You have to find a way out of this!
“I’m sorry, Mr. Locke, but I don’t know if I can make it on Thursday. I still have a lot to do on the press release.”
“Archie can handle that. This presentation is very important. Several of our co-supporters in the exceptionalism movement will be there. The presentation is already prepared—it’s actually the standard one—and you shouldn’t have any problem fielding the questions from the audience.”
“With all due respect, I’m not much of a public speaker. I wouldn’t want to say something wrong that might cast AMP in an unfavorable light.”
“Come now, Jennifer, show some confidence in yourself. You’ll do a great job. The presentation covers the same materials you’ve been preparing for the press release. The main thing is to explain to people exactly why we here in America are a ‘shining city on a hill’ through our fervent commitment to Christ our Lord and democratic principles. I believe the great French writer and philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville summed it up best: ‘The position of the Americans is quite exceptional,’ he said when he visited our fledgling nation, ‘and it may be believed that no democratic people will ever be placed in a similar one.’”
“I know about de Tocqueville, sir. But is it that simple? I know that American hegemony is part of our PR program here at AMP, but I’m—”
“Jennifer,” he cut her off, a tiny spasm of irritation crossing his broad face. “As second-in-command of the PR group, you’re going to have to learn to take orders better. All that’s required is a twenty-minute speech. Remind our supporters how lucky we are to live and work in the greatest nation in the history of the world.”
“I agree that America is the greatest nation on earth, sir. I just don’t know if I’m the best person to wave the flag and—”
“I’ve heard quite enough, Jennifer,” he cut her off, brooking no further opposition. “Just tell it like it is and have some fun with it because I need you to do this.”
It took great effort for her to clamp back her rising consternation. Locke may have been an altruistic human being and important national figurehead who was going to make extremely good copy for her exposé, but he was still maddeningly right-wing and the whole business of her working here made her feel physically ill. Is the story worth all this?
“We need to educate these people on the facts, Jennifer. Only then can we touch their lives in a positive way.”
“I understand that, Mr. Locke. It’s just that I don’t feel like I’m qualified to be a public spokesperson on this issue. It’s too complicated.”
“I know it’s a complicated subject and that many of us here don’t agree on every aspect of the program. But at the end of the day, Jennifer, we have to get the job done. This is all part of God’s plan not just for you and me, but for our supporters and America as well. So I need you to get with the program.”
She struggled to find some other excuse to get out of the speaking engagement, but nothing came to her.
He looked at his watch, then, with an air of finality, said, “So we’re in agreement—you’ll do the presentation.”
As painful as it was, Jennifer knew she had to go through with it. If she refused, Locke would be suspicious and she couldn’t have that when she was so close to getting into Fileroom E. “All right, sir, if you think it’s the right thing, I’ll do my best.”
“That’s the spirit. I know you’ll do a fine job. You’re one of our rising stars.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, but she wanted to fall off the face of the earth.
CHAPTER 46
WHEN HIS DESK PHONE RANG, Kenneth Patton was daydreaming about his son.
He was throwing long looping spirals to the kid, who hauled in the pigskin like Randy Moss and Demaryius Thomas rolled into one. One-handed catches, diving catches, over-the-shoulder catches. The kid grabbed everything thrown his way, and Patton was proud to be his father. It dawned on him—in that instant before his thoughts were interrupted—how badly he wanted a son. The weird thing was he already had a child, but it didn’t belong to him. Because of events that had taken place without his knowledge twelve years ago, his very own son belonged to someone else.
It made him sad. And angry. And a dozen other things he couldn’t put into words.
He picked up after the third ring. “Special Agent Patton.”
“It’s me.”
He felt himself relax as he recognized the voice. “Lois Lane? I thought you’d never call.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” said Jennifer Odden.
Patton took a moment to pull the phone cord around a pile of paperwork. “How’s your day going? I’ve been getting kicked around like an old hound dog.”
“My day hasn’t been much better. I just found out I have to give a talk on Thursday to a Christian community group on why America is the greatest country on earth while every other country is populated with backwards, drooling idiots. But that’s not why I called. I got the cyber lock code to Fileroom E.”
“Fileroom E?”
“That’s where they keep the confidential records. The X-Files stuff in the orange folders.”
“And of course you’re planning on sneaking in to have a look at them.”
“Damn straight.”
“I don’t mean to pop your bubble, but what you’re doing sounds more like espionage than journalism.”
“There are secrets in that room and I plan to get my hands on them. I’ve already penetrated the computer files as far as I can go. They keep Fileroom E under tight security for a reason—and I’m going to find out why.”
Patton was impressed with her determination, but wondered if she wasn’t taking unnecessary risks. “Just don’t get caught,” he said.
“I’ll try my best.” They settled into a silence. “You sound a little quiet,” she said after a moment. “What’s up? Any new leads on the case?”
“Actually, I was just thinking about something else.”
“What?”
“Our son.”
Another silence. “It’s not easy putting him out of your mind when you know he’s out there, is it?” she said finally.
“No, it’s not. Like when you said you’ve seen him playing sports, I was dying to ask you what he played.”
“But you were embarrassed, right? Because you felt like you were spying?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. He picked up the painted lead miniature of his great-great-great grandfather—a blue-jacketed U.S. Civil War cavalry commander with a fire-hazard beard and quarter-inch tall sword—from his desk and idly looked him over.
“You shouldn’t think of it as spying, Ken. He’s your son. And to answer your question, he plays football, basketball, and lacrosse. I think football’s his best sport though.”
He couldn’t help a little smile as he thought back to his quarterbacking days with the Wolverines. “Football, huh. What position does he play?”
“Quarterback.”
“No way! You’re pulling my leg!”
“I’m afraid it’s in his blood—he was born to play QB just like a certain field general I once knew who had a penchant for throwing interceptions at the worst possible times.”
“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me.”
“No, I’m not. Even at tender age of eleven I have to say he’s got a great arm. Plus he reads coverages really well. If he keeps progressing like he has been, I figure he’ll probably get drafted in the first round. Unlike his father.”
“Ouch!”
They laughed. Listening to her describe the boy filled Patton with longing, and he knew that she was only half-joking. How much would he give up to catch a single glimpse of his son winging a tight spiral over the top or running a naked bootleg to score the game-winning touchdown?
He posed a question. “Doesn’t it make it hard on you to see him when you know he belongs to someone else?”
“He’ll always be our son, Ken. All you have to do is take one look at him to know tha
t.”
“But what you’re doing, doesn’t it just make it harder to let go?”
“Maybe. But even if I wanted to, I can’t change my wanting to see him. Why do you think there are so many mothers out there who’ve given up a child years ago and now want to be a part of their lives again? Why, after so many years, they want to spend time with a child that has been a stranger to them? They can’t control their emotions, the sense of something lost, any more than an artist can control the urge to paint.”
Her tone turned thoughtful, a little dreamy.
“It’s the not knowing that gnaws at you. You wonder is my child like me? Does he have the same mannerisms, the same interests? How will his life turn out? Will he become president, save the environment, help the poor, quarterback the 49ers to a championship? I thought the wondering would go away. But it hasn’t.”
“When you see him how do you know where he’ll be? You must know his daily routine.”
“Early on, I hired a private investigator, a woman from San Jose. I was completely up front with her about what I wanted to do and why. Every few months, she puts together a rough schedule of Little Ken’s current activities and a list of the places he’ll be. That way I can see him discretely, from a safe distance, and not be detected or impose on the family.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last spring. All I’ve ever wanted to do was make sure he’s okay, that he’s being treated well. A part of me feels responsible for him.”
“Why haven’t you just gone to court and obtained visitation rights?”
“I would never do that to the parents. That would be unfair to them.”
“You call him ‘Little Ken.’ But what’s his real name?”
“Thomas Steele.”
“What do his parents do?”
“His father’s a trial lawyer and his mother is a part-time social worker.”
“Are they well off...financially.”
“Very. They live in Pacific Heights.”
“Is he an only child? Or did they adopt other children?”
“He’s an only child. Look, I know all this must come as a shock for you. Maybe we should take things slower. This is probably not the best time for you to be hearing all this with the case and all.”
Patton considered this a moment and decided she was right.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry things have turned out this way.”
He said nothing, feeling overwhelmingly conflicted inside. For a fleeting instant, he wondered what it would take for him to begin a new life, one that included Jennifer and their son. He wished with all his heart that it wasn’t just a fantasy, but deep down he knew he couldn’t undo the past. The wheels had been set in motion too long ago, and his son was gone and would never be a part of his life.
But perhaps Jennifer could.
Suddenly, he blurted out, “I want to be with you, Jenn. I want to try and...”
“I do too,” she finished for him, her voice resonating with feeling.
The words brought him solace. After all these years, after the secret that only yesterday had emerged, he still felt deep emotions for her, and she obviously felt the same about him. He couldn’t escape the feeling that somehow, in some ineffable way, their coming back together was destiny and that they truly were soul mates. But what united them this time around was something different than before. They were now linked not so much by friendship, or love, but by the terrible tragedy of how their relationship had ended and the reality that, together, they had produced a life. He felt the same tingle of electricity between them, the same spark, but there was an underlying poignancy and sadness too. He realized that he needed a woman that wasn’t just like Jennifer, but was Jennifer. He needed her in the way an Irishman needs his daily dose of Guinness or Bushmills.
She was his elixir.
“I’d like to see you,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “Can we get together tonight?”
He longed to see her, but with the case his foremost priority right now, he wasn’t sure he could get away. “Tonight’s going to be tough.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
He took a moment to ponder, not wanting to make a promise he couldn’t keep. Over the next two days, the forensics results would be pouring in and there were bound to be some hot new leads. He couldn’t very well duck out of the office when he was making the task force work late each night. Somehow, though, he would have to find a way.
“Can you meet me halfway?” he asked.
“You name the place and I’ll be there.”
“How about scenic Castle Rock? Let’s say nine o’clock at the Castle Café?”
“I’ll be there. Is this like a date, Special Agent?”
“I think we’re a little beyond that. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said, and he smiled as he hung up the phone.
CHAPTER 47
AS THE CAB pulled up to her apartment building, Skyler saw Anthony Carmeli sitting out front on the edge of the planter. All day she had wondered if he would show up. On the one hand, the last thing she could afford was to take unnecessary risks with a man she didn’t even know. But on the other, she had secretly been rooting for him to make an appearance and try to win over her affections.
Looking at him sitting there, she knew that the smart thing would be to send him away without causing a scene—and make sure he wouldn’t come back.
When she stepped from the cab, he smiled at her in a carefree way, clutching a bottle of red wine in one hand and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the other. He wore a blue polo shirt, tan chinos, and spanking new Nikes. She pulled a pair of twenties from her purse and handed them to the driver. The cab pulled from the curb and Skyler walked toward the front door of her apartment, keeping her expression neutral.
He stood to greet her, squinting into the fading sunlight. When he smiled again, Skyler’s breath quickened and a chill of excitement crept up her back, turning her skin to gooseflesh. There was just something likeable about him and she felt as anxious and giddy as a schoolgirl on a first date.
Don’t even think about it, Angela. There’s too much risk. Be firm yet polite and he will go away.
“How are you?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“You are a persistent fellow,” she said, ignoring the question. “You said you would be here, and here you are.”
“How can you expect me to resist a woman of such impeccable intellect and beauty?”
Though she tried not to show any reaction, the compliment brought a hint of a smile to the edges of her mouth. “I don’t know what you want from me, Anthony Carmeli.”
“First, I’d like you to have these,” he said, and he held out the bouquet of flowers.
Taking the flowers from him, she instantly scolded herself for giving him even the slightest bit of encouragement. What the hell are you doing, Angela? She had to put an end to this now. “I’m sorry, Anthony, but this isn’t going to work. I just got out of a bad relationship, and I’m not anxious to jump back into another.”
“I thought you might say that. That’s why I brought this fine bottle of Chateau St. Michelle Cabernet Sauvignon. The wine-seller guaranteed me that a single glass would make the most beautiful woman on the planet putty in my hands.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
“Not a chance. So you’d better give me a fair shot.”
He politely offered her an arm. Shaking her head with amusement, she locked her arm in his and they started up the stairs.
“Are you really sure you want to try to win over my affections? I will definitely test your mettle.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”
CHAPTER 48
AFTER THEY polished off the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, Skyler loosened up considerably and, against her better judgment, she agreed to accompany Anthony to Ambrosia for dinner. Located in Santa Monica, the t
rendy restaurant was owned by a Greek chef named Stryka Papadopulos, who had perfected his culinary art under the tutelage of Wolfgang Puck. The dining room was done in nouveau art deco-style with sweeping track lights, pastel colors, and a central skylight. Informed by the maître’d that there would be a half-hour wait, they put their name in and went to the bar. Skyler ordered Cabernet for herself and Anthony from the bartender. They stood next to the bar, sipping their wine, chatting, people-watching.
After a moment, President-elect Fowler appeared on the TV screens at each end of the bar. The volume was turned up and the crowd at the bar stopped chattering as Fowler stepped to the podium to give a speech with the backdrop of the Washington Monument lit up behind her.
Reading from a prepared script, Fowler began by praising William Kieger and expressing sorrow and outrage over his death. He had been a good family man, a mentor to her, a fine leader, a steady voice of reason in an uncertain world. Fowler’s words were predictably uplifting, but Skyler sensed her sincerity was not faked. She went on to say that, while Kieger would be hugely missed, it was critical that the country come together in this time of crisis. William Kieger would not want the American constitutional process halted because of a lowly assassin’s bullet; and that’s why she would be busy in the coming weeks working with President Osborne to effect a smooth transition and to build her cabinet. It was up to both political parties and the American people to put the ugly business behind them and move on. Fowler concluded her speech by saying that, as president, she would do her best to make the nation proud, and hoped to continue in the footsteps of William Kieger, for whom she had the greatest admiration.
When the speech was finished, a buzz quickly circulated through the bar. “Wow,” exclaimed Anthony. “Lady Luck changes hands mighty quickly.”
She took a sip of Cabernet, letting it trickle down her throat. If you only knew that I’m the one who brought it all about.
The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense Page 18