As Demetri struggled with the tape, Jack suddenly realized that Andie was speaking to him, not Demetri.
“I can see it all,” said Andie.
She’s definitely talking to me, thought Jack.
He checked the television monitor again. With only one free hand, Demetri was having trouble getting the tape started. Jack still felt plenty of give in the lower half of the rig around his head.
“Now!” Andie shouted.
The next few seconds should have been a complete blur, yet they unfolded for Jack like a slow-motion replay. The television screen went black. Jack dropped to his knees. His head jerked out from under Demetri’s contraption of white tape.
And the crack of gunfire in the studio reverberated like a cannon in a cave.
Chapter 59
At first Jack thought Demetri’s pistol had discharged, and the hot spray of blood across his back and neck made him wonder if he’d been hit. Then Demetri collapsed on top of him, knocking Jack forward, and the two men landed side by side on the floor. The gaping wound in the top of Demetri’s head told Jack that the blood, bits of bone, and gray matter on their clothes, on the floor, and all around them was not his own.
The Greek was gone.
The doors to the newsroom flew open, Demetri’s makeshift barricade of stacked office furnishings toppled over, and FBI SWAT rushed in.
“Fan out, fan out!” the leader shouted, and the team scattered.
Two men dressed in full tactical gear went to Demetri. Three more went to Jack and the other hostages. The rest of the team swept through the newsroom to check for booby traps or other dangers.
“Are you hurt?” one of the SWAT agents said.
Jack sat up slowly, not really sure.
Andie rushed onto the set with a team of paramedics, and they started toward him.
“Help the cameraman,” said Jack.
The paramedics went to Pedro. Andie came straight to Jack and knelt beside him on the floor, her tone beyond urgent.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“I think so.”
She held him tight, ignoring the blood on his clothes, and kissed him. “You scared me to death when you ducked down before the shot.”
“I thought that was what you were trying to tell me to do.”
“No, I was coordinating the kill of the broadcast with the shot from the sniper. We had to make sure it wasn’t on the air.”
The television on the news set suddenly resumed playing, but Jack was not on the screen. Action News had shifted to the presidential motorcade.
“Where’s my father?”
“He’s on his way here with the president.”
“I need to call him.”
“Sure,” she said, handing him her cell. “But we need you to keep it short.”
“Why?”
Her gaze drifted toward the presidential motorcade on the television screen. “You’ll see.”
Harry took the call in the back of the limousine. It was hard to keep his emotions in check, but he, too, knew that the phone conversation had to be brief.
Harry and President Keyes had watched the final moments of the standoff unfold on television. Harry’s pulse was still pounding. At one point, he’d honestly believed he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. He couldn’t bear to watch, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the television screen. He’d literally yelped when the broadcast went black, and he could hardly breathe again until the call from the CIRG leader confirmed that the mission had succeeded and that Jack was unharmed. Even so, his voice shook throughout the conversation with Jack.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” said Harry.
“Really, Dad. Other than a jab in the wrist from a nail file, I’m fine.”
“I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Harry ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket.
Seated across from him, President Keyes was wrapping up a phone call of his own. He hung up and peered out the window, so preoccupied that he didn’t even ask Harry about his son.
“Jack sounds just fine,” said Harry.
“What? Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. That was quite a final performance by Demetri. I’m sure you have plenty on your mind.”
Keyes was suddenly defensive. “None of it’s true. You realize that, don’t you?”
Harry said nothing.
“I mean, I’ve never even been to Cyprus. I was born in Pennsylvania. It says so right on my birth certificate.”
Harry said, “I wouldn’t put one ounce of blame on your adoptive parents for doing that.”
“Blame them for doing what?”
“It’s perfectly understandable that they would have falsified a birth certificate to keep you or someone else from finding out that your biological father was the man who raped your birth mother.”
“I’m not the son of a rapist.”
“But maybe your adoptive parents thought you were. Just as Demetri did all these years.”
The president fell silent, staring blankly out the window at the painted traffic lines on the interstate.
“My father must be turning in his grave,” he said.
Harry felt a little sorry for him, having just had his moment with his own son. But he stayed focused.
“You weren’t born in this country, were you?”
The president didn’t answer right away. Finally, he shook his head.
“I was two months old when I came here. A nice young couple who couldn’t get pregnant adopted me. I’ve never known another country or another culture. I never even traveled outside the United States until I was in college.” He gave Harry a sobering look and said, “But I can’t be president.”
“A dumb rule, I suppose,” said Harry.
“But it’s in our Constitution. Article II, clause five.”
“I’m just amazed that your adoption was able to be kept secret all these years.”
“It was never an issue. Not even when I announced my candidacy for president did people have any reason to question my birthplace.”
“Funny,” said Harry. “In this world of information overload, we think we know everything about our leaders. But still we don’t know them.”
“You’re talking as if this is an obvious thing. It’s not. Do your homework. Before the laws changed in 1961, you could even do an adoption by proxy from places like Cyprus. International adoptions in this country were a mess.”
“Was yours one of the messy ones?”
“It was 1960, Harry. Imagine a woman knows her life would be better without the man she’s married to, but she doesn’t have the courage to leave him. She tells her husband that the father of their child was the man who raped her, but she wants to keep the baby anyway. What do you think she expects a thug like Demetri to do?”
“Leave, I’m sure.”
“But maybe he surprises her. Maybe he loves her so much in his own twisted and controlling way that he thinks he can fix things-if he can just get rid of the kid. So he convinces Cypriot officials to look the other way as the child is smuggled out of the country, no paper trail. The baby is sold on the black market to an unmarried woman in Philadelphia who, for a fee, falsifies the birth records and pretends that the baby is hers. A nice couple then makes a perfectly legal adoption, knowing nothing about the smuggling or supposed rape that took place halfway around the world.”
“Are you saying that’s what happened?”
The ensuing silence was profound, not even the drone of rubber tires on the interstate audible in the fortified limousine.
“What are you going to do now?” said Harry.
He shot Harry a puzzled look. “You said it yourself, this natural-born-citizen rule is just plain dumb. I’m going to fight it.”
“How?”
“With guns blazing. You have to stay with me on this.”
“What do you mean?”
The president leaned forward, suddenly ene
rgized. “Stick with the plan, Harry. Be my vice president.”
“And do what? Pretend I don’t know your situation?”
“You don’t know it.”
“You just told me.”
“Forget what I just told you.”
“You can’t hide this,” said Harry. “They’ll do DNA tests on you, Sofia, and Demetri.”
“My lawyers can tie that up.”
“Somebody is probably pulling copies of your phony birth certificate even as we speak.”
“The birth certificate says I was born at home to an unmarried woman in Philadelphia who died thirty years ago. Both my adoptive parents are deceased. Demetri’s dead. To this day, Sofia doesn’t want to say or do anything to hurt her son. Who’s to say that the fingerprints and footprints on the birth certificate were made when I was eight weeks instead of eight hours old? I’ve had a social security number since I was three months old. There’s no paper trail back to Cyprus, and the records here are airtight.”
“You can’t keep this up forever.”
“I don’t have to. There are only two years left on my term. You step in as my vice president now, and you’re the heir apparent to the Oval Office.”
“I can’t do that,” said Harry.
“Sure you can.”
“No. I really can’t.”
“You’re being a fool.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Do you realize that if I’m forced to resign before you’re confirmed, you’ll never be vice president?”
“I do understand that.”
“Your only way to the White House is through the vice presidency-through me.”
“That looks like a pretty tough road right now, Mr. President.”
“Harry, get a grip. You’re not negotiating from a position of power.”
“Negotiating?”
“Listen to what I’m saying. Either you stand behind me, or I’m pulling your nomination.”
“Do what you have to do, sir.”
“Are you crazy?” he said, his voice turning shrill. “What’s wrong with you? You have nothing right now, do you understand? You have no power over me. You are not the sitting vice president. You do not rise to the presidency if I’m forced out. You are not Phil Grayson!”
A chilling silence filled the vehicle. Their eyes locked, as if neither man could believe what President Keyes had just said.
Harry turned very serious. “Phil knew your secret, didn’t he?”
“From a little whore named Chloe Sparks.”
“You gave Madera the green light to eliminate him.”
“I offered Phil the same deal I just offered you. Phil had to be a pain in the ass, wanted to be president right now.”
“You killed him.”
“I told Frank to deal with it. I didn’t think he’d pump him so full of ED medication that he’d literally explode.”
The limo stopped. Harry checked out the window. They were still on the interstate, at least a mile away from the Action News studio.
“Why are we stopping?” said the president, though the question wasn’t really addressed to Harry.
His door opened.
“What’s going on?”
Agent Schwartz was standing outside the limousine. He flashed his badge, his demeanor all business.
“Sir, could you please step out of the vehicle.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Sir, don’t make this worse than it already is. Please step out of the vehicle.”
The president chuckled nervously, but he was the only one laughing.
“Harry, do you know anything about this?”
Harry didn’t answer.
Agent Schwartz said, “Sir, could you please-”
“Yes, yes,” he said as he climbed out of the limousine. “But this is totally outrageous and insulting beyond belief. In fact, it’s inexcusable. I want your badge number.”
Schwartz showed him his shield. “You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Surely you jest,” said the president.
“You have the right to an attorney…”
“I don’t need to hear this,” he said. But the recitation of his rights continued, and the president only became more agitated. Two other agents from the motorcade approached the limousine, one of them with handcuffs.
The president was red in the face with anger. Media helicopters were hovering overhead.
“Do you actually think you can arrest me?”
“Can I have your wrists, sir?” said Schwartz.
“I won’t stand for this.”
“Sir, your wrists.”
“Is this some kind of political power play? This is-”
He stopped himself, turned, and peered into the backseat of the limo. The door was still open, and Harry looked back at him.
“You’re wired, aren’t you?” said the president.
Harry said nothing.
“You sneaky son of a bitch. You’re wearing a wire!”
Harry drew on his oldest roots-those of a Miami cop-and forced himself to show no sign of enjoyment or satisfaction. In fact, he watched without any reaction at all as Agent Schwartz drew the president’s wrists behind his back and slapped on the handcuffs. But self-restraint had its limits. As the president stood outside his presidential limousine, glaring at the vice presidential nominee in disbelief, Harry couldn’t resist one parting shot-if not for himself, then for Phil Grayson.
“How do you like those beans, Mr. President?” he said.
Chapter 60
Jack locked up his law office at 3:00 P.M. on December 22. The move to the new building on Main Highway was a success, at least according to Theo, who had quickly pointed out that the reception area was the perfect size for an air hockey table. “Situation normal” had returned to Jack’s life, just in time to be screwed up by the holidays.
President Keyes had resigned from office on the day of his arrest, the first U.S. president ever to do so from a prison cell. With no sitting vice president, the Speaker of the House was sworn in as president, and he promptly nominated former U.S. attorney general Allison Leahy as his vice president. Harry Swyteck was out, just as Keyes had predicted. Jack had actually dreamt that he represented Sofia at her congressional confirmation hearing for the number two spot, but in reality she was happy to return to New York and pour what remained of her heart and soul into the bakery that she and her late husband Angelo had created.
Predictably, the media-especially the talk shows-continued to feast on the White House scandal 24/7. Rumors were rampant, but there were some credible leaks. The last Jack had heard, Keyes might even identify a certain mobster who controlled him and Frank Madera, but only if the prosecution would cut him a deal on the conspiracy-to-commit-murder charge. Jack suspected there would be no deals if Elizabeth and Marilyn Grayson had anything to say about it.
“Jack, hey, I’m glad I caught you.”
Jack turned to see his father hurrying up the sidewalk. His Lincoln was at the curb outside Jack’s office with the motor running.
“Mr. almost-vice-president, how are you, sir?”
“Very funny.”
“I thought you were leaving for Colorado today,” said Jack.
“We’re off to the airport as soon as I pick up Agnes. But there was something I wanted to tell you before I go.”
Jack knew what a nervous flyer his father was. “Dad, we have this same conversation every time you and Agnes fly together. I know where you keep the key to the safe deposit box.”
“It’s not that. Before everything went crazy in Washington, there were more than a few jokes made about the fact that I fired you as my lawyer. The damn gossip papers even picked it up. I’m sure you realize what that was all about, but I feel like something needs to be said between us.”
“I understand completely,” said Jack. “You were working with the FBI, and one member of the Swyteck family at risk was enoug
h.”
“That’s part of it,” said Harry.
Jack flashed a hint of concern. “What’s the other part?”
“I just want you to have the total picture. Yes, I fired you to keep you out of danger. But if this whole thing had turned out differently-if I had become vice president-it would have been a dream come true to have my son working in Washington with me.”
Jack smiled, even though years of sad history lay between the lines. During Governor Swyteck’s first term, the problems had run much deeper than the obvious fact that Jack worked for the Freedom Institute and defended death row inmates, while his father was signing more death warrants than any governor in Florida history. The rocky history dated back to Jack’s childhood, and politics had made their disagreement so public that the two men didn’t even speak to each other.
“Chief Justice Jack Swyteck,” said Jack. “Could have had a nice ring to it.”
“Let’s not get crazy in hindsight, all right?”
Jack stepped toward him, and they embraced.
“Oh, one other thing,” said Harry. “I’ve completely run out of time with the holiday crunch. Can you stop by Carroll’s Jewelers and pick up Agnes’s Christmas present? It’s an antique, I guess you’d say. Make sure it’s cleaned up all pretty and overnight it to me.”
“Sure thing. Have a great time in Beaver Creek.”
Harry thanked him and went to his car.
Carroll’s Jewelers on Miracle Mile wasn’t exactly on Jack’s way home, and the last-minute shoppers made getting there a bit like sneaking into the Super Bowl. Fortunately, the jeweler recognized him when he entered, and she brought the box to the counter straightaway and opened it for him.
“What do you think?” she said.
Jack slipped the ring onto the tip of his pinky and examined it beneath the spotlight.
“It looks like my mother’s engagement ring,” he said, puzzled.
“It is,” said the jeweler. “It cleaned up nicely, don’t you think?”
Precious few family heirlooms had been passed down through Jack’s maternal family. His mother had come to Miami from Cuba as a teenager with little more than a suitcase in hand. The Castro regime didn’t let her mother leave for another forty years, long after Anna Maria Fuentes had married Harry Swyteck and died giving birth to a son. The modest, round diamond in a traditional Tiffany setting was about what one would have expected from a recent college graduate in the mid-1960s. Jack had never asked for it, but he assumed it would be his someday-passed directly from his father.
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