“You know what I mean.” Jack smiled at the memory of Erin, who’d used to say that a lot. “Too many good people died over there.”
“Yeah.” Her voice trailed off. “You’ve got a nice room. Bigger than mine, anyway.”
Jack looked around. The cabin was not spacious, but he was certain it was better than most of the men and women on board enjoyed. A single bed ran the length of one wall, and there was a small table with two chairs against the opposite wall. There was also a small door that probably led to the bathroom.
She sat back down on the bed and punched the pillow. “Feels okay.”
“Yeah, it’ll do.”
They sat in silence, before Jack turned to her and blurted out what he’d been thinking for several minutes. “How did it happen, Celeste? How did she die?”
She continued to stare straight ahead and didn’t look at him as she spoke. “We were both outside the hotel. Erin had just filed and we were going to get a drink when it went off. I felt the shockwave. It knocked me over and stunned me. But once my head cleared, I realized what had happened. The front of the hotel was just gone. The rest was on fire.”
Jack felt empty. He wanted more. “That’s it? She didn’t say anything? Do anything?”
“Most of the rest is a blur. Erin was still alive, barely. I did some first aid, but there was a lot of blood and she didn’t last long. Then they bundled me into an ambulance.”
Jack exhaled heavily. “I saw you on the news and hoped she might be okay. But when you called me in Tokyo...”
“I’m so sorry, Jack. I don’t know what to say.” She smiled sadly. “I was just lucky.”
He felt his head cloud over, and he suddenly felt sick. He continued to stare at her, and finally she looked at him. They locked eyes, and Jack could see the strain etched on her face. “There’s something else, Celeste. Something you’re not telling me.”
She smiled sadly, and a tear splashed down her cheek. “The last thing she said before she died was to tell you that she loved you and was sorry.”
Michelle held her breath as she eased the door to her apartment open. The light from inside the apartment peeked out like a small, curious child as she crouched and probed her finger slowly inside the crack. When her finger grazed a thin steel wire, she exhaled with relief, reached inside and unhooked it.
She stood up, pushed the door open and hauled her case through, careful not to trip over the limp wire. It would be ironic to be blown up by her own trap, when she’d just organized to have a chunk of Shanghai destroyed, and she enjoyed a small chuckle as she closed the door behind her and locked it. She turned on the lights.
Evidently, nobody had disturbed her apartment. On the other hand, she also knew that while her defensive tripwires and a few other surprises would keep casual interest away, it wouldn’t deter a pro. She’d half expected to return from China to a room full of gunmen, but things seemed safe, though it was ironic that the training she’d been provided by the Foundation was now being used to defend against its leader.
She shook her head as she wound up the wire and separated it from the grenade, but stopped short of putting the trap away. There was a fairly good chance she’d need to set it again soon. While Anton had clearly decided to end her, she’d escaped that situation and Chen and his family were safe. There was a chance Anton wouldn’t try anything too ambitious on home soil, given she had her own support network within the Foundation.
But if he did decide to make a move, the clock was ticking. With the Congressional midterm elections drawing closer, if Anton had decided to remove her from play, he’d have a much harder time of it once she was elected. That put him on a timetable that was dangerous to her ongoing health.
She made her way to the kitchen, threw her keys on the kitchen counter and took a beer from the fridge. In the living room she found her pistol in a drawer and felt safer for it. After the close call in China, she’d vowed to never be so helpless again. She found her way to the couch, put the gun on the cushion beside her and took a long pull of the beer.
Anton wanted her out of the picture, but that knowledge meant nothing without proof. Her supporters would only move on him with proof or provocation. For now, she had no mechanism to bring the matter to a head. She opened her eyes and placed her beer on the coffee table. It was time to test a theory. She picked up her cell phone and dialed.
The call was answered in less than a second. “Foundation for a New America, you’re speaking with Grace, how may I help you?”
“Hi Grace, it’s Michelle.” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m back in the country and I need to speak to Anton.”
There was a delay, which did not surprise Michelle one bit. “Just hold on for a moment, can you, Ms Dominique?”
Michelle tapped her foot as the hold music played. She knew exactly what was happening, but needed to be sure. Grace was asking her manager, who sat alongside her. The manager would buzz Anton on the intercom. Anton would refuse to take her call. The manager would tell Grace, who’d give her apologies to Michelle and suggest she try another time, or try his direct line.
The music stopped. “Ms Dominique? I’m afraid he’s unable to take your call. He’s also unavailable for the rest of the day. I suggest you call tomorrow or try his private line.”
Michelle terminated the call. It was the first time that Anton had ever refused to speak to her. Thankfully, with Shanghai now sorted, she had more opportunity to focus on other matters. She was surer than ever that the way to shift momentum in her favor was through control of Ernest McDowell and EMCorp. She picked up the phone and dialed again.
“What?” Senator Patrick Mahoney had a level of aggression that surprised her.
Michelle laughed softly. “Senator, I trust you’re well?”
“As usual, Ms Dominique, much better when I’m speaking to you.”
Michelle didn’t blame him for the sarcasm. Though the Foundation had their friends in the Capitol Building, most duly elected representatives were suspicious of her and the organization. Most of the conversations she had with them were a mixture of carrot and stick, and more than one congressman or senator had been whacked.
“I want a meeting. At your convenience, of course.”
Mahoney snorted. “Of course. When and where, Ms Dominique?”
“Your office. I’ll come tomorrow at noon. We need to discuss the EMCorp inquiry.”
“Why? It’s open and shut, really. Especially since he threatened me.”
That was news to Michelle. “Don’t be too cocky, Senator.”
She hung up the phone. If all went to plan, the result of the inquiry would soon be a foregone conclusion. She hoped it would be clear to McDowell that he needed to take drastic action to save his company. He would be backed up against a cliff, with the ocean below. She intended to be the one to save him, or push him over.
It all depended on his attitude.
She picked up the beer again and finished it. While she thought about the situation further, she peeled the label and tore the damp paper into several smaller pieces. She thought of Ernest McDowell, of Anton, of the Foundation and its plan for an American rebirth and controlling the agenda from Congress. It was coming together.
Her goals weren’t modest, but neither were her successes so far.
Shanghai was just the beginning.
Ernest walked briskly through the crowd of the charity function. He skirted around clusters of guests and dodged waiters with trays of drinks and canapés, protecting their precious cargo from potential disaster with practiced hands. A few looked his way in anger, then relented when they realized who’d nearly bowled them over.
He’d almost reached the safety of the bar when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and feigned surprise. “Oh, hello, Catherine, how nice to see you.”
She smiled coldly and handed him a glass of champagne. “Found you.”
Ernest looked down at the champagne flute. The liquid inside bubbled away, and for
a brief moment he considered how a slight flick of his wrist would fling the contents all over his ex-wife, enabling his escape. He thought better of it.
He waved toward the bar. “I was just enjoying a drink. What can I help you with?”
“What can you do for me?” A nasty snarl grew on her face. “You can give me what’s mine. You can answer the fucking phone when I call.”
Ernest sighed. While it had cost several million dollars to cut away the cancer that Catherine Salerno had been, the outcome had been positive. A watertight prenuptial agreement and a sympathetic judge who’d been considerate of her narcotics issues had seen him escape relatively unscathed. Daddy Salerno, a Supreme Court Justice, was still a danger, but if things stayed civil, he left Ernest alone.
“I owe you nothing, Catherine. Our relationship ended with the court ruling. You’ve got every dime you’ll ever see out of me.”
He stepped back as two large men approached from behind her. The larger of the two tapped Catherine on the shoulder and whispered something in her ear. A dark look came over her face. He knew it well: shock, mixed with anger and just a touch of indignation. Only Catherine’s father could paint that particular picture. One of the suited men put a hand on her waist and led her away. The other came closer to Ernest, discretely apologized and said he’d find her a cab.
Ernest sighed with relief. “Thanks. She’s unwell.”
“We know. Justice Salerno sends his regards.” The man turned and walked briskly after his colleague.
Ernest leaned on the bar. He put down his champagne and ordered a whisky, the barman pouring him a double without any hesitation. Ernest downed half of the drink in one gulp. While the burn of the whisky as it followed the path to his stomach satisfied him, he’d pay for it tomorrow. He was tired. In Washington for the Senate hearing, he’d been roped into a charity function at Sandra’s behest. She was fresh out of hospital, despite his protests. The evening had been organized months ago, and he’d agreed to attend and do his best to drum up some money for the cause.
Fortunately, he hadn’t had to do much. Sandra was a natural, and he just needed to keep out of her way and let her do her thing: raise large amounts of money with a smile and a few minutes of conversation. He searched for his wife and spotted her across the room, resplendent in a navy blue ball gown, complete with a scandalous split up the left side. She still took his breath away. She moved from group to group, not letting herself get bogged down but leaving each guest she spoke to with a smile on their face and fresh concern for cancer-stricken children.
Ernest downed the rest of his whisky and plucked another champagne flute from the tray of a passing waitress. He gave her a pained smile and received a wink for his troubles. He pushed himself away from the bar and stepped into the crowd, determined to at least stay through the speeches. He was quickly engaged in conversation with a rotund investment banker and his trophy wife. He took the path of least resistance, nodding at everything the man said while he considered what was bigger, the banker’s account balance or his wife’s cleavage. It would be a close call.
Ernest held up a hand as the banker continued to prattle on. “Hey, President is on, better listen up.”
As the applause lifted the mood of the room, Ernest smiled at the sight of the President of the United States, Philip Kurzon, his friend since college.
Kurzon waited for the applause to die down. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight to support such a great cause. Ms Cheng and her fellow directors do a great job at events such as this one, helping the families of childhood cancer victims stay together while they’re in treatment. Let’s give them a round of applause.”
Ernest joined the rest of the crowd in polite applause.
Kurzon frowned and glanced at the glass prompter, positioned slightly to his left. “I’d ask that you give generously to the fine cause we’re here to support tonight. I was planning on saying more on that, but certain fast-moving international events have forced my hand and made this speech a little less intimate than I’d intended.”
Kurzon gripped the lectern and leaned forward. “In recent days, the People’s Republic of China has suffered great trauma at the hands of a well-organized group of terrorists. This is a pain the United States of America is familiar with, and we stand united in fury with China that this could happen again.”
He paused briefly. “However, it appears that the PRC is using this attack as justification for aggression against its neighbors. Though some evidence appears to link Taiwan to these attacks, the United States does not consider it compelling. Nor do we consider it a legitimate basis for Chinese saber rattling.
“Yet earlier today, a missile was fired from the south of China over Taiwan. Though it splashed down in the ocean south of the island, it represents an escalation that’s both worrying and unacceptable. It is quite disgusting that China would respond to acts of terror by terrorizing the civilians of Taiwan.”
Kurzon lifted his hands, palms facing upward, the model of reassurance and calm. “I speak now to the government of the People’s Republic of China. Stand your forces down. Work with the United States and the international community to secure justice for your dead.”
Ernest’s eyes widened. It was not often you saw the leader of the free world plead with the leaders of the oppressed world to stay in their own backyard. Not so bluntly, at any rate. He had a feeling that the speech would push his looming Senate testimony from the front pages, especially in the papers he didn’t own.
Kurzon continued. “For our part, we will not be idle. To ensure ongoing peace in the region, I’ve ordered the USS George Washington carrier group to deploy from Yokosuka, Japan, to the South China Sea. There, the carrier and its aircraft will provide the world with eyes and ears into what’s happening in that region.
“I’ve requested that members of our media travel with the carrier, to document this mission and ensure the world can see the truth. It’s my hope that the nations of the region step back from the precipice of war, and recognize the prosperity and security we all gain from continued peace.
“But let me be clear. The United States is bound by an Act of Congress to defend Taiwan. With force, if it becomes necessary.”
Ernest wasn’t surprised by anything in the speech, having caught wind of it earlier in the day. Kurzon left the stage and Ernest decided to leave the party as conversation started to buzz with the ramifications of the announcement. He was certain that Sandra would understand his early departure. She knew he had a lot on his mind.
He nodded at the doormen when they opened the oak doors of the convention center. As he started his walk down the marble stairs that led to the car park, a tall, black-haired woman pushed herself off one of the decorative pillars to intercept him. He was also aware of the two large, suited men standing nearby.
“Mr McDowell, can I have a minute of your time?”
He kept walking. “I’m sorry, miss. I’ve got a very busy day tomorrow. If you need to make an appointment, my assistant would be more than happy to take your enquiry.”
“I’d really like you to hear me out!”
He didn’t look back as she called after him.
8
“Carl, the President has given the strongest possible warning to the Chinese about where America stands. He expressed the sympathy of the American people and offered cooperation on an investigation, but on the other hand made it clear that China better not step an inch further towards a military confrontation with Taiwan.”
“So what options are on the table here, Admiral?”
“Without a doubt, the decision to move a carrier group into the South China Sea is an escalation in the US response. It gives the Joint Chiefs the option to aggressively defend Taiwan by air and sea, to monitor developments and, if they choose, to strike at China.”
Interview with retired Admiral Jay Calloway, Counterpoint, September 7
Michelle stood outside the door to one of the better suites at the Jefferson Hot
el. She took a deep breath, then nodded at Andrei and Erik Shadd. The two hulking Czechs counted down from three in their native tongue and at zero, Erik gave the door a heavy kick. It gave little resistance to the strength of the six and a half foot–tall behemoth.
“What the fuck?” Michelle heard from inside.
She followed Andrei and Erik into the cavernous space, lit by the torch app on one of their phones. They moved through the sitting area and into the bedroom at the same time as the bedside lamp flicked on. She sat in an armchair near the window and made sure to keep the bulk of one of the Shadd brothers between her and the bed.
She watched from the comfort of the chair as Ernest McDowell, bleary-eyed and confused, looked from her to the two men and back again. She noticed his eyes drift down to the suit jackets the brothers wore. He must have spent enough time with bodyguards to spot the tell-tale bulge of a concealed handgun.
Tap…tap…tap…Michelle said nothing, simply tapping her pen on the side table.
“Will you be tapping that damn pen all day?” McDowell exploded eventually. “Or are you going to tell me what the hell you want?”
She laid the pen on the table, then leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and steepled her fingers. “Ernest McDowell. Eighty-two. Married to Sandra Cheng, prominent lawyer turned socialite. Fourth marriage. One child to a previous wife. Masters in journalism and…theology?”
McDowell shrugged. “Easy subject. Left me more time to chase skirts. I’d like to congratulate you for managing to find your way to my Wikipedia profile. Who’re you?”
Michelle laughed. “Quite forward. I like it. Explains the four wives. My name is Michelle Dominique.”
McDowell frowned. “Whatever you want, was it entirely necessary to break into my hotel room to achieve it?”
“I gave you the chance to talk last night. Your refusal forced more drastic action, including my friends here.” Technically it was true. In more normal circumstances, Michelle would have spent additional time working her way into McDowell’s life. As it was, with Anton gunning for her, events in China proceeding at breakneck pace and the election just a few months away, she needed to get a move on with EMCorp. Having the brothers with her—a protection against Anton’s adventures—was just a happy coincidence on occasions such as this.
[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation Page 7
