Born with Secrets: A Political Thriller (9 page)

Not many airplanes had hardwood floors.

The Gulfstream 550
rocketed through takeoff and headed east. The wine-colored leather chair in
which Alyssa sat could swivel or recline and a footrest stood ready to pop out
in front of her. Out of the large round window beside her, the black night
acquired illumination in sudden, impressive fashion when the private jet burst
through the clouds. Moon and stars glowed brightly.

Her – Liberator? Employer?
– sat in the seat facing hers across the table. The jet’s furniture was laid
out more like a living room than a flying bus. Once the aircraft leveled off,
Wheeler said, “The owner of this jet is one of the President’s biggest campaign
donors. He likes to ski in Aspen so when I told him I needed to get out west,
he offered to take a special ski trip and bring me along. We dropped him off,
and he loaned me the plane to make an extra stop at FCI Rocky before it
returning to Washington. No one’s ever going to know I was out of town. This is
a nice way to fly.”

Chambers shrugged and
replied, “My father always preferred the Dassault Falcon, so that’s what I’ve
flown on before. The Gulf doesn’t seem much different so far. I would think
you’d be used to executive air travel by now. Your guy’s been in office for a
year.”

Wheeler said, “On the rare
occasions when I get out of Washington anymore, I fly on an Air Force version
of an executive jet. It’s not quite as luxurious, but the President isn’t
risking his re-election and legacy just so you and I can chat about the
lifestyles of the super-rich.”

Alyssa nodded and said,
“I’ve been wondering about that. The cable news shows treat me like I’m
slightly more dangerous than the 9-11 hijackers. Pardoning me isn’t going to be
popular.”

Wheeler answered the
implied question. “That’s why one of the conditions of your pardon is that you
not reveal it to anyone. Executive Order 15342 directs the employees at FCI
Rocky to say nothing more than, ‘She was in a fight. She was confined to the
Secure Housing Unit and isn’t allowed visitors.’ We’d prefer not to have to
deal with the PR backlash right away.”

Chambers shrugged. “That’s
only going to work for so long. I’ve been there more than a year, and I have
never seen anyone in SHU for longer than a month. Sooner or later someone’s
going to smell a rat.”

She thought of a certain
political reporter who has more than enough reason to keep track of where she
was.

Wheeler shrugged and said,
“It doesn’t have to work for long. We actually want the scandal to break soon,
just not right away. The sooner the media tumbles to this, the more time we
have to recover before the election. All we need is to keep it quiet until you
accomplish your mission.”

Chambers nodded. “Ah yes.
The mission. Condition number two of the pardon. Care to enlighten me?”

Tom Wheeler stood up from
his seat, stretching. He walked back to a closed door. He opened it, turned
around, waved Alyssa forward, and walked in.

She unbuckled and walked
to the rear of the aircraft. Inside the private cabin was a bed. Given that it
was now past one in the morning, the bed looked quite attractive to Alyssa but
before she could sleep, she’d have to clean off the giant suitcase on it.

Wheeler nodded at it and
said, “For you.”

Alyssa popped the clasps
and opened the bag on the bed. Inside was everything a professional thief could
want.

There was a set of
locksmith’s tools and a more complicated gizmo designed to defeat electronic
locks. There was a smartphone and an electronic static jammer to interfere with
microphones and other eavesdropping devices. There were several complete sets
of Army Combat Uniform fatigues in black, dark gray, and a digital urban camo
pattern. Having the genuine government issue ones was important because they
included Near Infrared Signature Management Technology, which made it much harder
to spot the wearer with a night-vision device.

The suitcase also
contained a night vision monocle attached to a headset that soldiers referred
to as a skull crusher because of how tight it clung to the head. There was a
modern, fitted, lightweight bulletproof vest. There were boots to go with her
fatigues and a holster. Matching that, just in case she needed it, there was a
brand new Ruger .22 with a sound suppressor built right into the barrel, the
way Alyssa preferred them. It had a laser site slung under the barrel. To judge
by the brand name, it was one of those that could be switched between a green
laser and an infrared one that would only be visible to those wearing night
vision devices. Four magazines for the pistol and a couple bricks of subsonic
.22 caliber ammunition rounded out the care package.

She turned to Wheeler and
smiled. “You read the records of my trial. How sweet.”

“Not to mention having
your pistol pointed at my forehead once. Feel free to change if you want to get
out of your prison khakis.”

With that, he walked out
of the room and shut the door.

She put on a black
undershirt and black, baggy fatigue pants, with the night vision device stuffed
into a baggy cargo pocket. Next came the ballistic vest, which included Velcro
fasteners where she could attach badges if, for some bizarre reason, she ever
wanted to advertise her name. Wheeler even got her a black leather motorcycle
jacket, which she put on. She tucked the pistol under her jacket.

The executive jet’s
private sleeping quarters included a full length mirror, and Alyssa looked at
herself in it and grinned. Just for fun she whispered to herself, “Back in
black.”

She strode out of the room
and back to her chair. She reclined the back, then slung her boots up onto the table
between her and Wheeler. She put her hands behind her head and grinned at him.

“Alright, Mr. Wheeler.
Let’s talk business.”

He gave her a wry smirk,
amused at the improvement in her attitude, then slid over a manila envelope.

As Alyssa opened it, Wheeler
said, “That’s the FBI’s file on Moira LeBlanc. And now, I want to hear
everything you know about her. Pull out that surveillance jammer I gave you and
turn it on if you’re still paranoid about being overheard. But you’re holding a
pardon now. Nothing you might confess matters anyway. I need to know everything
you knew about Moira LeBlanc before she escaped from Federal custody.”

He finished, “Because your
mission is to bring her back.”

Alyssa met his eyes,
staring for a moment. Then, without replying, she opened the fat envelope.

She found a photo of a
girl with long brown hair and a slender frame. She might have been a younger,
lighter-haired version of Alyssa, except that the latter could not imagine
herself having ever looked that bright and innocent. She must have done
something with her hair since the picture was taken because when Alyssa met
her, it was short and spikey.

Moira was suspected of
innumerable counts of electronic theft and other computer crimes. The file
included known associates, aliases, last known address in Washington D.C., and
other data about the young hacker.

Finally speaking, Alyssa
recounted her entire relationship with Moira, beginning with the fight and
ending with her disappearance from the server closet. She included the fact
that Moira tempted Alyssa into helping with her scheme with the prospect of
helping Mike Vincent.

Wheeler laughed. “Help
Mike Vincent? The woman is personally responsible for the fact that the
President can’t sign Vincent’s privacy bill.”

Alyssa lifted an eyebrow.
“That’s a story I want to hear.”

Wheeler shrugged. “You
remember working for me during the campaign.”

Alyssa nodded. Her job had
been two-fold. The break-in at West HQ had been only the last half of the job.
The first half had been suppressing a whole slew of other secrets. Wheeler’s
candidate for President had not exactly led a clean life. Keeping all that from
finding its way into the media had been Alyssa’s job.

She had bribed former
lovers, destroyed the official record of a marijuana arrest, and in general
kept the future President’s secrets from coming to light.

“LeBlanc is… well, she’s
living proof of the kind of thing you were paid to cover up for us. I didn’t
know about her when we were paying you. Some people have discovered her. Now that
she’s out, they’ll use her to put the President in a position where he can’t
get involved in Vincent’s race.”

Alyssa asked,
“Blackmailing him?”

Wheeler nodded.

She sought clarification.
“Blackmailing the President of the United States?”

Wheeler fidgeted in his
chair as he continued. “Obviously, this is extremely politically sensitive. The
Secret Service is looking for LeBlanc, but they don’t know the whole story. I
can’t afford to have them get there first.”

Wheeler paused for a long
time before he said, “Chambers, I’ve got to tell you something because it’ll
improve your chances if you’re fully informed. But this is absolutely black.
You cannot breathe a word.”

She gave him a stare.

After waiting long enough
to know she wasn’t happy about that, she said, “You know me. You’ve worked with
me before. I never blab. Never.”

Wheeler nodded and said,
“I know, but this is serious enough to make it worth reminding you. All the
evidence we’ve found so far suggests that this might be coming from within the
government itself.”

Alyssa blinked and then
said, “Come again? Like a coup?”

He replied, “Or just an
attempt by certain agencies to make sure their Commander in Chief chooses the
path they want. The email address from which the demands came was spoofed and
scrambled. They had faked the IP address that it came from as well, but they
left a few electronic signatures behind. We were able to identify the hacker
they hired to do that.

“He does a lot of contract
work for the NSA and other agencies within the intelligence community. And
agencies like that love Doyle Cobalt’s Genetic Probable Cause Bill. They love
it. And since the blackmail demands would lead to passing that…”

Wheeler shrugged and
finished. “Maybe we’re wrong, and it’s got nothing to do with any Federal
agency. Or maybe we’re right. Either way, we absolutely must control how the
facts are entered into the public record. That’s where the infamous Alyssa
Chambers comes in. I need you to find Moira before anyone else does so we can
keep this out of official documents. I’m hiring you so you can bring her to me
first. After I talk to her, then the FBI can be as involved as they want.”

“Is Moira working with the
blackmailers or are they just using her?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to
know but don’t let that get in the way of the mission. Priority number one is
bringing her to me.”

Alyssa was silent for a
long time. She looked at Moira’s file photo – a mug shot from a previous
arrest. She remembered how she looked on the ground, being beaten nearly to
death by a drug gang. She remembered her last look at the girl – getting ready
to upload data from a smuggled smartphone – before she had disappeared.

She wasn’t quite sure how
this mission fit into her worldview. Alyssa was still unsettled by the
proximity in time between her fumbling attempt at prayer and a genuine,
honest-to-goodness Presidential pardon. Was saving a womanizing jerk from being
blackmailed over his affairs really a good use of a…

Was it a miracle?

If it was, it was a miracle
with a string attached. She had to do this, or the pardon went poof, like
Cinderella’s carriage.

For a few moments in
prison – before she discovered that it had all been part of an escape attempt –
Alyssa almost liked Moira. Now, she was being sent to capture her.

“I’m not a bounty hunter,”
she said aloud. “I’m a thief. I
was
a thief. I know how to capture data,
not people.”

“LeBlanc’s no fighter,”
Wheeler replied. “She sits behind computer screens and does basically what you
did: steal data. If you get into her physical presence and hold a gun on her,
it’ll be game over.”

Alyssa challenged him:
“What do you know about holding guns on people?”

Wheeler gave her a hard
stare and said, “I know
you
know how to do it. I’ve never forgotten it.”

She nodded. Once again,
guilty as charged. It was a tiresome feeling.

She didn’t want to feel
guilty anymore.

“I’ll do this, Wheeler.
I’ll do it because that’s what the pardon lists as a condition, and the pardon
is my only way out of prison. You have no idea how bad prison feels. But then
I’m gone. I’m going to do what I should have done when I was first framed for
killing West. I’ll disappear so hard people will have a hard time proving I
ever existed, and I’ll spend the rest of my life on a beach in the South Pacific.”

She finished, “This one
last time. Then I’m done. I’m out. No more saving corrupt jerks from their own
perversions. No more helping one power-grubbing politician blackmail another.
Done.”

She watched Wheeler’s face
go through a number of expressions. He was obviously offended by her diatribe,
but then there came a visage that could have won the World Series of Poker: no
expression at all.