Two Peasants And A President Part 9

Going down to the living room had always been an unconscious act, but when he rounded the corner and saw Doris lying there at the foot of the stairs sprawled in a pool of blood, he had to grab the railing and sit to keep from pa.s.sing out. He looked away until the dizziness and nausea had subsided. Then a soft knocking at the door told him he needed to pull himself together.

As he stepped over the corpse of a fine woman who had cared for him for almost ten years and now was dead, due to no fault of her own, he was stricken with a deep sadness. His eyes welled up and he tried to wipe away the tears before opening the door. A trio of officers whose guns were still out of their holsters stood on the porch. Only when he had told them the intruder was gone did they finally relax enough to retire their pistols.

He started to describe the getaway car, when the officer who seemed in charge said that Gladys had already provided a complete description, along with a partial tag number. Baines raised his hand and waived to Gladys, who by now was absolutely beaming.

The ubiquitous yellow tape had already begun to festoon the front yard, looking almost festive, as if they were having a party for recently promoted police officers. But the somber pair of techs carrying a body bag out the front door reminded everyone that the house had been visited by tragedy.

A half an hour later, Molly and Baines were seated on the living room couch, giving their accounts of what had happened to the two detectives.

Baines felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket.

"Excuse me," he said to the detectives, "it's the Capitol."

"Yeah. Yeah," Baines said into the phone, "I'm all right but somebody just murdered my housekeeper. No. . . No. . . Absolutely no statements to the press yet. I don't care. Screw the media. A dear friend was murdered in my home and they can f.u.c.king well wait," he said angrily. "No . . . Not until I've finished talking to the police. I'll call you back." He pressed the red b.u.t.ton with his thumb and tossed the phone on the coffee table. He'd decided not to mention Molly for now; Gladys would no doubt tend to that.

Molly placed her hand on his knee to comfort him. He started to think about how much worse he would feel if she weren't here, but then he remembered that she had possibly been the target.

"Senator," the detective continued, "as things stand, you and Ms. Marshall and your neighbor have all described the man as short, stocky, well-dressed in a dark suit and tie and appearing to be foreign, possibly Oriental. We'll likely find that the car, or at least the tag, was stolen. That doesn't give us a lot to go on. What we're missing is a motive. Who would want you or Ms. Marshall dead?"

Baines thought for a moment: "Detective, as soon as I've had time to think things over, I'll be happy to share my thoughts. You have to understand, you can't be in the Senate for ten years without making enemies. In the past couple of weeks, I expect I've probably added a few more, but just throwing out a list of everyone who might be unhappy with me would cast suspicion on a lot of innocent people."

"With all due respect," said the older detective, "a woman was just murdered in your home, a close friend of yours. Whoever did it nearly succeeded in murdering Ms. Marshall too. For all we know, they may have been targeting you and just mistimed it. We've got to have someplace to start."

Then the younger of the two detectives leaned forward: "Senator, crack pots and people who are mad at Congress don't use garrotes and getaway cars. Based on what we've seen so far, this thing was a professional hit. There's a strong possibility they'll try again. Now why don't you share whatever hunches you have? There's got to be somebody who stands out in your mind."

Calmly, Baines replied: "Detective, please understand that Molly and I appreciate what you're trying to do. But we've both been badly shaken by this, especially Molly. She came very, very close to ending up like poor Doris. If she wasn't such a fighter and if I hadn't shown up when I did, you'd be investigating two homicides today. Give us a day or so to gather our thoughts and then we'll share them with you."

Reluctantly the detective closed his notebook.

"All right, Senator, here's my card. Please call me day or night if you think of anything."

"One other thing, detective, we'd appreciate having someone watch the house for a few days, at least, in case the killer decides on an encore."

"We've already taken care of that, Senator. You'll see someone parked outside beginning this evening. There will also be increased patrols in the area for the time being. You obviously have a gun and know how to use it, but please try not to unload on one of us."

When the detectives were gone, Baines called a contractor friend that his ex had hired to do remodeling before they moved into the house, asking him to take care of the window and get someone to clean up the stairs where Doris had lain as soon as the techs were gone.

"What do you say we go somewhere else to talk?" he said to Molly. "The technicians will probably be around for another hour or two and I really don't feel like watching them." Before leaving the house, Baines slipped a smaller handgun into his pocket, one that wouldn't make a large bulge like the big Sig. He also decided that, at least for the time being, the Sig would reside in the Lincoln's console.

"What just happened?" asked Molly as they waited for their coffee at a nearby cafeteria.

"Good question," replied Virgil.

"Do you think it was Brewer's boys,"

"I don't know. Blackmail is one thing, but murder in the home of a United State Senator is a whole different ball game," he replied.

"What if Chuck just decided to get rid of me and the video?"

"Chuck's a certifiable thug, but I don't think he's got enough between his legs, or his ears for that matter, to put together what happened today. Besides, if I were him I'd a.s.sume we have a copy of the video stashed somewhere. He knows that if that gets out, he could end up at the sausage factory. No, I think our friend Chuck is doing exactly what he was told; he knows it's his best option."

"Well, Mr. Senator, just how many other enemies do you have?"

"Until today, only the kind that stick a knife in your back or say nasty things about you to reporters. Obviously someone else joined the club. You know, when I caught a glimpse of that guy, before he turned into a flying wrecking bar, China flashed through my mind. But even though China has become a lot bolder, there's no way in h.e.l.l they would dare attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate a sitting United States senator." The words had scarcely left his mouth when he began to wonder.

"As I recollect, it was me he tried to murder," she said.

Virgil paused, not speaking. He cast his eyes to the side slightly, not wanting to look at anything while he weighed what Molly had just said.

"Surely not," he finally said, mostly to himself with more question than conviction. "They would never do that; the risk would be too great." Then he thought back to what had happened off the Philippine coast. The leak that he had received stated with a.s.surance that a Chinese submarine had sunk the Filipino navy ship without provocation, a move that was unprecedented.

"Are you planning on telling me what's going on any time soon?" Molly asked.

Virgil looked back over at her, still reeling at the thought.

"I don't know, Molly, but I think that the impossible might have just become possible."

"Can we just dispense with the riddles?" she said.

"This is so far into the realm of conjecture that I'm reluctant to even put words to it," he replied, "but I think at this point we have to at least acknowledge the possibility that they were trying to discredit me with a murdered woman in my house, one who some might portray as a call girl."

Molly reacted to having been labeled a 'call girl' by someone for whom she was starting to have feelings. Anger and hurt welled up inside even though she knew she had planned to betray him. Then suddenly the reality of what had happened and fear pushed aside her hurt.

"So it wasn't you," she said. "It was me, after all."

Seeing that she had begun to tremble, he took her hands in his.

"Look, Molly, they already shot their wad. Killing you now wouldn't buy them anymore negative press regarding me than they already have. There are going to be some nasty innuendos in the bottom-feeding press, but what else is new. By murdering an innocent housekeeper, they'll generate more sympathy than vitriol. And there's no way this is going to slow the ground swell of negative opinion toward China. I believe the Chinese have just made a serious mistake, one for which I intend to repay them handsomely."

30.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on, Stuart?" the president said, after being connected via secure line with Boston. "You said you were going to shoot some video, not Baines housekeeper!"

"That wasn't us, Mr. President," he replied.

"What do you mean it wasn't you?"

"I mean it wasn't us. We had absolutely nothing to do with what happened at Baines' house."

"Then who the h.e.l.l did?" said the president, wondering how things had gotten so dangerously out of control.

"At this point, I have no idea."

"Look, Stuart, this thing is off the tracks. If we don't dial it back, it's liable to blow up in our faces. Did your people manage to get any video at all?"

"I'm meeting with Lanny this evening. I'll know more then, Mr. President."

"Bring me some good news for a change, Stuart," said the president, "and find out what the h.e.l.l happened at Baines house."

After dropping the phone into its cradle, he picked up the remote and punched in his favorite network. They were in the middle of a segment on events at Baines house.

"Apparently the a.s.sailants stumbled upon the senator's housekeeper and his latest mistress," the announcer intoned smugly. "The mistress was somehow able to fight them off; the housekeeper wasn't." A clip of the coroner's a.s.sistants carrying the black body bag out of the front door followed. "The senator could not be reached for comment. We will continue to follow this story and update you as soon as possible."

"In a related story," he continued, "China has reacted angrily to charges by Senator Baines that one of her submarines, without provocation, sank a Filipino warship. China maintains that her surface warship only fired warning shots and has demanded the censure of the senator in the US Senate, stating that his actions const.i.tute aggression against the People's Republic. Furthermore, the People's Liberation Army claims that their ships have been subjected to attacks by unspecified foreign naval forces."

"And in a statement that is rocking western capitols, the Chinese Foreign Ministry just moments ago announced that henceforth any ship that enters Chinese waters without express permission may be subject to attack."

The network, as had been their custom, failed to mention that China has claimed virtually the entire South China Sea as its waters. To do so would not only bolster the Republican senator's outrage over their sinking of a foreign vessel more than 700 miles from China's sh.o.r.e, but would seriously undermine the impression that the administration wished to convey that they are dealing firmly with China. Such highly selective reporting of the 'news' might seem to at least in part explain this particular network's abysmally low ratings, which now were hovering only slightly above those of the funeral channel.

He picked up the phone and told his secretary to locate his national security council and bring them to the White House as quickly as possible by divergent means. In this way the media would be less likely to be alerted to the gravity of the situation by a sudden parade of official cars arriving under the White House portico.

31.

Wheeled suitcases wobbling crazily behind them, Brett and Maggie tried to cover as much concourse as they could without standing out unnecessarily. Brett was already sweating profusely, having ridden across a sweltering Hong Kong in a cab whose air conditioning was barely functioning. They had briefly flirted with the idea of asking the hotel concierge to check for the first available flight out, but that would be like leaving muddy footprints.

So instead they had waited and checked the big board in the terminal. It informed them that a flight to Vancouver was their best bet. Getting through the line in front of the ticket counter seemed like it took a month, all the while knowing that they could end up finding that the flight was fully booked. They glanced furtively around them, fully expecting to see the police closing in.

When they finally reached the ticket agent, they waited in terrified suspense while she checked for available seating. Looking up at them, she said: "Didn't enjoy your stay in Hong Kong?"

"There's been a death in the family," they blurted out simultaneously. Knowing they'd handled that clumsily, they again waited as she peered into her square crystal ball.

"I have two seats in the front cabin," she said finally, meaning first cla.s.s. After putting almost a year of college on their credit card, they headed for their next ordeal, security, clutching their tickets. Ten minutes later, they ran breathlessly into the boarding area, feeling for the first time that they might actually make it. The flight had just started boarding first cla.s.s and they queued up, still glancing nervously around them.

Finally they were sitting in seats on the plane that would return them to safety. But they still had to wait while more than two hundred and fifty other sweaty bodies, some with the girth of small water buffalo, struggled to squeeze through the narrow aisles. Several times Brett had to duck to keep from being brained by a wheel-away.

After what seemed like hours, the first cla.s.s cabin door slowly swung shut and the safety procedure pantomime began. Brett and Maggie looked at each other with a sigh that seemed to drain all the air from their bodies. Everyone was now seated, strapped in and awaiting the push back from the gate.

Suddenly, like a funeral dirge, a new announcement tolled: "Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a short delay." This was followed by an unexplained wait that dragged on and on. Maggie had started to tremble. Finally, the cabin door was slowly, excruciatingly reopened and several police officers walked in, followed by an airline agent who turned and pointed straight at Brett and Maggie.

The officer in charge motioned for them to rise. As they did, two other officers placed their hands menacingly on the b.u.t.ts of their pistols. Maggie had never dreamed what it was like to be on the ten most wanted list, but as the eyes of almost three hundred people stared, tears started to flow. Brett's eyes darted between the officers, as if timing moves that would take them out, but even a Navy Seal has to understand when it is time to fold.

Brett was ordered to hold his hands aloft, then very cautiously handcuffed, his captors clearly aware of his capabilities. Then it was Maggie's turn, but a single female was entrusted that task, the others keeping an eye on Brett. At the end of the jet way, airport carts were waiting, this time with military police standing beside them. Revolving lights perched atop poles broadcast to all that two criminals were being taught what it means to break the law in China.

Although Brett and Maggie could not know it, the electronic tentacles that had searched them out so efficiently had not been as successful with Jim and Sally Petersen. Though Petersen was also Holly's maiden name, that connection had not yet been made. Meanwhile, their flight to Mexico City was at this moment hurtling down the runway.

32.

When Clifford Storm's Apache gunship had been hit and forced to crash land in Iraq 1, Virgil Baines had turned his bird around and laid down covering fire until US forces could rescue the downed pilots. At that early point in the war, the Iraqis still had a huge anti-aircraft umbrella and Baines had nearly been shot down himself. From that day on, they had been close friends.

After his discharge from the military, Storm gravitated toward private investigation. Having been a radio and techno buff since he was a young boy, he found the electronic surveillance aspect of the business not only enjoyable but usually a piece of cake. He had even developed a few refinements of his own.

So the lunch a.s.signment had been an easy go. With Molly having little choice but to wear the wire, and sitting at a table next to the restaurant window with Rawles, filming and recording them had been first year private eye stuff.

Boston was another story. To begin with, he was far out of his comfort zone. He didn't know the city, didn't know who did counter surveillance there and had zero allies or friends. What he did have was a strong aversion to anyone who wanted to harm Virgil Baines.

Working with Rawles had turned into an exercise in disgust. Rawles was a real piece of work; a sleazier, more self-serving sc.u.mbag would be hard to find, even in Washington. Just being close to the man made Storm wish he'd brought a can of disinfectant. But at least Rawles was a captive audience; he knew the only possibility he had of avoiding federal gun and racketeering charges was to play along.

He did have one thing, however, that would be useful in pulling this thing off: complete and total amorality. Conning his boss presented no more of an ethical dilemma than conning anyone else. That's what he did, that and look out for himself.

Rawles said that he always met Brewer in his office on Harbor Drive. The other constant was that Brewer invariably hung his jacket in the outer office where his secretary was. That would become the lynchpin of the operation. Brewer was to meet with Rawles in the early evening before Brewer's meeting with Stuart Shumer, one of the president's most trusted aides.

He would be carrying a tiny device. A miracle of miniaturization, being smaller than a nickel and a bit thicker, it sends a signal that can be picked up as far as a quarter mile away. The signal could then either be amplified and transmitted on with a repeater, a slightly larger and more powerful device, or intercepted by someone nearby with a receiver/recorder in his pocket. a.s.suming Rawles was able get the device into Brewer's pocket, Storm would be sitting in a bar almost directly below Shumer's north side office when the meeting with Brewer took place. With the receiver/recorder hidden under his jacket, it should be able to pick up every word.

Storm felt uneasy about the job; he clearly didn't trust Rawles. Regardless of the federal charges that Rawles was trying to avoid, Storm wasn't convinced that he wouldn't just decide to take his chances with his Boston buddies and turn on Baines. He obviously hated the senator, and his loathing for Molly was easy to see on the video of the luncheon. If Rawles had decided to turn, Storm's immediate future could get very ugly.

But Rawles, as it turned out, had taken what he perceived to be the path of least resistance. As much as he disliked the senator, his record said that he was a straight shooter and if he promised to put Rawles and his family in the witness protection program, he would likely follow through.

There was another consideration: Charles Rawles had displeased more than a few people over the years. Even those he hadn't screwed found his short temper and mean disposition unpleasant to deal with. Those he had screwed either privately or professionally were added to a growing list of enemies, many of whom wouldn't pa.s.s up an opportunity to get even. And that didn't even take into consideration those to whom he owed money. All things considered, Rawles had decided that the witness protection program was probably the best thing to come along in years. It solved a lot of problems. Rawles family was already sitting in a small motel in Indiana, waiting.

The critical part, getting the device into Brewer's pocket, had actually been easier than either of them had antic.i.p.ated. Since it was after 5:30, his secretary was already gone. The jacket was where it always was and Brewer was on the phone in his inner office. Rawles simply dropped the tiny device in the outside pocket as he walked into the meeting.

The meeting itself was a disaster. Brewer was furious that Rawles had shown up empty handed. He knew that in a little over an hour he would be in Shumer's office minus the expected video. Stuart Shumer was not only his most important contact, he had the ear of a president. Precisely for that reason, Shumer had carefully picked Brewer to be his go between, since it sometimes became necessary to utilize some of the seedier elements in Boston to do unseemly jobs, jobs that could never be traced back to the president.

"Help me to understand this, Chuck," he said. "All the b.i.t.c.h had to do was sleep with Baines with her purse pointed in the right direction. Why was that so hard?"

Rawles obviously couldn't tell him that Baines had turned Molly. That would start him down a path that could lead to a number of places, none of which were good.

"Either the b.i.t.c.h flubbed it with the camera or there was some kind of glitch," he lied.

"Did you not test the camera first, Chuck?" Brewer said through his teeth.

"Yeah, it worked fine. She tried it three times and no problem," replied Rawles, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Jesus, Chuck, I pay you good money to do a simple job and this is what I get? Do you think I want to have to tell Stuart this pathetic story? How do you think that's going to make me look?"

Rawles temper was starting to brew; he'd never been able to tolerate being lectured by anyone. He'd once punched a teacher just for pointing out that he had repeatedly come to cla.s.s without bothering to do his homework. His whole life had been a series of angry outbursts, two of which nearly got him killed. Teeth clenched, anger flaring in his eyes, there was little doubt what he was thinking as he looked across the desk at Brewer.

That Rawles would even dream of copping an att.i.tude infuriated Brewer. The guy lives in a nice house, drives an Escalade and he's copping an att.i.tude with me, fumed Brewer. But he had also been a little afraid of Rawles for as long as he'd known him. The guy was a stick of dynamite; you never knew when he might explode. If he hadn't always been able to do what he was asked, Brewer would have dumped him years ago. Rawles was now clearly in volcano mode, and Brewer knew it was time to get him out of the office before something happened.