“Please call security. Mr. Rudly needs some assistance with his departure.”
FIFTY-NINE
Mark reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself a drink.
“Looks to me like you’ve got a bit of a problem.”
Mark startled at the sound of Edmund Lane’s voice. “How’d you get in here?”
“I’m Carolyn’s father-in-law, remember? People know me around here. I come and go as I please.” Edmund sat down, uninvited. “you know, I warned Mort Fields about playing two ends against the middle. But it seems he died before he learned that lesson.”
Mark sat back and eyed the man. In the many years he’d known Edmund, his appearance had not changed. He couldn’t remember Edmund ever looking young, yet he still did not look typically old. His thick, white-gray hair and cold blue eyes gave him a distinguished air, but it was his arrogance that made the energy around him sizzle.
“Is that a threat, Edmund?” How much of his conversation with Jack had Edmund overheard?
Edmund laughed, then said. “Take it as you like. The Council doesn’t forgive traitors.”
“I would never betray the Council,” Mark said. “I’m in this all the way, and you know it.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”
Mark nodded, unsure of where Edmund was headed. If he’d heard Jack claim they’d met on the bridge, then Mark knew his days were numbered.
“Prove it. E-mail Cain through Carolyn’s address. Jack Rudly needs to be eliminated.”
Stunned. Mark stared at Edmund Lane, speechless.
Edmund walked around the desk and turned on Mark’s computer. “Do it.”
Mark swallowed hard, then began to type:
Cain-
Rudly’s in Missouri.
Mark stopped typing.
“So, you met Rudly on the Golden Gate Bridge?” Edmund’s tone was ominous. “It’s either you or him. You decide.”
Eliminate the problem.
C
Edmund nodded. “Wise choice.” He turned and left with the same quiet menace with which he had arrived.
SIXTY
April 2, 2001 – Washington, DC.
Katherine, how wonderful to see you.“ Carolyn walked around her desk and gave Katherine a big hug. ”I’m so glad you’re here.“
“It’s exciting to be here,” Katherine responded, smiling.
“Well, welcome,” Carolyn said, hugging her again. “I’ve missed you terribly. The place just hasn’t felt organized without your touch.” Carolyn released her. “How do you like your new town home? I picked it out myself, you know.”
Katherine beamed. “I love it. That was so nice of you, but you really didn’t have to spend the time. I could have done it.”
“Oh, nonsense. I enjoyed looking. It gave me a chance to see the neighborhoods in Washington. I found it amazing that those buildings were built in the late 1890s. And that street is so quaint and cozy. The minute I saw it. I knew it would be perfect for you. You can even walk to work, so you don’t need to worry about having a car.” Carolyn knew she was speaking quickly in her excitement, but she couldn’t help herself.
“It is perfect and I love it. Thanks, Carolyn – I mean, Mrs. Lane-” Katherine laughed nervously. “Now that we’re standing in the White House, I’m not sure what to call you.”
Carolyn smiled gently, then said. “Carolyn, please. My God, you’re my closest friend. I know that these walls and this city can be intimidating, but I’m still me. Okay?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We both have to learn how to navigate these new waters. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone but you, but there are times when I wonder what I’m doing here. Can I handle this immense responsibility? It feels very daunting.” Carolyn lowered her voice conspiratorially. “So we’ll just stick together. Deal?”
Katherine relaxed. “Deal.”
“Why don’t you take a seat, and we can talk about how we’re going to handle this job.” Carolyn shut the door behind her, then walked to her desk. “We have a large staff here, and you. Katherine, are going to help me run things. I consider you my right hand. The rest of the staff will report to Randy McCabe, my Chief of Staff, but you and I are going to work together as a team.”
“Just like the old days.”
“Of course.” Carolyn grinned. “My war on drugs platform was so well received during the election, I’ve decided to make it my signature cause. You and I are going to write new legislation to attack the drug problem and reform the social services system. Warner’s given it a rubber stamp, so my task force will have as much funding as we need to achieve our goals.”
“My God, Carolyn, with the U.S. Treasury to back your platform, we can’t lose. This is what you’ve always wanted.” Katherine’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you believe we’re actually here, in the White House, doing what you dreamt about?”
“You mean, ‘what we dreamt about.’ You and Warner were always a big part of this dream.”
“How is Warner?”
Carolyn hesitated a moment, her smile fading. “He’s fine. Great, actually.” Her gaze met Katherine’s.
“Is everything all right?” Katherine asked, concern etched in her features.
“Warner’s a brilliant man who’s going to do wonderful things for this country. I’m thankful to be a part of his legacy.”
“But you want more.”
Carolyn shrugged. “We always want what we can’t have.”
Katherine could see the pain in Carolyn’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s my own fault.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Someday we’ll talk, but not now.” Carolyn waved her hand and forced a smile. “I certainly didn’t mean to unload on you during your first day. I’m sorry.”
“Just remember, I’m always here for you,” Katherine offered.
“Thanks, that means a lot.” she responded.
***
It was after midnight when Katherine returned to her townhouse. When she found no message from Jack on her answering machine, she called him at his hotel in Missouri, but he didn’t answer. Odd, Katherine thought, hanging up. She took a quick shower and tried calling him again, still with no luck. Exhausted she dropped onto her bed, and fell sound asleep.
Morning came and Katherine awoke to the pre-dawn light. She made herself some coffee and picked up the phone. Glancing at the clock she realized that although it was 5:35 A.M. in Washington, it would only be 4:35 A.M. in Missouri. She hesitated, then dialed, knowing that her day at the White House would be busy, and this would be her only chance to talk to Jack. She let the phone ring ten times, then dialed back to the hotel operator to make sure she was connecting to the correct room. Still, there was no answer.
SIXTY-ONE
Carolyn rose from her desk when he entered. “I wondered if you’d come.” She knew what he had come for. It was only a matter of time, or so she had hoped.
He wrapped her in an embrace. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he searched her eyes. “Tell me you feel the same.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
He kissed her neck. “You smell good,” he whispered.
A small sigh escaped her lips. Throughout the campaign the tension between them had built, but neither had dared to act upon it. Now, the White House was theirs, and their privacy insured.
Without releasing her from his embrace, he took a moment to lock her office door.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She wound her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
His lips covered hers.
She responded hungrily.
His hands traveled over her body, lingering, worshiping, then moving on until she grew breathless from desire.
Carolyn felt herself spiraling into a beautiful. warm light. A light she had longed to see and feel for far too many years.
Withou
t breaking their kiss, he scooped her up and carried her to the couch opposite her desk.
He gathered her into his arms as they lay together.
Gently, slowly he made love to her. Carolyn felt as if she would burst with joy as he used his hands and mouth to bring her pleasure again and again. She reached for him, wanting to reciprocate as she savored his tenderness, but he refused her.
“This is about you,” he whispered. “Only you.”
SIXTY-TWO
April 2, 2001 – Jefferson City, Missouri
Jack put on his leather jacket, shoved a few bucks into his right pocket, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and stuffed them into his left pocket. After turning off his laptop, he started out the door. Realizing his room key was still on the dresser. Jack backtracked. He retrieved the key and, remembering the package he wanted to mail to Maureen, picked it up and left the hotel room. He decided he’d head to the post office before going to the diner.
Jack, a creature of habit, ate supper every night at the same diner. The food was homemade, and the place was comfortable.
He patted his pockets, checking for all of the necessary items as he exited the hotel.
The diner was a short walk from the hotel, but he headed to the post office first. Jack enjoyed the fresh air. He mailed his parcel and then backtracked to the diner. As he entered the place, Jack bumped into an exiting patron.
“I’m sorry.” Jack said. The guy never looked up, just kept walking. That was weird. Jack thought, as he continued over to the counter.
Dismissing the encounter, Jack took a seat and read the menu. He always looked it over, although he never ordered anything but his standard cup of coffee and the house meat loaf special. Jack loved meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, and he felt the diner did a fair job at preparing it.
Deciding to read the local newspaper, Jack got change from the waitress. He walked over to the newspaper dispenser, dropped in his quarter, and pulled one from the stack.
Jack began reading through the front section. Nothing earth-shattering in the headlines today, he thought. His food arrived, and Jack enjoyed the warm meal. When he finished, he asked for a coffee refill and began to read another portion of the paper.
He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, but they were gone. Thinking that he must have dropped them when he bumped into the guy at the entrance to the diner, Jack walked to the door and looked around, inside and out.
“What’cha lookin‘ for?” asked a burly man who sat a few stools down from Jack at the counter.
Jack did a double take. It was the same man he’d seen numerous times on the street. “My cigarettes. I must have dropped them.”
The man stood and walked over to Jack. “No matter, have one of mine,” the man pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “What do you smoke?”
“Usually Marlboros, but I’m not particular.”
The man shook the pack until a tip appeared. “Your lucky day, guy. I smoke them too. Help yourself.” He held out the pack to Jack, who took the tallest tip.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” the man said. He lit Jack’s cigarette for him. They sat back down at the counter, and the man picked up his own newspaper and started reading.
Jack sipped his hot coffee. He took one drag off the cigarette and started to read the sports section. He took another drag, but it didn’t taste very good. Even so, he initially ignored the acrid flavor. Then, very definitely aware that the smoke smelled odd, Jack stopped reading, put the cigarette to his lips, and inhaled again. This time he felt a slight tingling sensation in his month, so he put the cigarette out.
Why do I bother? Jack asked himself. I must waste a small fortune on half-smoked cigarettes. Jack looked around for the waitress. He needed a glass of water, but she wasn’t there. Suddenly he felt dizzy. Wow! Jack thought. He hadn’t gotten a buzz from smoking a cigarette since he was twelve.
Then the walls started to spin. The room began going in and out of focus. Jack rubbed his temples, but the movement threw him off balance, and he toppled over, landing on the floor.
His throat felt swollen. He could barely breathe. What was happening to him?
He tried to call for help. But no sound came from his mouth. Thoughts floated around inside his head like pieces of confetti tossed in the air.
Where was he? Confusion engulfed him as he struggled to focus, and fought to remain conscious.
He saw Katherine and felt immediate relief. Katherine. He loved Katherine. She would help him. He called her name, but she didn’t hear him. He tried again. She continued to ignore him. With every ounce of strength left in his body, Jack reached his hand out to touch her, but she vanished an instant before darkness engulfed him.
SIXTY-THREE
April 4, 2001
He woke to consuming darkness.
Wind whipped around him, freezing his naked frame. He lifted his throbbing head and spit blood. His stomach churned. He vomited. His entire body ached from injury and exposure. Jack struggled against the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Pain exploded like flashbulbs behind his eyelids.
Scraping the side of his body on rocks and underbrush, he inched over to a large oak tree and rubbed the rope that bound his wrists against an exposed root. He wore down much of the bark on the root as he slowly shredded the twine and the skin on his wrists.
His fingers, stiff from lack of circulation and the cold, touched his face and felt something crusty – dried blood. His right eye would barely open, and his cheek was swollen underneath.
He reached to untie his ankles, but his breath caught at the stabbing pain in his ribs. He held still and took a shallow breath. Then another one.
Someone beat the crap out of me, Jack thought in confusion. He laid back and carefully probed the damage to his ribs.
Shit, the last time he felt this bad was the day after that barroom brawl in Turkey, and the only thing that made that bearable was knowing the other guy had been hospitalized for weeks. Jack laughed, but pain lanced through him like a knife blade, silencing him.
He licked his lips and tasted more blood. He was obviously in a game of hardball, and someone else had wielded a heavy bat. Jack strained, trying to recall what had happened. He knew he’d gone to the diner. After eating, he’d read the newspaper, then… he didn’t know. The trail of his memory ended.
Jack heard an owl screech.
Where am I? He inched himself up on his elbows, dead leaves and twigs snapping beneath the weight of his body. He tried to focus in the dark. He heard another shrill scream in the distance.
With each passing moment, Jack’s thinking became clearer. His adrenaline started to flow. All his instincts told him to get the hell out of there. But where was he?
Jack’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. A cloud moved past the sliver of illumination offered by the moon. Dense forest surrounded him.
He grimaced as he forced himself to a seated position. Jack’s body felt heavy and weak, as if he’d been drugged.
Where the hell were his clothes? He untied his ankles, then gingerly shifted to his knees. He straightened, trying to stand. Oh, God. He wrapped his arms around his chest and curled into a ball. Tears welled in his eyes. Not good, Rudly, not good.
He knew he needed to get up and start walking or die of exposure.
The howl of coyotes floated on the sharp wind. Jack clenched his teeth and forced himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness rolled over him. He steadied himself against the tree. His arms and legs felt weak and rubbery.
Shit, this was not good. Jack looked around – he saw no sign of his shoes and clothing. They’d dumped him in the middle of the Missouri backwoods as a snack for ravenous animals. An efficient way to provide torture while disposing of a body, he thought. In short order, the animals could have scattered his bones throughout the forest leaving no recognizable trace of his presence.
He glanced up at the sky, trying to get his bearings. Clouds obscured the stars, making it impos
sible to determine his location or the direction he needed to pursue.
Was it before or after midnight? Maybe some time before dawn? Just get moving, and keep moving.
He hobbled forward. Jagged stones tore at the soles of his bare feet. His body throbbed from the beating. Leafless branches whipped at his arms and legs.
He peered through the darkness for a landmark. Where the hell am I? He could see nothing in the periodic flashes of moonlight other than trees and shadows. His left eye was focusing better, but his right eye was almost swollen shut. The smell of rotting leaves and decaying underbrush assaulted his senses.
I bet I’m an attractive sight, he thought as he lightly touched his bruised face. Boy, he must have really pissed someone off. He’d obviously been beaten beyond unconsciousness? Nice crowd. He rubbed his hands together. His feet tingled in the aftermath of numbness. Jack rubbed his sides to warm himself, then flinched from the pain. He tried to increase his body temperature by jumping around, but his body wasn’t up to being jarred. Jack looked back over his shoulder, hoping he wasn’t traveling in circles.
He had no idea how long he walked, or how much ground he covered. He suddenly spotted a road. Jack approached cautiously, fearing that his captors might still be nearby.
Hearing a car in the distance, Jack ducked into a cluster of bushes. He prayed that poison ivy didn’t bloom until late spring. Once the vehicle passed, he followed the road, staying in the brush and ready to dive into the low growing shrubs if necessary.
He had to find someone to help him, he realized. If he could find a home, he could wake up someone and ask for help.
At that thought, he gave a short laugh. Right, he would just walk up to a door in the middle of the night, naked, with a bloody, distorted face, and ring the doorbell. Sure, the residents would be delighted to assist him. In fact, when he told them he’s Jack Rudly, they’d probably ask for his autograph. Jack shook his head.
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