He suddenly moved toward her. He was so much bigger than she was, outweighing her by at least a hundred pounds, and she quivered as he grew close. He reached out and she recoiled. Lowering before her, he looked directly into her eyes. “Please, Mrs. Brighton, I understand a little of how you’re feeling. Now please, ma’am, just come with me.”
* * * * * * *
Sara was led into a large conference room. It was midday and the large Venetian blinds on the three walls opposite the door were opened to the light. Beyond the heavily tinted glass stretched a complex of low, brown-brick office buildings, militarily efficient, attractive but simple. Lots of grass between them. A large parade ground. An old fighter aircraft on a pedestal in a roundabout down the road. Seeing the blue sky and open space, she immediately felt better, her spirits lifting at the warmth and feeling of the sun. A large wooden table, surrounded by deep burgundy chairs, took up the middle of the room.
Brucius Marino, the Secretary of Defense, sat at the head of the table.
She froze, staring at him. An old friend? A new enemy? She didn’t know. Near the window, her oldest son was waiting, fresh and clean in a set of formal army greens, his chest decorated with a double row of military ribbons and medals. Sam looked at her and smiled, and she ran to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. He seemed reserved, almost anxious, uncertain and tight. She stepped back and studied his face, then turned.
Marino waited. Sara was suspicious, her eyes darting. She’d known him for many years, but she hadn’t seen him in several months even though Marino and her husband had worked together almost every day. He looked older now and tired, his dark eyes weary. She waited for him to initiate the conversation, but when he was quiet she turned back to Sam. He moved forward, taking her into his powerful arms again. She held him, standing on her tiptoes, her arms around his neck. “It’s OK, Mom,” he whispered quietly into her ear. So tender. So quiet. No way Brucius could hear.
They held each other a few seconds, then pulled apart. Sara wiped her eyes, drawing her fingers quickly across her cheeks. “Where are Luke and Ammon?” she whispered.
“I just got through talking to them.”
“They’re OK?”
“Of course, Mom, they’re fine. Azadeh and Miss Dupree. Kelly Beth. They’re all OK.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“I haven’t seen the girls yet. Azadeh is with Kelly Beth down at the infirmary. They wanted to get some liquid in her, they thought she was dehydrated and undernourished. Kind of hard to tell them that a few days ago she was dying of cancer and that’s why she is so thin.”
Sara’s shoulders shuddered visibly. She lowered her voice and turned away from the table, her eyes on the floor. “Are you . . . OK?” She didn’t know how to put it without just saying it out loud. Was he here because he wanted to be? Was he operating under any duress?
Sam read the worried look on her face. “It’s OK, Mom,” he repeated. “You’re going to understand.”
She took a deep breath and steeled herself, then turned toward the Secretary of Defense once again. “Hello, Bruce,” was all she said.
He walked around the corner of the table, extending his hand. She looked at it before she took it. His shake was warm and firm. “Sara, it’s good to see you.” He sounded so sincere. “It is so good to know that you’re OK.”
She didn’t answer, staring at him. She couldn’t let him know how much she knew. She had to be careful. She had to use her judgment—and hope that he was on her side.
Marino nodded to the closest chair and she sat down, Sam pulling up a seat beside her. Marino returned to his chair at the corner of the table. “Sara, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to get it out. First, and most important, I want you to know how I felt about your husband, Neil.”
Sara turned her head away.
“I was with him, Sara, right up to the last day. It was only by the grace of God that I wasn’t killed with him. I should have been. They thought I would be. Sometimes I wish that I had been. But it didn’t happen. I am here. He is not. There’s nothing I can do to change that. There’s nothing I can do to ease the pain for either of us now. You lost your husband. I lost my best friend, a man I trusted more than any other in this world. There isn’t an hour that goes by that I don’t think about him, not an hour that I don’t think about what happened in D.C.” His voice trailed off, suddenly caught up with emotion. His lower lip trembled. He blushed with embarrassment and looked away.
Watching him, Sara saw the naked grief that pulled the lines around his mouth. She immediately leaned toward him. “Bruce,” she asked, “is Julia OK?”
Marino took a deep breath to compose himself. His face was tight, the edge of his lips white from stress.
Sara understood. Reaching out, she took his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, Bruce, so, so sorry. I didn’t know. I had no idea. The news said that you were killed in the explosion—there was just no way to know—I’ve thought about you both a thousand times—I’ve wondered about her . . . .”
The two friends sat in long silence, both of them lost in pain. Marino cleared his throat, tried to speak, waited, cleared his throat again, and said, “She was downtown with my youngest daughter. Someone called her and told her—” He stopped and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. “Someone called her and told her to come downtown. They sent a driver for them, said I was going to meet them . . . .”
Sara sobbed quietly for him, her cheeks tracked with rolling tears.
“They sent her downtown—they knew—I was supposed to meet them—they were going to kill us both.” His voice grew hard and jagged as shattered glass. “They killed her. They killed my wife and daughter!” He fought to control himself, pain-driven rage burning in his eyes. He stood suddenly and walked around the chair, moving angrily toward the window. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring out.
The room was silent. A large clock ticked a full minute on the wall. Sara stared down at her own hands. Marino stared out the window. Sam stared at the picture-covered wall. Sara knew how he felt. He shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have witnessed such a personal and private scene. This was the next president of the United States. She knew that he couldn’t have felt more out of place.
The two grievers waited another moment in silent pain.
“I’m sorry,” Sara said again.
Marino turned around, his eyes red but clear and hard now. “I’m the one who should be saying that to you. Neil was the best man I have ever worked with. You know that I’m the one who chose him, the one who brought him to the White House? The president respected him as much as I did.” He fell silent. “I wish that he was with us now.”
Sara thought of all the people dead or missing. “I wish a lot of people were still with us.”
“Of course.” The Secretary returned to his chair, pulling out a white handkerchief and extending it to her. She took it and wiped her eyes, then grasped the white cloth in a tight fist.
“Sara, I have to ask you something now. I have to know. We’ve got to lay it on the table and get it out. So tell me. Do you trust me? Can I trust you?”
She shifted in her seat, her eyes boring into him. “You tell me,” she answered with a question. “Fuentes? Is he your friend?”
Marino shook his head. “Sara, do you understand the line of succession of the presidency?”
“I understand.”
“Do you realize that I should—”
“Be the president? Yes. I understand that.”
“Fuentes is my enemy. Our enemy. But he isn’t alone, Sara. He has many, many friends. And he isn’t the ringleader, I can promise you that. I don’t think Fuentes could lead a Scout troop across a parking lot if he had a map and GPS. No. He’s not their leader. He was in the right place at the right time and was willing to sell his soul. Maybe he sold himself for money. Maybe not. Maybe all he got in return was the opportunity to keep on breathing in this world.” Marino hesitate
d, thinking of the shootout at his daughter’s house, knowing they would have found Fuentes quivering under a blanket in the closet if they had come for him the same way. “The man has all the courage of a rabbit,” he continued. “I don’t know what he’s thinking—none of us can know or judge him yet—but we know that we can’t trust him. And he shouldn’t be the president.”
“Then stand up!” Sara shot back. “Stand up and claim the presidency. I had been waiting to hear your name in the news. They said you were dead. That had to be the only explanation, but now I find you hiding here. Do you realize, Bruce, how much they need you out there!?” She jabbed her finger, pointing to the outside world. “It’s slipping away, Bruce, do you understand that? We need you. We need you to make a stand. You don’t have much time. You’ve got to take action. Why are you hesitating? I don’t understand why you won’t act! You are the president, not Fuentes. What are you waiting for!?” Her voice was agitated, even angry. “Neil said that I could trust you. He said you’d do the right thing. He warned me about Fuentes, all the others. He warned me about—” She caught herself and stopped, her dead husband’s words almost sounding in her ears. Go slow. Be careful. Don’t say anything until you are certain. Don’t trust anyone. I don’t trust anyone. Think before you talk!
She fell silent. She’d said too much already. She almost bit her tongue.
Marino watched her, smiling. “It’s good to have the old Sara back,” he grinned.
She looked away and blushed. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” she muttered awkwardly. “I have no right to talk to you that way. I’m embarrassed for myself.”
Marino smiled again, then stood up. “It’s all right. I hold no grudge.”
“And I shouldn’t call you by your first name. What should I call you? Mr. Secretary? Mr. President? You should be the president, and I should call you that.”
He didn’t disagree. She probably should. But it wasn’t true, not yet, not formally, and the last thing he wanted was the perception of presumption. “There’s so much you don’t know yet,” he went on. “So much you don’t understand. I know Neil told you a little bit, but I’m certain he didn’t tell you everything. For one thing, he didn’t know. For another, he would have been very careful about what he told you, knowing it would only make things more dangerous and difficult.”
Sara sighed. “I don’t know how much more difficult it could possibly have been.”
“Trust me, it could have been worse. You don’t even want to know.”
“All right,” she straightened suddenly, “what have I to do with this?”
Marino hesitated. “Maybe more than you think.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Surely you realize what an exceptional effort it took to find you.”
Sara’s mind shot back to the military spy outside her window in Chicago, the night run through the city, being trapped atop the building. She shuddered as she thought.
Marino saw her shoulders tremble. “From what I hear, it’s a good thing that we did,” he added.
“But why? Why did you bring us here?”
“Because I need your help.”
Sara caught Marino’s anxious glance toward her son. Up to this point, Sam had been quiet. Intimidated by the Secretary of Defense—no, the president of the United States—he had hardly dared to speak. But he sat forward now, his back ramrod straight. “I’m a soldier, sir. You’re the Secretary of Defense. I’ll do anything that you tell me to.”
“I know you will, Captain.” Marino turned back to Sara and smiled again. “If your son is anything like his father, he’ll soon be leading his own army. There’s no question I can rely on him.” He leaned toward the soldier’s mother. “It’s you that I’m worried about.”
Sara hesitated. “I don’t understand.”
“I need you, Sara.”
“Me! You need me? Come on, Bruce—Mr. Secretary, what could I possibly do for you? What could I possibly do with any of this?”
Before he could answer, the backdoor to the conference room slowly opened and they turned. Azadeh slipped inside, pulled the door closed behind her, then stood, her shoulders slumping, her eyes always on the floor. She seemed to melt into the wall, her face betraying her desire to be swallowed by the concrete floor. Following the instructions she’d been given, she waited without speaking by the door.
Turning back to Sara, Marino went on, his voice low but powerful, overflowing with emotion. “I do need you, Sara. The presidency needs you. Your country needs you. I need you more than you could know. The plan we’ve put together is going to scare you. It’s going to be down in the trenches, filthy, gruesome work. And I can’t promise you a favorable outcome. I can’t promise you that we’ll be successful or even that any of us are going to live.”
The room fell into such deep silence that Sara could hear herself breathe. She thought, her mind racing, her hands growing damp with sweat.
“I need you all,” Marino finished. “I need Azadeh. I need your son. I just can’t do it by myself.”
“You are the president!” she whispered to him. “You have all of the power of the United States behind you. If you’d just come out and claim the presidency—”
“I’d be dead. If I do that, they will kill me, there’s not a shred of doubt. Before I step foot off this base, I’ll be dead. Now, I’m OK with that, the good Lord knows, and I don’t mean that in a profane way, I mean He knows that I’m not afraid of death. But my passing would eliminate the last chance we have of putting a legitimate presidency in place. I can’t do that. There is far too much at risk.”
“Mr. Secretary, I simply can’t believe that we have slipped that far. Do you really think that they will do, you know, do what you say?”
“Of course they will. Two of my predecessors have been killed already. I would be the third. But, as it is, they think I ran away, choosing to get out of the race. They think I cut and ran, willing to cede the presidency to them. As long as they think that I’ve gone into hiding, they’ll keep their focus somewhere else. And that’s the most powerful weapon we have against them, the ability to work behind the scenes. So we take advantage of the time they give us. We grow a few cells of patriots, a very select group of people we trust, people they won’t be looking for.”
Sara reached across the padded armchair for Sam’s hand. “OK. I understand that much. But what I still don’t understand is what you could possibly need from us.”
Marino opened a manila folder and dropped a picture on the table, tapping the dark face with his finger. “King Abdullah is the one who did this to us.” He kept his eyes on Sara while motioning with his head toward Azadeh and Sam. “So your son is going to take a team, snatch him and bring him back here. Azadeh is going to help them.”
Sara’s face turned white, her breathing labored. She gripped the handkerchief as if it were a lifeline, keeping her from going under. Marino nodded solemnly. “They’re going to go and get him, then we’re going to put him on trial for the things he has done.”
Sara opened her mouth but no sound came out. “You’re a fool,” she finally muttered. “You’re talking about the king of Saudi Arabia, the most powerful, the wealthiest man in the world. He has entire armies that protect him. No one could even get close.”
Marino shook his head. “Abdullah is about to do something very foolish. We think we can take him then.”
Sara didn’t believe it for a second—the look on her face made that clear.
Marino didn’t give her time to think. Pulling out another picture, he dropped it on the table. Three men. Close together. Intense conversation. Their faces tight. The interior of a small café. Foreign cars out on the street. “These are the men behind Fuentes, the men who conspired and murdered to put him in place. Now, listen to me, this is important: Did these men help to plan or carry out the attack against our country? No, I don’t think so. Did they know it was coming? You bet your life they did. Could they have stopped it? Maybe. Probably not. But did they see t
his as the opportunity they’d been waiting for to make their grab for power? There’s no question that’s the case. We need to find them. We need to stop them. And we don’t have any time.”
Sara reluctantly lowered her eyes to the table. Staring hopelessly at the second picture, she sucked a sudden breath, her face draining of color, her hands trembling on her lap. “No,” she almost groaned. “No, no, please, not him.” She lightly touched the middle man in the picture, then looked up, her eyes wet, her face exhausted. “He was our friend. We both loved him.” She sounded like she might break down. “Neil and I would have trusted him with our lives.”
“Exactly!” Marino answered, his face patient but still determined. “You trusted him. He’ll still trust you! We can use that trust against him as long as he doesn’t know.”
Sara bent her head again and swallowed. It was simply too much to comprehend. Too much betrayal. Too much treachery. Too much disloyalty from those they’d loved. Her mind was on the edge, tilting toward the dark, and she was mute as she fell into despair.
Marino let a few seconds pass in silence, then leaned toward her. “It’s a nasty thing we have to do, and heaven knows that I can’t force you. If you can’t do it, I’ll understand. But there are so few people I can turn to, so few people I can trust, so few people who can really help me. Sara, you are one. Was it a coincidence that we were able to find you?” He tapped the second picture. “Was it a coincidence he is your friend?” He nodded to the dark-haired girl pressed against the wall. “Was it a coincidence your son was with you? A coincidence that you are with a young girl from Iran, which is where we have to go? Was any of this a coincidence? I don’t know. You’ll have to make that judgment for yourself. It seems to me unlikely, and if it wasn’t some lucky happenstance, then you have to ask yourself, why are we together now? And what does God want us to do?”
He stopped and took a breath, exhaling with a sigh. “Is this an ideal situation? Certainly not. But you go to war with the army you’ve got, not the army that you wish for. What I got is what I got. And if we’re going to save this country, I’m going to need your help.”
(Wrath-08)-Evil In The Darkness (2013) Page 13
