by Martha Carr
No one in Management even knew of the last tunnel’s existence. The sitting President determined who had use of the tunnels and for now it was the Circle’s opportunity, which meant the Bishop kept the side tunnel open. If things were to suddenly change the tunnel would be walled off so expertly no one would ever suspect its existence. The tunnel would be ignored and wait for a better time.
For now, it was a way for Fred Bowers to still meet with President Hayes.
It was becoming more difficult for Fred to make the entire journey to the upper floors of the White House. Since the start of the war there had been a few attempts on the President’s life that the Circle had managed to keep out of the press. No one in Congress or the Senate even knew about the incidents. So far, only the potential assassins had met with violence.
But Fred’s role as a mole within the Circle who served only the top cell while being able to mix among crowds, all while going unnoticed, was too valuable. Fred was more valuable than even the President’s life, and too valuable to risk someone seeing him so close to anyone that important.
Other Circle operatives saw him as a low-level flunkie who couldn’t be trusted with anything of importance. Management saw him as so useless he wasn’t worth following.
He had carefully crafted a persona as a constant worrier, a rule follower who worked in downtown Richmond at the James Center as a forensic accountant and was married to Maureen Bowers, his college sweetheart. All of it was created years ago. Even Maureen didn’t know Fred’s real backstory and he didn’t know hers. They were both trained to never ask each other those kind of questions.
No one but the top cell in the Circle knew that Maureen was an operative as well. This year they would celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary since an advisor had arranged the entire thing and copywriters had supplied them with their life stories. She was coming with him to visit the President this time.
They had been married by the Bishop of Virginia at St. James Episcopal Church, the year before the fire that took out the steeple. Quick thinking saved the old Tiffany windows along one side.
Fred often told a story about how his father, who had grown up in the Fan district that surrounded the church would play stickball on Franklin Street, just in front where the street began to narrow. One day in the 1930’s while playing against a group of kids from a poor section of Shockoe Bottom, the ball had gone flying through one of those famed, priceless Tiffany windows. The other team, which was all black, had fled, knowing their fate would be far worse even if they had nothing to do with what happened.
This was the part where Fred would always choke up a little as he said, his father got everyone on his team to take the fall because it was the right thing to do. That they had to pay a dollar a week, an enormous sum of money in the 1930’s to the church treasurer, all summer long to learn their lesson.
Fred would slow down at this part as he described how his father would say they’d have to climb the large, spiral staircase with the beautiful, wide oak railing to hand in their dollar. He’d always finish by saying, “My dad said it was worth it. Best money he ever spent.”
Fred would point out that he grew up in Northern Virginia but most of his family had since scattered. They had come to Richmond years ago for a slower pace. Fred’s father had apparently died years ago, and even had a headstone with his name on it in Hollywood Cemetery where all of old Richmond was buried.
It was all a lie, except for the headstone, which marked the grave of an unknown homeless man who had died from acute liver disease behind the Food Lion on Patterson Avenue. The coroner was a Circle member and had called as soon as the body had been processed. No one would know one less body had been planted in the potter’s field in the far reaches of Henrico County.
Fred had a few other stories about his father that he loved to tell. There was no one left alive who could verify whether or not he was telling the truth and the fire that happened at the local newspaper not too long after his wedding destroyed any records that someone could search. It was all very convenient.
He wrote a large check to help with the rebuilding.
No one ever seemed to notice how little he talked about himself or his own childhood, or didn’t care. But Fred knew it was important to Southerners to find a connection. They tended to trust someone outright if they thought there was a common thread of shared traditions that at least originated on Southern soil even if that was all there was to it.
The couple quietly got in the car and settled in as they pulled out of their driveway. Maureen smiled and waved at a neighbor, and turned to look lovingly at her husband. They both knew the small details mattered and this was touted to their friends as a second honeymoon. Besides they rarely took trips together.
Maureen was traveling with Fred this weekend as cover.
This time, though the President had asked to speak with Maureen, in person. If it had been anyone else who was asking but the President, the request would have been immediately turned down. There were too many risks, no matter how slight and there was a war going on, besides the recent assassination attempts on President Hayes.
But even if he was more of a figurehead than an American President with all of the powers that everyone thought went with the office, he was still a formidable figure who could demand something and expect everyone to listen.
They would be staying as usual at the Hay-Adams hotel directly across from the northern side of the White House. Maureen had let it be known at Bunko night with her friends and that the anniversary trip was a gift from Fred.
Finally, after twenty years, they would be spending the entire weekend using the spa inside the hotel and shopping along M Street in Georgetown. It was already on their schedule to stop and gather enough trinkets on their way out of town to make it all more plausible.
Maureen planned to pick up a few small things for Bunko prizes when the women gathered to play the next time. It would cement the story in everyone’s mind. It was always the small details that made a story work and become a truth for everyone else.
Their hotel room had a clear view of the White House. Fred had requested it, saying they had stayed there when they were first married and they were coming this weekend to celebrate their anniversary.
The room selection was really just more protocol. Circle members who were assigned to protect the Bowers when they were in Washington would be able to see them remotely and protect them without having to get close enough to be spotted. It would mean leaving the curtains open just far enough at all times but Maureen had learned a long time ago to let go of any sense of real privacy. Her life had not been her own since she had agreed to a life perpetually undercover.
The room was decorated with fresh flowers and champagne. Someone at the hotel had decided to help the celebration get going.
“I plan to open this later,” Maureen said, smiling at Fred.
“We have to be ready for a plan change,” said Fred, grimacing.
“I know you’re not a big fan of change, at all,” said Maureen. “But we can mix in a little fun without giving away the Republic. Twenty years and you can’t trust that I won’t do something stupid. We really are an old married couple,” she sighed, sounding annoyed.
A small smile came across Fred’s face. The past two years were different for the couple. The murder of people right around them had seemed more personal, even if they weren’t the first deaths they had seen in the field. They were innocent neighbors who over the years had become friends and had the bad luck to get caught in the crossfire. Fred knew that Maureen had taken the death of Yvette Campbell, one of the Bunko ladies, particularly hard even if she never spoke about it.
He had held her hand as they sat quietly out on their back porch, and he had pushed her out the door to go to play with the ladies who had at first been her assignment but were now her friends. Watching her struggle to be a good agent while mourning the loss of her friend softened Fred despite all of his training.
It was not a g
ood idea, given their real intention for everything they did in life, to start to care so much about anyone else’s well-being. It had crept up on him anyway.
If he had been asked directly, he would have even had a hard time denying he was actually glad to have his wife along on the trip. She was the only person he could think of in this world who would appreciate what this life was like for him without any kind of explanation.
Everyone needed someone like that in their corner. Fred never let himself think about what it would be like if something happened to Maureen or the powers that be within the Circle did something as simple as reassign one of them. After all of these years that was still a possibility, especially given the war.
Fred was a little concerned that Maureen was told to accompany him so that the President could break that very news to both of them and soften the blow. He couldn’t bring himself to suggest it to Maureen.
“Okay, you have a point. And, yes, we really are an old married couple, even if it’s in service to our country,” he said, grabbing Maureen around the waist and pulling her in closer. “Isn’t that what most mothers tell their daughters anyway? Lie back and think of God and country? We just get paid to do the same thing.”
“Then let’s try out this room and our patriotism before we have to leave to meet the President.”
“I was thinking of taking a short nap,” said Fred, as he kissed Maureen’s neck. “But I’m fairly certain you outrank me.”
“And an order’s an order,” said Maureen, unbuckling his pants.
“An order’s an order, ma’am,” said Fred, as he kissed his wife of twenty years. He put the thought of a forced separation out of his mind and held his wife. Ever since the death of Yvette, a friend of Maureen’s, the couple had grown closer together. Less an arranged marriage after all.
“Oh, you are a very good rule follower, Fred Bowers, if that’s your real name,” said Maureen. He laughed as they laid back on the bed and celebrated twenty years of being partners.
Later, they ordered dinner from room service and made a point of choosing from the menu what would pass for a romantic dinner. Both of them were wearing robes when the waiter came to the door and Fred tipped him heavily, in cash, setting the scene for the waiter to remember if anyone ever asked him for details later.
After the waiter left, they quickly got dressed and headed down to the basement using the elevator. From there, they found their way to the tunnels and quickly made their way to the door that opened to the St. John’s tunnel.
The vestibule sat just behind the sanctuary and was designed for ministers who were about to walk out to the front of the church and address their flock.
“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Bowers,” said the President. He was already waiting for them, sitting on one of the small wooden chairs that was hastily pulled from a Sunday school room down the hall.
“Good evening Mr. President,” said Fred. He grabbed his wife’s hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze. He was reassuring his wife just in case they were here to find out their mission together was over. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay.
Maureen gave him a look and let out her breath. Fred knew she had been wondering the same thing.
“Have a seat,” said the President, waving them toward two more small chairs. “This was all we could find without more digging and we’d prefer to get this over with quickly,” he said glancing back at the Secret Service agents who were also part of the Circle. “No one’s too happy that I insisted on meeting the two of you in person.”
Maureen and Fred exchanged a quick glance.
“I’m glad I finally get to meet Mrs. Bowers,” said the President, offering his hand to shake.
“It’s an honor, Sir,” said Maureen, giving the President’ hand a firm shake.
“Fred’s pictures don’t really do you justice,” said the President. Maureen’s eyes widened a little.
“It’s probably the dark lighting in here,” said Maureen. President Hayes let out a small laugh.
“You’re a very lucky man,” he said to Fred. “A twenty year assignment with someone else could have felt like a prison sentence.”
Fred braced himself for what was coming next.
“For once, Fred, I know something before you do,” said the President. “Harry Weiskopf has been removed from where we were holding him. All of the Circle operatives who were guarding him were murdered. Even worse than not knowing where Weiskopf is now, is we can’t get a good idea of what use he would be to anyone.”
Fred sat back a little in the small chair.
“This is not good,” said President Hayes. “And it happened in almost the same timeframe as the murder of Alice Watkins. Perhaps you remember that name?” he asked. Both of the Bowers gave a small nod.
“Well, Alice knew the identity of the real Keeper, Harry’s brother, Tom. A mistake that couldn’t be helped, I suppose,” said the President as he wearily rubbed his face. “The scene of the crime was almost pristine but her body told a different story. I’ve been informed that it looked like she put up quite a fight but in the end was most likely tortured. We have no way of knowing what she said but the next incident seems to say something. Harry Weiskopf was a useless human being except for two things and both of those are his brothers.”
The President raised his hand as if to stop the Bowers from saying anything but they were both waiting for the rest of the story that would contain their new orders.
“Management must think we’ve gone soft,” said President Hayes. “Like we’d risk thousands and thousands of lives in order to save one or two. I’m afraid that for us, that’s not how it works. I suppose they’ve bought their own ideas of the good life so much they really do believe that a certain amount of mayhem is worthwhile if you can give a guarantee of the good life to just enough people.” The President slapped his knee. “Enough, I’m giving a speech. Bad habit. Here’s the deal.”
Fred slowly balled his hand into a fist to withstand the blow and not show it on his face.
“We believe that Wallis Jones is actually the target. We need Maureen to start spending a lot more time with her to learn why they would want Wallis Jones at all.”
“What?” asked Fred.
“You look surprised, Fred,” said the President, giving Fred a hard tap on the shoulder. “Little surprised to find out you’re not the super spy we needed this time? I’m afraid you were just the driver. We needed you to come along in order to hide our meeting with Maureen. These guys,” said the President, gesturing to the two guards who stood resolute behind him, “were sure this could be handled through the usual channels. Here’s the deal. Lately, everyone who hangs out with Wallis Jones for any length of time ends up dead. This mission has a high likelihood of ending up the same way. You two have served our cause and have been of great service to all of us without a complaint. Frankly, I’m not sure I could have done the same. I wanted to thank you for your service in person while a meeting was still doable at all.
The President slowly rose out of the small chair and stretched his legs. “Not as young as I used to be. Seems like I can’t stand up without a good grunt to get me going,” he said with a laugh. “Hand it over,” he said to the agent just behind his shoulder.
The agent reached into the pouch at his feet and pulled out two rectangular black velvet boxes. The President opened them to reveal a silver key in each box. It was the highest award for service that the Circle could award anyone.
“Maureen Bowers, Fred Bowers, this medal is being given to you in recognition of twenty years of service to your country, to the Circle and to the protection of true freedom.” The President handed each of them a box and shook their hand.
“Unfortunately, not only is this ceremony a little underwhelming with a lack of family, friends or even colleagues but we can’t let you keep those medals in your possession, either. No, go ahead, take a good look. Hold them in your hand and see how heavy they are. That’s probably brass and not silver underneath.
There’s a war on, after all. But understand that the sentiment is not only real but doesn’t begin to convey how valuable the two of you have been to the simple idea of choice for all Americans. A humble nation is very grateful.”
The President turned to an agent who was already holding up his coat and helping him into the sleeves. Fred still didn’t move as Maureen gently took the box from him and handed both of them back to an agent.
“Fred, I think you actually look surprised,” said the President, smiling broadly. “I never thought I’d see the day that could happen or even better, that you’d show it. Times are changing I suppose or maybe we’re all just getting older, who knows. A damn war can change a lot.”
Maureen put on her coat but Fred still sat there, waiting for what he was sure would get mentioned as an afterthought.
“Time to go, Fred,” Maureen said gently.
“Listen to your wife,” said the President, “she outranks you. Did you think there was more? No, no cake this time. It wasn’t in the budget.”
The agents quickly escorted the President into the tunnel as the Bowers watched them fade into the darkness. None of the tunnels were ever lit by anything more than a flashlight.
“You thought there would be more?” asked Maureen, waiting for Fred to finally button his coat so they could leave the church.
“I thought they were splitting us up,” said Fred.
“Not this time. Come on,” said Maureen, offering her hand. “Let’s go. We can hold hands the entire way back and take our time. After all, it’s our anniversary.”
“A romantic walk through a dark tunnel.”
“With a few dozen rats,” said Maureen.
“If only your Bunko friends could see you now.”
“They’d down a glass of wine and ask for details. They’re good friends even if they won’t ever get the chance to really know me.”
Fred took Maureen’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. He leaned in and kissed his wife.
“Let’s go. Maybe we can microwave that dinner in our room.”