by Vince Flynn
Nash turned his head away and snatched a breath of fresh air. “Now, this is torture.” He looked back down at Charlie and said, “What are they feeding you, little buddy? This is horrible.” Turning his head back toward the kitchen, he yelled, “Jack, get in here.”
A moment later the sandy haired, flat-topped ten-year-old appeared. “Yeah, Dad?”
Nash finished wiping all the crevices and then rolled the old diaper up tight and sealed it. “Throw this in the diaper pail.” He saw his son’s apprehension and added a “please” for good measure. His wife claimed the kids would be more open to helping out if everyone around the house was a little more polite. Nash countered that he’d gotten a lot of shit done in the Marine Corps, and so did his men, and no one ever said please to anyone. Maggie countered that he was no longer a Marine, nor were any of their kids.
Nash held out the softball-sized diaper.
The ten-year-old held his ground. “You’re three weeks behind on my allowance.”
“Yeah…well, you’re ten years behind on rent, so unless you want to end up sleeping in the diaper pail, get your butt moving.”
The kid lifted his Boston Celtics jersey over his nose and mouth and grabbed the diaper with two fingers like it was a hunk of radioactive waste. The smell still lingered, so Nash decided to give Charlie a bath. He carried him into the mudroom and started to fill the laundry tub. Jack came back in from his trip to the garage as his father was sticking the stopper in the bottom of the tub.
“How was school today?”
“Good…how’s your back?”
“Better, thank you.”
“And your melon.” Jack pointed at his own head.
Nash smiled. Jack was the family comedian. “The melon is okay today. Not great, but okay. Did you have a test today?”
“Quiz.”
“How’d you do?”
“Twenty-five out of twenty-five.”
“Congrats,” Nash said as he added some soap to the water. “Did you finish your homework?”
“When was the last time I didn’t do my homework the minute I got home from school? It’s your other son you need to worry about…the troglodyte.”
Nash gave his third child a hard stare. “That’s a big word for a ten-year-old.” He set Charlie in the tub. “Do you even know what it means?”
Jack started dancing around like an ape. With his jaw stuck out, he said, “Caveman.”
With a fatherly look of disapproval he grabbed a washcloth for the baby. Rory, the second child, struggled in school, but excelled in sports. He was thirteen and a half and on the verge of shaving. “Jack, let me give you a little advice. Don’t say that to your brother.”
“He calls me girlie boy all the time.”
“That’s what older brothers do.”
“I don’t do it to Charlie.”
Nash looked down at the one-year-old, who was happily splashing away and sucking on the soapy washcloth. Looking back at Jack, he said, “Go ahead. Call him a girlie boy, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Jack smiled, got close to the tub, and said, “Girlie boy. Charlie, you’re a little girlie boy.”
Charlie looked up at his older brother and let loose an ear-splitting squeal. They all started laughing and Jack tried it again. Nash reached out, put his arm around Jack, and kissed him on the top of the head. “I’ll talk to him, Jack, but you have to remember, Rory’s going through a tough time right now. School isn’t as easy for him as it is for you.”
“So…I’d rather be good at sports like him.”
“Buddy, you haven’t even hit puberty yet.”
“Rory was good at everything. Even before puberty.”
“We all have our God-given gifts, son. I was a good athlete, and right now I’d rather have your brains than my brawn.”
Just then, Maggie walked in the door, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She looked lovingly at her husband with his arm around her third child and the soapy head of her baby just barely visible over the top edge of the laundry tub.
“Oh…isn’t this a nice picture? Look at Daddy and his little helper and my precious baby.”
Charlie had been preoccupied with something beneath the waterline, but when he heard his mother’s voice, his big brown eyes darted up to find the most important person in his world. A huge smile spread across his face and his little fingers reached out for the edge of the tub. He grabbed ahold of the lip and with considerable effort pulled himself to his full height of twenty-seven inches, and blurted out the word that he had so proudly yelled nearly twelve hours earlier while eating his breakfast.
Maggie froze, Nash tried not to laugh and Jack blurted out, “I swear I didn’t teach him that word.” Neither parent responded, so he added, “I bet it was Rory.”
“It was your mother,” Nash said with no lack of joy.
Maggie snapped at her husband, “Like you don’t walk around here swearing all the time.”
“Jack,” Nash said, “who swears more, me or Mommy?”
Jack looked back and forth between his two parents and then proved just how smart he was by darting past his father and into the kitchen. “No way am I getting in the middle of this,” he yelled over his shoulder.
Maggie defiantly folded her arms across her chest and stared at her husband. “I’m sure he’s heard you say it before.”
Nash nodded, dipped a hand into the soapy water, and came up with the washcloth. He started wiping down Charlie’s backside. “You do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better about this one, princess.”
Charlie looked up at his mother. The happy look was gone, replaced by a look that mirrored the concerned look of his mother. In a much softer voice this time he muttered the word that was causing his mother’s distress. Nash couldn’t take it anymore and burst out laughing.
Maggie, trying to hold her neutral expression, said, “Michael, you have to ignore him.”
Charlie smiled at his dad and repeated the word two more times. Nash began laughing harder. Charlie reacted with equal vigor and started throwing the word out in quick repeated bursts. Nash completely lost it, and started howling.
“Stop it!” Maggie yelled at him. “All you’re doing is reinforcing his behavior.”
Nash tried to stop, but it only made it worse. Maggie, not thinking that any of it was funny, whacked her husband across the shoulder and yelled, “Goddammit, Michael, this isn’t funny.”
Charlie suddenly stopped saying the word. He looked up at his mother and then his father, the dark brown orbs that dominated his eyes growing seemingly larger. He zeroed in on his mother’s less-than-happy expression, and then the bottom lip started to tremble, the big brown eyes filled with tears, and then it all came pouring out.
“No, honey,” Maggie said in a soothing voice. “Mommy and Daddy love each other.”
“Most of the time,” Nash said under his breath.
Maggie craned her head around and shot him a look that caused him to cover his groin with his dry hand. Charlie was now wailing. Maggie stroked his cheek with the back of her hand and said, “Look…Mommy and Daddy love each other. Look up here, honey.”
Maggie cupped her left hand around her husband’s neck and pulled him close. Nash kept his family jewels covered on the off chance she was luring him in for a knee to the groin. Maggie laid a big exaggerated kiss on her husband replete with sound effects. She turned back to Charlie, who was still crying, and said, “See, Mommy and Daddy love each other.” He was still crying so she went back to kissing her husband.
Nash decided she wasn’t going to hurt him, so he joined in with gusto. Ten seconds later the two were still locked in a passionate kiss that was suddenly much more than acting. Nash’s hands began to wander over his wife’s body, and he pulled her in close. Charlie slowly stopped crying, but they kept going. Maggie reached her hand down below his belt and gave him a soft squeeze.
She moved her lips away from his and offered her cheek. “It appears everything is worki
ng just fine down there.”
Nash nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“You’re going to have to wait.”
Nash let out a long groan. “I love you,” he moaned.
“I love you too.”
Charlie began to giggle and smile.
“That’s right,” Maggie said. “Mommy and Daddy love each other.”
Charlie said the word again, although this time in a soft and sensitive voice.
Nash looked down at him and said, “That’s right, buddy.”
Maggie finally broke down and started laughing. “You are horrible.”
“I know.”
“How was your day?” she asked with a touch of concern.
“It was interesting?”
“But you can’t talk about it.”
“No.”
She stiffened a little. The happy moment was gone and the stress of his job was back in the happy little home. “Just promise me you’ll tell me yourself. I don’t want to wake up one morning and read it in the paper.”
Nash kissed her forehead. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 46
CAPITOL HILL
SENATOR Lonsdale stepped quietly out of her Capitol office and onto the veranda. She stood still and took in the beautiful sight before her. The setting sun was bathing the alabaster columns of the Supreme Court in a brilliant orange glow, but it was lost on her. She was frozen like a love-struck teenager staring at Wade Kline as he stood with his back to her, one hand on the stone railing and the other holding a cell phone to his ear. She’d never seen him with his suit coat off, and her eyes worked their way from his broad shoulders down to his narrow waist and finally his backside. Lonsdale took in a slow breath as she bit down softly on her bottom lip. She may have had crushes like this as a teenager but never such erotic thoughts.
Since her husband’s death she’d had her fair share of lovers, but none this young. This, she told herself, would have to be handled very discreetly.
Kline turned around and greeted Lonsdale with a smile as he held up a finger. “I have to go,” he said. “The senator is here. I’ll call you later.”
Something about his tone told Lonsdale that it was a woman. “Who was that?” she asked as casually as possible.
Kline hesitated and then said, “My wife. She’s up in New York.”
“Oh,” Lonsdale said as she noted that he didn’t tell her he loved her before hanging up. “Do you commute?”
“Yes and no,” he said a bit sheepishly. “I have an apartment down here, but my workload is pretty heavy, so I’m lucky if I get back every couple weeks.”
“Well,” she said as her eyes danced over his body once again, “you obviously find time to work out.”
“It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”
“Just remember, life can be short. I found that out the hard way with my husband. He worked seventy, eighty hours a week, building his family business and he ended up dropping dead at age forty-five.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right,” she said in a lighthearted voice. “He gave me a beautiful daughter and a lot of financial security.”
“I’m sure the beauty comes from you,” Kline said with a smile.
“Well, thank you.” Lonsdale had learned long ago how to take a compliment. “Are you in the mood for a drink, or just a smoke?”
“I’d love both.”
“Good.” Lonsdale walked back inside. “I’m having a vodka on rocks with a lemon twist. What would you like?”
“The same, but let me get them. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll take care of it.”
Lonsdale got him started and then retrieved her cigarettes and lighter and met him back out on the veranda. Kline gave the senator her drink and said, “God, I need this.”
Before he could get it to his lips, she stopped him and said, “A toast.” She extended her glass and said, “To living a life without regrets.” Lonsdale gave him a little wink and then took a sip.
“I’ll drink to that.”
“So how was your day?”
“Pretty shitty,” Kline said in a matter-of-fact way. “In fact…I’d say it was one of the worst days I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.”
Lonsdale set her drink down on the small black bistro table. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“What happened?”
He thought back on the day, regretting rather intensely that he had given in to his more basic instincts and even worse that he been so foolish in underestimating Rapp. When you stripped it all away the man was a Goddamn professional killer. Even if only a third of the rumors were true, he had pulled off some pretty amazing shit. Who were they to think that they would be the ones to take him down? And it would be one thing if they could confine the fight to the justice system, but he’d been foolish enough to cross the Rubicon with Rapp and enter his arena of violence. He thought back on what had transpired in the cramped interrogation room and knew he was going to have nightmares about it for a long time.
He was lucky the psycho didn’t kill him. After choking him unconscious, Rapp had put his handcuffs back on and called for the guards. Kline awoke to find himself in the ridiculous situation of having to say he didn’t know what had happened. Kline had been in a couple of fights in his life. More like scuffles, really. One was in college and one was in his mid-twenties. Both times had been to defend the honor of his hot dates. There were some torn shirts and some minor scrapes, but that was it. No punches connected and the bouncers broke things up before they got out of hand. He remembered going home with his dates, though, and being rewarded for his bravado. There would be none of that this time, although, he had no doubt he could bed the woman standing before him if he so chose. She was gorgeous, elegant, and one of the most powerful women in America, and there was something about the age difference that for the first time in his life turned him on. It would all have to wait, though. It was far too valuable a card to play so carelessly, and so early in this game.
His thoughts jumped to the moment when he looked down and saw Rapp’s cuffs lying in his lap. The absolute terror that he’d felt at that moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. Primal fear gripped him with the sudden knowledge that he was stuck in a ten-by-ten-foot cell with a predator as dangerous as any he’d find in the wild. If he had known Rapp was uncuffed, he never would have poked and prodded him the way he did. He couldn’t believe he had been stupid enough to think he could fuck with him.
And then it was all a jumble of movement and pain. Rapp was on him like one of those big fucking lions that you see on the National Geographic channel late at night, and he was helpless. Looking back on it, he couldn’t say whether it was due to his own incapacitating fear or Rapp’s skills, or both, but the bottom line was that he was completely and utterly feeble. Kline considered himself to be in better shape than 99.9 percent of the people out there, and he’d taken kickboxing classes and even done some sparring, but it had all failed him when he needed it most.
Rapp was choking him with his own tie and speaking to him in his deep, confident, deliberate voice, and what did he do? He wet himself. He wanted to believe he did it after he’d passed out, but he knew he’d done it while he was still conscious, because he remembered the warmth spreading down his leg and thinking that Rapp had stabbed him and it was his blood. Then when he’d come to, he’d felt the wetness and saw the expression on Rapp’s face. It was a look of utter contempt. A look that said, “I had no idea you were that big a puss.” Kline had never felt so emasculated in all his life. He shuddered at the memory.
Lonsdale saw him shake and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Kline shook it off and said, “Nothing, it’s just been a really bad day.” Actually, it probably really had been the worst day of his life, but he didn’t want to appear so weak in front of the woman who held so much sway over his future.
“What happened?
”
He skipped over how his day began and jumped ahead a few hours. “It started out with the deputy AG chewing my ass out for a good thirty minutes, and then the assistant AG for the criminal division read me the riot act, and then the director of the FBI called and told me to pull my head out of my ass, and then shortly after that, the AG himself called me and reminded me in extremely unpleasant terms just exactly who I worked for. Secretary of State Wicka’s office left a message for me and finally Secretary of Defense England himself called.”
Lonsdale expected a little heat to come down from within the Justice Department, but not from other Cabinet members. “What did England say?”
Kline looked over the top of his glass as he took a drink and said, “He called me your butt boy.”
“My butt boy?” she repeated, somewhat shocked.
“Yep. He said he knows damn well who was behind this stunt, and he’s not going to put up with some PC attorney from the DOJ sticking his nose in something that was already being handled.”
“I hope you told him it wasn’t being handled.”
Kline picked up the cigarettes. “I don’t think he was in the mood,” he said as he lit the first cigarette and then handed it to Lonsdale, “to hear what I had to say.”
Lonsdale took the cigarette, thrilled by the prospect that it had just touched Kline’s lips. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“From where I’m sitting it seems like I have a lot to worry about.”
Lonsdale set down her drink and reached out and grabbed his arm. “You have to trust me on this, Wade. They’re trying to scare you off this, hoping that it will simply go away, but it isn’t going to go away. This whole sordid mess is going to be in front of my committee the day after tomorrow, and then you are going to look like a hero.”