Ashley Regan of Charleston, South Carolina.
11
The 21-meter luxury yacht — a two-masted schooner — sliced quietly through the water toward the resort's pier, still an easy kilometer away. The long pier was lined with tiki lanterns pointing toward the shoreline. From this distance, Jake thought, it looked like the schooner was lining up with a runway.
Whether he was fishing in a mountain stream or sitting on the deck of a boat, Jake loved the water and its calming appeal. He looked at Kyli, with her hair tucked behind her ears in an attempt to keep it out of her face as the warm ocean air washed across them, and smiled. The light from the full moon played across her face. Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed to sparkle.
It felt like it was so long ago, but it had only been eighteen months since his life had changed so drastically. His psyche seemed tranquil now compared to the tumultuous feeling of the old days — before Wiley. Back then he thought he had it all with Beth, his then fiancée, and felt he could never live without her.
And then he had to.
Life was better now. His self-confidence rose to a higher level than ever before. He had perfected his tradecraft skills. His keen insight was sharpened and enhanced. He had become an effective emissary doing the bidding of Elmore Wiley and the Greenbrier Fellowship, a worldwide organization made up of some of the most influential persons the world had to offer. A group who met once a year at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia to discuss the world's greatest threats. Although never in an official capacity, the Fellowship made recommendations on how to deal with those threats. Recommendations that typically sent Wiley's emissaries into action.
That was where Jake came in.
He wasn't chosen by accident, he knew that now, he was chosen because of his innate ability to assess, analyze, and act quickly to resolve issues on a real-time basis. And as Wiley had repeated to him on numerous occasions, "meet the objective, the how doesn't matter." That maxim didn't mean to proceed with reckless abandon either, as all objectives, he learned, included discretion and secrecy. And, at his disposal to accomplish those tasks, were some of the greatest minds money could buy. Analysts like Fontaine, engineers like Matt, and scientists like Kyli, made up his support team including the master of radio frequency and microwave technology himself — Elmore Wiley — the Toymaker.
The cruise was relaxing and he could tell Kyli was pleased with her choice of vacation destinations. The schooner slowed as it neared the pier, Jake watched resort employees take their positions to catch the lines to secure the yacht. He also noticed the shadowy silhouette of a woman standing back from the edge of the dock several meters. And even though it was just a shadow he knew it belonged to Francesca Catanzaro. He also knew her presence signaled the end of his vacation with Kyli.
"This can't be good." He mumbled to himself.
Jake and Francesca sat on the edge of the infinity pool while Kyli was in the bedroom crying. Her big plans for a two-week romantic get away with Jake had just been dashed by Francesca's news that Jake had to leave and return to the United States immediately. Jake had never seen Kyli this upset, not even after the explosion in Paris that had injured her and her girlfriend.
He was disappointed too, but knew broken personal plans came with the job.
Kyli walked out and sat down next to Jake, dangling her feet in the water. Her eyes were red and puffy. Jake put his arm around her.
"I know I'm being selfish but this was our first real trip together." Kyli put her hand in her lap after wiping her eyes with a tissue. "I just wanted everything to be perfect."
"I know you did." Jake used as much of a consoling voice as he could. "And everything was perfect…it just got cut short this time."
"Will it always be like this? Never being able to make plans because my grandfather has some other secret mission where he whisks you away at a moment's notice."
"Absolutely not. We'll have plenty of time for more trips, uninterrupted ones too." Jake wished he could honestly say that were true, but he knew that wasn't the case. And never would be.
"Kyli," Francesca said, "your grandfather wouldn't have sent me after Jake if it weren't important. He knows how much effort you put into planning this trip and how much you were looking forward to it. If there was any other way, he would have found it."
"How long before we have to leave?" Kyli asked Francesca.
"Mr. Wiley wants all of us out of here tonight." Francesca explained. "I have a boat waiting to take us to the airport and I came in Wiley's personal jet."
"Kyli's going with us?" Jake asked.
"As far as Brussels. Then you and I are flying to D.C."
Jake looked at Kyli then back to Francesca. "Blowback from the last op?"
"I didn't get that impression from Wiley." Francesca stood. "I'll be waiting at the boat while you two pack your things. We leave in 30 minutes."
12
Evan Makley stared at the document attached to the email in disbelief. If it were authentic, the President's career was about to crash and burn — and his with it. Whether true or false, these were the types of allegations that ruined a politician's career. Even one as popular as Rebecca Rudd. He kept staring, afraid to blink, hoping and praying this was some sort of sick joke but somewhere deep inside, he knew it wasn't. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity, he rationalized. That was the only hope he had. Still, the tone of confidence and authority in the words caused his heart to sink.
Another thing troubling him was the fact that the attached file slipped past White House screening. Most worrisome of all was that the sender used an alternating combination of his and the President's social security numbers as the document's password. Information protected by a number of safety measures put in place by the Secret Service.
He'd worked too hard and too long to reach his position as Chief of Staff of the White House. At forty-seven a scandal of this magnitude would destroy any chance for post-White House employment. In politics, he would be the fall guy. His job was to keep these kinds of things from happening and he'd failed. He knew there was still time for damage control. His job was to protect the President. Covering his own ass at the same time was a welcome side effect.
He opened his computer's web browser and typed in www.lovesdesperatedesire.com. The page loaded fast and was simple with only three drop down menus. He clicked the first menu and chose his unique yet discrete user name—First Mate, chosen for his love of sailing. And even today, it seemed appropriate for his professional standing. The second drop down indicated coded locations. He chose JM for Jefferson Memorial, his usual spot. The last drop down menu was an appointment list in fifteen-minute increments starting at the closest next quarter-hour mark. If a time was grayed out, it wasn't available. He looked at this watch, 9:17 a.m., and clicked 10:00 a.m. He submitted his request, closed his browser, and started reviewing the President's schedule for the afternoon.
Within one minute he received a text:
JM0945.
He stood and hustled to the door, told his secretary he had to run a quick errand and headed to his car. The President would be locked in her meeting for another hour so he would have time to make the meeting and return — no one the wiser.