Chapter 224

“But what about your enemies? What about the villains? What do we do with those?”
―Dean F. Wilson, Coilhunter

A VERY ANGRY CONGRESS met in session on Monday. The news media referred to the bombing of the Baltimore Convention Center as a mass assassination attempt against political rivals, but no one had been able to pin the blame on any individual or group. No one had stepped forward to claim credit. In both houses, fiery speeches were given condemning the anti-reform members while just as many on that side of the aisle gave speeches condemning the action and declaring they would never consider such a move.

The new service reform bills were moved and for a while, it looked like they might pass without debate. Floor rules, however, dictate exactly how a bill must be presented and everyone had to be given time to read the new legislation. I wanted to read it myself and experience said that would take a while.

“Jacob, you are in the news,” Amanda said softly. I sighed.

“Let’s see,” I said.

“Reformist founder and Chairman Emeritus Jacob Hopkins donned the garb of the National Service elite search and rescue squadron at the Baltimore Convention Center Friday night to direct rescue efforts as fire and smoke blocked all main exits,” Desi read over my shoulder. “Taking command of both the highly trained squad and local first responders, Hopkins had every evacuee registered and used the Reformist website to post the names of all evacuees to be sure no one was listed as missing. Once a part of the SSR before transferring to the politically active National Service Deputation team, Hopkins showed the easy exercise of authority and control for which he has become known.”

“Holy shit, Jacob. I didn’t know you were in command of everything there,” Sophie exclaimed. “Was God there with you?”

“Really,” I sighed. “We don’t need this kind of hype.”

“Oh, it’s not over,” Donna said, picking up the tablet from Desi and continuing the reading. “Spurred by the decisive action on Friday, Hopkins’ congress presented bills in both houses to reform the National Service. In the wake of Friday’s attack, these bills seem certain to pass with only moderate debate and amendment.”

“Hopkins’ congress? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You’re a savior,” Beca said.

“Yeah. Well, in case you aren’t up on the Bible, saviors are the ones who get crucified.”

“You are a savior as far as my father is concerned,” Remas said. “He has called three times to make sure I’ve shown you proper appreciation for rescuing him from the Center.”

“I hope you’ve told him I wasn’t in charge of the rescue and was only taking names of people.”

“No. I told him you were recovering from the last fucking I gave you so that I could thank you again.”

“Remas!” My wives exploded in laughter. I wasn’t sure I could see as much humor in the situation as they could.

“I’m surprised the news media haven’t been camped outside the house,” Brittany said. “Don’t the vultures usually descend on the body by this time?”

“Both our security and the secret service next door have convinced any wandering reporters to wander elsewhere,” Nanette said. “I met Shana yesterday and they said the media has been very responsive to their threats. Poor Abigail retired to the White House yesterday since her residence location is now known publicly. Shana and Rob are staying at the house to make sure it is secure.”

“Jo sent out a press release indicating you were on assignment for the deputation team to work with the new teams in training this month and would not be available in town. She declined to say where you’d be working,” Rachel said.

“Aren’t I supposed to start working with them at the school this week?” I asked.

“Yes, but there’s talk of moving that up to Tanglewood. Jo is working with Dr. Donahue to determine if resources can be made available for training there,” Rachel said.

“What’s their current status?”

“They’re at WABATU for basic, but they can move at any time. At this stage, basic is only slated for four weeks and overlaps with NSO training, which is where you come in. They’re currently in their second week.”

“Well, Tanglewood is pretty and isolated. There are worse places to spend your training time as a musician,” I said. I was looking forward to getting out of town and disappearing for a while.

“For this week, Dr. D has directed that you stay put and do your study and practice here at the house. It won’t do to have you seen out and about this week if we’re planting a story that you are out of town,” Sophie said.

“House arrest. Shit.”

“Jacob, honey, you’ve done some good things. The stories will shake out soon. The PR team is working on an accurate timeline and explanation for your presence as well as the quick response by the SSR,” Beca said. “Play along and we’ll have it all sorted out soon. Things will get back to normal.”

“Didn’t we go through Normal, Illinois on our way to Champaign?” I asked. “Not that certain I want to go back there.”

It wasn’t that bad. In fact, staying in the house let me accomplish a lot, except run. I’d go crazy if I couldn’t get out for a run but being spotted around Rock Creek Park wouldn’t be good. Lyle came up with an alternative and Tuesday morning Nanette and I got in his car, pulled around back through the alley, and drove forty miles south on I-95 to Prince William Forest Park. Great trails to run on through a varied terrain.

I was a little nervous about being so close to Quantico Marine Base, but Lyle assured me the Marines had no interest in us at all. The branch had developed a strict hands-off policy when it came to the National Service. They were warriors, not civilian babysitters, as Lyle put it.

We made the trip out there every day and Wednesday, I got Lyle and Nan to agree to a full twenty miles.

Then I went back to the house and did my schoolwork.

I was beginning to really see the sense in arranging instead of just transcribing notes from a piece for one instrument to make it suitable for another. I was learning about the different voices of Cindy’s flutes and which tone would be best suited for a particular piece of music. And in the evening, she would indulgently play what I’d arranged and make suggestions on how to improve it.

The family was living peacefully. The media seemed to have no interest in what anyone else was doing, so as long as I stayed out of sight, they left us alone. Rachel had put in for some time off and was leaving Thursday morning to join Livy for a competition in Houston. Livy would be competing in the first round of time trials for the IAAF Summer Games. If she qualified, she’d join Team USA for the international tour this summer and that was a step toward the Olympics.

But Thursday, I was back in the house after our run by ten. After our showers, Nanette took off to do some volunteer work at a clinic and I was getting ready for some sex. There was no other way to put it. Dana had been in touch and we set Thursday as our day to just bang to our hearts’ content. The whole family knew, of course, and the house was scheduled to be empty all afternoon, though several women had offered to come home early if I needed help.

The truth was, having worked as part of the team during the disaster Friday, we’d felt a strong connection arise. It was an intense day and left us feeling like we needed to bring it to fulfillment.

I got a text message from her at a quarter till noon telling me to come downstairs and let her in the hot tub door. We’d agreed that she would avoid an entrance where she could be easily seen and identified by the media. I didn’t think anyone was watching the house, but it added a frisson of excitement to our meeting.

At first, the girl at the patio door didn’t look at all like Dana. She was dressed in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt with her hair stuffed up under a baseball cap. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Dana dressed in anything but the standard green jumpsuit of the SSR. I unlocked the door and pulled her inside. She came straight to my arms for a deep kiss but pushed away after just a minute.

“We have a problem,” she whispered. “Or you do, anyway.”

“What?” I asked. The only problem I had was trying to press through the fabric of my jeans.

“The boss.” Everything stopped. The man who’d trained the team last summer had disappeared the moment SSR made its first appearance after the hurricane in Galveston. To my knowledge, all attempts to identify him had failed.

“You heard from him?”

“I saw him, ten minutes ago. I made a couple of circuits around the neighborhood before I snuck in the back yard. He was doing a grounds check next door and went inside when he was finished.”

“Next door? That’s Abby’s house. The people there are Secret Service!”

“Then maybe the problem is deeper than you thought.”

Well, fuck! I had to think about this. I already had my phone in hand and was ready to dial Ron Starling. But his words from just a few months ago still echoed in the back of my mind. Don’t trust anyone. That suddenly included Ron. If the boss was a member of the Secret Service and was assigned to guard Abby, that put him directly in the President’s line of command. Had the service been keeping information about him, knowing he was part of the President’s team? Had the President herself arranged to have me kidnapped? It didn’t make sense.