The Gambit (65 page)

I stared down at the copy of tomorrow’s paper I had to sign for approval. The government would shut us down if I would have just let the journalists blatantly assert that Owen was innocent, so I had taken the only possible route. We were weighing in both sides, trying our best to remain neutral. I couldn’t risk being able to publish Rachel’s article when she hadn’t written it yet.

The past few days had been really rough. I visited Emilio’s grave twice. I needed to get some stuff off my chest and to ask him to watch over his daughter now that her mother was gone. I had planned on making arrangements to attend Marta’s funeral, but given that Rachel was still out there somewhere, I figured I would wait until I heard from her to book my flight.

There was a week and a half until the election. We were running out of time.

I saw the button for my assistant’s line flash red. I picked it up.

“Yes, Sharon?”

“There’s a call waiting for you on your secure line,” she said.

My heart fluttered in my chest. It was
her
.

“Send it through.”

I walked over to a small table where a separate phone sat. This was the secure line my IT guys rigged. I picked it up.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hey, Ian. It’s me.”

Her voice wasn’t nearly as brittle as I expected it to be. It almost sounded rejuvenated.

“I’m so sorry, Rachel…I have no words.”

I heard her whimper, as if she was about to cry, and it was followed by a sharp inhale. She steadied her breath.

“I know. I have done a lot of crying.”

“I could imagine. I have too, you know. Just know I love you, and my wife and I will always be here for you.”

“Thank you, Ian. You mean the world to me,” she said, pausing to take a deep breath. “I am actually surprised I am calling you this soon.”

“I am too.”

“Owen’s…good friend helped me regain my strength. Before what happened, Owen made me promise to write my story no matter what. I have all the information you need.”

“Then fax it to me,” I said.

There was silence.

“Rachel?” I checked to see if she was still there.

“It’s not that simple anymore. I need to settle the score with someone. She is responsible for all of this.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Veronica Hall.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding. The same person who provided this massive piece of the puzzle knows everything, and she is the one behind it. Behind Owen’s death and my mother’s. If we don’t keep what happened to Owen in the spotlight, she will be behind the death of this country. She needs to be stopped.”

There was zero sadness in her voice, only determination.
She needs to be stopped
. I pieced together what she was trying to tell me, and once it hit, I was shocked.

“You aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes,” she cut me off, “and that’s why I need your help.”

“How could I even begin to help you with that?” I asked, raising my voice.

“Ian, you
know
people—powerful people. The last time we spoke, if I remember correctly, you said you found
two
pieces of the puzzle. One was Stefan’s, and the other?”

Lucas
.

“It was from a veteran, one that we interviewed years ago when he returned from the Middle East. He faxed me some very sensitive material. He works for the CIA.”

“Ian,” Rachel gasped. “That’s it. That’s the kind of person I need.”

I was becoming overwhelmed with everything she was throwing at me. I had lost Emilio, and I wasn’t going to sit back and watch her put herself in harm’s way.

“Rachel, you realize what could happen to you if you go through with what you’re thinking? You could wind up just like Owen.”

It pained me to make that parallel over the phone, when I knew she was so hurt.

“I have nothing left to lose,” she said flatly. “I have lost it all, Ian. I can’t just turn the other cheek this time. If
they
win, then my mom’s and Owen’s deaths meant
nothing
. They will just be another victim in this sick, sick game…”

I paused, pondering her statement. The conviction in her tone was overflowing, and it was so apparent to me, being someone that watched her grow up. These past two weeks had transformed her as a person.

“I need the help of that person, Ian. He will help us do what we need to do, and we will time it just before you publish my article. The shock value will remind people to question what is
really
going on. What is his name?”

“Lucas,” I answered. “But what if he doesn’t want to help?”

She let out a trembling exhale, and I could almost
feel
her anger.

“If he even knows a smidgen of what I do about Veronica Hall, then he would be more than willing.”

I felt defeated. So defeated, that I took a week of sick pay just to buy myself more time. I told myself I wouldn’t go back to work ever again, and I didn’t want to, but I also wanted to keep out of Veronica’s radar. If I didn’t show up for work, that might cause her to become suspicious of my whereabouts.

Watching Owen die on national television crushed me. It quite literally deflated my morale and left my soul aching. I knew it was
her
, and when I heard about what happened to Rachel’s mother, I was even more disgusted. Oh, the things I wished I could do to that woman.

It had been six days since I faxed Mr. Westlake my files. Why hadn’t I read an article about it yet? I was helpless. I had no desire to go back and work for those traitors, but I couldn’t wait forever. You couldn’t just
quit
the CIA. It didn’t work like that. My level of clearance was one of the highest that existed. Either Veronica went down, or I would be forced to return to work.

My week off would be over the day after tomorrow. I wondered if anything had changed since I’d been gone. Perhaps, I wouldn’t have to see her any longer. Would things go back to normal? That was impossible. With her in control and Owen dead, things could only get worse from here…and that was what I was most afraid of.

The kids were in school. Today was my fifth day straight of binge-watching
Game of Thrones.
I felt useless sitting around not working, but it was a nice change to be home for dinner with the family. During the chase for Owen, I wasn’t home for days at a time. My wife was happy that my schedule would go back to the way it was before he went on the run.

My wife rounded the corner from the kitchen.

“Honey, that pre-paid phone you bought is ringing,” she said as she scurried over to hand it to me. I glanced at the number. It was a 212 area code—Manhattan.

I picked it up.

“Hello,” I answered nervously.

“Lucas,” the familiar voice said. “It’s Ian. Is this line secure?”

“Uh…yes, hold on a moment. Let me take a walk down the street, just in case.”

I never could be too sure given my profession. They could have had my entire house tapped for all I knew.

“Luc, is everything okay, hon?” my wife asked from behind me as I walked out the door. I kept my elbows pressed to my sides because it was chilly out with a persistent breeze.

“Can you talk now?” Ian asked.

“Yes. I am glad you called.”

“We’ll see how glad you are after you find out
why
I called.”

My forehead scrunched up.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain everything, I just need to ask you a few things. When was the last time you’ve been to work?”

“Since the day before I sent you the files.”

He choked on his breath.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding,” I said flatly.

“Did you quit or something?!” Panic made his voice jump around.

“I took a week of paid sick leave. Ian, why is any of this relevant?”

“Oh, thank God…” He gasped. “That would have been bad.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I pressed.

There was silence.

“Ian?”

“So, I’m assuming you saw everything that happened in Atlanta.”

“Yes, of course I did. I recorded the whole thing.”

“Good,” he said. “Lucas, I have to ask you an extremely important question that I have a feeling you already know the answer to…”

My eyes squinted from his wording.

“Shoot.”

“What do you know about Veronica Hall?”

I thought my head was going to explode. I quickly scanned my surroundings to make sure there were no government cars parked nearby. I knew what to look for.

“Ian, are you
sure
your line is secure? Secure in civilian talk and secure in my line of work are two entirely different things.”

“He’s the best guy I know. It’s not like it matters anymore. You risked that when you sent the files.”

He was right. If the CIA found out even the smallest portion of what I had done, I would be dead meat. I could wind up in some freak car accident or in prison for the rest of my life. I took in a deep breath to suppress my anger before I spoke.

“Let’s just put it this way. The things she has done are so vile, that every single move I have made in regards to the information I gave you were to take her down. If you read through that file, just know that she was behind all of it. If we want to salvage what is left of this country, her power has to be dissolved. She has to go.”

Ian didn’t respond. I heard faint static through the phone. I hoped I hadn’t scared him off.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just still in shock.”

“About?”

“She was right.”

His voice sounded distant again, like he was out of it.

“Who was right?”

“Rachel Flores—my goddaughter.”

My jaw dropped.

“She’s your
goddaughter?
My God. I’m so sorry about everything that has happened.”