Redemption

by Sally Fernandez

  She used the remote to select the Repeat option and listened to the CD several more times, almost obsessively, as though it were an intoxicant. It wasn’t the wine consumption; that had ceased some time ago.

  Then on the fourth go-around, she sprang up from her sofa. “Oh, no!” she called out and raced to the CD cabinet. She tossed case after case onto the floor until she found the CD she was searching for. By that time she was frantic. Hastily, she exchanged the CD for the one playing. Then seated, that time on the floor, she slowed down her breathing and listened one more time.

  “Oh my God. It’s Bach’s Art of Fugue.”

  A sudden flashback of her interview with Simon’s mother came to the fore. She grabbed her phone instinctively to call Noble, until she realized he was unavailable. “Damn you!” she shouted, and then hit the speed dial for Stanton.

  “Hi hon, change your mind?” he asked coyly, knowing it was a long shot.

  “Yes! Come over right away!”

  “Are you okay? You sound upset.”

  “Please, come as quickly as you can.”

  Max remained seated on the floor, frozen in place while her mind spun like a top. She could hear Simon’s mother’s voice describing his obsession with Bach as a child. It was the crucial clue that led Noble to locate Simon’s failsafe code, which he had buried in the operating system of several of the nation’s electrical grids. It allowed Noble to foil Simon’s plot and to avert a national disaster. She replayed it in her mind, recalling the day Noble explained how he had used Bach’s combinatorial permutation to break the failsafe code. The CD for Bach’s Art of Fugue was also found in Simon’s car on the bridge.

  “This can’t be happening. Stanton, where the hell are you?” she pleaded aloud. Still seated on the floor, now clutching her knees, she rocked back and forth. All of a sudden, weird thoughts began racing through her mind: Greek philosophers, Pythagoras’s Table of Opposites, and Bach’s use of the Pythagorean philosophical principles in his compositions, largely in the Art of Fugue. She remembered at the time it was pretty wild stuff, but Noble described how the premise behind comparing opposites, such as right and left, or odd and even, led him to decipher Simon’s code.

  Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Her heart rate began to recede. She pulled herself up off the floor and rushed toward the door. “Forgot your key, Agent?” she called out.

  43

  A MESSAGE FROM THE GRAVE

  La Fratellanza were pleased with themselves. Once again, they pulled off the impossible, knowing they had a wall of colossal challenges facing them. The president had signed on to their plan and the theme of his speech to the nation. Paolo, with the help of the others, had written the most inspiring speech of his lifetime. And without grandeur, they would return home having had their own experience of a lifetime that could never be shared, but a grateful nation would be their reward. However they were not heading home quite yet.

  “Finish up; we only have a few hours before lift-off,” Noble rallied. “We’ll be watching the televised speech on our monitors. So the moment the president ends his speech, you’ll all move into action.”

  “The first infomercial is ready for prime time,” Seymour signaled.

  “Chase, are you all set?”

  “The target audience is selected and the poll is ready to roll.”

  Noble had been pretty tough throughout trying to keep them focused, especially during the last stretch. He thought now was an appropriate time to compliment the group on all they had accomplished. “You’ve all worked hard for this moment. And you should all be proud.”

  “Aw, gee, Noble, thanks,” Paolo kidded.

  The other members of La Fratellanza broke out in a cheer, patting one another on the back. Noble sensed they were beginning to feel redeemed.

  In the course of their victory lap, the secure phone rang.

  Noble excused himself and took the call.

  “Max is gone!”

  “What?” he reacted, hiding his alarm that mirrored the shock in Stanton’s voice.

  Stanton explained the phone call from Max. “Something spooked her and she asked me to come right over. When I arrived, she was gone. And she’s not answering her smartphone.” Stanton recognized that Noble was not free to react, so he continued to explain that the lights were left on, a wine glass had been tipped over, and a CD was still playing. He hesitated. “Noble, it was the Art of Fugue.”

  Noble gulped, loud enough for Stanton to detect.

  “I know what you’re thinking—Simon’s alive. Max believed the same. I told her she was becoming paranoid. Did she tell you about the stalker?”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw the face, what little was exposed—It wasn’t Simon.”

  “I’m leaving the facility now; I’ll take the copter. Meet me in my office in thirty minutes.”

  “I have to leave,” Noble shouted out to the others.

  “You’ll miss the crescendo,” Seymour shouted back.

  Noble, not responding, dashed out of the facility leaving the others only to speculate.

  Once outside the facility, he placed his xPhad in the secure sleeve. It began to vibrate rapidly as it downloaded a series of messages and notifications—all that had piled up waiting for the signal. It took him a moment to weed through all of them looking for one from Max. “There it is.” He hit the envelope. The message read MAX IS WAITING FOR YOU . Operating in high gear, Noble used the same App tracking device he used to locate Simon in Salt Lake City. He hurriedly sent a message, replying to the original SMS text. It read SEE YOU SOON! As the message was sent to the receiver, the tracking device would be able to locate the exact location of the sender’s smartphone. It was in the process of receiving the message. Literally nanoseconds later, the following coordinates appeared on his device: LATITUDE 38° 51’ 55.6445 LONGITUDE 77° 4’ 26.6484. With record speed, he converted it to an address. “Son of a bitch.” He called Stanton immediately. “Simon has Max. I want you and two of your best sharpshooters to meet me at this location. I’m sending it to you now.”

  Stanton picked up the address on his cell. “I’ll be damned! That’s down the street from the Pentagon.”

  “Stand down until I arrive.”

  44

  THE KILLSHOT

  Using their thermal imaging riflescopes, the SWAT team was able to determine that only two figures were in the home, both in the front room and positioned near each other. The SWAT team had already gingerly walked across the roof of the ranch-style home to confirm there were no other inhabitants. Once they signaled the all clear they moved in stealthily.

  The front door was left ajar. They assumed it was intentional, presumably by Simon. Stanton was the first to enter, brandishing his sidearm. Noble followed closely behind, unarmed. The SWAT team remained stationed outside the windows facing into the front and side of the living room, each with a clear shot. No one was taking chances with Max’s life.

  Noble hid the tension he felt as he stared at Max bound and gagged in the chair nestled in the corner. A light had been purposely placed over her head to illuminate the scene. Off to the side was a shadowy figure, and although it was difficult to identify the silhouette, Noble surmised who it was.

  “Simon, step out into the light where we can see you,” Noble ordered.

  Everyone stood in place with tensions rising, as the figure came out of the shadow and moved slowly toward Max.

  What the hell, he thought, completely dumbfounded. Noble immediately ordered, “Step away from Max, and put your hands out where I can see them.”

  “In due time, Director,” came the cunning reply from a surprising voice.

  “I don’t understand. Why you?” Noble questioned, still baffled by the scene.

  “For starters, you killed the former president. You ordered them to kill Abner Baari!”

  “You’re wrong. We have the shell casing to prove the bullet did not come from any of the agents or Canadian Mounties on the bri
dge. That left only one person who could have fired the shot. Let’s quit the idle talk—Where’s Simon?” Noble demanded, but in a controlled manner.

  “He survived the fall, after having brilliantly planned every step down to the second. Simon estimated the height, the angle to jump, and which way the currents would drift him toward the boat he had waiting for him.”

  “You mean Leon Miller’s boat?” he asked cautiously, watching for the slightest movement.

  “Yes, he couldn’t believe his fortune in finding the perfect lookalike to help him escape. It was a flawless backup plan if he couldn’t make his way into Canada. What he hadn’t counted on—was to be shot.”

  “He wouldn’t have been shot had he not shot Baari first. Again—step away from Max.”

  “Director, aren’t you curious as to where Simon is?”

  Noble remained silent, negotiating the situation skillfully. He allowed the conversation to flow calmly for the moment. He couldn’t afford a rush act with Max’s life still in imminent danger. He stood up straighter and his voice took on a calmer edge. “So where is Simon?”

  Stanton took his cue. He knew Noble was going to take it slow and easy.

  “He’s dead!” shouted the half-shadowy figure. “He broke his back in the fall and suffered internal damage. But he lived long enough to help me set the stage, so I could carry out his ultimate revenge. True to Simon’s M.O., he had planned it long before that day on the bridge.”

  Simon is really dead. It took Noble a moment to let it sink in. Then he thought, Is that what he meant by Act Three? But for the moment, there was a more pressing question. “Why are you involved? I don’t understand why you’d get mixed up in this.”

  “Because you ruined my life, just as you destroyed Simon’s. First, you forced the president to resign in disgrace and then you destroyed my political career. That alone caused a firestorm in the press, plastering my face everywhere. You may recall a certain car salesmen in Salt Lake City. Well, he finally connected the dots and started to blackmail me to add to my woes. The day Simon died I swore I would carry out his plan, with a few added steps.”

  “Is that why you went after Natalie and Amanda?”

  “They were just for sport.” A callous smile surfaced and then out of nowhere a gun appeared at Max’s head.

  “You didn’t lure me here to kill Max. I’m the one who destroyed your life. Let her go!”

  Noble made no headway.

  Without warning, an index finger emerged on the trigger. “This is for the man I loved. This is for Simon.”

  Max’s eyes widened in a pleading stare.

  Pop was the only sound from the single shot that pierced through the menacing assassin’s forehead.

  The former First Lady and senator—Maryann Townsend—was dead.

  Stanton, with his unmistakable accuracy, had fired the fatal shot.

  Not missing a beat, the SWAT team immediately moved in to secure the crime scene.

  Noble heaved a sigh of relief as he looked over toward Max unharmed. “It’s finally over,” he said, as he rushed to her side. It was apparent, as she sat gagged and bound in the chair next to the corpse, that shock had begun to set in. Hurriedly, he released Max from her bonds and wiped the blood spatter from her face. On impulse, Noble pulled her to her feet and held her tightly in an attempt to keep her calm. Max’s arms responded in kind.

  At the same time, he ordered Stanton to go to the Capitol. “In forty-five minutes, the president will speak to the nation. You must inform him about the senator’s death before he begins.” He knew that the planned statement referring to Senator Townsend must be stricken from the president’s speech.

  With the SWAT team swirling around the scene, Noble had yet to release Max from his embrace. He could still feel her body tremble as she clung to him. Suddenly, overcome with an unexpected emotion, he whispered, “Thank God; I thought I had lost you forever.”

  In that instant, Stanton turned and looked at her. Their eyes met. His expression reflected no trace of shock or anger, only sorrow. Much to his dismay he realized that at that moment, she was no longer his.

  45

  THE PRESIDENT’S SPEECH

  Stanton, still dealing with his inner fog generated by the traumatic crime scene he had just left, managed to work his way through the Secret Service detail. He reached the president, only minutes before he was slated to speak to the nation.

  “Mr. President, Senator Townsend has been shot and killed,” he reported, in a hushed voice.

  “Oh my God, how can you be sure?”

  “Sir—I fired the fatal shot.” In a rapid pace, he updated the president on the circumstances.

  Then, placing the horrific news aside, the president had no choice but to enter the congressional chambers and face the nation. He took a few moments to brace himself. Then he squared his shoulders and walked to the podium with a firm resolve.

  He was instantly greeted by traditional applause, as only Congress could muster.

  Now, standing at the podium, the president waited for the crowd to settle down. Then he began.

  “Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of Congress, my fellow Americans.”

  As the president delivered his opening greeting, the empty chairs behind him did not go unnoticed. Nor did the sight of the vice president and majority leader squirming uncomfortably in their seats next to the Supreme Court justices—not in their usual exalted perch.

  He dismissed the questioning stares and looked over a sea of skeptical faces and spoke.

  “For those seated in the rear of the chamber, rest assured the vice president and the majority speaker are in attendance. However, throughout the duration of my presidency when I am speaking in these chambers, the usual cheerleaders will not be seated behind me, but will be seated among their fellow members of Congress.”

  There were slight chuckles among the crowd, but it was obvious from the expression on the faces of the vice president and the majority speaker that they were discomfited.

  “When I address the Congress and the nation, the focus must be placed on my words, not on any choreographed reactions.”

  [CIVIL APPLAUSE]

  “Tonight, I come to the podium with a heavy heart as I speak to the citizens of our great nation who are suffering. Whether it be from the lack of jobs, unaffordable healthcare, or government mismanagement, we have suffered unprecedented hardships. We all know our country is sadly divided on these issues.

  There are several root causes, some obvious, others more insidious. Part of the division stems from special interests that have segmented our population. I won’t deny the fact that the mere existence of the prevailing disagreements in our society are no more than an expression of the freedoms and liberties we enjoy in our great nation. To challenge issues is one of our basic freedoms. But when power and influence overshadow the will of the people, they ignore the common good—the foundation on which our government was designed. The freedoms we cherish are threatened by our unstable economy, staggering national debt, and the lack of jobs for our citizens, all of which are untenable and have created unrest. Our national security continues to face undue risk, as exemplified by our failure to thwart terrorism and infectious disease pandemics, giving rise to fears. We have not achieved energy independence despite abundant oil and coal resources. All of these issues add to the conflicting points of public view.

  We are a weakened nation that has lost her stature in the eyes of our friends and enemies throughout the world. They have come to believe we are unable to stand strong and firm, as we have historically. Our image as the world leader has faded. If we are to regain our place as a world leader, the days of vacillating on crucial issues are now declared over. The do-nothing Congress will be brought back to life. The spending beyond our means will be replaced by common sense.”

  [MILD APPLAUSE]

  “Since I have taken office, I’ve met with congressional leaders of both parties in the White House to adopt a more partisan approac
h to problem-solving, one that does not cater to special interests. There have been some sharp disagreements in these meetings, but thus far, no bloodshed. Make no mistake; my allegiance is to one special interest group—to the citizens of the United States of America. As President, I govern for all of our citizens—that is non-debatable.

  [POLITE APPLAUSE]

  “Tonight, I pledge to the American people—a pledge your government will keep.”

  The president noted the shuffling of seats, absent of any ovation, as though the audience were preparing itself for the customary “Trust Me” riposte.

  He continued.

  “I’ll work with Congress to send to pasture the infamous pen used to issue executive orders. I will insist elected representatives represent the will of the people. I will dedicate myself to push for sweeping reforms to eliminate the malfunctioning of the past government and to return our nation to her greatness. Together in concert with Congress, I will execute plans to stop wasteful spending and to put into place tax simplification to provide relief to individuals and corporations. Past insincere promises and their attendant failures are being replaced by plans of action.

  There was no applause, but the muffled gasps and constant shuffling about were noticeable. The president suspected the crowd’s mental calculators were in overdrive trying to determine the feasibility of such a strategy. He gave them time to ponder briefly.

  “I am sitting on a parcel of specific remedial proposals to attack the major issues. Over the next few weeks, there will be a series of infomercials to reach out to enlist the support of all our fellow citizens for the positive approaches on which we are embarking. Our goal is to provide clarity and understanding of our programs so everyone will have adequate information to form an opinion. All of us must share a common cause. It is the cornerstone of an open government that operates close to the people.”