Chapter 60
Chapter 60
I sat at the window staring out. Vesuvius bubbling inside me. Threatening to crack the mantle. I didn’t know anything about Steve’s training. Even now, I didn’t know much about Steve other than he stopped listening to the whisper somewhere prior to the night he took Aaron’s girls. What I did know was this: I had Bones. He did not. And the difference in our lives’ paths was profound. While I was a cauldron of anger, I also felt a ripple of immense gratitude. Of pride in another. The question was quick in surfacing: Without Bones, where would I be? The names on my back might argue otherwise, but the hard truth was that I could easily be sitting alongside Steve. Bitter, deaf, and misguided.
As both the image of Bones and his echo faded, I felt the now-familiar tug. The ache. And yes, I missed him. Missed him more with each passing day. Especially now. These moments—having rescued, now flying home—were never free of pain. The girls had suffered greatly. They were suffering still. And in my experience, they would continue to suffer for some time. Trauma and grief are real. The body keeps the score. But they were on this plane, their parents’ arms around them. They had a chance. I knew there’d be a struggle to come and a pain cave to walk out of, but they would live to fight another day. The sun would rise tomorrow. And in these moments, when Bones and I had walked into the darkness and pressed it back, we would, for just a handful of moments, sit quietly in the present. Not racing the clock. Not regretting, not rehashing, not calculating, not strategizing, and not preparing. We were just being. And we did that together.
Camp sat across the aisle. Staring at me. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
“This partnership isn’t going to work if you don’t let me in on what I’m not in on.”
I made no response.
“If Bones were sitting here, would you tell him?”
“Wouldn’t have to.”
“Why?”
“’Cause he could read my mind.”
He chuckled. A minute passed. “So?”
“Maynard called.”
He chewed on a toothpick for about half a second. “I’m in.”
“You don’t know the plan.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What is it?”
“You’re gonna bring his playhouse down.”
Maybe he did know the plan. “Pretty much.”
“And if you’re caught?”
“It’d be the end of me and probably the end of Freetown.”
“Is it worth it?”
I made eye contact for the first time. “What is one life worth?” I paused. Watched the world spin beneath us. “I think Maynard is more than we think.”
“More what?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
“How?”
“Telling you that will make you an accessory.”
“You think I actually care?”
He pointed to his earpiece, connected to the comms worn by myself and the entire team that breached the cabin. I’d taken mine off in the cabin. Stackhouse had not. Camp raised an eyebrow. “I heard it from the doctors. You got the G-rated version.”
“I don’t have much to go on.”
“What do you need?”
“Highly sensitive, super-high-def, invisible viewing and recording equipment. And I need a lot of it. And I need it put someplace it’s not supposed to be and won’t ever be found.”
“No problem.” He nodded matter-of-factly. “When?”
I glanced at my watch. “Couple of hours.”
“Done.”
Moments passed as my thoughts raced. When I dialed the number, he answered on the second ring. “Looks like you had fun.”
“You have an interesting definition of fun.”
Ariel laughed. “You sound like my wife.”
“Got a question for you.”
“Can’t promise you an answer.”
“You heard any rumblings about a high-ranking US government official working with Frank?”
“How high?”
“At or near the top.”
He was quiet a minute. “Let me do some digging.”
I dialed a second number and Eddie answered before it had a chance to ring. “Hey, Boss.”
“Eddie, I need you to determine where Waylon Maynard lives. Not his listed address but where he sleeps.”
“And then?”
“Breach his system. Give me an hour on the inside. Then wash the data so not even the programmer would know I was there.”
“Check.”
Eddie hung up, Camp smiled, and I closed my eyes. Which wasn’t difficult.
The news on the screen above us switched to News Flash and a live shot outside the Lincoln Memorial. Waylon Maynard walked to the podium. “First, I’ve just spoken with Vice President Ashley. His girls are safe. I told him they have the prayers and the resources of an entire nation. Second, he informed me he would not be pursuing further office. Honestly, I tried to get him to take some time. Think it through. Let things settle. He would not. But he knows, even in his pain, that a leadership vacuum is bad for the country. In his absence, the party has asked me to carry the banner. To accept the nomination.” A practiced pause. “I have never sought the presidency, and I do not seek it now. But if it seeks me and the American people need me, I will consider. I do so reluctantly, understanding the great weight and responsibility that come with it.” While I listened to him, I couldn’t help but think he’d written that speech maybe two decades earlier and dusted it off sometime in the last few months. My question was, Why now? Of course he wanted the office. Always had. That was clear. But what was below that? He could have had the nomination ten times over in the past but always refused. Why now? What had changed?
We huddled around the screen aboard Air Force Two as Maynard tearfully prepped the country. This was a setup. A masterfully planned and thoughtfully worded setup. “I cannot in good conscience think of myself today. This is a day of great and profound sadness, and I have too much respect for an American hero like Aaron Ashley...” Then, after another practiced and almost perfect pause, Maynard stared into the camera as his eyes became glassy. “Aaron, the prayers of an entire nation are with you.”