“You two are a great couple. The country voted for both of you, even though his name was on the ballot. You’re half the team. I think the President needs another four years to accomplish his goals and I fear that without you he won’t get it. I can’t be more direct than that.”
She didn’t say anything. She poured herself a cup of coffee and drank half of it before she spoke. “I appreciate your loyalty to my husband and to the office. You have done your job well and my husband is lucky to have you.”
“By the way, Betsy, I swear to you he doesn’t know we’re talking. This was my idea.”
“I believe that, John. But this is bigger than you think. If this were a spat that could be fixed, don’t you think I would be the first one to do it? I never loved this job, but I did it for my husband. Obviously that no longer seems important to him.”
Van Dyke had no immediate reply. She had thought this through more carefully than he’d imagined.
She continued. “I think it would cause more harm to his mental state to stay in this marriage just to have another four years in the White House. As far as my mental state, I’m trying with every fiber in my body to make it through this term. Do you think I don’t know that he’s in Denver with Susanna? How should I feel about that?”
“You aren’t going to finish out this term?”
“I didn’t say that. But eighteen months, even living separately, is going to be difficult. I offer no guarantees.”
This was worse than Van Dyke expected. He could do nothing more than make a joke. “So fund-raising for his library is out of the question?”
Betsy laughed. But she was sad. And she had lied just now. Telling him she didn’t know if she could continue was not the truth. She did know. She was slowly reaching a decision that there was no way she could stay in this marriage for another year and a half. But telling John Van Dyke that with certainty would accomplish nothing. And then, there was still a very, very small part of her that thought her husband would come crawling back. Fire Susanna. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her that he literally could not live without her. But what bothered her most was that she wasn’t sure she even wanted that to happen.
* * *
Paul Prescott was sleeping when the small screen by his bed started buzzing. He could have chosen a more pleasant sound or whatever music he liked to alert him to an incoming message, but he was a deep sleeper and if he didn’t pick the most annoying sound the machine offered, he wouldn’t wake up.
“Yes?” he said, still groggy.
“I promised I would give you information before anyone else. I didn’t want you to wake up and have it waiting for you on the screen.” Paul sat up quickly. He was staring at Jack Willman.
“What? What happened?”
“Six men hijacked the retirement ship The Sunset.”
“What?!” Paul leaped out of bed, threw on a robe, and switched on the wall screen. “What the fuck is going on?”
“It isn’t on the news yet but six guys snuck onto the ship in the middle of the night. They’re holding it right now. There. It’s on. Turn to NewsOne.”
Paul switched his screen to one of the many twenty-four-hour news feeds. NewsOne was a combination of professional and amateur video capture. It had no commentary, just raw footage from wherever it originated. Paul saw shots of the large cruise ship, out at sea, stopped, with several smaller boats around it. “What are they doing?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty confusing. The ship was going only a few miles north to port when it just stopped. There was an SOS and all we know is that there are hijackers aboard.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“We think it’s Max Leonard and his group.”
“Son of a bitch! You should have arrested him.”
“On what grounds? You still have to do something to get arrested.”
“On planning to hijack a ship! That’s a fucking crime, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t call you to get into legal arguments. I just wanted you to know what happened and that we’re on top of it.”
“How are you on top of it?”
“All those tugs you see are either police or Navy. They’ve surrounded the boat.”
“Well, what are the hijackers going to do? They could kill a lot of people.”
“I don’t think that’s the intent. They want something. That’s what we’re waiting for.”
“Shit, Jack. This is scary. How many seniors live on that thing?”
“Currently, twenty-five hundred.”
“Fuck. This is just great. Let me call Golden. Let me at least try to tell him this is under some kind of control. Our membership will go crazy. This goddamn country can’t protect them anymore.”
“Don’t make it worse than it is. There’s a good chance this will end peacefully.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to go.” Jack disconnected and Paul switched his screen from one news outlet to the next. Everyone was covering this now. This was being seen worldwide.
* * *
Max and Louie had tied up the captain and three of his assistants. They waited until eight o’clock in the morning, when the ship was making its way on the short journey up the coast to its permanent berth. Four of them walked onto the bridge and it was easier than they had imagined it would be. These ships were not considered targets since they didn’t carry large amounts of cargo or money, so the crew wasn’t trained in combat. There was security on board and they had weapons, but they were caught off guard, and Max and the three others had no trouble subduing the men. They touched them with a sleep gun, which injected enough chemical to put down a horse but didn’t kill anyone.
Andre knew how to steer the ship, but they didn’t want to move it. All they did was stop and drop anchor. They waited a few minutes until they heard a controller ask what the problem was. Max turned off the video, deciding that he was going to communicate the old-fashioned way, just voice. “My name is Max Leonard. I have taken over as the captain of this ship.”
“I have no picture,” the controller said.
“I have disabled the picture. Voice communication will be sufficient.”
“Have you hijacked this ship?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I don’t want to take it anywhere. I want to talk to the President.”
“The President?”
“You heard me.”
While this conversation was going on, the remaining men in Max’s group had gathered all of the crew members and put them in five different rooms. They locked the doors and one of them stood guard. The residents didn’t know what was happening until many of them showed up for breakfast and nothing was prepared.
Max and his group had carefully thought through what would be done with the residents. They would all be assembled in the large dining room. This was the biggest single space on the ship and even though meals were staggered, it could hold everyone, if necessary.
So while Max and Andre remained on the bridge, the other four men, after locking up the crew, went from room to room and told everyone there was an emergency. They needed to come to the dining room immediately. Since Max’s group was wearing uniforms, the residents thought they were staff and did what they were told.
In less than thirty minutes, all of the rooms were empty and the dining room was filled to capacity. The residents, including Brad Miller and Walter Masters, sensed something was wrong. The very fact that there was no breakfast prepared told people that there was trouble.
There were not enough chairs in the dining room, so hundreds of people stood against the walls or sat on the floor. When everyone was assembled, Max addressed the residents over two large screens. He had rehearsed this moment very carefully, as he wanted as little panic as possible. “Hello. My name is Max Leonard and I am talking to you from the bridge. My men and I have taken over this ship for a short while as we wait to speak with the president of the United States.”
Several hundred people started to panic. Max had k
nown that would happen. His associates, standing at the entrance to the dining room with automatic weapons, yelled for everyone to be quiet. Max continued. “Listen to me carefully. You will not be hurt. I repeat, you will not be hurt, unless you try to escape. The ship is lined with explosives.” Max paused again while twenty-five hundred people screamed at once.
Of course, there were no explosives, but that was the beauty of it. The threat was everything. He continued, trying to calm people down. “These explosives will not be used. They will not be used if you do what you are told and let us accomplish our goals. When we are finished, we will leave this ship and you will all be safe. When I speak to the President you will be allowed to hear the conversation as it is happening. As you will see, what we are asking for is fair and long overdue, and unless people like ourselves take a stand, nothing will ever change.”
When they were told that Max was going to talk to the President, people calmed down somewhat, thinking that maybe the President would be in control and there would be negotiations, and that this would end peacefully.
“I know many of you are hungry,” Max continued. “And we will allow certain crew members to feed you and keep you comfortable. You may use the bathrooms in the dining area but you may not leave to go anywhere else. Again, you will not be hurt. And some of you may even agree with what we are trying to accomplish.”
Brad Miller was sitting next to Barbara, who for some reason was ultracalm. “What do you think they want?” Brad asked her. “Are they going to blow up the ship?”
“He said no. He doesn’t seem to want to hurt us.”
“He hijacked the goddamn ship, honey. That’s not a good way to say, ‘I like you.’”
“I’m not going to panic yet. And I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I wonder if they’ll set out the buffet?” Brad couldn’t help but smile. Barbara was so Zen. But she had a point. At least maybe while they were being held hostage they could get the eggs Benedict they liked so much.
Walter Masters recognized Max Leonard the second his face came on the screen. And Masters was probably the only one in that room who had a real sense of what this was about. How interesting, Walter thought, that his conversation with Max Leonard those many months ago had led to today. In a strange way, Walter admired him. Whatever was going to happen, Max would make his point. And that took guts.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
While Kathy was driving to work, very early, Clyde Folsom’s face appeared on her windshield. She could see through it without being distracted from the road, and it provided a safe way to communicate while driving an automobile. “You heard what happened, I’m assuming?” She didn’t know what he was talking about. Her first thought was that a new seven-bedroom house that she was sure she would sell this week had gone to someone else.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your boyfriend hijacked a boat.”
“What? What boyfriend?” For a minute Kathy thought Clyde was talking about Brian Nelson, but that was impossible, he didn’t even know him. Then it hit her. “Oh my God! What happened?”
“Why don’t you turn to the news and you can see. Thank God you’re not with him.”
Kathy reached for a button on the wheel to cut off the conversation and put a news channel on in its place. She continued to drive, looking through the story as it unfolded. Even though she could focus on the road, she had to pull over. She started to feel sick. She stopped the car on the right side of the highway and sat there, just watching it unfold. It looked so confusing, there was so much going on, but it took only a minute to see Max’s name and his picture. She heard a commentator say, “That is all we know right now. There are six of them and this one seems to be the leader.”
Kathy turned it off. She didn’t know whether to go to work or go back home, but she didn’t want to be alone.
Clyde Folsom and the other two employees were at the office, watching the news on the big screen in the waiting area. Kathy walked in and sat down with them, and Clyde could see she was in shock. He told the others to go back to work, leaving him and Kathy sitting by themselves. “I hate to say it,” Clyde told her, “but I knew he was trouble. Did you suspect this?”
Kathy could barely speak. She was hoping this was a bad dream. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. He was passionate, but I didn’t think … I just don’t know.” Clyde really liked Kathy and wanted to comfort her, but he also thought the FBI could come charging through the door at any moment, assuming that she was part of this.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“A few days ago.”
“The authorities might want to question you, wouldn’t you think?” Kathy was smart. She knew what he was afraid of.
“I won’t let them question me here, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve got nothing to tell them anyway.”
And at that moment Clyde’s fears were realized. Without any warning, five men, looking very official and very scary, came into the real estate office. It was all Clyde could do to keep from saying, “You want her!” But he didn’t. He played it cool. “May I help you?”
The men didn’t need him. They knew who Kathy Bernard was and what she looked like and they asked her to come quietly. Kathy didn’t resist. She could have asked for an official warrant, but she didn’t. She wasn’t on that ship and had never known about it, so she had nothing to hide. But the questioning was going to be tough.
She was taken about twenty miles west to an army base in Plainfield. She was escorted into a conference room where there were several screens on the wall, and on one of the screens was a man who looked very important; certainly he had more medals on his uniform than Kathy had ever seen. He was introduced as Major General Mark Allen.
“First, Ms. Bernard, we brought you here only to get as much information as possible. No one is accusing you of anything.”
“My God,” Kathy said, “I can only imagine what this would feel like if you were accusing me.”
The general smiled, but immediately got down to business. Over the next hour and a half he asked her a hundred questions about Max Leonard. How did they meet, what was he like, what drugs did he do, what were his plans, what was his family like, who were his friends. It went on and on and on. Kathy had been deposed when her father was shot, and she’d thought that was the third degree, but this made that seem like kindergarten.
Fortunately for Kathy, she had had no idea of the plan. And since that was the truth she didn’t act as though she were hiding any information. The only things she didn’t tell them were that she’d seen a model of the boat and that Max Leonard had made a Sam Mueller wall. They would never know that. Somehow she felt that those could be taken the wrong way, that someone might think she should have called the authorities as soon as she discovered either one of them. But she was forthcoming in every other way. She told them that she was part of the group for youth equality, but she always went back to the truth, which was that she never, ever participated in violence and she hadn’t known Max Leonard would, either. That last part might have been a lie, but so what?
When they drove her back to the office three hours later, she felt as if she’d been verbally raped. Clyde Folsom was waiting there to see if she was okay and if his business was going to suffer. But it became apparent that, at least for now, Kathy Bernard was not a suspect. And even after all she had been through, she still sold another house before lunch was over. That was good enough for Clyde. Hell, maybe this will even turn out to be a plus somehow.
* * *
Sam Mueller was in Switzerland when he saw the news. He turned to his wife and said, “That son of a bitch accosted me in Texas. I thought he was going to kidnap Mark.”
“Jesus,” Maggie said. “Did you think he was capable of doing this?”
“How could I? I knew something was wrong with him, but who would know this?”
“You should have had him arrested.”
“I suggested it. They threw him out of the
hotel. Go figure. Thank God we don’t know anyone on that ship.”
And because they were a world away and the skiing was particularly good that afternoon, they turned off the news and went back to their luxuries.
* * *
Matthew Bernstein was trying to get two hours of sleep as Air Force One made its way back to Washington from Denver. The night before he didn’t get to bed until three-thirty. After the fund-raising event he went back to the hotel with Susanna Colbert and two longtime friends from Colorado. His friends left at one in the morning. Susanna got up to leave, too, but the President asked her to stay a little longer. She did and they talked. For two and a half hours.
As always, it started out about business and before it was over Bernstein was telling her what his current demons were and all the other things that one should tell only a psychologist or at least one’s very best friend. These conversations were becoming so necessary for the President, he didn’t know what he would do without them.
When they were finished, Susanna got up and wished him a good night. They still had never kissed, only hugging a few times in a friendly way, but she kept wondering if that was going to change. She wouldn’t refuse, but she knew that once it happened, it would alter the dynamic, and she didn’t really want that. But that night at least there was no kiss. Just another friendly hug and she was back in her room.
Susanna was doing work at her seat on the plane when she noticed a conversation of some urgency near the front. Before she could find out what was happening, an assistant to the chief of staff came to her and told her that the President was being woken up, that there was an emergency.
“What’s going on?”
“There has been a hijacking of a retirement cruise ship.”
“Oh my God! Where?”
“Miami.”
“In the United States? Oh my God!” Susanna could see two people standing at the open door of the President’s sleeping quarters. Within moments he was dressed and walking down the aisle, reading something, drinking a cup of coffee, and talking into a device. He stopped at her seat and asked her to come with him. They went upstairs on the aircraft to the heart of the communications center. Susanna had to wonder if this was something that a normal secretary of the Treasury would be asked to do. But it was her. And he wanted her there.
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