The President’s Shadow

Prologue

I CANNOT STOP thinking about college.

This afternoon is Maddy’s graduation from City College of New York, and the only person more excited than me and my wife, Margo, is Grandma Jessica. Unfortunately, the day and time of the graduation conflicted precisely with a vitally important meeting I was scheduled to attend at Kyoto University, and I’d found myself split between the campuses. When I mentioned this to my family, Jessica had the no‑nonsense solution.

“Well, you can handle this conflict in one of two ways, Lamont,” she said, as she prepared to take our family dog, Bando, on his morning walk. “You can do the right thing or you can go to Kyoto University. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

And so I did the right thing. But . . . instead of going to Japan myself, I sent Jericho Druke, one of the best and the brightest members of my team. I planned to attend the Kyoto meeting via Ultima‑Vid, the newest incarnation of Zoom. The fact that Jericho Druke would actually be sitting next to the chairperson of the Kyoto Nuclear Control Department at Kyoto U in the mountainous and beautiful Tamba Highlands of Southern Japan makes me feel like I’m missing out, but like Jessica said — I can miss out on work, or I can do the right thing.

The video meeting begins. The images are so crisp and clear I can even enjoy the beauty of the huge green mountains outside the building where Jericho and the Kyoto professor sit. The rolling hills seem to teem with life. The wind blows the leaves, and I think I can even spot some small creatures moving about in the treetops.

But an unnatural movement catches my eye, right before the unthinkable happens. Incredible. The mountains begin to explode and crumble. Great piles of rocks and trees and soil come racing down, the green colors of life overwhelmed by the brown of the earth and the gray of smoke. Jericho and the professor jump up and rush toward the door. But there is no time. No time to escape. It all happens too fast. Tons and tons of debris crash through the windows. Within seconds the building walls collapse. Screaming. Sirens. The Ultima‑Vid feed shows only a massive amount of rubble and dust and dirt. It refuses to lose connection, forcing me to watch it all play out in real time. I jump to my feet, screaming. Margo and Maddy come running into the room, only to stand in shock as they watch the destruction on the screen, the audio feed still filling the room with endless wails of both sirens and people.

I am beyond horrified. I stand helpless, wishing I could crash through the screen and do something, anything. Anything to help the thousands of people at the university who have been annihilated. And most of all, most of all . . . my friend, my colleague, the best and the brightest, Jericho.

Chapter 1

THE ENTIRE CRANSTON family household is suddenly plunged into a state of shock and sadness. All of us loved and respected Jericho so much.

“Forget my graduation,” Maddy tells me, knowing how bad I feel that I wasn’t there to help. “You’ve got something more important to—”

“No,” I say firmly. “We may have lost Jericho in this nightmare. But we’re not going to lose one of the most important days in your life.”

“But —” Maddy begins to say something. I cut her off. “No arguing, Maddy. I’m coming to your graduation.”

Maddy’s graduation is a day for her to shine, and her brightness is a beacon through all the haze that surrounds me now. I also want to show Maddy that I am completely in her corner, which I haven’t done a great job of lately. We’ve been arguing about her decision to take a summer internship in the New York City public defender’s office, even though she knows I have very little use for anything remotely related to government work. Her next move after the internship bothers me equally. In the fall, Maddy plans on going to law school. I would much prefer that she finish training in Tibet with Dache and then get out into the real world and do something to help.

But now is not the right time to continue this argument, and she knows it.

“Okay,” Maddy says. “But don’t forget that you’ll have to sit through the guest speaker’s commencement address.”

“Oh, damn,” I say. The Right Reverend Lanata Hooper. The warmongering scum‑bucket capitalist who’s made billions of dollars off the poor. How could I possibly forget?

“That woman has no more right to use the title ‘reverend’ than . . .” I don’t finish the sentence.

A deadly silence overwhelms the room. Maddy, Jessica, and Margo all exchange worried glances.

After waiting for the world’s longest minute, Margo finally speaks. “What’s wrong, Lamont? You look like you’re in another world.”

I open my eyes and speak softly.

“I am in another world,” I say. “A world without Jericho.”

Chapter 2

THE CCNY GRADUATION is being held at the huge open‑air Corpus Field, where the grand old Yankee Stadium once stood many, many decades ago.

The graduation sky this afternoon is dark, depressing, not quite raining, but ready to start at any minute. The gloomy weather matches the family’s mood. Rain would only make it worse, but it might be more fitting.

I watch the happy, excited people surrounding me and try to force myself to join them emotionally. But even for someone with the powers of mind control, it’s impossible, and that only makes me more angry. Maddy deserves better. She deserves to have my full attention. When the Right Reverend Lanata Hooper is introduced, the audience erupts with a loud clash of both boos and cheers. Margo and Jessica join the chorus of boos. Then Jessica turns toward me. “Don’t even consider it,” she warns me.

I smile, some positive emotion welling at the thought of how wise she is, how well she knows me.

“You want to do one of your mind‑control interferences,” she says. “But this is Maddy’s day. We can’t go spoiling it.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. Still . . . I need to do something. After doing nothing as I watched Jericho die, I need to take action.

A few misty drops fall from the sky as Lanata Hooper rattles on and on about the “bright future ahead, in a land where wise people take control over the weak and foolish, a future of fine worldly goods . . .”

I can’t stand the vile philosophy any longer.

I call upon my powers, and suddenly the graduation speaker stops speaking.

Both Margo and Jessica turn their heads toward me.

They know something’s up.

Jessica is angry. “Lamont, you promised...”

I nod, and the speaker resumes her speech. But suddenly it takes a completely unexpected turn.

“Now I would like to ask for a minute of silence,” Hooper says. Her voice is gentle, serious, and calm. “I would like us all to dedicate this time to remember and honor our academic friends who perished so tragically earlier today in Kyoto, Japan.”

The huge crowd falls silent. We all bow our heads. Then the rain begins to fall.

Chapter 3

I CANNOT SHAKE the images of Jericho from my mind. Still, when Margo suggests that we all go to dinner to celebrate Maddy’s big day, I agree.

“What’ll it be, Maddy? High‑class French food or downhome barbecue?” I ask.

To everyone’s surprise, Maddy says, “I could go for a big honkin’ chunk of porterhouse steak.”

“You’re on. But before we go eat, I have a question for you.”

“I smell one of Lamont’s dad jokes coming,” says Margo. “What do you get when a waiter drops your steak on the floor?” I ask.

Maddy doesn’t miss a beat. “Ground meat.” Groans. Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated at the last great steak house in New York City, the Strip House.

Margo, who really knows her way around a wine list, orders her favorite Burgundy, a Chambertin, vintage 2032. I order four sixteen‑ounce steaks. “One medium,one rare, one veryrare, and one that’s blue.” Margo and Jessica seem confused.

Maddy says, “Blue means that the steak is as close as possible to being raw.”

“This girl is unbelievable,” I say. “First she knows my dad joke. Then she knows my secret food info. I’ve got nothing left to teach her. I guess CCNY was good for something.” I bite down on how I’d like to finish the sentence, something about wasting her talents on the government.

We all toast Maddy. Then, at her suggestion, we raise a glass to the memory of Jericho.

Everything is turning out okay . . . except for the five obnoxious young professionals at the next table. Margo glances over and identifies them as “a bunch of jerks, finance guys.”

Maddy says, “Yeah, but two of them are women.”

“Okay,” I say. “A bunch of finance jerks, men and women.

Does that make it better?”

Maddy says not at all. But the tables are so close that it’s hard to ignore this offensive group, and the mood that was just beginning to lift evaporates.

“So,” one of the men at the other table goes on, “I said, ‘Don’t waste my time if you don’t have a minimum of four hundred million to drop on this deal.’ ”

Another man chimes in. “The big question is, did you get the babe to come back to your place?” Everyone laughs. Even the women. Disgusting.

They all roar at comments like “That IG guy didn’t know a Treasury bond from his ass or his partner’s ass or his boss’s ass.”

“Hey,” Maddy says, working hard to stop contempt from entering her voice. “Do you guys think you could keep your voices down?”

The people at the other table look at one another and laugh. One of the two women even parodies Maddy’s question with old‑fashioned sarcasm. “Weeeellllll, excuse me!” the woman says. And, of course, all her colleagues laugh.

“You’re a bunch of spoiled goons,” Maddy says.

One of the men fakes a combination of sincerity and seduction, saying, “Oh, maybe if that grumpy little girl joined our table she might have a little fun. How about it, babe?”

I have a front‑row seat to this clown show, and I’ve just about had enough.

Only Margo notices the glint in my eyes, and a smile pulls at the side of her mouth.

Then we hear Finance Guy One gesture to Finance Guy Two and say, “Hey, Andrew, pass some of that Strip House special steak sauce this way, bro.”

Andrew does what he’s asked to do. But not exactly. He turns the pitcher of hot brown sauce over the head of Finance Guy One.

“What the f . . . ?” The man jumps to his feet, brushing sauce off his clearly expensive suit coat. “That’s not funny, dude.”

Maybe not to him, but Margo and I laugh hard. Jessica and Maddy turn to see what’s happening.

Finance Guy Three is on his cell phone. He gestures to his pals and says, “Keep it down, guys. I’m on an important . . .” But he’s not being important for long. His super‑ duper, newer‑than‑new cell phone bursts into flames, and Number Three has no choice but to drop the flaming phone into his drink special: a ninety‑dollar‑a‑glass tumbler of Macallan Scotch. The smell of melting plastic mixed with high‑end liquor fills the room as other patrons leap to their feet.

But their gaze isn’t being drawn to the action inside the restaurant; they’re all looking at the sidewalk outside, where three teenagers are arguing.

I can sense that the sidewalk confrontation is about to become dangerous, very dangerous. Sure enough, one of the teens pulls out a switchblade and plunges it into the throat of another. The young victim falls to his knees, bleeding, hands clutching at the blade.

I’m on my feet and through the door, jumping over the body oozing blood onto the sidewalk. Meanwhile the two perps are running like crazy down Sixth Avenue.

Chapter 4

TWO OTHER MEN — older, dressed in jeans and black windbreakers — appear next to me on the scene.

“Get help fast,” I yell at them, motioning toward the bleeding body on the sidewalk. One guy presses a button on his handheld. The other turns to me, extending a hand. “I’m Daniel Goyette, NYPD Narc and Drug Investigation. This is my partner, Ron. We were hoping to catch these young dealers in the act, but it looks like their little exchange went wrong somehow.”

“Great work you guys are doing!” I say angrily. “Mind if I step in and actually do something?”

I use my powers to subdue the escaping perps. I grab one and am about to get a stranglehold on the other, the one with the knife, when I hear a woman’s voice. Loud. Clear. It’s Maddy.

“I got him,” she yells as she forces the killer to the ground. I watch her twist the killer’s arms behind his back. The guy is struggling. He’s strong. Maddy is working hard.

“I can take over,” I say, jogging to join Maddy while maintaining a mental hold on the dealer I’ve already subdued, planning to put a heavy mental foot on her catch.

But suddenly the guy breaks free.

“I’ll get him,” I yell, but Maddy doesn’t hear me or she doesn’t want to hear me. She’s determined to use her developing mind‑control powers to smash the killer against a double‑parked car on Fifth Avenue and 12th Street.

But she makes a terrible miscalculation. Instead of smashing the runner against the car, she smashes the vehicle against two nearby parked cars. The impact is so great that all three cars collapse into one another like an accordion. Even worse, an innocent young woman who’d been cross‑ ing the street is now caught between the cars.

I release the perps I’m holding, then kneel down to help the innocent bystander. But it’s a feat even the Shadow can’t execute. The woman is dead, a mass of blood and skin and bones. Maddy is horrified, hands covering her face. I’m angry and sad; angry that Maddy took such a huge leap before she was ready, and sad for this young woman whose life was just beginning.

“I was hoping that I could help, Lamont,” Maddy says.

She’s in tears. “I wanted you to see that I was learning.” “Damnit, Maddy. You’re ready to work with me when

Dache and I say you’re ready. That’s clearly not now.” I know that Maddy is heartbroken, but an innocent person is dead, and a terrible killer escaped. Crime and death and horror and sorrow. They’re everything the Shadow fights against.