“We have the right suite but the wrong rooms. Let’s crack open the other file.” He clicked on the file icon, and a message appeared. “Uh-oh,” he said, “the file’s been deleted.”
“So we have nothing?” Cody asked.
“Not necessarily, but it does tell us that somebody had something to hide.” Murray clicked a few files in other locations and then turned to them with a devious grin. “So let’s find out how good the guy was that cleaned house.”
He opened and examined the contents of the computer’s recycle bin. “Well, they’re not amateurs. They knew to clear the record of the file.”
“Does that mean it’s completely gone?” Ethan asked, taking Jordan’s hand.
“Generally, yes, that would mean it’s deleted. But I still have a few tools to play with. I’m now running a neat little program that scans the drive and searches for recoverable files. If our house cleaner was proficient, he would have erased the files and re-written over all of the data with ones and zeros. That would have been the end of it. We’ll know if he did that in a minute.”
They all sat in silence as the scanning software checked every sector of the hard drive.
“That could be it,” Murray finally said, pointing to a group of green blocks in an otherwise blue section. “We may have gotten lucky. I can see they deleted the directory of the records but did not re-write over them. Let’s see if we can restore and replay.”
After a string of keystrokes, the manipulated data was saved to Murray’s system. Moments later, the big center screen flashed to life with four separate images. It was apparent that not all the files were completely restored.
“Well, the good news is we have two angles of her office. The third looks like the reception area.” Murray tapped on the lower right quadrant that flashed with static and shadows of indiscernible images. “The fourth is unreadable. There is also an audio file, but we don’t need that right now.”
“And that’s Gene Lawton, the campaign manager, greeting the Al Jazeera film crew,” observed Jordan.
As they watched the two upper images, the network crew exchanged pleasantries and set up their equipment. Karlson entered the room shortly after, and they began filming the interview.
“That all looks innocent enough,” Ethan said with hopeful optimism. He glanced over to Jordan, sensing her apprehension. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, felt the tightness of her rigid muscles, and began massaging her neck. For her sake, he hoped they would observe nothing incriminating tonight.
The network interview remained uneventful until the campaign manager entered the office.
“That’s Gene again,” Jordan explained.
They all watched as Lawton whispered something into Karlson’s ear. She abruptly rose and followed him out a side door. Both disappeared off camera. The film crew sat alone and motionless in the office until. . .
“Did you see that?” Cody asked.
“I caught it too,” Murray said
“What happened? What did you see?” Jordan stared at the image, searching for anything that had changed.
“There’s something on the credenza behind her desk that they’re pointing at. It looks like a folder or a booklet.”
Cody walked to the screen as he spoke and pointed at the rectangular object. As he did, every member of the film crew sprang into action.
“What, what are they doing?” Jordan said.
“They’re filming those documents page by page,” Murray answered, alarmed. “This isn’t good.”
They watched in stunned silence as the female member of the crew came around the desk and flipped through the pages of the mystery document as the cameraman filmed each. It was over so fast that everyone watching felt as though they had observed the actions of professional spies merely portraying a news crew.
“What are they photographing?” Ethan asked, squinting, attempting to bring the image into better focus. “I can’t see enough detail to make it out.”
As they struggled to discern the document’s contents, the missing fourth video image flashed and resolved itself into view. At first, it was a series of short bursts. Over time the picture remained on the screen longer and longer before turning back to snow. It showed an open door and the backs of multiple people standing around it, but nothing more.
“Jordan,” Murray said, “do you know what that room is?”
She shook her head. “It’s near the reception area, but I don’t recall it ever being open.”
Murray nodded. “Yup, I see it on this other feed now.” He pointed to the video image of the reception room. The open door was visible from this angle, but the view of the occupants was blocked. Again and again, the signal from camera four teased with images of the people clustered about the mystery room before dropping out, revealing nothing more.
Murray busied himself manipulating the signal from camera two that showed Karlson’s desk from a second angle. He isolated the image and zoomed in on the credenza and the mystery document.
“Wait, I know that symbol,” Jordan exclaimed. “That’s Military Intelligence. I’ve seen it on classified folders that my mother was reviewing.”
“Holy shit!” Cody shouted. “Could that be the military mission everyone’s talking about? If it is, we’ve just witnessed espionage!”
“But you can see my mother didn’t intend to give it to them,” Jordan said defensively. “They went through her papers when she left the room. It was awful questionable to leave those documents out like that, I’ll give you that. But it looks like nothing more than a dumb mistake. Doesn’t it?” She hoped something would prove them wrong about what they saw, but doubt was already gnawing away.
The video signal from camera four suddenly re-appeared with striking clarity. The outlines of three people stood huddled in the entry of the mystery door.
Murray studied the images from cameras three and four. Then, with the enthusiasm of a scientist making a miracle discovery, he announced, “I know what that room is! That’s the security control closet. The video and alarm feeds are routed and displayed there before being output to the main security server in the basement. Look, you can make out the images on the video monitors they’re watching.” He stared another moment before realizing what he was witnessing. He pushed back from the console. “Oh my God,” he said, nearly breathless, “they’ve been spying on that film crew the whole time!”
There was more activity in video four. The three people were moving about, talking animatedly. Two of the occupants turned and walked toward the senator’s office. Their faces could now be seen on the feeds from both cameras three and four, filling the large screen. It was Katherine Karlson and Gene Lawton.
“Oh no,” Jordan whimpered, “oh no.”
“They were controlling the whole thing!” Cody exclaimed. “They set it up to make these people think they’d made the discovery of a lifetime, then waited until they took the bait! It was all…it was…”
“It was a ruse,” Murray said solemnly. “Jordan, I’m so sorry you had to see this. Maybe it would have been better—”
Jordan shook her head. “No, I needed to,” she replied shakily. Her shoulders slumped as a tear streamed down her cheek. “I had to see for myself. I needed to see the lie. It’s all been a lie.”
The video played on as Karlson resumed her role at her desk. She spoke animatedly as she concluded the interview. Jordan watched in pained silence as the images revealing her mother as a co-conspirator in treason were burned forever into her memory. Everything she held dear now seemed like nothing more than false figments of the role her mother portrayed on her way to the next plateau. Her entire life was an act. On-screen and off, she played a part. Jordan now felt like nothing more than a side note, a short cameo in the epic story of Kat Karlson, the actress, the senator, the president. She felt pain like none she’d ever experienced. A part of her soul was dying. Nothing would ever be the same. Her heart raced as her stomach churned acid. She hugged her gut to keep from doubling
over, wishing to be a thousand miles away from it all.
“We’ve seen enough, Murray,” Ethan said in a near whisper, wrapping both arms around Jordan as he led her away from the horrifying images.
28
Washington, DC
Jordan awoke early the next morning with eyes nearly swelled shut. She had never cried so much in her life. Even the death of her grandfather, a man who meant the world to her, could not compare to the loss she felt right now. Everything she had come to believe and fight for was a lie.
Jordan struggled to inhale against the weight of so many shattered hopes and dreams that bore down on her chest. Feeling violated and empty, her insides ached as she remembered the events and awful images of her mother’s deception from the night before. Not even the presidency could be worth such a price.
Her cheeks flushed with shame and anger, recalling the fundraisers and social events she’d attended. The thousands of phone calls requesting money and votes for the campaign.
Her ‘poor me’ reaction soon vanished as she remembered that she was not the only one who was deceived. Karlson’s followers believed she’d given up a life of Hollywood glitter to stand for the masses not being represented in Washington. They trusted her and freely gave their time and offered support. They were deceived the same as she was.
Jordan remembered opening letters containing coins from kids living in poverty who sent in anything they could find, hoping that their lives would be improved by this woman. Sadly, she thought, empty promises were the only thing for sale here.
She rose from bed and walked down to the dark kitchen, loading a pod into the coffee machine. She offered a small prayer of thanks that her mother was sleeping in. It spared her a confrontation so early in the morning. She sat alone and sipped the day’s first cup, smirking as she recalled an old commercial that referred to it as the think drink. She wished it would hurry up and help her brain generate a few new thoughts on what to do about last night.
She wondered how the country would react if the truth were revealed. There would always be supporters still standing behind Karlson, refusing to believe what she had done. There was never a shortage of those who were easily led. Jordan, however, felt the vast majority would be as appalled as she was. She owed it to them to stop this now. It would be hard enough living with this knowledge now etched permanently into her mind. It would be infinitely worse to allow the scenario to play out without at least attempting to force her mother to repair the damage. She realized her hands were tapping a nervous rhythm on the table as she sat rocking in her seat. Enough of this, she thought. She stood and opened the refrigerator, looking for an egg to fry. Jordan usually started her mornings with lighter fare, but today she craved an unhealthy dose of comfort food. She dug through the meat drawer and pulled out a package of bacon.
After breakfast and reading the internet news, Jordan decided to get out and walk off a few calories. A little fresh air might stimulate the neurons that the caffeine had failed to awaken. She slipped on her running shoes, plugged in a pair of earbuds, and headed out the door.
A few blocks down the road, she realized her thoughts were drowning out her music and decided to bounce a few of them off of Ethan. She sent a short text, hoping he would be up soon. He was, and instead of typing back a reply, he called. She answered, grateful that some people still preferred to communicate the old-fashioned way.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“Better than expected, but no, not okay.” She paused as the previous night’s images flashed through her mind. “It’s so hard to believe, even though I saw it all for myself. I’m just not sure of the next step.”
“I would love to say you don’t have to do anything, but we both know that’s not an option.”
So far, he was voicing her exact thoughts.
“I know,” she conceded. “If my mother were a reasonable woman, she would recognize the terrible mistake she’d made and get her people working on damage control. But a reasonable woman would never have done this in the first place.”
“Is there any point in trying to talk with her? I worry about what she would do if you told her what you know, what we all know.”
Jordan’s vision of confronting her mother was a screaming tirade with no end. She closed her eyes, shaking her head with sad resignation.
“I can’t imagine a happy ending to this nightmare,” she said, pacing the long, empty sidewalk and rubbing her temples, attempting to suppress a tension headache. “Mother won’t take it well, but I have to give her the option of trying to fix this before I tell anyone else. Do you think Cody and his cousin can stay quiet until I meet with her?”
“I know they will. Murray is probably nervous as hell just having seen the video. He’ll keep it to himself until you make the first move. But please, watch your back! This isn’t some simple mistake that can be fixed by making a public apology. She’s in some deep shit. You gotta figure she’ll fight for survival, even if that means she has to challenge you.”
“I don’t think it will come to that,” Jordan said, hoping she was right. “She’s going to hate me for doing this, but we have to start with a face-to-face meeting. I owe her that much. We’re supposed to have lunch today. I’ll drop the bomb then.”
“Please call me as soon as you leave. I have to know you’re all right.”
“I promise. I’m probably going to need a shoulder to cry on after I get ripped apart, along with a stiff drink.”
29
Jordan returned to the condominium with a thousand pounds of guilt dragging behind. She paused to steady herself against the door frame. All of the mental coaching to psych herself up for this moment now seemed to shrivel away, leaving her defenseless and ashamed of what she’d come to do. She was not here to be the good daughter, but rather something barbarous. Something venomous and deadly, no better than some evil creature that clawed its way from the womb, only to turn and attack the one that had given it birth, given it life. Today she would deliver a message with the potential of destroying her mother. All the woman’s years of meticulous planning, organizing, and campaigning were about to be nullified and made irrelevant by yours truly. Today, Jordan was an assassin.
Her mouth was desert dry, yet her palms slick with sweat. She couldn’t actually do this, could she? No, damn it, that wasn’t the question to be asking right now. Instead, she wondered how someone in this woman’s position could have committed such abhorrent criminal acts and still be left standing. She grit her teeth and fended off another wave of guilt, reminding herself that she was not the one with the flawed morals.
How could her mother have been so stupid as to follow through with such a plan? She had destroyed herself. Her name would be poison. Every friend she ever made would abandon her, and only those with a death wish of their own would dare to venture near. Her own husband, Jordan’s father, would be committing political suicide if he didn’t make tracks for divorce court the moment word of this got out.
Jordan could not comprehend how the woman was living with herself. Why wasn’t her conscience shaking her from the soundest sleep every night and beating her over the head with a splintered club formed from the words, ‘you-fucked-up?'
But the woman was still her mother, and Jordan was about to destroy her run for the presidency. A near-certain victory would be ripped from her grip. And then what? Going on with life? Living tomorrow like none of this ever happened? Wake up, she chided herself. The days that would follow swinging this ax would be dark, painful, and lonely.
Jordan rounded the corner into the dining room and stopped dead in her tracks. Karlson was seated at the table with her back turned. She was chuckling lightheartedly into her phone in between sips of wine. She wasn’t just holding up well under the enormous strain. She was suffering no effects at all. Like all of this was nothing more than another typical day on the campaign trail. Jordan slid back behind the wall, shaking her head in disbelief. How could this woman carry the lies and guilt with such ease when me
rely knowing what she had done was an unbearable burden for her daughter?
Karlson laughed again from the other side of the wall. Jordan’s hands balled into fists, her sadness overtaken by anger.
A strange thought sparked deep in her mind, disconnected and out of place at first. But the more she pondered it, the more it gained relevance and grew, interconnecting, weaving with other visions and memories. It evolved from that fleeting thought to a revealing observation with an undeniable conclusion. These terrible things were having no effect on Karlson because she was incapable of the proper emotional response. It was as though the very attributes that made her a successful actress were also detriments to normal feelings. Either she didn’t possess them at all, or her internal wiring somehow bypassed the circuits responsible for fundamental human emotions. Jordan wasn’t sure of the precise mechanism that was missing or damaged but could now see the results of its absence.
Her mother was always quite capable of showing coldness. In physics, cold was the absence of heat. Was it possible the same held true of emotions? Indifference or coldness could have been the natural state of someone with an inability to naturally convey their feelings. Jordan remembered her mother turning the affections on and off as though they were never heartfelt, but rather something more mechanical, regulated, controlled. As a child, she wondered if her mother actually felt these things at all or was just acting out which sentiment seemed the most appropriate. It sometimes reminded her of an old Bowery Boys movie, where the gang would have a numbered response for the mischief they had gotten themselves into. A fight with a rival gang, routine six, boys! Yeah, it was kind of like that. Acting proud of your daughter’s accomplishments; emotional routine twelve. Receiving a beautiful gift from your husband, routine five.
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 15