The Election (31 page)

That strange feeling Jake had when he heard Reverend Hall's prayer returned, but this time it was magnified. It was indeed an urging to do something, but what? His face turned ashen, and his body trembled slightly.

“It's the Holy Spirit,” Naomi said.

“What is?”

“That feelin' inside you. It's the Holy Spirit beggin' you to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. Do you want to do that?”

Jake lowered his head and spoke softly. “God doesn't care about me. If he did, he wouldn't have let my parents die when I was just a boy, and he wouldn't have let that monster hurt Courtney.” He looked back at Naomi, and his heart began to harden as he thought about all the things that had impacted him all his life. “I've made it this far on my own,” he told her, “and I don't need God now.”

Standing up abruptly, he hurried out of the chapel.

 

After Jake left, Naomi McClellan got on her knees.

“I'm tryin', Lord,” she whispered heavenward. “I'm tryin'.”

FBI headquarters, Washington DC

“She got away,” Simon reported to Armacost after the unsuccessful attempt to capture Claudia Duval. “And worse, Ron took a round in the shoulder. He's in transport to a local hospital.”

“What about Phelps?” Charlie asked.

“I had to neutralize him after he fired on Ron. Our guys have control of the scene, and we'll make sure the place is clean before we leave.”

“My guess is she's on her way to Jackson,” Charlie surmised. “That's the only logical destination.”

Charlie noticed George standing in the door with a peculiar look on his face. “Hold on a minute, Jerry.” Charlie placed the call on speaker phone. To George, he said, “Jerry was just giving me the report from Memphis. The short version is that the woman got away, Ron's been wounded, and Phelps is dead.”

“Let me tell you something else that's troubling,” George replied. “Sanders's plane hasn't returned from Atlanta with Osborne and Moyers.”

“I don't like the sound of that.” Charlie rested his right elbow on his desk and rubbed his temples. “That plane should have been back thirty minutes ago.”

“One of the mechanics in the hangar said he thought he overheard the pilot saying he was making another stop before returning to DC.”

“Jerry, how fast can you get to Jackson?” Charlie asked loud enough for the speaker phone to pick up his voice.

“We're almost finished here, but there's no way I can catch up with her. She's got an hour's head start. She's probably already there.”

“Sanders has outmaneuvered us,” Charlie said to George. He leaned back in his chair and focused rather despondently on the ceiling. “Jerry, get to Jackson as quick as you can. I just hope we're not too late.”

 

En route to Jackson, Tennessee

Claudia exited I-40 at exit 80A and merged into the southbound traffic on US Highway 45 bypass around Jackson. Hudson had written Jake Reed's address on the package with his name on it, and Claudia had obtained directions from a service-station attendant at the intersection of Old Hickory Boulevard and Highway 45 bypass.

The traffic lights along the route to downtown Jackson were all favorable, and Claudia reached the court square within fifteen minutes of leaving I-40. She found the law offices on the northwest corner and parked her car across the street. She removed the package addressed to Jake Reed from her duffel bag and clutched it anxiously. After a couple of deep breaths she exited the car, crossed the street, and climbed the few steps to the front door of Holcombe & Reed, Attorneys-at-Law. She was finally entering the building that she hoped contained answers to her many questions.

“May I help you?” the receptionist pleasantly asked Claudia.

“I'm here to see Mr. Reed.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don't,” Claudia admitted. “But it is extremely important that I see him.”

“I'm afraid Mr. Reed is not in the office at the moment. Would you like to speak with his secretary?”

“That would be fine.”

“May I have your name?”

“Claudia Duval.”

 

Law offices of Holcombe & Reed, Jackson, Tennessee

“There's a lady here to see Jake,” the receptionist told Madge Mayfield, “but she doesn't have an appointment.”

Madge frowned. “Did you tell her Jake isn't here?”

“I did, but she said it's urgent that she see him. When I told her he wasn't in, she asked to speak with you.”

“Did she tell you her name?”

“Claudia Duval.”

“Claudia Duval,” Madge repeated, running the name through her memory bank. “That name doesn't ring a bell with me. I'll go up front with you and find out why she needs to see Jake.”

When Madge opened the door to the lobby, the woman who was waiting looked up. Immediately Madge caught her distraught expression.

“Ms. Duval,” Madge said calmly as she crossed the lobby, “my name is Madge Mayfield. I'm Mr. Reed's secretary. Is there something I can help you with?”

Claudia stood as Madge approached. “I really need to see Mr. Reed. I have something to give him.”

“I'll be glad to give it to him for you,” Madge offered.

“I really need to give it to him personally. Do you know when he'll be back in the office?”

“I don't know when he'll be back. He's had an illness in the family, and he may be out for several days.” Madge wasn't about to tell this mysterious woman what had really happened to Courtney. “Do you mind telling me what this is about?”

“I wish I knew. All I know is that a friend of mine passed away a couple of days ago, and his dying request was for me to deliver a package to Mr. Reed. He said it had something to do with a group called the Federalists.”

Madge bantered with the idea of telling Claudia to come back on a later day, but something inside convinced her otherwise. “If you'll excuse me, I'll try to call Mr. Reed.”

“I really appreciate it,” Claudia replied, appearing relieved. “You don't know how important this is to me.”

 

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Courtney was sitting up in bed drinking a can of Sprite through a straw and eating a serving of fruit when Jake returned from his meeting with Naomi. Rachel was sitting in the green vinyl chair near the window.

“Hi, Daddy,” Courtney said cheerfully as Jake entered the room.

“Hi, sweetheart. You appear to be feeling better.”

“I am,” Courtney replied. “I can't wait to go home.”

“I can't wait either,” Jake said. “Perhaps the doctor will say it will be OK to go home tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Courtney replied.

“Let's not rush things,” Rachel cautioned. “She needs to get as much rest as possible, and this is probably a better place to do that than at home.”

Before Courtney or Jake could respond, the telephone on the bedside table rang loudly.

Startled, Jake grabbed the receiver from its cradle before the second ring. “Hello,” he said as he raised the receiver to his ear.

“Jake, this is Madge. I hate to bother you.”

“It's OK. Courtney is feeling better, and we might get to go home tomorrow.” He winked at Courtney and directed a sly smile at Rachel. “What's going on at the office?”

“That's why I called. There's a woman named Claudia Duval in the lobby. She said she has a package for you, and all she could tell me was that it had something to do with a group called the Federalists—”

“Did you say
Federalists
?” Jake interrupted.

“That's what she said. Does that mean something to you?”

“It might.” Jake remembered that the documents he received from Earline Thompson contained references to an entity called the Federalists, but that name hadn't really meant anything to him…until now.

If this lady knows something about the Federalists, she might also know something about who murdered Jesse Thompson. And, more importantly, she might know something about who attacked Courtney.

“Is she still there?” Jake asked.

“Yes. She's in the lobby.”

“Don't let her leave. I'll be there in a few minutes.” Jake hung up the phone and turned to Rachel. “I need to go to the office. Someone is there to see me, and it might have something to do with Jed's case.” He caught Rachel's eyes, attempting to send a message between his words—that this visitor in the office might have something to do with who attacked Courtney. “I'll be back in a little while,” he said as he left the room.

“I'm going to my office,” he announced to the sheriff's deputy stationed outside Courtney's room. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Jake watched as the deputy relayed the information over his radio to the patrol car in the hospital parking lot. “Deputy Laymon is outside,” he told Jake. “He'll escort you to your office.”

 

Law offices of Holcombe & Reed, Jackson, Tennessee

The drive from the hospital to Jake's office downtown typically took ten minutes. With Deputy Laymon's escort, Jake made the drive in seven minutes flat. He slid the Volvo to a stop in his customary parking space and darted through the back door to the office and directly to Madge's desk. The deputy remained in his patrol car in the rear parking lot.

“Where is she?” Jake asked before Madge had an opportunity to volunteer the information.

“I put her in the front conference room and gave her a soft drink. She's waiting on you there.”

Jake took two cleansing breaths and walked calmly up the narrow hallway to the spacious conference room across the hall from the front lobby. Jake knew that in the building's previous life as a funeral home, this room had been used as a bereavement room for ministers to meet with distraught members of the deceased family.

“Ms. Duval,” Jake said as he entered the room. “I'm Jake Reed.”

A glimmer of a smile appeared on the woman's face. But she certainly appeared to be under stress.

He took a seat nearest her. “My secretary said you need to see me.”

“That's right, Mr. Reed.”

“Please, call me Jake.”

“All right, Jake. Please call me Claudia. I have a package that a dear friend of mine asked me to deliver to you. He's dead now, and his last request to me was to make sure you received this package.”

“Who was it?”

“I knew him as Hudson Kinney. But his real name was Milton McAdams.”

Jake attempted to register either of those names with any matches in his memory bank. “I don't recognize either of those names, Claudia. I'm sorry.”

“Did you hear about the man who was struck and killed by a cab in Times Square a few nights ago?”

“I vaguely remember seeing something about that on the news.”

“That was Hudson—I'm sorry—Milton.”

“All right.” Jake nodded. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Before he died, Milton wrote a letter to me, and in it he said he was involved in something terrible that he couldn't describe. He also told me that I should bring the contents of a locker at the airport in Atlanta to you.” She handed a manila envelope to Jake.

Jake took the envelope, noticing that it felt like it contained a video. The envelope was addressed to him. His anticipation grew as he slid his index finger into the crease of the flap and ripped through the top of the envelope. He removed the videotape and laid it on the table. He and Claudia both stared at it for several seconds before either spoke.

“Mr. Reed…
Jake,
” she corrected herself, “Hudson, or Milton, or whatever his name, was more than a friend to me. He was my entire life. When he died, a part of me died too. But now I need to move on, and I can't do that until I put this whole ordeal behind me. The reason I'm telling you this is because I want to watch this tape with you.”

“I don't know, Claudia. There may be some things on the tape that you don't need to see.”

“Please, Jake,” she begged. “I've been through quite a lot of turmoil the last few days. Just today I've been chased by the FBI—twice—and I was almost shot not more than two hours ago. My life has been turned upside down. I really need some answers, and I think seeing what's on this tape will help me with that.”

Jake studied Claudia's face. He could tell she was hurting. Yet other than what she had told him in the last ten minutes, he knew nothing about her. He didn't know where she had come from or where she was going. But he felt a connection to her. He felt drawn to her. Like fate had brought the two of them together at this point in time for some purpose greater than both of them. It didn't matter what was on that tape. If she wanted to see it, then so be it. Who was he to stop her?

“All right, Claudia. We'll watch it together.”

Jake stood and made his way around the end of the table to the bookcases on the other side of the room. A twenty-seven-inch television connected to a VCR sat on the shelf that separated the bookcases above from the cabinets below. He pressed the Power button and fed the mysterious tape into the mouth of the VCR. Then he retreated to his seat, with the remote control in hand.

The screen flickered, and then the face of Milton McAdams appeared. Claudia began to cry quietly. The image of Milton was only from the waist up, and he sat behind an executive-type desk in an office somewhere. After a couple of seconds of silence, Milton began to speak into the camera.

“My name is Milton Hawthorne McAdams. Mr. Reed, if you're watching this, then it is safe to assume that I'm dead.” Milton grimaced at the thought of his own mortality. “Claudia, my dear, if you are there, I want to tell you how truly sorry I am that I have put you through all this.”