The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  She knows, Ashley thought. She knows that her Craig is dead. Maybe Ashley could help her in some way. “Hey, I don’t even know your name.” Julie said, sniffing back the tears.

  “Ruthie.” Ashley grabbed her best friend’s first name, but needed a surname. “Ruthie Hester.” Her mother’s maiden name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Judging the media briefing a wild success, Frank and Meredith headed back to Pennsylvania. Early the next morning, they settled into their respective offices in Philadelphia. As was their habit, they each read the Washington Post, the New York Times, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburg Post-Gazette, Harrisburg’s Patriot-News, and the Wall Street Journal. At eight forty-five, one of them would call the other. Each would have a list of priority issues culled from the news of the day, the focus being how the news impacted their long-term strategy. September eleventh was one of those rare days that this discussion did not take place.

  Instead, they watched the day erupt on television, frantically clicking on CNN, then Fox, then the others, back and forth. At first, the sketchy story about a plane hitting New York’s World Trade Center. Then, Frank’s hotline rang. It was Matt from his Washington office. All hell was breaking loose in D.C., but nobody knew what had actually happened. Matt suggested that Frank hunker down in his office. Keep phone lines open. Cancel all appointments. The president was in Sarasota, reading to school kids. Matt promised to call Frank back with the latest at first word.

  Frank stared at the TV coverage mutely as the second plane struck the second tower. It was three minutes after nine. He was riveted in horror. One minute later, Matt was on the line. “We’re at war, but we don’t know who with.”

  “What’s Congress doing? Will there be a special session?” Frank was too numb to think. Would they be coming together? Or going into hiding?

  “Setting up a safe place in case an emergency session’s called. You’d better get to D.C., boss. FAA’s shutting down all air traffic, so the fastest way is by car. The corridor from Philly to D.C. should be okay. Wouldn’t want to be stuck in Manhattan. They’re closing down all the tunnels and bridges.”

  “I’m on my way.” Frank started throwing random papers into his briefcase.

  He was in his limo focusing on the small TV as the American Airlines flight crashed into the Pentagon. His cell phone rang just minutes after.

  “Where are you, boss?” Matt asked. “The Pentagon. Have you heard?”

  “Yes. I’m approaching Wilmington.”

  “Okay, call me when you get close to Baltimore. I’ll line up an escort so you can get into D.C.—” The signal faded and the conversation ended. Frank tried to get him back on the line with no luck. Only then did he call Meredith to tell her that he was on his way to D.C.

  TV reception for the next half hour was erratic, but for the most part Frank was able to monitor the disaster. Matt had called back and arranged to have the Maryland State Police pick him up on the proximate side of the Baltimore Tunnel. Security was heightened everywhere, and with a police escort from the tunnel to the Russell Building, by noon he’d be joining his fellow senators—unless, like the White House, the Senate Building had been evacuated.

  His driver was searching for a local radio station when the phone rang.

  “Frank, it’s Tom Ridge.”

  The governor of Pennsylvania. Frank’s first thought was that the governor wanted him in Harrisburg. Certainly, he’d realize that a senator’s place was in Washington at a time like this. The governor came right to the point. A fourth plane had been hijacked. It had crashed in Somerset County. United flight 93. Newark to San Francisco. Terrorists suspected. Did Frank want to join him at the sight?

  He instructed his driver to head west, to Somerset County. He called Matt, who had just heard. Halfway through Pennsylvania, his car was intercepted by a state trooper and escorted to the crash site. Standing on scorched ground as close as he was allowed on the brink of the huge crater, Frank learned of the heroes on Flight 93. In a three-way call with Matt and Meredith, he discussed whether he should join the other senators in D.C., or stay at the Pennsylvania crash site. They decided he should stay in Pennsylvania to assist the families of the victims. Meredith had just asked whether she should join him at the site, when the governor and his aide rushed toward Frank.

  “Darling, I have to go,” he said. “And no, there’s so much chaos here, you’d better stay in Philadelphia.”

  Frank broke the connection just as Governor Ridge approached. Frank did not like the look on his face, or on the face of his aide. Something else must have happened. The country was under siege.

  “Frank, you have an urgent call.” The governor had to raise his voice to be heard over the commotion surrounding the command center. Frank didn’t hide a look of annoyance. He’d asked Matt to hold his calls.

  “The call’s from a Mr. Carl Schiller.” the aide explained. “He assured me you needed to take it.”

  “Carl Schiller?” Why would he call in the middle of a crisis of these proportions? Then Frank remembered. Carl had stayed in Manhattan last night. He was having dinner with Ashley to tell her what they’d learned about Welton.

  “I’ll talk to him.” Frank guessed that the old man wanted to report his eye-witness experience.

  “Hello, Carl? I’m at the crash site right now. Don’t have time to talk.”

  “Frank, thank God I reached you. I scheduled a meeting with a law firm this morning. Their offices are in the World Trade Center. The meeting was with Ashley.”

  “What time?” Frank felt his stomach churn. Timing had been critical this morning in Lower Manhattan.

  “Nine o’clock. I got held up in traffic. Didn’t make the meeting, but she did. I talked to her only minutes before the first plane hit. I was several blocks away.”

  “Ashley? In one of those buildings?” Frank felt a numbness creep through his body.

  Frank checked his watch. It was now one thirty p.m. “What about Welton? Has she contacted him? Rory?”

  “No, no one’s heard from her.”

  Frank struggled to think, as fear replaced reason.

  “I’m okay.” He must have started to wobble because the governor reached out to steady him.

  “Carl, I don’t know what to think.” Frank could hear the tremor in his own voice. What if Ashley had been trapped in one of the towers? “Wouldn’t she have called Welton?”

  “After what I told her last night, I’m not sure. But Welton’s beside himself—keeps calling. And there’s something else. Not even he knows. Ashley’s pregnant. She just found out yesterday.” Frank could hear Carl sniffle. “I’m really afraid she was in the tower. If not, we should have heard something. The city’s a war zone, but—”

  Ashley could be dead? His sister buried under tons of rubble? Frank stared into the gaping hole in the Pennsylvania field.

  “Carl, keep trying to locate her. And you’d better call Dan, just so he knows.”

  “Sure,” Carl said, then hesitated. “Frank, you are going home?”

  “Right now I’m going to call Meredith. She’ll contact you.”

  As soon as Frank terminated the call, the governor asked, “National security?”

  “No, a family matter,” Frank said. “It’s my sister. She’s missing. She was at the World Trade Center. I need to call my wife.”

  “Frank, I’m so sorry.” Ridge pointed to a white van. “Please. Use the makeshift communication center. Do what you must to find your sister.”

  Once he’d gotten though to Meredith, she’d already had several calls from Welton. “He’s frantic. Carl told him that she’d been at the Trade Center. I assured him that we’d pull every string. Matt’s putting out an alert to NYPD, but they’re so overwhelmed. Frank, this is awful.”

  “Meredith, you know what really surprises me? I care. I truly care about Ashley.”

  “I know you do, darling, but right now, let me take care of the family affairs. And you know what? I’ll bet Ashley is
okay. Just shocked or something. You know how weird she’s been lately.”

  They agreed that Frank would stay at the crash site to participate in the two o’clock news conference. Then he’d head back to Philadelphia.

  It was after eight by the time Frank arrived at his country house in Bucks County. He let himself in with his key, finding the house dark except for the foyer lights set to dim. No surprise. Rory and Chan had insisted on taking Elise to their home in nearby Doylestown, leaving her parents free to deal with the day’s public and personal tragedies. There had still been no word of Ashley. He had suggested that he have his driver pick Meredith up in Philadelphia, but Meredith had insisted that he go straight home. She still had to follow up on a few hospitals where Ashley might be. She’d have one of the firm’s cars take her home.

  Frank poured himself a glass of Chardonnay before turning on the big screen TV, switching among the news channels. Over and over. The twin towers imploding. Was Ashley buried there? Or one of those who had jumped to her death? How long would it be before they knew?

  At eight thirty, Frank glanced at his suit pants, stained and flecked with debris, which reminded him that he needed to shower and change his clothes. The phone rang when he was drying his hair. He wrapped the towel around his waist and ran into the bedroom. Please, God, let it be that Ashley’s safe.

  “Chan here, Frank, sorry to bother you. What a hellish day. Meredith said you were at the Pennsylvania crash site. I can’t even imagine, but that’s not why I’m calling—”

  “Ashley?” Frank preempted.

  “No, we haven’t heard a thing. I finally had to give Rory a sedative. Something she hates, but with the kids—That’s why I’m calling. Meredith decided to pick up Elise tonight. We expected her by now.”

  Frank’s shoulders sagged. He’d craved a night alone with Meredith. Just the two of them, no Elise. “I’ll call her on her cell,” he said. “If she’s tied up, I’ll run over and get Elise if that’s what Meredith wants.”

  “I’ve tried her cell,” Chan said. “No answer. I left a message.”

  It was then that Frank heard the chime of the door bell, followed by a loud, rapid pounding at the front door. For crying out loud, what was going on out there? Why would Meredith use the front door? And why would she be trying to knock the door down?

  “Got to go, Chan, I think she’s home now.”

  Before heading down the step, Frank glanced out the window. He drew in a sharp breath. A state police car, red and blue lights flashing. Had to be news about Ashley.

  “Senator, sir,” stammered the rosy-cheeked, strapping state trooper, “Will you come with me, sir? There’s been an accident, sir. I’ve been ordered to take you immediately—I mean as soon as you’re dressed, sir. I’m to take you to Jefferson Hospital emergency room.”

  Jefferson was where Ashley was doing her residency. “What kind of accident?”

  “I don’t have all the details, sir. Just that they need you there. I can wait right here while you—” Blushing, he gestured toward Frank, where the towel wrap was starting to unravel.

  Frank turned toward the stairs. Should he go with this polite young man? Was there any security risk? After what happened today, nothing could be taken for granted. But this trooper was clearly not a terrorist. He hastily ran his hand though the rack of slacks. What to wear? A stupid issue after a day like today, but an issue a politician is programmed to consider. He snatched up a pair of dark gray slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. The loafers he grabbed were mismatched, one brown, one black.

  The officer was clearly nervous as he shifted from foot to foot as Frank came back down the stairs.

  “Car’s ready,” he said, already halfway through the door.

  “Front or back?” Frank asked, blinking at the flickering red and blue lights against the night sky.

  “Uh, sit up front, sir,” he said with a glance to the back seat manacle restraints. As the trooper navigated the property’s long drive, Frank took out his cell phone to try Meredith again. She’d be concerned, finding an empty house, lights on, wet towel.

  “Can you tell me about Ashley’s condition?” Frank asked as soon as the cruiser had made it to Route 611, heading toward Street Road and I-95 into the city.

  “Sir?”

  “My sister, Ashley Parnell?”

  “Sir, this is not about your sister. The accident victim is your wife, sir. Mrs. Meredith Parnell. So sorry, sir.”

  Frank stopped breathing. How could he? There was no air in the cruiser. Grasping the dash with both hands, trying to steady himself, he finally spoke, “Is my wife—” He couldn’t say the word.

  “We’ll be at the hospital in fifteen minutes,” the trooper said, swerving to pass the vehicles signaled to the shoulder by the siren and flashing lights. “Light traffic tonight, we’ll be there right away.”

  Frank was numb with panic, but not numb enough to realize that an evasive answer portended the worst. His twelve years of Catholic education, mostly neglected now, came back in a flash and he began to recite the Hail Mary nonstop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Conrad turned on every light, the Parnell estate a beacon to guide Ashley home. In a circular motion, he paced the first floor. Foyer, living room, library, dining room, den, kitchen, conservatory. Around and around at a steady pace. The red-hot anger that had kept him up all night was now an icy fear.

  He went over the facts. Ashley had lied to him. Having given her word, she had gone into Manhattan with Meredith. She’d attended the press conference and the foundation board meeting. According to Terry, the only Parnell who returned his calls, she hadn’t made a peep during the meeting, and had left within minutes of adjournment. The next thing anyone knew was that she had dinner at Le Bernardin with Schiller. The old man admitted it, adding that he and Ashley were to meet with lawyers in the morning. The law firm was located in the World Trade Center, North Tower, Tower One. The first to be hit, the second to collapse. Schiller had been running late, Ashley early.

  For the fifth time that day, Conrad called Schiller at the Parnell apartment in Manhattan. Each time Schiller picked up himself. Each time the conversation went, “Carl, you must know something. With all the Parnell connections. I’ve been trying to get the senator, but I can’t get through to him.”

  “The country’s in a national emergency. We’ve got investigators in Manhattan looking for Ashley. Meredith herself is leading the effort to find her, and that woman does not take no for an answer,” Carl Schiller had answered.

  How well Welton knew that. “We have to find her. She must be hurt or lost or suffering from posttraumatic shock. She’s never been on her own before, now to be thrown into this mayhem. She just won’t know what to do. Tell me, what can I do? There must be something.”

  “I’ll stay here in the city until we find her,” Carl promised, but Welton could hear the defeat in his tone.

  “I’ll join you as soon as they open the tunnels,” Welton said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Welton said to himself, How fucking ironic that terrorists attack Manhattan at that very moment that Ashley is heading to see lawyers, just three days before they were to be married.

  Heading to see lawyers. Welton had been explicit with Ashley: no prenuptial agreement. That she was seeing a lawyer behind his back convinced him that Ashley had relapsed. Relapsed just at the crucial point. Welton knew that Ashley was alive. There was no doubt in his mind, and he would find her. He would get her back to the Esdaile state, a difficult hypnotic depth to manage, but not for someone with his skills.

  By ten o’clock, Welton’s knees throbbed and he settled into Paul’s deep leather chair in the library. He picked up the remote, awaiting anything new on the TV, trying to piece together what he’d learned about the location of the law firm where Ashley was to meet, relating its location to the worst of the damage reported in the North Tower before it collapsed. Massaging his temples to ward off a tension headache, he wrestled with facts.
Crissy, now Ashley. What if Ashley had not escaped?

  Welton had gone to Cincinnati to put an ugly plan into effect. Next week, he and Ashley were to be married. In January, just four months away, he’d have the Parnell money.

  Conrad Welton was a successful, respected psychiatrist with a distinguished medical background, but in truth, he was a madman. And he had waited a long time to find a solution to the obsessive hatred he held for his brother, the equally distinguished Dr. Stanley Welton, a Cincinnati plastic surgeon. Welton held a searing grudge against his brother, who he believed had alienated him from his parents, causing his father to turn on him and his mother to abandon him. What Welton was planning, in his insanity, was first to see that Stanley’s two sons met a tragic death. Then he would make it seem as if Stanley’s wife, the mother of the two boys, had committed suicide. Next, Welton planned to buy out Stanley’s partners in his company, Surgi-Center, so that he could bring about an avalanche of lawsuits: malpractice, negligence, sexual harassment, misappropriation of funds. Welton would settle for nothing less than total humiliation. Then, at the moment of his choosing, Welton would watch Stanley take his last muffled breath, just as he had their father.

  But he needed money and for that he needed Ashley alive.

  At eleven Welton was about to click off Philadelphia’s channel ten and turn to Fox News when a photo of Meredith Parnell filled the screen. “Our hearts go out to the Parnell family, especially Senator Parnell who spent this tragic day consoling the families of Flight 93 in Pennsylvania,” intoned the news reporter.

  Frantically, Welton clicked around various channels, but the news was dominated by the day’s devastation and speculation as to what evil forces had perpetrated the atrocities. At the computer he immediately found the sketchy facts. Meredith Parnell had died in a fatal car accident on I-95 near Woodhaven Road when her chauffeur-driven limousine struck the rear of a tractor trailer that had swerved to avoid an out-of-control Jeep. The impact of the crash threw her across the passenger compartment, breaking her neck on impact. She was pronounced dead on arrival at Jefferson Memorial Hospital. The driver of her vehicle was treated for minor injuries and the driver of the truck was unharmed.