by Darrell Case
“Our problem is the Middle East,” Barney said rubbing the sweat off his palms onto his trousers. “Had soldiers in the same room with him at all times. They even went with him when he used the bathroom."
"He's called the Shadow for a reason,” Keaton said glancing out the window at the dying sun. “One moment he's here, the next he's gone. When you look for him, all you see is shadows, he blends in. “He could be part of the maintenance staff, a driver,” Barney said swabbing more sweat from his brow. "He could even be an agent assigned to you." Robbins was silent for several moments, which was rare for him. Finally Gibbons ventured, “He actually did us a favor.”
“Just what do you mean?” The President was on his feet; glaring at his chief counsel. “Well,” Gibbons swallowed, he almost lost his nerve. “The best deterrent to crime is the death penalty. Right?”Robbins set down. His elbows on his desk he templed his hands under his chin.
“Go on,”he said his eyes intent on Gibbons.
Keaton barely breathed. Robbins had already proved his wrath could be deadly. When they were teenagers, he saw him beat younger boy to death for calling him an idiot. The case was still unsolved he and Gibbons held the key.
“In order for persuasive measures to be effective word of their use must spread.”
“What Barney is saying Mr. President,” Wallace said clearing his throat, “is by taking out Card in the presence of the media.... Our friend provided us with a warning for criminals. Just think how the public will view this administration if the crime rate falls say 20 % during your term.”
“I'm shooting for more like 30 to 40 percent.” Robbins said his voice low and harsh. It reminded Keaton of the snarl of an angry dog.
“However,” Gibbons said his knuckles turning white, “we must be careful, if even one reporter became aware of our little scheme, the least we would be looking at would be the end of our political careers.’
“Not to mention several years in a federal prison.” Keaton said fumbling with a small vial. He shook out a tiny pill and shoved it under his tongue.
“Mr. Gibbons this operation is not a scheme, it is a well thought out plan to rid our country of the most violent offenders,”Robbins said his eyes boring a hole through his attorney. “All we are doing is executing convicted murderers several years ahead of schedule. In so doing we are saving the tax payers millions.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, if our plan is exposed
the public will not care how much we save them, they will want somebody's head on a platter,” Wallace said.
“Then we will just have to make sure our plan remains secret.” A cold calm settled over Robbins. Both men knew the subject was closed.
Jerald Robbins's ruthlessness was well known. It was said he could talk the pope into committing suicide and convince him it was his idea.
Robbins stood to his feet. The President spread the Harrisburg Morning News on his desk. “Gentlemen, this is our next tar-get,” the headlines screamed
`Child molester sentenced.'
Both men rose and stepped to the desk, together they read the article. Keaton was astounded. Gibbon blurted out, “But Jerry, he was only sentenced to ten years.”
“Mr. President.” Robbins said correcting his chief counsel.
“Mr. President.” Gibbons said. Wallace was at a loss for
words. His mind couldn't accept the possibility of what this group of idealists had become. Many nights they had set in their dorm room at Yale, discussing how they could better the world. Robbins always the most verbal spoke of being pres-ident. The thought of murdering human beings never crossed Gibbons minds. Yet now he knew this was always Robbins
plan.
“And what will Mr. Peter Rule be thinking of as he sits in
his prison cell?” Robbins said tapping his finger on the photo of the young teacher in handcuffs. “He will be thinking how he beat the system. Time cut in half for good behavior. Drug
treatment and anger management class, even if he doesn't need them. Counting the time, he spent in jail awaiting trial. Mr. Peter Rule will be back on the street in three and a half years.”
“But . . . but to kill him,” Gibbons said.
“Barney's right. Beat him up a little bit,” Keaton, said spreading his hands. “However to impose the death penalty on him...”
Bringing his fist down on Peter Rule's picture Robbins
shouted, “We're not going to let this happen!”
Glancing at his wristwatch Robbins said, “It is now 7:06 pm I want the execution scheduled to take place in the next 48 hours.” The president straightened up and threw the paper into the wastebasket.
“Now we've taken care of that little manner I have a state
dinner to attend.” Robbins said smiling
Both men left the oval office feeling as if the executioner’s axe hung over their heads. In the limo back to his office Keaton, sent a coded message using a disposable cell phone. After sending the message, he had the driver pull to the curb. Hitting the button, he rolled down his window and tossed the phone into a trashcan. As the black Cadillac merged back into traffic, a man in ragged clothing fished the phone out of the garbage can. Putting it in his pocket, he ambled down the sidewalk
Chapter 8