To Leap From Heaven [A Romantic Thriller]

22.

“Oh my baby, what's going to happen to her?” Mrs. Rossdale cried. “Take me to her now. I want to see my child. You have to do something.”

Mrs. Rossdale has never stopped crying after having listened to the officer, and she was close to a nervous breakdown. Her husband had a hard time keeping her calm, and the mild sedative he had forced her to take had done nothing to calm her down. That was why he had called their personal physician to tend to his wife.

“No, Emma, we can't go to the hospital. By now, someone might have leaked it to the press. We have to be careful of how we go about things. We don't want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. I have asked my personal aide to see what he can arrange, and draw up a press statement. I want to present the events in a positive light and take the heat off Catherine.”

“But, can't we go through a backdoor, or something? You know people. Phone them and make it happen. I cannot bear sitting around, not knowing what they are doing to her. Have you had any news yet?”

“No, Emma, but should I hear anything, you'll be the first to know. Lay down for a while. Your daughter is going to need her mother when she wakes up, and she cannot see you in this state. Trust me, I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

This seemed to calm her, and she went to their bedroom, but no matter how hard she tried, sleep would not come. The doctor arrived, and after having examined her, gave her a strong sedative which knocked her straight into dreamland.

The second call was to one of his best friends who owed him a favor and he had phoned him to call it in. His friend was one of the richest men in the country who owned a personal jet. He was to organize a fake ID card, a bag of cash because using her credit cards were out of the question. It would be easily traced. Organize an ambulance which would leave through the back exit, and jet her off to one of his houses in Johannesburg. He carried out his orders swiftly, and in less than an hour, Catherine was on her way to an unknown address in the teeming metropolis in which one could disappear like a needle in a haystack.

The man had diplomatic immunity, and when they landed at the airport, he told them that his girlfriend was very sick and needed specialized medical attention, and that there was no time to waste. They let him through without further ado while Catherine lay on her stretcher under heavy sedation. She was taken to a large house in an exclusive part of town, and apart from a cook, there was a nurse in attendance who monitored her vitals regularly and made sure she was comfortable. Catherine had not woken up from her coma, but was occasionally tossing restlessly in her sleep like someone who was having a nightmare.

The President was right. By the time Catherine landed at the hospital, there were a few reporters of the scandal rags present who were looking for an exclusive. Carl had used a burner phone, made a few discreet calls, and thrashed the phone. It could not be traced back to him. News like that spreads like wildfire, and within minutes the hospital's main entrance was teeming with reporters from both locally and abroad. The news was too big to ignore, and some of them started setting up camp in front of the hospital.

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“Gentlemen, we have a situation,” Mr. President said as he addressed the Council of Eight who sat gathered around his desk in the Presidential mansion. He briefly informed them as to what he knows, leaving out the part where he had orchestrated Catherine's flight.

“I need ideas, and I need them fast. If we think we had a problem with the recent spate of unrest, this is going to set the country on edge, and who knows what might happen? Let me hear it, gentlemen.”

He leaned back in his chair and waited for ideas on how to combat a potentially flammable situation. The Councilors realized they were in an impossible situation, and the fact that the President's daughter was involved, made it ten times worse. How does one tell the President that, by order of the people, his daughter will have no choice but to die by lethal injection? The men squirmed in their seats. No one wanted to be the first to voice an opinion. The President was in a corner, and Catherine was as good as dead.

“I think we should mobilize the army, Sir. This is too big for the police force to handle. I'm not saying they should be visible, but we should at least brief their  Commander, and have them ready to be deployed at the drop of a hat. As you said, Sir, this might be huge, and it would be best to have the big guns ready. No real bullets, only rubber bullets, tear gas, and water jets. If they see we are ready for them, they might not take action.”
He kept quiet and allowed the meeting to digest his suggestion.

“On the other hand, getting the army involved might be interpreted as an admission of guilt and a declaration of war, and that might incite them to greater anger which could easily escalate into civil war. We don't want that to happen,” Councilor number seven said.

There were other suggestions, but they were talking in circles, and pussyfooting around the real issue at hand.

“Alright, gentlemen, I've heard enough. Have the army on standby, but only as a tentative measure. Should things get out of hand, we will call on them. Let's hope it won't be necessary to go to that extreme.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” they answered in unison.

They rose with heavy hearts and left. The issue was bigger than them, and they were in for a rough ride. The people are not going to let it slide, because it's the President's daughter. They will want their pound of flesh, and they will not stop until they get it. What was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

The President read through the press briefing which he approved with minor changes. He was in a deep hole, and saw no way of digging himself out of it, but he did not lose hope. His biggest concern was his wife, and keeping her away from the news would be an arduous task. She was fragile and would not be able to stand the blow Fate had dealt them. He saw fires burning in his home as well as in the country with him caught in the middle.

Dawn broke early the next morning, and so did the news that a murder had been committed on the Presidential property in the early hours of the morning. The President's daughter was somehow involved, and was lying in hospital in a coma. As soon as she awakes she will have to answer to the public with regards to her role in the affair, and so do the President. It was announced that he had scheduled a press briefing for later that day, and the country could hardly wait to hear what he had to say for himself.

The public was shocked. Social media was abuzz with conspiracy theories, gossip, slander, and conjecture. The Presidential mansion was deeply involved in a scandal, and this was too juicy to ignore. A country was collectively licking its lips for what was to follow.

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