Abuse of Power

Every few minutes a car would pass through the intersection, but none of them stopped or even slowed down. Otherwise, the streets seemed deserted. There was no sound except the distant hum from a propeller-driven airplane. Checking his watch he asked himself, "How long do I have to wait?" But he knew that he wasn't going to bail out on the First Lady, even though it was past the appointed time.

As he sat there, Jake became increasingly aware of just how much coffee he had consumed, and soon he was squirming uncomfortably on the seat. Glancing around he saw no place that might have a public restroom, so he determined to tough it out. But only a minute later he realized that waiting was no longer an option; unless he wanted to meet the President's wife with soaked trousers, he had to go now.

Cursing, he jumped out of the car and walked half bent over to an alley between two rundown buildings. He found a spot in the dark shadows behind a mound of garbage bags, unzipped and began to relieve himself. "I'm as bad as some damned wino!" he cursed himself, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

Just as he was finishing, a shadowy figure darted across the street and opened the door to Jake's car. In an instant the man had jumped behind the wheel and started up the engine. "Hey!" Jake yelled, hastily zipping his pants up, "Get out of my car!" As his BMW started to pull away from the curb, Jake turned to run after it, but he got no more than a step or two before a body hurtled into him, knocking him back into the stack of garbage bags.

Jake struggled to shove the body off of him only to recoil in surprise when his hands encountered a woman's breast. Before he could say a word, a hand covered his mouth and a feminine voice whispered in his ear, "Keep down and be quiet."

When the woman relaxed her hand, Jake hissed, "My car, he's stealing my car!"

"Forget your car," he heard. "Unless I miss my guess . . ."

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by a whooshing roar accompanied by a streak of light that arrowed straight into the driver's side of Jake's car. There was a tremendous explosion and the woman threw her body on top of Jake. Even with her form in the way he felt the blast pass through him, followed immediately by a wave of intense heat. A large chunk of metal flew over his head and bounced off the brick wall just above them.

When the noise had subsided, Jake fought to raise his head, and when he did he could see there was little left of his car but burning wreckage. As he stared in amazement, he saw a flaming tire rolling away down Good Hope Road.

Jake was in shock but the woman who had tackled him moved with a purpose. She grabbed the large metal fragment and tucked it under her arm. Then she turned and began tugging on Jake. "Come on," she said urgently, "follow me. Keep in the shadows as much as possible. I don't think they can use infrared after that explosion, so we should be OK."

"Wait, where are we going? What's happening?"

"There's no time to explain now - that damned thing is still up there. Besides, they'll probably have a team on site shortly to confirm the kill."

In a daze, Jake followed the woman down the alley past several buildings until they came to U Street. The woman pulled him into a car parked there, and once he was belted in, sped off without turning on her headlamps. By the light from street lights rushing by, Jake was able to recognize the woman as Helen Simmons.

As his shock slowly subsided it was replaced by anger. "What the fuck was that?" Jake demanded.

Helen kept her eyes on the road, occasionally peering up through the windshield to try to catch a glimpse of the sky. "I'd say that was a Hellfire missile fired from a Predator drone: laser-guided, probably a 20-pound HEAT round. You ought to feel complimented: they brought out the big stuff for you!"

As he replayed everything that had just taken place, Jake eyes suddenly widened. "What about that poor bastard who was making off with my car?" he asked.

Helen gave a shrug of her shoulders. "One less D.C. car thief," she quipped. Then, glancing over and seeing the look on Jake's face, she apologized. "Sorry to sound so flippant. This is some pretty heavy shit, and I'm just as shook up as you are."

Jake was not to be appeased. "That's easy for you to say. It was your boss who set me up to be killed tonight!"

Helen slammed on the brakes and yanked the car over to the curb. Angrily she turned to face Jake. "Mrs. Pressman had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. That text you got did not come from her." Seeing the disbelief on his face, she continued, "Come on, Jake, whoever heard of the First Lady setting up a meeting like that? She never sends text messages. Hell, I don't think she even knows how."

When Jake dropped his eyes, she started the car up again and continued on. Suddenly, Jake's head shot up again and he turned to look at the agent. "Wait a minute, what were you doing in that alley in the first place? Were you following me?"

Helen nodded. "Actually, I've been following you for several days now. Mrs. Pressman asked me to keep an eye on you."

"Really? I never saw you," he said in surprise.

She grinned. "I didn't want you to see me."

Jake wasn't satisfied. "What about that helicopter I saw the other day? Was that you?"

The smile disappeared from the agent's lips. "I wasn't the only one following you, Jake."

The adrenaline rush began to wear off, and Jake slumped back in his seat, shivering slightly. "I don't know what's going on any more, Helen," he said softly. "My life has gone crazy and I don't know why any of it's happening."

She looked over at him and stretched out her hand to squeeze his arm. "I don't know either, Jake, but I think I can take you somewhere safe where we can try to figure things out."

After a few more minutes, Helen pulled the car onto Foxhall Road just north of Georgetown. When she came to a three-story white brick mansion, she pulled up to the gate. After she'd identified herself, the gate silently rolled back to admit them. "Where are we?" Jake asked in wonder.

"This is Senator Hamilton's home. He's Mrs. Pressman's father. I think you'll be safe here; they probably think you were the one driving your car. Even if they don't, I don't think anybody would dare call down a drone strike on a U.S. senator."

Helen led Jake to the door, where they were met by a butler who was obviously expecting them. He led them to what appeared to be a breakfast room, although it was larger than Jake's den. At a table there were sandwiches and mugs of beer waiting for them. Although Jake hadn't thought about food, he realized he was ravenous, and he and Helen eagerly sat down to eat.

Over their meal Helen deliberately tried to steer the conversation away from the events of the evening. When it was clear she wouldn't talk about the attack, Jake asked Helen to tell him her story. She smiled. "It's a pretty short one, actually. I'm from the prairie like you. My daddy was a rancher in Montana, and I got an ROTC scholarship at State in Bozeman. When I graduated I enlisted and got sent to Afghanistan, where I was assigned to the Military Police. After I discharged my obligation, I took a shot at the Secret Service. They were giving preference to veterans and women, so I wound up in the Service here in D.C."

Just then, Mrs. Pressman walked around the corner, and both Jake and Helen stood. The First Lady walked quickly to Jake's side and grasped both his hands. "I'm so glad you're safe, Jake. I am distraught that my name was used to lure you to that trap, even though I knew nothing about it at the time."

She sat down at the table with them. Looking at Jake she said, "I still don't understand what is going on, but it appears that you are drawing an unusual amount of attention from several branches of the federal government. I can only imagine that your visit to Dr. Liu somehow set things in motion."

"But why would anyone care about a couple who lost their baby to a miscarriage?" Jake asked plaintively.

"I don't know," the First Lady reiterated, "but I somehow think the answer must lie at Johns Hopkins. If I'm right, there are two things I know about that place that may help you. First, in addition to being perhaps the best hospital in the nation, Johns Hopkins is also a leading biomedical research facility, especially in the field of DNA research. What isn't so widely known is that, in conjunction with their research they have DNA records on every patient they've treated in the last ten years. That includes the DNA of every baby and every fetus they've ever treated."

As he thought about the implications of what Mrs. Pressman was saying, Jake's eyes grew large. But before he could say anything, the First Lady continued. "The second thing you may not know is that I am a trustee of Johns Hopkins. I believe that I can get you access to information that would otherwise not be available, at least without a subpoena."

Jake couldn't help glancing over at Helen, who was just as wide-eyed as he.

"Please be my guest tonight," Mrs. Pressman went on, "I think you'll be safe here. Besides, from what I've managed to gather, the authorities believe that you were the driver in the car." She gave a wry smile. "It's going to take some time for them to get enough remains to realize their mistake."

Jake shuddered involuntarily.

"Helen," Mrs. Pressman went on, "tomorrow I want you to take Jake to the Genetic Resources Core Facility at Johns Hopkins. I've already made a couple of calls that ought to pave the way. Maybe you can learn enough to put a stop to the little war game that seems to be playing out on the streets of the District."

She gave the two of them a smile. "In the meantime, I recommend that you get a good night's sleep. My father has plenty of bedrooms, so you shouldn't be disturbed."

The two of them bade the First Lady good night and then made their way upstairs to the sleeping quarters. As he started to turn the doorknob to his room, Jake stopped suddenly. "Oh my goodness, Helen, I'm sorry," he burst out.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked in bewilderment.

"In all the madness and confusion, I never thanked you for saving my life," Jake said. With that he reached out and hugged her.

Helen pulled back to look at his face. "I was just doing my job, Jake," she said solemnly. Then her face broke into a little grin. "But I did enjoy it when you were groping me in that alley," she added, and suddenly leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she turned and went off to her bedroom as Jake stood there in surprise.

Mrs. Pressman joined the two of them again over breakfast the next morning, and as they ate she had news for them. "I've been doing a little checking this morning. You'll be interested to know that the Washington Post is reporting last night's incident as a gas tank explosion," she told them with a mirthless grin. "There's been no public identification of the driver yet, but it's telling that the surveillance on you has apparently been lifted."

Helen and Jake looked at each other grimly.

The First Lady had more to tell them. "Since they don't seem to be looking for you any longer, let's not give them any reason to reconsider. I still think you need to go over to Hopkins, but let's switch roles for your visit. Helen, I need you to be my aide this morning. I've made a few calls, and they're expecting you at the Genetic Resources Facility. Jake, you be Helen's chauffeur. You can use one of my father's cars. Hopefully, that won't generate any unwanted attention."

After breakfast, Jake donned a dark jacket and chauffeur's cap and, tipping his hat, hurried to hold the door for Helen, who acknowledged his chivalry with a big grin. As the two of them set out, Jake glanced over at Helen and his face took on a serious expression. "I still don't understand why we're going back to Hopkins or what exactly we're looking for. Do you know?"

Helen held up a large envelope she'd been holding in her lap. "Mrs. Pressman gave me a list of information we're supposed to request at the GRCF. Hopefully, the answers will help us understand what's been going on. For now, let's just focus on getting the hospital's help; then we'll see what we can figure out."

When Jake finally found the GRCF in the maze of buildings that constitute Johns Hopkins, the worn brick exterior belied the cutting-edge work being done inside. At the front desk a researcher was waiting for them. As he led them down a long corridor, he told them, "I've been asked to assist you with whatever you need."

When they reached a small waiting room outside a much larger laboratory, Helen explained that they needed a DNA test run on Jake, who looked surprised at the development. Nevertheless he submitted to having his hair snipped.

But before the researcher could leave, Helen handed him a second packet containing a different hair sample. "We'll also need this tested as well, please. Then, we'll need to have both of them compared with the DNA from these two samples that I believe you have on file. We'll need the likelihood of parentage for all."

With that she handed the man a sheet of paper with two long alphanumeric codes. The researcher glanced at the numbers and, recognizing the Facilty's standard sample DNA identification numbers, nodded his understanding and swiftly left the room.

Jake turned to Helen in confusion. "Isn't it going to take days if not weeks to get those samples tested and compared?" he asked.

"That might be true under normal circumstances," Helen responded, "but we're in a state-of-the-art research center with capabilities most DNA labs don't have. And don't forget that the request for assistance came from a trustee of the hospital. My boss thinks they can give us results within a half an hour."

Jake whistled in admiration. But he had other questions now. "So what were those numbers you gave him and where did that other hair sample come from?"

Instead of answering, Helen glanced up at the corner of the room, and when Jake followed her eyes he spotted the closed circuit television camera. Helen then shook her head to signal him not to ask any more questions.

Time moved as slowly for the two of them as it does for any patient stuck in a doctor's office, but finally the researcher returned and handed an envelope to Helen. "I think you'll find everything you need in here. Please give our regards to Mrs. Pressman, and let her know if you were satisfied with our response."

"Oh, we were definitely satisfied," Helen said with a grateful smile, "and we'll most assuredly let Mrs. Pressman know of your helpfulness."

With that, Helen and Jake left the facility and started the return trip to the District. As Jake drove, Helen kept the envelope of information on her lap, and though Jake was dying to learn about the contents, she admonished him to wait until they had returned to the Hamilton enclave.

When they finally passed through the gates, Jake and Helen hurried to the house. They were met at the door by the butler, who showed them into the sitting room. There they found Mrs. Pressman waiting for them. Helen handed the envelope to the First Lady, who opened it gingerly. She pulled out two sheets of paper and looked at them thoughtfully. Then she handed them to Jake, who scanned them uncomprehendingly before handing them back to Savannah Pressman.

"I don't understand any of this. What does it mean?" he asked apprehensively.

The First Lady held up one of the sheets so he could see it. "'Subject A' is you," she said gently. "This is your DNA. The alphanumeric code you see below it is the reference number for the DNA of the fetus that your wife aborted some two years ago. The analysis shows that you were the father of that fetus."

At her words, Jake involuntarily gave a huge sigh. "I was afraid. . . I thought it might have been someone else's baby," he said. Then, as the two women looked on, he suddenly realized the implications and his relief transformed into anger. "But that means she aborted my baby! Why would she do that? I wanted a child so much - we both did." Tears began to form in his eyes and he angrily wiped them away.

He glanced up at Helen and Mrs. Pressman, who were sitting quietly. Noting the solemn expressions on their faces, he pointed to the second sheet. "What does that one say?" he demanded.

"This code is for the DNA of the fetus that Catherine miscarried at the Easter Egg roll. The analysis rules out Subject A as the father, but confirms the paternity of Subject B."

"How can that be?" Jake asked in anger and confusion. Then a dark look came over his face. "Who is 'Subject B'? Where did that hair sample come from?" he asked angrily.

Mrs. Pressman looked at him with troubled eyes. "I'm afraid I'm responsible, Jake" she said softly. "I took that sample from my husband's hair brush."

Jake stared at her in disbelief. "My wife is the President's mistress? She was carrying his baby?" He fell back on the sofa, his shoulders slumped as though burdened by a great weight. Now the tears began to flow freely as the shock of the revelations mixed with the tension he'd been under for weeks. Helen came over to sit beside him and hold his hand, and Mrs. Pressman slid over to bring him some tissues.

After a while he regained control of himself and looked up at them with determination in his eyes. Helen sensed it and quickly asked in a worried voice, "What are you planning to do now, Jake?"

"I'm going to go home and confront my soon-to-be ex-wife!"

Helen looked over with concern to the First Lady, who quickly spoke up. "Jake, I'd feel a lot better if you'd stay here. I'm not convinced it's safe for you to be out and about just yet. I wouldn't want to hear about another 'accident,' if you get my meaning."

He looked at her, then over at Helen, who nodded vigorously. "Alright," he conceded, "but I'm going to call her. This is killing me - I can't keep it in any longer."

The two women exchanged glances; then Helen reached into her bag and pulled out a cellphone. "Use this," she told Jake. "It's a throwaway that's never been used, so the number shouldn't trigger any alarms at the NSA." As she handed it to him, she added, "But don't talk for very long, just in case."

Jake took the phone and walked out onto the patio behind the house. When he dialed Catherine's cell, it rang for a while before a tentative female voice answered, "Yes, who is it?"

"It's me, Jake, the husband that you thought was dead."

"Jake!" she squealed. "I've been so worried about you. Where have you been? I tried calling you but all I got was a recording. I'm so . . ."

"Stop!" Jake roared. "I don't want to do the 'loving couple' routine with you anymore. I know all about you and your lover, and I know whose baby it was that you miscarried. I also know that it was my baby you aborted two years ago."

"But, Jake," Catherine objected; again Jake interrupted her.

"I don't want to listen to any more of your lies, and for damned sure I don't want to hear any excuses or apologies. I just want you to know that as soon as I can get the paperwork started I'll be suing you for divorce. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I won't be filing on the grounds of irreconcilable differences," he added, "it'll be adultery all the way."

"Jake, wait," Catherine implored him. "Don't do anything hasty. We've got to talk, please."

"Why, so you can have another drone take a crack at me? Is that what you want?" he asked angrily.

"What are you talking about? I don't know anything about any drones," she said fervently.

"Fine, have it your way," he said angrily. "But any way it goes, I want you out of my life as fast as I can make that happen."

"Just wait until tomorrow," she begged. "Don't do anything until . . ."