“Quite possibly so. It’s true your mother has set a very difficult standard to meet. And I say my nightly prayers of thanks that you inherited so many of her wonderful qualities.”
Emily was smiling—beaming was more like it. Then Lou realized that she was looking past him. He twisted around.
Renee was standing in the doorway, her set of his apartment keys in her hand. “Oh please, guys,” she said. “Don’t stop on my account.”
CHAPTER 21
Kim Hajjar beamed at the orderly behavior the children from the inner city Young People’s Chorus exhibited as they passed through White House security at the southwest entrance. No pushing. No horseplay. No yelling.
A darn fine start to the day.
Looking like a mother duck with four dozen ducklings in tow, she led the children to the Rose Garden via a series of well-marked paths that took them around the back side of the West Wing. The chaperones flanked the line and brought up the rear of the procession.
Hopefully, over the years, she thought, some of these kids will visit the White House again. After that, who knows?
The morning was already quite warm, and the cloudless sky guaranteed it would get even warmer. Forecasts had predicted rain throughout the day, so Kim saw the cooperating weather as a sign that the event would proceed without incident.
The buses had shown up on time. One hundred and fifty folding chairs were in perfect rows on the Rose Garden lawn, facing the podium and a set of risers. Refreshments were being served. The green, white, and orange Irish flag stood to the left side of the podium and the Stars and Stripes to the right. There was a buzz of conversation from the assembling crowd, many of whom were from a guest list that she had help to compile.
And the best part was that Martin Mallory would, in all likelihood, not be a no-show today. Kim, working with the president’s chief of staff, had assured herself of it. Just the same, she breathed easier when she saw Martin standing beside Darlene, chatting with some dignitaries. Despite his expertly applied makeup, the president looked drawn and haggard. By contrast, Darlene was radiant in a simple white Christian Dior dress and cloche hat adorned with a silk bow and rosettes.
The children filed into the Rose Garden as orderly as they had passed through security. Kim enjoyed seeing the awe in their faces as they took in the grandeur and beauty around them. The crabapple trees were no longer flowering, but the roses, tulips, primroses, and grape hyacinth were in spectacular bloom. The constant chirping of birds added a natural accompaniment to the quartet of professional musicians playing traditional Irish music.
Kim and Darlene’s eyes met.
The brief exchange said much. At least for this morning, Martin had come through, and there had been no word from Double M—the name they had chosen for their mystery man. After reading the handwritten note on the back of the Bar None coaster, Darlene felt intrigued and vindicated.
“I knew it. I just knew it,” she had said once, then again during their closed-door meeting in her office.
“But why would somebody go after Evans?” Kim asked.
“You remember what he said to us at the Bar None? His office impacts local food producers, major growers, environmentalists, even the manufacturers of fertilizers, pesticides, and seeds. His policies affect millions of lives and probably trillions of dollars. Any number of his positions might put him in someone’s crosshairs.”
Kim thought back to their conversation with Evans—his frustration and almost palpable frailty. She warned herself not to jump to conclusions about his innocence. She wasn’t connected to him as intensely as the First Lady was, and needed to remain objective. Double M claimed to have proof. For Russ Evans’s sake, she hoped the man would not stay hidden for long.
The folding chairs were rapidly filling. Kim signaled to the head of the Young People’s Chorus that the children should take their positions on the riser. The kids looked super, and no doubt, Darlene was imagining what it would be like going from exam room to exam room in her office, taking care of every one of them. You can take the pediatrician out of the practice, Kim was thinking, but you can never take the pediatrician out of this woman.
She straightened out a couple of chairs and patted two of the younger kids on the shoulder.
It was showtime.
From the podium, with the emblem of the presidential seal facing the crowd, she instructed people to take their seats. There was a rustle of movement and the dwindling murmur of voices as the guests settled in. Darlene was seated to the left of the podium. President Callaghan’s husband was seated to the right. Both presidents had musical cues that would instruct them when to enter.
“Is POTUS in position?” Kim spoke into her radio.
A crackled reply came back, “Ready to go.”
“Good.”
Kim nodded to her assistant, and moments later the musicians began to play the Irish march, “Wind That Shakes the Barley.” President Callaghan emerged through the Oval Office French doors to enthusiastic applause. She stood in front of the podium, waving to the powerful and influential guests, many of whom had Irish heritage, strong ties to her country, or both.
Scanning the crowd, Kim stepped away from the podium and listened from the lawn nearest to the risers. She was startled by a light tap on her leg and looked down to see a mocha-skinned girl with ebony pigtails, wearing the plaid pinafore and black tights of the girls, smiling up at her shyly. Kim knelt down.
“Honey, you’re supposed to be on the riser with the others,” she whispered. “Your song is right after President Mallory makes his entrance.”
“But I need to tell you something,” the child said in a honey-sweet voice.
“Me? What is it, sweetie?”
“A man said to tell you that your present is in your purse.”
Kim took in a sharp breath.
I’ll be in touch.
“What man?”
“The one who came up to me right after I got off the bus.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“He had a red and white Washington Nationals hat on. They’re my favorite team.”
The crowd was settled, and Kim realized that the director of the chorus was looking over at them.
“Everything okay with Simone?” he said in a stage whisper.
“Fine,” Kim said. “You did good, Simone. You did perfect. Now, go back with the kids and give us a terrific concert.”
A Washington Nationals cap.
Double M seemed to be an expert at disguise by diversion. Give a person like the bartender and this child something easy to focus on, and in all likelihood, that would be all they recalled.
Kim glanced quickly around the Rose Garden, just as she had that night in Bar None. The results were the same.
Nothing.
Yet somehow, Double M had managed to slip something into her purse. The man was sharp, resourceful—and quick.
The Irish march was over, and the musicians had begun “Hail to the Chief.” With the first notes of the James Sanderson march, Martin Mallory emerged from the Oval Office to what Kim considered a polite standing ovation. As he waved to the crowd, she checked her shoulder bag. A small white box, held closed by a red elastic, rested on top of her clutter. It weighed no more than a couple of ounces. Nothing to be wary of.
Stepping backwards out of the line of sight of almost everyone, she pulled the elastic off. The box held six compartmentalized pieces of chocolate. It took Kim a few seconds to realize that only five of the pieces were real candy. The sixth small chamber contained something else.
Something not at all edible.
An earpiece.
“Hail to the Chief” was winding down, to be followed by the national anthems, but Kim could hardly hear the music. Her pulse was a kettledrum in her ears.
Ahead and to her right, the president was waving and smiling for the cameras.
Kim pretended to adjust her earring and fiddled with the small apparatus until it slipped inside her left e
ar. Immediately, she heard static, then a man’s tinny voice, probably electronically altered. Still, his words, even heard through her pulse, were quite audible.
“This is the end of the recording. It will loop for ten minutes more before its contents become permanently erased. Darlene Mallory must listen to this recording and agree to help.”
CHAPTER 22
Already on high alert, Darlene tensed even more when she saw Kim approaching. Something had happened between her chief of staff and the young girl from the chorus. And whatever it was, Darlene strongly suspected, had something to do with Double M. Then, when Kim stealthily brought out a small white box from her bag, opened it, extracted something, and quickly closed it again, she was certain.
Martin was at the podium now, waving to the crowd. God, but he loved his job. Each percentage drop in his popularity had been like a dagger in his heart.
Hard as his plummeting numbers were on him, both physically and mentally, he maintained an unyielding belief in his programs and in his vision for the future of America. But lately, reassuring him, deflecting his bullwhip temper, and validating his decisions had become something of a second full-time job for Darlene.
Then there was the matter of her pledge not to contact or mention Russ Evans to him again. It was for this reason Darlene had decided not to tell her husband about Double M—at least not yet. She never had much in the way of craftiness, and Martin generally could see right through her when she tried holding anything back from him. Revealing her connection with D.M., as she and Kim sometimes called the informant, had to be carefully orchestrated, and kept secret until she knew what the man was about.
Kim stood by Darlene’s right shoulder, blocking most angles, and bent down far enough to whisper in her ear. “It’s him.”
“Now?” The First Lady kept her gaze forward and her face expressionless.
“Lower your hand,” Kim said.
Darlene did as instructed, keeping her fingers curled to form a makeshift cup. The plastic object Kim placed there was smaller than a marble and surprisingly heavy. At the same moment, Martin began his address. A screech of feedback from the podium’s single microphone sent a flock of birds into flight, and the AV tech scurrying for his control knobs. Martin tapped twice on the microphone head.
“There,” he said in a voice now rich with electronic reverb, “the First Lady is always telling me to expect the unexpected.”
The laughter was prolonged and genuine.
“That feedback was probably caused by this earphone,” Kim said. “Very powerful. Double M knows his stuff.”
Darlene nodded, smiling for those still looking at her. Kim straightened up and stepped back toward the crowd.
“Thank you all for being here today,” Martin continued. “This is a wonderful opportunity to express America’s deep gratitude and appreciation to a country that shares so many of our values. Our bond is formed not only in the history we share, but in the perseverance that defines our two nations. And I say this not only as a president who can claim and document a deep Irish heritage, but also as a man who is extremely fond of a perfectly poured Guinness.”
The laughter this time was even more enthusiastic.
Darlene knew this speech well, and was prepared for the reaction to Martin’s Guinness joke. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. With the attendees distracted, she pretended to adjust her earring. The earpiece slipped into place without any difficulty.
The first thing she heard was a brief, rather unpleasant hissing sound. It was followed quickly by a clearly understandable man’s voice that sounded as though she were hearing it through a tin can microphone.
“Darlene Mallory must listen to this recording, and she must agree to help.”
Through her left ear, Darlene could hear her husband speaking.
“Before I begin my remarks, and before President Callaghan delivers hers,” Martin said, “it is my great pleasure to introduce the Young People’s Chorus from Washington, D.C., who are here today to welcome us all with their moving rendition of ‘The Face of the Waters.’”
The children began to sing. The harmonies of their angelic voices engulfed the remarkable scene.
“You don’t have to be afraid of us,” Darlene heard a man’s harsh voice say. “You come well recommended for this part, so all you have to do is follow my instructions.”
This was a different voice from the one she had attributed to Double M. Her stomach dropped as if she had fallen off a roof. She glanced over at Kim, who looked curious but also apprehensive.
The man continued. “We’re not going to take the blindfold off you. If we do that, we’d have to kill you.”
Darlene gasped. The voice was calm and as clinical as a science teacher. Educated and probably middle aged, she thought. She wondered briefly about the technology being employed. Was the voice being transmitted, or was it actually held in the device itself?
“You can speak any time something isn’t clear to you. Understood?”
A stuttering woman’s voice—no, a girl’s—said, “Yes. I … understand.”
Darlene felt bile in her throat. In front of her, macabrely, the children continued their pristine hymn.
“All right, then. Let us review the role you have agreed to play. I need to be certain you understand it perfectly. Where are you going to meet Secretary Evans?”
“At the Motel Six on Georgia Avenue. I’ll take a cab and have it drop me off a block away.” The girl sounded less fearful now. There actually was some strength in her voice.
“How will you get the key?”
“Room twenty-four is registered to William Betancourt. I’ll show the front desk clerk my ID and tell him that I lost my key. The clerk will see that I’m on the room registration, and give me a replacement.”
“What time will you do this?”
“Three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Good. What will you do inside the room?”
“I’m going to get undressed. And then I’ll wait.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“A man—Secretary Evans.”
“Can you describe him from the photographs we gave you?”
“He’s in his fifties. He’s not very fit. He has brown hair, but not a lot of it.”
“Good.”
“When he knocks on the door, what will you do?”
“I’ll drag him into the room. Then I’ll push him onto the bed.”
“You’ll straddle him?”
“Yes.”
“Kiss him?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What else will you say?”
“I’ll tell him that he’s got me very excited. I’ll put his hands on me to show him just how much. I’ll tell him that I’m going to do it just the way he likes, really, really slowly. If he lets me, I’ll undress him.”
“If he fights you?”
“I’ll act as if it’s all part of the game he likes. I’ll keep straddling him. When he tries to get out from under me, I’ll make sure it looks like we’re playing. Getting physical.” Her tone had gotten even stronger.
“Good.”
“Once I’m off him, I’ll start screaming for him to get out.”
“What then?”
“I’ll wait twenty minutes. If the police don’t show up, I’ll call them myself.”
“What will you tell the police when they show up?”
“I’ll be crying. I’ll pretend to be scared. I’ll tell them that I’m a self-employed escort and that he was my client. A regular.”
“When they ask you if you know who your client is, what will you tell them?”
“I’ll say that his name is Russ Evans and he’s the Secretary of Agriculture. I’ll tell them I had decided to record us fucking. I’m going to use that word, too. I’ll tell them that the video camera was recording when he got rough with me after I told him to leave. Then I’ll show them where I hid the camera and tripod.”
“Yo
u’re very good at this,” the man said.
“When will I get paid?”
“Soon. Very soon. Half now, half when you’re done. You did terrific here. It will be a pleasure working with you.”
“Thank you.”
Darlene stared blankly ahead. Her hands were trembling and her breathing was shallow. A cold sweat had formed on the back of her neck and dripped unpleasantly down the inside of her blouse.
The voice of Double M returned. “If you want to help Secretary Evans, we must meet. There’s an alley behind the movie theater on Columbus Avenue. Eight P.M. tomorrow night. Come alone. Tell no one except Kim Hajjar about this recording. Lives are in danger.”
The children finished singing and were rewarded with rapturous applause. Darlene rose to her feet, applauding, though numbly. He legs were Jell-O.
“This is the end of the transmission,” Double M said. “It will loop for ten minutes more before—”
The recording went silent.
CHAPTER 23
Despite knowing that Joey Alderson was in his mid-twenties, Lou had trouble not thinking of him as a boy—especially following the disaster at Millie’s. For much of the early drive from the hospital back to Kings Ridge, Joey stared contentedly out the window, making no attempt to initiate conversation. His thumb and hand, immobilized in plaster, were supported in a sling.
Over the two days before picking Joey up for the ride home, Lou had twice stopped by the hospital to see him. The first time, Joey was heavily medicated and barely able to put two words together. A day later, Lou managed to engage him in a brief conversation. Even though Joey was sweet and eager to respond, there was no question that he was, as Millie had said, limited. He had almost no insight as to why he had put his hand in harm’s way for the sake of getting at a piece of carrot.
“How you doing over there, buddy?” Lou asked, wishing he had had the time to clean out his Toyota before putting a post-op patient inside it.
Joey’s smile was engaging. “I’m doing fine,” he chirped. “How are you?”
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