by Lynn Ames
Returning to the main query page, he moved his cursor to the “search for” box. He typed in “Vendetti, Michael.” Again the computer searched through millions of records in the course of minutes, stopping when it accessed the requested file. This time, Peter began searching in January 1988, about the time when the then-governor hired Kate to be his campaign spokesperson. At first glance, nothing caught Peter’s eye all the way up until Inauguration Day. His eyes drifted farther down.
Lynn Ames
“Huh. Mr. Hawthorne again, popular guy,” Peter mumbled to himself. He made a note of a series of phones calls Vendetti placed to Hawthorne, all on January 22, 1989, the day after Jay’s accident.
“Interesting.” The calls, six of them, were all placed within a five-hour period and were of a short enough duration that Peter felt he could safely assume Vendetti had been handled by Hawthorne’s secretary. After that, there were no more records of any calls to the chairman.
On a hunch, Peter decided to expand his search. He retraced his steps to include Vendetti’s phone records from May 1987 forward. “Bingo.”
Beginning in June of that year and ending six months later in December, Vendetti called Hawthorne or received calls from him no fewer than half a dozen times. As press secretary to the governor, Vendetti had cause to talk to many people, but that many calls to the chairman of the DNC
would have been highly irregular.
As Peter was about to shut down the program, he had a thought.
Quickly, he typed in “Hawthorne, Robert.” After several seconds, far less time than it had taken with the other two searches, a screen came up. On it was one line: “User not authorized to access information.”
“Really,” Peter muttered out loud. “What are you hiding, Mr.
Hawthorne?”
Peter closed out the query, leaving a blank computer screen before joining his friend in the living room.
“Ah, you are done then?” Gustav asked from a reclining position on the dirty couch.
“Yep. Thanks, Gustav, you were a big help. Your new program works like a dream. Instead of peddling it on the black market, you ought to think about going legit and selling it to the government.”
“Yes, working with your government—I am sure that will get me far in life,” the big man said sarcastically.
Peter smiled as he shrugged into his jacket and opened the front door,
“Farther than a ten-by-twelve prison cell.”
“Very funny,” Gustav said, as the door clicked shut.
Peter stopped at a pay phone and dialed the number the president had given him. It was answered on the second ring.
“President Hyland here.”
“Mr. President, I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”
“Peter? No, no problem. I was just going through some briefing papers for my first trip abroad. Do you have something?”
“Are we secure, sir?”
“Yes, Peter. The number I gave you is unrecorded and undocumented.”
“And the room?”
The Value of Valor
“Yes, this is my bedroom—I assure you there are no microphones in here. My wife would kill me.”
“Very well, then. Sir, do you have a list of the CIA station chiefs?”
“Yes, it’s in one of my briefing books. Can you hold on a second?”
“Yes, sir.” Peter heard the president put the phone down. He heard a door open, then silence. Several minutes later, he heard the door close again.
“I’m sorry about the wait, Peter. The dang thing was in my office here in the residence. I’m looking right now.” After several moments of silence, he asked, “I take it you want to know the name of the station chief in China.”
“Yes, sir. It wouldn’t happen to be a fellow by the name of Bruce Gendreau, would it?”
There was another pause as the president apparently continued scanning the list. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. Why?”
“I followed your hunch, sir, and checked into the vice president’s phone records. Seems he made a phone call to Mr. Gendreau; the call was made the same day you heard from your contact over there.”
“Well, I’ll be.” The president’s voice was filled with wonder. “I mean, I know that’s where I told you to look, but I didn’t hold out much hope of finding a smoking gun that easily.” It was almost as if the president was talking to himself. “I know the man is dumber than a box of rocks, but still…”
“Mr. President?”
“Yes?”
“Can you think of any reason the vice president would be calling Robert Hawthorne?”
There was silence on the line for several heartbeats. “I can make excuses for why he might. What’s the time frame?”
“Two hours before the vice president placed the call to China.”
The president whistled. “Now that is interesting.”
“I thought so, too.” Peter debated whether or not to tell the president about the calls between Vendetti and Hawthorne and the fact that Hawthorne apparently had friends in high enough places to have access to his phone records curtailed. He decided against it for the moment.
“How should we proceed, Peter?”
“I haven’t worked that out yet, sir. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll make sure Vicky knows to get you in whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good night, Peter.”
Lynn Ames
CHAPTER SEVEN
he alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., as it did every morning. Kate, T having fallen asleep a scant hour and a half earlier, fumbled for the off switch and rolled over instinctively toward the spot where Jay would have been. This time of day, when she was in that vulnerable state between sleep and wakefulness, was perhaps the most difficult for Kate.
Her body and soul, unencumbered by the constraints of a conscious mind, yearned for her lover, reaching out blindly for the warmth and security that told her she was cherished. The moment when her mind caught up with the rest of her and remembered that Jay was gone was nothing short of agony—an agony that Kate had lived every day for the last five weeks.
Wearily, she rose and made her way to the bathroom. After splashing some cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she threw on her running clothes and sneakers, made her way to the kitchen, fed Fred, and let him out into the backyard. It was the same routine she had followed for years, even before Jay came into her life, yet now it was as if each individual action took more out of Kate than she had to give.
Her feet pounded the pavement on the Mount Vernon bike trail that wound its way along the Potomac River. She tried to focus on the day ahead—the two televised briefings she would conduct for the press, the meeting with staff to go over the details of the president’s upcoming trip abroad, and the daily policy briefing with the president and senior advisers.
She knew she would come into contact with Michael Vendetti at least a handful of times, as she did every day. This day was different, though; this day, Kate had reason to suspect he might have killed her lover. She had no idea how she would handle the situation, but she hoped she wouldn’t strangle him with her bare hands before having all the facts.
It was still dark outside, but Terri was used to waking before the sun.
She switched on the small lamp on her bedside table, the resultant light casting an ethereal glow over the tidy room. As was her custom when she had the time, she turned on the small television set on her dresser. Every home on this part of the reservation was connected to a large satellite The Value of Valor
dish that sat atop a nearby rock formation. There was a larger TV in the living room, but she didn’t want to wake Alexa, whose room was only a short distance away, by turning it on.
Although she spent most of her time on the reservation these days, Terri still liked to indulge her secret passion for Washington politics. She first got hooked while watching handsome Bobby Kennedy in th
e 1968
election campaign before his assassination. She had sat transfixed as she watched the events unfold on the tiny black and white television her roommate had kept in their college dorm room.
Lately, she’d been drawn to the C-SPAN network’s coverage of the White House morning press briefing, which was conducted by the president’s press secretary. Terri admired Katherine Kyle, especially after what she’d been through. Despite having so recently lost her lover, she seemed strong, self-assured, intelligent, and witty, and she carried herself with great dignity.
As Terri listened to the press secretary handle difficult questions with humor and honesty, she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead. She paused when her eyes alighted on the jewelry box in the far corner of the dresser. Slowly, she removed Alexa’s ring from within and examined it. She moved over to the night table and held the ring under the light, turning it in all directions and watching the diamonds sparkle.
Not for the first time, she noted the inscription on the inside: “Forever.”
“Where do you belong, Alexa? Someone out there is mourning you.
Who is it? What brought you to us? And who wants you dead?” Terri blew out a frustrated breath, tired of pondering questions she could not answer.
After the episode the day before, she wasn’t sure Alexa would stay long enough for any of them to solve the mystery. Terri picked up the phone and dialed Andrea’s number again.
After exchanging pleasantries, Terri got right to the point. “Alexa suffered a serious setback yesterday, and I’m not sure what it means for her. I need your help.”
“Tell me what happened,” the psychologist said.
Terri finished recapping the previous day’s events by saying, “I feel certain that she’ll regain her memory. I’m concerned about how long it’ll take because she was so agitated yesterday. I’m afraid she’ll try to leave us before we have answers.”
“And that will make her an easy target for whoever tried to kill her before.”
“Yes, precisely. Not only that, but where will she go? What will she do? She knows nothing of where she came from. How will she make a living?”
Lynn Ames
“Terri,” Andrea said softly, “you’re very attached to this young woman, aren’t you?”
Terri paused. “Yes, I’m afraid I’ve come to look at her somewhat like a second daughter.”
“You know she’ll leave when her memory returns, right?”
“I do know that,” Terri said quietly. “But she’s impossible not to care for. She’s kind and warm; she has a gentleness about her that makes you want to shield her from any harm.”
“You can’t protect her from her life. She needs to know who she is in order to understand why those men were trying to kill her.” After a brief pause, Andrea continued in a gentler tone. “I sense that you’re conflicted about whether you really want her to remember or not.”
Terri contemplated that. “I am, I think. Not only because of my feelings for Alexa, but because I’ve been watching Trystan with her. I think my daughter is falling in love.”
“Oh, my. That does complicate things. I don’t suppose you’ve told Trystan about the ring.”
“No, I haven’t had the heart.”
“Terri, if your daughter is falling in love, it’s a far kinder thing to tell her Alexa belongs to someone else now, before their relationship progresses any further, don’t you think?”
“I suppose you’re right about that, too,” Terri said resignedly. There was another silence on the line. “Andy? Do you suppose there’s any chance Alexa would never regain her memory?”
“I can’t rule it out, but statistics show that most people do get it back, some sooner than others. Terri, if you’re wondering what I think you are, that’s a very dangerous path.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I think it’s great that you’ve taken this young woman in and nurtured her back to health, both physically and mentally. You’ve shown her love and kindness, and I can see that she’s enriched your lives.
But this woman will find herself again. When she does, she may leave and never come back.”
“Although my intuition tells me you’re wrong, I’ll accept whatever happens in the future. I can’t worry about that right now. I need to prepare for today. Today she’s convinced that she’s a burden and that she’s endangering our lives.”
“Talk to her. Explain that you knew the risks when you decided to help her in the first place. Help her see that every day that passes without her reappearing in the world helps to convince the killers that she is dead.”
“Okay.”
The Value of Valor
“Be careful; there’s a fine line here. You don’t want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to stay against her will.”
“Of course not.”
“Good luck, my friend. Let me know if you need any more help.”
“Thank you, Andy. I knew I could count on you.”
Peter sat in the Oval Office, waiting for the president to finish his phone call. He took in the luxuriant blue carpet emblazoned with the presidential seal, the pictures on the walls of past presidents commemorating some of history’s most important moments, and the man behind the huge mahogany desk in the deep cherry leather chair. Charles Hyland looked like he was born to sit in that seat. Calm, confident, and completely in control, he was a natural leader, and Peter was grateful for that stewardship.
“Sorry about that, Peter.” The president gestured at the phone.
“No problem, sir. Would it be better if I came back another time?”
The president laughed heartily. “I wish there was such a thing as a
‘good’ time. Unfortunately, my time is never my own these days.”
“I’m sure not, sir.”
“Have you given our little situation any more thought?”
“Yes, sir. Based on what you’ve told me and my own observation, I doubt that the vice president could have acted alone in this.”
“I agree.” The president picked up a solid gold pen and twirled it in his fingers. “Who else is involved?”
“I can’t be sure, sir, but I have an educated guess.”
“And that is?”
“Robert Hawthorne.”
“Hawthorne?” The president was incredulous. “Why?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out, sir. I can’t find an obvious motive.”
“Then what makes you suspect him?”
“His name appears too often in a few too many odd places.”
The president nodded. “The phone call you told me about with Wheeler shortly before the call to China.”
“Yes, sir. That and the fact that when I tried to access Hawthorne’s phone records, I got shut out.”
“Meaning you didn’t have clearance?”
“Something like that. Yet I had no trouble whatsoever getting into the vice president’s phone log.”
“Curious, to be sure.”
“Yes, sir. I think the man has something to hide.”
The president pondered Peter’s hypothesis. He had never particularly cared for Robert Hawthorne, but the notion that the man would Lynn Ames
undermine the presidency, and by extension his country, in this way—it seemed unthinkable. “All right. What’s your recommendation?”
“We have several options. You can recall the station chief and question him.”
The president dismissed that idea out of hand. “The man’s a pro. I don’t think he’d be likely to tell us much.”
“I agree.”
“You could confront either the vice president or Hawthorne with what you know.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you don’t want to get the two of them together. You need to isolate one of them.”
“Which one?”
Peter shook his head. “You know the players better than I do, sir.
Which one of them is more like
ly to cave under the pressure of knowing he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar?”
Without hesitation, the president said, “Wheeler.”
“Okay, the vice president it is then.”
The president’s face was grim. “How far do you think I should go?”
“As far as it takes for you to get the information we need to put a stop to whatever’s in play—who put the plan in place, what was the endgame, and are there any other players involved?”
The president tapped his pen on the desk absently as he thought. “If Wheeler did make that phone call and placed the order, I could make an argument for treason. That should scare him into spilling his guts.” He looked up at his visitor. “I have to tell you, Peter, this is a heck of a way to start an administration.”
“I’m truly sorry, sir.”
“Yeah,” the president said pensively, “me too.”
At the door, Peter turned back to the president, who was gazing through the French doors out onto the White House lawn.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” President Hyland swiveled his chair back around to face Peter.
“How well do you know Michael Vendetti?” He hadn’t planned to bother the president with this but felt he and Kate needed more information about the deputy press secretary than they had.
The president seemed taken aback by the question. “Pretty well, I think. Why?”
“What kind of man is he?”
President Hyland narrowed his eyes in thought. “He’s a good enough sort. A little high-strung, perhaps, but knowledgeable and dependable.”
“Does he have an ego?”
The Value of Valor
The president paused to consider. “I suppose he might. I don’t really know.” He regarded Peter quizzically. “Any particular reason you’re interested in Michael?”
“Is he friends with Hawthorne?”
“What? I don’t believe the two even know each other.”
“So he wouldn’t have any reason to call the chairman’s office multiple times on January 22nd?”
“January 22nd? Two days after the inauguration? Absolutely not.”
“Very well, thank you, sir.”
“Did he?”
