Chapter 9
Chapter 9
S even minutes later, the Escalade deposited us at the United States Naval Observatory, at Number One Observatory Circle in northwestern DC. They led us to Ashley’s office where we found him seated at his desk, head in his hands. When he saw us, he stood, shook my hand, and hugged me. “Murph...” A knowing nod. “He was the best of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
He extended his hand to Camp. “Commander Camp, been a minute since Afghanistan. Good to see you.”
“You too, sir. Although not under these conditions.”
Camp talked very little about his time with the teams. That he was, continued to be, and always would be a Navy SEAL was obvious. I experienced the SEALs’ effect on him most often in his decision making. Camp was able to assimilate large amounts of information, make a decision, and execute a plan. Without regret or navel-gazing in his rearview, wondering what he should have done differently. He also possessed an uncanny ability to pivot when needed. “Flexibly rigid,” he liked to say. Camp exuded what I knew to be a battle-worn, quiet confidence devoid of arrogance, and despite the fact I knew he had, Camp felt no need to prove himself. He’d been proven. Leading men in battle had done that. Where I was a loner and worked mostly alone, Camp had learned to lead men. The more time I spent around him, the more I learned. Camp’s “mission first, people always” mentality had become a comfort to me, and I’d learned to trust him. Completely. I’d also learned that while he was calm and collected, there was a simmering volcano below. It lay dormant until triggered by a switch somewhere near his heart. If he cared about a thing or person, you didn’t want to trigger the eruption.
I glanced at Camp and raised an eyebrow, curious as to why he’d failed to inform me of prior missions conducted under Ashley’s tenure as Secretary of Defense. In typical Camp fashion, he shrugged. No big deal.
Ashley’s office was full of pictures. Dignitaries. Fellow pilots. World leaders. A few celebrities. But none of his family. Not one. Not even Esther. The two had decided early on that while Aaron had chosen the public life, his family had not. Therefore, while photographs existed, they did so inside the Georgia farmhouse. Not out. Esther and Aaron had no desire to place their girls in the spotlight. Political life was complicated enough without adding paparazzi to the mix. Two decades earlier, Esther and Aaron had promised each other that no matter where his career took them, they would live simpler, less digitized lives. Doing so would protect them and their children. If, when they were older, their children chose public service, then so be it. But they’d choose it. Not have it forced upon them. This meant they kept the outside world outside. This meant their kids grew up free, as much as was possible, from the distractions of the world. This did not mean they were Luddites. They owned a TV. They just seldom watched it, choosing rather to read than melt in front of a screen.
As their girls grew in both beauty and maturity, and given the top-secret security clearance of Aaron’s work with Bones, phones and social media naturally became an issue. One of the girls fought hard to override. When Miriam, the oldest, bought her own phone and created her own social media accounts, Aaron brought all three to DC down underground. He let them see firsthand how evil people used what most thought were innocent posts, and what happened to the innocent girls who made them. Instantly, social media became much less attractive. The girls never argued again.
The fact that they desired to live quiet, somewhat secluded lives just made the media outlets want to know more and pry deeper. While that created a feeding frenzy with the camera crews, it ingratiated the family to the Georgia locals, who voluntarily created a buffer, or hedge, insulating Aaron, Esther, and their girls. As his popularity grew, and both life and election took him to DC, greater and prolonged media presence became an issue. To say nothing of the 24/7/365 Secret Service protection for the girls. Without some sort of change in protocol, strangers with automatic weapons would stand out in a South Georgia town. Aaron’s appointment to Secretary of Defense and his election to the office of vice president only made matters worse.
All of this was an uphill climb because all three girls took after their mother and drew attention without trying. Six feet. Blonde. Having grown up on a working farm, the girls were strong, fit, and used to long hours and hard work. Miriam, sixteen, liked horses, never met a cat she could turn away, and cared for all the farm animals. She had her sights set on becoming a vet. Ruth, fifteen, was the dramatic one and had played the lead in several local stage plays. She was trying to convince her dad to let her move to New York. Sadie was fourteen, sassy, entrepreneurial, and could probably run a Fortune 500 company by herself. All three liked boys. All three pushed against the boundaries of their protection detail. All three could drive both a tractor and a stick shift and had no problem baiting their own hook or swing dancing. And all three dearly loved their dad.
Sensitive to the disruption his life might bring to theirs, Aaron handpicked the teams guarding his girls. Folks with accents. Who’d grown up hunting. Raised in small towns in the South. Kids who’d milked cows before daylight and knew how to drive a tractor. When he was accused of profiling in reverse, with not enough diversity among his staff, he nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right.” He chose people who would blend in with the locals. Become invisible while not sacrificing his girls’ security. And as the pressure and threats grew from political opponents and enemies, and threats and attempts were made on his life, Aaron strengthened the circle around his girls while trying not to make them feel the pressure. The price of service.
By now, Ashley’s three daughters, at least in their own minds, were grown. They each knew and loved Bones, but none attended the funeral. Too public. Too risky. Bones would understand. Aaron Ashley didn’t have skeletons in his closet. He had not bought or betrayed his way to the top, so the media and his political opponents had nothing they could use against him. No moral failure. No cover-up. No place where he had said one thing and done another. Sure, they liked to take potshots at his edges, but nothing stuck. Unlike many in DC, Ashley had kept his word. As a result, his political enemies could not stand in front of him and trade blows toe-to-toe. Ashley was too honest, too true, too strong, too well-liked. If his enemies were ever to inflict damage, they’d have to circumvent. Run an end-around. Aaron knew this, so he spent considerable time and energy protecting his flank.
There was a second reason. What the public did not know was the extent to which Aaron Ashley was personally involved with the day-to-day operations of Ezekiel Walker and Murphy Shepherd. Given his political position, Ashley served at the tip of the spear in the rescue and return of the stolen. Not even Esther knew the details, but what Bones and I needed, Ashley obtained. Whether through private Senate hearings, appropriations disguised as military defense, or trips across the aisle with a request for a closed-door meeting, Ashley did the dirty work in the swamp while Bones and I dirtied ourselves in the world. Truth is, Bones and I could not have functioned without Ashley. At least not effectively. Satellites, electronics, drones, computers, data retrieval, intelligence, state-of-the-art technology, all of it—much of which was top secret—was provided by and filtered through Ashley’s hands. The digital access that Eddie, Camp, Jess, and BP used to help us take down Frank was afforded to us because Ashley opened the door. Without our silent partnership, we were dead in the water. Nonexistent. This was a well-kept, highly guarded secret, known by only a few, and those few guarded it. In a very true sense, Ashley was our lifeline. Hence, no daughters at the funeral.
Following our freshman year at the academy, Ashley had become a bit of a fitness nut. Once soft, now not. As he grew into one of the nation’s best pilots, he became a functional exercise freak: a push-up, pull-up, plank fanatic. I guessed his body fat percentage in the 4 percent range. In his early fifties, Ashley walked around in the body of someone in their late twenties. Certainly no wimp.
I don’t know what I expected to see when I walked in, but a weakened Aaron was not on my radar. When Ashley tried to speak a second time, his knees buckled, and he sank backward into his seat where he sank his head in his hands again and closed his eyes. For the first time I noticed the circles. Aaron had not slept. Palming his face, his composure broke. Unable to speak, he motioned to Stackhouse, who pressed a button on the remote control. As the screen flickered, I watched the footage, alternating between horror and rage.