by Joseph Flynn
“Just a bit out in the country. It’s real quiet out there. Ideal for writing, I remember him telling me.”
“Will you give me the address, please?”
She gave him the number on Gentleman Road.
Deanna asked, “Is that all?”
“If I have anything more, I’ll call back.”
“May I ask you something now?”
“You may. I don’t know if I’ll be able to answer, though.”
“This shouldn’t be too tough. Are you for real?”
Special Agent Gallo laughed. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, if that’s the case and it wouldn’t be against any rules, could you send me a picture of you holding up your badge just so I’ll know for sure this hasn’t been one big joke?”
There was a pause before Gallo said, “I’ll do that, Ms. Wilson, but only if you promise to keep it to yourself until I tell you otherwise.”
“Cross my heart,” Deanna said. “I know I’ll get in trouble if I’m not good.”
Gallo assured her she would. Then, after hanging up, he faxed a photo of himself holding up his FBI credential.
“Oh, my,” Deanna said. The man looked as good as he sounded.
She should have gone up to Chicago.
Maybe she’d remember something she’d forgotten to tell Special Agent Gallo.
She’d definitely put his picture in the drawer of her nightstand.
Special Agent Gallo reviewed the information he’d taken from Deanna Wilson. He rated it as credible. The woman was basically honest and more than a little frightened by the consequences of lying to him. As to the substance of her answers, he deemed the situation worthy of a follow up visit to Ottawa by a special agent. Then he went on to call the next Realtor on his list. It was a boring job, but he’d been shot in the line of duty last year.
For the time being, boring was okay.
He made no official notation that he’d sent his picture to Ms. Wilson.
The House on Gentleman Road — Ottawa, Illinois
Olin Anderson knocked Damon Todd for a loop, but Anderson was wearing sixteen-ounce gloves, and Arn Crosby caught Todd before he hit the floor, so no great damage was done. Except to Todd’s pride. That was his own damn fault. He took his eye off the more immediate threat. In real life if he’d done that, he’d be dead.
The three men had been doing close quarters combat exercises in the living room with the curtains drawn. It would have been more realistic to go through the drills outside, but with the trees bare they didn’t want to take the least chance of attracting any attention.
As soon as Todd looked like his head had stopped spinning, Anderson asked, “Okay, Doc, what was your big mistake?”
Shrugging off Crosby’s supporting hands, Todd said sullenly, “I looked for the man I heard coming up from behind me.”
Crosby moved past Todd to stand next to Anderson, who was taking off his gloves.
He asked Todd, “What should you have done?”
“Attacked Anderson. Put him between me and you.”
Both former covert ops men nodded.
“What would have been your best point of attack on me?” Anderson asked.
Todd reviewed Anderson’s approach to him. “You had your left leg forward. I could have kicked your shin or knee and slipped behind you.”
“Then what?” Crosby asked.
Todd worked out a strategy. “Kick the back of Anderson’s left knee. Get him stumbling forward. Shove him into you. He wasn’t holding any weapon I could take from him and turn on you. So I should have run.”
Anderson said, “You’ve got the theory down pat, Doc. Now, you have to replay it in your head until it becomes automatic.”
Crosby gestured to Todd to follow as he and Anderson headed to the kitchen.
Todd let them go, suspecting an ambush.
Anderson looked over his shoulder and grinned. He used his hands to form a T: timeout. He said, “Come on, we all worked up a sweat. Let’s get something to drink.”
Crosby was already in the kitchen and out of sight.
Todd let Anderson follow.
No way he was walking into that room like some witless fool. He began moving the living room furniture. Not back to its usual positions. He put it between himself and the kitchen doorway. Those two assholes came charging out of the kitchen at him they’d have to hurdle two chairs and the sofa. At the end of the obstacle course, Todd waited with the knife he took out from under one of the sofa’s cushions.
They’d practiced knife work using soft plastic facsimiles.
The knife Todd held, though, was the real thing.
Problem was, he still wasn’t ready for the pros. Anderson took a quick peek from the kitchen and pulled his head back. Then he stepped into the doorway and pointed a gun, also the real thing, at Todd. And that was just the half of it.
Crosby had slipped into the living room through the house’s front door; Todd felt the cold air from outside a second after Crosby put the barrel of another gun to the back of his head.
“Shit,” Todd said.
His shoulders sagged and he let the knife drop to the floor.
Then he spun to his left as fast as he could, trying to get behind Crosby. His plan was to do just what he should have done the last time. Get behind his opponent. He’d grab Crosby’s gun and use it on — well, point it at Anderson. It would have been a good idea, if Crosby hadn’t been ready for it.
Fast as Todd had moved, Crosby still found the time to retreat six feet, have his gun leveled at Todd’s chest. Todd would have been killed again. But Crosby put his gun in his waistband and applauded. So did Anderson, his gun now also at his waist, as he walked around the furniture.
“Good reaction, Doc. If we weren’t the guys who taught you what you should do — and knew what was coming — you’d have had us.”
Todd took a deep breath and let it out.
“I’m still not ready for McGill,” he said.
Crosby started putting the furniture back in place. “No, you’re not, but you’ll get better.”
Anderson shoved the sofa to where it belonged. “Now, let’s really get something to eat. We need to talk. Arn and I have the idea we’d like to spend the rest of the winter somewhere warm.”
Putting a hand on Todd’s shoulder, Crosby said, “We also need to ask how you’d feel about jumping out of an airplane.”
Reserve Drive — Dublin, Ohio
Governor Rosalinda Fuentes (R-NM), according to her official schedule was taking personal time to travel to New York City to see a play or two and do some shopping for her family. She was flying commercial with her husband, David Ramsey.
The governor had a reputation as the hardest working public servant in her state and if she and her husband, an architect, needed some time to relax, and it wasn’t costing the people of her state a dime, nobody could complain. They were entitled. No one from the media paid them the least attention as they drove up to Denver for their flight east.
Mr. Ramsey settled into their suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. Governor Fuentes left the hotel fifteen minutes after checking in, got into a limo and traveled to Teterboro Airport. A chartered jet flew her to Columbus, Ohio. Another limo took her to Mather Wyman’s home in Dublin.
The former vice president met her at the door. He shook her hand and quickly ushered her in from the cold night.
“Governor Fuentes, I’m so pleased to welcome you into my home.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Vice President.”
Wyman had a gas fire was lit in the living room fireplace. Kira Fahey Yates, radiant at the start of her second trimester of pregnancy, stood just behind her uncle with a smile on her face.
“May I present my niece, Kira,” Wyman said. “Kira, we’re honored to have Governor Rosalinda Fuentes of the great state of New Mexico as our guest tonight.”
Kira stepped forward and extended a hand. “Madam Governor, it’s a pleasure.”
Rosalinda Fuentes took Kira’s hand i
n both of hers. She smiled warmly and said, “You are beautiful, Mrs. Yates. My congratulations to you and your husband.”
“Thank you.”
Mather Wyman guided the women into the living room.
He said, “I hope you won’t mind Kira joining us tonight. She’s become my confidant and my closest adviser.”
Kira told the governor, “Of course, if you’d be more comfortable speaking privately with Uncle Mather, I’ll excuse myself.”
Very smooth, Rosalinda thought. These two know how to work together.
That still left a question to be asked.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Yates, but I’m someone who’s always believed in doing her homework. Isn’t your husband on President Grant’s staff? Doesn’t he work quite closely with her?”
“He is and he does, and we talk about everything, except our respective politics. I have to tell you, though, that my uncle is the only person I’d prefer to see as president to Patricia Darden Grant. But anything you say tonight will never get back to the president because of me.”
The governor turned to look at her host. Raised an eyebrow a millimeter.
“I’d trust Kira with my life,” he said. “Her word is her bond.”
That left the governor with the choice of whether to cross the bridge that lay in front of her. If she were to become Mather Wyman’s vice president, she would have to trust the people he trusted. Asking Kira Yates to excuse herself now would be an impolite way of saying she’d made a long trip for no good reason.
Allowing her to stay, on the other hand, would give the governor a chance to see how the man who would be president related to women.
“I’m happy to have Mrs. Yates join us,” the governor said.
“Please call me Kira.”
“Thank you, Kira. My friends call me Rosa.” Turning to Wyman, she asked, “Would it be all right if I had a drink? In your kitchen maybe? That’s the one room in any house where I feel like I can both relax and talk business.”
“Of course,” Wyman said. “What should I grab a bottle of on the way?”
“Scotch for me.”
“I’ll have the same,” Wyman said.
Kira told the others, “I’ll pour and content myself with a glass of water.”
Governor Fuentes opened the discussion with a bombshell.
“The president has asked Jean Morrissey to replace you, Mr. Vice President.”
Wyman and Kira looked at each other.
Kira asked the question her uncle wanted to ask but didn’t.
“How did you find out?”
“Take a guess,” Rosa said.
Mather Wyman had an idea, but he was still playing things close to his vest.
Kira having a moment to think said, “You’re a governor and so is Jean Morrissey. You wouldn’t talk directly to each other about politics … but people on your staffs might. If they’d met, say, at the national governors conference. Maybe two staffers who hit it off after hours and didn’t think there’d be any harm sharing some juicy news that would become public soon anyway.”
Rosa looked at Kira with genuine admiration.
She told Wyman, “Your niece is very good.”
“A jewel in all respects,” Wyman said.
“Can you see what your uncle is thinking now?” Rosa asked Kira.
The younger woman looked at Mather Wyman as if she was trying to peer into his mind. Apparently, she could. She turned to the governor and said, “Governor Morrissey told the president yes … and that’s why you’re here tonight.”
Rosa took a tiny sip of Scotch. She said, “A Fuentes has to work hard to keep up with a Morrissey.”
“Possibly,” Wyman said, “but that doesn’t mean you’ve already decided to say yes, too.”
“With respect, I haven’t. Not yet.”
“Because?” Wyman asked.
“Because I think we should see where each of us stands on the big issues, and I have one condition for joining you on the Republican ticket.”
“Maybe I should go,” Kira said.
Rosa put a hand on Kira’s arm. “Please stay. I don’t think what I want is too outrageous. Certainly, hearing it will be of no harm to your little one.”
“Twins,” Wyman told her. “Girls.”
“Maravillosa,” the governor said.
“Now, what might your condition be, Madam Governor?” Wyman asked.
“I would ask you to pledge to learn to speak Spanish, Mr. Vice President, with the goal of being able to carry on a conversation in that language by the end of your first term.”
Wyman looked nonplussed, as if that had been the last thing he was expecting.
“Think about it, sir,” the governor said. “The president speaks Spanish and French.”
“What about Jean Morrissey?” Wyman asked.
“Governor Morrissey speaks Spanish, French and Swedish. I grew up speaking English; I learned Spanish as a second language.”
Mather Wyman bunched up his face as he sorted through the matter.
Tossed back his Scotch to help his thinking.
Wanted to light a cigar, but he smoked only when he was alone.
Finally, he said, “I don’t suppose it would look good if I were the only one on either major ticket who was limited to one language.”
“No bueno en absoluto,” Kira said. Not good at all.
Wyman gave his niece a look; Rosa gave her a smile.
“Aprendi en la escuela,” Kira explained. “I learned at school.”
Keeping a straight face, the governor saw she would have an ally in Kira.
In certain matters anyway. Still it was a good sign.
“Very well,” Wyman said, “if I do it my way.”
“What way is that?” Rosa asked.
“My way is to let the question come to me. Some precious little newsie will notice the fluency everyone but me has in other languages and will ask me about it. I’ll respond truthfully that I’m studying Spanish. I’ll let you find a tutor for me. I won’t make a big deal of it. I certainly won’t try to make it an obligation for any future candidate for the presidency.”
Kira said, “With some candidates, it would be nice if they could speak English properly.”
Everyone laughed.
Rosalinda Fuentes agreed to the vice president’s condition to her condition.
She knew how things worked. Once you learned a new language, got good at it, you liked to show it off. And men, especially, liked to show off, didn’t they?
Besides that, if Mather Wyman won the election, there was no way in the world he wouldn’t take political advantage of an opponent who spoke only English.
Before the night was over, Governor Fuentes agreed to join Mather Wyman on the ticket.
Once he got the nomination.
I-80 Westbound — Iowa
The last thing Damon Todd did before leaving Ottawa with Crosby and Anderson was drop an envelope containing a brief message to Deanna Wilson in the mail at the local post office. He informed her that he’d be doing some traveling to further the research for his new book. He planned to return before his lease expired. He left the heat on low so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. The lights were set on timers so the house wouldn’t look empty. The doors and windows, of course, were shut and locked. If she wished to inspect the house or arrange for snow removal, he’d be happy to pay for any additional expenses upon his return.
Crosby and Anderson had an easy time of it, persuading Todd they had to move on.
They’d put a Google Alert out on Chana Lochlan, wanting to see if she popped up in the media again. She had, and this time it was at a fundraiser for Georgetown University. Standing next to her in the Washington Post picture was Dr. Daryl Cheveyo, the Agency’s point man for its contacts with Todd, and now a professor at Georgetown.
“All a big coincidence, right, Doc?” Anderson had asked.
Todd didn’t bother to respond; he was fixated on the image on the iPad.
He wanted to reach
right through the screen.
Throw an arm around Chana’s waist.
Grab Cheveyo by his throat.
But there wasn’t an app for that.
“They’re working us hard, Doc,” Anderson told him.
Crosby added, “In more ways than one. The pictures might be bait, hoping that you’ll react in a stupid way and make things easy for them. But getting you worked up can also serve as a distraction so you, or we, don’t notice them sneaking up on us.”
“The thing is,” Anderson said, “the longer we’re on the loose the greater the glory will be for the sonofabitch who catches us.”
Crosby amended that notion. “Up to a certain point, that’s true. If all we do is keep our heads down, then they’ll reevaluate. Decide we’ve lost our will to fight, and like we said before they’ll think we’re not worth the trouble or money of continuing an all out search.”
Todd said, “We’re not at that point yet.”
“No we’re not,” Crosby agreed.
Anderson said, “They might be damn close to catching us, Doc. Some people make fun of the FBI, but they have some hard cases with real smarts working for them. They have manpower. They’re methodical as hell, too. The bastards just love solving puzzles.”
“Olin’s saying it’s time to hit the road, and I agree.”
“But we’ll fuck with them because it’s fun and it’s to our advantage. We’ll make them think we’re coming back here.”
“Which we might do, if they’re not as close as we think,” Crosby said.
“How can we know if they’re close?” Todd asked.
“With these,” Anderson said.
He held up two plastic coat hooks and the face plate for an electrical outlet.
“There are cameras in each of these things,” Crosby told Todd. “They’re never going to fool pros, but they don’t have to. These are security devices normal people use. Fits with your cover. Why shouldn’t you use them? Really, all we want to do is get one good look at anyone who enters the house besides the real estate lady.”
Anderson completed the tutorial. “Any FBI agents come in, we’ll see it right here.” He tapped the iPad. There was an app for that.
