Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) (40 page)

The Past

The tension had been building over the past few weeks. It was now February. Caroline and Jack all but ceased going out in public. Going to Washington or even back to Philadelphia wasn’t a possibility. They’d made some moves, privately. Transferring money to foreign accounts. Communicating with the underground, focusing on low level recruitment. Coordinating with a growing secret rebellion in California.

They attempted to make one last official joint television appearance in late January with a respected local political commentator at the NBC affiliate in Philadelphia. They thought they’d put forth one more effort, make one final impassioned plea to the public, though they still hadn’t revealed the most seditious bit of information they uncovered. They wouldn’t be able to do that until they were someplace truly safe. They could only hope that the government hadn’t figured out that they knew about it.

The studio didn’t have a large staff in place. A couple of cameramen, tech guys, production personnel, the makeup people, and the reporter. Caroline and Jack were adjusting their microphones on set when she caught a flash in the corner of her eye. 

Nicky had hunted. They had numerous long guns and pistols in their home. She knew how to properly clean, load, unload, and operate a firearm. Jack tried to make her get rid of the guns after she’d been shot but Caroline vowed to hold on to them, even going so far as to sneak them out of her home in Rockville to a hiding place in the Governor’s Mansion. Time passed and Jack’s objections faded. The collection grew. She hated to think about it but the time would likely come, perhaps soon, when they would be very glad to have them.

Caroline knew the gleam of gunmetal when she saw it, even in a dimly lit television studio. And she reacted in the same way she had in the Visitors’ Center all those years ago. She pulled Jack to the floor as fast as she could, the distinct sound of a shotgun blast fragmenting the backdrop behind them.

It happened so quickly that no one knew what to do. The cameramen panicked and ran out of the room. The reporter literally pissed his pants. Before they even had a chance to stand up and compose themselves, the gunman was gone, yelling out an unintelligible phrase as he slammed through the back exit. No one in the studio offered to make sure they were okay. Their security chose to check on their welfare instead of chasing after the man with the shotgun. Everyone else scattered.

After that, they weren’t asked back for any more interviews. By anyone. The incident went unreported in the media.

They mostly confined themselves to the Governor’s Mansion from then on. Their protective details increased. But they hesitated to leave central Pennsylvania. Jack still had a job to do, no matter how difficult it had become for him to execute his duties. They didn’t want to uproot the girls. They still felt reasonably safe sending them to school and took comfort in going to Mass every Sunday at St. Margaret Mary. Their family was surrounded by people who cared about them there. It was a strong Catholic community, and the parish had embraced the governor and his family when they arrived in Harrisburg.

Until the Sunday after the botched interview, when they went to a late morning Mass. Their security was tight but their men tried to remain inconspicuous. Jack, Marguerite, Sophie, and Caroline were sitting side by side in one of the rows near the center aisle of the church. Their security positioned themselves near the entrance, watching the other worshipers as they filed in. A man in a flannel jacket walked past their pew, then came back and stopped in the aisle. Caroline knelt in prayer and tried to concentrate, but felt his presence beside her. She smelled an indistinct waft of grain alcohol. She gave him a minute, hoping he was scanning the church, maybe searching for someone, then realized he was glaring at her and Jack.

She made the sign of the cross and stood up. She could feel Jack’s eyes boring into her back.

“Caroline, don’t,” he whispered.

Jack motioned for Marguerite and Sophie to move further down the pew behind him. The man continued to glower at them both.

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for something, anything to happen. Jack stood up behind her, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had placed his hands on both sides of the pew, shielding their children. He moved so close to her that his chest bumped up against her shoulders.

The man unzipped his jacket and tucked it behind his right hip. A large caliber revolver, a .45, possibly a .50, was strapped to his waist. He rested his hand on the handle of the gun in the holster, stroking it almost lovingly, not saying a word. He waited for her response.

Perhaps he thought she would cower or cry, or beg him to leave. Or he expected Jack to push their children down even further, leaving only the two of them exposed. Maybe he thought her husband would yank her to the floor. It wouldn’t have been an unusual act for Jack to take. But she continued to stand there, refusing to break eye contact, wondering where on earth their security could be.

“This is a place of worship.” Jack said quietly.

“Take your grievances elsewhere,” Caroline added, amazed that her voice was so steady.

“We’re watching you,” the man said, right before their security finally arrived to haul him out of the church.

Caroline grabbed the railing of the pew for support. Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“We’re leaving.” He started gathering up their coats. “Now.”

They walked out as the organ started playing and the liturgists, altar servers, and the priest lined up to proceed toward the altar. Their pastor nodded solemnly at them as they whisked the girls out the door and back to the car waiting to take them back to the mansion. He looked very sad. Caroline felt bad they hadn’t been able to talk to him first. She very much liked him. She and Jack hadn’t wanted the beginning of Mass disrupted like that. The last place of refuge for so many people, and now it was one more precious thing that had been taken away. Faith couldn’t protect them anymore.

*              *              *              *              *

Caroline paced across the master bedroom later that night. Jack sat on the bed removing dress shoes. His tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled. She’d been avoiding him for most of the day, although they both knew what they had to do.

“We have to get them out,” she said. “Before it’s too late. It might already be too late. I told Christine and Tom earlier today. They’re ready. So is Jess. They’ll be here tomorrow. I-” She swallowed back tears. “I have to go tell Mo and Feef.”

“Do you want me to talk to them too?”

“No, this is something I need to do by myself. Although I know you’re going to want to talk to them at some point. I just need to be the one to say it first.”

“I know.” Jack sounded a little hurt. He considered himself more than just a stepfather to them. “Are you sure that Santos won’t get wind of this?”

“He probably will at some point. He may know now. I used code with Chrissy but they might still know something is up. I think it’s better for us to travel separately than together, don’t you think?”

Jack nodded. “That’s probably one of the only safe assumptions you can make right now. Although none of what we’re doing is particularly safe anymore.”

Caroline had been a federal prosecutor for years. She routinely filed requests for wiretaps, GPS trackers, and pen registers, and involved herself in other methods of surveillance. She would occasionally make jokes about being The Man or Big Brother, but her humor had a hint of veracity. She knew how much power the government had, even before Santos assumed the presidency. That aspect of her job always frightened her and made her incredibly uneasy, and she had been quite careful in wielding that intrusive sword. She never knew if she could truly be trusted with that kind of power. If anyone could.

She had no doubt that very few of their communications were private anymore. Maybe not even in their own home. But it would make them both incredibly paranoid to think about that aspect of it, so she hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Jack. Although it had probably occurred to him too. Among other unsettling thoughts.

“What if we waited too long?” she asked.

Jack heard the fear in her voice and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s focus on the best way to deal with where we’re at now. It’s not as if we haven’t taken the steps to do this. We just have to change our plans a little.”

Caroline leaned into his shoulder, and he tightened the hug. His arms were warm. Strong. Secure. The one place she still felt safe.

“Okay.” She kissed his cheek and tried to smile. “I’ll go talk to them.”

*              *              *              *              *

Caroline heard both girls talking in Marguerite’s room. Good. They were together. This would make it so much easier. She looked inside the small bag she had in her hand, willing herself not to cry. This was the hardest thing she’d ever done, aside from the night she had to tell them about Nicky. She wanted Jack with her, and contemplated going back to the bedroom to get him. She wished she hadn’t decided to do this alone. But she owed that much to her daughters.

She knocked on the door. “It’s mom. Can I come in?”

Marguerite flung it open, bowing theatrically as she did so. An old routine. “Of course you can. Aren’t you a taxpayer?”

One of their little jokes. It wasn’t their house. It belonged to the people of the Commonwealth. Mo was growing up to be a goo goo. In a different world, she would have ended up running a federal agency someday.

Caroline spontaneously kissed her on the cheek, ignoring the nonplussed look on her daughter’s face. “I need to talk to you both. It’s important.”

Marguerite gave her an uncomfortable smile. Smart kid. She probably knew what was coming. “Okay.”

The two of them sat down on Marguerite’s bed next to Sophie. Caroline reached into the bag and pulled out two small jewelry boxes.

“I have something for you,” she said.

Marguerite opened hers first. “It’s a Miraculous Medal,” she said.

“Just like yours.” Sophie pointed at her mother’s neck.

Caroline’s parents had given the medal to her after she graduated from Marquette. It had held up for more than twenty years. She wore it off and on over the course of her life, but started wearing it on a more consistent basis after she was shot. Now she didn’t even think about it anymore. She just put it on every day, even though she was no longer sure whether she appreciated its significance.

“Exactly like mine,” Caroline said. “I got Aunt Chrissy one too.”

Their family wasn’t overtly religious, but all of them were still practicing Catholics. Since Mo and Feef had spent the past few years in parochial school, they were well catechized. Maybe more so than their parents. Caroline’s faith had weakened over the past several months and Jack generally only went to church to placate conservative voters. They weren’t exactly stunning examples of spiritual devotion. Which engendered a ton of guilt, at least for Caroline.

She wasn’t even sure she still believed what she was about to say next, but her children would understand what she meant. “Our Lady will protect you,” she said. “She will always intercede on your behalf, even if Jack and I aren’t there.”

“What are you saying?” Marguerite asked.

Caroline took a deep breath. She really didn’t want to do this. She’d put them in so much peril already and she couldn’t guarantee that this decision was the right one.

“Aunt Chrissy and Uncle Tom are getting you out of here,” she said. “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Marguerite said incredulously.

Even quiet Sophie couldn’t let that slide without comment. “Mom, no!”

Caroline struggled to keep her voice calm. “We don’t have any choice. It’s not safe for you to be here anymore. Look at what happened in church today.”

“We’re not going to school tomorrow?” Sophie asked.

“No. We’re going to pack. And talk.”

Marguerite narrowed her eyes. “Does this mean you and Jack are coming with us?”

Caroline lowered her head. She couldn’t look at either one of them. “No,” she whispered. “We’re staying here.”

“That’s bullshit,” Marguerite said.

“Don’t curse.”

“I don’t care. Take away my allowance. Why aren’t you coming with us?” she asked.

“You know why, Mo. It’s safer this way. It sounds awful, but it’s true.”

Sophie started crying. “I don’t want to leave. Especially not without you.”

Caroline wanted to keep herself in check but couldn’t help it. She started crying too. “I’m sorry, Feef. I am.” She threw her arms around her youngest daughter. “But we need to get you out. It’s better for you to be with Chrissy and Tom than it is to be with me and Jack. Being around us puts you in enormous danger. We can’t guarantee your safety anymore.”

Marguerite scooted over and put her chin on her mother’s shoulder. “I want to stay here,” she said softly. “I want to stay with you.”

Caroline wiped her eyes. “You both have to leave.”

Her eldest daughter sat back and clenched her teeth. “I don’t want to. I’m almost sixteen,” she pointed out, as if that somehow gave her a free pass.