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Ellen Foster had bathed, taken time over her hair, and dressed meticulously. She now sat in a chair in the front room of her beautiful home, in her fashionable neighborhood filled with highly accomplished people. This was where she belonged, she was sure of that. She had overcome much to get to this point in her life. And now?
When the message had come it was an unexpected one. She had thought it would be Harkes informing her that everything was fine. That would have been the fair and just thing, Foster firmly believed. Only life was often neither fair nor just. This was one of those times, unfortunately.
Sitting in her bathroom in front of her mirror applying her makeup, she had thought a lot about the last few years of her life. They had been filled with many triumphs and a few unavoidable failures—like her marriage. Her husband was rich but not nearly as famous as his wife, and that had grated on him. A supremely insecure man despite his fortune, he had finally driven away all the feelings she once had for him.
The divorce had made some headlines and then died away. And her life had gone on. As it should have.
She sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap as she gazed around the perfectly appointed room. It really was a beautiful space; she’d been so content here. So happy. It was a perfect blend of seemingly blissful domestic life and professional superstardom. She touched her earrings. Extravagant gifts from her ex. The necklace she wore was worth fifty thousand dollars. The diamond and sapphire ring nearly twice that. She wanted to look perfect for this, her final act.
It was an act necessitated because Harkes had betrayed her.
Harkes had been working for others. He had not been loyal. Instead of helping her, he had succeeded in destroying her. The underling had turned on its mistress. She should have seen it coming. But it was too late for that now.
Life really was unfair. All she had done was try to keep the country safe. That was her job. And for that, this was her reward?
She heard the trucks screech to a halt in front of her home. She rose, went over to the secretary, and removed the gun from its hiding place. She wondered briefly how the papers would initially report it. Not that it mattered, really. Her ex-husband would be mildly surprised, she assumed, though he’d remarried a far younger woman and was starting on the family she had never wanted to have with him.
Foster did regret that she would have no one to mourn her. That was sad, she concluded.
The footsteps raced up the front porch.
Her security detail would be powerless to stop them.
That was all right. She didn’t need them to be stopped.
They had a warrant, she was sure of that.
She shook her head, took a breath.
They were right at the door. They pounded on it.
“FBI,” one deep voice said. “Secretary Foster, please open the door.”
She lifted the Glock to her right temple, positioning herself such that she would fall onto the couch. She smiled. A soft landing. She deserved that. It was fortunate that she had taken two Valium. That made things far less stressful. Anyone contemplating killing herself, she thought, should take advantage of the product.
The FBI gave one last warning. She could envision the hydraulic ram being placed against her front door. It was hundred-year-old reclaimed wood. It would not yield easily. She had a few more seconds.
She wondered if Harkes would be with them. She wanted to look into his eyes one more time. She would beat him still. She wanted to see the triumphant look ripped right off his face as the bullet slammed into her head. But he probably wouldn’t be.
The coward.
The powered ram head hit the door once. It splintered, nearly gave way. With the second pop it did.
The door burst open.
The men rushed in.
Ellen Foster smiled at them and pulled the trigger.
Only nothing happened. She pulled the trigger once more. Then again. And a fourth time.
James Harkes strolled in, walked past the FBI agents arrayed around the woman, and stopped in front of her. He took the gun from her.
“You don’t get the easy way out,” he said.
She tottered in her heels. “You son of a bitch!”
She slapped him.
