The First Family

by Michael Palmer

  O’Donnell rose from his chair and went over to the screen. Using a laser pointer, he drew an imaginary line from the red circle to a football field a few hundred yards away.

  “Given where Karen had her team positioned,” O’Donnell said in a flat voice lacking any judgment, “if Cam went across the soccer field to Quebec Street, or headed straight to Thirty-seventh Street, he would not have been in their sight lines.”

  “So it wasn’t Karen’s fault,” Ellen said, sounding almost relieved. “Cam must have known he could slip away without being seen.”

  “Why didn’t we have agents guarding those points?” The president directed his attention to Ferguson, who in turn directed his to Karen.

  “I added more agents to the detail given the resources that were available to me,” Karen said, her voice shaky. “There were not as many as I would have liked, but we’ve had resource and scheduling issues for some time now.”

  Karen sucked down a weighty breath as her eyes met Ellen’s.

  “You added more bodies, but didn’t expand the coverage area?” the president said, his voice rising in pitch.

  “I increased the Secret Service presence as much as I could to guard against threats entering the building. That was what was on my mind, given that days ago someone had tried to kill Cam. How was I to know he was going to slip away on his own?” The force in her voice surprised her.

  “It’s your job to know, Karen,” the president said with rising anger.

  “I didn’t think he should have gone to school in the first place.”

  The president’s face turned red. “Protecting my son was your job, Karen. It was your only job and you failed me, you failed Ellen, and most importantly, you failed Cam.”

  “It’s not Karen’s fault, Geoffrey,” Ellen said. “If anyone is to blame here, it’s Russell. Not only did he ignore Karen’s repeated requests for more resources, we have no idea the extent of corruption in his damn department.”

  “That’s enough, Ellen,” the president snapped. “You’ve made your point on that perfectly clear.”

  Russell Ferguson pulled at his shirt collar to release some trapped body heat.

  The president said, “Talk to me about cameras.”

  “There are cameras near the elementary school close to Tilden Street,” O’Donnell reported. “But there are a number of different routes Cam could have taken that have no surveillance activity whatsoever.”

  With a knock on the door, all conversation came to a stop.

  “Enter,” the president said sharply.

  In stepped Dr. Gleason. Finding Cam was a singular mission and everyone at the White House was called in to participate, including his doctor.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”

  Gleason tugged on his white lab coat, unsure, it seemed, what to do with his hands.

  The president emerged from his fog of anger. “Fred, good. Thank you for coming. The FBI was searching Cam’s room, looking at his computer, trying to figure out where he may have gone, and they found something odd. I was hoping you could explain it to me.”

  Karen had heard about some sort of discovery in addition to Cam’s note, but nobody had told her what had been found. It was doubtful she’d ever be told anything of consequence again as it pertained to the first family. What had to be obvious to all was that Dr. Gleason was suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

  “What is it?” Gleason asked.

  From a folder on the table, the president produced a publicity photo of Dr. Gleason, one that the PR flacks had commissioned for the White House Web site. He held a photo up for all to see, before handing it to Gleason. Scrawled across the photograph, written in a black Sharpie with Cam’s distinctive handwriting, were two phrases chillingly familiar to Karen:

  I know what you are. I know what you do.

  “What’s this about, Fred?” the president asked. “Is this related to Cam’s issue with Taylor? Help us understand.”

  “I’m—I’m as shocked by this as you are, Mr. President,” Gleason said, stammering slightly.

  Karen noticed that Gleason nodded his head yes, contradicting his denial of any knowledge about the photograph. His shoulders sagged as if weighted from whatever secret he was holding.

  “Give us your best guess,” Ellen said.

  “May I speak freely?” Gleason asked. “I don’t wish to reveal anything confidential regarding Cam’s care, but this could be important.”

  “Patient privacy is the least of our concerns right now,” the president said, looking at Ellen, who nodded in agreement.

  Gleason cleared his throat. His actions seemed shifty to Karen. His body went still, but his feet were shuffling. He stopped blinking.

  “As you’re well aware, I’m the one who has been pushing for Cam to receive some psychological help for his issues. I believe the pressures of the White House and the resulting trauma from the attempt on his life have brought him to a critical point.” Gleason kept putting his hand to his mouth—a sign, Karen recalled from her training, of deceit. “He needed someone to blame for his troubles, including troubles with his chess game, and I was the perfect outlet for his anger. I’m Taylor’s dad, and, well, he already resents me for what I’m trying to do with his medical care. Obviously, I think his behavior here proves I was right. He’s emotionally unstable, and I’m deeply concerned for his welfare.”

  Karen found him convincing. She remained tight-lipped about what she had seen in Cam’s room—the printout with those two phrases written down the page, even what Cam had said to Lee—Gleason’s a liar. Everything Dr. Gleason said could explain those things as well.

  “Thank you, Fred, you can go now,” President Hilliard said.

  Gleason turned for the door, paused, and turned back around.

  “Geoff, Ellen, I’m very sorry about what’s happened.” He shot Karen a look of contempt, and a shiver raced down her spine. It’s your fault, his eyes were saying. If only they’d gotten rid of you sooner, none of this would have happened. His hard stare softened. “If there’s anything I can do,” he added.

  “We’ll let you know, Fred,” the president said.

  And with that, Gleason was gone.

  Karen shrank under the weight of the president’s hostile stare.

  “Obviously, I can’t have you working the White House detail anymore, Karen. As for your future with the Secret Service, Russell has made the difficult decision to put you on paid leave pending the conclusion of an internal investigation.” Karen knew it was not Russell’s decision at all, same as she knew the move was a formal precursor to her being fired. “If you have any information,” President Hilliard continued, “I’m counting on you to do the right thing and share it with Russell, who will get it to the FBI. I’m final on this.”

  “Don’t you think I should have a say?” Ellen interjected.

  “No. This decision is effective immediately. Russell will handle the logistics,” the president said, rising from his seat once more. “I thank you for your service. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the Oval Office to make a public address, an appeal really. Cam is one of the most well-known boys in the world. Someone is going to see him out there, and we’re going to get him back.”

  The president exited the Situation Room with hurried steps and John O’Donnell followed.

  Russell placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder to comfort her. Worry stayed etched into his face. He knew he was next.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, Russ,” Karen said in a soft voice. “You’re wrong. It was.”

  “I’ll need to get your badge and guns,” Russell said glumly.

  Ellen approached. “Russell, will you give us a moment, please?” she said. “I’d like to speak with Karen alone, if I may.”

  With a nod, Russell Ferguson excused himself from the room.

  “I’m so sorry about everything,” Ellen said, her voice genuine and consoling. “It’s�
��more than any of us can take.”

  “I should have done more to protect him.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” said Ellen. “Geoffrey is wrong to blame you.”

  “Someone has to be the fall guy—or gal,” Karen answered glumly.

  “You can still help Cam.” Ellen sounded conspiratorial.

  “How?”

  “The girl. Susie Banks.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “From the beginning you told me to trust Lee, that he was one of the best doctors you knew. I took your advice to heart, didn’t I? And you were right. I’ve come to trust him completely. Geoffrey does, too, in a way—though not to my degree, of course. Otherwise he’d have taken Lee’s request seriously, and offered the girl protection.”

  “What are you asking me, Ellen?”

  “Despite everything that’s happened, I still trust you with my life and the lives of my family,” Ellen said. “You saved Cam from Duffy. Cam did what he did on his own, for his own reasons, and I don’t think there was any way you could have prevented it.” Ellen looked away. “If anyone here is to blame, it’s me,” she said. “I let him go. I acted against your advice and you’re the one who suffers the consequences.”

  “I would have done the same to me if I were in the president’s position,” Karen said.

  Ellen nodded several times in quick succession. “You’ve always been so loyal to us. Even now. Which is why I want your help.”

  “My help?” Karen laughed at the absurdity. “Ellen, I’ve been suspended, and we both know that’s just the first step before I’m officially let go.”

  “Yes, I realize. But you have a gun of your own, I suppose.”

  “I do. Several, in fact.” Karen’s eyebrows rose, along with her curiosity. Where is this going?

  “Somebody tried to kill Cam, and that killer is still out there. If Lee’s right, then the attempt on Cam’s life must somehow be connected to his medical issues. It’s reasonable to think that same person is going to go after Susie again. Assuming Cam comes back to us—”

  “Cam will come back,” Karen said, interrupting. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Assuming he does,” Ellen continued, “we can’t let anything happen to the girl.”

  “Josh is watching after her.”

  “He’s not Secret Service.”

  “I haven’t exactly been very good at my job.”

  “Your opinion. Not mine.”

  “It’s your husband’s, too.”

  “He’s not asking you to help. I am.”

  “Asking me what, exactly?”

  “Go to the camp and guard Susie. Guard her like you’re protecting Cam. Don’t let anything bad happen to her. I’ve heard that Lee has found another case from the TPI files. Enlarged organs, seizures too. And that boy’s dead—a suicide, right?” Ellen’s expression revealed her doubt. “If Lee’s right, and Cam’s symptoms worsen, Susie Banks might not just be the key to understanding what’s going on with him—she could be the cure.”

  “Ellen, we don’t know if there’s a link or not, not for certain at least.”

  “What do you believe?” Ellen asked.

  Karen thought about Lee. It was Lee who’d diagnosed Cam’s splenic rupture before anyone else had a clue. He was the one who found five strangely sick kids with links to the TPI. She’d always trusted Lee. He was far from the perfect husband, but he was always an amazing physician.

  “I’ll pack my bags and head out tonight,” Karen said.

  CHAPTER 44

  Karen listened to the news during her long drive to camp. Nonstop, every five minutes, came the “Breaking News” music, with Wolf Blitzer urgently announcing: “Security failure at the White House. The first family in crisis as Cam Hilliard is missing with the Dirt Bike Shooter still at large. Can the Secret Service be trusted to protect the president? What do we know about Karen Ray, the Secret Service agent in charge? Stay tuned.”

  The greatest failure in Secret Service history had occurred on November 22, 1963, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Now Karen’s name, her reputation, everything she believed she stood for, was intractably linked with what might be the second-worst moment in the agency’s history. Instead of salvaging her father’s legacy, Karen had trampled all over it.

  I’m so sorry, Dad.

  Tears welled in Karen’s eyes, blurring the highway dividing lines.

  Karen’s suitcase was on the seat beside her, packed with enough clothes for a week, as well as a Glock 19, one of the weapons from her private arsenal—a sidearm the Navy SEALs favored. The gun was reliable and very accurate. Josh had her spare SIG. Combined with her father’s guns in the basement safe, Karen felt she had ample weaponry at her disposal.

  An hour from camp, Karen’s phone rang.

  “Hey, K-Ray, I heard. I’m sorry.” It was Woody Lapham.

  Karen’s heart swelled and constricted at the same time. Already this was a voice from her past.

  “Thanks for the call. You’re the first.”

  “Ellen is still trying to get us all reassigned, but the president is holding firm—for now.”

  “No surprise there. Russell’s gone. He knows it, too.”

  “No loss there,” said Lapham, expressing long-held sentiments.

  Karen smiled in the dark.

  “What now?” Lapham asked.

  It was nighttime and Karen was on a particularly lonely stretch of highway, grateful for the company—something to keep her mind sharp as the miles stretched on.

  “Now? I’m out,” she said, feeling the familiar crimp in her heart. “What’s happening back in D.C.?” At Ellen’s request, Karen had told no one of her new mission. It was obvious the first lady did not trust the Secret Service with anything, and that included keeping secrets.

  “This isn’t your typical teenage runaway, that’s for sure,” Lapham said. “The FBI is taking plaster footprints from around the school, trying to match them to Cam’s shoes. They’re looking at surveillance footage, tearing apart his room. Forensics is dissecting his computer and investigators are interviewing all of his friends. Basically, it’s a giant mess.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Then you can also imagine how many crazies are calling the tip line,” Lapham said. “According to them, Cam is either at the Louvre taking selfies with Mona Lisa, or he’s now driving for Uber.”

  To her surprise, Karen managed to laugh.

  “I’m going to miss you, Woody,” she said, still smiling. “You need anything from me, anything at all, just ask.”

  “Hey, you’re only suspended, you’re not going to the moon,” he said.

  Karen flashed on the job, what it meant to her, how it was her—how much she’d sacrificed to become this person she no longer was. The Service had taken Karen away from her family, and contributed significantly to her divorce from Lee. Karen was hardly the only agent to suffer those consequences.

  “Woody, I’m just getting back to earth,” she said. “It’s you who’s on the moon.”

  * * *

  AS KAREN drove down the long dirt road to camp, her phone rang again. This time it was Josh.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m almost there.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Josh. “My motion detector pinged me that someone was coming. Decided to call you first before I started shooting.”

  “Call first, shoot second. Good thinking, and thank you for your consideration,” Karen said.

  Up ahead the bright glow from the cabin’s lights came into view. The air buzzed with the hum of countless critters. Karen parked her car on a grassy patch out front.

  Josh gave Karen a big hello hug, and Valerie did the same. Karen took notice of Valerie’s denim shirt and her faded dungarees, how the outfit went with her short hair. She seemed at home out here in the woods. Josh had on flannel and jeans, and his favorite boots. His face looked tired, but he was always at his best in the wild.

  The cabin might have looked like a
hospital ward, but it smelled nothing like one. The odors of pine and good cooking scented the air. As a whole, everything was clean and remarkably well maintained. It seemed Valerie and Josh were working well as a team.

  “How’s our patient?” Karen asked, eyeing Susie, who was propped up in her hospital bed. The poor thing looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles ringing her sunken eyes. Her long brown hair lay flat against her head. Her coloring nearly matched the white bedsheets.

  “I’m doing okay,” Susie said, her naturally quiet voice sounding fainter than usual.

  She wore green cotton pajamas, which had to be far more comfortable than a starched hospital gown. The dialysis machine, resting atop a rolling metal cart pushed up to Susie’s bedside, was on and churning away. Tubes hooked to her body took poisoned blood out and put clean blood back in.

  To Karen’s eyes, Susie seemed to be getting sicker. She observed a line of ugly bruises marking her arms. Bruises like the ones she had seen on Cam.

  Karen noticed the open violin case on the floor by Susie’s bedside.

  “Josh tells me you’ve playing quite a bit,” Karen said, looking for a distraction from those bruises.

  “When my arms let me,” said Susie, defeat ringing in her voice. Then she looked at Josh and Karen saw new life spark into her eyes.

  “Have you had many attacks?” Karen asked.

  “A few, I guess.”

  “She had one not long before you showed up here,” Valerie said, taking no measures to mask the worry in her voice. “It was quite severe, which is why she looks so wiped out.”

  Valerie provided a frightening account of Susie’s myoclonic jerks. They came on like a sudden thunderstorm, she said. One moment fine, the next—boom!—she was out of control, limbs flailing in all directions. Lee had called in a prescription for clonazepam, which Valerie had picked up at the hospital pharmacy in town, but the side effects were troubling. Fatigue. Blurred vision. Headaches. Muscle weakness. The jerking would come and go, but those side effects never went away.

  “Imagine going through life afraid to even hold a glass of water,” Valerie said. “She’s getting used to these attacks in a way, I suppose. She doesn’t exactly laugh when they happen, but with all she’s going through, somehow, she still plays.” Valerie brushed a loose strand of hair off Susie’s face, pinning it behind her ear. “That’s her resolve right there, shining brightly.”