“He died by suicide five minutes ago as officers attempted to apprehend him at his home, sir.”
As horrible as this sounds at least that’s one less trial to deal with.
“Wait, hold on, sir,” the caller says. I fight the urge to drum my fingers on the table as he’s gone for about fifteen seconds. “I’m sorry, Mister President,” he says upon his return. “I just received an update. Ron Borens exchanged gunfire with officers and was killed.”
Everyone at the table winces. “How are his wife and child?” I ask.
“His son is uninjured. Borens shot his wife in the leg but they believe she’ll survive. She’s being transported to the hospital now.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call and sit back in my chair, everyone watching me. White hot rage courses through me as I carefully ponder my next words. “I want Fargo’s and Ingalls’ lives turned inside out,” I quietly say. “I don’t care if you have to take them overseas to a CIA site and waterboard them for info. Threaten to let the Russians have them if you need to. Do you understand me?”
Everyone nods except Casey-Marie, who closely watches me.
“I want to know how, exactly, Stella found out about Belyaevskin’s poisoning.” I talk to the elephant in the room. “I’m going to say what we’re all thinking—my sister came forward preemptively to save her own skin. If it’s a person who told her, and they’re alive, I want them in custody and under US control ASAP. I also want you all back here in one hour with updates.” I hold up my hands and waggle my fingers, shooing them. “Go go go,” I whisper.
They disperse.
Except for Casey-Marie and Jordan. She remains seated and Jordan walks over to take the chair directly across from her, on my other side.
“Mom and Dad?” I ask.
“Leo sentAngelafter them,” Jordan quietly says. “They’ll touch down at Andrews around ten p.m. our time. Complete news and communications blackout for them until they arrive. He’s having them pack to stay several days, at least.”
I slowly nod. “Good.” I focus on my breathing. The liquor wasn’t enough to give me a buzz to start with, and that’s not why my stomach’s upset now, either. “Where are we with our public statements?” I ask Casey-Marie.
“Belyaevskin hasn’t hit the wires yet but I fully expect it will within the next two hours, three max. Angie’s called a briefing”—she glances at the clock—“ten minutes from now. I’m handling it.”
“To say?”
“Preliminary statement about Stella and not taking questions at this time. It’s a tragedy, rapidly developing situation, no we don’t know if it’s related to the unsubstantiated video circulating on social media, we’re letting law enforcement do their job, please direct all questions about the investigation to Palm Beach SO’s PIO. No, we don’t have funeral arrangements yet, et cetera, et cetera. There will be another statement in a few hours once local officials have briefed the president and more facts are known.”
I slowly nod. “Okay. Statement about Belyaevskin?”
“In progress. Declan and Angie are on that one because I trust them not to leak anything we don’t want leaked before it’s time to release it. We cannot get over our skis on that one. Once that news breaks then we can release a statement. Not before. There’s a possibility things might be muddied enough people could confuse events and believe Stella’s video and murder were the catalysts to Belyaevskin’s poisoning.”
I slowly nod again. “That would be…convenient.”
“It would,” she agrees. “I don’t know if we can remain that lucky but all I care about is controlling the news cycle for the next twelve hours. That’s what matters. By tomorrow morning the focus should drop onto Ingalls and Fargo, because they’re still alive and going to be arraigned. We’ll probably need to call out the National Guard to guard the courthouses and keep a crazed mob from ripping them to pieces, if we’re lucky.”
She rubs the back of her neck. “Belyaevskin helpfully mentioned The Family in his video, so I can start dropping hints on deep background about high-visibility members and stir up muck and muddy the picture even more. Those assholes will scramble to get ahead of bad PR and insist they weren’t part of this. Distance themselves from it. The more shit we can throw against the wall, and the more rocks we can turn over to get the cockroaches scurrying for cover and confusing things even more, the more thinly journalists will be spread trying to cover everything. Because of the circumstances of Stella’s death as a self-proclaimed abused spouse, and that she’s your sister, she should drop to a tragic footnote with the focus on Ellis and his role in the attacks. She died a hero, a whistleblower. By the time people work their way backward and dig into the timeline of what Stella knew and when, Ciro will have already been elected and it won’t matter.”
I close my eyes and…breathe.
None of this feels real.
I wonder if I’m caught in a nightmare, or maybe I’m in an army hospital under the effects of really good drugs following my injuries.
Jordan’s hand closes around mine and squeezes.
Not a nightmare, then.
Well, I mean itisa nightmare but not the kind I can wake up from. It’s the kind I’m fully immersed in and must endure until its natural conclusion.
I open my eyes and take another deep breath.
