Chapter 12

Chapter 12—The call Jack was waiting for

11:05 p.m., Sunday December 25

Jack held out his hand to Reginald requesting silence. “Handler here,” he said.
“You’ve got something we want,” the man said.
“Put my daughter on,” Jack calmly commanded. “I’m not talking to you until my daughter tells me she is okay. Put her on the phone.”
“You will do what I say,” the man said.
“Look, you deaf sonofabi**h. I told you to put my daughter on this phone. I’ve got nothing to say to you until I talk to her. Put her the hell on. Right now!”
Jack listened intently, as he detected the man muffling the phone against his chest. “Go bring the bi**h up here,” Jack heard him telling someone who was with him. “Handler won’t talk to me until he hears from her. Go get her.”
For the first time since the ordeal began Jack was starting to think that he just might be able to gain the upper hand. The information Reginald provided filled in some of the blanks. Now he knew what the kidnappers were after, and how he might bargain for Kate’s safety. Then, when the men holding Kate obeyed his command, Jack further sensed a slight shift. He was, however, still far from confident.
Jack also gleaned an important bit in information from the caller when he told his buddy to bring Kate “up.” That means Kate was most likely being held in the basement, because it is unlikely that the kidnappers would base their operation on any level but the main level, as that would make it too hard to defend. That info would be valuable when it came time to rescue Kate.
Jack continued to listen intently. For nearly a full minute the only sound he could hear was that of the man’s breathing, and the beating of his heart. “Amazingly steady—about sixty beats per second,” Jack thought, “this guy is relaxed and confident. I must be more relaxed and more confident.”
 Finally Jack heard the man giving orders to someone he assumed to be Kate. “Tell your dad that you are fine, and that he should give us what we want if he ever expects to see you again.”
After a few more seconds, the weak voice of his daughter squeaked out of the phone. “Dad, you there?”
“Hi Kitten, you okay?” Jack made certain to exude an aura of confidence when he talked to his daughter. If he allowed her to think he was at all panicked, it would weaken her resolve.
“I’m okay. But they said that you …”
“I heard what they told you to say,” Jack interrupted. “I want to know if they’ve hurt you.”
“Not really,” Kate answered. “It got a little rough in the beginning, but I’ll heal up okay …”
With that, the man holding Kate grabbed the phone away from her.
As soon as Jack knew his daughter’s abductor was back on the phone, he returned to his original posture. “You listen to me, you bastard, if you know what’s good for you, you will open the door and release my daughter. Right now. Let her walk outta there. The longer you hold her, the worse I’m gonna make it for you and your family. I promise you that I’ll track you down and kill you. You need to cut your losses, now, and take my advice.”
“Cut the chatter, Handler. I’ve got what you want, and you’ve got what I want.”
That was what Jack was waiting for. Now the negotiations could begin. Up to this point it had all been rhetoric.
After pausing a few seconds, Jack inquired, “What the hell do you think I’ve got?”
“You’ve got the message—the puzzle. Kate gave it to you. We saw her hand it to you in the coffee shop, so don’t mess with me. Now, Handler, my friend, you must understand that we’re not animals. We’re just businessmen, like you. We are not interested in hurting your daughter. We just want the message. Your daughter is blindfolded—she can’t identify us. We are protecting your interests. We can release her if we choose to do so. And we will do just that, once you have given us everything she gave you. You know what I’m talking about.”
“How will I know my daughter is safe?” Jack asked, beginning to think that there might be a solution to the problem. He noted that the kidnapper had a solid mastery of slang and idioms. “He’s grown up in the states. He might be Mossad, but he’s been in the states most of his life,” Jack surmised.
“We do not need to hurt her, if you do what I say,” the man declared. “All we want is the piece of paper she gave you earlier today—the one with the puzzle on it.”
“Then this is what you do,” Jack said. “The two of you—Kate and you—take a cab to my hotel. You already know where I’m staying. When the two of you get here, I will come down to the lobby and meet you. I will give you what you want, and you give me my daughter. That’s pretty simple. You do that, you get what you want, and I let you live.”
Again Jack heard the caller attempting to muffle the phone. “Put her back in the … bedroom, and tie her up.”
Jack was relieved that Kate’s abductor did not deny that he knew what hotel Jack was staying at. That strongly suggested that he was associated with Ice Pick Man. That pleased Jack, because it meant that he might be dealing with a single entity.
Jack also caught the hesitation when he ordered Kate to be returned to the bedroom. “He started to say ‘basement,’ Jack reasoned, “but thought better of it.”
After a few moments, the man again talked to Jack. “Jack, it’s okay if I call you by your first name, right? Jack, can you imagine what your daughter’s hands will look like in an hour, or two hours? It’s pretty amazing what a wire tie will do to blood flow, if it’s tight enough. I’ll bet by morning, her hands will be cold and purple. How long does it take for gangrene to set in? Do you know anything about that?”
“I hope you’re not that stupid,” Jack interrupted. “You know better than to harm her. You’d better pay attention to what I’m telling you.”
“No, Jack, you listen to me. You need to hear this,” the kidnapper said. “Sometimes amputation can save a person who has gangrene. So maybe she will live, if someone finds her soon enough. But I’ve heard that it’s a very painful death. Now, Jack, is that what you want for her? To die up here alone. She’s brave now, but that will change. Once she starts to feel the pain in her hands and arms; once the fever of infection sets in. Then delirium. Then more pain—more pain than she can handle. More pain than anyone could handle—even more than the great Jack Handler could handle. Finally, merciful death. And she will welcome it. She will pray for death. Is that what you want for your daughter? For your beloved Kate? You will find her curled up in a ball in a cold room. You will see the pain in her dead eyes …”
“I hope you’re too smart to hurt her,” Jack told him. “I don’t give a damn about you. But I do have pity for your family.  Some of them are probably nice innocent people. They don’t even know what a miserable failure you are, do they? I will take no joy in whacking them. There’ll be nothing in it for me, except revenge. Just know that if my daughter is hurt in any way, I will invest the rest of my life hunting down your entire family, and destroying them in the most vicious way I can imagine. I have a hunch you know more than a little about me. If you do, you know what I’m capable of.”
“You can say what you want,” the abductor interrupted. “I don’t care. I’m not worried. But you need to think about what you do. I’m giving you the best opportunity you will ever have to save your daughter. You need to be smart.” He paused for a second before pushing the button that he knew would trigger a reaction in Jack. “You killed Kate’s mother, … Beth, your wife. Isn’t that right? You didn’t actually pull the trigger, but it was your fault. Well, now I’m giving you a chance to be smarter. Kate does not have to die. You can save her life—if you want to. This is what you need to do. And I really hope you do it. I would like nothing better than to see you and your very beautiful daughter reunited. And unharmed. Isn’t that what you want?”
“What the hell is it that you want?” Jack demanded of his daughter’s kidnapper.
“I told you, I want the information the detectives removed from your friend’s contact at the State Department. That’s it. Bring that to me, all of it, everything she gave you, and you get your daughter back. How simple can I make it?”
“Tell me exactly how we make the exchange,” Jack said. “Nothing happens without my daughter coming back first.”
“Of course,” the abductor told Jack. “I would have it no other way. This is what you do. Bring everything Kate gave you down to the lobby of your hotel at exactly 12:45 a.m. Don’t come down any earlier. I will walk in with your daughter. There will be another man with us. Your daughter and my friend will wait in the lobby, just inside the doors, and I will approach you by myself. Hand me the envelope. I will examine it, and if it is what I am expecting, I will leave. My friend will go with me. And Kate will stay.”
Jack realized that the kidnapper had the stronger hand, so he decided to take a different approach. “You won’t hurt her. You know that she won’t be able to recall the whole puzzle. And certainly not the solutions. But I have the entire puzzle, and I have the solutions.”
There followed dead silence, for an uncomfortable length of time. For just a moment, Jack considered giving the kidnapper more to think about. He had just revealed a pair of aces, no need to show his whole hand—not right now. “The next person who blinks, loses,” Jack was thinking. So, he remained silent.
Finally, Kate’s kidnapper broke the uneasy silence. “You’ve deciphered it? The whole thing?”.
“Damn right, I’ve cracked it—all four lines.”
“Then tell me what they are, and I’ll release your daughter right now.”
Jack pretended he did not hear what Kate’s abductor had just said. “I suspect you’ve already got the third line,” Jack said. “The third line is “Hawaii to China in fifty.”
The voice at the other end remained silent for a moment. “Your daughter gave us that line. What else you got? Give me the rest and we’ve got a deal.”
“Alaska to Russia in fifty,” Jack said. “That’s one of the other lines. Now, that’s all you get until I get my daughter.”
For the first time since this conversation began, Jack felt like he was making substantial progress. It was obvious to him that the kidnapper was getting some information from Kate. But Jack knew she had only that one line to give up. When he provided the solution to the other line, suddenly the kidnapper was more cooperative. Besides, Jack knew that even the most callous among killers did not want to see their own family harmed. He felt that Kate’s kidnapper must know enough about his reputation to take the threat seriously. Jack figured the kidnapper was at least to some degree concerned about that.
 “I’ll be there,” Jack said. “And my daughter had better be there too—and smiling.”
With that the kidnapper hung up.
Jack sat back in his seat, and stared at his phone.  “Reg, we’ve got our hands full with this. We’ve got to decipher the other two lines, without keys. … Unless you know what the keys are. How about it? What exactly do you know?”
“Not much more than I’ve already given you,” Reginald said. “Tell me all you know. Tell me everything Kate told you about it. Maybe there’s a clue in it somewhere.”
“Kate said the original was on a computer ticket, for a Knicks game,” Jack said.
“A Knicks game,” Reginald repeated.
“Right, the code was written on the blank side of the ticket.” Jack said. “But she didn’t say anything was highlighted or underlined, and there was no additional writing.”
“I think the clue to the remaining keys would have something to do with the fact that it was on a ticket, an NBA ticket,” Reginald responded, deep in thought. “Do you know who they were playing?”
“Lakers,” Jack said. “Kate said it was a Knicks-Lakers game.”
“How much time do we have?” Reginald said, checking his watch. “We’re going to have to get awfully lucky to solve this in time.”
“What the hell do you normally do?” Jack asked, his impatience growing more obvious.
“Usually he would leave a voice mail for me, and it would give the keys,” Reginald answered. “But, as a precaution, he would always put his messages on a piece of printed matter containing the keys, or at least something that would allow me to figure out what the keys were. That’s where I would look now, if I had a chance. Without more information, I’m not so sure if we have long enough info to figure it out.”
“The first two were pretty simple,” Jack said. “Why would the rest of it not be just as simple?”
“Because the meat of the message will be contained in the other two lines,” Reginald said. “It’s all important, but if there is some particularly sensitive information, it would be in one or both of the two lines you have not yet deciphered. Sometimes the keys for the remaining lines would be buried in the plaintext of the easier cryptograms.”
“What are our chances of solving this in the next hour?” Jack asked.
“We would have to be very lucky,” Reginald said.
“Can’t count on that,” Jack answered. “This is what we do. I will come up with some bogus plaintext solutions for the two remaining lines—something that these fellows will hopefully buy. It will have to make sense. These guys do not know whether or not we have the keys. They apparently do not have all four lines of the puzzle.  Kate may have a second copy with her, but it doesn’t sound like she gave them anything—only what she could recall. But they are not going to do any more work on a solution, not if they think they are going to get it from us. So, if I can give them something that looks legit, they just might accept it.”
“And, in the meantime, I will see what I can do to decipher it.” Reginald said.
“Exactly,” Jack answered. “It’s our best shot.”

Chapter 13

Chapter 13—The NBA connection

12:02 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack quickly set about writing down two sets of the un-deciphered lines of the cryptogram—lines one and four:

Line 1: SGCN JNRE SDHC SDCJ MHVW
Line 4: FQOPO PJKA TFGJS

“No chance these two lines would have the same key?” Jack asked.
“No chance at all,” Reginald replied. “One thing to keep in mind, the key would not be obvious on the ticket. For instance, because it is a Lakers-Knicks game, you can assume that will not be the key.
“… Because the code was written on an NBA ticket, you can be sure that the key, in fact, most likely both of the remaining keys, relates to professional basketball—but not necessarily to the game on the ticket. For instance, I’m going to test ‘Lakers World Champs.’ That because they beat Boston in the 2010 finals. … You see what I’m getting at?”
“I do,” Jack said. “But I’m not going to take a chance on this. You see what you can do to solve one or both of the lines, I’m going to come up with some bogus solutions. Please don’t talk to me until we’re done.”
The two men tore into the cryptograms—Reginald attempting to decipher them, Jack inventing alternative solutions.
Jack decided to start with the fourth line. He assumed that Reginald would attack the first line, because it was longer. Generally speaking, the longer a line of code, the easier to crack. He thought his efforts would be best directed with the last line.
Jack suddenly realized that he had never before tried to bogus up a puzzle. There was something about it that ran counter to his ethical make up. “That ‘OPOP’ is curious,” he concluded. “That would suggest we are dealing with a group of shorter words, not a couple longer ones. And, the fact that there were only fourteen letters used also suggested a group of shorter words.”
He knew that if he did not get this solved, or phonied up, and quickly, he would probably just have to attack and kill the kidnapper in the hotel lobby, and that would be very dangerous for Kate.
As quickly as he could he started plugging in potential NBA phrases—most of them involving the Lakers. None of them worked.
“Could a key involve an NBA team not on the ticket?” Jack asked, violating his own code of silence. “I think you suggested it could.”
“Sure,” Reginald answered. “In fact, that would be likely.”
Jack then remembered the player acquisition of the decade during the summer of 2010, bringing LeBron James and Chris Bosh to the Miami Heat. He first attempted to plug “LeBron James” into the code as the key. He quickly realized it would not work. So he then tried “Miami Heat.” He made up the grid, and started to plug in the letters. He was pleased to see that the ‘OPOP’ that initially captured his interest stood for ‘STST.’ That, he thought, was significant, because those two letters were two of the most frequently used consonants in the English language, and were commonly used in juxtaposition.
As soon as he looked at it as a whole, he knew he had it right. “Must stop him now,” he said, almost shouting. “Line four is ‘must stop him now.’ Holy hell, Reg—could that possibly be right? Is he suggesting that the President of the United States should be assassinated? Damn, Reg, that is what got your man killed. And it could get us all killed.”
Reginald looked up at Jack, and then back down at his work. It was obvious to Jack that his friend was not really surprised at the plaintext.
Jack decided that he should now attack the first line—the one Reginald was working on. But before he could plug in a potential key, Reginald sat back in his chair, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve got it. The key is ‘Lakers in seven,’ and the plaintext is ‘from the lips of POTUS.’ Jack, I do believe we have deciphered this whole code. This is just about what I expected. My man in the State Department knew what the group was looking for, and he concluded that he had found it. With the President signing off on the sale of Hawaii and Alaska, he knew that this would divide the country, and possibly spark a revolution. He is stating that the group should implement the plan—and expeditiously.”
“Was he in a position to have this information?” Jack asked.
“Yes he was,” Reginald replied. “If he said that these words were from the lips of the President, then he heard the President say them. My man was legit.”
“How about the fourth line, the one that authorizes the assassination—how could he make that determination?”
“He was my operative in the State Department,” Reginald said. “He was totally aware of what we were looking into, and was a valued advisor. In fact, I think that it was he who instigated the plot to begin with. It is unlikely that Al or Jerry would have come up with it without this sort of input.”
“Jerry, who the hell is Jerry?” Jack asked.
“You know him, he’s Al’s and Steve’s very close friend,” Reginald said.
“And Steve—is that who I think it is?” Jack followed.
“Right.”
“Good God, what sort of unholy group of misfits have you guys assembled? I wouldn’t trust either one of them in matters this important.”
“I know what you are saying, and I agree,” Reginald said. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now we have a decision to make. Should we or should we not give the correct message to Kate’s kidnapper?”
“Look, Reg, we are going to do everything we can to get Kate back,” Jack said, “even if it means giving up secrets. The bastard gets the whole plaintext, just the way we deciphered it. He will know immediately that what he is looking at is accurate, and he will be satisfied. If anything is going to make him satisfied, this will. We will watch him. As soon as he has had a chance to go through all four lines, if I get a bad feeling, I will kill him on the spot, and you take out whoever is holding Kate. She will be just inside the lobby door. We won’t have any extra time. It will happen quickly if it goes south.”
Reginald nodded in agreement, and left the room ahead of his friend to take up a strategic position in the lobby. Jack waited five minutes, and then he headed down as well.
Just then, the cell phone rang again.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “What the hell do you mean by ‘a change of plan’?”

Chapter 14

Chapter 14—The art of misdirection

12:45 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack stopped in his tracks. “What are you now suggesting? You said you would have my daughter with you, in the lobby of my hotel. Now you’re changing the plan?”
“That’s right,” the kidnapper said. “It’s back to Penn Station. Bring the material in the envelope to that same place you had coffee with your daughter earlier. Wait until that same table gets empty, sit down, and tape it to the bottom. Pretty simple, huh? Sit there for only a minute. Call me. Then leave.”
“And my daughter?”
“She’ll be there with us. And we’ll be watching.”
“She needs to be with me before I do anything.”
“You’re not calling the shots here, Chief,” the kidnapper told Jack. “You do what I just told you to do. Tape the message to the bottom of the table. And by the time you get back to your hotel, you will have your daughter. Got it?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Jack countered. “I’ll meet you in the lobby of my hotel as we originally planned. You send my daughter in ahead of you. When I have her in my possession, safe and sound, I will pass the envelope off to you. Everybody gets what they want, no one has to die.”
“Looks like we’ve reached an impasse,” the kidnapper said. “Fortunately for me, your daughter remembers much of the puzzle. I suspect that with a little coaxing, she will remember more.” The kidnapper paused for a moment to let his words sink into Jack’s mind. Then he continued. “Look, Handler, if you don’t mind what happens to your daughter, then neither do I. I will get what I need, one way or the other.
“Meet me at Penn Station, like I told you, give me the rest of the solutions, taped to the bottom of the table. Be there just before one a.m. Your daughter will be with me. All you have to do is leave the envelope, with all the solutions, all of them, under the table just as I said. You then call me on your daughter’s phone, and leave. I don’t want to be able to see you. You need to walk away from that table at exactly one a.m. I will arrive at that time, and your daughter will be with me. I will remove the message from under the table and examine it. If I am satisfied, I will leave. And you can have your daughter back. She knows where you are staying, right?”
Jack sensed that arrangement could work—with some adaptation. The kidnapper would still be in a position of strength, because if he was not satisfied with the solution of the code, he would kill Kate on the spot.
The fact that it would not be feasible for the kidnapper to bring Kate into Penn Station blindfolded was significant. It meant that his daughter most likely would be able to identify her kidnappers. If that were the case, it would suggest that the men holding Kate were now willing to sacrifice themselves for this mission.
Or, it was possible that they were intending to kill Kate? Jack did not like to think about that.
In either case, Jack knew that there would be more than one person involved with the transfer—so that if anything went awry, there would be a gun aimed at his daughter, and probably at him. But he also knew that this would be the best deal he could possibly get out of this kidnapper. And, because it now seemed to be rapidly unfolding, Jack sensed (or at least hoped) Kate’s chances were improving.
“And when you come, come alone,” the abductor said. “If your buddy follows you out, your daughter’s dead. You come alone, to the coffee shop. If you’re a good boy, you will be able to tell your grandchildren this story. Pull anything, and she dies. Do you understand?”
Jack did not respond, he merely hung up, and dialed up Reginald. “Plans changed,” he told Reginald, who had left the room moments before, and had found a good seat in the lobby.
“Yeah, Jack, what’s up?”
“I’ll be walking out in a few minutes,” Jack said. “I’m just getting on the elevator right now.”
“You got another call?”
“I did, and the meeting is back at Penn Station,” Jack said.
“Shall I head down there now?”
“They made you,” Jack said. “You had better stay put. I’ll handle this on my own.”
“How about I follow you after a few?”
“Won’t work.” Jack admonished. “They’ll be watching for you. In fact, you should stay right where you’re at. If I need you, I’ll call. … It’s gonna be the only safe place for you right now. They know you, but you don’t know them. It could get very dicey for you. Might as well meet me at the elevator, and I will give you my key. Someone might fall on you with an ice pick. … I’m on the elevator.” Jack disconnected, and headed down to the lobby.
When the door opened, he looked around for Reginald, and found him standing and talking with the security guard assigned to check guest cards before allowing them on the elevators. Jack did not say a word to Reginald as he passed him, but he slid his card and remote into Reginald’s pocket. Reginald then reached into his pocket for the card, showed it to the guard, and took a couple steps toward the elevator. But before getting on the elevator, Reginald turned to watch Jack as he headed out of the hotel.
Jack did not bother to look around for the kidnapper’s friend, he simply walked quickly out of the hotel, and headed toward the rendezvous.
As soon as he was outside, Jack immediately proceeded to walk right out onto Eighth Avenue, as though he were planning to cross over before the traffic light. But instead of crossing Eighth Avenue, he remained in the traffic lane, and walked toward the intersection making sure to avoid oncoming traffic. He knew that by doing this, he would discourage anyone who might be following him.
Usually this practice worked. But not this time. Just as he reached the crosswalk, he spotted a young, very muscular man following him, even though he had taken precautions. “Damn it,” Jack silently mouthed. Spinning around, Jack grabbed the man’s right wrist, just as he had started to pull an ice pick out of his pocket. In the same motion, Jack pulled his knife out of his jacket pocket, and shoved it firmly through the man’s jacket, and then slightly downward. Jack did not wish to kill his attacker. He merely wanted to force his blade through the man’s clothes, and to cut him a little.
“Are you sure you want to dance with me, you sonofabi**h?” Jack asked. Even though he could think of nothing he would enjoy more than running the knife through to the man’s spine, piercing his lower intestine. “This is gonna be one slow agonizing death. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
With that, the man tried to step back, but it was too late. Reginald had spotted the man leaving the hotel right after Jack, and he suspected his friend could be in danger. Just as the man attempted to pull his wrist free from Jack’s grasp, Reginald slid an ice pick into the attacker’s back, piercing his left lung, and his heart. He immediately pulled the weapon out, and rammed it into his right lung, this time wrenching the handle to the right, snapping the ice pick off inside the attacker. Death was not only certain, but quick.
Reginald eased the man to the street, and in an affected, effeminate voice, screamed over to a bellman, “call an ambulance, this man is having a heart attack! Oh my God, somebody help him!”
As onlookers pushed in, Reginald spoke loudly to the man he had just killed, “I’ll be right back, I’m going for help.” He then disappeared into the darkness.
Jack had already moved on toward his meeting with his daughter’s kidnapper. “That’s one less problem I got to deal with,” Jack muttered as he picked up his pace.
Reginald’s move on his behalf did not surprise Jack. The two of them always had each other’s back. Jack did think it a bit curious that Reginald used an ice pick. In fact, all the way across Eight Avenue, that was all that Jack could think about. He finally concluded that Reginald was making a point—his State Department man had been killed by this man, or one of his buddies, with an ice pick. “It’s just justice,” Jack thought. “It’s fitting as hell. Get the bastard with the same weapon he used to get your man.”
Besides, Jack liked the use of an ice pick in just such a situation. For starters, an ice pick is an amazingly efficient weapon for an aggressive attack. It is easy to push into a man. In fact, most of the time it will pierce even the best body armor, if enough thrust is exerted behind it. It is more effective than a .357, because it will separate the fibers, and slide through. A round from a .357 will flatten, and most often be stopped by the vest.
In addition, if the ice pick hits a rib, it will redirect itself to softer tissue. A bone will stop most knives.
The greatest advantage is that if the shaft of the pick is ground nearly in two, about three inches from the tip, it can be easily broken off inside the victim. The handle is then removed, leaving the business end below the surface of the skin.
The heart is always the first target. And when the heart is pierced, it immediately ceases to pump blood to the brain, and unconsciousness rapidly ensues, followed by death. It has the appearance of a heart attack. Because the entry wound is so small, any bleeding takes place internally, usually into the lungs. That’s why it is always good to puncture both lungs.
Jack took one last glance behind him, and continued on toward the meeting. He now could hope that he would surprise the kidnapper. After all, it appears as though he was supposed to have been killed on the street, and the envelope removed from his body.
But, thanks to Reginald, the kidnapper did not know he had survived the attempt.
Jack was fairly confident, however, that the kidnapper would be at the coffee shop, as a backup plan. And, he thought that he might even have brought Kate with him.
At any rate, Jack calculated that his chances of saving his daughter had improved with Reginald’s elimination of one of the kidnapper’s buddies. Experience told him that there would be a trap.
As Jack entered the coffee shop in Penn Station, his optimism was rewarded. Standing off to the side was a large powerfully built man, wearing a New York Giants cap, and a Giants jacket. He had his arm around Kate’s waste. Jack noted that, as he suspected, Kate was not wearing a blindfold. Instead she had on a pair of very dark Jackie-O sunglasses.
Jack wasted no time. The table he and Kate had shared earlier was vacant, so he walked over to it and sat down. He then taped the envelope containing the puzzle to the underside, and then walked up to the counter as though to order a cup of coffee. There was no need to make any calls—the kidnapper had observed his obedience. Jack’s question was whether or not he would reward it.
Glancing back toward the table as he waited at the end of a short line, Jack saw the man guiding Kate into the chair across from the table from where he had taped the envelope. His first impulse was to walk right up to the two of them, but then thought it better to let the matter play out.
“Kate could get hurt if I act prematurely,” Jack reasoned.
Just then, he felt a heavy hand clutch his shoulder. Startled, he shoved his hand under his jacket and started to pull out his knife.
“Take it easy,” Reginald advised. He had circled around and entered Penn Station right on Jack’s heels.
“Damn,” Jack muttered, “you startled the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I figured you could use some help,” Reginald said, glancing over his friend’s shoulder. “That’s your daughter, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, they’re both here,” Jack said. “I wasn’t expecting you to make it back so soon.”
“How do you want to handle this?” Reginald asked.
“Here’s what we do,” Jack said, developing his plan on the fly. “Get a good look at this guy. Then position yourself outside the coffee shop. Ideally he will leave alone. Follow him. If he takes the subway, or hits the street, try not to lose him. If Kate is still with him, then take him out. Got it? Giants cap and jacket. You can’t miss him.”
Just as Reginald left, the abductor sat down at the table with Kate. As he did, he reached for and removed the envelope. Jack watched as the man opened and read the contents. A smile crept across the kidnapper’s face when he realize he had the real thing. The man then turned and smiled at Jack, who was still standing nearly thirty feet away. Jack took the smile as a signal that he was satisfied with what Jack had left for him.
“May I help you?” the attendant at the counter asked Jack.
Jack turned to respond, “Yes, a double espresso, please.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Jack replied, as he turned back to check on his daughter.
During that few seconds when Jack was placing his order, the abductor looked back at Kate, smiled at her, and then double popped her with a gun he had concealed under his jacket on the table. Because he was using a suppressor, Jack heard nothing.
The first round stuck Kate squarely in the forehead, slightly dislodging the sunglasses. The second round struck Kate in the middle of her upper chest, with the bullet lodging in her spine. Both wounds were fatal.
Just as Jack turned back around, he observed that as the abductor stood from the table to leave, he adjusted Kate’s sunglasses, and then left.
Not realizing that Kate had been shot, Jack immediately made his way over to her. As he approached Kate, he did sneak one quick glance at the fleeing abductor. He observed the man dispose of some items in the trash container at the door, just as he disappeared.
“Kate,” Jack said. “Are you okay?”
By the time Jack had reached the girl, he realized that she had been shot. Blood was trickling down the left side of her cheek, and off her chin. Because the entry wound was that of a small caliber revolver, there was not a great deal of blood.
“Kate!” Jack yelled, as he removed the sunglasses to get a better look at his daughter.
The instant he got a look at her face he realized that the girl he had thought was Kate was actually not his daughter. Rather it was a woman about the same age, size and appearance as Kate. And she was wearing his daughter’s coat and scarf.
“My God, child,” he cried, “what have they done to you?”
Even though his instincts told him to pursue the killer, he chose instead to remain with the girl. Jack knew that the process of dying was not instantaneous. Even though this beautiful young girl was technically dead, there was a good chance that her mind was still processing what was happening to her. Jack was not about to let her pass alone.
“Darling,” Jack said, gently taking the girl’s head in his hands. “I am so sorry this has happened to you.” He looked into her eyes one last time. They were the eyes of a dead girl, but her lower lip still moved, as though she were trying to talk.
Jack then placed his lips firmly on the top of the girl’s head, and tenderly grasped her shoulders. “I will talk to your parents. I will tell them what a beautiful child you are. I will stay with you.”
Jack knew that he was lying to her when he said he would talk to her parents—contacting her parents would raise more questions than he could answer. But he did remain with her until he felt her body stop trembling, and life slip away.
Realizing that there was nothing more he could do for her, he turned his attention back to the fleeing abductor, Jack hurried over to the trash receptacle to check on what the man had tossed into it on his way out.
Pushing the hinged door on the trash bin in far enough to get a look, Jack saw the Giants jacket lying on top of the trash. “The cap is certainly in there too,” he surmised. “That means Reg most likely missed him.”
Walking out of the coffee shop, and over to where he had asked Reginald to wait, Jack knew immediately when he saw his friend standing there that the abductor turned murderer had escaped.
Just then Jack’s cell rang. “Kitty” appeared on the display.
“Where’s my daughter, you murdering sonofabi**h? I want ...” Jack said.
“She’s fine, and you’ll get her back. Go back to your room at the hotel and wait for instructions,” the voice on the other end said. “I have one more job for you to do.”
With that the phone went dead.
Jack stood there for a few brief moments contemplating his options. He looked over at Reginald as he returned his phone to its holder, and then walked out to the street.
Reginald followed at a safe distance.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15—Allison reflects

10:30 a.m., Tuesday, December 13

She abhorred the restrictions the Secret Service placed on her. Not only did she resent the loss of privacy, but she simply did not trust them. In fact, she did not trust anyone—at least not totally. But she was particularly suspicious of the Secret Service. If someone’s paycheck was signed by any but her own hand, that person’s loyalty could not belong totally to her.
Perhaps she learned too much from her husband when they were in the White House. His relationship to the Secret Service was possibly unique. To Bob, the Secret Service was just that—a service. Sometimes he used them a little like OJ used Al Cowlings, to spirit him around secretly.
She had heard that Bob would crawl under a blanket in the rear of an agent’s private car, and then be chauffeured around to private parties. Other times he used the Service to keep people away from him—friends and enemies.
Her husband was able to garner the loyalty of the Secret Service for a few good reasons. First of all, they feared him. Plus, Bob rewarded them well for their service to him. Not only did he pay them handsomely under the table, but Bob’s agents were well known around DC as the go-to guys for girls and drugs—all thanks to their relationship with him.
Allison did not share Bob’s ability to use the Service in such a self-serving fashion. But she did develop her own method of working with and around the agents assigned to protect her.
For instance, when she was ready to venture out on her own, secretly, Allison would lock herself in her bedroom, leaving the Secret Service sitting outside. It was always understood that when she entered her bedroom, she was virtually entering her own private country, of which she was not only the president, but lone citizen as well. No one, other than herself, ever dared challenge her on that, and few ever even challenged the Secret Service agents assigned to protect the privacy of this former First Lady.
Once inside the bedroom (which was actually more like a giant safe room than a bedroom, given the physical security employed in its construction), she would then enter a special walk-in closet. She had three closets which were accessible only from her bedroom. They all looked the same, unless you were Allison. She knew that in the back of one of these closets was a secret door. It opened to reveal a small spiral staircase which led upward—upward to a secret apartment, and to her secret life.
When using the staircase, she would always first take off her shoes. She had some very good reasons to go barefoot. First of all, the space inside the staircase was very tight—so tight, in fact, that it made her uneasy to use it. The last thing she wanted to do would be to stumble and injure herself. “These damn stairs,” she frequently muttered, “I’m gonna kill myself on them one of these days. I don’t know why the hell they could not have put in the elevator that I wanted. I can’t imagine how I am going to do this in my old age. Guess I’m just going to have to move back into the White House.”
With that comment, she would chuckle, sometimes out loud, other times through clenched teeth and a grin.
Actually, she was well aware why she was not allowed to have the secret elevator she wanted. For one thing, no elevator could ever be installed in the City of New York without a permit; not even for a former First Lady. And permits meant there would be architectural drawings filed with the city.
Second, elevators had to be inspected periodically. That meant that the elevator she requested would not have been very secret.
But a spiral staircase, even a secret spiral staircase—that was a different matter. She merely waited until construction was finished, and the inspectors had signed off on the project. Then she hired a different contractor to construct the staircase. That way she avoided having to take out permits, and inclusion in the final architectural drawings.  Of course, her little side project was illegal, but that didn’t matter to Allison. All it took was a lot of money, and she had plenty of that.
Not only was it safer, she thought, to use the spiral staircase without shoes_ but if she always removed her shoes before going up or down, she would never confuse herself with regard to wardrobe. She did, after all, maintain a totally different set of clothes in each apartment. And, not only was it a different set of clothes, elements of the wardrobes were stylistically distinctive from one another—totally so.
The third reason she never wore shoes on the spiral staircase was to avoid noise. She did not want to gamble on someone, such as an overly observant agent, hearing the hard soles of her shoes clanging on the steel staircase, then zealously investigating. No, Allison had no desire to advertise her secret. The spiral staircase, Allison believed, was the key to keeping her sanity—in her self-talk she referred to it as her “staircase to heaven.”
During the renovation of her building, Allison had purchased the apartment directly above her apartment under a different name—Bernadette Lowery. Her status and connections allowed for that. Using her secret staircase, when she wanted to venture out on her own without the Secret Service tagging along, she would lock her “safe room” door, enter her special closet, and head up to the apartment above hers.
Interestingly, also during the renovation, she had the opportunity to buy the apartment beneath hers, as well as the one above. Apparently, when the existing tenants discovered that a former First Lady was moving into the building, several of them opted to move out, not wanting to deal with all the media attention and security personnel. Initially she considered buying only the one above. That, she thought, would be ideal for the development of her secret persona. By placing Bernadette above her, she would be the only one able to hear noises passing through the floor. Actually, she was more concerned about the noticeable lack of noise emanating from above, because the only person ever to enter that apartment would be herself, disguised as Bernadette.
After giving it considerable thought, she decided also to purchase the apartment below hers for the Secret Service to use. While, technically, one agent always had to be stationed inside her living quarters, she knew that if they had a separate apartment it would provide her with a higher level of separation from them.
By far the most energetic aspect of the whole project involved the addition of new elevators. Initially the eight-story building had only two—one used by the residents and their visitors, and a larger service elevator. The service elevator was used by residents only when moving in or out of the building, and for deliveries of larger items.  Workmen doing construction, and the building’s maintenance personnel also used it on occasion. But, generally speaking, it probably was not needed more than a couple times a week, if that.
Nevertheless, Allison insisted that there be three additional elevators incorporated in the renovation drawings. Initially the architect objected, but soon he learned that once Allison had made up her mind, there would be no compromise.
She explained that the Secret Service needed its own elevator, and she needed hers; plus, she needed her own service elevator. She did not discuss this matter with the Secret Service, because she knew that they would insist on sharing the use of her elevator.
Her intention was to share the new service elevator with the Secret Service, as well as her personal elevator. The third new elevator (the one she originally demanded for the Secret Service) she actually intended for the exclusive use of the occupant of apartment two—Bernadette Lowery. That way, when Allison was moving about as Bernadette, she would never have to come face to face with any other occupant of the building, at least not in the narrow confines of an elevator.
She was particularly concerned about Bernadette being stuck face to face with female Secret Service agents. She feared that no matter how good the disguise, another woman, particularly one familiar with her, would eventually see through it.
Another interesting aspect about the new elevators involved the way the elevator doors were controlled. All three of the new elevators could be accessed through the lobby, just as could the two existing elevators. But there was a second door on each of the three new ones. Allison’s private elevator (the one she was planning to share with the Secret Service), the new service elevator, and the elevator she was intending for Bernadette’s use, all could be accessed from a rear parking lot, where the Secret Service parked their cars.
The tenants always had to use the single doors on the passenger elevator, and then walk around and through a secured door that led to the same parking lot. That did not change. Those residents (the ones not associated with Allison and the Secret Service) still had to follow the old procedure.
The original service elevator did, however, open from front and rear. That way deliveries could be made from the courtyard, or through the lobby.
Access to all elevators could be gained at ground level through the use of proximity tags. In the cases of the two original elevators, tags had to be presented at a distance of five inches or less. That feature had been added prior to Allison’s renovations. Nothing changed for the original occupants in that regard either.
Of course, all the original elevators, and the new ones, could be accessed and used to go down to the ground level with the simple push of a button. Any other operation would not have met with the approval of the inspectors.
The three new elevators worked in a slightly different fashion.  They all were equipped at ground level with a biometric reader, as well as the prox reader—at both the lobby and rear access points. That way Allison and the Secret Service could simply place their right hand on the reader, and gain access to an elevator. So, if they did not want to present their tags, they could still use one of the new elevators.
Bernadette, however, never used the biometric reader. She always used only her tag.
The building was equipped with an inordinately large natural gas powered generator. This generator was added at the special request of Allison and the Secret Service. It was designed so that if the power to the building failed, the elevators and emergency lights would still function. Of course, that emergency generator also backed up the power in Allison’s, Bernadette’s, and the Secret Service’s apartments. The rest of the building’s tenants did not enjoy this feature, nor did they even know about it.
However, even if they had known, they would not likely have cared much, because prior to Allison moving in, there was no generator at all. At least now the elevators functioned during a power outage.
Of course, there were emergency stairs. They could be accessed from the ground floor by using the same type of tag reader as was located at the front door, the courtyard (rear) door, and for all the elevators. That was a plus for everybody.
There were, however, additional readers in this stairwell at three locations—those were the doors leading onto the floors housing Allison’s entourage (her two apartments, and the one used by the Secret Service). In all three cases, Allison’s apartments occupied an entire floor.
The lock on the ground level door leading into the stairwell could also be accessed by a high-security key. The only people holding those keys were Allison, Bernadette, and the Secret Service. That means should the elevator fail altogether, all residents of the building could still use the stairs by accessing it using their prox tag.
However, if the reader system failed as well, only Allison’s people had keys to access the stairwell from the ground floor. Those same keys would access the doors leading onto Allison’s floor, and the Secret Service’s floor. But only Allison’s key would also access the emergency stairwell door leading onto Bernadette’s floor. That meant that she, and only she, could ever access that floor from the stairwell.
On the stairwell side of each of the three special floors was a hidden color camera. There was a monitor just inside of each of those doors. They were there so that anyone desiring to enter the stairwell from any of those three floors would be able to see if someone was lying in wait.
There were, in fact, several very sophisticated closed circuit color TV systems in place at her building. Again, Allison had designed much of it. From her apartment she was able to monitor the activities in all the common areas throughout her whole building, and outside the building front and rear. The Secret Service, as well as Allison, could access that part of system.
However, the cameras on Bernadette’s floor and in Allison’s safe room, could be accessed only by Allison via monitors in her safe room, and in Bernadette’s apartment.
Access to Allison’s private closed circuit TV system was also biometrically controlled. But these readers were not like the ones that controlled the elevators. These were retina readers. They were more sophisticated than the others. She had considered employing retina readers at the new elevators, but decided against it for hygienic reasons. Thinking that only she would ever be able even to attempt a retina read from within her private apartments seemed to justify that application in those instances.
There was one glaring exception made regarding ease of access to the CCTV system. Inside the stairwell that led from Allison’s apartment to Bernadette’s was a station where every camera inside and outside the whole building could be accessed without using any sort of biometric or card readers. Allison had set it up this way intentionally. Her thinking was that this stairwell, the one between her apartment and Bernadette’s, would serve as a “safe room” within safe rooms.
In the event of an emergency, she could retreat to the secret stairwell, and there wait until it was safe to leave—either through her apartment, or through Bernadette’s.
Therefore, she designed it so that all cameras could be accessed on the upper landing without any additional security precautions. All she would have to do, in such an emergency, would be to open a small door, and it would reveal a monitor and a sophisticated digital switch.
Below the door that concealed the CCTV controls was another door. That one, when opened, exposed a seven-day supply of food and water, and necessary toiletries. It also contained an inflatable mattress just small enough to fit nicely on the landing when inflated.
Also, the door of that storage area had a fold-down cushioned seat, so that she could view the monitor for extended periods of time in relative comfort.
Allison had done a masterful job at designing every aspect of her secret life, and she took a lot of pride in it. “Imagine what I will do as President?” she often asked herself.
 Allison kept her elevator tag in her purse. When she was on ground level, she merely had to hold her purse to within a dozen inches of any reader, and that would activate the special prox reader granting access at that particular point. However, when entering Bernadette’s elevator, she would always remove an access card from her purse, just like the other residents of the building had to use.
As she expected, she had no problem having her plans approved by the City of New York, and the Secret Service. No one ever wanted to do battle with Allison. Those who did were always severely punished.
In fact, at times it seemed as though she intentionally provoked fights, just so those around her could observe the futility of trying to stand up to her. Besides, it was always lucrative doing business with Allison.
The construction end of the project went as anticipated. And, just as she expected, the Secret Service insisted on sharing the use of Allison’s elevator, seeming oblivious to the existence of Bernadette’s private use of the elevator initially designated to them. Even Bob, Allison’s quasi-estranged husband knew nothing about the existence of Bernadette’s apartment.
The truth is, Bob had for years viewed Allison as one of those proverbial “sleeping dogs.” If Allison was not screaming at him, or throwing things in his direction, he pretty much didn’t get involved in her life. And he certainly made every effort not to antagonize her by involving himself in her affairs without invitation.
When Allison wanted to move about incognito, she would make certain that her keepers knew that she was retiring to her bedroom. Then, once she had secured her bedroom door behind her, she would access her special closet, enter the staircase, and make her way up to Bernadette’s lair. That’s where the transformation would take place. There she would don the Bernadette persona.
When Allison first began to develop the disguise, she had choices to make: Would Bernadette be older or younger? Would she be a flirt, or a tough broad? And if she were a flirt, would she be a straight or a gay flirt? Those were all decisions that had to be made before the wardrobe could be selected.
Allison decided that Bernadette would be a little on the younger side, and that she would be a bit more coquettish than was Allison. And that Bernadette would definitely be gay. Allison liked the idea of being able to be openly gay—something she could not get away with in the White House. Besides, as a lesbian, she would be permitted to maintain a higher level of anonymity, as that would help defend against guys hitting on her. In every respect, Allison liked Bernadette more than she liked herself.
Depending on how much time she had to work with, and where she was going, she would begin selecting what she would wear. Normally, when functioning as Former First Lady Allison, she always had attendants to help her with these mundane tasks. But upstairs, as Bernadette Lowery, she was totally on her own.
Initially she had help putting the wardrobe together. But when it came to selecting a particular outfit, and putting it on, there was no one to help her. She would have liked to have had someone she could trust enough to share this confidence. But there was just too much at stake. If she ever wanted to get back into the White House, every aspect of the plan must work perfectly. There could be no loose ends.
As Allison, she wore very little makeup, and she seemed to relish the more masculine outfits. That was the case partly because she had to perform in a masculine world, out-spitting and out-bragging even the big boys. She could handle that very well, as Allison.
But Bernadette did not have to worry about such stuff. Bernadette had a much softer side. She smiled more, and flirted more. And, best of all, Bernadette got to wear sexier clothes—much sexier clothes.
Allison realized that her thighs were a little too stocky to do much with as far as showing leg, she felt she could produce healthy cleavage.  And that she did with amazing skill. While Allison was not shy about such things, Bernadette flaunted.
Then, of course, there was the alluring hairdo. She spent nearly $20,000 on that one, single piece of the puzzle that was Bernadette. She had researched it thoroughly. She knew that if the hair worked, the whole disguise could work.
Twenty grand was nothing, compared to the millions she had spent renovating her three apartments.  True, the Secret Service was provided to her compliments of the US government. However, she did take it upon herself to provide them with their apartment. It would not have been necessary to arrange for such an elaborate setup—the officers could have commuted. But she concluded that she could control them better by making their lives a bit more cushy.  Plus, by so doing, she kept the Secret Service out of her hair, and out of Bernadette’s wig.
Up until this point, the Bernadette persona served Allison mostly as an element of convenience. It allowed her to get out on her own without all the trappings of a former First Lady. Now, however, her life was taking a different direction, and the effectiveness of the Bernadette disguise took on a new level of importance. It became so significant, in fact, that many lives depended upon it.

Chapter 16

Chapter 16—Allison recruits Reginald

11:15 a.m., Tuesday, December 13

Bernadette was sitting at a table next to the small fence that separated the eating area from museum exhibits, when Reginald Black walked by on his way to the sandwich counter. She had chosen a seat right there so she could catch him as he passed. “Reg. How are you?”
 “I’m well,” Reginald said, quite obviously caught by surprise. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“My name is Bernadette. I am a very good friend of Allison’s.”
“Okay,” Reginald responded, suddenly aware that the handsome woman he was talking to was actually Allison. “And you? How are you?”
“I’m pleased to say,” Bernadette answered, “I’m always great.”
 “Well, Bernadette, I’ll just grab a sandwich and join you.”
“No need, I bought one for you, and a soda. Just hop over the fence and sit down.”
Reginald had no problem stepping over the low fence—he was in excellent shape. While pushing sixty from the wrong side, he exercised daily. It was rumored that he ran several miles every morning before breakfast, but he never boasted about it. He let his trim physique tell the story.
“So, Bernadette, tell me. What’s on your mind?”
Reginald never questioned Bob or Allison about anything. If asked, he gave his opinion—but never unsolicited. While he was caught off guard by Allison’s disguise, he didn’t question it. However, sitting across the table from Allison in disguise, Reginald found it a struggle to demonstrate the same level of respect he was accustomed to showing Allison.
 “Here’s the deal.” Bernadette said. “A few of my closest associates share a concern with me. I’m sure you’ve heard the chatter. … Namely, the seats that have been lost, and those that are about to be lost. And, it’s not just the fact that they’ve been lost—it’s which ones that have been lost, and how badly. It has a number of us very concerned.”
“I understand the problem,” Reginald said.
“Well, my three associates, my friends, and I, have agreed that we would like you to join us for a private discussion or two, regarding our options.”
“Okay.”
“Reg, somehow we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
“It might not be that easy. The public is running scared.” Reginald said. He paused for a couple seconds to gather his thoughts, and continued. “Actually, Al, I mean Bernadette, it’s not they’re so much running scared, they’re flat panicked.”
“Exactly right. And they are angry. The mid-terms were the worst ever, and who knows what to expect with the next presidential election. Even if I challenged and won the nomination, I might not win. Hell, I probably wouldn’t win. I’ve never seen it like this before—you can cut the anger and mistrust with a knife.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“We can’t discuss it here, or anywhere in public.”
“I understand.”
“What I want you to do is this: I want you to put your fine mind to this. Our group will attack the problem from every conceivable angle. But do not write anything down. There must never be a handwritten note, nor a computer entry. We will simply think about it first, and then we will talk about it.”
“Makes sense.”
“One of the reasons we want you to consider this project is that we all know you can be discrete. And that you can make things happen.”
“Who are the other three?”
“I can’t reveal them to you at this time. If you decide you want to be a part of our group, you must let me know after you have had a little time to digest what we talk about today. Then, if you want in, you can let me know when I contact you the next time.”
“How and when will you contact me?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s the deal, Reg. Bob has his own thing going. He will not be a part of these discussions. So, if his absence is the deal breaker for you, then don’t get involved.”
“Is Bob aware of any of this?”
“He is not. ... Now, I know that the two of you were very tight. Bob thought, rather he still thinks, that you are one of the best minds in the country. He trusts you completely.”
Allison felt that by appealing to Reginald’s ego, he would be more likely to acquiesce to her wishes. But Reginald did not respond to her comments.
“If there is one thing I know about my husband, it is this—if he feels he can trust a person, that person is pretty damn straight. Bob is a great judge of people.”
“Bob is a friend of mine. And I have always admired his talents,” Reginald finally said.
“That’s why we decided to approach you. We believe you can be trusted.”
“I would still like to know who the other parties are.”
“Can’t tell you right now. Suffice it to say you know them all. And if you made a short list, they would all be on it. Nobody new.”
“If I change my mind once I find out, or after the first meeting, is that a problem?”
“Damn right it is. Once you’re in, that’s it. Just like with Bob. Once you’re in, the only way you get out is on a gurney.”
“That sounds very ominous. I’m not sure I can accept those terms.”
“That’s why Bernadette and not Allison is meeting with you here and now. There is not a way to know what we will end up with if we do nothing.” Bernadette then slid in closer to Reginald, bringing her nose to within a few inches of his. She had seen Bob do this many times to make a point. Besides, she did not want anyone to overhear her next words. “Reg, this country is on the verge of a revolution. People are angry. More angry than ever before—at least in recent history. … And they have no jobs, and no prospects. This guy just keeps spending money like there’s no end to it. We cannot possibly survive this fiasco without rampant inflation, or worse. And when people start spending ten dollars for a loaf of bread, or a gallon of gas, they’re going to revolt. Now, my fear is that this just might result in a real civil war, not a simple political turf battle.”  
“I know what you’re saying. It’s the worst I can recall. At least when Newt rode into town on his white horse, we had someone we could attack—and we did. But this time, it’s our own guy.”
“Newt will look like a damn white knight, compared to what we’re about to see. Every idiot conservative thinks he’s going to win next time. All our friends are gonna be sent packin’. It’s gonna to be a damn blood bath, if we don’t stop it.”
“Well, Al, uh, you’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll wait to hear from you. Give me a few days.”
“You’ve got two hours. I’ll call you in two hours. If you want in, you will respond with this: ‘I would love to come to dinner.’ If you decide to take a pass on it, say ‘Sorry, I can’t make it.’ Not a word more, and not a word less. It is strictly hardball from this point on. No hard feelings if you opt out. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
With that, Bernadette stood to her feet and reached out to shake Reginald’s hand, “It was really great seeing you again, Reg. We must do this more often.”
Reginald then stood, smiled and returned the gesture. “It was great to see you too, Bernadette.”
Bernadette briskly walked away, as Reginald scooped up the remains of their lunch, and tossed it in the appropriate receptacles. True to form, he stayed behind to clean up the mess. That was one of the other characteristics that had endeared him to Bob.
As Reginald finished cleaning up, and prepared to walk away, he took a look around him at some of the thousands of statues and other artifacts housed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So much of it revolved around the public figures of past centuries.
Leaders would rise to power, develop an overinflated view of their significance, and then die. And all too often their demise would be ignominious. Many, if not most, were summarily dismissed by someone younger, and envious.
Reginald took his time leaving, because he did not want to follow too closely on “Bernadette’s” heels. Instead he took a little side trip, through the magnificent new Greek and Roman Galleries. Completed in 2007. Reginald did not like to visit The Met without at least taking a quick walk through the thousands of displays.
One of his favorites was the “Black Bedroom,” originally built by Agrippa for Emperor Augustus. “I wonder how many leaders were murdered in beds like that,” he wondered, “while they slept peacefully, convinced that they would rule forever.”
Reginald had an uneasy feeling about his meeting with Allison. There was just something different about this one. He wondered just what his outcome would be if he accepted her offer. … Or, if he rejected it.

Chapter 17

Chapter 17—The quorum completed

1 p.m., Tuesday, December 13

Bernadette always wore glasses. They were part of the disguise. Allison, on the other hand, was dependent upon contact lenses. Thinking that it would enhance the persona if Bernadette wore glasses (primarily because Allison did not). The glasses that Bernadette should wear, Allison concluded, ought to be photochromic—the type that self adjusted to sunlight, becoming sunglasses outside, and clear in the absence of ultraviolet radiation. That meant one less thing Allison had to keep straight.
As Bernadette walked down the numerous steps leading out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, heading toward Fifth Avenue, she began to admire her accomplishment, regarding her creation of Bernadette. She pulled this whole thing off without Bob’s help. She did not even enlist the help of her top aides. It was totally Allison’s idea, and Allison’s design—from the secret apartment (with its multiple elevators, and spiral staircase), to the Bernadette persona. She pulled it off—almost entirely by herself. She smiled slyly as she replayed the way she fooled Reginald with the disguise. If she could make it work with Reginald, she could make it work with almost anyone, anywhere.
As she reached the first landing, she realized just how critical it was to consider details. For instance, if she were to take a spill down the steps, it would most likely result in injury, and an unexpected trip to an emergency room—perhaps worse. The shoes she was wearing were Bernadette’s kitten heel shoes. “I have to watch my step here,” she thought, before descending the rest of the way to the sidewalk.
“I just might keep this apartment even after I’m back in the White House,” she was thinking as she turned up Fifth Avenue, and began her trek home. “It might be a little tricky to get out of the White House and get up here without the Secret Service sticking to me like glue. But I think I could make it work. I would simply slip down and out, just as I do now, while the agents watch TV.” She loved the freedom, and the anonymity; she saw no reason to give it up—not ever.
“How many former first ladies get to hail their own cab,” she pondered, sensing a little smile creep across her face. Well-dressed middle-aged ladies did not have much trouble hailing cabs, and Bernadette was very good at it. Raising a gloved hand, and virtually stepping out into Manhattan traffic, she captured the first on duty taxi she went after, just as she did every time.
“Fifth Avenue and 94th,” she told the driver, as she opened the cab door and slid in.
Sometimes, when she was at the MET, or the Guggenheim, she would simply walk back to her apartment, it would only have amounted to an additional twenty minutes or so. But this time, she did not want anyone to know where she had been. Not that anyone would be concerned about the activity of Bernadette, she still wanted to be prudent. After all, she had just met with Allison’s friend, Reginald. Someone could be tailing him.
Five minutes later the driver pulled up and stopped at the corner. When he turned around to collect, Bernadette handed him a twenty dollar bill, and thanked him. She knew that it was just as bad to over-tip as it was to stiff. Twenty dollars covered the fare, and a reasonable tip. The driver was pleased, but not overly so.
Bernadette greeted the doorman with a smile. She never spoke to him, however—she concluded that there was no point for him to hear her voice. He might recognize it. As Allison, she would not be expected even to acknowledge the doorman—that was the job of the Service.
Bernadette got on her elevator, and off at her floor. “Smooth, as always,” she thought.
Once in the apartment, she quickly found her favorite chair, sat down and kicked off her shoes. “Damn these things, I don’t know if I will ever get used to Bernadette’s shoes.” She loved the rest of Bernadette’s wardrobe, but preferred Allison’s comfortable flats.
She slipped off Bernadette’s glasses, leaving them on the dresser, and opened up the small refrigerator she had in the bedroom. Taking a bottle of water, she walked stocking-footed back to her chair, and tucked her feet up under her. That chair, Bernadette’s favorite chair, a blue leather recliner, had become Allison’s happy place. As she sat there, she began to ponder her meeting with Reginald, and wondered whether or not he would come on board.
Bernadette opened her bag, and pulled out a throw-away cell, and dialed her friend.
“This is Bernie, can you make it for dinner on Sunday?
“I didn’t expect you to call so soon. …”
“Well, I’m calling now, can you make it, or not?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“That’s great, I’ll be in touch.” With that Bernadette clicked off.
Bernadette breathed a sigh of relief. The group was complete. Now the heavy lifting must begin.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18—First meeting scheduled

8 p.m., Tuesday, December 13

The thought crossed Allison’s mind to have her group of notables meet in Bernadette’s apartment. It was, after all, one of the most secure places in the free world. But then she thought better of it. Even though it would have been possible to maintain privacy there better than any other place she could think of, once the meetings were finished, the hideaway would be rendered virtually useless. So, she had to come up with someplace else.
Not only would she not hold the meetings in Bernadette’s apartment, she thought it would be less of a distraction if she ran the meetings as Allison, not Bernadette—at least to start out.
She was sure that Reginald and the other three members of the group questioned how she eluded the Secret Service as Bernadette, yet they did not know about the apartment. She continued to sit in Bernadette’s favorite chair, as she considered her options.
She recalled that sometimes Bob would have a friend rent a car, and he would hold private conversations in it. He always felt pretty safe doing that. She thought that she might give his approach a try for at least one of the meetings—perhaps the first. She could have James pick up a full size car, perhaps a Suburban. Anything but an Expedition—that’s what everyone drove in DC.
She thought about it a bit more, and then concluded that even a Suburban would stand out too much, in New York.  The perfect car, she concluded, would be a Cadillac Escalade. No government workers would ever want to be seen in one of those. But Allison felt she could pull it off. Actors, lawyers, lobbyists and Republican businessmen drove Escalades—no one paid much attention to people riding around in a black Escalade with heavily tinted glass.
“That’s it!” Bernadette becoming Allison exclaimed as she sprang out of the Bernadette’s chair. She was not quite ready to return to Allison’s apartment, but she was beginning the metamorphosis.
She had one more call to make. She had to call James and tell him to rent the Escalade.
“I don’t care what color, as long as it’s black and clean, with tinted glass. It should be new—at least no more than 10,000 miles.”
The request caught James a little off guard. Generally James would meet Allison in a restaurant, or at a bar. And when he did, he would usually drive his own Escalade, or take a cab. He knew immediately what Allison intended to accomplish with the rented car. He had been the one who frequently would rent a car for Bob, during the Fulbright presidency.
On those occasions, he would meet the President after the “escape” from the White House had already taken place. Bob would sometimes be under a blanket in the back of a car or SUV, and sometimes he would actually be hiding in the trunk. Usually it was a “special” member of the President’s detail who had spirited him out. And then that same agent would meet James and the President later for the return trip.
So, James knew what Allison was up to with the rental—it was an excellent method to accomplish anonymity. She did not have to explain anything to him.
“Should I already have the other two with me when I meet you?”
“There will be three others, Reg is joining us.”
“He is? I didn’t think he still had it in him. Did you give him any details?”
“What’s there to give him? We haven’t developed any yet. All I told him was that three or four of my closest friends were going to meet to discuss future events—future events in light of recent elections, and what the future might hold for us. No specifics.”
“And he’s in on that basis?”
“Yes he is. I think you underestimate his resolve, and his brilliance. Reg is a very bright guy.”
“I know he is. But he always seems like he’s got a … like he’s got a bad case of constipation. He acts like a Republican much of the time. He thinks like one too. He’s just too conservative. Not politically—in that regard he thinks like we do—at least I assume he does. … The thing is, with Reg, you just never really know what he’s thinking. He’s always so proper. … Being around Reg is like being around your dad. …That is, if your dad packed a Glock.”
Allison chuckled. “We can use that. He will balance you out.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I really like and respect Reg. I’m the one who recommended you talk to him. He is a good addition. I’m just shocked that you got him.”
“Me, too. But Reg has always thought for himself. That’s why Bob liked him. He constantly bi**hed about Reg, but when he had a tough decision, or a tough job, he always came back to him. Reg has an amazing ability to see the big picture, and get things done. I’m glad you suggested we bring him in.”
“Does he know that once he meets with the group, there’s no turning back?”
“I told him. He’s good with it.”
“But he doesn’t know who he’s getting married to, does he?”
“He will tomorrow.”
“Man! I can’t wait to see Reg’s reaction when he gets in that Escalade with Steve,” James said, chuckling a little.
“He might not be constipated any longer,” Allison added. “That just might solve his condition.”
 “He just never liked Steve. … Don’t get me wrong. A lot of people have issues with Steve. But I don’t know anyone who detests him like Reg does.  I really think he hates Steve.”
“I wouldn’t say he hated Steve. I think it’s more a case of generation gap. Steve is a true Metro-sexual—if there even is such a thing. And Reg … Bob suspected he might have doubts about himself. I don’t know—I’m no damn psychologist. All I know for sure is that it’s gonna be interesting. … But Reg is a big boy. He knows what Steve brings to the table. And he knows he can trust him. Reg’ll just have to get past his hang-ups.”
“I would agree with that—Reg has hang-ups,” James said, not able to get the smile off his face.
“But, I do have some other reservations,” Allison said. “One of the reasons we were able to have those great meetings back during the White House days was that Bob took charge. I’m fully aware of that. He rode all of us like a ten-dollar whores. Pardon my sexism, but you know what I mean. Remember the time he beat the hell out of Roger? I always wondered if he did it just to make a point. He never talked to me about that. Whatever the reason, Bob had a way of expressing himself clearly. No one doubted who was in charge when he was around, and no one really ever knew just what he was capable of. Not even me.”
“I’m pretty sure none of us ever wanted to know the answer to that one,” James said.
 “That’s what I’m getting at,” Allison said. “Bob could pull it off. He could take all those different personalities, scare the hell out of them, and get them to work together.”
“Are you suggesting that you might not be able to do that?” James asked.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I do think that you need to be aware of the potential problems, especially with Reg and Steve. We both understand the genuine animus they hold for each other. But we still have to get them to work toward a common goal.”
“I know that. Trust me, if you think Bob was a tough bastard, I am going to be worse than he ever dreamed of being. I’m just hoping I can pull this off, James. And it is not like these meetings are going to be open-ended. We will have no more than four meetings of the whole group. That’s it. There will be assignments, and responsibilities. And the individual members will report back to me, and only me. But, if you see something growing, particularly between Reg and Steve, be ready to jump in. Nip it. You might catch something that I miss.”
“I understand. But I still would pay to see Reg’s face when he gets in the car with Steve.”
“You’re not gonna have to pay for it. Pick me up at the regular place, 10 a.m. Bring Jerry and Steve with you. I will have Reg with me. You will drive. I will give you directions when I get in. We will meet for no longer than sixty minutes Then you will drop Reg off where I tell you, then me. … Oh, and I’m not sure if I am going to be Allison, or Bernadette. Be prepared.”
“You got it, Boss.”