Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) (10 page)

11

Serena belted herself into the passenger’s seat. “Where are we going?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” said Tom.

“We can’t go home if
Bryce, or Otto – let’s call him Bryce – knows where we live.”

“He seems able to find us anywhere. Let’s go home. We can secure the house.”

“What do you mean by ‘secure the house’?”

“What do you think I use to shoot at coyotes and raccoons?”

“You wouldn’t really shoot Bryce, would you?”

“Sure I would, if it’s him or you.”

“You’re going to walk around all the time holding a gun?”

“I can booby-trap the house.”

“How?”

“I can do it.”

“Home does sound good. Our own bed, our coffee, our food.”

“I want to go home,” chimed in all three kids from the back.
Ipod and tablet earbuds were temporarily removed. Unplugging happened when their parents said something they wanted to hear.

Home was agreed upon and they drove the six hours back from Deer River, making a stop at the McDonald’s in Cannon Falls. After a trip to the restrooms, the Meadows family wandered back to the parking lot, carrying drinks and bags of food. They stopped short when approached by a familiar figure.

“Hey, Meadows-es!” Paul rang out cheerfully. “Long time no see. Haven’t seen you around seminar lately.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but clapped his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “How’s the place in Goodhue working out?”

“It was great, until people found us,” said Tom.

Paul didn’t need to feign surprise, because he
was
surprised to hear that they were already aware of discovery.
Who was after them? Was Paul their second choice? Or had Bryce laid down the foundation for Paul to close the deal on?
It was infuriating to be out of the loop. However, he bounced back quickly, and feeling a grin not unlike the Grinch’s spreading over his face, he came up with a plan. It was too, too easy.  “Wow, we can’t have you in a dangerous situation. Follow me back to my place. We can talk there and figure out a plan to relocate you.” Whatever possessed him to strike up a spontaneous conversation in a “chance meeting” location had produced brilliant results. This was most unexpected, especially since he hadn’t really thought this through ahead of time. He hadn’t worked up how to get Serena. He’d simply gotten lucky.

“Oh, that would be perfect,” said Serena. “Thank you.”

As Paul headed back to his own vehicle he reflected on his good fortune and dug into his pocket for his phone. He had only one number programmed, Clyde’s. He dialed it now. Clyde picked up after the first bar of the “Everybody Wants to Rule the World”  ringtone he’d assigned to Paul’s number.

“You rang?”

“I got them. The Meadows family will be at our place in about fifteen minutes.”

“The whole clan, not just the girl?”

“Serena.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll deal with the collateral damage.”

“Collateral damage? What?”

“Put them in the
kitchen, give them some coffee, milk for the kids. There’s a bag of chips in the pantry. Keep them happy and talking. Stall. I’m thirty miles out.”

“Did you get your job done?”

“Where do you think I’ve been?”

“So you’ve got Bryce with you?”

“He’s in the trunk.”

“In the trunk!”

“He’s not dead, you moron! I shoved him in there to put the fear of God in him.”

“I don’t think you know anything about God.”

“And you do?”

“You threw me with the trunk thing. Sorry.”

“He’s cramped in there, not much air to breathe. He’ll be humble by the time I get him home. Humble and ready to chat.”

“I should have known that you knew what you were doing, sorry I doubted you,” Paul said, his voice dripping with contrition.
Hold on, Paul, don’t let him know you’re unnerved
, he scolded himself.

“Apology accepted. See you in a few minutes.
Show time!” Clyde tossed his phone onto the empty passenger’s seat beside him, forgetting to disconnect the call.

Paul began to disconnect from his end, but hesitated when he heard noise.
He forgot to end the call.
Paul could hear clicking sounds and then dialogue:

An unknown female voice: “Why didn't you write me? Why? It wasn't over for
me, I waited for you for seven years. But now it's too late.”
An unknown male voice, with Clyde’s voice saying the same words along with him: “I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you every day for a year.”
The same female voice again: “You wrote me?”
Male, again with Clyde: “Yes... it wasn't over, it still isn't over.”

What IS this? I recognize this.
Paul scratched his brain trying to come up with it.
I’ve got it! This is from “The Notebook”. My deranged brother is playing audio tracks from “The Notebook” and is quoting it from memory as it plays.
Paul disconnected the call before he could hear any more.

The Meadows following behind Paul noticed that he was on the phone. “I wonder who he’s talking to, maybe he’s setting
  something new up for us already,” said Serena.

“Maybe.
Good thing we ran into him, huh?”

“That was strange though, don’t you think? We’ve never run into him randomly before. What are the odds of
  a chance meeting, really?”

“Providence?”

“Or?”

“Not? You think he was following us? Why would he do that? Are you sure you aren’t paranoid?”

“I don’t know, seems like a big coincidence to me. We know for sure that Bryce was following us, and then Paul just happens to show up where we are. What if they are working together?”

“It would explain why our safe house isn’t safe.”

“I think we should assume we can’t trust anybody at this point.”

“Better safe than sorry?”

“So what do we do?”

Tom slowed down, letting a car slip between him and Paul. “I don’t know.”

“There’s not much traffic on these roads, it’s not like you can get lost in the crowd. You won’t even have another traffic light between here and there.”

“I have a gun with me.”

“You
what
?”

“I was in the Army, I’m not Barney Fife.”

“So it’s loaded then?”

“That’s how it works.”

“What if the kids had gotten it out?”

“Our kids wouldn’t touch a gun.”

“We wouldn’t,” came from the backseat.

“Don’t ever, ever touch a gun,” said Serena, turning around in her seat to address the kids. “Maybe we should have them stay in the car.”

“Good idea. You guys stay in the car.”

“One problem, how are you going to bring that in there? It’s a hunting rifle, not like you can hide it.”

“Not the rifle. I bought a handgun.” He lifted up his shirt to expose the handle.

Serena’s jaw dropped and she gasped in a dramatic how-dare-you exclamation.
“A handgun!”

“We’re here. Kids, stay in the car. Serena, stay in the car.” Tom stopped the vehicle and quickly stepped out.

“No, I’m going in too. Kids, stay in the car. Don’t open the door for anybody but us.” Serena got out of the car and followed her husband onto the front walk where Paul was standing, waiting.

“The kids are welcome to come in, too,” said Paul, smiling like a good host.

“They’re doing their own thing, they’ll be fine while we talk,” Serena said, while walking toward the front door. Both she and Tom looked expectantly at Paul to open the door.

Paul looked back at their vehicle and could see the kids’ heads bent over books and handheld gadgets. Satisfied that there was no reason to bring the kids into this, and hoping that Clyde would see it the same way, he let Serena and Tom into the house. He ushered the pair into the kitchen and offered them coffee.

“No thank you,” said Serena. Even though coffee did sound good, she didn’t want anything from this man.

“I’ll take a cup,” said Tom.

Serena glared at him. Tom met that glare and raised one eyebrow that said, “Why not?”

Paul studied the coffee maker, not sure how to proceed. Clyde always made the coffee. This wasn’t rocket science, he told himself. He found the filter basket, put a fresh filter in, and took a guess on how much coffee to put in. He filled the back with water and turned the switch.
That was easy, why did I wait for Clyde all those times I wanted coffee?

As the coffee machine gargled and spit its brew Paul gathered up the sugar bowl and two mugs. He set them on the table, glancing briefly at his captives. He considered himself to be pretty good at reading people, and these two were completely clueless. He would have no problem keeping them here until Clyde returned.

Serena studied Paul as he bustled about the kitchen. She considered herself to be pretty good at reading people, and she could tell that he was definitely involved. What his involvement was, she didn’t know, but he was not to be trusted. She made eye contact with Tom, using their been-married-for-a-long-time silent language to say, “You might need that gun.” Then she made the most of Paul having his back turned to them by examining everything around her.

She noticed a roster of Off Grid Ghost members. If Paul left the room she planned to snoop through it. Maybe Bryce, or Otto, was in the roster. Of course, someone going by two different names could easily invent a third name. The roster was probably useless. She looked around the room for another clue. Something, anything, to give her an idea of what Paul was up to.

She wondered whose taste was reflected in the kitchen. A collection of country roosters including a rooster salt and pepper shaker, a rooster cookie jar, and a rooster planter? Really? Whose kitchen was this? Did Paul have a significant other? She didn’t think so. Her eyes rested on the framed photos on the wall. Ah-ha! Pictures of three little boys, all in plaid suits too large for them. Family picture taken later, with two of the boys, now older, one whose face was clearly Paul’s. So this was his parents’ house. Finding nothing else of interest in the kitchen, Serena asked where the bathroom was.

Paul, suspecting her motives not at all, directed her down the hall and to the right. Serena went promptly down the hall and to the left, where the door to the office was open. A netbook was on a small table with the lid open. Serena looked over her shoulder – she couldn’t see the kitchen from where she was. She ventured in. What she saw on the screen caused her to temporarily stop breathing:

>>My Karyn,

I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.

Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.

They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many
year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.

Your
Farideh>>

12

President Ann Kinji didn’t feel presidential at the moment.
She hadn’t felt presidential since she’d seen the picture of her best friend and husband with a little girl who was most certainly his daughter. She had been wrestling with indecision about how to respond for three sleepless days and nights. Between the anxiety and the sleep deprivation, her briefings with staff, ambassadors, governors, military heads, and the UN were impossible: her mind was drifting away, consumed with thoughts of a child she didn’t know about, a child she wished was her own, but nonetheless was living proof that her marriage was over, and apparently had been for years.

She had to nip this thing in the bud before she put the divided nation at risk. Worst of all, she could not hold her own in the shared space with John Williams. That man chilled her to the bone as it was, and if she was off her game she would never be able to stand up against his rhetoric, conspiracies, and bigotry. He was not just a harmless blowhard. He was an ignoramus with power. And if Ann didn’t get her act together, she’d be giving him free reign over the entire nation as a whole. So, it was with that attitude that she decided to confront her husband with the truth, all the while knowing it would end her marriage.

But her marriage was already over, she scolded herself. How could she stay with a man who not only cheated, but kept a separate life that involved a child? Maybe even an entire family!
Enough! Go to him, talk. Get this over with. Pull yourself together. You gave up a right to drama in your personal life: You are the President!
Having steeled herself up for the devastation to follow, she entered the great room where Ted was lounging, playing Angry Birds on his iPad. She had gotten him hooked on that silly game and now it felt absurd to end her marriage while talking over the noise of cartoon birds exploding. She stood two feet in front of him, silently waiting. He turned off the iPad.

“Ann, something wrong?”
Ted examined her face. Ann said nothing, stayed with her feet rooted into the carpeting. He set down the iPad and stood up, annoying the couple’s beloved long-haired cat Greta who had been sleeping with her head on his lap. He walked over to give her a hug but she pushed him away. Greta left the room in a hurry. Startled, he said, “Did
I
do something wrong?”

“Someone is trying to blackmail me with a picture of you with your daughter.”

“My
what
?” Ted blinked.

His look of surprise looked genuine. Could it be possible this was a mistake?
“Your daughter. The little girl in the picture looks too much like you for me to dismiss the claim as not credible.”

“Ann, I’m so sorry you are going through this, but honey, I do not have a daughter. I’m afraid you’ve been fooled by a Photoshop expert. They probably found a picture of a little girl bearing a resemblance to me and
Photoshopped her in, to look like we are in the same shot together.”

“I didn’t think of that. I want to believe you.”

“We can find an expert of our own who can tell us if the picture has been altered, and who can even find the little girl in the picture, find out who she is.”

“I need to clear this up, Ted. It’s one time I can’t take you on your word alone. I’m sorry, but I have to know factually, beyond a shadow of a doubt. You are my world, my best friend. I need to know that I’m not a fool, that I’m not blinded by what I want to believe.” Ann’s eyes welled up and she forced herself not to lose control.

“I understand, but you’ll see. I have never cheated on you, and never will. Tell me more about the picture.”

“There was a time stamp on it. It was taken five years ago, so the girl is probably around ten years old now.”

“Five years ago? And I had hair, the way it looks now? Ann, that was before I had chemotherapy. You have your proof right there!”

Ann’s eyes widened as the light dawned. How could she have missed that? Ted’s cancer scare had brought them a year of chemo treatments and fear like no other. At the end of that year Ted was cancer free, but watching his blood count closely for the rest of his life; and he’d also lost all of his hair, which only sparsely grew back. His current sporty “news-anchor-man” do had been created with expensive plugs and faux hair artistry. Prior to his cancer treatments Ted had thicker hair, with a noticeable cowlick. Anyone who knew Ted would instantly recognize his “old” hair. That picture definitely showed off his new hair. She had missed it. She felt wretched.

Ted opened his arms wide. “Come on, bring yourself in.” He embraced his wife with all the warmth and strength he could deliver. “I’d never betray you, Ann. We need to find the people responsible for hurting you.”

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” Ann sobbed tears of relief, dampening her husband’s shirt with her tears. Much more of this and her nose would be dripping on him too. “How could I have missed the hair?”

Ted gently pushed her away. “Hey, look at me! You are the President! You have the toughest job in the world. I don’t think there’s room left in that big brain of yours to deal with this. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m over it already. You over it? Because I am. Don’t let them hurt you or take your power for a second longer. Fight, honey, don’t let them win.” He drew her back into his chest for another hug.

“I love you,” Ann bawled. She let it all hang out this time, her body racked with all-out crying, her nose and eyes running together into one messy puddle. All the stress of the Office was unloading like a rain shower, soaking the First Gentleman’s shirt.

Ted held her for several long minutes before he abruptly released her. “Ann, you have to pull yourself together. Go clean up. You have a Vid Red.” He jerked his head in the direction of the large flat screen on the wall. A red indicator light was flashing and an electronic warning tone was emitting, easily heard now that Ann had stopped wailing.

Ann was instantly composed, but looked a sight with her red splotchy puffy face and obvious need for a Kleenex. “Turn off the return video feed.
Audio only from my end.” She dashed to the bathroom to blow her nose and splash water on her face. By the time she returned to the room, the Vid was live.

“I’m here,
Breyana. Why are you contacting me with a Vid Red? I expected to see a General’s face, not yours.”

“Your security detail talked to me. They thought I should do a Vid Red.”

“They are there with you?”

“Yes, Madam President,” called a voice in the background.

“Step up where I can see you. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Madam President, we have information about the man you asked us to track.”

“Gentlemen, this feed is for national security risks only. Paul is a personal security risk, I made that clear.”

“With all due respect, Madam President, we understand the definition of a Vid Red.”

“Are you telling me that this man is a national security risk? Even so, a Vid Red means it requires my immediate attention.”

“Yes, Madam President.
Understood.”

Ann exchanged a baffled look with Ted. What on Earth? “You have my attention.”

“We have been monitoring his Internet activity. He got an e-mail you need to see.”

“Send it through the feed, all windows are open.”

Seconds later, this text filled the screen:

>>My
Karyn,

I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.

Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.

They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many
year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.

Your
Farideh <<

Ann pointed her finger in the air, swiping the text window off to the right. She stared at the young security officer’s face that filled the screen. “What am I looking at? Who forwarded that to him, when, why?”

“The date of the original transmission is the concern.”

“I’m
sorry, I am not getting any of this. What does Paul have to do with Iran? I am not following this email content.”

“The e-mail was originally sent before the Big War, Madam President.”

Ann held her hand to her mouth. She remained speechless for several seconds. Ted came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He whispered in her ear, “You can do this.” Then he let his arm slide down to her hand, squeezed her hand, and left her alone to concentrate. She waved at his disappearing back. She turned her attention to the feed. “Who sent this to Paul?”

“Bryce.”

“
The
Bryce?  John William’s Bryce? Be careful now.”

“Yes, Madam President.”

“I assume you tracked the origin of this e-mail all the way back to the source?”

“Yes, we have. Correct.”

“And what did you find?”

“The e-mail has been transmitted many times, Madam President.”

“Did it ever reach John Williams’ office.”

“Yes, Madam President.”

“Did it ever reach the President of the United States while he was still in office, prior to the Big War?”

“Yes, Madam President.”