More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3)

by Shirley Hailstock

  He nodded. "My dad retired last year. He was a pharmacist.''

  "And your mom?"

  "She's a lawyer. She still practices, but only takes cases that interest her."

  Morgan smiled. "That's wonderful. I thought about that once."

  "Being a lawyer?"

  She shrugged. "Being helpful," she paused. "What about brothers? Sisters? Do you have any?"

  "Four sisters. They're all married with children."

  "That's nice." This time her smile had sadness to it. "You must have wonderful holiday reunions."

  Jack only nodded. For reasons he knew would conjure up her own poor memories of holidays, he refrained from giving her details of the Christmases he'd spent with his family, the summer picnics or family ski trips. Jack's life of late had been all jungle and farce. He'd forgotten the happy times, put them away to deal with day-to-day needs, but they were there, waiting behind a door he only need open to remember and relive.

  Morgan's doors to the past were locked, entombing memories she fought to hide. He doubted any of them would make her smile.

  "Tell me about Jack?" Morgan broke into his thoughts.

  "What?"

  She looked up. Her brown eyes were huge and filled with wonder.

  "You know everything about me. I only know that you exercise, eat salads instead of junk food, neatly tuck the torn-off tops of sugar packets inside the bottoms before throwing them away.'' She glanced at the sugar packet. His eyes followed her lead. "I know"—she hesitated suggestively—"almost nothing else." Stretching her leg toward him, she ran her toe up his leg. "So tell me about Jack."

  Jack hesitated. He couldn't help it. It was both habit and ingrained teaching. He didn't talk about himself. Often he turned the conversation around to gain information from the other person, but today he was going to tell Morgan what she wanted to know.

  "My childhood was normal. I did all the things children do, summer camp, winter sports, braces on my teeth, extremely shy of girls."

  Morgan laughed. She turned sideways, pulling her legs up and banding her knees with her arms. Jack liked the way her hair fell around her face. She looked as if she was a child and he was telling her a fascinating story.

  "Our family gatherings were always happy," he continued. "We get together during the holidays and I attend when I can."

  "How did you become interested in swimming?"

  "When I was eight my parents put a pool in our yard and I spent all my free time in it. I joined the swim team in high school and chose my university because it had a first-class team. While in college I was asked to join the Olympic team."

  "As a coach?"

  He shook his head. "As a competitor." He looked at her wide wonderful eyes. He wondered why he'd never noticed how expressive they were.

  "I would have been in high school then," Morgan added.

  "I turned it down."

  "You did!" She nearly sat up straight.

  "Not immediately. I went to the training camp." He told her the story of his experience at the camp. And his fateful dinner with his recruiter. "They offered me a job."

  "But you were only in college," she protested.

  "I remained in college, but I turned down going to the Olympics." Jack had always wondered what he would have done if he'd made the other decision. During lonely nights in the jungles or while hiding in the hot sands of some foreign country, he had thoughts of how different his life might be if he'd turned down the CIA and gone on to try for the gold medal.

  Morgan, ironically, had made the same decision. She'd done exactly what he did, but her choice took her to the limelight, center stage of the world. Not only did she complete her mission, however bad the circumstances, but she went on to show the world that she was championship material. Jack admired her for that Even the tears she cried when it was over didn't take away from the strength of purpose she needed to do what she had done. He wasn't sure his masculine and supposed greater physical strength could have matched hers if he'd been in the same position.

  "When I graduated I went to work for the police department in Chicago. That's where I met Jacob Winston."

  "Did he recruit you?"

  "Jacob works for the FBI. He didn't recruit me. He left Chicago for Washington a few months after I joined the force. We had become friends and have stayed that way." Jack didn't elaborate on who had actually approached him. It was a story he didn't tell. Not even his family knew how he'd gone from police officer to Middle East expert. Somehow he wanted Morgan to know the truth.

  "I stayed with the department two years. The city changed drastically in some areas. A huge number of Koreans escaping oppression in their own country settled in an area called Little Korea. It was my beat. I picked up the language enough to communicate with the locals. Then people started dying in that area. A serial killer targeted Koreans. The city was in an uproar to find the killer. Factions split along racial lines and the newspapers were increasing circulation with stories on the ineptitude of the police force or its lack of concern due to racial ethnicities."

  "I remember that," Morgan said. "It was my first year in college. There was a Chinese student in my dormitory. She did some modeling to pay her tuition. So many people mistook her for Korean. They asked her a lot of embarrassingly racist questions."

  "I was assigned to the detective in charge because of my knowledge of the language and my friendship with some of the people. We found the killer, the husband of one of the victims. He was trying to cover up the death of his wife by killing other innocent people."

  "How did that get you into the CIA?"

  "Shortly after the trial ended I took a few days off. I went up into Michigan. I was to meet some friends and we were going skiing. Instead of meeting them, a man named Brian Ashleigh was waiting for me at the cabin we'd rented. He laid out the plan for me to join a special forces group of the CIA and I've been there ever since. When Brian moved I moved. He's the director now. I still work for him, although indirectly. I report to Forrest Washington, director of anti-terrorist activities in the Middle East."

  "How did you end up a swim coach?"

  "It was a cover. They assigned me because of my former status and because I'd been tapped by the Olympic team. If you failed to get Hart out, we were your backup. We were going in even if we had to storm the place."

  "The information he had must have been sterling for so much effort to go into his rescue."

  Jack knew no one had ever told her the complete truth of what Hart actually had in his head. Jack couldn't tell her now either. It was still classified information.

  "It was," he said, without committing anything.

  "I guess it's lucky we got him out. Look at where he is now."

  ***

  Brian Ashleigh stared at footage he'd seen hundreds of times. He didn't see the need to go over it again, but Jacob had been excited when he called. Brian leaned back in the rose velvet chair at CIA headquarters. His eyes were heavy and he wanted to go home, but he watched the flickering image of Morgan Kirkwood singing the national anthem.

  "I don't see anything I haven't seen before, Jacob." He rubbed his eyes. "I can watch this on the nightly news. I don't need to use this room to see it."

  "That's right, Brian. We've seen it so much we don't see what's there. Look at her hands."

  The film started again. Brian stared at the screen. Morgan went through the routine prior to her last one. It was on the floor. She moved quickly and competently. Brian knew this routine well enough to perform it himself, but he gave it his undivided attention, taking special note of her hands. When she finished the minute-and-a-half exercise summary and raised her hands to salute the judge, there was nothing special about them. They had a little chalk on the palms, but nothing extra. No cuts or bruises. Then the film moved to her last routine. She ran toward the beam and did the now-famous somersault with her special precision landing onto the apparatus. Since that time, every gymnast in the world tried to duplicate that same action.

/>   Brian leaned forward, studying her hands with new resolve. Something about her right hand was different, but she kept moving it. Then the routine ended. The sound of the crowd exploded in the room, but Brian could clearly see she wore a ring. The spliced film went on to the singing sequence. Morgan clutched the roses to her breasts as she sang. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Brian recognized the photo that had made worldwide news. Only this time he could clearly see the ring on Morgan Kirkwood's finger, an addition that had not been there during the floor exercise, but had appeared for her next routine.

  "That's got to be it," Brian stated aloud, coming out of his chair as if the small auditorium had just been filled with flying bullets. "I want that segment of the film blown up in detail."

  "I've already had that done," Jacob told him. "The ring is that of a Korean emperor. If it's not a reproduction, it's extremely expensive and no one in Korea would have given it up voluntarily. According to the report I've received, the ring was lost. The president gave it to his wife on their wedding date. It's assumed the ring was stolen."

  "How did Ms. Kirkwood come to have it?"

  "I don't know."

  "She didn't have it going into the prison," Brian said. "Directly after getting Lewiston out she was taken back to the Olympic Pavilion. She had to have gotten it somewhere between the two. The only stop she made was at the prison."

  "Why would such an item be in the prison?" Brian asked.

  "I guess that's the next question in the riddle."

  "Riddle?"

  "Brian, why is Morgan Kirkwood such an important person?"

  "She isn't."

  Jacob stretched his long legs out in front of him and, resting his elbows on the chair arms, and threaded his fingers together. "I sat in a conference room with the two top people responsible for defending the laws of the United States, discussing a woman who shouldn't have as much clout as that kind of meeting would require. Now who is she?"

  Brian glanced at the control room and both he and Jacob left. They didn't speak on the way to Brian's office. Inside, Brian closed the door. Both men sat in front of the desk.

  "We thought we had everything under control before we sent Ms. Kirkwood into the prison. In truth, nothing went right from the moment she entered the facility. The blueprints we'd received had never been updated. New walls existed that weren't in the plans. Surveillance equipment had been installed that was unknown to us. She went in blind."

  "I'm sure that kind of thing has happened before. It doesn't make her a top priority for two phases of law enforcement twelve years after the fact," Jacob commented.

  Brian sighed. He knew Jacob was thorough and that he was extremely perceptive. He'd often wanted him on his team, but Jacob's allegiance to his job and to Clarence Christopher were deeply rooted.

  "She's the granddaughter of a very powerful man," Ashleigh said.

  "I thought the report said she had no family. That she was adopted as a homeless child."

  "It does," Brian admitted. "We didn't find out until she was well into her training."

  "Does she know?"

  Brian shook his head. "Neither does her grandfather, but we have to keep her safe nevertheless."

  Brian wondered if Jacob was quick enough to know that protecting her under the auspices of the CIA meant under orders to do so.

  "How come her mother never told her?" Jacob asked.

  "We don't know. She was left alone as a child. She could have been too young to remember. When she came to work for us she was a legal adult."

  Jacob nodded.

  "Who's her grandfather?"

  Brian wasn't required to reveal that. It wasn't germane to finding her or to keeping her safe. Her grandfather's ignorance of her existence and Ms. Kirkwood's ignorance negated any reason to reveal the association. But Jacob had come to him with the ring. It was the only link they had and it gave him more information than they'd received since Jack disappeared in St. Louis.

  "Supreme Court Justice, the Honorable Judge Angus Lewiston."

  "Hart Lewiston's father! Morgan Kirkwood had gone into a prison and saved the life of her own uncle and neither of them knew it?"

  "Hart Lewiston is not her uncle," Ashleigh corrected.

  "He's her father?" Jacob's face showed more surprise than Brian Ashleigh had ever seen him display.

  "If Hart Lewiston wins the election, Morgan Kirkwood becomes the First Daughter."

  CHAPTER 10

  Ohio Route 821 intersected Interstate 77 at Exit 6. Jack brought the SUV to a stop at the highway entrance. He waited longer than necessary at the road sign. Morgan expected him to consult the cache of maps he'd stored in the pocket next to the driver's door or two. She heard no paper rattling and Jack made no move either. She looked right and left before turning to face him, a questioning frown on her face.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "South leads to Kentucky and my parents in Lexington. East leads to Clarksburg, West Virginia, the closest FBI office." Morgan was reluctant to go to the FBI. Instinct told her something was wrong. The road between here and there had few places to hide. If they got into trouble, there would be nowhere to go. On the other hand she didn't want to do anything that might put his parents in jeopardy. Morgan knew Jack had never laid his problems at their door.

  "Which way are we going?"

  Jack hugged his arms around the steering wheel and looked her way. "It's your call."

  Morgan's lips turned up in the corners, but she didn't say anything. She looked at the road, first left, then right. Jack had once told her she had no say in what he decided.

  She wanted to choose Lexington. She would have if their lives were normal. If they were two lovers sightseeing in mountainous beauty she would love to meet his family. She wanted to see his parents, see if she could see Jack in their faces. She wanted to meet his sisters and their children, but this wasn't a normal situation. They weren't vacationers out for a good time.

  "West Virginia," she said after a moment.

  Jack made no protest, no comment on her decision. He headed up the entry ramp. Pulling into the light flow of traffic, he turned the radio on. Static poured out loudly. Turning the volume lower he pressed the Scan key. The first station the electronic device found was a country station. Bonnie Raitt's whiskey-hoarse voice sang "Something to Talk About." Morgan usually sang along, even going so far as to dance around her kitchen when this song played. Today she sat still.

  She sat with her private thoughts for a long time. Jack was quiet too. Morgan wondered what he was thinking. After last night when the two of them had made love with such abandon, she wondered if he regretted it. When she got to the FBI what would happen? She knew she couldn't say she wanted to go to Kentucky. She wanted to go to the ends of the earth as long as the two of them could go there together.

  "Who's going to meet us at the FBI?" she suddenly blurted out.

  "Brian Ashleigh and Jacob Winston."

  "Have you talked to them?" She swallowed hard as if the office was only a mile away and they'd be parting within the hour.

  "No," he said.

  How could they have shared last night and he turn her over today as if she were some rag doll? Didn't last night mean anything, or this morning? He was there when she opened her eyes and she had the feeling he'd been watching her for some time. Her hair was still wet from the pond she'd used to wash up. The water was cold to touch, but she submerged her body in it. She needed to defuse the temperature gauge that Jack had the ability to elevate. The pond was clear and beautiful and she suddenly wanted a bath.

  She felt great when she returned to the vehicle, and the way Jack had looked at her, she thought they were on the right road. That the two of them would have a future together. It had been a long time since she thought of a future, and in her circumstances it was almost laughable to think that the two of them could have anything together.

  "Jack, take the next exit." Morgan sat forward suddenly and pointed.

  "What?" His foot was
already on the brake and the SUV was slowing.

  "Go toward Belpre."

  "Why?"

  "We can take Route 14 from there."

  "Where does that lead?"

  The green and white sign said they were one mile from the exit.

  "We're going to get the ring," Morgan told him. "It's what you've wanted all along. I told them about everything I saw and did. The ring and the papers are the only things I held back. That's what I took from the Korean jail. The pieces I never gave to the CIA."

  Jack took the exit when it came up. He turned the SUV south and drove until he saw the junction for Route 14.

  "The town is called Clay," she informed him. "It's small and sits near the Elk River."

  "This is where you hid the ring?"

  "It's where it's hidden. I was wearing it during the final rotation of the competition. During the interviews I kept my hands under the desk."

  When she saw reruns of that film, she looked nervous. Of course, she was nervous, and it hid the fact that she was hiding her hands.

  "I thought you'd never been in this part of the country."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "The way you act. The way you look at it."

  "I've been a lot of places," she told him. Morgan understood what he meant. It was the wonder element. She'd seen it on her own face and that of other competitors when they went to competitions and then got to see cities they hadn't been to before. It was the wide-eyed wonder look. Morgan knew she had it. The land was beautiful and the moonlight last night had been breathtaking. She couldn't help seeing beauty in the things around her, and Jack was a contributor to that beauty. Her eyes were open a little wider today and she looked at the world as birds flying in the sky and corn waving along the road. It wasn't just scenery blurring past them, life moving at the speed of light, it was specific. She wanted to see every blade of grass and listen to the cry of the birds performing their own acrobatics.

  "I've been to Clay once. I only stayed for one night."

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck, stretching tired muscles. "I'm not even going to try to figure this out. Why don't you just tell me the story."