Chapter 7 #3
Candace looked down at her hands. "I don't know how she does it."
"Loves you?"
"Survives loving me."
Cassidy leaned back and took a breath. "I used to wonder the same thing about Alex. How could I handle loving someone who might not come home, or who might come home carrying something she couldn't explain."
Candace nodded.
"And then I realized surviving wasn't the point."
"No?"
"No. Loving her was the point." Cassidy's voice softened.
"That doesn't make the fear go away. It doesn't make me noble.
Some days, I hate it. I hate the calls. The silences.
The look she gets when she knows more than she feels safe telling me.
I hate that I've learned to read a goodbye in the way she puts on her jacket.
If she does it slowly, I know she's worried it could be the last time. "
Candace closed her eyes for a brief second.
"But I love who she is," Cassidy said. "Not the danger she faces. Not for the work she does. Her. And who she is includes the part of her that needs to serve something larger than herself. It's why Jameson loves you, Candace. And it's why you're my best friend."
Candace let out a small sigh. "I think in many ways it's harder on you and Jameson."
Cassidy shook her head.
"I'm serious," Candace said.
"I don't think so. Just different," Cassidy said. She took a breath. "Tell me what you haven't told anyone else."
Candace laughed. Cassidy could see through her most days.
"I don't think it's wise for me to replace Luke. Not now. Maybe if I'm lucky enough to get a second term."
"It's not luck. And you will have one."
"From your mouth to God's ears."
"Is this about trust?" Cassidy asked.
"Someone isn't working for me, Cass. I might have chosen them for their job. They aren't working for my team."
Cassidy nodded.
"I wish John was here."
"Merrow?"
Candace nodded.
"Have you talked to Jane?" Cassidy asked.
"Not much. You?"
"Not much, either. Not recently. I reached out after we found out her father was alive. I thought maybe... well, given my father's past, I might be able to help. She just seemed?—"
"Distant."
Cassidy nodded. "You need to talk to my father."
"Funny you should say that."
"I'll go out on a limb and guess you already told Alex you want to speak with him."
"Short limb," Candace said. "Yes, I did."
Cassidy traced her bottom lip with a fingertip.
"What are you thinking?" Candace asked.
"Everyone will be here at Christmas. Your family. Ours."
Candace nodded.
"Maybe I should host a Christmas Eve party."
"Cass, that would be?—"
"A really full house?"
Candace laughed. "Understatement."
"Exactly," Cassidy said. "And that means chaos. Loud, crazy, fun, and just a little bit organized. It will give you a chance to pull my father aside. He'll need a break for a few minutes, probably in Alex's office. That's much less obvious than meeting at the White House."
"Are you sure you want to host that many people? There's more space at the White House."
"And more eyes and ears," Cassidy said.
Candace raised a brow.
"Okay, maybe not more eyes and ears—more who are interested in what you say and to whom you're speaking. Trust me."
Candace looked toward the window again.
Mackenzie had found a stick. Cooper had found another one. Whatever game they had invented now involved both children moving with exaggerated stealth along the edge of the yard.
"Trust you?" Candace asked. "Or trust that?"
Cassidy followed her gaze and smiled. "Both."
"That looks like a coup in progress," Candace said, chuckling.
"With Kenzie involved? Probably."
Candace laughed.
"And that's my point," Cassidy said. "Here, no one will think twice if people disappear into different rooms for ten minutes.
My father will need a break. Alex will need quiet.
Pearl or Helen will probably threaten someone with a wooden spoon.
And Alex will be telling the kids they need to spell out their names with carrots so Santa can find them. "
"There's a story there."
"More than one," Cassidy said.
Before Candace could respond, the back door flew open.
Mackenzie burst in first, breathless and grinning, with Cooper right behind her. Three smaller children followed, shrieking with the kind of joy that made adults instinctively check for broken lamps, spilled juice, or blood.
"There are dragons!" Cooper announced.
"Obviously," Mackenzie said.
One of the younger kids barreled into Cassidy's leg and wrapped both arms around her. "Mom! Coop and Kenzie are hiding the treasure!"
"No. We are protecting the treasure," Mackenzie said.
"From dragons?" Candace asked.
Cooper nodded. "And pirates."
Cassidy looked at Candace. "See? Slightly organized chaos."
Candace shook her head.
A Secret Service agent appeared briefly near the hallway, assessed the situation, and retreated with the expression of a man who'd just experienced his most complicated threat assessment.
"Aunt Candace can be the queen," one of the children said.
Candace chuckled. "That probably isn't the best idea."
Cooper nodded. "My mom can be the person who tells the queen what to do."
Cassidy snorted.
Candace looked at her. "Not a word."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Mackenzie tugged on Cooper's sleeve. "Come on. We need more blankets."
"For what?" Cassidy asked.
"Dragon wings," Cooper said.
"Dragon wings?" Candace asked.
The children thundered back down the hall. Cold air and a few scattered leaves drifted in behind them. Cassidy got up to close the door.
Candace watched her, then looked toward the hallway.
"All right," she said.
Cassidy turned. "All right?"
"Christmas Eve. Here."
Cassidy smiled.
"But if your house becomes the staging ground for dragons to overthrow my administration, I'm blaming you."
"Fair. I'd worry more about the dragons stealing all the cookies, though."
From somewhere upstairs, Mackenzie shouted, "We need more pillows!"
A smaller voice added, "Cookies! Kenzie, we need cookies!"
Candace shook her head.
Cassidy gave her a knowing look. "More reliable than the Situation Room."
Candace shook her head, still smiling. "That's a terrifying thought."
"But accurate."
Candace laughed. Cassidy was right. The safest place to talk about serious things wasn't behind locked doors or guarded gates, but in a house so full of life that conversations blended together.
"I'll talk to Kevin," Candace said.
"The White House chef?"
Candace nodded. "About the cookies."
Cassidy laughed. Probably a good idea.
Goldap, Poland
Present Day
"I don't want to hear excuses."
"General—"
Donald Waters swiveled in his chair.
He moved more slowly than he used to. There was a time when the man called the Doctor could cross a room in three steps and make generals, scientists, and eager young operatives stand at attention before he even said a word.
Now, his voice carried the authority his body no longer could. It still worked. The room fell silent.
Outside, winter pressed against the windows, making the glass look black. The countryside lay under a thin layer of snow. Go?dap had been chosen for its remoteness, its quiet, and its proximity to changing borders. In places like this, loyalty was little more than a concept.
"General," Carly St. James tried again.
Waters lifted one finger.
She stopped.
He watched her for a moment. She looked composed.
Carly had learned to stay still, like most ambitious operatives, thinking stillness was the same as discipline.
Her posture showed she was ready to face anything, but her eyes gave away a kind of anger, as if she were searching for something she couldn't quite name.
Decades had gone by since people had mourned the death of Donald Waters. The Doctor had long been forgotten. The shadow names he employed were meaningless to most who used them. Now he was exposed to his children—the ones shaped by the programs he had started and grown.
He had wondered when his son or daughter might seek him out, but neither had. It didn't matter; it changed nothing.
Waters and Brackett had always understood that resentment could bring someone back just as much as devotion could.
In many ways, those feelings were tied together.
A child might return to a parent not out of love, but because anger pulled harder.
Sometimes, the need to get an answer was stronger than any affection.
He needed no scientific proof. It existed in plain sight for anyone willing to look honestly at human nature.
Once formed, bonds were hard to break. Children were always shaped by the connections they had or wanted.
He knew this. He had listened to therapists and doctors explain physiology, heard religious leaders and artists reflect, and sat through sentimental arguments about human nature and moral responsibility.
He had thought about and used much of what he'd been told, always in search of producing desired outcomes.
He'd waited. Observed. Now, it was time to put a new plan into motion.
Fear revealed a person's character.
Would they stand in the dark, moving forward even if they couldn't see, trying to find or create a new source of light? Or would they hide, cover their eyes, and wait for someone else to say it was safe?
"It's time," he said.
Carly St. James looked at him.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked.
"I'm not afraid."
Waters laughed.
The laugh sounded thin, but it wasn't weak.
"But you are."
"Chaos is unpredictable," Carly said.
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"You are still young."
"And you believe that makes me naive?"
"It does."
Carly bristled.
Waters smiled. "You take offense to an observation."
"No. I take offense to your insult."
"Inexperience ensures a failure of imagination," he said.
"Then I suppose you imagine wildly."
Waters raised an eyebrow and laughed again.
"General—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Carly, drop the formalities. You make me feel embalmed."
Her jaw tightened.
His eyes twinkled with amusement.
"This action has unpredictable outcomes," she said.
"All meaningful action does."
"That's not a strategy." She shook her head. "It's arrogance."