by Adam Hiatt
Rutherford stood and gestured toward the door.
“That is all,” he said. “I expect a full report on the Manhattan operation first thing in the morning.”
Jenkins stood and shook the president’s hand.
“Until the morning,” she said.
The president watched her exit the Oval Office and sighed heavily. He had a bad feeling that this was not going to end well.
11
Jenkins turned her Chevy Tahoe onto Executive Avenue and sped away from the White House. If anybody were watching her, they would think nothing was out of the ordinary. While almost every other agency or department head inside the Beltway had a driver to chauffeur them to and from engagements, she always operated her own vehicle. It was part of her cover. Nobody knew what she really did. As far as anybody was concerned, including the ubiquitous media, she was a domestic affairs advisor for the president.
Her presence at the White House was commonplace. The fact that she only met one on one with the president was unknown to most everybody. The only people that even interacted with her were the president’s secretary, the head of the Secret Service detail, and a few select cabinet members.
Jenkins wanted to get some distance between her and the Oval Office before contacting Reddic. She had not spoken with him since their encounter in Oakland. Whatever he had learned so far, the players in the game had dramatically changed. The president’s involvement was not even included in her initial worst-case scenario. This was beyond her most far reaching prognostications. It was even more reason why she needed to contact Reddic as soon as possible.
Her eyes darted back and forth between the street in front of her and the rearview mirror. She knew she was being paranoid. The odds of somebody tailing her from the White House were slim to none. But the possibility did exist, nonetheless. It was not the president she was worried about. He would not be so reckless. It was his chief of staff, Kim Cushman that concerned her the most.
He wielded tremendous influence in the Oval Office. Even most people who considered themselves Washington insiders were unaware of his sway over the president. It was often assumed that the more heralded cabinet members or even the first lady had the most pull. In President Rutherford’s case, it was not even close. Cushman was the president’s closest confidant.
When EOS was created after 9/11, the idea was to maintain the utmost secrecy. It was for the president’s eyes only. The net grew, as it always did in this town. Soon the Secretary of Defense, the national security advisor, and even the chief of staff was privy to the covert branch. But what they did not know, at least she hoped, was what EOS did. That was between her and the president; and even then, he did not have all the details, for deniability purposes.
One thing was for sure, nobody knew the identities of her operatives, not even Rutherford. That was the only concession she asked for before signing on. If the whole thing went sideways, she was prepared to jump on the sword and take all the heat. Her selfless team sacrificed way too much to have to deal with political or legal fallout. If one of her people went off the reservation, she would take care of it, not Congress.
At the time of Cushman’s appointment to Rutherford’s cabinet, Jenkins asked contacts at both the CIA and FBI to provide her with his background check. What they sent over was disconcerting. His entire file had been scrubbed clean of any dirt. Only vague information that could have been found on his Wikipedia page was present. That only served to reconfirm her opinion that Cushman was a major player in Washington. Not even close to the president’s equal in public, but behind the scenes he was a force, and someone she constantly kept an eye on.
Jenkins was certain that Rutherford had allowed him to listen in on their conversation tonight. Even though there was no evidence that she was involved with Hansen’s disappearance, all it took was Cushman leaning on the president to make her life less comfortable. It would do her good to be extremely cautious until it all blew over. As much as Cushman worried her, President Rutherford was not a man to underestimate or cross. Although she liked the man, and respected him greatly, Cushman still had his ear. Until she was able to find some leverage over the chief of staff, she knew she had to tread softly.
Jenkins pulled into the George Washington University Inn parking lot situated only a stone’s throw from campus. She walked right through the lobby of the hotel and headed for the women’s bathroom. She checked under each stall to make sure she was alone before locking the door. From her purse she pulled out a prepaid phone and dialed the only number that was programmed.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” Reddic said.
“Where are you?” Jenkins asked.
“Do you really want to know?”
“No, I don’t. Are you safe?”
“Yes. We are safe.” His use of the plural pronoun answered her next question. Even though they were speaking on prepaid phones, they both knew not to use specifics over the phone. Speaking in enigmatic terms was like another language altogether for the two of them.
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“Winters in Moscow must be really cold,” he replied cryptically. “They’re running around the university trying to stay warm.”
Jenkins did not reply right away. She was trying to figure out why of all people were the Russians involved. More importantly, she wanted to know who had tipped them off.
“Any idea who recommended the visit?”
“Not right now, but I may have a lead. My friend just finished telling me an interesting story. It might be the break we’re looking for. I’m on my way to do some research.”
She was relieved that they were already on the move and not holed up somewhere.
“Well, things have changed here,” she warned. “I just talked to the boss. He’s suddenly interested in physics. He feels like he lost his homework and is sending his people to track it down.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Reddic asked. He did a poor job hiding the contempt in his voice. If there was one thing he despised more than bureaucracies it was politics. When Jenkins recruited Reddic she had to assure him that he would have no contact with politicians. His disdain for them ran deep. He did not trust any of them. He believed their whole lives were self-serving. Sadly, she could not formulate a convincing argument to change his mind. There was a time in this country when politics was about serving the people. Now it was about power. Why else would somebody spend millions of dollars on a campaign for a job that paid a fraction of that annually?
It was all about power, she admitted to herself, and these men and women would do anything to preserve it. Jenkins did believe, however, that presidents were inherently above the political riffraff. The reason being was simple. America’s problems were right in front of them on a daily basis. There was no hiding behind a committee or a “present” vote in Congress. There was real crisis and real leadership. Presidents had to make the type of decisions that would both directly and indirectly affect the lives of millions of Americans. How each president performed in times of crisis ultimately determined their legacy.
“I wish I were joking,” she said. “Your friend must have quite the recipe. Do me a favor and keep your travel partner safe until we can find out what this is all about. And be careful. I have a feeling the heat is about to be turned way up.”
“There’s no need to worry,” Reddic assured her. “Where we’re going is the last place anybody will look for us.”
12
The president waited for Jenkins to leave the office before walking back to his desk. He thought of her as he slowly moved across the room. She was a remarkable woman. Very strong willed, loyal to those she trusted, and most importantly, a true patriot. It did not hurt that she was pleasant to look at either. Her quiet aplomb both put him at ease and gave him pause. Sometimes he felt like she knew his darkest secrets. Rutherford looked at his phone for a moment to gather his thoughts. He was about to hit a button when he remembered the phone was already active.
Kim Cushman entered the office and hurriedly made his way in. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in tenacity. The man was a pit bull in a room full of poodles. Some would say he resembled a canine with his pug nose and boxy, somewhat corpulent build. Rutherford had met him years before when he was just a state senator. During those years Cushman was an investor who seemed to always make smart investments.
Whether it was good business sense, luck, or convenient connections, he never knew. Kim Cushman was a man to be taken seriously even then. He dabbled in oil futures, black market antiquities, art; pretty much anything that could be turned for a profit.
As Rutherford was making a name for himself on the state level, Cushman showed up in his office, unannounced, with a proposition. He wanted to invest in the young politician. Having friends that ran in similar circles, Rutherford knew of Cushman’s reputation. What he did not know was why the wealthy investor had sought him out.
Not one to act impulsively, Rutherford prodded for more information. “What’s in it for me?” was the most logical question.
Cushman’s response was terse. “Your future,” he replied.
Rutherford’s antennas shot up. He remembered looking upon Cushman’s wry grin with suspicion. Before he could speak again his visitor added, “I can get you to the top, but I’ll expect a return on my investment.”
At the time it sounded like a reasonable arrangement. A shot at the presidency, and all he would have to give up was an appointed position of some magnitude, a title. Unfortunately, Rutherford never imagined the debt running so deep.
Cushman cleared his throat, bringing the president out of his musing. He blinked twice before speaking.
“I trust you heard everything?” Rutherford asked.
“I did,” Cushman replied. Both men were still standing. “Can you really trust that woman?”
“She’s not a politician, Kim. She’s a civil servant. And she’s never failed me. Not once.”
“That has always been your weakness, James. You’re far too trusting.”
“My trust got me this office,” the president snapped.
“I got you this office,” Cushman reminded him. “But let’s not get into that argument right now. The most pressing matter before us is a Stanford physicist has developed a theory that could fundamentally change not only this country’s energy dependence but overhaul the economy. And now she has gone missing. As far as we could tell, only EOS had any knowledge of this development and you specifically ordered Ms. Jenkins to stay clear.”
“Could you not hear very well over the phone, Kim? She said she had no involvement.”
“I heard her denial. But the folks over at Langley, Fort Meade, and the Hoover building haven’t the slightest clue about any of this. They’re too worried about getting in each other's way. She is the only person who knew about this from the jump. Don’t you think that’s a little too much of a coincidence?”
The president’s chief of staff had a point, as he usually did. Perhaps Jenkins was being disingenuous. The problem was there was no evidence to support that supposition. He could not imagine one of his most trusted advisors brazenly lying to him straight to his face. On the other hand, she was the director of the nation’s most covert branch. She misled, lied, and deceived for a living.
“What would be her motive?” Rutherford asked. “As far as I can tell she would have nothing to gain by interfering.”
“I can’t speak for her. All I can do is point out the facts. James, you need to look at this from an objective point of view. Jenkins has a history of pushing the envelope. Don’t let your feelings for her cloud your judgment.”
“Until I have reason otherwise, I will continue to trust her.”
“Do I have permission to give you reason?”
The president hesitated. He knew he was about to start up a very slippery slope.
“James, do I have to remind you what’s at stake?”
“No,” he responded soberly. He pointed his finger at his chief of staff. “This can’t be traced back to me.”
“There is no chance of that,” Cushman said confidently. “Just be ready to appoint a new director of EOS.”
13
The Massachusetts Turnpike was a confluence of heavy traffic going eastbound into the city. At 7:00 am on the eastern seaboard the working day had already begun. That was one of the major differences between the east and west coasts. At seven in the morning in the west many people were still sleeping or just rolling out of bed. In the east the day was already in full swing.
The morning sun had revealed itself over the horizon, casting a brilliant yellow onto the glass edifices that made up Boston’s financial district. Reddic felt fortunate that he was driving westbound away from the major congestion on the interstate. His spirits livened just by being in this city. He had always loved Boston. In fact, his best game all year as a rookie was here in the TD Garden.
The city was an amalgam of rich American history and modern development and progress. It was also one of the only major towns in the country where the poor working class from south Boston and the affluent elites from areas like Belmont all united and became one people while cheering for their beloved Red Sox at Fenway Park.
Reddic wished he were here under different circumstances. Unfortunately, from what Jenkins had told him the previous evening, what little time he imagined having had just been significantly reduced. There was no question in his mind that the heat was going to be turned up in a major way. But Reddic was not the least bit concerned. Performing under pressure was what he did for a living.
After leaving Brooke’s house he was not exactly sure where to go. His whole objective was to find her and keep her safe. But everything changed when she opened up and described the final minutes she spent with her former colleague, William Feldman. When she found him lying in his own blood she was in panic mode. The only thing that kept her from shutting down was Feldman’s cell phone.
Her colleague’s lifeless hand clenched the small phone, but the screen was still illuminated. Brooke took a closer look and quickly noticed he was on the verge of sending her a text message. Attached to the text was a picture, a picture that she described to Reddic in as much detail as she could recall. This new piece of information changed all plans. He knew of only one place to go to find answers.
Traveling to Boston was the tricky part. There was no question that whoever was trying to find Brooke would be watching airports, bus stations, train stations, and any form of electronic purchase. As luck would have it, Jenkins had the foresight of providing false airline credentials for him and Brooke. Reddic learned long ago that Jenkins seemed to be always a step ahead of everybody else.
Using cash, Reddic purchased two sets of airline outfits. They drove to Sacramento and posed as pilots deadheading to Boston. No tickets, no electronic trail. Ever present of surveillance cameras in the airport, Reddic passed through security first, keeping his head down to block any full view. Since nobody knew who he was, he could not afford the risk of being seen with Brooke on the chance that somebody caught her on video.
Brooke, meanwhile, took on a different look. Reddic bought her a set of black Helvetica Bold eyeglasses and a hat to tuck her hair away. The result was not foolproof by any stretch, but it would at least cause doubt for anybody who may be watching for her.
The flight itself was about as eventful as any red eye flight was. Not surprisingly, Brooke slept most of the way. The past few days had taken a lot out of her. Her mind needed the rest. Reddic, on the other hand, could only take cat naps. His mind raced trying to figure out their next move. He also could not help but believe Jenkins was in as much trouble as Brooke. He repeatedly pushed the thought away. She was a big girl and could handle herself.
Reddic turned the Dodge Charge
r, rented with one of his alias credit cards, off the turnpike and drove up River Street in Cambridge. At the Broadway intersection he turned left and followed it passed several bookstores, bicycle shops, and coffee houses until they entered the campus limits of Harvard University. He brought the car around the rear of Robinson Hall and parked.
Reddic led Brooke around the west side of the building. To their right was the famed Harvard Memorial Church, its steeple jetting high above the mature trees that surrounded it. The south side of Robinson Hall faced the Sever Quad. Foot traffic was light, only a few students were moving about on the sidewalks between buildings.
Harvard not only reflected the image of an elite institution of learning, it also took on the character of the region. Many buildings on campus embodied pure New England architecture. Robinson Hall was no exception. It looked like a nineteenth century brick school building that could have been found in the remotest outposts of Vermont. The interior was an entirely different story. Although the historic appeal was still present, modernistic amenities were the norm.
The building housed the offices of some of the brightest history minds in the country. Reddic walked through the glass front door and bounded up the steps in between the massive marble columns supporting a balcony, turned right into the East Wing, and followed a hallway down to the third office door where he waited for Brooke to catch up. He had already explained to her who they were going to meet. He did not want any surprises on her end.
“Are you sure you’re ready to meet him?” Reddic asked as Brooke reached the door.
“I think so,” she replied.
“All right. Just don’t be nervous. That will only flatter this guy.”
With a wry grin on his face Reddic turned to the door and twisted the knob. There was nothing that could have been said to prepare Brooke for what happened next. She watched Reddic barge into the office and begin shouting.