Timing, page 5
"I said, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
Her mom's eyes suddenly resembled kernels of corn heating in oil and ready to pop. Maybe it was just the wine, but Hannah doubted it. Her mother, the Senator, lived for politicking like nothing else. Some moms loved scrapbooking, others liked watching their kids kick around a soccer ball. Her mom… well, her mom liked schmoozing with crotchety old men whose plastic faces resembled Barbie's counterpart, men whose sticky hair plugs single-handedly kept the Aqua Net stock rising, all while pretending to care more about their constituents than themselves. And that was only the men…
Jackie looked at her watch. "Well, let's see. I have a meeting at four. And then another one at six—" Her hand absently smoothed a section of her hair. "Do you mind too much just fending for yourself for dinner? I could call Hazreal, but she wasn't really expecting me to be in town today—"
Hazreal was the city version of Marie.
Hannah shrugged. "I'm a big girl. I'll be just fine. I might just walk down to get a cheeseburger or something like that."
"Don't forget there's that Italian restaurant, Patrizio's, that's not too far away. It's even got take-out… and the best Fettuccini around."
"Mmm… that does sound good. Either way, I'll figure something out. Don't worry about me." She pulled her arms across her body. "I really am better today," she lied.
"Oh Hannah, that's Gr-r-reat." Her mom sounded like Tony the Tiger from the Frosted Flakes commercials. "I knew this would be good for you. The city is like that, it renews you in a way." Jackie downed the remainder of her wine. "Well, I guess I'd better finish getting ready."
"Yeah, you'd better," Hannah smiled.
Four outfits later, Jackie was set to leave.
"So, you're sure you're okay by yourself?" She really had to get going if she was going to make it to the Willard before rush-hour traffic.
"Absolutely, Mom. I'll be just fine."
"Good." Jackie kissed her, leaving a partial imprint of lips on Hannah's forehead. "I'll see you around ten or so—but don't wait up for me. You know how these things tend to run late."
*
As Jackie stood on the sidewalk outside of her apartment complex, she closed her eyes and breathed in the tangy air, the humidity tinged with just a touch of exhaust fumes. Wow, it was good to be home. Even the traffic noise made her feel alive.
She felt like dancing down the corridors of glass and steel stretching out before her, wanted to embrace the immaculately dressed strangers who glided past her full of energy and purpose.
The capital city invigorated her, stimulated her. Made her feel young and vibrant. Every time the plane touched down at Reagan National Airport, she felt a surge of anticipation that felt like Christmas morning.
She'd always been a city girl at heart, but now she was admittedly an addict. Ever since winning her Senate seat some eight years ago, she'd been swept into the powerful web of Capitol Hill and had never looked back. Not even once.
She'd gladly succumbed to the black widow of Washington DC, who had her way with her inhabitants as if shooting them with a daily, intoxicating current of electricity. Over time, the spider devoured and dominated, making the world outside of its web all but disappear.
It was a living larger than life. Larger than one person. Larger than one cause.
She felt important. Useful. Like she was making a difference.
And people knew her. Valued her opinion. Looked up to her. Revered her.
After years of long hours and much hard work, most of the country now recognized her. Especially in the wake of her husband's well-publicized death.
Today she felt like the right arm of Abe Lincoln himself, a modern trailblazer, making history, changing the United States for the better, in ways others had only ever dreamed of.
The meetings today were a significant reflection of her career to date, but also the projection of something new, the start of an even more purposeful chapter in her life.
As Lloyd pulled up to the front of the hotel, Jackie grabbed her compact and reapplied a fresh layer of blood-red lipstick.
After dabbing her lips with a tissue and checking the effects in the small mirror, she shut the lid and slid the compact into her clutch, just as her driver swung open the limousine door.
Hannah's mom stepped out of the car and took the steps up to the Willard Hotel two at a time.
Lorinda was at the front desk, and she noticed Jackie just as soon as she entered the building.
"Ah, Senator Bailey," she crossed the foyer with an arm extended, "so nice to see you again. Please, right this way."
She gestured toward the long, wide passageway at the back of the hotel.
Jackie bowed her head toward the attendant and took the lead in the direction she'd indicated.
Dark walnut paneling covered the walls and ceilings, and a rich, mulberry carpet, interlaced with swirls of blonde, muffled their every step. Chandeliers dangled overhead, upside down wedding cakes of crystal that appeared enticing enough to be edible.
To one side of the expansive hallway, a man sat at a grand piano, his fingers effortlessly floating across a washboard of ivory keys in some catchy, jazzy tune Jackie had last heard at the president's Fourth Inauguration Gala.
She turned to enter the Bombay Room, but Lorinda caught her elbow.
"No, Senator. Not there today. This way, please."
After a brief look of confusion, Jackie followed her down a flight of stairs and into a rear section of the building she'd never been in before.
Here, the lighting was dim and the floor was now cement. Chair rail molding ran along either side of them, coated in a pale shade of yellow, which did little to hide the cracks and the flaking layers of paint. A cave-like dampness hung in the narrow space, laced with an old sweater musk that permeated Jackie's sinuses.
At the end of the tunnel-like passage was a black door. Three Secret Service agents stood expressionless at its entrance.
Lorinda stopped short of them. "Will you be needing anything else, Senator Bailey?"
"No. Thank you." Jackie handed her a fifty dollar bill.
She bobbed her head and whispered, "Ma'am," just as she grabbed the money and turned to leave.
Jackie waited until she couldn't see her anymore to proceed.
As she approached the door, one of the men said, "Your credentials, please Senator," while the other two stared straight ahead as if she didn't exist.
Jackie complied with his request and, when he was satisfied, he nodded to the other two agents who then proceeded to pat her down.
She rolled her eyes. My heavens, she thought, Timothy hadn't been kidding about the increased security measures.
Finally, one of them said, "She's good to go."
Beyond the door, the room was smaller and more intimate than the previous ones they'd met in. Five chairs were configured in a half circle facing a gas fireplace which, along with two floor lamps, provided the only sources of light. On an adjacent table, brandy and cigars had been set out, along with a bottle of wine on ice.
She was obviously the first to arrive, and so she moved casually over to the table and brought a cigar up to her nostrils. Her nose crinkled, and Vance floated into her mind. He'd always loved a good cigar. She'd always hated the damn things. She absolutely detested their smell. In some odd way, she thought, it was somewhat symbolic of their entire marriage. Some things never change, she mumbled, as she let the cigar drop back into the box with the others.
She grabbed the neck of the bottle of brandy and turned it toward the light. It was a label she didn't recognize, but she wasn't particularly surprised. Paul liked the stuff, but it wasn't really her thing.
A voice suddenly reached out from behind her. "And what do you think of our meeting place, Senator Bailey?"
She briefly caught her hand at her throat and swallowed, turning slowly to face the baritone voice, while forcing the semblance of a smile.
"Perfect," she replied coolly, "with one exception." Her eyes flitted down to the bottle of wine back to his. "Unfortunately, I prefer Chardonnay."
"Ah… you have impeccable taste, Madam." He moved to one side of her and grasped for her hand. His lips brushed the top of it and he said, "Just my kind of woman."
She laughed. "We share much in common, Hagan."
"Yes," he grinned, meeting her eyes, "we do." He gestured toward the seats. "Please, be my guest."
Jackie hesitated. "Shall we wait for the others?"
His hands gripped the back of a chair. "They won't be here."
Her eyes narrowed.
"For a while, at least," he continued. "I wanted to talk to you first. Alone."
She dismissed a slight feeling of unease. Surely she could trust him… couldn't she? They'd known each other since her last Senate race—when he'd offered to foot a large portion of the bill. And the margin of victory had been substantial. All of the commercials and radio ads lambasting her opponent had really done the trick. Yes, she supposed she could trust him. But she wasn't so naïve as to think he wouldn't eventually want something in return. They always did.
"Please, sit," he pulled out a chair for her, "we have much to talk about."
He grabbed a wine glass by its stem. "Will you lower your standards, just this once?" His face danced in amusement, eyes twinkled at her like starlight.
Or perhaps it was just the reflection of the fire…
"Of course," she smiled. There was no sense being paranoid. This was the moment she'd been waiting for… for a long time.
Hagan Mueller handed her the drink.
"Thank you," she said.
He took his time before speaking again. He lit a cigar and puffed on it several times until its end smoked like a chimney stack. He rearranged one of the chairs to where his back was to the fireplace, and their knees were almost touching. Now seated, his belly spilled out and onto his lap, pressing so tightly against his suit that she just knew it was a matter of time before the single button popped off.
And for some strange reason, Jackie had to bite the insides of her cheeks as she had visions of this hangman button zinging across the space between them and smacking her square in the face.
It was almost as if he read her mind, because at that very moment Hagan shifted in his seat and, as he did, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and crossed his legs, turning his body at an angle toward hers so that his thigh now intersected her kneecap.
Ahh, that was better, thought Hagan. He preferred close proximity in serious discussions. In his experience, it served to keep the tension high and the answers closer to the truth. So much of conversation happened before any talking ever took place. Posture, positioning, timing, placement and even silence… all things most people ignored. He'd learned the importance of them from Aralk and always employed them to his advantage when possible.
He lowered his cigar and set his focus on Jackie.
"You've been an ardent supporter of the Transition, Senator Bailey. And for that I thank you. Aralk thanks you. And," he bowed his head, "the American people thank you."
She tipped her head ever so slightly and leveled her eyes with his.
"As you know," he continued, "Phase III is in full force. The American system is collapsing, self-destructing, as we predicted it would." He set down his cigar and interlocked his fingers. "Many are suffering, and only the president can help prevent more from falling prey to poverty and despair. Through it all we've remained faithful to him, and we've kept him in his position of power, simply because we know he has the best interest of the American people at heart.
"Now though, as we prepare to implement the final, most dynamic Phase, we are checking—let's not mince words, we are double-checking—our innermost circle to make sure they are willing to sacrifice for the progress desired. As always, we're fully prepared to compensate yourself, and other select individuals, if you can assure us of your unwavering loyalty. And, rest assured, Senator Bailey, if the time has come where other priorities have entered your life, let us have no hard feelings between us. I can only imagine," he searched for the words, "that your recent loss has been staggering. If you feel compelled to walk away—"
Jackie cut him off. "I have no such intentions, Hagan. Nor will I ever. I am committed to the Transition now more than ever before. My loyalties lie with Aralk, President Dobbs and the Protectorate."
"No matter the cost?" he inquired.
Her eyes were cast iron skillets. "No matter the cost. The loss of my husband," she pulled her legs away from his, to the opposite side of her seat, "has only served to strengthen my belief in the core principles of the Transition."
"But are you doing this to follow the political current or because you truly believe in what we're doing?"
"In case you haven't noticed, Hagan," she said, lowering her voice, "I am the political current. The others follow what I say, what I do."
His head tilted noncommittally.
But she wasn't done. "And know this: Everything I do is everything I believe."
He sat upright. "Good. I'm glad to hear this. We will be counting on you."
Jackie bowed her head. "Likewise."
She polished off the rest of the wine in her glass. "If I may, was there something in particular which gave you cause to wonder?"
He rose and moved to the mantel where he rested one arm on its ledge and crossed his feet at the ankles. "Not at all, my dear, not at all. It's only that with the final components of the Transition in sight, there is no room for errors. Or doubts. We must have everyone on board working for the common good." He shrugged. "And naturally moving toward the reorganization of everything under the Protectorate."
*
After flipping through a million channels, Hannah settled for an old re-run of MASH.
A few minutes into it though, she realized the show only reminded her of her dad… they used to watch it together on the weekends late at night.
She exhaled. She'd come to DC to escape all the memories, all the thoughts of him.
She stabbed at the power button with her index finger and tossed the remote on the cushion. She grabbed her phone and scrolled down through the text messages she'd received in the last little while.
Both Boone and Eliza had been calling and texting non-stop since the funeral, and she still hadn't answered either one of them.
Before she talked herself out of it, she texted them both a quick message to let them know she hadn't checked out completely.
She had started to feel like if she didn't get back to Eliza sometime soon she might jeopardize their friendship. They'd grown up together, had been best friends since either of them could remember. Hannah figured she owed her, at the very least, the courtesy of getting back in touch. Especially since she'd made the effort to attend the funeral.
Eliza texted back fairly quickly, saying it was good to hear from her, but she'd have to get back to her because she was in the middle of bathing her younger sisters. She would call or text Hannah later in the evening, she said.
Hannah sighed and looked up at the clock. It was now five in the afternoon. She had yet to hear back from Boone.
She suddenly felt as if she were the only fish in an enormous glass bowl, swimming in circles with no clear indication of where she was headed, no orientation as to which way was up or down.
She felt empty. Lonely.
She fought off tears, and then she decided she needed to do something. Anything. And do it fast. She couldn't stay here by herself any longer.
She pulled on her sneakers, slid her cell phone back into her pocket, and scanned the room for her house keys. They had to be on the desk—where she'd last left them. She patted her hand over a bunch of loose papers and saw the tip of her mini Swiss Army knife peek out from underneath a bundle of cream-colored stationery.
Just as she grabbed the keys, she caught a whiff of her own breath. God, she really needed a piece of gum. She'd downed some pretzels on the plane, and they'd given her some serious buffalo breath. Her toothbrush was still packed in her bags though, and the last thing she wanted to do was bother with finding it. She pulled on the top drawer of the desk where her mother kept her stash of gum and mints, but it was locked.
That's strange, she thought. Why would it be locked? And who would it be locked from?
She pulled on all of the other drawers but none of them would budge. She was certain they'd never been locked before.
There's got to be a key, Hannah murmured to herself. She felt all around the desktop for one, even pulled out the desk from the wall to look on the back side. Nothing. Then, she felt around the U-shaped opening where the chair fit under the desk. No key.
She moved to the junk drawer in the kitchen. Maybe she'd find a stick of gum there. After sifting through several layers of everything but gum, she gave up.
But just as she went to close the drawer, something brass, almost antique-ish caught her eye.
A skeleton key.
Maybe it was the key to the desk.
By the time she slipped the shaft into the opening, she'd forgotten all about the gum.
And much to her surprise, it clicked.
Her heart was beating fast as she sifted through the drawer. She didn't know what she expected to find, but it was fun anyway just being snoopy.
After a few minutes of finding nothing particularly interesting, a manila envelope with an unusual name stamped on it caught her attention. It was in the very bottom of the drawer and it read Operation Santa.
That's an interesting name, she thought. Probably some program for kids who need Christmas presents.
She flipped it over to undo the copper brads, but it was sealed. With tape.
She smirked.
It wasn't like tape was going to keep her from knowing what Santa was up to. She slid the edge of her pocketknife along the tape making a smooth, straight incision which would have made any surgeon proud.
Right then, her phone rang.
Hannah jerked at the unexpected sound, thinking it was just her luck for being nosy.
It was Boone Grassle. She'd expected him to text her, but he'd called instead.
She set the envelope on the desktop and plopped down in the leather desk chair.
