Commitment (34 page)

“His?” Cassidy asked. “What is it with you and Dylan anyway? What makes you so sure it’s a him?”

“I don’t know. Just seems like I should say him,” Alex explained.

“I see,” Cassidy grinned. “Well, I’ll see what I can do about Fridays. You need to stop worrying, though. You are not going to miss anything important; I promise. There will be lots of appointments,” Cassidy said as they made their way toward the house.

“Yeah, and I intend to be at all of them,” Alex said pointedly as she opened the door for Cassidy.

“Will you take stirrup duty for me too?” Cassidy turned back to her wife.

“Only if…” Alex immediately stopped their banter at the sight of Rose in front of the door. The older woman’s jaw was set firmly, and the dismay in her eyes startled Alex.

Cassidy watched Alex’s playful expression fade rapidly from view. “Alex?”

Rose swallowed her apprehension. “Dylan is upstairs in his room,” she said as Cassidy turned to face her. “I….Alex…”

“Mom?” Cassidy implored.

Rose shook her head. “Maybe you should just see for yourself.”

“Mr. President, we need to move to the Situation Room.”

President Lawrence Strickland followed his entourage through the halls of the White House on a familiar course. “What do we know?” he asked.

“Not much,” General Michael Snyder responded. “One of our people called in about ten minutes ago. The message was interrupted, but it appears that the embassy in Moscow has been attacked.”

The president calmly took his seat in the large room and waited for his aides to assume their positions. There was a definite advantage in having foreknowledge of such events. The president was able to react in a controlled and deliberate manner. Everyone expected the presence of a confident and secure leader and Lawrence Strickland intended to personify that now. “Everything we know; now,” he directed.

“Sir,” the general stood and directed everyone’s attention to the large screen at the front of the room. Images of a smoking building immediately came into focus. “This is what we have so far.”

“Where are our satellite images, General Snyder?” the president asked. Within seconds, the screens hanging at either side of the room depicted satellite imagery. “So?” the president asked pointedly. “Are we confirmed? Is it the embassy?”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, it is,” a voice responded.

The president leaned forward on his elbows, studying the faces that surrounded him. “Responsible party?” he asked.

“Still undetermined, Mr. President. No one has claimed responsibility. It does appear that the building was hit from an exterior force,” General Snyder offered.

“Meaning?” Strickland asked.

“Meaning there was no bomb in the building itself. We are pulling up satellite data and telemetry now. There were no planes in the area. It’s a no-fly zone. So, we are looking at some type of short-range missile in all likelihood, or some combination of…”

“I don’t want speculation, people!” President Strickland bellowed. “I want answers. Get Secretary Johnson and Mr. Mansfield here now.”

“Already on their way,” a voice answered.

“Jason, get President Markov on the line,” Strickland ordered. “Now!” The president stroked his chin in thought. He watched as his advisers ran about, carrying out his demands in a flurry. Inwardly, he began to gloat. This tragedy would be a small price to pay for the ultimate reward; to lead the nation through crisis. “What about the news?”

The large screen changed abruptly to several inset images of national newscasts. “Bob!” President Strickland called to his press secretary. “Start preparing a statement. I want it ready for my review when I am done with President Markov,” he said. “Do we know?” Strickland turned back to the full table. “Do we know who was in the embassy at the time?”

“Sir,” the president’s chief of staff began softly. “Yes, sir. As of now, it appears fifteen Americans, six Russian workers, and a Spanish national.”

“What about the envoy?” the president asked. A team of ten men and women with expertise ranging from Russian culture to economics had been scheduled to arrive at the embassy in Moscow that afternoon.

“We don’t know,” General Snyder answered.

“We can see someone picking watermelon seeds from their teeth, General! What do you mean you don’t know? Did they arrive or didn’t they?” the president’s voice reverberated off the walls.

“They left the airstrip. If they arrived at the embassy, they had not signed in…”

“Jesus Christ!” President Strickland slammed a hand on the table. “Find out. We can’t wait to issue this statement. I don’t want this screwed up!”

“Mr. President,” a youthful voice called. “President Markov is on the line.”

“Thank you, Dan,” President Strickland said calmly as she headed for the small office set aside for his use. “When I am done I want that statement in my hands, and I want some damn answers. I don’t want to rely on Yegor Markov’s word. Understood?” he asked. The room remained silent, all eyes on the president. “Good,” Strickland said as he entered the small room.

“Successful?” Viktor Ivanov asked, looking at the screen.

“It appears so,” Dimitri Kargen answered.

“Excellent. What of Kabinov and Markov?” Ivanov asked. “Are they prepared to make the accusation?”

“The statement will be issued shortly,” Kargen said.

“Viktor,” a man’s voice broke through the speaker. “Be cautious. You move too quickly with these assertions, and you will become cannon fodder yourself.”

“Calm down, Michael,” Ivanov responded. “Things are in line as we predicted and planned.”

“There is one unforeseen complication,” Dimitri Kargen interrupted the conversation.

“What complication?” Ivanov asked hesitantly.

Dimitri Kargen scratched his brow with his thumb and winced slightly as he delivered the news. “Eleana Baros was visiting the embassy.” Viktor Ivanov’s face flushed a deep crimson. Dimitri could see the quivering in his uncle’s temples as Viktor Ivanov’s rage mounted.

Ivanov took a step closer to his nephew. “Are you telling me that Edmond Callier’s daughter was in that building when it blew?”

“Jesus!” Michael Taylor’s voice called through the open line.

“
Zamolchi, Teylor! Eto nepriyemlemo! Nepriyemlemo, Dmitriy
! (Be quiet, Taylor! Unacceptable! Unacceptable, Dimitri)!” Ivanov scolded both men. “Callier is already problematic thanks to Sparrow!”

“Uncle Viktor,” Dimitri began. “There was no way to prevent that…”

“
Menia ne interesujut tvoi opravdanija
! (I am not interested in your excuses)!” Ivanov blared. “Michael, you will see that this story is weaved correctly through that imbecile you call your president.”

Michael Taylor could not help but snicker slightly at the statement. He had no use for President Strickland. Taylor saw Strickland as a marionette whose strings were being pulled by anyone and everyone who offered the slightest praise, threat, or perceived opportunity. He knew that Strickland was intelligent and well connected, but Taylor also understood that Lawrence Strickland epitomized weakness. The president had no principles, no larger goal than his continually polishing his image. He was a politician, not a leader. For men like Michael Taylor, President Lawrence Strickland was little more than a fly that needed to be swatted. “I will ensure Strickland’s compliance,” he said. “But, Viktor,” Taylor cautioned his friend. “I can do little about Edmond Callier.”

“We will deal with that as we always have. It is an unfortunate inconvenience. We can navigate Mr. Callier. We have for years. The story will create enough diversion on its own,” Ivanov said. “A member of your diplomatic envoy was carrying nuclear material into Moscow with the intention of selling it to anti-Markov terrorists. He made the mistake of one too many bidders and one too many commitments.”

“Creative,” Taylor mock complimented Ivanov’s fabrication.

“They will believe whatever we tell them,” Ivanov said. “That never changes.”

Alex and Cassidy sat glued to the images rolling across the television screen. Cassidy could feel the tension in her wife. It seemed to rise off of Alex much like heat off pavement in the dead of summer. The news was still sketchy. There were reports of casualties, but no names or numbers had been released officially. Alex began methodically massaging her temples. Cassidy looked to her mother helplessly. She was as certain as she could be that when confirmation came, Russ Matthews’ name would be added to a long list of lives lost to senseless violence. That didn’t stop her from trying to offer some degree of hope to the woman she loved. “Alex, maybe Russ wasn’t…”

“No. He was. There’s no question about it,” Alex said definitively. “The only question is who will be blamed.”

Cassidy couldn’t seem to find any words. Words simply felt empty. She watched as Alex’s hand reflexively moved to pinch the bridge of her nose. “What can I do?” Cassidy asked gently.

Alex turned to her wife and offered her an appreciative smile. “I have to make some calls,” Alex said. She leaned in and kissed Cassidy’s cheek as she made her way off the sofa. “Just keep holding onto the good stuff,” Alex whispered.

“Cassie?” Rose looked across to her daughter. “They were friends; weren’t they?”

Cassidy let a nervous chuckle pass. “Yes. They were,” she said. The ache in Cassidy’s heart mingled with a deep sense of resentment for all the loss and upheaval her family had faced in recent months. She covered her face with her hands in frustration. “When will it be enough?” she asked in exasperation.

“Cassie,” Rose called gently.

“No. I want to know,” Cassidy dropped her hands dramatically. “When, Mom? When is it enough? Hasn’t she lost enough? Dear God! John, her father….all these,” Cassidy’s emotions were a rising tide, threatening to completely over-flow at any moment. She struggled to press down the advancing tirade she knew was about to break through her normally composed surface.

Rose moved beside her daughter and pulled her close. “I don’t know, Cassie. I don’t know when it’s enough. All you can do is love her.”

“What if that isn’t enough?” Cassidy asked uneasily.

“For Alex?” Rose asked. “Cassidy Rose, Alex loves you more than anything. You know that.”

“I do. I do know that. But, Mom….it just keeps coming. Lies, death….”

Rose took her daughter’s face in her hands. “Love, life,” she reminded Cassidy with a smile. “There will always be pain. I don’t know why. What I do know is….the only way you survive it is by loving.”

“How did you? I mean, after Dad died…you had to feel…”

Rose smiled and brushed Cassidy’s hair aside as if she were still a little girl. “I had you,” she said affectionately. “That was enough for me. When the sadness started to settle in; I had you.” Cassidy drifted into her mother’s embrace and sighed. “When the bad things happened, I always tried to think of something I was looking forward to,” Rose explained. “Your next birthday party, your concert, just seeing you come home from school. Somehow that always seemed to relieve the sadness. It still does.”

“It scares me,” Cassidy confessed.

“What scares you?” her mother asked.

“Alex needs to understand these things. Not in the way that you or I would. She needs to try and change things, literally. It’s….”