ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES

by Richard Drummer

  Acting.

  She could now summarize all of her mother’s reactions into that one word. Rehearsed. Scripted and calculated. As if she’d been referencing from the pages of an instruction manual: ‘Emotional Issues And Their Proper Responses.’ This wasn’t a revelation at all, she now conceded, but rather something she always knew. Her mother wore emotions like other people wore clothes, selecting the appropriate comeback with careful purpose, then slipping smoothly in and out of them at will.

  Jordan listened to Karlson’s gleeful exchange on the phone for a few more moments. Then, with a recaptured determination, she strode into the dining room. She came around the table and sat across from her mother, poured herself a glass of wine, and downed half in a gulp.

  Karlson looked up and noticed her for the first time with a look of surprise that turned into a bright smile.

  “Let me call you back,” she said to the caller, “Jordan walked in, and we have so much to talk about.” She slipped the phone into her pocket and folded her hands. “Well, hello to you too. I would offer you a glass of wine, but I see you’ve already got that covered.”

  Jordan stared back, swirling her glass.

  Karlson’s smile never faltered. She raised her own glass and clinked it against Jordan’s.

  “What was that for?” Jordan asked.

  “A victory toast, or should I say a pre-victory celebration.” She slid a printed page of data across the table.

  Jordan studied it for a moment. “What is this I’m looking at?”

  “That,” Karlson replied proudly, “is the latest national polling information from three different agencies. They all say the same thing.”

  Jordan shifted uneasily in her seat, anticipating what she was about to hear. It wasn’t going to make this any easier.

  “With less than three months before the election, we’re leading fifty-three to forty-one percent. Unless something completely unforeseen happens, I believe I can safely say that we’re moving out of this condo in January. Jordan, we’re going to the White House!”

  Jordan’s throat constricted as though being squeezed in a phantom chokehold. She struggled for breath, unable to speak.

  “You were as much a part of this success as anyone, and I wanted to say thank you. All of our hard work has paid off, honey. Your mother is going to be president!”

  The announcement tore at her insides. Jordan cursed her luck that this of all days was when her mother chose to share this information. Nothing like shooting someone down at the pinnacle of their existence. She briefly entertained the idea of retreating. Any one of a hundred other days would have been better than this. The thought made her feel like a coward. Postponing even a few hours gained nothing and would make it even more difficult the next time. She would have none of it.

  “Can this get any harder?” she murmured.

  Karlson gave her a curious glance.

  Like it or not, the moment was upon her. “Mother, I know what you did in that interview with Al Jazeera. I saw the video.”

  “Oh Jordan, can’t you give it a rest?” she said through a veil of thinning patience. “I know you were displeased that I did the interview, but there’s no point in dwelling on it any longer. Can we please—”

  “I saw the entire video, okay?” Jordan interrupted.

  Karlson set her glass down and eyed her daughter. She struggled to remain upbeat but felt annoyance creeping up like a deep-seated itch. She replayed the mental images of the interview with Deeba Gohar. There was nothing incriminating that linked her with the Abu Dahl story being reported. Still, was there any possibility that they overlooked some small, insignificant detail? She and her team watched that interview repeatedly. All were confident that it had gone as planned with no unseen issues. Then what the hell was this about?

  “Jordan, we’ve been all over this subject. I don’t believe anything else needs to be said. You’re not pleased that I did the interview, and I still say it was a golden opportunity to reach out to the people of the region and tell them, show them, that we are not their enemy. You should be proud.”

  “Is that what I should be? Proud? Try this one on. Disgusted, angry, disappointed. No, disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it. Broken-hearted, Mother! Betrayed. The damage you’ve done may never be mended. You have to make this right, and you owe it to me and everyone else who trusted you.”

  “Stop! Jesus Christ, kid, stop already! It was a simple goddamned interview and nothing more. What the hell is this all about?”

  “A simple interview? That’s what you call handing over classified documents to the enemy? What the fuck, mom! I saw the security video from your office. You left classified information out in the open and allowed them to copy it. I watched you set the whole thing up. I watched you leave the room with that document in plain sight.”

  Her voice cracked as though she were reliving the moment. The hurt and disgust consumed her. Her eyes narrowed as she released the full measure of her anger.

  “And then I watched you, Mother. I watched you watching them! It made me sick to my stomach to think you were even capable of such a terrible thing. How could you?” she yelled, “you’ve committed treason!” Her misty eyes wandered the room, searching and praying for a solution to make this all go away. “I don’t know what you can do to fix this,” she said with sad resignation, “but you need to start now. People will help you if you just ask.”

  The disclosure hit the senator right between the eyes with both barrels. She froze in place, her expression as neutral as a blank slate. Slowly, her facial muscles re-energized, and her mouth turned down as a tear welled up in her eye. She stared back at her daughter with an expression of indescribable pain and disbelief, the perfect portrait of an innocent victim who had been cheated on, abused, lied to, and left for dead. Every victimized character that Katherine Karlson ever portrayed in a movie now manifested itself simultaneously. The effect was powerful and moving. It was an Oscar-worthy moment that lasted all of ten-seconds before the dam broke, and she moved on to anger. The inner beast crawled out and took control. She rose from her seat and stared with cold, glaring eyes down at her daughter.

  “You bitch!” she said, building from a low, slow growl. “You ungrateful, spoiled, ignorant bitch! Who the fuck are you to lecture me on anything? You have no idea the shit storms I’ve walked through to climb this mountain.” Karlson swatted at her wine glass. It flew and shattered against the wall. “I’m about to win the most powerful position in the world. In the world, goddamn it! And you want me to step away and say, whoops, mommy made a mistake, terribly sorry, please forgive me. Is that what you have in mind? Hum? Because you know if this information got out, I would be ripped to shreds and forced to withdraw.” She stopped to ponder the words she had spoken. Her brows raised as she made the connection. “But that’s exactly what you have in mind, isn’t it? That I admit to all of this and withdraw from the election.”

  A flash of the darkest doomsday flickered in Karlson’s mind. She imagined herself speaking in disgrace to the senate body while being drowned out by the boos from both sides of the aisle. Worse yet, she would face the wrath of that withered bitch of a majority leader, her and that condescending glare curled into a satisfying smirk. Karlson always suspected the woman was secretly more supportive of her rival, and she imagined the old prune would barely be able to control her glee.

  “Who the hell comes up with a plan like that, Jordan?” She asked, nearly pleading for an answer.

  And just like that, the storm passed.

  Karlson’s fists opened back up, the vein in her forehead stopped throbbing with every heartbeat, her eyelids closed tight. A sad, hurt frown replaced the storm of expressions.

  “My God,” she said, her throat tightening around the words. “I thought we were on the same side.” She wore the look of a battered housewife again. But inside, the mental mechanics whirred and meshed. Her thoughts ground out scenario after scenario on how to adequately address this most catast
rophic event.

  The tirade left Jordan numb and shaking, as though she’d been picked up by a tornado and thrown into the next county. And now, having witnessed three massive mood swings in less time than it took to fry an egg, she had no idea whether she was talking to her mother, or Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde.

  “I supported you with everything I had to give, mother. But you’ve done something terrible. Now you have to try and fix it.”

  Karlson shook her head and pushed her hair back. “I doubt that’s possible without destroying my campaign.”

  “Right now, you have to do whatever it takes.”

  “Really, Jordan? And how do you suggest we make everything right?”

  “For starters, I believe you should admit what you’ve done. It might even help the military if they knew where the leak came from. I have to believe they would go easier on you for cooperating. You know you’ve committed treason, right?”

  Karlson ignored the question. “So who else knows this?”

  “Some friends,” Jordan offered reluctantly.

  “Who, your new musician buddies?” Karlson asked with a sarcastic edge. “Thanks, thanks a lot! You’ve all dug me into quite a hole here, Jordan.”

  “Forgive my cheesy comebacks, mother, but I’m not the one holding the fucking shovel.”

  “Enough,” Karlson barked. “I never would have expected the next generation of spies would be drafted from a bar band.”

  “Nobody spied on you,” Jordan replied defensively. “In fact, it was alarming how easy it was to access the files. And the guy that manages your security?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s the one you should be angry at. If he’d been better at his job then —”

  “Then what? Then none of this would have ever come to light? Jordan, exactly how many others have seen this?”

  Jordan shook her head. “I’m not going there. This isn’t about asking a few people to keep their mouths shut. This is national security. Who knows what other missions or secrets have been compromised by what you’ve done. We have to inform the military at the very least.”

  “All right, fine, we’ll find a solution with them. I would expect that the military would be willing to work with me, with us. Would you and your friends be agreeable to something like that?”

  “I guess that makes sense, yes. Please, tell them before any more damage is done or lives are lost.”

  Karlson grinned as though she’d scored points in the conversation. “See? There are ways to find a compromise. You just have to be willing to work toward an acceptable solution.”

  Jordan nodded thoughtfully, hopefully.

  Karlson began processing her next six moves. She needed time and reinforcements. First and foremost, she needed to get word to Gene. Get him over here. She could not let Jordan leave before then. At least while she was here, the lid stayed on the pot.

  “You and I have a lot to talk about,” she said, her voice warm and hopeful. “I need a cappuccino. Would you like one?”

  “I really should go,” Jordan went to stand. “I have a lot to do.”

  “No, please, don’t come and drop a bomb like that and then leave. You owe it to me to talk this through. Honey, I’m asking you to stay awhile. You can help me figure out the next steps.”

  Jordan looked into her mother’s pleading eyes and knew she had to stay. At least for one cup. “Sure,” she said, “sounds good.”

  Karlson went into the kitchen and fumbled one-handed, pulling the coffee mugs from a cabinet while dialing Gene Lawton on her cell. All color in her face drained away, along with her remaining composure. Her hands shook as she panted. The call connected, and Lawton answered.

  “My daughter knows everything!” she hissed in a loud whisper. “She just told me she watched the security video from my office. You know, the one that was supposed to be destroyed and nobody would ever see?” She slammed the kitchen cabinet shut, her anger roiling.

  “Everything all right in there?” Jordan called from the next room.

  Karlson held the phone away and said, “Just bumped into the door. I’ll have this ready in a jiffy.” She pulled the phone back tightly against her mouth and growled, “She also told me if I don’t come clean about this in public, right now, she’ll do it for me. Hello! Are you listening?”

  A tense silence hung in the air before Lawton summoned the words to respond, his voice quivering unsteadily. “How the hell. . .is that even possible?”

  “She said some friends downloaded the file, and they watched it together.” Karlson struggled to keep her own voice to a harsh whisper. “The only record of your perfect plan, the only proof of what really happened, was on that security computer. You swore to me that security asshole of yours had destroyed every trace and scrubbed the hard drives. Goddamnit, Gene!”

  Karlson wanted to strangle him through the phone as she envisioned the full implications of this ticking time bomb. Her knees wobbled, and she gripped the countertop for balance.

  “That’s what he told me,” Lawton said defensively. “All traces of those files were destroyed.”

  “Well, then the fat fucker lied, didn’t he?”

  “Who the hell are these people, Katherine? How did they access this information, anyway?”

  “You mean the ones that played her the video that doesn’t exist? I think it’s her little musician friends. I’m not sure yet who else is involved. What I do know is this, this idiot who masquerades as a security professional failed at his job. This is all his fault! Meanwhile, Jordan is here, and I don’t know how long I can keep her from leaking this.”

  The phone line went quiet for a moment as Lawton thought hard. “I have a suggestion,” he finally said, “but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me. We’re so far up shit creek now that I’ll listen to anything.”

  “Do you still have some of those industrial-strength sleeping pills?”

  “I think I still. . .wait, you’re not going to suggest that I drug my own daughter.”

  “I don’t see as we have a lot of choices. If we can reason with her later, then she might understand what we’ve done and why. Break open three capsules and dump them in a drink. Make sure it’s strong enough to cover that taste.”

  Lawton’s solution was so far beyond repulsive that it hit like a punch below the belt, stealing Karlson’s breath away. She gasped, dropping the phone to her side. She stared forward in disbelief, sucking in short puffs of air as panic tore at her like tiny daggers. The unconscionable ugliness of his words felt all the more vile as she repeated them to herself. She pressed the phone up hard against her cheek. “Goddamn it, Gene, NO! We’re not doing this. There has to be another way.”

  “Katherine, you need to give me time to find out what’s going on here. I need at least a day or two to get the facts and then figure out a plan of action. Either that or you let her go tell the world. I guaran-damn-tee it will be the end of your campaign.”

  She thumbed the end call button and pocketed the phone. It was all crumbling away. Her lower lip quivered as she shook with rage. Everything she had worked so hard for would soon be gone. And it all came down to having trusted this man at his word. It was all Gene’s fault! It was his brilliant hair brained scheme to release the details of that damned military mission in the first place. That one misstep was now going to derail the most perfectly executed presidential campaign in American history. It was over, and there was no way out. She squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. How could Jordan be so willing to destroy her own mother? The woman who gave her life, nurtured and coddled her, supported every childhood project and aspiration the kid had ever pursued. She did it all and more with a smile and a reassuring word. And this was her payback for being an exemplary mother? “I never failed you,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “But you have failed me. It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair! It’s all too much. Way, way, way too much! I can’t do this,” she whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief.

 
“Stop sniveling,” a stern reprimand replayed from the folds of her memory. Her eyes shot wide open with shock as she recognized the harsh tone of a long silent voice. Blanche Karlson. A mother who was long on criticism and short on affection. That was the advice she would offer right now. Not, ‘You can do this,’ or ‘you’ll find a way,’ but a message more harsh and unsympathetic; ‘Stop sniveling, you always were a whiner.’

  Such were the chastising pep talks Karlson endured from a Hollywood mom more intent on marketing her child than wasting time and energy with unnecessary coddling. Her mother’s image appeared as a vaporous apparition, still wearing the same black dress and sweater over a plain white blouse, old and worn, but always immaculately clean. Her jet black hair was just as she’d remembered, pulled back in a severely tight bun without a single strand out of place. She peered through the mist with that same disapproving scowl that would have sent a young Katherine Karlson cowering into a corner. She’d grown to hate the sound of her mother’s voice and swore an oath that her own daughter would never go wanting for things she yearned for but never received. And yet, here was her own child, satiated to the point of being spoiled, threatening to take from her everything she accomplished. All because Jordan couldn’t live with what her mother had done. Her conscience bothered her, and her friends were upset by what they witnessed on the security video.

  ‘Boo Hoo! Toughen up, child.’ That’s what her own mother would have said. Strangely, it now seemed like the best advice in the world. The campaign was speeding ahead like a bullet train. Stopping now for any reason was unthinkable.

  She thought of the influential, manipulative people that crept in the shadows behind the scenes. They invested millions in her quest for the White House. Every contribution to her campaign, every check offered at a fundraiser, every closed-door meeting with some holier than thou money manager offering support, they all came with strings attached. Strings, hell! Chains, cables, tentacles! These were political manipulators who would never accept a zero return on their massive investments just because a family spat upended her campaign.