“We had shooting practice a few days ago and I kept it together. Like a normal guy would.”
“Well done. Any news from Melanie?”
An image of his on-again, off-again girlfriend ran through Jon’s mind. Her long, wavy hair, blue eyes. Thoughts of her, once joyful, were now laced with stress. They’d met in university after a particularly challenging time in Jon’s life. Since she’d moved out west, their relationship had settled in the gray zone.
“We’re still in loose touch. We spoke a few days ago. It’s getting harder. Every time we speak I feel further away from her and I’m fairly certain the feeling is mutual.”
“Long distance can be hard to keep up. Especially with two very busy people.”
Jon looked out the window, seeing nothing in particular. “I wasn’t the best boyfriend.”
“We’ve discussed that. And what have you concluded?”
“She loved me anyway.”
“And?”
“And . . . self-flagellation doesn’t help, self-improvement does.”
The therapist smiled. “That’s right.”
“So you’ll tell Matthews I don’t need to come here anymore?”
She laughed. “Is that what you really want?”
He pursed his lips. “Nah. I’m good with this.”
“Good, then I’ll see you same time next week. Your homework will be to do one thing just for fun.”
He left the therapist's office thinking, How hard could that be?
***
Austin, Texas
Congressman Richard Taylor ascended the dais. His red and blue tie boasted a perfect Windsor knot, the lapel of his pressed navy suit sporting a tiny Old Glory pin, its real-life counterpart positioned behind him.
He looked out at the sea of faces, his supporters and constituents filling the room. Reporters up front, his family on both sides flanking him. Beside him was his wife of thirty-two years, Mary. Her persona strong, yet feminine. She put out her hand and he took it. They had begun this journey together and would see it to its unexpected end. Here. Now.
Noting the number of cameras, he was glad he had hired a makeup artist to camouflage the pallor that came with days of fatigue and worry.
As the frontrunner for the soon-to-be vacant governorship, Richard had made these appearances more times than he could count. He was favored to win in a landslide, moving the populous state back to its previous party’s capable hands. He approached the lectern and raised the microphone to match his tall stature, took his glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. He took a sip of water from the glass sitting beside his prepared statement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, honorable citizens of this great state. Thank you for coming on such last-minute notice for today’s press conference.” He spotted Beverly, his long-suffering campaign manager, in the front row, offering a silent message of concern and support.
“Six days ago, I received an unidentifiable email. Its contents have shaken me to my core and uprooted the stability of my family members.”
Murmurs could be heard around the room. Reporters grasping recorders angling for a better position.
“The insinuation was that it was being sent from our opposition. While it was tempting to fall into that trap, I have been given emphatic assurances that it is not the case. I choose to believe them.” He waited for the shouts to die down to continue.
“The message consisted of a detailed medical profile. It took me a moment to realize it was actually mine. One I had never seen before. You can imagine my concern over privacy and theft, but I read on, only to discover a list of predispositions. They included among other lesser concerns, the high likelihood of my developing rapid onset Alzheimer’s within the next year.”
Murmurs turned to shocked outbursts. Someone yelled, “It’s a hoax! They’re trying to derail us!”
The congressman waited once again for the crowd to settle down. “Needless to say, I’ve followed up with my personal physician. I’ve undergone exhaustive testing. And as it turns out the profile is accurate.”
People were now on their feet shouting, a television cameraman scrambled to get a closer shot of the congressman’s face.
“Given these unforeseen circumstances I have no choice but to step out of the race for governor of the great state of Texas.”
***
Salt Lake City
Franklin Oakley watched the news with amazement. His strategy had worked brilliantly. The congressman was stepping down, leaving the door wide open for his opponent to waltz straight into the governor’s office. It was too late in the race for another member of Taylor’s party to step forward and have a chance at victory.
His timing had been impeccable. The close-up of Richard Taylor’s face revealed a person of determination and power. Yet, Franklin, a young man living miles away had not only brought him down but changed the course of a free election. He marveled at his handiwork, eager to see what else he could accomplish.
Franklin’s gaze shifted to the muted television propped up on his dresser. The news ribbon at the bottom of the screen highlighted yet another inane report about the upcoming royal nuptials. Did he dare?
He crossed the room and took another slice of cold pizza from the open box on his chipped wooden nightstand. He needed a mental break. His appointment wasn’t for another couple of hours, but he called the shuttle service to pick him up early just to feel the fresh air on his face. He turned back to his work console, shut down all the screens, shuffled awkwardly into his jacket and left his room, locking it behind him.
“Mom, I’m leaving,” he called out.
No response. He hadn’t expected one.
He let himself out, glad for the sunshine and waited on the porch for his ride.
***
Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center
New York City
Doug quietly walked into the room. He no longer noticed the ever-present beeping. He placed a vase of daffodils on the nightstand, next to his photo. He never liked that picture, but Erica always said he looked just like when they first met. He was about to sit down when she stirred, opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“These days I’d rather be awake.”
“Brought you some flowers.”
“They’re beautiful. How was your day?”
It was hard to talk about the mundane, but it seemed to give Erica a sense of normalcy.
“Steadman’s still a pain in the ass.”
She laughed softly. “You know why the two of you are always butting heads, right?”
He shook his head.
“Because you’re so much alike. He’s basically a younger version of you, Doug. Don’t you see it?”
“Most certainly not. He’s arrogant, stubborn and thinks he knows everything better than everyone else. And he’s insubordinate.”
She laughed again, put a hand on her husband’s arm.
“Did I just describe myself?” Doug asked.
Erica said, “He’s also brilliant, thinks outside of the box and is fiercely loyal.”
“I’m not sure if I’ve been insulted or complimented.”
“A little of both, sweetheart. If you two can get past your own pride, you would make a great team. An epic FBI duo.”
Now it was Doug’s turn to laugh.
He puffed up her pillow, straightened her turban. “Can I get you anything?”
“Your being here is enough. I know how hard it is to get away.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Erica smiled, closed her eyes.
Doug watched as her breath became even and his wife fell back asleep.
Chapter 11
Los Angeles
Luanne’s thoughts were interrupted by an alert on her work phone. She read the AP report in shock. So much for giving the firings my undivided attention.
For the next two minutes her phone notificatio
ns didn’t let up. Among them was a text from her boss. ROYAL WEDDING CANCELED! All hands on deck!
***
New York City
“Jon, you won’t believe what I just heard from my colleague about the royal breakup.” Luanne spoke rapidly into the phone.
“I have no time for that now.”
“It’s relevant! Just hear me out, okay?”
Jon looked at his watch. “I can give you five minutes then I have to get back to work.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Glad to be part of the majority opinion. Anyway, according to a confidential source, about two weeks ago, the queen requested that the bride-to-be take a blood test.”
“Isn’t that standard procedure?” Jon asked, pulling up the LA Times on his screen. The headline read, “A Royal Jilt.”
“Apparently not. In any case the results came in the day before the breakup.”
“You think the blood test revealed some sort of infection?”
“Unlikely they would create such a media hoopla for a run-of-the-mill treatable infection.”
“Then what?”
“What if the blood was sent out for genetic testing? They could have checked for serious diseases or a predisposition.”
“Don’t they already do that to check for Tay-Sachs carriers?”
“Sure, some U.S. states require it. But federal law protects against analyzing without the express permission of the donor.”
“Maybe UK laws are more lenient.”
“Actually, they are way more protective of individual rights. I checked. I’m talking about something much more comprehensive. Huge strides are being made in DNA coding. What if someone in the royal family was given access to the bride-to-be’s DNA without her knowledge or compliance? And what if they determined she was a carrier of some genetic disease? If they had access to that kind of information . . .”
Jon interrupted. “That’s a lot of ‘what-ifs.’ But assuming those unlikely circumstances, it would stand to reason they would do what they could to protect the bloodline.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why would someone set out to intentionally break up the wedding?”
“Maybe for attention, glory, whatever. Maybe an old lover who missed out on being a princess. Who knows? But I’ll tell you this—from a newspaper point of view, a royal breakup is bigger and better news than a wedding. That whole train wreck phenomenon. The public can’t look away. Together for years, lowly commoner bagging the third in line to the throne, primed for a life of the queen’s service, and then within weeks of her wedding she’s tossed. There’s a big story there and no stone will go unturned as far as our editor is concerned.”
“You do realize we sound an awful lot like those conspiracy theorists we saw posting online.”
“Maybe they’re not theories, Jon. Maybe it’s exactly what happened to the laid-off workers.”
“Whoa. Hold your horses. We need actual facts, Luanne.”
“You can use your FBI credentials for that.”
“That would mean me telling Matthews what I’ve been up to,” Jon said.
“Okay, then how about this? My colleague has the source—someone inside the palace. He won’t speak on the record but maybe he can shed some light on what’s going on.”
“Good place to start. Keep me posted.”
Jon hung up, certain they were disturbing a hornet’s nest.
Chapter 12
Los Angeles
The Times newsroom was in a frenzy, the atmosphere electric. Luanne loved it. The excitement of a breaking news story, meeting impossible deadlines. It’s what drew her to journalism in the first place. Now she had a potentially credible—and invaluable—source on the line.
The Brit’s diction was crisp and precise, despite his whispered tones. Rather than ask the man to speak up, she quickly moved to an unoccupied office and shut the door, taking a seat behind the desk.
Luanne pictured a balding man in his forties dressed in a black uniform with official ribbons and gold buttons. Of course, who really knew how the British chauffeur dressed when off duty.
“I’m not accustomed to speaking with anyone other than your associate, Ms. Robinson,” he said, his voice shaky.
“I understand and greatly appreciate your willingness to talk with me today,” Luanne said.
“I only agreed to do so because she reassured me that you are an honorable young lady and will keep my identity under lock and key.”
“You have my word.”
“Very well. What would you like to know?”
Luanne looked at her hand-written notes. She’d prioritized her list in case he decided to end the call prematurely. “Can you confirm that the queen requested her son’s fiancée undergo a comprehensive blood test prior to the wedding?”
“Yes, I can. All new members of the royal house are required to undergo a blood test. I drove Caroline to the doctor’s office myself.”
“Have you seen the results?”
“No, ma’am, but that was months ago, and all appeared to be fine. In my estimation the breakup had nothing whatsoever to do with that blood test.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. I thought that’s what led to the breakup.”
“From what I’ve heard, what led to the breakup came only a week later. Someone offered the queen more extensive results. Based on DNA analysis. Apparently, that’s when the trouble started.”
“So the fiancée agreed to further testing, beyond what is normally done?”
“She claims she did not. It would appear someone gained access to her blood sample, extracted the DNA and proceeded to test it further.”
Luanne was stunned. How could something like that happen? “What are you basing your theory on?”
“It’s not my theory. I have been close friends with Her Majesty’s personal secretary since grade school. All correspondence passes over his desk before it reaches the queen. He told me once Her Majesty reviewed the information, she had no choice but to act upon it.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear she didn’t seek it out. So, what did the DNA reveal?”
“I did not see the report with my own eyes. Please be aware of that. However, my friend did. He said, according to the results, the fiancée had a very high probability of passing along a chromosomal abnormality to her offspring.”
“And that could not be tolerated?”
“Absolutely not. While it is not openly discussed, most royal families throughout Europe and Asia have an increased incidence of deformity and syndromes. For generations, the same families—cousins, essentially—married into each other. The babies born with those issues were quietly sent away or left to die.”
Luanne was appalled. “But in this day and age, technology can identify those possibilities and early term abortions can be done.”
“True, but keep in mind, we are also living in the information age. It would not go over well if the princess was reported to be pregnant and never give birth. An abortion is a highly religious topic and the royal house is ostensibly still under conservative Protestant constraints. It would be a media nightmare. One with which the queen cannot afford to be associated.”
“Yet Caroline's test results were never released to the media.”
“Discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Not in my business,” Luanne said.
“Then perhaps you should consider a change of profession.”
“Maybe someday, but for now I’m hoping to make a living off of journalism’s high road.”
The man laughed heartily. “Quite noble of you.”
Luanne did not laugh in kind. “I have to ask, but with all due respect, why are you speaking with me?”
“I agonized over this. But in the end, I cannot remain silent. It’s such an awful shame. Caroline is a special young lady, full of spirit and grace. She would have added a new vibrancy to the royal house. The public knows
that and loves her. And might I say, she really loves the prince, it wasn’t just for show. Her unceremonious dismissal is a disgrace to the throne. The queen’s subjects have a right to know.”
Luanne was impressed with the man’s response. “Thank you for your candor.”
“Will you print the story?”
“I’ll speak with my editor, and he will be the one to determine that. You are one step beyond a direct source and that can be tricky. However, if we do run it, I’ll leave out your name and any hints of who my source was.”
“Very well, then. I have done my duty and leave the matter in your capable hands.”
***
New York City
Jon sat at his office desk, looking at his to-do list. Do something fun. His therapy homework. Fun. His mind went blank. Gabe and Mel were far away, Terry at a conference. His other good friends were back in Dallas and Granny was in Florida. How was he supposed to have fun by himself?
Even Luanne was on the other side of the country. Guess I’ll be late with this homework.
His thoughts turned to Matthews. Jon found himself between a rock and a hard place. Nowhere to go. He would have to throw himself at the mercy of the court. Namely the Matthews court. It didn’t help that lately Doug had been even more cantankerous than usual. Or that Jon would have to admit that he’d been lying to his boss all along. Let the chips fall where they may. I need to see this through. For Ed. For Ashleigh. For all those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
Jon could see Doug through the glass door to his office, his regular disheveled self, yelling at someone on the phone. Maybe it wasn’t the best time. But lately, the man was like this all the time. Jon watched Doug slam down the phone, girded himself and knocked on his boss’s door.
Doug gestured for him to come in. “What do you want Steadman? Got something on those threats?”
“Still working on it. Got a minute? We need to talk.”
Doug saw the seriousness in Jon’s face. “Close the door and have a seat. What’s going on? Something up with your family in LA?”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 6