Eric Lustbader - First Daughter

"We'll get to the details in a moment," Paull said. "Now, suffice it to say that you're Edward Carson's man. As you might imagine, the president-elect is seen as something of a threat to certain individuals in the Administration. There's an initiative to get certain matters the president deems pressing sewn up before the twentieth."

"Like rounding up the First American Secular Revivalists."

Paull nodded. "Among other suspect groups."

"The FASR's only crime is that their philosophy is in direct opposition with the current Administration's," Jack said.

"As you no doubt understand, Jack, this Administration has serious perception issues. The world-and the players in it-are what it says they are, no matter the reality."

"Don't you understand that the FASR is being made a scapegoat?" Jack said. "You guys can't find E-Two, so you're going after the easy target."

"Please don't confuse this Administration with the truth, Jack." The secretary shifted in his seat. "Now, I think you may have an answer for me. You know a man named Ian Brady."

It wasn't a question, and Jack's eyes sought out Nina's again. "Yes, sir. Twenty-five years ago, he was a major drug supplier in my old neighborhood."

"Which was?"

"Not far from McMillan Reservoir."

Secretary Paull passed a hand across his brow. It was clear Jack had delivered his answer; trouble was, it was the answer Paull had been afraid of because it confirmed his dark analysis of who Ian Brady really was.

"You need to forget McMillan Reservoir, Jack."

"That's a bit hard to do, sir. This man, Ian Brady or Charles Whitman or Ronnie Kray, whatever he's calling himself today, is the one who abducted Alli Carson and murdered her Secret Service detail in cold blood."

"Nevertheless, you must forget him."

Jack would have said, What the hell are you talking about, sir? except he knew exactly what Paull was saying. The last piece of the puzzle he'd been assembling in his head-the most crucial one-had just fallen into place. No wonder the IDs of the vics at McMillan Reservoir were never revealed. It was the same reason that the crash of the Dark Car and the deaths of the two agents in it never made the news.

Jack's mind replayed the moment at McMillan Reservoir when he'd followed Gus and Detective Stanz, when Gus's snitch said, "I guarantee you'll never get the name of the murderer, either from me or anyone else."

"Brady's protected," Jack said to Paull. "You're protecting a serial murderer, a kidnapper."

"Not me, Jack. The government. That's why the order to my Dark Car agents was countermanded at the highest level. There was concern that you were getting too close to Brady."

"A legitimate concern."

The secretary's face looked like you could pass a steamroller over it without making a dent. "This is a matter of national security."

"How many illegal acts have been committed in the last eight years in the name of national security?"

"Jack, please. This is a friendly memo-the most friendly."

"I understand, sir. But I have to do this."

Paull breathed out a long sigh. "Look, I'm trying to protect you, you do understand that?"

"Yes, sir, I do, but that won't change my mind."

Paull looked away. He hadn't for a moment thought he'd change Jack McClure's mind, but he had to be absolutely certain of this man.

"From this moment on, you're on your own." Paull said this very softly, very distinctly.

"I'm prepared for the risk." Jack knew nothing would be settled inside himself until he hunted down Ian Brady and either brought him in or shot him dead.

HOW I wish you and Jack were my parents!"

"Good Lord!" Sharon was standing in the kitchen. So astonished was she by Alli's statement that she dropped the egg she was transferring from its carton to the heated pan. The yellow yolk burst like a water balloon, slowly threading across the stove top, through the clear, glutinous albumin.

She'd gone with her first instinct, which was to make Alli something to eat, so they had repaired to the kitchen, a room that always made her feel secure. If she was being honest with herself, Alli's presence here unnerved her, though her nervousness had nothing to do with the fact that Alli was the president-elect's daughter. It was all down to the fact that Alli had been Emma's best friend. They were the same age, and though one would hardly be taken for the other, it was difficult for Sharon to look at Alli without seeing her own daughter. She was beset by a profound ache she thought she had put aside. The poisonous stone of Emma's death was still inside her.

Mindlessly, she turned off the burner, began to sponge up the mess. "Why on earth would you say such an extraordinary thing?"

"Because it's true."

Sharon wrung the remains of the raw egg into the sink. She held the broken shell in her cupped palm. "But I'm sure your parents are wonderful people."

"Excuse me, but all you know about my mom and dad is what you see on TV or read in magazine articles," Alli said.

She stood with her back against the pass-through into the living room. She appeared to Sharon to be poised beyond her years-certainly more poised than Emma had ever been. What I wouldn't have given for a child like this, a voice inside her wailed. And immediately she put a hand to her mouth, appalled at the thought. God forgive me, she moaned silently. But her quick prayer of penance made her feel no better, just dirty. She panicked for a moment; if prayers no longer worked for her, what would? The truth of it is that prayers are only words, she thought, and of what comfort are words at a time like this? Hollow things like the shell of an egg with the inside drained away.

"You're right, of course," she said, desperately trying to soothe her way back into normalcy. "Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Mrs.-Sharon."

Alli came and took the glistening shell out of Sharon's hand. In that moment, their hands touched and Sharon began to weep. It took only an instant for the dam to burst, for all the feelings, methodically and efficiently tamped down and squashed, to reassert their right to life. Father Larrigan's assurances of "It's God's will" and "Emma's death is part of God's plan" crumbled beneath the weight of hypocrisy. Sharon, queen of denial, was quite unprepared for the abyss, so that the dam not only burst but disintegrated entirely.

She rocked back and forth with inconsolable sobs. Knowledge comes through suffering was one of Father Larrigan's favorite bromides. But in a flash of knowledge, she saw that it wasn't a bromide at all; it was yet another way for the Church to maintain control over its increasingly unruly flock. We all must suffer because of Eve's First Sin, we all deserve to suffer in this life so we may be redeemed in Heaven. What better way to keep people yoked to the Church? Surely God didn't mean these con artists to speak in His name. Oh, the insidious cleverness of it!

Now her sorrow was joined by her rage at being duped, her terror at life's random cruelty. All was chaos, uncontrollable, unknowable. With this came the stark realization that Jack was right. Her newfound religion was nothing but a sham, another way to deny her feelings, to convince herself that everything would be all right. But deep down where she was afraid to look, she knew nothing would ever be right again because Emma had been snatched from her and Jack for no good reason. And then she thought, despairingly, what possible reason could justify her daughter's death? None. None on earth or in heaven.

Gradually, she became aware of Alli holding her hand, leading her into the living room, where they sat quietly side by side on the sofa.

"Can I get you something?" Alli asked. "Some tea, a glass of water, even?"