They had made love before Mason left to finish his preparations for the debate. It hadn’t been passionate, or even that satisfying for either of them, but it had been a move to restore the closeness of their marriage. And it had been the first time in weeks. There had been something different, something odd about the entire event. Grace could not quite put her finger on it, and in a way, as she stood in the shower, she felt unclean. No, dirty would better describe how she felt. Connor was due soon, so she finished and dressed quickly. He arrived just as room service did, and after a careful check of the waiter, breakfast was laid out on the table.
“Oh,” Connor began, “I was able to get confirmation on that itinerary.”
“Itinerary?” Grace asked.
“Yes, mam. From the other day. The one that ended at the debate location.” She recalled now that Connor had mentioned something about this a few days ago. Something he had overheard Mason saying while he was on the phone.
“Well, what about it.” She asked.
“It was Mr. Malek’s, mam.”
“Malek...Bazir?”
“Yes, mam.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, mam. I was speaking with Agent Jones, from Mr. Malek’s protection detail, and he had asked me to review their transport protocol. I didn’t really think anything about it. Not uncommon after what happened, with the bombing and all. But as I reviewed the point to point locations I couldn’t help but recognize the pattern.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing really, I just thought it was an interesting coincidence. Though...”
“What?”
“Though...usually these itineraries are kept confidential. You know, for safety purposes. I mean, I wouldn’t share your itinerary with anyone. I did ask Frank, I mean Agent Lee, if the two details had swapped info, possibly to arrange for an off the books meeting.”
“And?” Something about this information was making Grace very uncomfortable.
“No, mam. Not that he was aware. Of course, it’s not uncommon for candidates to have their own communications that we’re not privy to. After all, I have no idea who you may be messaging.” He smiled. Itinerary, she thought. What was it about this that suddenly disturbed her so. What was an itinerary after all. Just a series locations, indicating starting and ending points. It was just a schedule of events to attend, speeches to give, and meetings. Just a series of locations and times.
“Times.” She said.
“Mam?”
“Was the hotel on the list?”
“Mam?”
“The hotel. The bombing. Where the bomb went off?” She had become excited.
“Why, yes, mam. It was.” He replied. She pushed her plate away as the pieces began to fall into place, revealing an ugly picture that she did not wish to see. She called up the decoded message on her Smart contact. Wait until he has arrived, the message had said. No, no, no, she thought. This could not mean what she thought it did. If this was true, it was almost rock solid confirmation that Mason not only had prior knowledge of the attempt on Bazir’s life, but that he had actually orchestrated the attack. This couldn’t be true. It just could not be. But even as she hoped it was not, she knew, she could feel that it was. The slate, she thought. There had to be more on it than what she had already found. She got up abruptly and excused herself. Connor watched after her, as she hurried to the bedroom.
The keycard was still in the Koran in the drawer. She grabbed it and forced herself to walk slowly to the office door. She stealthily unlocked the door, and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Mason’s slate was on the desk, near his phone that rested on its charger. With a tremor in her hand, she tapped in the password, Auschwitz, and the main menu appeared. She went directly to the file system, and once again entered each directory. What was she looking for, she asked herself. What did she expect to find? She had already been through each of these before, and the only thing she had found was that one coded message. After half an hour, she laid the slate down, shaking her head. What was she doing, she asked herself. She had found nothing different than she had found before. She stared at the slate as the screen went blank. She replaced it exactly as she found it, and rose to leave. She flipped the light switch, and began to pull the door shut, when suddenly she noticed an illumination from the desk. She stepped over in the dark, and saw his phone. There was an incoming call, yet the phone was silenced. She watched as the call went unanswered, and then to voicemail.
“His phone.” She whispered. Mason had accidentally left his phone. She flipped the light back on and shut the door. She made a mental note of exactly how and where it was positioned, and carefully picked it up from the charger. The screen had gone dark, and she keyed the device to activate it. The screen lit up, and she slid the unlock icon to the side. The menu appeared. No password she realized. Slowly she began to go through the various installed applications. Nothing stood out, just the standard apps that any phone would have installed. She checked the messaging app, and noticed that it was synched with his Smart Contact. She browsed the messages here, and again found nothing out of the ordinary. She checked the sent folder and the deleted folder, and once again found nothing unusual. She exited the messaging app, and stared at the menu again, as she debated to just put the phone back on the charger and leave.
She noticed the alert icon indicating voicemail. Almost as an afterthought, she entered the voicemail application. He had three new voicemails, with time stamps indicating they had all come in this morning. She realized that if she listened to these voicemails, there would be no way to reset them as new, and Mason would know someone had listened to them. Or, if she listened to them, and then deleted them, if it was important, he would find out that the message had gone missing. Just as she reached to exit the app, she noticed the tiny folder icon. New, it read. She tapped it, and two options appeared. New and Trash. She tapped the Trash icon, and the screen filled with hundreds of deleted voicemails. Hesitantly, she began to listen to the deleted voicemails starting with the most recent. After the third innocuous message, she quickly realized that this would take forever. She decided to scan the numbers from which they came, and began to scroll down through the list. Several stood out, with names listed instead of numbers. His campaign manager, marketing director, his mother, Sarah. Grace continued to scroll down. Then one appeared with no number, or name, just one letter. She stared at the letter T. The date was two days ago. Why just a letter, Grace asked herself. She tapped the message, and the play screen appeared. She pressed play, and held the phone to her ear. A second passed, and then a woman’s voice began.
“I miss you.” The voice said. Grace snatched the phone away from her ear and gasped. The voice continued, too low to hear. Staring at the screen, her heart pounding away, her throat constricting, with a trembling hand, she restarted the message and slowly held the phone to her head.
“I miss you. It’s so lonely here. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I know, it won’t be much longer. But it seems like forever. I miss your touch, Mason. I miss your scent. I don’t know how much longer I can wait for us to finally be together, my love. Please call me when you can. I need you. I love you, Mr. President.” The message ended. Grace’s hand shook uncontrollably as she slowly lowered the phone from her head, and stared at the device in her hand. That voice. She recognized that voice. She stared at the letter T. T for Teresa. The meaning of the message was indisputable. How could he do this to her? And then lie right to her face this morning, all the while blaming Jeff for the whole thing. That son of a bitch. That lying dirty son of a bitch. And who did that bitch think she was?
“Whore.” She said angrily under her breath. She went back to the deleted list, and angrily scrolled down. Again and again she saw messages from T. She listened to the next, and the one after that, and they were all the same. Mason was not only in a relationship with this woman, but it had been going on for a long time. She scrolled to end of the list, and started back
up. She stopped at the oldest message from T, from several months ago. She played the message.
“Hi baby. Last night was luscious. I can’t stop thinking about how you made me feel. But this bed was so empty this morning. I miss you already, and can’t wait to see you next week. I’ll be counting the hours.” The woman’s voice sighed. “Oh, and I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. If you just have her committed, then it will be seven years before she is finally out of the picture. Baby, that’s a long time for us to be apart. You do what you need to do. I don’t need to know any details. But I’m not waiting seven years. I want to be right there by your side. Mrs. Alexander. First Lady of the Republic of America. I love you, Mason. Call me when you can.” The message ended.
“Son of a bitch!” She exclaimed, as it suddenly began to dawn on her that not only was her husband having an affair behind her back, but Mason planned to get rid of her. Committed wasn’t good enough. “My God, do they plan to kill me?” This was out of control. This was unbelievable. This couldn’t be happening. But with what she had just heard, it had to be true. There could be no other explanation.
Chapter 19