Silent Threat

by Jeff Gunhus

  “No,” Townsend shouted behind them, now standing at the door to the Oval. “Let them go!” The Secret Service agent blocked their way, his face clearly not registering the president’s order. “Goddamn it, Rob. I said let them go.”

  At the use of his first name, the agent seemed to snap out of his daze. He holstered his weapon and stepped aside. Hawthorn pushed Scott forward and they passed by him.

  As they did, Hawthorn heard Townsend shout, “Get Doc Samuels. Tell him I fell and hit my face on the desk.”

  Once in the hallway, Hawthorn guided Scott first left and then right, going as far from the press corps as possible. They stopped outside the chief of staff’s office. The door was closed without a guard, so it was a safe bet it was empty. Hawthorn threw Scott roughly up against it.

  “You just hit the president of the United States in the face,” Hawthorn said. “Are you insane? That’s the end of you. It’ll take every ounce of capital I have to keep you out of Leavenworth.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Scott snapped. “How could you bring me to that meeting and not give me a heads-up? I can’t believe you buy any of that bullshit in there.”

  “You have to—”

  “Only thing I have to do is get out of here before I take your head off.”

  “Scott—”

  “I’m serious. I swear to God, Jim. Step aside or Doc Samuels is going to have two patients tonight.”

  Hawthorn stepped back, but Scott didn’t move.

  “What Townsend told you in there. I have to pursue it, Scott. You know I do.”

  Scott’s lips curled back from his teeth, making him look like a dog about to attack. “Go get ’em, boss.” He slammed into Hawthorn’s shoulder as he pushed by, striding down the corridor to the exit.

  The next time Hawthorn saw his friend was the day Scott shot and killed his wife.

  * * *

  Hawthorn entered his office and closed the door behind him. The walls were spare, lacking the brag wall of framed photos with powerful members of the DC elite. He, more than most, understood the fleeting nature of power. And how quickly his own fortunes could turn, requiring that he give up his office to a younger man or some political shit-for-brains appointee. Packing an office was a miserable experience, an insult to add to the injuries he’d sustained over the years.

  And for what? His country? He hardly recognized the place anymore. The politics had always been rough and tumble, but now it was abusive and intransient. Disagreements had turned to hatred. Dividing lines about tax policy, immigration, and defense spending now had the zealotry that used to be reserved for abortion and race relations. Both sides cloaked every issue in gauzy morality that was actually just rampant hypocrisy. Perhaps it’d always been this bad and he’d just been a stronger man when he was younger. Impervious to the sideshow while he focused on the security of his nation. At least that had been a success. Or at least he liked to think so.

  If he hadn’t been at work, would there have just been another man in the role who could have done just as well? Perhaps even better? Another man who would have sacrificed so much time? Put the job ahead of his marriage and his relationships with his kids? Who could have proselytized the importance of family, but still managed to have a two-year-old grandson he hadn’t yet held?

  Had it all been worth it? It was the question for an old man to ask. But lately he’d felt the years more and more, seen the effects of time with each glance in the mirror. Felt his motor running down from the wear and tear of the life he’d chosen.

  It was why he was pushing so hard. Taking chances he never would have allowed himself even a few years ago. Desperation lent itself to mistakes. And in the game he was playing, mistakes could cost him everything.

  He picked up the one framed photo on his desk. It was him and his wife, Margery, sitting on wicker chairs down at their place in Sanibel Island, Florida, a few years ago. God, she loved that place. Hunched over on her morning walk doing the Sanibel Shuffle, looking over the millions of shells on the beach for a new gem to add to her collection at the cottage. In the picture, their kids and their spouses stood around them, along with their grandkids.

  Margery beamed in the center of it, the queen bee with her people. The light was just right so it was easy to imagine that her cheeks were not sunken, the dark circles under her eyes were not there, that the wig she wore was her own beautiful hair. He looked happy, too, he thought. Tan, rested, at peace. Holding her hand.

  It wasn’t an hour after that photo before his detail had appeared and whisked him off the island to the nearest heliport to manage a crisis. He couldn’t even remember what the problem had been that had dragged him away. He did remember that a day later, while he was in the Situation Room, he’d gotten the call that Margery had died, making the photo he held in his hands the last he would ever take with the love of his life. He remembered that part with perfect clarity.

  Had it all been worth it?

  Damn if he knew. But this last thing he was doing was going to allow him some closure. Maybe even give him the license he needed to ride off into the sunset and spend his waning years bothering his kids and spoiling his grandchildren. Telling them at every opportunity what a wonderful grandmother they had and how much she loved them all.

  He pulled his special phone from his suit jacket pocket and dialed the number. He waited as the series of clicks chirped in his ear, the call routing through dozens of exchanges to mask the location of the woman who answered on the other line.

  “Townsend is still alive,” came the voice over the line. Hawthorn listened intently for any ambient noise that might give away the woman’s location. He’d never met her in person, and he had a feeling that if she had her way, he never would. “You said Roberts would complete the task.”

  “The daughter is the wild card. We never thought she’d go this far with him. She’s having an unexpected effect.”

  “Use the boy. Send her his ear and see if the effect continues to be so unexpected.”

  “She hasn’t made contact. There’s no leverage there.”

  There was a long pause before she came back. “There has been an asset deployed. Restrict your actions pending instructions.” The line went dead.

  Hawthorn slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket, the photo still in his hand. Had it all been worth it? He planned to make damn sure that, in the end, it had.

  CHAPTER 15

  He was late.

  Mara checked her watch again even though she’d done so less than a minute ago. Six past noon. In the real world, six minutes late meant a taxi hit traffic, or someone lost track of time while getting ready. In her world, six minutes late meant someone was likely captured or killed.

  The Field Museum loomed over her right shoulder, its massive granite columns reminiscent of a Greek temple. One of the premier museums in the world, the Field Museum looked the part, with columned wings extending in either direction from the front entrance, each ending with another small entrance portico. Mara stood below the flight of white marble stairs leading to the main entrance, off to the side in the shade of the trees arranged in a row parallel to the museum. From her vantage, she could see the length of the building and everyone who came or left.

  She checked her watch again, feeling foolish as she did so.

  It wasn’t lost on her that only a day before she’d been in a similar situation. Waiting for the great Scott Roberts to appear from the prison, ogling her watch like a teenager waiting for a date in her living room.

  So much had changed since that last time. Her world was upside-down. At the center of it was Joey, stolen and being held God-knew-where. Overnight, it’d taken all of her willpower not to call Hawthorn and demand his release. It wouldn’t have done any good, she knew that in her gut. All it would have done is give the bastards holding him the opportunity to use him against her. One scream from Joey and she knew she’d do anything they told her to.

  Beyond Joey, there was her dad. She’d fed her hate towar
d him so mercilessly over the years that it was hard to let it go. Hard to make the adjustment to the idea that he might not be guilty of the crimes of which she’d convicted him, serving as judge and jury in her own head.

  And nearly executioner. She couldn’t forget that.

  She pulled the burner phone from her pocket and dialed the number from memory. The person on the other end picked it up so quickly that she wasn’t sure if it’d actually rung.

  “Lordy, you’ve stumbled into it this time, haven’t you?” Jordi said.

  “Did I make a mistake when I sent it?” she asked. Jordi had given her specific, albeit complicated instructions on how to send him the contents on the thumb drive they’d taken off Townsend. If she’d messed it up, then who knew who else could gain access to the files.

  “No, I got everything all proper-like. That’s not the problem.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “This encryption. It’s like, I dunno. It’s almost better than the stuff I create.”

  “Almost better or better?” She turned in a circle as she spoke, scanning for her dad. Or for a SWAT team closing in on her if he’d somehow been compromised.

  “Come on now, this is me you’re talking to,” Jordi said. “I’ll break it. It’ll just take longer than I thought.”

  She heard the hesitation in his voice. “But . . .”

  “But what am I going to find when I open it? I see the news, Mara. I can imagine where this file came from. I mean, holy shit.”

  “Jordi,” she said softly. “Listen. If you don’t want to do it, I understand. But if not you, I don’t have anyone else I trust.” She paused for a few seconds, listening to him breathing into the phone. She had a sudden pang of fear that she’d pushed him too far with this ask. With an IQ off the charts, of course he would have figured out where the file had come from. “I can still trust you, can’t I?”

  “Ask me that again and I’ll drain your bank accounts and ruin your credit.”

  “Whatever is on there,” she said, “I’m not going to use it to do something you wouldn’t agree with. I’m not going to compromise national interest.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” Jordi said. “It’s the company you keep.”

  She had no answer for that. “Then just trust me that I won’t let him have anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “It’s just that—”

  “I trust you more than anyone right now,” she said. “All I’m asking is that you return the favor. I need this, Jordi. Please.”

  “Please?” Jordi sighed. “That’s exactly the sort of thing that gets me in trouble. I’ll call you when I have something. Bye, luv. Watch out for the men with guns. Seems like they’re all after you.”

  He ended the call before she had a chance to reply.

  She slid the phone into her pocket as she looked over the plaza again, trying to spot her dad’s telltale swagger among the crowd of tourists. She found herself wondering if Jordi’s concerns were founded. Maybe she’d already developed a blind spot when it came to her dad.

  His attempts to get the identity of her mom’s killer out of Townsend had seemed sincere. But it also could have been an act. A carefully orchestrated manipulation to gain back her trust. But to what end? It made no sense.

  Still, doubts about him swirled in her head. She didn’t know if it was from habit or if it was his bullheaded stubbornness not to give her the whole story. He knew more than he was telling her. He’d admitted it was the case, saying he wanted to protect her if things went wrong.

  It sounded good, but it had the aftertaste of a lie.

  And it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d looked her in the eye and hidden a dark truth from her.

  * * *

  Mara and her mom hated fishing. It was Lucy’s thing and her dad knew it. Still, he’d dragged all of them along on the floatplane trip to Canada. Mara thought it was just a ploy to get her and Lucy away from their boyfriends.

  Her dad hadn’t adjusted well to his daughters hitting the high school years, admitting that he still saw them as kids and that kids didn’t need to go on dates, especially with guys who were older and could already drive. He was gone from home a lot, some kind of salesman for an international company called Rayco Technologies. Lucy preferred the title from his business card, global account executive, because it sounded cooler. But Mara didn’t care what it was called. Traveling around the world was pretty sweet, but business and sales sounded as dull as mud to her. Almost as dull as her mom’s job working as a cultural at-taché with the State Department. She didn’t even begin to understand what she did, only that she spoke a bunch of languages and was endlessly frustrated with Mara’s inability to conjugate verbs in French.

  All she knew was that her dad wasn’t home much, but it was always fun when he was. Her sister didn’t always feel the same way.

  Mara had it a little easier than her sister, or so Lucy complained all the time. There were three years between them, so by the time Lucy was a high school senior and Mara was a freshman, Lucy had already fought most of the battles about boys and curfews and drinking. Their parents weren’t a defeated enemy, they still put up plenty of obstacles to keep Mara from having fun, ruining her chances of being popular, but they were softer with her. She would never admit that to Lucy, but it was true. She didn’t look forward to Lucy leaving for college the next year because she imagined that her mom and dad would make up for the empty nest by fixating on her every move. That was going to suck.

  She was also going to miss her sister. Another thing she wasn’t about to admit to Lucy.

  “C’mon, boat’s leaving,” her dad called out.

  He was dressed like he’d stumbled into an L.L. Bean store and was blindsided by an overzealous salesman. Hip waders extended from his feet to his midsection, held in place by suspenders that gave him an old-timey feel. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and a fishing vest with a dozen pockets. A floppy hat with flies burrowed into the brim completed the picture.

  Her mom walked up next to her with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She slid her other hand around Mara’s back and pulled her close. “He’s like a little boy.”

  “More like a little dork,” Mara said.

  “Yeah, but he’s our dork.”

  “Do I have to go?”

  “There’s no Internet out here. No telephone. No TV. You might as well learn to like fishing. ’Cause we’re here for six days, whether we like it or not.”

  “Maybe you could fake an injury,” Lucy said as she trotted by them, fishing pole and tackle box in hand. She had a way of doing that, adding a line into a conversation she wasn’t part of and then scurrying off like a little rat.

  “Maybe I could give you a real one,” Mara called out. Her mom’s arm squeezed around her waist sharply. It didn’t quite hurt, but it got her attention. “I was just kidding around.”

  “How often do we get out together?” her mom asked. “Can you even remember the last time?”

  She did. Disney World when she was thirteen. One of the best weeks of her life. “I dunno,” she said.

  “Exactly. Between my work and your dad’s, we’re never together. This trip is a way to catch up for lost time.”

  “Is that why you and Dad disappeared into the woods yesterday? Is that what you call it when you get older? Making up for lost time?”

  “Mara!”

  “I agree, Mom,” Lucy said, passing by again on the way to the cabin. “Sound travels on water. Pretty gross.”

  “What’s gross?” her dad asked, walking up, grinning like he was a puppy who was just told he got to go for a ride in the car.

  Mara and her mom both laughed. “Nothing,” Mara said. “Are we going to catch some fish today or what?”

  “That’s the spirit,” her dad said. “Prizes for first fish, most fish, and biggest fish.”

  “How about a prize for the most tangled lines?” her mom asked.

  “That person cleans the fi
sh,” he said. “The Roberts family is eating well tonight.”

  Lucy walked back to the dock, this time carrying a cooler. “If Dad and I catch the fish, that is.”

  She was right, of course. Lucy and her dad landed fish left and right. Huge walleye that stripped the line from the reel and bent their poles until they looked like they might break. She and her mom caught one every now and then, but switched to playing cards on the small pop-up table they’d brought with them. Her dad didn’t seem to mind. He had them all on a boat together, and that appeared to be good enough for him.

  A few hours in, Lucy hooked up with a monster fish. Her excitement, and then her dad’s once he saw the fish break water, was contagious. Mara put down her cards and stood up to get a look.

  “Careful,” Lucy said, nearly losing her balance from Mara shifting her weight on the small boat.

  Lucy’s adjustment, along with Mara’s, just made it worse and the boat rocked hard to the side.

  Then they heard the gunshot.

  * * *

  Something zinged past Mara’s ear.

  Then her mom had a hold of her arm, dragging her down, sliding her body on top of hers. The boat surged forward, her dad applying full throttle.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Mara screamed.

  “Stay down,” her mom said into her ear. Urgent but calm. That made her relax a little. If she was calm, then it probably wasn’t a big deal.

  The boat cranked to the left, then back to the right, the engine whining at full speed.

  “There’s a cove,” her dad yelled from the captain’s chair. “I’m getting off. Keep going down lake. You have coms?”

  “I have coms,” her mom said.

  The boat barely slowed, but Mara felt it rock and she knew her dad had just jumped into the water. Her mom was on her feet and reached the steering wheel just as the boat was headed into a stand of tall grass. It cut through the grass and burst out into a narrow channel of water. Her mom cut left and took them back into the main body of the lake.

  Lucy was crawling toward them from the bow, her face pale white.