As Joshua Jordan strode through the halls of Congress on his way to the hearing, Abigail held tightly to his arm. For over twenty years she had been by his side, whether stationed at a military base in Europe, teaching at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, working while he studied at MIT in Boston, or moving their young family to New York City to start a new life. Even when he was away flying missions in the Middle East during the war, she’d always been there after every flight, waiting for his call. Jordan knew she didn’t have to choose this life. She’d been a highly successful attorney at a prestigious Washington law firm when they first met. He had been immediately taken by her beauty, dark hair, green eyes, and athlete’s tall tanned body, but he was ultimately knocked out by her brains. She never forgot a face or a fact, could cite football stats, particularly for the Denver Broncos, her favorite team, with the same ease as citing Constitutional law cases or federal statutes. She never made a bet she didn’t win and was an absolute killer at Scrabble.
Today, though, she wasn’t going to be by his side the whole time. He was going into a closed-door hearing with only his wits and his attorney to help him take on the full power of the U.S. Congress. He’d wanted Abby to be there, but she convinced him it was better to have an objective advocate instead of a loving and biased spouse to counsel him. Besides, she added, she hadn’t been in a courtroom, let alone a congressional hearing room, in years.
The lawyer she’d recommended was Harry Smythe, a mentor and colleague of hers from her Washington days. He was a legal fixture in D.C. and had made quite a name for himself advising a former president and arguing, and winning, several cases before the Supreme Court. Jordan glanced over at the balding, sixty-year-old man walking next to him. Impeccably dressed, with small round glasses, sporting his famous bowtie, he was vaguely reminiscent of the old silent screen comic Harold Lloyd, yet he had a reputation as a cobra. He wasn’t Abby, but he’d have to do.
As they approached the final security checkpoint, only those going into the classified hearing could pass any farther. Joshua pulled Abby aside and gave her a hug. It was amazing, even after all this time, the charge he got just being near her.
“I wish you were going in with me.”
“I know,” she smiled, “you’ll do fine, you always do.” She gave his hand one last squeeze. “I’ll be praying for you; don’t forget that.”
Joshua was going to say something back, but squeezed her hand in return and headed toward the hearing room door.
As Joshua disappeared beyond the door with his attorney, Abigail couldn’t help but let a few doubts creep in. After the euphoria of that day when the missiles were turned back, questions had started to pop up. First it was just a low murmur in the background, but now that murmur had turned into a steady stream of acrimonious questions. Who authorized the use of an untested system like the RTS-RGS? Why were the bombs retargeted to a live target? Why weren’t they destroyed harmlessly in midair over the Atlantic? Why weren’t the intelligence and defense committees of Congress even aware of this system? Who did Joshua Jordan think he was to make these decisions? As a private military contractor, was he making national defense policy for the whole country?
Abigail had lived in this town long enough to know that it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk for her husband today. Careers were made out of crushing the bones of honorable men like him. It was a zero-sum game. Any advantage you could take, any weakness you could find, any crack you could pry open and exploit was counted as a political notch on your belt. She’d tried to prepare her husband for what he might expect, but he seemed confident he had right on his side. And Harry Smythe. Thank goodness for Harry. He was an old hand who knew his way around the political cloakrooms and brass-railed bars where most of the work in Washington really gets done. He wouldn’t let Joshua step on any landmines these senators and congressmen might strew in his path.
But the real question was whether he could save Joshua from himself. When Joshua got an idea in his head, he was like a dog with a bone; there was no getting it away from him. It’s what made him so brilliant, so successful, but it could also make him infuriating. Joshua knew no compromise. It was the biggest problem between father and son. Joshua had expectations that Cal would never be able to meet.
Abigail hadn’t told Joshua what really happened to Cal on the evening of the attack. She found out herself a few days later when Cal confided his terror to her. Joshua had assumed Cal was on a train, well out of New York City, when the panic hit; but he was right in the middle of it. She didn’t like holding things back from her husband, but he was so preoccupied with the hearing in Washington. Besides, things had been touchy between him and Cal before he’d left for college. Now everything seemed better. The near tragedy had brought the family together. Debbie had been like a rock for her younger brother, and Joshua seemed at least to be trying to understand Cal’s decision to study art at Liberty. She didn’t want to take that away from them. Not now. Not yet.
But as she walked down the hall, she promised herself, after this was all over and things had died down, she’d tell her husband the truth. He deserved it and so did Cal.