“Well,” she said. “I appreciate your honesty. Can I count on both of you to be honest?”
“Absolutely,” Caroline said. Honesty probably didn’t include busting out a monologue about why her visitors might think that latching onto her rapidly fading congressional dreams was a good idea. Unless that was what they wanted to hear.
“Why are you running?” Jen pressed.
“Do you want the cheesy reasons or the realistic ones that will sound good on a campaign flyer?”
“I want to hear both,” Kathleen said. “I need to know what I’m up against here.”
Nick looked up from the résumés. “Says here you interned for the Human Rights Campaign. Isn’t that the gay thing?”
Caroline almost put her head in her hands. Her husband’s occasional heterosexism was bound to pop up during what was rapidly becoming a clumsy conversation. Kathleen had spent an equal amount of time both working for candidates and dedicating herself to social causes. She hadn’t limited herself to one type of political activity, which was a huge selling point. Caroline wondered if Nicky knew how offensive he sounded.
“Please excuse my tactless husband,” she said.
Kathleen laughed. “I guess we know to keep him away from the press.”
Jen started making notes too, except she was taking hers by hand. “He’s homey. That will play well.”
“Are we already talking about how to play up my quirks?” Nick asked. “I like this.” He glanced back and forth between Jen and Kathleen. “Are you two, you know, together?”
Oh, dear Lord. He was going to blow this for her before she even got started. Caroline wasn’t entirely sure if he realized he was doing it. He was either asking totally innocent questions without realizing the implications or subconsciously trying to run these two women out of their house. It wasn’t helping. She rubbed her forehead. “Nicky, can you please go check on the girls?”
He stood up. “Fine. Have your party without me.”
Kathleen laughed again when he slinked out of the dining room. She didn’t look up from whatever notes she was taking. “He’s trying to scare us off,” she said.
Jen was frantically writing something down. “I caught that.”
The two of them were taking the cynical approach. Pragmatic idealists. Caroline could work with that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t-”
“Don’t worry,” Kathleen interrupted, bringing her head back up. “It didn’t work. Takes more than a couple of ill-advised comments to get me to give up. By the way, I’m not attracted to Jen.”
“And it breaks my heart,” Jen said dryly. She cleared her throat. “Tell us why you’re really considering political office. You can be straight with us now that he’s out of the room.”
Out of the room, a few feet away, eavesdropping as he monitored their children…it didn’t matter. Caroline let her childhood dreams spring to the surface. These women made it easy to tell the unvarnished truth. “I’ve wanted it my entire life,” she admitted. “The natural course of things – law school, federal prosecutor, then a judicial spot or a public policy position. I feel compelled to make a difference with the gifts I’ve been given.”
“And you chose Congress,” Kathleen said, scrolling through her Blackberry again. “Why not the Maryland General Assembly or the Rockville City Council?”
Was she implying that Caroline had set her sights too high? “I’m not impressed with our current representation in the House,” she said. “I want a Democrat who sticks to his values, not one who decides that pay to play is the way to get ahead.”
“You don’t care for the incumbent?”
“I wouldn’t be considering challenging him if I thought he was doing a competent job.”
Kathleen didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. “Why not start lower?”
Caroline figured it wouldn’t hurt to be blunt. “I have to take a leave of absence from a very well-paying federal civil position to do this. I can’t afford to do it for a spot on the city council or a seat in the General Assembly. Not with that sort of financial and professional risk.”
“Do you think those positions are below you?”
Caroline smiled. This woman was growing on her. Kathleen wasn’t pulling any punches. Jen was sitting back and watching their exchange. Judging Caroline’s every response, her tone, her mannerisms. They were the ones doing the interviewing, not her. That much was clear.
“No,” Caroline said. “I do not. But I can do more in Congress with my experience in the federal system and to be frank, I’m not going to take a risk without the potential for a bigger payout.”
“Are you using this as a springboard to a career as a lobbyist?”
Oh, shit. Kathleen thought payout meant kickbacks and political favors. The same practices Caroline had been railing against. “No,” she said hastily. “I meant that if I was going to play the odds, I wanted to go big.”
Kathleen smiled at her. “I know. I was messing with you.” She laughed when Caroline blushed. “Congress is a big step. Pretty normal for ambitious types but you don’t strike me as that.”
Although she’d never been terribly driven to get ahead, it stung when people pointed out her lack of ambition. It made Caroline feel like she wasn’t doing as much as she could. “What makes you think that?”
Kathleen put her phone down. “Medium sized house, nothing flashy. Relatively quiet political profile. Line AUSA, not a supervisor, not a gunner.” She waved her hand at Caroline. “We checked you out before coming here. We’re not stupid.”
“I didn’t say that you were.”
Kathleen glanced over at Jen, who was still watching them both. “You thought we’d be older. Have more experience.”
“I don’t know what I thought.”
Kathleen waved her hand again. “None of that matters, to be honest. You seem like a nice woman. Real. Down to earth. You drive a Honda. You’ve got two cute but mildly misbehaving kids.”
“Nicky has a minivan,” Caroline added, trying to be helpful.
Kathleen smiled. “You’re normal people,” she said. “Voters want normal. They’re sick of opportunists, of rich guys and elitists. You’re elite in the right way.”
She’d have to get Kathleen to explain that in greater detail. “How do you mean?”
There was that grin again. “Are you fishing for compliments or do you really not know?”
Caroline shrugged, her need to be professional overcome by her natural comfort in this woman’s presence. “Probably both.”
Kathleen glanced over at Jen, who nodded at her to keep going. “You’re smart. Well educated. But you’re not an asshole.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you didn’t hang up on Jen.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Most people do.”
“Most people haven’t shown up when I’ve called them to set up meetings. Jen was the first one to call me out of the blue.”
Now it was Jen’s turn to speak. “It wasn’t out of the blue. We know people. People you’ve worked with, who know the type of person you are.”
Maybe all those impassioned conversations with defense attorneys had paid off in more ways than one. “I see.”
Jen lifted up her notepad. “I spoke with over fifty people who have worked with you, from defense attorneys to court staff to judges to anyone else I could find. From every legal job you’ve ever had. They all said the same thing. You’re ethical and earnest, and you don’t bullshit people. You don’t have baggage. You’re genuine.”
Caroline had lived and worked in Washington and Baltimore before settling in Rockville and taking a job with the feds after she married Nicky. He owed her for the killer commute she made between their house and Greenbelt every day. But fifty different people? That was some serious dedication. How long had that taken Jen?
“How I behave in a courtroom or during plea negotiations might not be who I really am,” Caroline said.
Kathleen sm
iled confidently. “It is. These people like you. They think you’re the real deal. And so do we.”
Maybe her two visitors didn’t realize how small legal communities could be, particularly with regard to criminal practice. “We’re talking about an insular club,” Caroline said. “How does that translate to widespread appeal?”
Jen flipped through the pages on her notepad. “Those weren’t just lawyers, remember? Trust me, it will.”
“What about the incumbent?”
“That’s a high hurdle to overcome,” she said. “But it can be done. He’s been phoning it in for the past two terms. And as you said, he’s corrupt as hell.”
Caroline hadn’t exactly phrased it that way, but Jen’s assessment was spot on. “I wouldn’t want to go negative.”
“You don’t have to. Outside groups will be all over that.”
“I don’t like that part of politics.”
Kathleen crossed her arms. “Then distance yourself from it. There are ways around all of those things. That’s why you have us.” She tilted her head toward the living room. “We’ll even get your husband on board.”
Caroline wrung her hands, another nervous tic they were sure to notice. “Does this mean you want to work with me? I don’t really have an infrastructure yet.”
Jen leaned back in her chair. “You have one now. We’ll start putting out feelers, drumming up money, that sort of thing. I’ve got a few connections we can work. There’s an untapped market in the Democratic Party in this district. A lot of them will love latching onto a candidate like you.”
“But to be fair, we don’t really know what we’re doing,” Kathleen said, yelping when Jen nudged her elbow. “What? I’m just being honest.”
“You have the credentials,” Caroline said. “Even if you’re a few years behind the other guys. And you have some experience. More than me, in fact. I trust you to make a go at this with me.”
“We don’t just have the credentials. We’ve got brass balls, too.” Kathleen yelped again and glared at Jen. “Don’t kick me. You told me to be myself.”
Caroline laughed. “I think we’re going to get along spectacularly.”
Jen smiled. “Then let’s do this. Let’s get you to the House.”
Chapter Four
The Safe House
Gabe Morton didn’t think of himself as an activist. Didn’t keep up with the grand debates and great issues of the day. He’d only recently become, as he put it, a grownup. High school dropout, smoking pot and playing video games all day, he’d barely scraped by until he managed to catch a lucky break with free tuition to community college. Captivated by approaches to science he never considered before, he became an EMT then earned his nursing degree.
He spent a few years working in Washington-area hospitals, doing none of the fun assignments like the maternity ward or the depressing ones like the ICU. He just did his job. Didn’t analyze it. Helped people when he could. Took the losses when they came. Nothing spectacular.
Then the shit hit the fan.
He saw coworkers shipped away for no reason, paraded out of the lounge or cafeteria by soldiers with big guns and bigger smiles. Several of his neighbors up and vanished, leaving his grandmother’s old craftsman home one of the only occupied residences on the block. Never with any explanation, though he assumed there had to be legitimate reasons behind the disappearances. Perhaps they’d stolen from their employer, or committed tax fraud, or done something to get the eye of the government on them. Innocent people weren’t carted away for nothing, were they? He ignored the rumors and continued to go about his life.
He had no affiliations to speak of. No family still alive. A few friends, but not many. A benign, non-threatening man slipping his way through a society looking over its shoulder at every turn. When he heard about an opening at the federal holding facility inside the Beltway, he applied. He wasn’t sure why; he’d heard stories about what went on there, knew there was a good chance that it wasn’t the only facility of its kind. But the money was good and the third shift hours were tolerable. When he got the gig it shocked the hell out of him. It was a demotion in title but a huge increase in salary.
He started in the morgue two days after he was hired. It was not enjoyable labor. But he was a hard worker and it didn’t take long for him to earn the supposedly honorable position of removing bodies from their cells. No one discussed why or how the prisoners had appeared, or why they all ended up in body bags. Gabe learned quickly that the well-oiled propaganda machine churning out favorable stories for the government was nothing more than a charade. His coworkers didn’t find it troubling. But he did.
His quiet advocacy began. He saw the Speaker of the House first. Gabe wasn’t much into following politics but he knew who Robert Allen was when he saw him, even being shuffled down the hall in handcuffs. Other people came through, some he recognized, some he did not.
When he found out they’d captured Caroline Gerard, he knew it was time to act. You didn’t have to be political to know who Caroline Gerard and John McIntyre were. The tabloid press and pop culture websites didn’t seem nearly as focused on their policies as on their personal lives. Gabe always thought it would be difficult to be that kind of person – someone who wanted to be in public service but was thrust into the seedier aspects of it without their consent. Gerard didn’t play any of their games. Unlike McIntyre, who was used to being on the society pages every week and relished the limelight.
No, Gabe Morton didn’t follow politics. But he followed her. From the first time he saw her on C-SPAN to the news of her first husband’s passing to her keynote address and beyond. She seemed so approachable. Friendly. Likeable. Someone he’d enjoy meeting outside of a political context. He knew not to count on news clips or articles to glean information about a person, but she appeared to be genuinely nice.
When she and her second husband started speaking out against the Santos Administration, people noticed. Some were spurred to action. Most were not. When Gerard and McIntyre appeared on Meet the Press the previous December to discuss their concerns about potential overreach with regard to executive orders, Gabe’s interest was piqued.
He started searching message boards for the first time that Sunday, and his eyes were opened. Rumors of rebellion in California. Hints that Texas would secede. Snippets of information indicating that members of Congress, government workers, and other policymakers who had withdrawn from their positions had not done so voluntarily.
He kept his research to himself. Kept his head down when he was at the grocery store, walking to get the mail, driving to and from work. Quiet, unassuming, nondescript. Some random white dude going about his life. That was how to do it. That was how to keep safe.
Until he got sick of standing pat. He met a few people online. Learned the language, the secret codes. Crunch came to stay with him first. He needed a place to crash and Gabe didn’t have the heart to turn him away. He met up with Jonesie when he started working at The Fed. Jones had a lease ending and not a lot of cash to spare so he moved in as well. The plotting began.
Amazing how it had progressed in a few short weeks. Maybe a month or two. Gabe had been working at that terrible job for three months before everything started to come together. He managed to stick out another three months after that fateful Sunday when his research had begun. He knew he’d have to make it last longer. If he and Jones didn’t time things properly, it would destroy everything they’d accomplished so far. Still, he felt guilty for allowing himself to be taken in for so long. The last few weeks could hardly make up for months or even years of ignorance.
Gabe knew Gerard would be close to death when they snatched her from her captors; there was no other plausible way to get her safely out of the building. She was quite ill and had a constant low grade fever threatening to break into the type of bodily defense mechanism their meager supplies couldn’t address. Crunch was getting frustrated. He had virtually no medical training and couldn’t contact Gabe when he was working his sh
ift at the Fed. He confronted Gabe when he returned from work, two days after she’d arrived.
“She needs to be in a hospital,” he said.
Jones had already slinked out of the kitchen, sensing an argument was coming. Gabe set down his keys and got two beers out of the refrigerator. “And which one of us is going to take her there? I’m sure she’ll receive the finest treatment.”
“She’s sick, Gabe. Sicker than I’ve ever seen anyone.”
“She’s hurt. She’s fighting off infection. It’ll be fine.”
“What if she dies?”
Gabe shoved the beers into his backpack and started down the stairs. Crunch followed him. Despite his fatigue, he barely took his eyes off his patient if he could help it.
“She won’t die,” Gabe said. “She’ll die if we take her to a hospital. And you’re as good as gone if you spend too much time on the outside. You know I’m right.”
Crunch kept his voice quiet but his anger was evident. “You need to be here with her. Keeping track of stuff. I have no idea what to do when you’re at work.”
“You’re doing everything you can.”
“What should I be focusing on aside from her vitals?”
Gabe pulled up one of the chairs next to the bed, checking Caroline’s pulse. Steady, just as the monitor said. One could never be too sure. The equipment was old and sometimes unreliable. “I don’t know. Does she talk at all?”
“Sometimes. She fades in and out.” Crunch paused. “That fever needs to be brought under control.”
“It’ll come down. I’ll give her another shot of steroids.”
Crunch rubbed his eyes. “This is bad, man. Really bad.”
Gabe pointed at the machine. His friend needed encouragement. The nights were long since Crunch was with her alone. Daytime was so much easier with the three of them around, even though he and Jones slept most of the time.
“It’s okay,” he said. “She’s got a strong heartbeat, blood pressure is steady…she just needs time to recover. She probably didn’t sleep when she was in there.”
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 68