Capitol Conspiracy (26 page)

42

U.S. S
ENATE
, R
USSELL
B
UILDING
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

C
hristina raced down the corridor, fighting the traffic that flowed in both directions, forward and backward, all around her. By now, word of the poisoning had spread across the building. Everyone was in a panic. The Capitol Police were trying to maintain some semblance of order, but the numbers overwhelmed them. Rumors were flying of other suspicious mail, other poisonings. Truth or panic? There was no way for her to know.

She had been calling Ben continuously the entire time she had been running toward their office. He had not answered. Despite the fact that she had finally managed to teach the man to keep that thing in his pocket at all times, he had not answered.

Which left only two possible explanations. Either he didn’t want to. Or he couldn’t.

What possible reason could he have for not taking a call from her now? There simply wasn’t any.

Only the latter possibility remained.

She raced up the steps to the second floor, taking them two at a time. “Ben!” she shouted, well before she was close enough that he could hear. She couldn’t help herself. Some of the other people racing down the corridors stared at her as if she were insane. She didn’t care about that, either. All she cared about was her sweet husband, her sweet stupid husband who was just naïve enough to open a deadly envelope given the proper incentive.

My God
—why had she left him alone? Why didn’t she see this coming? The President of the United States had told him he could be in danger—wasn’t that warning enough? How could she have been so blind? She almost slammed into the Capitol Police officer posted outside the door.

“Sorry, ma’am. You can’t go in there.”

“I work in there!”

“Sorry, ma’am. The office has been quarantined.”

“Quarantined? Why?”

The officer took a deep breath. “There’s been another ricin poisoning.”

Christina’s eyes widened with despair. “Oh my God. Ben!” She pushed forward.

The police officer gently but firmly held her back. “Ma’am.”

“Oh my God. I’m too late! He’s—he’s—Ben!”

“You calling me?”

She whirled around. “You’re alive!”

“Thank you, Princess Obvious.”

She slugged him on the shoulder. “You idiot! I was afraid you were—” She stopped herself. “I was afraid you’d opened the mail.”

“I did. But I wore rubber gloves and a mask like the security people told us to do. What do you think I am, some sort of idiot?”

“You—you—”

“Good thing, too, ’cause there was something weird about one of those envelopes. That’s why I called the Capitol cops.”

“Which envelope?”

“The big one. The one you told me to open.”

“The one I—what?”

“The one you told me to open. Before Jones saw it. When you called.”

She stared at him, her mouth gaping. “What are you talking about? I didn’t tell you to open anything.”

Ben’s eyebrows moved closer together. “That wasn’t you?”

“Besides which—I’ve been trying to contact you and not getting any answer.”

“But I definitely got a call.”

“Give me your cell.” Ben passed it across to her. She pushed a few buttons. “Yes, you’ve definitely had a call, but not from my phone.” She pushed several more buttons faster than Ben could follow. “Let me give you another news flash, handsome. This isn’t your cell phone.”

“What?”

“Someone switched out on you. Looks like your phone, but it isn’t. Has a different number. That’s why they were able to call you—and I wasn’t.” She looked up. “Have you been keeping this phone in your pocket like I told you to do?”

Ben squirmed. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Well…sometimes I leave it in my briefcase.”

“And you leave your briefcase lying around all the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“At meetings?”

“Well…”

She pounded her forehead. “Anyone with access to this building could’ve switched phones on you.”

“But who would want to?”

Christina looked at him with cold dark eyes. “Whoever wanted you to open that envelope filled with ricin. The same person who killed Senator DeMouy.”

Ben’s eyes widened like balloons. “When did this happen?”

She wiped a hand across her brow. “My God—the President of the United States warned that you might be in danger. He didn’t know the half of it.” She paused, her mind racing. “Or did he?”

“Christina—what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that someone just tried to kill you, Ben.”

“But—why?”

“The same reason they killed Senator DeMouy.”

“Which is?”

Christina slowly wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight. “Because he was leading the drive to toughen the nation’s antiterrorism capabilities via a proposed constitutional amendment. An amendment someone apparently does not want to become law.” She looked at him grimly. “Even if it means killing the key players supporting the amendment.”

43

225 B
LEEKER
S
TREET
W
ESTBURY
, M
ARYLAND

W
hen Jason Simic came through the back door under the cover of darkness, Belinda was waiting for him. She was decked out in black—a padded push-up bra and a skintight mesh catsuit with a zipper at the crotch for convenience.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up close against him.

He dropped his briefcase. “My God, Belinda, can’t you wait till I get the door shut?”

She pulled away, obviously put out. “I remember when you couldn’t wait until I got my bra unsnapped.”

He walked to the nearest bay window and closed the drapes. “It’s different now. I probably shouldn’t even be here. I assume a short visit is okay—I am your late husband’s chief of staff, after all. It’s only natural that we would have much to talk about. But a lengthy visit might arouse suspicion.”

“Your body arouses me, big boy.”

“Stop!” He lifted her hands and removed them from his body. “Tell me what happened with the police.”

“They don’t have a clue. It’s just as you said it would be. They’re totally off track. Asked if Jeff had received any threats from known terrorists, that sort of thing. Didn’t show the slightest sign of suspicion that I was involved.”

Which they wouldn’t, Jason knew, even if they had suspicions. But still, it was a good sign.

“Did they talk to you?” she asked.

“Oh yeah. I had no information about any threats against his life. But I have been concerned about the safety protocols at the Senate. Three senators dead, a fourth almost killed. It’s frightening. I told them I was considering getting out of politics.”

“That’s bull.”

“Yes, it is. But they don’t know that. And they never will.”

She took his hand and walked him to the sofa. “Jason—you didn’t tell me you were going after Senator Kincaid, too.”

“There was no point. I didn’t need you to play lovey-dovey with Kincaid. No one would connect you with that crime.”

“But since there were two attacks—both against the leaders of the pro-amendment faction—the police seem convinced this was politically motivated.”

“Yes, I am brilliant. You’re welcome.”

“How did you do it?”

“Easy. I switched cell phones on him while he was conferencing with DeMouy about the amendment. Then I planted the envelope. Then I made a call at the last minute to make sure he went for the envelope. Used my falsetto and a static inducer to mask my voice. Pity he survived—but it doesn’t really matter. The diversion was the important thing, and the police now seem entirely diverted. Because, as I may have mentioned, I am brilliant.”

“Yes, you are. But a little scary, too.”

“Oh, but you like that, don’t you?” He leaned in close till she could feel his hot breath on her face. “The danger. The rough edges. Makes you all wet, doesn’t it?”

“Jason…stop.”

“Whatever you say, darling. I’ll wait till you want it,” he added, because he could see from her dilated pupils and heaving breasts that she already did very much want it.

“I can’t believe we got away with it,” she said, her voice becoming softer and more breathless.

“It isn’t over yet,” he reminded her. “But we do appear to be in the clear.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can…you know. Go public.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“About us. How long until we can stop hiding?”

“Soon, baby. Soon,” he said, although he knew that would be insane. He needed her money, yes, but he now realized that marrying his murdered boss’s widow would be too risky by half. Just plain stupid. And he was anything but stupid.

But he decided to keep those thoughts to himself. At least until he had the money.

“You do want to marry me, don’t you, Jason? You want to be with me?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m not just a…a plaything for you?”

“Of course not.”

“When will we be together? When?”

Time for a distraction. He pressed her down on the sofa and clamped a hand over her gauzy breast. “We’re going to be together in about one minute. Two at the outside.”

“No, I mean—”

“Strip for me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Strip. Slowly.”

“If—that’s what you want.” She began fumbling with the strap of her adroitly designed brassiere.

“That’s what I want. I want to feel your breasts pressing up against me. I want to stroke them. I want to taste them. I want to put them in my mouth and feel your nipples getting hard.”

“Oh, Godddddd…”

“Then I want you to go down on me. Then I’ll go down on you. And then I’m going to screw you in a way you’ve never been screwed before.”

“You—you are?”

“I’m going to pound you like a hammer and suck you till you can’t stand it anymore, but I’m going to keep on doing it anyway, until you cry out and squeal and beg me to stop but I won’t stop, and you’ll come again and again and again.”

“Oh, God, Jason. Oh, Godddddd—”

“Then I’m going to take you from behind. Right here on the sofa.”

“Take me, Jason. I want you so much! Take me now!”

And he would. Whatever it took to keep her happy, and contented, and quiet.

Until he didn’t need her anymore.

Then he would give her something altogether different.

44

A
RLINGTON
N
ATIONAL
C
EMETERY
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

B
en had been quiet all the way down Memorial Drive, from the Lincoln Memorial, across the Potomac, and through the portico that capped the main entrance to the cemetery. It seemed appropriate, not only because this was a somber occasion, but also because he felt chastened and subdued by the fact that another public servant had fallen to this never-ending wave of terrorism. Not to mention the knowledge that he was almost the next victim.

As the driver approached the destination, Ben marveled at the stoic majesty of this most famous of cemeteries. The green hills were lined with row after row of what appeared at a distance to be identical white grave markers stretching off into infinity. They passed the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and, shortly after that, the Eternal Flame that marked JFK’s burial site. Ben had not even been born when JFK was slain, but that president’s legacy of hope and vision still had a special meaning for him.

Arlington was a military cemetery, but as Ben knew from his morning briefing, there were a few exceptions, a few special individuals of national import who had been buried here even though they were not military casualties or even veterans. Pierre Charles L’Enfant, the architect who laid the design for Washington, D.C., was buried here. Four Supreme Court justices, Thurgood Marshall, William O. Douglas, Potter Stewart, and Harry Blackmun, were buried here. Two Capitol Police officers, John Gibson and Jacob Chestnut, who died in the line of duty, were interred at Arlington. And the ashes of Marie Teresa Rios Versace, author of
The Fifteenth Pelican,
which became the basis for
The Flying Nun
television show, were scattered here. Ben wasn’t entirely sure how that one fit in, but it must’ve seemed like a good idea at the time.

More recently, Arlington had served as a final resting place for many people who died as a result of terrorist attacks. Julian and Jay Bartley, killed in an attack on the U.S. Embassy in Nairobi. Dana Falkenberg, killed in the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon. Michael Hammer, murdered by guerrilla fighters in El Salvador. The Secret Service agents who died in the attack on April 19 shared a tomb, not even fully completed yet. Senator Hammond had been buried here. And now the government and his family jointly had decided that Senator DeMouy should be buried at Arlington.

As Ben stepped out of the car, he saw a wide array of people had come to pay their respects. President Blake was here; he was scheduled to deliver the primary eulogy. Even though he would not specifically refer to the proposed constitutional amendment, his presence at the funeral of yet another victim of terrorism was sure to make a statement. He stood at the head of the grave site with his chief of staff, Tracy Sobel, and the senator’s widow, Belinda DeMouy. Ben also spotted Homeland Security Director Carl Lehman with his deputy director Nichole Muldoon.

Ben walked slowly to the head of the gravesite. He knew the Secret Service would want time to identify and clear him before he got anywhere near the president. He approached the grieving widow and introduced himself.

Belinda DeMouy was dressed in a solid black dress. Despite the veil over her face, Ben could see that her young face was streaked and red from crying.

“Let me offer my most sincere condolences,” Ben said, pressing her hand between both of his. “I’d only known and worked with your husband for a short while, but I could see he was a great man with a good heart.” Ben smiled a little. “Even if he was a Republican.”

“He was a good man,” she repeated softly. Her watery eyes looked as if they might spill over at any moment. “And a good husband. He cared about people. Genuinely cared about them.”

“I could tell that.”

“And then to have him taken away so suddenly and in such—such a horrible way.” Belinda’s hand shot up beneath her veil, covering her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Ben said. “This is a tragedy. Tragedy on tragedy.”

“But—but at least you were spared,” she said, still holding Ben’s hand. “I take some comfort in knowing that the murderer didn’t get everything he wanted. That someone will carry on my Jeff’s work.”

“I was just lucky,” Ben replied softly. “I happened to remember to use the gloves.”

“Thank God. Your envelope was laced with the poison, wasn’t it?” “It was. As I said, I was very lucky. If there’s anything I can do for you, Mrs. DeMouy, now or at any other time, please let me know.”

“Thank you. I—I would like to know, from time to time, if it’s not too much trouble—”

“It isn’t.”

“I’d like to know how the work on the amendment is progressing. It was Jeff’s final crusade, and—well, I just want to know it’s in good hands. I want it to be remembered as part of Jeff’s lifetime of service.”

“I’m sure it will be.” There were others waiting to speak to her. Ben released her hand and sidled down what had become an informal reception line.

Tracy Sobel was the next person he greeted. “I’m glad you and the president could be here today.”

“So am I,” Sobel replied. Ben noted that her face was remarkably free of sorrow. “Do you realize that all the major networks are going to interrupt their programming to carry the president’s eulogy?”

“That’s…lovely.”

“Are you kidding? That’s goddamn fantastic. The president could hold a prime time address and not be guaranteed The Big Three. This is a coup of major proportions.”

Ben felt his irritation growing. He tried to contain it. “I’m…sure the president has no intention of exploiting this national tragedy.”

“Of course not. That’s my job.” She leaned closer to Ben and whispered, “This will be a major victory for proponents of the amendment.”

“I’m sure you’re happy about that.”

Did Ben imagine it, or did Sobel stiffen slightly? “The president will be happy. And that’s my job. Keeping the president happy.”

After the minister in charge read the religious service, several others were given an opportunity to speak. Senator Scolieri, who had known DeMouy since they were Senate pages together forty years ago, told several amusing anecdotes of their youthful antics. Senator Bening of Colorado talked about DeMouy’s legislative legacy. Bening’s chief of staff, Joe Conrad, spoke of his great and abiding love for DeMouy and his lovely young wife, Belinda. They heard from a few friends and relatives outside the world of politics. Then, finally, it was time for the president to speak.

“I know this is a time of sadness for those who knew Jeff DeMouy, and even for those who did not. This is a time of sadness for all Americans, all peoples around the globe who believe in the right to work without the fear of terrorism. I had the privilege of working with Jeff on many occasions. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we didn’t. But I always valued his opinion. He was one of the special few you could count on in a crisis. He would do the difficult tasks even when his plate was already full. He would take the unpopular chores, regardless of the consequences, when he knew it was the right thing to do. He was a great American, and so it is appropriate that his final resting place be here, where he can spend the rest of eternity surrounded by the best and the brightest America has ever known.”

President Blake made what Ben now recognized as the familiar shift from Camera A to Camera B, then continued.

“Some people have asked me what I think Senator DeMouy’s legacy will be. The simple truth is—I don’t know. But I can tell you what I hope it will be. I hope he will be remembered as the last great American who fell at the hands of terrorists. I hope that we as a nation will not allow his death to be meaningless, but rather, will see it as a turning point in the way we think. I hope that this will be the moment when we rise up as one nation and say: No more. We will not allow the lives of our leaders, friends, innocent citizens, and even children to be taken in the pursuit of someone else’s political agenda. We Americans have always been strong, and now we will be even stronger. We will fight the good fight, as the Good Book tells us to do. We will take whatever actions are necessary to make sure that Senator DeMouy has not died in vain.”

Very well said,
Ben thought. He came about as close to campaigning for the amendment without specifically mentioning it as was humanly possible. A stratagem employed by numerous successful leaders throughout the history of the world.

After the president concluded, Ben felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned and saw a man he recognized. Even if he wasn’t wearing the standard sunglasses and suit, he knew this man was a Secret Service agent. Agent…

“Zimmer,” the young man said. “We spoke at…well, you know. On April nineteenth. In Oklahoma City.”

“I remember,” Ben said quietly.

“Could I possibly have a minute of your time?” Zimmer asked. “It’s important.”

“Of course.” The crowd was dispersing anyway. Ben followed Agent Zimmer to a quiet nook a few hundred feet to the north.

“What’s this about?” Ben asked.

“It’s about April nineteenth,” Zimmer replied. “And it’s about a colleague of mine. Special Agent Gatwick. You know him?”

“I met him on April nineteenth,” Ben answered. And he remembered what the president had told him about Agent Gatwick as well. About Gatwick and the late first lady.

“Do you realize what he did?”

Ben hesitated. He was surprised that the word was out, but he supposed that inflammatory secrets of this nature were hard to keep under wraps. “I’ve been told.”

“By whom?”

“I’m not sure I should say.”

Zimmer eyed him carefully. “Are we talking about the same thing? Because what I’m talking about—I think there are only two people on earth who know, other than Gatwick himself.”

“You’re talking about…the affair.”

“No. I’m talking about Gatwick’s actions on April nineteenth. Regarding the first lady.”

With whom, if Ben understood the autopsy report correctly, he’d had sex less than eight hours before. “What did he do?”

“He altered the protocol. On his own self-assumed authority.”

Ben’s forehead creased. “I’m not really following….”

“Gatwick moved the first lady from where she should have been to where she was when the shooting started. On the other side of the raised platform. By you.”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“As a result, I was the only Secret Service agent anywhere near her. There should have been five agents in the immediate vicinity, but instead, there was only one. Me.” His voice choked a bit. “And I couldn’t save her.”

Ben reached out to him. “You couldn’t possibly have saved her alone. The bullets came too fast. I remember.” He touched the still swollen scar on his cheek. “It’s a miracle I made it out. And I’m hardly the target the first lady was.”

“Yes, but the president made it off the stage, didn’t he? Because he was where the agents were. And if Emily Blake had been beside him, as she should have been, I believe she would be alive today.”

“So…are you saying that Agent Gatwick acted erroneously? Incompetently?”

Zimmer stared directly into Ben’s eyes. “At the very least.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting—”

“All I know is that his actions allowed a tragedy to occur that has shocked the nation right out of its senses.”

Ben blinked. “Don’t you support the amendment?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I thought the whole law enforcement community—”

“You were wrong. We shouldn’t be rushing around trying to rewrite the Constitution. We should be trying to find out what really happened.”

“You sound like my chief of staff. But you know the government is investigating.”

“I’m not. The Secret Service was taken out of the loop.”

“There were reasons—”

“There are always reasons, Senator Kincaid. Or excuses. But at some point, when there are too many excuses and not enough rational thought, you have to sit up and wonder—what the hell is going on? What’s really happening here?” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Before it’s too late.”