She had to nip this thing in the bud before she put the divided nation at risk. Worst of all, she could not hold her own in the shared space with John Williams. That man chilled her to the bone as it was, and if she was off her game she would never be able to stand up against his rhetoric, conspiracies, and bigotry. He was not just a harmless blowhard. He was an ignoramus with power. And if Ann didn’t get her act together, she’d be giving him free reign over the entire nation as a whole. So, it was with that attitude that she decided to confront her husband with the truth, all the while knowing it would end her marriage.
But her marriage was already over, she scolded herself. How could she stay with a man who not only cheated, but kept a separate life that involved a child? Maybe even an entire family! Enough! Go to him, talk. Get this over with. Pull yourself together. You gave up a right to drama in your personal life: You are the President! Having steeled herself up for the devastation to follow, she entered the great room where Ted was lounging, playing Angry Birds on his iPad. She had gotten him hooked on that silly game and now it felt absurd to end her marriage while talking over the noise of cartoon birds exploding. She stood two feet in front of him, silently waiting. He turned off the iPad.
“Ann, something wrong?” Ted examined her face. Ann said nothing, stayed with her feet rooted into the carpeting. He set down the iPad and stood up, annoying the couple’s beloved long-haired cat Greta who had been sleeping with her head on his lap. He walked over to give her a hug but she pushed him away. Greta left the room in a hurry. Startled, he said, “Did I do something wrong?”
“Someone is trying to blackmail me with a picture of you with your daughter.”
“My what?” Ted blinked.
His look of surprise looked genuine. Could it be possible this was a mistake? “Your daughter. The little girl in the picture looks too much like you for me to dismiss the claim as not credible.”
“Ann, I’m so sorry you are going through this, but honey, I do not have a daughter. I’m afraid you’ve been fooled by a Photoshop expert. They probably found a picture of a little girl bearing a resemblance to me and Photoshopped her in, to look like we are in the same shot together.”
“I didn’t think of that. I want to believe you.”
“We can find an expert of our own who can tell us if the picture has been altered, and who can even find the little girl in the picture, find out who she is.”
“I need to clear this up, Ted. It’s one time I can’t take you on your word alone. I’m sorry, but I have to know factually, beyond a shadow of a doubt. You are my world, my best friend. I need to know that I’m not a fool, that I’m not blinded by what I want to believe.” Ann’s eyes welled up and she forced herself not to lose control.
“I understand, but you’ll see. I have never cheated on you, and never will. Tell me more about the picture.”
“There was a time stamp on it. It was taken five years ago, so the girl is probably around ten years old now.”
“Five years ago? And I had hair, the way it looks now? Ann, that was before I had chemotherapy. You have your proof right there!”
Ann’s eyes widened as the light dawned. How could she have missed that? Ted’s cancer scare had brought them a year of chemo treatments and fear like no other. At the end of that year Ted was cancer free, but watching his blood count closely for the rest of his life; and he’d also lost all of his hair, which only sparsely grew back. His current sporty “news-anchor-man” do had been created with expensive plugs and faux hair artistry. Prior to his cancer treatments Ted had thicker hair, with a noticeable cowlick. Anyone who knew Ted would instantly recognize his “old” hair. That picture definitely showed off his new hair. She had missed it. She felt wretched.
Ted opened his arms wide. “Come on, bring yourself in.” He embraced his wife with all the warmth and strength he could deliver. “I’d never betray you, Ann. We need to find the people responsible for hurting you.”
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” Ann sobbed tears of relief, dampening her husband’s shirt with her tears. Much more of this and her nose would be dripping on him too. “How could I have missed the hair?”
Ted gently pushed her away. “Hey, look at me! You are the President! You have the toughest job in the world. I don’t think there’s room left in that big brain of yours to deal with this. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m over it already. You over it? Because I am. Don’t let them hurt you or take your power for a second longer. Fight, honey, don’t let them win.” He drew her back into his chest for another hug.
“I love you,” Ann bawled. She let it all hang out this time, her body racked with all-out crying, her nose and eyes running together into one messy puddle. All the stress of the Office was unloading like a rain shower, soaking the First Gentleman’s shirt.
Ted held her for several long minutes before he abruptly released her. “Ann, you have to pull yourself together. Go clean up. You have a Vid Red.” He jerked his head in the direction of the large flat screen on the wall. A red indicator light was flashing and an electronic warning tone was emitting, easily heard now that Ann had stopped wailing.
Ann was instantly composed, but looked a sight with her red splotchy puffy face and obvious need for a Kleenex. “Turn off the return video feed. Audio only from my end.” She dashed to the bathroom to blow her nose and splash water on her face. By the time she returned to the room, the Vid was live.
“I’m here, Breyana. Why are you contacting me with a Vid Red? I expected to see a General’s face, not yours.”
“Your security detail talked to me. They thought I should do a Vid Red.”
“They are there with you?”
“Yes, Madam President,” called a voice in the background.
“Step up where I can see you. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Madam President, we have information about the man you asked us to track.”
“Gentlemen, this feed is for national security risks only. Paul is a personal security risk, I made that clear.”
“With all due respect, Madam President, we understand the definition of a Vid Red.”
“Are you telling me that this man is a national security risk? Even so, a Vid Red means it requires my immediate attention.”
“Yes, Madam President. Understood.”
Ann exchanged a baffled look with Ted. What on Earth? “You have my attention.”
“We have been monitoring his Internet activity. He got an e-mail you need to see.”
“Send it through the feed, all windows are open.”
Seconds later, this text filled the screen:
>>My Karyn,
I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.
Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.
They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.
Your Farideh <<
Ann pointed her finger in the air, swiping the text window off to the right. She stared at the young security officer’s face that filled the screen. “What am I looking at? Who forwarded that to him, when, why?”
“The date of the original transmission is the concern.”
“I’m sorry, I am not getting any of this. What does Paul have to do with Iran? I am not following this e
mail content.”
“The e-mail was originally sent before the Big War, Madam President.”
Ann held her hand to her mouth. She remained speechless for several seconds. Ted came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He whispered in her ear, “You can do this.” Then he let his arm slide down to her hand, squeezed her hand, and left her alone to concentrate. She waved at his disappearing back. She turned her attention to the feed. “Who sent this to Paul?”
“Bryce.”
“The Bryce? John William’s Bryce? Be careful now.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“I assume you tracked the origin of this e-mail all the way back to the source?”
“Yes, we have. Correct.”
“And what did you find?”
“The e-mail has been transmitted many times, Madam President.”
“Did it ever reach John Williams’ office.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“Did it ever reach the President of the United States while he was still in office, prior to the Big War?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
13
Bryce was terribly uncomfortable crunched up in the trunk of Clyde’s car. His long lean frame was contorted over a now-full bladder. His mind raced until he hit upon something a former girlfriend once babbled about. What was it she’d said? She saw it on Oprah, or got it in a forwarded e-mail, something like that. It was about if you are ever stuffed into a trunk of a car, what to do. Ah! He remembered. Kick out the taillight. Someone would notice. Hopefully the police.
Bryce kicked and kicked. He had no idea if he was anywhere close to the taillight area, but his foot was hitting on something. He struck out again and again until his heel popped some kind of latch. What was that? Had he popped open the trunk? Yes, the road noise and the rush of air confirmed it. He was free!
He was not bound, gagged, or restrained in any way. Clyde had simply pushed him into the trunk, held him down, and slammed the lid over him. Nothing hurt really, except for his pride. All he needed to do now was climb up and jump out, and hope he could get far enough away before Clyde noticed the trunk lid was open. His opportunity for escape came right away, when Clyde slowed for a four-way stop.
Bryce didn’t wait for the car to stop. He hoisted himself up onto his knees, then, as quickly as he could, he climbed out of the trunk and jumped onto the road. He didn’t look behind him, but ran on nearly-numb legs, hoping the adrenaline would give him the strength and speed he needed to slip away before Clyde could get to him.
Clyde, confident that Bryce wouldn’t be able to get out of the trunk, was unaware of his escape. Not a big fan of defensive driving, Clyde didn’t make much use of mirrors or overall attentiveness. His driving time was his down time for personal recreation. He was currently snacking from a new bag of Peanut Butter Bugles while quoting along with “The Notebook”. He didn’t notice the trunk was open until he parked the car in the garage.
“What’s that?” asked Tom.
Paul froze. He could hear Clyde slamming around in the garage, cursing, throwing things. “That would be my brother in a foul mood. I better go see what’s going on.” As he headed out to the garage, using the door located in the back of the kitchen, Serena returned to the kitchen.
With Paul gone, she could speak freely, but she whispered to be safe: “Tom, he has the e-mail, the one from Karen’s friend in Iran.”
“The kids are in the car.”
“I know, we have to get them out of here.”
Tom rose to leave just as Paul and Clyde came in. Clyde snarled, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Clyde, calm down, he just finished his coffee. I haven’t talked with him yet…” Paul placed himself between Tom and his brother.
Clyde pushed Paul out of the way and grabbed Tom’s arm. He pulled him back into the chair. “Toss me some duct tape. It’s in the junk drawer.”
“I don’t think this is—“
“Necessary? Necessary Paul? That’s what you were going to say? Well I didn’t restrain that idiot Bryce and now he’s gone. Won’t make that mistake twice. Give me the tape!”
Paul rooted around in the drawer, found the tape, and handed it to Clyde. “There’s not much left.”
Clyde secured Tom to the chair by wrapping the tape around Tom’s middle and the back of the chair, over and over again until the tape was almost gone. He gave Paul the rest of the roll. “Tape his ankles to the chair legs. I’m getting more tape.”
As soon as Clyde left the room and Paul was bent over, working on the ankle taping, Serena leaned close to Tom. “Hang in there honey, it will be ok,” she said. She tried to give him a meaningful glance but his eyes reflected puzzlement. What was his wife up to? Whatever the secret code was, he didn’t get it.
Paul looked up. “Sit down, Serena. You’re going to be next.”
“I guessed as much. I want to put my chair next to Tom’s.” She slid her chair near him.
“No, put it back. I don’t want you to try to get him out.” Paul bent over to work on the second ankle.
“Okay, I’ll put it back,” she said, and made sliding noises with her chair while slipping her hand under Tom’s waistband. Fortunately Clyde’s duct tape was above his belly button, nowhere near the handle of the gun. The gun slid out easily. and before she knew it, she was holding a gun, a real loaded gun. If she had time to digest that information she would have been intimidated, but she was reacting on auto-pilot now, feeling nothing, just doing what she needed to do.
Serena held the gun to Paul’s head. He looked up at her from his kneeling position near Tom’s legs. His eyes registered surprise, but surprise was quickly replaced by mirth. He snickered. “You wouldn’t shoot me.”
Serena cocked the gun. “I’m Momma Bear and my babies are threatened. You have no idea.”
Clyde entered the kitchen from behind Serena, sized up the situation and grabbed a large cast iron skillet. Tom saw him and yelled “Look out!”
Serena whirled around, firing the gun without thinking twice. The bullet hit Clyde’s arm. He dropped the skillet. Serena dropped the gun.
Then they both started screaming. Clyde sounded like a wounded animal, Serena hit an octave she normally reserved for when she saw a mouse. The two screamed and screamed, the guttural strangled scream conjoined with the shrill siren scream. The combination shook up the kids in the car.
Carrie called 911. So did a couple of the neighbors. No one knew what was going on, but whatever it was, it sounded like a bloodbath, and then suddenly it was quiet. They thought they heard a gunshot, but weren’t sure. The kids were terrified but did not get out of the car. The neighbors locked their doors and stayed away from the windows. Everyone waited for the police to arrive. As they waited, the foursome inside the house took stock of the situation.
Serena broke the silence. She also picked the gun up from the floor and waved it at Paul. “Go stand next to your brother.”
Paul didn’t move. He looked at her, stunned.
“Now! Go, go! Or I’ll shoot you too.”
Paul did as she wanted. He moved close to Clyde and stared at his brother’s arm. The wound did not look life threatening, but it did look ugly, and painful. Clyde examined it scornfully.
“What’s your plan, lady? I bet you don’t know what to do now that you’ve shot me,” said Clyde. He spat into the sink from his position a couple feet away. “Do you even know why we have you? We weren’t the ones who were going to kill you. They won’t care if you’ve shot me or not. They want me dead too.”
Serena looked at Tom. “Paul, I want you to let my husband out. And then he is going to drive our kids somewhere safe.”
“I’m not leaving you here, Serena!” said Tom.
“Then let’s make this fast so I can go too. Paul, get that tape off of him. Start talking. What did you want with us? Why do you have that e-mail from Iran? How do you know Bryce?” Serena held the gun with both hands. She was struggl
ing to hold her arms steady. She also realized that Paul was not in her line of fire anymore. “Clyde, go stand next to Paul. Go!”
Clyde moved a few steps in that direction.
“Okay, good enough, stay there, don’t move.” Serena adjusted her stance so that both men were covered by the gun.
Paul took his time cutting the duct tape, stalling. The sooner he freed Tom, the sooner Tom could take over. If there was a reason to shoot, he didn’t think Tom would stop at a flesh wound. “I have the e-mail because Bryce sent it to me. He works for President Williams. Williams knew about everything before the Big War. There’s a cover up. They want to get rid of anyone who knows about it. You’re the target. So am I, and Clyde. We were planning to help you. You shot the wrong guy.”
“I don’t trust you. What aren’t you telling me?” Serena asked, looking from one man to the another.
“What he’s not saying is that we planned to give you to Williams to save our own skin. You’d have done the same,” said Clyde.
“What about Bryce?” asked Tom. He flexed his ankles, the first part of him that Paul had freed. Paul worked on the duct tape girdle next.
“Bryce escaped. I had him in the trunk. He got out. It’s just down to you now,” said Clyde.
Paul added, “Now we have nothing. With him gone and you with the gun, we have no leverage. You might as well shoot us -- it would be better than whatever they’ll do to me after they put me in prison.”
“Would they have killed you anyway, even if you had me and Bryce?” asked Serena.
“We have that e-mail. I’ve sent it to several safe places,” said Clyde. “And we had a plan to record our meeting with them. We’d have enough incriminating evidence to keep us alive. It would have worked. It still can if you play along.”
“No thanks. I don’t need your plan. You have enough proof with the e-mail. All I have to do is tell the FBI,” said Serena.
“That didn’t help your friend much, did it?” said Paul. “What protection do you expect from them? William’s team found you even when you joined Off Ghost. We’re better than witness protection. If we couldn’t hide you, they can’t.”
Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) Page 10
