already has.”
Really. “But the sergeant assured me—”
“Let’s just leave it at that for the time being.”
This certainly wasn’t the usual M.O. He shook his head. Nothing made sense anymore. He had one more question.
“When would you like the package delivered?”
The package. That sounded contrived. It wasn’t really a package, was it?
“I will see you in six hours.”
The call ended.
The pale man drove in deep thought for the next ten minutes. Eventually he lowered the window, and tossed out the cellular. He accelerated the Navigator, focusing on the pulsing glow of Las Vegas, in the night sky, several miles to the southwest.
Monday
Chapter 12 White House Second Floor 5:57 AM
The following morning, Lisa Wong was waiting for Caitlin at the entrance to the upper school. She did not look pleased. “Have you told the Secret Service yet?” asked the young teacher, tapping Caitlin’s shoulder. Wong waited for her to answer. “Well?” Again, Wong tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s the matter? Can’t speak?”
Knock it off, Lisa.
Caitlin. CAITLIN.
The first daughter awoke with a start, blinking into the dull light of the Center Hall. She was slumped in the gold wing chair, and shivered as she sat up. She had a pretty good crick in her neck, and her legs tingled from being crossed for so long.
“Caitlin,” said that annoying voice she knew too well.
“What?” she groaned, squinting up at her mother.
“Don’t what me. You slept here all night, didn’t you?”
She rose and surveyed the damage. The iPad was resting on the coffee table next to the chair, and papers were scattered in literally every direction. Her mother bent down, grabbed one of the piles and began shuffling through it.
“Militias,” muttered the first lady reading one of the headlines. She glanced at the next page. “Militias in our time.” She shot a perplexed look Caitlin’s way before reading yet another. “HeavensGate Members ‘Giggly’ After Castration.” She let the pile fall to the floor. “I don’t get it.”
Caitlin dropped to her knees, and began scooping up the papers. She certainly hadn’t intended for her mother to see them. Why the hell did she have to fall asleep in the wing chair?
“I asked you a question.” The first lady bent over and snatched up another printout. She read what Caitlin had highlighted. “Some cults believe that sexual desires are the work of the devil, and that castration is the only way to achieve true wisdom. What the hell is this crap?”
“School report,” she grunted, stabbing at the piles of papers. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I don’t know what happened.”
Julie Prescott gave her daughter the once-over. At length she shook her head and made for her bedroom. “Take a quick shower and dress. I want you in the dining room in twenty minutes. You are not going to be late for school again.”
Caitlin grabbed the iPad. There were no new texts or emails since 10:20 the previous night, nor was there anything from Wendy Adams or Lisa Wong. She sighed, shoved the stack of papers under her arm and padded into the West Bedroom to take a shower.
Caitlin rushed to Lisa Wong’s classroom at a quarter to eight. The head of her Secret Service detail, Agent Jim McManus, followed her up the stairs, but kept a respectable distance. She found Mr. Jakes, the mathematics department chair and Mrs. Harper, one of Sidwell’s notoriously grumpy permanent subs, rummaging through Wong’s desk.
Jakes looked up and nodded to the first daughter. “Ms. Wong is absent today, Caitlin.”
The first daughter realized Jakes knew that she and Wong were friends, and often met for coffee just before first period.
“Absent? What do you mean?” asked the first daughter.
Jakes shrugged and twirled his moustache. “Absent. Sick. Not feeling well. Whatever you want to call it. She sent me an email last night around midnight, but I didn’t see it until I got up this morning. Unfortunately, there were no lesson plans included in the email.” He turned his attention back to Wong’s desk. “As usual.” He yanked open another drawer, then regarded Mrs. Harper. “Maybe the lesson plans are in her laptop.”
“Did the email say anything else?” Caitlin wanted to know.
Mrs. Harper exhaled and shot the first daughter a disgusted, just run along to class look.
Can it, lady. Stay out of it.
Jakes turned back to Caitlin. “She said she felt ill right after dinner, about six-thirty. Went to bed and didn’t wake up until midnight. That’s when she sent the email.”
That’s impossible, Caitlin thought. We were talking on the iPad until just before ten. She wasn’t sick at all, and she most certainly wasn’t asleep.
“Something I can help you with, Hon?” asked Jakes. “If you don’t mind, I need to find these lesson plans.”
Catlin toyed with the idea of telling Jakes she’d spoken with Lisa Wong on the iPad the night before, but turned to leave instead. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
Chapter 13 Sidwell Friends Washington D.C. 11:25 AM
Caitlin called Wong but got no answer. She tried to FaceTime her on the iPad, but came up empty. First and second hours were a blur, as the first daughter sat and fretted about Wong. Third hour was about to begin. Caitlin busied herself by signing a few Vogues in the back of the classroom. Finally Brent Tessler, the Advanced Placement Psychology teacher, strode through the door, plopping his worn leather bag down on his desk. The students scattered to their seats. Agent Jim McManus, took his usual place in the back of the classroom. He rotated the classroom detail with three other agents.
Tessler took a sip of coffee and surveyed the class. “Alright, let’s get started,” he growled, pacing the front of the classroom. “Who can tick off the various ego defense mechanisms we discussed yesterday?” He glanced about, then settled on a student seated to his far right. “Go, David.”
The student cleared his throat. “There’s denial, Intellectualization, Projection, Reaction Formation and Sublimation.”
Tessler set his coffee down. “Not bad. Okay, story time. There was this tough Irish priest who worked for the Archdiocese of Washington. Name was Father Mulcahy. He was a pastor at various parishes. Mulcahy even served as a school principal for over twenty years, then retired in 2006 after forty-six years of ministry. He eventually returned to Ireland, and died in 2010. Ten months ago, this guy who is now fifty-three, hired an attorney and went after the archdiocese, claiming Mulcahy had abused him forty years ago when he was an altar boy.”
