Capitol Conspiracy (19 page)

27

C
OLGATE
A
PARTMENTS
A
PARTMENT
12-B
G
EORGETOWN

B
en sat in the front living room of the apartment—what Christina called her purple-and-pink paradise—and wondered where she was. First she slammed the door on him; then, last night, she didn’t come home at all. That had happened before. She was one of the most industrious staffers in the Senate, and her constant socializing and gossiping and temperature-taking and all the other things that made her invaluable often kept her so late that she simply slept in the office. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that she had managed to have absolutely nothing to do with him since he came out publicly in favor of the amendment. And now that it was out of committee and most of the pundits said it was due to his testimony—

Well, he wasn’t surprised she wasn’t here tonight.

But he wished to God she were.

Maybe if he took her on that honeymoon they never managed to have. Just as soon as the amendment got through the Senate, he could whisk her off to France. First class, maybe. He couldn’t afford first class. Come to think of it, he couldn’t afford to go to France at all. Weren’t senators supposed to be rolling in dough? Where were all those under-the-table bribes and overseas junkets when you needed them? Maybe if he called a few lobbyists…

But he suspected Christina would not go for that.

Maybe if he used his newfound clout to get that Alaskan Wilderness Bill passed. Not that he actually had any clout, as far as he knew, but he should. He was doing a favor for the president. Shouldn’t the president now do a favor for him? Might be a stretch—President Blake had been very vocal in his opposition to the bill for the last two years—but still, wouldn’t that make Christina happy? She’d been fighting for that one since the day they arrived in Washington. Maybe if he got really tight with Senator DeMouy…

But he suspected even that would not make Christina forget what he had done.

And for that matter, neither would a million-dollar contribution to her favorite charity, an autographed set of Red Dirt Rangers CDs, horseback riding with Prince Charles, a diamond-studded hair band, a silver-plated harmonica, the ability to warp the space-time continuum, or lunch with Madonna. And he didn’t have any of those things, either.

Didn’t matter. Wouldn’t work.

Which made her angrier? he wondered. The fact that he supported a proposal she so adamantly opposed or the fact that he had done it without consulting her first? After all, he didn’t have that much time to think about it. The president’s chief of staff had told him to call before midnight, and midnight was only minutes away when he finally called, and if he had stopped to call Christina first, time might have run out and—

And these were all excuses. He hadn’t called Christina first because he knew what her reaction would be. He chickened out.

Now he was paying the price. He just hoped the assessment wasn’t permanent. He had longed to be with her for so long. To think that he had screwed it all up so quickly ate at him like a two-foot ulcer. Could she ever forgive him? Or was this marriage over before it had even begun?

The doorbell rang, thank God. He knew it wasn’t Christina—she was hardly likely to ring the bell before entering her own apartment—but whoever it was, they would provide some distraction from his own morose musings.

He pushed himself out of the easy chair and opened the door.

His first thought was: I didn’t know Victoria’s Secret sold door-to-door.

She was a short woman, but what she had, she had in great amplitude. As he stood there trying to think of something intelligent to say, her overcoat dropped off her shoulders and fell to the floor, revealing the entire outfit, what there was of it. The corset was black; the frilly edges of the teddy were white. The cups beneath her breasts barely covered the nipple and the backside revealed more bottom than most hospital gowns.

She tossed her blond hair behind her head and smiled. “See anything you like, Senator?”

Ben swallowed. “I—I think you—you m-must have the wrong apartment.”

“I don’t think so. Pucker up, you handsome hunk of manhood.”

She strode toward him with a determined and confident certainty. Ben held up his hands, but she brushed them away and threw herself at him. Before he knew what was happening, her lips were planted on his. A moment later, she leapt up into the air and wrapped her legs around him.

“I—really think there’s—there’s b-been some sort of mistake,” Ben said, struggling to get his face free from hers.

“You know you want it, handsome.”

“I’m—pretty sure I don’t.”

“Let me convince you.” Ben felt her hand grabbing in a place where it should not be grabbing.

“Do—I know you?” Ben asked, pulling away.

And the instant his face emerged over her shoulder, the flash erupted in his eyes.

28

U.S. S
ENATE
, R
USSELL
B
UILDING
,
O
FFICE
S-212-D
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

“G
ot it!” Jones said, as he ran into the office, practically colliding with Christina at the front desk.

“Do you indeed?” she answered, not looking up from her phone messages. Over the years, she had become accustomed to Jones’s occasional bursts of irrational enthusiasm and had learned to restrain her expectations. “And what would that be?”

“Something you’re going to want to see.”

Christina laid down her papers, sighing. She knew she would never find out what he had until he felt she had given him the proper amount of attention. “All right, Jones. What’ve you got?”

“Oh, nothing much…”

“Jones,” she said firmly, giving him the look. “Don’t toy with me. What is it?”

Jones had also worked with Christina long enough to know that when she gave him the look, it was time to submit. “Just a little something you wanted from the Bethesda Coroner’s Office.”

Her eyes instantly widened. “Already?” She snatched the envelope out of his hands. “Freedom of Information Act requests usually take weeks. Sometimes months.”

Jones laid a hand across his chest. “You’re not the only one who has connections in this town, you know.”

“Apparently not.” She pulled the papers out of the envelope and began to read:

CORONER’S REPORT—EMILY BLAKE

Office of the Coroner-Medical Examiner                           Case No. 1003-76

Capitol Boulevard, Washington, D.C.

Report of Investigation

Decedent: Emily Margaret Blake

Age: 42

Sex: Female

Race: White

Occupation: First Lady

Employed by: The White House

Type of Death: Apparent Natural_____ Violent__X__

At Work_____ Not at Work _____

Description:

Narrative Summary:

Victim arrived dead via Air Force Two at approximately 12:42 local time. Preliminary examination revealed massive brain trauma apparently induced by a bullet to the head…

Christina blinked. “The first lady had a tattoo on her butt?”

Jones nodded. “It’s true what they say. You never really know someone until they’re dead.”

Christina scanned the report. It was more than a little ghoulish, reading intimate details about a woman so beloved by her country—including Christina—after she was dead and buried. But there was a reason. Something was going on here, something more than just a stray bullet during a presidential assassination attempt. She intended to get to the bottom of it.

Christina continued scanning. Toxicology, tissue samples, blood screens, serology…

“Wait a minute,” she said abruptly. “What’s with the black bar?”

Jones peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, black bars covered the six lines that followed the topic heading
SEROLOGY
.

“It’s been redacted,” Jones said, stating the obvious. “Before the document was released.”

“But why? Under the FOIA, government agencies are not authorized to redact any document unless there is a potential threat to national security.”

“So the first lady’s blood test poses a threat to national security? You think she had…some kind of disease?” He didn’t mention any disease in particular, but he knew what they both were thinking.

“I don’t see how that could possibly have been covered up.”

“Loving thinks the government can cover anything up.”

“Including the fact that President Blake is a Martian. I don’t think that’s it.”

“But what, then? What could be so secret about her blood?”

“Serology isn’t necessarily limited to blood analysis, in a coroner’s report. It could cover any bodily fluids.”

“I’m still not seeing the threat to national security.”

Christina pondered a moment, batting a finger against her lips. “Seems rather improbable, doesn’t it? And yet, there must be some reason this information was redacted. Perhaps because, whether it affected national security or not, someone just didn’t want this information made public.”

“Who would have the power to get this document altered just because he or she didn’t want it made public?”

“There are only a few possibilities,” Christina said. “None of them good.”

“You think this is about the first lady, don’t you? The whole thing.”

Christina thought carefully before answering. “I don’t know what it is. But I intend to find out.”

Christina was still pondering the coroner’s report when she heard a knock on the door of her private office.

Jones poked his head inside. “Someone here wants to see you.”

“Are they from the coroner’s office?”

“I don’t think so. Suit-and-tie types.”

“Shoes?”

“Very nice. Gucci, I think.”

Christina frowned. “Lobbyists. Tell them I’m busy.”

“I don’t think you want to do that, Ms. McCall.”

She looked up, startled by the voice emanating from somewhere behind Jones.

Jones drew himself up, obviously miffed. “I asked you to wait outside.”

“What we have to tell Ms. McCall can’t wait.”

“If I tell you it can wait, then by God—”

“It’s okay, Jones,” Christina said, stepping out from behind her desk. At the same time, two men, both in identical black suits, entered. One glance at them was enough to give her the creeps. Unfortunately, they had also piqued her curiosity. She preferred to take the risk that she would regret talking with them to spending the rest of the day wondering what they wanted. “Come on in.”

After they were in her office, she whispered to Jones, “Turn on Line X,” then closed the door behind him.

She retook her position behind her desk, while the two men sat in the chairs on the opposite side. They looked impervious to standard intimidation techniques, but if nothing else, she received some comfort from the hierarchical arrangement, her safely behind the desk, them watching from over yonder.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen? Is this business or pleasure?”

The taller of the two, apparently the designated spokesman, leaned forward, smiling a smile that Christina did not find warm or friendly. “We’d like to talk to you about the president’s proposed constitutional amendment.”

Christina remained calm. “That does seem to be the hot topic of the day.”

“We’re lobbyists…of a sort. For the amendment. We feel it is vitally important to the future of this nation that the amendment be passed.”

“So some people think.”

“We wanted to be sure we had your support.”

Christina brushed her long strawberry blond hair behind her head. “Oh, my—this is embarrassing. You must think I’m the senator. But I’m not. I’m just a lowly chief of staff. I don’t get to vote.”

The tall man once again smiled the creepy smile. “I am aware that you’re not a senator, Ms. McCall. But you’re married to one.”

“Guess I can’t deny that.”

“And there are many who feel you’re the most influential voice in the senator’s ear.”

“That probably depends on what I’m saying.”

“What most of my sources tell me you’re saying at present is—you don’t think the amendment is a very good idea.”

“I’m afraid there is some truth in that. But I still don’t get to vote. And Ben is very adamant about this amendment. You may have seen him on television. When the president made him his go-to boy for the Democratic Party. Or perhaps you heard him single-handedly sway the Senate subcommittee.”

The tall man glanced at his silent partner. The partner reached inside his suit jacket, but the tall man held up a hand, stopping him. Not yet.

“We have been very pleased with Senator Kincaid’s performance so far. That’s why we want it to continue, until we get this law out of Congress and into the hands of the people.”

“Do you have some reason to doubt his resolve?” Christina asked. “Because I certainly haven’t seen any.”

“There are those who consider him…unacceptably risky. A dangerous element that might turn at any moment. Especially if his newlywed wife starts putting pressure on him.”

Christina couldn’t resist arching an eyebrow. “And exactly what kind of pressure do you foresee me putting on him?”

The tall man smiled again.
Yuck.
“I’m sure you have your ways. Most women do.”

“Look, this has been fun, in a not-really-fun sort of way, but I’m done playing. Just tell me what you want and then I can tell you to go to hell and we can all get on with our day.”

The two men exchanged a look, one that took a good deal longer this time.

“Fine,” the tall man said, steepling his fingers, “we’ll play it your way. We want you to cease and desist putting any and all pressure on your husband to withdraw his support from this amendment. In fact, we’d take it as a personal show of good faith if you would lend your personal support to the amendment and tell him you’re backing him all the way.”

“Then all I can say,” Christina said, biting back her emotions as much as was humanly possible, “is that you don’t know me very well.”

“Yes,” the tall man replied, and his voice dripped with a sorrow that almost resembled something genuine. “I suspected that would be your response.” He turned to his companion and nodded. A moment later, a small packet of photos emerged from his breast pocket.

He tossed them onto Christina’s desk. “Don’t get any wacky ideas about running off with them. We have copies, obviously. And the digital files from which they were printed.”

Christina’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Is this something I’m supposed to look at?”

“I think that would be a really good idea.”

Christina reached for the photos, silently dreading it, wondering what they might have caught her doing. She knew that she could be blunt, indiscreet, much too direct for this town. Had they somehow caught her doing something she shouldn’t? Browbeating a senator’s administrative assistant? Sneaking into closed meetings? Parking in a senator’s parking spot?

She pulled the photos from the folder.

They weren’t of her. They were of Ben! Ben with—

Her hands covered her face.

“I know this must hurt,” the tall man said. “Particularly given that you’re newlyweds. But Washington can be a stressful place to sustain a marriage. Temptation is everywhere. My sources tell me that the senator has spent many nights alone”—he paused when he heard the gasping sound from behind Christina’s hand and saw her shoulders heaving—“and even the best of men might…do things he might not have done had he stayed in the bucolic safety of Oklahoma. This is the big city and—”

He stopped. He didn’t like to hear a woman cry—who did? So he had not been listening closely. But it was impossible for him to avoid noticing the weird sound she was making. Those sharp intakes of breath. The heaving shoulders…

She wasn’t crying. She was laughing!

Christina moved her hand from her mouth, her face convulsed with merriment. “Did—did you really think—?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She fell back into her chair, still giggling.

“I understand,” the tall man said quietly. “It’s a defense mechanism. You laugh so you don’t cry.”

“N-No,” Christina said, quivering as she spoke, “I laugh so I don’t kick you losers in the butt.”

“Ms. McCall, perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of the situation. Your husband, a member of the U.S. Senate, has been caught in flagrante delicto with a prostitute—”

“Oh, please.”

“My understanding is that her name is Brandi Delight and that she is quite popular in some congressional circles and that the…action was hot and heavy when the photographer by chance happened by—”

“In the hallway!” Christina screamed, still rippling with laughter. “When he happened by in the hallway?”

“I heard…something about a hotel room…”

“Do you think I don’t recognize the hallway outside my own apartment? What did you clowns do—throw her on top of him while he was getting the morning paper?”

“I assure you, the scene is just as it appears—”

“Well, it appears to me that poor Ben is stunned and desperate to get away from this floozy in the cheap Frederick’s of Hollywood getup.”

“I think I know a little more about this than you do—”

“No, sir, you don’t. Not even close. Or you wouldn’t be trying this stupid stunt.” Christina rose to her feet, hovering over her desk. “Ben would never be with this woman. He wouldn’t be interested in the first place, but even if he were, he wouldn’t do it, because he loves me.”

The tall man rolled his eyes. “Love is blind.”

“No, you stupid ass, love is knowledge, especially when you’ve loved someone as long as I have Ben. I don’t care what you do with your hidden photographers and Photoshop. I know damn well Ben wouldn’t be with this woman, even if we’re having a spat. So give it up already.”

The tall man tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “If you don’t take these photographs seriously, Ms. McCall, I can assure you the press will.”

“What press? The
National Enquirer?
No legitimate paper will run these photos, because they’ll know they’re as faked as I know they are.”

“There’s always someone, somewhere…”

“Maybe so, but you’re not going to go to any of those places, because if you do, I’ll expose your little scheme for the nasty political blackmail that it is.”