More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "Clarence, will you help me?"

  "Hart, can't we wait until after the election?'' Elliott asked.

  "He's right, Hart. You're vying for the highest office in this country, the most powerful position in the free world. News that you have an illegitimate child will make headlines in every newspaper in America. To discover she's a former Olympic champion will further scar you. Your opposition will paint you as an adulterer, an unfit father, a philanderer, any label they can think of. They'll make Carla a martyr for sticking by you, if she chooses to do so. If not, they'll champion her for getting away from a man who would abandon his child. This is a no-win situation."

  "The people who sent me this'' —he reached for the folder— "did it for a reason. They aren't going to wait for the results of the election." He turned back to his campaign manager. "And, Elliott, there are some things more important than elections."

  ***

  Clarence Christopher agreed to help Hart Lewiston find his daughter. The trio had left his office only moments ago. He gave them enough time to get down the elevator and exit the building. He could have told Hart immediately where his daughter was. He withheld the information because of Hart's wife and his campaign manager. Hart was a friend and he'd be a good president if he got elected, and until a few days ago Clarence knew no reason why he wouldn't win the election. Hart trusted his campaign manager and Carla an Hart had been married more than twenty years. But Clarence exercised caution. And he needed to pass this tidbit on to Brian Ashleigh.

  It was almost six o'clock in the morning. The sun had been up for an hour, but he knew Brian Ashleigh would be in his office. A widower, Brian had no ties to keep him at home. He lived and breathed his job.

  "Ashleigh," he identified himself into the phone.

  "Good morning, Brian," Clarence said. He didn't identify himself. "I think it's time we had another talk."

  "What's happened?"

  "Hart Lewiston just left my office. He's calling a press conference this morning to acknowledge his daughter."

  "Daughter?" Brian said, but Clarence heard the muffled curse in the background.

  "I'm sure it's no surprise to you who his daughter is."

  "How'd he find out?" Brian didn't deny that Clarence had good information.

  "Someone sent him a file. It's complete, comes with photos and text. I have it on my desk."

  ***

  Saturday was a big day at the camp. Students left and arrived on that day, departures after breakfast, arrivals after lunch. More than 150 campers traded places on Saturdays with the maintenance crews working doubly fast to get the cabins ready for the next group.

  Jan and Allie were busy registering and being useful. Agents Burton and Tilden, whom she'd met the night before, were apparently doing what agents do. Jack was gone when Morgan woke up, but left instructions that her face was too well-known for her to help. Someone was bound to recognize her.

  She stayed in her room, watching old movies on television, while everyone else did something useful. Even Allie, whose face was much more recognizable than her own, was directing traffic, showing people where to park and answering questions. Morgan could hear the shout of recognition whenever anyone put her face with her name. She looked through the balcony window. Allie wore a bright red and white full-body gymnastics suit that looked as if she'd had it painted onto that perfect form.

  The way she looked, Morgan was surprised Jan let her direct traffic. She could cause an accident more than prevent one.

  Turning away, she looked at the bed. It reminded her of Jack. The gun had scared her, frightened her because of what Jack did, the danger he put himself in to save someone else. He was here to protect her the same as he'd done more times than she knew. The enormity of him dying while trying to protect someone else hit her harder than the fact that he'd held a gun to her head.

  When he came to her, all she could think of was losing him. That sometime in the next few days he could be killed trying to keep her alive. She wanted to tell him how frightened it made her, but she didn't. She kissed him and everything seemed to focus. He knew how she felt. He knew she was afraid. He knew she loved him and that her heart was involved in every thought she had about him.

  They made love. Jack was barely able to undress her before their need to be together had them trembling. It was fast, fiery bright and as explosive as nitro. She burst over the edge with him, falling at G-Forces greater than she'd known. Then together they floated back to earth, back to the bedroom floor where their legs were entwined with each other's and their discarded clothes.

  Morgan fell asleep in Jack's arms. She remembered the added warmth of his body as she hugged it to her and went into a dreamland where she and Jack lived blissfully.

  In the morning, he was gone. Allie brought her breakfast and orders that she was to remain where she was. "Or there'll be hell to pay," Allie added her own quote.

  She felt trapped, although getting out of the room and to the ground by means other than the door was a snap. Jack's reasons were sound, even if his delivery method was rough. She'd been with him a while and understood the danger. Allie hadn't had anyone shooting at her, and despite the special effects on the screen, she'd never run through a copse of trees with guys firing guns behind her, or had a bullet graze her leg.

  Morgan crossed the room again to look through the window. The bedroom was spacious, appointed in a feminine pink with green accents. The carpet was a deep green that reminded her of a forest, while the walls were painted apple green. The comforter on the bed was done in pink and the accent pillows a deeper shade of the same color. Morgan passed the sitting area where she'd watch TV. There was a writing desk with a computer and a phone. Morgan had no one to write or call and nothing to access on the computer. All she'd done since she showered and dressed this morning was walk back and forth to the window. It was nearly two o'clock. The arriving campers had shown up in force right after lunch and were just now beginning to thin out. Morgan wished she could go to one of the gyms and practice, but they would be filled with parents looking around or new campers checking out their surroundings. The last movie she had any interest in went off an hour ago and soap operas weren't something she'd ever watched. She switched the station to one of the all news programs. She didn't know if she wanted to see it. It was full of her and what had happened. No one knew, and in the past few days they'd made up things to fill airtime left over from the coming Olympics in St. Louis or the presidential campaign.

  She turned the television back on and started flipping through the stations. Maybe she'd watch something on the Discovery Channel or relive some war on the History Channel.

  There was a short knock on the door and she heard Jack's voice. Dropping the remote control, she ran to the door and pulled it inward.

  "In," she smiled.

  He came in, closing the door behind him. She went into his arms and kissed him. At that moment she felt something was wrong. Behind her the television droned on with the news.

  "What's wrong?"

  Jack crossed behind her and picked up the remote. "In a surprise move. . ." He switched the TV off as the newsman began another story.

  "Jack?" He wasn't looking at her. He flipped the remote over and over in his hand.

  Something was wrong. "What happened?"

  "There was a press conference this morning in Washington. It involves you."

  "Me! How? Did someone come forward about the helicopter?"

  "This is separate from that."

  Morgan went to the sitting area. She walked around him and stood directly in front. "Give it to me straight."

  "Your biological father came forward this morning to acknowledge you. He's trying to find you."

  "I don't understand. What biological father?"

  "The newscast didn't tell everything, but he's sure you're his daughter."

  "Jack, who is it?"

  "The last man on earth you'd expect," he said, turning around and pointing the remote at the television. The
screen came on instantly.

  ". . . this news only came to his attention recently." The story started in the middle. Morgan looked at the photo in the corner. Hart Lewiston smiled his campaign smile from the right side of the screen. "More on this as details become known." The camera shifted to another angle and the anchorman faced the new camera. "We'll have the complete report later in this broadcast."

  The newscaster went on to her story. She looked at Jack, whose face was quizzical. "What?" she asked. She went back to the television listening intently, but there was nothing new there. "Jack—"

  It hit her then. Her head whipped back and forth between the television and Jack. "Hart Lewiston?"

  Jack didn't reply.

  "Jack, Hart Lewiston is not my father. The man's trying to get elected. This has to be a scam. Somehow he's trying to get sympathy for his campaign by coupling himself with me."

  "I called Washington," Jack said.

  "Did you talk to Hart Lewiston?"

  "I talked to Brian Ashleigh and Forrest Washington. They told me the whole story."

  Morgan's anger got the better of her. "Why didn't they tell me? Why didn't you tell me you were going to do it? Shouldn't I have anything to say about my own life? Jack, you can't believe this." She threw her hands in the air. "I can't believe it. What on earth does he have to gain by dropping a story like this? He could lose the election."

  "Exactly," Jack agreed, his voice low. "Which is why it seems he must be telling the truth. Why else would someone in his political place commit this kind of suicide?"

  "I don't know."

  The door burst open and Jan and Allie almost fell inside. "Morgan, are you watching the news?" Both women stopped when they saw the look on her face.

  "It's a lie," she stated. "It's got to be a lie."

  "Morgan, I thought you'd be a Hart Lewiston supporter," Jan said. "He represents all the things you used to say you'd want in a candidate."

  "I am a supporter. I plan to vote for him." The implication of his action hit her then. She turned to Jack, grasping his arms. "Jack, he'll be a target. You've got to stop this."

  "I thought there was no danger." Jan took a step forward.

  Morgan looked at the floor, then up at her friend. "The idea, Jan, was to come and go quickly. I never thought you'd find the package and move it. There is danger. Someone is trying to kill me, but you knew that. I never wanted to or expected to spend the night here. I'll understand if you want us to go."

  "Don't bother," Jan said. "I'll only worry about you somewhere else. At least here I know where you are."

  "What about the school? There are hundreds of kids here."

  "I've got it covered." Jack addressed the point. Jan trained her gaze on Jack. "Agents Tilden and Burton and I have been scouting the place. If anything happens, one of us will be on top of it."

  "I believe you," Jan said. "I have the children of several hundred families at this camp. I can't risk any of them."

  "I promise you we'll be gone minutes after the bank opens on Monday. We can't go before that."

  "We're in danger too, aren't we?'' Allie asked a question, but everyone could hear the statement in it. "Whoever is looking for Morgan knows about us. We were on television. Then the two agents showed up and kept us locked away for two days before bringing us here. This is a control. You expect something might happen?"

  "It might. The people after Morgan want what she has, not particularly her, but I have no doubt they'll kill her to get it."

  "Why didn't they try to kill me?" Jan asked.

  "They may not know you have anything. If they do, you may have saved yourself by putting the package in the bank," Jack answered.

  "I don't understand," Jan said.

  "If anything happens to you, your safety deposit box will be frozen. It could only be opened in front of a U.S. Marshal. Everything inside would be scrutinized. Something these people couldn't afford."

  "What happens now?" Allie asked.

  "We stick with the plan. On Monday, Morgan and I leave. Agents Burton and Tilden will stay a while longer. Within a couple of days everything should be back to normal."

  "You make it sound like we have a cold and it'll go away in a day or two."

  "I don't mean to trivialize it. There is a real danger." Allie moved closer to Jan. "At the moment I think we're safe. I promise if anything changes, we'll get out of here."

  Jan nodded.

  "Jan, I think we should leave now," Morgan suggested. "We can go to a hotel or sleep in the SUV."

  "No," Jan vetoed the idea. "Sticking together is safer for us all."

  "Morgan, what about the news?" Allie asked.

  "It's got to be a lie. Some stunt Hart Lewiston is foisting on the American public."

  "Why?" Allie asked.

  "I haven't a clue, but he can't know what he's brought down on himself by this announcement."

  ***

  The camp was buttoned down. Everyone was safe, asleep and accounted for. Jan, tired from her day of campers and worry, retired early. Only Allie and Morgan remained awake. They were in the beam gym. Morgan wore a leotard much like the one Allie had worn earlier in the day. Hers was just as tight, and where Allie's was red, hers was white. It had a blue slash of color that anchored at her shoulders, slicing across her chest to the left and down her back to the right like a long scarf.

  She did a back handspring using both hands, then a second one with no hands. Coming up, she pirouetted on the beam to face the other direction. Doing a couple of dance steps, she reached the other end of the beam, pirouetted again and started a run to dismount.

  "You've been at that for over an hour. It's time you took a break," Allie said.

  Morgan's leg was back to normal. She barely felt a twinge of pain. She'd put herself through a long routine, making sure there were no after-effects from the grazing.

  Concentrating wasn't something she could do tonight. Morgan had fallen off the beam more times than she'd been on it. She found it difficult to focus her mind. Could it really be true? Was Hart Lewiston her real father? She'd watched the news all day, since Jack and Allie and Jan had come into the bedroom and told her about the press conference. She didn't understand it and she wanted to understand. Part of her kept trying to see the logic, the reason. It was insanity. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut.

  She tried to remember her past. All the nights she'd lain on the dirty ground in the back of some warehouse or on the grate of a subway, she'd wanted to forget. Now she tried desperately to remember what her mother had said about her father.

  It was too fuzzy. She couldn't remember anything, but she was sure she'd never said anything about him being a politician or even someone who had plans for public office. Morgan picked at places in her brain she'd shut down years ago, trying to remember if her mother had sat forward in interest at a television program or when the news came on where she might have seen a photo of him. Did she ever stop what she was doing and stare at the screen with a familiar expression, a knowing glance, a wondrous expression?

  Never. Morgan answered her own question. Her mother had given nothing away. Nothing that would lead Morgan to think that Hart Lewiston and she had anything in common, much less the sharing of blood.

  The gym had mirrors covering one entire wall. Morgan jumped off the beam, but instead of going to where Allie practiced, she walked to the mirrors, looking, staring, observing every detail of her face. She got close to the glass, nose to nose. She tried to pull an image of Hart Lewiston into view, compare it with her own. She could see nothing of herself that was him. Her cheeks were high and highly colored. She blamed it on the beam routine, but she knew it wasn't only the exercise. Her hair was dark brown, while his was blond. Her eyes were almond-shaped, while his were more round. One by one she compared the mental images of the two of them. Her assessment ended without giving her a single indicator that would lead her to conclude that she and presidential candidate, Senator Hart Lewiston, were connected in any way. Yet he obviousl
y thought so.

  Why? she wondered. He had nothing to gain and plenty to lose. Why would he do this? Why would he call a press conference to acknowledge her? She was thirty-one years old. She didn't need a father at this late date. Someone else must have found out. That could be the only reason. If he'd remained quiet all these years then the decision to go public five months before the election had to have a catalyst somewhere else.

  "Morgan, my muscles are absolutely screaming," Allie said.

  Morgan suddenly remembered she wasn't alone in the gym. Allie was behind her. She'd been running routines on the beam across from hers. When Morgan turned, she was breathing hard and resting her head on her arms, which were on the beam.

  Grabbing her towel and wiping her face, Morgan went to the back of the gym and pulled two bottles of water from the refrigerator. She and Allie sat down on the floor. She'd transferred to the floor, crossing her long legs Indian style. Morgan joined her, lifting her water bottle and drinking. The water refreshed her.

  "Did you get it out of your system?'' Allie asked after taking a drink from her own bottle, she drank.

  "I don't know." Morgan used the towel to dry her forehead. "I'm still trying to understand what is going on."

  "A father who's a candidate for president and most likely the winner of the next election and a grandfather who sits on the Supreme Court. Sounds like a power play I'd be willing to join."

  "Would you really?" Morgan whispered. She asked it of herself, not Allie. "I used to imagine my real parents. Of course, I knew my mother, but not my father. He died—" She stopped. "He wasn't there so I could remember. After my mother died and I was on the streets I used to imagine them alive and sitting in a wonderful houses, filled with books, him traveling the world as some big-shot diplomat. Everywhere he went he'd look for me. Little did I know most of it was true." She paused and checked Allie's reaction to a story about herself. She didn't often tell people her thoughts and feelings. "Not the part where he was looking for me. He didn't even know I existed, but he was a big-shot diplomat and he did travel the world."