Elly's Ghost (6 page)

“Oh, that feels
so good,” Elly said.

They ate
raisins, venison jerky, and granola bars for supper.

“How much food
do we have?” Elly asked.

“About a week’s
worth, if we’re careful.”

Jay found a spot
for his small camouflaged tent under a clump of thick trees and set up his
sleeping bag inside. He then convinced Elly to walk to the tent and lie down.

Elly closed her
eyes. “I know this is a stupid question, but you wouldn’t happen to have a key
for these handcuffs?”

“As a matter of
fact.” Jay reached into his pocket.

Elly sat up,
instantly furious. “If you have one—”

“No, I don’t
have one.” Jay smiled.

Elly picked up
an empty raisin box and threw it at him. “I knew it was a stupid question.” She
smiled as she lay back down and closed her eyes again.

“I’ll be right
outside if you need anything,” Jay said. “Don’t make any loud noises. Try to
get some sleep.”

Stepping outside
the tent, Jay saw that the western sky was full of stars, and he knew they’d
have a rain-free night. He walked in a circle around the tent, surveying the
area. He found a well-covered spot overlooking the campsite. Jay rechecked that
his rifle was loaded, made himself comfortable against a downed tree, and
waited, listening for sounds of anyone following them.

MONDAY

The thick forest
was perfectly still as a light fog lingered over it. The morning dew covered
the cool ground, and the air was heavy with the smell of pine needles. The
camouflage tent blended in nicely with the multiple shades of green leaves
stretching in every direction.

Jay’s eyelids
grew heavy as the first rays of the sun broke through the trees. He forced
himself back to an alert state of mind, but soon the desire for sleep returned,
and his whole head dipped forward. He was curled up with his knees pulled tight
to his chest to keep warm. His rifle rested against his shoulder.

As Jay’s eyes
closed, he remembered Ben cooking breakfast over a fire. Then the scene morphed
to what had been described to him. He saw men firing their weapons without
thinking as an elk ran across the horizon. Foolish men. Men who’d barely been
out of a cubicle their whole lives, pretending for a weekend to be mountain
warriors. Jay heard the zip of a bullet and the splintering of tree bark,
followed by Ben screaming in pain as he fell over, clutching his stomach.

Jay’s eyes
opened when he heard a twig snap to his left and saw tree branches moving in
the distance. Blood rushed to his head as he silently aimed his rifle, resting
it on the rough bark of the branch in front of him. The sun was just high
enough to be a big bright spot in his line of vision.

Jay glanced
toward the tent, then back to the trees. The branches moved again. Jay clicked
off the safety. Whoever was approaching appeared to be alone and was moving
toward their camp faster than before. Jay aimed for a chest shot as the leaves
on the trees in front of him began to part. He took a breath and held it.

A small deer
appeared and stopped, staring back at Jay. The deer quickly turned and ran away
as Jay exhaled. He let his head fall forward to rest on the branch.

* * *

The president of
the United States spotted the White House from the air as the Marine HMX-1 Sea
King helicopter made its descent toward the landing pad. Although he was happy
to be home after being in Tokyo for a three-day summit, the sight made him sigh
heavily as he faced the task at hand.

Once the
helicopter was on the ground, the president was escorted inside, and he nodded
to the secret serviceman guarding his daughter’s bedroom door. “How long has
she been in her room?”

“Ever since she
got the news yesterday, Mr. President. She wouldn’t come out, so we’ve had to
bring her something to eat.”

The president
had been thinking about what he’d say to Celeste about Elly Wittenbel’s death
since one if his aides told him about the accident. He knew how much his
daughter loved Elly and was certain she’d be devastated. He remembered feeling
much the same way when John Lennon was killed. It didn’t help that the first lady
had left for Europe the morning before Elly’s plane crashed, leaving Celeste to
deal with the news alone.

The president
knocked on his daughter’s door but got no answer. He knocked again and then
slowly opened the door a crack.

“Celeste?” he
said.

“You can come
in,” a soft voice replied.

Celeste was
curled up under a blanket on a small couch in the corner of her room. Her radio
was playing quietly. Her aquarium was the only source of light in the room.

“I missed you,”
the president said. He sat down next to her as Celeste sat up and hugged him.
He kissed her on the forehead. “I was sorry to hear about Elly. I know how much
you liked her.”

The president
knew how hard it was for his daughter to make real friends at school. Celeste
had found comfort in music and in relating to other young people who, like her,
were targets of the media.

He vividly
remembered an argument that took place between his daughter and the first lady about
whether or not Celeste could go to a System Override concert. A White House
intern had gotten tickets without the president’s or first lady’s approval. Now
he felt bad that they’d kept her from going.

“I know it’s
stupid, but I miss her so much,” Celeste said as she stared at the angelfish in
her aquarium, avoiding a glance at the signed picture of Elly on the wall next
to her desk. The first lady had written a letter on official White House
letterhead to Elly to request it. It was one of Celeste’s twelfth-birthday
presents.

“I asked Jenny
to send a flower basket to Elly’s parents from us.”

“You did?”

“I even told her
to put your name first on the card.”

“Thanks, Dad.”
Celeste hugged him and then met her father’s gaze. “What happened to Elly’s
plane?”

The president’s heart
ached as his daughter’s eyes searched his for the truth. “We don’t know,” he
said, “but we’re going to find out.”

“Do you swear?”
Celeste asked with a serious look, another trait she’d gotten from her mother.

Celeste had her
mom’s soft heart, but she was also stubborn, which meant that she’d inherited
at least one thing from her dad. He leaned over and kissed his daughter’s
forehead, then held up his right hand, just like he had at his inauguration. “I
swear.”

* * *

Jay and Elly ate
a quick breakfast of nuts and dried fruits before Jay packed up the tent.

“Did your
parents want you to be a Marine?” Elly asked as Jay began wrapping her foot as
he had the day before.

“No, my parents
were furious when I told them I’d signed up.”

“What do they
think now?”

Jay didn’t
answer right away. “They died in a car accident just before I left for basic
training.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jay secured the
athletic wrap into place on her right foot and started wrapping the left.

“Jay, do you
know who I am?”

“I know your
name is Elly.”

“No, I mean, do
you know anything else about me?”

Jay stopped what
he was doing and looked at her. “Is there something else I should know?”

“No, that’s not
what I meant,” Elly said.

“Then what?” he
said as he continued wrapping her foot.

“I just wanted
to know.” Elly stared up at a nearby tree.

“Wanted to know
what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“No, come on,
tell me. Are you the Princess of Wales?”

Elly laughed.

“If you are, you
have a great American accent,” Jay said.

“No, I’m not the
Princess of Wales. I’m the lead singer in a band.”

“Which one?”

“System
Override. Have you heard of it before?”

“No. Are you
guys any good?”

“We have a small
following.”

Jay thought
about Elly flying in a private plane with a bodyguard and wondered about her
definition of “small.”

“I hate these
stupid handcuffs.” Elly rubbed her taped wrists. “Is Jay your real name or is
it short for something?”

He took a deep
breath. All he had wanted when he got home was to disappear. War had made Jay feel
empty, like a ghost of who he’d once been, like the dead, like Ben. Jay didn’t
want to lie to Elly, but if she was at all popular, he knew the press might be
all over her when they got out of this. The last thing he wanted was media
attention.

“Jay is my
middle name. I grew up in a small town, and one of the other boys in my class and
I had the same first name, so everyone started calling me Jay instead.” He
hated lying to her. His middle name was really Gregory, after his grandfather.

“What is your
real name?”

Jay thought
about Ben being the first to call him Jay instead of Jason at school and
instantly Ben’s name came out of his mouth. “Benjamin Chase.” The words seemed
foreign, like someone else was speaking for him. Guilt overcame Jay as he
wondered what Elly would think when she found out he’d given her the name of
someone who had died several years ago. He thought about telling her the truth,
but he knew getting Elly home safely was the most important thing, and his real
name didn’t really matter at the moment.

* * *

FBI agent Aaron
Beckholm waited patiently as his boss, Agent Treft, flipped through the sheets of
paper in front of him, shaking his head in disgust every time he scribbled his
signature.

Beckholm ran his
hand through his wavy black hair while he tried to figure out if he was warm
because of his black suit coat or because he’d been abruptly called into Treft’s
office. Normally the brown-eyed and six-foot-two-inch-tall former high school
quarterback wasn’t rattled easily, but there was something about his boss that
unnerved him.

Treft was
overweight and balding and had the most crooked teeth Beckholm had ever seen.
Rumors of his retirement had floated around the office for the past few weeks.
If they were true, Beckholm didn’t mind. He only saw the man about once a month,
and most of those sightings occurred when they passed each other in the hall or
in the men’s room. Until he’d received the phone call, Beckholm wondered if his
boss had forgotten about him.

“Beckholm,”
Treft said, still not looking up at him, “how many times have you been in my
office since you were hired?”

“Four times,
including today.” Beckholm knew to be quick with his responses.

“And how long
have you been working for me?”

“Almost a year.”

 Treft signed
his name one last time and set down his pen. He gathered the sheets together in
a stack, stuffed them into an interoffice confidential envelope, and finally turned
his attention to Beckholm. “That’s why I like you. No bullshit. You just do
your job; you do it well. Best of all, I don’t have to deal with any screwups
like the one that just cost me two weeks in meetings and two days of
paperwork.”

The praise
surprised Beckholm, especially given that Treft was in a bad mood. Beckholm had
heard what happened. While searching for a fugitive, two of Treft’s agents had
inadvertently discovered a massive drug processing laboratory in a densely
populated residential area. Shots were exchanged, and the laboratory caught on
fire. The explosion broke windows several blocks away. Thirty-two people were
hospitalized, and six died, including an undercover DEA agent.

Treft leaned
back and rubbed his eyes. “Almost a year, huh? I’ve been here twenty-six years,
and I’ve been in this position for the last ten, but I started where you did.
The politics of this job never cease to amaze me.”

One of
Beckholm’s coworkers had told him Treft had “burned too many bridges to be able
to go any higher.”

Treft leaned
forward, resting his arms on his desk. “The president has asked the director to
have someone within the bureau investigate the Wittenbel plane crash. It seems
the president’s daughter is a big fan of Ms. Wittenbel. The director passed it
to me, and I’m giving it to you. Now the main investigation is in the FAA’s
hands, not ours. The FAA likes to take their time with every detail before
reporting their findings. Your job is to report your own findings by Friday of
this week when the director will be meeting the president for lunch. That is
your deadline. I don’t want you working on anything else until then. Do you
follow me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks to our
most recent event, the director hates my guts, which is why we’ve been given
this crappy little assignment. I need this to go well. Do you understand me?”

Beckholm nodded.

“I don’t care if
you have to interview every last one of Wittenbel’s family, friends, or dog-shit-picker-uppers,
you do it!” Treft pointed at Beckholm. “Do whatever you have to do to finish
that report by Friday. Call me if you need clearance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me make
myself clear on this next point.” Treft’s forefinger stabbed the envelope of
paperwork in front of him. “It is not public knowledge that we are involved
with this case. The media will be covering the Wittenbel crash like flies on
shit. I do not want you in front of any cameras or giving any interviews. If I
see or hear anything in the news that says FBI and Wittenbel in the same
sentence, you’ll be at the bottom of my shit pile. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who is that
friend you’ve worked with before, the one in records?”

“You mean Agent Derek
West?”

“That’s the one.
I’ve spoken with his boss, and he’s been authorized to help you on this one. I
also have a meeting set up with the engineering department of Big Sky Aircraft
in about forty minutes. I want you to find out everything you can about that
plane. Specifically, how the door could have come off. Got it?”