The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  “Not all of them are teenagers,” said Father Michael, wryly. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. They have a fresh perspective, a new way of seeing things and right now, are pointing the way. We either all work together or fail alone.”

  “Seeing as how their plan is in motion, I’m guessing we’ll choose to help,” said Fred, “and hope the unforeseen consequences don’t come back to haunt us.”

  Father Michael paused for a moment, his hand on the phone. “You mean, how will the world react to not owing anyone, anything, even if it’s just for a day.”

  Fred set Daniel down gently on a leather couch and stood up, stretching his back. “Yes, because the thousands of Butterfly members are right. It will change how everyone decides to do anything but if they’re not given something to get behind, then everything could splinter into a hundred different factions. You’d better hurry. His color doesn’t look good and we’ll need him if we’re going to smoke out the devil himself.”

  “Some are convinced that would be you,” said Father Michael, as he dialed.

  “It’s the devil they don’t see that should keep them up at night.”

  Chapter 15

  President Reese sat in the middle of the cabinet table, her back to the Rose Garden, enjoying the moment. Vice President Wilmer Bough gaveled in the meeting, standing at the head of the table, where Ellen Reese used to take her position in front of the fireplace.

  Her charcoal grey suit was a lighter touch than her typical black statement, making her seem almost friendly. The only bit of color was the small, gold-backed enamel pin on her lapel with the American flag.

  Secretary Allen Gifford was seated directly across from the President, glaring at the pin. Eventually, he deigned to look up at the President as she gave him a tight smile and a nod. He didn’t return either one and turned his attention to the Vice President instead.

  “You need a gavel for a room of some twenty-odd people who are already waiting to hear why you dragged us all in here during a recess?” demanded the Secretary.

  The Vice President waved the gavel for a moment before deciding to put it down, fumbling with it as it knocked against the wooden table, the sound echoing in the room.

  “Of course,” said the Vice President, “point noted.”

  “There has been a change in the administration,” said President Reese, cutting off the Vice President, “and more changes are to be expected.” The President slid to the front of her chair, leaning onto the table in front of her. “I concur with your feelings about being here so close to the holidays, Secretary Gifford,” she said, smiling. “The less side comments that are offered the more quickly we can dispense with the proceedings and get back on crowded planes or trains to our loved ones,” she said, straining to sound friendly.

  Secretary Martin Leland cleared his throat as he pursed his lips. He was an old friend of the assassinated president and was known to be unhappy with Ellen Reese on general grounds. Her change in allegiance as soon as she took office from the Circle to Management wasn’t a shock as much as it was a startling confirmation of what they feared most about someone who had become President of the United States.

  Her allegiance was always for sale to someone.

  “This won’t take long but I think it’s important for the sake of continuity and public trust for all of us to present a united front,” she said, nodding toward Richard Bach who sat behind her just to the left of the doors leading to the garden.

  He handed the thick folder in his lap to the intern seated next to him and gestured to the young man to start handing them out to everyone. He had been carefully instructed by the President not to let the folder out of his sight until she gave him the nod. Timing would be crucial and she had made a point of emphasizing the consequences from George Clemente if they failed.

  “This is a list of the recommended appointments for all open circuit judgeships that has been sent to Senator Brumley as Senate Majority Leader. We don’t anticipate any issues with our suggestions as everyone has been carefully vetted,” said the President.

  “So, we’re just here for the optics,” said Secretary Gifford, slamming the palm of his hand on the table, “and not for any kind of substantive discussion.”

  “More of a bad coffee date,” said Secretary Leland, leaning back in his chair. “Already know things aren’t going to go well.”

  “Enough,” said the President, as she took a deep breath. The smile dropped from her face as she rose to her feet. The Vice President sat down without being told. She straightened her jacket and leaned forward, placing the tips of her fingers on the long table.

  “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Secretary, it’s a done deal. No point in trying to somehow sell you on the idea. But, if you’ll recall all of these names were given to you some time ago and it was made clear that these seats needed to be filled.”

  “Especially the Court of International Trade,” said Secretary Gifford, tapping his fingers on the table. “Utmost importance to you, as I recall.”

  “Why would that court be any less important,” said the President, her voice showing a strain.

  “Not less, more,” said the Secretary, pursing his lips. “I understand why we were all called together but you didn’t need to bother. All the cries in the world wouldn’t have gotten much press but I think you know that too.”

  The President moved her jaw back and forth as if she was holding back.

  “Go ahead, Madame President, please do tell. Why are the optics so important? What deal is about to be announced, and I assume rubberstamped by the CIT, if anyone bothers to argue it, that will not sit well with so many people?”

  The President sat down slowly, scooting her chair closer to the table, folding her hands together in front of her and not looking at anyone.

  This was the worst possible scenario, thought Richard. The very one the President had warned him about over and over again. She wanted the focus on the appointments and not any particular arrangement.

  “Let me see if I can follow this,” said Paul Anguirre, Secretary of Defense. Richard tried to look stolid as he waited to see what happened next. Never look like the game is lost, he thought. That one was proven to him more than once in his lifetime. After all, he was the only one still standing from his old position with Management. Everyone else was dead for one reason or another.

  The Secretary squinted as he started counting, holding up his fingers. “First, we get a complete list of recommendations, granted some time ago. Next,” he said, holding up a second finger, “the President is assassinated and in his own city, in a secure location by a no-name numbers runner that’s killed before he can get out of the building so some part of the security force was working.”

  Another finger went up. “Then, there’s a change of heart from one side,” he said, pointing to Secretary Gifford’s lapel pin of thirteen stars in a tight circle, “to another”, as he gestured to the flag pin displayed on Secretary Warren’s lapel, “by some notable figures, such as yourself Madame President. Let me finish,” he said, hushing the Vice President.

  A fourth finger went up. “Unfortunate that just a small number of judges made decisions to retire, leaving even more vacancies,” he said, “especially on the Thirteenth Circuit.”

  “Or the death of Chief Judge Wickett from that court,” said Secretary Anguirre.

  “Yes, heart failure, right?” asked the Secretary, squinting. “Now,” he said, opening his entire hand, “here we are looking over the same list apparently set in stone that has been, what, messengered to a friendly voice to the new administration on the Senate floor.” His booming baritone got louder and Richard was sure he could easily be heard in the hallway or worse, on the other side of the door by the man waiting for them in the Oval Office.

  “The names that jump out at me on this list because you know, they all don’t, are the ones for the Thirteenth District and the CIT. Almost looks like an assembly line was built between those two courts, moving one to the other,” said
Secretary Florence Inez.

  She was small in stature, easily hidden on either side by the taller men who flanked her except for the loud colors she was known to favor like the hot pink suit she was wearing to the meeting. Her ability to bend people to her force of will was well known and she was not someone easily overlooked in the long run.

  The Secretaries on either side of her sat back for a moment so that she could be seen more easily by everyone along the length of the table. “Secretary Gifford makes an interesting observation,” said Secretary Inez. “What comes next?”

  “We go back to doing the business of the nation,” said the President, “of course.”

  “Who’s business,” said Secretary Leland.

  “Let’s not be coy,” said Secretary Gifford. “You’ve already won all of the toys. Let us in on it. What deals have already been made that we’ll find hard to swallow?” He said the words slowly, anger just below the surface.

  “A cynical attitude at best, Mister Secretary. Don’t be a poor loser. That’s not your job, while you have it,” said the President.

  “There it is,” he said, an angry smile coming across his face as he stood up slowly. “There’s the threat. I get it now. We speak out and somehow we’ll become the problem. Don’t quite see how we’ll get tagged with something but surely, we will. Your lackey already at work on that?” asked the Secretary, pointing at Richard. “Shame Ty was executed with the President. That young man actually thought for himself.”

  Richard didn’t let a flicker of emotion pass across his face. It wasn’t worth it when there was so much at stake. Let anyone say what they wanted. He was either going to be rewarded for helping things move ahead or killed off for failure. There would be no middle ground and no one would care about his complaints or self pity.

  “Well, I’m off for the holidays,” said Secretary Gifford, waving to his aides to follow him.

  “We haven’t actually had the meeting yet,” said Vice President Bough in an irritated, high-pitched tone.

  “Sir, we had this meeting already,” said Secretary Gifford, “it’s just none of us were present,” he said, looking at the President. “Staying further would be disrespectful to my family who is awaiting my arrival seeing as how this is now a waste of time,” he said, in his deep Southern accent.

  The other members of the Cabinet hesitated until Secretary Leland also stood, gathering his things. “Seems we’ve had a very quiet coup, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I suppose that was to be expected, at least that part.” He walked wearily toward the door, showing his advanced age.

  Other members got up to go as well but the President didn’t try to stop them. She held up her hand to the Vice President.

  “Sit down, Wilmer,” she said.

  “Best do as you’re told,” said Secretary Gifford as he stood at the threshold with the door being held open for him. “You’re closest to the lion’s jaws. Although, I’m still not sure who the lion is,” he said as he turned his back, “but I suppose that will become obvious with time, as well. Happy holidays,” he said sarcastically, holding up his hand in a salute.

  Richard Bach waited until everyone had managed to file out of the room before he got up from his seat. President Reese was too difficult to read most of the time and he couldn’t tell if things had gone according to plan, or not.

  So much hung in the balance for him and he didn’t want to find out too quickly if the end was near.

  “Follow me,” she said, bitterly, as she turned toward the door that lead to the Oval office.

  Richard followed reluctantly, gathering the one or two handouts that had been left behind. Inside the office, George Clemente waited, seated behind the large oversized desk.

  The President didn’t comment on his choice of seating and instead, chose to sit on the couch furthest away from the desk, sitting on the edge of the couch.

  Richard chose one of the stiff Queen Anne wooden chairs with a tufted seat on the far side of the couch.

  “I see no one thinks it went well,” said George Clemente, his voice coming out like a low rumble.

  Richard couldn’t help thinking it looked like mobsters had taken over the White House with Clemente spread out behind the desk. The pine scent from the garlands strung throughout the office were only making it more surreal for him.

  “It went as well as could be expected,” said the President, not looking directly at Clemente and instead focusing her attention on a portrait of President Eisenhower she had moved to the office. “I believe I pointed out to you that they were not stupid people. They were chosen for their ability to see the bigger picture and at least some of them can see there are pieces missing.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Clemente, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. He stopped momentarily to suck on a tooth. Richard did his best not to give a look of disgust.

  President Reese shifted on the couch to face Clemente. “It doesn’t really matter, not at this point, anyway. They can’t stop the Senate from voting and we have the seats necessary to pass things along fairly quickly. The general public won’t even notice.”

  “Very good, then,” said Clemente. “We move on to other things. The new trade agreements with China and Angola will be finalized next week. Not everyone in the world shuts down for Christmas,” he said, snorting in derision. He looked around the room till he settled on Richard.

  “Mr. Richard Bach, yes?”

  Richard looked up at him cautiously, nodding his head. “That’s correct, yes sir,” he said, trying not to let his voice quiver.

  “We have a problem.”

  Richard felt his stomach churn and he swallowed hard, waiting for what came next. He tried not to glance at the door to see if someone was entering to take him away.

  “There are two policemen, local to the Richmond, Virginia force who are causing me a small problem. Detectives, I believe,” he said, biting off each word. He looked down at a small diary in front of him, open to a certain page. “Detective Biggs and Detective Buster. They seem to believe there’s more to the story with our Rodney Parrish, the dead assassin. He was your find, am I correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Richard said, a slight stutter betraying him.

  “Why are they so determined to look into things when this is all a Federal case? Has crime in Richmond dropped to such a low point they have nothing better to do?”

  Richard wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond and instead blinked hard once or twice trying to think of the right answer.

  Clemente put his chin in his hand looking almost bemused except for the sneer across his face. “Seems like such a small detail to become such a nuisance, wouldn’t you say? What, nothing to add, Mr. Bach?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Richard, hoping that would help end the admonition.

  “Well, that’s a given,” said Clemente, picking up an engraved letter opener and cleaning his fingernails. “Find out for me why it interests them so much and help them to get the answers they want, even if you have to write the answers for them.”

  “Of course,” said Richard, standing up. “Thank you, sir,” he said, working his way around the couch while keeping Clemente in his peripheral vision. He opened the door to leave the Oval office half-expecting to see Secret Service waiting for him but there was only the President’s secretary, a new addition, who looked up, bored before going back to her typing.

  Richard made his way back to his office and shut the door, standing still, listening to the quiet hum from the vents pouring out the heated air.

  “Give them the answers they want to hear,” said Richard. “Easier said, than done. Those two have never given up on anything very easily.”

  It wasn’t the first time Richard Bach had felt panic creep over him. It was a familiar state of being for him. He waited for his heart rate to calm down enough so that he could think about the best way to handle things.

  “Can’t pay them off,” he said, still standing in the same spot. “N
ot sure who would kill them for me. Give them the answers they want.” He rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the beginning of stubble on his chin.

  “Start with the question. How did Rodney get mixed up in all of this? So, give them a reasonable answer to that question. Of course,” he said, taking in a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he saw a way out of the mess. “I’ll give them the bogeyman. Fred Bowers. Make him the most hated man in America, right out front. Bring home his head on a platter at the same time. I may make my way out of all this, yet.”

  Surely, there’s a grander plan in mind for me, he thought. It’s not too late.

  Chapter 16

  Wallis sat near the large fireplace, grateful for the warm air swirling around her. If she put her hand far enough out to her left she could feel cold air on the tips of her fingers. She looked up at the large, older woman sitting across from her. “Tell me again, what is the new name you go by now?”

  “Janine Potter. It suits me, don’t you think? It’s meant to help me blend into the background.”

  “That’s a tall order. You come with a big personality, whether you were Madame Bella, Mother Elizabeth or any one of a dozen other names.”

  “Point taken. But I can fade into the wallpaper when I need to. It’s how I’ve lasted this long. You didn’t notice me for years when I had my little business telling fortunes right next to yours.”

  “No, but that purple neon hand caught my eye,” said Wallis. “I remember when I first met you. Seems like I was another person. I was so sure of everything and I needed it to be that way. Now, everything stays tenuous and yet, I’m okay. Go figure.”

  “There are so many places I really love in this part of the world,” said Janine, sitting across from her, watching Wallis stretch out her arm. “But the Midwest of North America is particularly special. Very pragmatic, independent people who actually prefer the cold. Are you sure you’re not from these parts?”