“Major Gerard,” Jack cut in. “You’ve already seen the most critical documents we have. You helped obtain them.”
Okay, so she wasn’t expected to speak up. But hell if she was going to sit on her hands. Most of Jack’s advisors had a basic military background but they seemed completely disconnected from the task at hand. And Caroline couldn’t believe she’d had to waste her time at this bullshit meeting only to have her husband change his mind. “I believe I have a right to see the prisoner records, Commander.”
“The database is somewhat compromised. The files are only searchable by name and number,” Ballard said.
Was that why they hadn’t scrolled through? Seemed like a pretty stupid reason to avoid taking a look at such vital information. Unless they’d hesitated because one of the former prisoners was in the room. “That’s a serious flaw in the system,” Caroline said. “The code monkeys couldn’t come up with anything better?”
“It is what it is,” Ballard responded.
“Fine, then. I can give you numbers.”
Ballard looked at Jack hesitantly.
“Listen to the major,” Jack said.
“Number 1298,” Caroline said. “Robert Allen.”
It took a minute and he didn’t look too happy about it, but Ballard brought the record up on the screen. There wasn’t much there. Some random numbers, likely administrative coding. Date of reception along with date of termination. What an unsettling way to categorize it. And an intake photo. She hadn’t remembered taking one but maybe not every prisoner received the same treatment. Caroline scanned the words.
Prisoner 1298: Robert Allen. Associate of wanted rebel leaders Caroline Gerard McIntyre and Jack McIntyre. Speaker of the United States House of Representatives. Republican representing the Eighth District of Illinois. Offered immunity in exchange for a high ranking position in the federal government but refused. Arrested at his home in Winnetka, Illinois along with his wife (executed on arrival) on January 2. Adult children granted asylum in Scotland. Subjected to enhanced interrogation as to the whereabouts of wanted rebel leaders but refused to provide information. Executed on February 20.
Caroline clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She didn’t want to do the math but was fairly certain Bob’s execution date had been within a day or two of their conversation. She gave the men a moment to read. They didn’t seem too keen on analyzing the record but they didn’t want to look at her, either. She plowed ahead.
“Ellen Goldman,” she said. “Number 1622.”
Another brief hesitation by Ballard, another wave of the hand from Jack, who was carefully avoiding her gaze. Fantastic.
Ellie had a photo too, and the same coding as Bob. Caroline pressed her fist to her lips. She could pretend the men weren’t there. She’d done it before. Block everything out, imagine she was reading a random report. But all she could think about was The Fed.
Prisoner 1622: Ellen Goldman. Suspected alliance with rebel groups. Democratic Junior Senator from the State of California. Reformed Jew. Arrested attempting to board a flight bound for Israel with her husband (executed during transport) on February 16. Whereabouts of adult children unknown; likely in Jerusalem. Denied any involvement in subversive activities. Subjected to enhanced interrogation on February 24 and refused to provide information. Executed on February 25.
The words were laid out like any other number of government documents she’d handled during her prosecutorial career. Like they were a police report, or a Mirandized confession, or a proposed piece of legislation. Only they weren’t any of those things. Caroline told herself to stop, but there were others. Other records, other people, other deaths…she needed to know.
“Genevieve Whitcomb,” she said, her voice hitching. “Prisoner 1658.”
Ballard didn’t hesitate this time. And Jenny’s picture was the worst. It had obviously been taken outside whatever transport she and Katie had been in. Caroline tried to ignore the blood on her face. The terrified look in her eyes. How had she failed to notice that in her cell?
Prisoner 1658: Genevieve Whitcomb. Suspected alliance with rebel groups. Democratic United States Representative for the First District of Maryland. Former Chief of Staff to Caroline Gerard McIntyre. Arrested attempting to cross the border with her husband (killed during a standoff with federal agents) and Prisoner 1657 at International Falls, Minnesota on February 21. Denied any involvement in subversive activities. Subjected to enhanced interrogation but refused to cooperate. Executed on February 27.
Caroline closed her eyes when she reached the last line, rewriting it in her head.
Executed because of me.
No. She couldn’t do that. If she thought about it she’d let slip and verbalize it accidentally. No one could know what really happened that night. Caroline blinked furiously, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. She wasn’t going to cry in front of these men, the ones who had sat there for the past hour speaking of these matters as if they didn’t involve people but pieces on a board. As if their decisions were made in the abstract as part of a strategy in a game in which the consequences weren’t real. She imagined what their conversations had been like when they’d been debating the mission that Gabe had undertook, or the assignment that had almost gotten her killed. And she had a pretty good idea of their reaction when missions were unsuccessful. Move on. Try again. Don’t think about the casualties.
She would never question their dedication, but they had no frame of reference. Maybe if she’d been in the same situation, she wouldn’t have had one, either. How many times had she reviewed reports detailing violent crimes without thinking of the human beings who were suffering at the hands of the perpetrators? She knew from Jonesie that she hadn’t been heartless, but in many ways she had been detached from reality. She studied Jen’s record again. She knew who she wanted to see next.
“Prisoner 1657,” she said softly. “Kathleen Thalberg.”
Jack reached over and touched her hand. “You don’t need to do this. I think you’ve seen enough.”
She didn’t want to get angry at him. Not now, when they’d taken so many steps beyond where they’d been just the night before. But she couldn’t help it. She yanked her hand away. “No,” she said. “I haven’t. And neither have you.”
Ballard held his hand above the mouse, waiting for further instruction.
Captain Schroeder spoke up, the first time he’d done anything other than take notes during the meeting. “I agree with the commander. I don’t think this is really necessary.” He looked at Caroline suspiciously. “How do you know all these numbers?”
How could she forget? During those endless hours when she had nothing to do but be trapped within her thoughts, the particulars had mattered. Funny how now she couldn’t remember the simplest things, but every minute detail from her time at The Fed rang through her head. Still, didn’t Jack’s advisors know what Santos was doing? Hadn’t someone told them? They were completely clueless, all of them. They had no idea what the government was capable of. Without thinking, Caroline pulled up her sleeves, exposing her scars.
“They were permanently etched on our skin when we arrived, jackass,” she snapped, holding up her arm and pointing to her own tattoo. “It was a great way of reminding us of what we were to them. So maybe you should shut up and let Ballard show you the documents.”
“Major Gerard, sit down,” Jack said. “Please don’t speak that way to other officers.”
Caroline looked over at him. She had stood up without realizing it, and was now clenching her fists. She returned to her seat, pulling her sleeves back down. No wonder Jack hadn’t wanted her to speak. No doubt he knew she wouldn’t be able to hold her temper. “I apologize, Captain.”
Schroeder, who was now quite pale, gave Caroline a remorseful look. A first for him. “No, I shouldn’t have questioned you.” He turned to Ballard. “I think we should see the document, sir.”
Ballard seemed a little peaked himself. As did all the ot
her men. Good. They deserved to be shaken up a little. The record appeared on the screen. No photo. That almost made it worse.
Prisoner 1657: Kathleen Thalberg. Known associate of rebel leaders. Former Congressional Press Secretary and Chief of Staff to Pennsylvania First Lady Caroline Gerard McIntyre. Openly homosexual. Arrested attempting to cross the border with Prisoner 1658 and her husband at International Falls, Minnesota on February 21. Assigned to the deviant ward prior to arrival, refused psychiatric treatment, and was summarily executed on February 26.
Caroline finished reading and covered her face. There it was in sterile, seemingly professional writing. She believed Jenny when she told Caroline what happened but it was heartless, cruel, and incredibly unfair to see one of her best friends reduced to a tiny paragraph of writing. Katie had been so much more than that. All of them had. And because of who she was she didn’t even have a chance to make it.
Jack put his hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “You can stop now. You’ve made your point.”
Had she? She shook her head. “You need to understand what’s going on here. I know you think you have an idea of what’s happening back in Washington, or across the rest of the country. You have no clue. People are dying. People are being tortured. People are being killed for who they are. This isn’t a game. These aren’t pawns in a chess match. These are real human beings. People with dignity, who deserve respect simply because they are alive. You don’t have to earn that kind of respect. You should be given it because you’re a member of the human race. And it’s something that every American and every citizen of the world deserves. The right to be treated decently, as a person with value and worth, no matter your religion, gender, sexual orientation, nationality, occupation, economic or educational background, or any other characteristic that forms your identity. You need to know what you’re fighting. President Santos and his men aren’t power mad. They aren’t egotistical, self-centered men and women who consider politics their birthright. They are evil. And we need to stop them.”
Nothing like a room stunned into silence. Normally she’d take that as a victory but she felt pretty lousy about the entire thing. Caroline cleared her throat. “There’s one more record I want to see.” She pulled her sleeve back up and looked down at the numbers crudely inked into her forearm. “Prisoner 1479.” Her voice shook as she turned to Jack. “Caroline Gerard McIntyre.”
Jack, who was starting to look a little pale himself, turned to Ballard. “You heard the Major.”
Ballard was perspiring. And none of the men in the room looked particularly comfortable anymore. Caroline wondered how many of them had seen the records before. Only one or two, based on their reactions. Maybe they never realized what they signified.
And there was a photo. She barely glanced at it, but Jack was transfixed. Oh, this had been a bad idea. Especially since her record seemed unusually long.
Prisoner 1479: Caroline Gerard McIntyre. Allied with rebel groups. Former federal prosecutor with extensive ties to law enforcement and knowledge of investigative practice and procedure. Former Democratic United States Representative for the First District of Maryland. Served on the House Homeland Security Committee and House Judiciary Committee.
First Lady of Pennsylvania, married to fellow known dissident Jack McIntyre (wounded during a vehicle pursuit by federal troops, presumed dead). Has two children from a previous marriage, Marguerite and Sophie Baumann. Repeatedly tracked accumulating classified and other sensitive information through various means, primarily on the internet. Surveillance conducted at the Pennsylvania Governor’s Mansion and through confidential informants confirms involvement in treasonous behavior. Has definite knowledge of subversive activities.
Discovered by federal troops in the Allegheny National Forest on February 3, suffering from serious injuries. Searched upon arrest and was not carrying anything of use to the administration. Received limited medical treatment before being transported to prison on February 13. Subjected to enhanced interrogation techniques for two weeks. Repeatedly refused to provide information. Denied all knowledge of any plots to overthrow the government. Would not name names or provide locations. Executed on February 28.
Caroline read it with her hands over her mouth. There it was. The evidence they had all taken as true. The record that had devastated Jack and could potentially wipe out the faith of countless others, eliminating any hope that the two most outspoken opponents of President Santos were carrying on the fight. Evidence that needed to be made known.
Two weeks. It had seemed so much longer than that. Unless they’d fudged their records. Seemed kind of silly to lie about that if they were dumb enough to commit the rest of their offenses to writing. Two fucking weeks. Fourteen days. Over three hundred hours. It felt like years.
Jack stood up. “I think that’s enough for today, gentlemen. Shall we regroup later this week to discuss the timeline for release?”
The officers said their awkward goodbyes, and as they left Caroline felt herself sinking away from the room, retreating inside herself, barely hearing their voices. She was tempted to rest her head on the table, but that seemed highly improper behavior coming from a newly minted advisor. She’d behaved inappropriately enough already.
Jack touched her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just us.”
Caroline wiped her eyes. “You’d seen that before, right?”
He nodded. “We got a few records a short time after I got here. I read it once. That was all I could take.”
She didn’t want to ask if he bothered reading any of the others. “Natalie told me it shattered you to see it.”
“It did.” He lowered his head. “I almost left. I had no reservations about swimming out into the ocean and letting the tide carry me to my grave. But the rebels had already turned to me as a leader and I knew I had to honor your memory.”
Caroline stared at the table. “It’s surreal when you see a piece of paper in front of you telling you that you’re dead, but it’s excruciating to read about your friends meeting the same fate.”
“Or your wife,” Jack said. “I faked my way through that first briefing but when I got back to my room I lost it.”
She couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like for him. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“You have to stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”
Something they both needed to work on. “I’ll try. Can we go home?” She considered the significance of her words and tears sprang to her eyes again. “I mean, back to our housing. We don’t really have a home, do we? Not anymore.”
“My home is with you.” He extended his hand. “No matter where it is.”
Caroline squeezed his fingers. “I think we should continue this conversation there. Because I really don’t want to have it here.”
Jack stopped to help her put on her beret. “You must always be proper,” he said.
He was doing his best to keep her together until they were in private. A gesture she appreciated, but it wasn’t quite enough. She tried to smile but a little sob slipped out instead.
“None of that,” he whispered, pulling her into a hard hug. “You are a leader. In this room you are strong, and you are honest, and you are anything but afraid. Understand?”
He was nice enough not to lecture her further when she wept briefly against his chest. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
Jack held onto her a while before pulling back to wipe away her tears. “Your emotions don’t make you weak. They make you human.” He flicked off the light switch, putting his arm around her. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Seventeen
They took their time getting back to the apartment. She didn’t speak much, and Jack kept his arm around her shoulder the entire time. That was really all she needed, but he needed more from her. She had to find the strength to give him the closure he so desperately sought. Caroline slipped off her uniform, replacing it with one of Jack’s old Oxford shirts and a new
pair of khakis. He made them herbal tea and settled next to her on the couch, pulling her into his arms again. She didn’t say anything for a while, gathering up her courage and feeding off his warmth. Jack ran his fingers through her hair, humming a tune she didn’t recognize. She sighed and straightened up.
“Was I off key again?” he asked.
She tried to smile at him. “No, that was kind of nice.”
“I can do it again.”
She’d have to take him up on that. Sooner rather than later, if their conversation progressed the way she suspected it would. She just had to know how to start it.
He reached for his cup of tea, taking a sip. “May I ask you something?”
Maybe he could do the heavy lifting for her. She mimicked his movements, picking up her mug. “I’d say you can ask me anything but I don’t want to lie.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“No, go ahead. What is it?”
“Why’d you grab my shirt like that yesterday? When you were having that flashback?”
That was the last thing she expected him to ask. “It’ll sound silly.”
“No, it won’t.”
“You always smell nice. It helped me focus on where I was. With you.”
“I can start wearing cologne every day.”
“You pretty much have been,” she said, blushing. “When did you start wearing it again?”
“I pulled it out the day we had that joint therapy session. Figured it might help me get in your pants. Or get you to stop yelling at me.”
Caroline smothered a grin. She knew what he’d been angling for. What an impossible man. “You love playing games, don’t you?”
“No.” He rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. “I hoped it would bring you back to me. Or bring you closer than you were before. Pretty ridiculous, right?”
“Not so ridiculous,” she said softly.
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