“Is the Secret Service still involved?”
“We’ve come to an agreement with the director on that. They prefer to have no further involvement in this affair.”
Stuyvesant wished he’d been in on that decision. “All right, we’ll let the director back off. But I’ll have his nuts in a vise come January.”
Dutiful nods around the table, the usual reaction from staff watching a firing squad assembled for a colleague.
“What is the time frame for this mission?” Stuyvesant asked, liking the military sound of it.
Maggie Donovan, who in spite of her title as strategist was in fact more of a logistician, answered, “Mr. Kehoe will receive the funds directly after this meeting. If all goes as planned, Kristin Stewart will be back in North Carolina tomorrow evening.”
“That will make her mother happy. How has she been handling it?”
“Well enough,” said Evers. “We conveyed your message: we told her everything that can be done is being done.”
“And it is,” Stuyvesant said.
Everyone nodded. A few more administrative matters were discussed before they all wished Kehoe good luck and launched him to undertake his final preparations. When he was gone, Evers cornered Stuyvesant as the bus began to roll. “There is one complication. Someone’s been asking questions.”
“Questions?” Stuyvesant said. “About what?”
“About Kristin.”
The vice president took a handhold as the bus rounded a corner. Outside, through a cracked window shade, he saw throngs of well wishers. He ignored them as Evers continued.
“A CIA officer made inquiries through official channels last night, a search on Kristin’s name and passport information.”
“The CIA? How the hell did they get wind of this?”
“We don’t think it’s anything official,” said Evers, “and of course she got nowhere. All information relating to Kristin has been scrubbed from the official servers. We sent a man to speak with this officer last night in D.C. Apparently she’s an acquaintance of the investigator, the man the NTSB sent to Colombia.”
“Wasn’t that supposed to be to our advantage? Having an insider on this crash investigation?”
“That was our intent. We’ve been monitoring him very closely, but for some reason our NTSB man — his name is Jammer Davis — sidestepped his normal means of communication and asked this friend at CIA for help. Davis has uncovered Special Agent Mulligan’s identity, and we think he knows there’s something special about Kristin.”
For the first time Stuyvesant felt uneasy. “These two people know the Secret Service was protecting her?”
“They know there’s a connection of some kind, yes.”
“This whole damned protection scheme was a mistake from the beginning! We should have kept our distance like we always have.”
“Once you got the nomination, Martin, we had no choice. Kristin was at risk of—”
“Of exactly what’s happened! The Secret Service dropped the ball on this!”
“You know we tied a hand behind their back. They wanted a full protection detail, but we said no. We insisted they keep it small and discreet. They also warned us against letting her travel.”
An agitated Stuyvesant banged his fist on a cabinet over the bed. “That was her mother’s damned fault! The woman simply will not listen, despite everything I’ve given her. All right… this NTSB man, Davis. Does it do us any good to keep him in Colombia?”
“Not that I can see. The ransom is on its way, and Kristin will be on a plane home tomorrow.”
“So pull him out. He’s asking too many questions. We need to tie this up once and for all. Then we need to bury it for good.”
Evers said hesitantly, “I agree, however… there might be one problem. Getting Davis out of Colombia could prove difficult.”
“Why?”
“It’s something that came out of the blue — a one-in-a-million coincidence. When the NTSB went to assign an investigator, the guy in charge — I think his name is Green — looked over the passenger list and saw a familiar name. Davis has a daughter, and it turns out she was also on that flight.”
“What?”
“Apparently she and Kristin were headed to the same semester abroad program. Davis’ daughter is the other hostage that was referred to in the ransom request.”
“The one we ignored?”
Evers said, “I think ‘secondary concern’ was the phrase you used. My point is that getting Davis to leave might prove difficult. By all accounts he’s a bull, and I don’t see him leaving without his daughter.”
The bus was gaining speed, heading for a barbecue to benefit wounded veterans. Stuyvesant sat on the mussed bed. “Is there any chance Davis can find her?”
“His daughter? Working on his own? Not a prayer. I’ve had the full briefing from Strand. We’ve put a lot of effort into this, a lot of resources, and we still don’t know who we’re dealing with. It’s not FARC, but probably someone like them, a splinter paramilitary group. There are dozens in the jungles down there, and they’re all ruthless. Drugs and extortion are their bread and butter. They move constantly and are armed to the teeth. FARC lasted twenty years against the Colombian Army, and the others are just as persistent. I can’t imagine one angry American dad is going to bother them. Honestly, if Davis pushes too hard — I wouldn’t be surprised if he disappeared too.”
Stuyvesant met Evers’ gaze and saw discomfort. They were both thinking the same thing. If Davis didn’t come back, their cleanup efforts would be greatly simplified. Evers was about to say something when Donovan poked her head around the corner. She handed Stuyvesant talking points for the veterans affair, and said, “Ten minutes.”
As soon as she was gone, Stuyvesant took the lead. “All right — just get my daughter out of harm’s way.”
“And Davis?” asked Evers.
The vice president turned away and began to study his notes.
THIRTY-ONE
“The democratic nominee for president has a love child?”
“Apparently so,” said Sorensen. “Jean Stewart worked on his first congressional campaign twenty years ago.”
“Sounds like she worked more than the phones,” said Davis.
“Do you realize how sexist that sounds?”
“Sorry. Look, I know Stuyvesant is married now, but was he at the time?”
“He was, but according to Stewart his wife never learned about the affair. They kept it very discreet until the inevitable hard landing.”
“Thanks for putting that in language I can understand.”
“I always try to keep things simple for pilots. Back then, Stuyvesant was a rising star politically. He knew the affair would blow him out of the water, so he ended the relationship in no uncertain terms.”
“He was a jerk. That’s not sexist to say, is it?” He heard Sorensen sigh.
“Then the complication came,” she continued. “Stewart found out she was pregnant, but she never told Stuyvesant. Until last year he never knew he had a daughter.”
“Last year? That’s pretty awkward for a guy in the middle of a heated presidential primary. How did Stewart break this news to him?”
“She didn’t have time to tell me that part, but I did notice she seems to be doing well. Nice house, furniture, clothes. I saw a few pictures on the wall of a different place, much smaller, a very different neighborhood.”
“You think she hit him up? Demanded hush money?”
“Could be,” said Sorensen.
“And maybe somebody else found out about Kristin — somebody in Colombia.”