The administration of the program was handled exclusively through a little-known office in the Central Intelligence Agency, but even the person doing the paperwork didn’t know the identities of the operatives and the nature of their missions; nor did Senator Spalding, who facilitated their funding. Only one person still alive knew the program besides Ken Holtz, and that was Ace, the senior guardian operative himself.
Since she was sure this man wasn’t here for the reasons he claimed, Charlotte decided to focus on the one aspect he might admit to. “How did you find me?”
“I played a hunch.” He guided her toward the station exit, but she stopped near the restrooms.
“Before we go, I need to use the restroom. It was a long ride.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “You aren’t trying to ditch me, are you?”
“No, of course not.” Her sincerity sounded forced, and she knew it.
“Charlotte, you can trust me. Really.” He spoke with compassion and earnestness. “I’m so sorry about your dad. I don’t want anything to happen to you too. He would want me to make sure you stay safe.”
When she didn’t say anything, he motioned to her purse. “Why don’t you leave that with me?”
“I need it.” Charlotte gave him a pointed look. “It’s a woman thing.”
He flushed slightly but still appeared suspicious.
“Here.” Charlotte opened her bag and retrieved her wallet, flipping it open to reveal her ID and credit cards. “You can hold this for me. Obviously I can’t go far without it.”
“All right. I guess I’ll just wait here.” He didn’t looked thrilled about letting her out of his sight, but with the number of people milling about, he seemed to realize there wasn’t much he could do to stop her.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Charlotte pointed at her wallet. “Keep that safe for me.” Without waiting for his response, she strolled into the restroom.
* * *
Ace heard a car pull up in the drive of the modest house situated just outside of Laurel, Maryland. Located on a wooded lot away from the view of any potentially curious neighbors, the house had been one of the guardians’ safe houses on the East Coast.
The garage door rumbled as it opened, and the car pulled inside, confirming what Ace had suspected: Kade had arrived. The door leading from the garage into the house opened, and the man himself burst through.
With the look of a marathon runner, long and lean, the twenty-eight-year-old often used his average height and dark hair to his advantage when he wanted to blend into the background. At the moment, he was hard to miss with the air of impatience he had brought with him. He didn’t bother with greetings. He rarely bothered with anything beyond what was absolutely necessary. “Any idea if the system was breached?” he asked.
“It was a complete shutdown.” Ace shook his head. “As far as we can tell, Dwight locked it down deliberately. That means someone was trying to coerce him into accessing something, most likely the intelligence databases.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah. We have a mole. Someone on the inside tracked down Dwight,” Ace said, the words sounding unreal even to him. “I already coded a message in the newspaper. Dwight trained her well. She’ll know what to do.”
“How long did you give her?”
“Six weeks.”
“Six weeks?” Kade repeated incredulously. “Do you think she’ll be okay for that long? She’s a civilian.”
“We can’t take the chance that one of us will lead someone to her. Besides, the best thing we can do for her now is keep her away from us while we track down this mole,” Ace said. “Only a handful of people even know about the guardian program. It can’t be that hard to figure out who’s behind this.”
“I hope you’re right.”
* * *
Charlotte knew she was trapped the moment she walked inside the windowless bathroom. Barely glancing at the two women washing their hands at the line of sinks, she hurried into the first stall and locked it.
She took a moment to compose herself and think through her situation. Every fiber in her being told her she couldn’t trust this man. Her dad had told her not to trust anyone. The contact procedures were very specific: no one was supposed to make personal contact with her. She was the one who would reach out.
She knew the codes by heart as well as where and how to find them. She had met her designated contact many times over the years, their most recent encounter occurring only three weeks before.
Had Dwight known something like this would happen?
Doing what she could to alter her appearance, she ran her fingers through her long dark hair, separating it into three sections and twisting it into a long braid as best she could in the cramped bathroom stall. She wished she had a pair of sunglasses or a ball cap, but neither of those was included in her limited wardrobe, and the bonnet in her bag would make her stand out, not blend in. She pulled out the long-sleeved blouse and slipped it on over the plain T-shirt she wore.
In desperation, she looked up at the ceiling, hoping for any other exits. She found none.
Minutes passed as she worked through any possible means of escape, yet nothing she could think of changed the fact that there was only one entrance to the restroom, and Phil was standing on the other side of it. Why was it that on TV there was always an exit window, but when she needed one, it didn’t exist?
She wondered how long she had before Phil barged into the restroom and dragged her out. He would reveal his true identity if he did so, but she doubted he would wait too long for fear that she would find a way out.
Several women came and went, the minutes ticking by while Charlotte tried to formulate a plan. Nearly ten minutes later, she heard his voice when he stopped a woman as she left the restroom.
“Excuse me, but did you see a woman in there with long dark hair, midtwenties? I was waiting for her, but I’m afraid I might have missed her.”
The woman responded in the negative. Charlotte found herself grateful she had thought to hide in a stall the whole time.
He mumbled his thanks.
A moment later, she heard a door open, followed by the squeak of wheels against the tile floor. She saw a flash of yellow through the crack beside the stall door. It took a moment for her to realize the squeaking she heard belonged to the custodial cart.
A woman standing beside the sink spoke. “Excuse me. Could I get some paper towels? The dispenser is empty.”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me get some out of the closet.”
“Thank you.”
Charlotte listened to the exchange, at first not thinking anything of it. Then she keyed in on the custodian’s last word. Closet.
She heard the worker pass her to begin her cleaning duties in the last stall. With a flutter of hope, Charlotte exited the stall and noticed a door to her right hanging open. She edged closer, looking into the custodial closet located just inside the restroom entrance.
Another woman went to exit, and Charlotte pressed herself up against the wall to make sure she wouldn’t be seen in case Phil happened to glance through the door.
On closer examination, she noticed the closet wasn’t a closet at all but a long corridor, presumably allowing the cleaning crew access to both the men’s and women’s restrooms.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching her, she stepped through the closet door. The corridor was only a few feet wide, the wall to her right lined with boxes of cleaning supplies, paper towels, and toilet paper. Several more cleaning carts were parked beyond the shelves.
In the center of the corridor, there was a hose to fill mop buckets. Charlotte glanced to her left, and her heartbeat quickened. A door.
She looked behind her, calculating that she had traveled four or five yards from the women’s restroom. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the doorknob, turned it, and cautiously pushed the door open.
Phil was standing several feet away, staring at the entrance, his
back to her. He had his cell phone to his ear. She was just close enough to hear his quietly spoken words.
“What do you want me to do? She isn’t coming out . . . I’m sure she didn’t have anywhere to go. She’s got to be in there. The restrooms are in the middle of the building, so I doubt there are any windows.”
Charlotte didn’t wait to find out the answer. Her steps hurried, she angled away from the restroom, careful to stay out his line of vision as she made her way toward the exit. She was nearly to the door when she heard him shout her name. “Charlie!”
She sprinted for the exit. Outside, she immediately veered to her right, where she saw a line of yellow taxi cabs.
She opened the door of the nearest one and climbed in.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asked, barely looking at her.
“National Airport.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He pulled forward slowly. Charlotte glanced behind her, seeing the man racing toward her.
Her heart felt like it would explode as she watched him close the distance between them. The cab driver took his time to edge forward in preparation to merge into traffic on the main street.
What did this Phil guy want with her? The fact that he knew her name and that he knew to look for her told her that somehow, somewhere, the system had been breached long before those men showed up at the farm.
She could imagine the pounding of Phil’s footsteps as he continued to race forward. He was only a few yards away when the driver finally pulled out into traffic, accelerated, and left the train station and her pursuer behind.
Chapter 8
Charlotte felt her paranoia threaten when she walked toward Reagan National Airport and saw a security officer standing on the curb a short distance away.
Keeping her eyes trained on the entrance, she made her way past the check-in counters before glancing around to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Determined to play it safe, she rode down the escalator to the baggage claim, imagining danger everywhere she looked. The petite woman carrying only an oversized purse, the businessman standing near the entrance with a cell phone to his ear, the guy in his midtwenties with a backpack hanging casually off one shoulder.
She rushed past them all, assuring herself that people hurried through the airport every day. Eager to disappear from sight, she opted to take the elevator to the level where the entrance to the subway station was located.
After another quick check of her surroundings, she pulled a few dollar bills out of her envelope of cash and fed them into the ticket machine along the wall. A moment later, she passed through the ticket gate and headed for the train platform.
She didn’t have a destination in mind, but when the lights on the floor started flashing, indicating a train was arriving on her left, she made her choice.
A dozen other people boarded with her, many of them pulling rolling suitcases behind them. She chose a seat in the middle of the train and assumed the bored look that so many of the others around her wore.
Weary and hungry, she looked out into the darkness. She needed a place to sleep for the night, and she craved a hot meal. Two stops later she found both.
She exited the train and made her way out onto the streets of Alexandria. Though the scents of several nearby restaurants tempted her, she decided that finding a bed for the night was her first priority.
With a sob story already in mind, Charlotte entered a nearby hotel and approached a young woman behind the check-in counter. “Hi. I’d like a room for the night.”
“Of course.” The woman tapped a few keys. “Is it just you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll just need your ID and a form of payment.”
Charlotte let out a deliberate, long-suffering sigh. “Would it be possible for me to pay cash? My wallet was stolen when I was at the airport today.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The woman hesitated.
“I’m happy to put down an extra deposit for incidentals. Thank goodness I had my cash in my other bag.”
“That is lucky.” The woman said. “Let me just check with my manager.”
The woman picked up the desk phone and explained the situation to the manager. After Charlotte agreed to pay an additional hundred-dollar deposit, the clerk slid a form to her. She filled it out using the information for the alias that she had long ago memorized.
* * *
Jake held his grandmother’s arm as they walked into the small conference room at the attorney’s office. The confusion on her face tore at his heartstrings. She needed to be here, but Jake wondered how much she would truly understand.
His parents’ funeral had passed by in a blur the day before. Though he couldn’t remember much of what had been said, one single moment had been imprinted on his mind. In the instant the preacher had spoken his parents’ names, Jake had noticed the tears streaking down his grandmother’s face. For the first time since the accident, he had truly recognized how much she had lost.
His grandmother had outlived her husband and all three of her children. Her oldest child, Evelyn, had died of cancer before Jake was born, and her youngest, her second son, had lived only a few hours before dying from a defect in his heart. Yesterday she had escorted her only remaining son to his grave.
She had aged gracefully over the years and had given up coloring her hair some years ago. Her eyes were brown like Jake’s father’s rather than the deep green Jake had inherited from his mother. His grandma had once been tall but, over the years, had lost a few inches.
The physical changes were expected. The changes in her mental state were more difficult to face. Her memory had deteriorated over the past couple years, leaving her sometimes confused about recent events, but those tears on her face had indicated she understood exactly what she had lost this time.
Mr. Laskin was already waiting for them inside the conference room, his round spectacles perched on his nose. What little hair the man had left had turned gray long ago, and Jake found himself wondering if Mr. Laskin knew about a little thing called retirement.
Taking care to help his grandmother into a seat first, Jake chose to sit on her left while Kennedy sat on her right.
“I appreciate you all coming in. I know it’s never easy to deal with death, and I’ve found it’s usually best for everyone to get the estate settled as quickly as possible.” Mr. Laskin took his seat and opened a file. “Jackson and Melanie had me prepare these wills some time ago, and they have made some minor adjustments as life changes have occurred within the family. If it’s okay with you, I will simply read Jackson’s will, as Melanie’s is identical to his.”
Jake nodded his agreement and turned to see his grandmother and sister do the same. Mr. Laskin began reading the standard verbiage about his father being of sound mind at the time of writing the will.
Mr. Laskin continued. “In the event that my mother, Abigail Kennedy Bradford, survives me, a trust is to be established for her care and to maintain her standard of living throughout the rest of her days. She is to be granted residence at the family estate for as long as the property remains under family ownership and provided that her medical needs can be met adequately while she lives at Jackson Hills.”
The attorney named the amount of money to be put in the trust and continued. “Furthermore, I name my son, Jackson Clark Bradford III, as the trustee to oversee Abigail Bradford’s care.”
“What? Me?” Jake asked. He looked at his grandmother, the woman who held such a large piece of his heart, not able to wrap his mind around exactly what his parents were asking of him.
Mr. Laskin continued reading. “In the event that my son is unable or unwilling to exercise his duties as trustee, I name my daughter, Kennedy Bradford Goodwin, as secondary trustee.”
Jake was still trying to envision what it would mean to tend to his grandmother’s needs when Mr. Laskin read his sister’s inheritance, a very generous sum to be paid out to her over the next three years as well as the news that she was the sole ben
eficiary of the sizable life insurance policies purchased by his parents.
Jake swallowed and stared in dismay. His sister would receive all of the life insurance policies?
Kennedy leaned forward, open-mouthed. She looked from Mr. Laskin to Jake and back to the attorney. “But what about Jake?”
Again, Mr. Laskin ignored the question and continued reading. Jake could barely make out the man’s words as he drowned in the ones that had just been spoken. It wasn’t that he needed the money an inheritance would provide, but the notion that his sister had been favored over him hurt more than he had thought possible.
Sitting rigidly in his seat, Jake forced himself to tune back into the attorney’s words. “Finally, regarding the residence, outbuildings, and the surrounding property known as Jackson Hills, including all cash assets associated with the aforementioned property, I leave in its entirety to my son, Jackson Clark Bradford III.”
Jake’s jaw dropped. His grandmother seemed completely unfazed by the announcement. Her weathered hand patted his, and she gave him a placid smile, as though she always knew what his inheritance would entail. Or perhaps she didn’t really know what was going on.
When he shifted his attention to his sister, however, he saw the thoughts he had just experienced a moment ago reflected in her eyes. Hurt and disbelief.
“There must be some mistake,” Kennedy insisted as soon as she managed to draw enough breath to form words. “How can the family property go to Jake? He doesn’t even live in Virginia.”
“There is no mistake,” Mr. Laskin said, apparently accustomed to emotional clients. “The proceeds from the life insurance policy and the personal liquid assets go to you, Kennedy. The property and funds associated with the farm go to Jake. I believe if you look at the amounts involved, you will find that the values of both of your inheritances are quite comparable. As for whether Jake chooses to live at the property, that is up to him.”
“And if he decides to sell it?” Kennedy demanded. Her voice was even, but Jake could see her working herself into a fury. “What then? This property has been in our family for over a hundred and fifty years!”
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