The conflicting stories that had run through the press in the last year and half about Jamie were crumbling beneath the hard scrutiny of the law. The truth could save them, but the truth was something the MDF didn’t want to give up. In the end, Richard’s political aspirations might go up in smoke and Jamie might be forced to live with a false stain on his reputation forever. Neither option was appealing.
“Your father wants to see you.”
Jamie turned around to greet Special Agent Oliver Burwell, of the Secret Service, with a friendly nod. “All right.”
The older man gestured for Jamie to follow him through the busy back halls of the convention center. Burwell wasn’t always around, despite being assigned to lead Jamie’s Secret Service security detail. There were some places Burwell just couldn’t follow him.
Richard had been granted Secret Service protection last November and needed it now more than ever after people began to blame him for the Splice attack in Boston. During that fight, Burwell and the other special agents assigned to Jamie had become aware of his identity as a metahuman. The MDF hadn’t been thrilled with that revelation, but they’d mitigated the damage well enough over the past five and a half months or so.
Jamie and Burwell had come to a truce after Boston. Both of them had roles to play in the public eye regarding what was expected of their positions. Jamie let Burwell and a small group of handpicked agents act as his security detail, and they left him alone when he left the campaign trail, making only token appearances when required.
Buttoning up his suit jacket as he walked, Jamie overtook Burwell and made his way to the room set aside for the Callahan family. Campaign staff scurried about on errands around security staff and volunteers. The gloomy feeling pervading everyone backstage had yet to lift over the past few months. The bad press weighed on everyone, and while some staffers had jumped ship, most of the core positions remained intact.
One of those was his father’s campaign manager, Juan Bautista, a political veteran with numerous campaigns under his belt. Considering the tailspin they seemed to be in, Richard was lucky to retain Juan as a steady hand.
“He wants to speak with you alone,” Juan said in greeting once Jamie was within earshot.
The hallway outside the room in question was a little crowded with staffers and the Secret Service, but they all made way for Jamie. He noticed the few who wouldn’t look him in the eye and Jamie didn’t let it bother him. He used to be on better footing with the campaign staff, but now he was lucky if anyone outside the top positions would speak with him for fear of collusion rumors rubbing off on them.
Normally Jamie wouldn’t care, except this whole mess could be traced back to him. In the end, whatever happened to his father, Jamie would be blamed for it, and rightly so. No matter that his country had asked it of him, in the end, the Callahans’ reputation might end up in tatters.
“You wanted to see me?” Jamie said as the door slid shut behind him.
The walls here didn’t have built-in soundproofing, but a quick glance around showed Jamie his father was running a military-grade electronics jammer in the corner. At least some precautions were being taken.
“Yes,” Richard said, not taking his eyes away from the holoscreen someone had set up in the room. The latest headline news streamed over the chyron but Richard seemed more interested in the poll numbers the evening host was discussing with a guest.
Jamie settled into parade rest and crossed his arms over his chest. They had twenty minutes until the rally was scheduled to start at 1800. Jamie’s mother was introducing Richard, the task falling to her more and more lately now that some of their surrogates had distanced themselves from the campaign. Charlotte Jacqueline Callahan, née Montgomery, had taken a larger-than-expected role in the campaign over the last few months, as had his younger sister, Leah.
Jamie had kept as low a profile as he could until some of the heat died down, but he couldn’t hide forever.
“Fifteen minutes, Father,” Jamie said, when the quiet had gone on long enough. Which really only meant five, because Richard still needed to get to the stage and accept the accolades of his wife once Charlotte was done talking him up.
Richard finally turned to face Jamie, flawless stage makeup hiding the circles beneath his blue eyes for the cameras. As the Senate Majority Leader, Richard had juggled his duty to the Senate and his campaign for months now, ignoring the calls for his resignation in favor of continuing forward. The stress of being pulled in numerous directions was beginning to show.
Jamie, perhaps uncharitably, wasn’t very sympathetic.
“President Rodriguez is hosting a State Dinner in two weeks for the British Royal Family,” Richard said as he stepped around the refreshments table set up near his portable terminal.
“I’m aware of the dinner.”
Considering Liam Wessex and his parents were the members of the royal family in question chosen to represent the Queen, Jamie had known about the dinner before it was even formally set. Liam and Jamie had been close friends since they were children, their paths in life eerily similar in a way. Both had gone into the military—Jamie into the Recon Marines and Liam into the Special Air Service—their careers ultimately ending when a mission went bad due to a Splice attack and each were subsequently turned into metahumans.
Liam had watched over Alexei Dvorkin and Sean Delaney in London back in February. Sean’s phase power had been requested by the United Metahuman Group, the United Kingdom’s equivalent to the MDF, for a mission that couldn’t be put off any longer. Jamie’s presence hadn’t been requested. After what happened to Alexei and Sean in Boston, Jamie hadn’t wanted to let them go to London alone. Knowing that Liam had their six was the only thing that enabled Jamie to sleep at night during their absence.
That, and his fiancé, Staff Sergeant Kyle Brannigan.
Even that stray thought had Jamie wishing he were by Kyle’s side right now. Jamie hadn’t wanted to be here tonight, but his father had demanded his presence for a string of rallies and meet-and-greets to try to ease him back into the public’s trust. Jamie could’ve told him that was a wasted effort, but he wasn’t the one in charge of the campaign.
“The president is extending an invitation to all of us at the request of the royal family. I expect you to be there,” Richard said.
Richard didn’t know that Liam was a metahuman. His father’s security clearance may have been high, but it wasn’t high enough to merit knowing who were metahumans outside the team Jamie led. If he were president, then maybe, but that was looking more and more unlikely with every day that passed.
“Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it,” Jamie promised.
“See that you are.”
The dig was slight, and Jamie tried not to let it bother him too much. He’d split his time between his commitment to the MDF and his team, and his family on the campaign trail since his father first decided to run for president nearly two years ago. Richard had no leg to stand on when it came to commitment. His inability to see beyond poll numbers back in November had contributed to his current standing.
If he’d only canceled the rally, then maybe the death count wouldn’t have been so high.
But no metahuman had the power to time travel. They had enough problems dealing with Stanislav Pavluhkin’s precognitive power at the moment. His team didn’t need any more complications.
Someone knocked on the door, causing Richard to look away and tug at his suit jacket until it settled perfectly across his shoulders. Jamie stepped aside, allowing his father to exit first.
Juan waited for them in the hallway, tapping at his left forearm where most people had their bioware and RealIdent chip implanted. “We’re cutting it close, Senator. We don’t want to keep them waiting and Charlotte is almost finished with her speech.”
“Of course,” was Richard’s crisp response. “Shall we?”
Jamie followed after Richard, ever the dutiful son.
He tugged up the sleeve of
his suit jacket and button-down as they headed for the stage. The bioware implanted underneath his skin was military-grade, with military encryption protocols scrambling communication until Jamie accessed it. No update, and no calls on his encrypted comms.
Jamie wanted to know how his team was doing in the field tonight, but he also knew he wouldn’t get an update when they were in the middle of a mission.
A mission he should’ve been leading, except his father had demanded his presence on the campaign trail, and Jamie wasn’t in a position to say no. His father needed his support, now more than ever, because a solid family presence in the face of adversity had always been their strongest weapon. The cracks couldn’t show, no matter how deep they got.
And they were getting deep.
The doors to the convention center’s main floor opened up and the Secret Service spread out to handle crowd control. Richard strode forward, embraced by cheers and the blaring campaign music. Jamie kept some distance between them, letting his father glad-hand his way up to the stage before taking his own spot at the right-hand side of the stage, well within view of the press pool. Jamie plastered a bland smile on his face and kept applauding his father’s arrival.
“I thought you weren’t coming to the rally tonight?”
Jamie turned to face his little sister, keeping the smile on his face. “Father needed me.”
Leah Callahan blinked slowly at him, her teeth an even white line between her glossy red lips. She nearly reached his height of six feet two in the five-inch stilettos she wore, blonde hair streaked with honey highlights through the soft waves she’d styled it in tonight. At twenty-seven, she’d grown out of the more daring colors she used to dye her hair, or more accurately, the campaign had forced her to tone down her image somewhat.
Between the two of them, Leah was the golden child in the press at the moment, as much as any Callahan could be golden these days. She still made the front page of the all the fashion sites, her outfits a tad less trendsetting than they used to be due to the family’s dinged social status, but the public seemed more forgiving of her place in the family than Jamie’s.
“I found someone at work to cover for me,” Jamie said.
It was the truth, to an extent. Katie was the best second-in-command an officer could have. Leading Alpha Team in his absence was something Katie had done a lot over the last year or so. She was an exceedingly capable NCO, and Jamie wasn’t looking forward to the day the MDF thought to give Katie her own team to lead.
“How long are you staying?” Leah asked.
“Just through tomorrow.”
She nodded and kept smiling, even though Jamie could see the tension in her shoulders. “I wish you could stay longer.”
Jamie bit his tongue, the words he wanted to say never escaping. He knew this entire presidential campaign run had been hard on his sister, more so than it had been on him. Jamie couldn’t completely shirk his duties to the MDF and in his absence, Leah had shouldered the burden of being the child the media devoured more often. Because she was present and available while Jamie was off fighting the good fight and ruining his family’s name.
They were both of them Callahans though, and their parents had trained them young in the art of media manipulation. Jamie had eschewed the spotlight for years due to his classified identity and the position he held within the MDF. Neither of them were going to argue about decisions already made and actions already taken where anyone could hear. That still didn’t stop Jamie from offering what apology he could.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Leah tilted her head in his direction, the diamond teardrop earrings she wore glittering in the bright stage lights. “I know.”
He would have said more, except the roar of the crowd grew louder as Charlotte announced Richard. Jamie watched their father take center stage to a chorus of cheers and greet the supporters who had braved the muggy, triple-digit spring night. Jamie was glad for the air-conditioning that was required by law in the Dallas megacity. Charlotte drew Richard into a brief hug before kissing his cheek and moving to the side.
Jamie let his attention drift as his father spoke, unable to stop himself from scanning the crowd for any kind of threat. Since Boston, the Secret Service and other police or security companies had made certain that every location was locked down as much as possible. Jamie still periodically reviewed the security protocols that kept his family safe. Unlike before, their personal security were no longer the only ones who obeyed his orders without argument.
Jamie’s precautions in Boston had meant the death toll wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been on the street—but it was still bad. Before the exposé, the media had lauded his precautions. After the dust had settled, long enough for questions to be asked and ignored, that was when the media from all corners began accusing him and Richard of knowing the Splice attack was going to happen in the first place.
Which was a truth they couldn’t reveal on orders of the MDF, the Joint Chiefs, and the president.
But the truth, like most hidden things, almost always saw the light.
Richard’s speech ended fifteen minutes later to the campaign’s theme song, more cheers, and the entire family on stage waving at the crowd. Since his poll numbers were still tumbling, Richard made it a point after every rally and stump speech stop to glad-hand with the crowd a little more. The rest of the family had no choice but to follow suit.
Not everyone shook Jamie’s hand when he offered it as they slowly headed for the exit, staying on their side of the barriers. Anything more untoward than glares were caught early and quick by the Secret Service. What they didn’t catch, and which Jamie didn’t see coming in time, was the charming young woman who smiled widely at Jamie as she thrust her hand out to him.
“Mr. Callahan,” the woman said calmly before slipping a folded-up piece of synthpaper into his hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Jamie automatically curled his fingers around what she’d given him so it wouldn’t fall to the ground. “I’m sure.”
He kept smiling, pocketing the document and keeping it out of sight until he and the rest of his family were within the restricted areas of the convention center. Only then did he pull out the synthpaper and unfold it. The stark black words of a Congressional subpoena filled the page, impossible to ignore.
“What is that?” Charlotte asked sharply.
Jamie held up the document for them to see. “I was just served with a subpoena issued by the Senate investigation on the handshake line.”
“You’ve already been questioned regarding Boston. I haven’t heard anything about the special counsel reaching the subpoena stage yet,” Richard said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“This isn’t strictly about Boston.”
Richard kept walking, adept after long years in the Senate of staying on the move while discussing matters of policy with his staff and reporters. “Elaborate.”
Jamie silently handed the subpoena over to Richard, mind already whirling about the newest problem in this whole mess. The latest request directed at him to be questioned by the United States Senate Select Committee on Presidential Campaign Activities—in a closed session, something that never fared well in the press—wasn’t over what Jamie had known about the campaign going into Boston.
This one was about Paris. About Root Source, Inc.
About the Pavluhkins and the Presnenskaya Bratva and every illegal action Jamie’s team had made with their government’s blessing.
It was about everything that Jamie couldn’t legally talk about. And if he couldn’t talk about it, then the Senate committee investigating him and his family would cry stonewalling and lies to the media. All of that would just drive the sensationalism to new heights—nothing sold like drama did these days—and the one pertinent question Jamie would have a difficult time defending himself against would be asked over and over on the news streams.
What was he hiding?
I bet The Times will win a Pulitzer this year, Jamie t
hought, a little uncharitably.
The subpoena’s words burned into his mind. This wouldn’t be his first summons before a panel of his father’s contemporaries. The House investigation had subpoenaed him to discuss his role in Boston last month and it hadn’t gone well. Evading direct answers by hiding behind the thin protection of classified, albeit behind the guise of no comment, had done nothing more than piss off the panel of representatives, some of whom saw him as a way to derail his father’s political career.
But if they were calling him in because of Root Source, Inc., it was because the Congressional investigations—both in the Senate and in the House—had followed the same evidence the DOJ’s Special Counsel, Travis Reynolds, had uncovered. Reynolds wasn’t a man to be taken lightly. His investigation had already ensnared former Senator Mark Graham in wrongdoing, with Graham resigning once the federal charges accusing him of illegal deals with North Star International were unsealed. Now Reynold’s laser-like focus was on Richard and Jamie, and no one believed it would end well.
Jamie had yet to be called in for a deposition by that particular investigation. Regardless, he knew that despite whatever evidence Reynolds was collecting, the case he was building against Jamie came from fabricated information.
Leaked fabricated information.
They had CIA Deputy Director Carter Bennett to thank for that.
Richard folded up the subpoena and handed it back to Jamie. He pocketed it, and nothing more was said on the issue until they were all, as a family, back at the luxury hotel the campaign had rented rooms in for this leg of the trip. Considering the current cost of keeping the campaign afloat despite the negative press, it was a good thing the Callahans were billionaires. But a cornerstone of their money and business stood a chance of being damaged in the near future though, and that was what Richard zeroed in on once the soundproofing was enacted in the suite’s office.
In the Requiem (Metahuman Files Book 5) Page 3