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."
22
Evan 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.
Francesca 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.
Thirty seconds later, George Fontaine received the encrypted photos and processed them through Commonwealth's facial recognition software then transmitted the results.
Less 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."
23
Jake had time to study the traffic cam videos on the flight from D.C. to Charleston. Fontaine emailed the two videos to Jake after he dropped off the information packet at the Commonwealth penthouse. The entrance to the cemetery, as he was now aware, was never locked leaving access to the graveyard 24/7. The perimeter, a 6-foot high stone, masonry wall, along with several locked gates allowed for only a single point of entry and exit after regular hours. And, whether by design or not, was monitored by a traffic camera mounted at the entrance.
The City of Charleston had installed the cameras nearly three years ago when they installed the traffic signal at the entrance because of the heavy amount of traffic on the major artery leading in and out of town.