CHAPTER TWENTY PROVIDENCE INN WASHINGTON, DC

PROVIDENCE INN

WASHINGTON, DC

January 10

Roth tried Lund’s phone for the third time that hour, and again it went to voice mail. There’d been no response to his previous texts either. He’d wanted to hear from Suki and Sarina that morning. But they were offline. It probably meant that they were on a flight back to DC. But what if something had happened? He’d been thinking about everything they’d talked about the night before. Including the magical place Suki had visited that could de-age someone—he knew the legends of Aztlán from his research, but it was in Utah of all places? Too weird. That kind of power, that magic, would be a carefully guarded secret. And possibly another impetus for Calakmul’s determination to overthrow the US.

The boys were watching the hotel TV from the couch. Jordan was in another room in the hotel, sleeping. Another one of Lund’s security guys was on duty, but not in the room with them. Neither of them had heard from Lund about his plans.

“Can we watch a cooking show?” Lucas complained to Brillante. “I’m sick of this cartoon. I’m sick of staying in hotels!”

“Bruh, it’s almost over.”

“I think we’re going to be stuck in hotels for weeks!”

“No, I meant the show.”

“Fine. Then can we switch it?”

Living out of a hotel was getting intolerable, but so was the stress of their lives. It had taken a toll on all of them. Roth wanted to reassure his sons, but he had no idea when they’d be able to go back to Bozeman. He suspected it wouldn’t be safe until the situation was dealt with, one way or another. Now that he’d launched the new version of his book about the death games, attached it to his author profile online, and amped up the ad spend, their lives could be disrupted for a long time. He went into the little kitchenette and pushed aside a plate of half-eaten breakfast. Then he switched to his e-mail app and saw dozens of new messages had just arrived. The subject line of one grabbed his attention.

I KNEW IT WAS YOU.

Roth felt another twist of unease as he opened the e-mail and read the message.

Dear Ryan Anglesey,

Or should I say, the fabulous Jonathon Roth. I guessed that you were the author of The Jaguar Games. Then you confirmed it. I was going to reach out before but doubted myself. There were certain turns of phrase that gave you away. I love the Merwyn Chronicles. The Jaguar Games makes for an interesting read, too, but I know it’s not fiction. It can’t be. I think the story you told is about your family, including the coma your wife is supposedly in. I work for a humanitarian organization in Manhattan. We’ve seen a lot of people sending money down to Mexico, especially the Yucatán. Large-sum donations. You didn’t specify where the location in the book was, but I think I know. I have a degree in accounting and have learned a few tips and tricks about “following the money.” This money isn’t going to charity. It’s going to shell companies owned by a family called Calakmul. In the book, you called them the Mulak family. Pretty close. These shell companies are very big and very much off the radar of the Treasury Dept. I’ve pieced together a lot of the “what” and the “who” but wasn’t able to figure out the “why” until I read your new book. I have a suspicion that what’s in your book is a trail to understanding this highly illegal operation. Please tell me I’m wrong. Please. This is nuts.

OP

Roth read through it again, a smile spreading on his mouth. Not many people had read his secret book. By changing his name on the book from the pseudonym to his own, it would get sucked into the Amazon algorithms that would expose thousands of the readers of his fantasy books to this new book. This guy had figured it out already before he’d even noticed the change in author.

“Dad, look at this,” Brillante called.

“Just a minute,” Roth said, wondering whether he should respond. Was it a trap by Calakmul’s goons? Were they phishing him by e-mail to see if he’d respond?

“Dad!”

He looked up from the table. The kids weren’t watching a cooking show. They were watching the news. The chyron on the screen said Drama at the West Wing—Bomb Threat Clears White House.

The video footage, taken from outside the White House fence, showed people being evacuated. A man in a dark suit, probably a secret service agent, had a rifle with a shoulder strap and was directing the camera crew away from the fence.

“That’s pretty sus,” Lucas said, staring at the screen.

Roth listened to the coverage for a little while. According to the news, the building had been evacuated because a bomb threat had been called in during a cabinet meeting. The president and vice president had already been removed by Marine One, the executive helicopter.

Something bad had happened. Something he’d tried hard to prevent. They’d attempted to call off the meeting, but no one had listened.

He hefted his phone and called Monica.

She picked up quickly. “Can’t talk right now, Jonathon. Emergency going on.”

“I’m watching the news,” he said. “So the cabinet meeting happened? How many were hurt?”

“I’ll call you soon. It’s bigger than that. Stay where you are. Bye.”

It’s bigger than that?

“Dad, do you know what’s happening?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t. Monica said she was in the middle of it.”

“This is crazy. Did Calakmul try to bomb the White House?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m going to try to find out.”

He went back to the bedroom and pulled out his laptop, the one he’d been using at Starbucks to write his new book and research the ancient Maya.

Bringing it back to the desk in the other room, he told the kids to turn the volume up so they could all hear the broadcast. He typed in his log-in information, and after the computer connected to his burner phone’s data, he opened up a browser using a VPN and looked at some of the chat rooms he followed on the dark web, where conspiracy theorists liked to hang out and speculate. The comment streams were exploding.

My sister works for the Pentagon. It’s not a bomb scare.

Someone tried to assassinate the president.

I saw smoke coming from the west wing.

Roth combed through the different threads, torn between agitation and fear. He’d been living in the Bay Area when the Twin Towers were hit. The airport had shut down. What would happen if Lund, Suki, Sarina, and Jane Louise were prevented from landing in Dulles or Reagan?

Waiting for a cell phone to ring was maddening. He kept it on the table beside him, and every few seconds he’d glance at the blank screen, waiting for it to light up.

The news anchors were talking in circles now, repeating the limited information they had about the event, over and over, and then interviewing talking heads who made pointless speculations. Roth had a feeling none of them were even remotely close to the likely truth. It was the beginning of the end times.

The phone lit up, and Monica’s name came up on the screen.

Roth grabbed for it so fast it shot out of his hand and slid off the table, but he caught it.

“Nice save, klutzy papa,” Brillante said, giving him a thumbs-up.

Roth shook his head and answered the call. “Monica!”

“The director wants to speak with you at headquarters. Now.”

Roth swallowed. “Me?”

“Yes. You were right. Get an Uber and get over here. Come to the east entrance. I’ll meet you there.”

“What about the twins?” Roth said. “Is it dangerous over there?”

“I think it would be prudent if they stayed at the hotel. I can send an agent to pick you up if you want Jordan to stay with them.”

Roth scratched his forehead. “I don’t want to leave them alone. I haven’t heard back from Lund this morning, and I’m starting to freak out.”

“What’s happening right now is bigger than just your family, Jonathon. Calakmul showed up in person. There are bodies in the Situation Room that were clawed to death.”

“Oh no,” Roth groaned.

“I need you to come in. Right now. Leave the boys with Jordan. I’ll send—”

“No, Lund left a second guy. I’ll come with him. I don’t want to be separated from my boys for long. I can’t, Monica. Not after all we’ve been through. Not with what might be coming.”

“I understand. But the director needs to talk to you now. You’re the only one who’s personally dealt with Jacob Calakmul. We need to know what he could do next. You’re our only asset on that front.”

“I’m an asset?” Roth said incredulously.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s FBI lingo. You’re important. Very important. Come to headquarters right now, okay?”

“I will.”

“Call me when you’re en route.”

“Okay. Thanks, Monica.”

“For what?”

Roth sighed. “For caring about my family. And our country. This can’t be easy on you.”

“Protect and serve,” she answered. “I’ll do everything I can to keep your family safe and get you back together.”

That gave him a small swell of relief. “Bye.”

Jordan called in the young bald man who’d escorted Dr. Estrada and Illari from the airport the previous day to bring Roth to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Jordan was awake and would personally stay with the boys to make sure they were okay, giving the second guard a chance to catch some sleep.

Their Uber pulled up alongside the building, and they got out, the guard first, examining the area. Roth had texted Monica as they were circling the building, and when he got out, she emerged from the privacy-glass doors and gestured for them both to come forward. They did, and found several agents waiting for them, including Carter.

“Mr. Roth,” he said, nodding to him respectfully.

Roth suspected it was because he was suddenly important to Carter.

They passed through the security checkpoint and went to the elevators. The other agents accompanied them, forming a veritable human wall around them.

“East elevators. On the way,” one of them said quietly through his earpiece.

When they reached the floor, the office space was noisy and charged with energy, completely unlike their previous visit. Whatever had happened at the White House had stirred up the hornet nest.

“Director Wright is a blunt-speaking man,” Monica said, walking alongside Roth on his right. “Just be crisp and clear. Answer his questions. Don’t embellish anything. He might cross-examine you, but just tell the truth. You’re not in trouble. In fact, you’re our best hope right now.”

That assuaged his feelings a little ... but only a little. He’d still received no messages from Lund. He continued to hope that they were all en route to DC.

He was taken to an executive conference room in the middle of the floor, away from the windows. The old-building smell was mixed with coffee. Roth felt his anxiety surge as an agent opened the door for him. A voice issued through a phone speaker mounted on the table. It was older technology, but probably very secure.

“Mr. Roth has just arrived,” said a stern voice. “I will call you later, sir.”

“Thanks, Bill. I’ll be with the president.”

Roth had seen pictures of the FBI director on the wall. He was ginger, which was striking, with thinning hair and broad shoulders. He wore square-rimmed glasses, a striped tie, and had a politician’s smile—one that seemed disarming and friendly but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He rose from the conference room chair and reached for Roth’s hand, giving him a firm handshake. Roth took in the rest of the room—a woman and two older men sat around the table, along with a security guard with a Kevlar vest over his white shirt and a large rifle slung over his shoulder from a strap. Where was EAD Brower? He was one of the director’s top deputies.

“I’m Director Wright,” the director said, releasing his hand.

Obviously, he already knew who Roth was, but Roth introduced himself nonetheless.

Monica and Agent Carter joined them, but the others stayed outside.

“Have a seat, Mr. Roth,” Wright said. “I have some images to show you of a crime scene at the White House. I hope you can stand the sight of blood. There’s a lot of it.” He pushed a laptop toward Roth and lifted the screen. “I need to know if a man did this. Or an animal.”