Breach of Power (18 page)

E
van Makley pushed
the
End
button on his phone. He didn't know how to decipher the tone in President Rudd's voice. He discerned something different in her authoritative command. A sharp edge in her tone he wasn't accustomed to hearing. He glanced at his phone, 8:30 p. m. She didn't have anything on the schedule for the evening, and he would certainly know if she did, so something must have come up after he left the White House at 7:00.

He summoned his waiter, asked for a to-go box, and the bill. He'd eat the rest later, after he finished with Rudd. Her message was clear, "Drop whatever you're doing and get back to the Oval Office immediately." Personal time was a luxury he rarely enjoyed as the rigorous demands of Chief of Staff continuously encroached on his personal life. There always seemed to be some crisis situation that required her White House staff to leave their families for the good of the nation. Situations they would likely never be able to discuss.

His waiter insisted on boxing his meal for him. Chicken Lo Mein, his favorite. He slipped the box and some fresh chopsticks in a bag and thanked him in advance for the generous tip the Chief of Staff always left. Makley grabbed the bag, left $30 on the table for his $15 meal, walked outside, and hailed a taxi.

Since his wife left him, took the kids, and filed for divorce, he'd been living in the city. Initially he lived in a suite in Georgetown but after his wife was granted full custody of their two daughters, sole ownership of the marital home, and the majority of his bank account, he was forced to find a cheaper apartment in the city.

That was a long time ago. It was tough in the beginning but he'd grown accustomed to his new budget. Rudd had been patient with him, always allowing him time to attend his divorce hearings and mediation. His oldest daughter was driving now, which allowed him to see both his daughters more often. The hardest part, Makley thought, was the loneliness. At night, when he returned to his apartment, he was alone. For some reason, all his prospects for dates had shied away from him. Probably the result of his much-publicized divorce.

His last face-to-face contact with Abigail Love at the Jefferson Memorial reminded him of the night she showed up at his front door. For a brief moment, his mind replayed the adventure.

He pushed the thoughts from his head and focused on the matter at hand. What prompted Rudd to call him in? He scanned the CNN and Fox News websites with his smart phone for answers, but found nothing that warranted his return to the White House. However, he concluded, Rudd's call-in was likely preemptory in nature, which meant the news outlets wouldn't have wind of it yet. That was a good sign. It meant he was being called in for damage control.

The taxi dropped him off at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 17
^th
Street NW. He cleared the first security checkpoint and walked the remainder of the way to the White House enjoying the cool September night air. Another security checkpoint at the West Wing entrance and he was on his way through the corridors toward the Oval Office. He was greeted outside by the Executive Secretary to the President of the United States who informed him that
they
were inside waiting. Rudd hadn't said anything to him about
they
. This must be big if she'd called in the entire White House Staff.

When he entered the Oval Office, he realized he had misinterpreted Rudd's tone and intent for the call-in. There were no other White House Staff, only the old man Elmore Wiley, one of his emissaries, the lovely Francesca Catanzaro with the scar visible on her left cheek, and President Rebecca Rudd. And from the look on Rudd's face, she was not pleased to see him.

"Evan, come in and sit down." She pointed to the couch opposite the coffee table from Wiley and Catanzaro.

"What's this about?" Makley looked at the President then back at Wiley. "More news on the grave robberies?"

Rudd said nothing. She pushed herself up from behind the Resolute Desk. He noticed she looked like she carried the weight of the nation on her shoulders. She walked around to the front of her desk, pushed her pen set out of the way, and did a half sit-half lean against it while looking him in the eyes.

"Let me get right to the point, Evan." Rudd looked at Wiley seated on the sofa. The old man placed some pictures on the antique coffee table in front of him. "What's your involvement with Abigail Love?"

If it weren't such a cliché, he would think this was that defining moment in his life when he was about to hit rock bottom. His mind raced through his past foibles, all of which he'd somehow talked his way out of and come away unscathed. He knew this one was different. He couldn't tell Rudd the truth, not yet.

"As you know, I just took a bath going through that ugly divorce." Evan Makley had prepared a speech for a moment like this if it were to arise. He'd always been a smooth talker, weaseling his way out of trouble on numerous occasions. This was no exception. "For the sake of our friendship, I have remained on the straight and narrow. I haven't dated, gone to nightclubs, or done anything that would tarnish this administration. I remained abstinent for two years. But even I have needs."

He scrutinized their expressionless faces, looking for any sign of empathy, but found none. "Someone gave me the name of Love's Desperate Desire. Told me that discretion was her forte. So I gave her a call. I guess I screwed up. We've only been together once. I swear, I'll terminate my involvement with Abigail Love's service immediately." He didn't lie, technically. More like selective omission.

Rudd lowered her head and shook it from side to side. "Evan, when Mr. Wiley told me what was going on, I didn't want to believe it. I gave you a chance to come clean, yet you chose to lie."

"Madam President, with all due respect, it's only been the one time with Abigail Love."

"Dammit, Evan. I don't give a damn
who
you screw. I'm talking about you betraying me and this country."

Rudd knew something else and maybe he'd spoken prematurely about Abigail Love. "Ma'am, what are you talking about?"

Rudd nodded at Wiley again. Francesca Catanzaro pulled out a micro recorder and pressed play. It was his own voice he heard on the recorder.
His name is Jake Pendleton. If he gets in the way, kill him too.

He was beaten and he knew it. There was no explanation for that comment. And no way to bullshit his way out of it. A moment of indiscretion had cost him his career. It could even cost him his freedom. He'd thought about it before, if he had to play the blackmail card, he would.

"Evan, what is this all about?" Rudd asked.

His mind went into the survival mode when out of the blue an idea came to him. "May I speak to Mr. Wiley alone for a few minutes. I have information that I can't share with you. I was trying to handle this on my own but I guess I'm in over my head."

"Evan, I'm the President of the United States for God's sake, there is nothing you can't tell me."

Rudd's change in pitch startled him. A vein on her forehead and another in her neck bulged. He noticed red splotches forming on her chest under her necklace. He'd never seen her lose control of her emotions in all the years he'd known her. He stared at Wiley, pleading with his eyes. "Five minutes. That's all I need. Anything I've ever done was in a manner to lend you plausible deniability. Let me tell Mr. Wiley first, let him decide."

Finally the old man spoke up. "Rebecca, with all due respect, you're upset. Let me hear what the man has to say. Maybe it has merit, although I find it difficult to believe."

Rudd was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, she nodded. "Five minutes. Then I want to be briefed."

Wiley turned to Francesca. "Please accompany the President while I talk with Mr. Makley."

Rudd and Catanzaro left the two men alone in the Oval Office. Wiley looked at him, ran his fingers through his hair, and pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

"Before you begin," said Wiley. "There is nothing you can say that will justify ordering Abigail Love to kill one of my employees. Nothing. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Makley was a star at diplomacy and he needed to shine now. "I'll retract the order with Love immediately, I promise."

Wiley pointed to his watch. "You've got four minutes now. This better be good."

With a minute to spare, Makley had given Wiley the abbreviated briefing.

"You understand I'm going to require verification." Wiley said.

"No problem. I'll give you full access." Makley made a head nod toward the door. "I can show you everything when we're finished here."

The Oval Office door opened and President Rebecca Rudd and Francesca Catanzaro walked in. Rudd gave Wiley an apprehensive look. "Well? What do you think?"

Wiley hesitated for a moment. The old man looked at him then back at Rudd. "If what Mr. Makley says is true, and I will verify it," Wiley pushed up his glasses again and swiped his hair, "then, in my opinion, this isn't something you should know about until all the facts have been checked out."

"Elmore. That is ridiculous. I am the President, for crying out loud."

"Rebecca, you've known me a long time. I would never mislead you or try to deceive you. You must trust me." The old man said. "If this is a hoax, then I'll tell you. If this is true, we'll deal with it at the appropriate time. In the meantime, your prior knowledge of it without verification of its authenticity could very well affect and potentially alter your decision-making. You have a very important summit meeting to attend and you don't need any distractions. It is my opinion that it is in the best interest of all parties involved and this nation that you, as the leader of this country, not have this information disclosed to you at this time."

Makley forced back a smile. He'd done it again. He'd talked his way out of immediate peril. He had won a temporary reprieve, or as a minimum, bought himself a little extra time. Time to regroup and devise a plan to keep him from becoming the inevitable fall guy. Something Rudd would eventually need.

"Francesca," Wiley said, "go with Mr. Makley. Get a full briefing and meet me back in Fairfax." The old man turned his attention to him. "And you…" He paused, an attempt to intimidate him no doubt. "Your number one priority is correcting that matter we discussed. Is that understood?"

With some planning, maybe he can turn this around. Maybe he can even make Elmore Wiley the fall guy. After all, he just gave the old man full disclosure.

Makley nodded and followed Francesca out of the Oval Office.

"
W
ell
, what do you think?" Rudd asked.

"I think Evan Makley tried to do a good thing in the beginning. Not necessarily the right thing, but perhaps, with honorable intentions. I think he genuinely believed he was trying to protect you, keep you out of trouble. He let greed take over and now is trying to capitalize on something that might or might not be true."

"What do you think I should do with him?" asked Rudd. "I can't leave him on as Chief of Staff. He's untrustworthy."

"Take him out of the circle, especially about the book." Wiley pulled out his phone. "I need to talk to Jake. Let him know what's going on."

"Not until you tell me what Evan said to you in private."

"Rebecca." Wiley walked over to the President and kissed her forehead. "I meant what I said. This one, you can't know anything about. Not right now anyway."

F
rancesca Catanzaro followed
Evan Makley down the White House corridors to a corner office. The Chief of Staff's office was better furnished, in many ways than the President's. Her furnishings were traditional whereas Makley's were more modern with state of the art equipment. He had a large conference table where the staff gathered for meetings. Francesca figured he justified the extra expense since his position oversaw the actions of the White House staff, managed the President's schedule, and had the power to decide who was allowed to meet with the President.

On his mahogany desk next to a desktop American flag was a picture of two teenage girls, both blonde, both wearing dresses and smiling for the camera. She picked it up. "Your daughters?" She asked.

"Yeah," he paused, "back then I only got to see them one Saturday a month, one week during the summer, and rotated holidays every other year. Divorce sucks. Even with the President's hectic schedule, when I was married I saw them almost every night."

"How old are they?"

"This one was twelve when this picture was taken." He pointed to the smaller girl then moved his finger to the other. "And this one fourteen. She just got her driver's license."

"They're very pretty. I know you're proud."

"I am. And they were just getting interesting when…" His voice trailed off.

In a way, she felt sorry for the man. He seemed to show genuine remorse for losing custody in the divorce that she, along with the rest of the country, witnessed on the six o'clock news. But he had a darker side that made her despise him. He was betraying the President and the country. And worst of all, he had ordered her partner killed.

She and Jake had been partners for almost a year and were such a good union that somehow, instinctively, they knew what the other was thinking. One of the many things Wiley excelled at was pairing his emissaries. They were an effective team, probably the best Commonwealth Consultants and the Greenbrier Fellowship had ever had. She trusted Jake with her life and knew he reciprocated.

Elmore Wiley had recruited her as an emissary for the Greenbrier Fellowship nearly two years ago while she was an operative for Italy's External Intelligence and Security Agency. Apparently impressed by her reputation for successful missions, he tendered the job offer one week after their first encounter.

Her training was intensive—six months tradecraft followed by six months field training. Even though her first assignment was a failure, the old man's persistent efforts molded her into an emissary with exceptional talent and skill.

In the beginning, she was reluctant about being partnered with Jake. Her first impression was that he was impulsive and audacious. Soon, she realized Wiley knew what he was doing.

She put the picture back on Makley's desk. "Let's get down to business, Mr. Makley. Show me what you have."

She spent the next thirty minutes scouring through the data Makley had given her. She read the lengthy email three times looking for any indication of where the email originated. "You know, this could be a hoax." She had moved a chair next to his while he walked her through the collected data.

"I don't think so," he reasoned. "It's written with a very clear message. Whoever wrote this knows something we don't."

"I disagree. The only thing I can ascertain from the writing is that whoever sent it is not young…or at least is trying hard not to sound that way."

"Now you see why I felt I needed to call Abigail Love. I needed a tight-lipped investigation. I couldn't let the President find out. Therefore, I couldn't call the Secret Service or FBI. I had to handle this myself…in case it had validity."

Francesca stood. "No. Abigail Love is an assassin. You should have gotten the authorities involved. If this is true, then there is nothing you or anybody else can do to protect the President."

Makley stood next to her. "I won't let anything happen to President Rudd. It's my job to protect her and this country."

Francesca balled up her fist and punched Makley in the face splitting his lip open. The Chief of Staff fell back into his chair and covered his bloody lip with his hand. The look in his eyes showed a combination of confusion and anger, but she didn't care. She grabbed the arms of the chair and leaned close to his face. "You ordered Abigail Love to kill my partner. You better hope like Hell she receives your retraction because if anything happens to him, I'll personally see to it you never make it to the inside of a jail cell."

She stood back, letting her words sink in.

Makley pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his lip.

"You said you'd do anything to protect the President, well, I'll do anything to protect my partner. And if that means killing a treasonous bastard like you, then so be it." She pointed to a chair against a far wall. "Get up and sit over there while I let an expert track down this email."

While he sat, Francesca logged into the Commonwealth Consultants secure portal, entered her 24-digit password, and waited. Her cell phone rang. "Voice activation authorization India, Tango, Alpha, Lima, Yankee, Five, Echo, Whiskey." She selected her own code for voice recognition. Letters spelling her home country—Italy, she was the fifth emissary, and her employer's initials, Elmore Wiley. She thought it was a clever selection.
I-T-A-L-Y-5-E-W.
She waited until a familiar voice picked up. "Hi, George."

She explained the situation to Fontaine and then an authorization box appeared on Makley's computer screen. She clicked on the box and sat back. She watched the cursor move as Fontaine took control of Makley's computer.

"What's going on?" Makley leaned forward, obviously trying to get a look at the monitor. "What is he doing to my computer?"

"I don't know. Way over my head." She looked at Makley. The man was the highest ranking employee in the White House yet he looked like a schoolboy who had been put in time-out.

Twenty minutes later the monitor flickered and her cell phone rang. She answered the call, "Go."

"Give Mr. Mackley his computer back," Fontaine said, "I've got all I need. He can't do anything without us knowing about it, and the same goes for Abigail Love. I found her tracer and located her server. It was embedded in the code she had him install. It sends all his received emails to her server. From there they run a—"

"George."

"What?" Fontaine said.

"I don't care. All that I.T. stuff, I don't need to know how it works. I don't want to know how it works. Just find who sent the email and let me know. Okay?"

"Heard anything from Jake?" Fontaine asked.

"Nothing since Wiley split us up."

"He's not in any kind of danger, is he?"

She glared at Makley and spoke loud enough for him to hear. "He better not be in any danger or President Rudd will be looking for a new Chief of Staff."

A
bigail Love had been following
the man since she saw him at the
Pizza Place
near the marina. He was driving a white Tahoe. After he left the diner, he met an elderly woman at the Butler Museum. Love strategically parked where she would be able to see him come out without being noticed.

She figured if she followed the man, whom she now knew was named Jake Pendleton, he would lead her to the woman. The woman would lead her to the book.

After Pendleton had been in the museum almost an hour, she received a puzzling message from Evan Makley.

I
n her past
experiences with Evan Makley she learned he was not a man who often had a change of heart. Usually when he made a decision—good or bad—he stuck to it. Maybe something had happened. Something she should know about. If that was the case, then he should have sent a 9-1-1 through the lovesdesperatedesire.com website. She tried to log on with her cell phone. Nothing. Her server was down.

Her Gmail account was Makley's backup. She told him never to send an email from the account, only edit the one in the
DRAFTS
folder. She gave him the username and password along with detailed instructions for its use in the event normal channels of communication were unavailable or imperiled. She logged into the Gmail account and located the message.

D
amn you
, Makley.
Her first reaction was to abort the mission. She hated failure. She mulled over her options and came to the conclusion that obtaining the book and keeping it for herself was her best plan. If anyone got in her way after she had acquired the book, she would kill them. And that included the handsome Jake Pendleton.

Makley's use of the word 'We' infuriated her. He was the one that compromised her. The son of a bitch was stupid and had become a liability. One she needed to deal with. Nothing would give her more pleasure, she mused, than to show up at his apartment under the pretense of her first visit, something the horny bastard would no doubt relish, put him in a sexually compromising position, and then kill him.

Not a quick, painless death, but a slow and agonizing one. She envisioned cuffing him to the bedposts again, gagging him, and then taking her razor sharp knife to his genitals. After he had suffered enough, she would put a round in his head with her Smith & Wesson.

One round.

Right between the eyes.

As much as she'd like to handle this one herself, she was 400 miles away and there was no time to waste. She opened her phone and searched through her contacts until she located the number for her best
escort
. She placed the call.

As soon as she hung up, Pendleton and the old woman came out of the museum. The woman locked the door to the museum and Pendleton walked her to her car, shook her hand, and waited until she drove off. Then he climbed inside the Tahoe and drove off.

Love pulled out, keeping a safe distance. There was still a lot of traffic on these backcountry roads at night, which worked to her advantage. She stayed back letting the occasional car or truck pull between them. She checked her GPS, which showed she had followed him all the way around to the other side of the lake from the town of Butler.

She saw the Tahoe's left blinker flash and the SUV turned off the main road at a mailbox. She slowed but kept driving noting that he pulled into a cabin with a short driveway. She saw lights reflecting across the water behind the house. She logged the location on her GPS, turned around a half a mile down the road at the next driveway, and drove back toward town.

She didn't understand why the Charleston Police Department had released Pendleton so quickly, she assumed it must be his connection to President Rebecca Rudd. One thing seemed clear to her, he was reckless.

She smiled.

And reckless people have accidents.

Scott Katzer followed the same black car he'd followed for the past eight hours. He noticed the man from Charleston at the
Pizza Place
and again at the museum. He was pushing seventy years old and growing tired of this game of cat and mouse. He was following the woman who was following the man who was trying to find Ashley Regan. That's all he knew about either one of them. But the woman seemed to have an inside source for her information. There was no other explanation for it. She pulled away from the police station in Charleston, jumped on Interstate 26, and drove to Butler, Tennessee.

With both the man and the woman in Butler, he had to presume that Regan and the book were nearby. Acquiring the book was all he cared about. He'd never seen it, only heard a narrative description from his mother. She had recounted its contents to him several times over the years, always expressing her concern that if the book ever became public, the aftermath of what was written in the book would be devastating to their family. The gain from the fortunes, if there were any, would be no consolation compared to the blow the Katzer name would receive.

She referred to it as a journal. A leather bound book filled with blank pages that was given to his real father on his birthday by the fuehrer.

A gift from Adolf Hitler.

The father he never knew.

Wolfgang Fleischer.

Katzer learned volumes when he researched Wolfgang Fleischer on the Internet. His father had been commandant of Dachau prison and crematorium in Germany during the Third Reich. It seemed an odd coincidence that he too, like his father, was charged with the disposal of dead bodies. Katzer's was a more civilized and accepted practice.

During the fall of the Third Reich, his father fled south into Austria where he was captured. He was tried as a war criminal in a fast-tracked post war justice system—tried, convicted, and executed. By then, Fleischer's lover, Heidi Scheller, was already impregnated with twins.

According to his mother, she and Wolfgang had been secret lovers for three years while he was commandant. The long-term affair started when Fleischer stayed at Schneefernerhaus Hotel for the first time. He was walking across the grounds when he slipped on a patch of ice and twisted his ankle. Heidi, a resort nurse, attended to his injury. The passionate feeling of attraction started during his treatment. While wrapping his ankle, Wolfgang grabbed his mother's arm and pulled her toward him. The kiss ignited their lust for each other. Their affair was a secret he took to the grave.

After the journal was lost, Heidi Scheller moved to Nashville, Tennessee, where she met and married Matthew Katzer, the man Scott thought was his father until he was fifty years old.

Katzer had learned to be a patient man and he knew if he waited in the shadows, the journal would reappear. And when it did, he would reclaim his family's property. As much as he initially abhorred his mother's brutality, he knew he would eventually have blood on his hands too in order to protect the family.