The Sound of Echoes

by Eric Bernt

  CHAPTER 31

  SAFE HOUSE

  GILBERTS CORNER, VIRGINIA

  June 1, 5:42 p.m.

  Caitlin had been following the action from the GeoEye-1 Reconnaissance Satellite operated by the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. It was the most advanced imaging satellite in orbit around Earth. The American Heritage Foundation had a unique relationship with the agency that afforded it complete access to the classified abilities of this satellite. And if the foundation had access to it, that meant Caitlin did as well.

  She had become thoroughly impressed with Butler, watching him maneuver into position to take down the white van. It was just how I would have drawn it up. He had executed his plan perfectly, and they should have gotten away cleanly. But even with the best plan and deft execution, things go wrong as often as they don’t. Those who can improvise at critical moments are the ones who become the most renowned in their chosen fields. Just ask Ben Roethlisberger or Jordan Peele.

  When she saw him carry Eddie from the van to their vehicle, Caitlin knew Eddie needed medical treatment, and she was already researching facilities in their vicinity by the time Butler called. She answered on the first ring. “You’re good.”

  “Not good enough.” He was clearly blaming himself for Eddie’s injuries.

  “Shit happens.”

  “Always does.”

  “If you’re calling to tell me you need medical, I’ve got a couple options for you. What level facility do you need?”

  Skylar answered for him. “Eddie has two wounds that require stitches, and a possible fracture. He’s lost a fair amount of blood. I’d also like to get him a head CT and an MRI, but those aren’t as urgent.”

  Caitlin asked, “If I get you the supplies, can you do the work?”

  “If I had to, I suppose,” Skylar reluctantly offered up. “But I’d really prefer someone who’s used to performing emergency medicine.”

  “Traditional facilities aren’t an option for us,” Butler interjected.

  “Why not?”

  “The personnel will ask questions that you won’t have good answers for,” Caitlin answered.

  Butler added, “We can’t risk having the authorities notified.”

  “Because we stole a car?” Skylar asked incredulously.

  “Because the people who had you kidnapped have access to law enforcement communication,” Caitlin answered. “If anyone notifies the police about Eddie, he’s done.”

  “Usually when people say it feels like they have the whole world against them, it’s a metaphor.”

  “We’ll get you through this,” Caitlin said with certainty. “While I work on the supplies, find yourselves a new vehicle. Odds are good one of the Samaritans on the interstate captured your plates.”

  “Copy that,” Butler replied, and then hung up.

  Skylar was reeling. This was all too much for her. In just one day, she had been kidnapped, then rescued; she’d ridden in her first stolen car, witnessed three people being shot to death, and was now trying to keep her most important patient from bleeding to death while fleeing the scene of a three-vehicle highway accident.

  And happy hour wasn’t even over yet.

  Butler glanced back at her in the rearview mirror. “You’re hyperventilating.”

  “I’m what?” She was so lost in thought, she didn’t hear what he said.

  “Your breathing. Slow it down.”

  She only now realized that she was breathing rapidly, as if she was in the middle of a spin class. After taking several long, deep breaths, she looked at Butler with curiosity. “How the hell are you so calm?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, you look it.”

  “I’m faking it because if I let you see how nervous I really am, you’ll start hyperventilating again and pass out on me. Then I’ll have to stitch up Eddie with a sewing needle, and he’ll have such terrible scars that neither of you will ever forgive me, and I’m living with enough guilt as it is.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile. If she had to be having the worst day of her life, she was certainly glad Butler McHenry was the one to help her get through it.

  CHAPTER 32

  EN ROUTE TO THE WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  June 1, 5:50 p.m.

  The drive from the American Heritage Foundation to the White House took only eighteen minutes, if you excluded the thirty to sixty minutes it took to get through the many security checkpoints protecting the home of the president. It was no accident the AHF’s base of operations was close, but not too close, to the Oval Office. When Lawrence Walters and the other founders wanted access, they wanted it readily; but when they didn’t, they preferred not to see any sign of the squalor they associated with our nation’s capital.

  Jason Greers drove along the Potomac River, which Lyndon Johnson had declared “a national disgrace” in 1965 due to the pollution levels caused by unchecked sewage flowing into it. Looking out through the windows, Greers admired the view of democracy’s epicenter. “Every time I approach DC, I get this feeling, you know?”

  Daryl Trotter sat next to him, fidgeting. He nodded. “I’ve never been inside the White House as an invited guest. Have you?”

  Greers shook his head. “Nope. My first time, too. Looks like we’re popping our cherries together.”

  Daryl smiled politely, secretly hating when his counterpart used sexual metaphors. He was never much for locker-room talk; the subject never interested him that much. In a world where identities of sexual preference were ever-expanding, Daryl was in the rarest category. He was asexual; he just wasn’t very interested in the whole deal. The few times in his life when he had engaged in some form of sex with another person, he couldn’t help but feel during the act that a good game of chess would have been much more enjoyable.

  “I’m glad the president isn’t going to be there,” he commented. “I think I’d have a hard time concentrating if he was in the office with us.”

  Greers shook his head. “It’s not like we’re going there to dust the drapes. He wouldn’t just conduct business as usual.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Daryl wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs.

  “What are you so nervous for? I mean, just because we’re about to come into possession of probably the biggest cache of government secrets in the last hundred years or so, what’s the big deal?” Jason smiled wryly.

  Daryl cleared his throat. “I sweat when I get nervous. You get sarcastic. Two different reactions to the same stimulus.”

  “The difference is, I can bite my tongue, and nobody knows the difference. But if someone shakes your hand . . . yikes.”

  “I’ll do my very best to be more like you,” Daryl retorted sarcastically.

  Jason smiled. He liked Daryl for two reasons: their skill sets were complimentary, and he’d pose no threat in terms of succession when the time came.

  Jason admired the Lincoln Memorial as they drove around it, finally deciding to ask something that had been on his mind ever since they had left Alexandria. “What do you think Caitlin’s up to?”

  Daryl answered flatly. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  “When don’t you think something is obvious?”

  “It happens, on occasion,” he replied smugly. “What do you think she’s up to?”

  “I think she’s lost her mind.”

  “I would agree.”

  “The question is to what extent.”

  “It seems to me that was answered when you had difficulty transferring payment to the cleaners in Philadelphia.”

  Jason paused to make sure he understood what Daryl was implying. “You think that was her?”

  “Who else?”

  “I figured it was an accounting issue, or something technical with the bank.” Jason was embarrassed. He had not considered the possibility that Caitlin was behind it.

  “Think probabilistically. Have you ever been aware of an accounting issue, or something technical with
a bank, occurring with the foundation’s finances in the entire time you’ve worked there?”

  “No.”

  “Me either. So the probability is nil. Coincidence can be ruled out.”

  Jason paused to consider the ramifications. “Do you think she merely blocked the funds or stole them?”

  Daryl studied Jason closely, clearly relishing his intellectual superiority. “You really do need me for this, don’t you?”

  “In the end, you should be glad.” He said it with just the right amount of confidence to let Daryl know he would only tolerate so much mental preening. If he didn’t stop, Jason would make him pay somewhere down the road.

  “I think you underestimate her.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because she’s not you.”

  The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck started to stand up. “I gather you think I’m pretty arrogant?”

  Daryl tried to assuage whatever feathers he had ruffled. “No more than an heir apparent should be. Though considering the pedigree Caitlin comes from, it should be her, not you, who’s next in line. But she’s not. There’s no question, and there hasn’t been for some time now.”

  Jason paused, appreciating the compliment. “Do you think that’s what this is about? Jealousy?”

  “No, I think it’s a matter of principle.”

  “Because of how we’ve treated Eddie Parks?”

  “No. She did this because of how we’ve treated Skylar Drummond.”

  Of course! Caitlin identified with the ambitious young doctor struggling to make her way in a male-dominated field, just like Caitlin had been doing her entire career. Skylar’s only crime had been to have a boyfriend who stuck his nose into her business where it didn’t belong. Her employer had had him killed for it, leaving her ridden with blame for the rest of her life. Instead of using her patient’s technology to prove her former boss’s guilt, she had helped Eddie accomplish the only thing he ever wanted in his life: to hear his mother’s voice. And what did she get for it? To be kidnapped and tortured. “It is shameful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. In our business, there’s always collateral damage that’s difficult to stomach. I choose not to.”

  Jason nodded, realizing that Daryl was describing his own approach. “We’re better at shutting off our feelings, aren’t we? Guys, I mean.”

  “Shutting them off implies you know what you’re feeling. I can honestly say I have the emotional maturity of a newt.”

  “That’s because you spend too much time thinking.”

  “I don’t know how not to.”

  Jason nodded again. “If Caitlin really is going against Stenson, it’s suicide.”

  Daryl responded thoughtfully, “She may be many things, but she’s not suicidal.”

  “What, then?”

  “You’re assuming she’s doing this alone.”

  “From what I understand, her father is practically a vegetable.”

  “Do you know the real benefit of coming from a rich and powerful family? Sure, the money and education are both great, but the thing that gives rich kids the most help over commoners like us is connections. The relationships their birthright affords them. It could be a relative, or a business associate, or just an old family friend, but where we have to scratch and claw on our own, sometimes for years, they make one phone call and it’s done.”

  Jason paused. “You’re right. There is no way she could have drained the accounts without help.”

  Daryl nodded. “Exactly.”

  “So who do you think she’s got working with her?”

  “Whoever it is has got Stenson nervous.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he sent us to go to the White House instead of doing it himself. Think about what he’s trusting us with. It’s one of the reasons he’s been so focused on acquiring the echo box from the first time he heard about it. Knowing everything that’s ever been said inside the Oval Office will give him the highest-value trump card he’s ever had to play.”

  Jason nodded in agreement. “It’s an unbeatable one.”

  “The only possible reason he’s not doing this himself is because there is something more urgent that requires his attention.”

  Jason now fully understood. “You mean, he’s playing defense while we play offense.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I would sure like to know who the hell she managed to recruit and how she got them on board so fast.”

  Trotter studied Greers as he inched their car toward an armed guard at the first White House security checkpoint. “There was nothing fast about it. To get somebody good enough to create such a serious and immediate threat to Stenson, that doesn’t happen in minutes or hours or even days. She had to have laid the groundwork a long time ago. The only thing she did quickly was initiate the plan.”

  Greers did his best to hide his surprise. He had completely underestimated his female colleague. God, I am such a chauvinist! My mother would be so disappointed if she ever found out. His concerns then quickly turned practical—namely, his own survival. While he did not expect Caitlin to win this battle, he had to consider the possibility. And if she did, how would she view him—as an ally or an adversary? And if it was the latter, would he be given the opportunity to persuade her that he was on her side?

  He put his strategic considerations aside as he rolled down the window to present their identification to the checkpoint guard. “Jason Greers and Daryl Trotter. We’re expected.”

  CHAPTER 33

  AMERICAN HERITAGE FOUNDATION

  ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

  June 1, 6:11 p.m.

  Bob Stenson was working on locating the nearest team of contract killers when he first received notice of the accident in Maryland involving the two independent contractors he’d recently placed in Harmony House. The van was owned by a shell corporation that had a special designation within most police departments and US law enforcement agencies. This designation meant that Stenson was notified whenever one of its vehicles was involved in an accident or any other type of incident that required police involvement, particularly one that included a double homicide.

  Stenson only now realized how formidable an opponent he was facing. Whoever had taken out his team had also grabbed Eddie Parks and his box. Current whereabouts were unknown, but based on blood discovered in the back of the van, it was believed that Eddie was injured and in need of medical treatment. Which meant he couldn’t have gone far.

  Witnesses at the scene described a man and a woman who had removed an unconscious male from the rear of the van, along with some equipment or suitcases, and fled the scene. The descriptions matched those of Skylar Drummond and Butler McHenry, so apparently they had driven down from Philadelphia and intercepted Parks. But how? It could only be possible if two things were true: they were in communication with Caitlin, and she had access to the foundation’s tracking system—or worse, to the same real-time satellite surveillance they had. My God, how long had she been planning this? And who the hell is helping her?

  It was at this moment that Caitlin stopped being his former employee and the daughter of his mentor and became the single biggest threat he had ever faced. He was willing to go to absolutely any lengths to stop her.

  This was about to get very ugly.

  CHAPTER 34

  SAFE HOUSE

  GILBERTS CORNER, VIRGINIA

  June 1, 6:13 p.m.

  Caitlin tracked the Embraer Phenom, which was currently somewhere over western Pennsylvania. The aircraft was flying at an altitude of twenty-eight thousand feet. Its Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines could maintain a cruising speed of five hundred miles per hour, so the 1,400-mile flight to North Dakota would take approximately three hours. There was still quite a bit of flying time left.

  On another screen that showed the inside of the aircraft, Peter McCloskey stepped out of the cramped lavatory for the third time since the plane took off. Caitlin recognized the look on his face. It was the s
ame one he used to get before his board meetings years ago. His stomach was in turmoil. Given the circumstances, she supposed it was to be expected.

  Peter glanced at their two children, who were now both sound asleep. Marissa was curled into a little ball, with her clenched hands tucked beneath her cheek, making her look almost as if she’d been posed that way. Mikey was stretched out on his back with his mouth wide open. Caitlin was certain he was snoring up a storm, as usual. All she could think was that as long as they were safe, nothing else mattered.

  Now back in his seat, Peter, on the other hand, looked like he was stewing. His face was full of frustration. Then anger. Then doubt and disbelief. Caitlin could imagine the thoughts running through her husband’s mind—because she knew how it worked, and she knew what she’d be thinking if the shoe were on the other foot.

  Apparently deciding he needed to occupy himself, Peter reviewed the contents of the briefcase once again. He flipped through the passports, recounted the cash, and studied the house keys. He then noticed a compartment in the briefcase lid he hadn’t seen before. It contained a manila folder with two years of joint tax returns for Peter and Caitlin Montgomery, a certified copy of their marriage license, and copies of their social security numbers, along with the children’s. He shook his head, apparently at his wife’s thoroughness.

  Watching her screens, Caitlin spoke as if he could hear her: “Would you find it, already?” On-screen, Peter then saw a handwritten envelope addressed to him. He recognized the writing. It was Caitlin’s. The envelope was not sealed, but he still opened it carefully and took out the one-page letter. Caitlin smiled slightly, remembering every word of the letter she had written. She repeated them as he read: “Dear Peter, please know how sorry I am that you are having to read this letter. This was never supposed to happen. I’m sure you must have a great many questions, which I will do my best to answer as soon as I am able to join you. The most important thing I want you to know is how much I love you and the children. You are my heart and soul. I have only taken this precaution to protect you, given circumstances that are beyond my control. Your safety is my paramount concern. I hope to see you soon. All my love, Caitlin.”