After leaving the control room earlier and assuring a concerned Bern Stapleton that she was okay and just needed to rest, Gwendy retired to her cabin. When she stretched out atop the cramped bunk and buckled herself in, she hadn’t even been thinking about the button box and its magic treats. All she wanted was to close her eyes and make the world go away for a short time. She was physically and mentally exhausted—and she was scared. Despite what Kathy Lundgren and Bern Stapleton believed, it wasn’t the fire in Castle Rock that had Gwendy so distraught, although that certainly didn’t help matters. It was a combination of everything. The video conference worried her greatly. One untimely misstep and she knew she was finished. Her heart ached fiercely. Despite the friendships she’d made, she hadn’t realized how alone she’d feel on this trip. It had been almost seven years now, but not having Ryan waiting for her back at home left Gwendy feeling forlorn and adrift. And then there were the Brain Freezes. Ever since quarantine—and especially ever since they’d boarded Eagle-19 Heavy—they were coming with an increasing frequency that terrified her. Initially, she’d believed it was stress worsening her symptoms. But in her heart, she knew that wasn’t the case. The button box had somehow discovered her plan and was trying to stop her before they reached MF-1.
Reaching down and touching the notebook tucked safely inside the pocket of her jumpsuit, she thought: How long until the only things I remember are the words inside this notebook? And what about when I no longer remember how to read …?
Just the thought of that happening made Gwendy want to pull her hair out, or scream, or do both. Lying there, head spinning, staring up at the curved ceiling of her cabin, she’d eventually dozed. And dreamed …
Gareth Winston sits cross-legged on the floor beneath his porthole. No other crew members are in sight and the ship is eerily silent. Winston is naked except for a saggy pair of soiled tighty-whiteys. His man-boobs and bright pink nipples are ringed by unruly snatches of curly dark hair. The button box rests atop his pale chubby legs and at first glance it appears to be smeared in blood. But then Gwendy sees that Winston’s sausage-like fingers are dripping with globs of melting chocolate. So are his mouth and all three of his chins. It’s everywhere. He reaches down and pulls the lever on the right side of the box. Out slides the wooden tray with a tiny chocolate donkey centered atop it. Winston grabs the chocolate and crams it into his mouth, slurping noisily. “Sooo good,” he exclaims and lifting his arm high above his head, he points a single finger in the air and—never one to pass up on an expansive gesture—and twirls his finger around and around, before lowering it in agonizing slow-motion until it rests directly atop the red button. He giggles, drooling a rope of chocolate saliva onto his lap—and presses the button. Once. Twice. He looks up then, grinning with stained teeth and bellows, “There! Now I’m number one in the world!”
Strapped onto her bunk, Gwendy jerked awake with a scream of terror lodged in her throat—and knew exactly what she needed to do.
“Thirty seconds,” Kathy Lundgren says.
Gwendy steals a sidelong glance at Winston, who is buckled into his seat and facing the opposite direction. She checks her teeth in the iPad screen—all clean; no chocolate!—and releases a deep, steadying breath. “Here goes nothing, folks.” She places her finger over the LIVE VIDEO icon and listens to the Operation Commander count down.
“Five … four … three … two … one … and you’re a go!”
Gwendy puts a big smile on her face and taps the icon. “Greetings, earthlings, from my home away from home, Eagle-19 Heavy. My name is Senator Gwendy Peterson from the great state of Maine and I will be serving as your tour guide today. Before I unbuckle and give you a look at the amazing view just outside this porthole, I want to introduce you to our esteemed Flight Commander Miss Kathy Lundgren. Say hi to everybody, Kathy! The three handsome gentlemen sitting to my immediate left are …”
21
IN JANUARY 2020—AFTER SERVING in a number of high-profile intelligence positions including Deputy Group Chief of Counterterrorism, as well as CIA Station Chief in London, Munich, and New York—sixty-three-year-old Charlotte Morgan became the eighth appointee (and only the second woman) to be named as Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
She was also one of Gwendy Peterson’s closest and most trusted friends. They’d first met at a budget meeting during the summer of 2003 when Gwendy was serving her second term in the House of Representatives. Charlotte Morgan was temporarily living in D.C., spearheading a six-month training program for overseas operatives. After running into each other at a number of social functions, including a handful of Orioles games, they became fast friends, bonding over their mutual affection for jogging, junk food, and violent crime novels, especially those penned by the dashing John Sandford.
Charlotte returned abroad when the training program ended, but the two women stayed in touch via telephone and email, and visited often during Charlotte’s thrice-yearly trips home. When Charlotte got married to her second husband on a private Delaware beach in 2005, Gwendy served as one of four bridesmaids. The following winter, when Charlotte gave birth to a healthy baby girl—on her forty-ninth birthday!—she and her husband chose Gwendy to be the child’s godmother. Years later, when Gwendy’s mom passed away on a cold October afternoon, Charlotte hopped on the next available flight from New York and was holding her friend’s hand later that same evening. In many ways, Charlotte Morgan became the older sister Gwendy had always wished for.
As Gwendy parked her car by the Lake Fairfax boat ramp in Reston, Virginia on the morning of December 9, 2023, and spotted her old friend sitting alone on a bench near the water’s edge, she prayed that their long history would be enough … or at least a start. Charlotte glanced up from the book she was reading, flipped Gwendy a wave, then lifted her hands to her shoulders in a What’s going on? gesture. Gwendy got out of the car and slowly made her way over to the bench, carrying the canvas bag in her right hand.
“No security?” Charlotte asked, only half-joking.
“I’m driving a rental Kia. That’s security enough.” Not to mention the button box, Gwendy thought.
“You’re killing me, dear one,” Charlotte said, closing the thick hardcover on her lap. “It’s got to be ten degrees out here. Spill it. Why all the secrecy?”
Gwendy took a seat next to her friend, placing the canvas bag by her feet. “Have you ever considered me anything other than completely sane, reasonable, and honest?”
Charlotte’s smile faded. She looked closely at her friend. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“You could say that,” Gwendy agreed. “Please answer the question.”
“Other than your bull-headed allegiance to the Red Sox, you’ve proven to be one of the most sane and trustworthy people I know. Top two or three, for sure. You know that.”
“Then I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?”
Charlotte didn’t answer right away—she was still too stunned by the turn the meeting had taken. She’d come expecting Gwendy to tell her that she was finally dating someone after the last four years of living like a nun, but this sounded much more serious. She didn’t care for the drawn look on Gwendy’s face.
“I can do that.”
“Be sure, because I’m going to tell you something that will be very difficult to believe. Then I’m going to show you what’s inside this bag and give you a demonstration of how it works.”
Charlotte leaned forward and gave the drawstring bag a closer look. She opened her mouth to respond, but Gwendy cut her off again. “If you start to interrupt, I’m going to walk back to my car and drive away and pretend this meeting never happened.”