Jake recognized both women from the photos. They were sitting together at a table sharing a pizza. The taller one, Ashley Regan, had long, thick brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, which was stuffed through the opening in the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. Fontaine's report indicated she was 5' 7" tall but he couldn't judge her height while she was seated. She was very attractive but didn't fit the image he had in his mind.
Christa Barnett’s long black hair that didn't look natural compared with the rest of her facial features. He'd seen the photos Fontaine had sent him. Barnett was born a blonde, so the dark hair didn't compliment her tanned face. According to her file, she was an even five feet and barely topped a hundred pounds.
They were both wearing blue jeans and t-shirts.
Regan looked stressed, frown lines visible on her face from across the dining room. Barnett seemed to be reassuring her of something. He'd strategically selected his table and chair so he would be able to observe them while he ate. He noticed Barnett glance his direction several times and smile. Regan looked his way once and smiled, but it looked feigned.
His food came and he inconspicuously analyzed the two women while he ate. It was the visual threat assessment he needed to evaluate what he was up against and what, if any, element of danger the women might present.
The women finished eating first, paid the waitress, and left. Jake didn't move. He knew Fontaine would track their movements.
He made his decision.
Tonight, after he checked in with President Rebecca Rudd, he would make a dive to locate the grave of Norman Reese, Jr.
29
Evan Makley pushed the End button on his phone. He didn't know how to decipher the tone in President Rudd's voice. He discerned something different in her authoritative command. A sharp edge in her tone he wasn't accustomed to hearing. He glanced at his phone, 8:30 p. m. She didn't have anything on the schedule for the evening, and he would certainly know if she did, so something must have come up after he left the White House at 7:00.
He summoned his waiter, asked for a to-go box, and the bill. He'd eat the rest later, after he finished with Rudd. Her message was clear, "Drop whatever you're doing and get back to the Oval Office immediately." Personal time was a luxury he rarely enjoyed as the rigorous demands of Chief of Staff continuously encroached on his personal life. There always seemed to be some crisis situation that required her White House staff to leave their families for the good of the nation. Situations they would likely never be able to discuss.
His waiter insisted on boxing his meal for him. Chicken Lo Mein, his favorite. He slipped the box and some fresh chopsticks in a bag and thanked him in advance for the generous tip the Chief of Staff always left. Makley grabbed the bag, left $30 on the table for his $15 meal, walked outside, and hailed a taxi.
Since his wife left him, took the kids, and filed for divorce, he'd been living in the city. Initially he lived in a suite in Georgetown but after his wife was granted full custody of their two daughters, sole ownership of the marital home, and the majority of his bank account, he was forced to find a cheaper apartment in the city.
That was a long time ago. It was tough in the beginning but he'd grown accustomed to his new budget. Rudd had been patient with him, always allowing him time to attend his divorce hearings and mediation. His oldest daughter was driving now, which allowed him to see both his daughters more often. The hardest part, Makley thought, was the loneliness. At night, when he returned to his apartment, he was alone. For some reason, all his prospects for dates had shied away from him. Probably the result of his much-publicized divorce.
His last face-to-face contact with Abigail Love at the Jefferson Memorial reminded him of the night she showed up at his front door. For a brief moment, his mind replayed the adventure.
He pushed the thoughts from his head and focused on the matter at hand. What prompted Rudd to call him in? He scanned the CNN and Fox News websites with his smart phone for answers, but found nothing that warranted his return to the White House. However, he concluded, Rudd's call-in was likely preemptory in nature, which meant the news outlets wouldn't have wind of it yet. That was a good sign. It meant he was being called in for damage control.
The taxi dropped him off at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 17th Street NW. He cleared the first security checkpoint and walked the remainder of the way to the White House enjoying the cool September night air. Another security checkpoint at the West Wing entrance and he was on his way through the corridors toward the Oval Office. He was greeted outside by the Executive Secretary to the President of the United States who informed him that they were inside waiting. Rudd hadn't said anything to him about they. This must be big if she'd called in the entire White House Staff.
When he entered the Oval Office, he realized he had misinterpreted Rudd's tone and intent for the call-in. There were no other White House Staff, only the old man Elmore Wiley, one of his emissaries, the lovely Francesca Catanzaro with the scar visible on her left cheek, and President Rebecca Rudd. And from the look on Rudd's face, she was not pleased to see him.
"Evan, come in and sit down." She pointed to the couch opposite the coffee table from Wiley and Catanzaro.
"What's this about?" Makley looked at the President then back at Wiley. "More news on the grave robberies?"
Rudd said nothing. She pushed herself up from behind the Resolute Desk. He noticed she looked like she carried the weight of the nation on her shoulders. She walked around to the front of her desk, pushed her pen set out of the way, and did a half sit-half lean against it while looking him in the eyes.
"Let me get right to the point, Evan." Rudd looked at Wiley seated on the sofa. The old man placed some pictures on the antique coffee table in front of him. "What's your involvement with Abigail Love?"
If it weren't such a cliché, he would think this was that defining moment in his life when he was about to hit rock bottom. His mind raced through his past foibles, all of which he'd somehow talked his way out of and come away unscathed. He knew this one was different. He couldn't tell Rudd the truth, not yet.
"As you know, I just took a bath going through that ugly divorce." Evan Makley had prepared a speech for a moment like this if it were to arise. He'd always been a smooth talker, weaseling his way out of trouble on numerous occasions. This was no exception. "For the sake of our friendship, I have remained on the straight and narrow. I haven't dated, gone to nightclubs, or done anything that would tarnish this administration. I remained abstinent for two years. But even I have needs."
He scrutinized their expressionless faces, looking for any sign of empathy, but found none. "Someone gave me the name of Love's Desperate Desire. Told me that discretion was her forte. So I gave her a call. I guess I screwed up. We've only been together once. I swear, I'll terminate my involvement with Abigail Love's service immediately." He didn't lie, technically. More like selective omission.
Rudd lowered her head and shook it from side to side. "Evan, when Mr. Wiley told me what was going on, I didn't want to believe it. I gave you a chance to come clean, yet you chose to lie."
"Madam President, with all due respect, it's only been the one time with Abigail Love."
"Dammit, Evan. I don't give a damn who you screw. I'm talking about you betraying me and this country."
Rudd knew something else and maybe he'd spoken prematurely about Abigail Love. "Ma'am, what are you talking about?"