by Joseph Flynn
Erna’s face reflected the anguish in her soul.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
She remembered the disfavor with which the Lord had gazed upon her.
She couldn’t risk doing anything to add to that.
Erna told Galia and Jaworsky everything she knew about the militant anti-abortion movement. Then she had another thought.
“I better tell you about the tunnels Burke’s people dug under church property.”
Number One Observatory Circle
“Time to go,” the president said. “The wedding starts in twenty minutes.”
SAC Crogher said, “Yes, ma’am,” even as he continued to listen to Special Agent Latz’s voice in his ear. He whispered a reply into his wrist mike and then told the president, “The security breach has been resolved. The FBI brought a guest onto the grounds without our people realizing it. An interagency lapse of communication led to a false perception of a threat.”
Crogher maintained a neutral tone, but there was no doubt in the president’s mind whom the Treasury agent would blame.
She asked, “Do you know where my husband is?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s just joined one of my special agents and I presume is speaking with the person of interest.”
Patti hated the idea of Jim missing the wedding, but she felt better that the situation would be in capable hands. It was a measure of her confidence in McGill that she didn’t think to worry about his safety.
Within moments, the president was back in Thing One, having departed the observatory building where she’d been forced to cool her heels, and where the nation’s Master Clock would confirm she had the time until Yates-Fahey wedding began exactly right.
A moment later the phone in the presidential limo chimed.
Artemus Nicolaides, the White House physician, was calling.
Speaker Derek Geiger didn’t have to cross the lawn to talk with Sir Robert Reed. The man was working the wedding crowd, chatting up friends and family on both sides of the aisle. Geiger overheard the man introduce himself to the guests by name and say he was the father of the groom.
With the practiced ease of the longtime politician the speaker found an opportune moment to extend his hand and introduce himself. “Derek Geiger, please accept my best wishes on behalf of your son and his lovely bride.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sir Robert said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, did I see you talking with the president’s husband a moment ago?”
“You have that exactly right.”
“I was hoping to speak with him. Would you know where he’s gone?”
“Actually, yes. He did mention that. He’s stepped inside the vice president’s lovely house. Up there in the top right corner, if you look at it from here.”
Geiger did. “Up there?”
“Just so. I believe he’s joining Representative Zachary Garner and a Mr. Putnam Shady. I think they mean to watch the ceremony from on high. I’m sure they’d be delighted to have your company, if you’d also enjoy the bird’s-eye view.”
“You know, I think I would. Good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir.”
Geiger left and Sir Robert strolled back to where his son stood, awaiting his future wife. Welborn seemed more than a bit restless. To do more than get married.
“Dispatched the bloke upstairs just as Mr. McGill requested,” Sir Robert said.
“I’d like to be up there,” Welborn said.
“As would I, my boy, but first things first. Take my word, you don’t want to put off the woman you love.”
Welborn looked at the father he’d only recently met, silently agreeing that Sir Robert would know all about that. He watched his father take the seat next to his mother, the two of them looking like they were newlyweds. The man was right. He had better not do anything to —
A hand gently tapped his shoulder.
Welborn turned to see Elspeth Kendry.
A new acquaintance, he hadn’t thought to invite her to the wedding. So …
She took his arm and led him a few paces from the guests and whispered to him.
“There’s news,” she said, “about Linley Boland.”
“He’s been arrested?” Welborn didn’t know whether to feel exultant or crestfallen.
“Not yet. But there are a lot more cops looking for him now. He’s suspected of murdering an elderly couple in Naples, Florida this morning. It looks like Boland was trying to carjack their Mercedes. The police there found his fingerprints on the car. The old folks were inside.”
“That’s terrible,” Welborn said.
“Yeah, but that’s not all. Boland’s DNA was taken by the cops after you caught him, and late yesterday it was matched to another murder victim, a man named Achilles Mitchell who’d been shot dead in Baltimore earlier this week. Mitchell was discovered lying on a sidewalk right next to where a Bentley had been stolen.”
“He’s killing people to take their cars?” Welborn asked.
Elspeth said, “Looks like Mitchell was trying to grab the Bentley and Boland took it from him. You were the only one who got Boland instead of the other way around. You should feel pretty good about that.”
What Welborn felt was woozy. If anything had gone wrong in that hotel parking structure, Kira might have been a widow before she ever became a bride.
“I just wanted you to know,” Elspeth said, “with all the people looking for this guy, we’re going to grab him soon. Don’t give the prick another thought. Enjoy your honeymoon.”
Welborn nodded and said, “Thank you.”
Then he saw Margaret Sweeney and Putnam Shady coming his way. A moment earlier, he would have wanted to give them Jim McGill’s message. Now, he asked Elspeth to do it.
She turned and looked at the window Welborn had mentioned.
“Up there?” she asked.
“Up there.”
Elspeth said, “Special Agent Ky and Leo Levy were given the day off because Holmes was supposed to be spending the whole day with Holly G. I better go up there with the others.”
Welborn nodded.
He’d be happy to stay right where he was.
Or so he told himself.
But he couldn’t keep from looking over his shoulder at the third floor window.
And he saw something that didn’t look right. Couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, and that disturbed him. He couldn’t remember a time his eyesight had ever let him down. Not only was the acuity of his vision extraordinary, so was his ability to interpret what he saw, making immediate sense of it.
Calling on a resource that had been unavailable most of his life, he gestured to his father. Sir Robert excused himself from Welborn’s mother and stepped over to his son. “What is it, Welborn?” He didn’t like the sudden anxiety he saw on the young man’s face.
“The window up there where Jim McGill and the others have gone, look just to the right of it. At the corner of the building, there’s a drainpipe. The line of it isn’t quite straight. There’s a small irregularity, and a variation in color. Can you make out what it is?”
Sir Robert looked. “Yes, I see what you mean, but I can’t make out the exact nature of what I’m seeing. My vision is still quite good, but I’m certain yours is better still. Do you think it might be just a piece of the pipe that has rusted through?”
Welborn couldn’t tell, and it made him uneasy.
He took out his cell phone. It was on, set to vibrate. He handed it to his father.
“If it comes to me during the ceremony and if it’s significant, I’ll give you a sign. Hit number three on speed-dial. Tell Mr. McGill … tell him to be alert and very careful.”
Sir Robert nodded, taking his son’s warning seriously.
But he did ask, “Who are numbers one and two on your speed dial?”
“Kira and the president.”
“Good lad,” Sir Robert told his son.
“So nice to s
ee you again, Mr. McGill,” Zack Garner said. “And you’ve brought someone with you, I see.”
That was more than McGill had seen. He turned and looked to find Rockelle Bullard behind him, her high-heeled shoes held in her left hand. The better to sneak around. He was about to ask what she was doing, but a stern voice interrupted.
“Identify yourself, ma’am. Right now, please.”
Augie Latz knew Holmes; every special agent working at the White House did.
But the big African-American woman was a stranger, and seeing her trailing Holmes and carrying her shoes was more than a little disturbing. Might be just an eccentric wedding guest or maybe it was someone sinister. Latz’s hand went under his suit coat.
“Easy now,” Rockelle said. “I’m Metro police.”
“She is,” McGill said.
Latz still had a concern, looking at her handbag.
“Are you armed, ma’am?”
“I was, but I turned my Glock over to SAC Crogher, at his request.”
That took a bit of the edge off for Latz. “He’ll confirm that?”
“Talk to him.”
“You let him have your gun?” McGill asked, surprised.
“What, you didn’t?” Rockelle asked.
McGill shook his head. Latz was sorry to see that. He’d heard that Holmes could be hard to work with, but this was his first personal experience with the man. The special agent had just confirmed with Crogher that the woman was who she said she was when Speaker Derek Geiger appeared in the doorway.
Christ, Latz thought, what next?
Most of the special agents he knew had absolutely nothing to do with politics; they got to see too much of it at sniffing distance to be fooled that there was anything majestic about the machinery of government. But the requirements of the job made it obligatory that they be able to recognize any politician with enough weight to make their lives miserable.
Even if the special agent hadn’t recognized Geiger, Congressman Garner would have cleared things up for him.
“Mr. Speaker, how nice to see you here,” he said. Then Garner added, “I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list, though.”
A chill ran up Latz’s spine when he heard that.
With a bleak smile, Geiger replied, “I was a last-minute addition. ‘O lucky man.’ That describes me, too, I suppose, to be in such company as this.”
The vibe was getting edgier every second, the special agent thought. He saw the way Holmes was eyeing the speaker, like he was looking for where the man was carrying a gun. Latz was working up the nerve to ask him if he was armed when two more people arrived.
He recognized Margaret Sweeney. Her photo was part of Holmes’ file.
The man with her was a stranger, though.
“Please identify yourself, sir.” the special agent told Putnam Shady.
He did so and said, “I’m with her.”
Sweetie said, “He’s with me, and we were sent for by that guy over there, the one who’s married to the president.”
“Their presence was requested,” McGill confirmed.
Latz felt an acute need for backup. Any move he might need to make with this crowd could backfire on him. He was about to get back to SAC Crogher when Elspeth Kendry appeared. He’d been introduced to Holmes’ new security liaison shortly after she’d arrived at the White House. With a nod, they acknowledged each other, both feeling better about having a colleague present.
Before Latz could get back to asking for a show of hands for everyone who was armed, Zack Garner, at the window, said, “Oh, look, the president has taken her seat.”
McGill winced.
“And, yes, here comes the bride, lovely Kira Fahey.”
The president took Vice President Wyman’s arm and was escorted down to the front row of seats. Wyman introduced the president to Kira’s mother who was already seated. The president then greeted Sir Robert Reed. Welborn introduced his mother. Being forward enough to whisper into the president’s ear, Welborn told her where McGill was. She nodded, but didn’t look. The president shook hands with Francis Nguyen, and took her seat.
Mather Wyman walked back up the aisle to where Kira waited.
Welborn stepped to his mark in front of the wedding trellis. He turned to look at Kira and his breath caught in his throat. There were certainly other beautiful women in the world. Many of them. But Kira was so right for him the others might as well not have existed. Seeing her smile at him made him want to bounce in place … but he restrained himself.
As Kira began her stately march down the aisle accompanied by the vice president, someone released a covey of white doves. Instinctively, Welborn watched them rise into the sky. Doing so, he saw the group of faces in the room at the top of the vice president’s mansion … and he looked once more at the irregular line on the drainpipe adjacent to the window up there.
It was starting to become recognizable. Another minute or two and Welborn was sure he would be able to identify what it was. But he and Kira would be looking at Francis Nguyen, away from the house. Unless …
Welborn stepped close to the pastor and whispered to him. Francis Nguyen thought about what he’d heard for a heartbeat and nodded. He was certainly not one to be dogmatic. When Kira arrived, Welborn shook Mather Wyman’s hand and spoke quietly to his soon-to-be wife. She was also agreeable to his suggestion, thought it made perfect sense.
At the Fahey-Yates wedding, the bride and groom faced their guests. The celebrant also faced the gathering to start. Francis Nguyen told everyone, “We are here today to join Kira Fahey and Welborn Yates in the bonds of holy matrimony. The vows they will take form the basis of a happy and enduring marriage, and I invite all of you who are here with a spouse to join hands and reaffirm these vows for yourselves.”
The president smiled. Jim wasn’t sitting next to her, but he was always in her heart, and she knew she was always in his. She would renew their vows for the both of them.
Francis Nguyen turned to face the bride and groom.
Kira gazed at Welborn and he at her.
With just a corner of one eye cocked at the drainpipe.
Confronted with the prospect of a third divorce and a world of hurt, Derek Geiger was in no mood to see anyone get married. He had other matters to address, and with McGill and the others focused on the costume drama going on below it was a good time for him to make a brief departure. He’d need no more than a few minutes and then he’d slip —
Elspeth Kendry caught up with him in the hallway.
In a quiet voice, she asked, “Overcome by emotion, Mr. Speaker?”
Geiger didn’t know the special agent, didn’t like her attitude, but this was not the time to upbraid an underling.
He said, “I’m sure the ceremony will be lovely, but if I don’t attend to a far less appealing obligation I won’t be very good company for anyone.”
“That obligation being?” Elspeth asked.
Geiger allowed himself a frown. He needed to back the woman off. He opened his coat and showed her the colostomy bag. “I need to empty and disinfect.”
Elspeth took a step forward, not back. She leaned in. She sniffed.
She stood up and said, “Will you be returning to the room, sir?”
“If that’s all right with you,” Geiger said with frost in his voice.
The nerve of the woman … but nerve was what her gender had in abundance.
“Yes, sir. That will be fine with me.”
Returning to the viewing room, Elspeth took Latz aside. She whispered to him, “Geiger’s up to something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet. He’s coming back, but I want him to think I’ve lost interest. I’ll be with Holmes. You shadow Geiger. Be subtle, but if you have to make a move don’t worry about slamming him or anyone else to the floor.”
Latz gave her a look. “Easy for you to say.”
“No dispute there. But if you’re not decisive … well, my bet is Holmes is carrying and so
is Margaret Sweeney. You want them to start shooting?”
Latz did not.
“You don’t know me,” Elspeth told him. “But I’ll have your back, here and anywhere else you might need me.”
“You’d better,” Latz said.
In the bathroom down the hall, Geiger stared at the gun in his hand. Certainly looked like the real thing. A bit smaller than a standard semi-auto and the clip held only ten rounds. Nine millimeter rounds. Not a lot of stopping power. He wasn’t really sure why he’d bought the gun. It had been more a flight of fancy than anything else. He was a powerful man; he ought to have an exotic weapon. Something more upscale than the kinds of guns every redneck with a pickup truck could buy.
Of course, not even the NRA had been able to bully Congress into making plastic guns legal. So he couldn’t show it to anyone and say, “How’s this for cool?”
He’d never thought he’d use it.
He hadn’t thought his world would crumble either.
Then Patti Grant had left the Republican Party. Now, instead of throwing his weight behind a preferred candidate, there would be a mad scramble to fill the opening. A dozen or more candidates might vie for the nomination, and with all the mad hatters in the party these days there was no telling who might win. Quite likely it could be someone who didn’t owe Derek Geiger a damn thing.
Worse than that, the bitch president, with her damn lobbying reform ideas and her revelation of his Super-K plan, had ruined his chances to create an empire of influence. He might easily lose the speakership; the majority leader in the House, that damn Brutus, was always looking for a way to knife him. If he were deposed, relegated to the back bench, it wouldn’t be long before he was voted out of political life altogether.
Under other circumstances, he could have gone back to a plush private life, spent his old age in the comfort of Florida sunshine like millions of other old farts, without worrying if his 401K and Congressional pension would cover his monthly nut. He’d be affluent. Only now Harlo meant to bleed him dry.
Her mocking laughter still rang in his ears, telling him what her famous private eye had found, the fascinating story of how Derek Geiger liked to provide pretty women to men who could write big checks to the party, money that Geiger directed to favored candidates. In his mind, he had committed no crime. He’d never paid a woman to have sex with him. None of the men who had been granted sexual favors had paid for them.
