Time was precious. She had to make this quick. Take in what she could, search for ideas, familiarize herself with her surroundings. Who knew how long the lights would stay on? Or how long she’d remain in the room?
The room – no, the cell – was small. Not as small as a typical jail cell, but small enough. A toilet in the corner. Cold comfort, all things considered. A sink next to it. No mirror. No windows. No nothing. Except…
She tried not to gasp. Chains on the wall. Shackles hanging from the ceiling. Hooks too. Oh, this was not good. This was so not good. And a camera in the corner, its red light blinking. Sadistic voyeurs. What an unpleasant combination.
No, not a typical jail cell. Not exactly a torture chamber but she’d take a room in any one of the prisons in the federal system right about now. This room had been specially equipped. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that it had been done up for her personally. It had been prepared for anyone who dared defy the rules. And damn it, she’d done more than defy them. She’d taken the rules and repeatedly set them on fire, sometimes on national television. As Fischer had put it, she was their little celebrity. She doubted she’d be receiving the star treatment. There would be no mint on the pillow, no monogrammed robe to greet her at the end of a long day.
The cell door creaked open, and Fischer walked in alone.
“The FBI would like to have a little chat with you,” he said.
Caroline shook her head back and forth. Wishful thinking, but perhaps they’d leave her be if she refused.
He uncuffed her from the bed, yanking her up by the elbow. “You don’t get a choice.”
Of course she didn’t. But she didn’t have to make it easy for him, or for them. She shuffled her feet as he started to drag her out of the cell, and he slammed her head against the wall.
“Cooperate,” he said.
Now her ears were ringing on top of everything else. Maybe she could throw them a little bone. Maybe they’d go easier on her. At least she wasn’t cuffed anymore. A surprisingly poor judgment call on his part. How easy would it be for her to knock him down and make a run for it?
No, that was silly talk. An unwise move. She couldn’t do anything rash or impetuous. She had to plan ahead. Caroline started walking at a normal gait. It could be worse. She could have to take a piss. How considerate of him not to ask beforehand.
The room he led her into seemed normal enough. A table and chairs. Bright lights. Two agents sitting there, smiling at her. And not in a good way. Both male, both white, both oily looking as hell. One significantly older than the other. Was it wiser to remember facial features and characteristics or try to forget? Caroline decided to make a mental note of each person she saw, just in case.
Camera in the corner. Of course. Wouldn’t be a creepy repressive federal facility without constant monitoring. Fischer unceremoniously shoved her into the chair across from the agents.
“Be nice,” he said. “I’ll be back for you later.”
She couldn’t quell her curiosity, and spun to face him as he headed toward the door. “You’re not staying?”
Fischer laughed. “Getting attached to me so early?”
Disgusted with herself, Caroline turned her back to him and heard him laugh again.
“Take your time,” he told the agents.
The older one spoke first. “I’m Howard, this is Bradbury,” he said, nudging a thumb at his companion.
How quaint. They were being polite and introducing themselves. Caroline abandoned her own rules of etiquette and stayed silent. She started making a mental list of names. Howard, Bradbury, Fischer, Cameron. And Gary, who apparently wasn’t an important enough member of the club to warrant a reference by his last name. It was like a fucking white boy dudebro convention with less money, fewer beers, and more violence.
“How are you feeling?” Howard asked.
His tone indicated that he really couldn’t give a shit, but she was going to be honest anyway. She could talk about nonessential topics. Her wrists were red, the outline of the handcuffs still visible. She rubbed them vigorously, but they weren’t her main concern.
“My ribs hurt,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Some soldiers beat the crap out of me.”
“That doesn’t seem nice.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Maybe we can get you something to help the pain.”
Right. She wouldn’t be hanging her hat on that one. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Give a little, get a little. You know how it works.”
“Which one of you is the good cop?” Caroline asked. “Is it you, since you’re playing at pretending to help me out?”
Howard smiled at her. “I appreciate your honesty. Perhaps we’ll be able to get somewhere today. And in case you’re wondering, neither one of us is the good cop.”
Refreshing honesty from him as well. “I have nothing to say to either one of you. Also, shouldn’t you have read me my rights?”
Bradbury spoke up. “You don’t have any rights.”
A young asshole. Predictable. Probably only a year or two out of Quantico, if that. “So we’re just abandoning any and all constitutionality in here?”
“Traitors don’t have rights,” he said.
“You presume I’m a traitor?”
“You tell me.”
She wasn’t going to fall for that one. Caroline pursed her lips and turned her head away from them, fixating on the concrete blocks of the wall. Counting them. Rearranging them in her head. Imagining patterns and movement. Like a game.
“Let’s drop the charade. You know why you’re here,” Howard said.
Caroline continued to stare at the wall.
“We found your laptop,” he said.
He was lying but she wasn’t going to correct him. He wanted her to admit she had a laptop. Or a cloud drive. Or a message board. Or a website. Or anything else. They were bluffing. They had no way of knowing what she’d been doing. They were trying to get her to admit facts that weren’t in evidence, so they could start building a roadmap toward their version of the truth.
Unless they really knew about the laptop. Or that she’d attempted to destroy it in the first place. Or the secret online discussions, the passwords, the standalone server, the wireless hopping, the backups, the code words, the plotting…
No. All her laptops had been encrypted before being swept clean and tossed into the Susquehanna. They couldn’t have gotten anything useful off of any of them, even if they managed to find corrupted remains. As for everything else…it had never happened. None of it. It had all been a dream. Like now. Now was a dream. A very terrible, awful dream.
She had no such thing as plausible denial but she had a very strong incentive to keep her mouth shut. Caroline banished thoughts of the rebellion from her mind. If they stayed at the forefront, she was liable to let them slip out without realizing it. She started counting the blocks again.
“We know who you were talking to,” Bradbury said.
She began to twiddle her thumbs.
“It’s best if you cooperate,” Howard added.
Caroline looked over at him. At one time he had probably been quite a capable agent. He had a moderately friendly face but his pleasant expression was a mask. She knew the score. They likely did know bits and pieces of what she’d been doing. They were waiting for her to confirm it. To help them fill in the blanks so that they could continue to build their intelligence. To bolster whatever case they thought they had against her. To strengthen whatever plans they had to take out the rebellion. And she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.
They’d start out nice and then devolve if they didn’t get what they wanted. She knew better than to think that they’d abide by the policies and procedures that were in place when she was working for the DOJ. Not if they weren’t Mirandizing prisoners. It was an entirely new ballgame. And she wasn’t going to play.
Howard frowned at her. “We’v
e seen the classified information you obtained.”
Stay focused. Give them basic identifying information. Talk about the furthest topic from what they want to hear.
“My legal name is Caroline Joan Gerard,” she said quietly.
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I was born at Highland Park Hospital in Highland Park, Illinois on September 4.”
The two agents exchanged glances.
“Who were you working with?” Bradbury asked.
More people than you think, asshole. “I graduated from St. Mary School in Buffalo Grove, Illinois.”
Bradbury glared at her. “How did you get on a government server?”
Very subtle. They thought she’d turned into a hacker in order to obtain classified information. Interesting. Were they bluffing, or did they know?
“I am an alumnus of Adlai E. Stevenson High School in Lincolnshire, Illinois,” she said.
“Who were you working with?”
Time to have a little fun. “Adlai Stevenson was the governor of Illinois from 1949 to 1953,” Caroline said blankly.
“Excuse me?” Howard laid some papers out on the table in front of her. He was getting angry. “Where did you get these?”
She knew better than to look at the documents. She stared down at a different part of the table. “He ran for president twice on the Democratic ticket.”
Bradbury reached across the table, pulling her chin up so she was facing him. “Tell us what you know.” He turned to Howard. “This bitch is messing with us.”
Of course she was. She’d written her senior thesis on Adlai Stevenson. She could carry on for hours if she had to. She’d barely covered enough for a lame Wikipedia entry.
“He unofficially ran again in 1960 but was defeated by JFK,” Caroline said.
Bradbury punched her in the nose and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Move on,” he told Howard. “She’s fucking around.”
“Where are your children?” Howard asked.
An interesting segue. They weren’t going to play nice. At all. They probably thought they could somehow trick her into talking if they threatened her family. Caroline closed her eyes, trying to remain focused. She would never betray the ones she loved. Howard and Bradbury would figure that out quickly if they were worth their salt.
“Adlai Stevenson is widely regarded as leading the resurgence of the Democratic Party in the 1950s,” she said.
Bradbury punched her again and the blood started to flow. Fantastic. He plopped down on the table next to her, presumably to seem more intimidating.
“Where’s Senator Sullivan?” he asked. “We know she has your children.”
Caroline’s nose was bleeding profusely. She tried to wipe at it with the back of her hand and spat out some blood. “Stevenson served as ambassador to the United Nations before his death in 1965.”
Bradbury pulled her up from the chair by her hair, dragging her across the room. “Stop talking about fucking Adlai Stevenson,” he growled, shoving her up against the wall.
His threat came across as comical, for reasons she couldn’t quite understand. She again failed to hold her tongue. “Why would I want to fuck Adlai Stevenson? He’s dead. That’s gross.”
Caroline knew that laughing at her own joke would mean she’d get an even bigger ass kicking but she didn’t care. They weren’t going to start being gentle with her. Howard was sitting back in his chair quietly observing their entire exchange. Bradbury shoved her up against the wall again.
“Do you think this is funny?” he asked.
Another giggle escaped her lips. “Kinda.”
He reared back and punched her in the jaw. Her head thumped back against the concrete. She saw stars.
“Do you still want to laugh?” He kneed her in the stomach and she doubled over and fell to the floor. “Make another bullshit comment. Try it.”
She’d proven her point. He’d unfortunately done the same. “I’m finished,” she gasped.
He knelt down near her head, drawing his gun. How the hell had she missed that they were armed? Was everyone in this place packing heat?
“Where’s Governor McIntyre?” he asked. “And if you say one more fucking word about fucking Adlai Stevenson you’re getting a bullet to the brain.”
Caroline decided to test that theory. “Who’s Adlai Stevenson?” she said automatically.
Bradbury stood up and kicked Caroline in the side of the head. “If you don’t want to talk, it’s your funeral,” he said, right before she blacked out.
Chapter Seven
The Past
Caroline flipped through the pages of her book, adjusting herself on the lounge chair. It was hot. Her cast was itchy. And she was going to have a terrible tan line on top of it. Logic told her to get out of the sun but she liked having a little color in her cheeks. It made her feel healthy. Less fatigued. She had trouble sleeping with the cast even though Jack had given her his giant comfy bed, taking one of the guest rooms for himself. Caroline wanted him in the master bedroom with her but he didn’t think it was appropriate until Mo and Feef were more comfortable with their relationship. Quite a gallant position for him to take, although it left her frustrated.
Marguerite and Sophie were splashing around in the pool with Jack. They all seemed to be having a ball. Sophie let out huge peals of laughter whenever Jack would toss her up so that she fell back into the water, which seemed to happen every couple of minutes. She was normally a very shy child, so it made Caroline feel good to see that she had warmed to Jack so quickly. Both girls had spent time with him during the spring, but not nearly as much as they’d all spent together for the last couple of weeks.
Caroline’s staff had made it known that she would not be doing any constituent events, giving any interviews, or making any public appearances until she returned to work in early September. Jen provided an emotional statement to the press at the hospital and was still struggling with what happened, so Caroline and Kathleen jointly decided that she would be taking a break as well. They needed to be a little forceful; Jen had never taken any sort of vacation since Caroline took office. Kathleen was more than able to pick up her slack, even though she and Caroline spent more time talking smack via text message than doing any real work.
Caroline intended to spend the bulk of her recovery time in Rockville, but the phone never stopped ringing and the girls were getting restless. Being so close to D.C. made her feel that at any moment some tabloid would come banging at her door begging for a story. Jack also cut back his own schedule when Congress recessed, and his office issued a press release indicating he was going to spend August assisting Representative Gerard in her recovery. Concerned for her sanity, he convinced her to go to his estate outside Philadelphia for the rest of the month.
She became irritated within days of their arrival. The August recess was usually her favorite time of year; she had both girls at home for the tail end of it and they were able to spend almost every waking moment together before school started. They’d always made a camping trip to Appalachia, even if it was blisteringly hot. But this year it wouldn’t be possible.
Caroline felt lousy about the way she’d been acting during the past few weeks; she snarled at all of them numerous times, growing increasingly upset at her inability to do most menial tasks. Marguerite and Sophie spent a good deal of time playing in the outdoor pool, shooting hoops with Jess and Jack, doing museum trips with Christine, and going to a couple of Phillies games with Tom, but Caroline was starting to go stir crazy.
Jack swam over to where she was sitting and splashed some water at her, barely grazing her feet. The air was steamy, and it felt good. She’d have to dangle her feet in the pool later that afternoon.
“Want me to make us something to eat?” he asked.
Caroline would take poolside service anytime. “That sounds nice.”
“I thought I’d give you three some quality time for a while.” He winked at her.
“Your insinuation
has been noted, sir,” she said, as he got out of the water.
She couldn’t wait to get her cast off. Bathing was a pain and looking at Jack in only a swimsuit made her want to jump in the pool, in a bed, anywhere, and wrap her arms around him. She missed him even though they were in the same house. He kissed her on the lips, lingering there for a moment even though he was dripping all over her. She ran her right hand through his hair and heard her daughters giggling. Jack pulled back and grinned at Caroline before turning around and sticking his tongue out at them.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Behave yourselves,” he said to the girls, who were now at the side of the pool staring at them both.
Caroline smiled at them. May as well just get the conversation over with. “Why don’t you guys come over here and dry off before lunch.”
The girls grabbed their towels and took a seat on the lounge chair next to hers. Caroline stood up and motioned for them to scoot over so that she could sit in between them.
“So, what’s up?” Marguerite kept her distance, not wanting to get water on her mother’s cast.
Sophie put her arm around Caroline’s good side, leaning into her chest. She was soaking wet but Caroline had learned long ago that little kid hugs were far more important than dry clothing.
“How are you two doing?” she asked them.
“Okay, I guess,” Marguerite said. “Being here is pretty fun.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t go camping,” Caroline said.
“That’s okay.” Marguerite shrugged. “Actual camp was kind of like camping anyway, right?”
Sophie looked up at her mother. “Jack said we could pitch a tent in the yard one night. He even said he’d stay with us.”
Caroline laughed. Jack was the least outdoorsy guy she knew. While Nicky had busied himself with tree stands, shotguns, venison jerky, snowshoeing, and other wholesome activities, Jack was much more inclined to sit in the air conditioning or indoor heat whenever possible.
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 32