CHAPTER ELEVEN

“To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one’s family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one’s own mind.” Buddha AAfter all of Smith’s people had left, Ron Rickman commandeered the kitchen and was in the process of giving everyone in the media who wanted a one-on-one interview or a sound bite their chance. Penelope took her cell phone out on the deck along with a hard copy of the two articles that would appear tomorrow under her byline. Mark’s reporters were pros and there weren’t many things that needed to be changed. These two articles—one about Walker being held in the brig and one about his escape, were just the warm up act. Once Senator Horn’s embargo period was us up at noon tomorrow, she would be on the record with the explosive conversation she had witnessed between Walker and the senator, not to mention her interview. With the image of the box of listening devices that had been removed from her house fresh in her mind, she wanted to be sure no one else was listening to her conversation. She called Mark Hatchet as she strolled out on the elevated boardwalk behind her house toward the dock and river. She had gotten the house; her ex had gotten the boat. They spent a few minutes going over the edits required before the conversation turned more casual. “So what’s Walker like?” Hatchet asked. 89 The Fourth Awakening “Somewhere between handsome and terrifying. Oh, while they were searching, they found bugs all over my house.” “That’s my girl. You made someone nervous.” She almost blurted out that Walker had found tracking devices on her car but caught herself just in time. While she had already shared some of the details of her conversation with Walker and the totally out of character reactions of Senator Horn; she had played dumb about the actual escape. She knew there was no way she could explain what she had seen without coming across as demented, and possibly an accomplice. “He said he had been arrested three times in the past two weeks, and that they kept taking him to the wrong prison. If you can believe that.” “I didn’t even know he had escaped from the brig until you called.” “How’s that possible? There are TV crews and reporters all over my house!” “Man,” Hatchet said with a hint of respect in his voice. “Th ey really have a lid on this. They knew that between you and Senator Horn they couldn’t keep the story of the arrest and escape quiet much longer, but they’re buying a few hours of damage control by not releasing any information on Walker. Very slick.” “What do you mean?” Penelope asked. “They kept it a local story about an escape only, and apparently they’re hoping none of the local reporters will figure out who escaped. Let’s hope they stay in the dark until we’ve gone to press. Once that happens all hell is going to break loose.” “What time do you go to press?” “Your stuff will go up on our web page around 11 Eastern and the print edition will start hitting the street shortly after that. You might want to turn your phones off if you expect to get any sleep tonight.” “Good thinking,” Penelope said as she nodded her head. “By the way, I had one of my reporters make a few discreet inquiries to news outlets down there and it turns out they all got an anonymous call about the escape.” “Really?” “Told them that a deranged maniac suspected in the disappearance of 30 people was on the loose and they should check over at your house.” Penelope burst into laughter. “Maybe he does have a sense of humor.” “What does that mean?” 90 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “It would take too long to explain.” “Whatever,” Hatchet said as he suppressed a yawn. “All I know is with one masterstroke it started to pry the lid off Homeland Security’s carefully crafted cover-up and gave you enough protection to fi le your story. By this time tomorrow you will be absolutely bulletproof.” “What does that mean?” “After this story breaks unless they find you in the same getaway car with Walker there is no way in hell they could arrest you. We media people may all be ‘jackals’ but we protect our own. If they start fi tting you for an orange jumper every news outlet in the free world will go nuts.” “Oh,” Penelope said as she changed ears for her phone. “Th at’s why Smith didn’t arrest me.” “It would have been political suicide. In this case the only thing that could make this worse than the Walker story getting out would be the Walker story getting out and the reporter who broke the story getting arrested. That moves it from a few embarrassing news cycles to a Congressional hearing and the Secretary of Homeland Security announcing he’s retiring to spend more time with his family.” “Why is it I’m starting to feel like a pawn in a much bigger game?” “What do you care? You got the big story you had been wishing for and potentially an even bigger one in the wings. Speaking of which, let’s go over your interview with Walker again. Just in case.” “Just in case of what? “Just in case Homeland Security changes its mind and throws you in the hoosegow.” “Lovely.” For the next few minutes, Penelope recounted the interview, leaving out the parts she barely believed herself and certainly didn’t have the strength to try and convince anyone else about. “What’s the deal with the bowls?” Mark asked. “No idea but it really set the senator off .” “Speaking of the senator, we don’t have any conflict here, do we? Th e only confirmation we’ve gotten from him was on Walker being in the brig and nothing on this.” “He or his chief of staff is supposed to email me a release to put what I saw in the brig on the record and there was nothing classifi ed discussed. I haven’t done any work for him since he announced his retirement and 91 The Fourth Awakening Homeland Security revoked my security clearance an hour ago. Where does that leave me?” “I’ll run it past legal but you look bulletproof to me. They booted two senators with Presidential ambitions off Meet the Press, and they’re giving Horn a double live segment in the morning.” “Looks like he’s going to blow the cover off of the Hermes Project.” “That would be my guess too. I wonder how he’s going to get around the project still being classified,” Hatchet asked. “I don’t think he even cares,” Penelope answered. “From what I was able to pick up during the conversation between Walker and Horn, the White House is ready to declassify the project, but they were waiting for Horn’s and Homeland Security’s buy-in.” “That jives with what I’ve heard.” “From your mystery source?” “Don’t start. Try and get some rest.” “One of the advantages of living in a small town and in a gated community; reporters can’t knock on your door in the middle of the night.” Penelope wandered back into the house just as Ronald F. Rickman, Esquire was completing his last interview and her “legal team” was packing up to leave. “I don’t think the Feds will be bothering you again anytime soon,” Rickman said with a laugh. “How much is all of this going to cost me?” “Are you kidding, this is the best publicity I’ve had all year.” Ron Rickman put his arm around Penelope’s shoulder. “But if you really want to show your gratitude…” Penelope pushed him away. “Why is it every time I get around you I feel like I need to take a shower?” “Ooh. That works for me,” Rickman said with a smile. “But not tonight. I already have plans.” Penelope shook her head as she maneuvered Rickman toward the door. “Th anks, Ron.” “I’ll call you about that shower.” “You do that,” she said as she shoved him out the door. Penelope leaned with her back against the front door, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. This had been quite a day. Needing a quick treat to soothe her nerves, Penelope opened the 92 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin freezer side of the refrigerator and lifted up a bag of frozen organic peas. Underneath was a handful of small Snickers bars left over from Halloween. Despite her best intentions, she hadn’t been able to jettison her private stash. She popped one of the frozen treats in her mouth as she went upstairs to check her laptop. The release from Joan Inman making her conversation with the senator and Michael Walker in the brig on the record after noon tomorrow was, as promised, in her inbox. She forwarded it on to Mark. Where she would normally get two or three emails a day, mostly from her kids, currently she had over 50 unread messages. She decided to keep them unread. As eleven o’clock approached Penelope kept hitting the “refresh” button on her browser as she waited for her stories to go online. With nothing else to do, she wandered back downstairs, wiped off the counter and put the few coffee cups Rickman and his people had used into the nearly empty dishwasher. When she came back upstairs, there it was. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw her byline. BILLIONAIRE DETAINED BY HOMELAND SECURITY ESCAPES FROM MAXIMUM SECURITY FACILITY By Penelope Drayton Spence Exclusive to The Washington Post The lead story in the Sunday The Washington Post. Nirvana. She emailed the link to the page to everyone in her address book, before wandering back downstairs for a celebratory glass of merlot. Out by the pool, a cool breeze swept off the Ashley River, keeping the insects at bay. The moon rippled off the shallow water of the salt marsh and tree frogs were happily singing. This was a perfect ending to the perfect day. If only she had someone here to share the moment. “Shoot,” she muttered to herself, remembering that Walker had told her it wasn’t a good idea for her to be alone tonight. It was nearly midnight; well past Joey’s bedtime and she hated to have her beauty sleep interrupted for anything short of a Penelope meltdown. She was a big girl. Right now all she wanted to do was get some rest. The mood was shattered when Penelope heard the all too familiar sucking sound coming from one of the swimming pools intakes. Something had gotten stuck in the filter basket. Again. Damn this place, 93 The Fourth Awakening she thought. Ever since the ugly snake in the basket incident of a few years ago, when she had reached in to clear a blockage only to discover a bloated dead reptile, she had no intention of sticking her hand in to see if this noise was being caused by animal, vegetable, or mineral. Th is meant yet another pool service call. “God, I’m starting to hate this place,” she muttered to herself as she closed her eyes and relaxed. She felt the tension leave her body as she released the anger. She was shaken back to reality when her land line rang. She smiled when she saw the name of the editor of Th e Post and Courier in the Caller ID box. Now he wanted to talk to her. Where was he when she needed a job? She smiled and let it go to voice mail. Checking the number posted on the wall next to the kitchen phone, she used her cell to call the guard station and told Lenny she wasn’t expecting any guests tonight but some people may try to convince him otherwise. He said he understood completely. Shaking her head, she turned off the ringer to both her cell phone and her landline before heading upstairs. Despite being exhausted, in her excitement she tossed and turned and was unable to fall asleep. She had her big story and it was everything she had wished for, and more. But doubts kept creeping in. After the story about the confrontation at the brig between Walker and Horn, then what? Was she going to be a flash in the pan, one hit wonder and slide back to obscurity or was this just the first step to something bigger? Would she see Walker again? Would someone else get to break the Hermes Project story? If she really wanted to be a big time reporter would she have to move? What was Horn going to say in the morning on the Sunday talk shows? Her mind kept coming back to the listening devices in her house. She would never think about the house in the same way again. For nearly 30 years this had been her home and her sanctuary; now this. She felt violated. Did they get them all? Why had she stopped Smith’s men? For nearly half an hour her mind raced and churned before she was finally able to drift off to sleep. . I I wake from a deep sleep with the feeling of someone shouting in my ears. In my haze, I can’t make out the words or the voice. I strain my ears to listen but all I hear is an odd buzzing sound I can’t place but it sounds 94 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin like it is coming from the kitchen. It is just a bad dream; but when I close my eyes I hear the shouting again. Louder. A man’s voice. Michael Walker’s voice. He is screaming a single word. “RUN!”