Leave Her Out: A Novel

by Daniel Davidsohn

  Mohe stared at her. “What, you think Tony’s involved?”

  “That’s the whole point. I don’t know that he is. And I don’t know that he isn’t.”

  “Listen to me,” Mohe said. “There’s no way your father had anything to do with it.”

  “If you’re so sure, then tell me why my father isn’t here.”

  “We don’t know, Stella.”

  “I know you don’t. And for as long as we don’t know what’s going on, my gut tells me to lay low.”

  Mohe was about to argue against that, but Oto interrupted.

  “Some people have the power to know what’s going to happen,” he said.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” said Stella. “I’m just being cautious, that’s all.”

  “You keep paying attention to your gut feeling. It will show you the way to go.”

  Stella nodded thankfully. Then her eyes landed on the pile of papers lying next to Vicky.

  “You don’t know about it?” Vicky said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your father’s been writing his memoirs.”

  “Is that what I’m looking at?”

  “Yep.”

  Stella got up and picked up the manuscript. “When was someone planning to tell me about this?”

  “Don’t look at me. I just read it this afternoon,” Mohe said.

  “Vicky?” Stella looked at her.

  “Your father told me to keep a copy of the manuscript. He said it was for your protection. It’s supposed to be some kind of insurance policy, but I have no idea what that means.”

  Stella turned to Mohe, who said, “Either Tony’s gone crazy, or he’s started to believe in other worlds.”

  Stella shook her head. What on earth did that mean? “Well, does he mention me?” she said. “Or my mother? Is it political?”

  “That’s the whole problem, Stella. It’s none of that.”

  “Vicky?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know where your father’s going with it.”

  Stella frowned. Her father was missing and had left memoirs behind just in case something happened. According to Vicky, the purpose of that manuscript was to protect Stella. The lawyer in Stella took over.

  “I’m going to shut myself away to read this. If there’s one thing I know about Dad, it’s that he wouldn’t go to the trouble of writing something like this without a good reason.” Unless Mohe’s right, she added silently, and he’s lost it. “Excuse me.”

  She walked to the door, and Vicky called after her, “Guest room’s at the top of the stairs, first door on the right. Shall I bring up that meal? And coffee?”

  “Please,” said Stella.

  “Right away, darling. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Mohe, Oto, and Vicky heard her footsteps receding, and then a door close.

  41

  HAVRE, MONTANA

  It had been quite some time since I last spent an entire night awake. My body was complaining vehemently at the abuse—and the unforgiving cocktail of fear, anxiety, and sheer fury swimming in my stomach. There was no question of leaving that underground room in Havre to rest, though. I was there for one reason only: my daughter’s safety.

  Charles and I didn’t have to discuss the peripherals of the situation. He was right to be careful about our meeting. While I was president, I never had access to USAPs. I didn’t have the clearance or the need to know. One thing I didn’t question was the gravity of having yourself—and your loved ones—in the sights of semi-clandestine agencies like Noctis.

  I didn’t believe everything that Charles was telling me, but the core of it had to be true. His most telling sign was his recently acquired humbleness. It was unsettling to see him acting like a normal person, open to other people’s point of view. Neither of us had been open in the glory days, but at least I had the excuse that I was in the Oval Office.

  The man in the sports jacket brought coffee early in the morning. Charles and I were grateful. We’d spent the night remembering, blaming, diverging, and discussing. We both understood the situation. Without question, we were vulnerable like never before.

  “Who’s in charge there, Charles?”

  “Noctis? Well, it’s a relatively new agency. The man who founded it fifteen years ago is still in charge. His name is Gregory Olsen. Old-timer, like us. Military, clandestine services, you name it.”

  “I don’t suppose he can be reasonable?”

  “Not with me.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of you.”

  Charles lowered his head and considered the idea in between sips of coffee. “You didn’t have the clearance then, and you certainly don’t have it today.”

  “I’m aware of that. But can I see him?”

  “No. I don’t think that’s an option.”

  “How can we possibly worsen our situation? I mean, what have we got to lose?”

  “Oh. You’re wrong. Not everything is lost.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “We’re still breathing, aren’t we?”

  “That’s short-term thinking. Take me to Gregory.”

  Charles got up and nervously walked around the room. “Here’s what’s going to happen if I take you to see him. I’ll be blatantly breaking my NDA with Noctis. Now, add this to the mess we’re already in. That would mean personally offending Gregory and his dogs.”

  “Take me to him, Charles…”

  “The one thing Noctis values above all is control. Losing control, even a notch, is enough to set alarm bells ringing. You’re suggesting that I simply ignore the rules of the house. What’s the point? We’d piss them off, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you what I want to do.”

  Before Charles had time to protest, his phone rang.

  “Hello… When…?”

  The call was brief, but when Charles hung up, that humble aspect was gone, replaced with a shocking fragility. Watching him transform into a fearful person scared me. That could only mean one thing: more bad news. I didn’t ask him anything. I waited until he composed himself and gathered the courage to face me.

  “There, uh…there’s been a fire,” Charles said and slumped back on his chair.

  “Are you all right?”

  He wasn’t listening to me. Charles was somewhere else, in the hypothetical field, analyzing and desperately trying to come up with solutions.

  “A fire where?”

  “A Tribeca town house. Samuel Flynn’s office.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Charles realized I didn’t know what he was talking about and said, “Samuel Flynn is dead. Whatever files he had, burned.”

  “I’m sorry. Was he a friend of yours?”

  “Not really… Actually, quite the contrary. Samuel was many things in the financial world, but nobody’s friend. Money laundering is what he did best. He, uh, helped us with The Nature Dweller scheme. A loose cannon, the one person I feared could hurt us the most.”

  “So, you’re saying it’s a good thing for us that he’s dead?”

  “Yes and no. I was worried that Samuel was the one element that could put us at odds with Noctis.”

  “Charles…this isn’t getting any better.”

  “It seems that Noctis acted before Samuel could do them harm. The sons of bitches don’t waste time. They’re always a step or two ahead of everyone. They didn’t wait. Can you see where we stand?”

  I leaned forward on my chair and reached out for Charles’s arm. I put my hand on it and looked him straight in the eye. “I do.”

  I put pressure on his arm, leaving no room for doubt as I said, “Take me to Gregory Olsen now!”

  Everyone in Noctis, Gregory Olsen included, worked for someone. There was a decent chance that national security was their reason for being. And their money was certainly coming from the people’s pockets. Taking all that into account, my hope was that the symbolism of the position I once held would sway Gregory Olsen to meet—and perh
aps even negotiate—with me.

  42

  GLASGOW, MONTANA

  Stella left the bedroom at ten in the morning and found the others watching TV in the living room. Speculation on her disappearance had grown exponentially since rumors spread that former President Anthony Morris had gone missing in Havre.

  Mohe, Oto, and Vicky turned to her. Vicky tried to smile.

  “Did you look outside?” she said.

  Stella opened a crack in the curtain and saw the fuss: journalists, police vehicles. She inhaled deeply and went to sit on a couch.

  “We can’t deal with this right now. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Maybe we should clarify part of this with the police,” Mohe suggested. “All you have to do is open the door and tell them something. Anything is better than nothing.”

  “I read my father’s manuscript,” Stella said.

  “We can discuss Tony’s ideas some other—”

  “You read it too, right?” Stella cut in.

  “You know I did,” said Mohe.

  “Don’t you think it’s…bizarre?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  Stella nodded like that was precisely her point. “Why would my father write something so unreal?”

  “I don’t know, Stella. Tony hasn’t been well. He’s got this liver problem he’s been trying to hide from us.”

  “That doesn’t explain the way he’s chosen to write his memoirs.”

  Vicky and Mohe exchanged a glance.

  “And what way is that, honey?” Vicky said.

  “The way he writes, it’s like there’s a precision to his apparent madness. Vicky, you said my father told you the memoirs were for my protection?”

  “Well, he did. But, really—a Brazilian slave called Isaac?”

  “Exactly. It’s absurd. No one would take him seriously.”

  Mohe massaged his eyes and glanced at his father. Oto was doing what he did best: observe. “I don’t see where precision comes in,” he told Stella.

  “It ends abruptly with Marshall describing to Isaac their route in the Caribbean.”

  “It just adds up to madness.”

  “No, Mohe. Think with me. The account of how many days they would spend on each island. It’s ridiculous, I agree. But only if we keep seeing it on a superficial level. I think there’s a deeper meaning. Otherwise, the writing would only be childish and senseless. Why would my father do that and at the same time tell Vicky that the memoirs were meant to protect me somehow?”

  Mohe looked lost, but he was willing to consider anything. “What do you think it means?”

  “Let me get the manuscript,” Stella said.

  She went to the guest room and returned with the papers. Vicky was peeping through the curtains, ever more annoyed by the number of people around the house. Stella sat down next to Mohe.

  “Look at this.” She pointed to a passage. “He’s written five days in Roseau, seven days in The Valley, and another thirty-six days in Road Town. Then: Every day we spend in each place will be as good as three days.”

  Mohe frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Stella shrugged. “I don’t know. But does that sound crazy to you?”

  “It sounds specific, I grant you that. But without a context, crazy it is.”

  “Right. So, what’s in the Caribbean?”

  Vicky turned away from the window and smiled. “Beautiful sandy beaches.”

  “And…banks,” said Mohe. He stood up. Suddenly, the question of Tony’s will had come into his mind, but the places mentioned in the manuscript had no connection to Tony’s private account. “You weren’t supposed to know this before your father, you know, passed away,” he told Stella, “but Tony opened a bank account in the Bahamas.”

  Mohe waited, expecting Stella to be surprised by the information, but she was in lawyer mode and managing to keep her emotions out of the equation.

  She said, “He’s a politician. You don’t have to be careful with me. Besides, Charles told me that my father had campaign money in his pockets. He said that when he threatened me.”

  “Charles threatened you?” Vicky said with great skepticism.

  “Oh. Yeah. And he kidnapped me. You know that already. He’s capable of anything. Anyway, I got him on camera, just in case. Vicky, is there a computer I can use with Internet access?”

  Vicky nodded, walked out of the room, and came back holding a laptop. She handed it over without a word.

  It took Stella a few minutes to access the video file she’d uploaded to a secure folder in the cloud. She hit “play” and the four of them watched Charles tell Stella that TND was an important contributor to Tony’s campaign; that he received a payoff equal to the legal donation they made; and that he spent a lot of time in the Caribbean before his campaign.

  Charles Dulles’s voice filled the room: “Like it or not, you can’t distance yourself from your father.”

  When the video clip ended, Mohe said, “Do you think he was threatening you?”

  “Don’t you?” Stella answered, surprised.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Mohe.”

  “Sounds like a warning to protect you. You know, from the consequences of The Nature Dweller losing their lawsuit with you off the team.”

  Stella threw her hands up in the air, lost. “We’re going to be trapped in this house for a while. I suggest we read the manuscript again. But this time, with a little more scrutiny.”

  43

  HAVRE, MONTANA

  At eleven o’clock that night, a black SUV stopped in a parking lot on Third Avenue. Charles, his aide, and I were waiting at the Sporting Eagle Saloon, a place where cowboys used to gamble over a century ago. Despite the fact that the streets were empty, I was asked to wear a hat and look down at all times until we got in that SUV.

  “Let’s go,” said the man in the sports jacket.

  We crossed the avenue toward the parking lot. Charles had none of his usual bodyguards with him. That SUV didn’t belong to him. Not only that, but he was now following instructions, rather than giving them like he was used to.

  We got in the car to find two men waiting in the front seats.

  “You know the drill, Mr. Dulles. No questions and no phone calls,” said the Noctis operative in the passenger seat as he looked back at us—a military guy, I guessed by his demeanor. “Mr. President,” he greeted me.

  Charles handed him his phone. I raised my hands: no phone.

  As the SUV started to move, two other black SUVs caught up with us. One cut ahead and the other brought up the rear, so we were in the middle of a convoy.

  Beside me on the backseat, Charles’s leg was jiggling—an uncharacteristic nervous tick. He had risked everything when, three hours earlier, he called the beast in chief at Noctis, Gregory Olsen.

  “Did you know he could end all this for the simple fact that I’m calling with a request to bring you to him?” Charles had said before he called Gregory. “And if not… Well, just remember, Tony, Noctis is always a few steps ahead of us.”

  I knew full well that Gregory could take the hardcore pragmatic approach to the situation. Why bother to reveal himself to a former president with no clearance whatsoever if—a huge if—a plan was in place to tie up all loose ends? Why go through the courtesy and trouble of opening his door to me? There was nothing to be gained on his side. He’d know I was trying to buy time and using Charles to do it. He’d also know that Charles must have explained about the NDA and how high the stakes were. Which, with no margin for doubt, could only mean that I was desperate.

  Charles placed the call. As he and Gregory exchanged words—very polite and careful words at Charles’s end—I watched him get paler by the second, and I almost felt sorry for him. Finally, I saw him nod.

  “Sounds like a yes,” I said as he hung up.

  “He agreed to meet us, but to be honest, it’s a big question mark to me.”

  “A little
optimism wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Take it as you want,” he retorted. “But know this: from now on, we’re in deep, dark waters.”

  Now, in the back of the SUV, Charles had the look of man who wasn’t confident of his ability to swim in such waters.

  Five minutes later, we drove into the Havre City-County Airport. The vehicle stopped right next to a private jet. The military guy opened the door for us and indicated that we should board that jet. I was inclined to ask where we were going, to test the relevancy of my former POTUS status, but I thought it wouldn’t be a good moment for that.

  We boarded, followed by the operatives, and were welcomed, to my surprise, by a beautiful air stewardess. It had been a long time since I saw a smile so dazzling. As we took our seats, there were no smiles from Charles’s quarter, however. It bothered me immensely that my snake of a friend appeared to be deteriorating at a frightening pace. He was now looking in all directions, and even buckling up was proving to be a challenge with his hands shaking so badly.

  “Would you like some water?” the nice lady asked us.

  Charles ignored her and glued his face to the jet window. I couldn’t say what he was looking for outside, but he was certainly worried.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  The jet was taxiing when she brought me a bottle of water. Suddenly, that bottle became the center of the universe for Charles. I got him. What if someone had planted a bomb on the jet? And what if that innocent bottle of water had been poisoned?

  Charles and I were separated by the aisle. I reached out, touched his shoulder, and waited until he shifted his stare to me, instead of the bottle. “Are you OK?”

  He nodded. Then he turned to watch the two pilots. The cabin door was open. I couldn’t avoid following his stare. But it just didn’t ring probable to me that all of us in there—two pilots, one nice lady, and the two operatives seated behind us—would simply be blown away. It was a Noctis jet, carrying Noctis people. Sure, it would make a hell of a defense, the fact that they were there. A legitimate accident in which Noctis lost its own people. But that wasn’t crossing my mind. On the contrary, I was developing a growing curiosity about the man Gregory Olsen. Above all, I had no control whatsoever, so I just let it go.