by Josie Brown
This was a relief to Smith, more so because the Ghost Squad had been hacked.
The discovery had been made only a few hours ago. The file on Operation Flamingo was among the breached files.
The good news was that the file had been embedded with a security worm. The bad news: the trail ended at Langley. From what his tech ops could tell, it had been opened by only one person: a CIA agent named Fred Hanover.
Smith’s asshole puckered when intel on Hanover showed him to be Mansfield’s closest friend. Immediately he put a couple of ghosts on Hanover’s trail, but Better Off Dead Fred must have sniffed them out, because he flew the coop.
Did he have a chance to brief Mansfield on Flamingo? Smith wondered. Even if he had, that dirty little secret was now as dead as the senator himself.
Apparently the Mansfields’ charred remains weren’t much to behold. He didn’t have clearance for either the evidence room or the morgue, but Smith had positioned himself so that he could see through the glass wall that separated the morgue from the hallway he was supposedly guarding. The FAA coroner unzipped one of the body bags. The Vandergalen woman gasped, but stood her ground. No such luck when the medic opened the second bag. She turned her head and ran out of the room.
He was having so much fun watching Mansfield’s sister-in-law heave her breakfast in the corner of the evidence room that he almost missed seeing the investigator hand Brinker something—
An aluminum briefcase.
Shit, it must have belonged to Mansfield, thought Smith. A cold trickle of sweat went down his spine. What if evidence of Flamingo was inside?
Smith followed as Brinker took both the briefcase and grieving woman out of the building, but by the time he got to his car, they were already a few blocks down the street. Two tractor-trailers and an old woman in a PT Cruiser made sure he missed the light that would have put him on the expressway ramp, directly behind them.
That’s okay. He knew where to find them.
“You wouldn’t happen to know the code to open Andy’s briefcase, would you?” Ben waited until they were almost in Fairfax before asking Abby.
She’d quit sobbing only half an hour ago. The whole time she hadn’t said a word. She just stared straight ahead.
Now she turned to him. With a voice lacking any emotion, she said, “It’s the date he earned his wings as a Marine Corps fighter pilot.”
“Reach in the back. Open it.”
To do so, she had to unbuckle her seat belt, hoist herself onto her knees and turn around in order to grab it from the floor, behind her seat.
Instinctively his eyes were drawn to the rear view mirror, but he jerked his head to the road again when the thought hit him, Maddy’s jeans do her justice.
When she swung the case over, it sideswiped his head. “Sorry,” she murmured, but he didn’t believe her.
Maybe she read my mind, he thought.
A moment later she had it open. “What are we looking for?”
“Just before takeoff, I gave Andy a manila envelope. It came from Fred. Inside was information on something called Operation Flamingo. Fred’s instructions were that it was for Andy’s eyes only, so I didn’t open it. But if it had anything to do with Andy and Maddy’s deaths, I think we should know about it.”
She filtered through the case. “There are four envelopes in here.”
“It should still be sealed up. There is no label. I don’t think he had time to open it before take-off.”
“”Three are unopened, and unlabeled.” Abby opened one and shook her head. “It’s the speech that was prepared for tonight’s event,” she muttered, as she reached for another. “This second one has some polling figures. So, I guess three’s the charm.” She cracked the seal on the final envelope and scanned the pages in her hand. “Pull over, Ben.”
Her tone was ominous enough he jerked the car onto the shoulder of the road and let the car roll until it slowed to a complete stop. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she handed him the paper in her hands.
It wasn’t at all what he expected. It looked official, and was marked “Confidential,” but it wasn’t a government document.
It was a medical form. A pregnancy test.
The patient, M. Elaine Vann, was eleven weeks pregnant.
Who the hell was Elaine…
Maddy.
Maddy…had been pregnant?
The thought that she’d been carrying his child washed over him like a cold wave of bittersweet regrets—
“It was his? Not mine?” The revelation slammed into his gut like a fist.
“She must have thought so.” Abby stared out the window. “Otherwise why would Andy have her test results?”
“Oh…shit! Wait! She didn’t give this to him. I did.” Ben slammed his hands on the steering wheel. “Yesterday afternoon, she called me to tell me she was ending our relationship. I was so angry that I went over to her place. I thought I could—that I could force her to change her mind. When I got there, she was rushing out the door. She had a suitcase with her, and a bunch of other things in her hands. I presume she was rushing to meet her invisible man. But I wouldn’t let her go until we—” he paused, embarrassed, “—well, until we made love, one last time. She—we—dropped everything. On the floor. I guess we exchanged envelopes without realizing it.”
“Oh Ben, I’m so sorry.” Blushing, Abby looked down at her lap. “Knowing Maddy, nothing would have changed her mind. Not when she was able to give Andy something I never could. A child.”
She’s trying to comfort me, but I should be comforting her, he thought. Then it hit him: Would Maddy have tried to get pregnant if he hadn’t let it slip about Abby’s fertility efforts?
He looked down at the test results. Yes, a DNA test had been performed, too. The results show fifteen genetic markers. Were they his, or Andy’s?
Abby frowned. “If she took Fred’s envelope by mistake, it may have burned up in the crash, along with the rest of her things.”
“That’s the strange part. She left much earlier than she needed, in order to make the flight. And on the plane, she wasn’t dressed in the same outfit she left in. She was dressed to look like you. Not only that, the bag she had with her was different.” He stared at the DNA analysis. “Maybe she didn’t want to share the test results with him after all.”
Abby shrugged. “That’s possible. Even if she were to hide the knowledge of her child’s DNA, she may have felt that the day would come when she’d need proof of her child’s paternity.”
“In other words,” Ben interrupted, “Maddy might have hidden the envelope. But where?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Ben’s cell phone buzzed. Caller ID showed it was Sukie, so he answered it on speaker.
“Ben, thank God I found you!” He was touched by the concern in her voice. “Where are you?”
“With…with Maddy. I took her down to Richmond, to identify the senator’s body. What’s up?”
“She’s with you? Good, because Preston Alcott is worried about both of you. He wanted you to know that he petitioned the FAA to release Andy’s and Abby’s remains for burial. The funeral will take place tomorrow, two o’clock at Arlington National Cemetery. He feels the sooner they’re laid to rest, the less chance for the media to make a circus out of the tragedy.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered then hung up.
In other words, the sooner the public forgets about Andrew Mansfield, the sooner Talbot locks down the GOP nomination.
But he could tell Abby had different thoughts on the matter. “May they both rest in peace,” she murmured.
He wondered when the thought would hit her that Maddy was being laid to rest in the gravesite meant for her.
Chapter 44
Unlike the night in which they died, the December day in which Andrew Mansfield and the woman he loved were to be laid to rest had a crisp blue sky and only a whisper of a breeze.
Abby hid her damp red eyes b
ehind the largest pair of sunglasses she could find in Maddy’s accessories drawer. Maddy owned a lot of black clothes, but none of them were exactly funeral attire. For the graveside service, she chose a black lace wrap blouse, which she wore with a short tight black skirt which hugged every curve of her body. Ben assumed Abby’s blushing cheeks were the result of the much too visible cleavage Maddy’s black push-up bra gave her. She paired black seamed stockings with four-inch black heels. Ben thought she’d made the right choice, considering the only other alternative: Maddy’s thigh-high black patent leather boots with a five-inch platform heel.
“The whole thing will take three hours, tops,” he said as way of comforting her.
She shuddered. “I don’t know how she does…how she did it. Every piece of clothing she owned was designed to make men take notice of her.”
One man in particular, Ben thought. And it wasn’t me.
Abby stared into the mirror as she applied a fake beauty mark. “Many of our friends weren’t too fond of her.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. It means you won’t be the center of attention for very long. They’ll pay their respects and then run in the opposite direction.”
“I guess you’re right.” She sighed. “At least Aunt Lavinia won’t run away from me. She loved us both, dearly. She’ll want to comfort ‘Maddy’.”
“You should let her. Anything that gives you solace during this time should be welcomed.”
“It’s good to hear you say so.” For the first time since this ordeal, Abby graced him with a slight smile. “I’ll be relieved to share my secret with someone.”
Ben shook his head. “Sorry Abby, but you can’t tell Lavinia about this. If Fred is correct, the less people who know, the better, at least until we get his intel to the right people. The last thing you’d want is to put her life at risk.”
Abby’s face fell. “Yes, of course you’re right. But certainly Uncle Preston should be told the truth. I’m sure he can help us—”
“Don’t you get it? We’d be putting a target on his back! He may feel invincible. Most of his kind do. But if Talbot is behind some illegal act—if Talbot is behind Andy and Maddy’s death—do you think he’ll allow Preston to talk him into doing the right thing? If anything, Preston becomes just another liability. Just like Andy. Not to mention you and me. Why do you think Fred is on the run?”
Abby nodded. She got it. The price for truth was too high.
It had already cost her too much.
So near, and yet so far. That was how Abby felt about everything and everyone around her.
With Maddy’s contacts in her eyes, her depth perception was just a bit off. Those standing farther away—Andy’s senate staffers, his campaign staff, his Senate colleagues—seemed fuzzy, out of focus.
Those who stood close by—Aunt Lavinia, Uncle Preston, Paul Twist, his wife Laura, and Ben—were dizzyingly clear, as if watching a film in 3D Hi-Def.
Abby’s head throbbed.
Upon arrival, everyone had been given two pink-tipped yellow roses, a hybrid known as Chicago Peace. It was known to be Abby’s favorite. She’d used it in her bridal bouquet. Through Maddy’s lenses, the roses she held in her hand looked surreal.
Her aunt was devastated, and certainly too numbed to do anything other than cling to her brother. Ben is right, Abby thought. I can’t burden Aunt Lavinia with my secret. She’s too fragile to take the shock of it all.
Whereas Paul was nervous, her uncle’s demeanor was stoic. As always, he was the calm center in any emotional storm roiling around the Vandergalens.
Poor Ben was simply bereft. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he held his head high. She didn’t blame him for keeping his gaze far away from Maddy’s coffin. Thinking of Maddy and Andy’s decimated bodies would strip both Ben and her of the memories they cherished most: their loved ones’ faces, their voices, their smiles—
Their touch.
She tuned out her minister’s sermon. The last thing she needed to hear was her own eulogy. Having her good deeds recalled for those present only made her feel frustrated that she’d been so naïve about the world.
At least, as it pertained to Andy’s world. The cutthroat gamesmanship of politics. The coldhearted calculations of men who would do anything to stay in power.
Even if it meant murder.
She’d always been proud of Andy’s political legacy. She’d adored him as a husband, craved him as a lover. But learning about his infidelity had devastated her. She longed to see him as a victim of a jealous, conniving sister, but deep down in her heart, she knew that just wasn’t the case. If anything, Maddy had done her best to live her own life, far away from her sister’s. She’d kept away from DC’s social scene, its I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine cronyism. Her rare appearances at family functions came at Aunt Lavinia’s behest. If she came to Andy’s political events, it was only because Uncle Preston insisted that Maddy “support the public face of our family.”
Maddy came, albeit unwillingly.
At least, that was Abby’s presumption until now.
She wondered if Maddy’s obvious boredom at such gatherings had been merely an act. Now she realized Maddy’s indifference to Andy had nothing to do with her disgust of politics in general, let alone his party’s in particular.
Worse yet, she now understood the reason for Maddy’s pitying glances.
She was contemplating Andy’s reaction to the news of Maddy’s pregnancy when it occurred to her that the minister had stopped speaking. She looked up to find everyone’s head bowed in silence.
Except for Ben’s. His was looking at her with the same look of pity she’d seen in Maddy’s eyes.
She dropped a rose on each casket then walked off. For propriety’s sake, she resisted the urge to run away. That, and she was afraid she’d trip in those damn four-inch heels and tear her too tight, too short skirt.
I should have kept my head down, Ben thought. She thinks I hate her.
I don’t. Frankly I admire her for the way she was holding it together—until now.
I can’t have her falling apart at the seams. Not now, when everything is going to hell. I need her to bring her A game.
He didn’t chase after her. It would have drawn too much attention to them both, which was the last thing he wanted to do.
He could certainly understand why Fred wasn’t there. A part of him wished he could have stayed away, too. The part that didn’t want to get killed.
Throughout the funeral he’d been scanning the crowd, picking out the faces that were known to him. A group of blue-haired old ladies were sniffling. He presumed they were there to support Lavinia. They were standing behind President Barksdale and the first lady.
Alcott had certainly pulled out all the stops.
Vice President Talbot had also come to pay his respects to his political opponent. He was surrounded by a Secret Service detail. It was the faces he didn’t recognize that worried him. How many of the Ghost Squad were there among them?
One face did look familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The man’s black suit was topped with dark glasses and a chauffer’s cap. He was standing near Talbot’s coterie, yet far enough from the others that he might not have come with them at all.
Suddenly he remembered where he’d seen the man: in the Richmond coroner’s office.
Is he staring at me? Ben wondered. It was hard to tell, since his shades were too dark to show his eyes.
No, the man’s head was angled and moving ever so slightly.
Ben tried to follow his gaze. He realized the man’s eyes must be following Abby, who was making her way back to the limo assigned to them. The man’s lips were moving.
He must have been whispering into a tiny hidden microphone.
Just then a large woman standing in the midst of Lavinia’s friends lifted the veil from the brim of her hat and winked at Ben.
Is that old bat flirting with me, he wondered.
Apparently not. Just giving him a warning. Don
’t stare.
The woman was really Fred, in drag.
Ben got it: the warning was about Talbot’s chauffer, who was now staring directly at him.
Realizing Ben was staring beyond him, the chauffer turned his head sharply, to see who Ben had been watching a moment before.
But Fred was no longer there. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.
Too bad he can’t take me with him, Ben thought.
Instead, he’d have to hide in plain sight from the Ghost Squad. At least now, thanks to Fred, he knew who was after him.
He’d make sure Abby knew, too.
We have a slight problem, sir,” Smith said.
He had waited until he’d driven Talbot halfway to the mourners’ reception at Alcott’s Georgetown estate before coming out with it.
Talbot looked up from his cell phone, where he had been monitoring the fawning Twitter comments to his gravesite sound bite. “What the hell are you talking about? Mansfield is dead and buried, along with anything he may have discovered about Flamingo. It’s only a matter of time before the leak in Langley is plugged.” He guffawed at the cleverness of his double entendre. “Case closed, as far as I’m concerned.”
“He had a briefcase with him on the plane. Fireproof. It’s now in the hands of Brinker, the guy who ran his campaign. He accompanied the Vandergalen woman to view the bodies.”
Talbot’s smile faded. “What are you waiting for, a written invitation to get it?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’ve got a few boys tossing his place as we speak.” Smith paused. “If it turns out he’s got the goods, I presume he’s set us back to square one.”
“Not if he hasn’t released it.” Talbot turned back to his phone. “Just take care of him.”
“You mean ‘them,’ don’t you? If he opened it while she was around, she’s a liability, too.”
“If that turns out to be the case, just take care of business.” Talbot shrugged. “Alcott’s fond of the girl, but he’ll get over it.”