Breach of Power (Jake Pendleton 3)

by Barrett, Chuck

  Ashley Regan of Charleston, South Carolina.

  11

  Maldive Islands

  Indian Ocean

  The 21-meter luxury yacht—a two-masted schooner—sliced quietly through the water toward the resort's pier, still an easy kilometer away. The long pier was lined with tiki lanterns pointing toward the shoreline. From this distance, Jake thought, it looked like the schooner was lining up with a runway.

  Whether he was fishing in a mountain stream or sitting on the deck of a boat, Jake loved the water and its calming appeal. He looked at Kyli, with her hair tucked behind her ears in an attempt to keep it out of her face as the warm ocean air washed across them, and smiled. The light from the full moon played across her face. Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed to sparkle.

  It felt like it was so long ago, but it had only been eighteen months since his life had changed so drastically. His psyche seemed tranquil now compared to the tumultuous feeling of the old days—before Wiley. Back then he thought he had it all with Beth, his then fiancée, and felt he could never live without her.

  And then he had to.

  Life was better now. His self-confidence rose to a higher level than ever before. He had perfected his tradecraft skills. His keen insight was sharpened and enhanced. He had become an effective emissary doing the bidding of Elmore Wiley and the Greenbrier Fellowship, a worldwide organization made up of some of the most influential persons the world had to offer. A group who met once a year at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia to discuss the world's greatest threats. Although never in an official capacity, the Fellowship made recommendations on how to deal with those threats. Recommendations that typically sent Wiley's emissaries into action.

  That was where Jake came in.

  He wasn't chosen by accident, he knew that now, he was chosen because of his innate ability to assess, analyze, and act quickly to resolve issues on a real-time basis. And as Wiley had repeated to him on numerous occasions, "meet the objective, the how doesn't matter." That maxim didn't mean to proceed with reckless abandon either, as all objectives, he learned, included discretion and secrecy. And, at his disposal to accomplish those tasks, were some of the greatest minds money could buy. Analysts like Fontaine, engineers like Matt, and scientists like Kyli, made up his support team including the master of radio frequency and microwave technology himself—Elmore Wiley—the Toymaker.

  The cruise was relaxing and he could tell Kyli was pleased with her choice of vacation destinations. The schooner slowed as it neared the pier, Jake watched resort employees take their positions to catch the lines to secure the yacht. He also noticed the shadowy silhouette of a woman standing back from the edge of the dock several meters. And even though it was just a shadow he knew it belonged to Francesca Catanzaro. He also knew her presence signaled the end of his vacation with Kyli.

  "This can't be good." He mumbled to himself.

  Jake and Francesca sat on the edge of the infinity pool while Kyli was in the bedroom crying. Her big plans for a two-week romantic get away with Jake had just been dashed by Francesca's news that Jake had to leave and return to the United States immediately. Jake had never seen Kyli this upset, not even after the explosion in Paris that had injured her and her girlfriend.

  He was disappointed too, but knew broken personal plans came with the job.

  Kyli walked out and sat down next to Jake, dangling her feet in the water. Her eyes were red and puffy. Jake put his arm around her.

  "I know I'm being selfish but this was our first real trip together." Kyli put her hand in her lap after wiping her eyes with a tissue. "I just wanted everything to be perfect."

  "I know you did." Jake used as much of a consoling voice as he could. "And everything was perfect…it just got cut short this time."

  "Will it always be like this? Never being able to make plans because my grandfather has some other secret mission where he whisks you away at a moment's notice."

  "Absolutely not. We'll have plenty of time for more trips, uninterrupted ones too." Jake wished he could honestly say that were true, but he knew that wasn't the case. And never would be.

  "Kyli," Francesca said, "your grandfather wouldn't have sent me after Jake if it weren't important. He knows how much effort you put into planning this trip and how much you were looking forward to it. If there was any other way, he would have found it."

  "How long before we have to leave?" Kyli asked Francesca.

  "Mr. Wiley wants all of us out of here tonight." Francesca explained. "I have a boat waiting to take us to the airport and I came in Wiley's personal jet."

  "Kyli's going with us?" Jake asked.

  "As far as Brussels. Then you and I are flying to D.C."

  Jake looked at Kyli then back to Francesca. "Blowback from the last op?"

  "I didn't get that impression from Wiley." Francesca stood. "I'll be waiting at the boat while you two pack your things. We leave in 30 minutes."

  12

  Evan Makley stared at the document attached to the email in disbelief. If it were authentic, the President's career was about to crash and burn—and his with it. Whether true or false, these were the types of allegations that ruined a politician's career. Even one as popular as Rebecca Rudd. He kept staring, afraid to blink, hoping and praying this was some sort of sick joke but somewhere deep inside, he knew it wasn't. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity, he rationalized. That was the only hope he had. Still, the tone of confidence and authority in the words caused his heart to sink.

  Another thing troubling him was the fact that the attached file slipped past White House screening. Most worrisome of all was that the sender used an alternating combination of his and the President's social security numbers as the document's password. Information protected by a number of safety measures put in place by the Secret Service.

  He'd worked too hard and too long to reach his position as Chief of Staff of the White House. At forty-seven a scandal of this magnitude would destroy any chance for post-White House employment. In politics, he would be the fall guy. His job was to keep these kinds of things from happening and he'd failed. He knew there was still time for damage control. His job was to protect the President. Covering his own ass at the same time was a welcome side effect.

  He opened his computer's web browser and typed in www.lovesdesperatedesire.com. The page loaded fast and was simple with only three drop down menus. He clicked the first menu and chose his unique yet discrete user name—First Mate, chosen for his love of sailing. And even today, it seemed appropriate for his professional standing. The second drop down indicated coded locations. He chose JM for Jefferson Memorial, his usual spot. The last drop down menu was an appointment list in fifteen-minute increments starting at the closest next quarter-hour mark. If a time was grayed out, it wasn't available. He looked at this watch, 9:17 a.m., and clicked 10:00 a.m. He submitted his request, closed his browser, and started reviewing the President's schedule for the afternoon.

  Within one minute he received a text:

  JM0945.

  He stood and hustled to the door, told his secretary he had to run a quick errand and headed to his car. The President would be locked in her meeting for another hour so he would have time to make the meeting and return—no one the wiser.

  * * *

  Abigail Love had done business with the man on several occasions, but not since he'd become Chief of Staff. Dealing with public figures hadn't worked out for her in the past but because of some sense of customer loyalty, she would hear him out. Besides, he was a very good-looking man. One with whom she would like to spend a couple of hours alone behind closed doors.

  From the shady park bench, a hundred yards east of the Jefferson Memorial, she gazed across the tidal basin, through the dogwoods, past the National Mall, beside the Washington Monument, and over the Ellipse at the White House. From where she sat she knew the distance was just over a mile.

  She'd all but written Evan Makley out of her customer database since he'd risen to his
current heights working for the only politician she'd ever admired. Rebecca Rudd had aggressively moved up the political ladder with a style and grace that reflected well on women. Her No-Bull platform seemed ambitious yet she was able to achieve most of her campaign promises within the first two years of office. Rudd was the model for women nationwide. The first female President of the United States. Even Love, a woman who spent most of her life on the wrong side of the law, appreciated the job Rebecca Rudd had done.

  Slightly to her right and across the tidal basin, dozens of paddleboats were tied to the dock, waiting to be rented. The shore lined with cherry trees, which in springtime would be covered in blossoms. She wondered what business Makley could have with her. Special care must be taken this time, no slip-ups.

  In her peripheral vision she saw someone moving on her left—Makley. She looked at her watch, 9:45. Right on time. Makley sat down on the bench at the opposite end from Love. Neither said anything for several minutes.

  "Evan, I must say I was surprised to get your submission." She looked straight ahead, never turning to face him. Nor would he toward her. Love was very strict about that rule. "How might Love's Desperate Desires be of assistance?"

  Makley reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter-sized envelope and placed it between them on the bench. "I have a problem."

  "You wouldn't be here if you didn't." She put her hands together and interlocked her fingers making a steeple with her index fingers. "My rates have gone up. Inflation is making it harder to keep up with the Joneses."

  "How much?"

  "Double." Love knew if Makley or the President were in trouble, he'd readily pay her price.

  "You can't be serious. That's outrageous." Makley protested.

  "Take it or leave it Evan. I agreed to this as a favor for you as a repeat customer."

  Makley was silent for a few seconds. "Same arrangements as before?"

  "Only the rate changed. Procedure is still the same. Half now. The rest at consummation."

  "No screw ups, okay? Too much at stake."

  She ignored his remark. "Any special instructions?"

  "To start with, identify the source with a full background check." Makley pushed the envelope toward the center of the bench. "I'll let you know what I need after that."

  "Anything else?"

  Makley didn't speak at first. "Can you make this a priority?"

  "It'll cost you another 25%."

  "Agreed." Makley stood and walked off.

  Love opened the envelope and started skimming the contents. Her face felt flush with anger like the raging torrent of a flooding river. Whoever was doing this had to be stopped. She could never allow this to surface and ruin Rebecca Rudd.

  Unless.

  She smiled. Sometimes Evan Makley could be so naïve. Knowledge of this, especially if she found it to be true, was more dangerous in her hands than Makley might realize.

  This could be her proverbial ace in the hole.

  A very real 'get out of jail' card.

  For life.

  13

  It was the second late-night clandestine visit to the White House in as many weeks. Jake found himself sitting in the same seat in the Executive Conference Room in the West Wing of the White House. Francesca sat next to him. This time they were alone, Elmore Wiley was at his factory in El Paso and couldn't attend the meeting.

  President Rebecca Rudd opened the door and whisked into the room, motioning for Jake and Francesca to remain seated. Evan Makley followed, closing the door behind him. He had two manila folders in his hand.

  "Mr. Pendleton, Ms. Catanzaro. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope I didn't take you away from anything."

  Jake and Francesca looked at each other. "No ma'am. Not at all." Francesca said.

  Jake felt the President knew she'd interrupted his vacation with Kyli but assumed she wouldn't have done it without a good reason.

  "The reason I summoned you two here is because a situation has developed that needs to be handled delicately and discretely." Rudd paused. "By the way, I appreciate the manner in which you two handled my previous favor. I owe you a debt I can never acknowledge."

  "Yes, ma'am. It's our honor to serve you," Jake said.

  "This problem has the potential to create a scathing crisis. Minority and equal rights issues have always been important to me. It's something I want to continue to protect in the same manner with which I've approached it since the election. The only way to completely eliminate discrimination is to disallow it at every level." Rudd pulled out a chair and sat down. "Regardless of heritage, race, religious affiliation, or gender, nobody…I repeat nobody, gets preferential treatment. I will not tolerate it on any level."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm aware of the progress you've made developing a clear non-discrimination policy," Jake said. "With all due respect, I don't see how a discrimination issue should involve us."

  "I'm getting to that." Rudd motioned to Makley. "Evan will you start the slideshow, please?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Makley started flipping switches on the same console that the President used in the previous meeting.

  "Another thing I won't tolerate is hate crimes." She pointed to the ceiling. "Evan, the lights please."

  Makley dimmed the lights and started the slideshow. Pictures of a disturbed gravesite flashed across the screen.

  "This is Arlington National Cemetery. These pictures were taken by the Old Guard last week. After the investigation, the contents of this grave were restored to original condition and the remains reinterred. Next group please, Evan."

  More of the same type of pictures but of a different cemetery.

  "This is Andersonville National Cemetery in Georgia. This happened two days ago." Rudd pointed to the pictures. "Both grave sites have several things in common. First, both soldiers died in combat. Both graves were disturbed but nothing appears to have been taken. It was as if someone was looking for something but didn't find what they wanted. Both soldiers died in World War II in Germany, 1944 and 1945, respectively. But the most disturbing thing is both soldiers were black."

  "And you think this is some sort of hate crime?" Francesca asked.

  "Honestly, I don't know if it is or it isn't, but the media would have a field day with it and make it look like hate crimes. For now I have this under wraps so I want you two to get to the bottom of it. Evan will give you access to all the information we've accumulated thus far. I've already spoken to Elmore, he assured me this would be your only assignment until it is resolved."

  Evan Makley handed Jake and Francesca each a folder. "The information in the folders is identical. Please note your contact information at both Arlington and Andersonville. They are expecting you and have been told to assist you in any way they can. Basically, they're at your disposal," Makley said.

  President Rebecca Rudd stood abruptly obliging Jake and Francesca to do the same. "Mr. Pendleton, Ms. Catanzaro, call Evan with daily updates please. His direct line is in your package."

  "Yes, ma'am." They both said in unison.

  The President left the room followed by Evan Makley.

  Jake turned to Francesca. "I hope you like cemeteries because it looks we'll be hanging out in them for awhile."

  "I hate them. Cemeteries give me the creeps." She lowered her voice. "Just like Evan Makley."

  14

  Jake assessed the young soldier sitting at the table when he and Francesca arrived at Arlington National Cemetery. It was early and Jake had already read the file on Sergeant Blaine Roberts over breakfast. The young soldier had dark hair, brown eyes, Jake's size, 5' 10", 190 pounds and young. Jake thought he looked early twenties even though the file said nineteen.

  Evan Mackley had made arrangements for a private meeting at the end of Roberts shift. The graveyard shift, literally, Jake thought. The young soldier was dressed in blue jeans, New Balance running shoes, and a green t-shirt with "Go Army" printed on front.

  Roberts jumped to attention when they entered. "Sir. Ma'a
m."

  "At ease, Sergeant," Jake said. "We're civilians, no need for military protocol here."

  "Sir." Roberts faced forward still at attention. "I was told you were a Naval Officer and served under Admiral Scott Bentley at the Pentagon and that I was to extend proper courtesy, Sir."

  "Sergeant, that was a long time ago. I'm on my third employer since the Navy."

  "Yes sir. All impressive, sir."

  "Very well, Sergeant." Jake pointed to two chairs. He and Francesca sat down. "Please sit down now Sergeant or this will take a very long time. We will dispense with the formalities and protocol for the purpose of this interview. Is that understood?"

  Roberts sat down. "Understood, sir."

  "This is Francesca Catanzaro. She and I are partners on this investigation. I don't know how much you've been briefed but this incident garnered the attention of some major movers and shakers in D.C. I know you've been up all night so we'll try to keep this brief."

  "I'm fine, sir."

  Jake opened his folder and pulled out a notepad and placed it on the table in front of him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He pointed to a briefing sheet from the folder. "It says here you're assigned to a mission called Task Force Christman. I'm not familiar with the mission, can you brief us on it?"

  The next ten minutes were spent in a question and answer about the purpose of the mission mandated by Congress to validate each plot in the cemetery. Jake could tell the young soldier was nervous in the beginning but the more he spoke about his job the more at ease he became.

  "Before each shift," Francesca asked, "do you get some sort of briefing?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Roberts said. "We have a mission brief at 2100 hours every night which lasts about thirty minutes. Our assignments are made then."

  "If there is a funeral scheduled for the next morning, wouldn't the grave be dug the day before?" She asked.