ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES

by Richard Drummer

  “My mother uses private companies for different projects. I’ll bet that’s who came to your place. That’s how she stays ahead of the curve. She is adept at extracting information. She always knows who is plotting against her before they can ever make a move.”

  Jordan lowered herself into a chair with the motions of a wilting flower.

  “It would have been nice to see my mother act like I mattered. Like she was truly concerned about me. Just to be a plain old mom for a few minutes. That would have meant so much to me.”

  Her voice trailed off, cracking. So much to think about, she thought. Solutions would come. She was sure of that. Right now, though, she was so tired. Maybe she would sleep, though she doubted it. It was worth a try anyway. She stood and put her hand on Ethan’s, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna lie down for a while,” she said in a voice drained of all energy. A thin streak of a tear glistened on her cheek, her eyes dimmed by exhaustion. She turned and walked down the hall to Theresa’s spare bedroom and pulled the door closed behind her.

  The room fell silent except for the muffled voice of a news anchor recapping the senator’s impassioned plea. The small group sat at the kitchen table, shocked and saddened by all they had witnessed. Karlson had skillfully manipulated the crowd with a contrived breakdown while her adoring daughter watched in pained stillness, dying a little more inside with every word. There seemed to be no end to the despicable acts of this woman. And yet, she found a way of lowering the bar even further.

  “I hope Jordan’s able to sleep,” Theresa said, breaking their silence. “God knows she needs it.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’ve seen some cold things in my life, but nothing near what Karlson the ice queen just laid down.” He paused to sip from a soda can, then pointed at Cody. “This is such a wake-up call. Everything happening here will be spun and flipped around so many times that the truth won’t even be part of the story. But at the end of the day, this little group, right here, will be the only ones who know the facts. It’ll be interesting to see if anyone ever bothers to ask what really happened.”

  “Thank you very much, Walter Cronkite,” Cody ribbed his friend. “The revolution will not be televised.”

  “You mean the truth will not be televised,” Joe added, “the spin is in.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed this if I wasn’t watching it all from the inside,” Mark said.

  Everyone nodded, voicing their agreement.

  “Well, I don’t mind telling you guys that I’m scared shitless,” Ethan said. “I just hope we can make this right, and we’re still around to tell the story to our grandkids.”

  “Not shouting it from behind bars would be preferable, I think,” Cody chuckled.

  Ethan attempted a smile. “That one hit home, buddy. I can almost imagine the view from the bottom bunk of a federal prison. Not pretty. It really could come down to that, you know. If the FBI walked through the door right now, everyone in this room would be charged with kidnapping. Jordan would be taken back to that hospital, filled full of drugs, and kept there until she agreed to do things mommy’s way. Even then, they would keep her out of the public eye just in case she had a relapse of conscience.”

  Ethan shook his head, attempting to erase the images. He knew that pondering over negative scenarios would only give them life and help them come to pass. He rocked in his chair as inactivity began burning holes in him. “We should be doing something right now. Not sitting around and waiting for Karlson’s next move. But what? There’s so much yet to figure out. So much more to come before this is anywhere near over.” He looked around the table. “But I promise all of you, I’ll do whatever it takes to get Jordan to the other side of this shit storm.”

  “Well said, my brother,” Cody said, nodding.

  “Here, here,” Joe added, raising his cup in a toast. Everyone acknowledged with a clank of soda cans and mugs.

  “She’s going to need a lot of support to get through this,” Theresa added. “I can’t imagine the pain and betrayal she feels right now. Poor kid’s world was run over by a truck.”

  “More like a steam roller!” Cody exclaimed. “Tell you what, if this girl had nine lives, she went through three of them tonight. I feel like an idiot because I bought into all of her mother’s lies. I would have voted for Karlson!”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too hard,” Murray consoled. “The woman is a great actress, and that’s exactly what we saw tonight.” He looked to the rest of the group and said, “I agree with Cody. I really thought she was bringing something new to the table for this country. I believed in her, and most of the people watching her did, too.”

  Mark nodded and said, “Sort of makes you wonder if any of these politicians tell the truth. Or do they say whatever will keep them in a job?”

  Ethan listened, his eyes absently tracing the wood grain of the table. “It means those types of people are always out there,” he said. “Working only for themselves, but insisting that everything they do is all for us. We can’t allow ourselves to keep getting fooled over and over.”

  “I’m disappointed we’re so gullible,” Theresa said. “It feels like we’re all a bunch of kids playing with matches, wondering why our fingers keep getting burned.”

  “It’s because we want to believe them,” Ethan added. “We want all of those promises to be true. They’re not. I think the moral of this story is to think for yourself. Use your head, develop a good bullshit detector. Oh, and only trust people who have proven themselves worthy of trust.”

  “Well, that eliminates better than half of them, doesn’t it,” Cody chuckled. “I think that I…” He stopped mid-sentence and stared. Jordan had quietly returned and now stood listening to their conversation.

  “Oh honey, you should be trying to get some rest,” Theresa said, getting up and walking over.

  Jordan looked as though the last ten minutes of lying down only served to energize her. “I need to speak to my dad.” Her voice was forceful yet calm. “Now, please.”

  Murray stood, ready to discourage her from making the call. Doing so could reveal her actual situation and location. Just as quickly, he realized it would be futile. The look in her eyes said she would not be talked out of this request. It wasn’t even a request, he thought. It was a politely stated demand, and he could not argue the point. Jordan West was the victim. Arranging to speak with her father seemed the very least he could do. Logic, however, still dictated a cautious, methodical approach. Murray began constructing and then explaining a plan of action to accomplish the task.

  Jordan listened intently until he finished speaking, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  42

  Senator Karlson sat at her desk basking in the warm glow of a bright new morning. The non-stop ringing of the phone played like a symphony of her success. She fielded call after call from television news, talk radio, and tabloid shows. Each of them requested, make that begged, to be selected to host her next interview.

  The latest spike in ratings was rocketing her lead into double digits. It was expected to continue growing through election day. The media now believed the incumbent president could be beaten and wanted to share in the jubilation and march in the parade. Karlson was only too willing to oblige. She ended a call, took a satisfying sip of tea, and penciled in her next appearance in one of the few remaining open spots of the calendar.

  No sooner had she set her cup down than the secretary buzzed to announce the next caller waiting patiently on one of the many flashing phone lines. What an appropriate change in attitude, she mused.

  The days of struggling for a few precious seconds of air time were a thing of the past. Talk show hosts were not leaving it to their secretaries to book a few golden moments with the new maverick candidate. Instead, they were sending the show producers, or in some cases, making the calls themselves. Karlson savored the irony by making them wait, even when she could have taken the call right away. Prominent media celebrities sat parked on hold as she poured hot wa
ter over a fresh tea bag, took notes, or gazed out the window at the city that now bowed at her feet.

  This was the reception she expected from the beginning. All of Washington, DC, was finally realizing she was not just a brilliant and beautiful political powerhouse. She was a hidden jewel unearthed at precisely the perfect time to carry a weary nation onto its greatest glory. Her country needed her more desperately than it would ever acknowledge. And she had the vision, the intellect, and the ovaries to succeed where every POTUS before her failed.

  Karlson expected backlash over some of the policies she would champion. There would be disagreement across the aisle, even dissension within her party. It didn’t matter. She had the momentum and the ability to institute these visions into what she called her ‘New Olympus.’

  An unexpected caveat to her heartbreaking story was that it now graced the front page of every paper and internet posting worldwide. Getting her message to the people was not costing a cent.

  Karlson pursed her lips, restraining a grin as she remembered the words of a cunning presidential advisor who once said, ‘never let a crisis go to waste.’

  The moment was no longer lost on unnecessary emotions over her daughter’s fate. She now assumed that Jordan was safe, even complicit in her own escape. If the kid was smart, like Karlson knew she was, she would do her best to maintain a low profile. Jordan would not want to be found any more than Karlson wanted her dancing in the spotlight. Keeping silent about the details of her hospitalization and dramatic rescue was the smartest thing her kid could do.

  Jordan’s friends dug themselves into a bottomless pit with their noble but stupid actions. No one would take the word of a bunch of zero credibility nobodies over a grieving mother. Even better, the story they told was beyond belief.’ Yes, we kidnapped the senator’s daughter, but…’ But nothing! Guilty as charged.

  That can of worms would only be opened if they were arrested by the local authorities. This was not in Karlson’s best interest. Eliminating the nuisances altogether was much more preferable.

  That’s where Karlson’s private security firm came in. They monitored police radio frequencies. Once Jordan was spotted, they would sweep in before law enforcement could arrive. The former military mercenaries were disciplined, tough, well-compensated, and therefore very dedicated to their employer. Karlson even had a mole within the FBI, keeping her apprised of every new lead. It cost a small fortune to deal with the situation in this way. But she could ill afford to be distracted from the more important job of running the campaign.

  In the end, Jordan would be the only one remaining who could corroborate the details of this debacle. Karlson had already set a plan in motion to assure her silence. With all the bases covered, she was free to return to the most crucial task at hand; taking the oval office.

  43

  The next afternoon, Ethan and Jordan drove toward the destination chosen by Murray. He had studied cell tower maps and determined the optimum location to call Jordan’s father. Murray agreed to make the phone call happen as soon as possible but persuaded Jordan to be patient. He needed time to arrange the details. If she were caught now, everything they had gone through would be in vain. They needed to develop a plan and carry it out as though it were a military exercise. As anxious as she was to just dial the damned phone and call her father, Jordan acknowledged that Murray was right. She stepped back and waited for him to organize the specifics of their next steps. It seemed like a lot to go through. But the more she listened to his plan, the more she agreed and trusted in him. He was actually turning out to be very good at this. She was also glad that he talked her into getting some rest before they set off to make the call. She was exhausted, and once the plan had begun taking shape, she was able to doze right off.

  Theresa did a brilliant job of transforming the two of them into likenesses of herself and Joe. Nothing thus far could link either of them to the breakout, so their identities were borrowed for the task. Today, Jordan had a new face with a new name. She now carried Theresa’s purse and identity. She was a redhead and made up so that her eyes appeared large and alluring. Her nose looked thinned, and her cheekbones were more prominent. The result was stunning, and Jordan, already an attractive young woman, couldn’t believe the transformation. The skin tones and eye colors had the effect of masking Jordan’s lighter, softer features. It would take a trained eye to see through the facial camouflage. But that was not all it accomplished. When you caught a glimpse of this woman now, your mind wouldn’t be on anything except her dazzling beauty.

  Ethan carried Joe’s entire wallet, including driver’s license, credit cards, and car registration. He could have passed for Joe’s identical twin, right down to shorter, lighter hairstyle and goatee.

  The short trip from McLean, Virginia, to Gainesville took a little over thirty minutes. They pulled into the parking lot of the Grafton Street Pub at 1:40 pm.

  Ethan handed his burner phone to Jordan. “Remember, keep it under three minutes,” he reminded her. “And here’s the list of points you need to cover. Are you ready?”

  Jordan took the phone and the list, then leaned in and kissed him. “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, pulling away slowly. “And if I haven’t said it before, thank you. Words cannot express my gratitude. And I want you to know something else.”

  “Okay,” he smiled, “what’s that?”

  “This is the weirdest second date I’ve ever been on.” She winked and tapped in her father’s cell number. She listened as the phone rang three times before he picked up.

  “Yes?” The voice on the other end sounded annoyed with the call. This was the governor’s personal cell phone, and very few people had the number. Clifford West was in no mood to be gracious or hospitable to an unknown caller ringing in. Especially now that his daughter had been kidnapped.

  “It’s me!” Jordan managed to say, struggling to hold back a flood of tears. “Please don’t say my name in case they have word recognition software running on this line.”

  Shock, elation, and alarm jolted Clifford West upright in his seat. It was his daughter’s voice, without a doubt. But it came in on an unknown number, with the most baffling words he could imagine. A thousand questions flooded in at once. He found himself overwhelmed and unable to respond. Finally, the initial impact subsided. “Is it. . .is it really you? Where are you?” His voice sounded high pitched and cracking, betraying his otherwise stoic demeanor. His throat was suddenly so dry that he struggled to speak. He caught himself before doing exactly what she had instructed him against. He glanced up at the limo driver, then over to his assistant to see if either were paying attention to his conversation. He held the phone closer and whispered, “Are you all right? Where are they holding you? Can you talk?”

  “Daddy, I’m fine,” Jordan sniffled. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I’m with friends—”

  “What sort of friends force you from a hospital against your will?” he said, agitated. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you. I just arrived in DC.”

  “Daddy, please listen to me. I was drugged and held against my will at that hospital.”

  “What…what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying this isn’t what it seems. My friends came and rescued me from that place. They’re helping me now.”

  “If these are real friends, then tell them to bring you to me now. Right now.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not that simple? Of course, it is. All you have to do is—”

  “Dad, stop! Please trust me on this. I will explain everything very soon. For now, just know that I need your help. My friends are not the bad guys.”

  “This makes no sense at all.”

  “It will. I need you to write something down for me.”

  “Wait,” He said, grabbing his notepad and pen from a valise. “All set, go ahead.”

  “Buy a disposable phone. Please be sure no one else knows the number, so the line can’t be traced. I’m going to
text you a coded number. The code will contain my own cell number mixed in the string. You need to remove my number and read the remaining digits from back to front. At 4:00 pm I want you to dial that number from the new phone. Did you get all that?”

  “Yes, I understand, but,” He caught himself again before saying her name. “If you are truly safe, then why are we doing this?”

  Jordan paused before answering. She knew how difficult this was to comprehend and hoped her father would indulge her long enough to explain what was really happening. “Because I’m not safe yet. Call at 4:00. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  Jordan hit the end button on her phone, looked at the time display, and held it up for Ethan to see. “Two minutes, forty-seconds,” she said.

  “Very good! Have you done this before?”

  “No, smartass, and I promise to never do it again after we get through this.” She gave him a sly grin and pulled the battery out of the phone. “Okay, next stop, sir?”

  Ethan threw Joe’s Chrysler into gear and pulled back onto the road. The plan was to be twenty miles away from here when she sent the code. They would destroy the phone and power up another burner to be ready to receive the incoming call. Ethan drove north on I-485 until he had traveled the distance worked out by Murray. He looked over to Jordan and said, “Go ahead with the code.”

  She reloaded the battery pack, powered up and texted the code to her father, then powered down again. Ethan veered into a rest area, where Jordan yanked out the Sim card and battery, then dropped all the parts into a trash barrel.

  “One more stop,” he said, taking the first exit and looping back onto the freeway in the opposite direction. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ethan, I have been dying to tell my dad what was really happening ever since all of this started. He’s got to be worried sick and thinking the worst. I don’t know how he will handle it once he knows what my mother did. It’s going to hurt him so bad. I do know,” she paused a moment, remembering the words and deeds of a good father, “I do know that I can trust him, no matter what. He’s always been there for me. Even as governor, he’s always tried to do the right thing and stay above the muck.”