Chapter 20
Maddox
I wake up the morning after the Scarlet Huntington fundraiser with a mission; to see if the Fairmont still has security footage of the Thomas’ event from last week, and to figure out how to get hold of Avery’s cell phone.
I call the Fairmont and explain to the head of security what I’m looking for and why. I’m completely straight with him. I tell him that my principal has a stalker. She’s received death-threats with photos taken in their ballroom, but that the Thomas’ want the matter handled privately to keep it from leaking to the press. He is remarkably cooperative.
“I’ve got everything from every camera in the entire property going back two months,” he says proudly. “Let me have one of my techs pull the digital files from the ballroom for that night. It’ll be a pain to go through all of it, but if you know what you’re looking for, you’re welcome to it. I can upload it to a cloud drive. I’ll send you the link.”
That was easy.
The situation with Avery’s phone poses more of a challenge. I learn after asking Avery it, that while she and her mother were out shopping for power-pantsuits and screwing up Avery’s hair, Evelyn suggested they get a new phone to replace the old one the police were holding for evidence.
I don’t tell Avery I know any different, but the revelation that Evelyn Thomas has lied to her daughter has my alarm bells peeling like a cathedral on Easter morning.
They even changed her phone number. Allegedly – Evelyn tells Avery – so that the stalker can’t harass her anymore, as if that ever worked against any determined stalker.
It occurs to me as I’m puzzling on this problem, that I don’t actually need the physical phone to do a trace. All I need is the number and someone with access to the network, who’s willing to go a little outside the lines of the law for a good cause.
I call one of the only people I’d trust with my life — my lieutenant, Lucas Salvatore.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, I get right to business. “You remember the guy we worked with on the thing in Dubai two years ago? The NSA contractor who helped us with cell phone surveillance and intel?”
“I do.” Salvatore says, a little hedge in his voice. “What’s going on?”
I explain my situation, indicating that I think the stalker might be working inside the Thomas campaign. “There’s a reason they didn’t give the phone to the police,” I say. “They’re trying to cover something up. But the fact that she got hurt, and the guy is still out there, maybe very close by, it’s keeping me up at night.”
“It’s illegal.” Salvatore warns. “I’ll put you in touch with him, but Bryant, guys like him don’t work for free – especially not dark ops.”
“I know,” I say. “I can pay.”
What the hell else am I supposed to use this ridiculous salary for?
“His name is Jones — David Jones. I don’t even know if that’s his real name. I’ll send you his number, but let me call him first to make the introduction. Give it a few days. He’s not the easiest guy to get up with.”
Fair enough. While I wait to hear from Salvatore, I fill my time with the usual work routine — escorting Avery to functions, trying to keep the press at bay, and trying to keep Evelyn Thomas from escalating her demands on Avery’s every waking moment. The last part is difficult, as the woman is the walking, talking, fire-breathing definition of ‘give her an inch, she takes a mile’.
Between all these responsibilities, I steal a few hours here and there to review the security footage from the Fairmont. It takes me several days of studying the video to zero in on the exact angle and time that the photos sent to Avery’s phone were taken. I’m working from memory, so it isn’t easy, but when I finally isolate the scene, I see the answer plain as day.
In the frozen image on my laptop, I see a guy standing just three feet from Avery holding his phone, his finger tapping the screen. The phone is at waist level and close to his body. He’s trying to be discreet. I pull up the scene recorded from the opposite angle and I zoom in.
The face I see is that of the casually dressed guy who was in conversation with General Thomas at the Scarlet Huntington fundraiser. There’s no mistaking him.
Who is he? What’s his connection to the Mr. and Mrs. Thomas? Is he a campaign employee or just a casual acquaintance? Or something else?
Could they actually be involved some way in the assault on Avery? Would they?
* * *
“So here’s how this works.” David Jones – or whatever his actual name is – says to me. “You’re going to give me your laptop’s private IP address, and I’m gonna set up a VPN. That’s the only way you and I will communicate. Once you’re logged on, then we’ll discuss the project and payment. Okay?”
I agree as he talks me through the steps necessary to locate the private IP address he needs. Once he’s got it, he says, “Alright. Don’t freak out. I’m gonna drive for awhile. Just don’t touch anything while I work.”
In the blink of an eye, without really understanding what I’ve done, I’ve just given a perfect stranger – and an acknowledged criminal hacker – complete access to my computer and everything on it. He downloads an application and installs it, then goes to my network settings and makes changes I don’t quite follow. Once he’s done there, he downloads another application and opens a chat window.
David Jones: We’re on. Hang up the phone and tell me what you need.
“Okay,” I say.
“Type it. Don’t say it. Hang up.” He orders tersely.
I swipe to end the call, put the phone down, and begin typing. I try to explain what I’m hoping to find. Mr. “Jones” replies.
David Jones: You understand that anything I find is discovered under an illegal search and can never be used by Law Enforcement?
Client 2934: I understand.
David Jones: What do you intend to do with the info, assuming I find anything?
Client 2934: I dunno yet. Depends on what you find and who it is.
David Jones: Just don’t implicate me if you do any violence. 0006459927 / 32564898. That’s the account and routing number. $5000 and I get to work. When the work is complete, I’ll send you a detailed report with all the cited documents attached. I have access to all the comms networks in the western hemisphere, most of Europe, as well as all the U.S. Federal LE databases, social security, credit reporting agencies, etc. I should be able to send you something useful. Prompt payment is appreciated. I’ll upload everything two weeks after payment is received.
And just that quick, he logs off.
“Damn,” I say right out loud to no one.
I hope this guys isn’t working for the Russians. I expected to pay three times that amount.
* * *
Avery has the stomach flu. It’s been coming on for days and she looks absolutely green — a lovely shade of green, but green nonetheless. I think she’s lost weight too. She throws-up every time she even gets a whiff of food. She can’t keep anything down except saltines and club soda. And yet – here we are at the San Francisco Civic Center in the Graham Auditorium, in a room behind the main stage. She’s waiting for her turn on the podium where she’s scheduled to give a speech on ‘The Essential Contribution of Young Women’s Voices in Emerging Policy Development’. The event is hosted by the League of Women Voters of Northern California – who won’t endorse Evelyn Thomas – but invited her to attend their annual convention just for the ‘fair and balanced’ bonus points.
Thomas’ polling numbers have dropped over the last few weeks as media coverage on the campaign has shifted to focus more on issues and less on personalities and rumors. Because her numbers are down, Evelyn is leaning that much harder on Avery to deliver younger voters — especially young women who might relate to someone like her. Evelyn has the same constituents who voted her into office, but she needs to cast her net wider. She’s using Avery as the bait and the hook.
Right now Avery is looking at Gerard Heath, Evelyn’s campaign manager, with a deer in the headlights expression. On top of being sick, she’s also got stage fright. The event is being televised live via C-Span, live streamed over the net, covered by the major cable news networks, and carried on a dozen major-market NPR stations statewide.
“You look awful.” Heath says. “Good lord Avery, sit down.”
Instead she crouches over a nearby trashcan and dry heaves.
“Avery. This is ridiculous. Let me take you home.” I urge her, slipping one hand around her waist, holding her hair back with the other. “You need to rest, or you’re gonna get really sick.”
“Oh Good Lord, Maddox, stop babying her.” Evelyn Thomas snaps, stepping up behind me. “She’s being overly dramatic – as usual. Avery stand up.”
Avery does as she’s told – with my help. She’s wobbly and I’m angry that she’s expected to perform like a trained money, even when she’s puking her guts up.
“Mrs. Thomas. She barely slept last night. She’s sick. Can’t you see...”
“How do you know how much sleep she got?” She fires back before I can finish my sentence. She looks daggers at me, and I return the favor.
“It’s okay,” Avery says, squeezing my hand. “It’s passed. I’ll be fine.”
“See.” Evelyn Thomas quips. “She’s fine.” She glares at Avery. “Straighten your jacket, comb your hair, and fix your lipstick. You’re on in three minutes.”
I have serious doubts whether she will make it up the rickety metal steps to the podium, much less endure a twenty minute speech under searing hot lights with an audience of several thousand women – most of whom hate her mother – gaping at her. She never ceases to amaze me, how she’s able to step up to any situation. Tonight is no different.
I can’t see her from the green room where I wait with the campaign staff, but I can sure hear her over the auditorium PA. I watch on the flat screen monitor while she speaks, and I can see that she has the attendees in the palm of her hand. To speak with such clarity, authenticity, and eloquence – given how wretched I know she feels – I’m certain she’s calling up something deep inside herself that few of us have in reserve. I’ve seen men call that same thing up on the battlefield — they may be wounded and bleeding, and yet they perform superhuman acts in order to carry out their duty.
Her speech, the substance of which causes Evelyn’s eyes to roll multiple times throughout, resonates profoundly with the audience. I know she’s absolutely crushed it when the room rises to its feet to give her a standing ovation – the first one of the day. I can’t help but grin proudly.
That’s my girl. Brains, beauty, and a big heart to match. And they love her.
“Wipe that grin off your face.” Evelyn hisses at me. “She’s not doing this for your entertainment.”
I smirk at the old witch. “Apparently, she’s not doing it for yours either.” I turn back to the monitor, watching Avery give a final bow, offering a warm wave before she surrenders the stage. “It’s gotta just kill you to know they like her better than they’ll ever like you.”
For once, Evelyn Thomas is speechless.
Bursting with pride, I bound toward the stage to meet Avery so I can tell her myself just how radiant she was up there, and just how much I love her. I’m going to say it. I’ve been holding back because I felt like she wanted me to, but I can’t hold back any more. I’m too damn proud to keep it a secret. I want to shout it from the microphone up on that stage so everyone in the world knows.
When I get to the steps I see Heath walking Avery down, hanging onto her arm. I meet her at the bottom and take her hand. It’s too hot.
“How’d I do?” She asks, all the fire gone from her voice. She’s pale as death.
“You’re remarkable. You did beautifully – as always.” I slip my arms around her and scoop her up to me, pressing my lips to hers and kiss her – hard – in front of everyone. She kisses me back, then starts laughing. Hearing her laugh does me good. “I love you,” I whisper in her ear. “I love you so much Avery Thomas.”
“Avery!” Gerard Heath shouts. “What in the name of God are you...”
I look in Avery’s eyes and trail my finger along her jawline. “Let’s get you home. Put you to bed.”
She nods.
Then Heath does something only very stupid men do. He put his hands on me – and on Avery. I look down at the guy’s bony fingers wrapped around my girl’s arm, then at his claw wrapped around mine, as if he’s trying to separate a couple of errant sixth graders at the Sadie Hawkins dance. I do what I’ve wanted to do to someone for quite a long time. I give him a solid shove, sending him tumbling into a row of folding chairs against the curtain walls.
“You keep your fucking hands off Miss Thomas,” I say without veiling the threat. “Or I’ll rip them out of their sockets.”
Three campaign staffers and an intern are standing just feet away gawking, while Heath scrambles to his feet. He doesn’t have sense enough to cease talking.
“You and Avery cannot be seen like that!” He preaches. “You’ll destroy this campaign. We’re fifteen feet from the main stage and you have no idea who’s peeking through these curtains. The press corps is just on the other side of those temporary walls.”
“Gerard, no one saw...” Avery protests, her voice cracking.
“I saw!” He barks at her. He points to the loitering staffers. “They fucking saw!”
I am about to step forward and give Gerard Heath something more interesting that other people’s opinions to think about, when I feel Avery’s grip on my hand slacken. Before I can turn, she slumps into me, her eyes rolling backwards, her lids fluttering. I catch her – the full lifeless weight of her – and together we drop to the floor.
“Avery,” I whisper, touching her face, reaching a shaking finger under her jaw to find her pulse. It’s weak but steady. Dried sweat salts her brow. Her skin is hot.
Before I even know what I’m doing I shove my jacket under her head for a pillow against the bare concrete floor, lift her knees up and cross her arms over her chest to increase blood flow to her core. She’s breathing normally, but she’s out cold.
“Avery. Speak to me. Wake up.” I beg her, stroking her cheek anxiously.
In just a few seconds the room crowds with people, all crushing in around us. Heath is on the phone calling 911.
I pinch the skin of Avery’s forearm between my fingers. It lingers, peaking, before slowly sliding flat again.
“She’s dehydrated,” I say to no one but myself.
“What’s happening?” I hear Evelyn Thomas’ voice above and behind me. “Oh God, Avery. What’s wrong? What’s wrong with her, Maddox?”
“She’s sick as shit and dehydrated. She passed out.” I spit at her. “Her blood pressure probably crashed from dehydration. She’ll wake up in a minute, but she needs to go to the ER for fluids and electrolytes.”
“I already called 911.” Gerard Heath says to Evelyn. “EMTs are on their way.”
Evelyn crouches down beside us on the floor, balancing on her pointy heels. Her expression is inscrutable. I can see neither concern or empathy, but neither can I see disdain – which is her most common visage. She reaches out and with the back of her hand, cautiously touches Avery’s forehead.
“Take her to the ER.” She instructs calmly. “Find out what’s wrong with her and get her treated.”
Then without blinking, she stands up and with great flare begins shooing people out of the room.
That woman is an icicle. The idea of her thumb on the button of the nuclear arsenal is terrifying.
Avery’s lids flutter and her fingers move inside my palm.
“Wake up, baby. You’re okay,” I whisper to her over the sound of the audience just beyond us, rising in applause to greet the next speaker.
Her eyes open and she looks up at me, dazed.
“You passed out,” I say. “You’re really dehydrated.”
She tries to sit up but I hold her in place. “Very slowly.” I instruct her. “If you feel dizzy again, put your head down.”
In another moment the EMTs are with us, checking her vitals. Her blood pressure is low, as is her blood sugar, and she is – as I observed – dangerously dehydrated.
“This will help a lot.” One of the EMTs says, shoving a bottle of ice-cold Gatorade into her hand. “Chug that, then another one. You should still go to the ER and get checked out.”
In ten minutes Avery is almost back to her old self. She’s on her feet and making light of the whole incident, but she still looks pale to me.
“I’m taking you to the ER,” I say.
“I just want to go home,” she insists.
“Do what he says, Avery.” Evelyn states, backing me up – for once. “You need to make sure its not more serious than just the flu.”
Once in the car, Avery continues to argue the point. I’m not entirely convinced that she wouldn’t be a lot better off at home in her pajamas, slurping chicken soup and drinking Gatorade, than she would be waiting for hours at the ER, just to be told to go home, get some rest, and eat chicken soup.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m staying with you.”
She cuts her eyes at me, confused. “Okay?” She asks, astonished that I relent so easily.
I nod. “But I’m staying with you. I warm up a mean bowl of canned chicken noodle soup. I said I’d take care of you. I meant it.”
Back at her place, I make good on my promise. I tuck her in to bed and then bring her a warm bowl of soup and a stack of buttered saltines. She looks a lot less green than she looked an hour ago. The color is returning to her face, and her mood is improved.
“Your mother was a real shrew tonight.” I observe. “You never should have been there. They’re wearing you down, and I’m sick of seeing you take it, day after day.”
She slurps her soup without responding.
“Do you remember me kissing you tonight, at the bottom of the steps?”
She nods. “Yes. That was very brave, and very reckless.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it was a declaration. I love you Avery, and I’m sick of fighting it, sick of hiding it, and sick of your parents trying to force you—”
“Maddox, we’ve been over this ground a thousand times,” she says, defeat filling her eyes.
“Come away with me,” I say. “I’ve got some cash put back. I’ve got good friends who will help me get started with something else, somewhere else. Let’s just go.”
Avery pushes the tray away and sits back on her pillow regarding me with a dark concern. When she opens her mouth to speak, her words surprise me, and give me hope.
“The only reason I tried to end it with you – to make you take the money – was because I realized I was in love with you and have been forever. I was trying to protect you – from them. I don’t think you know what they’re capable of. And when you said you wouldn’t give us up, I didn’t have the strength to push you away – to be cruel to you the way I needed to be. I care about you too much.”
“Then let’s just both admit that we want to be together, and give each other credit for being able to face the risks. Come away with me Avery. I can’t give you mansions on Nob Hill or C-Span, but I can give you something better, if you just give us a chance.”
“I...” She starts to say, and then I see her face tighten. Her color drains, and all at once she’s up and bolting to the bathroom. I follow and manage to pull her hair away from her face before she looses the entire bowl of soup I made for her into the toilet.
“Oh, baby. You’re so sick.” I croon, rubbing her back while she heaves and spits, hugging the bowl.
The retching continues another twenty minutes before she feels safe enough to get back in bed. I make her chug another Gatorade, then I kiss her goodnight, turn out the light, and go to the living room to check my messages.
It’s thirteen days since I wired the money to the hacker, and I’ve been waiting and watching for his promised report. I fire up my laptop, launching the VPN, and for the first time since we initiated the project, I have a message from him:
David Jones: Pleasure doing business with you. See attached file.
I download the documents and begin reading the Executive Summary. It states,
Source Number: 510-555-1468; Registered to Avery Elizabeth Thomas
Investigation Number: 650-555-1312; Registered to Duane Robin Abbot
Summary Conclusions:
The photos and text sent to the source number on March 16, originated from a private cell phone number registered to Duane Robin Abbot, of 1620 Hummingbird Lane, Apt. 203, San Francisco, California. Mr. Abbot is a 29 year-old graduate of George Washington University, with a BS in Political Science. He graduated from Torrance High School, Torrance, CA, with a GPA of 4.2 (High Honors), and was appointed as a United States Senate Page by California (then junior) Senator, Evelyn Thomas. He served in that capacity throughout his undergraduate tenure at GWU. After graduation from college, Abbot applied to several graduate programs but was denied admission. Two years after graduation from college, Abbot was arrested on a simple assault charge. He plead to a lesser charge and was released on one-year probation. Six months later he was arrested on a charge of assault and battery on a female. He was tried and served seven months in the L.A. County Jail. After his release, he worked for a period as bar tender at various establishments around Los Angeles. Six months ago, Mr. Abbot moved to the Bay Area, where he appears to be working in some capacity with the campaign of Evelyn Thomas For Senate.
His cell GPS signal has been mapped to locations and dates related to campaign events, as well as appearing (on multiple occasions) at the coordinates of the campaign headquarters. In addition, his cell GPS signal has been mapped to locations and dates proximal to the source phone number, indicating that the owner of the phone number 650-555-1312 was present, observing the source, and tracing her movements.
Mr. Abbot has a combined credit score of 212, and has defaulted on two medical bills, an auto loan, and multiple credit cards. He drives a late model BMW coupe, black, California license plate number GCF-1875, registered and titled in his name (no loan).
Since arriving in the Bay Area, Mr. Abbot has received deposits into his personal checking account in the amount of $215,000.00. These funds map precisely to debit transfers from three different Evelyn Thomas for Senate campaign accounts. (See attached documents at end of report, entitled “Item 13: Questionable Campaign Expenses”.)
They hired a convicted criminal to stalk and then assault their daughter. What kind of people do that?
I have to think. Should I tell Avery? Should I confront her parents? What do I do with this?
I have to get Avery away from these people.