*
Southwest of Baltimore, Maryland
Next morning, February 27
Elizabeth Thomas picked absentmindedly at the tray of food that Beard, as she’d come to think of him, had delivered for her supper. Both of the men who tended to her always wore ski masks when in her presence, but one obviously had facial hair beneath and the other didn’t, so that was how she distinguished Beard from Cleanshaven.
Many others were likely guarding her. Whoever had managed to pull off such a well-orchestrated kidnapping—killing all of her Secret Service detail in the process, without hurting her—would certainly take extensive measures to ensure their important captive couldn’t escape or be easily rescued. A security camera in the corner of the windowless room kept constant tabs on her except when she was in the adjoining bathroom.
She had spent many long hours trying to surmise who was behind the plot. Only one of her minders—Cleanshaven—spoke to her, and he had a trace of an accent, though she couldn’t be sure what it was. East Bloc, maybe Slovak or Russian. He was always extremely polite and respectful, but he answered with as few words as possible, and only then to benign queries. If she asked for something to drink, he’d reply, “What would you like?” but would ignore completely any questions related to where she was, who was holding her, how long she would be here, or what they wanted. He’d simply shaken his head when offered money to help her escape and shrugged when she asked why they’d taken her wedding ring.
The food they provided her, like her accommodations, was high quality. This morning’s eggs Benedict had been accompanied by a fruit medley, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and cappuccino. Most likely it came from restaurants, or else they had a top-notch chef in their employ. Somehow they seemed to already know a lot of her favorite foods, though Cleanshaven had told her not to hesitate to ask for anything in particular she might want. Despite the excellent menu, she rarely ate much, too distraught and preoccupied by her confinement.
Aside from that, she was probably one of the best-treated prisoners in history, but she couldn’t care less about the fancy food, comfy bed, and wide assortment of New York Times bestsellers they provided her to occupy her time. She wanted to know what the hell was going on in the outside world. Was the vice president continuing business as usual, or had everything come to a virtual standstill with her kidnapping? Had her captors made their demands? Did they leave any clues to help authorities find her?
Though uncertain exactly how much time had elapsed—they had knocked her out after getting her out of the elevator and she’d woken up here—she surmised from the meals they’d given her that she’d been missing for at least three days or so. She was growing more pessimistic with each passing minute. Her kidnapper’s demands must be unreasonable ones for it to be taking so long to free or find her. Like many previous presidents, she held to the dictum that America didn’t negotiate with terrorists and had said so to the world in her inaugural address.
If her vice president agreed, and if the nation’s top law-enforcement officials were unable to discover her whereabouts, what would happen to her?
*
The White House
Ryden looked out her bedroom window at the preparations taking place on the South Lawn. So far, her public appearances had been contained to small venues. Today, she’d have to perform in front of some twenty-five thousand people, who all wanted to get a good look at the president to shake her hand or have their picture taken with her. Ratman had told her that Elizabeth Thomas’s family would be there, too.
She felt nauseous at the thought of having to see them. Surely a family member couldn’t be fooled, definitely not one as close to Thomas as her sister. She’d been nervous enough just telephoning Nancy after the assassination attempt to assure her she was all right. Nancy had wanted to chat and hear a full report of what had happened, but Ryden was able to cut the discussion short with excuses that too much of importance was demanding her immediate attention. She’d promised to call back another time for a lengthier visit but had yet to follow up.
What if Nancy or her other family realized she wasn’t Elizabeth? Ryden had visions of someone pointing at her and screaming, like they did in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Would she have time to run and escape, or would she be shot down on the spot? The lawyer had said that if she told anyone or tried to insinuate something publicly or otherwise, she’d be terminated…but what if she was discovered or suspected against her will? Would they still shoot her down?
She had no doubt they would. She suspected they’d make it look like a public attack on the president, though they’d have to replace her body at the morgue with that of the real president because certainly an autopsy would be done, as with JFK. She would leave this world as silently and unwanted as she’d entered it, and perhaps she’d be sealing Elizabeth Thomas’s fate as well—if she was even still alive. Her only hope in the event she was exposed was to run—find a way to get out and keep running, but this new guard dog Kennedy, her primary, would make it even more difficult.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Maybe she was just being paranoid. With the surgeries and other improvements, even she couldn’t tell the difference between them now. Ryden Wagner had disappeared somewhere under Elizabeth Thomas, and the only inconsistency was well hidden under her clothes: a birthmark on her lower back that they couldn’t laser away like they had other moles and freckles, but fortunately a difference only Thomas’s deceased husband could have caught.
Ryden jumped when she heard a knock. “Yes?”
“Madam President, it’s Kennedy. I’d like to review your schedule for today.”
Damn, this woman wouldn’t leave her alone. “Just a minute, please.” Ryden threw a robe over her nightgown, hurriedly put in her contacts, and opened the door. “Come in.”
Shield forced herself not to stare at the president’s disheveled hair and face still devoid of makeup. She’d always considered Thomas a striking, proud-looking woman, but only now did she realize how attractive she really was. Without the in-house stylist’s coiffure and perfect cosmetics, she was even more Harper’s type—a natural beauty.
The president sat at her vanity table and looked at her through the mirror as she ran a brush through her hair. When Shield didn’t immediately elaborate on why she was there, Thomas got up and faced her. “Well?”
Shield looked down at her folder but remained at the door. “Today…the Find Your Sport event.”
Thomas walked to the window. “Oh, that’s today?” She looked outside. “And I’ve been wondering all morning what a beach-volleyball court and temporary soccer field are doing out on the lawn.” Turning back to Shield, she said wryly, “I see why you come highly recommended.”
Oh boy, this is not going to be easy. Thomas clearly did not relish having her as her bodyguard.
“I was about to say, should you want to depart the festivities for any reason, please refrain from doing so on your own. Thousands of people will be here today, and although every single one of them will have been scanned and checked, we can never be too safe.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re done.”
Shield started to leave but hesitated at the door. “Madam President…” She turned to look at her. “My abilities to guard you are not compromised because of my gender.”