First Family by David Baldacci
Couple had almost died had been discovered. There was a TV monitor inside this bunker along with a pair of binoculars, a remote control, and other equipment and provisions. If anyone had been inside there, he or she was long gone.
Sean and Michelle suspected it was either Carlos Rivera or Kurt Stevens but had no real proof.
“He built basically a gas chamber for Dan and Jane Cox,” said Sean, as they stared at the little house.
“And he killed his own daughter in there.”
“More like euthanasia,” replied Sean. “After all those years.”
The most important issue remained unresolved for the pair. What to do about what they’d learned in the basement at Atlee.
“Everyone’s dead,” said Sean. “Quarry. Tippi. Ruth Ann.”
“Maybe we should just let it go,” voiced Michelle. “It’ll drag Willa and Gabriel back into all this.”
“And rip the country apart,” added Sean.
“But then Cox gets away with it.”
“I know. But maybe that’s better than the alternative.”
They drove back to the ruins of Atlee. One of the HRT squad members securing the area approached them.
“Read about you in the paper,” he said. “Wanted to thank you for what you did for the president.”
“No problem,” Sean said without much enthusiasm while Michelle said nothing. Both were thinking about the president of the United States in a light far different than the HRT guy was, even if they had decided to do nothing about it.
He nodded at the ruins. “Looked a lot different the first time I was here.”
“You were here when it was still standing?” asked Michelle.
He nodded. “I was riding on a bird with the First Lady when all that shit went down. She made us put down here. Said she wasn’t feeling well. Went inside, met up with some black lady. Think she was the maid. They talked a bit and then the First Lady went down to a room in the basement. Insisted on it, in fact. She was the only one who could go in. She did, and then she came out later and we hightailed it home.”
Sean and Michelle stared over at the rubble.
And then Atlee burned down.
CHAPTER 86
THE INVITATION came two days after they returned from Alabama.
The White House looked beautiful in the soft light of a late summer evening. They had dinner in the First Couple’s private quarters. The president wasn’t there. Jane had invited them. After the meal was done they sat in the living room with their coffees the butler had brought in. For a few minutes no one spoke. Sean and Michelle sat there tensely while Jane did not make eye contact.
Finally, Jane said, “We’ve certainly come a long way.”
“How’s that?” asked Sean.
“Finding Willa, getting things back on track. I can’t thank you enough for what you did. If not for you, the president and I would be dead. And so would Willa.”
“Sam Quarry’s dead. So is his son. And Tippi Quarry. But then you knew that. And a little boy named Gabriel lost his mother. And Diane Wohl? We knew her as Diane Wright. The woman who was screwing your husband in the car in Atlanta? You remember her, right?”
“Please don’t be crude, Sean, there’s no need for that.”
“So Willa lost both her mothers. That’s a real tragedy.”
“You have no proof that Pam was not her mother.”
He pulled some papers from his pocket. “Actually, I do. They’re DNA results. They show Diane Wohl is or was Willa’s mother.”
Jane set her cup down, touched a linen napkin against her lips, and stared at him. “I asked you here to make an offer going forward. Not to wade through the past.”
“Why do you feel the need to do that?” he asked, while Michelle looked on in silence.
“Because I know you went to that house. I know you saw that room.”
“Oh, you mean at Atlee? The place that burned to the ground right after you left there? The same fire that killed Ruth Ann?”
“I was deeply sorry to hear about that.”
“You met Ruth Ann, didn’t you?”
“Briefly, yes. She seemed like a nice woman. I’m glad we were able to help you two gain temporary custody of her son.”
“What, you couldn’t think of another way of getting rid of the evidence? Other than burning the house down and killing the woman?”
Jane looked at him with an impassive expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. When I left the house it was perfectly fine and so was she. You can ask anyone who was with me. And you are growing dangerously close to something you shouldn’t go near, Sean.”
“Now, is that a threat? Because even threats against nobodies like me are actionable.”
“Would you like to hear my offer?”
“Why not? We came all this way.”
“What’s happened is regrettable. All around. Without going into detail I will tell you that all of this has been difficult, complicated. For both me and the president.”
“Yeah, good thing it was so simple for the Quarry family. They just had a lifetime of misery because of what your husband did.”
She ignored this interruption. “For the good of the country I am asking that you not raise any issues that might embarrass the president. He’s a fine man. He’s served his country with distinction. He’s been a wonderful father.”
“And why should we look the other way?”
“In return, I can assure you that no action will be taken against you for breaking into my brother’s office and stealing his files. His confidential files, some of which I understand had to do with classified national security issues. This is a very serious matter indeed.”
“I was working a case. On your behalf.”
“That of course would be up to a court to decide. But I never told you to break the law. In addition, I’ve done a little digging on my own, and it’s come to my attention that you also threatened Cassandra Mallory, allegedly blackmailing her. I believe that Ms. Mallory will also allege that you made improper sexual advances to her in her home to which you gained entry under false pretenses while she was in a state of undress.”
“Little Miss Cassandra doesn’t scare me at all, Jane.”
“I also discovered that Aaron Betack apparently broke into my office and took something from my desk. And I think the facts will show that he did so at your behest. Not only will Agent Betack’s career at the Secret Service be over but the three of you could go to prison.”
“If you can prove it, go for it. But getting back to the list of your wonderful husband’s accomplishments, I think you left one out.”
“Which one?” she said coldly.
“Being an adulterer? That one get lost off your little checklist somehow?”
“And how about being a rapist?” said Michelle.
Jane rose. “You have no proof of anything. So I strongly suggest that you keep such ludicrous accusations to yourself unless you want to find yourselves in very serious trouble. He is the president of the United States. Show some damn respect.”
“Respect for what?”
“I don’t care what lies you might have seen on those walls in that house, you have no right—”
Sean cut her off. “What we saw on those walls was the truth. You knew it too, and that’s why you burned the place down. And we have every right, lady.”
“First Lady,” she said.
Sean rose too. “When did you stop caring about the truth, Jane? When did it stop mattering to you? After the first cover-up? The second? Did you just convince yourself that it was always somebody else’s fault? Or that he’d come around one day, take some pills, and it would all be better? The past, the hurt, just wiped clean? That a guy like Sam Quarry would just walk away, let it go? Like everybody else had? Because your husband was such a rising star? Because he’d make such a great president?”
“You can’t know what it’s like to be here, in this house. To always having to be on. To never once letting your gu
“Hey, nobody twisted his arm. Or yours.”
“I’ve worked too damn hard—” She broke off and dabbed her eyes with a cloth.
Sean stared at her. “I really thought I knew you. I thought I respected you. I thought you were real. It was all bullshit, wasn’t it? All smoke and mirrors. Just like this town. Nothing behind the curtain.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave my house.”
Michelle stood next to Sean.
He said, “Fine. But just remember one thing, Jane. It’s not your house. It belongs to the American people. You and the hubby are just renting.”
CHAPTER 87
THE NEWSPAPER BUSINESS sucks, doesn’t it, Marty?” said Sean loudly. “Nobody wants to wait for the paper anymore. They can get it all online all the time. Even if it’s all made up.”
It was midnight. He and Michelle were standing next to a support column in an underground parking garage in downtown Washington. The man walking toward them stopped and then chuckled as Sean and Michelle stepped out into the wash of light from the overheads.
Sean shook hands with Martin Determann and introduced Michelle to him.
“What business doesn’t suck right now?” said Determann, who was short, with thick, graying black hair and a loud voice. Sharp eyes danced behind slender glasses. “And asking people to take the time to read and actually think about stuff? Heaven forbid.”
Sean grinned. “Nobody likes a whiner, Marty.”
“So why all the clandestine stuff?” He looked around at the empty garage. “I feel like I’m in a scene from All the President’s Men.”
“Think your own Deep Throat will help you sell a few more papers?”
Determann laughed. “I’d prefer a Pulitzer but I also keep an open mind. Hey, maybe I can ghostwrite your autobiography. What with all the ink you two have gotten lately, we could probably sell it to some publisher for seven figures, easy.”
“I’m not kidding about the Deep Throat thing.”
Determann turned serious. “I was actually hoping you weren’t. What do you got?”
“Come on. This is going to take a while.”
Sean had rented a motel room a little north of Old Town Alexandria. They headed there.
“So how do you two know each other?” asked Michelle as they drove on the George Washington Parkway alongside the Potomac.
Determann clapped Sean on the back. “This guy represented me in my divorce. Unknown to me, my ex was a cokehead who burned through my savings, cheated on me with the UPS driver, and actually had the nerve to poison my goldfish. And she still wanted half of everything I had when I caught on and filed to kick her out of my life. By the time Sean was done with old Ursula she got zip. I even got her dog. Which was a good thing, because he always liked me better anyway.”
“I think Marty is exaggerating my accomplishments, but even though he sometimes stretches the truth, he’s a helluva reporter.”
“But still looking for that first Pulitzer.” He eyed the large and packed accordion file Sean had beside him on the seat. “Is it in there?”
“You’re going to find out soon enough.”
They got to the room. Sean closed the door behind them, took off his coat, and said, “Let’s get to it.”
They methodically went through all the photos that Michelle had taken at Atlee as they filled Determann in on everything they had found out, from the AWOL report to the story Quarry had built on the walls in the basement to their near deaths in the mines.
When they got to the part about the First Lady burning down the house and killing Ruth Ann, Determann said, “You’re screwing with me!”
“I wish we were.”
Sean also showed him all the files he’d taken from Atlee that contained some of the background details on Quarry’s hunt for justice.
Determann took copious notes and asked many questions. They ran out for coffee and drank it down as the hours drifted by. As the sun came up they went out for some more caffeine and breakfast at a restaurant in Old Town. While eating they kept going through it as the smooth waters of the Potomac sat in front of them and a jet lifted off from the nearby airport and soared across the sky. Back in the room they endured too much secondhand puff from the chain-smoking reporter and kept plowing through what they had learned and also what they suspected. By the time they were done the sun was high in the sky and it was past time for lunch.
Determann sat back and stretched. “Can I tell you that this is the most amazing shit that I have ever heard?”
“Don’t suck up,” said Sean in a joking tone. “It’s unseemly.”
“No, really, I mean this makes Watergate and Monicagate look like teepeeing a yard after a high school football game.”
“So you believe us?” asked Michelle.
“Believe you? Who could’ve made this stuff up?” He motioned to the photos and pages of notes spread over the table. “And it’s not like it doesn’t come without proof.”
He lit another cigarette. “But what I don’t get is, why kidnap Willa? I mean, she is the niece and all, but how could they be sure that the president would go along? It wasn’t his kid after all. No one could really blame him if he’d ducked that one.”
Sean pulled out another file he’d taken from Quarry’s records. They had purposefully withheld this part of the story from the reporter until he’d asked that question.
“These are the results of DNA tests that Quarry had done. These on Pam and Willa Dutton’s blood. And then this one on Diane Wright. Quarry penciled in the names under each test result.”
“Diane Wright a.k.a. Diane Wohl,” said Determann, who had proven a quick study, and had a strong command of the story and principal players already.
“Right.”
“But why a DNA test?”
“It shows that Diane is Willa’s mother and Pam isn’t.”
Determann took the papers and studied them. “Call me stupid, but I’m not following you, Sean.”
Sean explained about what had happened in that back alley in Georgia nearly thirteen years ago, the first time he’d told anyone other than Michelle. Loyalty to Jane Cox had caused him to keep his silence. However, loyalty had its limits and he had reached his with the First Lady. He had told Sam Quarry back in that mine that he wanted to help the truth come out if he let Willa go. The man had kept his part of the bargain, and while Sean had initially decided to keep quiet, after he’d found out what the First Lady had done at Atlee he intended to honor his promise to the dead man.
Determann sat back and took off his glasses. “Then Senator Cox with Diane Wright on top? Nine months later out pops Willa? She’s his kid? Jesus. And then what he did earlier to Tippi Quarry? What a prick!”
“That’s exactly the part of his anatomy that he couldn’t seem to control,” pointed out Michelle.
Sean picked up a photo that showed the image of a sour-looking man in his late forties. “And Quarry found out that Jane Cox knew the butcher who performed the abortion on Tippi and ended up cutting into an artery. The police found her in the basement of an abandoned building, probably where the scum dumped her after he realized what he’d done. He’d lost his license to practice medicine because of drug and booze problems, but he was still open for business for his old friends.”
“And no regular doc or hospital because Tippi might spill what had happened? Or people might start asking inconvenient questions?”
“Exactly.”
Determann sat forward and studied the papers. “But no one checked the president’s DNA?”
“If they did, it would be a match.”
“Well, they have the man’s DNA on file. Maybe this story will prompt one more test to be run.” He started scribbling notes down but stopped when Sean put a hand over his. He looked up with a questioning expression.
“Marty, can I ask a favor?”
“After giving me the story of the cent
“I don’t want you to write about this part of the story. About Willa.”
“Come again?”
Michelle spoke up. “Willa’s lost her mother. The woman who actually gave birth to her is dead too. We just think it would be too much. It wouldn’t be fair to put her through all that.”
“And you have plenty enough without it,” added Sean. “Including very