by Wes Lowe
“Now you’re talking. I’m in like Flint.”
17
Facing Reality
Instead of flying back directly to Los Angeles as he originally planned, Carter decided to make a pit stop in Kansas City to confer with Davy. While much of what he had to go over could easily have been done over the phone or video chat, there was one particular item that needed a face-to-face meeting.
But that could wait until after dinner. While Carter had an expense account that allowed him to indulge in the finest culinary cuisine in Los Angeles, nothing beat Willie’s barbecue and smoked meats. When Willie first came onboard, before he did anything else, he built a smoker from an old oil drum. He had been tinkering with it, experimenting and refining his smoking techniques ever since.
In the machine shop where he spent most of his time, Willie had set up a picnic table so he never had too far to travel when he wanted to eat. When he heard Carter was going to make an appearance, he prepared a huge platter of smoked brisket, turkey legs, and fall-off-the-bone ribs. The mains were accompanied with cole slaw, freshly made cornbread and potato salad, and washed down with a local craft beer.
After dinner, Willie cleaned up while Carter and Davy headed to the teacher’s lunchroom. Carter connected his phone to the monitor and showed the images that he had gathered at CNP. Because he and Becky took the shots at night, most pictures were dark and lacked clarity and definition.
Davy also took the hand drawn sketches that Becky made of the layout and input them into the computer. These were not as useful, as the images were not done to scale which would affect bomb design and their placement. Also missing were technical details of the fuel rod pool and the reactor.
None of the problems were deal breakers, but the scientist in Davy would have preferred more precision.
Carter clenched his fists into tight balls. “Is this a problem? I’m not sure I have time to go back.”
“The photos and videos I can fix easily with noise reduction, tonal adjustments, and Photoshop post-processing techniques, but Becky’s sketches and lack of technical details are more problematic. The more accurate the data, the more I can hone the plan,” replied Davy. “That being said, there’s a whole lot of give and take so precision isn’t absolutely mandatory. However, I think we need to get there ahead of time so I can look at things for myself.”
Davy’s last comment was an uncomfortable segue into the reason that Carter decided that he had to make a personal visit to Kansas.
“Davy, you can’t be there at CNP when we bomb the place.”
There. He said it.
Davy screamed, “What are you talking about? I’ve been waiting for thirty years for this. You even told me I’d have a front row seat and now you’re cutting me out? What the hell, Carter.”
Carter closed his eyes as he nodded. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, blew out a gasp of air, and then faced his best friend.
“We have to minimize the number of people in the operation. Three tops. Me, Becky and one more.”
“That one more is me,” snarled Davy.
Carter shook his head. “Honestly, I wish I could say yes but we’ve got to be realistic. Physically, you’ve been deteriorating. Your eyesight is terrible. Your reaction time is like an octogenarian, and I doubt that you could lift twenty-five pounds, let alone a hundred and twenty-five—which we might have to do.”
“So what am I going to do? Twiddle my thumbs?” Davy started hyperventilating—a panic attack.
This was the closest to hysterical as Carter had ever seen. Thank God that he had taken a first aid course two years ago. He just hoped he remembered right. “Okay, Davy. Purse your lips and breathe slowly through your nose, not your mouth… Take your time to exhale… Close one nostril with your finger and just breathe out of one nostril.”
Carter repeated his instructions over and over again. After two minutes, Davy’s breathing was back to normal.
Doing his utmost to refrain from tearing up, Davy muttered quietly, “You win.”
Carter reached across the table and put his hands on top of Davy’s. “Davy, this is not about you and me. It’s about our mission, what we want to accomplish. If you don’t win, neither do I and dammit, we’re both going to do our darnedest so we both win. Right?”
Davy solemnly nodded the tiniest of nods. Carter, of course, was right. “Willie will take you to the airport. There’s a late flight to LA you can take.”
18
Unexpected Announcement
One Month Ago
* * *
It had been a spectacular meal at a spectacular restaurant; Tuscany, the legendary steak house on Wilshire Boulevard.
Seemingly decided on the spur of the moment but in reality, painstakingly planned and orchestrated, Carter hosted the intimate party for his family members; his father Harold, step-mother Tracey, his wife Marlena, and his in-laws Enrique and Lucia Lopez. In their private room imbued with a sense of old world grandeur, each couple shared their perfectly grilled huge USDA Prime porterhouse steaks with all the accoutrements. The Tuscany’s specialty chocolate mousse cake rounded things off for desert. Sated and satisfied, they were now glowing from single malt scotches and VSOP cognacs.
Carter gently clinked his thin, curvaceous Glencairn whisky glass to gain everyone’s attention. “So you’re probably wondering why I invited you to dinner tonight.”
“The thought had crossed my mind, son,” nodded his senator father seriously as he fingered the rim of his own whisky glass.
Carter cleared his throat, gave a single clap of his hands and grinned broadly. “Well, I’ve done so because I wanted you to be the first to know that I quit Sommers Dawson Archer today.”
“You what?” thundered Harold, restraining himself from flinging his two hundred dollar glass at his idiot son. “Call Jefferson back and tell him you were pulling his leg.”
“Harold, calm down,” said stepmother Stacey. “It must be because you had a better job offer somewhere else. Right, Carter?”
Carter shook his head with a grand left and right. “Nope. I just decided that I’d had enough and wanted to do something for myself.”
“What do you know about this, Marlena?” growled her father, the CEO of Gulf Oil & Gas, a company involved in acquisition, development and production of oil resource plays. He had not been keen on Carter as a son-in-law, but Harold, with his political influence on all matters related to energy, had introduced the two of them, assuring Enrique there were other “benefits” from the union.
“I… I… nothing.” From her face, it was clear that stunningly gorgeous Latina with the scorching curves was not only completely flabbergasted, but thinking about divorce. Marlena had led a life of privilege—nannies, private schools, and flying first class throughout her life. Her undergraduate degree was in art history at Yale, then postgraduate studies in Italy. She had never worked a day in her life until the Getty Museum hired her as a “consultant,” whatever that was supposed to mean. It didn’t hurt that Daddy was on the board and privately financed her stipend.
“I had to do this,” stated Carter firmly.
“Why did you have to do this?” asked his father sarcastically.
Carter relished the pregnant pause of daggers thrown at him in the private dining room. “Because I need to devote myself fulltime to the next phase of my life. Without complete commitment, I don’t stand a chance at success. “ He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of every person with resolve and promise. “I want to be the President of the United States. As a stepping stone, I am going to run for governor of California first.”
After an initial stunned silence, the family beamed with everybody talking at once.
“What made you do this now?” asked Stacey.
“Why didn’t you wait, or start off by running for state legislature?” asked Enrique.
“I’m proud of you and will back you a hundred percent,” stated Harold.
“You don’t have any experience. And yo
u... I... we are very young... We... we are very, very young,” stammered Marlena.
Carter had anticipated all the questions and was ready with his answers. He patted the air, asking for calm. When the din subsided, he gave his persuasive answers. “I’m almost fifty, and that is not that young. Experience? Donald Trump, Dwight Eisenhower, Ulysses S. Grant, William Howard Taft, Herbert Hoover, and Zachary Taylor had no political experience before becoming president. And don’t forget Ronald Reagan whose claim to fame before he became California governor was as a B movie actor, including the Hollywood classic, ‘Bedtime for Bonzo.’ Most importantly, even though I may not have any experience, I have followed every move that Dad has made, as a business executive, as a lawyer, and as a politician. He’s the smartest and brightest political tactician there is. From having learned from the best, I know I’m ready to move into prime time.”
There was a grudging acknowledgement of the truth in Carter’s statement.
“But your name will be on the letterhead of Sommers Dawson Archer in a year or two,” snapped Enrique.
Carter nodded. “Yes, that’s true, but the longer I wait, the more the field changes. I’ve been watching my competition. Looking at the eight declared candidates and the other dozen that are thinking about it, I think my chances are better than decent.”
“Call a spade a spade,” rasped Harold with a whisky-soaked voice. “We got a bunch of idiots that think that they can run California. I know because I’ve got to work with or listen to them all.”
During the conversation, Carter’s eyes continually flickered over to his father. After the initial shock, Carter could tell that the Senator was sold on the idea. It was time to move in for the kill.
Carter looked at his father directly with his flashing blue eyes. “But I can’t do it without you, Dad. You would be the key. I want you to be in charge of my campaign, to be the architect, the chief designer. Will you accept?”
Stroke the old man’s ego.
It worked.
The Senator beamed. Elected office is what he’d groomed Carter for. With Carter’s intelligence, good looks, and dynamic personality, he was sure that his son was eventual presidential material. “Of course. I would do anything for my son, but we’ve got to get out of the gate now. Who else have you got onboard?”
“Nobody. If you weren’t going to stand with me, I didn’t think there was any point in moving forward.”
The Senator furrowed his wrinkled brow and bit his lip in momentary deep thought. He spoke in a voiced whisper, almost as if talking to himself. “Let me put together an exploratory committee. We should know in a few months whether you have a reasonable shot or not.”
Carter shook his head. “That’s too long, Dad. I’m not running for President… yet. We already know that the old guard will just say that I need more experience, blah blah blah. It’s a complete waste of time. Let’s just go for it.”
All thoughts of a marital fracture had been discarded as images of herself as the next Jackie, Michelle or Melania flitted through Marlena’s head. “We’ll have a fabulous announcement party and make it the event of the year,” she stated with all the enthusiasm of a PR hack. “Everybody who’s anybody will be there.” Marlena turned to her mother and mother-in-law. “We must go to Paris to get new dresses.”
Cut from the same cloth as her daughter-in-law, Stacey couldn’t be happier. “I’m so proud of you, but shouldn’t we wait? I mean, just a teensy little bit longer?”
Harold answered for Carter. “What’s the worse thing that could happen? Carter wouldn’t get the nomination, which is not entirely bad. He could use the experience on his next run and at that time, he’ll have more name recognition.”
In the Johnson family, no one ever stood up to Harold and that wasn’t going to start now. The Senator continued. “But this is going to cost money. A lot of money. While we can tap some people ahead of time, we really can’t begin fundraising in earnest until you’ve officially announced your candidacy. We got to do that soon because the others have got a head start on their war chests.”
“How soon is soon, Dad?”
Harold clapped his hands. “We can file tomorrow and have an official announcement party within a month, maybe even two weeks. That’s fast, so we are all going to have to put the pedal to the metal. Hold on tight, because it’s going to be a helluva ride.”
Carter beamed. You ain’t said shit. Everything’s gone exactly to plan.
19
Released
Human sacrifice. It was a potential reality not only for the young rape victim on the ground circled by chanters and dancers, but for Steve and herself. Rayna felt a chill crawl down her spine even though the temperature was well over a hundred degrees.
A man covered in white talc powder with circles of black around his eyes and wearing a multi-colored loincloth exited the tent.
Shaman. Witch doctor. Sorcerer.
Emil went up to him and the two had an animated discussion in Creole.
“What are they saying?” asked Rayna.
Steve gave a running translation with his limited knowledge of the language. “That man is Kervin, the priest. He is saying the blood of a pig did not work; sex with an innocent and a dog did not work… Emil says he has a Western doctor with him… Kervin says that the boy is infected with kout lair and that Western medicine will not work. Emil argues the leader will kill them all if his son dies… they must try everything.”
A mystified puzzlement was added to concern on Rayna’s face.”What is ‘kout lair?’ And why won’t Western medicine work?”
“It’s a readily available voodoo poison whose symptoms resemble tuberculosis. An airborne disease, it can’t be contracted from direct personal contact. When I was here in 2010, we had five cases. Only one of them survived and damned if I know why.”
Rayna and Steve saw the priest nodding reluctantly.
Emil turned and stepped over to them. “Today is your lucky day. The two of you will be released after you treat our leader’s son. Of course, he must survive.”
Steve shook his head and nodded in Rayna’s direction. “No. You will bring the woman back to Malpasse. Only when she is on her way will I treat anybody.”
Emil raised his rifle.
“Go ahead. Kill me. Kill both of us.” Steve switched to speaking in Creole. From his knowledge of the culture and Haitian afterlife, he knew that gang leaders were often religious leaders as well. “Your leader is a man of Bondye, your god. Your priest has failed. Your only chance to survive is if I can save the boy, but if you kill me your deaths will be next. But that’s not the worst of it. How do you think Bondye will treat you, knowing you had a chance to save the life of the son of a spiritual leader?”
“I will kill the girl and let you watch,” snorted Emil. He shifted the weapon’s barrel to Rayna, taking direct aim.
“And I will witness the death of your leader’s son. And then you, and then the priest,” answered Steve matter-of-factly. “We are dead no matter what happens. There is no way you will let either of us live if we both stay here.”
Emil wavered, quaking with fear. What Steve said was true. He could see his own life’s end now.
Then a large, heavily muscled man stepped out of the tent. Wearing a combat field uniform and Oakley sunglasses, the gang leader looked like the corrupt former Haitian military officer he was.
He uttered four words. “Bring her to Malpasse.”
With that, he went back into the tent.
“You heard him. Let’s go! Go!” shrieked Emil, terrified at the brief sight of his leader. He knew the price of failure. He pointed to the driver. “Jean, take her back.”
Rayna saw the intensity in Steve’s eyes. Knowing that he was going to die gave him strength, and a boldness that was not part of his normal character. His expression, along with frequent glances to their captors and her, communicated he was looking for some way to save Rayna.
Rayna made her own evaluation of the situation. With the
rising heat and increasing humidity, breathing was getting harder. Ideal conditions for the mosquito population to explode. The two on the ground had symptoms of cholera. Steve was sweating too. Was it because he was hot or did he have an infectious disease?
Rayna was about to step into the Jeep, when she decided screw it. If this was the end…
She stepped through the mud, wrapped her arms around Steve, then kissed him like it was a final goodbye. As she nibbled on his ear, Steve whispered lovingly, “Kiss me as hard as you can. Stroke your hands on my face. Play lovey. And sexy.”
Rayna lifted her hands to Steve’s face, running them down his forehead before gripping his cheeks tight. Her eyes devouring his, she plunged an exploring tongue into his mouth.
The gazes of everyone in the shanty town were fixed on Rayna as tears slid down her muddied face as Steve pulled her bum as close to him as he could. Rayna whimpered, then pushed his head from hers and stroked his face, crying out, “I love you, Steve. I… I…”
“We’re done,” yelled Jean. “No more.”
Steve pulled himself off Rayna and pointed to the young rape victim. “I will treat her before she goes and I need Rayna to assist me. Bring me my medical bag.”
Emil looked like he would explode. The girl’s injuries were no big deal. Some bruising, a few lacerations… Rape was no big deal, but this Chinese doctor had proved himself intransigent unless he got his way. He ordered two henchmen to unload the Jeep.
“Cut some bandages for me, Rayna” ordered Steve as he put on a pair of gloves. “Use the cantilever.”
Cantilever? What was Steve talking about? A cantilever was a beam used for bridge construction, nothing to do with cutting or bandages. It made no sense… unless there was something in the bag that Steve wanted her to get… Her eyes locking with his, Rayna gave a discreet wink to Steve. “I understand perfectly.”