by Charles, Eva
Accompany the body back? “The president is dead?”
Smith nods. “They worked on him—they have to—but he died the minute the bullet entered his skull.”
I’m not sorry. God forgive me, but there is not one part of me that’s sorry that man is dead.
“I’m going to try to reach JD again.”
“Don’t bother,” I say to Smith, getting up and going back to the desk. I pull out JD’s phone, his driver’s license, and credit cards, and toss them on the blotter.
Smith doesn’t miss a beat, but I see the fury in his eyes. “He must have been in some kind of hurry when he left,” Smith says.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want to know why JD thought he was going to die.”
34
Julian
“Mr. Wilder. The King wishes to speak with you.”
The King? What the fuck? I open my eyes and blink a few times before meeting the flight attendant’s eyes. The King of Amidane. “The King wants to speak with me?”
She nods. “Yes, sir,” she says, handing me a phone.
“JD Wilder.”
“Yes, Mr. Wilder. One moment please, for the King.”
“JD,” the old man says. “I have bad news.”
I don’t respond, because spit it out doesn’t seem like it’ll pass protocol, and I can’t think straight.
“The president—your father—has been shot. I send you not only my deepest condolences but those of the entire Kingdom.”
“He’s been shot?” I rub my eyes. This has to be a fucking dream.
“In North Africa. I will order the plane diverted to a location of your choosing so you can accompany the body of your father home.”
The body of your father? My father’s body? Wait a minute. “I don’t understand. Is he dead?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you. But you are in Amidane airspace on sovereign land. It is my responsibility. I have spoken with the pilot. He will bring you anywhere of your choosing. Let the flight staff know if there is anything you need.”
I hang up the phone and hand it to the flight attendant. “The King has instructed us to divert the flight to a location of your choosing. Do you wish to speak with the pilot about your plans?”
My plans? “No. I don’t wish to speak to the pilot. I’m needed at home. In Charleston. There is no change of plans.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
I lay back down, shaken. Not because my father is dead, I wouldn’t shed a goddamn tear over him. But because the timing is staggering. Who shot him? Did he die right away or did he suffer? My mind races with dozens of unanswered questions. Why do I care about any of it? He’s dead. Isn’t that what you wanted, JD?
News of his death is strangely unsatisfying. I don’t feel triumphant, maybe because I didn’t pull the trigger. I don’t feel a sense of relief either, or even a sense of justice. I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all. I reposition the pillow and pull the blanket over me. Then I curl up on my side and sleep all the way to Charleston. I don’t wake up until the wheels hit the ground.
* * *
Apart from the King and the US Ambassador to Amidane, I haven’t spoken to anyone about my father’s death. I sent word through diplomatic channels to my brothers and to Gabrielle. Apparently, ‘can I borrow your cell phone to call my girlfriend?’ isn’t kosher in diplomatic circles. Fuckers.
The trip to Sweetgrass is surreal. The landscape is bright and vivid, but I don’t see any one thing in particular. My thoughts are moving at a rapid pace, almost too quickly for my brain to keep up. The ride home happens in what feels like seconds.
The cab pulls up to the front door, and I sit for a long minute, before digging into my wallet for a few bills to pay the driver. “Thanks,” I say mindlessly, climbing out of the backseat.
When I get inside, Smith and Gabrielle are waiting in my study. The manila envelope I left with instructions is on my desk, opened. I draw in a large breath from the doorway. And then a second. I can’t move. I never expected to be back here. I dig my fingers into the doorframe to steady myself.
“JD,” Gabrielle says softly, approaching me in what seems like slow motion. I hold her against my chest and take her in through my senses. My heart is hammering.
Smith watches quietly from across the room. Gabrielle is crying.
“Hey,” I say, smoothing her hair. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“You are one stupid sonofabitch,” Smith says squeezing my shoulder, on his way out the door. “And we will be talking about this in great detail, soon.”
Gabrielle pulls back. “What happened? Why did you think you were going to die? I don’t understand, JD.”
I tip my chin toward the desk. “Didn’t you read the note I left you?”
She shakes her head. “No. We found the larger envelope in the drawer, but Smith’s dad called before I opened it. Then I got sidetracked once I knew you were alive.” I use my thumb to wipe an errant tear from her cheek. “Then later, Smith said we shouldn’t open them. That they were only meant to be read if you were gone.”
“Smith.” A guy’s guy through and through.
“I want to know why you thought you were going to die. I don’t believe it was a just a feeling.”
“Let’s go sit by the window.” I don’t let go of her, not even for the ten seconds it takes to walk to the sofa where I sit and pull her onto my lap. I need her, right here.
When I left Sweetgrass, it was for the last time. When I kissed her goodbye, it was for the last time. When I cupped my hand over her belly, it was the closest I’d ever come to my child. An overwhelming flood of emotion is threatening. I toss my head back and squeeze my eyes tight. It wasn’t supposed to end like this for me. For us.
“I’m waiting, JD.”
I’m not going to lie to her. I’m just not. That shit’s done. “Nope. Not just a feeling. I had a plan to kill him.”
She gasps, and for a second I think that maybe a lie would have been the better way to go. But she doesn’t run out the door or threaten to keep the baby away from me. She doesn’t do any of the terrible things I imagine, so I tell her the rest.
“He threatened to hurt the baby, if it’s a girl, in the same way he hurt Georgie. And I figured he’d do plenty of damage to a boy, too. I’d lost all confidence in my ability to protect any of you. I didn’t see another choice.”
She burrows deeper into my lap. “But you changed your mind?” she asks softly, tracing the contour of my cheek.
“Yep.” I kiss her head. “I didn’t want our child, or you, burdened with the stigma of what I’d done. I didn’t want our child growing up thinking his daddy was a psychopath. A murderer. My father deserved to be killed. But my child doesn’t deserve to bear the weight of it. It stops here. Right here,” I say, with my hand on her belly. “I decided I would not perpetuate another cycle of evil. I’d find another way to protect my family. That sonofabitch would not destroy another generation from the grave.”
“They would have killed you.”
“With any luck, that’s how it would have turned out. I prefer death over a life without you.” I wind my arms around her more tightly, holding her as close as I possibly can. “I’m not a good man, Gabrielle. I don’t have those genes. But I’m asking you for a chance anyway.”
She wraps both her arms around one of mine and presses her lips to my skin. “When I learned he was dead, I was so glad. If I had heard him threaten the baby, I would have killed him myself. I would have found a way. I hate him. For what he did to your mother, and your siblings, to Georgie, to us. But what I hate most of all is what he did to you. I’m happy he’s dead. I hope his soul burns for eternity in the fire of hell.”
35
Julian
I glance up and Smith’s father, General Sinclair, is standing a few feet in front of my desk. I didn’t hear him enter the study, and of course he didn’t knock. Not that he needs to.
I sta
nd and extend my hand. “Sir. It’s nice to see you.” He still has a don’t-fuck-with-me handshake. “How’s Mrs. Sinclair?” I ask.
“She’s a pain in the ass, but I’m not here to talk about my wife. I heard that you won’t be attending the president’s funeral. I came to hear it from you myself.”
“Would you like to sit down?” I ask.
“No.”
I let my fingertips graze the edge of the desk. “You heard correctly. I won’t be participating in the grand farewell.”
“Like fuck you won’t.”
This man is the only person who talks to me like this without me at least thinking about pushing back roughly. “I have nothing to offer. And it would be disingenuous of me to pretend I’m grieving, because I’m happy he’s dead.”
He glares at me with eyes that could slice through a slab of steel. “You will be there while the president lies in repose, and you will go to the funeral and say a few words to the country. A country that has just lost its president. You will hold his widow’s elbow as you help her into the cathedral, and at the graveside, and you will offer her a pressed handkerchief should she need it. You will do this because it’s what the country expects of you, and it’s what they require in order to heal after a tragedy like this. They need to believe that you are the perfect family, deserving of their affection. It doesn’t matter if they loved him or hated him before he stopped breathing. Everyone is elevated in death.”
“I don’t know what I could possibly say about him that wouldn’t turn my stomach.”
“Well I certainly wouldn’t want you to have a tummy ache. That would be so uncomfortable.” He inches closer to me. “Find your goddamn balls. All that fancy education you have. You’ll think of some bullshit to say. I told you a long time ago that not every man gets to serve in uniform, but sooner or later we are all called on to serve. This is your moment. You have been called to serve your country and you will stand up and serve honorably. Do you understand me, son?”
I don’t like it, but I don’t hesitate. Not because I owe it to the country, but because I owe a debt of gratitude to this man who once took the time to guide a desperately lost kid. “Yes, Sir.”
He nods and pulls his wallet from his back pocket and slaps a ten-dollar bill on the desk. Get a haircut before the funeral,” then he pulls out another ten and plunks it down on the other, “and take your friend Smith with you. You two look like frat boys who’ve been on an extended spring break.”
He turns to leave but stops to glance at me over his shoulder. “Standing by the graveside is an excellent opportunity to be sure the bastard is lowered into the ground.” Before I can say anything, he’s gone.
36
Julian
I dart up the steps to the plane. Just one more small matter left to see to, then we stick my father in the ground and I’m done with that chapter.
The flight crew is at the top of the stairs waiting on me. I’m thirty minutes late. Gabrielle didn’t want to let me out of bed this morning. I’d like to say it’s because I’m such a great fuck, but the sex was just an excuse for her to keep me there. She suspects I’m up to something.
“Good morning. I hope my tardiness didn’t disrupt the flight plan.”
“They just shifted us for takeoff by about fifteen minutes. It’s all good,” the pilot calls from the cockpit.
Not all good. There’s a dumb fuck making himself comfortable inside the cabin. In the seat I always sit in. He knows this. “Why are you here?” I ask Smith.
“Thought you might like company.”
“Get out.”
“Pfft. I’m not going anywhere. Sit down and shut up.”
I’m steaming, but I take the seat across from him. I can’t afford any more delays, and it’s not worth arguing with a jackass.
“So where are we going?” he asks. “And will there be chicks or did you leave your balls with your girlfriend?”
“We haven’t started taxiing yet, I can still toss your ass onto the tarmac.”
“What the fuck are you up to now, JD?”
“I’m meeting some people near Reynosa.”
“Olson?”
So you do know. I nod. “Apparently Olson got picked up by the Mexican authorities approaching the border with enough smack in his vehicle to keep everyone in the entire state of Texas high for the next decade. Did you hear about that?” Smith rolls his eyes. “They’re going to give me a crack at him before they put him into the system. I’ve got a few questions for him.”
“You know the people you’re dealing with down there are dangerous.”
“I’m basically bankrolling them at this point. I’m of little use to them dead. How did you find out?”
“You’re never going anywhere again without security. I don’t care what kind of story you’re peddling about secure locations and billionaire retreats. You go, security goes, so don’t send your detail away again.”
“Gabrielle told you.”
“Yep. Her Mama-radar is on and finely tuned. Neither you nor your kid are ever getting away with anything.” I glare at him. “She called me yesterday and said you were up to something.”
“She can never know about this.”
“That’s between you and her. But don’t ask me to lie for you. Not to her.”
“I don’t plan on lying. I’m just going to tell her it’s Sayle business. Technically it is.”
He glowers at me.
“I don’t like it either. But I don’t want to implicate her in this in case there’s ever any blowback.”
“But it’s fine to drag me into the swamp with you?”
“Hey. You want to get off the plane, be my guest. I didn’t fucking invite you in the first place.”
“I’m stayin’. I live for the swamp.”
I stare out the window as the plane lifts-off. I’m not entirely sold on the notion that a sniper fighting with the rebels assassinated a sitting US president. It’s too convenient, not to mention politically expedient. “Who do you think really killed him?”
Smith digs his teeth into the corner of his bottom lip. “The rebels. The resistance. An ally. An enemy. He was into some bad shit. Probably playing those suckers off each other. The list of haters is long.”
“Are we on that list? The Americans?”
Smith catches my eye. “The military? I’d say it’s highly unlikely. The CIA? I can imagine that scenario. Unlikely, but possible.” He stretches his legs out in front of him and drums his fingers on the armrest. “I think it was probably the rebels, like they’re saying. But we would have had to disseminate misinformation, which is totally in the CIA’s wheelhouse, and we would have had to make it easy for the shooter to have the target within his reach. I can come up with dozens of ways we could have done that. Some passive, others active.”
It’s sobering to think about. But as far as I’m concerned, justice has been served. My father was a traitor of the worst kind.
* * *
The plane lands on a private airstrip in Southern Texas. Smith and I jump into a leased Jeep and head south. When we’re ten minutes outside of Reynosa, he wants me to pull over.
“I’m not fucking pulling over.”
“You need to put this on,” he says, holding up something that resembles a thin ski mask with an embedded microphone.
“What is that?”
“You can’t just go in there and show your face. Everybody knows who you are.”
“So what? Olson’s never going to see the light of day, and the other guys aren’t a problem. I already told you that.”
“Listen asshole. I promised Gabrielle that I’d bring you back in one piece, but if you don’t put this on, I’ll break you in two myself.”
“What’s the microphone about?”
“Disguises your voice.”
I thump my hands on the steering wheel, before pulling the damn Jeep over. “Here,” Smith says, handing me one of the disguises. “You need to put this on too.” He tosses a vest at me.
/>
“This is heavy as shit.”
“You have a lot more faith in your friends than I do. It’s bulletproof. Did you bring a firearm?”
“Of course. I don’t trust them that much.” I glance at Smith, who’s also wearing a disguise, and start to laugh.
“What’s so goddamn funny?”
“My life mostly. Although you look like an idiot.”
“Just drive,” he says, pointing out the windshield. “I have a few questions for that sonofabitch Olson too.”
When we arrive at the meeting place, there are three men and Olson parked near an old shack. “I can’t believe you were going to come here alone. For a smart guy, you’re a moron sometimes.”
I quickly survey the area and decide Smith’s right about that.
I nod at the Mexicans. “We won’t be long.” I grab Olson by the neck and drag him behind the Jeep. He’s cuffed so it’s not hard to hook my leg around his and shove him to the ground. I set my boot on his chest. “I want to know everything about the accident that killed my mother.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the fucker answers. I lean in and put some weight on his chest, grinding my heel into the flab. “It was an accident.” I grind harder, until he cries out like the pussy that he is. “Your father. Not me. He put something in her sandwich. Put her out. She drove off the road. She didn’t feel anything.” Sonofabitch.
“What about my siblings who were with her? Did they feel anything?” I stick my heel into his neck and Smith pulls me back.
“Did you drug Gabby’s security detail too?” Smith asks. “My guy?”
Olson nods.
“With what?”
“Sodium Soltrite. Mixed with dairy. Packs a punch.”
“And is undetectable,” I mutter, slapping my boot back onto his chest. “What was in the warehouse that needed to be torched?”