Karlson’s involvement would be played down, denied. Joe could envision the gag orders imposed by pre-selected judges to keep the truth from ever seeing the light of day. The fate of Jordan West would then lie entirely in the hands of her mother, who would be free to do anything she pleased to cover her tracks. The woman had already shown the terrible extremes she would go to if it ensured her political victory.
Joe feared all the more for Jordan’s safety, imagining the experimental procedures they would perform to erase this event from the young woman’s mind. To manipulate her into complete and everlasting submission. Joe envisioned a Jordan from the future, a neuro numbed mental vegetable. He shuddered at the thought and struggled to dislodge it from his head. It wasn’t moving.
A few short hours ago, he was oblivious to this entire fiasco. Now it consumed him and represented the most significant decision of his life. He reminded himself that he could end it all right now with a simple phone call. 1-800-RAT-FINK.
Everyone could go find their own way out of this mess that he and his wife had nothing to do with. Entertaining that thought, however, even for a fraction of a second, felt vile and repulsive. No, doing nothing would never be a path he could walk and still face himself every morning. Then what? Call the press with an anonymous tip explaining what actually transpired between Karlson and the Al Jazeera news crew? Really? He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. The press loved this woman. They would go out of their way to suppress and dismiss the story. No, revealing the truth was not an option. Then what? How could there ever be a happy ending to this nightmare? He scoured his mind, searching for another scenario, an alternative direction that would absolve his friends, aid Jordan West, and keep his comfortable lifestyle intact. His usually creative gray matter was not yielding any nuggets of wisdom. He stared down at the large kitchen table, refusing to believe there was not a better outcome.
Theresa grew tired of the same headlines being repeated by the overpainted talking heads. She tuned the tv to a seventies classic rock music channel. A golden oldie faded away as a memorable guitar riff cut through the air. He watched his wife swaying to the rhythm as she unloaded the dishwasher. Every motion was as smooth and flowing as the music that propelled her. He enjoyed the pleasant distraction, thinking that stacking dishes had never looked so sexy. The effect was hypnotic, clearing his mind as she performed the everyday household function against a new soundtrack.
The last song faded into silence, and a temporary stillness fell over the house. Quiet. Quiet.
A powerful guitar chord exploded out of the speakers. Joe jerked in his chair, electrified, every hair standing on end. He turned to face the television as a snare drum sounded out a tight flam, and the driving rhythm of a timeless rocker filled the room. Theresa grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume, head nodding along to the beat. He stared at first, mouth agape. A look of wonder giving way to a bright smile as he comprehended the gift he had been given.
That was it! The only way out of this mess. It seemed impossible, yet so flawless in its simplicity. He paused to question his own sanity for even generating such a fantastical idea. Really? Yes, really! Such outlandish thoughts seemed so foreign to him. And yet…
Joe eked out a quiet, unassuming existence with his high school sweetheart, Theresa. Together, they built a comfortable life with their individual unique skills. She freelanced as a makeup artist for local plays, weddings, even a few television commercials. He learned electronics early on and built upon those skills. He played it safe, kept his head down, aspiring only to goals that served a very immediate purpose. That was his extent of taking chances in life. He didn’t gamble, didn’t dabble in the stock market, even drove the speed limit. But this new thought entered his brain like the start of a grand life-changing phenomenon that he was pre-programmed to follow.
He questioned the end value of most tasks before beginning them, but not this. This concept, this quest, had emerged from the gray folds of his brain with all the necessary authorizations and approvals. Joe felt so compelled and moved by it that he knew with absolute certainty this was what he needed to do; and that it would work. He just needed to prepare and believe.
There was much to be done, like explaining this to Theresa and making sure she understood and agreed. Not yet, though, he cautioned himself. There were many details to work out before expecting her to take him seriously. This was a life-altering moment and decision, and he knew what side she would come out on if she understood how perfectly the thought was conceived.
There were so many moving parts of this incredible vision. It swirled and dangled in his mind’s eye like a seemingly unmanageable tangle of loose ends. All good, he reminded himself. A head bursting with ideas was infinitely preferable to an infertile and empty cranium. Joe pulled the laptop closer, opened a blank document, and began typing the thoughts as they came, noting each step, the necessary actions, and the supplies and support needed.
It was the only solution that made sense. After all, the best way to prove his friends’ innocence would be to seek the truth directly from the source, from Jordan West herself.
His head bobbed to the powerful pulse of the song, still filling his senses with everything he needed. Perfect timing, he thought, smiling as he read the artist's name and song title displayed on the flat screen; Thin Lizzie, Jailbreak.
32
“Katherine, what in God’s name has happened to Jordan?”
Every news outlet was leading with the story of the Jordan West breakdown. Karlson had yet to inform her husband personally. The situation was nowhere near stabilized, and she feared his expected barrage of questions. Clifford West was, after all, a skilled attorney.
The storyline she and Lawton concocted still lacked vital elements and faced the risk of crumbling under cross-examination. Remaining purposefully vague was her best and only defense. She silently cursed his timing and slipped into character.
“Oh, Cliff, it’s terrible,” she mourned. “I’m so sorry for not calling sooner, but I’ve been overloaded since her breakdown.”
“What are you talking about? She was fine when we talked last.”
“I know,” Karlson agreed, “I didn’t see this coming either. She must have been holding it all in until it completely overwhelmed her.”
West exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were having breakfast and watching some clips on the news. At first, Jordan made comments about the story being reported. But then, she became more and more agitated.” Karlson’s voice rose and cracked, increasing with each painful detail. “The next thing I know, she’s going on about conspiracies, drugging the water supply, government takeovers, and God knows what else. She kept working herself up until she was babbling, crying, yelling at me, at the television, at the world.” Karlson paused, timing the release of tears. “Clifford,” she sobbed, “it was like. . .like she didn’t see or hear me. Something unwound inside of her. I watched the look in her eyes. I watched her fading away from me.” Karlson paused, holding the phone away, allowing the full intensity of her rehearsed sorrow to engulf her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was working her that hard. She had so much responsibility with the campaign and school.”
“That poor kid,” West muttered. “Where is she now?”
“I wanted her in a facility where she could rest with no distractions, and especially no reporters. I found a private hospital. They’re keeping her there for observation for a few days.”
“All right, I can clear my schedule and be there in the morning. Give me the details of this place.”
“Not yet,” Karlson countered, “the doctors recommend we give her time to stabilize and then start with therapy. You should stay right where you are until they tell us otherwise.”
She hoped that would be enough, for now, to keep her husband away from Jordan. There was much work to be done to change her daughter’s mind. Karlson still struggled with repairing the damage. How do you convince an int
elligent and articulate young woman that everything she had seen, everything she was trying to do, was wrong? She needed at least a few more days with Clifford West far removed from the situation.
“Katherine, my daughter is in a hospital,” he protested. “I should be there with her.”
“She’s our daughter, dear, and I trust the doctors to know more about these things than I do. You should do the same. I’ll keep you posted, I promise. But we have to give her what she needs. Right now, that’s peace and quiet.”
Karlson could almost hear his mind working, mulling her words over. She knew what she was up against and how difficult it would be to keep him away. West was a loving and attentive father. Not being at his daughter’s side in her time of need would be nearly unbearable. He would never forgive himself if Jordan got worse and slipped further away. Every fatherly instinct must be screaming at him to come and offer support. She silently cursed at being forced to play the villain’s role with the task of pounding a wedge between them. Although there were no other options, this was still the part of Lawton’s royal shit storm that she regretted the most. His ineptness now forced her to stoop to subterranean levels, manipulating her own family to save the campaign.
“Are you talking with her? Is she being treated well?”
“I tried to speak with her right after she was admitted, but she was still very agitated. They’ve given her something to calm her down.”
“So she’s drugged up? Christ, Kathy! I’m coming out there. She needs to—”
“Clifford, no! She needs rest and quiet. Please respect the doctor’s orders! And for God’s sake, have some faith in me. Do you know how terrible I feel about this? I will make sure she gets everything she needs. Right now, that’s going to come from the hospital staff and not either of us.”
She listened to his labored breaths, knowing the internal struggle he fought to suppress all paternal compassion and reason. She hated putting him in such a position, but her plan had no nope of success any other way. She silently willed him to accept her explanation, promising herself to make it up to both of them as soon as possible.
“I’ll wait a day or two,” he finally relented, “but please, stay on top of this and keep me posted.”
“You know, I will. I love you, Cliff.”
“I love you too. Call me soon.”
Karlson breathed a sigh of relief as she ended the call. There was much more damage control to be done if she was to stay ahead of this. She needed to prepare a formal press statement about Jordan’s condition. Then she would track down the bastards that gave her the information that caused all of this trouble. Her sources pointed to Jordan’s new group of friends. Damned musicians! Since when were they capable of putting more than five cohesive words together to form an intelligent sentence, let alone hack into a government installation and steal confidential files? Speaking of which, Gene still had a lot of explaining to do. How could these geeks have gotten their hands on information that should have been destroyed? She had trusted him implicitly, and for that, she now found herself in the fight of her life.
She and Lawton faced a monumental task before they regained control. Thankfully, that was his forte. No one was better. She thought a moment that sleeping together may have allowed him to take to his eyes off the prize. Was he taking too much for granted, thinking that command in the bedroom equated to more power? Karlson shook her head. Not now, not ever! Their sexual pleasures should not have compromised the professional relationship. He should have understood the rules before going down that road. Did he assume everything changed once he had a few of her orgasms under his belt? She would make it a point to discuss boundaries and expectations. Right now, though, she needed him to do what he did best. Well, maybe what he did second-best, she thought, smiling. After all, the son of a bitch was good in bed.
Gene’s immediate task was to fix what he had broken, then carry the campaign over the finish line. They were so close that she could taste her first breakfast served in the White House master bedroom. It was time to get him working on a solution. Then, after this storm passes, it might be time to consider a new campaign manager. Gene Lawton may have already outlived his usefulness.
33
Ethan arrived back at Joe and Theresa’s home after ten, wired from driving, and that last cup of Joe’s nuclear coffee. He laid the bag of phones he’d purchased on the kitchen table and dropped into a chair, letting out a sigh that could be felt as well as heard. He stared at the brown plastic bag, still disbelieving his life was taking such a radical detour. One that he had no control over.
The past few days’ events unfolded before him, like tuning into a movie halfway through and attempting to figure out the plot line and all of the characters. Nothing felt right. No internal voice of reason whispering it would all turn out well. His ears rang with the frequency of a swarm of Cicadas, stifling any logical thought. He tried to jump-start his brain, but it remained stuck in neutral. Like he was waiting for some grand plan to come and lift him, make him feel useful. He likened it to writing a song, which he preferred to do with a partner. When his own creative well ran dry, it only took a few chords or lyrics from another musician to make his mind explode with new ideas. That’s all it would take, he told himself. A little input. Just a couple of chords.
Joe looked up from hours of staring at his computer. The lines of information still burned a phosphoric green in his retinas. He blinked a few times to clear the image away and looked over the top of his glasses at Ethan, who seemed miles away in thought.
“Let’s open these up and get them charging,” he told his friend. “We’ll need at least four for tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“We try to find Jordan.”
Ethan sat bolt upright. “Wait, say that again.”
Joe smiled. “I thought that would get your attention. We think she’s being held at a rehab hospital in Bethesda. It’s more of an asylum, really. My brother-in-law is a temp worker there and already made arrangements to cover a friend’s shift tomorrow morning. He’s going to ask around and try to find out if she’s being held there.”
“And what if we find her, what then?”
“Maybe we can get word to her that we’re trying to help. That she’s not alone.”
Ethan nodded, his mind drifting to Jordan in the last moments they were together. He imagined them in another time, another place. Holding hands across a small table at a sidewalk café. She smiled back with an expression as warm as the morning sunrise. She squeezed his fingers tightly as a gentle breeze brushed a lock of dark hair across her forehead. Her green eyes sparkled with serene happiness. Ethan blinked, and the image transformed to a dimly lit cell with dirty white padded walls. Jordan stood before him, her face pale and drawn, eyes dark and sunken. Her blissful expression was replaced with one so empty that it chilled him to the core. Her fingers clamped around his hands as if clinging to a lifeline. He stared helplessly at her tear-streaked face and watched as she mouthed the words, help me!
He jerked back from the ghastly vision, shuddering. Those desperate, pleading eyes haunted him, begging him to come and find her. He thought of Jordan’s mother, the cause of all this anguish. His sadness gave way to a simmering anger that stoked ever hotter. He hadn’t expected the senator to take Jordan’s ultimatum well, but her reaction was right off the charts. Light years beyond anything he could have imagined.
“Karlson locks up her own daughter to keep the campaign alive,” he said, shaking his head. “Jordan trusted her. She told me that she owed her mother the benefit of the doubt. This is how she’s rewarded.” He closed his eyes, teeth clenched, still disbelieving anyone could do this to their own flesh and blood, regardless of the motive. “President Karlson,” he said with disgust. “What a terrifying thought! She’s no more worthy of that job than the lowest bottom feeders in this sick town.”
Joe nodded in agreement as he tore open a cell phone pack. The noise of the crumpling packaging brought Ethan
from his dark visions, and he followed suit.
“Jot down the numbers of each phone on this paper,” Joe directed him. “We’ll assign the names of who will carry each. Then write down the last two digits on the back of each phone with a sharpie so we can keep track of them. Once we have all seven identified, I’ll take a ride to Mark’s house and give him one.”
“I don’t know, Joe. It doesn’t seem right dragging others into this mess.”
“I didn’t drag anyone. He volunteered. We had a long conversation while you were gone. He’s not doing anything dangerous or illegal by confirming Jordan’s whereabouts. He also happens to believe it’s the right thing to do.”
Ethan, at a loss for words, nodded gratefully.
Joe pulled the remaining phones from the packaging and plugged them into their chargers as Ethan labeled and documented each.
“You and Cody will each take two, and I’ll take one for myself. We’ll keep another for Cody’s cousin, Murray, when he gets here tonight. All of you guys have to fly under the radar. Once we get a better handle on all of this, we can formulate a game plan.”
Ethan shook his head. “Cody and I should be thinking about another place to stay until this blows over. I can’t ask you guys to get any more involved in this.”
“No, dude,” Joe answered, “you’re staying here. This is the safest place for you right now. It’s also a lot easier to coordinate our next steps if we’re all together.”
“Joe, this isn’t your fight.”
“Says you. I happen to believe it is, and not just because of you and Cody. This woman is dangerous, and she’s on her way to the White House. Look, we all see what she’s done. And if she can do this to her own kid, then she is capable of far worse.”
ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES Page 18