Chapter 42

It would be days, maybe even weeks before we had answers about Jennifer’s medical issues. We would be staying in Sweden for at least five days, while Abrams and his team went through their medical protocols. Rather than torture myself with worry, I had brought my black ops leaders with me on Air Force Two and we burned the midnight oil separating fact from fiction, reality from supposition, and wheat from chaff.

Our enemies had made a career out of staying outside the spotlight. So much of their operation was murky, unverified and difficult to track. It became such a disturbing task that one of our more out of the box thinkers suggested that we focus solely on financial transactions and see if we could build a picture of their cabal by the way they moved money.

With little else to go on, it became the next big project.

The number of financial transactions in a single day is staggering. To try and break them down by the organizations doing them was like assembling a one-million piece puzzle. The trick was to try and define the edges of the picture and work inward. We assigned twenty-four individual forensic experts to the task. Well before the week was out we had the beginnings of a trail to follow.

Doctor Abrams asked to meet with Jennifer and me five days after we arrived. His demeanor was businesslike. It was an attitude I wasn’t used to seeing from him in any of my lives. He received us in his inner sanctum. It was quiet, still and had the atmosphere one could associate with the lair of a mad scientist.

“Your blood things look very different this time when you be to go around here, little Jennifer,” he began. “I’m used to robusted like things, scurry around the Petri dish, with lots of fun things going as they make with the reproducing.”

His eye said far more than his lips.

“We have us a real plunger thing thinking in our heads this time weekly. Your body seem to be giving no more chasing to the bad things, which means we have to start with new cooked-up tail, made just for you now.”

He smiled but it never reached his eyes.

“Jennifer, you going to be stayed over here for maybe two months. We work this thing into the ground with good replacings, that kill all the bad working over all the place, with no good soldiers to kill them so dead and keep them dead. When we get the crooked tail thing just good, they never even think about back coming to you, someday, never.”

Jennifer interrupted before we both broke into howls of laughter as Doctor Abrams tried to speak English. “Doctor, is it so bad that I need to think about getting all my affairs in order?” She shivered when she said it and snuggled into my waiting arms for comfort and support for the bad news she was expecting.

Abrams though it over a long time and then said, “We might have a small chance to beat this thing to a pulpy blood, but it is mutating like the Mummy from Egypt. The mutations is bad and made for more than bad outcome. We have things to give you starting now right. They will do some things of what we want accomplish to, and then we can make with the purchase of time to cook the right stuff all the way to this thing dies like yesterday’s bad newspaper.”

He sounded emphatic, but Jennifer wasn’t having it.

“But it is more likely that I’m not going to recover this time, right?” She was finding her inner strength just talking about it.

“We may ... may ... like may this thing get just right the first time and then you right back chasing this skinny boy all over the Washington really big house, all white on the over outside, right?”

Jennifer suddenly seemed to quit listening and simply asked, “How long before I die, Doctor Abrams?” Her words cut into my like a chainsaw through a paperback book.

Abrams smiled the saddest smile, and said, “Maybe three months unless we going to find us very lucky...”

Jennifer slept on the news and then asked me to take her home. We left the day after she met with Doctor Abrams. We called and let him know that Jennifer decided to go home to die, rather than spend her final months sick from the chemicals injected into her body. It was not my place to argue with her. She’d spent her entire life fighting the sickness that had her in its grip. Instead of arguments and counter arguments, it was my place to love her every second of every day until she left me, forever. We slept wrapped around each other all the way home from Sweden.

NOTED FEMINIST TO JENNIFER MORRISON: NOT EVEN GOD WANTS YOU

FEMINIST PROFESSOR CLAIMS SECOND LADY’S ILLNESS IS KARMA’S REVENE FOR MARRYING VP

OPPOSITION LEADERS CALL OUT JENNIFER FOR REFUSING TO SUPPORT ABORTION – CLAIMS TERMINAL ILLNESS IS GOD’S JUDGEMENT ON HER

The left wing came undone in their hatred as they attacked Jennifer when it leaked that her illness might be terminal. Their money-see-monkey-do mentality was so over the edge that many papers attacked them for their insensitive and debasing attacks, instead of joining in, or remaining silent. The public poured their disdain against everything from the women on The VIEW to HuffPo. Their reaction was virulent, energetic and long lasting. Even the NRA got involved, when their female spokesperson ripped the feminist left in a scathing rejoinder that was widely quoted and repeated.

It was my mission to spare Jennifer from reading, or hearing about any of it.

Jennifer received remarkable support from several outspoken, Hollywood women. Some even called out their own by name, in hard edged and angry retorts. The campaign to brutalize Jennifer’s last months of life waged far from our house in the mountains.

When we landed in D.C. Jennifer asked me to take her home, not to the Residence, but to the mountains. I asked the crew to make one more trip for me, rather than have Air Force Two towed inside its hanger. I called The Cottage and made sure that Sam understood that this was where I had to be. The press could understand, or go hang themselves for all I cared. Those who mattered were extremely helpful.

“You, young lady, are going to lie back and let me fix your hair...” Polly clucked her tongue as she pampered Jennifer. The former first family showed up at our door one morning and appeared equipped to stay with us and help take care of Jennifer. There was no option to decline, respectfully. Polly swept in, announced she was there for the duration, to take care of her, ‘adopted’ daughter and that was the end of it. Apparently Polly enjoyed adopting Angela and decided that mothering Jennifer would be just as fulfilling. I couldn’t have been happier, because two people I truly loved were there when we needed someone to love us the most.

“Sometimes it looks like you young people do your hair with leaf blowers and lawn mowers. Our youngest, Angela, looked like she had walked through a car wash the first time I saw her. It took hours and hours to get her ready for her first Executive Dinner. It was a good thing I had an excellent hair stylist in those days. They all had their hands full and when they were done, she looked almost as beautiful as you do right now,” Polly declared, having spruced up Jennifer’s appearance to her liking. They hugged for a long time and both ended up in tears. Me too...

While Jennifer was fussed over by a very perky and competent Polly, her medical needs were provided by my personal medical staff, paid out of personal funds. Jennifer needed everything that Doctor Abrams had to offer, but the likelihood of a miracle cure was dwindling by the hour. Her face had drawn as her appetite waned and her complexion slowly changed from vibrant to wan and pale.