[Matthew Richter 01.0] In Sheep's Clothing

by L. D Beyer

  Should she warn her uncle, she wondered. It wasn’t so much a question of morals as it was a question of practicality. She genuinely felt loyal to him, justifiably so since he had always been loyal to her. He had made sure she was taken care of after her father died. The question of right versus wrong wasn’t a question she spent much time pondering. He’d told her once that one of her strengths was that she didn’t let such questions cloud her thinking.

  What would her uncle do with the information? If the FBI had been monitoring her phone, it was possible they suspected his involvement. She had spoken to him several times over the last few days, each time using her cell phone. If they were being monitored, there was nothing he could do. While she could run, he couldn’t. Telling him might not accomplish anything, except maybe to hasten his downfall as the tension of knowing that the noose was tightening might cause him to act irrationally. Well, maybe not irrationally but uncharacteristically. If they had already connected Reed to her and her to him, then he was fucked. But what if they hadn’t made the next connection? She should warn him. Although unlikely, there may be information and records that he would want to destroy. Besides, she needed to tell him herself that she was going to disappear for a while.

  ____

  The line of Suburbans turned into a private drive in the Virginia countryside. The gates closed automatically after the last one. The road disappeared into the forest, and Richter spotted the occasional security camera in the trees. After a minute, the forest gave way to a long manicured lawn, a large house and several outbuildings. The convoy pulled up the circular drive and stopped.

  Richter and Monahan jumped out. After conferring with a group of agents, Richter opened the door. President Kendall smiled as he stepped into the sunshine. He stood still for a second then whispered to Richter.

  “My God! It feels good to be this close to home.”

  Under the watchful eyes of two dozen FBI agents, Richter and the president followed Monahan into the house.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Jane scrolled through the list on her computer and found the number. She hadn’t had time to transfer her contacts to her new phone yet. She dialed the number and stared out the windshield at passing traffic while she waited. After eight rings she hung up.

  She pulled back out into traffic, heading south.

  ____

  Everyone had gathered in the ornate library by the time Richter arrived. The president, clean-shaven and smiling, wore khaki pants, a golf shirt, and loafers. Despite his knee—he was still limping—he was in good spirits. Jack and Derek were dressed in sports shirts and jeans, while Bill and Peggy, like the president, looked like they were ready to tee off. Richter rubbed his own face. A shower, a shave, and new clothes would be nice. For a second, he wondered what the FBI had picked out for him to wear. He shook his head. That would have to wait.

  Richter watched the FBI agent hand the president a drink. The agent turned and nodded. Richter nodded back. Special Agent Wayne Elms had attended a Secret Service training course that Richter had taught years ago.

  Elms walked over. “It’s damned good to have you guys back, Agent Richter. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Just a water, please.” Richter knew Elms wasn’t here because of his bartending skills.

  Monahan arrived and they all sat down in comfortable leather chairs.

  “I see you all have had an opportunity to visit your rooms.”

  Everyone smiled.

  “We’re working on bringing this to a close. Right now, I think we’ll only be here for a day or two. I’m not making promises, but that’s what I believe. In the meantime, you’ll be comfortable. You’re free to roam around both inside and outside at your leisure.” He pointed around the room. “I’m told that this is an extensive library with a wide range of books. We also have subscriptions to numerous newspapers and magazines.”

  Richter half listened as Monahan described the estate, with its exercise facilities, pool, tennis courts, and hiking trails.

  Monahan checked his notes. “Dinner is scheduled for seven. The kitchen staff can accommodate any special needs. Anyway, they’ll fill you in on all of that later.”

  ____

  Rumson hung up and sat back, staring at the ceiling. Where the hell was Jane? His phone rang again. He picked it up but didn’t recognize the number. He let it continue ringing until it stopped. Something struck him, and he scrolled through the call log. The same number had called before. Only a few people had this number. He dialed it. After six rings, he hung up.

  He sat back and stared at the ceiling again. Over the last few days, he’d found himself preoccupied with the plaster medallion of the Presidential Seal in the center of the curved ceiling. He had heard that it had been handcrafted back in 1934 when FDR had personally overseen the redesign of the West Wing and the construction of what was now considered the modern Oval Office. Each president since then had left some form of personal imprint here. While many of these changes were temporary, like the paintings and the furniture, which were replaced with each occupant, some were more lasting. Truman was the first to install carpeting that bore the Presidential Seal. Although the carpeting eventually gave way to rugs, the concept of the Seal as a centerpiece in the floor remained. Rumson looked around the room, his eyes stopping on the ornate fireplace and the potted ivy sitting on the mantel. Kennedy had started that tradition.

  He would leave his own imprint here as well. He had worked hard for this: to be sitting in this office, behind this desk. He ran his hand across the smooth surface. Fashioned from the timbers of the HMS Resolute, it had been used by so many of his predecessors. They had sat behind this very desk as they had made some of the toughest decisions in history.

  It was his desk now. And he had his own decision to make. As much as he didn’t want to get anyone else involved, Jane needed help. He glanced at his watch and reached for his phone.

  ____

  After everyone left, the president, Richter, and Monahan sat in front of the fireplace. “We’ve lost contact with Jane. The last call she made was to her team in Durango. She sent one of her men down to Santa Fe to look for Reed. We know she called from Fairfax, Virginia. We have it narrowed down to about a ten-block area, but—”

  Richter interrupted. “She must have deactivated the GPS in her cell phone. She probably pulled the chip or has a jammer. We’ve seen this before.”

  Monahan nodded. “We have as well. We were never able to get a GPS signal from her phone. That’s why we couldn’t track her before, except to the closest cell tower. I have several teams with microwave receivers driving around Fairfax right now. If she makes a call, they can triangulate on her exact location.” Monahan frowned. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, though.”

  “She’s spooked,” Richter responded. “She’s not using her cell phone anymore. She either has it turned off or she trashed it.”

  “Right. The same goes for the person she sent after Reed last night. We’ve designated that contact as T-1 for now. We were unable to find a GPS signal on T-1, and he hasn’t used his phone either, not since this morning. He called Jane at 8:00 Eastern Time. We were able to trace the call to Santa Fe. He said there was no sign of Reed. Here’s the transcript.”

  When Richter finished reading, he passed the transcript to Kendall.

  “That was the last call made to or from her phone. It’s also the last call to or from T-1’s phone. That’s odd given what’s at stake for them. So your theory that they got rid of the phones is probably right.” Monahan checked his notes again. “Oh. I also have teams in Colorado and New Mexico right now. If T-1 uses that phone again, we’ll be able to pick him up.”

  Richter rubbed his eyes. “What about Rumson?”

  Monahan handed Richter another piece of paper. “He received one call today at approximately 9:45 a.m. from Phil Perry. That’s the transcript. Prior to that, the last call was with Jane last night.”

  Richter read it, then handed the
paper to Kendall. “From this, it doesn’t sound like Perry’s involved.”

  “I would agree, but we should question him anyway.”

  Richter turned to the president. “Sir? I think we have to move on Rumson now. If Jane’s spooked, you can bet he’s spooked as well. While he can’t run, he might start destroying evidence.”

  The president was quiet for a moment. “This woman, Jane…she’s the key to all of this, isn’t she?”

  “We think she is, sir. Our guess is that she’s Rumson’s go-between; a single point of contact, if you will. She was probably the one to arrange the bombing with McKay and Mosby and also the one to send Reed and his friend after us.”

  “If we can’t locate her,” Kendall responded, “that will hamper our ability to determine who else is involved….other than those people we already know.” Kendall counted on his fingers. “Rumson, Jane, McKay, Mosby, Broder, Reed, his partner, and this, what do you call him? Tee One? These people in Colorado or New Mexico, looking for us. That’s all we have so far?”

  “That’s correct, sir. We know two Secret Service agents were involved. Pardon me. One current agent and one former uniformed officer. We also know that one Air Force officer was involved. What we don’t know is if there are others involved. Frankly, that’s scary.”

  “So, the only way to uncover who else is involved is through Jane and Rumson…”

  “Yes, sir. There are a few other leads we’re following.” Monahan turned to Richter. “We recovered the body in Cortez. We’ll run his fingerprints and, if we can identify him, it may fill in some of the blanks. We told the local authorities that this was a drug-related killing and is related to a case we are currently working on and that we have jurisdiction. They’re mad as hell, but…tough.”

  Richter smiled weakly. “Anything else?”

  “I have our profilers working on T-1’s voice. We’ll see what comes up. And, finally, we found a connection between Rumson and Lieutenant McKay. It seems they both attended the same high school in Newark, New Jersey, although there was some thirty years between them. What’s even more interesting is that when McKay applied for admission to the Air Force Academy, Rumson wrote the Letter of Nomination.”

  The president and Richter exchanged a glance.

  “I think we need to proceed with the plan we discussed, sir.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Friday, May 7

  Half a dozen blocks from the White House, Attorney General Kiplinger was sitting behind his desk at the Justice Department when he heard a commotion in the outer office. He stood as three men barged into his office.

  “Sir? FBI. I’m Special Agent Wayne Elms. You need to come with us immediately, sir. We have a national security incident.”

  Kiplinger stepped back. “What the hell is…?”

  “Sir, we don’t have time.”

  The agents grabbed Kiplinger by the elbows and led him towards the door. He was hustled to the elevator and, one minute later, they exited into the parking garage where he climbed into the waiting Suburban. The doors were slammed and the Suburban drove off, raced up the exit ramp and out onto the street.

  Fifteen minutes later, they drove through the gates of Washington Executive Airport and drove directly up to the waiting helicopter. Kiplinger, still protesting, was manhandled onto the chopper. As an agent secured his four-point harness, he looked up into the confused faces of the Secretary of Treasury and the Secretary of Education.

  They arrived at the Virginia country estate shortly after 9:00 a.m. and were hustled into the library under the watchful eyes of a dozen agents. Elms followed them in. “Gentlemen, I’ll need your cell phones, your Blackberries, and any other communication devices. Right now.”

  The three Cabinet members loudly protested, but Elms was adamant.

  By 10:00 a.m., they were joined by the Secretaries of Defense, Energy, Labor, Agriculture and Veterans Affairs. Used to barking orders and not being barked at, the assembled officials were angry, especially as their numbers grew. By 11:20 p.m., the majority of the President’s Cabinet and the President Pro Tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House were sitting in the library. A screen showing six separate video connections with the remaining Cabinet members, all of whom were currently traveling, stood against one wall. The agents-turned-guards ignored the threats and demands for information.

  The door opened and the room quieted as everyone watched Monahan walk to the center of the room.

  “Ladies, gentlemen. Most of you know me. I’m FBI Deputy Director Patrick Monahan. I’m sorry for abruptly pulling you away from your schedules. And I apologize for taking your cell phones. You’ll understand why in a moment. What I can tell you right now is that we have a national security incident, and your presence here is absolutely critical.”

  There were several shouted questions.

  “Where the hell are we?”

  “You can’t detain us like this!”

  “Is Director Broder aware of this?”

  Monahan held up his hands until the room quieted. “Please bear with me, folks. Director Broder is on his way. So is Henry Amalu.”

  ____

  Richter felt all eyes on him as he entered the room. He scanned the faces, spotting several that he knew, including the Director of the Secret Service, Gerry Kroger, whose eyes had gone wide.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Matthew Richter. I’m a Secret Service agent assigned to the president’s protective detail.” He paused and looked around the room. There wasn’t a sound. Richter took a breath and continued.

  “What I’m going to share with you is highly sensitive information. You will not discuss this with anyone outside this room. Are we clear on that?”

  There was a flicker of comprehension and a mixture of hope in some faces, while others seemed confused. Heads slowly nodded.

  “Two weeks ago, I was on duty, guarding President Kendall as he flew on Air Force One back from Seattle.”

  There was a collective gasp in the room. Richter held up his hand.

  “As I believe you all know or suspect, there was a bomb onboard the plane. President Kendall and I managed to escape before the bomb was detonated.” The room erupted, but Richter held up his hands until there was silence. “Because this is an ongoing criminal investigation, I cannot provide any details. But I will say this. Based upon the nature of information that we had at the time, we were forced into hiding. We were finally able to make it back here with help from Deputy Director Monahan and the FBI.”

  The room again filled with shouts and demands.

  “Where is the president now?”

  “Is he okay?”

  Richter held up both hands again. “Please hold your questions for a moment.” He turned and nodded to Monahan.

  Monahan stepped forward. “Agent Richter and President Kendall have provided blood and tissue samples that the FBI lab has analyzed and compared to known samples for these two men. That is, we compared them to samples taken before the crash.” Monahan paused a second. “I have a certified statement by the FBI lab that the DNA matches.” There was a stunned silence as Monahan handed copies of the statement to Harry Bolsh, the Speaker of the House, and to Joyce Pankin, the President Pro Tempore of the Senate. “I point this out only because I don’t want any doubt whatsoever about their identities.” Monahan waited for this to sink in, then turned again and nodded to the agents at the door.

  As if on cue, the room stood and turned. The doors opened and a collective gasp escaped as President David Kendall, flanked by six FBI agents, stepped into the room. The room erupted in applause as Kendall, dressed in a suit, limped to the center. He stopped and scanned the faces around him before breaking into a smile.

  “You don’t know how good it is to see you all again. Obviously, these last two weeks have been a huge challenge for our country and a huge challenge for me personally.” His voice cracked, and he wiped away a tear. “I would not be here before you today if it were not for some truly remarkable peo
ple, who, at some point I will make sure you all get a chance to meet.” He took a deep breath and, in a much stronger voice, continued. “We have some urgent business that we need to address immediately. I understand that twelve days ago, under the provisions of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, you, as members of my Cabinet and as leaders for our legislative bodies, temporarily transferred presidential powers to Vice President Rumson.” The president turned to Representative Bolsh and Senator Pankin. “I understand that powers were transferred because I was presumed dead, or at the very least, severely injured and therefore unable to discharge the powers and duties vested in me as president. I understand and respect that decision.” The president held his arms out, much like a preacher before his flock. “But I stand before you now to assure you that I am both mentally and physically able to discharge the powers and duties of the office of President of the United States.”

  The president pulled an envelope from his suit coat. “Mr. Speaker, Madam President. Under the provisions of the Twenty-fifth amendment, I am now submitting to you a written declaration stating that no inability exists and therefore I am now able to reassume the powers and duties of the office of the president.” Kendall walked over and handed each a copy and then another copy to the attorney general.

  Joyce Pankin looked up from the letter and turned to Harry Bolsh, who gave her a nod. She stood up; there were tears in her eyes. “Welcome back, Mr. President.” The Cabinet members jumped to their feet and the room was filled with cheers and thunderous applause.

  As the president exchanged hugs and reunited with his Cabinet, Richter noticed Broder, his eyes dark, making a beeline toward Monahan. Four FBI agents stepped forward, blocking him.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” Broder hissed.

  Instinctively, Richter stepped beside the president as Kendall’s voice boomed, and the room went silent.

  “Mr. Broder.” The president signaled with his index finger. “Come here.”

  Broder, red-faced, complied.