by Lis Wiehl
STOP THRASHING! Pretend to thrash. So nothing moves. And stop blinking because with every blink the blindfold moves a tiny minuscule little bit. Just wait. Try and wait . . .
And Erica tries to wait, but then she starts shivering, shivering uncontrollably.
“Oh, Erica, you’re afraid . . . You’re afraid you might die. You might. Or Jenny might. That would be so sad. Of course, it happens to everyone. Death. It’s just a matter of how and when . . .”
And now Erica feels a blade on her neck, a sharp, cold blade, and it traces its way from one ear to the other. “Oh! . . . I’m sorry. I drew a little blood . . .” And now a finger traces the blade’s path. “. . . Mmm, even your blood tastes pretty . . . Pretty lady, pretty blood. I have to go now, Erica. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’m going to help you. I’m going to give you something that will make you feel better. It won’t hurt. I promise. And when it’s over you’ll be a brand-new Erica. A better Erica.” And now she’s so close that her lips graze Erica’s ear. “You probably wonder what I want, don’t you . . . ? I want you.”
CHAPTER 69
CELESTE HAS JOINED LILY AT Eagle’s Nest, just for an afternoon. It’s so good to get away, away from it all, and to be up here with Lily, even if only for a few snatched hours. They’re sitting at a large table in the guesthouse that Lily uses as an on-site campaign war room.
Celeste’s mind wanders for a moment, wanders down two stories below them, down to the bunker, where Erica Sparks awaits the final phases of her transformation. The one that will turn her from a threat into an ally. When she’s ready, they’ll drive her up to Mt. Tamalpais and lead her deep into the woods. She’ll stumble out of the forest, dehydrated, disoriented, hungry—she’d gone on a hike and gotten lost, slept on the mountain. As for her car, it must have been stolen. She’ll believe every word of the story. Because that’s the way her mind will work. Then, after the election Erica—with her clout and gravitas and popularity—will become a leading mouthpiece of the New Order.
Celeste looks over to the built-in bookcases that line one wall. No one would ever suspect that behind one panel lies an elevator. An elevator that can transport you down to . . . heaven.
Rising power.
“A new poll from Georgia shows us pulling ahead,” Lily says, poring over real-time data on her laptop.
“No Democrat has won Georgia since Clinton in 1992,” Celeste says.
Lily picks up a phone. “Frank, flood Georgia with television and social media advertising. Buy everything available. Pull as much staff and as many volunteers as possible from Alabama, which is a lost cause, and get them into Georgia. We’re going to win it.”
After Lily hangs up, there’s a moment of silence. The two women look at each other. What they set in motion twelve years ago—when they searched the political landscape for the perfect vehicle for their ascent and found Mike Ortiz—is about to come to full fruition.
Then there’s a firm knock on the door. Odd. They haven’t summoned any staff. Who could it be?
Lily gets up, crosses to the door, and opens it. A man and a woman in dark suits stand there.
“Lily Lau?” the man asks.
“Who’s asking?” Lily answers.
“Kevin Marcus. This is my partner, Carol Norton. FBI.” They both flash their badges.
Celeste notices Lily’s whole body tense.
“May we come in?”
Celeste feels her pulse start to race. She and Lily exchange a glance.
“Of course. Welcome,” Lily says with a smile, standing back.
“Could I get you a cup of coffee or tea? Water or a fresh juice?” Celeste asks.
“We’re good, thanks,” Agent Norton answers.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Lily asks.
“We’d like to ask you both a few questions,” Agent Marcus says.
“About?” Lily asks.
“The disappearance of Erica Sparks.”
Celeste feels a sudden chill at the back of her neck; goose bumps break out on her arms. Cool it. Follow Lily’s lead. Say as little as possible.
“I’m afraid we’re not going to be much help,” Lily says. “We’ve obviously been consumed with the campaign and aren’t paying a great deal of attention to the story . . . But please, have a seat. Ask away.”
The four of them sit at the table. Celeste looks at the agents with concern and a touch of bewilderment.
“A security camera in Fairfax recorded Sparks’s rental car driving northwest on Francis Drake Boulevard at 11:17 on the morning of her disappearance, October 26,” Marcus says, watching the two women intently.
Celeste wills herself not to react as a bead of sweat rolls down from her left armpit. But her breathing grows shallow.
“An eyewitness saw the car on Nicasio Valley Road shortly thereafter,” Norton says.
Celeste feels slightly dizzy. The world is suddenly so quiet, so quiet and still. All she can hear is her heart thumping in her chest. Can the agents hear it? Both of them are expressionless. Now sweat is running down from both her armpits and she’s blinking. Stop blinking.
Lily, on the other hand, seems completely blasé. She picks up her phone and scrolls through. “We were in St. Louis on the twenty-sixth. None of my staff has told me that Erica Sparks made an appearance here. And they certainly would have. But you’re more than welcome to question them yourselves.”
“She was finishing up pieces on both my husband and his opponent. She was in San Francisco to interview Lily for that story,” Celeste says, forcing her voice to stay steady. “But I don’t understand why she would come up here.”
“She interviewed me at the office of Pierce Holdings on October 24. I haven’t heard from her since,” Lily says.
“I admired her integrity so much. It’s a real loss to journalism,” Celeste says.
“So neither of you has any knowledge or information concerning Sparks’s whereabouts on the twenty-sixth?” Marcus asks.
“No,” Lily tosses off.
“None,” Celeste seconds.
There’s a long pause. The agents are still eyeballing them. Finally Norton says, “We’d like to search the houses and grounds.”
“Of course,” Lily says. “I’ll have my caretaker show you around.”
There’s another long pause. The agents just sit there. It feels like a game of chicken.
“I certainly don’t mean to be rude, but we are very busy,” Lily says.
Marcus and Norton look at Lily. She holds their glance. After what seems like an eternity, they look away and seem to shrink a little.
Lily looks at Celeste, and Celeste’s confidence sparks; she decides to press their advantage. “Unless you have any more questions . . . ,” Celeste says. Then she gently caresses her hair with one hand, summoning up the might of her money and privilege and upbringing. She’s the next First Lady. These agents are government employees. In effect, they work for her. They’re little people, dazzled by her $800 haircut and fame and the chic outfit she put on this morning to please Lily, clothes that cost more than they make in a month.
For the first time the agents look around at the expansive, luxurious room.
“May I ask what precipitated your visit?” Celeste asks.
“We’ve gotten a number of calls from interested parties who don’t believe Sparks died in that car accident on Route 1. They think she was either murdered or is still alive,” Marcus says. “They believe that she was investigating some sort of conspiracy that was responsible for the Buchanan bombing and the subsequent murder-suicide.”
“And who are these interested parties?” Lily asks casually.
“We’re not at liberty to answer that question.”
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with us,” Celeste says.
“It’s our job to explore every possibility,” Norton says.
Lily walks over to the bookcase, to the panel that conceals the elevator, and places one hand on one of the shelves and the other o
n her hip. “That’s completely understandable.”
“I think it would be fitting for my foundation to establish a journalism scholarship in Erica Sparks’s memory,” says Celeste.
“She’s officially missing, not dead.”
“In her honor, then. Please do tell the interested parties of my plan.” Celeste feels a wave of elation—she handled this so well, she can tell Lily is proud of her. She leans forward on the table and smiles a warm, sorrowful smile, saying, “We’re all in this together.” Then she adds, “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a little lunch?”
CHAPTER 70
HER UNIVERSE IS TINY, NARROW, and weightless. It’s moving up and down. Up and down. That’s all that exists. All that matters. Up and down. Up and down. Ever since Lily left. And that was days ago. Wasn’t it? Or was it hours ago? Or minutes ago? Up and down. Up and down.
And with each blink she’s brought closer to Jenny. And so she blinks for hours and hours and more hours. And yes, the bandage is moving, it’s moving up. She can feel it. Because that’s all she can feel. All she cares about. All that exists.
She’s tired and scared, but there’s no room for fear or fatigue. Only fight. Fight! Up and down. Up and down.
There is no thought. No emotion. No lists of old teachers or old boyfriends or books read or jobs held. There is just this. Up and down. Up and down.
And then there was light!
Faint, so faint . . . fainter than faint . . . just a trace . . . just a shadow of a trace . . .
Faster. Up and down. Up and down. Fight. Fight.
And now it’s hours and hours and then . . . There’s more light . . . Now the trace is a glimmer . . . and now the glimmer is a sliver . . .
A sliver of the room.
And the world is revealed in a tiny horizontal sliver at the bottom of her eye bandage. And the room is brightly lit, like a laboratory. And through the sliver Erica can see down her body, her trussed-up body, to the foot of the bed and the blank wall beyond. And she inhales sharply. Inhaling strength.
They’re watching you! They’re always watching you!
And then gently, so gently, imperceptibly, she begins to clench and unclench her muscles. She starts with her feet, then up to her calves, her thighs, her butt, her stomach, her chest, her arms. Clench and unclench, from feet to chest, then chest to feet, up and down, down and up, feel the blood flow, the strength flow. And now make a tiny rolling motion, side to side, so slight, invisible. And then she twists, tiny undetectable twists. She keeps clenching and rolling and twisting.
Fight!
And then the molecules in the room rearrange themselves. Go still. Now she feels a slight tug on her arm. They must be changing her IV. Good. She needs the strength. But suddenly she feels so weak. And sleepy . . . so sleepy.
No! Stay awake!
But she can’t stay awake . . . she’s overpowered . . . pulled down . . . down . . . and sleep comes. A dreamless sleep. A sleep as deep as death.
CHAPTER 71
ERICA WAKES UP IN A cold sweat, gripped by a wildfire of fear. A fear so deep it’s burrowed into her bones. For Jenny. And for herself.
And then the molecules rearrange themselves again. There’s someone in the room. And through the sliver of an opening at the bottom of her eye bandage she sees a machine wheeled down to the foot of the bed. Then the person leaves. The machine is medium-size, atop a pole. It looks cold and sinister. An instrument? To perform a procedure? On Erica’s body? Then she sees the two electrodes attached to the machine—wires with circular patches at the end of them. And on top of the machine there’s a plastic mouth guard.
Oh, it’s an electroshock machine, Erica realizes with odd detachment. How shocking! And then it hits her—they’re going to use it on her. And under her bandages a thousand fear rats bloom and race up and down her flesh and she recoils involuntarily, and her restraints give just a little bit, but she doesn’t notice because she’s gripped by obliterating terror.
They’re going to fry my brain. Fry my brain. Fry my brain. And then, when it’s fried and shriveled, they’re going to fill it with lies. Sick lies. And sick love.
Just like they did with Mike Ortiz.
Time is running out. She runs through what she knows. She’s in a room—she can see a sliver of it out the bottom of her eye bandage. It’s empty now. She’s been here for days, probably three or four. She’s been isolated and immobilized, subjected to sensory deprivation. And fear.
Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Fear. Indoctrination. Love.
She’s still in the fear stage, but she’s nearing indoctrination. It all makes sense. They’ll erase her brain with electroshock and then imprint it with their agenda. She’ll become a puppet in service of their plan to control of the government under President Mike Ortiz. She’ll be their ally, with her huge platform on GNN. A mouthpiece for their agenda.
Erica begins her regimen of imperceptible clenching and rolling and she quickly realizes something. Her bonds have loosened, just a bit, just a little bit. The weight she’s lost on the IV diet is helping.
And then the molecules rearrange themselves again. And now her left ear is uncovered and the plug is removed and Lily’s mouth is so close to her ear she can feel her hot breath. It makes Erica’s skin crawl. She wishes she could plunge a knife into her back.
“Did you miss me? Because I missed you. I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?” She runs her cool, smooth palm over Erica’s forehead. “Oh, Erica, try not to frown so much. You’ll grow wrinkles. Okay, I’ll give you the good news first. Tomorrow is a big day. It’s the last debate. The one you were going to moderate. You blew that chance. Big mistake. Oh well. And the day after that, you start your treatments. The ones that are going to be so helpful. That will make you feel so much better.”
Erica looks through the slit, down at the machine, sitting there, waiting, cold and malevolent.
“So! That’s the good news. I almost hate to tell you the bad news. It’s about Jenny. And it’s very bad. And sad. Poor Jenny. She needs help. She needs a mother. And, if you’re good, she’ll have one . . .” And now Erica can hear Jenny sobbing, right beside her ear, loud sobbing, blubbery hysterical sobbing. “I’m glad you can’t see what I see, Erica. She’s cutting herself. There’s blood on her dress and on her bedspread. What a terrible mess.”
And now Erica hears a door fly open and Dirk’s voice, “Oh no, Jenny, no, what are you doing? Linda, get the car, we have to get Jenny to the ER! I have you, baby, don’t worry. Daddy has you, you’ll be all right.”
And Jenny starts to scream, to scream at the top of her lungs, and Erica hears footfalls and screaming and yelled orders and doors slamming. And then there is silence.
And then all that Erica can hear is the sound of her own weeping.
CHAPTER 72
IT’S NOON ON THE NEXT day, the day of the final debate. Megyn Kelly has replaced Erica as moderator. The atmosphere in Mike Ortiz’s expansive suite at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel in Seattle is tense. There are dozens of aides and staff on phones and laptops, everyone is poised on the precipice. Ortiz’s lead in the polls has been holding, all he has to do is make no mistakes tonight—and then he can coast through the final week until the election. Early voting has started in a number of states, and turnout is high in Democratic precincts and through the roof among Latino voters.
Celeste is in one of the suite’s bedrooms. She can’t sit still. Where is Lily? Her flight should be in by now. She’s tried on no fewer than eight different outfits. Some are too swanky. Some too casual. She finally settles on a simple blue sleeveless midthigh dress. She’s pacing around the room. She can’t relax, not without Lily here.
She’s got Mike on the rowing machine in the other bedroom. Don’t let him overthink things. They’ve got him prepared for every possible question. He’s worked like a dog. First to get the answers down pat. Then to make it look like they’re not down pat, that he has passion and spontaneity. He’s memor
ized personal anecdotes about a dozen people he’s met on the stump. He knows to take a deep breath before answering. To be respectful of Lucy Winters. There’s really nothing more they could do to prepare him. He’s a well-oiled machine. But where is Lily?
Hair and makeup will be here later this afternoon. Celeste wants to look her best, but she doesn’t want to go full out. Not the time and place. Wait for the first state dinner. She has big fashion plans as First Lady. Forget Jackie Kennedy and Michelle Obama. She’s going to reset the bar.
Her phone rings—her untraceable, unbugable, only-for-Lily phone—and she almost leaps for it.
“Where are you?”
“We just landed.”
Celeste exhales with a sigh. “Get over here as soon as possible. How did it go?”
“Well. It went well. We have her right where we want her. I just sent you the mobile link to the live feed. See you soon.”
Celeste hangs up and then uses the phone to access their untraceable e-mail account. She clicks the link. And there she is, the high and mighty Erica Sparks, tied up like a stuck pig. Celeste feels a moment of sympathy for her. The moment passes. She’s getting exactly what she deserves. Sticking her pretty blond head where it doesn’t belong.
Still, watching Erica—is she wriggling ever so slightly? No, that’s just the camera—Celeste feels a tinge of unease, of foreboding. As if the whole enterprise is a house of cards that could tumble down at any minute. She starts to pace again. They’re in so deep. They’re about to stage a bloodless coup. The federal government will in essence be run from Beijing. Every decision will be made at the command of Chen Lau and his superiors. They’ve built the ultimate Trojan horse, and in eight days he’ll be president-elect of the United States.
Celeste feels like she’s going to jump out of her skin. Dark thoughts start to bubble up. Lily was so mean to her on the flight, when she was afraid they might have been hacked. And she’s been distant lately. Will Lily change once power is hers? Has Lily been manipulating Celeste to get what she wants? Is brilliant Lily the ultimate user? And is Celeste just one more pawn?