Facing the mirror, she groaned; an industrial power-washing and total overhaul might be more effective than a quick shower. As she leaned forward, inspecting the mats in her hair and lines in her face and reflected on the last two days, it occurred to her that her brother was a saint...and if the image in her reflection were any indication, she was certainly no angel.
After turning on the shower to ensure the water was good and hot, Johnnie noticed her phone on the vanity near the bathroom door. The screen was cracked and phone was off; whoever put her to bed must have turned it off and set it down in here. Without regard to James’ “no-phone rule,” she absently pressed the “on” button to see if the device still worked. Relieved to see the initial LED glow, she placed it on the counter and walked to the spacious, billowing shower. She stepped into the steam and heat to wash the day’s events from her body; as the water pounded her head, she wished she could similarly wash it all from her mind.
Ten minutes later, dripping wet and feeling far less like a stray cat, she wrapped herself in a huge towel and turbaned her hair into a smaller version. Her phone had booted up and she absently grabbed it as she hurried into the bedroom. Through the cracked screen, she noted there were two missed calls and an unheard voice mail. Before she could listen to it, however, the phone rang and she shoved it into her towel to muffle the ring; James was spilling his guts about their bizarre childhood in the other room and she didn’t want him to think she was in here catching up with old friends.
Once the rings ceased, Johnnie dropped the towel from the phone and her body, noting Mary had called...three times. The first two must have been while she was in the glassed-in shower...then the third, moments ago. Damn, that lady was persistent.
Johnnie knew the voice mail wasn’t from her Mom, however, so she pressed the control to hear it while she hurriedly jerked clean clothes from her duffel bag, discarding the spare items onto a nearby chair. The no-real-person’s voice said, “First unheard voice message...” as she used one hand to drag a pair of flannel pajama bottoms up her damp legs; no point in putting on real clothes at this hour. The message started and, while not thrilled, she heard it out as she awkwardly dressed, phone to ear.
“Ms. Carter, this is Byron Hoffstedder again and I’m sorry we keep missing each other. I received your message...”
Once the communication was complete, Johnnie, fully pajama-ed and still wearing her towel turban stared at the phone, awash with that damn feeling. That feeling had been so foreign at first, but now it fine-tuned itself to her awareness with familiar insistence; she pressed “4” to repeat the message.
The Hoffstedders, having stayed far longer that they’d anticipated, prepared to head home. The day had been a roller-coaster, but until the most recent events, they and Wei had mutually felt as if their conversation and meeting contained value and direction. Now the three stood, exhausted and wordless. Byron was clearly agitated, he could not articulate how he felt, but knew they needed to go. Margie took the lead, by thanking their equally uneasy host for his incredible hospitality, hoping they could return the favor.
Wei, took her hands and smiled kindly, though his eyes and expression indicated he had much on his mind.
“You are most welcome... I hope I helped you, I know your time and information was a gift to me....” Byron, looked preoccupied, but wanted to express his gratitude, nonetheless. As he shook Wei’s hand, the older man sighed and placed his second hand on top of their clasp, holding it for an extra moment.
He raised his eyes to those of his son’s teacher and quietly said the words Byron needed to hear.
“I don’t suspect I have to explain to you why I feel we have unfinished business.” Byron pulled the man toward him and crushed him in a bear hug. No elbow from Margie this time, as her husband took his enthusiasm out on the President’s father for the second time that day.
Byron pulled away and nervously pseudo-tamed his hair as Liang opened the front door.
“We have much to assess and I need to stand by in case Wing tries to call. Our day pales in comparison to his, I think.” He smiled humbly, adding, “May I call tomorrow?”
The Hoffstedders engaged in rare role reversal during the brief drive home. Margie talked non-stop, overwhelmed by the visit, how much she adored Wei Liang, the magnitude of her husband’s findings and the latest developments. She was frightened by the world events, to be sure, but had not yet picked up on the ominous and unspoken vibration shared between Byron and Wei. The one that all of the events were somehow connected.
__________________________________________________________
When Johnnie entered the living room in baggy night clothes, towel still on her head, with a comb in one hand and phone in another, the men were talking quietly, but intently. James had apparently given them the Reader’s Digest version of the Cain-Cantrell-Curry-Carraway...Carter early years and how his sister’s penchant for changing lives kept them moving. She’d never know how they reacted to the story or if James recounted the same events Mary had to her, but neither Jeremy nor Sandy rushed her with a crucifix and garlic...so far, so good.
Sandy was the first to see her, “Welcome back, little one...you really didn’t need to dress for the occasion.” He chuckled and reached his Coke on the table.
His comment and her small, sarcastic smile in return gave no indication their friendship hadn’t developed over years, as opposed to a much shorter incubation period. Jeremy quieted as soon as she entered, and regarded the two pensively. He knew by now that he naturally liked the massive man sitting near him; but he was inexplicably taken by the girl in Pac Man pajamas. Although the events of the day could affect anyone’s emotional balance, he was certain it was about her, not their fantastic experience. Realizing he’d been uncharacteristically withdrawn earlier, and wanting her to know he wasn’t disturbed by “her story,” he smiled at Johnnie and turned to her brother, “James...we have a little ways to go, but don’t you think it’s time to open the bar?” Johnnie rewarded Jeremy with a large grin, grateful that they hadn’t fallen into another marathon staring-match...although she surprised herself as her gaze lingered on him a little longer. She quickly looked at her brother and held up the phone.
“We may need a drink; I ignored your rule and turned on the phone...Mom’s called repeatedly. I have the volume down now, but...oh, look...she’s calling again now!” With this realization, she planted the phone on her chair arm, then she and James simultaneously headed to the sleek black and chrome bar; she didn’t answer the call.
“I’ll bet she is...Sis, we have a little more to tell you. I’m pretty sure I know why she’s calling.” He shot a glance to the others who looked away to avoid a reaction from Johnnie. Betsy, apparently fond of her guardian for the past couple of days, stood patiently by Sandy as he slowly stretched to his full height.
Johnnie, accepting that her brother had thrown himself headfirst into her world, told him quietly, “James, there’s a message on here you really need to listen to...I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it means something.” He looked at her quizzically, as he held a tall, full glass her way. She gratefully took it. The others approached and since she hadn’t quite warmed up to the “team concept,” she quickly averted the subject, saying to him,
“But it may mean a lot more after one of these... Drinks for the house, bartender...” she pointed her comb toward Sandy,
“And tonight, that’s not you! ....And no, I’m not driving.” After the last words, she downed half of her drink.
The night wasn’t young; James went back into business mode and asked Johnnie to tell them all she could remember from the airport incident. She forced away her natural notion of avoidance and looked at the ceiling as she took a large swallow from her glass; then she told them all she could honestly recall. They strained to look at her and not each other as she described her encounters with the beautiful woman...from the car window, then much more closely, outside the terminal bathroom.
S
he closed her eyes and shook her head.
“I was reaching for the bathroom door and she came out and slammed right into me...her perfume was strong, but, I know this sounds weird...it was pretty...” She sighed, and flattened her mouth into a Kermit-like expression, looking to her audience. “And that’s all I remember till I saw you.” She said this to Jeremy, wincing as she remembered more details.
“Sorry I fought with you over the phone and stuff...and for hitting you.” He gave her a smile as if it would have been alright if she’d shoved the phone up his nose. A look as if anything would have been alright. She was almost lost in the connection again, when her eyes rounded with another recollection; she reached up to pull the towel off her head.
“The strangest thing...right after we had that thing happen in the parking lot, a song came on in the car...Jeremy, do you remember it? Blow Wide Open...by Benee…”
He shook his head in disbelief, as he remembered. “Couldn’t have missed it..when I released the partition, you had the volume maxed out. But I never considered...”
Taking a larger gulp of the nearly-gone cocktail, Johnnie cleared her throat and said,
“Lookit, guys....I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to ignore the ridiculous coincidences. First it made me feel stupid to think they meant something, then it scared me to think they might. Now...” She suddenly quit talking, with a sigh. Her next expression, uncharacteristically vulnerable, but very characteristically honest and direct, touched them each in their own way. Even Betsy responded, burrowing her muzzle between Johnnie’s leg and chair. With a hoarse whisper Johnnie said, “I just want to know what it means...” As she said this, she pressed two buttons on her phone and after hearing the Byron Hoffstedder say his name and begin his message in her ear, she quickly hit the speaker button and held it up for all to hear. A spirited, but sincere voice spoke to them all. It was a small voice in such a large room, but its impact was palpable. They listened.
“...we hope you, of all people, understand being in the midst of something you don’t understand. I will answer any questions you have, and I hope you will answer a few of mine. We anxiously await your response. Um. Thank you.”
“He called once before I even got here, and this message came in before we went to the airport.” Johnnie sat the phone aside and stared at the floor. No one asked the caller’s name; at that point in time, this was just one more unexplained incident tossed onto the growing pile.
They were all quiet as James, assuming everyone needed another round, gathered glasses in the silence.
Johnnie had slid to the floor, to Betsy’s delight, and the two were pretzelled together when James approached. Although she reached for her a newly filled glass, he held onto it and said, “The good news, even though it’s really bad news, is Israel attacked Iran and the story monopolized the news.” Before Johnnie could articulate what he was talking about and grab her drink from him, James squatted down and looked at his sister. “The bad news is, before that news hit, the report from JFK was the hot news, and they showed your picture from a security video as a person of interest...” Her face drained of color; James, accustomed to negotiation, seized her speechless moment to throw in the final details, until now, unknown to Johnnie. He spoke quickly.
“Listen now, you are not a suspect...after running into the real suspect and sniffing her perfume, you apparently knocked her out and hit every fire alarm you could find. But she confessed to everything...even sent some advance correspondence. Because of you no one was killed, including her. Because of Jeremy here, you guys got out of there before the whole place was cordoned off...”
Johnnie’s color still wasn’t quite right, but her grip on Betsy’s neck loosened and she glanced at Jeremy. He, of course, looked at her, in turn, with a humble “...it was nothing” expression. She returned her gaze to James. She blew out the breath she’d held in her lungs and glanced at the sweating glass in his hand, raising her eyebrows.
He ruffled her wet hair and handed her the glass.
Pakistan released a statement, blaming India, rather than Israel, for the attacks on Iran, promising immediate retaliation; few doubted they intended a nuclear strike.
The atmosphere in the Situation Room was electric and the energy only heightened after the President returned from an extended inexplicable break and sat in his chair without comment. Frank Wallace and Toby Chrone, Secretary of State, immediately approached him and Wing held them at bay with a raised hand, speaking loudly, “Here’s what we do.” Wallace, clearly rebuffed, called out to the room for attention. The mixture of civil and military advisors quieted; those who were standing sat and turned their chairs to face the President. The images on the multiple screens flickered with updates, but everyone’s eyes were on Wing Liang.
“Everyone in this room knows if this escalates into a world-wide conflict, we all lose.” Frank Wallace stood, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff pushed her chair back as if to follow.
President Liang said one word, loudly, forcing their retreat.
“Listen.” The expressions about the long table were of forced restraint; each person was a leader in their own right as well as a citizen of their great country. Everyone was understandably emotional and invested in the outcome of this crisis, but as Wallace reluctantly sat and the armed forces ranking general pulled her chair forward, they all listened.
“When I say we all lose, I mean the world. Our planet. This is not a game, but I know we must play, or at least posture our pieces...” He looked at the general.
“Place all military forces on highest alert; I mean all.” The mixed expressions of excitement, dread...and relief gave movement to the tension, but before the noise could begin, the President raised a hand and pointed at the Secretary of State and other civil leaders.
“We must try to get all world parties together...” The collective balk forced him to repeat his earlier term, “I mean all. OPEC and the United Nations have headquarters in Vienna...” The room was silent and the air of disbelief expanded, seemingly pulling oxygen in its force.
Wing continued, “We will use every ounce of diplomacy, tact...,” he paused, shooting a glance at the military in the group, “and yes, show of force. We will attempt an immediate gathering of every stake holder in this crisis; and that would mean each nation and organization; yes, it’s unprecedented. I don’t care what it takes...”
“Mr. President...with all due respect...” Wallace stood, red faced and emotional. The Secretary of State shook his head in disbelief. Two other advisors rose as Wallace continued, “A meeting of this magnitude is preposterous and too late in the game...”
Wing Liang shot up from his sitting position, slamming both hands on the table. No one had ever seen the slightest sign of aggression from their leader; his voice was controlled, but deliberate as his passionate gaze panned the room, settling on Wallace.
“I’ll tell you what’s preposterous; that in a room with so much intelligence, that everyone here is willing to throw gas on this flame. If we act slowly, or fail to act, it may---will, no...today it has cost lives. But if we fail to see deterrence as our last true hope...and if we use our might instead of intellect, then this time...THIS time, everyone’s cards are nuclear... we all die. OUR WORLD IS OVER.”
The final words were loud and clear; figuratively and literally. This was the first and last time Wing Liang would raise his voice in this setting. At that moment, little volume was necessary for him to complete his point. Hands on table, head halfway down, the small man leaned forward and somehow spoke to every person in the room, although his eyes moved from one face to another. Dark eyes, somehow calm, yet on fire. Barely audible, but heard by all, he said, “That will not happen. Not on my time, not in my term. We make this happen...or our legacy will not matter because there will be nothing left.”
_________________________________________________________
Wei stared at the phone. Although he’d hoped to hear from his son soon, he had been sho
cked to receive the call on this night, at the end of such an enlightening yet disturbing day...and in the midst of what must be chaos for the President of the United States.
The two rarely discussed specific events and Wei never gave advice; he simply offered a stable form of support for his son...and sometimes he simply provided a calm influence outside the White House storm.
Tonight’s unexpected call was not unique in the sense of the man contacting his father, hoping to center himself and gain subsequent perspective. Other aspects of the conversation, however, were extraordinary.
Sensing his son had limited time, but did not want to discuss national and world events, he had told Wing the Hoffstedders had not only visited, but stayed all day. Wing’s interest seemed to expand beyond a conversational tone when his father told him, hesitantly, that the couple did have news about the girl named Johnnie, but this probably was not the best time for that discussion.
As Wing pressed his father for details, even he didn’t understand his own sense of urgency.
“Son, I’m sorry you had to keep it all to yourself for so long. I don’t know what you believe now, but I can tell you, I remember it...and thought it was a dream, but now I believe that girl saved my life.” The singular statement activated a feeling of complete epiphany for Wing, although he didn’t instantly gather the meaning. He pressed his father for more.
“Wing, I appreciate your emotion on this...and I am touched. But I know you have more pressing issues at hand.” Wei spoke as a father, but also as counsel. He had never known his son to escape his responsibilities, but was bewildered about the timing of this call and conversation.
“Dad...trust me. I need something, but I don’t know what. And I think I’m close, but I don’t know why. Please, don’t worry...just talk? Could you tell me more? If nothing else, it’ll give me the break I need before all hell breaks loose, which it will. Which it is.”
The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy) Page 34
