Breach of Power (14 page)

J
ake cleared
the front gate of the White House and followed the Secret Service agent to the Oval Office. The agent opened the door and followed Jake inside instructing him where to sit down. The room was more elaborate than he'd envisioned. A large rug with the sunburst pattern emanating from the Presidential Seal in the center dominated the room. There were three large south facing windows behind the President's desk and a fireplace on the north wall. Each President decorated the Oval Office to suit his, or now, her taste. President Rebecca Rudd, being the first female President in history, adorned the walls with portraits of famous women. Mother Theresa and Rosa Parks were the first to catch his eye.

He didn't have to wait long before President Rebecca Rudd walked into the room and dismissed the agent. He was expecting Chief of Staff, Evan Makley, to accompany her but he was wrong. When Wiley said he was meeting with the President alone, he meant
alone
. She walked straight to him and shook his hand, cupping her left hand over the top. He felt the warmth in her hands. Her face reflected the stress of the job. Dark circles and puffiness around her eyes a result of long hours laboring over endless mounds of paperwork. The office took its toll on every President, aging them years beyond their time.

She moved over to her desk and motioned for Jake to take the chair next to the desk. "Do you know the history of this desk?" She asked.

"Yes, ma'am. That is if National Treasure got it right."

Rudd laughed. "They got it right. Mr. Wiley left me a message saying Ms. Catanzaro couldn't make it. I was looking forward to seeing her again. She has a passion for ethical and moral justice."

"Yes, ma'am, she does. Unfortunately she was called out at the last minute."

"That's a shame. You two make a good team." Rudd held out an open palm. "What have you come up with on Project Resurrection?"

"I'm afraid not much. A lot of information that doesn't seem to lead anywhere." Jake opened his backpack and pulled a copy of his report and handed it to the President. "I've been trying to draw a nexus between all the grave disturbances, but just when I think the evidence starts to connect, new evidence comes along that invalidates my theories."

"For instance?" Rudd asked.

"To start with." Jake spread out the reports of four cemetery intrusions on the President's desk. "All these, which include Arlington and Andersonville were black soldiers killed in Germany during World War II. None of the bodies were disturbed. In fact, the glass seals were never broken. Whoever did this was very careful to not leave behind any evidence at all. No fingerprints, footprints, tire tracks. Nothing. On the surface, it looks like all they did was open the casket out of morbid curiosity."

"And below the surface?"

"If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to come back to that later."

"I don't mind." Rudd scribbled something on a notepad.

"The other three we investigated are a different story. The caskets were opened, the seals broken, and the body disturbed, but nothing was taken. All of these caskets belonged to white males." The President looked at him when he said this. "The sheriff in Hiawassee chalked it up to a teenage prank and had the body reinterred before we got there. Any evidence to suggest who might have done it was inadvertently destroyed."

Jake pointed to the next report. "The sheriff in Dahlonega conducted a thorough investigation. The entire scene was marked off and sealed. A deputy on night patrol saw a car in the cemetery and went in to investigate. The car sped off. The deputy assumed he'd just interrupted some teenagers making out in the car and didn't pursue them. When he saw the damage to the grave, it was too late to catch whomever was in the car."

Jake gingerly pushed some photos in front of Rudd. "Apparently the deputy startled our grave robbers and we got our first real piece of evidence. Footprints. And what we found is that we have two perpetrators. The footprints appear to be those of women."

Rudd looked up. "Women? Interesting."

"After Charleston, I realized we had a pattern. Only white soldiers' remains were being disturbed. I have no idea yet what that means. It just seems to be the pattern. At the Charleston cemetery, the glass seal on the casket was busted with something like a sledgehammer and the body moved. But, as with every incident, nothing seems to have been taken from any casket."

"So, what's the point?" Rudd asked. "Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing."

"I've heard that before." Jake pushed a picture of a license plate in front of the President.

"What's this?"

"My first real lead…or at least what I thought was a lead." Jake paused. "When Francesca and I went to the cemetery earlier today, I noticed a traffic cam mounted on the signal at the entrance to the cemetery. We accessed the video from the night of the break-in and this is the only vehicle that entered all night. It was in the cemetery for almost thirty minutes and then left."

"Excuse me," Rudd interrupted, "but where is this location?"

"Charleston. Not sure if this is relative, but the car belongs to a rental car company and was rented to a local woman named Ashley Regan. We are trying to track down her car now without alerting law enforcement. But the rental car being in the cemetery may not mean anything."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Ashley Regan's parents are buried in that cemetery. Which gives her a legitimate reason to be there. The questions needing answers are why the late hour visit and why the rental car?"

"Maybe you should have a talk with this woman just in case."

"Yes, ma'am. I plan to pay her a visit very soon."

Rudd tapped her finger on the scribble she made earlier. "So, if this is not racially motivated," Rudd gave him a stern look, "what is your gut feeling?"

Jake took a deep breath. He remembered what Wiley told him earlier and tried to choose his words carefully. "The evidence doesn't point toward anything racial. So far we have four black and three white World War II soldiers' caskets that have been broken into. I don't see why the Army can't take over from here."

"But you think there is something else, don't you? Maybe something bigger."

"I haven't had enough time to thoroughly analyze all the data but I did find some things in common with all the break-ins." He waited for her to acknowledge him to continue which she did with a nod of the head. "First, all were soldiers who died in World War II in Germany. So far all the casualties were from 1944 or 1945. Second, every soldier's body was mutilated and in each instance the ceremony was closed casket. Third, they were all buried in the same model casket by the same company. The Springfield Metallic Casket Company, which went out of business in 1974. Fourth and probably the most significant is that every soldier whose casket had been disturbed was packed, crated, and shipped straight through to their destination by the same person. Major Don Adams of the United States Army."

"Interesting." Rudd paused. "Where is Major Adams now?"

"Don't know." Jake noticed the puzzled look on the President's face. "According to Army records, Major Adams disappeared during a blizzard in 1946. He was stationed at the commandeered resort at the summit of Zugspitze on the Austrian/German border."

Rudd was silent for an awkwardly long few seconds. "Do you have any hunches?"

"Only guesses. Just a hypothesis at this point."

"I'd really like to hear your thoughts. Please, share."

Jake paused. The intensity of President Rudd's blue-eyed stare made him nervous. He was sitting in the Oval Office, face to face with the most powerful person in the world. And she had asked him for his advice. "I think Major Adams put something in these caskets and shipped them here and now someone is finally getting around to retrieving them."

Rudd leaned back in her chair for the first time. "Sounds a little far-fetched." She steepled her hands beneath her chin. "But, let's suppose for a minute that you are correct. How old would Major Adams be now?"

"In his nineties."

"A little old to be running around robbing graves, don't you think?" Her tone sounded maternal and somewhat condescending. Both of which struck a slight blow to his ego. "And, if he were still alive, why would he wait until now to retrieve whatever he secreted away?"

"Like I said, ma'am, it's only a hypothesis. I have nothing to back it up."

Rudd smiled. "I want you to find the woman in Charleston and rule her involvement in or out. Wiley has bragged about your intuition. How long do you need to thoroughly analyze what you know so far?"

"At this point, I'm not sure. A few days. Maybe as long as a week."

"Jake, always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other."

"Yes, ma'am. I believe Lincoln once said something like that."

Rudd smiled. "He said
exactly
that."

Rudd opened her desk and pulled out a plain white business card.

She turned the card over and wrote a phone number on the back. She held it out toward him. "Jake, this is my personal cell phone number. Only a handful of people have this number. Now you do too. It goes without saying that you are not to share it with anyone. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He took the card from her. In raised gold letters centered in the middle of the card it read:

H
e flipped it over
, and read the number. He quickly handed it back to her. "I won't need to keep the card."

She asked and he repeated the number verbatim.

"Jake, Elmore told me, that if I needed it, you were at my disposal. I want you on this as my personal…what's the term Mr. Wiley uses…?"

"Emissary?"

"Yes, Jake. Emissary. For the foreseeable future anyway, I'll need your services. But most of all, I need your allegiance." Rudd placed everything Jake had given her in a folder and stood. "Check in with me personally every night at 2300 hours Eastern time with a progress report. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Rudd pressed a button and the Secret Service agent opened the door. "Max will escort you to the gate."

P
resident Rebecca Rudd
watched the young man leave the Oval Office. As her Secret Service agent closed the door, the door behind her opened and an elderly man walked in.

"Do you think he knows I'm sending him into a den of lions?" Rudd never took her eyes off the door where Jake Pendleton exited.

"No, Rebecca, he doesn't."

She looked at the wise old man. Her first encounter with him was when she was Secretary of State for her predecessor. She found him and his organization to be a resource she could call on to accomplish certain agendas that could not be handled through diplomatic channels. On more than one occasion she had covered the previous President's ass by utilizing the services of the man in front of her.

"I'm not sure I understand why you couldn't have been in here while Mr. Pendleton gave me his briefing," Rudd said.

He paused. "Call it an employee evaluation," he finally said. "If you and I are going to enter into a future arrangement, then I need to be sure Jake is going to meet my lofty expectations at this level."

"And?" Rudd asked. "Are you satisfied?"

"As usual, Mr. Pendleton exceeded my expectations."

"Do you think it's fair of me to put Mr. Pendleton in such a potentially uncompromising position?" She asked.

"Jake adapts quickly to change. He'll be fine."

"Ultimately he'll be faced with a dilemma. Can I trust him to make the right decision?"

"Jake is as loyal as they come." The old man pushed up his wire rim glasses. He swiped his hands through his gray hair. "You can trust Jake with your life. Just as I have with mine…and my granddaughter's."

E
van Makley met
Abigail Love at the same spot as the last meeting. They sat on the same park bench at the Jefferson Memorial. This time there were no paddleboats or sun glistening on the water. The weather had turned for the worst overnight, leaving the September morning rainy, dreary, and cool.

Love was waiting for him when he arrived. She wore an olive green raincoat that came below her knees and held a black umbrella over her head while she typed on her smart phone. At first glance his mind filled with pleasurable thoughts of their sexual encounter. It was the type of male fantasy written about in
Penthouse Forum
. Only this one was real. And it had happened to him.

Again, he sat down on the opposite end of the bench. She insisted it be done this way.

Makley was the first to speak. "Well? Did you find who sent the email?"

"No, Evan. I didn't. I'm go—"

"Why the hell not?" Makley raised his voice. "What am I paying you so much for if you can't trace a simple email?"

Love crossed her legs away from Makley signaling him to remain silent while a pedestrian walked past. It was a signal they had used numerous times on previous occasions.

A tall, thin woman with long red hair came into view. Under her umbrella she carried a small dog. The woman walked fast, never slowing or taking her attention away from her dog. When the woman was out of sight, Love uncrossed her legs.

"First of all, there were fourteen different email addresses being forwarded ahead of that one email you got. Ultimately they traced back to nothing."

"So, what? It's a dead end?"

"I didn't say that." Love unexpectedly turned to face him. "I was able to trace the ISP to Charleston, South Carolina. But that's as far as I can get without this." She held up a flash drive.

"What's that?" Makley asked.

"I have a tracer program on this drive. Stick it in any USB port on your computer and reply to his original email. Just ask him some questions."

"What do I ask him?"

"I don't know, Evan. You didn't get where you are by relying on someone to make decisions for you. Figure it out."

She was right. He hadn't climbed to the Chief of Staff position by relying on others. He used others to get him where he wanted, and then he discarded them like trash. Until the email, he thought he'd discarded Abigail Love. But some people prove more useful than others.

"How does it work?"

"When you reply, it embeds a tracking code in the email. As soon as your blackmailer opens the email, the tracking code installs a tracer on the hard drive so I can track the computer no matter where it goes. Once the computer accesses the Internet, we'll have him."

"You said you traced his Internet Service Provider to Charleston? That's coincidental."

"Why is that?"

"This morning Rudd briefed me on that grave robbing case and they have a lead in Charleston. A grave of a soldier killed in World War II was broken into in Charleston. Just more of what I told you the other night except now it's happened enough times to cause her concern. She's tasked someone to handle the investigation. She calls it Project Resurrection. The national cemetery here at Arlington was the first. She originally thought it was racially motivated because the first two break-ins were graves of black soldiers."

"Someone is stealing bodies from graves?"

"No. That's the strange part. Nothing appears to have been taken from any graves."

"Tell me more about this lead, Evan"

"It appears a woman drove a rental car into a cemetery in Charleston in the middle of the night, stayed for thirty minutes or so, and then left. That same night a soldier's grave was unearthed at the cemetery. Her parents are buried there also. No one else was seen entering or leaving the cemetery all night. Just her."

"Could be a coincidence, probably is, Charleston isn't a very large town." She paused. "Too much at stake not to check it out, though. I mean what are the odds that Charleston would come up twice like this?" She pointed to the flash drive. "You do your part and I'll check out Charleston. You remember the woman's name?"

"Ashley something," Makley said. "Ashley…Ashley. I can't remember. I'll have to send it to you."

He let his eyes scan up and down her torso recalling what was beneath the raincoat. The last time they'd met on the park bench she was wearing a spandex jogging suit so revealing that he could see every curve of her pleasing shape. Now that he had seen her uncovered, he had to admit she was too much woman for any man to resist. She had dark hair, dark tanned skin, and vivid green eyes.

Such a striking contrast.

"What is the chance for an encore performance?" He asked.

Love stared at him. "Perhaps. When I think it's safe, I'll come to you."

As she spoke, he remembered the woman's name. "Reagan. Ashley Reagan. No. No, wait. Regan. That's it. Ashley Regan."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Ashley Regan is the woman's name in Charleston."

Abigail Love stood. "I'll be in touch."

He watched her walk away while his mind relived that night.

F
rancesca Catanzaro put
the puppy back in the pet carrier, pulled the micro digital memory card from the handle of the umbrella and inserted it into her phone.

T
hirty seconds later
, George Fontaine received the encrypted photos and processed them through Commonwealth's facial recognition software then transmitted the results.

L
ess than a minute later
, President Rebecca Rudd was looking at the photos with Elmore Wiley. Five minutes later she was looking at an FBI file on Abigail Love.

"Oh, Evan, what have you done?" She lowered her head and shook it. "Elmore, I'm open to suggestions."

"Rebecca, there are no circumstances where Evan Makley's association with Abigail Love, even if it is only as lovers, can be condoned by this administration. The mere fact he has met with this woman at all and that this picture even exists warrant, in my opinion, some sort of preemptive action on your part."

Rudd felt gastric acid churning in her stomach like molten lava. She reached into her desk, grabbed two Tums from a container, and popped them into her mouth. "I don't know what to say, Elmore."

"Rebecca, I'll handle this. The best thing for you to do or say…is nothing at all."