Margaret continued, “We’ve got a picture now of your situation. I’d like to talk to you about the next steps. First, I noticed that your husband, Fortis—”
“We all call him Fort.”
“Okay. Fort didn’t come during visiting day yesterday. No big deal. People have busy schedules. But I just wanted to ask some more about him.”
“Well, we talked in the interview already about Fort.”
Margaret was nodding softly. But Darlene saw that she wasn’t buying it. She liked Margaret. She had the wonderful knack of getting down to the truth of Darlene’s drug addiction without making it too painful. In other words, she used anesthetic before doing emotional surgery. That was really important to Darlene. She thought, I’ve been using drugs to numb the anxiety and fear about so many things. Seeking comfort from pain whenever I could. After losing Jimmy I needed to escape from anything that hurt me. I know that now. But, what do I tell her about Fort…?
“So your husband…”
Darlene decided it was time to blurt it out, so she said, “Fort hasn’t bought into this whole counseling thing. He’s very traditional. A private man. He’s not convinced I really have an addiction. He doesn’t like the idea of a group program where people tell other people their problems. His attitude is—just stop taking the pills. Plus, there is the other thing…”
“Other thing?”
“The fact that this is a Christian drug rehab center. Oh, my, he really does have a problem with that.” Darlene gave a little chuckle. “Fort says that ‘too many people use God as the front man for all their problems.’”
“But you came here anyway?”
“Yes. My good friend Abby Jordan recommended it. I’m so glad she did. Abby is one of those ‘glow-girl Christians.’ That’s what I call it. You know, they have an inner glow. Like the power light on your curling iron that lets you know it’s hot and ready to go. Anyway, she’s got a power inside that other people don’t have. I’d love to have that.”
“Well, we talked about that in the session last night, right?”
“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. It’s a little like what Abby used to say to me. Even before she found out about my addiction. Not just solving a problem…but transformation. ”
“And remember how that happens?”
“You said it was through the transforming power of Jesus Christ.”
Margaret said, “Right. I was an addict myself. Jesus changed my life. Completely.”
That is where Margaret stopped talking. She smiled, leaned back. For a moment no one said a word. Then Darlene, whose brow was wrinkled in thought, looked up and spoke.
“You know what? I want that too.”
“You can.”
“I don’t know. I’ve felt so lost since Jimmy died. I don’t even know how to begin.”
“Just like there are steps to recovery, there are steps to getting right with God. First recognize that you—like all of us—are a sinner. Not a popular phrase anymore. Not politically correct. But eternally true. The Bible says, ‘All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.’”
Darlene nodded vigorously. “Oh, I’ve blown it so many times. Sometimes, it feels like I just can’t help myself…”
“Next, you need to understand that God loves you. He hasn’t forsaken you. He’s made a plan that can bring you into His family. His Word says that He loved the world so much that He gave His only begotten Son—Jesus Christ—that whoever believes in Him won’t perish, but will have everlasting life.”
“On the cross. Died for us…”
“Exactly. The only way our sins can be forgiven. Washed clean. Absolutely clean…”
“Cleaner than that extra strong stuff with bleach I use obsessively to clean my bathroom fixtures,” Darlene said, and they both smiled.
“Cleaner than clean. But you have to do it God’s way. Declare that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that He died for your sins, that He rose from the grave three days later, just as the Bible says.”
Darlene took a moment to be sure. She’d been thinking about this for a long while. After she talked to Abby for the first time about the change in her life. And then so many other times after that when they would talk about God and how things had changed for Abby. It was as if a wind had been at her back all of this time, pushing Darlene from behind. Moving her to this point.
“Yes. I believe all that,” Darlene said. “I remember what Abby used to tell me. She used to ask me whether I was willing to invite Jesus Christ into my heart, to forgive my sins, and to change my life forever. I’d change the subject. I wasn’t ready. But now I am. I want Jesus to be my Savior. I mean…personally. Not just some religious figure on a cross or in a picture. But to be real…I want to meet Him in my heart. I don’t want to put this off any longer.”
They both bowed their heads.
Just then, Darlene had the instinct to get down on her knees. So she did. Margaret followed her to the floor, sitting next to her, both of them resting their arms and hands on the couch.
“I am a sinner, God,” Darlene said, with her eyes closed tight, her voice trembling. “No surprise there, right? You always knew that. And I know that. I believe your Son, Jesus, died on the cross for my sins. Then He walked out of the grave because, well, He had to, because He’s the Son of God. Not a problem for God’s Son to get that done. So, God, I want Jesus Christ to come into my heart. Please have Him come, God. I need Him to save me. Clean me up. Not just the pills. But everything…”
Her words were wavering and caught in her throat as she continued, “I want Jesus to be totally in charge. A changed life. Transformation. Please, God, I need this so badly…”
That’s when the tears came and the words stopped.
Margaret put her arm around Darlene, whose shoulders were shuddering.
They sat together, on their knees, for a long time. People walked past the office, talking and laughing, but Darlene didn’t notice.
A few hours later, Darlene was in her room, still thinking about what had happened. A thought occurred to her. She laughed loudly and yelled, “Oh, yes! I’ve got to do it!”
She dialed the number by heart.
She got Abigail Jordan’s voicemail and said, “Guess what, Abby dear! I prayed a prayer today. And anyway…I guess I’ve become a glow girl!”
Darlene clicked off the phone and sat down on her bed. She couldn’t wait to talk to Abigail about it.
But then, an instant later, a thought flashed through her mind.
What in the world do I tell Fort?
FORTY-FIVE
Joshua was now in hiding. He had checked himself into the triplex suite at the Palace Hotel in midtown Manhattan. Only two people knew where he was. One was Abby. The other was his long-time private chauffeur, who had booked the room under his brother-in-law’s name and paid cash so Joshua’s name wouldn’t appear on the registry. Then he took one more step to insure he wouldn’t be tracked. Joshua’s company had been developing a super-secure Allfone, one with signal-cloaking capacity so it couldn’t be located via satellite or tower tracing. It was designed for special-ops guys operating in hostile territory, but the Defense Department put the project on hold. Joshua was carrying the prototype with him.
Even Harry Smythe didn’t know his location. But he did advise Joshua that while the federal bench warrant didn’t rate the kind of priority given to escaped prisoners or violent offenders, this was still a serious business. If Joshua was stopped for a traffic ticket or recognized by a federal agent in public somewhere, the jig was up.
Joshua’s plan was to stay undercover until the AmeriNews media service got off the ground. The project was taking longer than Phil Rankowitz had predicted. Then, hopefully, the Roundtable’s project would ignite citizens into immediate action. People would learn that Joshua’s real motives in resisting Senator Straworth’s heavy-handed demands about the RTS system were to protect America. Voters would discover that a gang of Washington politicians we
re trying to send an American hero to jail. The phone lines at the Capitol switchboard would light up with angry calls from American citizens. Straworth would see his approval ratings drop like a bowling ball in a swimming pool. What else could he do then but withdraw the subpoena entirely?
At least, that was the scenario. But Joshua understood the odds, exactly how many dots had to be perfectly connected for all that to work. The thought of jail didn’t worry him. Sure, Abby was probably right that the bad press of being incarcerated could stain his professional reputation and irreparably damage his businesses.
But Joshua had a more tactical worry. If I’m locked up, I can’t run things. I can’t direct the decisions that need to be made about the AmeriNews project. And what about the RTS refinements that my engineering team and I were working on? We are just on the verge of solving a potential design problem. I can’t afford to be taken out of action.
Before he knew it, it was dinnertime and he was hungry. Just as he was about to order room service, he noticed the message light flashing on the hotel phone. From the front desk. He dialed them and was told that a note was waiting for him. Joshua told them to send it up. A few minutes later a bellman arrived with a sealed envelope. On the outside were written the words To the Gentleman in Room 2507. After tipping the bellman he ducked back into his room and read the note.
Joshua Jordan:
You don’t know us. But we know you. It is important we talk. We can help. I am downstairs in the private dining room, the one with the closed doors. It is not visible to the public. I will have dinner waiting for the two of us. Please forgive me for the note, but in the interests of discretion I must not be seen coming up to your room.
The Patriot’s Wife
Joshua’s first thought was that his cover had been blown. Someone knew where he was. Was this a trap to lure him out of his room? But if the feds were behind it, they wouldn’t be using this cloak-and-dagger stuff. They would simply come up to his room unannounced, armed with a warrant. No, this was something else. He knew he had friends in the Pentagon who were quietly supportive of him. Maybe there were others. But one thing was clear. Now that a federal judge had targeted him for arrest, he needed all the help he could get.
Looks like it’s time to take a calculated risk.
Ten minutes later Joshua was seated in a private room off the main dining room, behind polished mahogany doors that had been closed, eating dinner across the table from an attractive middle-aged woman.
Joshua took another bite of his filet mignon. He had noticed that his host was fashionably dressed. Though Abby would have recognized even more, like the exclusive Vera Wang dress, and the carat weight of the diamond studs in her ears—likely two carats each.
“Sorry to be so secretive,” the woman said. “But I know you’re currently undercover, Mr. Jordan. First, let me tell you how much my husband and I appreciate you.”
Joshua flashed a quick smile and said, “Thank you,” but he immediately had several questions. “Your husband is described in your note only as ‘The Patriot.’ Do I know him?”
“I don’t think so.” Then she added, “but he thinks you’re on the right track. He wanted you to know that.”
“Which track would that be?”
“Your distrust of Senator Straworth. And perhaps a few other members, or their staff, on the special committee investigating the North Korean missile crisis. My husband also agrees with your decision not to give them the RTS design information. Some members of that committee cannot be trusted.”
It was clear this woman had a sharp understanding of Joshua’s world.
“I applaud you and your husband, whoever he is,” Joshua said. “You apparently have a grasp of issues that the media hasn’t covered.”
She smiled. There was something behind the smile. Her next comment told Joshua a lot.
“Sorry to be so clandestine. But we both need to be cautious.”
Her choice of words rang bells. So Joshua pushed a little.
“What is it you came here to tell me?”
“You’re in danger.”
“That’s not very specific.”
“I realize that. Let’s just say that I’m not talking about the things you’re already aware of. Like the crazies out there who don’t understand the reasons for what you did. Or the Capitol Hill political bunch that wants to bury you. None of that.”
“Then what?”
“We have the distinct sense, from multiple sources, that you are at substantial risk from foreign actors.”
Again, her choice of words, the familiar intelligence lingo, rang a bell with Joshua.
“What can I do about it?”
“Nothing yet. I just want you to know we are out there. And if you are willing, then we can set up a meeting so you can be briefed in more detail.”
“This is all very interesting…but I still don’t know your name.”
“For now I’m just the Patriot’s Wife,” she said with a smile.
Then she reached inside her little purse, which was exquisitely decorated with white beads, and pulled something out. She laid it on the table. A white business card. All it said was The Patriot. And there was a telephone number.
He took the card, fingered it, then looked over at the woman. Now it was time to get blunt. “How do I know I can trust you…or your husband?”
“That should be simple,” she said with a grin. Then she rose to leave.
Ever the gentlemen, Joshua rose to his feet with her.
She reached out and shook his hand. Then before turning to leave, she said one more thing to Joshua. “Perhaps you can reflect on two things. First, we were able to locate you here, even though you took precautions to hide from the federal authorities. The U.S. marshals haven’t been able to find you so far. But we did.”
“And the second?”
“We haven’t reported you.”
FORTY-SIX
In the crowded upscale piano bar called Johnny One Note on Park Avenue South, attorney Allen Fulsin was sitting across the booth from his contact. They’d just ordered drinks and were engaging in small talk. But the other man, Bill Cheavers, an executive vice president for the North American Division of World Teleco, was getting impatient.
“Allen, you said you had inside information for me.”
“Are you up to speed on the pending negotiation between World Teleco and a media group called Mountain News Enterprises—MNE?”
“It’s no longer a pending negotiation. It’s a signed media distribution contract. I’m not sure I want to go into any more details than that. Maybe you should talk to our corporate lawyers.”
Allen Fulsin laughed coarsely and said, “Oh no, Bill, that’s definitely not what I ought to do.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a lawyer. I know what happens when the pencil-neck corporate counsel inside an organization like yours gets a whiff of this kind of insider information. They get all nervous. They run to the first whistle they can blow. They threaten to call in some federal agency to look into it. All because they don’t want to get caught in the middle. Or lose their law license. Or worse.”
Bill Cheavers glanced around the bar quickly for any familiar faces. Finding none, he turned to the lawyer across from him.
“Okay. Look, Allen, the only reason that you and I are having this discussion is that you handle my sensitive, personal legal stuff. So let’s get to it.”
“That media group MNE is a cover.”
“For what?”
“A radical group. Don’t know the name. But it meets secretly. Some very powerful people in it.”
“How do you know this?”
“As luck would have it, a retired former Idaho State supreme court judge named Fortis Rice approached me about this secret group, you know, to feel me out. They meet regularly in some clandestine spot in the Rocky Mountains.”
“Why’d he approach you?”
“His group needs some more legal muscle, I guess. I think it’s because
they liked some of the issues I argued when I was in the solicitor general’s office. Frankly, I didn’t agree with half the cases I had to argue, but that’s Washington. You do what you got to do and pretend you believe in it. I must have been more convincing than I realized…”
“And this group you mentioned…”
“Yeah. Full of extreme anti-Corland people. It seems that you either have to be filthy rich or really well connected—or both—to be invited in. I guess they thought I was the latter. I’m sure not the former, though I’m working on that one.” And then Fulsin smiled and took a swig from his glass.
“And they don’t know you have a connection to me, as my personal lawyer?”
“Naw. The question Rice asked me was whether I ever represented World Teleco. And I said no. Which is technically correct. Very technically.”
“But how’d you find out about the connection between Mountain News Enterprises and this secret political group?”
Allen Fulsin laughed again. “Because after Rice talked to me I started digging around like a West Virginia coal miner. Looking for information. And I know how to find it in this town. Hey, when opportunity knocks…”
Bill Cheavers was putting it all together in his head. Then he had a question to ask. “Which leads me, Allen, to the obvious question: what’s in this for you?”
“Just trying to be a good Boy Scout.”
“Come on, what do you want out of this?”
“Bill, all I need you to do is to make sure this contract between World Teleco and Mountain News Enterprises on behalf of Rice’s group goes nowhere. You don’t have to be concerned with how I benefit from it when that happens.”
“If we breach a signed contract on a national media buy like this—wow, that could be a real litigation nightmare for us.”
“Consider the consequences.”
“Such as?”