Authors: William Bernhardt
45
“W
e’re not out of the woods yet,” Ben kept saying, but no one was listening. Everyone in Washington he knew, and several people he didn’t, were packed into his office. Champagne glasses were clinking. Everyone was congratulating Roush, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back. He appeared pleased—a little stunned, perhaps, but pleased. It was a brief but heartfelt celebration. Another fifteen minutes, and then they had agreed they would put the booze away and let the press in. Then things would really become chaotic.
“Appreciate it,” Roush said as Ben approached the center circle where Roush was speaking to Sexton, Carraway, Senator Hammond, and others. “But I can’t take credit. I owe this one to Senator Kincaid.”
Ben waved the compliment away. “I had lots of help.”
“I know. And I’ll thank everyone. But you turned the tide. You made the people of America sit up and listen, voice their opinion, give it a second thought. You made it possible for Senator Matera to do what she did.”
“Maybe,” Ben said quietly, “but remember, we’re—”
Everyone present recited the rest of the sentence in unison: “—not out of the woods yet!” And then burst out in riotous laughter.
Christina approached with a trayful of champagne refills. “Ben, don’t be a wet blanket. We’re celebrating here.”
“But we don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”
“Tad got out of committee, fooling every pundit in the city. I’d say that’s worth celebrating.”
“But he still has to go before the full Senate. And the Republicans hold a majority there, too.”
“Then you’ll turn them around just like you did the committee.”
“I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to speak. There won’t be a hearing. The senators will debate, then vote. Period.”
“Polls show an increasing groundswell of support for our nominee,” Beauregard said, clutching his clipboard and somehow holding a champagne glass at the same time. “More and more people are setting aside their problems with homosexuals and focusing on his qualifications. Much as it pains me to admit it—you made that happen, Ben.”
“I think Senator Matera had a little something to do with it, too.”
“She fanned the flames. You started the fire.”
“Got to agree with that,” Senator Hammond said. “And speaking as the Senate Minority Leader, let me tell you that this is a service that will not soon be forgotten. You need to get your hat in the ring for reelection, Ben. I think you’ll be surprised by how much support you get.”
“Speaking as a lowly lawyer,” Sexton said, “I think anyone with your natural skills is wasted in the courtroom, Kincaid. You’ve found your niche here in Washington, and you’ve been given a lucky break most people would covet. Make the best of it. The voters will remember what you’ve done here today.”
Ben shrugged. “All I did—”
Christina hung on his shoulder. “Ben, stop resisting and accept the compliments.” She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
Ben’s face instantly turned bright red. “Christina,” he said under his breath, “I’ve told you before—”
Once again, the crowd finished his sentence in unison: “—not in the office!”
This time the laughter was so loud, so infectious, Ben couldn’t help but give in and smile.
“Hey, you wild and crazy party animals!” Jones was standing on his desk, trying to be heard above the fray. “Are you taking media calls yet? I’ve got a reporter from the
Post
just dying to talk to our Supreme Court nominee.”
Roush started toward the phone, but Ben stopped him. “This is your party,” Ben said. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll take the call.”
“Are you sure?”
Ben nodded. “We told them to wait till six. I think I’m capable of saying ‘No comment at this time’ as well as you are.”
Ben wove his way through the crowd and took the phone receiver from Jones. “Look, we don’t have anything—”
The female voice on the other end of the line cut him off. “This is Brandi Barnett with the
Washington Post.
Do you have a comment on the Fox News report?”
Ben found himself swallowing air. “The what?” He started over. “We have no comment at this—”
“I understand from a highly placed anonymous source that the Republicans are planning to filibuster if they can’t muster the votes to stop the confirmation process. Can you confirm or deny?”
“Can—the Republicans? What—?”
“I also have a White House source saying the President is going to publicly ask Roush to step down and that he has already done so privately. Can you confirm or deny that?”
Ben didn’t know what to say. Information was speeding by much faster than he could process it. “What are you talking about?”
“Should I take that as a denial?”
“You should take that as an I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-you’re-talking-about.”
And then she told him.
Ben returned to the celebratory circle, a somber expression on his face. “Tad,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you.”
Roush took one look at Ben’s face and the smile on his own disappeared. “What is it, Ben?”
“There’s an unconfirmed report on Fox News…”
Hammond waved a hand in the air. “Then I think we can dismiss it without even hearing it.”
“There’s…There’s apparently some evidence…” Ben stammered. “Tad, we should talk in private.”
“No,” he said firmly. “We’ll do it here. I have no secrets from my friends.” The strange thing was, Ben didn’t sense that Roush was dismissing the importance of the report. He just wasn’t going to hide from it. “They’ll all hear soon enough, I’m sure. What is it?”
“They’re saying…” Ben swallowed. “They’re saying that you had a child. A long time ago. But I know that’s not possible.”
“Because?” Roush tilted his head to one side.
Again, Ben noticed that he wasn’t denying anything. “Because, you know…”
“I have had heterosexual relationships, Ben. Before I came to grips with who I really am. Almost got married once.”
Ben noticed that Christina’s hand was trembling. As always, her instincts were excellent. “Then,” she said quietly, “this story…”
Roush threw his shoulders back and assumed his best military posture. “Yes, it’s true. I fathered a child.”
“Out of…of…” Ben found himself stammering again. “Out of wedlock.”
“Yes. I know, I should’ve told you. But I didn’t want to bring any unnecessary embarrassment. On me or the mother, okay? So I didn’t, and I apologize for that. Satisfied?”
Ben wished he could answer in the affirmative, but he was still troubled. “But that reporter…” He took a breath and started again. “I mean, that reporter was saying that the Republicans were all up in arms. Planning to filibuster, if necessary. And the President was going to make some kind of public statement.”
“And you don’t think an illegitimate child is enough to merit that kind of backlash?” Roush set his glass down on a tabletop, then walked to a window, his back to the crowd. The sun was setting just behind the Washington Monument. A beautiful spectacle, but one that, at the moment, did not comfort Ben in the least. “You would be right.”
“We can still go someplace private,” Ben said, stepping behind him. “But I need to know. I need to know everything.”
“Like what?”
Ben threw up his hands. He hardly knew where to begin. “Like who has the child now?”
“No one.”
“You mean, you put the baby up for adoption?”
“No. There is no baby.”
Ben struggled to understand. “You’re saying the baby died.”
Roush turned slowly, looking a hundred years older than he had only moments before. “I’m saying the fetus was aborted.” His once erect posture sagged, as if tons of weight had been yoked across his shoulders. “You see the problem. From a political perspective.”
Abortion. The only major political bugaboo Roush hadn’t already transgressed against. Ben clenched his eyes shut. “And you knew about the abortion?”
“Knew about it?” Roush picked up his drink and downed it in a single swallow. “I paid for it.”
46
L
oving darted behind Renny, positioning his rope-bound body between himself and the assassins.
Renny only chuckled, laughter distorting his thick European accent. “So, in a mere matter of seconds, I am transformed from your punching bag to your human shield. Do you perhaps see some intrinsic worth in me now?”
“Just shut up,” Loving growled, putting an arm lock around the man’s neck. He looked up at the two assassins, both with their sizeable guns poised and ready. “What’s it gonna be, you clowns? You gonna take out the boss, or you gonna leave quietly the way you came?”
The two men in the long coats exchanged an expressionless glance.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Loving.
“It means they are men of few words,” Renny said. His chuckle had escalated into a full-out laugh. “They are obedient, but not chatty. I like this in my trained killers.”
“Trained by whom?”
“By the best in the entire world.”
Loving scoffed. “I’ve spent some quality time with the Pretty Boy, and I’m here to tell you—he could use a few more days in the swamp with Yoda. Maybe a couple of years.”
Pretty Boy’s grip tightened, but he managed to restrain from pulling the trigger.
“Enough with this childishness,” Renny said, suddenly ominously serious. “Feodor. Take this fool out.”
Like a robot responding to command, the older of the two assassins raised his weapon.
Feodor trained the gun on Loving’s face. He squinted his right eye closed and focused…
Loving pulled Renny up higher, till his head totally covered his own. Then he began rocking the man’s head back and forth, just to make sure there was no clear side shot. A flesh wound to the ear probably wouldn’t kill him, but it might sting enough to make him release the hundred-and-eighty-pound burden that was currently the only thing keeping him alive. Feodor readjusted his aim; Loving moved the human shield in response. Back and forth, back and forth…
“Please,” Renny said, exasperated. “You are making me dizzy.”
“My heart bleeds for you,” Loving replied.
“And how long do you think you can keep this up? Already I feel that your arm is weakening.”
“I got two.”
“So that will give you twice the—what?—three minutes you have held me already? And then these gentlemen will perforate you like a fishing net. And the alley dogs will eat your corpse.”
“Very colorful. You Europimps really got a way with the language.” He tightened the lock on Renny’s throat.
“Very well. Shoot his arm.”
“It’ll go through my wrist to your throat,” Loving warned. “If I think I’m goin’ down, I’ll choke the life out of you first.”
“Empty threats.”
Loving clenched the man’s windpipe. “Maybe I’ll just start the process now. Call your men off or you’re dead.”
“If I am dead, then you have no shield.” Despite the lack of air in his lungs, Renny managed a perverse smile. “Either way, you will die.”
Loving continued choking, but his mind was working the entire time. What the creep said was unfortunately all too true. He needed an end-game strategy, one that didn’t result in him being dead. He could delay all he wanted, could threaten Renny, perhaps even kill him, but he’d still end up dead. Dead, and without the satisfaction of having obtained the information he wanted. That Ben needed.
“If I’m goin’ down,” Loving grunted, still choking the life out of Renny, “then chokin’ isn’t good enough. I want you to experience pain.” He grabbed the man in the crotch and squeezed. Renny screamed. The two assassins leaned forward, adjusting their aim, but Loving warned them back, pushing Renny forward and squeezing all the tighter.
What looked like desperate cruelty had, of course, been done for a reason. With two hands posed at either end of the man, Loving was ready to make his move. It wasn’t a very good move, but it was all he had.
Mustering his considerable strength, Loving hoisted Renny into the air, chair and all, and threw him at the two assassins.
Feodor and Pretty Boy toppled several steps backward. Renny crashed to the cold hard floor. Both guns fired, but Loving didn’t know where the bullets struck because he was already out the door and thirty feet down the parking lot. All he knew for sure was that they hadn’t hit him. And that was good enough.
Loving knew he didn’t have time to get to his car and get it started. Instead, he wove his way through the parking lot. If he could make it to the highway, it was just possible he could attract some attention, enough that the two hit men would back off. He knew the darkness would help protect him. On the other hand, a pro like Feodor probably didn’t need to see his target to hit it. All he had to do was keep flinging bullets until he got lucky.
Sure enough, Loving heard shots ringing out behind him. He ducked but continued moving, low to the ground. Those two men had major-league firepower. Pretty Boy was still firing his automatic weapon, not that he really knew how to use it. Most of his shots were flying a foot over Loving’s head. He obviously thought that if he just fired often enough, the law of averages would eventually give him a hit. A killer who trained on Nintendo rather than the firing range. Pathetic.
But still potentially lethal.
Loving kept running at top speed. What else could he do? And for that matter, how many times now had he been reduced to turning tail and running? How many times had he allowed himself to become the hunted, racing away from people who were trying to kill him? He couldn’t stay lucky forever. As soon as he got out of here, he was going to turn the tables. Go after the hunters. It was the only way he could come out of this case alive. As soon as he was safe, he would start planning his attack. The best defense is a good offense. So that’s what he would do. As soon as this parking lot emptied out into the street. Just as soon as the parking lot—
Loving put on the brakes, stopping his forward momentum as best he could. But he still had to hold up his hands to prevent himself from crashing headfirst into the brick wall.
The brick wall.
This parking lot didn’t empty into the street. It was a dead end.
Loving whirled around, ready for action. But there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could go. He was trapped.
Feodor stepped quietly forward, gun poised. Like the pro he was, he showed no trace of emotion. He didn’t have to. Loving could feel the pleasure emanating from him.
“It would seem,” he said, with a thick German accent, “that this merry chase has come to an end. You have been a worthy opponent. But now our revels are ended. Go with peace.”
Loving backed against the wall. He had nowhere to maneuver. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not go at all.”
“Alas, regrettably, that is not a choice.” Feodor raised a gun. It was smaller than the one he had brandished before, but all the more terrifying as a result. He held the gun so close to Loving’s chest he couldn’t possibly miss. And then he fired.