Voice in the Wilderness Page 2
“I know you have, sir. But I needed to know if the defense networks had been compromised. So, I went up to ground level and—”
“Don’t tell me you examined POTUS’s laptop. Young lady, you—”
“You need to listen for a moment. Hannan has a newly installed network jack hidden under the desk in his study. Plug into it and you’re on the defense networks. I tested it. But someone working below had to configure that machine into the authorized address tables or it wouldn’t have had access. That means Hannan has at least one accomplice in my group. He has classified network access, and he has the military communications software to make use of it loaded on his laptop.”
The senator frowned. “Which means?”
“It means he can communicate directly with any military organization at any level, anywhere in the world. Are you getting the picture, senator?”
His squinting eyes said he wasn’t. If he wasn’t such a good friend, she’d be screaming at him. “You’re the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee, for goodness sake.”
He recoiled from her insult. But, the wide-eyed expression on his face said the lights had come on. “POTUS must want direct control. He wants—”
“He wants to use his authority to intimidate the troops. In principle, isn’t that what Hitler did? Used authority to coerce people into doing what they might not otherwise do?”
“Does Hannan know that you—”
A tune played on KC’s cell, an incoming message. “Just a second.”
She pulled the cell from her shorts pocket, opened the message, and nearly choked.
Hannan just declared U a domestic terrorist based on the laptop incident. Says UR dangerous. He’s not talking catch. U need to disappear, ASAP. Take care, PL. B.
“He knows what I did and …” She croaked out the words through her constricted throat. “I think he means to kill me.”
“Kill you? Not even this president …” The senator’s eyes pinched hard until his bushy eyebrows touched. “Hannan …” He shook his head. “How do you know he wants to kill you?”
“That message just told me I’m now a domestic terrorist, and someone in a position to know says Hannan isn’t planning to catch me, just … eliminate me.”
“How credible is this person?”
She peered into the senator’s eyes. “He probably heard it straight from Hannan’s mouth. Look, he risked his job and probably his life to warn me. I believe him.”
The senator’s eyes softened. “I never thought this would involve you, but now it does. Don’t repeat what I’m about to tell you, KC. Do you understand?”
She nodded, but she felt like running. She didn’t want to hear any more threatening news. KC only wanted to leave this place where truth had become only what powerful people wanted it to be, while everyone else had to pay the consequences.
Richards placed his foot on the low stone bench and leaned on his knee. “My committee has launched an investigation of President Hannan’s abuses of authority and blatant violations of the constitution, an investigation that could end with his impeachment and, hopefully, removal from office.”
Ordinarily, this news would have called for a celebration. But everything ordinary had vanished with the arrival of a text message. “I love this country. That’s why I took my job with DISA. I’ll testify at the hearings, if you need me.”
The senator studied her face for a moment, as if trying to read her reaction. “Because of the investigation, I’ve received some threats. Normally, I ignore such things. But with Hannan and what you’ve just encountered ...” He shook his head. “Your testimony, as part of my investigation, increases the odds of Hannan’s removal from office. Depending on what he’s done, maybe it will send him to prison. But you have to be alive to testify. If he’s caught wind of—I don’t know how to say this any other way.” The senator pulled his foot from the bench, stepped closer to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “KC, whoever warned you is right. I think you need to take this threat seriously, very seriously.”
KC’s heart pounded out the realization of her danger. Hannan was like a venomous snake, the ones in her nightmares. That thought sent her mind back seven years to another viper, the rattlesnake coiled inches from her bare leg, the one her dearest childhood friend, Brock Daniels, had killed when he saved her life.
At this moment, she would give nearly anything to have Brock standing beside her with his arm draped over her shoulders. Thoughts of him didn’t come as often now, but when they came, they completely consumed her.
“… hide, understand, KC?”
She needed to focus. She’d missed part of what Richards had said. “You think I need to run and hide, don’t you?”
“Do you know a place to hide where no one can find you?”
“I … I think so. But it’s 2,300 miles away.”
“The farther away the better. Now, here’s what you need to do.”
Over the next ten minutes, Senator Richards told her how to escape the Beltway and gave KC instructions for traveling so that detection was unlikely. His directions about getting new identification and avoiding video were detailed. What all did they discuss in intelligence committee meetings … covert operators?
When he finished, KC’s mind was a slurry of pureed thoughts. His advice went in but, with panic now pounding in her chest, could she pull anything meaningful from the mixture?
“Don’t go back to your apartment, not for any reason. They’ll be watching it. Is there someplace you can spend the night?”
“Yes. I can go to—”
“Don’t tell me where. Just get there like I told you. Withdraw as much cash as you can and leave on the heels of the commute tomorrow. Got it?”
“I think so.”
“Buy a cheap, disposable cell phone and call me when you see the message about the hearing on my senate web page. I’ll be praying for you, KC.”
“Thanks.” Maybe his prayers would accomplish more than hers. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure why she even bothered.
He squeezed her shoulder. “You need to go now. I’ll wait here a few minutes so no one sees us together. Take care, young lady.”
She hugged the senator. “You take care, too. And nail that rattlesnake, Hannan.”
KC turned and strode into the main chamber of the memorial. It was empty.
Music from the concert played in the distance.
She looked down the steps, surveying the lighted area in front of the memorial. The tourists had all left. KC scurried down the steps and ran into the darkness to her left, toward the Rock Creek Trail.
A loud crack sounded behind her. It resonated in the Lincoln Memorial’s chambers, jolting KC with its sound and significance. Someone had fired a gun inside the memorial.
She leapt to her left and hid behind a bush. KC looked back at the entrance, trying to slow her panting to normal breathing.
A dark-clad figure exited the main chamber and ran to the south, away from KC, jumped down to the grass, and then leaped the remaining ten or fifteen feet down into the bushes and trees on the far side of the memorial.
Had that person seen her while she was inside the memorial? If so, the shooter could have killed them both. Did that mean she wasn’t a target? No. Only that she wasn’t this killer’s target at this time.
Tears trickled down her cheek. The man who had mentored her, watched out for her for the past three years, was probably dead. It had been Senator Richards, not her, that met Lincoln’s fate tonight. But if Hannan had already sent someone after her, there was still time for KC to die before morning.
Regardless, this was not a time for tears. She wiped them away and focused on reaching a Metro station to get to her friend’s apartment.
Boarding Metro here in DC wasn’t a good idea. She might be spotted. Boarding on the Virginia side would be safer. Maybe in Rosslyn.
The Arlington Bridge was her best route to get to Rosslyn Metro Station on foot, but the shooter had disappeared near the north end of that bridge. She would take the Roosevelt Bridge, instead. Regardless, she needed to get away from the Lincoln Memorial before it became an official crime scene.
A siren sounded somewhere to the north. It grew louder, revving her heart near its red line.
Her adrenaline rush turned to explosive energy. She ran down the Rock Creek Trail and up onto the Roosevelt Bridge. As she ran the bridge, between KC’s heavy breaths and the occasional noise of a passing car, from somewhere behind her, sounds reached her ears … the cadence of running feet.
The sounds grew louder.
If the running feet caught her, KC’s evidence would die with her.
Then Hannan wins and America dies.
It couldn’t end like that. She wouldn’t let it.
KC broke into an all-out sprint.
Only 2,300 miles to go.
Chapter 2
A small village near Chisec, 290 klicks north of Guatemala City.
The moment Brock stepped from his tent into the humid Guatemalan morning air, Jeff and Allie cornered him.
Trapped.
For the past week, Brock had managed to avoid this conversation with his fellow team leaders as they rode herd on an energetic bunch of high schoolers on a short-term mission trip.
Brock scanned the metal-roofed, wooden, village huts to his left and the young people’s tents to his right. The fourth adult member of the team, Julia Weiss, was conspicuously absent. He had politely avoided the cute, petite brunette who had an obvious interest in him. That would be the subject of this war of words and wits. Brock resigned himself to the inevitable and waited.
“Mi Amor, I’ve got this.” Jeff waved Allie off. “Why don’t you and Julia get the kids up for breakfast?”
“You sure, Jeff?” Allie’s large brown eyes questioned him as her fingers played with strands of her long, dark hair. With her Hispanic heritage, Allie looked like a Spanish rancheros daughter, the one the cowboys fought over in old western movies. Jeff was a lucky man.
“Yeah. This is guy talk. I’ve got it covered.” The tall former Olympic decathlete, with brains and brawn, made a formidable opponent.
“You blow this and you’re in big trouble.” Allie’s smile lacked much of its usual warmth as she turned and sauntered toward the young people’s tents.
Jeff plopped a hand on Brock’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with Julia?”
Right to the issue. That was Jeff. “I didn’t know anything was wrong with her. Enlighten me.”
“That’s precisely what I intend to do. Why don’t you and I take a morning walk?”
Brock would stall, stonewall, and play stupid, anything to cause Jeff to give up or cut short this inquisition. “A morning walk? Will that fix whatever’s wrong with Julia?”
“Could be.” Jeff gave him a smirky smile.
He was a good friend, but Brock had never told Jeff about the summers at Crooked River Ranch, about KC, or the devastating letter. Maybe it was time. Maybe Jeff could help Brock with his dilemma. Maybe he could even—no, too many maybes.
Jeff nudged Brock and the two started up the dirt trail following the small stream toward its source, a mountain shrouded in mist, the remnant of last evening’s showers. The mountain would soon be uncovered, exposed to the hot Guatemalan sun, just as Jeff’s questions would expose events from Brock’s shrouded past.
“Brock, she’s done everything but throw herself at you. I think you two would—”
Brock cut him off. “There’s someone else.” There. For better or worse, he had finally admitted it.
“Bro …” Jeff’s eyebrows rose as he cocked his head. “You been holding out on me?”
“Not exactly. This story starts before I met you … about thirteen years—”
A scream stopped Brock. It came from the village. “Allie must have seen another big spider.”
“That wasn’t Allie.” Jeff whirled and sprinted back down the trail.
Brock was fast, but Jeff, a world-class athlete, pulled away from Brock until they rounded a turn, bringing the village into view. Jeff slowed and Brock caught him.
Julia ran out the door of a rusty-roofed hut and pressed a hand over her heart.
Allie and a group of teens ran toward Julia, but she shoved her palm at them. “Stay back,” she warned, then turned toward Jeff and Brock. “Brock, hurry. It’s little Itzy.”
Jeff was in the lead. He was the leader of this team. But Julia’s eyes had focused on Brock.
Like it or not, Julia was placing her trust in him. It wasn’t a good thing for anybody to do, to depend on someone who let people down, someone who always came up short. But Brock couldn’t ignore the plea to help a seven-year-old orphan who had quickly attached herself to Julia.
“I’ll help her, Jeff.” Brock trotted up to the small hut that housed five people. “What’s wrong with Itzy?”
Julia’s wide eyes and body language said she was on the verge of panic. “She got sick yesterday. Said she had a splitting headache and went to bed. But now she has a high fever. When I walked in, she spewed vomit clear across the hut.”
Brock stepped through the doorway.
“Brock, whatever this is it scares me. Don’t expose yourself.”
“I’m just going to take a look. If it’s some airborne virus, we’re probably all exposed already. If not … well, I’ll be careful.”
Brock waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness inside.
The tiny girl lay on a mat on the floor, moaning, holding her stomach with one hand, her head with the other. The contents of her stomach lay splattered in a line three feet across the floor.
The girl knew a bit of English, probably from visiting missionaries. He needed to see her eyes. “Itzy, can you open your eyes and look at me.”
In a couple of seconds, her eyes opened, blinked, then focused on him. They looked like blood might drip from them any second.
Brock’s gut tightened as he recognized the extent to which the disease had ravaged Itzy’s body. “Show me where you hurt.”
Her tiny hands patted her head and stomach. On her head, above her hairline, several sutures created a jagged line in the girl’s beautiful hair. Who had treated her?
“We’re going to get some help for you. Julia’s praying for you, Itzy.”
He backed out of the hut and turned to face Julia. “Have you touched her?”
Julia stared at him, her eyes full of worry, searching his for answers. “This is more than just stomach flu isn’t it?”
Instead of replying, Brock waved at Jeff. “Jeff, come here. You need to hear this. We’ve got some decisions to make.” He waited until Jeff stopped beside them. “I’ve never heard of it being in Central America, but this looks like some kind of hemorrhagic fever.”
“You sure, bro?” Jeff spoke in the low monotone he reserved for moments of crisis.
“Remember that short-term trip to Africa I almost went on?”
Jeff nodded.
“Before my trip was cancelled, I spent some time with a missionary home on furlough from Africa. He saw an Ebola outbreak and described it in gruesome detail. I know they’ve never had an outbreak in Central America, but Itzy’s symptoms, the projectile vomiting—it all fits the pattern. And it’s spread by contact with body fluids.”
Brock turned toward Julia. “I need to ask you again. Have you touched Itzy?”
“I …” Julia stared at the doorway for a moment, then at Brock. “I may have touched things she touched, but not her.”
“When she vomited, did—”
“No. I was on the other side of her bed.”
“How did you know she had a fever?”
“Itzy’s foster mother said she was hot. The family left the hut this morning when they saw how sick she was. It frightened them and then they came and told me.”
“I need to talk to Itzy’s foster mom.”
A short woman with long, straight black hair stepped from behind Allie and peered at Brock. “You need talk me?”
At least she knew some English. “Yes. Itzy’s forehead.” Brock traced a line on his own head. “How did she hurt her head?”
“Fall.” The woman pointed toward a large rock at the corner of the hut. “Rock.”
Brock made a sewing motion with his hand. “Who sewed it up?”
“Doctor. Clinic.” She pointed down the stream, below the village.
The cut was healing well. But how long ago had it been? “When?” Brock lifted a finger at a time. “Four days? Five? Six?”
The woman raised all of her fingers.
Brock did the same. “Ten days.”
The woman smiled. “Yes. Ten.”
About right for the incubation period. They had only one choice for seeking immediate medical care to save the little girl’s life. It was a risky choice for more reasons than the risk of exposure to the disease.
“Brock …” Julia touched his arm. “You said when you took a walk yesterday an armed guard stopped you at that clinic and asked you to leave. But they must treat sick or injured villagers if they sewed up Itzy’s cut.”
“Yeah. But they also run people off with their assault rifles.”
“We’ve got to help her.” Tears welled in Julia’s eyes.
Jeff emptied his lungs with a loud blast and shook his head. “We’re responsible for our kids’ safety. If there’s even a remote possibility of an outbreak of something like hemorrhagic fever, I’ve got to get them out of here.”
The tears flowed freely down Julia’s cheeks now.
Brock’s resistance crumbled. “I’ll take Itzy to the clinic.”
Hemorrhagic fever, projectile vomiting and all. He couldn’t believe he’d said that. Brock looked at Julia’s face again and saw the relief his words had brought. He’d made the right decision. Now he needed to figure out how to take Itzy without risking exposure or hurting her in the process. The clinic was a mile down the trail.
“Bro, you sure about this?”
Brock met Jeff’s intense gaze and nodded.
“Okay. I’ve got the satellite phone that Allie’s dad donated. I’m calling for transportation to the airport. Our emergency plan was to use the guy here in Chisec. That’s better than waiting six hours for someone from Guatemala City.” Jeff waved Allie toward the young people’s tents. “Allie, tell our kids to get packed and be ready to leave in an hour. Hope the guy with the vehicles has the day open on his schedule.”