The White House

by Roland Smith

  Boone got up, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat back down. He took a sip and then continued with the story.

  “Ziv heard a rumor about a secret cell that had been formed around the time his wife died. It was made up of elite terrorists, and you got in by invitation only. He began to wonder why he hadn’t been invited to join. Then he started thinking about Elise and some of his other friends who had been recruited when they were at the university. At least half of them seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. Elise had been a good friend to both Ziv and his wife. She would have been at the hospital when his wife went into labor. He wondered why she hadn’t contacted him when he returned from Iran.

  “He got into the hospital’s records and discovered that his wife had died giving birth to twins. Girls. Identical. The record went on to say that the father of the twins was deceased. The girls were adopted the day they were born. The names of the adoptive parents weren’t given.”

  “So he started looking for them,” Angela said.

  “More than that,” Boone said. “He faked his own death, very much like your mother did when she took Anmar’s place. Like her, he also defected to the other side, becoming a NOC agent for the Israeli Mossad. At least that’s what we think. This was the only way he could find out what the Mossad knew about this secret cell. This was also how he managed to infiltrate Eben’s mission to track down the Leopard and kill her.”

  “Did he find Anmar before she died at Independence Hall?” Angela asked.

  “He didn’t say, but I suspect he did. He knew things about Anmar’s past that Malak didn’t know.”

  “This is confusing,” I said, and I wasn’t embarrassed to admit it.

  Boone smiled. “It’s supposed to be confusing, Q. Life is not two sheets of paper, one black, one white. Life is a ream of paper, each page a different shade of gray.”

  That was about as poetic as Boone had ever been. And I was still confused.

  He looked at Angela. “One thing I know for sure, Ziv will do everything he can to protect you and your mother.”

  I wanted to shout, What about me?Instead I said, “Malak’s not making it easy for him.”

  “True,” Boone said. “But she’s getting him closer to his goal, which is finding the people who kidnapped his daughters.”

  “So he’s definitely on our side,” Angela said.

  Boone shook his head. “Your grandfather is on whichever side suits his purpose.”

  Dr. Lennox finished suturing the wound and then wrapped it.

  “Do you want a sling?”

  Malak nodded. Slings, bandages, and casts attracted attention. But a sling was also a good place to stash a small pistol.

  Dr. Lennox handed her a vial of pills.

  “Antibiotics,” he said. “Not poison capsules. Take two a day. It’s a nasty wound. If it gets infected you could lose your arm.”

  Malak stuffed the bottle into her pack and hopped off the table with the gun in her hand.

  “Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not going to shoot you. The next time you have to patch up someone like me, it will be easier. You can get used to anything. Even patients brandishing pistols.”

  “I suppose,” Dr. Lennox said, but he didn’t look like he believed her.

  Before leaving the examination room Malak locked eyes with the young doctor until he looked away. The stare was meant to intimidate, but it was also a small indulgence that helped to remind her whose side she was on.

  When she met a new cell member, no matter how insignificant their role, Malak imagined herself throwing them to the ground, wrenching their arms behind their back, and cuffing them—not too gently—as she placed them under arrest.

  Malak knew this was pure fantasy. She and Ziv had identified dozens of cell members. When the other members were finally apprehended it would be by a coordinated operation involving several law enforcement and intelligence agencies. They would hit the ghosts at the same moment, and it was unlikely that she would be in on any of the arrests. She was no longer a Secret Service agent, and she was no longer herself. The Leopard would be in an interrogation room, a cage, or lying in a stainless steel drawer in a morgue.

  Malak left the examination room and clinic without looking back.

  Elise’s van was gone. In its place was an SUV. Silver with tinted windows.

  The back door swung open. Without hesitation Malak crossed the street, climbed into the backseat, and closed the door.

  Two men in front, who did not turn to look at her. One behind her, who slipped a black hood over her head. “Gun,” he said.

  “It’s in the pack,” she said.

  He took the pack and rummaged through it. The SUV pulled away from the curb.

  This was not the first time Malak had been hooded. She didn’t like it, but she understood the precaution. They didn’t trust her yet. They were taking her to a secret location. If they were going to torture and kill her, they probably wouldn’t have bothered with the hood. Dead people don’t talk. They had allowed her to get into the SUV on her own. The man in back had not patted her down for a backup weapon. All good signs.

  Malak had noted the time when she got into the SUV, but that would do her little good in figuring out where they had taken her. Terrorists rarely took a direct route anywhere. They might drive for an hour to get to a location three blocks from where they started.

  She said nothing. People who were nervous talked. People who didn’t talk made other people nervous.

  Off the Grid

  As we stepped out of the coach, I snapped a picture on the q.t. with my iPhone of the sun setting and the Secret Service agents. When I held the phone up, no one knew if I was texting, e-mailing, or playing a game. It didn’t occur to them that I might be taking their photo.

  People were already starting to line up outside the gate, even though the concert didn’t start until eight.

  Pat Callaghan pushed his way to the front of the line. After flashing his badge and getting a little guff from the uniforms, he was let through. He looked a little more presentable than he had as a protester but not by much. His short brown hair was covered in dust and debris, and his suit was smeared with dirt from crawling around the parking structure where the bomb went off.

  He walked over to us. “How you doing, kids? Mind if I have a word with Boone alone?”

  Angela and I looked at Boone.

  “They’re on the team,” Boone said. “No secrets between us.”

  Pat shrugged and proceeded to tell us what he and Uly had discovered at the parking structure, which didn’t add much to what we already knew.

  “It could have been far worse,” Pat said. “They could have parked at a different place at a busier time and killed a lot more people. The hard part was getting that much explosive material into D.C. It’s as if they pulled their punch.”

  Boone nodded. “It’s a message. No one’s safe. Not even in the nation’s capital. For the next few days people will hesitate before going to the mall. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more car bombs in different cities. It’s not the number of people the bombs kill. It’s the fear and terror. They’re letting us know that ghosts actually exist.”

  “Speaking of ghosts,” Pat said. “I ran into X-Ray across the street, hooking a trailer up to a van. He told me to tell you that they lost track of Malak.”

  Boone frowned. “How’d that happen?”

  “Three car switches. Lost her on the third. All her cell phones were tossed out the window, and they found her laptop in a Dumpster. Hard drive removed. Her guy Ziv, I guess his name is, told X-Ray that she and he had an emergency backup communication, but that’s out too. She’s completely off the grid.”

  Boone swore.

  I took Angela’s hand.

  Malak knew she was off the grid.

  The crew driving her made every operative and terrorist she’d ever worked with look like amateurs. The man in back did not go through her backpack; he systematically tore apart the pack and everyt
hing inside it. She heard him crush the cell phones and felt the rush of air as he opened the window and threw them out, along with other items from her pack. About a block later he threw the pack out, along with the tracking device hidden inside. She was lucky he hadn’t found the device as he tore the pack apart.

  Before Malak was transferred to the second vehicle—which seemed to be inside an empty warehouse—they found the cell phone in her back pocket and the gun stashed in her sling. They said nothing as they took them away, nor did she. It was then that Malak knew that she was completely on her own. A few minutes after the third vehicle exchange, she heard the hum of an electric garage door opening and then closing behind them.

  She was led through a kitchen with the smells of a dinner being cooked and down a steep staircase. A carpet at the bottom. Cigarette smoke. The crinkle of heavy-duty plastic underfoot as she was made to sit in a hard wooden chair.

  The plastic had her worried. Plastic was used to protect carpet from stains such as blood.

  The black hood was pulled off her head, replaced by the cold steel of a pistol touching the back of her head. She squinted at the bright white light pointed at her face from a foot away. Beyond the light was blackness. The only sound was the breathing of the person standing behind her.

  A full minute passed, then a man beyond the light said, “Tell me what happened.” He had a slight Middle Eastern accent.

  Malak told him everything from the moment she left the safe house until she stepped out of the doctor’s office.

  “How did Eben Lavi find you?”

  “I have no idea. He might have been following Amun.”

  “Did you know that Eben Lavi sent his two Mossad agents back to Israel with word that you were dead and buried in a shallow grave at a farm outside Philadelphia?”

  “No.”

  The fact that the man knew this meant that the ghost cell had done the impossible: they had infiltrated the best intelligence agency in the world.

  The man continued. “Eben also sent with them his official resignation from the Mossad.”

  “Apparently, he lied,” Malak said. “Or else he’s gone rogue on them.”

  “Tell me about Amun,” the man said.

  “Amun was a liability,” Malak said. “He was a fool.”

  “Amun was my son,” the man said.

  Malak hid her surprise. The revelation explained how Amun had risen to his position within the cell.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Malak said. “But Amun was still a fool. He was reckless. He should never have been put in the position he was in. He compromised our cell on a daily basis.”

  This was followed by a longer silence. All the man beyond the light had to do was nod and Malak would be dead. They would wrap her corpse in the plastic under her feet and haul it away.

  Showdown

  Angela was in bad shape as we walked back into the East Room. Pale, shaky, worried-looking—which was natural under the circumstances. But we couldn’t afford to look this way. Pale, shaky, and worried would lead to questions we could not answer without blowing Malak’s cover and ruining our parents’ music careers.

  I was relieved to see that Mom and Roger weren’t down from the Residence quarters. One look at Angela and they would know that something was terribly wrong. The room had emptied out except for a few roadies, camera operators, and Secret Service agents.

  I held Angela back as Boone and Pat walked ahead.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” I whispered. “Malak is tough. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “So does the ghost cell,” Angela said. “When things went bad in the apartment she should have thrown in the towel. Even Boone’s scared. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “He’s not scared,” I said. “He’s concerned. I know the difference. The only time I’ve seen him scared was in Philly when you ran away.”

  “He was scared?”

  “Petrified, and mad. You shouldn’t have—”

  “Let’s stay on subject,” Angela interrupted. “My mom’s totally on her own now. No one knows where she is.”

  “They’ll find her. Or she’ll find a way to get in touch with Ziv or SOS. This can’t be the first time she’s walked a tightrope without a net.”

  “Maybe so, but she’s teetering, and if she falls.…”

  “What are you doing in here, Agent Callaghan!” Chief of Staff Todd shouted. He started across the room, flanked by two skinny aides in suits. His chest and jaw were jutting out like he was going to tackle Callaghan. His surly bluster reminded me of Buddy T. I wondered if they were related.

  Patrick James Callaghan gave Todd a wide grin, no doubt thinking about the dozen ways he could snap Todd’s neck with his bare hands.

  The good thing about the confrontation was that it was taking Angela’s mind off her mother. In fact, everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the impending collision.

  P.K. joined us with Heather, who was dabbing cheese curd residue from around her lips. Heather was an addicted runner. I wondered how many miles she was going to have to run to burn off the nine thousand calories from Chef Conrad’s specialty.

  “Where have you been?” P.K. asked.

  “Out in the coach, changing,” I said.

  “Your clothes look the same.”

  “They are the same, but they’re clean.”

  Todd had closed the gap to about fifty feet and was still charging forward like a bull.

  “You’re going to want to watch this,” I said to P.K. “Your dad wanted to see it, but he’s not here. You’ll have to describe it to him.”

  Pat squared his body toward the charging Todd and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

  Todd stopped two feet away. His red face looked hot enough to explode.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Agent Callaghan!”

  “I guess you didn’t get the memo,” Pat said cheerfully. “Maybe your security clearance isn’t high enough. I’ve been put on special assignment to the president of the United States. I’d tell you what it entails, but then I’d have to kill you. Which of course would be a shame because you’re so likable.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Todd drew his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open like a switchblade, stabbed a button with his thumb, and stuck it to his ear. “I need to speak to the president… I know he’s in a meeting in the Situation Room! Who do you think you’re talking to? This is important.” He waited a second with a confident, nasty grin on his face. “What? Did you tell him it was important?” His grin faded. He snapped the cell phone closed and pocketed it.

  “Busy, huh?” Pat said. “Let me give it a shot.” He took out his cell phone, pressed a button, and waited about two seconds. “Sorry to bother you, sir.” He winked at Todd. “I’m in the East Room, and apparently Mr. Todd is confused. I think he wants to toss me out of the White House.” He looked at Todd. “Yeah, I’d say so… No, he hasn’t tried that yet, but I think he’d like to…” Pat laughed. “No, sir. I’d never do that to a member of your staff unless I felt that your life or mine was threatened… Right, I will.”

  He held out his phone to Todd. “It’s the president. He’d like to have a word with you.”

  Todd grabbed the phone. “Right, but—Right, but—How do you expect me to—Right, but—Hello? Hello?”

  “Dropped signal, huh?” Pat said, grinning. “Guess I need to get a different service provider. Or maybe Peregrine hung up on you.” He held out his hand for the phone. Todd slapped it in his palm and walked away.

  “What was that all about?” Heather asked.

  Pat gave her a broad smile. “That was the most beautiful moment of my Secret Service career, Miss…”

  “Hughes…Heather Hughes.” Heather’s face flushed.

  Pat turned a little red too. For a second I thought he was going to kiss her. It didn’t look like Heather would mind.

  “My name’s Patrick Callaghan, but you can call me Pat.” He looked at h
is watch. “Would you like a private tour of the White House? I think there’s time before the concert.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Heather said.

  They walked away, smiling at each other as if we didn’t exist.

  “My son was perhaps a little impulsive,” the man beyond the light said. “But he was a great warrior for Islam.”

  “Then your son is in paradise now,” Malak said.

  Was the man Amun’s real father? Amun had never mentioned him. She’d always assumed that he had been raised by an adoptive family as she had been. Perhaps she had misjudged Amun. He had never said a word about the man behind the light.

  It was Amun who had placed the bomb at Independence Hall that killed her sister. It exploded as Anmar was trying to disarm it. Amun had bragged to Malak about the bomb. He said that it had killed dozens of people, but the only person who died that day was her twin sister. She remembered the conversation well—Amun grinning as he told her about joining the school group touring the building and placing the backpack with the bomb inside. As she had listened, it was all she could do not to kill him on the spot.

  “Of course you know that Elise was my younger sister,” the man said.

  Here we go, Malak thought. The question game Elise started is about to continue.

  Malak and Anmar had spent hours talking about Elise and Sean. Anmar would have told her if Elise had an older brother. If the man were Elise’s brother, providing she could get the information to Ziv or SOS, they would be able to find out who this man was.

  “Elise never spoke about her family,” Malak said. “I didn’t know she had a brother.” She thought about saying that she was sorry about Elise’s death, but the truth was that she wasn’t sorry, and the Leopard wouldn’t be either.

  This was followed by another long silence.

  “How long were you at the apartment before Eben came in?” “No more than ten minutes,” Malak answered. “Which you no doubt already know. I assume you had spotters outside the apartment. How did Eben Lavi get past them?”