Christa Barnett flipped on the bathroom light. "Looks clean in here." She walked over to a bed and pulled down the sheets. "Beds are clean. Linen's been changed. So it ain't the Hilton, big deal. It's only for a couple of nights."
"Thieves can't be choosey, right?" Regan laughed.
"Let's go eat, I'm starving." Christa walked toward the door.
She pulled out her cell phone. "Let me try calling Sam again, then we'll go." She dialed the number and let it ring. When Connors voice mail answered, she hung up.
"Guess she's still pissed, huh?" Christa said. "She's acting kind of childish, don't you think?"
"I guess so. It's not like her to give me the silent treatment for this long." Ashley Regan couldn't imagine why Sam still wouldn't answer. They'd had spats in the past but none had ever lasted more than a day or two.
* * *
Jake pushed the backpack strap higher on his right shoulder while he waited for Francesca to authenticate her identity to gain entrance into the Commonwealth Consultants building from the subterranean parking garage. After she entered, it was his turn. Only one at a time was allowed through the door. Those were Wiley's security rules and the guards, all former Special Forces, got upset if the rules weren't obeyed.
The seven-story, all-glass building in Fairfax, Virginia was deceptive in appearance since the only windows in the entire building were in the top-floor penthouse suite. Behind the exterior glass veneer were two steel-reinforced solid concrete walls. Between each wall a two-inch lead lining. No signals got in. No signals got out. Even the penthouse had lead-lined walls and lead infused glass windows. If anyone knew how to shield a building, it was Elmore Wiley.
Jake entered the same 24-character password into the keypad followed by a thumbprint on the scanner. The door clicked and he entered the lobby through an enhanced body-screening unit. The unit didn't screen for weapons, since weapons weren't unusual at Commonwealth. Its technology was more sophisticated. The unit sniffed for explosives and scanned for electronic eavesdropping devices on everyone and everything that entered the building.
The lobby was a small fifteen-foot square room with three armed guards. Mounted on the wall next to the steel door was a retina scan unit. After passing the retina scan, Wiley's facial recognition software confirmed his identity and allowed Jake passage into the operations center where he found Francesca waiting. He wondered if all the security measures weren't overkill but, he figured, in Wiley's line of business there was no such thing as being too careful. One security breach and his business could evaporate overnight.
They took the elevator to the fourth floor and repeated the same drill without the guards and scanner. Required here was the same 24-digit password and thumbprint—opposite thumb than before—an added layer of security for this most sensitive area of Wiley's business. Inside George Fontaine monitored video feeds from Iran, Yemen, and Syria.
"Looks like Commonwealth might get involved in the Middle East. The Fellowship wants to topple a couple of governments but doesn't want us to send any assets. Too volatile, the Council said." Fontaine never looked away from the screens. "Jake, Mr. Wiley is in the penthouse. Said he's going to the meeting with you tonight."
"George, I need access to the mainframe for a couple of hours. Can you plug me in?" Jake pulled off the backpack, unzipped the top. "There has to be a common denominator with all these incidents and I really need to find something before the meeting tonight."
"Those arrangements have already been made." Fontaine said. "Wiley had me route an access terminal to the penthouse. He wants you and Francesca up there at eight o'clock."
"At eight? That's less than ten minutes from now."
"Yup." Fontaine shrugged his shoulders. "Take it up with the old man. I'm just the messenger."
"I'll let him know we're here." Francesca walked to the far wall and picked up the phone.
"How about doing me a favor while I'm up there?" Jake asked.
"I'll do it if you tell me your secret."
"What are you talking about?"
Fontaine lowered his voice and whispered to Jake. "I want to know how you always end up with good looking women around you. First Kyli. And now Francesca."
"Francesca's my partner." Jake leaned down next to Fontaine's ear. "How the hell did you know about Kyli?"
"Common knowledge around here. The boss's granddaughter dating an emissary is water cooler gossip." Fontaine explained. "News travels fast. Just keep in mind the consequences."
"What consequences?"
Francesca walked up next to Jake. "Wiley wants us upstairs now."
"Some guys have all the luck." Fontaine quipped.
"What's he talking about?" Francesca asked.
"Nothing." Jake scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Here's the address of the cemetery in Charleston. The traffic signal at the entrance has surveillance cameras. Since there's only one way in and out of the graveyard after hours, I thought we might get lucky and find our intruder."
"If I can hack into Charleston's traffic control center," Fontaine turned to face Jake. He took the paper. "Then I'll let you know what I find before you leave."
Two minutes later Jake and Francesca entered the penthouse and found Wiley waiting for them on the couch watching CNN and Fox on a split screen TV.
"Good, you're here." Wiley stood, pushed up his glasses, and made his trademark hair swipe. He walked over and shook Francesca's hand followed by Jake's. He pointed to a small office with a computer terminal on the desk. "Jake, you can get to work while I talk to Francesca."
The next ninety minutes passed by faster than he expected. He thought he heard the elevator a couple of times but was so entrenched in his work that he never turned around. After he was finished, he printed two copies of his report and logged off the computer.
Jake found Wiley sitting alone with a folder in his hand. "Where's Francesca?"
"I gave her another assignment. You won't need her on this one." Wiley raised the folder in the air. "George brought this up here for you. He said you'd know what to do with it."
Jake took the folder and scanned its contents. Good news and bad news. Which seemed to be the way this entire puzzle had been. Two steps forward, one step back. Jake looked at his watch. "Sir. We should get going."
"Something has come up that I must personally attend to. You'll be meeting with the President alone in the Oval Office." Wiley paused. It was apparent to Jake the Old Man was letting his news reach full impact. "Welcome to the big leagues, Jake. Only a handful of people ever get that opportunity."
21
Jake cleared the front gate of the White House and followed the Secret Service agent to the Oval Office. The agent opened the door and followed Jake inside instructing him where to sit down. The room was more elaborate than he'd envisioned. A large rug with the sunburst pattern emanating from the Presidential Seal in the center dominated the room. There were three large south facing windows behind the President's desk and a fireplace on the north wall. Each President decorated the Oval Office to suit his, or now, her taste. President Rebecca Rudd, being the first female President in history, adorned the walls with portraits of famous women. Mother Theresa and Rosa Parks were the first to catch his eye.
He didn't have to wait long before President Rebecca Rudd walked into the room and dismissed the agent. He was expecting Chief of Staff, Evan Makley, to accompany her but he was wrong. When Wiley said he was meeting with the President alone, he meant alone. She walked straight to him and shook his hand, cupping her left hand over the top. He felt the warmth in her hands. Her face reflected the stress of the job. Dark circles and puffiness around her eyes a result of long hours laboring over endless mounds of paperwork. The office took its toll on every President, aging them years beyond their time.
She moved over to her desk and motioned for Jake to take the chair next to the desk. "Do you know the history of this desk?" She asked.
"Yes, ma'am. That is if National Treasure got it right."
"Yes, ma'am, she does. Unfortunately she was called out at the last minute."
"That's a shame. You two make a good team." Rudd held out an open palm. "What have you come up with on Project Resurrection?"
"I'm afraid not much. A lot of information that doesn't seem to lead anywhere." Jake opened his backpack and pulled a copy of his report and handed it to the President. "I've been trying to draw a nexus between all the grave disturbances, but just when I think the evidence starts to connect, new evidence comes along that invalidates my theories."
"For instance?" Rudd asked.
"To start with." Jake spread out the reports of four cemetery intrusions on the President's desk. "All these, which include Arlington and Andersonville were black soldiers killed in Germany during World War II. None of the bodies were disturbed. In fact, the glass seals were never broken. Whoever did this was very careful to not leave behind any evidence at all. No fingerprints, footprints, tire tracks. Nothing. On the surface, it looks like all they did was open the casket out of morbid curiosity."
"And below the surface?"
"If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to come back to that later."
"I don't mind." Rudd scribbled something on a notepad.
"The other three we investigated are a different story. The caskets were opened, the seals broken, and the body disturbed, but nothing was taken. All of these caskets belonged to white males." The President looked at him when he said this. "The sheriff in Hiawassee chalked it up to a teenage prank and had the body reinterred before we got there. Any evidence to suggest who might have done it was inadvertently destroyed."
Jake pointed to the next report. "The sheriff in Dahlonega conducted a thorough investigation. The entire scene was marked off and sealed. A deputy on night patrol saw a car in the cemetery and went in to investigate. The car sped off. The deputy assumed he'd just interrupted some teenagers making out in the car and didn't pursue them. When he saw the damage to the grave, it was too late to catch whomever was in the car."
Jake gingerly pushed some photos in front of Rudd. "Apparently the deputy startled our grave robbers and we got our first real piece of evidence. Footprints. And what we found is that we have two perpetrators. The footprints appear to be those of women."
Rudd looked up. "Women? Interesting."
"After Charleston, I realized we had a pattern. Only white soldiers' remains were being disturbed. I have no idea yet what that means. It just seems to be the pattern. At the Charleston cemetery, the glass seal on the casket was busted with something like a sledgehammer and the body moved. But, as with every incident, nothing seems to have been taken from any casket."
"So, what's the point?" Rudd asked. "Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing."
"I've heard that before." Jake pushed a picture of a license plate in front of the President.
"What's this?"
"My first real lead…or at least what I thought was a lead." Jake paused. "When Francesca and I went to the cemetery earlier today, I noticed a traffic cam mounted on the signal at the entrance to the cemetery. We accessed the video from the night of the break-in and this is the only vehicle that entered all night. It was in the cemetery for almost thirty minutes and then left."
"Excuse me," Rudd interrupted, "but where is this location?"
"Charleston. Not sure if this is relative, but the car belongs to a rental car company and was rented to a local woman named Ashley Regan. We are trying to track down her car now without alerting law enforcement. But the rental car being in the cemetery may not mean anything."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because Ashley Regan's parents are buried in that cemetery. Which gives her a legitimate reason to be there. The questions needing answers are why the late hour visit and why the rental car?"
"Maybe you should have a talk with this woman just in case."
"Yes, ma'am. I plan to pay her a visit very soon."
Rudd tapped her finger on the scribble she made earlier. "So, if this is not racially motivated," Rudd gave him a stern look, "what is your gut feeling?"
Jake took a deep breath. He remembered what Wiley told him earlier and tried to choose his words carefully. "The evidence doesn't point toward anything racial. So far we have four black and three white World War II soldiers' caskets that have been broken into. I don't see why the Army can't take over from here."
"But you think there is something else, don't you? Maybe something bigger."
"I haven't had enough time to thoroughly analyze all the data but I did find some things in common with all the break-ins." He waited for her to acknowledge him to continue which she did with a nod of the head. "First, all were soldiers who died in World War II in Germany. So far all the casualties were from 1944 or 1945. Second, every soldier's body was mutilated and in each instance the ceremony was closed casket. Third, they were all buried in the same model casket by the same company. The Springfield Metallic Casket Company, which went out of business in 1974. Fourth and probably the most significant is that every soldier whose casket had been disturbed was packed, crated, and shipped straight through to their destination by the same person. Major Don Adams of the United States Army."
"Interesting." Rudd paused. "Where is Major Adams now?"
"Don't know." Jake noticed the puzzled look on the President's face. "According to Army records, Major Adams disappeared during a blizzard in 1946. He was stationed at the commandeered resort at the summit of Zugspitze on the Austrian/German border."
Rudd was silent for an awkwardly long few seconds. "Do you have any hunches?"
"Only guesses. Just a hypothesis at this point."
"I'd really like to hear your thoughts. Please, share."
Jake paused. The intensity of President Rudd's blue-eyed stare made him nervous. He was sitting in the Oval Office, face to face with the most powerful person in the world. And she had asked him for his advice. "I think Major Adams put something in these caskets and shipped them here and now someone is finally getting around to retrieving them."
Rudd leaned back in her chair for the first time. "Sounds a little far-fetched." She steepled her hands beneath her chin. "But, let's suppose for a minute that you are correct. How old would Major Adams be now?"
"In his nineties."
"A little old to be running around robbing graves, don't you think?" Her tone sounded maternal and somewhat condescending. Both of which struck a slight blow to his ego. "And, if he were still alive, why would he wait until now to retrieve whatever he secreted away?"
"Like I said, ma'am, it's only a hypothesis. I have nothing to back it up."
Rudd smiled. "I want you to find the woman in Charleston and rule her involvement in or out. Wiley has bragged about your intuition. How long do you need to thoroughly analyze what you know so far?"
"At this point, I'm not sure. A few days. Maybe as long as a week."
"Jake, always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other."
"Yes, ma'am. I believe Lincoln once said something like that."
Rudd smiled. "He said exactly that."
Rudd opened her desk and pulled out a plain white business card.
She turned the card over and wrote a phone number on the back. She held it out toward him. "Jake, this is my personal cell phone number. Only a handful of people have this number. Now you do too. It goes without saying that you are not to share it with anyone. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am." He took the card from her. In raised gold letters centered in the middle of the card it read:
Rebecca K. Rudd
President of the United States
He flipped it over, and read the number. He quickly handed it back to her. "I won't need to keep the card."
She asked and he repeated the number verbatim.
"Jake, Elmore told me, that if I needed it, you were at my disposal. I want you on this as my personal…what's the term Mr. Wiley uses…?"
"Emissary?"
"Yes, Jake. Emissary. For the foreseeable future anyway, I'll need your services. But most of all, I need your allegiance." Rudd placed everything Jake had given her in a folder and stood. "Check in with me personally every night at 2300 hours Eastern time with a progress report. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Rudd pressed a button and the Secret Service agent opened the door. "Max will escort you to the gate."
* * *
President Rebecca Rudd watched the young man leave the Oval Office. As her Secret Service agent closed the door, the door behind her opened and an elderly man walked in.
"Do you think he knows I'm sending him into a den of lions?" Rudd never took her eyes off the door where Jake Pendleton exited.
"No, Rebecca, he doesn't."
She looked at the wise old man. Her first encounter with him was when she was Secretary of State for her predecessor. She found him and his organization to be a resource she could call on to accomplish certain agendas that could not be handled through diplomatic channels. On more than one occasion she had covered the previous President's ass by utilizing the services of the man in front of her.
"I'm not sure I understand why you couldn't have been in here while Mr. Pendleton gave me his briefing," Rudd said.
He paused. "Call it an employee evaluation," he finally said. "If you and I are going to enter into a future arrangement, then I need to be sure Jake is going to meet my lofty expectations at this level."
"And?" Rudd asked. "Are you satisfied?"
"As usual, Mr. Pendleton exceeded my expectations."
"Do you think it's fair of me to put Mr. Pendleton in such a potentially uncompromising position?" She asked.
"Jake adapts quickly to change. He'll be fine."
"Ultimately he'll be faced with a dilemma. Can I trust him to make the right decision?"
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