Black Swan Rising

by Lisa Brackmann

  American Eagle 1992 @AmericanEagle1992

  Too bad about that bitch but this is what happens if you help traitor @RepMattCason #TrueMen #AJLA

  49

  “We need to do something for … for the family.” Jane’s stare, for once, wasn’t fixed on anyone. Instead, she seemed to be looking at the digital photo frame on her desk, the ones with photos of Charlotte and baby Lola. “I don’t know what. What’s appropriate in a situation like this? Does anyone … Angus, do you have any ideas?”

  Angus shook his head. “I’m sorry, hon. I’m all out right now.” He looked as lost as she did.

  Headquarters was overheated today. Sweat trickled down Sarah’s back.

  “I know this is very difficult for everyone,” Presley said. It was one of the few times he’d made an appearance at the office. “But ballots start going out in less than two weeks. That means voting starts in less than two weeks.”

  More than half of California voters were registered to vote by mail, Sarah knew. Instead of Election Day here it was closer to Election Month.

  “Yeah, Presley, we’re aware of that,” Angus said. “Seeing as how Jane and I have been working on California campaigns for a couple of decades in her case and eleven years in mine.”

  Unlike you, he might as well have said.

  “Fine.” Presley sounded irritated, which was rare. “But we were planning on an all-out precinct blitz, a person-to-person approach. Is that even still on the table?”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m meeting with Tomás and Sylvia and I’m setting up calls with Billie at CalDems and Mac at the D Triple C, but … I don’t see how we can ask people to walk precincts, at least while whoever did it’s still out there.”

  “And that’s assuming there’s just one guy doing it,” Angus muttered.

  “Even if they volunteer … if something happened … ” Sarah had never seen Jane look like this—exhausted. Defeated. “I don’t want that on the campaign, or on me.”

  Presley sat up straight, like he was correcting his posture. “All right. So what’s our game plan? What are we going to do instead?”

  Silence. Presley was supposed to be a big-picture strategy guy, and he was asking for game plans?

  No one knew how to respond to what had happened, Sarah realized.

  “Matt said he was going to walk precincts next week,” she said.

  Angus threw up his hands. “Oh my god, that kind of circus? With an army of police and news crews stomping all on people’s lawns? That is not gonna help.” He turned to Jane. “You’re going to talk him out of that, right?”

  “I can try. That’s not a promise. You know Matt.”

  “I know that the Capitol Police, the SDPD, and the FBI are not going to be crazy about the idea, so maybe we can prevail upon them to tell Matt it’s a bad idea. Even if he doesn’t care about his own risk, he can’t be endangering other people’s lives by insisting on doing it.”

  “Wait,” Presley said. He paused. His eyes closed for a moment. He was about to make his pronouncement. “I think he should do it.”

  “What?” Angus snapped. “Why?”

  “Because he said he would on national television. Because that clip will get played over and over again if he doesn’t. He’s got to be strong here. He can’t back down.” Now Presley smiled and clasped his hands. “Besides … he’s not just keeping a promise. He’s defending democracy.”

  Sarah walked out of Jane’s office and headed for her cube. She sat down, closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. Jane’s exhaustion, Angus’s despair, Presley’s cynicism—she felt like she’d taken all those emotions in, and they’d left a stain of something toxic.

  I have to get to work, she thought. The social media feeds … Matt’s statement. The video. Something.

  Her phone rang. The Communications trill. She didn’t want to pick it up.

  “Sarah. Hi. It’s been a while.”

  “Wyatt. Yes, it has.”

  She didn’t know if she had the energy to deal with Wyatt and his weird agenda, whatever it was. But maybe he knew something. He did somehow know things. And he’d dropped hints about who their enemies might be.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Got some things going on this end. But I haven’t forgotten you. I saw you on that news show. You did really well.”

  “Thanks.” Like I need your approval, she thought suddenly.

  “And … I heard about your volunteer. I’m really sorry that happened.”

  Fuck this, Sarah thought. She had been doing really well, but suddenly she could feel the weight of it all crushing her down, making it hard to breathe.

  “Yeah, we all are. Is there anything you can do about it?” Her voice shook. “People are shooting at us.”

  “I wish I could help with that part, Sarah. I really do. If there’s any chatter about it, I’ll let you know, I promise.”

  “Chatter? But … all that stuff you said about black swans … that there might be a group … ”

  “Oh, there’s groups. There’s like-minded people talking about things they’d like to see happen. Most of them aren’t going to do much more than spout their hate and cheer on the ones who take the next step.”

  Sarah felt herself go cold. “But some of them do. Take the next step.”

  “Right. But as far as I can tell, no one’s ordering anyone to do these things. No one has to. They’re already motivated. They just needed some encouragement.”

  Of course. In a way, she’d known this all along. “How do we stop it?” She was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that question.

  “I don’t know. It’d be a lot easier if there was a villain, right? A mastermind we could take out of the equation. Instead it’s more like wacko whack-a-mole.” He laughed, just once. “Maybe it just has to burn itself out.”

  How are we supposed to deal with it in the meantime? she wanted to ask. But she figured there was no real point in asking. She already knew the answer to that too.

  We’ll raise more money, buy more ad time, she thought, hope there were still good slots left that Tegan hadn’t grabbed. Send out an extra round of mailers. Microtarget on Facebook. Phone bank like crazy.

  “I can help you with one thing,” Wyatt said. “Jacob Thresher. How’d you like to know who his dark money backers are? I think you’ll find it pretty interesting. Especially when you compare them to Kim Tegan’s. Which I can also help you with.”

  “That would be great,” she said. And then she wondered if that was even information they could use when they didn’t know where it came from.

  Dark money wasn’t a matter of public record. That was the whole point. Donors’ identities were shielded. If Wyatt had obtained their identities illegally, if he was some kind of whistleblower or spy, if they used this information and it had been hacked from someplace …

  “Things like this always find their way back,” Jane had said.

  “Look for something in the mail in the next couple of days,” Wyatt said in her ear, and before she could say anything, he disconnected.

  50

  Watch those heel strikes. Land on your midfoot. Even strides. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax the shoulders. Relax the hands. One foot in front of the other.

  Don’t think. Just keep running.

  A half stride behind her, Morgan was breathing hard.

  Well, he was a big man. In decent shape, but built like a linebacker, not a runner. Good for short bursts and beating the crap out of someone, but she knew she could outrun him.

  He carried a gun in a fanny pack. Lindsey had seen it. She’d asked what kind it was. “A Sig Sauer P226, ma’am.” It probably didn’t weigh him down much. But she wondered how much good a gun would do, if, say, a car drove up alongside them and started shooting. He took the position closer to the street so his bulk would shield her from the fir
e, but if he was shot first, would he be able to draw the gun in time?

  The smell of exhaust. Francine’s hand clutching her arm: “You can’t go over there, what if the car comes back? Come inside the house!” That was a good idea, definitely a good idea, but then she thought, you are the candidate’s wife. How will it look if you run away and hide? “He won’t come back, he knows we’re calling 911, and he won’t come back.” And then she ran across the street, and it was too late to do anything at all.

  “Let’s turn around,” Lindsey said.

  There was no point in going on. She couldn’t turn off the thoughts in her head, not with a living reminder panting next to her, his heavy footfalls louder than her own.

  When she got home, Matt was there waiting for her, standing in the middle of the living room, still dressed in his suit from the flight home. The Padres game was on, but muted. “Where have you been?”

  Lindsey spread her hands. “Where does it look like? And hello to you too.”

  “Welcome home, Congressman.” Morgan stepped forward, sticking out his hand. Matt took it, not smiling. “I’ll just head to the hotel, then,” Morgan said.

  “Don’t be silly. I made you run with me. At least have a shower first.”

  “Thanks, ma’am. If that’s your preference.” He trotted off to the guestroom.

  “Jesus, Linds, you went running?” Matt paced around the room. “Is that what you’ve been doing while I was gone?”

  First he’d said he’d stay in San Diego and miss the vote. She’d talked him out of that. He was one of the sponsors of the bill, and it was important, even if they didn’t have the votes to pass it. Then he’d tried to convince her to come with her. “What, and sleep on the hide-a-bed in your office?” They really didn’t have the money for a DC apartment. He was next in line for a room in a shared condo with two other congressmen from California—that is, if he got reelected. “We’ll stay in a hotel,” he’d said. “Someplace nice. Let’s make it a getaway.”

  She’d turned him down. “There’s a vigil for Rachel tomorrow night. One of us needs to be there. And she wouldn’t want you missing the vote.”

  “Fine,” he’d finally said. “Then Morgan stays.”

  It hadn’t been worth arguing about, and if she was being honest, having an armed policeman around was some small comfort, under the circumstances.

  “There’s a shooter out there,” Matt said now, “and you’re going jogging?”

  “I took Morgan.” She listened for the sound of running water. “Can we wait until he’s gone to do this?”

  Do what?

  She wasn’t even sure.

  By the time Morgan left and she’d showered too, Matt had changed into shorts and a T-shirt and parked himself on the couch in front of the TV, 394 Pale Ale in hand. Tony Gwynn’s beer, and Matt’s favorite game day choice. “For luck,” he’d say. “Maybe it’ll inspire them to hit.”

  Great, Lindsey thought. So we’ll be having this conversation with the Padres. If we’re even having it at all.

  She sat down next to him. “Are you still planning on doing the precinct walk?”

  Matt muted the game. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Then I want to go with you.”

  “What?” He stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why? Because if you’re going to tell me it’s not safe, then you shouldn’t do it either.”

  “Of course it’s safe, I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t safe, it’s just … I don’t understand. Why do you want to do this, after what happened?”

  “You’re asking me this, Matt? You are? The man who almost got shot?”

  “I’m the reason they’re shooting! I’m the reason Rachel got killed!” He was yelling now, his cheeks flushed.

  She couldn’t tell him to calm down, that never worked, and she’d been close to yelling too. She drew in a deep breath.

  Why did she want to go?

  “Matt. If you’re doing this to honor her, then I’m certainly entitled to as well. And if it’s safe enough for you, then it’s safe enough for me.”

  He shook his head. Rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. “It’s better if I go by myself.”

  “Why? Why do you need to do this on your own? Do I send the wrong message or something? You can’t be a hero if I’m around?”

  Silence.

  Oh my god, Lindsey thought. That was horrible. I am horrible.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was a shitty thing to say. I’m not … I’m not in control right now. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m just … ”

  “That’s why.” His voice was flat. “You shouldn’t have to know what it feels like. And now you do.” Now he looked at her, his eyes red and glassy. “I don’t think anything’s going to happen. But if something does … I don’t want you to be there.”

  She felt two things at once: a swell of affection and a fresh surge of anger.

  “I appreciate that you want to protect me. I do. But … look, we’re either partners or we’re not. I can’t keep doing things this way. I just can’t.”

  “What do you want me to do, Linds? Just tell me.” He sounded weary.

  “I want … ” What did she want? “I want us to stop fighting so much. I want to feel like we’re in this together. I want us to be close again.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “How can I when you’re angry all the time?”

  She almost stood up and left the room. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, then put on her shoes again and run until she was tired.

  He was right.

  “I’m angry because you’re unavailable. And you’re unavailable because I’m angry. Great.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and chuckled once. “That’s funny.”

  You started it when you screwed around on me, she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. Was that really fair? Did it even matter at this point, who “started it”? She deserved a portion of the blame, and she knew it.

  “Yeah. We’re a pair.”

  He turned to her. “So, what are we going to do?”

  It was a good question. She thought about it. Tried to count up the reasons she was angry. They didn’t all have to do with Matt. She was missing something, something that had to do with her.

  Maybe she should try to get pregnant. Or adopt.

  Or … run for city council. The seat in their district would be open in two years. There were so many things that could be improved in their community, in this city. She’d enjoy doing that.

  Lindsey felt something in her chest start to relax.

  “We finish the campaign,” she said. “We try to get along. When the election’s over, we can worry about the rest of it.”

  He nodded. He was sitting with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees. “I don’t want to split up,” he said.

  “I don’t either.”

  “Then let’s not.” His voice was soft. He reached out his hand and rested it on top of hers, slid his thumb between her thumb and index finger, stroked the crease of her palm.

  All his attention was on her, for once.

  51

  “If we aren’t careful how we handle this, it’s going to look like a stunt.” Jane took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  “You mean it isn’t?” Angus popped open a bottle of Stone IPA left over from a fundraiser, handing a bottle and the opener to Sarah.

  “Not as far as Matt’s concerned.”

  It was late, after ten. The volunteers had gone home. The three of them sat, not in Jane’s office, but in chairs near the kitchen. Angus had switched off the overhead fluorescents and turned on the various desk lamps instead—“mood lighting,” he’d said.

  Sarah knew she should be tired. The hours had been brutal lately, and she hadn’t
slept well last night. But she was too wired to feel her own fatigue right now.

  Wyatt sent the packet to her house. It had arrived yesterday. How had he known where she lived?

  Don’t bother asking, Sarah told herself again. As long as no one else knows.

  Whatever Wyatt was about, she didn’t think he wanted to hurt her.

  She’d opened the mailing box—it actually had Wyatt’s name and a post office box as a return address. So the name’s fake for sure, she’d thought. A six-inch-thick stack of documents that looked like tax returns. She’d flipped through the pages, torn between wanting and not wanting to know.

  Dark money made its way into campaigns through 501(c)(4)s, “social welfare” organizations that were allowed to do political work. They could not legally coordinate with candidates’ campaigns, but that was about the only thing they couldn’t do, and they skirted those laws all the time. And with donors’ identities shielded in 501(c)(4)s, it was nearly impossible to tell where the money came from. One 501(c)(4) could donate to another, obscuring the money trail even further. And they could also donate to 527s, organizations that could support candidates directly.

  There was one organization she’d recognized right away: the Committee for American Values. They’d been pumping out the worst of the hit pieces on Matt, even nastier than Tegan’s.

  If she went through all the documents, she’d find links between the donors who funded the Committee for American Values, the donors funding Tegan, and the donors funding Jacob Thresher, she was certain. Wyatt had pretty much come out and said it.

  But she hadn’t gone through all of it. If this stuff had been illegally obtained—and how could it have been legally obtained? The only source of donors’ names would be the 501(c)(4)s themselves and the IRS—then maybe it was better if she didn’t know.

  The documents took up most of the space in her big messenger bag, a literal heavy weight on her shoulder. There was no way she wanted to leave them at home.