by J. L. Brown
She released the chin-up bar and dropped to the mat.
The Bureau gym, after lunch, was nearly empty. Jade liked it that way. She didn’t like to wait on machines. She didn’t like to wait for anything. Period.
She grabbed a towel to blot the sweat on her face and neck and under her ponytail. She was working hard, punishing herself for staying out late. She ended up joining Blake Haynes at the bar for a drink. One drink. Charming, intelligent, well-read, she enjoyed his company. And did she say he was attractive?
“Not bad,” came a voice from behind her.
She turned. “And you can do better?”
Micah grinned. Pulling off his gray FBI t-shirt, he jumped and grasped the bar, his hands facing him. As he pulled himself up and started to count, the muscles in his arms, chest, and back rippled. His body, a work of art. He passed fifty with ease.
“Showoff,” she said, throwing her towel at him.
She headed toward the leg-press machine.
After their workout, she sat on a bench up against the wall. Micah sat next to her on the matted floor, his back leaning against the bench.
She capped her Gatorade. “You don’t say much during interviews. You know you have the green light, right?”
“I’ll ask a question when I want to know something.”
She nodded, pleased. “Anything on Chaney-Frost?”
“We’ve been trailing the kid every night for the last two weeks. His parents must have him on lockdown.”
She had assigned a veteran agent to accompany him. Still, she couldn’t resist needling him. “And you’re sure he hasn’t given you the slip?”
Micah gave her a look.
She believed William was involved somehow. “Okay. Let’s give it another week.”
*
“I need to ask you something,” Jade said, leaning against Pat’s cubicle.
Special Agent Pat Turner turned away from her computer. “Sure, boss, what’s up?”
Although Pat appeared older than her fifty-one years, and most of the staff treated her like a favorite grandmother, she had a sharp mind and an unwavering tenacity to complete any project she was assigned. Possessing a vast knowledge of the Bureau’s history, she knew its policies and procedures and the way the place worked better than anyone. She could run the Bureau, in Jade’s opinion.
Her only weakness was that Pat didn’t want to supervise people, a career-limiting predilection at the FBI. She would rather spend her day hunched over her computer, as she had been doing before Jade had interrupted her.
Jade pulled up a chair just outside the cubicle, her arms on her thighs. She felt refreshed after her workout and recovered from her late night with Blake. She scanned pictures of characters from the Star Trek, Twilight Zone, and The Big Bang Theory TV series, pinned to the cubicle’s three walls.
“You’ve read what we have on the cybertheft case. How do you think they’re doing it?”
Pat thought for a moment. “About a decade ago, a Trojan horse malware package called Zeus was used to steal banking information through keystroke logging and form grabbing.”
“What’s form grabbing?”
“Appropriating the authorization and log-in credentials before they reach a secure server to avoid HTTPS encryption. It can be more effective than keystroke logging, because it can capture copy-and-paste or auto-fill entries.”
“How was it installed?”
Pat shrugged. “A download. Or phishing email. After the software installed itself on the victim’s computer, it captured passwords, account numbers, and any other information needed to access online banking sites.”
“And then the perp could transfer the money to his or her own account?”
“Pretty much. Before his arrest, the person who created Zeus sold his code to a Russian national who created its successor, SpyEye. It targeted financial institutions, and used a form-grabbing technique while the victims conducted banking business online. The victim was on the bank’s website, but some of the fields were fake. The malware was difficult to detect.”
“What about antivirus and other security software?”
Pat shook her head. “Nothing could detect it. Caught the perpetrator a couple of years ago when he tried to sell one of his kits to an undercover agent.”
“I believe our perp is using something similar. Whoever it is has a high level of technical skills.”
“Could be one of the employees of the victim organizations, a hacker acting alone, or a foreign agent: Russian mafia, European criminal outfit, China.”
“Is that your short list?” Jade said, wryly, rising.
“Wait. I have something for you, too.” Pat handed her a file. “Haven’t had a chance to review it in detail.”
“What is it?”
“The autopsy report on Mary Churchill. The president’s aunt.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
Washington, DC
In the back seats of the presidential limousine—“The Beast,” as the Secret Service called it—Whitney and Sasha conversed in low tones. Sarah reviewed their daily schedule on the adjacent sofa seat. En route to the Holocaust Museum, Whitney planned to give a major speech on the future of Palestinian and Jewish relations.
Her phone buzzed. Her daughter.
After their usual chitchat about school and friends, she asked Emma if she had talked to her brother.
Silence greeted her on the other end.
“Emma, what is it?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
“Obviously, it’s something.”
“You’re busy. It can wait.”
“Tell me.”
“Chandler’s . . . changing.”
“In what way?”
“He’s not . . . nice! He’s dismissive when I talk to him about my participation in the protests. Actually, ‘condescending’ might be a better word.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“That’s why I said he’s changing.”
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“It’s been a while,” Emma said. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t notice anything?”
Her son was different. He wasn’t his usual jovial self. More serious. She had hoped that he was maturing. “Perhaps.”
“To be honest, Mom, I’m not speaking to him.”
“You’re always honest, Emma. You don’t need to use that phrase.”
“Mom! I’m having a serious conversation with you. I don’t need a lecture on word choice.”
She smoothed the leather on the seat’s armrest. “You’re right. Why aren’t you speaking to each other?”
“He called minorities, ‘those people.’”
She sat up. “What!”
“He’s going to these crazy meetings. The Young Conservatives or something like that. The words that come out of his mouth are outrageous. Every time we talk, we fight. I don’t enjoy talking to him anymore. I’m supposed to go home next week, and I’m not looking forward to it. I don’t want to go.”
Prior to his political awakening, Chandler never cared about anything except girls, skateboarding, and video games.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I don’t think it’ll help.”
“We need to get together as a family soon.” Whitney sighed. “I meant to have Sean schedule something.”
“What did we do before we had Sean to schedule our lives? I need to go study, Mom. Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
Whitney stared at the phone a moment, pressing End before handing it to Sarah. She turned to gaze out the window at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, Emma’s question hurting her more than her daughter probably had intended.
How will I bring this country together if I can’t do the same for my own family?
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Washington, DC
She ignored the knock at her office door.
Sheepish, Christian said, “You got a minute?”
She continued to ignore him. When he didn’t leave, she gestured to the lone guest chair in the office. “What’s up?”
He sat. “What’s the latest with the bullying case?”
Jade said nothing.
“Look,” he said. “I lost it after what happened to Mark. He’s my son. My job is to protect him and the rest of my family. I felt . . . helpless.”
She slipped a red peanut M&M in her mouth from the large bag she kept in the center drawer of her desk. She was not going to make this easy for him. “Our core values include respect for the dignity of all those we protect and uncompromising personal integrity. That’s nonnegotiable with me.”
The anguish was evident on his face. “I’m sorry. Okay? Rule of law and all that. I get it. It won’t happen again.”
She looked at him for several moments. “Apology accepted.”
Christian seemed to be waiting. “Aren’t you going to ask me something?”
“Like what?”
Exasperated, he said, “The case. Aren’t you going to welcome me back to the team?”
“Oh.” She wasn’t going to make it that easy.
“Lawson has me working on a lot of BS stuff. Filing. Follow-ups. I want to catch the person who is killing these kids. Even if they deserved it.” He waved his hands. “Not deserved to be killed, but deserved to be taught a lesson.”
“I don’t know . . . Dante is turning out to be a pleasure to work with. And Micah’s learning quickly.”
“Sometimes, I wonder how Dante got in. Must’ve been a tough recruiting year.”
“He has his useful qualities.” Isn’t that what Ethan said last year?
“Like what?”
She frowned. “Still haven’t figured that out yet.”
They laughed and gave each other an exploding fist bump.
Jade picked up some files from her desk and handed them to him. “Welcome back.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The White House, Washington, DC
“Welcome back. Madam President, during the presidential election, different solutions were proposed for dealing with illegal immigration. What are your thoughts on building a one-thousand, nine-hundred-and-fifty-four-mile wall or fence?”
“Well, Blake, it’s impractical, and doesn’t address the root cause of immigration. A wall won’t stop someone who is desperate to feed his or her family. Increasing the number of Border Patrol agents and erecting more barriers will only result in more people dying trying to cross over into this country with the hope of attaining a better life.”
“And setting up an operation to deport eleven million people?”
Whitney crossed her legs. “That will turn us into a society we probably don’t want to live in.”
The interview was being aired live on MSNBC. They sat in two chairs facing each other in front of the unlit fireplace in the White House Library. Portraits of Franklin D. Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson adorned the walls. During the transition, she had retrieved Eleanor Roosevelt’s portrait from storage in the basement of her Senate office building. It now hung in the place of prominence over the mantle. And rightfully so.
“How do you feel your first year in office is going?”
“We’re not accomplishing as much as I’d hoped, but I’m excited as people become familiar with and understand the New New Deal, and what it will mean for jobs, improving the economy, rebuilding our infrastructure, and expanding access to education. We’ll be able to help millions of people.”
“I don’t doubt you. You’re a fighter. You never give up.”
“This is true.”
“Any surprises so far? About the job?”
“No one can know what the job is like, until you sit in that chair in the Oval Office.”
She didn’t mention how scary the view of the world was from that chair.
Blake steepled his fingers against his lips while she spoke. He removed them. “By sitting in that chair, you have shattered the glass ceiling. How does that make you feel?”
“Wonderful, of course. But it was never about me, Blake. It’s about all the girls out there who can now grow up believing that, if they work hard, they can be whatever they want to be.”
“Switching topics. What are your thoughts on Senator Sampson switching parties?”
“I’m sure children are watching this broadcast. Next question.”
He laughed. “Okay . . . ”
He asked her several questions about the specifics of the New New Deal Coalition legislation. Whitney presented her plan, but not its tepid reception so far, by Congress or the American people.
Five minutes before the top of the hour, Blake wrapped up the interview. “Madam President, it was a delight having you on the show today. I hope we can do it again soon.”
“I believe that can be arranged, Blake.”
He turned and faced the camera. “This is Blake Haynes with The Haynes Report. Good night, everyone.”
The interview had gone well. They had an easy rapport with each other that she believed would come across well on camera.
He did not push back on the lukewarm response to her legislation. Or bring up that another two protesters in Seattle had died from their injuries. He also didn’t mention the speculation around why she had lived with her aunt for a year or her aunt’s subsequent death. Or the mysterious death of the congressman from her district on a dark and winding road near her home in Missouri.
Blake had promised a softball interview.
He had kept his word.
And could be useful to her in the future.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The White House, Washington, DC
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Interviewing the president.”
“How did it go?”
“Wonderfully,” said Whitney Fairchild from behind him. She glanced at both of them. “I did not know the two of you knew each other.”
“We don’t,” Jade said.
“We do,” Blake Haynes said.
The president smiled. “Which is it?”
Jade willed herself to stop blushing. “We met at the Correspondents’ dinner, but we don’t know each other.”
“I see. That’s what that dinner is all about. Bringing people together. Well, I’ll leave you two to continue your conversation.”
She handed the president a file, detailing Cyber’s analysis on the cyberthefts. Their report was conjecture at this point. “This is for you. The documents you requested.”
Fairchild held her gaze. “Thank you. Stop by my office when you’re finished here.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
Blake nodded toward the receding back of Fairchild. “I guess that’s what you’re doing here. How close are the two of you anyway?”
She reminded herself that he was a reporter. “She’s the boss.”
“What are you doing after you meet with the president? My flight back to New York doesn’t take off for several hours.”
“I have plans.” She didn’t, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. They’d had a drink together. A quiet conversation in a noisy bar. She wanted to leave it at that.
His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I don’t give up easily.”
Jade started to walk away. “Neither do I.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
The White House, Washington, DC
After the interview, Whitney returned to her study next to the Oval Office. The television was on, the volume low. She grabbed the top one off the ever-present stack of briefing books, and began to read it in more detail.
Something on the TV captured her attention. The banner on the lower part of the screen said State Legislator Pushes for Investigation.
Her breath caught.
With a shaking hand, she turned up the volume with the remote.
&nbs
p; The mid-day news anchor spoke into the camera. In the box next to him, a handsome, middle-aged man addressed a crowd of reporters.
“Cameron Kelly,” said the anchor, “a Missouri representative from the Eighty-Seventh District, is advocating for an investigation by the FBI into the mysterious death of United States Representative Steven Barrett. Let’s listen in.”
The legislator was the picture of a hard-working politician fighting for the people he represented. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, red tie, and dark slacks.
“Congressman Barrett was a Missouri son,” Kelly said. “He was born here. Raised here. And represented our district and our state admirably for most of his adult life. He deserves better than this. He deserves justice. And I won’t rest until he gets it.”
Whitney stared at the screen, her hand over her mouth. She resisted the urge to scream.
She knew Cameron Kelly well. He had been a classmate of hers in high school.
He had been her boyfriend.
He was also a monster.
She didn’t hear the knock.
“You wanted to see me, Madam President?” Agent Harrington looked at her expression and then at the television. “What happened?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Seattle, Washington
He opened the front door of his home in Madison Park to Blayze Tishman, recently retired CEO of the number-three software company in the Fortune 500, now searching for a professional football team to buy.
Noah waved him in.
Tishman had been there before. He headed down the hall to the rear of the house before Noah had closed the door and followed him.
Pausing at the entrance to the great room, Noah admired the panoramic view of Lake Washington through the floor-to-ceiling windows. That view never got old.
The temporary bartender served Tishman a whiskey sour from the permanent bar in the corner. Noah clapped his hands once. “Let’s get started.”
