House of Secrets - v4 (49 page)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Even as Andy asked the question, he understood. Marion Mann.

“Paul had a number of conversations with Miss Resnick’s assistant,” Hoyt said. “Have you ever heard Paul’s southern accent, Andrew? It’s quite convincing; I think you’d be impressed.”

Andy felt the blood coming into his face. “What did you two do? Once you didn’t need the woman anymore you
killed
her?”

Hoyt shook his head adamantly. “We had nothing to do with that. Absolutely nothing. This is God’s truth, Andrew. This was never about murder. At least not from our side. Paul extracted what we needed from Miss Mann, and that was that. All the rest of it — all this bloodshed — this is not on my hands. None of it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Believe what you will. All I was looking for was your performance on that machine there.” He indicated the computer. “And let me tell you something, the price for capturing you and your friend in Technicolor went sky-high the moment that lunatic smashed his way in and did what he did. This is the truth, Andrew. That development was in no way part of the plan. That was a case of extremely bad timing. For you. For me. Certainly for Miss Resnick. The only people advantaged by that gruesome act were the ones who had ahold of that file. Obviously, once they saw what they had, the value of what they were holding went way, way up. I don’t even want to tell you what I had to pay just now to finally get the damn thing.”

“What about Michelle?” Andy demanded. “Where is she? If anything happens to her, Whitney, by God you’re going to see some fucking bloodshed. The both of you.”

“I promise you, Andrew, I have no idea where Michelle is.”

“This son of a bitch has her. Joy’s cousin.”

Hoyt continued shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know a thing about that man.”

“Who the hell are these Russians? Is that who you’ve been dealing with? For God’s sake, who’s blackmailing me here, Whitney? Them or you?”

“I just explained that,” Hoyt said, calmly taking a sip of his drink. “I was paying for the services of certain people—”

“Aleksey Titov!
I know your fucking ‘people,’ Whitney. I know who you’re in bed with.”

Hoyt glanced over at Jordan, composing himself with another sip of his drink.

“Paul handled the negotiations. I certainly wasn’t going to get involved in that. As I already said, the complications set in when this gorilla came crashing onto the scene and turned your private little party into a bloodbath.”

“And all this was for what? Explain this to me. Was this all just so that you could get me in your pocket?”

“Persuasion 101,” Hoyt said. “You’ve been around long enough to know this, Andrew. If you want someone to do something, the most effective method is to give them a compelling reason
not
to say no.”

Andy slammed his glass down on the desktop. The brown liquid spilled onto his hand. “Jesus Christ, Whitney! What the hell am I supposed to
do
?”

Hoyt was unmoved by the violence. “Stop being dramatic. You listen to me. You’re my son-in-law. You’ve got a stunning career in front of you so long as you don’t blow it. I don’t want to see you flame out, son. I want you to reach your highest potential.”

“And making
… files
like this is going to do that?”

“Reining in your weakness is going to do that. Plus having something very potent with which I can call you on the carpet if need be.”

“Call me on the
carpet?
What you mean is blackmail.”

“I mean persuasion, Andrew. Influence. I don’t really care what you call it.”

“Well, I fucking call it blackmail.”

“Then call it blackmail. It’s just a word.”

Andy glared across the room at his father-in-law. “Okay. Fine. Got it. You’re coming in loud and clear, Governor. You’ve got me with my pants down in every sense of the term. You’ve got your dirty little movie. You’ve got me racing as fast as I can away from the scene of a crime. Bravo, maestro. Job well done. The whole world’s proud of you, Whitney. So, now what the hell do you plan to do with it?”

Hoyt looked authentically confused.
“Do
with it? Not a thing, I hope. It’s my fervent prayer that not a soul outside this room ever lays eyes on this sordid thing. I mean that in all sincerity.”

“So, I accept Hyland’s offer, and the whole ‘sordid thing’ remains stashed safely away somewhere?”

“Precisely. And when I die, it’s yours to do with as you please.”

“Sweet.”

“Come on now, Andrew. How onerous is this, really?”

Andy glowered at his father-in-law. “Is there anything else, Whitney?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You corner me into accepting the vice presidency, and then what? Once I’m in the White House, you start cornering me there as well? You just said it yourself. The expiration date on this damn thing is the same as your own expiration date. Your grip on me lasts as long as you draw breath.”

“I respect you, Andrew,” Hoyt said. “In all this silliness, let’s not forget the basics here. I think very highly of your political instincts. I agree with the great majority of the stands you take. I don’t see any real trouble ahead on that front.”

“A great majority.”

“Yes.”

“How big of you. So what about those areas where you and I maybe don’t see eye to eye? What happens when you want a favor from me and I don’t want to give it? Come on, I’m not a fool. You’re literally drooling over the prospect of pulling the strings on the vice president of the United States any old time you wish. A fine fucking way to run the country, Governor, I have to say. Nice nasty stuff, Whitney. I’m real proud of you.”

Hoyt said nothing. He made a deliberate show of his silence and a deliberate show of finishing up his drink. He held up the empty glass, and Jordan took it from him. Whitney rubbed his thin fingers over his jaw and settled his gaze on Andy. The eyes were stunningly vivid; it appeared nearly as if the eyes of a younger, hungrier animal were looking out from a misappropriated facade.

“Of course you’re not a fool,” Hoyt said, lowering his voice. “You’re extremely smart. That’s part of your perfect package. But I do have to say, I’m disappointed in you.”

Andy knew that he shouldn’t take the bait, but he did anyway. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re so shortsighted, son, that’s why. Maybe
that
really is your basic flaw. You’re pretty good with the big picture in general. In your way. But I guess you really do fall down when it comes to the
bigger
picture.”

The phone on the desk rang.

The sound jolted Andy, but Hoyt waved a hand. “Jenny will get that.”

The ringing ceased in the middle of the third ring. Hoyt took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“Andrew. Think about it. Why in God’s name do you think a person of my ambition and my intelligence and my understanding of the way the world operates would give two flying hoots in hell about pulling the strings of the vice presidency of the United States? Seriously. Think about it. That’s exactly what we call shooting low. That’s not a
big
picture.”

Jordan piped up. “He’s not getting it.”

Hoyt ignored him. He was focused on Andy.

“Chris Wyeth lasted two months. Two. Now the bastard’s on his way out, and you’re in. You’ve got to wake up, Andrew. You are the next vice president of the United States. Let that sink in. It’s monumental, of course. In its way. But for goodness’ sake, don’t let yourself get too settled in. By this time next year, John Hyland is already going to be pasting clippings into his scrapbook. Hyland’s gone, Andrew. Just like Chris. He simply doesn’t know it yet. Veep schmeep, son. You’re the next
president
of the United States. That’s the bigger picture.
That’s
the old man’s vision. Now do you see how this works?”

Andy saw. He saw clearly. He slouched against the desk. “You think you’re a kingmaker. You and your stooge here. What the hell is
he
going to be? The next secretary of state?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Hoyt said. “Chief of staff would be the most logical. Isn’t that what we last thought, Paul?”

The son of a bitch was not kidding.

“Andy!”

The cry came from out in the hallway. A second later the door opened, and Jenny Hoyt practically fell into the room. She seemed not to notice the tableau of tension.

“Andy! Whit! They think they’ve found her! Michelle! There’s about to be a raid!”

Andy pushed off the desk. Jordan came forward as well, and the two met in the middle of the room. Andy stiff-armed the Brit in the chest, never breaking stride. He strode past Whitney and past the trembling Jenny.

“Andy?”

As Andy hit the hallway, he began running. He didn’t know where to.

M
ichelle Foster stood at the edge of the hayloft. She knew it was called a hayloft even if there was no hay in it.

Back when Michelle was in kindergarten her teacher had once taken the class out to the country for a daytime Halloween party. Her teacher’s brother was a farmer, and
his
hayloft was
filled
with hay. Not only the loft, but down below the loft a gigantic nest of loose hay had been piled up for the kids to jump into. The children had all worn their Halloween costumes, and the brave ones had climbed the thick wooden ladder to the loft and then leaped into the large pile of hay. Over and over and over. Michelle had been Tinker Bell that year. She wore a silver jumpsuit under a silver skirt, and her mother had fashioned a set of silver wings using white coat hangers and silky material. The funny part was that Michelle had been told to remove the wings before she jumped into the hay pile. They might bend, or worse, they might injure her. Michelle had told her friends that if she hadn’t removed the wings before she jumped she would have flown all around the inside of the barn.

“Mommy doesn’t want me to show off,” she had explained. “She says it’s not fair to other people who can’t fly.”

So the wings had remained with Michelle’s regular clothes in a paper bag near the barn door, and her mother had stood with the other mothers clicking away with her camera, taking shot after shot of the falling children. The Little Mermaid. Dracula. Some hobbits. Spiderman. Simba. Snow White. Derek Jeter. Harriet the Spy. Down they all came. Little shrieks. Falling bodies. Costumes billowing. Landing safely. Michelle’s mother filled her camera with the images. When that part of the party ended, Michelle stood patiently while her wings were reattached to her costume, then she dashed off to join her friends for pumpkin ice cream, leaping as she ran but of course not taking flight. Her mother caught her with the camera in one perfect shot. Both of Michelle’s feet were off the ground. The wings were flapping out to the side. She was flying.

This barn was dark and filthy. The only light that entered came in through gaps in the walls and through some broken places in the roof. But even the light leaking in remained stingy and narrow.

There was a wooden ladder in this barn, too. But it was down on the floor. There was no pile of golden hay for Michelle to leap into. There were parts of a machine. There was a long metal trough, partly rusted. An oil puddle. An old stove. Just junk. If she dropped into that mess, it would eat her up.

Michelle’s face was sore from all the gray tape that the giant kept putting over her mouth when he didn’t want her to call out.

Her throat was sore from all the times that he did let her call out. But her mommy and daddy did not come rushing to save her.

Her eyes were dried out. Her stomach hurt. Even when the stinky piece of cloth wasn’t over her nose and mouth and making her groggy, she could still taste the smell, and it was upsetting.

The hayloft was large. She could move around freely. But there was no way to climb down. There had been rain outside earlier, and some of it had come inside the barn. The floor of the hayloft was slick in spots, and now the air smelled like wet laundry.

Michelle remembered her kindergarten wings. If she had them now she might have tried to use them. She knew it was make-believe, but she wanted to believe it would have worked anyway, and so she let herself imagine that she could fly right through one of the holes in the barn’s roof.

As she stood peering over the edge of the hayloft, the barn door slid open. The small wedge of light on the floor grew swiftly. And then a shadow stepped into it.

It was the giant.

He came into the barn and lifted the heavy wooden ladder and placed it against the floor of the loft. Michelle backed away. Except for the gray tape and the stinky cloth, the giant had not been mean to her. In fact, he’d been repeating over and over that she was a good person.

Her knees buckled when she saw that he had the glass jar with him. The stinky cloth was inside the jar. She backed herself into the far corner of the hayloft.

The giant spoke. “We have to go.”

Michelle’s protest sounded like the mews of a kitten. “No. Please.”

But he was already unscrewing the lid of the jar. He had a blue paper mask with him that he slipped over his nose and mouth. Now he looked scarier. He was muttering under the mask, but Michelle couldn’t understand what he was saying. She only knew that if she had her coat-hanger wings she might fly right past him. But she didn’t have them. She only had her arms, and right now, they were useless.