Snapshot

by Camryn King

  “If you want me to handle the Wade issue—”

  “No,” Van Dijk held up a hand. “I’ll talk with Becker, send an agent from the group. There are several men who can handle that action. You’re the only one I trust with this job.”

  No matter the praise, Zeke felt he’d been demoted. He hid the disappointment behind a professional façade. “Where is the family settling, sir?”

  “Springfield, Missouri. You might be somewhat familiar. It’s close to a military base.”

  “Fort Leonard Wood, sir. Yes, I’m familiar. What about this family? Would I recognize their names?”

  Van Dijk shook his head. “The Kyvas are well known in Europe. Their sons are rock stars in the world of tech. They’re coming here to set up a major telecommunications installation and have purchased five-hundred acres outside of town. Everything will be housed on this land, including the estate that will be built to their orders. Until then, it will be your job, and that of your team, to secure living quarters that are safe and befitting their billionaire status.”

  “Team, sir?”

  “Yes. I called a buddy of mine who works at Fort Hood. He said he’d loan you a few hardheads if there’s a need.”

  “Are you sure about my ending the Wade surveillance? I wouldn’t want to leave a job if there is any doubt that it has not been properly completed.”

  “Put together a report with all the information you uncovered, contact information, locations, information on her family. Email that over within forty-eight hours. After that, your dealings with that situation is done.”

  Van Dijk looked at his watch and stood. “And so is this meeting. I have a wife who’s had dinner alone for almost two weeks. If I stand her up with this dinner reservation, someone else might be eliminated.”

  “A few more questions, Mr. Van Dijk. Do you know when the family is arriving, and how long I’ll be working with them? If possible, I’d like to take a few days to handle the relocation.”

  “I’ll have Cassie send over the details. Work out the schedule and forward the moving expenses to her.”

  Zeke stood, and held out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Van Dijk.”

  “You’re welcome, Foster.”

  Zeke left the building, feeling conflicted. Wade, a threat to national security? A subversive who might need to be killed? Where could that information have come from? And why did hearing it make him feel so uneasy? Zeke pulled out his shades as he walked into the sunshine. He’d been officially relieved from surveilling Wade, so it was time to put that whole thing behind him. Whoever she was, whatever she did, Kennedy Wade was no longer his problem.

  21

  Kennedy made it through the week but as she lay awake early on Saturday morning there was only one thought: she couldn’t keep living this way. Kennedy knew that this kind of stress at this continuous level was not healthy. She was beginning to feel the toll it was taking. Trouble sleeping. No appetite. Lost weight. High anxiety. Strained friendships. Maybe Gwen was right. Seeing a therapist or counselor couldn’t hurt her. But seeing someone professionally wouldn’t get rid of the problem. The problem was the pictures she’d taken in the Bahamas, and accidentally captured Van Dijk, owner of the conservative TBC Network, enthusiastically engaged in gay sex.

  What are you going to do with what you’ve been given?

  The longer the saga played out the more obvious seemed to be the only answer. The pictures had to be published. Not for judgment, though they would surely be judged. Not for scandal, though this would likely be one of the most embarrassing moments in the history of media. Kennedy wasn’t a fan of the network, in fact she abhorred it. But that wouldn’t be the reason, either. In the past ten years, Van Dijk had doubled his company’s ownership of television and radio stations, and with a series of bloggers and websites, was staking claim to a large percentage of those online. His divisive, judgmental, non-compassionate message was reaching an increasingly insensitive audience. They were being fueled by his rhetoric, convinced of the “other.” Largely due to his network’s narrative, rights for women and people of color had been rolled back to before the Civil Rights movement. Gay marriage was on the verge of being repealed. He constantly criticized same-sex relationships while he secretly practiced the same. In short, he was a hypocrite. That’s why Kennedy had no choice but to make those shots public. America, the viewers who loved him and what his network stood for, deserved to know the truth.

  The physical reaction was surprising but once the decision was made, Kennedy’s whole body relaxed. She’d spent this entire time until now afraid of what would happen if she released the pictures. The moment she considered what would happen if she didn’t, and decided to proceed, fear melted away. There was only one problem. Even though her career was centered in news and publishing, handling something as big as this was out of her league. She knew someone though who might have some answers.

  After a quick shower and an even briefer chat with Lydia, Kennedy headed out the door with her computer and the anti-surveillance detector. She’d copied her hard drive on to a flash drive last night before coming home. With Logan’s no longer in his possession, Kennedy wanted at least one more person on earth to have it—the person she was getting ready to call. To be on the safe side she’d also purchased another temporary phone. If anyone heard the conversation she was about to have, this plan, maybe even her life, would be over.

  She swept her car, inside and out, then headed toward Lakeshore Drive. It was a beautiful morning. She imagined the area she had in mind to stop at would be filled with like-minded people ready to take advantage of the cooler, early-morning temperatures and soak up some sun. For Kennedy that was part of it. The other part was that with so many people, translated witnesses around, the fewer her chances of being attacked or worse at the hands of her phantom Jack Sutton. On the way to the lake she stopped for a latte and feeling the appetite that had eluded her for the past couple weeks bypassed a plain bagel for a breakfast sandwich. Back in the car, she slipped a self-compiled CD into the slot, some of her favorite ladies who gave her strength, reminded her who she was, and made her proud to spell her name W-O-M-A-N. Lauryn and Jill, Erykah and Alicia, India and Bey. By the time she parked and tapped her Bluetooth, Kennedy was ready for the revolution.

  “Ken!”

  “Hey, Tamara. Is it too early to call?”

  “It’s never too early to talk to a friend. How are you?”

  “Actually, better than I’ve been in a while.”

  “That’s good to hear. What happened?”

  “I made a decision.” Kennedy paused. Once she said the words out loud, shit would get real. “I’m going to sell the pictures.”

  “Okay. What’s the plan?”

  Kennedy released a nervous chuckle. “Actually, that’s why I called you. I’ve got several contacts in the industry but none at the caliber I think will be needed to either navigate or negotiate what’s about to take place.”

  “I may be able to help you. Well, not me so much. My fi-ancé, Ryan. He’s very well-connected in New York, especially Manhattan. He knows people. If he doesn’t have a name to give you, he knows someone who does.”

  “Thanks, Tamara. It’s amazing to not feel as though I’m doing this all by myself.”

  “That’s much too great a burden for you to try and bear alone. Speaking of, where are you now?”

  “By the lake, just off Lakeshore Drive.”

  “Do you feel safe where you are, Kennedy? Not just right now, but I mean where you work, where you’re staying. Say the word and I’ll get the guest room ready.”

  “Ah, thank you, Tamara. That means everything, really. Right now, I feel relatively safe.” Kennedy told her about the sweeping device. “I also talked to my roommate and gave her a heads up about anyone coming by, asking for me, asking questions, anything like that.”

  “How well do you know this roommate?”

  “I don’t, really. I answered her ad looking for a roommate on Home2Home.”
r />   “Jesus, Kennedy!”

  “I thought it was a smart move, to go somewhere without a history. If whoever’s after me can’t find me, their next stop will be my friends. I signed up under an assumed name and made sure there was nothing out there connecting me to the address. Although, that veil of secrecy is no doubt off now. Someone placed a tracking device on my car. I found it this week.”

  “Kennedy, you can’t stay there.”

  “Tamara, please. I just stopped being scared.”

  “It’s not about being scared. It’s about being smart, careful, and totally aware of the shark-filled waters you’re swimming in. I know that man. I worked for him. He is ruthless and has no conscience. Do not underestimate how far he’ll go to not be found out.”

  When it came to Van Dijk and the people around him, Kennedy wouldn’t put anything past them. For anyone who would do or authorize what had been done to her in the past two months, there were no rules. No boundaries. No conscience. She couldn’t afford to take any chances. Once she was safely in Grand Cayman, Kennedy would find a private investigator to look into who was looking into her. But she’d do it from outside the country.

  That night, after talking to Tamara, Kennedy stopped at the Overnight Carrier office and sent off the flash drive containing her copied files. She sent the package overnight, insured and requesting a signature. Though not religious, she said a little prayer that the drive would arrive safely. Back at the office for the next week and a half, there was little chance to think about it. Long hours made the days go fast. Production was in overdrive as they prepared stories for the weekly website and readied the September issue for publication. Those working on the magazine developed a rhythm, with most areas coming together like a well-oiled machine. Even the home front had quieted. After a couple days to think about it, with no further personally delivered envelopes in the mail, Lydia decided she may have overreacted and invited “Kim” to stay. During the whirlwind came a message from Tamara. A high-profile publicist, someone named Dodie Ravinsky, would be giving her a call. That Thursday, after a final push to make the deadline and send the final layout to the printer, Monica suggested the team go out for a drink.

  Once they’d ordered drinks and appetizers, Monica turned to Kennedy. “How does it feel, KW? The first issue totally under your supervision, just put to bed?”

  “Tired,” Kennedy replied.

  “Ha! I hear you. You’ve worked hard, but you’ve done good work. Scott is very impressed.”

  “He saw the layout?”

  “He’s like a vampire, often coming into the office while we’re sleeping to check out the day’s work. The first person we hired was qualified, but she didn’t have the passion, commitment, or innovative eye that you do. You’re a perfect fit, KW. Scott believes we’ve got the team that can take us national, maybe even public. He’s so happy to have you on board. And so am I.”

  Kennedy was touched. “Thanks, Monica. I hope to be laying out issues for a very long time.”

  Monica thanked the sales staff while Fennel showed up with her rocker boyfriend. The group behaved like one big happy family as their drinks arrived and were handed out. When everyone had a glass, Monica lifted hers up and waited while the others followed suit.

  “To Chicago Sightings,” she said proudly, “and the team that rocks.”

  On her way home a call came in, caller unknown. She started not to answer it but quickly changed her mind. This was a temporary phone after all, not on a telemarketer’s radar. The only other people possibly tracking her worked for or at least on behalf of Van Dijk.

  Her voice was light and cheerful as she answered, her mood still lifted by an evening with co-workers. “Hello?”

  “Kennedy Wade.”

  Light followed cheerful right out of the car as a sense of trepidation flowed in. The voice was male, distorted by some type of device. Any caller who felt he had to hide his identity behind a private number and a voice-altering device could not possibly have any news for her that she wanted to hear. She disconnected the call and turned up the music.

  The phone rang again, and then a third time. She ignored it, tried to bring back the feel good on the waves of Logan’s demo that he’d sent to her last week. But the caller had dimmed the lightness she felt. She was lucky to find a parking space just a couple doors down from the apartment. She swept the car, and once inside the apartment, she disassembled the phone the scary call had come in on and pulled out another temporary phone. She did all of that, and still felt uneasy. She’d told Monica her plans to be at the magazine forever. But something about the distorted voice warned that her departure from the city might need to take place very soon.

  22

  The next day Kennedy was on pins and needles. Even though she’d changed phones, she still half-expected to answer the phone and hear a robotic voice on the other end threatening her well-being. As it was, changing her number so quickly threw her life out of whack. The publicist had tried to contact her, unsuccessfully, until Tamara reached out through Kennedy’s email address. A group message finally set her family, friends and workplace straight. Everyone had her new number. For the time being, all was right with the world. Turns out that time lasted exactly an hour, until Fennel greeted her in the hallway with a manila envelope in her hand.

  Later she’d wonder whether it was being overwhelmed with the continual life changes or it being that time of the month that Kennedy barely missed breaking down right there. She rushed into the bathroom, turned the water on and cried. She looked up and stared at the image before her. The red eyes, concealer hiding a sleepless night and tiny worry lines on the side of her eyes. Until now she’d held up nicely, all things considered. In this moment, however, came a wave of real fear. Not that anyone would catch her, but that she wouldn’t be able to hold on to herself. For the first time she gave Gwen’s comment serious consideration. Kennedy felt as though she were going crazy. She needed help.

  Someone rattled the door handle.

  “Just a minute!” Kennedy said, trying and failing to sound alright. She ran cold water and splashed it on her face. After a last look in the mirror and a deep, fortifying breath, she put a smile on her face and opened the door.

  “Jeff!”

  “Hey, KW. You’re just who I was looking for. You got a minute?”

  Kennedy looked at the envelope. “Um, sure.”

  “We can talk later. Matter of fact, why don’t I take care of business,” he nodded toward the envelope, “you do what you need to do, and we can go grab a bite. We’ve never really had a chance to talk, and I’d like to.”

  “Sure. I’d like that, too. Meet you in ten?”

  “That’ll work.”

  Kennedy went to her office, retrieved her phone and purse, then headed straight for Harriet. Her need to cry was slowly being replaced by her desire to hit somebody, namely herself. Why was she dragging this whole thing out, having the pictures published? Once she did that the secret would be out and there would be no need to be chased anymore. At that point, whoever it was would have bigger fish to fry. She’d thought about the reasons she’d hesitated, potential danger to her family and friends, the end of her career, and possibly her life. But what kind of life could she have always looking over her shoulder. At this rate, with the constant stress she’d been feeling, she’d give herself a heart attack and die anyway.

  As had been her habit, she started her car and exited the garage. Rounding the block, she found a parking space on a busy street filled with shops and restaurants. She parked and this time, instead of the careful consideration she’d given the first one, she ripped off the top of the envelope with her bare hands. The contents were not what she expected. There was no letter. No pictures. Only a flash drive.

  Damn.

  Kennedy looked up and down the block. She pulled out her phone and looked up an office store that offered computer use by the minute. There was one just five minutes away. She entered the establishment and went to the last computer. It
was secured to the desk, but she swiveled the face as best she could. The last package left for her contained pics of her nude. There was no telling what would be on the flash drive. After setting up payment and logging into the computer, Kennedy inserted the flash drive. Just before clicking it, she realized there was something else she needed. Earbuds. With an aggravated sigh, she pulled out the flash drive and headed toward the aisle. Twenty dollars later she had what she needed. She sat back down, replaced the drive, tapped on the single file, and braced herself.

  The file opened to a black screen. Which each second that passed, Kennedy felt her nerves fray a little bit more. She stared at the screen, still ominously dark. When a voice began speaking, she jumped.

  This message is for Kennedy Wade.

  The voice sounded familiar, digitally altered, like the one who called her last week. She gripped the edge of the table, swallowed the desire to shut the drive down, and listened.

  Listen, bitch, because this message will be delivered one time, and one time only. We are not in the habit of having to repeat ourselves, and you have already been more trouble than you are worth. You know what this is about, a certain purchase that was requested, that you denied. A shame, because you have made your life more difficult than it needed to be. The message is quite simple. You will get another call, and another offer. This time you will accept it. You will sign the agreement releasing ownership of all photos taken on your Bahamian trip earlier this year. You will sign the confidentiality and non-disclosure agreements as well. You will then go on with your life as if this never happened. This is not a request. It is an order.

  In case you think you have a choice in the matter. Consider these pictures, which if the agreement is not signed will be published in their entirety all over the internet.

  As he talked, naked pictures that she’d not seen appeared on the screen. She gasped as her hand flew to her throat, and her eyes darted around to ensure no one else saw what she did. What had been delivered to her had only been the tip of the iceberg. There were several pictures, several positions, closeups of everything, including her face. Her body shook with shame and anger, as the video continued to play.