Erin Laurent had slept little since the ordeal despite the two sedatives she’d washed down with a half bottle of wine. She stared wide awake at the ceiling, trying to make decisions that would affect the rest of her life. The answers so far had proven elusive.
Though she desperately wanted to keep the details of her attack to herself, she knew that attempting to conceal any of this from Malcolm LeClair would be unwise. The truth of the ill-fated excursion and attempted rape were going to be public knowledge very soon. Despite everyone aboard being sworn to silence, none of them could keep a secret.
So how would LeClair react if he later discovered the truth from anyone other than herself? Would he understand how demeaning, how terrifying the entire ordeal had been? Of course, he would, but he would also be angry and disappointed that she didn’t come to him first. He would likely think her foolish for going through with the prisoner’s release in the first place. He’d already said as much. He’d been right, she admitted, and he would be much more sympathetic if she came right out and told him so. Done. She would tell him everything when she arrived home. At least there was more time to prepare before looking into his eyes and explaining that another man tried to. . .she still couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not yet, anyway, but it would come. She knew that much. She had twenty-four hours to find the words.
Until then, Laurent could get a feel for the intentions of her fellow travelers. It was quite likely these friends of hers were thinking of nothing but distancing themselves from the fallout and laying all the blame at her feet. She also expected them to deflect any responsibility for their own actions. She envisioned each of them establishing their own new narratives of how they were misled. It was ironic, she thought, how laughably easy it was to get all these people to mindlessly follow her. Then again, she was no better.
Laurent cursed the day she’d been brought into this disaster, cringing as she recalled the memory, still wondering how she could have been so gullible.
The topic was broached by a friend sharing an op-ed piece in a restaurant over wine. As they’d conversed about the article, the idea of rescuing the prisoner became the main topic of their conversation. Laurent pushed back, suggesting there might well be more to the story, more facts to be considered. If only she’d stuck to her gut instincts. A pause before acting on impulse and a few hours of research would have saved her so much misery.
But as the wine flowed, the conversation became more heated and emotional than logical. Any rational thought of cross-checking the details tumbled off the table. Looking back on it now, Laurent realized how she had been manipulated. Her friend believed adamantly in rescuing this man from prison, and with practiced skill, she guided the conversation to stay on topic. Laurent recalled that even before processing her own thoughts about it, she made calls from the restaurant, telling others and seeking their support.
She remembered the radiant smile and gleaming green eyes of her friend, another Hollywood icon whose acting career floundered. Then she’d discovered a new and fulfilling path in politics. Katherine Karlson had an answer for every question that Laurent could pose. Her argument was as powerful as the wine. Karlson wanted her to do this, Laurent could see that now, but she could not figure Karlson’s motivation for such an endeavor. In the end, it didn’t matter. Senator Karlson persuaded her to accept the challenge on behalf of all the oppressed prisoners suffering the world over. She left the restaurant that evening with a new agenda and a bold conviction in her heart. Now, she admitted, none of those thoughts were her own. She allowed herself to be manipulated, and there was no one else to blame.
That brutal bit of truth registered like a cog dropping into place, allowing the wheels of logic to re-engage. Laurent had turned a corner. There was no denying what happened, no question of fault. Just as ironic was how laughably easy it was to get all these other people to mindlessly follow on this ill-fated excursion. But it was done, a colossal blunder forever etched in stone. She wondered if this would be what she was remembered for. Had she created a new legacy that darkly eclipsed all of her other accomplishments in life? “No,” she said defiantly, as a wave of determination took hold. She would deal with it, meet it head-on and make damned sure her existence stood for something greater than this debacle. It would be a long road ahead, but she was already taking the first step.
The plane refueled in Lisbon. The passengers were offered a moment to deplane and walk off some anxiety. A few used the time to make calls to home, friends, and business contacts. Others just appreciated a moment away from the grimacing glare of Abu Dahl.
The pilot and co-pilot took turns guarding the prisoner during the brief break. Once the tanks were filled, they were back in the air, with five hours to go until the next destination.
22
Washington, DC
Jordan entered the kitchen to the welcoming aroma of fresh coffee and baking pastry. She took a seat at the table and poured herself a cup from a carafe as the housekeeper pulled a pan of fresh croissants from the oven. “Hola, Estrella,” Jordan greeted her.
“Hola, Señorita West,” the woman answered cheerily as she set her oven mitts aside and began cracking eggs for omelets.
Wednesday mornings were mother-daughter breakfast, a tradition Jordan still embraced. She smiled, reminiscing about past moments of the family ritual that was as old as she was. As a young girl, their mornings’ subject matter bounced from fashion trends and boy bands to middle school crushes. The conversations these days pertained more to current campaign progress and world events. She clung to their exchanges like a warm blanket. Time was sometimes the most precious gift that one could give.
Today, however, those memories had the opposite effect. They left her feeling even more guilty about coming to the table with a load to bear. She was hoping the subject could be broached without her appearing anxious or upset. That would demand an extra shot of self-control on her part.
Jordan tried to move beyond the issue, but so far, that wasn’t working. She needed to voice her concern and needed to hear a reasonable explanation. She had her doubts that one existed. Her foot nervously tapped out an irregular rhythm as she waited for her mother.
“Well, aren’t you the early riser!” Karlson greeted her, dressed, and made up for the day. Her fingers flipped through the multiple emails on her phone that accumulated overnight. She gave the housekeeper a smiling nod and sat down opposite her daughter. “I thought you would welcome the chance to sleep in a little.”
Jordan feigned a smile and felt a wave of guilt for even thinking about ruining this moment. “Oh, you know me,” she said uncomfortably, “trying to stay ahead of the classwork.”
Karlson nodded without looking up, still very much preoccupied with her phone. She spent another moment reviewing which emails demanded immediate attention, then set aside the device. “Enough of that,” she announced, pouring herself a cup. “This is supposed to be our time.”
Jordan nodded her appreciation.
They exchanged pleasantries and made small talk as Jordan flipped through scenarios of how to bring up the subject. Often, their opinions differed, but this issue troubled her deeply and demanded resolution. The housekeeper served them breakfast as she waited for the right moment. Waiting was becoming more and more difficult.
She was close to letting loose when her mother said, “So tell me about your bar-hopping adventure the other night.”
Jordan froze, a mouthful of hot brew catching in her throat. This was a shot from left field that she never saw coming.
Karlson was a master at redirecting a conversation with seamless skill, and she looked on with a Cheshire cat grin. Jordan knew the look all too well. That self-satisfied, I know your every thought and secret before you even open your mouth expression. She realized there was nothing she could add that wasn’t already known. This was nothing like playing twenty questions. It was a lie detector test, and it was the biggest downside of being the daughter of two politicians.
Jordan t
hought back with envy to some of her childhood friends whose moms were just moms. There was much to be said for that sort of relationship. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her own mother’s accomplishments. She just wished the woman could stay in character for an entire conversation. Be the mom for a while longer. Was that asking so much? She let out a sigh and faced the inconvenient reality.
“How about you tell me? I trust the memory of your security trio over my own anyway. I’ll bet they took notes.”
“Good eye, honey! I didn’t expect you to spot all three. But you do understand it was for your own safety.” Karlson smiled as though talking about having her daughter followed made it less intrusive. “Well,” she queried, “is this band member a new love interest?”
Jordan noted the transition. Katherine Karlson, the politician, switching gears back to Kat Karlson, the mother. She sat her cup down and smiled. “I enjoy his company. We share a lot in common. He’s a nice change of pace from the people I usually talk to. Is there anything in his background that I should be concerned about? I’m assuming you ran him through the standard checks.”
“You do know me so well, don’t you, dear? No, nothing interesting came up. You do understand that I wouldn’t bother being so thorough unless there was a reason. Anyway, you don’t need a serious relationship in your life right now.” She paused to let that last line sink in, then asked. “Did you like their music? You can never trust a secret service agent for their opinions of rock and roll. Sometimes I swear they wouldn’t know the difference between––”
“Why did you do that interview with Al Jazeera?” Jordan blurted it out with an urgency and disappointment in her voice that was impossible to conceal.
Karlson sat upright, surprised at the outburst, her brows raising with an expression of annoyance. She exhaled hard, drumming her fingers on the table. “I have explained myself so many times already. Now I have to do it civilly, so I don’t hurt your feelings.” Her fingers mimed quote marks around the word. “I swear to God. . .” She threw her hands up in a resigned expression and sat back in her chair. “Fine,” she started. “Jordan, there are some things I do that you may never understand. This one, however, should be easy enough to figure out.” She looked away as though deciding how much to reveal to snuff this little fire out. “The Muslim population carries a lot of power and influence. With this one interview, I informed them all that I will strive to find common ground and make peace a priority.” She paused, pleased with her choice of words. She grabbed her phone and tapped them in for later. “When I’m president, I will need their votes in this country as well as their support abroad.” She leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone, “And we know that OASIS gets much of its information from that network.”
“Then why did you risk an interview with them?”
“Hello. . . I sent an olive branch. Now everyone in that region knows that I want this war brought to an end by any means necessary.”
“Their goal is to defeat our country, Mom, maybe you shouldn’t have—”
“Let me stop you there, dear.” Karlson’s face flushed. “I won’t get into a heated debate with you over campaign policies. I did the interview to show these people that the next administration, my administration, will not be their enemies.”
“Come on, Mother, there wasn’t another way to get that message out without pandering to the enemy?”
“Listen to me, Jordan! I don’t have time for this shit with you!” Karlson’s fingers curled up as though ready to claw through the tabletop, a vein throbbing on her forehead.
Jordan observed the reaction and pushed back from the table, surprised the comment had bumped her mother into full-bitch mode.
“That television station broadcasts to the entire Middle East,” Karlson said, wagging her finger. “It is accepted as scripture. Those people carried my message back home with them, and the message was, ‘we don’t want this war any more than they do.’ No, damn it, there wasn’t a better way to do this. Time works against us every fucking day it goes on. We have to push to end it right now, or it blows everything!”
“I don’t understand. You can make the changes once you’re in office. You can bring the troops home and show everyone that you keep your promises.”
Karlson closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Lord knows I love you, Jordan, and I appreciate your dedication to my campaign, so try not to take this the wrong way.” She clasped her fingers together on the table and said, “Little girl, you don’t have a clue how these things work. My campaign cannot survive a military victory for President Tenor. It would prove that his course of action had been correct and effective. That would make him unbeatable in November. If he doesn’t bow to the pressure and end the war now, then it becomes my problem.” Karlson stared into her cup as if a more perfect explanation might mystically appear like reading tea leaves. She clasped it tightly in trembling hands. “If we inherit this war,” she continued,” then we look foolish for not following our own demands. And a lost war during my presidency is a legacy that I cannot and will not accept.”
Jordan considered her words, then asked, “You’re still going to end it, though, right? That’s what you promised.”
Karlson blew out an exasperated breath. “You still want to ride that horse? Fine,” her demeanor shifting again. “For years, we’ve been this big police force keeping the Sunni, the Shiites, the Kurds, and whoever the hell else from blowing each other apart. Now we have this Middle East unification, this, this monstrous machine that tramples and kills anything in its way. The deaths have tripled within the last few months alone, and we could be stuck there for decades unless Tenor ends it now.”
“But you promised to pull the troops as soon as you were sworn in. You still can, right? What’s changed?”
“Haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying? Everything has changed! In the last six months, every damn thing has flipped around. OASIS has become a brutal adversary. Believe me, we are not talking about some group of goat herders sitting around a laptop in a pup tent. They are organized, well-financed, well-armed, and they probably know more about us than we know about them. So no, I won’t be able to end the war. I think escalation is our only option.”
“Wait, you’re saying you would reverse your entire stance if you get elected? That’s terribly disingenuous, don’t you think? I mean, if you’re going to change your mind, then do it now and be honest with the people who support you.”
“Jordan, if you could only hear yourself talking, you might grasp this better. I have run a campaign based on a pledge to end the war. Do you think for a moment these same people would stand behind me if I reversed myself now? It would be political suicide.”
“So you hold off until you’re elected and then say, what, that you were never informed of the true severity of the situation?”
Karlson nodded. “In essence, that’s exactly what I would do. I wait until I’m briefed by the outgoing president and the joint chiefs. Then I throw them under the bus for withholding critical intel. That gives me a valid reason to extend our presence indefinitely.”
“Mom! No!” Jordan cried in disbelief.
“That’s plan B. We’re hoping it doesn’t come to that. It would be so much easier if Tenor just accepted defeat and pulled the goddamn troops.”
“Then you lied,” Jordan said, still not willing to accept her mother’s deception. “You lied.”
“Sorry dear,” Karlson answered matter of factly, “but that’s the soft white underbelly of politics. A campaign pledge is not a guaranteed political protocol.”
The words hit like poison arrows. Jordan felt numb, as though the woman sitting across from her was a complete stranger. Worse, a stranger who just violated her. Was this actually the way it was done? Espouse empty promises to get elected with no intention of fulfilling any of them? Her stomach lurched, and her throat tightened. The entire year of life she devoted to this woman supporting her false message now felt as if it was all for nothing. The air becam
e too thick to breathe. She rose to leave.
Karlson, still staring down at her cup, reacted as though the revelation held no more significance than informing a child that the imaginary characters of their youth were not real. “It may take a while,” she said coolly, “but once you realize that a lot of campaign promises are nothing but hype and bullshit, you can learn to work within the system.”
Jordan shook her head in denial. “I didn’t sign on for hype and bullshit,” she countered, avoiding eye contact as her voice cracked. “I did it to support a candidate and a message I believed in.”
Karlson looked up with a disingenuous half-smile. “Nothing has changed, not really. I’m still the best answer to the problems of this country.”
“Are you, mother? Like you said, everything has changed.”
23
Kandahar Airport
The jet made hard contact with the runway and did not slow until near the end of the concrete pad. The pilot reversed thrust and braked hard. He then turned toward a remote section of the airport where a small group of people awaited the arrival of Abu Dahl. The ground crew guided the plane into position, then signaled it to stop as a stairway was rolled into place.
Kellogg unbuckled from his seat and scrambled out of the cockpit. The flight attendant pulled the cabin door release lever as Kellogg stepped out and helped push it open. The still spinning engines whined loudly throughout the cabin as Kellogg hurried down the center aisle to retrieve the prisoner. He removed the shackles from Abu Dahl’s ankles and then used a pair of wire cutters to remove the tie wraps that bound his legs to the seat. He drew his pistol and made sure the man knew it was pointed at his head. Kellogg tossed the hand cuff key into the prisoner’s lap and stepped back. Abu Dahl stared at him with a menacing scowl as he unlocked the restraints and rubbed his wrists, then stood and walked toward the open entrance. Kellogg followed behind with his weapon trained on the center of Dahl’s back.
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 12