Presidents, Spies, and Boys, Oh My!

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Summer came and went in a whirlwind of banquets, meetings, and family trips (plus me). By the time the first week of September rolled around, Ariana and Preston were starting to think about school. Well, Preston was starting to think about school. Skylar graduated two years ago (yes, he actually graduated high school). Joshua had graduated just this year. Ariana was fretting over her wardrobe, which she said wasn't "in-season" enough for her to ever been seen in public wearing. Her mother had to order a whole new wardrobe from multiple designers. I swear, Ariana is the most spoiled child I've ever seen in my entire life.  

Joshua avoided me whenever he could. President McGallen and Mrs. McGallen gave him his own room and soon he was a causal member of the McGallen family. He didn't share his story of how he ot here or how his life had been before he came here. All I know, after asking Jonathan to run his name, is that his mother was unemployed and died of cancer in his junior year of high school. That and he had a stepfather with the last name of Maddox, the last name he had taken. The stepfather was nowhere to be found in our records. I assumed he was an illegal immigrant. We didn't find any birth certificates, school enrollments, anything on the mysterious stepfather Gregory Maddox...if Gregory was even his real name to begin with. Even though I didn't want to admit it, I was somewhat lonely without Joshua. He had had a great sense of humor and could make anyone laugh no matter what mood they were in. Why is my life so screwed up? 

President McGallen was busy working on paperwork today and the family decided to stay in the White House. I took my opportunity to go train. Clad in black biker shorts, a turquoise sports bra, and sneakers, I went into the basement where a (seemingly) empty room sat. Over my time here, I've been storing training equipment in the room. Flicking the light switch, the lights blinked on to reveal the medium sized room. The floors were covered in blue gymnastics mats (left over from when Ariana wanted to try gymnastics...and only took it for two practices when her parents payed for all the equipment and a full training session for six months). I had a punching bag strung up in the back corner of the room as well as a few extras in case it decides to break one day. A man-like statue with no arms or lower half stood by the wall. I grabbed the man-like thing first. My iHome stereo system was sitting on top of my mini-fridge, which held bottles of water and protein power bars. Putting my iPhone into the speaker, I turned it up to a high volume and let my play-list play.

Practicing what I knew, I was sweating by the half an hour mark. Wiping my face with a white rag, I took a long swig from my water bottle and went right back to beating up the man-like thing. My mind was completely absorbed into the training, remembering what my trainers taught me and improvising while I created different scenarios in my head. The heavy bass of a David Guetta song blared from the iHome, filling the room and pairing with my grunts as I kicked and punched and did all different kinds of moves you'd only see in a Hollywood spy thriller.

I finished an hour later, panting and sweating buckets. Good session for today. Taking my iPhone from the speaker and another water bottle, I unscrewed the cap and downed half of it in thirty seconds. Water has never felt better in my whole life. My throat burned and my heart raced but I felt great as I jogged back to my room to clean up. Locking my bedroom door behind me, while making sure all my curtains were closed, I stripped off my sweaty workout gear and walked into my private bathroom. Simple and white, the counter around the sink held my hair curler, straightener, and bottles of lotion and hair stuff. My makeup bag sat among it all, zipped up and bulging from all the random makeup palettes I have in there. What? I'm still a girl. Not a girly-girl but still a girl.Turning on the hot water for my shower, I freshened up and washed away all the sweat. From the room next to mine, Ariana's, I heard a Top 40 pop song being blared at full volume. It was a song I hated. Groaning, I tried my best to tune out the dreadful two minutes and thirty seconds. Honestly, she has horrible taste in music.

Finishing my shower five minutes later, I dried off and changed into sweatpants and a brown camisole. Running a comb through my wet hair then pulling it back into a bun, I seized my MacBook laptop from my desk and jumped onto my freshly made bed with it. Facebook was already on the screen when I opened Google Chrome. I never shut off my laptop unless I have to. Usually I just shut it, so it goes to "sleep", and plug it into the charger. I hadn't been on more than four minutes when my Gmail account flashed a new email. Switching tabs, I typed in my password and went straight to my inbox. I was an email from Jonathan. The subject was a mix of number/letter mumbo-jumbo. I raised an eyebrow. That's strange. Opening the email tentatively, I saw that there was an attachment and a blank email. Why would Jonathan-

My screen went black. I froze, clicking the keyboard like a madwoman. What the hell? Suddenly, the screen popped back to life but with a strange picture of a dirty looking house. Like the ones you see on TV when the news reporters are reporting from Afghanistan or Iran on war statuses. A man, wearing a turban around his head, smiled into the camera and talked in a language I knew. Farsi. It was one of the first languages I learned. I listened intently, my heart pounding. What is this?

"So you think you can out-smart us, don't your Miss Rhinehart? Sabotaging our prefect attack on the First Family. Alas, I will admit it was a weak effort. Little girls shouldn't play spy, Miss Rhinehart. It's not healthy. Try as you might, you will never stop us from trying again. We will return, Miss Ember Rhinehart. I suggest you watch your back. Sometimes the people you trust the most are the best liars."

The man on the screen, looking very much like a terrorist, smiled a broken, rotted-toothed smile before the screen went black again. I sat on my bed, staring at my laptop, for ten minutes. A terrorist group knows my name. They're planning something. They know how to contact me. They've hacked into Jonathan's email. Oh, shit. This is not good. Jumping out of bed, I grabbed my phone and dialed Jonathan's office phone number. If they hacked his email, his cell phone might not be safe either. He picked up on the third ring.

"Ember, what is it?" he asked, probably seeing my number on his Caller ID.  

"Code white. I repeat, code white. Something's happened. I'm driving out to Langley." 

I hung up without hearing a response and got changed. This changes everything.