Blackmail

13 ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

In the Pentagon gym locker room, Christine dried her hair with a white towel, then tossed it onto a nearby bench. After leaving the White House, she had mulled over what to do the rest of the dreary, rainy day and decided to start with a good, hard workout. It was still morning and she had plenty of pent-up energy, so hitting the gym was a perfect way to start her weekend.

Upon leaving the Pentagon, Christine headed toward her town house in Clarendon. During her journey, the rain slowed to a drizzle, then ended. After a moment of indecision, she stopped at a grocery store and selected two flower bouquets. After placing them on the passenger seat of her car, she opened the glove compartment and retrieved two yellow envelopes, one new and one worn. She pulled the documents from the new envelope, which included a car pass, placing it on the dashboard.

Christine grasped the steering wheel and steeled herself for the encounter. She didn’t know how long she sat in the parking lot, but her hands began to hurt and she noticed they had turned white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. She relaxed her hands, letting the blood flow back into them for a moment, then shifted the car into drive. A few minutes later, she was heading down Memorial Avenue, then turned left onto Eisenhower Drive, where a sentry examined the pass on her dashboard and waved her into Arlington National Cemetery.

Established on the grounds of Arlington House, a mansion owned by Robert E. Lee’s wife, Mary Anna, and seized by the federal government during the Civil War, Arlington National Cemetery spans 624 acres, containing almost three hundred thousand headstones. As Christine headed down Eisenhower Drive, up the gently sloping hill to her right was the Tomb of the Unknowns, commonly referred to as the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. She’d stopped by there many times as she left the cemetery, watching the Tomb Guards, soldiers from the 3rd Infantry Regiment, The Old Guard. She had memorized the words inscribed on the western panel of the tomb:

The graves she would visit today weren’t unknown, and after entering the cemetery, her car coasted to a halt. She didn’t need to read the headstone number on the document on her passenger seat; the grave was easy to identify. The dirt was freshly turned. After taking a deep breath, she selected one of the flower bouquets and stepped from the car, looking up into the gray, overcast sky. It had stopped raining, but it looked as though the clouds could open up again at any moment. After a short traverse across wet grass, Christine reached Captain Steve Brackman’s grave.

She stood at the foot of his grave, reliving the last few minutes of Brackman’s life. As the ocean poured into the submarine, they couldn’t shut the watertight door, their feet slipping on the wet, sloping deck as water surged through the opening. They’d had a short but heated argument. Brackman was convinced there were only two options: either he died or they both died. As he pulled himself into the adjacent compartment, where he could put his back and legs into the effort to shut the door, she could have refused to help, sentencing them both to death. Instead, she pushed the watertight door closed, then spun the handwheel, sealing him on the wrong side.

Brackman had sacrificed himself for her, and unfortunately, there was no way for Christine to repay the debt. She knelt and placed the flowers against his headstone, then stood and thanked him. She said a short prayer for Brackman and the family he left behind, then returned to her car. After one final glance at Brackman’s grave, she put the car in drive and pulled slowly away.

After a right turn onto Patton Drive, Christine pulled to a halt in front of section 70. With the other flower bouquet in hand, she headed across the thick grass, stopping in front of headstone 1851. There were two names on the marker: Daniel O’Connor on the front and Tatyana O’Connor on the back. Christine placed the flowers atop the gravesite, and although the grass was wet and she was wearing a business suit, she sat in front of the headstone.

Daniel O’Connor died when he was only twenty-two, having never seen his daughter. Serving as a marine during the Vietnam War, he was killed during the waning days of the conflict, and Tatyana gave birth a few weeks later. As Christine told Colonel DuBose, Daniel O’Connor had never been a father.

Christine was raised by her mother, a first-generation Russian immigrant who arrived in the United States as a teenager. Tatyana never remarried, dying from cancer when Christine was in her early twenties. In accordance with policy at Arlington National Cemetery, she was buried atop Daniel in the same grave, her name inscribed on the back of the headstone.

As she sat on the wet grass, Christine wondered if her parents would have been proud of her. Professionally, yes. But she’d made a mess of her personal life. She was in her forties now, divorced with no kids, and her ex-husband had ended up dead on her kitchen floor while the man she truly loved had married another.

Jake Harrison had proposed twice, the first time during their senior year in high school. However, she was headed to Penn State on a gymnastics scholarship and had no time for marriage, much less motherhood. Although she accepted the night he proposed, she returned the ring the next morning. Jake proposed again when she graduated from college, but she’d been swept into a life of Washington politics and wasn’t ready to settle down. She’d be ready in a few years, she’d told Jake. Apparently, eleven was too many, and by the time she was ready, he’d proposed to another woman.

Christine’s thoughts returned to her mom and dad. She said good-bye to her parents, then pushed herself to her feet and returned to her car. After sliding into the front seat, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. Hardison had recommended she get together with a friend this weekend, and Christine decided a girls’ night out was exactly what she needed. She tapped in a number and her best friend, Joan, answered.

“Hey, girl,” Joan said. “Long time no hear. Where are you?”

Christine looked around the cemetery. “Arlington.”

Christine spent a few minutes catching up with Joan, who had been on Penn State’s gymnastics team with Christine and a political science major as well, also ending up in Washington, D.C. Unlike Christine, however, Joan was married with three teenagers, and their different social circles and busy schedules made it difficult to get together.

“I was wondering if you’re available this weekend,” Christine said. “I’d love to go out for dinner and drinks.”

“Oh, this is a bad weekend,” Joan said, “I have plans with John tonight, Jonathon has a soccer tournament on Saturday, and Anna has a play recital on Sunday. What about next week?”

“I’m headed to Russia on Monday, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Depends on how things go.”

There must have been something in Christine’s voice, because Joan picked up on it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Christine said. “I could use some company, though.”

After a short pause, Joan said, “How about tonight? Say… seven o’clock.”

“I don’t want you to break your date with John.”

“Don’t worry,” Joan said. “He owes me. Make a reservation wherever you’d like. I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds great,” Christine said. “See you tonight.”

As Christine returned her cell phone to her purse, her thoughts turned to Jake Harrison again, and she decided to give him a call. She had no idea if he was on deployment or not, but figured it was worth a try. She found his number and hit call.

To Christine’s surprise, a woman answered. “Hello. This is Laura.”

Christine was taken aback for a moment, then remembered Laura was Jake’s wife. “Hi, Laura, this is Christine O’Connor. I’m calling for Jake. I must have the wrong number.”

Laura answered, a coolness in her voice. “You’ve got the right number. Jake forwards his calls home when he’s on deployment, in case one of his buddies tries to contact him.” Laura’s emphasis on the male term didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Christine said. “Please say hi to Jake when he returns.”

“No problem,” Laura replied, although Christine was certain there was. Without another word, Laura hung up.

As Christine slid the phone into her purse, she wondered where Jake Harrison was.