean and Michelle.

  "He doesn't look too happy," she said.

  "I bet he's never been happy in his entire life."

  They'd caught an early morning flight back from Tennessee. On the plane back they'd talked about what had happened the night before.

  When they'd gotten back to Frank Maxwell's house, the man hadn't returned. Michelle had tried calling him on his cell phone but there was no answer. They were just about to call in the cops when he had come through the garage door.

  "Dad?"

  He had pushed right past her, gone to his bedroom, and closed the door. When Michelle had tried the door, it was locked.

  "Dad?" she'd called through the door. "Dad!" She started beating on it, until a hand grabbed her. It was Sean.

  "Just let him be for now."

  "But-"

  "There's something going on here that we don't understand, so let's not push it for now."

  Sean had slept on the couch and Michelle in one of the spare bedrooms. Her brothers were staying at Bobby's house nearby.

  When they woke the next morning to catch their flight, Frank Maxwell was already dressed and gone. This time Michelle didn't even try to call his cell.

  "He won't answer it," she said over a cup of coffee at the airport.

  "What do you think he was doing at the farmhouse?"

  "Maybe the same reason I was there."

  "Meaning what exactly?"

  "Meaning I don't know exactly," she said miserably.

  "Do you want to stay here? I can pop up for the funeral."

  "No, I don't think there's anything I can do down here right now. And going to another funeral won't be nearly as depressing as staying here and watching my family finish disintegrating."

  The service for Pam Dutton was over now and people were filtering away, though Sean did notice that many folks did their best to finagle a handshake with the president. And to his credit he accommodated them as best he could.

  "Can't chance ticking off a potential voter," Michelle said sarcastically.

  Jane walked out with her brother and the kids. Several agents flanked them, but the bulk stayed with the president. As he watched this scene, Sean well knew that tha
t one life trumped all others. The First Lady was a vitally important protectee in the world of the Service, but her ranking was so far below the president's that if a choice had to be made as to whom to save, it would not be a difficult decision.

  Michelle apparently read his thoughts because she said, "Did you ever wonder what'd you do?"

  He turned to her. "What'd I do about what?"

  "If you had to choose between the First Couple? Which one to save?"

  "Michelle, you know if there's one rule the Service bangs into your brain it's that one. The president's the one life you can not let end."

  "But let's say he's committing a crime. Or what if the guy goes nuts and is attacking the First Lady. He's getting ready to kill her. What would you do? Take him out or let her die?"

  "Why are we having this conversation? Isn't the fact that we're at a funeral depressing enough?"

  "Just wondering."

  "Good, you wonder. I'll stay out of it."

  "It's just a hypothetical."

  "I have enough trouble dealing with reality."

  "Are we going to see the First Lady?"

  "After my last phone call with her, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure if we're on the same side as her anymore."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  Sean let out a long sigh. "I'm just talking and not making much sense." He looked over at the man coming toward them. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

  Michelle glanced over in time to see Agent Waters striding toward them.

  "I thought I asked you two not to leave town," he said sharply.

  "No, I think you said you wanted us to be available for further questioning," Michelle said back. "Well, here we are. All available and everything."

  "Where have you been?" he demanded.

  "Tennessee."

  "What's in Tennessee?" he said angrily. "Some lead you're not sharing?"

  "No. We were at another funeral."

  "Whose?"

  "My mother's."

  Waters eyed her closely, perhaps trying to gauge if Michelle was pulling his chain or not. He apparently came away satisfied because he said, "I'm sorry. Was it unexpected?"

  "Murder usually is," Michelle said before walking on toward the row of parked cars.

  Waters shot a glance at Sean. "Is she on the level?"

  "Afraid so."

  "Damn."

  "Did you need us for anything?"

  "No. I mean not right now."

  "Good. See you around."

  He caught up to Michelle and they were about to climb in her SUV when they heard someone behind them. And the person was out of breath.

  Tuck Dutton looked like he'd just run a mile. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving.

  "Tuck, what the hell is it?" Sean asked, grabbing hold of his arm. "Come on, man, you just got out of the hospital. You shouldn't be running sprints."

  Tuck sucked in a breath, put a steadying hand against the SUV, and nodded toward the presidential limo. Jane Cox was just climbing in it, along with her husband, while agents hovered around them.

  "The guy I saw with Pam," he said breathlessly.

  "What about him?" Michelle asked.

  "He's here."

  "What? Where?" Sean snapped, looking around.

  "Right over there."

  Tuck pointed toward the limo.

  "Which one?"

  "The big guy right at the president's elbow."

  Sean looked at the man, back at Tuck, and then at Michelle.

  "Aaron Betack?" said Sean right as the rain picked up.

  CHAPTER 47

  A RECEPTION was held for the people attending the funeral. Not at the White House, but at Blair House, right across the street. It was actually four houses connected together and at about seventy thousand square feet was larger than the White House. Normally the residence was used by visiting foreign heads of state and other high-ranking VIPs. Harry Truman and his family had even stayed there in the 1950s when the White House had been stripped down to its support beams and totally rebuilt. But today it would be a place for people to gather and remember Pam Dutton, have a few drinks and nibble on some food prepared by the world-class White House kitchen chefs.

  Sean and Michelle passed through the metal detector, walked under the long awning, were wanded at the front door, and then entered the house. They had both been here before on high-level dignitary protection during their years at the Service. However, this was the first time they had seen the place in a nonworking capacity. They accepted drinks from a waiter and hugged a corner, watching and waiting. The president arrived with Jane, and then Tuck and the kids followed them in.

  "There he is," said Michelle.

  Sean nodded as Aaron Betack entered the room and scoped it out grid by grid as every agent who had ever worked for the Service instinctively did, retired or not. It was simply a habit you never forgot. Or else couldn't break.

  "How do you want to do this?" she asked.

  "He can't exactly fire us for grilling him."

  "But should we tip our hand that we know about his seeing Pam?"

  "That's the big question. Let's circle around it with him and see if the answer falls out of his mouth."

  They waited until Betack had broken away from another group and walked into an adjoining room.

  "Hey, Aaron," said Sean as he and Michelle came in behind him.

  Betack nodded at them but said nothing.

  Sean eyed the glass in the other man's hand. "Not working today?"

  "Just paying my respects."

  "Sad day," said Michelle.

  Betack clinked the ice cubes in his glass and nodded, biting down on a cracker. "Shitty day all around, actually."

  "More than the funeral, you mean?" said Sean.

  "Nothing on the girl. First Lady's not happy."

  "But FBI's still working leads. We just saw Waters. He didn't strike me as a guy who gives up easily."

  Betack drew closer. "Best detective in the world needs to have a lead of some kind."

  "Can't argue with that."

  "So no more communications from the kidnappers?" asked Michelle.

  "Not since the bowl and spoon."

  "Odd," commented Sean.

  "Everything about this sucker is odd," Betack said strangely.

  "But it was also really well planned. If Michelle and I hadn't shown up at the house unexpectedly, we'd know even less. So you think they'd be in regular communication."

  Betack shrugged. "It is what it is."

  "Anything on the letters on Pam's arms?"

  "Not that I know of."

  Sean glanced at Michelle and said, "I remember the first time I met Pam. She was really great. Terrific mom. Did you know her at all?"

  Sean said this casually but he gazed intently at the other man.

  "Never had the pleasure," Betack said matter-of-factly. "When I said I was coming to pay my respects, it was for the First Lady."

  Sean glanced toward the doorway where Jane Cox passed by, followed by several of her assistants. "She is special."

  "So you two got anything going on this case?"

  Michelle spoke up first. "If we did we'd already have let Waters know."

  "Important thing is to get Willa back, screw the credit," Sean added.

  "Nice philosophy," commented Betack, swallowing the rest of his drink. "And rare in this town."

  "But that includes everybody stepping up to the plate and telling everything they know," Michelle said pointedly, her gaze dead on Betack.

  The man noticed this and shot a glance at Sean and then back at her. "You implying something?"

  Sean lowered his voice. "Tuck Dutton saw you meeting with his wife when he was supposed to be out of town."

  "He's wrong."

  "He described you pretty accurately. And he fingered you at the funeral as the guy."

  "I look like a lot of guys. And why would I be meeting with Pam Dutton?"

  "I was hoping you could tell us th
at."

  "I can't, because it never happened."

  Sean stared at him for a long moment and then said, "Okay, Tuck was wrong."

  "That's right. He was wrong. Excuse me." He stalked off.

  Michelle turned to Sean. "How long you figure before he contacts whoever he was working with?"

  "Not that long."

  "So we just wait?"

  Sean gazed around the room and then stopped as Tuck walked by. "I'm actually tired of waiting."

  CHAPTER 48

  WILLA FINISHED the last of her books, replaced it on the stack, sat back on her cot, and stared at the door. When she was reading, she forgot where she was. When she had turned the last page, she realized once more exactly what she was.

  A prisoner.

  She was never going to see her family again. She could just tell.

  She stiffened as the footsteps approached. It was the big man. The old man. She recognized his tread. The door opened a few seconds later and there he was. He shut the door behind him and walked toward her.

  "You doing okay, Willa?" He sat down at the table and rested his hands in his lap.

  "I finished all the books."

  He opened the knapsack he carried and pulled out another stack of books and set them on the table. "There you go."

  She eyed the books. "So I'm going to be here for a long time then?"

  "No. Not that much longer."

  "So I'll be back with my family then?"

  He looked away. "Did you like the lady you met here?"

  Willa kept her gaze right on him. "She's scared. I'm scared too."

  "I guess we're all scared in a way."

  "Why should you be afraid? I can't hurt you."

  "Hope you enjoy the books."

  "Is there one where the kid dies at the end? That way I can like prepare myself!"

  He stood. "You're not sounding like yourself, Willa."

  She stood too. Although she was over two feet shorter than the man, she seemed his equal. "You don't know me. You might have found out things about me, but you don't know me. Or my family. Did you hurt them? Did you?" she demanded.

  Quarry's gaze flitted around the room, looking everywhere except at her.

  "I'll let you get some sleep. Seems like you need it."