THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 5: A RAW NERVE

Mount Vernon, Virginia Six Days Before Temple Ceremony

Jenn appreciatively and patiently endures the constant stream of sympathetic condolences. A myriad of friends, naval offi cers, and politicians attend the reception at Mount Vernon, George Washington’s plantation on the Potomac River. Th e death of an acting Joint Chief can be a formal aff air of the state. As a former Navy Lieutenant, Jenn forces a polite smile and plays the game until her cheeks hurt, her emotions are numb, and she’s anxious just to be alone. A popular event venue, the property of Mount Vernon comprises over 190 acres of prime land on the Potomac River. A gift from King George to Washington’s father for his loyalty to the crown. Th e admiral never lost the irony that wealth can never ransom or replace true patriotism. “How are you holding up, Lieutenant?” A gentle voice from behind startles her slightly. Jenn turns around to see Matt Adelson. “Uncle Matt, I’m doing fi ne, thanks for asking,” she repeats the well rehearsed line she tired of saying an hour ago. Not really her uncle, Matt Adelson and the admiral had been good friends since before she was born. The men bonded even tighter after both wives passed away from cancer within a couple of years of each other. Matt’s son Daniel, almost like a brother, died in Afghanistan. Jenn’s almost like a niece or a substitute daughter. Matt pulls her in for a gentle hug. “I believe you, but you don’t need to be strong for me, kiddo. We’re all in shock, hurting hard, and missing him deeply.” Jenn melts into the familiar and friendly embrace, silently wishing he were Taylor before reminding herself a relationship with the ghost can never happen-should never happen. “Have you heard from Taylor lately?” he asks, as if reading her mind. Matt and Taylor were friends, poker pals with the admiral, until her investigation exposed Taylor’s connections to the missing SLVIA code and the mysterious underground group called SNO. Considering that Taylor was once a highly regarded NSA contractor, hated by some and called a genius by others, it was another blow to the tarnished US cybersecurity image. Despite her report’s conclusion that without the SLVIA code, the SNO network no longer represented a national security threat, it was too late. Even the fact that Taylor had saved the US from a total internet collapse against a Chinese virus didn’t help his case. Her report turned Taylor into an international fugitive, a pariah. “Not in several weeks,” Jenn replies without confessing that she was the one to push him away. “I’d rather talk about something else, please.” Her mixed feelings for the charming hacker now lean toward a bitter regret for how the investigation also derailed her naval intelligence career. “Actually, I do have a sensitive matter to debrief you on. Let’s step outside,” Matt suggests, gently nudging her toward the expansive one-hundred-foot long covered patio with towering colonial pillars that overlook the Potomac. Bitter cold for this time of year, she hopes that whatever Matt has to say won’t take long. “I have some very difficult news to share. I’m telling you now because you are a respected intelligence officer, and it may affect you directly,” Matt says. Her heart seizes. The admiral is already dead. What kind of bad news would demand such frigid privacy? Did something happen to Taylor? “The autopsy toxicology report came back an hour ago. A nerve agent induced your father’s heart attack. We’re unsure how or who yet, but I assure you that the full resources of the US government will not rest until we find the killer.” Matt speaks gently, watching her eyes intently. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “Nerve agent,” Jenn repeats in shock. “You mean like Navalny?” “Exactly like Navalny. We believe it was the same agent. The questions of who, how, and why will fall to Director Nick Wright at the FBI. The investigation will be a top priority but in secret because of the sensitivity. We can’t let news leak that Russia assassinated a Joint Chief until we have all the facts,” he says. T he cold air turns to ice in her lungs, keeping her from inhaling for several seconds until she gasps for a breath. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?” Angered that he would bring up such horrible news when Jenn can barely handle the normal grief of losing her father. “You’re already grieving, would want to know, and I need your help,” he justifies. “Help? How can I help? I resigned my commission, remember?” Still bitter, Jenn wonders if it was the right choice or if her conflicted feelings toward Taylor influenced it. “To be honest, we need a motive. Targeting a Joint Chief was neither random nor accidental. A clue may exist among your father’s personal effects. You’re the only heir with access to the house. I need you to keep an eye open on why the Kremlin would silence such a great man.” Matt pulls her close for another hug, as much to fight her shivering as for empathy. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you today, or at all, but you need to know.” Jenn tepidly accepts the embrace. He’s right, she would want to know, but the news that the Kremlin assassinated her father is a lot to suppress in a public setting. She takes a big breath. “And just for the record,” Matt says before kissing her forehead. “I miss Taylor too. He’s a good man underneath all of his deceptions.” Matt nudges her back through the door a second before Jenn would have frozen blue or debated his conclusions. Taylor lied to her more than once. Without trust, they have nothing. From the chilling news on the icy porch, Jenn steps into the warmth of an overcrowded parlor room full of overly pretentious Washington grief. She takes a deep breath to steady her emotions. If the admiral were here, he would say something like, buck up, Sailor, and stand proud; you’re the daughter of an admiral, for God’s sake. Jenn misses him more than she could have ever imagined. At this moment, she just wants to be alone until she notices someone approaching. Jenn instinctively takes a deep breath to stand straight and puts on her professional face; she’s an admiral’s daughter, for God’s sake. “Madam Vice President,” she smiles, extending a hand. “So honored that you would come. Thank you for your kind words this morning.”