Authors: CG Cooper
There were legal ways of turning these thinly-veiled bribes into legitimate income. Again, his chameleon-like ability to blend in ensured there would always be a fresh supply of cash. Instead of going to them, donors were now coming to him. It was always satisfying to the man who’d once stood ashamed behind his mother as she handed over food stamps for milk and cereal.
He liked his life. Men of lesser talent and middling ambition might let things ride. That wasn’t McKnight’s way.
He looked around at his colleagues as they convened for another four hour session. McKnight didn’t see competition; he wasn’t even in awe of a single one of them. No, what he saw as plain as if it were, in fact, the case, was a herd of cattle, the odd bull mixed in, milling about like placid cows on the plains.
It would soon be time for The Miami Matador to tame them, one by one if he had to. He was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t happen overnight. Overt frontal attacks would rarely be the tactic. There were plenty of ways to break a man, to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
He smiled, relishing the moment and his hopes for the future. If they were anything like the dreams of his past, he had no doubt that his vision would become a reality.
Not for the first time, McKnight silently addressed his father, who he could only assume now rested in Hell,
I’ll be President of the United States in spite of you
.
+++
Rep. Tom Steiner sat down with a smug grin. He’d played second fiddle to Ezra Matisse since his first day in Congress. He replayed the look of shock on Matisse’s face after the comment of the Marine Corps’s defunding.
“Mind if I scoot by?”
Steiner looked up to see the face of the handsome Floridian, Tony McKnight. He didn’t know the man, but he sure knew the upward trajectory of the charismatic newcomer. He hadn’t been in Congress a month before he was gracing magazine covers nationwide. Steiner didn’t have anything against McKnight, but he wouldn’t have minded a sliver of the recognition the Miami native got on a weekly basis.
“Sure,” responded Steiner, moving his legs to the side so McKnight could walk by.
“Thanks.” McKnight moved by, but then turned around like he’d forgotten something. “You going to the U2 concert tomorrow? I heard you were a fan.”
Steiner perked up. The question surprised him. He’d probably never said more than a few words to the younger statesman. But Steiner had been a fan of U2 since their debut record,
Boy
, hit the airwaves in the States in the ‘80s. He wasn’t about to tell McKnight that though, and he was always wary of favors.
“No. Couldn’t get tickets,” he replied.
McKnight flashed his world-famous smile. “I’ll keep my ears open. Maybe some seats will come open.”
Steiner nodded as McKnight went on his way. The New Jersey congressman watched McKnight go, wondering what it was like to live a day in the life of a political superstar.
+++
McKnight waved to friends and enemies alike as he made his way to his seat. He’d never officially met Tom Steiner before, but he knew his type. Steiner was a fringer, always on the outskirts of the big time. If McKnight was the soon-to-be All Star of the team, Steiner was the sometime reliever that was sent in during throwaway games. His reputation was nonexistent. He could disappear and few would notice.
Every re-election Steiner faced was hard-fought and always contentious. He didn’t have the bag of money like McKnight. His donors just wanted to keep a Democrat in office.
But Congressman McKnight had seen the flicker of jealousy in the man’s eyes, followed by the “just wait and see” grin. Tony McKnight knew all about Steiner’s proposal. Steiner was looking for the big payoff. High risk, high reward. Steiner didn’t have a clue. He wasn’t even the architect.
McKnight knew the man behind the plan. He was intimately familiar with every word in the soon-to-be public file.
How did he know? Because he, a Republican, a staunch conservative, the youthful face of his party and a likely contender for the next Presidential election, was the man behind the idea, the composer making the music, the plan that would see him ushered straight to the White House.
Chapter 7
Disney Yacht Club Resort
Lake Buena Vista, Florida
5:29pm, December 5
th
Mrs. Ellwood was waiting for them in the lobby. Cal recognized her from the photo Special Agent Barrett had shown him and Daniel. She was beautiful in the old Southern way. Distinguished and almost regal, her silver hair was pulled back in a bun. When she turned, Cal caught of glimpse of the sorrow in her eyes. The look was replaced by the cordial gaze of a professional military wife, a general’s wife.
“I’m Cal Stokes, Mrs. Ellwood, and this is Daniel Briggs.”
Cassidy Ellwood shook their hands and said, “I’ve reserved a room where we can talk in private. My family is still in our suite.”
They followed General Ellwood’s wife down the long nautical-themed hallway. When they reached their destination, Mrs. Ellwood touched the pink band on her wrist to the electronic lock. It flickered green and the three entered.
Mrs. Ellwood flipped on the lights and took the first chair she found in the small sitting area. She motioned for Cal and Daniel to do the same.
Nothing in her appearance, other than the hint of puffiness around her eyes, suggested that she was in mourning. That didn’t surprise Cal. Being a Marine wife for as long as she had, surely she’d dealt with her fair share of grief over the past thirty-some years.
Cal began. “I’d first like to say how sorry we are for—”
“For my loss? For the fact that my husband blew his brains out? You can save your words, Mr. Stokes. I’m a big girl. I’ve seen too many Marines take their lives. I was one of the ones that had to help pick up the pieces for the grieving wives, the widows forced to care for their fatherless children. So spare me the song and dance. What does the Commandant want with me?”
Cal nodded. He hadn’t expected the meeting to be easy, but the level of animosity made him pause. “General Winfield wanted me to come down and let you know that he is at your disposal. Anything you need, we will help take care of it.”
“What about the Marine Corps? They already sent their delegation.”
“This is in addition to that, Ma’am.”
Mrs. Ellwood cocked her head to the side taking the two men in. “Who are you, Mr. Stokes? Are you a Marine?”
“Former Marine, yes, Ma’am”
Mrs. Ellwood snorted. “Didn’t you hear the last Commandant? There are no
former
Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” She spat the words out like they’d burned her mouth.
“Yes, Ma’am. I don’t like to confuse people, especially without a regulation hair cut. Daniel and I are no longer on active duty,” Cal explained.
“Then what are you doing for Scotty Winfield?” She seemed intrigued now, her anger just below the surface.
“That’s a little hard to explain, Mrs. Ellwood.”
“Try me. I’ve been around the block a few times, Marine.” She sounded like a general. Patiently tolerant.
Cal couldn’t tell her the whole truth, so the Commandant had told him to use his discretion on what he said to Mrs. Ellwood.
“We’ve been directed to help in the investigation of General Ellwood’s death.”
“I would think it’s pretty cut and dried, gentlemen. My husband told us he would meet us in an hour. Instead he returned to our room, pocketed the pistol my daddy gave him, and walked into the woods to take his own life.”
He could see that she was trying to stay strong, but her lips were quivering. Cal made his decision.
“Mrs. Ellwood, we believe, that is, myself and General Winfield, believe that there might be more to your husband’s death.”
Mrs. Ellwood’s eyes went wide.
“You’re telling me that not only did the Marine Corps take my husband away from me for decades, but now you’re saying that it might have had something to do with his death?” Tears were now streaming from her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice. “God damn the Marine Corps! Honor, courage and commitment? What happened to family? We tell our young Marines and their wives to take care of one another, to be there for their children. But that’s all a lie! My children never had the benefit of their father’s love. He wasn’t home. He was supposed to be the example, but Doug was always working. Now my grandchildren will never know their grandfather.”
She paused to grab the tissue Daniel had extended to her. Mrs. Ellwood dabbed her eyes and continued.
“I’ll tell you something that isn’t in your files, Mr. Stokes. We came on this trip because of me, because I demanded it of my husband. I really thought he understood. He took the time with our boys, with their kids. We made love and for a moment I thought I had my Doug back. We were kids again. I loved him very much, Mr. Stokes. I love him…”
Her voice trailed off as she sobbed quietly. Cal stood up from his chair and knelt in front of her, taking her free hand.
“I understand,” he said simply.
Mrs. Ellwood’s eyes flashed. “How could you?!”
He didn’t look away. “My fiancé was murdered in front of me, and my parents were both killed on 9/11.”
Her eyes softened and she covered his hand with hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ellwood.”
She nodded, wiping her tears away with the tissue.
“My husband was a good man, an honest man, Mr. Stokes. He worked hard and did his best. There wasn’t a lying bone in his body. But he was a Marine through and through. It was in his blood, I know that.”
“He was a Marine’s Marine, Ma’am.”
Mrs. Ellwood nodded absently. “You were saying…are you telling me that there may have been a reason that Doug did what he did?”
Cal didn’t see the harm in telling her something.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She smiled. “For some reason that makes me feel better. Doug wasn’t a man who could fall into self-pity. I…I didn’t believe it when they told me.” Her eyes met Cal’s again. “Can you promise me something, Mr. Stokes?”
“If I can, I will.”
“If there was someone behind my husband’s death, if they did something to force Doug’s hand… Find them, Mr. Stokes. Find them.”
For some reason, despite the odds stacked against them and the enemy still lurking in the shadows, Cal said the first thing that came from his heart, “We’ll take care of it, Ma’am.”
Chapter 8
Dulles, Virginia
10:47pm, December 5
th
The two men dressed as the building’s security guards were down the stairs and out the front door exactly three minutes and fifteen seconds before the FBI investigators descended. Warrants were waved and badges flashed as the on-site security team tried to figure out what the agents wanted.
“This federal warrant gives us immediate access to suite 409,” said the lead FBI agent, attired in a Bureau windbreaker over his thick winter coat.
“Sir, I’ll have to call the building manager first,” replied the forty-year-old night watchman. He’d been an employee at the same complex for almost six years, ever since he’d taken early retirement from the Navy. This was the first time he’d personally encountered the FBI. He’d heard stories, but none of them lived up to what was facing him now. The special agents just kept coming through the front doors, some with boxes, others with cameras, and still more with laptop bags slung over their shoulders. “I could get in a lot of trouble if—”
“You’ll be in federal prison if you don’t escort us up to suite 409. Now, would you rather get stuffed in the back of one of our vans or show us the way?”
The security guard tried, but couldn’t match the FBI agent’s glare.
“Okay,” he replied, already making his way toward the bank of elevators.
The FBI agent snapped his fingers and was instantly followed by his entourage. Twelve of them squeezed into the elevator with the sweating guard. He kept his eyes on the doors, watching the intense reflections of his fellow passengers.
He’d already told them that no one was in the office. He’d even offered to give them the tenant’s contact information so that maybe they could come in themselves. But the FBI had its own plan. They wanted in now.
The doors slid open and the security guard was greeted by black clad troops with rifles. He almost pulled out his own weapon, but the large agent stepped around him and said, “They’re with us.”
How had they gained access without him knowing? His sweat turned cold as he imagined the inevitable conversation he was going to have with his boss. He gulped once and fumbled in his pocket for the key card. After a quick swipe, the door unlocked and he was pushed aside by the armed raid force.
He stepped back and watched as the FBI team swarmed in. No one paid any more attention to him and that was fine with him. He realized he had to go to the bathroom, so he walked to the fourth floor restroom, passing the sign for Suite 409, with its Marine Corps emblazoned sign that read
USMC F-35 Liaison and Procurement.
He’d met the Marine colonel who commanded the Marine and civilian staff who worked in the office. The guy didn’t say much, but to a former squid, the Marine seemed wound pretty tight. That was saying something for a Marine.
The security guard wondered what the colonel was going to do when he came to work and found the FBI waiting. He didn’t really care. After taking a leak, it was just another night on an otherwise boring shift.
+++
Washington, D.C.
11:30pm
The Chairman of the House Armed Services Subcommittee on Seapower and Projection Forces stifled another sneeze. He was coming down with something, probably from one of the grandkids. They been up to visit from Chesapeake the week before, and two of the three hadn’t stopped with their runny noses and incessant coughs. He loved the little rug rats, but, man, were they bred to spread whatever the latest crud was.