Game of Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  Blunt received a text from Besserman asking if there was any news to report.

  “None yet,” Blunt wrote back.

  He resumed strolling around his office, checking his phone every few seconds. It was set to vibrate but he couldn’t help himself. Blunt’s next move wasn’t certain. He couldn’t afford to put the intelligence community under such an intense microscope, but that seemed like a foregone conclusion if Wellington didn’t acquiesce to Blunt’s threat. Elliott’s hearing was scheduled to start in less than thirty-six hours with no procedural way to shut it down. And if Blunt opted to move forward and expose Wellington, the fallout could be twice as bad. However, Blunt clung to the hope that the media and the public outcry over Wellington’s abhorrent actions while serving in the military would attract the most headlines.

  A quarter of an hour went by before Blunt’s phone finally rang. The caller ID showed up as unknown.

  This had better be Wellington.

  “The deadline was fifteen minutes ago,” Blunt said as he answered the phone.

  “I had to do my due diligence,” Wellington said. “But based on my conclusion, I wasn’t too worried about missing the deadline.”

  “I thought you wanted to be President.”

  “I still will be—and I’ll make my first campaign promise right now: I promise to make your life a living hell.”

  Blunt grunted and then huffed a laugh through his nose. “That’ll look great on t-shirts and bumper stickers. Funny thing is, it’s probably the truth—not just for me but for all Americans.”

  “You’ll be in prison long before that,” Wellington said.

  “There are a couple of problems with that claim, starting with the fact that I haven’t done anything wrong. You’re also forgetting that I know some pretty powerful people who have the ability to squash any trumped-up accusations you try to throw at me.”

  “You should know by now that not everything has to be true to inflict the necessary damage.”

  Blunt examined his cigar before setting it down on the edge of his desk. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that I know how the game is played. I did it for quite a while on Capitol Hill. So, if you want to come after me, I suggest you come with more than just empty threats.”

  “J.D., I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how you got those personnel records.”

  “Oh really?”

  “All I had to do was put two and two together,” Wellington said. “An unexpected fire drill at the Military Personnel Records Center just days before you waved those documents in my face. That was kind of sloppy work, though that’s what happens when guilty people start to get anxious about a reckoning. And that’s what Elliott is bringing, isn’t it? And it’s long overdue for an intelligence community that is operating unchecked and out of control.”

  “You have a fanciful imagination, not to mention a gross misperception about how the intelligence community operates, which is kind of surprising coming from you since you’ve been in Washington long enough and served in the military. You should know that what we do is always in the best interest of our country.”

  Wellington chuckled. “Sometimes. There are other occasions where you’re engaging in a pet project for one of our own power-hungry leaders. And it’s all recognized as legal. That’s something I intend to change.”

  “The irony of that statement isn’t lost on me.”

  “I don’t care what you think about it,” Wellington said. “It’s the truth. And I’m going to make sure everybody knows about what you and your ilk does.”

  “And what exactly am I doing?” Blunt asked. He needed to make sure that word hadn’t leaked about his involvement with Firestorm.

  “You’re thriving in the shadows—and I’m going to drag you into the light.”

  He doesn’t know a thing.

  Blunt picked up his cigar and popped it back into his mouth. “It’s your career, Senator. Hope you’ve enjoyed it while it lasted.”

  Blunt hung up the phone and scrolled through his contacts. He needed to make a call. Wellington had left no other options.

  CHAPTER 18

  ALLISON CARTER’S NIGHTLY TV SHOW ranked among the highest rated in the cable news network world. On The Carter Connection, she interviewed policy makers, movers, and shakers according to the tagline used to promote her program. The former New York beauty queen didn’t mind mixing it up with Washington’s elite on air, using her platform to challenge lawmakers to bring about reform in areas seemingly ignored by Congress.

  She had just finished wrapping up her program for the evening and was removing her jewelry when her cell phone vibrated across the dressing room counter. The number wasn’t one she recognized, which was the norm. Tired and ready to go home, she almost sent the call straight to voicemail but decided against it and answered.

  “How are you, Allison? This is J.D. Blunt,” said the caller.

  “Senator Blunt—”

  “Former senator now,” he corrected.

  “Well, you’ll always be my favorite Texas senator. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I need your help.”

  “My help?” she asked. “Weren’t you recently tabbed by Washington Whispers as the most powerful man behind the scenes in the city?”

  “That was five years ago—and I’m hardly behind the scenes.”

  “If you’re doing anything, I sure haven’t heard about it,” she said as she stood and then exited the room.

  “I’m certainly not an invalid, but I don’t have quite the sway I used to have.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Which is why you’re calling me, isn’t it? You need me to do you a favor, don’t you?”

  “You might call it a favor. I might call it sourcing you on a story that is sure to rock the city and forever change the political landscape in this country.”

  Allison stopped. “That’s quite the claim, Senator.”

  “Have I piqued your interest yet?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I’m leaving work right now. Want to buy me a drink downtown?”

  Blunt sighed. “I don’t know. People will see us together. And as this town is known to do, it will talk. I’d rather not be linked to you on this one.”

  “That makes me think this is either really good or I don’t want to touch this story with a ten-foot pole.”

  “I know you’ve got more Emmys and Peabody Awards than you can shake a stick at, but this one might put you in the Pulitzer category.”

  Allison’s eyes widened. “Consider my interest officially piqued.”

  “I’m leaving a package on your doorstep that has all the details. It’ll give you more than enough to tell a great story and start investigating yourself.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m not going to commit to anything,” she said.

  “I understand.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to give you the impression that I’m just going to do whatever you suggest, especially without plenty of fact checking and sourcing.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “Now, are you going to tell me who the politician in question is, or do I have to guess?”

  “It’s Wilson Wellington.”

  “Wellington? I didn’t expect that,” she said. “He’s squeaky clean as far as politicians go. I mean, he did have that affair, but who hasn’t had a good one in this town?”

  “That seems terribly mild compared to what you’re about to learn regarding Wellington’s past.”

  “Perhaps you don’t recall, but that story chewed up hours and hours of multiple news cycles when the truth came to light.”

  “I promise you, that scandal will be a footnote on his Wikipedia page by the time you expose the world to who that man really is.”

  Allison hustled down the steps and then walked toward her car in the parking garage as they continued their conversation. “I appreciate the call and the opportunity to break this story, but why now? I’m sure this isn’t some recent revelation.”

  “It’s pr
obably not new to the people who covered it up, but it is to me.”

  “Don’t be coy with me, Senator. You didn’t just finish your glass of scotch—”

  “Bourbon,” he corrected.

  “Sorry,” she said with a chuckle as she climbed inside her vehicle. “Didn’t mean to offend you. So you didn’t just finish your glass of bourbon and decide to give me a call, did you? There’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

  Blunt paused for a moment before answering. “Should I leave this package with you or give it to someone else who wants to break the story of the year?”

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take it. But just remember I’m not obligated to run it.”

  “If you actually read it and then don’t, you’ll be doing your viewers a disservice. America deserves to know what kind of man Wilson Wellington is.”

  “I guess you’ll have to trust me to be the judge of that,” Allison said. “Good night, Senator.”

  She hung up and exhaled. After a long day that included plenty of interoffice drama, she wanted to process what had happened. But that would have to wait. J.D. Blunt was about to drop a story in her lap that he promised would be the story of the year. While that claim was made often by tipsters on her caller hotline or through her website—and quickly dismissed—she was intrigued.

  Wilson Wellington had grown to be one of the most powerful men on Capitol Hill. If Blunt’s information checked out, the fallout could indeed be life changing for both her and Wellington. She pushed the ignition button, and her car roared to life. As she sped home, she considered all the possibilities and took a moment to disconnect from the grind of her day and dream. If she took down one of the most influential players in Washington, she would have a chance to become the city’s most sought-after television personality when it came to news.

  Allison was still lost in thought when she came to a halt in front of her gated driveway. She waited as the gates swung open. The headlights from her car illuminated the yellow package leaning against her door that Blunt had left for her. She parked in the garage and hustled to pick up the files, anxious to read them.

  She ripped open the top and dug out a handful of papers. Riveted by what she read, she immediately called one of her editors.

  “Eric, I need you to help me check something out,” she said.

  He moaned. “Allison? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Time for you to start looking into something for me.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “What is it?”

  “I got a hot tip about Wilson Wellington. He might have been involved in this big cover-up plot that resulted in the death of an American pilot.”

  “Text me some of the info, and I’ll start looking into it.”

  “And hurry, Eric. This could be huge.”

  She hadn’t moved, still flipping through the pages when her phone rang a few minutes later.

  “Who’s calling me now?” she asked aloud. She peered at the number on the screen but didn’t recognize it.

  “This is Allison,” she said after she jammed her cell between her right shoulder and ear. She flipped a few pages, trying to scan them beneath the exterior porch light.

  “Allison, this is Wilson Wellington.”

  She almost dropped the phone as his voice arrested her attention. “Senator Wellington, what a surprise. I don’t usually get calls this late from anyone, much less someone like yourself.”

  “Well, please accept my apologies for the late time of this call, but I was at a private gathering this evening after dinner, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to call you.”

  “You were at the Alibi Club, weren’t you?”

  Wellington laughed. “Now, Allison, you know that even if I was in that club—which I’m wasn’t—I couldn’t talk about that with you. No members are allowed to discuss their status with the public.”

  “Okay, Senator. I get it. You can’t tell me. So, what do you need?”

  “I need you to do me a favor and squash a story that’s being circulated by J.D. Blunt. You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

  “Now, Senator, if you can’t reveal your membership in the Alibi Club, I can’t reveal my sources to any stories I may or may not be working on.”

  “This is why The Carter Connection is my favorite news program,” Wellington said. “You’re sharp and witty.”

  “I’m also impervious to flattery, so if you don’t have anything else for me, it’s been a long day.”

  “Actually, I have a story that I want to give you about the intelligence community. And in exchange, you must agree to kill those lies Blunt is pedaling and trying to pass off as the truth. Interested in striking some sort of agreement? As you may well know, I’ve got a very good opportunity to win my party’s nomination and win the presidency.”

  “If I were working on a story, I might be willing to squash it for the next one. But that all depends on the story.”

  “Fair enough. If you hold off on anything Blunt gave you, I promise to deliver you a story that will undoubtedly win you truckloads of awards.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said before hanging up.

  A wide grin spread across her face as she realized she couldn’t lose. She’d obviously stumbled into something—and two of Capitol Hill’s biggest power brokers had engaged her in their game.

  And it was a game that she was going to win one way or another.

  CHAPTER 19

  TWO DAYS LATER, Blunt stumbled out of bed and headed straight for his study. He spent most of the night imagining how he was going to handle the subsequent fallout of Wilson Wellington being destroyed politically and what the cagey veteran of Capitol Hill might do to exact revenge. And while Blunt wanted to see the story appear almost instantaneously on websites across the country, he knew Allison Carter needed more time to reach out to different sources before publishing the story and the supporting documents.

  Political Armageddon wasn’t Blunt’s preferred method to resolve issues. He tried to squelch Allan Elliott’s hearing through more diplomatic means, giving Wellington a chance to respond in kind, but the olive branch had been met with an iron fist. Blunt was just thankful this wasn’t the early nineteenth century, or else he would’ve likely been challenged to a duel.

  After turning on his laptop, Blunt started a pot of coffee in the kitchen before returning to his desk. He navigated to his favorite news site and opened up the front page.

  Nothing.

  At least nothing Blunt hoped to see. The lead article was about oil leeching into a West Virginia river and sickening hundreds downstream from the incident. The next two stories detailed a struggling economy and how President Michaels intended to fix it as well as a primer on Elliott’s scheduled hearing.

  Blunt let out a string of expletives before stomping back to the kitchen. He snarled as he poured his coffee, grousing aloud about how Allison Carter’s lack of expediency cost his credibility, at least in the eyes of Wilson Wellington. No longer could Blunt’s threats be considered serious. He’d be perceived as a feckless has-been, still trying to maintain relevance in the nation’s capital. Or as his father used to say, “Son, don’t be all bark and no bite. Even if someone gets away, take a hunk of flesh from them.”

  His father’s words weren’t literal instructions, but they made Blunt smile, a moment of levity in an otherwise tense situation. He could still hear his father’s baritone voice doling out the words of wisdom. But the meaning was clear: You may not take someone down, but let them remember you. Blunt figured that if he wanted to make a permanent mark on Wellington, one that wouldn’t easily be scrubbed from the public’s collective memory, he’d have to do some damage.

  Blunt finished his coffee before dialing The Carter Connection host’s number.

  “This is Allison Carter,” she said, her voice light and polished.

  “I was afraid I might wake you up,” Blunt said.

  “Mister Blunt, what a pleasure it is to speak to you th
is morning. As you might know, this town likes to get a jump on the rest of the country. I can’t just sit around all morning. There’s plenty of work to be done.”

  “Speaking of which, I—”

  “Stop right there, Mr. Blunt. I know why you’re calling. The truth of the matter is I’m not ready to publish anything from the information you gave me.”

  “Was there a problem?”

  “Well, I haven’t finished all my research.”

  Blunt stood and paced around the room. “Is that the only thing that’s holding you up?”

  “At the moment, yes. However, there’s also a hearing I need to cover today, a hearing that I believe you’re expected to be at.”

  “That’s a farce,” he said. “Allan Elliott is barely old enough to be serving in Congress, let alone taking up a crusade to deconstruct our intelligence community through some damn witch hunt. I know it. You know it. The American people know it. This whole thing just reeks of political grandstanding.”

  “Everybody makes a name for themselves on Capitol Hill in different ways.”

  “It’s certainly not the most prudent.”

  “Have you ever considered that perhaps Elliott isn’t intent on becoming a career politician? He might have his eye on something else. And if he gets a reputation for dragging Washington’s shadowy organizations into the light, he’s liable to find plenty of opportunities.”

  “They might not be the kind of opportunities he wants.”

  “Maybe not to you, but the shrewdest people in this city are the ones who can pick their way through the minefield of partisan politics and reach the other side to find open arms. You’re one of those people.”