by Jan Gangsei
“I have something else for you,” her mother said.
She held out her hand. Two jade chandelier earrings sat on her palm.
“These were Grandma Chan’s,” she said. “Actually, they belonged to Grandma Chan’s great-great-grandma. They’re very old, and they’ve been in our family a long, long time. I think they’d look perfect with this dress. I want you to have them.”
Addie gazed at the earrings, suddenly unable to speak. They didn’t belong to her. She shouldn’t want them. And yet, she ached to put on the delicate green chandeliers and see how they looked.
“Here. Try them on.” Before she could protest, her mother slid the earrings into Addie’s ears.
Addie stared at her reflection. She looked like a stranger. A girl who had never been stuffed in a trunk, had never learned what happened when the horrors of the world were unleashed on innocents. What if she just kept on being that girl? What would happen?
“Yep,” Liz said with a smirk. “Darrow isn’t going to know what hit him.…”
“Mom!”
“I’m just saying,” her mother said. “You never know…maybe he’s the one.”
“I’m not sure there’s such a thing as ‘the one,’” Addie said.
“Of course there is,” Liz said. “Look at me and your dad. Twenty-five years and still going strong.”
Addie’s heart stuttered. “And all that time, you never doubted it?” she asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Of course not,” Liz said. “I’ve never doubted my love for your father.”
“So there’s never been anyone else?” Addie blurted out. “Ever?”
“That’s an odd question,” Liz said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I guess,” Addie said. “Seems like lots of people I meet, their parents aren’t together anymore. Like Darrow’s. Just trying to understand. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Liz said. “I hope you’ll always feel comfortable asking me anything that’s on your mind. And I’ll answer you as best I can. Deal?”
“Deal,” Addie said.
“So, to answer your question…” Liz said.
Addie held her breath.
“Of course I dated before I married your father. But after—no, there’s never been anyone else.” Liz diverted her eyes from Addie for a moment before smiling. “It’s always been Mark.”
“Of course,” Addie said. She faked a yawn. She’d heard enough. “I’m getting tired. I think I’d like to get changed and head back to bed. Thanks for everything, Mom.”
“Oh, Addie.” Liz hugged her daughter. “I was hoping we could play dress-up and gossip all night. But I understand. I’m getting tired, too.”
“Okay. Thanks again, Mom.”
“No, thank you, honey,” Liz said. “It’s been so good. Talking to you like this. We should make this a regular date. This was just what I needed.”
“Yeah,” Addie said. “Me too.”
It was exactly what Addie needed.
A reminder that her mother was nothing but a liar.
The next day after school, Addie sat in the president’s study. Her laptop was open on the coffee table, but she was staring past it at the television on the wall, where live news coverage of a White House press conference was under way. President Webster stood at the podium, flanked by American flags, the White House emblem displayed on the blue wall behind his head.
He addressed the room full of reporters, but looked straight at the camera.
“Thank you for being here today,” he said. “As you know, we have been pursuing leads in the recent attacks on our nation’s capital, carried out by a group calling themselves Cerberus. The perpetrators of these attacks believed they could use fear tactics to chip away at our core values. But they will never win. Today, I’m pleased to announce we’ve made a significant breakthrough in our investigation, with the arrest of an individual linked to the cowardly attack at the Reagan International Trade Center.”
Addie sat up straight. An arrest? A murmur worked its way through the crowd of reporters. Questions began to erupt from the front row.
Mr. President, how were you able to identify the suspect? Mr. President, can you give us a name? What is the alleged attacker’s background?
“Jonathan will get to your questions in a moment,” the president said, nodding toward his press secretary. “But first, I’d like to introduce FBI Director Justin Lassiter, who with the help of local law enforcement apprehended the suspect this morning, as he attempted to board a plane to Mexico at Reagan National.”
Addie took several deep breaths through her nose as President Webster moved to the side and Lassiter took the podium. He placed a sheet of paper on top.
“Thank you, Mr. President, sir,” he said and began reading from his notes. “At ten twenty-six this morning, we apprehended Tyler Randall, nineteen years old and of no fixed address, in connection with the attack on the Republican fund-raiser at the Reagan International Trade Center. Mr. Randall has been positively identified as the employee who was seen fleeing the room just moments before the artificial bomb detonated. Mr. Randall is now in custody and is being questioned. His laptop has been sent to the FBI forensics unit to extract any data that can lead us to other members of the Cerberus organization.” He stopped reading and cleared his throat. “We believe today’s arrest marks a significant turning point for the investigation into these attacks, and expect more developments to be forthcoming. Thank you, Mr. President, for the opportunity to speak, and to the members of the press for being here today.”
The director folded up his paper, stuck it in his suit pocket, and stepped away from the podium with a nod. Press Secretary Jonathan Waite moved behind it.
“Thank you, Director Lassiter,” Waite said, and turned to address the reporters. “I am happy to answer any questions you may have at this time.”
A reporter with long black hair in the front row raised her hand.
“Yes, Anne,” Waite said.
“Thank you,” she answered. “Do you believe that the suspect in custody, Mr. Randall, is tied to all three attacks? And if not, do you believe he can lead you to the people who are responsible?”
Waite nodded. “Yes, we have good reason to believe Mr. Randall played a key role in the Cerberus organization, and based on what we’ve learned from him so far, we expect more arrests will be forthcoming.”
More murmurs and hands being raised. Waite gestured at another reporter. Addie squinted at the television in disbelief.
The man stood. “So, does the administration believe that the threat has passed?”
“I believe we have Cerberus on the run,” Waite responded. “And it’s just a matter of time before we dismantle the entire organization.”
Addie couldn’t take any more. She flicked off the television. There was only one person who held all the power, and he would never let himself be known to someone like Randall.
She sucked in a breath and considered making contact. But suddenly it felt too risky. So she walked into the hall, where Christina was perched like a sentry. Addie didn’t think she’d ever get used to dragging a Secret Service agent with her everywhere she went. At least it wasn’t forever.
“Hey, Christina,” she said.
“How’s it going?” Alvarez answered.
“Good,” Addie said. “How long till I’m expected upstairs?”
“You’ve got about an hour,” Alvarez said.
“Enough time for a run?” Addie asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Alvarez said. “We can hit the track.”
“Oh,” Addie said. “I was sort of hoping we could go somewhere more interesting instead. Like the Tidal Basin or the Mall. I’m starting to feel a little cooped up here.”
“Sorry, Ad,” Alvarez said. “Takes a little more planning to do an off-premises run. We can’t just have you out there in the open without proper protection in place.”
“Of course.” Addie could only imagine. The Secret
Service would probably have to shut down all of D.C. just so she could take a jog. “The track it is,” she said. “Beats the treadmill.”
Addie changed, and she and Alvarez exited through the glass doors of the Oval Office onto the South Lawn. A quarter-mile track circled the grounds, weaving its way between the gardens and trees, passing the tennis courts and swimming pool. Addie extended each leg one at a time and stretched her hamstrings. She sucked in a breath of spring air and raised her arms over her head, leaning from side to side. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a running path along a river through the woods, or a sandy beach, but it would do.
“See ya,” Addie said with a little salute to Alvarez.
Alvarez nodded. “Enjoy your run.”
Addie took off, feet flying and arms pumping. She had never been good at starting slow. Within minutes, her heart was pounding and sweat was beading on her neck. But she didn’t let up. Soon, the endorphin rush would kick in. Her ragged breathing would yield to a runner’s high.
And Addie would feel truly alive.
As she rounded her first lap, it occurred to Addie that her running skills might look a little too good for someone who’d been locked up for eight years. So she slowed her pace and let her mind go blank. Third, fourth, fifth lap. Addie listened to the birds chirping. The White House became a colorless blur that melted into the blue sky. Just another cloud, drifting along the horizon.
As Addie circled the track an eighth and final time, she paused by the east exit, inspecting the tall wrought-iron gate that kept the world out. Or did it lock her in? She wasn’t sure anymore. For a split second, she wondered how high she’d need to jump in order to clear it. One good running start, and she would fly right over.
The muscles in her calves twitched as she remembered the last fence she’d jumped. Security had been terrible at that airport. The place was utter chaos. A jumble of people and luggage all clogged around customs, carts banging into each other, babies screaming. Addie had sailed through the lobby and right out the front doors before anyone had realized she was gone. But there had been nowhere to go. The ocean on all sides. Endless sky above.
She had stopped, surrounded by infinite blue. She was twelve. Alone. As she stared out at the ocean, she’d wondered if freedom smelled like the sea, all salt and fish and sun. If waves could cradle you in their arms and sweep you away somewhere safe. But just then a seagull had screeched overhead, startling her, and in its plaintive wail she’d heard the sound of Mikey’s screams as the belt hit his skin. That was the moment she knew she couldn’t do it.
There was no escape.
There never would be.
The waves would only crush her, until her lungs were filled with water and she could no longer breathe.
So she had turned around and run straight back, to the man she called Father. No, she didn’t just call him Father. In that moment, she knew it was useless to try to deny it anymore. He was her father. And nothing would change that fact, no matter how far she might go.
Addie was jolted from her thoughts by the sound of someone yelling her name.
“Addie! Addie! Get down!”
Addie turned to see Alvarez running straight toward her, gun drawn, arms and legs pumping double time. Addie froze.
“I said, get down!” Alvarez yelled again. What? Did Alvarez think she was trying to escape? Was she getting ready to shoot her? But before Addie could even process what was happening, the Secret Service agent was on Addie’s back, knocking her flat to the ground. Something whooshed overhead. Addie looked up in time to see what looked like a child’s toy airplane fly directly over them and skid to a stop in the grass beyond the track. Alvarez shouted into her mouthpiece.
“We’ve got a breach,” she said. “Drone on the South Lawn. Unknown whether device is armed.”
Alvarez grabbed Addie’s arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Let’s go!” she said, not even giving Addie time to wipe away the gravel lodged in her palms. They sprinted across the lawn as Secret Service agents rushed out of the White House in the direction of the drone.
Just then the device exploded, sending a twist of bloodred smoke into the sky above it. Addie screamed. The Secret Service agents stopped in their tracks. Their earpieces buzzed. But instead of a message from the central office, a different voice broke into the communicators.
“You have been warned.”
McQueen sat at his desk. It was after midnight, but the retired general wasn’t going anywhere—not until he’d figured out what these assholes were playing at. Today, they’d flown an unmanned drone over the White House fence and onto the South Lawn. McQueen figured the jerkoffs would be dancing in the streets after pulling off that stunt, especially since the drone had crash-landed right next to the president’s daughter. But instead of sending out the usual after-the-fact missives to the press, Cerberus had suddenly gone dead silent. It didn’t make sense.
Of course, President Webster and his close advisors were already declaring victory amongst themselves, convinced they had the hacktivists on the run. The boy in custody was giving up names fast and furious. FBI agents were already getting warrants for more arrests. And the forensics lab was dismantling the kid’s computer, extracting all the data from the hard drive.
But the whole thing made McQueen suspicious. It was too neat, wrapped up like a Christmas present with a pretty red bow on top. There was no way that the kid the FBI had downtown was Dantes, nor was he likely to know his identity. And nothing McQueen had ever observed about Cerberus or its elusive leader had indicated that the next move would be to just…go away.
McQueen went back to his files, once again opening the e-mails and texts Cerberus had sent to the media after the fund-raiser, Metro, and Beltway attacks. He lined them all up side by side and began the long process of tracing their original IP addresses. Again. Just like before, they pinged all over the globe, leading McQueen nowhere.
Except, hold on…he squinted at the screen and rubbed his eyes. A pattern was emerging. Breathless, he traced another e-mail. Bingo. McQueen smiled to himself.
Maybe they weren’t so careful after all. Maybe they’d gotten a little too cocky—and had finally left a trail that would lead McQueen right to their front door.
Michael had to grab the laptop to keep it from sliding off the table as the Gulfstream G650 banked left, beginning its final descent. Outside his window, the stone and marble monuments of the most powerful city in the world grew closer. The plane turned, running parallel with the Potomac River below. The cabin smelled like coffee, and Michael felt someone’s hot breath on his neck.
“Any updates?” his father asked, leaning over Michael’s shoulder.
“No,” Michael said.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Father,” Michael said, bristling at the words. He was tired of always being second-guessed. Of course he was certain. He wasn’t stupid. But it had been three days since her last communication. Michael was getting nervous. If something had happened, if something had gone wrong, she wasn’t here, but he was…Michael carefully weighed his next words.
“Do you think she’s been compromised?” he said. “Could that guy actually have told them something useful?”
The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Please take your seats, fasten your seat belts, and prepare for landing.”
Michael’s father stood up straight and walked to the leather seat opposite his son. He sat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and leaned back, thinking. Michael and his father were the only two passengers on this private jet, which had spent the night hurtling across the Atlantic. Their breakfast dishes, half-eaten croissants, and empty coffee cups were still scattered across the table. No one would come by to clean them up until after they had landed and deplaned. Michael’s father didn’t like to travel with more than the bare minimum for a crew, which generally meant just a pilot, co-pilot, and flight attendant if necessary. The more outsiders you let into your circle, the harder they were t
o control. Michael’s father was very careful about who he gave access to, within the top levels of Cerberus. It was important not to place trust in the wrong people, especially now.
Michael was used to it, though. The paranoia. The precautions. The world was a dangerous place. And this plane was their second home. Maybe their first, really. His father had associates all over the globe—most of whom, like Michael’s dad, preferred to keep their meetings private.
“No,” his father finally said. “The busboy doesn’t know anything. I’m certain of that. And forensics won’t find anything on his computer, either. I made sure. Hopefully your sister is just being careful. We’re reaching the final stages and we have a lot at stake here. I don’t think I need to remind you of that.” The tattoo on Michael’s back throbbed like a phantom limb. Three heads growling at him at once, mouths open, fangs bared.
“No, you don’t.” Michael began to type. The screen in front of him changed, a string of messages from their members. Father had always handled communication with the rest of the organization, but he’d turned more of it over to Michael in the last few weeks, especially as their attacks on D.C. had escalated. Michael read, the color draining from his face.
“We have a problem,” he said, shakily spinning the computer around. His father’s expression hardened.
“She should have told us,” he said flatly.
“So what do we do?” Michael asked.
The plane hit the runway with a jolt and slowed to a stop. Outside the window, Michael could see the Washington Monument and Jefferson Memorial silhouetted against the pale blue early morning sky. His father turned and watched the scene outside for a moment, too. When he shifted his gaze back to Michael, his face was cold.
“We fix it,” his father said.
Darrow was stuffing books into his backpack, getting ready for another day at school, when his phone buzzed. He glanced down. An e-mail alert from his White House account. He tapped the screen and cringed. McQueen.
Situation has changed. Meet me in my office. 8:15 A.M. Urgent.