by M. S. Parker
This would’ve been easier with help, I knew, but I didn’t have anyone I could trust with this. Other journalists would probably snake my story, and I didn’t have any close friends. Which meant I was doing this alone.
I could do it, too. I was a kickass reporter, and I didn’t need babysitters or assistants.
Besides, if I went to Clay for help, I’d have to deal with the drama of being around him, and what assistance he’d provide wouldn’t be worth the distraction he’d become.
And I wasn’t sure my heart could take being stepped on again.
Thirteen
Clay
After talking with Ray for more than an hour, I’d gone to my room with the intention of getting into the mini bar and drinking until I forgot Tess. Forgot every single blissful moment we’d spent together and every agonizing minute apart. What made remembering worse was the knowledge that, though the first time we’d been separated hadn’t been my fault, this last time had been.
My plans had been abruptly derailed when I’d found my room empty of alcohol, something that shouldn’t have surprised me since this wasn’t exactly a five-star establishment. A quick look through the worn flyer on the table had said that the hotel did have a gym. Physical exertion wasn’t as fun as drinking, but it had been a better option than spending the night sleepless and obsessing.
At least, I’d thought it had been a good idea until I’d returned to my room well past midnight, bone-weary and soaked with sweat. I remembered standing at the foot of my bed and thinking that I needed to get in the shower.
The next thing I knew, I was yanked out of sleep by the annoyingly upbeat pop song that I’d assigned as my mother’s ringtone. I rolled over, and my stiff muscles protested, but I reached toward my phone anyway. Grabbing it was the only way to shut the damn thing off. I fumbled with it, intending to send the call straight to voicemail. Instead, I answered it.
“Clay, it’s about time I didn’t get your voicemail.”
I suppressed a groan. There was only one way for me to answer a phone call from my parents and I was now doubly glad that I wasn’t hungover.
“Good morning, Mother.” I rubbed my eyes. “Before you ask, I wasn’t ignoring you. I’ve been out of the country for the past few weeks.”
I didn’t mention that she hadn’t actually left any voicemails. A comment like that was good for a ten-minute lecture on how impersonal talking to a machine was.
“Anywhere exciting?”
For a brief, insane second, I considered telling my mother exactly how exciting my time in Costa Rica had been, then my brain started working, and I fell into my usual habit of only giving her what she wanted to hear.
“I was in Costa Rica, taking some personal time. I just got back to the States today.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I always forget about the time difference.”
No, she didn’t. She just thought everyone needed to be up at the ass crack of dawn to accomplish anything. I’d probably been the only child to ever ask to open his Christmas presents later as a holiday treat.
“It doesn’t matter, Mother. I’m in DC at the moment.”
“I thought you said you just got back to Denver?”
“When I got into LAX, I got a message from my partner. He’s here for some meetings and wouldn’t be back in Denver for a while, so I offered to take a flight out here instead.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. Are you returning immediately, or will you have time for a meal with your parents?”
That was her passive-aggressive way of reminding me how long it’d been since I’d last spent any time with them. Now that I was in DC, it would’ve been rude telling her that I couldn’t, especially since I wasn’t pressed for time. I had absolutely no clue where to start with my current problem.
Then I realized that I could make her happy and maybe help out Ray at the same time.
“Is the House in session today?” I sat up, then wished I hadn’t because my stomach really didn’t like the movement.
“It is.”
“How about I meet Father, and then we’ll meet you for lunch?”
“Wonderful!” At least she sounded sincerely happy. “I’ll let him know to expect you.”
Wonderful.
I let her finish some small talk, then promised to see her in a few hours. After I ended the call, I flopped back on the bed, grimacing as I caught a whiff of what happened when I fell asleep after working out but before showering. I needed to clean up before heading to the hill. Aside from the fact that it was just good hygiene, I wouldn’t embarrass my father by creating anything less than a good impression.
I loved my parents, and I never doubted that they loved me, but I’d been aware from an early age of the importance they placed on appearance. Not in a superficial way, but rather how the respect we had for them reflected in how we dressed and spoke. The respect we had for a job or an event. Perfectly pressed suits and ties for every occasion. Hats to match dresses and shoes. Nothing scuffed. Everything shiny and new-looking. Anything worn, faded, or torn would be mended and sent to various charities. One or two ‘old’ items would be kept for the rare times we’d need to do something where we’d get dirty, but since those were usually photo ops – intentional or not – we usually wore plain clothes that we’d been seen in a couple times but weren’t really ready to be sent away.
Tess and Brianne had referred to my family as Rockwellian, and I couldn’t exactly disagree. My father had started as an intern for a local city councilman from Queens and progressed to running for the House of Representatives when I was three. For the past thirty years, he’d held on to his seat by being a decent, honest man. He wasn’t perfect, and he’d made some compromises with policies that I wasn’t too crazy about, but he’d never cheated on my mother, never hit us or berated us. He’d worked a lot, but so had my mother. She was a grade school teacher, the sort that made every student feel special. Over the past thirty-five years, she’d taught both first and third grade, as well as tutoring and summer school at various places.
Sometimes, I wondered if they would’ve been happier with my career choice if I’d chosen to go into education. They were proud of me and never diminished my accomplishments with the FBI, but they also never made a secret of their desire for me to follow in my father’s footsteps, maybe not as a Congressman, but something in politics. They both said there weren’t enough decent people in Washington, and I agreed, but I’d seen what it took to do what my father did, and I knew myself well enough to know I couldn’t do it.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t learned a thing or two about how to be diplomatic or negotiate for the things I wanted. I just didn’t like the song and dance.
After a shower, a shave, and a set of new – if simple – clothes, I was a little more prepared for what I had to do. I didn’t tell Ray where I was going or who I planned to talk to, mostly because I knew he wouldn’t approve, but also because he needed plausible deniability if things backfired on me.
I made a couple calls to the people in the White House who knew everything: the secretaries. Lower case. They were the ones who took the calls, made the schedules, knew where the bodies were buried. Figuratively anyway. Then again, there were a few politicians that I wondered about…
It was about an hour before I was supposed to meet my father, which was the perfect amount of time to stop for a little pre-lunch lunch. The diner was the sort of out-of-the-way place that most people would barely look at as they moved on to one of the million places in DC that sold either kale or coffee. I’d been here a couple times growing up, but never with either of my parents. The food here was a walking health code violation, but damn if the apple pie wasn’t worth it.
I took the seat in the corner and ordered a big piece of pie with ice cream on top. I might not be hungry for lunch, but after my work-out last night, I felt like I deserved a little something. I was three bites into it when two men in black suits came into the diner. I smiled at them, waving my fork when I saw recognition in
one of the men’s eyes. He’d done some security work for my dad a couple years back. He’d been a little surprised to hear from me earlier today, but we’d always gotten along. I’d given him a pair of Giants tickets for him and his dad when I’d heard his father only had a few months to live. He nodded at me and then turned to bring in his charge.
Secretary of State Fares Ganesh.
I continued eating my pie as the secretary was ‘guided’ to the booth next to mine. I let him settle in and place his order, using the time to finish my pie. As I pushed my plate back, I shifted in my seat so I could lean against the back of the booth and get a better look at the man I’d only previously seen on TV.
Ganesh was in his late fifties, with buzzed hair that was light enough that I couldn’t tell if it was blond or silver. He was a few inches shorter than me and lean, though he still carried himself like the soldier he’d once been. The hard glint in his bright blue eyes made me think that anyone who underestimated him would be in for a surprise.
“Secretary Ganesh, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Do I know…” His voice trailed off as he turned to look more directly at me. “Ah…Clay Kurth.”
I held out a hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Secretary.”
“And I you.” He shook my hand. “Your partner, Agent Matthews, speaks highly of you. As does your father.”
“My father was a great supporter of your appointment, sir,” I said honestly. “I’m actually on my way to see him in a little bit. I’ve just been craving apple pie for the longest time. It wasn’t easy to get where I’ve been.”
“I would imagine not,” he said carefully. “How long have you been back?”
“Just since yesterday.” I gave him a purposefully wry smile. “Though I didn’t return by choice.”
“Agent Matthews mentioned that he had to encourage you to return sooner than you liked.”
“It wasn’t his encouragement that brought me back but rather an old friend.” I watched his face for any hints that might tell me I was on the right track. “She drugged me, knocking me out before putting me on a plane. Me and her own sister. Strange, right?”
“I find it hard to believe that someone could knock you out, especially…pardon me for saying it this way…a woman.” His tone may have been nonchalant, but I saw the tightening around his eyes.
“This wasn’t me losing a fight,” I said. “This was someone who figured out how to drug two adults in two separate hotel rooms.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like a smart woman.”
“She is,” I agreed. “But I think she also had great training.”
“Training?” The lines at the corners of his mouth deepened for a second.
“She’s in the army.” I leaned forward a bit more, conscious of the Secret Service agents standing close enough to grab me if they thought I was a threat. “But you know that because that’s how she met your sister-in-law.”
The secretary shifted in his seat, finally looking as uncomfortable as I knew he was. “Mr. Kurth, may I ask what the reason is for our coincidental meeting here today?”
I glanced at the Secret Service guys, then figured what the hell. “Brianne Gardener isn’t just a soldier, and we both know it. Something’s going on with her and the reason she was in Costa Rica. And I think it’s going to trace from her, to her girlfriend…to you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “To me?”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged him.
He considered the question. “You’re wrong about me.”
“Which means I’m right about something.”
“You are, but I can’t tell you more than that because I don’t know.”
“All right then.” I stood and tossed a few bills on the table. “I have a lunch appointment with my parents. I’ll tell them you said hi.”
I felt his eyes on me as I exited the diner, but I never looked back. I had a lead, and that was enough. It was time to do some real work.
Fourteen
Tess
I didn’t know why I bothered to call Brianne. I knew when I did it that it was pointless, but I supposed a part of me felt like I had to at least try to get her side of the story. As a journalist, I was supposed to be unbiased, report things without letting my own feelings cloud the story, and if I allowed my anger at my sister to keep me from reaching out to her, I wouldn’t deserve to call myself a journalist. Despite that, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction when I was told that the number was no longer in service.
After ending the call, I considered calling my mom to see if she’d heard from Bri yet, but ultimately decided against it. I couldn’t tell Mom all that happened, mostly because I wasn’t sure whose side she’d take, and if I had to listen to her telling me why Brianne had done the right thing, I’d probably say something I’d eventually regret.
I also couldn’t take the chance that Mom would try to talk me out of writing the story. At least now I could pursue it without the guilt that came with knowing Mom and Bri wouldn’t approve. As someone who dealt in proven facts, it was a lot easier to discount my feelings without evidence to back them up.
I stood in front of my table, methodically eating a piece of toast with orange marmalade and working through a timetable in my head. If I wanted to get out in front of this thing, I needed to hit the big fish first, then look to fill in any gaps as I went. Hopefully, I’d get some names or other leads to build on so I could put this together fast and get it to my editor before anyone else got a whiff of what was coming. If I could be the one to break this story, it’d be huge for my career.
Despite everything, I felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of building my career on a story about my sister, but then I reminded myself that if she’d simply told me the truth and asked me to keep it to myself, I wouldn’t have breathed a word to anyone. Instead, she’d drugged and kidnapped me to send me back home because she thought she knew what was best for me, just like she had when we were kids.
Yeah, I was going to write this story.
And I knew where to go to start gathering what I needed.
I wasn’t crazy enough to rent a car and try to drive through DC traffic, and I wasn’t going to pay an arm and a leg to sit in a taxi where a driver may or may not decide to spend all of our time together talking my ear off. That meant public transportation was my best bet. Fortunately, I could pull up a bus schedule on my phone and find when the next bus to the White House left.
Even though my hotel was only fifteen miles from the White House, it was nearly an hour before the bus made it through to the stop to let off most of us. I let the crowd take me with it as we moved down the sidewalk in front of the enormous structure. Most of these people were tourists who’d eventually take the usual tours through various buildings, but I didn’t need a history lesson at the moment. I needed to get to Secretary Ganesh and not just to get a greeting or an autograph. I needed to talk to him.
As the others broke off into their smaller groups of families and friends, I eased away from the others and found a spot shielded from the brisk winter wind to try to decide the best way to get a private audience with the Secretary of State. I could try a tour and sneak away. I was good at making myself invisible, and if I was caught, I was good at pretending to be innocent. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was all I had at the moment.
I’d gone a few feet down the sidewalk when I saw several men in black suits coming out of a diner. Not that uncommon a sight here. Two men were with them, one in a gray suit, the other dressed a little more casually. I recognized them both.
Secretary of State Fares Ganesh and my former lover slash best friend, Clay Kurth. Talking like they were fucking friends.
Okay, maybe that was a bit much. They weren’t actually talking to each other, but I had no doubt that they’d already had a decent conversation, probably over lunch.
Dammit, Clay! Why was he fucking around with my story? He’s the one who told me to leave Brianne alone, and now
he was here, talking to the very person he claimed sent him to Costa Rica after Bri, however indirectly. Finding Clay here was no coincidence.
My strategy changed in a moment, and I ignored the secretary and his guards as they walked by. Clay went the other way, and I followed, curious to see where he would go next. Had the secretary given Clay the name of someone to talk to? Maybe a person who had something to do with whatever was going on with Brianne.
Maybe I was reaching. Maybe Clay had been simply telling Ganesh about how things had played out in Costa Rica, and now he was planning to go meet Ray. Maybe I was about to feel rather stupid for thinking this was more than it was.
I kept telling myself this as I followed Clay down the sidewalk. Whatever the two of them had discussed must’ve still been on Clay’s mind because I didn’t exactly take pains to hide myself, and he didn’t notice. We’d gone probably half a mile before I realized that he wasn’t going for a parking lot or one of the bus stops. He was going toward Capitol Hill.
I didn’t know why it took me until that moment to remember that his father was a congressman, but it did. Figuring out that he was probably going to visit his dad should’ve made me turn around and return to my original plan, but it didn’t. Now that I’d seen him, I couldn’t walk away until I knew for certain.
Except when I saw the familiar figure of Clinton Kurth, a horrible thought struck me.
What if Congressman Kurth was the government official responsible for all of this? Granted, a congressman wasn’t in a position of authority over the Secretary of State, but I knew enough about politics to know that, often times, the person who appeared to be in charge wasn’t the one actually calling the shots.
My mind swam with dozens of possible reasons either man – or both – would have for sending Clay to Costa Rica. Had it truly been for Brianne because of her connection to Sofie Harmon? Was Sofie a part of this or just an opportunity that others had seized? Was the real motivation not Brianne but rather the cartel? Money and power were two very strong factors for a lot of people, and a Colombian drug cartel was definitely a way to get those things.
