As soon as his shift in the library ended Logan reported to the prison administrator's office to request permission to make a phone call, unaware that one of the prison guards was observing him closely. The nametag pinned to the guard's shirt read: Ryan. On his next break the guard left the building hurriedly, selecting an area where he could not be overheard. He called Whitcomb on the same cell phone Logan had used earlier, having abstracted it while Logan was completing paperwork for the library.
"He looked upset," Ryan reported. "He wants to make a phone call. It was the first thing he did after he got out of the library."
"Find out who he wants to talk to."
"There are privacy rules here. I can't—"
"Just find out." Whitcomb ended the call, frowning. What on earth did Bauer say to him? he wondered. Shrugging,he dialed Graem's number.
"Did all go well? You were able to speak to our friend?" Whitcomb was careful to express only mild curiosity.
"Yes, I spoke to him." Graem sounded subdued. "I explained what happened, and he's agreed to talk to his ex for us."
"Good." Whitcomb paused. "Anything else?"
"He sounded… not himself." Still shaken by Logan's disclosures, Graem found himself revealing more of their conversation than he had intended. "He talked about 'making things right.' He said there was nothing he could do to bring back the people who were killed in the attacks. And then he talked about his father, and how he wishes now he hadn't run for vice president." Graem paused. "I think jail is getting to him."
Christian's hand tightened on the phone. "That doesn't sound promising. Do you think he's going to crack?"
"No, no," Graem responded quickly. "Loyalty is important to him. It's the one thing he's held on to. If he were going to turn us in, he'd have done it by now."
"Maybe," Whitcomb remarked. His voice was expressionless.
"Christian, he's going to be fine. He knows we're standing behind him. He's agreed to meet with his ex, he's going to read her the riot act, everything is going to be fine." Graem's unsure tone contrasted with the optimism of his words.
"It's difficult to see how he can convince her to drop things when he's wracked by guilt."
"But he knows it's the only thing that can keep her safe. I think he'll do it."
"Very well. Keep in touch if you think there's anything I need to know," Whitcomb responded, ending the call with a thoughtful look on his face.
After a frantic discussion with Angie, Martha had calmed down and determined to stick by her original plan for a small wedding.
"Don't worry about it too much," Angie said reassuringly. "I don't think Mrs. Gardner would be too thrilled about coming to Texas, and if she doesn't want to go you don't need to worry about them showing up."
Martha laughed. "You always say the right thing, Angie." So far her guest list for the wedding, excluding Aaron's family, consisted of three people: Mike, Jane and Angie. When asked, Aaron had shrugged and contributed only Jon Cardona to the list.
"But he'll be there anyway, won't he?"
"Trust me, if he's there guarding you he won't have time to pay any attention to the ceremony. We can get other agents to watch you." Aaron smiled slightly. "I've gotten to know him a lot better since he took over as your head of security, Martha, and I'd really like to have him there as a friend." Martha had immediately agreed. After further discussion, they had settled that Bill would be Aaron's best man and Nathan his groomsman. Martha had quickly decided on Ann and Barbara as her attendants, though she had asked Angie if she would like to be maid of honor. Though touched, Angie had declined.
"I appreciate it, Martha, I really do." She gave Martha a hug of thanks. "But you'll get serious brownie points if you ask Ann and Barbara. I know they'd both love to be in your wedding. Besides, I'll be freer to get things organized for you this way." She hesitated. "Could I bring Marie?"
"Of course!"
After an animated telephone discussion with Neil Roston, who was delighted to be given the job of designing her dress, Martha began to feel better. He raised no objections to including Jennifer in the design process, suggesting that Martha talk to her first and then send any sketches or ideas to him. "I'll need to see you in about a month for the first fitting," he added at the end of the call.
A phone call from Beth Gardner a few days later finally ended Martha's suspense. "Oh, Martha, Hal told me about your engagement. Congratulations," she added in a perfunctory tone. Martha's thanks were equally tepid; she had known Beth wouldn't be impressed that she was marrying a Secret Service agent, even one with the record of Aaron Pierce.
"I've checked our schedule, and I'm afraid that there's no way we'll be able to make it to Texas for the wedding. I'm so sorry…"
"That's all right, Beth, I understand." Martha closed her eyes in relief.
"But as you know the Suvarovs are really looking forward to seeing you, so we've decided to have a reception for you at the White House the week they'll be here!" Beth's tone was that of a parent promising a child a special treat.
Martha's eyes popped open again in panic. "That's really too kind of you, Beth. Are you sure?"
"Oh, it'll be fun. I enjoy planning things like this." She paused. "It would be a nice change to do something for someone I actually know. Something that's not political," she added. Martha could sense the fatigue in Beth's voice and responded more warmly.
"I know exactly what you mean. Are you holding up all right?"
"Oh, I'm okay. Thanks for asking. But I'll be glad when the election's over, that's for sure." The First Lady lowered her voice. "I don't know what our chances are, Martha, but I'll tell you at this point we just don't care that much."
"You've done a great job, Beth. You really have. I wish I had done half as well."
"Thank you, Martha." Beth sounded slightly surprised, but appreciative. "Well," she added more briskly, "we've got the seventh reserved for you. It's the Friday after Labor Day. Don't forget!"
After offering her profuse thanks, Martha hung up, braced herself and went to break the news to Aaron.
"But …" Aaron calculated, "that only gives us five days for a honeymoon." He looked stunned.
"I know, Aaron. I'm sorry. But what am I supposed to do? I can't turn down their offer. They're going to a lot of trouble for us, and I really would like to see the Suvarovs again. Besides, it could have been worse."
"How? How could it be any worse?"
Martha paused to get the fullest effect from her next statement: "The Gardners wanted to come to the wedding." As her news sank in, a look of horror dawned on his face; she added, "But they couldn't fit it into their schedule."
Aaron gave a sigh of relief. "You're right. It could have been worse." They looked at each other and started to laugh. "Just don't tell Barbara," he added finally. "If she finds out we could've had the President of the United States at our wedding she'll never forgive us." He started to chuckle again.
Martha had been curious to see what Charles would want to discuss with her, having received his message just as she was about to call the prison. She noted something different about his bearing as they sat facing each other through the glass; he still looked strained and tired, but calm, not cringing or defensive.
"I'm glad you came," he said simply.
"How are you, Charles?"
"I'm fine." His eye caught the sparkle of diamonds on her finger and he stiffened slightly. "I see. Congratulations are in order, I suppose?"
"Yes, we're engaged." She made her tone as neutral as possible, not wanting to sound either defensive or triumphant; she was mildly surprised when he merely nodded and continued.
"I asked you to visit because I wanted to warn you."
"About Christian Whitcomb?"
Now he looked startled. "Yes. You know what's happened? Does the Service know?"
"We know how he got access to my apartment building; he was blackmailing somebody who works there. The Service has been watching him for a while, I'm not sure when they found out he was involved. He asked for a set of keys to my apartment, but then he didn't take them. I don't know why he didn't—"
"He's getting reckless." Charles interrupted her with a touch of his old impatience. "This man is dangerous, Martha. He's very intelligent and he's ruthless. He used to be more careful when I knew him, but he doesn't seem to be taking any precautions now. I think success has gone to his head. Maybe it's the money, maybe it's being involved in something on a bigger scale than he's used to… I don't know, but I think you should leave for a while. If you drop the whole thing, get out of town, you'll be safe."
She shook her head. "I wasn't safe in Russia."
"This is different. I made a bargain with them. Drop the investigation and I promise they won't come after you again."
"That's heartwarming, Charles," she replied dryly. "How sweet of you to go to all that trouble."
Surprising her again, he did not respond to her sarcasm. He merely leaned forward and said again quietly, "I want you to be safe. Please believe me."
They held eye contact for a few moments; Martha saw sadness in Logan's eyes, but his gaze did not move. She startled herself by blurting, "You almost look—"
"What?"
"Like the man I married." Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "Damn it!" she muttered, trying to blink them back. "I promised myself I wasn't going to do this."
"It's all right." His voice was low. "We both know I'm not the man you married." He glanced around the room to give Martha time to collect herself and caught Ryan's eye. The guard had been staring at them fixedly, but now he quickly looked away and walked over to watch another prisoner. Suddenly all Logan's previous nervousness returned.
"I'm being watched, Martha. There's no protection here. They can get me any time they want, and if they can get to me they can get to you. Please listen to me. Tell Aaron—"
"He knows. We've discussed it. We both know the risk and we've decided to stay. I'm not going to let these people disrupt my life any more than they already have." Having recovered herself, Martha returned to the reason she'd come: to get her ex-husband to share what he knew. "Charles, work with us. We can get you moved to another prison, and when we arrest these men you won't be in danger any more."
Charles shrugged. "I don't think you can, Martha. Not all of them. Even if you could, they've been loyal to me. They agreed to my terms. I can't let them down."
"They're conspirators, Charles. Killers. What about your loyalty to the country? I know you regret what you've done. Why are you worried about letting them down?"
"You're right, but I don't want to go back on my word. At this point it's the only thing I have left. I betrayed you, I betrayed my trust to the country… I don't want to betray anybody else."
Suddenly Martha understood. "You're letting your father tell you what to do again. Charles, he's dead. You can't prove anything to him now."
Her ex-husband sighed. "Old habits are hard to break." He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his guilt settling back onto him.
"Who do you trust? Me, or them?"
Logan could not resist the urgency in her voice. "You. I trust you," he answered honestly. Looking into her face, he saw that his argument had not succeeded. "You won't leave, then?"
"No, Charles. I'm not going to leave."
Charles pondered for a moment, seeing the rest of his life stretching uselessly ahead of him. Leaving jail would not solve any of his problems; Martha was lost to him, he had no career to return to and the remorse he felt for the role he'd played in the attacks would never leave him. I can't stand this any longer, he thought suddenly. Perhaps breaking his silence would not atone for what he had done, but he knew he had to try. He made his decision.
"Tell Aaron I'm ready to give him what he wanted. They'll have to get me out of here and make arrangements to transfer me to another prison first. I can't tell anyone anything until that happens. When you're ready I'll talk to Aaron. He can bring the Attorney General, anyone he likes, it doesn't matter."
Martha glanced over his shoulder. "Someone's coming," she whispered. Charles had been so focused on their conversation he hadn't heard the guard's footsteps; now he turned around. "Just one more minute. It's important." Ryan backed off, but only by a few feet and stood near them with crossed arms.
"I'm going to tell them you agreed to drop the investigation," Charles whispered as quietly as he could. "Put the word out that you're leaving town, going on another tour, working on a book, anything. Just make it look like you're leaving."
"Okay," Martha whispered quickly. "Be careful, Charles."
"I'll be fine," he lied. "You be careful too."
"Martha, congratulations! This is wonderful news!" Jane's face had lit up with excitement when Martha displayed her left hand. She eagerly inspected the modest ring, touched by Martha's pride in it. "When did this happen?"
"Just over a week ago when I was finishing the tour. Aaron flew to Dallas to surprise me, and that's when he proposed. Then we went on to El Paso and told his family."
"Ah, so you've met the family?" Jane took a thoughtful bite of salad. "What are they like?"
"They're really nice, Jane. I admit I was a little worried about meeting them, I didn't think we'd have anything in common. But we seem to get along really well. His oldest niece is going to graduate from high school next year, and she wants to go to design school. She has loads of talent. I've seen some of her designs: they're fantastic. I'm trying to help her out with that." Martha raised her eyebrows. "Now I get to grill you. What have you been up to lately?"
"You mean have I been seeing Mike?" Jane grinned. "We've been having a blast. I can't thank you enough for introducing me to him, Martha. In fact, lunch is on me. I owe you big time."
"Really?" Martha hoped her tone didn't sound too astonished.
"Really. He isn't wild and crazy—I mean, we haven't been dancing on tables or anything—" Martha gave an involuntary snort at the thought. "But we are having fun. He knows everybody, he gets invited everywhere, and we go! He said before he met me he never bothered to go to any of these functions because he didn't have anyone to go with. And he's nice, Martha. I think he likes indulging me. He gets a kick out of it. When I was seeing George I got the feeling that every minute he spent with me was a minute he could have been doing something else. Mike's never made me feel that way."
"I'm really glad you're getting along so well, because I'm inviting both of you to the wedding. If you can make it." Martha smiled. "It's going to be small, mostly Aaron's family and just a few other people. We're getting married in his home town."
"We will be there, Martha. I guarantee it." Jane had a determined look on her face. "No way will we miss this."
"You know, of course, he's the one responsible for the attacks." Whitcomb made this statement almost casually; out of the corner of his eye he noted the guard stiffen in disbelief. "The public doesn't know how deeply involved he was; they hushed up the worst of it. He directed the whole thing, Mr. Ryan. He even gave the terrorists information about the Russian motorcade—"
"My cousin was on the L.A. police force," Ryan muttered. "He was killed that day."
Christian gave himself a quick mental pat on the back while uttering a few conventional phrases of regret to his unwitting assistant. It's all about the research, he reminded himself: Once he'd become aware that one of the prison guards had family connections in Los Angeles, he'd known exactly whom he was going to approach. He steered Ryan onto an adjoining walkway, allowing him to unobtrusively scan the park in which they'd arranged to meet. No one was watching them.
"All those deaths and he gets off with a couple of years of prison time. Doesn't seem fair, does it?" In the meditative silence that followed, Christian strolled along quietly and waited for a response.
"What are you asking me to do?" Ryan finally demanded.
"I haven't asked you to do anything. But now you mention it, I'll be honest and tell you that he's become a liability. More than that: an embarrassment. Imagine a U.S. President doing such a thing. Unthinkable." Whitcomb shook his head sorrowfully.
"My cousin left a wife and a two-year-old kid." A slow anger was building in the guard. "What about you? Where do you come into this?"
"I? I am what's known as a 'helpful person.'" Christian looked as innocent as possible. "I don't hold any official position, but when certain people need something done they quite often come to me. I have a reputation, you see. They know they can trust me."
"You're saying the government wants Logan dead?" Ryan had leaped to exactly the conclusion Whitcomb had hoped for. "And they want you to do it?"
"Does that surprise you?" Whitcomb responded, artfully avoiding a direct answer. "We both know that when it comes to politics there's much more that goes on behind the scenes than meets the eye. A lot of dirty laundry has to get done, and I'm usually the one that ends up doing it." He shrugged. "It's all for the good of the country."
"Yeah." Ryan nodded in agreement. "I don't have any problem seeing this guy dead, I'll tell you that." He paused for a moment, scowling. "In fact, I wouldn't mind helping you."
"Good man." Ryan stood a little taller under the look of warm approval Christian gave him. "We'll need to plan this carefully; I need your help to get through the weapons search without being noticed. Once I'm in, you're finished." In more ways than one, he thought grimly. It's a pity, really. He smiled at Ryan reassuringly: "I'll take things from there."
