Kodiak Sky

by Stephen Frey

  As Baxter sat back down, Espinosa donned his reading glasses and removed the single sheet of faded paper from inside.

  “In your hands you hold Executive Order 1973 One-E,” Baxter explained. “That Order established the most clandestine intelligence unit this nation has ever known. It’s called Red Cell Seven. It was established by Richard Nixon in 1973, basically to hunt for Russian spies. But it survived the collapse of the Soviet Union.”

  “I’m familiar with Red Cell Seven,” Espinosa replied in a soft voice as he gazed down at the document. “You should know that. Other than the president and his chief of staff, the Supreme Court is the only body inside the federal government that is aware of the cell’s existence.”

  “Of course I know. I was simply being courteous and reminding you.”

  “Well, then—”

  “What you don’t know is that the cell has gone rogue.”

  Espinosa’s eyes flickered to Baxter’s. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t tell you any more than that.” Baxter gestured at the paper. “Just read.”

  When Espinosa had finished, he glanced up again. “What do you want from me, Stewart?”

  “I want your opinion of that document.”

  Espinosa removed his reading glasses and slipped them back into his shirt pocket. “First, I have to know if this is actually Richard Nixon’s signature at the bottom of the page.”

  “It is,” Baxter replied grimly. It was difficult to mask his disappointment. “I’ve had that signature studied and analyzed by experts, and it is definitely President Nixon’s. They didn’t see the document you are holding, of course, but they saw a copy of that signature and confirmed its authenticity.”

  Espinosa stared steadily at Baxter for several moments. Then he lifted the document up until it was between him and the bright overhead light. Slowly, he brought the paper closer and closer to his eyes as he kept the bulb behind it, then held it steady for several moments. Finally, he lowered the paper back into his lap.

  The justice’s fingers were shaking, Baxter noticed. “Well?”

  “The document is authentic,” Espinosa confirmed. “And absolutely enforceable,” he added. “All genuine agents of Red Cell Seven are forever and completely immune from prosecution of any kind. The leaders of the cell are required to keep a list of initiated agents, not to exceed three hundred individuals at any one time, who can never be prosecuted. The protocol for their protection is all here,” Espinosa said, tapping the document lying in his lap. “I’m sure you’ve read through this.”

  “And—”

  “And it would be a crime of the highest treason for anyone to ever bring an action against any of those three hundred agents.” It was Espinosa’s turn to interrupt Baxter. “They can steal, kill, or attack anything or anyone, and nothing can be done to them. They cannot be prosecuted for anything from a speeding ticket to being a serial killer. Of course, the assumption is they won’t ever do anything like that for their own personal gain because of who they are and what they stand for. According to the Order, they are to protect and defend the United States ‘with every fiber of their being.’ ” Espinosa glanced down at the paper to make certain he got the words right. “They are to forfeit their lives for the greater glory of the nation and revel in the knowledge that the general population will never know of or appreciate their ultimate sacrifice.” The justice shook his head in awe. “They are free to operate”—he hesitated—“even if they have gone rogue. And who knows if they really have? It’s a relative term with those people. What may look rogue to you and me may be what, in their opinion, is best for the country. There’s nothing anyone can do about them, not without severe consequences, anyway.”

  “Why were you looking so hard at the document?” Baxter asked. “Why did you hold it up to the light the way you did?”

  “I wanted to see it better.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Henry.”

  “All I’ll say is that this document is airtight, legitimate, and enforceable.” Espinosa stood up, walked the document back to Baxter, and returned to his chair. “Now, tell me the real reason you asked me to look at it. And why you just threatened my marriage, my family, and my career.”

  Baxter shook his head. “Not yet.”

  He wanted Espinosa to swing for a while, especially if the justice wasn’t going to be completely forthright even with the obvious danger hanging over his head. The longer Espinosa had to think about the implications of the terrible secret going viral across the Internet, the more likely the justice would be to change his mind and give up any Supreme Court secrets that Baxter and Dorn were unaware of. It was like giving water time to turn a tiny crack in a dam into a torrent that destroyed the dam.

  Espinosa pointed at the Order, which now lay in Baxter’s lap. “As far as I know, only two of those documents exist.”

  “That’s right,” Baxter confirmed.

  “Both documents are supposed to be in the hands of RC7 leadership.”

  “That’s right,” Baxter repeated.

  “How did you get that one?”

  “I guess we’ll both keep secrets for now, Justice Espinosa.” Baxter could already see the stress of the secret getting out working its way into every fiber of Espinosa’s being. Time was clearly his and Dorn’s ally when it came to turning Espinosa into their puppet. “Now let’s talk about why I’m really here. Do you know what I have on you, Henry?”

  Espinosa nodded despondently after a few moments. “I think so. Stewart, I can’t have that—”

  “Don’t worry, Henry. I just want your cooperation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “As long as I have that cooperation, your secret will remain forever safe with me. All right?”

  “Yes,” Espinosa whispered.

  The time for wielding the stick had passed. Now the carrot needed to be dangled. “Remember, Henry, Chief Justice Bolger isn’t getting any younger. And as far as President Dorn is concerned, you are next in line to replace him when he retires. As long as you ultimately cooperate with me at the crucial moment, of course,” Baxter added.

  Espinosa shook his head. “Bolger isn’t going to retire anytime—”

  “Or he dies,” Baxter cut in.

  The two men stared at each other for a long time. Finally, the wall clock above the desk began to chime, breaking the silence.

  “WHAT THE hell just happened?” Troy demanded as he stalked across the stone porch toward Jack. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Jack was standing in the same spot he’d been standing before following Troy to the barn. He was leaning over the wall and gazing down, trying to find that pebble he’d flicked into the rose garden earlier. But it was too dark.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered as Troy moved beside him. He could feel Troy’s rage boiling over as he rose up off the wall and turned to face his younger brother. “I couldn’t do it. Joining Red Cell Seven would go against everything I stand for, Troy. I appreciate the offer, more than I can express. But I can’t join a group that tortures and murders people to get information.”

  Troy groaned loudly as a shot of chain-blue lightning flashed across the sky. “I thought you’d finally grown up. But you’re the same old Jack, still the same bleeding-heart liberal, aren’t you?”

  “Torturing innocent people is wrong,” Jack retorted as a loud thunderclap followed the lightning. “I don’t care what your politics are.”

  “We only torture people who deserve it. Believe me, they’re not innocent.”

  “Don’t feed me that crap, little brother,” Jack snapped. “Sometimes you guys miss. Don’t try to tell me you’re perfect.”

  “Nobody bats a thousand, Jack.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to groan. “Listen to yourself, Troy. You’re rationalizing torture and murder.”

  “How could you be so disloyal?
”

  “Disloyal? What are you talking about?”

  “How could you turn down that offer?” Troy grabbed Jack by the shirt with both hands. “How could you turn your back on your country?”

  “I went up on Gannett Peak last December,” Jack hissed. Part of his shirt tore off in Troy’s hands as he pushed his brother away hard. “I did what Dad asked, and I risked my life to get that Order for you guys. Karen did, too.” Jack squared up as Troy came at him again and rain began to fall. “And she took a bullet to the head for it. So don’t ever call me or her disloyal. You got that?”

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jack ducked Troy’s first punch just as the storm unloaded on the landscape, sending torrents of rain flooding down onto them amid the lightning flashes and thunderclaps.

  They hadn’t physically fought in years, but Jack still remembered that his only chance to win was to get his brother on the ground fast and use his size advantage. Troy was too good a fighter on his feet, seemingly as fast as those lightning bolts splitting apart the night sky above them.

  He charged at Troy with his shoulder down and wrapped his arms as they collided. They crashed against the stone wall and tumbled along it together. But after a quick scuffle Troy broke away, and they stared at each other from a few feet apart as the rain soaked them.

  “I was the one who proposed you to Red Cell Seven!” Troy shouted above the storm. “I went out on a limb for you, and you showed me up.”

  “You should have known I wouldn’t join!” Jack yelled back. “I can’t belong to a group that uses torture. There’s no justification for that in any situation.”

  “You were okay with it in Alaska,” Troy reminded Jack, “when it came to finding Karen fast, when her life was in danger.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. He started to yell back, but there was nothing he could say. He had been okay with it that night.

  “Walking out of that ceremony had nothing to do with torture,” Troy muttered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just wanted to embarrass me in front of all those people.”

  “Oh, bullshit!”

  “You still aren’t over it!” Troy shouted as a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the area as brightly as if it were noon on a clear day. “You’re still bitter, Jack.”

  “What am I still bitter about?”

  “You know.”

  “Say it, Troy. Come on, say it!”

  They gazed hard at each other through the downpour.

  “You’re still bitter that you aren’t Bill’s son,” Troy finally muttered. “You hate that I’m blood but you’re not. It’s that simple, and it’s that wrong. You’re as much his son as I am, and down deep you know it. You’re just too insecure to admit it. It’s so stupid.”

  The last few words caused an explosion inside Jack. It wasn’t for Troy to decide what was stupid and what wasn’t. He had no idea how it felt to be an outsider all those years, because he’d been the ultimate insider the moment he was born. He was the classic example of a kid who’d been born on third base and thought he’d hit a triple.

  Jack charged again, but this time Troy avoided the rush easily and tripped Jack on the way by, causing him to sprawl forward onto the drenched stones. In an instant Troy was on him like a big cat, pinning Jack’s chest to the stones. Before Jack could retaliate, Troy had Jack’s right wrist almost to the back of his neck, immobilizing him.

  “You’re an idiot, Jack. Sometimes I still don’t get you.”

  Jack moaned in relief as Troy let his wrist go and the knifing pain in his shoulder eased. “Sometimes I don’t get myself,” he muttered through the raindrops bouncing off the stones around his face.

  Troy stood up, releasing Jack completely. He held his hand out to help his older brother up as Jack rolled onto his back.

  But Jack refused.

  Troy shook his head as he turned to go inside. “What a prick you are sometimes. But I guess I still love you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  LEIGH-ANN GOODYEAR belted out the last few lines of “This Kiss” as the crowd packed inside the Nashville nightclub went wild.

  “Thank you, thank you!” she shouted in her Southern accent as the music from the band faded and the cheering intensified another notch to fill the void. “I love y’all. We’re gonna take a little break, and then we’ll be right back for the second set.” As she headed toward the edge of the stage she took off her black Stetson, waved, and gave them another one of her light-up-the-world smiles. “Don’t go away, y’all.”

  When she was out of sight of the still-roaring fans, she headed to an outside door and down a narrow set of steps to the alley, followed into the cool of the night by her backup singers, Paige and Betty. The fresh air felt good. It was blistering hot beneath the bright lights onstage.

  “That was an awesome set, Leigh-Ann,” Paige called as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Betty before lighting up herself. She didn’t bother offering one to Leigh-Ann, who never smoked. “You’re rocking the place, girl.”

  “No doubt,” Betty agreed. “You look great, too. That little jean skirt and the rattlesnake boots have all the guys going crazy. And the wild thing is their dates don’t mind.” Betty shook her head. “You can steal the boys for a few hours, and their girlfriends don’t care. Even the girl who’s with that guy you pulled up onstage. I watched her. She thought it was great. They all love your voice so much. It’s amazing.”

  Leigh-Ann glanced at her reflection in the window of a tricked-out Plymouth. She was a tall, wispy blond who was blessed with a powerful singing voice that belied the slim frame in the glass. She still couldn’t figure out where all the volume came from onstage, because in normal conversation her tone was quiet and her manner measured. But when the lights came up and the mike turned on, it was like she became another person.

  “Thanks, Betty.” Leigh-Ann had known the girls for a year, since her first week in Nashville when she’d moved here knowing no one. Now it seemed like she knew everyone in town—or they knew her. “You’re nice to say that.”

  “Tips are gonna be good,” Paige spoke up happily. “The bucket’s already been dumped twice. And there were lots of fives and tens in there, not just ones. I checked. Good thing, too. I’m late on rent.”

  “You could really go places, Leigh-Ann.” Betty dragged hard on her cigarette, and then exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “I’m serious.”

  Leigh-Ann took a quick sniff of the smoke. She’d never been into cigarettes. She was too smart for that. But she didn’t mind a little secondhand smoke once in a while. And now and then, she’d take a puff from a good cigar—when no one was looking.

  “Well, I don’t know about—”

  “Especially with all that money your family has,” Paige chimed in. “Your daddy must own half of Savannah. With that kind of dough, he could bankroll you right to the top.”

  Leigh-Ann looked away, down the dark alley. Maybe it was time to set the girls straight. It wasn’t like she’d ever actually claimed to be from Savannah—or money. But she hadn’t denied what her manager had rumored, either. And she didn’t like being slick. There were times when you had to be, especially in Nashville, and especially in this business. Still, it never squared with her when she did it.

  And then there was that other secret she couldn’t tell anyone, because no one would believe her if she did. They’d think she was crazy.

  “You know, I—” Headlights down the alley distracted Leigh-Ann. They seemed to be coming on fast. “What the heck?” she murmured, pointing.

  The black van skidded to a stop on the slick asphalt, and two men wearing ski masks burst from the back. They grabbed Leigh-Ann, hurled her into the van, followed her inside, and slammed the sliding door shut as the driver punched the accelerator.

  Betty a
nd Paige screamed as the black van squealed off. But it disappeared into the night before anyone could help.

  CHAPTER 10

  “IT’S BAD news.” Baxter tapped the faded piece of paper in his lap as he and President Dorn sat alone in the Oval Office. It was the same piece of paper he’d shown to Henry Espinosa an hour ago—Executive Order 1973 1-E. “Justice Espinosa says the Order is legitimate and enforceable. He seemed very sure of himself.”

  “Why did he seem so sure of himself, Stewart?” Dorn asked.

  Baxter regretted conveying that detail. “He’s a Supreme Court justice, Mr. President. He knows about Red Cell Seven. It’s one of the first things he learns about after he’s sworn in.”

  “I know that. And you know I know that. Be more efficient, Stewart. I don’t have time for this. Sometimes you irritate me so damn much, old man. Sometimes I think you’re going senile.”

  Espinosa’s “whipping boy” comment echoed in Baxter’s ears as his blood boiled. “Sir, I—”

  “It seems like there was something more, something specific about how Justice Espinosa responded to you.”

  Dorn was excellent at gleaning huge truths from subtle signals. But relaying anything more of his meeting with Espinosa would only make him look bad. And Baxter made it a rule never to accept accountability for his missteps.

  “Why do I think you’re holding out on me, Stewart?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Espinosa’s lack of explanation for why he was holding the Order up to the light still bothered Baxter. As far as he could tell, other than the writing and the signature on the paper lying in his lap, it was clean of any other markings. He’d studied it several times in the limousine on the way back to the White House but hadn’t found anything.

  “Espinosa says you would be impeached if you tried shutting down Red Cell Seven,” Baxter said. “If an RC7 representative presented the Order to the Supreme Court in a private session, you would be guilty of treason, and you could not hide behind executive privilege in that case. He was very specific on that point. President Nixon was careful and thorough in the way he structured the cell’s existence and its protection.”