For God and Country: Leona Foxx Suspense Thriller #1

by Ted Peters

  “Do they know this?” asked Leona with a sarcastic tone.

  The president smiled knowingly. “A second group is made up of private companies who develop battlefield technology. The evolution of Improvised Explosive Devices goes faster than a bullet train. Each six months the IEDs become more sophisticated. We need our techies to keep up, to move even faster. We find a way to override the IED trigger mechanisms. Then they override our override. Then we come up with the next generation of overrides. The insurgents adapt. And so on. “

  “These are nerds, not soldiers. Right?”

  “Right. Finally, there are a number of very small outfits. Budenholzer hires them for the dirtiest of the dirty work. Knowledge of what they do—or even knowledge of who they are—is a no-no. I don’t ask. Nobody tells me. That’s the way it is.”

  Leona’s grimace communicated a humorous recognition of irony: the chief executive could not be told what his underlings were actually doing.

  “What I think has been happening is this,” the president continued. “As these contractors hire and fire, the personnel move around. They circulate. They communicate. They’ve begun to organize. As an organization, they can demand more money for their services and divide up the market. Among other things, they see profit in keeping tensions with Iran alive. A peaceful end to the debate over nuclear terrorism would be bad for their business, so to speak.”

  “Which contractors are in and who’s out?”

  “We don’t know which of the smaller ones are in. All of the larger ones send representatives to strategy meetings. We know, because we’ve got a mole. When spies meet, some are spying on the spies.”

  “Do you have any evidence of conspiracy?”

  “No hard evidence of any wrongdoing. Organizing is not illegal, as long as price fixing and such are avoided. Yet, we have our suspicions. What we suspect is that someone in CUB wants to ensure that the cold war between the West and Iran continues.”

  “Cold war?”

  “A hotter war would be better for CUB. If Iran were to announce it was on the brink of deploying a deliverable WMD, then the Israelis would demand we act or they would take the matter into their own hands. Any Israeli action would precipitate such an overwhelming Arab reaction that it could lead to international chaos. So, we would probably preempt Israel in taking military action in order to protect Israel from close range retaliation. At least this is how Holthusen and I think the logic works.”

  “Where does Budenholzer fit? Is he pissed off that you demoted him? Is he CUB’s dupe or its mastermind?”

  “We don’t know at this point. No evidence of wrongdoing yet. So, what we’re doing with you comes straight from Holthusen, bypassing Budenholzer.”

  “When Budenholzer finds out, won’t he be even more ticked off?”

  “Probably. We’ll have to take that chance. But he might be grateful if we prevent the worst from happening and protect him from his own contractors. As I said, we have a mole. CUB’s leaders have met twice that we know of, both times in resorts. Once in Morocco and once on Cyprus. In neither case was Budenholzer present.”

  “Someone’s gotta lead these leaders. Who?”

  “If there is a leader, then that would be Jarrod Grimes. Grimes is president of one of the larger companies that hire mercenaries—Grimes Security Company. It’s possible that Grimes also runs a second company, a small operation that specializes in top secret operations, the kind of operations nobody finds out about. Grimes could be the key man, but the mole cannot confirm this beyond a shadow of a doubt.’

  “Does Grimes have a mole in the CIA?” asked Leona.

  “Good question. I don’t know. If so, then the intelligence could get confusing. Our mole might be getting deliberately misleading information.”

  Leona said nothing.

  “Here is what all this means for you, Lee,” the president continued. “We have good reason to believe that someone in CUB believes you hold the key to CUB success. What your key will unlock is the individual in Tehran who has, to date, thwarted the production of the first deliverable nuclear weapon. Whoever this person is, he’s a hero, an unsung hero. If CUB could eliminate him, then the international tensions would dramatically increase. With increased tensions, our government would be willing to enlarge our contracts for undercover work in Iran and elsewhere. You know this person, and CUB wants to know what you know. This is why you’re in danger—imminent danger.”

  Leona grimaced.

  “Lee, it gets worse,” the president added, showing desperation on his face. “We also have reason to believe that CUB has a Plan B. If they fail to uncover and expose Tehran’s saboteur, CUB may perpetrate an act of terrorism and blame the Iranians. It might be modeled after 9/11. This would arouse such an outraged call for revenge here in America that our government would have to take some action against Iran just to appease the enraged mob.”

  “This is not looking good, Andy. Are you confident about your intelligence?”

  “Yes, we’re confident in what we know. But we’re sorely aware of what we do not know. And, in light of your question about a reverse mole, perhaps what we think we know is askew.”

  “Do you know the terrorist target?”

  “No. But we’re trying desperately to find out, as you can imagine. Lee, you’ve never actually told me the name of our Tehran undercover guy.”

  “Two things, Mister President.”

  “Lee, I”m Andy.”

  “Okay, Andy, two things. First, he’s not our undercover guy. He’s not our guy at all. Please don’t forget this. Secondly, I have not told you his name. Nor have I told Holthusen. Neither of you need to know. You yourself are better off not knowing. More importantly, our unsung hero in Iran has a family. He loves his country. He’s not a traitor. His motive is simply to prevent proliferation. Should he be exposed, he’d be vulnerable to the most heinous of punishments. No one would gain. And the world might lose. The stakes are so high that I plan to go to my grave with this secret, if need be.”

  “You’re as brave as you are spirited, Lee. But I fear that if CUB gets hold of you that you might become a victim of harsh measures. Such measures were successful at breaking Al-Quaeda suspects during Rendition. They could break you too.”

  “I’m not comfortable with your logic. On the one hand, if I supply the name of the Tehran insider, then we prevent a terrorist attack, right? On the other hand, if I do not divulge the name, then we’ll suffer a terrorist disaster, perhaps a copy of 9/11. If we sacrifice one person in Tehran we can save the lives of countless Americans. Is this the logic?”

  “Yes, Leona, that is the logic of our situation.”

  “So, why don’t you sacrifice me? You’re used to sacrificing...” Leona stopped. “Oh, Andy, I’m sorry.”

  “Lee, I know. You’re still so traumatized by what happened. Scarred for the rest of your life. And I’m part of that scar. Your anger toward me is seared into the sinews of your soul. I so, so, regret that. Believe me, Lee, I do not want to place you in any more danger. Not this time.”

  “So, you’re not going to sacrifice me or our unnamed Tehran comrade. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Still, all this is well worth worrying about. I gather this means I need to take steps to protect myself.”

  “Holthusen wants to help.”

  “Oh, yes, I know. He’s already started.”

  Leona thought for a moment. “We need to head off CUB before they light the fuse on their terrorist dynamite. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “I’m only the president. How should I know?”

  Leona sat quietly, with a pensive look on her face.

  The president looked into Leona’s eyes, waiting until they met. “No matter how difficult this moment is, and no matter how grave the danger to you, I still treasure this time we have together. When you walked in a few minutes ago, my heart leapt like a gazelle. How I’ve longed to see you. And,
now, here you are! Right here! I can see you. I can touch you. You’re real. How I wish I could put you under house arrest—White House arrest.”

  Both laughed. They clasped hands while staring at one another. Andrew leaned over and kissed Leona on the right cheek. She responded with a brief kiss on his lips. Then she sat back in her chair.

  “How are things with the First Lady?”

  The president turned his gaze to the side. “The same.”

  Leona said nothing.

  Andrew continued. “It’s not working. I’m trapped.”

  “Is she on board this ship?”

  “No. Tomorrow, Friday, Mildred will arrive at O’Hare on Air Force One. Prior to her arrival, I will have been secretly taken to O’Hare. We’ll be connected before we’re seen by the public. It’ll appear that I’m arriving with her. When the state visit is done, this freighter will sail north through the straights, turn south again, finally docking in the Detroit River.”

  “After you meet your wife at O’Hare, what then?”

  “Mildred and I will be taken to the John Hancock Building. We’ve got an apartment set up on the 85th floor. Once we’re settled, then we’re off to a reception at Buckingham Fountain. I’ll get a key to Chicago, a key so big it could not possibly fit into any locks.”

  Leona was silent. She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Should I get used to these late night pick-ups and clandestine meetings with our head of state? Or, is this the last one?”

  “Well, Lee, how else could I possibly see you?”

  They smiled at one another. “Have you told anyone about us?” he asked.

  “No, except for my best friend, Angie. Not to worry. She’s trustworthy. I’ll never talk to the news or write a memoir. Even though I’m pissed off at you, you can still trust me.”

  “I wish you had not told anybody, even your closest friend.”

  “Presidents come and go, but a girlfriend lasts a life time.”

  “I know you like baseball. Who’s your favorite player?” asked the president, clearly wanting to change the subject..

  “Hank Greer.”

  “We’ve arranged to take in Saturday’s game between the Cubs and the Cards. The mayor and some other dignitaries will sit with us right behind the home plate screen. How I wish I could have you sitting next to me. But of course, that’s impossible.”

  “Will Mildred be there?”

  “Yes. She’ll sit on one side. Mayor Daley will sit on the other.”

  “Mmmmm.” Leona frowned. “What about security?”

  “It’ll be quite a job in an open space such as Wrigley Field. However, sometimes when I’m surrounded by security I hardly even notice it. I’ll root for Hank Greer and think of you.”

  32 Thursday, Chicago, 4:23 am

  After a parting embrace, Leona was turned over to security for her trip back home. The man in the tie and wind breaker led her toward the helipad at the center of the ship. He returned her weapon without saying a word. Leona took it and packed it in her waistband.

  “I’m Leona,” she said.

  “Hi. My name is Allen, Rex Allen.”

  “Will you be with the president on Saturday at the Cubs game?”

  “I reckon I will.”

  They arrived at the helipad and the whirling blade noise made saying any further goodbyes impossible. Leona boarded. Soon the chopper was up and she was looking over the City of the Big Shoulders once more.

  As the helicopter climbed higher, Leona’s mind traveled back to another such ride, one that took her from the depths of hell to the warm, embracing arms of home. Her memories were watery, blurry, distorted. Perhaps God protects us, she thought, by allowing us not to remember every detail.

  Nevertheless, what Leona will always remember from those days and months after returning to Michigan from Iran is the love that brought her back to life, back to her self. Leona’s self had been broken, shattered. But the unconditional love of her mother and the patience of her best friend put the broken Humpty Dumpty back together again. The broken self was the one that cared so deeply about the world, about justice, about intimate caring, about making life better. This self was smashed, crushed, demolished, destroyed. The new self which emerged lost none of its previous passion, but now trust would be tempered by circumspection and high ideals by more modest expectations.

  Leona called to mind those Michigan moments when she awoke from a nearly catatonic sleep to warm, tender strokes on her arms, back, legs, and temples by her mother and Angie. They instinctively knew that touch was the greatest healer. And it was. Presence, not words or drugs or sleeping pills, became the healing therapy.

  Could she ever thank them for not giving up on her? Leona knew that no thanks were needed. Angie and her mother understood her when she didn’t understand herself. She especially recalled how Angie came every day, sometimes twice a day, to visit, always bringing something to read or share. One was a poem by Mary Oliver. “Mend my life,” pleaded Oliver in “The Journey.” She repeated the title to herself, mend my life, in many of her prayers.

  For a moment Leona’s attention was drawn to the horizon. Is it night or dawn?

  Her mind drifted back to Angie’s visits. They discussed Buddhist aphorisms, especially analyzing one on selfless loving: “Selflessness unites people. It is a healing herb that unifies strangers and brings families together. It is the love for others that is higher than self-love. It is our only hope.” They asked about what St. Paul could mean in Romans 1:17 by emphasizing that just shall live by faith. Leona’s mind had turned from the disease of torture and death in Iran to the healing of love and grace in her own home.

  Leona’s Aunt Kathryn, her mother’s younger sister, made her the needlepoint pillow adorned with the Luther Seal, the pillow that garnishes the leather couch in her parsonage. Leona came to identify the crest’s black cross with her own experience in the Tehran prison. More. She could also identify the large red heart of God as inclusive, as incorporating without sugar coating all the dark tragedy within the more comprehensive reality of divine love. But can I believe this without doubting? The petals of the white rose symbolize joy, consolation, and peace. Can I be cheerful?

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” asked the pilot, as he turned around to stare at Leona. Startled, Leona realized she was so deep in thought she forgot where she was. She had not noticed that some of her thoughts were voiced.

  Leona smiled for a moment, “I was just thinking out loud.”

  She looked out the window to see the yellowish glow of streetlights that outlined her own neighborhood.

  When the craft landed in her church parking lot, Leona noticed the SUVs were back, blocking both gates. She exited as she had entered. In seconds the Long Ranger IV was up and out of sight. The SUVs disappeared. All was quiet once again. Had any neighbors heard the landing noises, everything would be back to normal by the time they lifted their window shades to see what was happening.

  The sun was not yet up. The dimness of the gray was punctuated with streetlights blinking out, one at a time. Leona walked slowly toward the parsonage porch. Movement on the porch startled her. It was the head of a large dog popping up from a body stretched out at the foot of her screen door. When the dog saw Leona, he sprang to his feet and ran around the house to the right. Leona raced after him. She realized that she was chasing a Siberian husky. The husky scrambled up a scrub of vines and over the fence. Leona watched as he raced down the alley and turned west on 80th Street. He was gone. Or, so she thought.

  Slowly, Leona meandered back toward her front door. As she opened the screen door, she heard a faint peep. She paused. At her feet she found a small kitten. She scooped up the little creature in her hands, precipitating a litany of crying meows. Unimpressed with the protests, Leona turned the delicate animal around in her hands. She reckoned the mewing beast at ten to twelve weeks old. The fur was black everywhere. Everywhere except for a few white hairs arranged in a moon shape on the underside of the kitten’s neck. Over t
he protestations voiced in the squeaky mewing, Leona pressed the soft fur against her cheek. Then she packed the kitten under her arm and unlocked the wooden front door.

  In the kitchen she spread out some newspaper to protect the floor. Into a small saucer she poured a couple ounces of milk. She searched her inventory of refrigerator leftovers and pulled out a clear baggie containing shrimp. The pastor-turned-cat-chef chopped the shrimp into fine pieces. She placed the seafood into another small saucer. After only a few exploratory sniffs the kitten became busy with eating.

  Leona picked up her iPhone to write a text to Hillar. “H, w/time do u go 2 school today? I make bfast 4 u if u stop by.”

  Leona closed up the kitchen, incarcerating the foundling inside. She took her coffee, juice and gingerbread man upstairs. She read Psalm 33. Verse 5 stood out for Leona: “The Lord promotes equity and justice; the Lord’s faithfulness extends throughout the whole earth.” After a coffee sip, she read on more intently. Verse 10: “The Lord frustrates the decisions of the nations; he nullifies the plans of the peoples.” She devoured her gingerbread like she devoured what she was reading. Verse 16: “No king is delivered by his vast army; a warrior is not saved by his great might.” How transient and ephemeral are the powers of this earth! she thought. How vain and short-sighted to put trust in our nation’s military might! Yet, how difficul,t if not impossible, it is for me to avoid devoting my life to an idol.

  By the time she’d turned on CNN and parked the remaining refreshments on the lamp stand, her phone sounded. The text read: “7 am. Yum. Pancakes. H.” Leona reset her phone alarm to 6:30 and then slumbered.

  33 Thursday, Chicago, 7:00 am

  At 7:00 am Leona, with her kitten kitchen helper, was busy with pancakes on the stove. The doorbell rang. Why isn’t Hillar walking in? Oh, I must’ve left the door locked, she thought as she hastened through the dining room and the living room. She unlocked the wooden door and swung it open. Hillar had already opened the screen door and was about to step in.