In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) (21 page)

President Kendall woke to the sound of creaks and groans and the whistle of the wind.  His knee throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.  He had ignored the pain yesterday, but the strain of the hike had taken its toll.  As he listened to the sounds of the cabin, the pain intensified, and he realized that he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. 

The fire had died out during the night, and the cabin was cold.  He pulled his sleeping bag up around his chin and rolled over on the cot.  The movement sent a sharp pain up his leg and he gasped. 

“Are you all right, sir?”  Richter whispered.

“Yeah.”

Richter turned on a flashlight and opened the survival pack.  “There should be some painkillers.” 

Jack and Derek woke up.  While Derek restarted the fire, Jack lit the propane lantern.  It took several minutes for the cabin to warm up.

“I’m sorry.” The president’s grin was sheepish.  “I didn’t mean to wake everybody up.”

“That’s okay,” Jack answered.  “Let me take a look.”

Jack slid the president’s pant legs up and studied both knees.  The right knee was noticeably swollen.

“You did this yesterday?”

The president shook his head.  “No.  It’s an old injury.  It’s been hurting for the last week, but I must have overstressed it yesterday.”

Jack proceeded to examine the knee. 

“How did you hurt it originally?”

“Skiing…” He winced as Jack probed below the kneecap.  “Maybe fifteen years ago.”

“Well, I don’t think you broke any bones, and the ligaments seem fine.  My guess is it’s either a strain, which means you partially tore a muscle or tendon, or you injured the cartilage or meniscus by twisting your knee.  The delayed swelling would tend to indicate that you have inflammation in the joint and might be more indicative of a meniscus or cartilage injury.”  Jack pulled the president’s pant leg back down.  “Either way, I think you need to rest it for a while.  We’ll need to get it elevated and get some ice on it.”

“Have you found the president yet?” 

Since Monahan arrived in Portland two days before, every phone call with Broder began the same.

He sighed.  “No sir.  Not yet.”

“That has to be a priority,” Broder continued, his voice gruff.  “I know you’re leading the criminal investigation, but we have to find the president.  We can’t leave the country hanging like this.”

“I understand, Emil.  As I told you yesterday, we weren’t able to land a CSAR team until two days ago.  These guys are dealing with some very challenging conditions.”

“That’s what they’re trained to do.  Do you have enough resources?”

“I think so, but you have to give them some time.  There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“How many bodies have you recovered so far?”

Monahan shook his head.  Was Broder even listening?  “Nineteen as of this morning.  You have to remember that it didn’t stop snowing until early yesterday morning.  The bodies we found so far were frozen and below several feet of snow.  We need to be cautious so we don’t disturb evidence.  It’s a delicate balance.”

“Are you sure no one survived the crash?”

“I don’t see how it’s possible.  The teams are using some pretty sophisticated technologies to search for survivors.  Did you receive the pictures I sent you last night?”

“Yeah.”

“You saw what the crash did to the bodies.”  Monahan took a breath.  “Emil, the images and the data are one thing, but I toured the crash site.  Not only did I fly over with the CSAR team, but I was on the ground.  It’s absolutely devastating.  I don’t know how anyone could have survived this crash.  And on the one-in-a-million chance that they did, there’s no way they would have survived the weather.  I think we need to consider shifting our focus from search and rescue to recovery only. ”

“Dead or not, you need to find him, Monahan.  Now.  Not tomorrow, not next week.  Now.”

“Okay.  Okay.  I hear you.”

“Have you identified any of the bodies?

“Only tentatively.” Monahan paused. “But I’m absolutely certain that the president isn’t among them.”

They adopted a routine.  Jack and Derek filled their time gathering wood, keeping the fire lit, and refilling the water bottles.  Derek prepared the meals, careful to ration their remaining supplies.  Jack periodically checked the president’s knee while Richter studied the topographical maps.  Every two or three hours, Richter strapped on the snowshoes and walked a large circular trek around the cabin.  The president had little to do except sit in front of the fire with his knee elevated.  He kept the conversation going.

Jack and Derek peppered the president with questions about his family, life in the White House, how Washington really worked, and about the many issues in recent news.  The president indulged the boys, but after a while, turned the focus of the conversation back onto them. 

Richter opened the shutter and looked out the window.  Although he had just returned from a patrol, he felt edgy, defenseless in the cabin.  He glanced over at the president, sitting in front of the fire, his injured leg resting on another chair.  Derek put two more logs in the stove, adjusted the damper, then sat next to Kendall. 

“So anyway, after high school, I had a couple of different jobs, but now I’m working in a warehouse.”

Richter, too anxious to sit, turned back to the window and only half listened to the conversation.  Jack had found a book on the mining era and was reading. 

“Did you ever consider college?”

Derek hesitated.  “I wanted to, but I was never able to make it work.”

President Kendall nodded.  “The cost?”

Derek hesitated.  “That was part of it.”  He seemed to struggle with the next words.  “I did some stuff back in high school.  I got into trouble.”

Richter turned, a frown on his face.

“Stupid stuff.” 

Derek shifted in his seat.  He looked at the floor for a moment, then at Richter before turning back to the president.

“I didn’t hurt anyone.  It was stupid, teenage stuff.”  He took a deep breath.  “Anyway, I had to go to court, then my dad got sick, and my mom wasn’t able to take care of him herself.”

The president nodded with empathy.  “I’m sorry to hear that, Derek.  What happened?”

“My dad died from cancer two years later.  That was almost three years ago.  I was paying restitution—I still am—but when my dad got sick, we found that his insurance didn’t cover all of the costs for his treatments.  I got the job in the warehouse because it was closer to home, and it’s been just me and my mom ever since.”

Richter was about to say something, when he caught the president’s glare.

Kendall put his hand on Derek’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry about your father.  Do you think you’ll ever go to college?”

“I would like to.  There’s a community college in town.  But…”  Derek looked at the floor. 

“What did you do, Derek?”  Kendall asked softly.

Another deep sigh.  “A friend and I stole a bus from the senior center.  We took it for a joy ride across the state line.  On our way home, we had an accident, slid off the road and hit a tree.  We were okay, but the bus was a mess.  We were able to drive it back to Idaho, but we were afraid of getting into trouble.”  Derek sighed yet again before he continued.  “So after we got back to Lewiston, we left it behind an abandoned building, hoping the police wouldn’t be able to connect us to it.  But they did.” 

Richter looked at Jack, who held his palms out and shook his head.

“I’m not proud of what I did.  Anyway, because I was a juvenile, and it was my first offense, I didn’t have to go to prison.  I was put on probation, had to pay restitution, and had to perform community service.”

President Kendall squeezed Derek’s shoulder. 

“That took all my college savings, then when my dad got sick…”  Derek’s voice trailed off.

Richter stared at Derek and began to wonder if his judgment was failing.

Maria slipped on her jacket and looked at herself in the mirror.  She straightened her blouse then fussed with her hair.  Nervous energy she knew; something to keep busy.  She looked in the mirror again, this time studying her face.  Despite the makeup, she was pale; nothing could mask the pain in her eyes.  She was wearing a gray knee-length skirt, conservatively cut.  She refused to wear black.  

She walked to the girls’ rooms to see if they were ready.  The prayer vigil was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. and they had to leave soon.

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock on the door.  She slipped on her overcoat and turned to the girls.  “I know you don’t want to do this.  But please do it for me.  Do it for Daddy.”  Angela and Michelle both nodded, tears running down their cheeks.  Maria opened the door.

“Are you ready, ma’am?”  Maria took a deep breath, shuddered, then nodded at Agent Tiller. 

President Kendall’s thoughts drifted again, as they so often did, to Maria, Angela, and Michelle. He was overcome with grief and, without warning, began weeping.  They had to be suffering terribly right now, and the only thing he wanted to do was to hold them, to comfort them. 

Be strong, Maria.  Be strong, girls.  I will come home.  I promise you.

He didn’t notice when Richter ushered Jack and Derek outside, leaving him in privacy to grieve alone.

“We pray tonight for all of your servants who were on Air Force One.  We pray for their families, that they may be strong and find solace in your blessing.  It is often difficult to understand such tragic events……”

Maria tuned out the voice.  Sitting on a large stage in front of the Lincoln Memorial, she looked out over the Mall, noticing the crowd for the first time.  A sea of faces bathed in a soft glow. 
That’s odd
, she thought, then realized that the glow was coming from the tens of thousands of candles held by the crowd. 

She held Angela’s hand and draped an arm around Michelle.  She felt Michelle’s head on her shoulder and hugged her tightly as she squeezed Angela’s hand.  She felt herself warm in the glow from the candles, somehow feeling a small sense of comfort in the soft light.  The candles seemed to grow brighter, and Maria felt a stirring in her chest.  Suddenly, she sensed that Dave was somehow reaching out to her.  She didn’t know how she knew, or how it was even possible, but she knew nonetheless.  Her mind spun as she tried to understand the feeling.  She so desperately wanted to believe, to hope.  But there were facts and logic and so many photos of the devastation in the mountains of Idaho that said such hope was foolish.  Yet the feeling remained.  She couldn’t explain it to herself, but a sense of calm seemed to flow through her body.

Oh, David.  Come home.

The dogs started barking when Tim Shelton reached the summit.  He let the dogs lead him to a strand of fir trees.  They had been out for the last three hours and he was tired.  The sky was still overcast, the temperature not quite twenty degrees, and trekking through the snow had proven difficult for both Shelton and the dogs.  The dogs were circling a single fir tree, disturbed by something.  The trunk was almost three feet in diameter, the upper branches towering some two hundred feet above.  It was probably over two hundred years old, he guessed.  He circled the tree, searching for what had excited the dogs.  In the fading light, he spotted something in the branches, way above his head. 

“Rescue Seven to base.”

“This is Base.  Read you loud and clear, Seven.”

“Base, I found something.”

Seven miles to the west, Richter watched through the window as Jack and Derek brushed snow off a fallen tree.  Despite the stack of wood outside, the boys were feeling restless and had grabbed the old two man saw off the wall and headed outside.  They struggled for several minutes before they found a rhythm.  He watched for a moment more before turning back to the president. 

“Elk City might be a problem.”

The president raised his eyebrows in question.

“According to Jack, it’s the closest town to the crash site.  It must be overrun with search and rescue personnel: state police, NTSB,” he paused, frowning.  “And FBI.”  They shared a glance before Richter continued.  “There’s also bound to be Air Force and Secret Service agents all over the place.  As long as you haven’t been found...your body I mean...the people behind this will be getting nervous.  There has to be someone waiting nearby for Mosby and any accomplices.”

The president nodded.  “What are you thinking?”

“We can’t go to anyone in the Service, not even the director,” he concluded with a frown.

The president looked skeptical.  “You think he may be involved?” 

“Kroger?  No.  I don’t think so.”  He paused and considered this some more.  “Heck, I don’t know, sir.  But even if he isn’t, he’ll dispatch a team of agents to pick us up.  Maybe I’m being paranoid, but anyone on that team could be part of this.”  His eyes narrowed.  “The same goes for the FBI.  Whoever we contact could easily send a message to whoever is here, whoever is waiting for Mosby, to finish the job before they arrive.  We can’t take that risk, sir.”

The president nodded.  

“If we can find a group of state cops or possibly a National Guard platoon in town, we might be safe.  They can protect us until we figure out what to do next.”  He paused.  “Or, somehow we sneak out of town and head to the closest large city—maybe Boise—and go to the state police there.  That would be my choice, sir; to get as far away from this area as possible before we turn ourselves in.” 

The president sat quietly as he considered this.  “What if we went to a reporter?” he said after a moment.  “Leaked a story?”

Richter stood and walked over to the window.  Jack was stacking wood onto Derek’s outstretched arms.  He glanced back at the president.  “Perhaps.  But we would still need protection.”

They were silent for a moment, both lost in thought. 

“Do you know Pat Monahan?” the president finally asked.

Richter frowned.  “I’ve met him.”

“He’s a good man.”

“He’s with the FBI.” Richter said; the point obvious.  He hesitated.  He had met Monahan on a handful of occasions.  He had a reputation for being a straight shooter.  Based on rumors, Monahan wasn’t enamored of the FBI Director.  Then again, he sighed, most people in the FBI weren’t.   Was that a good sign, he wondered, or a bad sign?

“I’ve met with him several times,” the president said then hesitated.  “I’ve been thinking about replacing Broder.”

Richter nodded.  So Monahan was on the president’s short list of candidates. 

“Have you done a background check yet?” he asked.  The FBI, he knew, assisted the White House Counsel’s office in researching a potential appointee’s criminal past.  The fox in the hen house, he thought.

The president nodded.  “Linda Huff used the Justice Department.”  He waved his hand.  “They have some special unit that does investigations.”  He paused, his gaze firm.  “The man’s clean.  We can trust him.”

Richter frowned and glanced out the window again.  Jack and Derek, loaded down with wood, were making their way back to the cabin.  If they could make it out of Elk City without being discovered, he thought, they could head down to Boise.  That is, assuming they could somehow find a car.  They could go to the state police in Boise or possibly try to contact Monahan.  But could they trust him to help them without tipping off the people behind this?  Accidently or otherwise?

“Assuming I agree to this, sir—and I’m not saying I do—how do we contact him?   You don’t have a direct number, do you?”

Kendall shook his head.  “No.  I don’t.”

They discussed this for a while, considering possible conduits.

“What about Arlene?”

The president frowned.  “I don’t know her number.  It’s on my Blackberry, but that was on the plane.  She’s unlisted.  I think she told me that you guys suggested that for security purposes.”

He sighed.  “We probably did.  We’ll have to find someone else, preferably someone who isn’t connected to the government; someone whose trust is unquestionable.”   

“There might be someone…” President Kendall said after a moment.

Tim Shelton watched as the Pave Hawk appeared over the ridge.  Minutes later, it began to circle the tree.  He turned his head to avoid the mini snowstorm caused by the downdraft from the rotors.

It took the Air Force Search and Rescue team two hours in the fading light to recover what was caught in the tree. They lowered the forest penetrator down by hoist cable.  The device, so named for its ability to penetrate thick trees to reach a survivor, had three folding seats and straps to secure the victims.  The PJ was sitting in one of the seats as it was lowered.  Thankfully, the wind for the moment was light, and the helicopter was able to maintain a hover above the tree. 

Shelton watched the recovery from forty yards away as he listened to the conversation between the rescue crewmembers on his radio.

“Sarge, looks like we have a body.  Cold and stiff.  Appears to be male.”  The radio crackled.  “Appears to have parachuted into the tree.”

“Copy, Ed.  The Feds want photos before you recover.  Think you can accommodate?”

“Roger, Sarge.”   The PJ took pictures from different angles.  It took him several minutes to maneuver through the branches and parachute lines to get shots from all sides.  “Pics done.  Securing body now.”

The men on the ground watched as the PJ struggled to strap the frozen body into the seat.  He then cut the chute lines.  After he strapped himself in, Shelton heard the radio again. 

“Ready, Sarge.  Bring us up.”

As the penetrator began to rise from the tree, the FBI agent grabbed Shelton’s arm.  “Tell him he needs to recover that chute and whatever else he finds in the tree as well.”

Richter spotted Jack by the wood pile when he returned from another patrol.  He walked over and grabbed an armful of wood. 

“How much longer before he’s ready?”

“One or two more days, I think.  His knee’s still swollen, although it’s not as bad as yesterday.  But it’s still quite tender, especially when I probe certain areas.  He’s in more pain than he says.”

Richter frowned.  “We can’t stay here much longer.  It’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered.”

Jack shook his head.  “I don’t think he’ll make it too far, Matt.  You saw how he’s hobbling.  I think that hike really strained it.”

Richter sighed.  “Okay.  We’ll give it another day, two at the most.  If he’s not able to walk by then, we’ll need to figure some other way to get him out of here.  We may have to improvise and make a stretcher or something.”

Jack nodded as they carried the wood back to the cabin.

Pat Monahan hurried into the morgue, General Trescott on his heels.

“What do you have?” He asked.

Before Major Conklin could respond, FBI Special Agent Meg Connolly spoke up. 

“We think this is Lieutenant Francis McKay.  He was a steward on Air Force One.”  Connolly ignored Major Conklin’s glare.  “It would appear that he parachuted from the plane before the crash.  We believe that he may have been knocked unconscious when he hit the tree and died from exposure.”

Monahan cringed as he considered the implications.