“Sounds like fun, but it’s also going to be crazy crowded. Like, insane crowded. You’ll take the Metro and get there early, right?”
“Yes. I know it will be a madhouse with a gazillion other people doing the same thing, but Emilio’s never been to D.C. I want him to have the experience.”
“THANK YOU FOR COMING in to sweep the White House again. Have you anything to report?”
Zander stood before the President and Axel Kennedy in the Oval office. “No, sir. The nanomites have detected no unauthorized listening devices. The House and the Oval Office are clean.”
“Thank God,” Jackson breathed.
“May I ask a question, sir?”
“Of course.”
“It’s been a week today since the dirty agents on the White House detail came down with the flu. They began feeling better on Friday; however, yesterday they experienced a regrettable ‘relapse.’”
Jackson chuckled. “Thank you for that—and I have to say that whenever I need a moment of stress relief, all I have to do is recall their, er, state of indisposition. But you said you had a question?”
“Yes, sir. I imagine whoever is running these agents is chomping at the bit for them to return to work. Have you given any thought to a more permanent solution?”
Jackson looked to Kennedy and back. “Unfortunately, the bureaucracy prevents us from influencing those decisions.”
“Jayda and I had an idea to buy us more time, sir.”
“Please. We’re open to suggestions.”
“Direct the White House medical officer to issue an order that any White House staff infected with ‘norovirus’ are not to return to work until they have been symptom free for two weeks—to prevent a recurrence of the outbreak. It’s overkill, sir, but perhaps the doctor would be amenable to your suggestion?”
Kennedy nodded to the President. “I believe we could get away with that, sir.”
“Be circumspect, Axel. We don’t want word getting out that the order was at my behest.”
“Yes, sir.”
The President stood. “I hope you will excuse me, Zander, but I have a meeting with my chief of staff.”
“You are a busy man, sir.”
Robert Jackson held out his hand, and Zander took it.
“I don’t know how all this is going to play out, Zander, but I want to thank you again for your service to us. To me.”
“It is my honor, Mr. President. Please call me back if I can be of assistance.”
Zander blinked when he felt a familiar warmth cross from himself to the President’s hand.
Moments later, as he left the White House, he asked, “Nano, why did you do that? We can’t be listening in on the President of the United States!”
If you wish to respect the President’s privacy, Zander Cruz, we will restrict you from the array’s feed.
“It’s more than that, Nano. Remember all the legal and ethical concerns Jayda and I discussed with you? And I fail to see the need.”
We felt it prudent to position an array near the President. His security is our ultimate objective, is it not? However, if you insist, we will send the array a self-destruct order.
Zander grumbled a little longer before answering. “As long as you keep the feed to yourself, I suppose the idea has merit. But remember: When we finish our assignment, the arrays—all of them—are toast.”
Toast, Zander Cruz? Ah, we see. A humorous euphemism. Very clever. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Even a time to laugh. Ecclesiastes 3.
“Yeah, yeah.”
ROBERT JACKSON PACED the Oval Office, his vexation evident. “I tell you, Marcus, if the Speaker of the House weren’t such a dolt—that was Senator Delancey’s appellation for Friese, not mine, by the way—I would struggle on without a VP until the next election cycle. Truman managed without a Vice President for four years. Surely I could do the same.”
“Unfortunately, sir, the Speaker . . .”
“Yes, he is a dolt. I cannot, in good conscience, risk keeping him next in the line of succession. The man’s nothing more than a tool of his party, utterly unqualified to be Commander-in-Chief in his own right.”
Jackson placed his chin on his hand and stared down at his desk’s blotter. “If I put up a man or woman my party wants, the other party will never allow a vote—and my preferred candidate is actually the choice most hated by the other party.”
He snorted a wry laugh. “The doves think me too much of a hawk, and the hawks think me too much of a dove.”
“The hawks believe you are weak only because you’ve not yet been tested.”
“Regardless, if I select a candidate considered middle-of-the-road, both sides will buck me every inch of the way.”
He sighed. “That’s the problem these days. Instead of allowing an up-or-down vote, both parties block the process. At least Senator Delancey said that he would use his considerable influence to bring a vote to the floor—even if he couldn’t support my pick. They sure don’t make ’em like Delancey anymore. Why, he—”
Park interrupted. “Sir!”
“What is it, Marcus?”
“Sir, you’ve hit on it.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Delancey, sir. He’s your pick for VP.”
Jackson started to object, but Park, in a rare display of discourtesy, spoke over the President. “Please consider him for a moment, sir. Yes, he’s up there in age, but you said it yourself, sir, it’s only until the next term, until you pick a new running mate and win the election.
“Think of the positives: The man is a legend—a war hero, a POW, seven times a U.S. Senator, a patriot and peacemaker respected on both sides of the aisle, although he has slowed down a bit over the last few years.”
“Delancey’s a member of the other party, Marcus.”
“It’s not unprecedented, Mr. President. And the beauty of it? The other party can’t refuse to confirm him without poking themselves in the eye. As for our side? Delancey’s politics run closer to our party’s platform than his own party’s. He has voted our way against his party leadership many times.”
“The idea . . . has merit.” Jackson tried to find a hole in his Chief of Staff’s logic but found himself agreeing instead. “He did tell me that he intends to retire from the Senate at the general election anyway.”
“Going out as VP would be the crowning achievement of Delancey’s career, sir, and his personal and political clout would be a huge help in pushing through your agenda.”
Jackson tapped a pen on his desk. “The governor of his state is a member of our party. He would appoint one of ours to finish out Delancey’s term.”
“Win-win.” Park smiled. “It will be hailed as an inspired move, sir. And again, it would be only until the next general election.”
Jackson slowly nodded. “By all that’s good and holy, I believe you may be right, Park.”
“Thank you, sir. And if I may be so bold?”
“Say on, Marcus.”
“Our party, their party, the media. All of them. Hit them before they have a clue it’s coming.”
Jackson blew out a breath and made his decision. He pressed the intercom button on his desk phone. “Get Senator Delancey on the line, please, Mrs. Blair—and keep the call under wraps, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marcus, if I can get Delancey to agree to serve until the election is over, I’d like to make the announcement Wednesday during the White House Independence Day Reception—like you said. No one will have an inkling it is coming. It will be a done deal before they can pick it apart.”
“An auspicious occasion, sir.”
“Finally. Finally, the way ahead is clear.”
Jackson lapsed into silent thought.
Delancey is an honorable man, and he is too old to want the presidency. I need not fear that he will drop a bioweapon into my coffee.
Jackson exhaled on his relief, letting go of the months of s
tress. The intercom raised him from his reverie.
“Mr. President? I have Senator Delancey on the line.”
Jackson picked up the phone. “Senator? Might I prevail upon you to drop what you’re doing and have dinner with me? Yes. Shall we say, six? And, Senator? Would you be so kind as to keep our dinner engagement to yourself? You will? Thank you, Senator.”
He set the phone down. “He’s coming, Marcus.”
ZANDER HAD PICKED UP Abe and Emilio from the airport and taken them to our apartment. Emilio must have been watching for my car from our living room window, because the second I pulled into my parking slot in front of our unit, he burst from the door and ran down the stairs to me.
There he was—my boy.
I watched him come, a lump stuck in the back of my throat. He had a fresh haircut, but not the awful shaved-head look Mateo had given him. More than that, with three healthy meals a day, Emilio had filled out. He was no longer a starving, neglected boy, scared but defiant, hiding far back in the bushes to avoid Mateo’s drunken fists.
“Jayda!”
As he threw his arms around me, all I could think was, What in the world? When we left Albuquerque less than two months ago, the top of Emilio’s head hadn’t reached my shoulder. Now I hardly had to look down to stare him square in the eye.
“You’re growing up too fast,” I protested.
He just laughed and hugged me harder.
THE WOMAN’S OUTRAGE was palpable. “You’ve had boots on the ground in Albuquerque for five days—more than enough time to find what I sent you to unearth. What is taking so long?”
The lead operative on the other end of the call shifted uneasily. “We had to arrange to interview the members of the FBI pathology team here. That took a few days, but the interviews got us nowhere. We sensed that they were hiding something—their stories were too closely aligned—but as soon as we pressed them harder, one of the doctors complained to the SAC. He started asking his own questions, like who did we report to. When he didn’t get the answers he wanted, he shut us out entirely.”
“You mean you bungled your mission.”
“No, ma’am. I’m working another angle, something requiring incentive.”
“Money?”
“Yes. I’ve baited the hook and dangled it in front of my target. It is only a matter of time before he caves.”
“I provided you with plenty of cash; time is something I have less of—and patience in even smaller supply.”
“I understand, ma’am.” He paused. “If the target cannot be incentivized, do you authorize . . . other inducements?”
She thought a minute before answering. “The disappearance of a federal officer, even a pathologist, would focus more attention on your visit than scrutiny would bear. Sweeten the pot. If that doesn’t produce a more positive outcome, you are authorized to threaten him with the loss of something—someone—more dear than money.”
“Understood.”
Chapter 19
Independence Day
BECAUSE OF THE HOLIDAY, I had the day off, and Malware canceled our regular Wednesday evening class. That meant Zander and I had the entire day—and the evening—to spend with Abe and Emilio. I was so ready for the fun ahead of us!
The four of us grabbed an early breakfast at a pancake joint and made it to the nearest Metro station by eight. Like Chantelle had warned us, the Metro was jammed with tourists and vacationers bent on celebrating Independence Day in D.C. At each subsequent stop, a new crowd boarded—or tried to. At some point, the train was too full to handle all the onboarding passengers, forcing them to wait for the next D.C.-bound train.
Emilio insisted on sitting next to me—which I didn’t mind a bit—but his attention was elsewhere. Everywhere. He was soaking it all up, and I was soaking him up.
Across from us, Zander grinned. I grinned back.
Perfect moment. Perfect day.
We exited the Metro at the Federal Triangle Station and hiked down 12th to Constitution Avenue. Traffic had been blocked off Constitution from east of the Capitol Building to west of the Ellipse. Loads of other people had gotten to the parade route before us, but we eventually planted ourselves on a waist-high brick wall where, if the crush of parade watchers in front of us sat down, we’d be able to see into the street. If they stood, so would we.
The parade was awesome. Zander bought little American flags on sticks for the four of us from a vendor. Our flags were but grains of sand compared to the numerous and huge Stars and Stripes in the parade. We waved our little flags anyway—at every marching band, float, and military unit that marched by. We waved at contingencies of Marines, Air Force, Navy, Army, Coast Guard, and various state National Guards. When the Revolutionary War marchers came through, I thought Emilio was going to lose his mind.
He pointed and shouted in my ear, “Jayda! Look! Look! They’s from the Civil War!”
When my ear stopped reverberating, I shouted back, “I think you mean the War of Independence.”
“Is that a different war?”
Good grief, what were they teaching kids in school?
“Yes. Eighty-some years apart.”
“Oh.” He didn’t care. He was having a grand time.
PRESIDENT JACKSON, Maddie Jackson, Senator Delancey, and his wife Winnie observed the festivities through the thick glass of the Oval Office out onto the White House’s south lawn. The crowd of White House staffers and their families were enjoying the food and games of the White House Independence Day Reception. A select group of media representatives mingled among the guests, shooting video and still photos, doing short stand-up pieces with the gathering in the background.
“I love seeing children playing on the White House lawn,” Maddie murmured to Mrs. Delancey.
Winnie Delancey was a diminutive woman compared to her husband, and at least ten years younger than him. She nodded her agreement with Maddie’s comment, then glanced up and smiled into her husband’s face.
The four of them saw when the event organizers informed the guests that the President was about to speak. The crowd began to move toward the small platform and podium outside the West Wing’s gardens.
Jackson’s Chief of Staff asked, “Are you ready, Mr. President?”
Jackson nodded to Kennedy and Marcus Park. He and the First Lady strode from the Oval Office to the podium. Senator and Mrs. Delancey, moving a little slower, followed behind them.
A cheer rose from the reception guests as the First Couple mounted the platform. The Jacksons waved and smiled to ongoing applause until the President stepped to the microphone.
“Thank you. Thank you all. Ladies, gentlemen, children, and members of the media, today we celebrate the birthday of our nation. Maddie and I count ourselves blessed to have you and your precious families as our guests on this Independence Day. We are even more honored at the service you render our nation and this administration on a daily basis.”
Shouts, whistles, and more applause interrupted Jackson. He smiled and saluted the kids who were waving furiously at him. Then he motioned again for silence.
“I felt that today was the perfect day to make an important announcement. Senator Delancey? Will you join me on the platform?”
Delancey assisted Maddie Jackson to step down from the platform before he climbed up and stood beside the President.
“Senator Delancey stands here with me. He needs no introduction, but I will elaborate on his patriotism and service to our country: Devoted husband; Viet Nam War veteran who, as a downed fighter pilot, spent nearly three years as a prisoner of war; respected attorney and lawmaker in the capital of his home state of Alabama, now close to completing seven terms representing his state in the U.S. Senate—and the devoted husband of Winnie.
“Honored guests, I wished for you to be the first to know: Today I officially nominate Simon Delancey to serve as my Vice President. Senator Delancey, I hope to welcome you soon to the West Wing.”
Jackson and Delancey smiled and shook hands, while
around them a frenzy of applause and photography erupted at the announcement.
WHEN THE PARADE ENDED, we made our way toward the National Mall. Zander, Abe, and Emilio had spent most of Tuesday at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum—Zander and I actually had spent eight hours wandering through that place on a particularly rainy day—but I was eager to show Emilio all of the large D.C. landmarks—the Lincoln, Jefferson, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorials; the Washington Monument; the war memorials; and the White House.
The White House. As much as I wanted to tell him we’d been in the White House as guests of the President, I kept that bit of information to myself.
Jayda Cruz, we are picking up a breaking news story you will find of interest.
“Oh? What is it?”
President Jackson has announced his vice-presidential nominee, Senator Delancey of Alabama.
“Wow! That’s great. I’m sure glad he found someone he could trust.”
Senator Delancey has a distinguished record.
“You’ve looked into him?”
Yes, Jayda Cruz.
“Good to know.”
The four of us climbed the steps to the Lincoln Memorial and sat down for a while, just enjoying the awareness of history surrounding us and the view down the reflecting pool. Emilio sat between Zander and me. He grabbed Zander’s hand and laid his head on my arm.
“This is a cool place, Jayda.”
“I think so, too.”
Other tourists sat on the steps or wandered up and down. Kids shouted and ran around, jumping from step to step, chasing each other. The Fourth was one of the busiest days in D.C., and it felt to me like we were part of something wonderful, something the other visitors knew and appreciated in the same way we did.
My husband—my wonderful, gorgeous man—smiled at me over our boy’s head.
His face seemed to reflect what I was thinking: What a perfect day! What a treasure, Lord. I’m so content in this moment, so—
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