Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  There was a loveseat-sized couch in Jane Haddad’s small office. They set up there, Casey and Sarah at either end, and Casey had a sudden flash of the interview they’d done with Alan Jay Chastain’s mother, Helen Scott. They’d sat on a couch like this, knees angled toward each other. There’d been that old cat, the one with the loud meow that just wanted to be petted.

  Focus, Casey told herself. “Okay, Sarah, are you ready to get started?”

  Sarah nodded.

  They’d closed the blinds for some level of privacy. Jane Haddad stood by the door like a guard, or maybe a watchful aunt in charge of her niece’s virtue. I would not want to tangle with that lady, Casey thought.

  She turned to Sarah and smiled. “I’m just going to ask you a couple of background questions to start. Okay?”

  Sarah hadn’t been relaxed to begin with, but Casey could see her visibly tense up. A small, tight nod.

  “So, your name is Sarah Price. Can you tell me how old you are?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Older than she looked.

  “And where are you from?”

  “Connecticut.” She shifted around on the couch. “Why are you asking me these questions? I thought we weren’t going to talk about personal things.”

  The idea was to relax the interview subject, get her talking about easy topics and build some trust so she’d be more comfortable when the hard stuff came up. Obviously it wasn’t working.

  “No, it’s helpful to have a little background for our records, that’s all.” Casey smiled. “So, you’re twenty-three, working for the campaign, I’m guessing you’re out of school?”

  Another quick, fractional nod. “I just got my master’s.”

  “What did you study?”

  “Political science and public policy.”

  “So, obviously you’re interested in politics.”

  “From a policy perspective.”

  “You mean, not as a candidate.”

  “Right.”

  “And what motivated you to get involved with Congressman Cason’s campaign? Were you living in San Diego, or … ”

  Another uncomfortable shift. “I was looking for a candidate whose policies I could get behind,” she said after a brief pause. “And … it’s an interesting district. One of the few that’s really competitive. I wanted to see how that affected policy making, the impetus it creates toward crafting consensus. Or do you just push the limits of acceptable discourse for the district, do what you want and focus on your ground game and getting out the vote?” She smiled a little, almost chuckled, and for the first time seemed genuine. “I mean, you have to do that anyway, no matter what. And our opponent is such an extremist, Matt comes off looking like a moderate regardless of his positions.”

  Matt. There was a slight flush to her cheeks as she said his name. And she never said whether she lived in San Diego before she got involved in the campaign.

  Well, Matt Cason was a good-looking guy and charismatic as hell. I’d do him, Casey thought, except for that whole “he’s married” part. Though the rumors were that hadn’t always stopped him in the past. Regardless, Sarah Price was not just some starfucker crushing on a candidate. She was smart.

  “So, why politics?” Casey asked. “What is it that drew you to this field?”

  “I want to make a difference.” She said it as though that should be obvious. “I want to help create positive change.”

  Perfect, Casey thought. She could already hear the V.O. in her head: “Sarah went to work on Congressman Matt Cason’s campaign to make a difference in people’s lives.” Then Sarah: “I want to help create positive change.” Casey: “She never planned on actually saving a life, during one of the darkest days in recent American political history.”

  Something like that.

  “Sarah, can we talk about what happened yesterday?”

  Sarah drew in a breath. Closed her eyes. Nodded.

  “You accompanied the congressman to the park. What was your job that day?”

  “Handling social media. It wasn’t a campaign event, but he thought there might be some good material for Social.”

  “So … were you recording the event?”

  They couldn’t be that lucky, could they?

  “Good stuff,” Diego said, as they walked to the car.

  “Definitely.” It really was, Casey thought. Sarah mostly had spoken in that hushed near-monotone of hers, so when her emotions did break through, the contrast was powerful.

  The smartphone footage Sarah had shot? The confrontation between Cason and the guy who’d said he was a veteran? Went right up to the moment when Lucas Derry pulled out a gun and started shooting.

  And no one had seen it but News 9.

  “Sure, you can use it,” Sarah had said, after huddling for a few minutes with Jane Haddad. “It’s not like we can.” Casey wasn’t too surprised they’d agreed. The footage made Cason look good, the kind of thing a campaign would turn into an ad, if it weren’t for what had happened next. They wanted to try to use Casey and News 9 to get positive coverage, and in this case, she was willing to play along: “In this exclusive video obtained by News 9 … ”

  Damn, this was turning out to be a good day.

  Her phone rang—Florence and the Machine. Rose.

  “You free?”

  “Yeah. And you won’t believe what we got.”

  “Tell me at lunch. I’m starving.”

  “We’re going to want to hit with it tonight,” Casey said. “And we’ll want to start teasing it as soon as possible. Believe me.”

  “We’ve got time. We can get started at lunch.”

  Rose sounded worried, Casey thought. Now what?

  28

  Casey Cheng News 9 @CaseyChengNews9

  EXCLUSIVE: Tonight at 6 interview w. campaign staffer who saved life of her coworker plus her unseen footage of the #CasonShooting kasd.us.Uca9Z

  “Casey, we have to report this. I mean, maybe there’s no real connection, maybe it’s all just these little turds’ idea of lulz, but we can’t take the chance.”

  Casey focused on her ahi and yellowtail sushirrito. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

  They’d met at a restaurant on Convoy. Diego dropped her off on his way back to the station, where he’d pick up another assignment. She could have gone back to the station with him, but clearly, Rose hadn’t wanted to have this discussion there, and anyway, the restaurant was close to work. A casual place, distressed wood and aluminum counters, tucked in a strip mall between one of her favorite dumpling restaurants and a Chinese travel agency, across the street from the Jaguar dealership. Casey had been there for a feature she’d done before The Event, on “a culinary trend that’s sweeping San Diego—sushi, or if you prefer, poke, meets burritos.” The segment had her taking a bite and proclaiming, “I can find no downside to this trend, Elise!”

  Well, they really were good.

  Casey sighed. Sure, she’d been a little freaked after reading those tweets and when she’d encountered that creep at Cason’s presser, but now she just wanted to move on. “I don’t want them to use this as an excuse to pull me off the story. I mean, what if they decide it’s too risky to have me in the field?”

  Rose put down her sushirrito. Swallowed the bite she’d been chewing. “Look, Casey, no story is worth your life. It just isn’t.”

  “We’re talking about tweets and hashtags, not … not credible threats.”

  Next time we won’t miss.

  Third time’s a charm, bitch.

  Rose got out her phone. Unlocked it with her thumb and swiped down to find a story on her lock screen. “Have you seen this?” She slid the phone across the table.

  Casey picked it up. Breaking news on CNN.

  4 Wounded By Explosive Device At Women’s Soccer Game in Virginia

&
nbsp; She skimmed the rest. “The guy who did this claims it was a prank that got out of hand.” Her voice cracked, and she knew it was a tell. She couldn’t even convince herself.

  “Sure he does. And maybe it was. It’s still a prank that hurt four people, two seriously.”

  “Okay. That sucks, but what does it have to do with me?”

  “People are retweeting it and passing it around social media with that AJLA hashtag.” Her fingers curled to make air quotes. “And AJLA Action Day.”

  “Are any of them using the True Men hashtag?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “I want to keep an eye on that. If the only people who are using it are responding to me, then it’s probably just a … a sick joke. Not part of some larger, I don’t know, conspiracy?” She laughed a little. It sounded so crazy when you said it out loud.

  “A joke.” Rose stared at her. “Those are death threats, Casey.” She kept shaking her head, like she couldn’t believe she was having to say these things. “You need to get your head on straight about this.”

  Casey felt that anger rising from somewhere deep in her gut. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Always being told It’s too dangerous. You shouldn’t. You can’t.

  “Okay, fine, we’ll call the cops, or the FBI, or whoever’s handling this now,” she said. “But let’s not panic over stuff that probably isn’t anything actually worth worrying about, okay?”

  “This is not panicking. This is just saying that maybe it doesn’t make sense for you to do things like a presser for a Cason statement. Anyone from the station can cover that. We can still use the material for our series. There’s just no reason for you to be out in public exposing yourself unnecessarily while all this shit is going on.”

  Casey supposed Rose had a point. “All right,” she finally said. “But if something big comes up? I’m not going to hide from these creeps. That’s what they want. To make me too scared to do my job.”

  Rose sighed. “Okay. Agreed.” Her phone buzzed. Rose picked it up and thumbed it open. “Text from Detective Helton,” she said. “Looks like there’s no need to call him. He wants to talk to you.”

  29

  Monday. Sarah sat at her desk, wondering how she was going to get a handle on all the feeds.

  Someone—Angus or Presley—had put up a few tweets and posts Saturday and Sunday. Her half day yesterday had been taken up by Casey Cheng and the FBI. A hastily assembled statement about how they were “devastated,” a few lines from Matt about how he would continue to represent San Diego, that the campaign would go on. There was a video of Matt’s hospital press conference from a local news station. Thank god the photo of her and Ben in the park hadn’t been posted. She didn’t think she could take that.

  There were many comments and replies. Most of them were supportive.

  “Take screenshots of any responses you get that are threatening,” the man from the FBI had said. “And please don’t delete them unless you absolutely have to. They’re probably nothing to worry about, but we may want to track some of these users.”

  Did they really intend to?

  “Of course we’ll be monitoring the accounts as well. Please be assured that we take this very seriously.”

  Maybe they actually did, since Matt was involved.

  She scrolled through the comments on the Facebook page, feeling her shoulders, her jaw, her stomach, everything tense up, clenching like a fist.

  Wait till criminal matt cason gets his ass thrown in jail he is crooked as they come

  Cason’s a thug. I like that in my congressman!

  Cason and his pals scrambling to make it legal for illegals, child molesters and rapist to vote … .#TrueMen will push back

  I shouldn’t have to do this, she thought, why are they making me do this? Then she remembered, no one was making her do it. She’d agreed to it. This was part of the job, and she’d wanted the job.

  At least they weren’t talking about her.

  The News 9 segment hadn’t turned out too bad. Casey Cheng had done what she’d promised—focused on what had happened in the park. Sarah’s face wasn’t even in it that much, except for when she’d talked about Ben—they’d used a lot of what she’d said as a voice-over. The footage she’d given them from the park had helped with that. There was only so much time in a local news segment, and of course they’d want to use the stuff she’d shot, stuff nobody else had seen.

  Just like she’d thought they would.

  The FBI man was unhappy that she’d shared the footage with News 9. “Material like that is evidence,” he’d said. “Releasing it publicly can taint it.”

  How? she’d wanted to say. The recordings showed what they showed. The speech Matt had given to thank first responders. The compassion and kindness he’d shown toward an unstable veteran. Henry James Olivier was his name. He’d never been in combat, as it turned out, or in any kind of dangerous posting. Booted out on a bad conduct discharge, problems with drugs and alcohol.

  She remembered just now how Matt had looked at her when he was comforting the man. That half smile. Like the two of them were sharing a secret.

  Her phone rang. The ringtone for Communications.

  She hesitated.

  You have to answer it, she told herself. It’s your direct line. It’s probably okay.

  She picked up the phone. “Hello, Communications.”

  “Sarah?”

  She thought she recognized his voice, but she wasn’t sure. She waited for him to say something.

  “Sarah, it’s Wyatt. Wyatt Gray.”

  He didn’t sound quite like himself. There was a strange edge to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. Something strained and uncertain.

  “Hi, Wyatt.”

  “Sarah, I’m so glad you’re okay. I saw the news like everybody else, and … it’s just terrible. I am so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she said, automatically. Because he almost sounded like he thought it was his fault, somehow. But it couldn’t be his fault. Could it? She could hear a deep inhale of breath.

  “Listen, there’s a couple of things I need to tell you.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “The first is, the things in Cason’s past? They’re coming out.”

  “What things?” she asked.

  “His kicking the shit out of that punk made him look strong.” A laugh. “People, you know? They’re pretty sick sometimes. So, your opponent, the folks behind her, they will look for ways to turn that against him. I’m surprised all that didn’t get dug up the first time he ran, but no one thought he’d win that one, they didn’t take him seriously till too late. Didn’t do their homework.”

  “What things?” she asked again.

  A sigh. “Jesse Garcia. Maybe your campaign manager already knows, but tell her.”

  She scribbled down the name. “Okay.”

  “Second thing is, they’re gonna go after his service in Anbar, try to swift boat him with it.” A pause. “You do know what a swift boat is, right?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. Just because she was young didn’t mean she was ignorant. “Turn your opponent’s strength into a weakness.”

  A chuckle. “You’re smart. I knew you were.”

  “How do you know all these things? Why are you doing this?” she blurted out. She just couldn’t take this today. It was too much.

  “I’m a concerned citizen with access to some data, that’s all.”

  Suddenly her thoughts slowed down. Don’t feel this now, she told herself. Think.

  There weren’t that many possibilities. He could be someone close to Tegan’s campaign, a mole, or have a source there. He could be a ratfuck from Tegan or her allies. But so far his information had been good.

  Or, he could be a third party, “with access to some data.”

  “Who
do you work for?” she asked.

  “I can’t discuss that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t.” He sounded angry. Which was a first.

  “So why do you want to help Matt? If that’s what you’re really doing?”

  “Because things have gone too far,” he finally said.

  What has gone too far? she wanted to scream. But there was a part of her that had already had an idea, even if it wasn’t what he meant.

  Everything. Everything had gone too far. She had the sense that they were all rushing toward some cliff, being pushed there by something dark and angry that she couldn’t quite see, only sense.

  “You’re talking about Tegan,” she said. “That her politics, her positions, they’re too extreme.”

  A weary laugh. “Yeah, Sarah. Pretty much.”

  “You’re some kind of whistleblower then?”

  “Look, I’m taking a risk calling you.” Now he sounded angry again. “What you need to do is listen to what I said and try to get out ahead of it. You can, but you all are going to have to act quickly, before their narrative gets set in stone.”

  “Fine,” she said. She was angry too. “Is there anything else?”

  “There is.” A pause. When his voice came back, it was low and urgent. “You’re going to get outed, Sarah. They know who you are.”

  30

  “Well, thanks, Ms. Cheng. This is very interesting.”

  Casey nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Helton wasn’t bad, but this FBI guy, Kendrick, was the sort of man who really pushed her buttons: dismissive and condescending.

  They sat in the small conference room: Casey, Detective Helton, Agent Kendrick, and Mika, the station lawyer, whose job wasn’t to help Casey but to make sure the station’s interests were represented.

  “We’re feeling a sense of urgency because of the possible connected nature of these events,” Helton had told Casey on the phone. He had a mellow surfer accent that tended to undercut any sense of urgency, but Casey took him at his word. They’d agreed to meet at the station at three that afternoon—Mika had a slot available, and there was no way the higher-ups would let her meet with the police without an attorney present.