by L. D. Beyer
Richter stared back but said nothing.
Monahan continued: “If you haven’t figured that out yet at least let me give you a couple of options.”
In the darkness, Richter studied Monahan’s eyes. After a long moment, he finally nodded.
___
With seven people, the motor home was crowded, but no one complained. Monahan was sitting at the kitchen table, facing the president and Richter. Derek and Jack were perched in the driver’s and front passenger’s captain’s chairs, which had been turned backwards and now faced into the living area. Bill and Peggy sat on the couch.
“The plane is due to arrive in two and a half hours.” Monahan checked his watch. “A little after seven thirty. We need to decide who’s coming and who’s staying.”
“Everybody’s coming with us.”
Everyone turned toward Richter.
“I know we haven’t discussed this yet, but if you stay here, you’ll need to be placed into protective custody. There are still people after us, and we’ve put you all in danger.”
“Bill, Peggy,” he president interrupted, “I’m sorry, but Agent Richter’s right. We can’t leave you behind unless Mr. Monahan can provide for your security.”
Bill laughed. “Mr. Monahan would have to arrest me to keep me from coming.”
The president smiled and turned to Peggy.
“I’m coming as well.” She pointed her thumb at Bill. “I’m not going to let him have all the fun.”
“And I know Jack and Derek are with us all the way. Right, guys?”
Derek, half asleep, gave a thumbs-up. Jack smiled.
___
Jane wrestled with calling her uncle. The news wasn’t good. There was no sign of Reed in Santa Fe. Her instinct told her it was a false lead. The question was, why? Why would Reed mislead her? Why had he been out of contact over the last two days? His excuses, while plausible, had started to smell bad.
The other troubling fact was that they had lost any trail of President Kendall and Agent Richter. There had been no new information, no leads since the stolen car had been discovered in Durango several days ago. It was a guess on her part that the stolen cars were connected to the president and Richter. Between the dump truck, the cars, the switched plates, and the ATM, she could plot their path on a map. While it was conceivable that it was a series of coincidences, she didn’t like coincidences.
So, she came back to the question of Reed. The only explanation that made sense was that he had been picked up by the police and coerced into providing her with misleading information. The question, then, was by who? Certainly not the local police in Durango or Santa Fe or wherever he really was. More likely it was the Secret Service or the FBI. If this was the case, she reasoned, then they were probably trying to track her down. And if Reed had called her, besides trying to mislead her, could he have been trying to set her up? Could they have been monitoring the call? She found that possibility very disturbing.
The other question she had to answer was how? How had the Secret Service or the FBI—or whoever had Reed—how had they found him in the first place? From the reports and updates her uncle had given her, and from her own sources, she knew the investigators were under tremendous pressure to find the president’s body. The current theory was that the president and Richter and a handful of other passengers had either been sucked through an engine as the plane came apart or incinerated in the inferno when the plane crashed. From everything she had heard and read, those two theories were plausible.
Consequently, there was no reason for the investigators to suspect that the president and Richter were alive. Unless, she realized, they too had questioned the stolen truck in Elk City and the trail of stolen cars that led to Durango. That didn’t make sense, though. Why would they concern themselves with a handful of stolen cars? They would be preoccupied with the crash, not with a rash of auto thefts. Especially when they didn’t believe there were any survivors.
And then it dawned on her.
___
The plane landed in Manassas, Virginia, shortly before one in the afternoon and taxied to the private terminal where eight black Chevy Suburbans were waiting. Once the plane stopped, the Suburbans drove up. After the stairs were lowered, two agents jumped out of each vehicle and quickly formed two lines extending from the stairs to the second Suburban. Monahan descended, and after conferring with agents on the ground, signaled to an agent on the plane. The agent escorted the prisoner, hands cuffed, head bowed, and face hidden by a sweatshirt hood, down the steps to the waiting vehicle. Then a second agent escorted another prisoner to the same Suburban. The doors were slammed shut and, as if choreographed, the line of Suburbans pulled forward twenty feet.
Four more prisoners were escorted down the steps, one after another, and loaded into the SUVs.
___
Jane walked out of Walmart with two new cell phones. Her old phone was in a trash dumpster several miles away. In the trunk of her car, she had two suitcases and a duffle bag with everything she needed. Everything else she had left in the apartment. She had prepaid the six month lease three months ago. It would be a while before anyone noticed she was missing.
She was still unsure what to do, which, she realized in a moment of self-reflection, was very uncharacteristic. She would run and hide, that much was certain. Working as she had for a private security firm, she had availed herself of some of the shadier services they had occasionally offered some of their clients. A new identity and a place to hide wouldn’t be a problem.
Should she warn her uncle, she wondered. It wasn’t so much a question of morals as it was a question of practicality. She genuinely felt loyal to him, justifiably so since he had always been loyal to her. He had made sure she was taken care of after her father died. The question of right versus wrong wasn’t a question she spent much time pondering. He’d told her once that one of her strengths was that she didn’t let such questions cloud her thinking.
What would her uncle do with the information? If the FBI had been monitoring her phone, it was possible they suspected his involvement. She had spoken to him several times over the last few days, each time using her cell phone. If they were being monitored, there was nothing he could do. While she could run, he couldn’t. Telling him might not accomplish anything, except maybe to hasten his downfall as the tension of knowing that the noose was tightening might cause him to act irrationally. Well, maybe not irrationally but uncharacteristically. If they had already connected Reed to her and her to him, then he was fucked. But what if they hadn’t made the next connection? She should warn him. Although unlikely, there may be information and records that he would want to destroy. Besides, she needed to tell him herself that she was going to disappear for a while.
___
The line of Suburbans turned into a private drive in the Virginia countryside. The gates closed automatically after the last one. The road disappeared into the forest, and Richter spotted the occasional security camera in the trees. After a minute, the forest gave way to a long manicured lawn, a large house and several outbuildings. The convoy pulled up the circular drive and stopped.
Richter and Monahan jumped out. After conferring with a group of agents, Richter opened the door. President Kendall smiled as he stepped into the sunshine. He stood still for a second then whispered to Richter.
“My God! It feels good to be this close to home.”
Under the watchful eyes of two dozen FBI agents, Richter and the president followed Monahan into the house.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jane scrolled through the list on her computer and found the number. She hadn’t had time to transfer her contacts to her new phone yet. She dialed the number and stared out the windshield at passing traffic while she waited. After eight rings she hung up.
She pulled back out into traffic, heading south.
___
Everyone had gathered in the ornate library by the time Richter arrived. The president, clean-shaven and smiling, wore khaki pant
s, a golf shirt, and loafers. Despite his knee—he was still limping—he was in good spirits. Jack and Derek were dressed in sports shirts and jeans, while Bill and Peggy, like the president, looked like they were ready to tee off. Richter rubbed his own face. A shower, a shave, and new clothes would be nice. For a second, he wondered what the FBI had picked out for him to wear. He shook his head. That would have to wait.
Richter watched the FBI agent hand the president a drink. The agent turned and nodded. Richter nodded back. Special Agent Wayne Elms had attended a Secret Service training course that Richter had taught years ago.
Elms walked over. “It’s damned good to have you guys back, Agent Richter. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just a water, please.” Richter knew Elms wasn’t here because of his bartending skills.
Monahan arrived and they all sat down in comfortable leather chairs.
“I see you all have had an opportunity to visit your rooms.”
Everyone smiled.
“We’re working on bringing this to a close. Right now, I think we’ll only be here for a day or two. I’m not making promises, but that’s what I believe. In the meantime, you’ll be comfortable. You’re free to roam around both inside and outside at your leisure.” He pointed around the room. “I’m told that this is an extensive library with a wide range of books. We also have subscriptions to numerous newspapers and magazines.”
Richter half listened as Monahan described the estate, with its exercise facilities, pool, tennis courts, and hiking trails.
Monahan checked his notes. “Dinner is scheduled for seven. The kitchen staff can accommodate any special needs. Anyway, they’ll fill you in on all of that later.”
___
Rumson hung up and sat back, staring at the ceiling. Where the hell was Jane? His phone rang again. He picked it up but didn’t recognize the number. He let it continue ringing until it stopped. Something struck him, and he scrolled through the call log. The same number had called before. Only a few people had this number. He dialed it. After six rings, he hung up.
He sat back and stared at the ceiling again. Over the last few days, he’d found himself preoccupied with the plaster medallion of the Presidential Seal in the center of the curved ceiling. He had heard that it had been handcrafted back in 1934 when FDR had personally overseen the redesign of the West Wing and the construction of what was now considered the modern Oval Office. Each president since then had left some form of personal imprint here. While many of these changes were temporary, like the paintings and the furniture, which were replaced with each occupant, some were more lasting. Truman was the first to install carpeting that bore the Presidential Seal. Although the carpeting eventually gave way to rugs, the concept of the Seal as a centerpiece in the floor remained. Rumson looked around the room, his eyes stopping on the ornate fireplace and the potted ivy sitting on the mantel. Kennedy had started that tradition.
He would leave his own imprint here as well. He had worked hard for this: to be sitting in this office, behind this desk. He ran his hand across the smooth surface. Fashioned from the timbers of the HMS Resolute, it had been used by so many of his predecessors. They had sat behind this very desk as they had made some of the toughest decisions in history.
It was his desk now. And he had his own decision to make. As much as he didn’t want to get anyone else involved, Jane needed help. He glanced at his watch and reached for his phone.
___
After everyone left, the president, Richter, and Monahan sat in front of the fireplace. “We’ve lost contact with Jane. The last call she made was to her team in Durango. She sent one of her men down to Santa Fe to look for Reed. We know she called from Fairfax, Virginia. We have it narrowed down to about a ten-block area, but—”
Richter interrupted. “She must have deactivated the GPS in her cell phone. She probably pulled the chip or has a jammer. We’ve seen this before.”
Monahan nodded. “We have as well. We were never able to get a GPS signal from her phone. That’s why we couldn’t track her before, except to the closest cell tower. I have several teams with microwave receivers driving around Fairfax right now. If she makes a call, they can triangulate on her exact location.” Monahan frowned. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, though.”
“She’s spooked,” Richter responded. “She’s not using her cell phone anymore. She either has it turned off or she trashed it.”
“Right. The same goes for the person she sent after Reed last night. We’ve designated that contact as T-1 for now. We were unable to find a GPS signal on T-1, and he hasn’t used his phone either, not since this morning. He called Jane at 8:00 Eastern Time. We were able to trace the call to Santa Fe. He said there was no sign of Reed. Here’s the transcript.”
When Richter finished reading, he passed the transcript to Kendall.
“That was the last call made to or from her phone. It’s also the last call to or from T-1’s phone. That’s odd given what’s at stake for them. So your theory that they got rid of the phones is probably right.” Monahan checked his notes again. “Oh. I also have teams in Colorado and New Mexico right now. If T-1 uses that phone again, we’ll be able to pick him up.”
Richter rubbed his eyes. “What about Rumson?”
Monahan handed Richter another piece of paper. “He received one call today at approximately 9:45 a.m. from Phil Perry. That’s the transcript. Prior to that, the last call was with Jane last night.”
Richter read it, then handed the paper to Kendall. “From this, it doesn’t sound like Perry’s involved.”
“I would agree, but we should question him anyway.”
Richter turned to the president. “Sir? I think we have to move on Rumson now. If Jane’s spooked, you can bet he’s spooked as well. While he can’t run, he might start destroying evidence.”
The president was quiet for a moment. “This woman, Jane…she’s the key to all of this, isn’t she?”
“We think she is, sir. Our guess is that she’s Rumson’s go-between; a single point of contact, if you will. She was probably the one to arrange the bombing with McKay and Mosby and also the one to send Reed and his friend after us.”
“If we can’t locate her,” Kendall responded, “that will hamper our ability to determine who else is involved….other than those people we already know.” Kendall counted on his fingers. “Rumson, Jane, McKay, Mosby, Broder, Reed, his partner, and this, what do you call him? Tee One? These people in Colorado or New Mexico, looking for us. That’s all we have so far?”
“That’s correct, sir. We know two Secret Service agents were involved. Pardon me. One current agent and one former uniformed officer. We also know that one Air Force officer was involved. What we don’t know is if there are others involved. Frankly, that’s scary.”
“So, the only way to uncover who else is involved is through Jane and Rumson…”
“Yes, sir. There are a few other leads we’re following.” Monahan turned to Richter. “We recovered the body in Cortez. We’ll run his fingerprints and, if we can identify him, it may fill in some of the blanks. We told the local authorities that this was a drug-related killing and is related to a case we are currently working on and that we have jurisdiction. They’re mad as hell, but…tough.”
Richter smiled weakly. “Anything else?”
“I have our profilers working on T-1’s voice. We’ll see what comes up. And, finally, we found a connection between Rumson and Lieutenant McKay. It seems they both attended the same high school in Newark, New Jersey, although there was some thirty years between them. What’s even more interesting is that when McKay applied for admission to the Air Force Academy, Rumson wrote the Letter of Nomination.”
The president and Richter exchanged a glance.
“I think we need to proceed with the plan we discussed, sir.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Friday, May 7
Half a dozen blocks from the White House, Attorney General Kiplinger was sit
ting behind his desk at the Justice Department when he heard a commotion in the outer office. He stood as three men barged into his office.
“Sir? FBI. I’m Special Agent Wayne Elms. You need to come with us immediately, sir. We have a national security incident.”
Kiplinger stepped back. “What the hell is…?”
“Sir, we don’t have time.”
The agents grabbed Kiplinger by the elbows and led him towards the door. He was hustled to the elevator and, one minute later, they exited into the parking garage where he climbed into the waiting Suburban. The doors were slammed and the Suburban drove off, raced up the exit ramp and out onto the street.
Fifteen minutes later, they drove through the gates of Washington Executive Airport and drove directly up to the waiting helicopter. Kiplinger, still protesting, was manhandled onto the chopper. As an agent secured his four-point harness, he looked up into the confused faces of the Secretary of Treasury and the Secretary of Education.
They arrived at the Virginia country estate shortly after 9:00 a.m. and were hustled into the library under the watchful eyes of a dozen agents. Elms followed them in. “Gentlemen, I’ll need your cell phones, your Blackberries, and any other communication devices. Right now.”
The three Cabinet members loudly protested, but Elms was adamant.
By 10:00 a.m., they were joined by the Secretaries of Defense, Energy, Labor, Agriculture and Veterans Affairs. Used to barking orders and not being barked at, the assembled officials were angry, especially as their numbers grew. By 11:20 p.m., the majority of the President’s Cabinet and the President Pro Tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House were sitting in the library. A screen showing six separate video connections with the remaining Cabinet members, all of whom were currently traveling, stood against one wall. The agents-turned-guards ignored the threats and demands for information.
