Eddy's Current (41 page)

23 SEPTEMBER 2025

Their plane landed in Houston at four thirty in the morning. River, al Qatari and al Ilstad were exhausted from their mission in Medina. They were taken to USFIA headquarters, allowed to shower, eat, and sleep for six hours before being awakened by a rude junior agent who was serving his internship with all the enthusiasm of a kitten that senselessly bounced off the walls and ceiling, trying to impress his mother with his hyperactivity.

“Your meeting with Mr. Albert is scheduled for two o’clock this afternoon,” the junior agent said. “Mr. Albert’s in a good mood today. You’ll have a good meeting,” he reported dutifully. “Your lunch will be ready in about an hour. You’ll eat in the cafeteria.”

“Things seemed to have worked out in Medina. We can move on to our next priority now: Tyler Peterson. I will get right into the discussion and plans. We are on a very tight schedule, and we’ve got to get going. I need your report from the Medina operation in seven days. It has to be thorough. Don’t leave anything out,” Albert said, his words running together, pressing into each other, forming one long sentence as he tried to avoid giving River two compliments in the same paragraph.

River, as usual, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Thanks for the pat on the back for our work in Medina, Mr. Albert,” River snapped.

Realizing once again that his apparent destiny was to cover for River again and again, al Qatari jumped in. “Sir, we appreciate your affirmation of our work in Medina. It is truly an honor to serve here under your leadership. We will complete our report and get it to you before your deadline.”

“River, I’m going to be honest with you about the investigation,” Albert said.

“What investigation?” River asked.

“The investigation of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not going well,” Albert reported.

“There’s nothing to it. They have nothing,” River replied.

“I know that. That’s what I meant. It’s not going well for them. It took us five minutes to figure out that Hernandez set you up. He’s corrupt to the bone. Worse than I thought. Dumber than I thought, too.”

“What about Peterson?” River asked.

“Big trouble there. You were right. As I told you before, your warnings were warranted. He’s a nightmare. That’s another subject, though.”

“It’s another subject that I would like to talk about right now, Mr. Albert.”

Al Qatari, a quick study who knew nothing about the investigation of River, and not nearly as much about Peterson as he should have, interjected, “Would it be possible for River and me to work together on the Peterson job? I would be more than willing to do that for you, sir.”

Albert thought for a moment. “You know, al Qatari, that will work. Okay, you guys are on. But River, I want you to know that there are only two reasons that I’m agreeing to this. The first is that you are familiar with Peterson. You’ve watched him carefully for a long time now. Second, you have an experienced agent who is willing to work with you—even if he did come to us from the CIA. River and al Qatari chuckled. Albert didn’t crack a smile.

“River, can I be honest with you?” al Qatari asked, after the two retreated back to River’s office.

“Sure. What?”

“Have you ever thought about not talking at all?”

“Why would I not talk?”

“No; the question is, Why would you talk?”

Eddy was overjoyed to see River. River had been unable to contact her or the twins from Medina. When he showed up at the door, the two of them embraced, fell to the floor laughing, and told each other again and again how much they missed each other. They picked up where they left off.

The twins were active little people now. They brought new excitement each day. River Jr. was able to hit a ball with his bat between his naps. Eddy Jr. kept a planning calendar and a diary so she would never forget an important date or thought. At nearly two years old, everything about the twins was exciting. River and Eddy adored them.

Eddy was concerned, though. Her independent spirit, no doubt inherited from her grandfather, caused her to do things her own way and solve her own problems. But for now she was focused on her husband. Medina had changed River. Peterson had frustrated him. The investigation triggered by Hernandez humiliated him. He was a man of high ethical standard who was under attack from all sides. Eddy would not allow the attack to continue unchallenged. She felt overwhelmed and helpless. This was all very big, much bigger than what she bargained for years ago when she asked River to marry her.

There was a noise outside the door, but the doorbell didn’t ring. Yet there was the package, down on the welcome mat—and a man Eddy had not seen before walking toward the elevator as he stumbled, hurrying along. Eddy hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered. What about River? Had he ordered something for her, a gift to brighten her day?

The rules were clear. Any unexpected package delivered to an agent, either at home or headquarters, was to be left alone, and USFIA was to send an agent to pick up the package for a compete inspection. Eddy was excited, though. Still, she hesitated. As she leaned over to pick up the package, she reminded herself of the policy. She called River.

“Don’t touch it. Get the twins up and get out of the apartment, but only if you’re sure that guy’s gone. Don’t go anywhere in particular, just drive around until I call you on the cell phone and let you know if it’s okay to go back home,” River said. “I’ll get right over there to check it out.”

The package was a gift for Eddy, sent to her from her father. It was a smoked–glass, turquoise vase. He had forgotten about USFIA’s policy regarding packages. He felt bad that he had caused a scare. The delivery driver hadn’t helped the situation any either. He had forgotten to press the doorbell, which added suspicion to the situation. River knew that delivery people sometimes “forget” to ring the doorbell, which means that they are able to save a few minutes by not waiting for someone to come to the door, sign for the package, ask the occasional question, engage in time–consuming chitchat and so forth.

The “strange man” Eddy saw leaving was not the delivery man. He was her new neighbor down the hall. His name was Leslie James. Neither she nor River had met him. He had stumbled over the package as he was walking past their apartment, on his way to the elevator. So all was well, except that it all reminded Eddy that nothing about their lives was normal, not even a simple package delivered from a loved one.

Early each evening for several weeks, River and Eddy went for long walks in the nearby park, pulling the twins in the wagon behind them. They were able to talk during their walks, and talk they did. They shared everything, except for the most confidential details about River’s work—details he was not permitted to share with anyone.

Upon returning each evening they talked more. During game time — each night they played board games before going to sleep for the night — they talked. Eddy wanted to know as much as she could know, but she didn’t ask about details. Evenings were like mini vacations for River and Eddy. Each one was special.

“I have something I want to talk with you about, River,” Eddy said one night after dinner.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“God spoke to me in a dream.”

“Great. What did He say, Eddy? People who hear from God get on my nerves,” River replied with a half–hearted attempt to soften the conversation.

His choice for a response was not too bright, though. Eddy began to cry.

“He placed the issue of single mothers squarely in front of me. He wants me to do something about it,” Eddy said through her tears. “There are young girls out there who are not as fortunate as I am. I have you to help me with the twins, and we have money to live on. Many, many girls out there have nothing and no one to help them.”

River now realized that his job was to be supportive, not funny. He was skeptical, though, and he couldn’t conceal his skepticism. “What does God believe you should do about the problem?”

“I should open a charity, a home for single mothers. A home for very young single mothers.”

“How would we do that, Eddy? Did He give you any details?”

“Yes. More details than you might believe. He showed me how these young girls are often misunderstood and mistreated. He showed me the flaws in how we believe about them and about how horribly we treat them. And He gave me the mon—”

Eddy stopped in mid–sentence.

“He gave you money?” River asked.

“Yes. He did.”

“The life insurance benefits from Emily’s insurance policy?” River asked.

“Yes. But you don’t understand, River. It’s not the money. It’s the fact that He gave me the vision. The money just confirms His vision. He even gave me a name for the shelter, ‘Emily’s Angel’s.’”

JANUARY 2026

The botched U.S. response to the Crimpton bombing coupled with the collapse of Style & Shores ignited unparalleled worldwide suffering and chaos. Lava from the meltdown flowed in all directions from Pennsylvania Avenue and Wall Street, out onto every street in the world. The resulting fire was all consuming. The world was burning. Hell was everywhere on earth. America was fully to blame. Or at least the world had determined that she was. This was not the time to be in a prominent leadership position in the U.S. government.

The democrats wanted Congressman Robert Wallens from New York to be the Speaker of the House. It wasn’t meant to be. Wallens was street smart and more manipulative than even the slickest politician in Washington, and he didn’t want the job—at least not now. Wallens was accustomed to perfect timing, and this was not the time to be elected to the office of Speaker of the House. To be elected at this time was to be elected to a no–win situation. Wallens didn’t get involved in no–win situations. Those situations were for others to get tangled up in.

Wallens enjoyed the finer things in life. He was a huge opera fan. He fancied himself an opera expert. He also fantasized about being an opera star himself. Or a classical musician. Or a Shakespearian actor. Or a great orchestra conductor. In reality, while Wallens was street smart, he wasn’t intelligent, although he surrounded himself with those who were. His position as a U.S. congressman was the perfect cover for his ignorance. No one would know. No one would suspect. He compartmentalized things. Each aspect of his life was segregated from the others.

Always positioning himself to be in the right place at the right time, Wallens made certain that he got to know the right person to be a suitable friend or political ally. Timing was critical. Where potential friends were concerned, character did not matter to Wallens. Anyone would do as Wallens’ friend—anyone with money, prestige, political clout, notoriety, true intelligence or any other asset Wallens needed at any given time. Wallens knew how to use people. And he knew how to throw them away when he had used them up. He had more enemies than friends; he also held a position that provided the perfect hiding place for a fake. He hid behind his New York congressional seat. His enemies moved on rather than taking him on. New friends were glad to embrace him; former friends wouldn’t dare touch him. They simply joined the ever–swelling ranks of Wallens’ quiet enemies, and just moved on with their lives.

Wallens made certain that there was a crestless wave of support for him to run for Speaker of the House. Then he applied all his known manipulative skills as well as a few new tricks. He first played the situation like a virtuoso would play a fine violin. He then orchestrated the entire congress until they played the symphony to his liking—more like a full dramatic opera than a simple musical composition. He worked long and hard to present himself as the humble public servant who was not worthy of such an honor as being elected Speaker of the House. He presented himself to be that, and manipulated the full congress into believing that Perez was the better option for Speaker, all the while keeping himself the center of attention. It all required his full range of manipulative skills. As usual, Wallens was up to the task.

In his drama’s final act, Wallens gracefully yielded to the less experienced congressman from Florida. He nominated Perez and insisted that his fellow democrats vote for Perez rather than for him. Those who insisted that Wallens or anyone other than Perez take the position were labeled by Wallens to be bigoted against Hispanics. Wallens could fake outrage with the best of them. His false indignance impressed even his most hardened skeptics, though, and his cries of bigotry neutralized then disarmed most of his detractors. Most of them, but not all. Alex’s wife, Kathy, was not fooled. His former friends/current enemies ignored him.

Wallens spoke passionately from the floor of the House. His speeches were rousing. At the conclusion of each speech, no democrat who paid any attention at all to the speech could cast a vote for anyone other than Perez.

The vote was finally taken, and was overwhelming. Perez was elected, but he was embarrassed and humiliated. He first believed that he had allowed his proud Mexican heritage to be used by his fellow congressman. Democrats were frustrated. The public couldn’t have cared less. Wallens couldn’t have been more satisfied. Wallens was now the humble hero, and Alejandro Perez, Jr., was now second in the line of succession for the office of the president of the United States.

Wallens had figured it all out though, or so he believed. Perez would hold the position for a two–year period during which the entire country would decline even further. Wallens was banking on the fact that Perez would go down with the whole mess. Perez would be ruined; surely no one could survive the mess Perez was handed. In Wallens’ planned sequel, Wallens would align himself with Peterson, step up and offer himself for nomination, make certain that he was nominated, and take the seat as Speaker at a time when the country and the world could only go back up on Peterson’s escalator.

Wallens planned to then ride on the top of the escalator all the way up to political heaven. But not now. Now was not the time for Wallens to shine. The person elected at this time had to be a patsy, a fall guy, who couldn’t shine. Wallens was nobody’s patsy. The Mexican from Florida could have it for now. Wallens saw to it. Perez’s problems began on the very first day he took office, just as Wallens believed they would. Wallens sat on the sidelines and began to position himself for his drama’s sequel: the next election for Speaker of the House.