Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) (12 page)

The Fed

Every day they’d come in and ask her if she was willing to talk, and every day she would say no. She’d vary her responses. She ran over them in her head, spoke them robotically, didn’t make eye contact.

I don’t know anything. Leave me alone. I’m not talking.

They tried at first. Put a chair in the middle of the room. Cuffed her hands tightly behind her back, until she could barely feel her hands. But the lack of circulation and the passive injuries weren’t enough. They’d smack her around a little too. And she’d say the same thing, over and over, until they left. Sometimes it took hours, sometimes it took minutes. They did it maybe half a dozen times before giving up.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have nothing to tell you. Let me be.

After that they didn’t push it. The damage had been done. Her arms had been bent at an almost unbearable angle behind her back as they stared down at her, demanding answers. She rubbed her wrists raw every time they cuffed her. Felt the blood run down her fingertips and drip onto the floor. She could do nothing but run her wrists under the water in the sink when they were finished.

They moved on, used other techniques. Some were tolerable but most were unpleasant. Caroline bore them the best she could. She’d get a pistol whipping now and then. Whipping wasn’t even the best word for it, because they would hold back from hitting her too hard. They never went too far, only occasionally reminding her that if they so desired, they could knock her unconscious or even kill her in a second.

The psychological games were even worse than the violence. Laughter in the hallways. Lights on and off for shits and giggles. Snippets of conversation, of shared vulgar jokes between crude and unrefined men. A reminder that human contact was a privilege, not a right. Aside from that, the guards left her alone until the morning two of them came for her again. It might not have been morning. She wasn’t sure. This place made her lose track of time.

They dragged her down the hall by her handcuffs. When she stumbled a couple of times they didn’t bother stopping. She didn’t recognize them and they hadn’t bothered introducing themselves. The agents she’d seen on the first day had yet to reappear. Too bad she was still stuck with Fischer.

Sad that she was disappointed at seeing unfamiliar faces. Not that it mattered; many of them looked the same. Middle aged white guys, rather nondescript except they all appeared to be giant douchecocks. Santos must have instituted some new affirmative action program for assholes. And fuck it all, she was starting to crave those little bits and pieces of contact she was granted, even when they were designed to tear her down.

They continued to drag her along until she regained her balance. They came to a door at the end of the hall, removed her cuffs, and shoved her inside.

“You get five minutes with him and then we come back,” one of them said.

A bright, almost blinding light came on.  Caroline noticed a camera in the corner.  No matter where you went in this place, you were being watched. A utilitarian office table and two silver chairs sat in the center of the room. One of them was occupied by a man she hadn’t expected to see.

“Bob,” she said.

The once proud Speaker of the House had lost about fifty pounds, which was about twenty pounds more than he could really stand to lose. His eyes were yellow and sunken.  His clothes hung off him. Though his hands were clasped together and resting on the table, Caroline could see them shaking. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she was frightfully afraid to hear his answers.

Bob smiled wanly. “Hello, Caroline.”

She sat down across from him at the table and swept her fingers across his still tightly clenched hands. He had a number tattooed on his left arm like her. “Bob, what happened to you?”

“Nothing bad, mind you, I’ve been sick since I’ve been here. They’ve been nursing me back to health.”

A load of sweet, steaming bullshit to start their conversation. Caroline held her tongue. There was no such thing as a safe topic in this place, but she had to ask him. She needed to know. “Where’s Adeline?”

His eyes glazed over. “She’s dead.”

“What happened?”

“She got herself in some trouble, and she paid the price.”

Her voice was warning. “Bob.”

“She turned traitor,” he said. “She sold out. And they killed her for it. Goddamn bitch.”

Caroline’s stomach turned. Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. “You think she got what she deserved?”

“Goddamn right she did. Fucking turncoat.”

She’d heard him curse before but never like this, never against his own wife. “If you feel that way, why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you, pumpkin.”

She cocked her head. “Excuse me?”

He smiled at her again. It did little to reassure her. “I know how much you like that little nickname I have for you. Used to bug the shit out of the Democratic leadership. Langlade bitched at me for fifteen minutes about it once. Cursed like a fucking sailor. He insisted my affection for you was unprofessional, but I think he was jealous.” He looked down at the table. “Everyone who knew you on the Hill loved you,” he whispered. “You know that?”

The compliment was nice, but nothing else made any sense. “Bob-”

The interruption came quickly, before she could even put her confusion into words. “Remember when we used to take the Red Line and go to those baseball games together? I was always so glad you were such a big Sox fan like me. And how much you hated that dump on the North Side. Piece of shit with its urinal trough cakes and crumbling façade, to say nothing of that crap product they used to put on the field.”

Caroline searched his eyes for mischief, but found nothing. Had he gone daft? He knew what a zealous Cub fan she was. They had indeed gone to plenty of Crosstown Classic games together. He agreed to take the L almost every single time, even when they had to take the long southbound route to the stadium she refused to refer to as anything other than Comiskey. Armour Square was a little rougher than Wrigleyville, but Caroline loved riding to the game with the other fans from both sides.

Bob had a driver but she always talked him into taking the train, his security team in tow. They’d rib each other through all nine innings, because the Speaker knew how much she despised the South Siders and Caroline knew that his intense dislike for the Cubs had taken generations to develop. She harbored far more animosity toward the Sox than she should, which was strange given her easygoing personality. But maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe this place had rattled his brain.

She chose to play along and plastered a smile on her face. “You know how much I loved Pudge while I was growing up. And the Big Hurt. Two of my favorite players.”

She hoped the Baseball Gods would forgive her transgressions; in all honesty, Carlton Fisk and Frank Thomas were superstars by any objective standard. But certainly not her favorites. Not by a long shot. They wore the wrong colors. Caroline kept the smile on her face, thinking that she couldn’t be that bad off if she was more worried about pissing off Bleacher Nation than about the fact that she was probably permanently trapped in a federal prison.

Bob returned her smile, pleased by her response. “I always got a kick out of your love of all things athletic, but especially baseball. And the fact that you forced me to take that infernal train. Smelled like piss half the time.” His expression changed. “How are they treating you here?”

Caroline pointed at her face, even though she was pretty sure he’d already figured out what they were doing to her. “How do you think?”

Bob blanched for a moment. “I’m sure that was an accident.”

“Perhaps.”

“They just want to talk to you,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to them.”

“I’m sure you do, pumpkin. You and Jack have been quite the troublemakers. You have to know something.”

Caroline flinched. “Please don’t say his name.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m sure you have information that our friends are eager to hear.”

Friends
. He didn’t even waver while saying the word. Fuck. “I mean it, Bob. They’re wasting their time.”

“I told them what I knew.”

She tried to contain her shock. “And what was that?”

His eyes clouded over again. “Nothing.” He stared up at the camera. “I misspoke.”

“They sent you in here to try to get me to talk, didn’t they?”

“They told me you were here. I said I wanted to see you.”

“You have those kinds of privileges?”

He rubbed his hands together. “The guards here occasionally indulge the whims of a dying man.”

“You’re not dying.”

“We’re all dying, Caroline.”

He was going to wax philosophic on her? Was he going to whip out some Kierkegaard next? “Why is this so important to you?”

Bob put his hands over his face. That was fast. Fast enough that she wasn’t sure whether the action was credible or not. “You have to tell them what you know.”

“Why?”

He looked up at her. There were tears in his eyes. Legitimate tears. “They’ll kill me if you don’t.”

He actually looked a little frightened. No wonder his hands were still shaking. If Robert Allen was faking his emotions he deserved a goddamn Oscar, because Caroline sure as hell couldn’t tell. “When you first sat down you made it sound as if you were here of your own volition. Were you yanking my chain, Mr. Speaker?”

“They told me they’d let me go. They promised me,” he said. He kept rubbing his hands together, but the shaking intensified. “I know you, Caroline. You’re a good person. You won’t let them kill me.”

She couldn’t keep the tears out of her eyes either. Her voice was unsteady. “They wouldn’t do that, Bob. They couldn’t.”

Lies. Damn, fucking lies. As if she didn’t know better. Apparently Bob agreed. He reached across the table and grasped her wrist and twisted, and she cried out.

“You have no idea what they are capable of,” he whispered, his eyes wild.

“Bob, please. I can’t-”

His voice rang through the room. “Tell them what you know, Caroline!”

Caroline wrenched away from him and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Caroline.” Bob’s voice was quiet.

She kept her hands over her face.

“Pumpkin.”

She clenched her hair in her fists. Like she was really going to respond to that.

“Representative Gerard,” he said sharply.

She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. Not a single soul had called her that since her last day in office. Except for him. And always,
always
with affection. But not now.

“You will tell them what you know, pumpkin,” Bob said. “You are a proud American. You have served this nation for your entire professional career. You will not sell your country out because you’ve been tricked into believing a pack of lies.”

“Bob-”

“It was that husband of yours, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “Fucking McIntyre. Always such an asshole. He’d believe anything that he reads about our president. He brought you into this, didn’t he? It’s okay. He’s very charming. And you’re so trusting, so sincere, so easily duped.”

Could he be any more insulting? “I-”

“Where is he, Caroline?”

Her resolve broke, just a little. “I don’t know.” She finally said out loud what she often thought during the hours she spent trapped in her cell, when her deepest fears tried to drive out the light. “He’s probably dead.”

“What did he know? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing!” she cried. “He knows nothing. The same as me.”

“You know damn well he engineered this entire thing. And he’s probably forged documents, he’s spread untruths, he’s built up his own little army, all so he can bring down a man who wants to do nothing except bring the United States toward a brighter future. Tell them what you know. Tell them where he is.” Bob’s voice was starting to weaken. “Tell them.”

“I can’t,” Caroline repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“Just think about it, pumpkin. Tell them what you know and they’ll get you out of here. I swear.”

More goddamn lies. This place was full of them. No truth to be found, not even in the darkest corners. “I find that doubtful.”

“They have all sorts of positions that a qualified woman like you could fill. Think about it. You could go back to civil service, doing much, much more than you could when you were in Congress. You’d have power beyond your wildest dreams. So much better than that joke of a job you had playing tea party and singing Kum-Ba-Ya to schoolchildren as First Lady of Pennsylvania.”

He said such hateful, demeaning things. It pissed her off. His mood swung back and forth so quickly that she started to think he’d been drugged.

“Bob, stop. I’m not going to tell them anything. I know that’s why they brought you here.” She looked up at the cameras. “Nice try!” she yelled. “It’s not going to work. Stop using him.”

“Just think about it, pumpkin. That’s all I’m asking.” He grasped her hands again. “And forget what I said earlier. I’m an old man. I’ve lived a good life. Don’t worry about me.”