Caroline and Jack all but ceased going out in public. Going to Washington or even back to Philadelphia wasn’t a possibility. They’d made some moves, privately. Transferring money to foreign accounts. Communicating with the underground, focusing on low level recruitment. Coordinating with a growing secret rebellion in California.
They attempted to make one last official joint television appearance in late January with a respected local political commentator at the NBC affiliate in Philadelphia. They thought they’d put forth one more effort, make one final impassioned plea to the public, though they still hadn’t revealed the most seditious bit of information they uncovered. They wouldn’t be able to do that until they were someplace truly safe. They could only hope that the government hadn’t figured out that they knew about it.
The studio didn’t have a large staff in place. A couple of cameramen, tech guys, production personnel, the makeup people, and the reporter. Caroline and Jack were adjusting their microphones on set when she caught a flash in the corner of her eye.
Nicky had hunted. They had numerous long guns and pistols in their home. She knew how to properly clean, load, unload, and operate a firearm. Jack tried to make her get rid of the guns after she’d been shot but Caroline vowed to hold on to them, even going so far as to sneak them out of her home in Rockville to a hiding place in the Governor’s Mansion. Time passed and Jack’s objections faded. The collection grew. She hated to think about it but the time would likely come, perhaps soon, when they would be very glad to have them.
Caroline knew the gleam of gunmetal when she saw it, even in a dimly lit television studio. And she reacted in the same way she had in the Visitors’ Center all those years ago. She pulled Jack to the floor as fast as she could, the distinct sound of a shotgun blast fragmenting the backdrop behind them.
It happened so quickly that no one knew what to do. The cameramen panicked and ran out of the room. The reporter literally pissed his pants. Before they even had a chance to stand up and compose themselves, the gunman was gone, yelling out an unintelligible phrase as he slammed through the back exit. No one in the studio offered to make sure they were okay. Their security chose to check on their welfare instead of chasing after the man with the shotgun. Everyone else scattered.
After that, they weren’t asked back for any more interviews. By anyone. The incident went unreported in the media.
They mostly confined themselves to the Governor’s Mansion from then on. Their protective details increased. But they hesitated to leave central Pennsylvania. Jack still had a job to do, no matter how difficult it had become for him to execute his duties. They didn’t want to uproot the girls. They still felt reasonably safe sending them to school and took comfort in going to Mass every Sunday at St. Margaret Mary. Their family was surrounded by people who cared about them there. It was a strong Catholic community, and the parish had embraced the governor and his family when they arrived in Harrisburg.
Until the Sunday after the botched interview, when they went to a late morning Mass. Their security was tight but their men tried to remain inconspicuous. Jack, Marguerite, Sophie, and Caroline were sitting side by side in one of the rows near the center aisle of the church. Their security positioned themselves near the entrance, watching the other worshipers as they filed in. A man in a flannel jacket walked past their pew, then came back and stopped in the aisle. Caroline knelt in prayer and tried to concentrate, but felt his presence beside her. She smelled an indistinct waft of grain alcohol. She gave him a minute, hoping he was scanning the church, maybe searching for someone, then realized he was glaring at her and Jack.
She made the sign of the cross and stood up. She could feel Jack’s eyes boring into her back.
“Caroline, don’t,” he whispered.
Jack motioned for Marguerite and Sophie to move further down the pew behind him. The man continued to glower at them both.
Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for something, anything to happen. Jack stood up behind her, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had placed his hands on both sides of the pew, shielding their children. He moved so close to her that his