The First Family

by Michael Palmer

“And?”

  “And he said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me. Dr. Gleason’s a liar.’”

  “He said that?”

  “His words exactly, Mr. President. I wrote it off as teen anger, but now I regret it. I’m asking, for Cam’s sake, for the sake of everyone involved—please, please look further into Fred Gleason. If nothing comes of it, well, then nobody knows anything and nobody got hurt. But if you find something—it might help us to find Cam.”

  Another excruciatingly long moment of silence ensued. Again Lee thought the president might have ended the call. He startled when the president spoke.

  “Dr. Blackwood, thank you again for your service to me, to my family, and to our country,” President Hilliard said. “I’ll take your concerns under careful advisement.”

  This time, Lee had no doubt the president was gone. From behind, Lee felt a tap on his shoulder. He swiveled in his chair and his expression brightened when he saw Josh standing there, a big smile on his face.

  Lee leapt up from his chair, opened his arms wide, and gave Josh a big hug.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as the two embraced.

  “Mom’s at camp. I figured you might need some company for a bit.”

  Lee was suspicious. “You’re worried about me, aren’t you?” he said.

  “I think you should have a buddy around, is all.”

  Lee put an arm around his son. “I’m glad it’s you,” he said. “Would this buddy of mine like to go out and grab a slice of pizza and a beer? I’ve just had a really crappy couple of hours.”

  “You know I would.”

  Difficult as things had been of late, one lone bright spot for Lee was how this crisis had brought his family closer together. As he and Josh headed for the exit, Lee’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message from Paul.

  Come too office. Important.

  The typo did not bother Lee, text messages were riddled with them, but “office” was a strange word choice. They always called it the clinic. Lee paused to send a reply.

  Headed out with Josh, what’s going on?

  While waiting for Paul to answer, Lee remembered to check those voice mail messages, and sure enough the first call was from Paul.

  “Hey, Lee—Paul here. I know it’s getting late, but swing by the clinic if you can. I have an idea about what might be going on with Susie and Cam that I want to share with you ASAP. We’ve gone over it before, but I keep coming back to it because it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

  Lee deleted the message. The next call, an hour after the first, was from Paul as well.

  “Lee, where are you? I think I got something here. Call me.”

  Lee was intrigued. Paul sounded almost ecstatic. What could he have discovered? Instead of playing text tag, he returned Paul’s call, but got no answer. A moment later, his phone buzzed again with another text message from Paul.

  Come too the office. Need to speak with you.

  Speak with me? Again the same typo, “too” instead of “to” as well as the odd word choice, thought Lee. Not really like Paul. Lee texted back.

  Call me now. Let’s chat.

  Can’t talk. On the phone. Just come quick.

  Curious, thought Lee. Clearly, something was up.

  “We’re going to have to pass on the slice and suds,” Lee informed Josh. “Gotta go to the clinic and meet up with Paul.”

  “I’m just the happy-go-lucky buddy,” Josh said. “I go where you go.”

  * * *

  TODAY WAS the day.

  Mauser had been keeping a close watch on Lee. The busy hospital had provided excellent cover, but Mauser took additional precautions. He got rid of his bushy mustache and wore a baseball hat and thick reading glasses he had bought at CVS. Not much of a disguise, but he did not look like the hospital repairman anymore. It would have to do. He could have changed the plan, could have done it himself, but lately luck did not seem to be on his side.

  He was also concerned about the guy who had left with Lee. The doc was a middle-aged lightweight, but this other fellow was muscled and probably knew how to handle himself. He guessed the man was Blackwood’s son, who had military training. Everything was already in motion. Better to keep to the plan, Mauser decided. If things went south, nothing could be traced back to him or to Rainmaker.

  Mauser got his fellow biker pal Willie Caine on the phone. “The texts worked like a charm,” he said. “I think Blackwood’s headed your way, but be ready, because he’s not coming alone.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Karen sat at the small wooden desk her father had bought at a local flea market years back. The rutted surface was papered with maps and notes, her modest contribution to the ongoing search for Cam Hilliard. In her gut, Karen knew how insignificant her efforts were—pointless, really—but she was not willing to abandon them in exchange for doing nothing at all.

  She worked with her Glock secured inside her IWB holster, feeling the butt of the weapon pressed against her hip. Though she had traded suits for jeans, an office for a cabin, she would have felt naked without a weapon. Hours ago, Karen had oiled her father’s AK-47 and leaned the rifle against a knotty pine bookshelf. The other gun they kept here, a bolt-action Remington, was locked in storage in the basement gun safe.

  For Karen, it had been another day of frustration. With so many ways out of the city, finding Cam was like searching for a single needle in a row of haystacks. According to Woody Lapham, with whom Karen was still in contact, the FBI was investigating the possibility that Cam took an Uber out of the city. A taxi would have been a better choice. No digital trail for someone to follow. The Metrobus that stopped near the school could have taken him to plenty of places as well. The only sure bet was that the FBI and the Secret Service had their work cut out for them.

  Karen’s mind was active with ideas. She studied her maps and thought of avenues to explore. She shared her thoughts with Lapham, trusting he would present them as his own so they would not be ignored.

  The twenty-four-hour news cycle did its part to perfection, broadcasting Cam’s face on social media and every TV channel like a never-ending infomercial. The hunt for the Dirt Bike Shooter no longer kicked off the evening news. The search for Cam was now the lead story, and Karen’s infamy seemed to be growing by the minute. If Lapham were to be believed, and why not believe him, landing an interview with Karen Ray was the major coup every reporter sought. But first they’d have to find her, and Karen’s vanishing act had proved just as effective as Cam’s.

  She was so head-down on task that when the phone rang, Karen jumped. She glanced at the number displayed and felt uneasy eagerness take hold. It was Ellen’s private cell phone. She answered the call, feeling the anticipation bubble inside her.

  “Did you find him?”

  “We’re closing in,” said Ellen.

  “What does that mean?”

  “We’ve received an e-mail from Cam.”

  “An e-mail? What did it say? Can you forward it to me?”

  The lengthy pause opened a pit in Karen’s stomach. For a moment she thought she had a real role to play.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Ellen said. “Please understand.”

  “Yes, of course,” Karen said, willing the defeat from her voice.

  “But I am calling because I wanted you to know we think he’s safe.”

  “Can you tell me anything more?” Karen could hardly contain her joy.

  “He said he’s fine.” Ellen sounded strained, rife with exhaustion. “He’s in a safe place, disguised, but didn’t say where. He’s got money for food. He’s doing okay, but he’s not ready to come home. He said, and I’m sorry to report what I already knew, that he couldn’t trust the Secret Service to protect him. He feels safer and better now that he’s gone. He’s asked us for time and patience while he’s sorting through some complicated emotions.”

  “Do we know where the e-mail came from? There must be a way to trace it, right?”

  “
Yes, there is,” Ellen said. “The NSA thinks it came from a router at a coffee shop in Paterson, New Jersey. The FBI is concentrating search efforts there now. We’re trying to keep it out of the news, hoping Cam will stay in one place and not think we’re closing in on him. But you know how leaks can be. It’s going to get out eventually, and I wanted you to hear the news from me before it breaks elsewhere.”

  “I appreciate that, Ellen. More than you can know.”

  “If Geoffrey had replaced the entire White House detail like I had asked, maybe Cam wouldn’t have felt compelled to run away.”

  “I understand.”

  The guilt washed over Karen. I should have known something was off with Duffy—I should have reassigned him. It’s all my fault.

  “Not that I thought you were one of those who needed to go,” Ellen said, as if reading Karen’s mind. “You do know how much faith I have in you, how much I still have. But Geoffrey, the Secret Service, even the country it seems, needed a scapegoat. I’m just so sorry it had to be you.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Karen said. “I’ll be fine. My concern right now is for Cam and Susie.”

  “Promise me you’ll do everything you can to keep Susie safe,” Ellen said.

  “Trust me when I tell you that I’ll guard Susie with my life.”

  * * *

  SUSIE DID not know why, but Karen made her feel sad. She did not know Karen well at all. She had no reason to pass judgment, but there was something, an air of melancholy, that followed her. It made Susie miss Josh, who had gone back to D.C., or at least that’s what Karen had told her.

  Not that Susie had a crush on Josh or anything. He was much older and she was inexperienced in dating because of her dedication to music. But he was sweet and nice to her—and, oh, who was she was trying to kid? Of course she had a crush on him. What girl wouldn’t? But he was gone, and Susie was left with his mother.

  Now sunset was fast approaching. Valerie had just returned from one of her long walks. The nurse had been taking lots of walks alone lately and Susie felt a sudden twinge of sadness. She was tired of being a prisoner—here at the cabin and in her own body. She was tired of the ugly bruises on her arms that appeared for no good reason, and the intense itching sensation that Valerie’s creams could not soothe.

  “I think I need some fresh air,” Susie announced. “I want to go to the lake to watch the sunset.”

  Valerie’s face registered surprise. “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  “You just got back,” said Susie.

  “No reason I can’t go out again. Let me just put the ziti in the oven.”

  Karen said, “I’ll go too.”

  “You don’t have to,” Valerie said.

  “I’m here to protect Susie, and I’m the only one with a gun.”

  Susie knew what Karen was really thinking: I’ve already lost one kid, and I’m not about to lose another.

  Susie knew why Karen had replaced Josh as her guardian. Cam Hilliard had run away and the first lady wanted Karen, a seasoned and trained professional, to watch over her. Because she and Cam had similar health issues, the first lady evidently had taken a personal interest in Susie’s well-being.

  It was all so overwhelming.

  Susie slipped on a light blue cotton dress, comfortable to wear around the cabin. It felt good to be in something other than pajamas for a change. The dress would not be warm enough in the evening chill, so she added a denim jacket to her ensemble. Valerie put the ziti in the oven, got her coat, and soon they were off.

  The path to the lake was narrow and rocky in parts, with potentially treacherous roots lying in ambush under clusters of fallen leaves. They might have traveled a quarter mile, but to Susie, in her weakened condition, the journey felt more like a half marathon. Still, the effort was worth it just to see the reflecting sunlight glittering like starbursts across the rippling water; to watch pastel bands of pinks, reds, and yellows appear magically on the vast horizon as twilight neared; to hear the croaking of frogs and feel the gentle spring air tickle her flesh.

  The trio sat at a red-painted picnic table near the water’s edge, chatting as gentle waves lapped rhythmically against the rocky shoreline.

  “Have they found Cam yet?” Valerie asked Karen.

  “No,” Karen said. “Hopefully soon. The FBI is good at what they do. Let’s hope for Cam’s sake they find him quickly.”

  Susie heard the sorrow in Karen’s voice. It was obvious she wanted to be in on the action, back with her colleagues, doing the important work of finding Cam, not watching over some sick girl at a lake.

  Susie wondered if Cam had her wan complexion. Was he developing bruises for no good reason? Itching constantly? Did his limbs go spastic without warning? Was he becoming forgetful? At times, Susie’s sheet music was as foreign to her as Chinese. How could she forget something so ingrained in her memory, so rooted from years of diligent practice?

  “He’s just a scared kid,” Susie said, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that she and Cam shared some terrible bond, a common fate. “He doesn’t want to be hiding out. He wants to come home.” She spoke with confidence, because she knew from experience. She was a scared kid herself.

  Karen put an arm around Susie. Her touch felt surprisingly motherly and comforting.

  “I hope you’re right,” Karen said.

  “Everyone is going to be all right,” Valerie said. “Including you.”

  Susie was hardly convinced. If the look in Valerie’s eyes were to be believed, she would need either a cure or a casket.

  CHAPTER 49

  Traffic across town was mercifully light, thank goodness, allowing Lee to keep a heavy foot on the gas. Paul’s voice messages had sounded downright giddy, while his texts were oddly detached. Strange.

  It was seven thirty in the evening when Lee arrived at the clinic. Paul’s Subaru was the only car parked in the lot. Lee put his key in the front lock and gave it a turn. To his surprise, the door did not open. He turned the key again, this time unlocking the door.

  Lee said to Josh, “After hours we always keep this door locked, even if we’re here.”

  Odd again, thought Lee, as he stepped into the dark foyer. Down the hall, well beyond the glass-enclosed reception area, light seeped from underneath Paul’s office door. It was the only light on in the clinic.

  “Paul, are you here?” Lee’s voice sank into the gloom.

  Josh came up close behind. “What’s up, Dad?”

  Lee flicked a switch, turning on the clinic lights. The sudden brightness temporarily blinded him.

  “Something is wrong,” Lee said in a whisper. “This—this isn’t right.”

  “What’s not right?” asked Josh, whispering as well.

  Instead of answering, Lee ventured cautiously down the hall. Everything here was familiar, down to the antiseptic smells, but somehow it was different. Josh kept close on Lee’s heels.

  “Paul—are you here?” Lee called again.

  No response.

  Why isn’t he answering?

  All the doors in the hallway, including the one at Lee’s back, were closed. Is that normal? He’d never paid particular attention, never noticed if the doors were shut after hours.

  He turned the knob to Paul’s office, opening the door a crack. He was about to open it all the way when Josh lowered his arm like a barricade.

  Turning, Lee saw Josh had the gun Karen had given him in his hand. Josh motioned for Lee to back up a step. Smart move. If a threat awaited them inside, Josh was better trained and equipped to neutralize it.

  Josh opened the door wider, edging around to his left as he sliced the space with his gun like cutting pieces of pie. He tried his best to see any threats before those threats saw him.

  Is the office empty? Lee wondered.

  It must have been all clear, because Josh went in. He glanced left, then right, and in a strangled voice, shouted: “Dad!”

  Lee’s heart sank. He burst into the room, where he saw Jo
sh hugging the wall to the left of the open door, his gun aimed at a spot on the floor. Poking out from behind the desk, Lee saw Paul, facedown on the ground, arms splayed in front of him as though he were in freefall. The piles of papers his partner had complained about hours earlier were blotted with drops of red.

  Dried blood matted Paul’s dark hair. There was a huge wound in his right temple, a horrible jagged black hole ringed with blood. The carpeting beneath him was soiled dark. Blood sheeted down Paul’s neck in thin streaks like exposed veins, some of it pooling in his ear canal. His neck was twisted in a grisly, unnatural angle. The pallor of his skin was the same bluish hue of Yoshi’s, his body equally still.

  A scream bubbled up in Lee’s throat as he rushed to Paul’s side. Dropping to his knees, Lee pressed his fingertips against his partner’s cold flesh, feeling for a pulse and finding none. Images of Paul’s wife and children flashed in Lee’s mind as he took Paul’s cold, lifeless hand in his own.

  “Paul—Paul—please—oh God, Paul!”

  A flash of movement drew Lee’s attention to the doorway, where a man appeared as if out of nowhere. He held a gun in his right hand, pointing it at Lee. He was tall and thin, with a wispy dark mustache showing vividly against his ghostly pallor. A gray hooded sweatshirt shielded his eyes.

  Josh was out of view, hidden behind the open door. The gunman fired three shots from six feet away. He should have hit something. A shoulder. Head. Neck. Something. Instead the bullets splintered only drywall. Turning with a quickness that belied his age, Lee leapt behind the desk to take shelter. The gunman aimed again, fired again, and missed again, as the desk shielded Lee from the bullets.

  Before he could change positions, get settled, and squeeze the trigger once more, Josh kicked the door with his boot and sent it smashing into the killer’s body with force. Snapping his arm out like a whip, Josh seized the gunman’s wrist and gave a hard yank.

  The man stumbled into the room and Josh, who kept hold of that wrist, went with him. The killer’s free arm pinwheeled over his head in a wide arc as he fought for balance. His eyes, visible now, were wide and glossy with surprise.