Читать книгу The Last Daughter - Thomas Mahon - Страница 7

The assassin waited patiently. He stared intently at the computer screen. Caitlin Prescott had not sent him anything in over three minutes. Was she distracted by a make-up artist, perhaps? Last minute instructions by the back stage crew? Could it be her mother? Maybe she was already wise his scheme, though that seemed the least plausible of all. On C-Span, the woman at the podium droned on. He dismissed her babble in order to focus on the task at hand. It was high time he make his move. This next email would certainly smoke Caitlin Prescott out of hiding. That’s precisely why he had saved it for last.

Eight words. That’s all he typed. That’s all he needed to type. The message was so simple, yet would be so powerful in its effect. It truly was a stroke of genius. He paused, then hit Enter. The assassin felt the message rocketing toward the first daughter. There. The wheels were now in motion, and there was no turning back. A minute passed without an answer from Caitlin Prescott. Then two. He began to wonder if she’d even gotten the message. Maybe she was too stunned to answer. On the other hand, perhaps— He heard a smattering of applause coming from the plasma. From what he could gather, the woman at the podium was wrapping up her painful monologue. That meant back stage producers would be maneuvering Caitlin and her mother into position.

“Now it is my distinct pleasure,” said the woman at the podium, “to introduce our nation’s first daughter, Caitlin Prescott, and Julie Prescott, our beloved first lady.”

The assassin leaned forward, scrutinizing the plasma as Caitlin Prescott and her mother slipped through the gold curtains and into plain view. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Photographers snapped pictures as the two women smiled and waved to their guests. He studied Caitlin Prescott from top to bottom. How very sensible to be wearing a knee-length sleeveless dress. And black was a wise choice of colors—trendy, yet conservative. Very nice.

Caitlin stepped to the podium after the applause died down. The camera angle and zoom were a bit more distant than he would have liked, but that was C-Span for you. The news network was not known for sophisticated camera angles, and that irked him. If he was hoping for an extreme close-up of the first daughter’s face, he probably wasn’t going to get it. Still he did his best to study the girl as she thanked at least a dozen people who had worked with her on the shoot. Her voice had a noticeable tremble to it, but he had no idea if that was just nerves or something else—like the unpleasant discovery of his latest email. The first daughter ended with an uneasy smile, and then stepped to the right as Julie Prescott took command of the podium.

“It’s been our pleasure to work with the good people at Vogue. We’re grateful that many of the proceeds from the sale of this month’s issue will go to benefit…”

The assassin tuned out the first lady and focused on Caitlin standing to her right. Gone were the smile and radiance of a few minutes earlier. The girl was now looking down at her shoes. She seemed to be blinking excessively—a sure sign of uneasiness. Suddenly, Caitlin turned to her mother and whispered something. Julie Prescott pulled away from the microphone, leaning over to hear what her daughter had to say. The two women spoke briefly, then Caitlin turned abruptly and left the stage through the gold curtains. A distinct murmur settled over the room. The first lady lost her place only momentarily. She quickly cleared her throat and continued to speak.

“Caitlin and I were very pleased to work with such a classy group of people such as Melissa Jenkins, Mary Lunde, not to mention—”

The laptop chimed. It was an email from the first daughter.

He thought, Good girl. That was quick. He brought up the message.

-who is this? i know you’re not wendy.

The assassin made no effort to respond. Another message came directly on its heels.

-answer me.

He smiled. That’s right. Get angry. You don’t have to take this sitting down.

The emails from the first daughter kept rolling in.

- so help me god I’ll get the feds on your ass and you’ll regret this.

- answer or don’t you have the guts?

Satisfied the game was proceeding according to plan, he shut the laptop. It was late and he intended to get at least eight hours of sleep. The assassin knew Caitlin Prescott was about to experience the most momentous week of her life. She just didn’t know it yet.

For his part, he had to be ready.

He could leave nothing to chance.