by Jan Gangsei
Voices drifted in from the kitchen, where Father was meeting with one of his top lieutenants. The group’s inner circle was small—only the vetted few who could be trusted face-to-face. But the ranks of foot soldiers were in the hundreds, scattered over the globe, united by their superior hacking skills and the knowledge that the security of the world relied on them. And now, Michael was their point man.
He stood and walked to her computer. With a jiggle of the mouse, the screen popped to life. He tapped his long fingers over the keyboard, posting an update to the others. Phase one of the plan had gone off without a hitch. Phases two and three were being coordinated. And by the time the final phase launched, the Webster administration wouldn’t know what had hit it. Michael set up a new secure chat area in preparation. Ha. Not even difficult, either. For the first time in nearly a week, he smiled. Who said she was the best, anyway?
So what if he missed her. Maybe it was okay that she wasn’t here. Maybe he was actually better off with her gone.
Finally, he would have his chance.
The chance to prove, once and for all, that he was the better one.
Addie pulled a book from the shelf, sat in a chair, and tried to read. Her mom was opposite her on the sofa, computer in her lap. The president sat in another chair, glued to his smartphone, as he had been most of the weekend. And Mackenzie was sprawled on the floor clicking Legos into place, tongue poking from the side of her mouth in concentration.
The family was gathered in the study of their Clifton, Virginia, estate, taking a reprieve from the intense media glare back in D.C. Not that it made much difference. President Webster had been fielding phone calls from his advisors nonstop. Even though the administration had been riding high on a wave of positive public sentiment, thanks in large part to Addie, the attack on the Republican fund-raiser had cast a pall over her miraculous return. The president’s opponents smelled blood in the water and they were circling, calling the administration’s insistence that the attack was an isolated incident both foolish and naïve.
Addie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Even though it had been her suggestion to spend the weekend at her childhood home, being here made Addie feel like Alice after she tumbled down the rabbit hole. The kitchen countertops seemed too short, the bookshelves too low; her bed was too small and narrow. Of course, Addie knew logically that it was only because she had grown. But somehow, it felt like everything else had shrunk instead, and if she blinked for too long the walls would close in on her. She needed a distraction.
Addie put down her book and nodded in her sister’s direction.
“Whatcha making there, Mackenzie?” she said.
Mackenzie held up an airplane and flew it back and forth.
“Cool,” Addie said.
On closer inspection, she could see it was Air Force One. The miniature Boeing 747 was an exact replica, right down to the American flag on the tail, the thick blue stripe on the side with UNITED STATES OF AMERICA emblazoned above, and the Presidential Seal. Well, it was an exact replica except for the left wing, which was still in a pile of gray blocks around Mackenzie’s feet. She pulled open the plane’s tiny door and pointed inside.
“See? This is where Daddy sits,” she said. “He has an office in there. So does Mommy. And guess what?”
“What?” Addie said.
“They can even put fuel in the plane while it’s flying, so Daddy doesn’t have to stop!” Mackenzie said, eyes wide. “It could stay in the air forever if it had to.”
“Seriously?” Addie said. “That’s really awesome. I didn’t know that.”
“Anything you need to know about Air Force One, just ask Mackie. She’s our resident expert,” the president said. “Possibly knows more about it than my pilots.”
Mackenzie smiled and nodded. It was one of the first smiles Addie had seen on her sister’s face since she’d arrived home. It was like a little burst of sunshine. Addie couldn’t help but smile back. She looked at the hundreds of tiny blocks that made up Mackenzie’s toy. “I bet that took forever to build.”
“Six hours and twenty-five minutes, actually,” Mackenzie said. “So far.”
“Hey,” Addie said. “I’ve got an idea. Want to take a break for one of those minutes and play a game with me?”
“Okay.” Mackenzie set her plane down on the floor. “But can we play for longer than one minute?” she asked.
Addie grinned. “Sure. But you’ll probably beat me in less than a minute. My game skills are a little rusty.”
“What does that mean?” Mackenzie said.
“Means I haven’t played in a while,” Addie said.
“Oh.” Mackenzie stuck the Legos in the box and put it back in its place on the shelf. Her small hand ran across a row of board games. Monopoly. The Game of Life. Chutes and Ladders. She stopped at Connect Four. Addie’s heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
“This is a good one,” Mackenzie said, pulling the old box out.
“Yeah.” Addie nodded, trying to swallow down the memory that was creeping up as a lump in her throat. “That used to be my favorite, too.”
Addie and Mackenzie sat down in leather chairs opposite each other at a walnut poker table. Mackenzie sorted the checkers while Addie clicked the plastic grid into place. Not easy when her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. What was wrong with her? She really needed to pull herself together. Addie glanced back toward her parents. Thankfully, they weren’t watching. For once.
“What color do you want?” Mackenzie said.
“You choose,” Addie answered.
Mackenzie shoved the red checkers across the table. “I’ll be black,” she said. “Black goes first.”
“Right,” Addie said. “Smoke before fire, isn’t that what they say?”
Mackenzie scrunched her face. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “You can’t have smoke without a fire.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense,” Addie said.
“I like things to make sense,” Mackenzie answered.
“Yeah, me too.” Too bad they rarely did. Addie secured the latch on the bottom of the grid. “Your move.”
Mackenzie dropped a black checker in the center. It clacked all the way down to the bottom row. Addie followed suit, dropping a red right next to it. Suddenly, her heart began to thump loudly in her ears. She shook her head. She had to get a grip. Mackenzie placed another checker, eyes squinting in concentration. They took turns and the grid filled.
But as each piece fell into place with a scrape and click, Addie’s heartbeat grew even louder. She picked up another checker with a shaking hand and dropped it in, paying no attention to where it fell.
Clink, clack, went the checker.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, went her heart.
Addie put her hands over her ears. Make. It. Stop.
Mackenzie smirked, holding a black checker above the board. Clink, clack…
Click.
Mackenzie’s checker fell into place. Four in a row.
“I win!” she said.
The pounding in Addie’s ears got so loud she couldn’t hear anything else. Her vision blurred, and all at once the only thing she could see in her mind’s eye was the grid toppling, checkers flying through the air, a set of small feet pounding down the hallway.
And the hand.
The hand that had reached out of the darkness and clamped over her face, silencing her scream, making Addie’s world go black.
Addie let out a gasp and stood, pushing her chair away from the table, not able to speak. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breaths came out short and stuttering.
“Hey,” Mackenzie said. “Where are you going?”
Addie slowly backed up to the couch and sat opposite her mother, trying to keep from hyperventilating.
“Addie?” Her mother glanced up from the computer screen. “Are you okay?”
Addie was anything but okay. She nodded anyway.
Mackenzie scowled, her tiny face just a half-moon peeki
ng from above the big card table. “Just ’cause you didn’t win doesn’t mean you can leave,” she said. “You’ve got to help me clean up.”
“In a minute,” Addie said. She rubbed her eyes. She was still seeing spots. And the car trunk in which she’d woken up, covered by a heavy blanket. Her lungs squeezed tight like they were fists preparing to throw a punch.
“Mom,” Mackenzie whined, “that’s not fair. When you play a game, you’re supposed to help clean up. Tell her to help clean up!”
Addie’s mother and the president gave each other a look. The look. The one they’d been giving each other ever since Addie had come home. The one Addie hated. The one that said the words they didn’t dare say out loud: that Addie was broken, lost. A shell of her former self. A victim. Forever ruined.
“Mackenzie,” her mom said, putting her computer on the coffee table. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. Your sister just needs a minute.”
“No,” Addie said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and forcing a smile. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t lost. She was stronger than all of them. She exhaled and willed herself to get up and sit back down at the card table with her little sister.
“I’m fine. Got a little dizzy when I stood up too fast. That’s all,” she said, scooping checkers haphazardly into the box. “Mac’s right. I should help.” But the pounding in her ears just wouldn’t let up. Or the voice that came along with it.
Play fair, little one.…
She glanced at the clock and her heart stopped. It was five minutes past six. Where had the time gone? She was late. And she could not be late.
“Thanks for the game,” Addie said quickly, her pulse racing. “I’m going to go rest for a little while before dinner, if that’s okay.”
“Of course, honey,” her mother said. “Don’t forget, Cheryl and Darrow are coming to join us. But if you’re not up for guests, we can cancel.”
“No, I can’t wait to see them,” Addie said. “Please don’t cancel.”
Addie slipped into the hall, managing only four steps before she broke into a sprint. The stairs were straight ahead. She took them two at a time and ran down the hall toward her bedroom. She paused, willing herself to breathe normally, chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. She strode across the room, past her old twin bed to the window on the other side, and climbed onto the seat below. She slid the glass up and a rush of cool air washed over her, sending goose bumps down her bare arms.
It was already dusk, and the trees in the distance were beginning to fade into the darkening sky. Addie was terrified—she was already five minutes late, and he despised tardiness. But she was even more terrified of what would happen if she didn’t make it at all. Failure wasn’t an option. And she had no one to blame but herself. With one last glance over her shoulder and another deep breath, she slipped out of the window to the branches of the old oak tree outside and shimmied down. When her bare feet hit the ground, she didn’t look back. She just ran, fast and hard, as though her life depended on it. Because it did.
The house disappeared behind Addie as her feet pounded against the gravel road. She was only eight, but she was fast. And smart. So why had he left the boy to watch her? He was only nine himself. Shy and nervous. Addie’s breath fogged in the cold air. There’d been no time to grab a jacket. She’d sent the boy into her room for a chocolate bar. He loved chocolate. But as soon as he’d gone in, she’d locked the door behind him and started running. It was dark outside. She could barely make out the road. Still, she ran, until the flash of headlights blinded her and she froze. Tires crunched against the gravel along the edge as the car rolled to a stop. Addie’s knees shook and tears stung her eyes.
No no no no no—
The driver’s side door swung open and she heard a low, familiar voice.
“Where do you think you’re going, little one?”
And just like that, a pair of cold hands pulled her kicking and screaming back into the nightmare that her life had become.
The wheels of Darrow’s BMW Z4 hugged the curves of the road as he drove toward Clifton. He’d always had a love-hate relationship with this car. It was too showy in all the wrong ways: deep red, with rich leather seats, elongated hood, convertible top. A real look-at-me car if ever there was one, and Darrow wanted to be noticed for who he was, not what he drove. The engine might be a quiet purr, but the statement the car made was loud and clear: he was untouchable. And not a day passed that he wasn’t reminded of it, of where he might be now if it weren’t for his mother’s money and power.
But right now, he was grateful for the roadster’s tight turn radius. The shoulderless road leading to the Webster estate snaked through the tall trees like a discarded ribbon, barely wide enough for one car, let alone two. He eased around a hairpin turn, a little too fast. The tires squealed. His mother, who was tapping her smartphone in the passenger seat next to him, glanced up and gave Darrow a look.
His mother was the master of silent messages. She didn’t have to say anything to communicate that she knew exactly why he was speeding. And that he’d better slow down.
Darrow eased up on the gas pedal. He had waited a long time for this. So why couldn’t he let himself feel excited? All he felt was a swirl of anxiety. As they approached the Webster estate, he could barely make out the roofline amid the tall trees that surrounded the house. He and Addie had spent countless days at this country home when Mark Webster had been the governor of Virginia. Darrow’s thoughts flashed back to the forest—running through it with Addie, going down to the creek to collect frogs and tadpoles, playing hide-and-seek under the leafy trees, with Elinor a half step behind, if she managed to catch them at all before they ran off into the woods. But it felt unreal somehow. Like peering into a stranger’s living room window from a passing car, a fleeting glimpse into a life that wasn’t his own. Not anymore, at
least.
His thoughts shifted to Addie, strong and defiant on the television screen days earlier. But even she didn’t seem quite real up there either. Too stiff and scripted, not the Addie that Darrow remembered. More like an Addie puppet, invisible strings controlling her every move.
Darrow turned onto a gravel driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the Websters’ gates. A Secret Service agent sat in a small booth to the left. He approached the driver’s side of the car. Darrow lowered his window.
“Good evening, sir,” the agent said.
“Good evening,” Darrow answered. He held out two IDs. “Darrow and Cheryl Fergusson.”
“Yes. Welcome, sir; ma’am,” the agent answered. “The president and first family are expecting you. Please come in.”
The agent returned to the booth, and the heavy wrought-iron gates swung open. Darrow drove through and eased into the long circular driveway, pulling up in front of the house. It was farmhouse style, yellow with white trim and a front porch dotted with Adirondack chairs. Where the White House was grand and intimidating, the Webster estate was grand but cozy: it was all window seats with paisley cushions, reading nooks, and fireplaces. There were plenty of places to play and hide. Darrow and Addie had spent countless hours curled up in corners of the house, reading their favorite books and playing make-believe.
Darrow stepped from the car and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for his mother. They climbed the front porch steps in silence, Darrow’s heart rate accelerating. He was finally going to see Addie again. Before he could lift a hand to knock, the front door swung open.
“Darrow, Cheryl, come on in.” It was President Webster, ushering them into the bright warmth of the foyer. He was out of his usual blue suit with its crisp white shirt and tie, instead dressed in country casual—a light sweater, jeans, and leather driving shoes.
Cheryl gave the president a hug and stepped inside the foyer. Darrow shook his hand and followed his mother inside, eyes casting around for a glimpse of Addie.
“She’s still in her room,” the president said. “Wanted a little quiet time b
efore dinner.”
“Yes,” Cheryl said. “I’m sorry, we’re a bit early.…”
“It’s no problem,” the president said. “Please, make yourselves at home in the living room. Liz and Mackenzie are in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dessert. I’ll get Addie. Actually…” He paused. “Why don’t you get her, Darrow? She’s really been looking forward to seeing you.”
“She has?” Darrow’s heart unexpectedly leapt into his throat. He swallowed hard.
“She has,” President Webster said. “You remember where her room is, right? Top of the stairs, to the left at the end of the hall.”
“I remember,” Darrow said. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“I’m sure,” the president said, giving him a gentle smile. “Go ahead. It’ll give your mother and me a chance to discuss a few things before dinner.”
Darrow nodded and headed up the hardwood stairs leading to the second floor. He could hear his mother and the president begin talking about the attack on the Republican fund-raiser. When he reached the top, he could see Addie’s closed bedroom door at the very end. He took a tentative step. And then another. He could almost hear the echo of his and Addie’s laughter in every creak of the hardwood floor.
You can’t catch me, Dare! You’ll never find me! Double-dog Dare you!
He stopped at the end and knocked gently on the door. “Addie?”
No answer.
He knocked a little louder.
“Ad, are you in there? It’s me.…” He cleared his throat. His voice had dropped an octave since the last time they’d talked. She probably didn’t even recognize it. “It’s me, Darrow. Your dad asked me to get you.”
Still no answer.
Darrow wondered if she was still sleeping. He hated to wake her up, but…oh, the hell with it. Darrow grabbed the doorknob, not aware his palms were sweating until they slipped on the metal. All at once he was nine years old again, pushing open the hatch to an empty tree house. He wiped his hand on his pants, pinched his eyes shut and open, then turned the handle and opened the door.