The First Family

by Michael Palmer

  They spoke of Paul. Seneca knew him from the MDC, and was shocked and horrified by the news of his murder.

  “What the hell are you involved with, Lee?” Seneca asked while they waited for the pathologist to prepare the tissue. “Fights in the hospital stairwell, poisoned girls, abductions, an assassination attempt, runaways from the White House, and now your partner’s murder—it’s, well, crazy.”

  “And I don’t think I even know the half of it,” Lee said bitterly. “There’s a piece missing, something major, something I’ve overlooked, and I’m praying we’ll find the answer in Cam’s tissue.”

  The pathologist appeared ten minutes later with the tissue sample stored in a sealed clear plastic specimen bag. Lee put the sample inside the portable cooler the pathologist also supplied.

  “What is it you’re hoping to find in there?” Brian asked, pointing to the cooler.

  “Something that proves my simple theories weren’t the right ones,” Lee said.

  CHAPTER 52

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 3

  Lee was dressed in his best suit and tie, and Dr. Kaufmann, warned ahead of time of their destination, had worn a lightweight tweed jacket with a blue blouse underneath and dark slacks. Her glasses, dangling from a gold chain lanyard, bounced against her chest as she took hurried steps to keep pace with Lee’s much longer strides.

  “I’ve driven by here so many times,” Dr. Kaufmann said as they made their way to the South Portico entrance, “but never did I dream I’d be invited inside.”

  Lee’s grim expression did not brighten. “Unfortunately, this dream is a bit more of a nightmare,” he said.

  Nightmare was an understatement. His head and heart were heavy with grief, having come from a harrowing experience at the medical examiner’s office where Tracy officially identified Paul’s body. Plans for the funeral were being hastily arranged. After the mania and activity died down, when the quiet returned and a profound sadness settled over everything like a fine dusting of malaise, Tracy and the kids would need Lee around. But for now, he could be here, guilt-free, doing the work he felt had to be done—getting justice for Paul.

  Involving Dr. Kaufmann might be the right choice, but it still boggled Lee’s mind. If a new genetic disease was affecting young people, why was it appearing now, and only at the TPI? What else could Yoshi and maybe Gleason have done to these teens?

  He’s a liar.

  Cam’s haunting words flashed again in Lee’s mind.

  What did he mean by that? Lee wondered. And where on earth could Cam be?

  If the media reports were to be believed (and why not believe them), the search effort was still being concentrated on New Jersey, the location of Cam’s e-mail message to his parents. Maybe the first family had new information to share.

  With a uniformed guard standing by their side, Lee and Dr. Kaufmann traded a humid spring morning for the cool interior of a well-appointed conference room in the East Wing. Ellen Hilliard was there to greet them, and it was immediately clear to Lee how draining these past few days had been on her. Her face, normally radiant, had turned gaunt. She was dressed as if in mourning, wearing a black boat-neck outfit accented with a single gold chain. Her dark blond hair, often worn down, had been pulled back into a tight bun, revealing a neck far thinner than Lee had remembered. The spark in Ellen’s electric blue eyes was extinguished.

  Included among the small entourage awaiting Lee and Dr. Kaufmann’s arrival was Dr. Gleason. Deep channels marked the corners of Gleason’s eyes and his short brown hair seemed to have thinned out considerably. The stress seemed to be taking a toll on everyone—even the liars.

  Lee had expected the president would be there, but Ellen said he had been called away suddenly for an emergency meeting and would return shortly.

  Dr. Kaufmann seemed uncertain on her feet. Ellen noticed and took hold of her hand.

  “It’s all right,” she said, her voice soothing. “I know this is a lot to handle, but please, try to think of this as just my home, and you are my guest.”

  “Thank you,” Dr. Kaufmann said, her deep voice quavering ever so slightly. “I’m, well—well, a bit overwhelmed, as you can imagine.”

  “It’s understandable,” said Ellen. “I have some tea on the way. It’ll help you relax.”

  As if on cue, a member of the service staff wheeled a cart into the room, with aromatic tea steeping inside a sterling silver pot. He poured four cups, adding milk and sugar as desired, while everyone took seats on the chairs positioned around the conference room table.

  Once settled, Ellen expressed to Lee her deepest sympathies.

  “We’re all in shock,” Lee said. “Utterly devastated. Tracy, Paul’s wife, wanted me to thank you for the flowers you sent. She’s deeply appreciative, and touched by your thoughtfulness.”

  “Anything we can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask. Do they still think the murder was drug related? That’s what I heard on the news.”

  “We do keep some drugs in stock, samples to give out to our patients, so it’s possible,” Lee said. “It’s the going theory, anyway. But it could also be connected to our investigation. Maybe Paul was onto something. It’s why we’re here, I guess—to find out.” Sorrow swelled up in Lee, forcing him to will his eyes dry. He had to change the subject. “Is there any news on Cam?”

  “No,” Ellen said, looking crestfallen as her lips pulled tight. “But he did send another e-mail assuring us he’s fine. He feels terrible for all the trouble he’s causing.”

  “Someone tried to kill him and he felt betrayed by the people assigned to protect him,” Lee said. “I can’t imagine the kind of stress he’s under.”

  “I can,” Ellen said, her gaze shifting to the Secret Service agents standing sentry against a wall.

  “I’ve been worried the media has been awful to you,” Ellen said.

  Lee got the reference. “They haven’t made a connection between Karen and me,” he said. “So I haven’t been stalked, if that’s your concern.”

  “Trust me, they will,” Ellen said with vehemence. “How is Susie holding up?”

  Lee provided a brief update on her condition.

  “She’s getting worse, isn’t she?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes,” Lee said. “A tipping point could happen at any moment. If we have to move her to a hospital we will, but it won’t make a difference. Until we figure out what’s wrong with her, I’m afraid there’s little anyone can do to help.”

  “What does it mean for Cam?”

  “It means we need to find him fast and try to figure out if what’s happening inside his body is the same thing happening to Susie. After we finish up here, I’m headed to camp. I’ll biopsy Susie myself.”

  “Speaking of biopsies,” Dr. Gleason chimed in, “I’ve done the two skin biopsies on the president and first lady you asked for.” The venom in his voice was poorly disguised. Lee was his unshakable virus.

  Yesterday, the three doctors, Lee, Ruth Kaufmann, and Fred Gleason, had come to an agreement to use a shave biopsy to procure the samples. Some bleeding was typically associated with the procedure, and the small bandage covering part of Ellen’s right wrist might have hidden a stitch or two.

  “The samples are in the refrigerator in the clinic,” Gleason said. “I’ll get them before you leave. We have a cooler you can use for transport.”

  Dr. Gleason leaned forward in his chair, his eyes boring into Dr. Kaufmann. “What exactly are you looking for in these biopsies of the president and first lady anyway?” he asked.

  “A family history,” Dr. Kaufmann answered calmly. “There could be mutation involved, something that might explain the unusual symptoms Lee has described.”

  “I’ve read your bio,” Gleason continued. “You have an impressive background in the field of genetic diseases. In all your years doing research, you’ve never come across anything of this nature before, have you?”

  Not really a question, Lee observed. More like a prosecutor challenging a key wit
ness.

  “No, I have not,” said Dr. Kaufmann.

  “And what’s the likelihood these symtoms having a genetic cause?”

  Suddenly, Lee got it. Just like his theory about the nootropics, any idea Lee suggested, simple or not, was instantly suspect in Gleason’s mind.

  “Respectfully, I don’t like to speculate on such things, Dr. Gleason,” Dr. Kaufmann replied. “I’m a woman of science, and these samples will help us make some determinations.”

  Inwardly, Lee was smiling. He’d liked Dr. Kaufmann before, but seeing her put Dr. Gleason in his place had elevated her status considerably.

  Thinking of the long drive ahead, Lee was about to suggest they leave now to retrieve the biopsies, when the shuttered doors to the conference room flew open. In stormed a team of six men, all wearing FBI special agent Windbreaker jackets. Following them were several members of the Secret Service dressed in dark suits. The last to enter was President Hilliard.

  Lee’s heart leapt to his throat from the surprise. His shock morphed into confusion when the agents surrounded Gleason. With force, two agents seized Gleason by the elbows and hoisted him out of his chair. They spun him around, and as if by magic, had his wrists handcuffed behind his back.

  The color drained from Gleason’s face, his body shaking violently. “What’s the meaning of this?” he shouted.

  Instead of an answer, three FBI agents ushered Gleason out of the room in a hurried processional. Other agents joined them, along with most of the Secret Service.

  President Hilliard hovered near the doorway, distraught.

  Seized with anxiety, Ellen rushed to her husband’s side. “Geoffrey—what—what’s happening?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Is everything all right? Is this about Cam?”

  The president’s aspect softened, but only a few degrees. “We’ll talk,” he said, nodding in Lee’s direction, as if to say, Not in mixed company.

  Lee took it upon himself to stand and approach. Dr. Kaufmann stayed rooted in her seat. The two Secret Service agents who had stayed behind tensed as Lee neared the president. With a wave, President Hilliard settled them down. Lee caught a flash of the bandage covering his president’s right wrist, presumably concealing the location of his biopsy.

  “Mr. President, is this in any way connected to my investigation into Cam and Susie? I need to know.”

  The president gripped Lee’s arm forcibly, not hard, but with intent. “Right now all you need to know is that I appreciate the work you’re doing. We’ll focus on finding Cam, you figure out the rest.”

  “And Dr. Gleason?” Lee asked.

  “Trust me when I say he’s where he belongs.”

  CHAPTER 53

  When Karen’s phone rang, it was late afternoon. Her breath caught as she saw it was Woody Lapham returning her call. This was the call she’d been waiting for.

  Hours earlier, Lee had phoned with more shocking news. The FBI had taken Gleason into custody. Lee had decided to delay his departure to camp until the evening. He wanted to stay local, see if Gleason’s arrest had any connection to Susie and Cam.

  Karen’s calls to Ellen went unanswered. Much about Karen’s new life troubled her, but being out of the loop was perhaps the most difficult adjustment of all. She no longer had access to the first family’s schedule, had no idea where they were, or what they were doing at all times. It was like losing a limb.

  She had made her call to Woody Lapham out of desperation. She could not stand not knowing any longer. It ate at her, made it impossible to think about anything else. Lapham had plenty of pals in the FBI, and she hoped he might be willing to share some privileged information with her. Goodness knew she’d done enough favors for him over the years.

  “Are you sitting down?” Lapham said after the greetings and a brief catch-up conversation.

  “I am,” said Karen. She was perched on a queen bed in the tiny upstairs bedroom. The room smelled of pine and mothballs. The heavy bedspread on which she sat could probably have shielded her from x-rays.

  “I know why the FBI hauled Gleason away, and you’re not going to believe it.”

  Her free hand gripped the edge of the bed with force. “Tell me.”

  “Guess who invested a huge chunk of his personal wealth in ProNeural?”

  “What?” Karen’s entire face screwed up.

  “Yup. He was a major investor. For some reason the president had the FBI investigating Gleason and they found all sorts of incriminating evidence. Not sure why Yoshi didn’t rat the guy out. Could have been saving the ammo for a plea bargain, but the CEO sang a different tune. Said it was Gleason who pushed Yoshi into supplying the TPI kids with ProNeural, and it was Gleason’s scheme to fake the data to jack up sales and get more interest in the product. He was trying to make his hefty investment pay off.”

  Karen recalled the day she stole the ProNeural smart pills—how oddly Gleason had behaved, how he’d seemed to care a lot more about her snooping around his office computer than what she was doing in his office in the first place. Maybe he’d been corresponding about his scheme and had stepped away at an inopportune moment.

  “Cam knew, didn’t he?” Karen asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “Someone had been sending Gleason anonymous messages warning him to stop or else kind of thing,” said Lapham. “Why do you think it was Cam?”

  “Because when the FBI searched his bedroom they found a picture of Gleason with the words I know what you are, I know what you do scrawled all over it. I’d found something similar days earlier—a piece of paper with those same phrases printed all the way down the page.”

  “Guess now you know what he meant by it,” said Lapham.

  “No doubt.”

  “It goes without saying this conversation never happened.”

  “You can trust me,” she said.

  Her lips might have been sealed, but her thoughts were spinning. The news did not change anything, not exactly. It was still possible Gleason was being cagey about Cam because he and Yoshi had done something besides peddle harmless pills. Like Lee had said, nothing added up.

  Karen checked the time on her phone. Lee had left D.C. a few hours ago, and would be arriving at camp shortly.

  She hoped he’d bring some answers with him.

  * * *

  IN MAUSER’S opinion, following Lee was the easy part. The GPS locator did the lion’s share of the work. Figuring out where Lee was headed was an entirely different matter. Lee had spent much of the day at the White House, which made sense because of Cam. The long wait had allowed Easley to gather supplies and stock up for whatever might be coming next.

  It was time for next.

  Mauser was dressed for battle, wearing black camo pants and a dark jacket. He was also well armed, with two AR-15 tactical rifles and plenty of ammo stashed in his van. He also had in his possession his beloved Mauser C96 pistol—a special gun he wanted to use for a very special kill.

  Drew Easley rode shotgun. His long hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, swayed across his broad shoulders while he diligently cleaned his Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum. He wore an outfit similar to Mauser’s.

  The landscape had been a desolate highway dotted with farmhouses, but now even those were few and far between. Mauser thought he had a good sense of things, a bit of clairvoyance—a gift from his mother, he supposed. She always knew when he was headed for some sort of trouble. His intuition had helped Mauser peg undercover cops, given him a sense which deals might go sour. He had ignored his gut once and it had cost him five years of hard time. He never ignored it again.

  His gut was talking to him now, telling him in no uncertain terms they were going to hit the jackpot.

  “You’re sure this is worth it?” Easley asked, gazing at the darkness outside his window.

  “You sure you want us to have supply to sell?” Mauser answered.

  Easley snorted his displeasure. “You think Rainmaker would cut us off like that?”

  “No doubt about i
t,” said Mauser.

  Easley mulled this over and offered a slight nod—his final approval. No going back now.

  “You worried about the FBI?” Easley’s voice was like a rumble of thunder.

  “What? The shooting, you mean?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “They haven’t produced a single useful lead, so no, I’m not worried at all,” Mauser said. “If you ask me, Cam running away is the best thing that’s happened to them. It distracts Joe Public from their incompetence.”

  Another nod from Easley. “What if Blackwood takes us to his girlfriend’s house and not to the girl?” he asked.

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere, and he’s with his kid. He’s not going to a girlfriend’s house.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Easley was a man of few words, and Mauser knew exactly what he meant.

  “If we get the chance, we’ll take him at gunpoint and make him bring us to her.”

  “The girl is sick, right? She won’t be alone. Someone’s gotta be looking after her.”

  Mauser had thought the same. “Yeah, I’m sure other people will be there, wherever there is.”

  “What do we do about them?”

  Mauser focused on the road. The van’s headlights were like two knives slicing the void.

  “I guess we’ll do what we have to do,” he said in a flat voice.

  CHAPTER 54

  Lee turned onto the dirt road to camp after 9:00 P.M. Scudding clouds made the moonlight come and go. Up ahead the cabin glowed like a jewel set against black velvet. His headlights illuminated a lone figure standing in the middle of the road, a rifle slung over her shoulder.

  Lee slowed to a stop, rolled down his window, and waved to Karen.

  “Do you greet all of your guests so heavily armed?” he asked with a wry grin.

  Karen approached, leaning her body into Lee’s open window. She smiled at Josh and blew him a kiss.

  “You tripped the alarm,” she said. “I thought you were going to call first.”