CHAPTER 2
"Whoa!" Jack said. "Someone close to the president has been selling intel to Al Qaeda? How's that possible? How could my people not know that?"
Uncle George shrugged. "You're the one working in Homeland Security. You tell me."
Jack shook his head. "It doesn't wash. If it were true, I'd know."
"And just how would you know?" Uncle George asked. "Do you have someone in the White House?"
"Maybe," Jack hedged.
"He does," I inferred. "He's just not authorized to admit it."
"Be that as it may," said Uncle George, "Jim Kelsey's evidence is compelling. Whoever you've got in the White House—speaking hypothetically, of course—should be advised of the situation and told to keep his or her eyes and ears open. I guarantee you, someone is being duplicitous."
"From a professional standpoint," said Jack, "I feel like I've just been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water—metaphorically speaking, of course. But, despite your conviction that a traitor is lurking in the White House, Uncle George, I'm not about to risk my operative's cover—or life—without gathering some intel of my own. I need irrefutable proof, not just 'compelling evidence.' Do you have access to Jimmy Kelsey's findings? I'd like to check them out myself. Maybe they'll give us a clue as to who might've grabbed Dad."
Uncle George poked the side of his head with his finger. "The key to finding where your father hid Kelsey's evidence is up here," he said. Jack and I looked at each other. "Your father was well aware that I have a photographic memory. He let me read the clues he left for the two of you and then he destroyed them."
"What about the flash drive and his computer's hard drive?" I asked.
"The flash drive was destroyed, the hard drive wiped clean."
"Uncle George," I said, "this all sounds a bit too . . . cloak-and-daggerish—not at all Dad's style. He's always been straightforward: never pulling punches, never hiding in the shadows. Besides, if there really is someone selling secrets to Al Qaeda, why didn't he just tell Jack and let Homeland handle it? Or he could've reported it to the Feds or the CIA."
Uncle George sighed. "Even though Kelsey's evidence is compelling, it's by no means verifiable proof. Your father believed that if it were indeed true and he let it be known in the proper circles that he had evidence, the proof would be forthcoming: Nothing bespeaks guilt quite as much as the kidnapping of the person holding the evidence."
"In other words," Jack put in, "Dad used himself as bait, and his disappearance is all the proof we have that Jimmy Kelsey was really on to something."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Oh, this is just great!" I moaned.
"And what are we supposed to do about it?" Jack asked on behalf of both of us.
Uncle George sat up straight and looked at Jack in surprise. "Well, I would've thought that was obvious: look for the evidence and try to find out what happened to your father."
"Without a single clue as to where to begin?" I asked, agitated.
"I told you," said Uncle George, poking his head again, "everything you need in order to find the location of the evidence is right up here."
"The heck with that," Jack said. "We oughta talk directly to Jimmy Kelsey himself. He's bound to remember at least some of what he collected. . . Of course, if that would endanger his life, I could have him put in protective custody, or witness protection or . . . something."
"I'm afraid it's too late for that," said Uncle George. "Jimmy has disappeared, too."
"Oh, great!" I moaned again, rubbing my forehead with the thumb and fingers of my right hand.
"So, we have two missing persons whose disappearances may or may not be linked to treasonous acts purportedly perpetrated by someone in the White House; and we have no physical evidence to support anything!" Jack jumped out of his seat and hit the wing of the chair with his fist. "That's just great. So, what do we do now?—sit here and take notes while you dictate Dad's clues to us?"
"Why not? It won't take long: there's not much to dictate. But, it's all in code, so deciphering it could be difficult. Besides," Uncle George asked with a shrug, "do you boys have anything better to do?"
"Yes, Uncle George, I do!" said Jack fervently. "I have a country to protect! I don't have time to screw around with nonexistent paperwork-slash-evidence that's hidden in a secret location! If there really is a traitor in the White House—and I'm not convinced that's true—we don't have time to take dictation while you give us a line-by-line recitation of how and where to find Jimmy Kelsey's supposed evidence!"
"Uh, bro," I broke in, "I took some shorthand in high school—mostly to meet girls . . . you know. I could take the dictation while you run over to the paper and see if anyone there knows anything. There might still be a hard copy of the evidence somewhere. Maybe Jimmy Kelsey didn't obey Dad's orders and he actually kept a copy somewhere—just in case. Maybe that's why he was kidnapped, too."
"That's a lot of 'maybes,' but you do have a point. All right," Jack said, picking up his "cover" from where he'd placed it on the coffee table and putting it back on his head. "You stay here and take dictation from Uncle George and I'll head over to the Standard-Gazette and see if anybody there knows anything. Uncle George, any ideas who I might talk to?"
"Yes. A woman named Darla Finley. She's been Editor-in-Chief at the paper for a few months now. She is, in fact, the one who called me when she didn't hear anything from Pete for three days. She knew we'd had dinner together and wondered if he'd said anything to me about where he planned to go."
"How much does she know?" Jack asked.
"Not much, and it's probably better that way. Your father insisted that she not peruse the documents she downloaded from Jimmy Kelsey's computer: no sense in putting her life in jeopardy, too. But she can help you look through your father's files and see if there are any clues as to what might've happened to him."
Jack nodded. "Darla Finley. Got it." He turned to go.
"Oh, and Jack . . ." said Uncle George slyly.
Jack looked at the old man expectantly, not saying anything.
"She's a widow and close to your age . . ."
"Goodbye, Uncle George," said my brother. "Don't wait up."
"So, uh, Uncle George," I said as Jack was leaving, "do you have a girl for me, too?"
