CHAPTER 94

Beaufort, South Carolina

10: 00 p. m., Christmas Day

JOANIE STRAIN WAS SEATED at the kitchen counter surrounded by vestiges of the holiday; stray wrapping paper was scattered among small stacks of presents and the dishes that didn’t make the first washer load were stacked in the sink. She was spoonfeeding Sam plain oatmeal, one of the few foods he could eat, as she watched cable news coverage of the shocking arrest of political lobbyist and former senator Stewart McGovern. Sam couldn’t share in the Christmas dinner earlier with the rest of the family; he required one-on-one care and needed every bit of her attention. Her two other children had gone to bed an hour ago, and her parents had long since left after an exhausting day that required them all to wear forced smiles for the sake of the kids.

Like most moms, Joanie was an expert multitasker, feeding Sam with one hand while she went through a stack of mail with the other, anything to postpone the depressing task of cleaning up what was left of Christmas dinner by herself. It wasn’t like they had never spent Christmas alone. Freddy had been deployed for many a holiday, leaving Joanie to push the dangers of his chosen profession to the back of her mind. That’s how women like Joanie survived. They focused on the kids. They focused on running the household. They focused on living. Every now and then the fear they worked so hard to lock away would find its way out, roused from the recesses of the mind by a news broadcast announcing the deaths of U. S. servicemen in a HMMWV, a helicopter, or on a raid. In those moments, Joanie had always glanced toward the door, wondering if Freddy was among the dead and if at any moment she would hear the dreaded knock. That knock had come for Joanie and her children. Freddy would never again bound through the door to scoop his kids into his arms or sweep Joanie off her feet. She shook her head and fought back the urge to cry. She had to be strong for her kids. She had to be strong for little Sam and she attempted to persuade him to eat just a bit more oatmeal before glancing back at the TV.

A young female reporter was making a connection between the McGovern fiasco and a recent car bombing in Switzerland that had left a former Russian intelligence official turned global philanthropist named Vasili Andrenov dead. According to the broadcast, Andrenov had long utilized McGovern’s services for access to the Washington, D. C., power establishment and may have coordinated transfer of the ITAR-restricted weapons used in the Russian president’s assassination. A terrorist and former Iraqi commando named Mohammed Farooq was wanted in connection with Andrenov’s death but had thus far evaded capture. The weapon used in the attack was suspected to be a Russian-designed RPG-32 that had been supplied by Russian intelligence assets to pro-Assad forces in Syria. A launch tube had been recovered from a rooftop above the scene. Joanie smiled to herself as she imagined her late husband giving her five minutes on technical details on the RPG-32, had he been sitting there.

Joanie hadn’t brought herself to open the condolence cards in the ever-growing stack of mail. She would get to them eventually, after the holidays when the kids were back in school. As she sifted through the letters, sorting the personal ones from the bills, she saw an envelope from a local law firm she didn’t recognize.

Wonder what this is?

Joanie tore the end of the envelope open with her teeth and fished the letter out with her left hand. As she began to read, she dropped the spoon.

Dear Mrs. Strain:

This letter will serve as confirmation of establishment of the Samuel Strain Special Needs Trust which was established by our firm on behalf of an anonymous donor. The balance of the trust is $4, 171, 830. 00. Please call our office at your earliest convenience and we can discuss the details of this account. We are at your service.

Sincerely,

T. Sullivan, IV Esq.

Joanie looked back at her son and began to cry.

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