Chapter 58

Chapter 58—Bernadette’s apartment 

under attack

3:31 a.m., Friday, December 30

The whole building shook as the result of the explosion.
“Holy crap,” James exclaimed in a very loud whisper. “Shock and awe. So much for your ‘safe door,’ Al. Nothing’s safe when you get the FBI involved.”
“Damn it all,” Allison muttered as she continued on down the steps, and opened the door at the bottom. “I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as possible. There’s an intercom. I’ll hit you on it.”
Allison then entered her bedroom closet, and secured the door behind her.
Even though there was steel in the walls, James could hear several people tearing through the apartment he and Allison had just vacated. Placing the roll of paper towel on the floor of the upper landing, he carefully sat down on it, using it to cushion the hard surface of the stairs. “This could be a while,” he thought. Then, realizing that his phone was still on, he carefully took it out of its holster, and removed the battery. He checked to be sure that the Wi-Fi feature on the laptop was not engaged.
James then sensed the smell of DMDNB, a common C-4 odorizing taggant, wafting through the ventilation system. “C-4? Whoever pulled this off was highly motivated,” he mouthed, as he settled in for the wait.
After a few minutes, the timer on the light cycled, and the light turned off. For a few moments James just sat there motionless, his eyes adjusting to the total darkness. That is when he noticed the glow of a small red LED squinting from under a partially closed steel cover on the wall beside the upper staircase door. He lifted himself to his feet to inspect it. The motion of his rising to stand triggered the stairwell light.
He quietly walked over to the box, and opened it. Inside he found a seventeen-inch LCD flat panel monitor. Directly below the monitor was what looked like a CCTV multiplexer. He pushed the “View” button, and it came to life.
“Holy cow!” He whispered. “What has Allison got here?” He quickly realized that he was watching the ransacking of the upper level apartment. It was then that he noticed that something did not look right. He drew his face closer to the monitor.
“Hold on. That is not the FBI? But who could they be? Must be some spooks, or rogue spooks. Could be the Russians. … or Mossad.”
He continued watching as the band of seven or eight intruders tossed the apartment. Then, apparently not finding what they were looking for, they left.
“Just what I thought—definitely not the FBI. If it were the FBI, they would have secured the scene. These guys, whoever they were, just took off. Who could they be?”
James pondered what had just transpired before his eyes. “I would bet on Mossad. But I thought they already had everything they needed.”
James stood there scrutinizing the monitor. He found a little joystick, and zoomed in on the entry door, at least what was left of it. Even after ten minutes there remained a detectable haze throughout the entry area from the explosion.
“Looks like six distinct charges were used—all relatively small,” he whispered to himself. “C-4. That smacks of spooks. Somebody’s spooks. Almost surgical, but definitely effective. They took half the wall down on each side. So much for the cutting-bar rated safe room door,” he chuckled audibly.
James zoomed in further, and noticed that several plastic crime scene tapes had been secured across the gaping hole where the door used to be. “They’re not coming back. If they were going to come back, they would have secured and occupied. They were looking for something, and didn’t find it. Maybe they were looking for Al and me.”
James then saw a button on the monitor that read “Area Two,” and pushed it. With that, a new set of images appeared on the screen. He immediately recognized what he was looking at. “That’s Al’s bedroom. And there’s Al.”
Feeling just a bit like a peeping Tom, he zoomed in on Allison anyway.
“And what is this?” He whispered. “Al’s packing iron? My God, what is this world commin’ to?”
Allison had just removed her top, exposing the tightly secured belt around her midsection, with a small Walther semi-auto tucked under it. “I wonder if she has a permit for that?”
Just then Allison stopped in her tracks. Even though totally preoccupied with what was about to confront her outside her bedroom, she suddenly realized that James would most certainly have found the camera system, and figured out how to operate it. She pulled the Walther out from under the belt, and pointed it in the direction of the camera. She then emulated the recoil of discharging a round. Smirking as only Allison could smirk, she lowered the pistol, and delivered a very deliberate middle finger at the camera.
Of all the faults James might have had, voyeurism was not one of them. He then switched to a group of cameras called “Area Three.”
“Okay, here we go. That looks like the rest of Al’s lower apartment. And all hell has broken out.”
James’ observation was correct. The apartment was full of FBI and Secret Service agents. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. There must be a dozen. That’s way more than usual. I wonder how that rogue unit got past them?”
James then switched on “Area Four.” Suddenly the images on the screen became very tiny. “Holy crap. That’s a lot of cameras. He squinted to see if he could determine exactly what he was looking at, and touched the top left image. Immediately a full screen video opened showing the lobby. “That’s more like it,” James exclaimed out loud.”
In the lobby were a dozen uniformed and heavily armed men. “That’s our guys,” he said, going back to his whisper voice. He then found the street cameras and began moving them around with the joystick. “The street is totally cordoned off.
“How did those fellows who broke in her get into the building in the first place?” James wondered. “There must be some sort of recording device on these cameras,” James whispered.
Now James was on a mission. He had taken his contacts out earlier, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. “Okay, James, you should be able to figure this out,” he muttered to himself.
James continued to fiddle with some of the buttons, but still to no avail. He then stopped, and leaned back a little. “I’m at least average intelligence,” he thought. “Surely this box has to be simple enough for me to figure out.”
He then touched an on-screen button that read: “View History.”  Immediately the images disappeared from the screen, and a list came up. “Let’s see, Area Three.”
He touched “Area Three,” and another list appeared. He then looked down at his watch. It was five a.m. He then touched “3 AM” on the screen, and the screen filled with all the images in Area Three, but from two hours ago.
“Okay, let’s start with this one,” James whispered as he touched the lobby camera. He then hit “Fast Forward” to expedite the process. Initially there was only a single Secret Service agent in the lobby.  As the video replay approached the time of the explosion, James slowed it down. At 4:34 the camera shook.
“That’s when they blew the door in,” James observed. “But I did not see those fellows come in the building.”
James then repeated the process viewing the rear courtyard entrance. Still he saw no one entering.
James removed his glasses, and sat down on the steps to think. “Think, James. Use your brain.”
He then smiled broadly, as though he had just developed the unified theory. “They live here! Our friends live right here in Allison’s building!”
James’ eyes just glared at the wall and beyond. He sat there for a few more moments, trying to assimilate all the data, and determine his course of action.
As he always seemed to do, James continued whispering aloud what he was doing. He liked to hear his own words as his thoughts produced them—he felt that was useful in putting everything in order. “Okay, so they’re either tenants of the building, or rogue Secret Service.” He paused another few seconds. “Can’t be rogue agents, ‘cuz there were just too many of them. Must live here.”
James needed a plan, and he needed it immediately. He knew that the men who broke into the upper apartment had to have been aware of the private entrance to that apartment. And, therefore, would probably have known that he had entered Allison’s secret apartment. He then grabbed his cell phone, and put the battery back in. He hated doing this, because he knew that it could be traced and monitored, but he had to contact Allison immediately.
As soon as it came alive, he dialed Allison’s cell. By this time, Bernadette had transformed back to Allison, and she was preparing to leave her bedroom. When the phone vibrated, Allison stopped and answered it. “Yes.”
“Hey, hold on. I’m coming down.”
“What?”
“Al, those guys that blew up this apartment live in this building. They knew about the secret apartment, and they knew about your secret identity. They have to know about me as well.”
“So?”
“Look, our cover is blown. If they know about this, soon everyone will. Our DNA is all over this place.”
“If you come up here now, we can make it look like we’re having an affair.”
“Right! How the hell is that gonna go over? A former First Lady screwing around with her husband’s former top aide? I want to be President. Not on the cover grocery store tabloids. You’re not gonna make a fool of me. I’ve worked too ...”
“Al, half the people in the country think you’re a lesbian. Most of them still love you, and all of them respect you. This sort of steamy, sordid thing can do nothing but help. And it will deflect ...”
“James, you can’t talk to me like that.”
“I’m right. You know I’m right.”
Allison paused for a moment. “I’ve got to go out there. The Secret Service has to be going nuts.”
“Hang on for a few minutes, and I’m coming down.” James then again checked the camera monitor, Area One. He went from camera to camera, making sure that no one was in the upper apartment. He then found the latch on the door, and re-entered the Bernadette apartment. He ran over to the bed and yanked all the covers off. He then took a hand full of saliva and smeared it on a pillow.
“That’s my DNA; but what about Al’s. I doubt that she ever slept in this bed.” James thought for a moment, then walked quickly over to the bowl that Allison had used when she was vomiting. He dumped the smelly remains in the toilet and flushed. He rinsed the larger residue out and dumped it into the toilet as well, and flushed again. Taking the bowl over to the bed, he wiped it dry using the pillow on the other side of the bed.
“And that’s Al’s DNA. We’re now officially lovers. Who would ever have thought that?”
James then returned to the secret passage way, securely closed the door behind him, and went down the spiral staircase to join his “lover.” An involuntary smile, almost sardonic, locked his face.
“We are going to pull this off—it’s gonna work!” When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Allison had opened the door and was waiting for him.
It was immediately obvious to James that Allison was not sold on his idea. She looked very angry, but she did not open her mouth. Instead, she just stood in front of him, blocking his departure from the stairs, arms crossed, and with her Walther tightly gripped in her right hand.
“Al, it has to be this way. We need a distraction. We have to get the press looking in a different direction.”
“Continue.” Allison said, still not allowing James past her.
“It’s the old story, ‘Sex Sells.’ Given two stories, a harmless explosion in your building, or a steamy sex scandal, they will run with the sex. In fact, I doubt that the explosion will even get out there at all. The Secret Service won’t be talking about it.”
“You bastard. How could you let this happen? I should just shoot you now, and leave your body in the stairwell until you rot. Damn you.”
“You wouldn’t do that. I don’t smell so good now, imagine how it would be after a couple warm days in that coffin? Just trust me on this one, you know I have never let you down.”
“Tell me how this is gonna work.” Allison backed up and let James out, and then secured the stairwell door behind him.
“This is what we do.”
“Make it fast, I’ve got to go out there and face the music.”
“Right. I put our DNA on the bed upstairs. It will look like that apartment was our private love nest.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Not important. Now we simply have to put on our ‘guilty’ faces, and walk out of your bedroom door. Everyone will assume the obvious, and they will do everything they can to cover it up. That’s what the Service does best.”
“That’s how Bob survived those eight years,” Allison said, agreeing with him.
“That’s all we have to do—at least for right now. Our friends who blew up the apartment know better, but they’re not going to be talking. They have other interests. I have to get to the bottom of that, but not right this second.
“Ready? Let’s do it.”
“Wait!” Allison commanded, grabbing James’ arm just before they left the bedroom. “What do you mean, they ‘blew up the apartment’?”
“The door, right after you left. Seven or eight guys with jackets not uniforms. They used C-4 and blew in the door. They just rushed in, tossed it, didn’t find with they were looking for, then left.”
“Were they in the bedroom?”
“Yes, but only for a minute. I reviewed the video. I didn’t see them entering the building, so I think they must have been here earlier. I think they might even live in your building.”
“I’ve gotta check something,” Allison said, briskly moving to the secret stairway. She quickly opened the cabinet drawer and pulled the stairway door open. With James right behind her she started up the spiral staircase at a rapid clip. This time she did not bother to remove her shoes. As she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped to view the status of the alarm panel and the cameras in the apartment. She wanted to be sure that no one was waiting for them in the apartment. Satisfied that the Secret Service had not yet secured the area, she opened the door to the upper apartment and entered.
With James right behind her, she quickly moved from the closet staircase to the bathroom. There she saw that the toilet paper dispenser had been removed from the wall, and was lying on the floor.
“Those bastards found them!” She exclaimed.
“Found what?”
“The memory sticks—thumb drives, among other things, possibly.”
“Thumb drives?”
“Yes. The sticks I recorded the meetings on. That’s where I stored them. And now they have them all.”
“Why would they still want them? They have the other recordings, and they copied most of those sticks already?” James asked. He paused for a moment, and just stared without focusing, which he commonly did when deep in thought. “They want to have the originals. For down the road. They will use them for leverage when you’re President. It makes sense. Those original sticks will even have your prints on them. That’s what they wanted—real, hard evidence. … Nothing’s changed, Al. We know who we’re dealing with, and we know what they’re up to.”
“I want to know how they knew where to look.” Allison paused for just a moment, then continued. “Those nosey bastards must have cameras in here. Right here in my bathroom. In my damn bathroom!”
“Could be. But don’t bother to look for them, they’d be gone now,” James said. “They would have been wireless cameras, and the guys who broke in would have grabbed them before they left. They probably had covert mics in here as well. Didn’t you ever have this place swept?”
“No one was supposed to know this apartment even existed,” Allison said defensively. “I used the equipment Bob got us when we were in the White House. It never turned up anything.”
“That old stuff is useless against what the agencies are using now. What else did they get?”
“Nothing critical, just some jewelry.”
“Jewelry?”
“Right, when I was going out as Bernadette, I would slip my rings in a zip lock bag, and hide them in here. Then when I came back, I would remove Bernadette’s rings, and put mine back on.”
“You mean these rings?” James asked, picking a small plastic bag up from the floor.
“Yes. Those are Bernadette’s rings. There’s over fifty thousand dollars in that bag, and they just tossed it on the floor.”
“That just proves that it couldn’t have been FBI, CIA or the Russians,” James said, chuckling. “Any one of them would have taken the jewelry.”
“Tell me again why they wanted my recordings?” Allison asked.
“Evidence, hard evidence. Finger prints … DNA. Once you’re President, they will expect favors. Then, when you retire, you’ll receive a package with them in. They really do not want to hurt, or even embarrass you.” James thought for just a moment, then smiled and continued. “You could probably display them in your presidential library someday. Do you plan to have your own, or just an annex on Bob’s?”
Allison heard James’ comments, but did not respond.
 “Okay, let’s summarize,” James said. “Your recordings were not the primary source of the leak. They did not have the last thumb drive until just a few minutes ago, but they really did not need it, because they had the recording through Jerry’s implant. So, now they have all your recordings—your redactions. They don’t really have anything they didn’t have before, except that they now have your originals. Unless, there was something else on those sticks besides your recollections of the meeting. Was there anything else?”
“No, the only thing on those drives were the recordings of the meetings.”
“And there is nothing else missing?”
“Correct, the jewelry is all here, only the thumb drives are missing.”
Allison snatched up the bag of rings, as they turned to leave, but James intercepted her. “You need to put that back. This whole place just might become a crime scene before long. Here, let me have it.”
Allison reluctantly handed the bag to James. He wiped his finger prints off with a damp tissue, and dropped it back into the compartment in the wall. Then, using another tissue, placed the toilet paper holder back into its place.
As they headed back to the staircase, James said, “Nothing has changed, Al. We’re dealing with the same people. We can’t be totally certain as to why they wanted those recordings. But nothing fundamental has changed.”
After they both entered the stairwell, and closed the door behind them, James took Allison’s arm and said, “Here’s the plan. We go out and face the Secret Service, and anyone else waiting on the other side of your bedroom door. It doesn’t matter who’s there. We go out together. We say nothing about it, but our actions amount to confessing an affair. That’s no problem.”
Allison was not pleased about this aspect of James’ plan, but she knew that if James considered it their only recourse, most likely it was.
“The only thing we say is that you will be holding a press conference later today.”
“And what, exactly, am I going to say at that press conference?”
“We’ll work out those details. Just the announcement that there will be a press conference buys us the time we need. We have to determine just what is known, and what is only suspected. Then we will know how to handle the press. One thing for sure, we want the questions to be about our affair. You can plead ignorance about everything else. But you will have to be convincing and contrite about the affair. No pointing of fingers. No denying. You confess that you and I are having an affair. Don’t call it an affair. Use words like ‘indiscretion,’ and ‘became intimate.’ Avoid calling it an affair. And that is all they’re going to be interested in. That announcement will run the weekend news cycle and beyond, and that will buy us the time we need to get the rest of this stuff in order.”
James and Allison continued down the stairs, and entered the lower level apartment, securing the door behind them.
As they walked over to the bedroom door, James took Allison’s hand. At first she started to pull away. James look down into her eyes, and took her hand again. He then reached down, unlocked the door, and the two of them walked out, hand in hand.
Positioned throughout the room were over a dozen heavily armed, and fully uniformed men, all pointing automatic weapons in their direction.
“Get on the floor, face down,” the leader loudly commanded.