Her nightmares returned, less frequently than before, but more intense. After completing basic training, Marguerite was assigned to a public relations unit and constantly harangued her mother about being transferred to a more substantial assignment. Sophie was losing sleep and had moved in with Christine in lieu of staying with her sister.
Caroline knew that things would get worse, that everything could change in a split second and they’d be left wondering if anything they knew was true. She already felt like she’d been living in an alternate universe the past two years; that maybe if she got just one good night’s sleep, she’d wake up and all would be well.
She’d tell her friends about her entirely vivid and incredibly disturbing dream and they’d all say, as if that could happen. As if a totalitarian could exact control over an entire country. As if America would willingly be led down a dark road. As if a demagogue with nasty values and an even nastier temperament would be allowed to walk the hallowed halls of Washington, smashing every bit of the republic as he went. No, they’d say. It can’t happen here. It won’t. We would never allow it. We’re better than this.
Except she knew they weren’t. How did you get that spirit back? Even if the revolutionaries won, how much harm had been done? You could damage a precious heirloom but it would never be restored to its previous condition. Caroline often thought about the Japanese art of Kinsugi, of repairing broken ceramics or pottery with a lacquer made partly of gold or platinum. The goal was not to render the piece the same as it was, but to incorporate the damage and appreciate the history of the object. The imperfections were never meant to be disguised or hidden. They were part of what made the ceramic strong.
Democracy was messy. Difficult. Frustrating. And America had always been imperfect. A song in search of the perfect note when so often the melody went flat. Its grand ideals had often been sacrificed at the altar of avarice, greed, and self-interest, but somehow its citizens kept going. Believing in that dream. Believing the shining city on the hill could actually be built. Believing despite its flaws, despite its errors, despite its injustices and inequalities, the great American experiment would find its way home. Maybe that was how to get through. To learn from the lessons, knowing damn well it could happen and would likely happen again.
But she was getting ahead of herself. She was at the foot of the bridge, waiting to cross with no knowledge of what was on the other side. She hoped to hell that when she got there, she’d have the strength to handle whatever she was given. Her cracks, her imperfections, her damage made her strong. And she was damn well ready to use that strength. But first she had to run another briefing.
“What’s the good word, gentlemen?” she asked, nodding at Christine. “And lady, of course.”
Christine shook her head. “You say that at every meeting. Don’t you get tired of it?”
Caroline took the seat next to her. “Not when I firmly believe that someday, someone will actually give me the good word. Give me the scoop, Flaherty.”
“I think we should hear from Colonel Eastman first,” Jack said. “It’s my understanding he has uncovered some…unsettling information.”
Jack seemed to already know what Eastman was going to say. Why hadn’t she been told? Eastman was their Canadian liaison, though he was also assigned to a U.N. Peacekeeping unit. Usually the two of them met with him together, along with Christine. Caroline shot her a glance. Based on her expression, she didn’t know either. Strange.
Eastman scrolled through his phone. “I have a number of documents saved to a flash drive and encrypted for safety, but I’ll give you the basics. I’ve been able to confer with my colleagues in Canada and other Peacekeeper member nations. Unfortunately, Commander Gerard, President Santos knows you are alive.”
No surprise there. The only shocking part was that it appeared to have taken so long for him to piece it together. “And?”
“American media has latched onto the story. Coverage has not been positive. Santos has successfully manipulated the print press and broadcast television into reporting what he wants them to report. Blackmailing them into favorable treatment. Restricting access, declining to have press conferences, issuing statements via video or through surrogates.”
“Jack and I were always portrayed as traitors,” Caroline said. “None of this is new.”
Eastman glanced over at Jack, just for a second, before staring down at his phone. “Santos has made some increasingly unstable comments, comments that are now regarded as unremarkable by most members of the press corps. They’ve essentially normalized his behavior. I can’t explain how it happened-”
“I can,” Christine broke in. “Why don’t I loan you my copy of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich?”
“There’s no need to be snippy,” Jack said. “He’s simply trying to inform us of what he’s been able to uncover. Please listen.”
He wasn’t confrontational. Accusatory. In fact, her husband seemed almost…defeated. Finished. Done.
Fucking hell.
“Please go on,” Caroline said.
“Santos knows about the International Criminal Court. About your testimony. Although I cannot independently confirm, we consider it likely that he has spoken with Jeffrey Murdock. So he knows there’s a warrant for his arrest.”
“Good,” Christine said. “Maybe someone should take him into custody.”
“It’s not that simple,” Eastman said. “There’s more. Several days ago, Santos went on network television. Gave a long impassioned speech about love of country. How others may not share that affection. He told viewers about the ICC prosecution. About how you were alive. About how you perjured yourself in front of a court with no jurisdiction over American citizens, all so you could escape responsibility for your own crimes.”
“That logic is so flawed I don’t even know where to begin,” Christine said.
“That’s not all.” Eastman hesitated, for far too long. “He then requested that you be arrested and brought to Washington to face treason charges. In other words, he’s claiming you were held at The Fed for a legitimate reason and are trying to lie your way out of it.”
Perhaps Christine expected Caroline to lose her temper. To fly off the handle, to go off on one of her self-righteous tirades that was more impassioned speech than practical action. But she remained calm. “This was several days ago. What’s happening now?” Caroline asked. “How has the public reacted?”
“People have been conditioned to believe what he says. To take it as fact. As right. As proper. The truth no longer exists. There’s too much propaganda, too many fake stories, too much confusion, distrust, and cynicism. Santos has projected himself as the One True Hope, the only person in Washington who can be depended on to do the right thing.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Christine said. “Who would believe that?”
“Millions of Americans. Since he made his announcement, there have been a number of spontaneous demonstrations in major cities.” Eastman turned his phone off, shoving it in his pocket. Apparently he didn’t want to look at it anymore. “All of these protesters have expressed a strong desire for Commander Gerard to be taken into custody.”
“This is ludicrous,” Christine said hotly. “I cannot believe we’re entertaining this pile of excrement. Let’s move on to something we can actually use.”
Except maybe that was exactly what they had. “He’s advertising that he wants me to be arrested, turn myself in, what?” Caroline asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Christine said. “Because we’re not doing it.”
Shit. Was Caroline going to have to play the authority card? Ah, well. She was ready to face any blowback. “Senator Sullivan, with all due respect, I’m the one running this briefing. I’d ask you to reserve your editorializing until the meeting is complete.”
Christine made an obscene gesture and leaned back in her chair. “Whatever.”
“What does Santos want?” Caroline repeated.
Eastman tugged at the neckl
ine of his collared uniform shirt. “I don’t think he cares. He wants you in custody, as soon as possible. His sycophants have backed him up.”
“Do we know if the protests are legit?”
“The distinction is irrelevant. They’re occurring, they’ve gotten press, and the narrative has been written.”
In other words, post-truth America didn’t care for facts. “My goose is cooked,” she said. “Our goose is cooked.”
“Not quite.” Flaherty turned to Jack. “Sir?”
“Share your intel,” Jack said.
“While Colonel Eastman has been accumulating data from his sources, I’ve been receiving information from directly inside the White House. It’s good or bad, depending on your perspective. Santos has delegated most of the details of day to day governance to staffers who share his views. He wanted the power but not the responsibility. He’s feeling the heat, but he’s still predictable. He’s always had a few known triggers.” Flaherty paused. “I’m sure none of this will surprise you, but an exhaustive, detailed account of our intel seems appropriate.”
“Understood, Major,” Jack said. “Please continue.”
“Santos is a narcissist. A sociopath. He is a terribly petty man, which means that he irrationally focuses on small issues. Perceived enemies. One of his biggest triggers is Commander Gerard.”
Caroline lifted her head up. Sure, she’d been arrested. Sure, she’d been tortured. Sure, she was Public Enemy #1 but still… “Me?”
“He holds permanent grudges against people who disagree with him. About slights that don’t really exist. Rumor is he has a ‘revenge’ list, detailing people who have gone against him or wronged him in some way. He has always been determined to exact vengeance on those people. It’s the reason so many prominent politicians ended up at The Fed.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Jack asked.
“He’s been obsessed with her for years. I’m not sure what caused this…situation but it only intensified as time passed. Even if you hadn’t fought against his administration, you were always going to be a mark. He’d intended to recruit you from the beginning and if that didn’t work, as he suspected, you were to be eliminated. You’ve always been a threat to his ambition, and your partnership with Commander McIntyre strengthened your ability to damage him.”
Caroline held up her hands. “That makes no sense. Why me? I barely knew him when I was in Congress.”
“You’re female. You’re likable. You’re earnest. People trust you. Santos has never had that kind of reputation. He’s gotten by on half-truths, misinformation, propaganda. He’s never been able to connect with people using anything other than hate or manipulation. Anyone who can counter that kind of approach and do it successfully is very dangerous indeed.”
“I’m not the only person who’s capable of doing that.”
“That doesn’t matter. His mind doesn’t process things that way. You always had a target on your back. It’s why you were treated so harshly at The Fed.” He shuffled some of the papers in his hands. “He went ballistic when he was informed you were still alive. He held out your torture and death as one of his ultimate triumphs. And he can’t let that go. You slipped through his fingers. You got the better of him. He can’t stand to lose, especially to a woman he views as his inferior.”
Jack snorted. “Caroline could whip him in any conceivable category. He’s clearly unbalanced.”
“He is,” Flaherty agreed. “And his volatility is increasing. Although his staffers are doing the dirty work, his paranoia has kicked in, full force. There are maybe two or three people in his inner circle he trusts, which means he got one thing right since we have multiple spies on the inside.”
“How can we capitalize on that?” Caroline asked.
“We have to do something, and quickly. He knows the international community can’t stand down much longer. Something has to give. He’s petulant and immature, which could manifest itself in disastrous consequences for the entire world.” Flaherty looked Caroline in the eye. “He’s obsessed with the fact that you are still alive. Imagine how he might respond to the opportunity to right a perceived wrong.”
She knew where he was going. Did Jack? “How many people do we have on the inside?”
“A decent number.”
“Can they be trusted to turn when the time is right?”
“Most definitely.”
“What about the other forces? Canada, the U.N., NATO?”
“Able to mobilize on short notice.”
Caroline turned back to Eastman. “What do the Peacekeepers think of all of this?”
“Well-” He looked just as uncomfortable as Flaherty. “The ICC would obviously prefer he be placed under arrest. But we all know-”
Kill or be killed. Yeah, she knew. “Any chance we could strike with those troops without turning myself in?” she asked Flaherty.
He lowered his head. “I suppose there’s a chance, but-”
He didn’t need to say it. They could try, but a focused Santos meant an equally unhinged Santos. What an odd dichotomy. Whereas a distraction, say, from a woman he’d been itching to confront face to face…that might give them time to infiltrate the government with minimal casualties.
“Well,” Caroline said. “What exactly is it that we need to do?”
“You know what we need to do, ma’am,” he said quietly.
She knew. He knew. Jack and Christine had to know. The entire room was silent.
“Turning me over would get us in the same room with him,” Caroline said.
Finally, Jack reacted. “That’s an awfully big risk for something that might not happen. It’s not worth it.”
It sure as hell sounded like it was worth it to her. “Why not? It might be our best chance to take him out.”
“You think he won’t be anticipating that?”
“What if he is? We may not get another opportunity like this. You heard Keith. He’s paranoid. Singularly focused. Doesn’t trust anyone. That means he’s almost completely isolated, which makes him vulnerable. He knows his time is short. He knows this can’t last forever. Why not do something before he engages in behavior that endangers the entire world? Surely our experts can come up with some sort of plan to minimize the damage.”
“The damage?” Jack clenched his teeth. “It. Is. Not. Worth. You.”
Caroline’s biggest ally was steamed off, but surely she could be trusted to be objective when the time was right. “Chrissy?”
Christine shoved away from her chair and stomped out of the room.
“Nice,” Jack said. “Happy now?”
“No,” Caroline snapped. “I’m not. And neither are you. We’re sitting here three thousand miles from home, our home, our kids’ home, because we’re waiting for the right time to take that bastard out. The time is now.”
“It might not work,” Jack said.
“We have to try.”
“We are not setting a trap for a rabid dog when you’re the goddamn bait.”
“I’m tired, Jack. We’re all tired. I want to go home. I want to go back to the America I believed in. The America I never gave up on. We’ve taken a few steps back but that doesn’t mean we can’t start marching forward again. American exceptionalism has never been what people like Santos and his cronies wanted it to be. It wasn’t about ‘othering,’ about scapegoating and discord and trampling over others to get to the top. It was the beauty of our diversity, the power of community, the love radiating from neighbors and friends whenever a moment of crisis arrived. Our ability to find consensus in a sea of disagreement. Our empathy and willingness to say, ‘Teach me. I don’t understand but I’m willing to learn.’ We’ve lost that and we need to get it back. But the America described by so many brilliant artists – the unfinished symphony, the beacon of light, that great promise of freedom and democracy – we can’t let go of that. It’s greater than itself. It can be achieved if good people are willing to stand up for what’s right.” Caroline sniffled. “A
nd I refuse to let it go. So I’ll do my part. I’ll give myself up.”
“Sweetheart-”
If he was dropping terms of endearment during a briefing, Jack was no longer the commander. He was her husband. And she couldn’t let her husband sway their advisors. They could be objective when faced with a truly difficult decision. “Keith, what would happen if I turned myself in?”
Oh, that was a question he clearly didn’t want to answer. “Our agents would turn. Coordinate with whoever we had on the outside. Foreign allies would be at the ready.”
That was a whole lot of hope and not a lot of certainty. In other words, she was as good as dead. “Are we able to manipulate the situation?”
He smiled, just a little. “Commander Gerard, I’m disappointed you had to ask.”
Maybe things weren’t quite so bleak. As she shot glances at the rest of the advisors in the room, she realized they could make the choice without her input, though they desired it. They wouldn’t need her to stay away. And yet…she wasn’t sure she wanted to be privy to that discussion. The political became considerably less personal when the topic of discussion wasn’t sitting right in front of the decision makers. “I trust you to figure something out. I assume it’s easier if I’m not in the room?”
He sobered. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then.” Adrenaline had gotten her through the meeting and now she was dealing with the guilty fallout. “I need to check on Senator Sullivan.”
*****
Jack watched Caroline leave. She was smart. She recognized she wasn’t meant to be in the room for substantive discussions about what she’d just offered to do. He knew her position, but ultimately it was not her sole decision to make.
“Well,” he said. “That escalated quickly.”
“I’m sorry, Commander.” Flaherty cocked his head at Eastman. “Perhaps we could have planned that better.”
Eastman had confided in him earlier in the day. It had been a hell of a burden to bear. Unfortunately Flaherty hadn’t given him quite as much of a heads up. But now all the cards were on the table. “I guess we have to make a decision,” Jack said.
Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6) Page 24