by Julie Hyzy
Message sent through channels. Will keep you apprised.
POTUS and family? I asked.
Under control.
Not being able to connect with Gav kept me from relaxing. What did Kern mean when he’d said they anticipated Gav’s next move? I pulled my knees up and set the backpack in the space between them and my chest, and studied the plastic tie-wraps, wondering if there was some trick to releasing them.
In the daylight, now that I could see, and now that I had full control of my fingers, I did my best to finagle the end backward through the plastic locking mechanism.
So engrossed in my project, I didn’t notice I wasn’t alone until I heard someone shout, “Hey there, you okay?”
I glanced up to see two young people. Both wore light jackets, canvas hats, and carried backpacks. From this distance, I couldn’t tell if they were male or female. I waved—to the extent that I could—and raised my voice. “Stay back.”
They started toward me. “Do you need help?”
Shouting, I held up both hands. “Don’t come any closer.” Although I believed the bomb wouldn’t explode unless the timer went off, the last thing I needed was to risk these people’s lives.
They stopped and looked at each other. One asked, “Why not?”
“Long story,” I said. “Please give the authorities my position. Where are we, by the way?” If I could text my location to Neville, it would help speed up the process.
The two continued to trudge forward despite my pleas.
“I’m fine, really. Help is coming,” I shouted, but before I knew it they were less than twenty yards away. “Please go back. Just go tell someone where I am.”
Both young men were in their late twenties. Slim, yet muscular, one was pale and freckled. The other was dark-skinned. He said, “Don’t be afraid. My name’s Jerold,” as he moved closer. “Your lips are chapped.”
“Where am I?” I asked again.
“Don’t you know?”
Exasperation got the better of me. “I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”
“We’re in Gold Cliff State Forest,” he said.
“Thank you.” I began tapping into my phone, but begged them both again, “Please, for your own safety, get away from me.”
“You’re bleeding.” Jerold pointed to his cheek.
“Not anymore, it’s dry. Just a scrape,” I said. “I’m fine, really. Please just go alert the authorities and tell them this location. People are coming for me.”
Jerold reached around to the side of the sack he carried. “You need water.”
“Water?” I sat up straighter.
He pulled an aluminum bottle out and offered it to me. Both men’s eyes widened when they caught sight of my hands bound to the top of the backpack.
“Who did this to you?” the paler man asked. “Don’t be afraid. We can help. My name is Kenneth. Did someone hurt you?”
“Yes, but not in the way you think. Please,” I said striving to appear rational. “I know this looks strange . . .”
Jerold unscrewed the bottle and handed it to me. He nodded at the backpack. “What’s in there?”
My hands trembled with anticipation, and it took several fumbling seconds before I was able to successfully tilt the bottle to my lips. I drank the cool, delicious liquid with greedy joy.
“Slow down,” Jerold said. “If you’re dehydrated it’s going to come right back up.”
As though my stomach had heard the warning, it seized and convulsed, threatening to send its fresh contents on a return trip.
I lowered the bottle and took a deep breath, waiting for the spasms to quiet. As they did, I implored the two young men again. “Leave me your names and contact information. I’ll see that this bottle is returned to you or replaced. But you must get away from me. As far and as fast as possible. Please.”
Jerold regarded me carefully. “Who are you?”
“That’s not important,” I said. “Please leave. I’m not joking. It’s—”
Comprehension dawned on his face. “It’s a bomb, isn’t it?” He took a step backward. “That’s what you’re not telling us.”
I bit my lower lip, but kept a tight grip on the water bottle. “I’m keeping this. Get out of here now. Run, okay?”
Finally believing me, the two young men took off. I shouted after them. “Don’t forget to tell the rangers where I am.”
Hard as it was to refrain from chugging the remaining water, I allowed myself a sip every few minutes. I didn’t know how long it would take for Neville’s team to pinpoint my position or for Jerold and Kenneth to report my location. Last night, I’d estimated I’d traveled two hours in the back of that hearse, but I could be way off. I had no idea how far out of D.C. the Gold Cliff State Forest was located.
Still wearing the jacket I’d donned for the wake last night and sitting under the clear sky, I grew warm. My face, having suffered miserably against the cold ground overnight, appreciated the sunshine, but the rest of me began to sweat. I shook the bottle to judge the water level. Now that I’d curbed the temptation to guzzle, at the rate I was sipping, I probably had about four hours’ worth of refreshment left.
A check of the timer revealed that it had dropped to ten hours and thirty-two minutes. I upped the digital display to its maximum one more time and stared at my phone.
I heard the whup-whup-whup of the approaching helicopter before I saw it. Correction. Two helicopters.
I held the backpack aloft to block the whipped-up dust from stinging my eyes. Struggling to my feet, I backed away, moving closer to the tree line behind me in order to give both choppers plenty of room.
The moment they touched down, a dozen people poured out. They all wore green padded body armor and oversize helmets with clear face shields. Six carried high-powered rifles and fanned out to form a rough perimeter around the meadow. Four settled heavy equipment onto the ground while the final two individuals made their way toward me.
As soon as the four with the equipment began unpacking their loads, the helicopters lifted off again. I turned my face away as the choppers returned to the skies. I guessed the government wanted them out of harm’s way just in case. Couldn’t blame them.
The two bomb experts approached slowly, asking questions in quiet, calm voices, as they surveyed the scene. I was so excited to see them that I began babbling about the bomb in the backpack and how it wouldn’t go off unless the timer counted all the way down and how I’d managed to thwart that particular outcome.
They managed to decipher my exuberant ravings and assess the situation. They called to the equipment team for wire cutters and within seconds had freed me from the backpack.
I didn’t even have time to rub my wrists or shake my arms out before one of the two threw an arm around my shoulders and hustled me away. They must have radioed ahead because by the time we reached the equipment loading area, one of the helicopters was on its way back.
The bomb expert who had run with me yelled over the chopper’s loud approach. “You did well. Now go.”
Another armor-clad soldier jumped out and helped me into the helicopter’s passenger compartment. The moment my rear end touched the seat, we lifted off again.
From the time they’d first arrived to this moment with me being spirited away, no more than five minutes had elapsed. If that.
The soldier next to me leaned forward to fit ear protection over my head. As we curved into the sky, she removed her helmet and gave me a wide smile.
“Jane,” I said, even though she probably couldn’t hear.
She leaned over and patted my knee.
CHAPTER 32
The pilot landed on the heliport of a D.C. hospital. I protested that I didn’t need anything beyond my husband and a shower, but as I’d learned too often in the past, there was no arguing with a soldier following orders.
I put my foot down, however, when two hospital staffers tried to get me to lie on the gurney they’d rolled in for my transport. “Not a chance,” I said, p
ointing to my cheek. “A little disinfectant and a bandage and I’m good to go.”
Jane had taken off again with the helicopter while I agreed to be checked for injury by an army doctor who’d been called in just for me. Still holding tight to the aluminum water bottle, I was whisked into a windowless room—the better to keep the media at bay, no doubt—where I was poked, prodded, and pierced with brisk efficiency.
I wanted to eat, but they told me I had to wait until they were certain I wouldn’t need any more blood drawn.
They offered me a change of clothes, which I accepted with grateful alacrity. This was the second time in a year that I’d been provided colorful hospital scrubs after an altercation. I hoped this wasn’t getting to be a habit, but I was so thrilled to be able to strip off the crusty sweat-soaked outfit I’d been wearing that I didn’t care that I now sported a cotton V-neck teddy bear shirt and coordinating purple pants. They were crisp, clean, and felt like heaven.
After I’d shared details of my experience with the doctor, I asked her, “What did they drug me with?”
She sat on a rolling chair as she tapped information into a laptop computer. “We’re running tests now. I don’t know when I’ll have an answer for you.”
“Or if you’ll ever have an answer for me, right?”
She smiled. “It may no longer be in your system, or it may be classified information.”
“What if you find out there are lasting side effects?”
“We’ll do our best to provide the information you need.”
Not the most comforting reassurance on the planet, but I was happy to discover that the abrasion on my face was so mild it needed nothing more than topical treatment.
Before the doctor finished her examination, Yablonski thundered in. “What in the world did you get yourself into this time?” he asked.
I sat straighter on the examining table. “Don’t you knock?”
“Sorry.” He gave a quick look around as though realizing that he could have accidentally walked in during an awkward moment. “Sorry,” he said again.
“Where’s Gav? Did you get the message about Kern’s plan against the president?”
“We did, and every precaution has been taken to keep President Hyden and his family safe. Thank you for that. How did it happen and how did you know it was Kern?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Gav?”
“On his way.”
“Does he know I’m all right?”
Yablonski nodded. “He was out of his mind when you went missing. We got a message to him the moment we heard from you.”
I stared at the ceiling, feeling relief rise up through my body from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. “Thank you.”
“He should be back in D.C. by the end of the day.”
I closed my eyes.
The doctor stood to excuse herself. She reminded me to keep hydrated, get rest, and suggested I take over-the-counter pain medication if I suffered any aches and pains.
I opened my eyes and stared at the speckled ceiling tiles. “I don’t know if I can take any more of this.”
Yablonski lowered himself onto the low rolling seat and waited for me to make eye contact.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you,” he said. “Now that we know Kern is still at large . . .”
I dropped my head into my hands. Here it comes, I thought. The push for us to disappear. To abandon the lives we created, to give up everything we’d worked for and adopt new identities, move to a new city, start over. There was no pretending I didn’t hear or understand him. Not anymore.
“Ollie.” Yablonski’s tone was gentle. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Without looking up, I nodded and rubbed my eyes. “We can’t begin to discuss any of this until Gav gets here.”
“I know, but I suspect you’re the harder sell on this topic.”
I still didn’t look up. “You suspect right.”
He slapped his hands against his knees and got to his feet. “If you’re up for it, there’s a roomful of military strategists at the White House waiting to debrief you.”
“Of course,” I said, finally raising my face. “But could I please get something to eat first?”
* * *
Conducted in the Roosevelt Room in the West Wing, my debriefing consisted of me recounting in detail every moment of my abduction up to my helicopter rescue. Yablonski hadn’t been kidding—the room was packed with big shots plus a handful of assistants sitting in folding chairs along the wall.
Yablonski led me to the only open seat at the table. Dead center, north side. Although no one took the time to introduce all the individuals seated around the massive table, I recognized a number of faces from Yablonski’s meeting in the Family Dining Room before the winery adventure.
Yablonski had arranged to have food sent up. As I took my seat a butler provided a cloth napkin, then laid out silverware on the table. He placed in front of me a steaming plate of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. “Comfort food,” he whispered. “If you think this is too heavy, I can order in lighter fare.”
“This will be wonderful,” I said. “I’ll eat slowly.”
Though ravenous, I waited for everyone else’s food to arrive, realizing a half-second later that I was the only person at the table being served.
Awkward.
I took a longing look at the plate before me, then dug in.
Louis Del Priore, who had served as Bill’s stand-in at the winery, was the lead interrogator. Between mouthfuls, I answered their questions, describing Kern and Slager, and repeating—to the best I could recall—the conversations they’d shared around me.
I was halfway through the most delicious meal I’d ever consumed—patiently listening to the banter around the table during a questioning lull—when I noticed a folded white paper peeking out from beneath my plate. While the think tank discussed Kern’s likely next move, I slid the paper out and opened it.
From Bucky: Good to have you back, Ace. Enjoy.
My heart swelled as I smiled down at my assistant’s words. What I wouldn’t give to be back in the kitchen right now.
“Ms. Paras?”
I jerked to attention, realizing I’d missed what Louis had asked. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Tell us again—the exact words Kern used—when he talked about the president.”
I slid Bucky’s note into the pocket of the purple scrubs and leaned forward to answer.
An hour or so later, the team either realized I was too physically and mentally exhausted to continue or they’d run out of questions to ask.
“Thank you, Ms. Paras,” Louis said with a nod around the table. “I believe we’re done here.”
The last thing I wanted was to remain in this room a moment longer than necessary, but I had questions of my own.
“What happened to the bomb?” I asked. “Was the team able to defuse it?”
“It is no longer a threat.”
“And the two guys who helped me? Who gave me water?”
Louis made eye contact with a person on my side of the table, to my far left. “They have been provided an explanation that doesn’t jeopardize national security.”
“So you have their names?”
Alarm lit Louis’s face. “You don’t intend to contact them, do you?”
“I still have Jerold’s water bottle. I promised I’d return it. Or at least replace it.”
That garnered a ripple of chuckles. Louis glanced over at one of the assistants behind him. She nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What about the funeral director?” I asked. “Mr. Altergott. Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Fully recovered.”
“I owe that man my life,” I said. “If he hadn’t stepped out the front door just then, I would’ve gotten a full dose and I doubt I’d be here right now.”
Louis scratched his eyebrow as he listened. “Anything else?”
Yablonski had remained standing behind me throughout the meeting. Now he tapped me on the shoulder. “Time to go.”
He pulled my chair out and I got to my feet, slowly. Louis thanked me for my cooperation and his kind words were repeated around the table along with occasional kudos for a job well done.
My body ached from every minute of its thirty-six hours without sleep. I made it almost to the door when I turned. “Wait,” I said remembering to ask the most important question of all. “What happens now?”
Dead silence.
“What I mean is—will you need my help with anything else?”
Louis flexed his jaw. Still, no one spoke.
Yablonski tugged my arm. I ignored him. “To apprehend Kern, I mean.”
Louis cleared his throat. “We will let you know. Thank you again, Ms. Paras.”
Outside the door, I looked up at Yablonski. The older man’s eyes held pity and concern. “Can I go home now?”
“No, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “You can’t.”
CHAPTER 33
“Where are we going, then?” I asked.
“Sleep first, talk later,” Yablonski said as he led me around the Cabinet Room and out the door to the West Colonnade. Outside it was gray with heavy cloud cover and a sharp wind. He put an arm around my shoulders. “You have to be freezing in that light clothing.”
I allowed myself to lean a little against his hefty build. “It’s not so bad.” Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled far to the south, past the Washington Monument. Glancing over the Rose Garden as it began to rain, I suppressed a shiver. “Would have been a lot worse for me if we’d had this weather overnight. I guess I got lucky, didn’t I?”
Yablonski tugged tighter. “You really are something,” he said.
We walked a little farther. “Let me ask you again: Where are we going?”
“The First Family is back at Camp David,” he whispered. “But that information’s classified, so don’t tell anyone.”