Hush

by Tal Bauer

  Tom nodded, again. “He’s—he’s the man I came out for. He’s the man I love.”

  When he smiled, Fink’s face scrunched up and his eyes almost disappeared, hidden in the folds of his wizened face. “That’s good. I’ve learned, in all my years, that the most important thing is to be happy. And, to not break the law.” His smile faded. “This job made me happy for many years. But… it’s time to move along.”

  “Sir?” Tom frowned.

  “I’m going in there to tell President McDonough that I’m retiring. Which means there will be a new judge coming to our bench soon. Well, not our bench anymore. Your bench. You won’t be the baby judge for very much longer.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Chief Judge Fink had been the lion of the DC federal bench for decades. He’d been a fixture in DC, a bastion of justice. He’d been a part of every major landmark trial impacting the federal government, the world. He’d shaped history in more ways than Tom knew.

  But the country was a different place than it had been when Clarence Fink donned his robes. There was more freedom, more hope. More anger, too. And hurt, and danger. More of everything that made up the world, all of the good and the bad and everything in between.

  They all just had to find space in that maelstrom called life and hang on tight.

  “Good luck, Judge Fink.”

  Fink smiled at him. “You too, Judge Brewer.”

  Finally, it was time for Tom to meet with President McDonough.

  He was escorted into the Oval Office by the president’s chief of staff, a fussy man who constantly checked his phone and muttered under his breath. He waited with Tom, breathing curses and fast-typing with his thumbs.

  McDonough breezed in from his private study, smiling as he came toward Tom. “Judge Brewer. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “The honor is mine, Mr. President.” He shook awkwardly with the opposite hand, his good arm still bound up in his cast and sling.

  “I’m glad you could come. I know you’re recovering. Thank you for taking the time to drop by.”

  Drop by. As if being invited to the White House by the President of the United States was a backyard picnic invitation he could blow off. “Happy to, sir.”

  McDonough thanked his chief of staff and invited Tom to sit on his lemon-colored couches. The Oval Office was bright and cheerful, the obvious touch of his wife brightening the office. Sunflowers sat in a vase in the center of the coffee table between the two couches.

  “Judge Brewer, I wanted to personally thank you for your tenacity, your diligence, and your bravery in this entire situation. Without you, we would never have uncovered the Russians’ plot.”

  “I was just doing my job, Mr. President.”

  “You did a hell of a job, Judge Brewer. One hell of a job.” He nodded to Tom’s arm. “And you got injured in the line of duty, as it were. That’s not a usual risk for federal judges.”

  He smiled, weakly.

  “I also wanted to fill you in on the rest. As we’ve learned from interrogating Pasha Baryshnikov, Lucas Barnes was coopted by Russian FSB agents about sixteen years ago. Baryshnikov was a mid-level FSB agent working in ‘New Russia’, and he set up Barnes, working at the New York field office at the time, in a honeypot trap. Barnes fell for a beautiful woman, someone he thought was a Swedish dancer working her way into the New York City Ballet. She was actually Lena Orlov, and she died a ‘hero of the Russian Federation’… in Barnes’s apartment, in a staged scene set to look like Barnes had lost control and had beaten her, then raped her and killed her. Baryshnikov was there, and he offered Barnes a choice: either he worked for them, or Baryshnikov turned over evidence implicating Barnes in her death.”

  “He chose door number two?”

  “He did. Along the way, blackmail turned into a partnership when Barnes realized he was making a tidy profit. We’re still uncovering all his financial hidey-holes. Bank accounts in Switzerland. Homes bought in cash with dummy corporations in Europe and the Caribbean. A boat he kept in New Zealand.”

  “How much damage has he done to national security?”

  “Sixteen years’ worth of espionage, and working his way up to being the number one Russian counter-operations FBI agent? He did quite a lot. We’re still working that out.” McDonough sighed. “He and Baryshnikov—and Vasiliev—almost got away with this. They almost got away with pushing the planet into war.”

  “The world still thinks we’re heading for war, Mr. President. Have you seen the news?”

  “I’m about to address the nation. The White House gave the networks a heads-up when you arrived. I’d like to ask you to join me as I speak, Judge Brewer.”

  “Me?”

  “Every story needs a hero, Tom.” McDonough stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “And you’re the hero of this one.” He squeezed Tom’s good shoulder, smiling broadly. “I also want to tell you I think you’re one hell of a judge, and you’ve catapulted your way to the top of my short list of candidates for the Supreme Court. If you want it…” He winked. “We’ll see what happens in the next few years.”

  The world spun, and Tom stumbled, just slightly, as he stood. “Mr. President— I can’t— I—” He slowed down, taking a steadying breath. “Mr. President.” He closed his eyes. Opened them. “You should know. I’m gay.”

  McDonough’s smile grew even wider. “Fantastic! It’s high time we had a justice on the Supreme Court represent the LGBT community.” He squeezed Tom’s shoulder again, and then dropped his hand. “Are you seeing someone?”

  This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t the reaction he was supposed to get when he came out. Blinking, Tom fumbled for words, for his own breath. “Uh, yes, Mr. President. I am.”

  “Well, we’ll have to have you and your partner over for dinner soon. I’d love to meet him.” He gestured for the door out of the Oval Office. “Will you join me, Judge Brewer?”

  McDonough’s speech was an arrow to the center of the DC Sniper attacks.

  He began by thanking law enforcement, the national security and intelligence agencies, the courts, and the judicial system, for their diligent, exacting work. He heaped praise upon their efforts to uncover the true roots of the DC Sniper attack.

  And then, he let it all out of the bag.

  Russian President Vasiliev’s role in the attacks. His using a cutout, and framing Kryukov for an attack he knew nothing about. His goal, to push the world to war, which had very nearly succeeded.

  “A short time ago,” McDonough said, his voice booming. “I ordered the State Department to rescind diplomatic protection for Russian President Dimitry Vasiliev, and further instructed the Attorney General to issue an arrest warrant for President Vasiliev. He is a murderer. He meticulously planned an operation that led to the deaths of three American heroes. In America, we bring justice to those who have suffered, and to those who have lost. We bring justice to those who have been wronged. The whole world has been wronged by your actions, President Vasiliev. And if you ever attempt to enter the United States again, for any reason, you will be arrested. You will be tried. And you will be sentenced.”

  He turned to Tom, then, smiling wide, and launched into a lengthy speech about Tom’s dedication to the truth and his pursuit of justice, and how he’d been crucial to uncovering the true depth of the plot. The full details were classified, but he gave the public a face and a story to cling to, the good guy to hold up. Tom felt the burn of the cameras on his skin, the eyeballs of millions and millions of Americans staring at him through their lenses like he was a hero in some kind of fairy tale.

  “Judge Tom Brewer, on behalf of a grateful nation, I thank you for your actions.” President McDonough shook his hand and pulled him in, hugging him for a long, long moment. Tom heard the whirr and snap of a thousand cameras flashing. He closed his eyes and smiled.

  After, McDonough led him back down the hall, away from the press and the mob of reporters, and back to the Oval Office. Winters was there, and McDonough s
hook his hand, traded small talk for a minute, and then reminded Tom that he’d be coming over for dinner soon, him and his partner both. President McDonough signed his cast, an ornate scribble with an American flag doodled at the end. Winters escorted Tom out of the White House.

  In Winters’s SUV, Tom finally exhaled, letting go of the panic that had circled his heart, clenched his lungs until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “What part?”

  “Any of it. All of it. I thought—” He shook his head. “I always thought it would be so much worse.”

  Winters frowned.

  The world was still spinning. Tom gripped the edge of the seat and tried to hold on. He closed his eyes.

  “Pasha Baryshnikov has cooperated with us. We now know his cell was only Barnes, himself, and Vasiliev. We’ve downgraded the threat level against you, and against Mike. You don’t need personal protection anymore.” Winters smiled. “And, Mike was released from the hospital. He’s back at home.”

  Tom whipped around, staring. His heart hammered, joy thundering through him, a million lines of fire and lightning racing to his heart, his soul. “Take me to him.”

  Mike stared at the TV screen, clutching his pillow to his chest. Another tear rolled down his cheek, running sideways to his temple. Kris brushed it away and then went back to running his fingers through his hair.

  He’d been secreted out of the hospital by a team of marshals and brought back to his place with Kris. Kris thanked them for their chauffeuring and threw the entire team out, and then settled Mike on the couch. He pillowed Mike’s head on his thigh and stroked his hair, over and over and over.

  “Your man is a hero.”

  “I know.” Another tear slipped free. “I’m scared, Kris.”

  “Why?”

  “This is exactly what he doesn’t want. Exactly what he was terrified of. Public exposure. The world focusing on him, putting him under the microscope. He never wanted this.”

  Kris was quiet. Long fingers ran over his scalp, smoothed through his strands, again.

  “I’m so scared. I told you it would end this way.”

  Banging on the front door made them both jump. Kris cursed, Spanish and English mixing together as he gently shifted Mike’s head to a pillow and stood. “If it’s some puta reporter who got in, I’ll give them something to cry about.” Mike heard him rip open the door.

  A beat. “It’s for you.”

  Mike heaved himself up.

  Tom stood in the doorway, swaying, as if he was going to fall into Mike’s place. His eyes were wide, blazing, burning, staring across Mike’s place and into Mike, staring like Mike was the sun, was a priceless jewel, a treasure he’d hunted for his whole life. His mouth was open, lips trying to form words.

  Mike hurled himself unsteadily over the back of the couch. He ran to Tom, sizing him up, his eyes traveling over Tom, his arm in a cast, his shoulder in a giant sling. He reached for him, wrapping his arms around Tom’s waist, cradling him gently.

  Tom melted into his hold. “Mike…”

  “Oh my God… Oh my God…” Closing his eyes, Mike pressed his cheek to Tom’s hair, gasping as his heart finally shattered, burst apart in the best possible way. He tried to keep his sobs in, but couldn’t. He gasped again, shaking, and pulled Tom close, pressing their bodies together.

  Tom clung right back, burying his face in Mike’s neck. “I did it,” he breathed. “I did it. I came out.”

  Mike pulled back. “What?”

  “I came out to the president. I told him I was gay. That I was seeing you.”

  Mike’s jaw dropped.

  “He said he wants to have us over for dinner.” Tom laughed, breathless, nearly hysterical. “Mike…”

  Beaming, Mike wrapped his arms around Tom again, laughing with him, the tears on his cheeks now ones of joy. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Kris slipped out as Tom and Mike started the “I love you more” game, breathing promises of everlasting love in between kisses and stroking hands.

  He smiled. He’d been like that once.

  At the curb, he spotted a dark SUV and a familiar man behind the wheel, tapping at his phone.

  “Marshal Winters.” Kris leaned in the open passenger window, smirking. “I haven’t seen you since the Ali Mohamed thing.”

  Winters arched a single eyebrow toward him. “What Ali Mohamed thing?”

  Kris winked. “Exactly.” He opened the door and slid in. Winters kept staring at him. “Well? Where to?”

  Much later, Tom lay propped on pillows in Mike’s bed, wrapped up in Mike’s arms. They were both in no shape to make love, but the comfort, the physical closeness, was a drug they couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to resist.

  Tom cupped Mike’s cheek. Traced his cheekbones with his fingers, the line of his jaw. The curve of his lips. He wanted everything with Mike. Mike was his fairy tale, and they’d worked through the dark part, the danger. They were out of the woods now. His fairy tale would have a happy ending. “Move in with me and Etta Mae? Stay with us, forever?”

  Mike beamed. He nodded, and cradled Tom’s cheek in return. Bit his lip. He gazed down into Tom’s eyes, love pouring into Tom like a waterfall. “Marry me?” he breathed. “Not next week, or next month. Not even next year, if you don’t want. But someday? Marry me?”

  Smiling, Tom leaned in for a kiss, holding Mike’s gaze. A whisper away from Mike’s lips, he breathed, “Yes. Yes, Mike. Yes.”

  Author’s Notes

  Hush’s suspense and plot hinge on the technology of voice cloning, where Pasha was able to clone Kryukov’s voice and use it to frame Kryukov for the terrorist attack.

  This technology is real and exists today. This is not science fiction.

  Multiple commercial firms exist that will clone a person’s voice. CereVoice Me Voice Cloning Service, iSpeech, and Lyrebird all have programs (or AIs) that can replicate a near-perfect copy of a specific individual’s voice, and then use that synthesized voice to say or speak anything, as if they were that person.

  Moral of the story?

  Watch where you speak! Don’t let your voice get cloned!

  About the Author

  Tal Bauer is an award-winning and best-selling author of LGBT romantic thrillers, bringing together a career in law enforcement and international humanitarian aid to create dynamic characters, intriguing plots, and exotic locations. He is happily married and lives with his husband and their Basset Hound in Texas. Tal is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Mystery Writers of America.

  Connect With Tal Bauer

  Visit my website: www.talbauerwrites.com

  Email me: tal@talbauerwrites.com

  Friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tal.bauer.7

  Follow me on Twitter: @TalBauerWrites

  Other Books By This Author

  Please check out my other books:

  The Executive Office Series

  Enemies of the State

  Interlude

  Enemy of My Enemy

  Enemy Within

  Apocalypse of the Angels Series

  A Time to Rise