The First Family

by Michael Palmer

  “I picked this for you,” he said. “Thought it might brighten your meal.”

  Susie’s smile was wide and deeply appreciative. She knew she looked awful, pasty, with no makeup, her hair a mess, but Josh did not seem to notice, or care, and this made her feel relaxed around him.

  Valerie Cowart returned from outside and lifted Susie’s arm, the one that had vascular access for dialysis. “How are we feeling?”

  Susie liked Nurse Valerie immensely. In a way, she reminded Susie of her mother, only twenty years older. Valerie managed to keep in great shape thanks to a dedicated regimen of walking. She was tall and long-limbed, with a glowing, round face, deep brown eyes, and short dark hair streaked throughout with gray. She always dressed for outdoors, not in some nurse’s uniform or scrubs, which made Susie feel a little less like a patient.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Susie’s voice had become quiet.

  Valerie pulled her lips together. “I don’t know the answer to that one, I’m afraid. But I do know you’re a fighter. You’re going to pull through this. I can feel it.”

  Valerie checked Susie’s vitals, which were holding steady. She retreated to the kitchen, where she washed the dinner dishes before sitting down to the meal Josh had left for her on the dining room table.

  Josh stayed on the front porch while Susie ate, keeping lookout, eyes fixed to the vast forest before him, alert as an eagle guarding its nest. When he came back inside, Susie called him over to her bed.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “And why is the Secret Service involved?”

  Josh lifted Susie’s tray off the bed and set it on the floor. Susie sensed his reluctance to answer.

  “We think somebody is trying to hurt you,” he finally said.

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Was the gas leak an accident?”

  “We don’t know.”

  A word flashed in Susie’s mind.

  Murder.

  “Tell me the truth,” Susie said. “Does Cam Hilliard have what I have? Does this have something to do with the TPI?”

  “Guess my answer.”

  Josh’s broad smile was the best part of Susie’s day. A spark flared in her eyes. “You don’t know,” she said.

  To Susie’s surprise, Josh brushed a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face, and his touch sent shivers through her body. He was older and extremely handsome and if she ever had a serious boyfriend she’d want him to be like Josh—strong and confident, not like the cellist she had once dated whose hand got sweaty whenever she held it.

  “Just know I’ll be here, watching over you. I might not be Secret Service like my mom, but the army trained me pretty good.”

  “Pretty well.”

  “Yeah, that too,” Josh said, not skipping a beat. “Well or good, believe it when I say you’re safe with me.”

  She believed him.

  Josh pulled up a stool, sat down beside Susie’s bed, and the two of them spent time talking as though they were out on a dinner date. She was curious about him. If he was going to guard her life, she wanted to know him better. Susie shared stories of her family that brought tears to her eyes, while Josh told her of his time in the military, his love of skiing, and mentioned a recent breakup with a woman named Hannah. Susie was not at all displeased by this breakup news. Their banter was effortless, and twice he made her laugh hard, something she had not done in ages.

  Susie surveyed the room, taking inventory of all the belongings Dr. Blackwood had brought from home. The books and clothes were comfortingly familiar, but her eyes went to another object on the floor next to a stack of books—her violin case.

  “Could you please hand that to me?” She pointed.

  “Sure thing,” said Josh.

  Josh retrieved the violin and handed it to Susie. She sat more upright in bed. After undoing the metal clasps, Susie opened the case, brushing her hand against the soft, velvety interior, feeling the plush texture tickle her fingertips. She took the instrument, her backup violin, in her hands. The burnished wood gleamed brightly when it caught the glow of the powerful portable lamps near her bedside.

  “Do you play any instruments?” she asked.

  “Does Spotify count?” Josh’s half smile was endearing.

  “Not really,” she said, crinkling her nose at him. “What do you like to listen to?”

  “Um … Metallica?”

  Her expression turned playfully curious. “Are you saying you listen to Metallica, or are you unsure of what it is you listen to?”

  “I’m sure I listen to it, but I’m unsure if you’ve heard of them.”

  “Just because I play Bach doesn’t mean I don’t know who Metallica is,” said Susie playfully. She paused, pondering something. “You do know who Bach is, don’t you?”

  “You mean my man, Johann?”

  Susie’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I’m impressed,” she said.

  She removed the bow from the case and ran her fingers along the thin ribbons of fine horsehair before placing her chin on the chin rest. Touching her instrument reset Susie’s mood.

  “My parents loved it when I played,” she said.

  Gone. They’re gone.

  But she could still play for them.

  Susie pulled the bow across the strings and felt her spirits soar as the notes spilled out. Out of the corner of her eye, Susie saw Josh smiling at her as she played, and it sent her spirits soaring even higher.

  * * *

  MAUSER WAS sleeping on his couch when a phone call woke him. He checked the number and became fully alert in a blink. Rainmaker did not call often, or without good reason.

  “I told you, I have no idea where the girl’s gone to,” Mauser said in response to Rainmaker’s question. “I’ve checked all over. One of my best customers is a hacker working for the damn NSA.… Hey, easy, easy, he’s not some outsider, I’m not an idiot.… You know him, hell, you hired him, remember? Anyway, I gave him a few freebies and he got into the electronic records systems of the largest hospitals. They all share patient information these days. He went looking for new patients with those symptoms you told me about, or close to it, and I’ve checked them all out, but none of them match our girl.”

  More grumblings from Rainmaker. Mauser was getting edgy. Meth was a steady trade, and access to the drug had certainly come in handy when he had tried to do away with the girl. But the real cash cow these days was in opioids. Synthetic crap, a lot of it coming from China, was flooding the market, driving up the price for the real deal. If he lost his oxy supply, which Rainmaker threatened would happen, it would crush his profits. Rainmaker warned him again of the coming drought.

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” Mauser asked. “I can’t find her.”

  Rainmaker expressed his displeasure at Mauser’s failure to do away with the girl—again.

  “Look, you agreed to the plan, it’s not all on me,” Mauser said.

  Rainmaker thought it was all on him.

  “Whatever,” Mauser said. “The dose of meth she got should have killed her, but then again the gas should have killed her, too. What can I tell you, there’s something weird with her. The doctor—Blackwood—I bet you anything he’s the one who saved her.”

  Apparently that doc had been a source of surprise all around. Rainmaker went off on him for a while. Even gave Mauser a detailed dossier on Blackwood, including revelations that his ex-wife was Secret Service and his kid ex-military, all of which could complicate matters.

  “So is that what this call is about?” Mauser asked. “The doc? He’s got you that spooked?”

  More chatter. Yeah, Rainmaker was spooked all right. If Rainmaker had given orders to do away with Doc Blackwood, he’d have died in that hospital stairwell, but no such mandate had been issued, and Mauser did not kill for sport.

  “I’ve got bigger fish to catch and fry,” Mauser said, thinking now was not the time to add a new target to his hit list. “I can’t be stretche
d that thin.”

  Wrong answer.

  Mauser sat up, rubbing at his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Light streamed into his apartment overlooking the D.C. cityscape from a bank of west-facing windows. By D.C. standards, Mauser’s home was a pretty nice place to live. It had two generous-sized bedrooms, and the airy layout with high ceilings and wood floors was nicely furnished with a modern, industrial flair. The couch where Mauser had fallen asleep (low to the ground with durable red cushions) cost over two thousand dollars. The idea of trading these digs for a concrete cell made Mauser shudder.

  “Why don’t you listen before you get all crazy on me,” Mauser said in an angry tone. “I can still do it. I can still handle Doc Blackwood and the other job, but I don’t have to be the one to do it. I got a guy, name’s Willie Caine. He rides with me. Kid’s got a crazy long rap sheet, but he’s also got skills. We’ll take Doc Blackwood out at his practice. Bait him there if we have to. If something goes wrong—and I’m not saying it will, but if it does—the police will think Caine’s a junkie looking for a fix.”

  At last, Mauser had said something Rainmaker agreed with.

  “Now, what about the boy?” Mauser asked. Obviously, Rainmaker knew he was referring to Cam Hilliard. Rainmaker told him what was going to happen.

  Mauser smiled to himself. It was cool to know the biggest news story in the world hours before it happened.

  CHAPTER 38

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26

  Karen used the few minutes she had before Cam had to leave for school to check in with Josh. It had been two days since she had left, and guilt and worry were starting to take hold.

  “It’s all good, Mom,” Josh said. “Valerie has been great, and Susie’s doing well. No physical problems. Dialysis seems to be doing its job. She has these occasional body jerks. They’re pretty freaky.”

  “Your dad calls it myoclonus. It’s kind of like a mini seizure,” Karen said.

  “Yeah, Valerie told me. Not sure why, but her arms are itchy all the time and bruised for no reason. Other than that and the fevers that come and go there’s no big change in her health, if that’s your concern.”

  “I’m concerned about you needing to use that SIG Sauer,” Karen retorted.

  “If I do, I do,” Josh said, sounding confident. “But nobody’s come around. Susie’s been playing her violin, which has been really nice and it seems to take her mind off things. I love listening to her play. I just hope she’s going to be all right, you know—with her health.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  Karen did not know what else to say. She was glad not to hear the ache for Hannah in her son’s voice. It was obvious that in Josh’s short time guarding Susie he had developed feelings for the girl. They were only six years apart. Considering how Lee is eight years her senior, Karen fully understood the appeal of an older man. She would not be at all surprised if Josh’s feelings were reciprocated.

  “How’s Dad making out?”

  “Nothing so far. He’s got some environmental company testing the air and water at the TPI. We’ll see what that brings, but he’s not expecting much. He’s convinced Yoshi is giving these kids something other than ProNeural. No other explanation works for him.”

  “Makes sense,” Josh said.

  “He’s been catching up with patients and researching nootropics in his spare time, trying to cross-reference different synthetic compounds with Susie and Cam’s symptoms. So far no luck, but he’s pushing ahead.”

  “Well, don’t worry about us,” Josh said. “We’re fine here. I oiled all the guns, made sure everything is in good working order. I even drove into town and picked up a battery-powered infrared motion detector at Walmart. It’s Bluetooth enabled, so if anybody drives down the road, I’ll know they’re coming before they get here.”

  “You sound like a Secret Service agent. You know, if this whole Colorado thing doesn’t work out—”

  “Love you, Mom,” Josh said, interrupting. “But let’s not worry about my career. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Karen said, and after a few more pleasant exchanges, ended the call.

  She checked her watch. It was time for school, or more aptly, time to bring Cam to school. Until she fully understood the threat facing him, she would be a part of his escort team.

  Duffy drove the SUV, a black Ford Explorer with tinted windows, up from the garage. Karen motioned for him to get out so she could drive. They had multiple routes to Cam’s school, and she wanted to mix things up in case somebody had an ambush in mind. Duffy climbed into the passenger seat, muttering something under his breath, not happy about his boss taking charge.

  Graves’ disease, thought Karen once again.

  She had noticed other odd behaviors in Duffy that morning. How he avoided making eye contact with her, how his fingers appeared extra animated, how sweat glistened on his skin even though the temps that morning were unseasonably cool. Something was indeed wrong with him, and Karen decided it was time to move him off Cam’s detail permanently. Hard conversation to have, for sure, but Duffy’s medical condition seemed to be worsening. She would call HR and make the move that afternoon.

  Cam shuffled over to the idling SUV with Beats by Dre headphones clamped around his wiry neck. While he looked dashing in his school uniform, Karen thought he seemed extra melancholic.

  “Hanging in there, buddy?” she asked, opening the car’s back door.

  “Yeah, just—a bad night’s sleep, is all,” he said in a quiet voice.

  He looked and sounded tired. She wondered if he had suffered a seizure during the night, if Gleason had held back the medication Lee prescribed, if some toxin he’d been exposed to was wreaking havoc on his body.

  The convoy—if two SUVs ferrying five Secret Service agents and one child of the president could be considered a convoy—was off with all the fanfare of a departing school bus. Karen drove in the lead, headed in a northerly direction on Sixteenth Street. Normally, she would have taken K Street to Rock Creek Parkway, but instead kept driving north on Sixteenth.

  Duffy’s face revealed his surprise. “What are you doing?” he asked, his expression almost a scowl.

  “Changing things up,” Karen said. “We’re taking Beach Drive instead.”

  “That’s—that’s going—going to—to add ten minutes to the drive,” Duffy said, stuttering.

  Karen shot him a sideways glance. “Which is why I told you that we’re leaving ten minutes early for school.”

  Checking the rearview mirror, Karen watched Cam stare absentmindedly out the window, his headphones in place, head bobbing slightly to the music.

  “I don’t even know what you’re doing here,” Duffy said in an angry voice. “This is my detail.”

  “Last I checked,” Karen said in a neutral tone, “you worked for me.”

  As she weaved her way through the morning traffic, Karen kept a vigilant eye on everything: her surroundings, the distance between her car and the follow vehicle, and Cam. She took it all in with practiced efficiency. It was only because she was being so cautious that she happened to catch a quick glimpse of Duffy using his cell phone. The rules around cell phone use were ingrained in every officer. Few employee misconduct violations were more egregious than being distracted while on protective duty.

  “Hey!” Karen said, pointing to the cell phone Duffy unsuccessfully tried to shield with his leg. “You put that damn thing away this instant. What the hell is wrong, Stephen? Keep your eyes open. BOLO—be on the lookout. That’s the job!”

  Karen exhaled a few calming breaths. If anything, Duffy was giving her more reason to do what had to be done. It was medical with him, she reminded herself. Maybe he couldn’t control his impulses. Maybe those same impulse problems were contributing to the money woes he insisted he did not have.

  She was driving along a leafy stretch of Seventeenth Street, almost to the turnoff, when Karen caught sight of Duffy texting once again.

  “What the hell, Duffy!” she yelled. “Put it away
!”

  The force of her voice overpowered the music in Cam’s headphones, causing him to jump in his seat. Duffy startled as well. He glared angrily at Karen, his breathing erratic and shallow. Sweat coated his face.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” she said, furious. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s nothing,” Duffy said, avoiding Karen’s stare by looking out the window. “I’m fine. It’s just an urgent thing. A personal matter. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Damn right, you shouldn’t.”

  Some time later they were driving through Rock Creek Park, traveling along a narrow two-lane road lined on both sides with leafy trees. Running parallel to the road was a dirt pathway used by runners or bikers who could handle the ruts and stones. Karen was still trying to tamp down her anger, checking her rearview mirror once again, when she noticed what appeared to be a dirt bike with narrow tires, cruising down the jogging path at a high rate of speed. The bike’s frame was small and light with a hydraulic and spring shock suspension.

  Right away Karen’s body tensed. Because the bike was on the path and not the road, it could easily pass traffic on the left. It was certainly a convenient mode of transportation for the rider and a fast-growing trend, but it was also illegal on D.C. streets, given how dirt bikes lacked such basic safety features as headlights or turn signals. D.C. police policy, however, did not allow officers to give chase. They could snap pictures of the offenders, but that did little to deter those urban riders, who were deemed a public menace. This rider could have been a harmless thrill seeker, but something in Karen’s gut urged caution.

  Her focus kept shifting between the rearview and the road with regular frequency. The dirt bike seemed to be gaining on them. Soon it would pass the escort vehicle. The rider was dressed all in black. The visor of his helmet was tinted dark, like the windows of the SUV.

  A cold feeling of dread overcame her. She focused more on the rearview than the road. Cam, with his headphones on, was oblivious. Karen’s fingers tightened against the steering wheel. Hairs on her neck began to rise as her muscles turned taut. The patter of her heartbeat became erratic.