The Election (29 page)

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Rachel was back in Courtney's room, where with Jake she watched Courtney as she slept peacefully. It had been over an hour since she cried out in horror. They both sat quietly. On the outside Rachel appeared calm to Jake, but he knew that on the inside her mind raced in a thousand different directions. Jake wasn't surprised when Rachel finally broke the silence.

“What is going on, Jake? Why did someone do this to Courtney?”

“I don't know,” he replied solemnly, without taking his eyes off Courtney.

“There must be a reason why someone broke into our house, Jake.”

Jake could feel her glaring at him.

“Tell me what's going on,” she demanded.

Jake still couldn't look into Rachel's eyes. If he did, he knew he would have to tell her. He wouldn't be able to hide from the longing in her eyes. He thought he had to keep the truth from her, for her own protection. He was the father and husband, and he had to protect his family. He had to be the one who took control of the situation. Looking at Courtney, he knew he was failing miserably. But he still couldn't tell Rachel.

“I don't know what to tell you, Rachel. I don't know what's going on myself.”

“Jake!” she screamed in frustration.

Courtney shifted in her bed in reaction to the loud sound of her mother's voice but didn't awake.

“Jake,” Rachel continued in a softer voice, “I've got to know what's happening.”

Jake turned and looked at Rachel. He could see in her eyes the glittering of tears and the struggle for control. And that's when it hit him. He had not only failed at protecting Courtney, he was now failing miserably at protecting Rachel. He thought he was protecting her physically by not telling her what was happening with Jed's case, but it wasn't physical attacks from which she needed protection. It was emotional ones. Jake could see that she was scared. Scared of the unknown. Even if what Jake told her was horrible, it would be better than not knowing at all. Those sad blue eyes pulled the truth from him.

“It involves Jed McClellan,” he began. “I thought it was going to be a simple murder case, but it has turned into something much larger than that. I'll tell you what I know, but I'm as confused as you are.” Jake told Rachel everything from Dalton Miller to the assassination to the FBI. Rachel sat in complete disbelief as Jake described the events of the last few weeks. He told her that Jesse Thompson was Jed McClellan's father and that Earline Thompson paid $2 million to keep it quiet. When he finished, he waited for Rachel's response, but she said nothing. The next few silent minutes seemed like an eternity to Jake. He didn't know what else to say.

“I'm scared,” Rachel finally whispered.

“I'm scared too,” Jake admitted.

 

FBI headquarters, Washington DC

Charlie Armacost wasn't surprised when George McCullough burst into his office without knocking. Things were moving rapidly, and there was no time for an invitation. Charlie anxiously awaited every report from George. He refused to take any calls from anyone else. After the incident at Hartsfield, the Thompson murder case had taken on a life of its own and had become paramount to everything else. All other cases would have to wait.

“What do you have?” Charlie asked as George raced into the room.

“Osborne and Moyers called Sanders just like you thought they would. The call came in at 1:50 p.m. eastern time. Then Sanders placed a call—and guess who he called?”

“Winston,” Charlie replied confidently.

“You've got it. At 1:55 he placed a call to New York. We traced it to Apollyon Associates. Sanders and Winston talked for three minutes, and then Sanders called our office in Memphis and dispatched his private plane to Atlanta. No flight plan was filed, but my hunch is that he sent it to Atlanta to retrieve Osborne and Moyers.”

“I bet your hunch is right. He's bringing Osborne and Moyers back in and hopes to do it without our finding out. Keep your eye on that situation, and make sure Sanders knows you're watching. I want him to know that we know about those two. It's the call to Memphis that bothers me. The blond woman Parker identified has something, or knows something, and Sanders is trying to get whatever it is from her. We've got to get to her first.”

“I agree, but how? Sanders has the jump on us, and Parker said she left Atlanta almost an hour ago.”

“Are Boyd and Simon still in Memphis?”

“I believe they are.”

“Sanders has more Bureau agents on his side than we realize. We need to find out who he called in Memphis.”

Charlie reached for the telephone to call agents Boyd and Simon.

“Before you call,” George interrupted, “there's something else you need to know.”

“What is it?” Charlie replied.

“Someone broke into Jake Reed's house last night. The intruder attacked his daughter. She's in a local hospital recovering.”

“It's getting out of control. We've got to stop it now before anyone else gets hurt.” Charlie dialed the number for the FBI field office in Memphis. The office was located in the federal building on Front Street, only a few steps from the Mississippi River.

“This is Deputy Director Charlie Armacost,” Charlie stated when the receptionist answered the telephone. “I need to speak with Agent Boyd.”

“Hold, please,” the receptionist replied. “I'll page him for you.” It took less than ten seconds for the agent to respond to the page.

“Agent Boyd,” Charlie heard as Ron took the call.

“Ron, this is Charlie Armacost. We need you and Jerry again on the Thompson murder case.”

“What do you need us to do?” Ron inquired. Charlie could hear the eagerness in the agent's voice.

Charlie briefed Ron on the latest developments in the Thompson case. Although there wasn't much time to go into any great detail, he did tell him that Director Sanders was involved and probably Vice President Burke as well. He also asked Ron whether he had seen any suspicious activity among any of the other agents in the Memphis office.

“Not until a few minutes ago,” Ron responded. “It was the strangest thing. Agent Phelps received a call, and then he left like a bat out of Hades. He didn't tell anyone where he was going.”

“I'll tell you where he's going. He's on his way to the Memphis Airport. We've got to find her before Phelps,” Charlie advised, referring to Claudia.

“Our only chance is to intercept Phelps at Memphis International,” Ron strategized. “If he leaves the airport with her, we'll have no idea where to find them. But we haven't got much time. Her plane is scheduled to land in a few minutes.”

“You and Jerry get over there immediately,” Charlie replied. “Take her into protective custody if you have to. But I want her safe. Whatever it takes, I want her safe. She knows something, and I've got to find out what it is.”

“We're on our way,” Ron responded.

 

En route to Memphis International Airport

After Agent Boyd ended the phone call from Charlie Armacost, he motioned for Agent Simon to follow him. They raced out of the rear of the downtown federal building, putting on their dark suit coats in unison, and climbed into a brown four-door sedan parked near the back door. Ron sat behind the wheel, while Jerry took position in the passenger seat.

Ron updated his partner on their assignment as the sedan sped out of the parking lot, into the alley, and onto Riverside Drive, which ran parallel to the Mississippi River. The tugboats, barges, and M-shaped bridge that traversed the mighty river quickly disappeared behind them as the car accelerated down Riverside Drive and onto the ramp leading to the I-240 loop that circled Memphis. The drive along the southern section of the I-240 loop from the downtown area of Memphis to the airport typically took twenty minutes. Agent Phelps already had a ten-minute head start, so Ron and Jerry didn't have a second to spare. Ron wove the sedan through the early afternoon traffic at speeds sometimes as high as 100 mph. Although they didn't know the blond woman's name, if Charlie Armacost was even partially right, the continued existence of America as they knew it hinged on their reaching her before Phelps.

 

Claudia Duval stared out the small oval window of the airplane and watched the Memphis skyline grow larger. Only in the last few minutes had she been able to slightly calm her nerves after the ordeal in Atlanta. Still she repeatedly scanned the interior of the cabin for anyone who might be watching her.

Soon she felt and heard the landing gear lowering as the pilot maneuvered the plane slightly south of the airport for a south to north landing. In less than ten minutes the plane would be on the ground, and she would be exiting through the Jetway. Her pulse quickened as she realized she was getting closer to the answers she desperately needed, but she wasn't sure whether the sensation was excitement or fear.

Memphis was familiar to her. She had been there numerous times. It was almost like going home. Her mother's house was only a thirty-minute drive southeast of Memphis, barely across the Tennessee–Mississippi state line. Claudia caught herself wondering about her mother for just a minute and then shook the thought from her mind.
I don't have time for this right now
, she told herself.
I have more important things to worry about.

The airplane came to a stop at gate B-12, and Claudia removed her duffel bag from the overhead storage compartment. Nervously she followed the other passengers as they exited and soon emerged from the Jetway into the waiting area. She was greeted by the smiling face of a Northwest female employee welcoming her to Memphis. The rental-car counter was near the terminal's exit, and she hurried through the crowded airport in that direction.

 

Memphis International Airport

Agent Jonathan Phelps stood in the front lobby of the airport near the large electronic marquee that displayed the times and gates for all arriving and departing flights. He appeared as though he was just another passenger, trying to determine whether his plane was on time or not. But the location of the marquee was the perfect vantage point from which to look for Claudia Duval. He knew her plane was already on the ground, and to exit the airport, she had to walk past the marquee.

The wall to his left was lined with ticket counters: Delta, US Airways, Northwest, American. Most of the major airlines provided service to and from Memphis International. The main door leading to the parking area was to his right. He knew Claudia didn't have a car in the parking garage. She either had to exit the building through the main door to a waiting taxi cab or rent a car from one of the car-rental companies, which were behind him. Either way he would be able to see her.

The description of Claudia Duval he'd received from Saul Sanders was minimal. Blond hair, blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and a burgundy duffel bag was all the information provided. There hadn't been time to receive an e-mailed picture of the woman before he left his office. But how many women in the Memphis airport could even come close to matching the brief description he had? He shouldn't have any trouble locating her.

He scanned the crowd but tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Hundreds of people littered the lobby area. Business travelers mainly. Men and women in suits pulling luggage or briefcases on rolling carts. He saw tourists, parents with small children, women of all ages and sizes, but none were Claudia Duval.

Finally he spotted a woman whose appearance matched precisely the description he'd received from Saul Sanders. He watched her as she reached the top of the incline leading from the B concourse, entered the lobby area, and then passed through. She walked within three feet of the agent's position, but she never noticed him. He watched her with his eyes, never turning his head until she was behind him. Then he turned and trailed, staying several feet behind Claudia, his vision fixed on the back of her head.

Jonathan followed Claudia to the Hertz rental counter. After securing a car, she began to hurriedly walk toward the exit on the south end of the lobby that led to the rental-car parking area. He resumed his stealth pursuit, closing the distance between them before she reached the exit. As the sliding door opened, he simultaneously grabbed Claudia's left shoulder and thrust the business end of a small caliber pistol into the lumbar area of her back.

“Keep walking, and don't make a sound,” Jonathan whispered forcefully into Claudia's right ear.

Claudia gasped at the unforeseen attack.

He kept a firm grip on her left shoulder to prevent her from turning to face him and so he could quickly cover her mouth if she chose to scream.

But with seemingly little resistance, she followed the instructions and kept walking through the door.

 

The sedan containing agents Boyd and Simon screeched to a stop in the traffic lane reserved for taxi cabs immediately in front of the main door to Memphis International Airport. The agents leaped from the car, and Ron flashed his FBI identification badge at the airport security officer who rushed at them while Jerry entered the terminal through the automatic sliding doors. The airport security officer was quickly satisfied, and Ron followed Jerry into the terminal. He found Jerry frantically scanning the top of the crowd for Agent Phelps or Claudia Duval, or both.