The Complicity Doctrine

by Matthew Frick

  “Small world,” Joel said.

  “How did you and Mari meet?” Andie asked.

  “We met at a Senate dinner, of all places,” Joel said. “Why?”

  “So, it had nothing to do with the Houthi report?” Susan asked.

  “What?” Joel responded. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “The report you requested from the Congressional Research Service,” Andie said.

  “Joel, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  Bill Cogburn slapped his advisor on the back, ending, or at least postponing the uncomfortable inquisition. Cogburn had already made it to the back tables in his tour of thanks around the Empire Room. Keith Swanson stood behind the senator, talking to an older couple seated across the round table from Andie and Susan.

  “Sir, this is Susan Williams and Andrea Jackson,” Joel said. “Susan and I met the other night.”

  “Excellent,” Cogburn said, still smiling. “Well, you better watch out for this guy,” he said, pointing a thumb at Joel. “He’s the most eligible bachelor in Washington. Just ask the last girl he dated.” The senator leaned in, and Susan caught a hint of high-end whiskey on his breath through the powerful scent of his aftershave. “Joel said she went psycho on him, and he had to kick her to the curb. But I think Joel probably made her crazy,” he said, laughing.

  Susan’s hand closed involuntarily, and her jaw tightened. Her shoulder faded back, though there wouldn’t have been time to react even if Cogburn had seen the signal. Susan’s fist caught the senator’s right cheekbone with a snap that almost sounded like a bad movie sound-effect. Cogburn stumbled back, less from the impact than from the surprise. Joel grabbed Susan in a bear hug and pulled her back.

  A woman screamed, and the surrounding tables quickly emptied. Much of the commotion went unseen and unheard by the rest of the room, as Susan was hurriedly handed off to two of the attendant security guards and ushered out of the room.

  “Son of a bitch,” Cogburn said as he rubbed his cheek. Keith Swanson did his best to calm everyone around them and give the senator some space.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Joel asked as he rushed back to Cogburn’s side.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Cogburn said. He glanced around at the small crowd of people gathered to see what happened. He smiled and said loudly, “Democrat.” Everyone around him laughed, some clapped, and people trickled back to their seats. Cogburn looked at his hand to make sure he wasn’t bleeding and said quiet enough to be masked by the music and other ambient noise in the room, “What the fuck was that, Joel?”

  “Beats me,” Joel said. “Whatever you said to her must have really pissed her off.”

  “How did that bitch get in here, anyway? Did you invite her?” Cogburn asked.

  “I did.”

  Joel and Cogburn looked at Andie. Both men forgot she was even standing there. “And you are?” Cogburn asked.

  “Her name is Andrea Jackson, sir,” Joel said. “She’s a reporter for the Wasington Times.”

  “Was a reporter,” Andie said. “And it’s Andie...like the president.”

  Cogburn laughed. “Well, Andie like the president, perhaps you should go look after your friend before the rent-a-cops decide to call the real cops to come arrest her.”

  “You’re not pressing charges?” Andie asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Cogburn said. “I’m not interested in that type of publicity tonight.” He motioned to Joel who went out the door to make sure the real cops weren’t called. Cogburn cocked his head and asked, “You said you’re not a reporter anymore, right?”

  “Not anymore,” Andie said. “I work for the Intelligence Watch Group here in New York now.”

  “I see,” Cogburn said. “You people do good work over there.”

  “Thank you, Senator,” Andie said. “I’m actually working on a piece about SR95 right now, and I was wondering what you think the chances are of it passing.”

  “It’ll fly through,” Cogburn answered, “because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Cogburn began leaving when Andie called out, “It’s the right thing to do because then we can legally send money to the MeK again and fund a secret proxy war with Iran.”

  The senator stopped and smiled. “Ms. Jackson, when we go to war with Iran, there won’t be anything secret about it.” He turned and left the room, flanked by Keith Swanson and a security guard.

  Andie watched them exit before she remembered that she last saw Susan being dragged away by two men with guns and badges. She picked up her purse and looked down. Andie took one more bite of crème brûlée, dropped the spoon in the dish, and left.

  * * * * *

  Andie exited the hotel and looked up and down the street for Susan. She started to worry when the reception desk staff said Susan was forced outside by the security guards, and one of Senator Cogburn’s people insisted that she not be allowed back in. Andie figured that person was Joel Simpson. She was relieved to find her co-worker sitting under a tree on the grassy divide of Park Avenue.

  Andie waited until there was a break in traffic, and she darted across the street. She put her back to the tree and sat down next to Susan. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Susan said. She was staring down the road, seemingly hypnotized by the lights of passing traffic.

  Andie looked at Susan with concern. After the woman’s right hook and resulting expulsion from the hotel, Andie realized she knew very little about Susan beyond the events of the past week. She understood Susan was both hurt and confused after the death of Mariam Fahda, but she didn’t have any idea about Susan’s ability or inability to deal with the loss of her friend. Andie wanted to be there to help, but she knew she had to proceed with caution or risk sending Susan over the edge—or getting a broken nose, herself. The mysterious injury Casey showed up with on Monday came to mind, and Andie wondered if Susan might have been the cause of it.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Andie asked.

  “Not really,” Susan said.

  “Okay.” Andie looked back across the street and watched people coming and going—some from Cogburn’s fundraiser, some not. She checked her watch. Time to go, she thought.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” Susan asked herself out loud, putting Andie’s decision to go look for a cab on hold. “I hit a goddamn United States Senator.”

  “He probably deserved it,” Andie said.

  “What?” Susan was no longer staring at cars.

  “Bill Cogburn’s not known for his manners,” Andie said. “Whatever he said to you, I’m sure he was asking to get punched.”

  Susan chuckled, slowly at first, but quickly breaking out in full-blown laughter. Andie couldn’t help but join in. “He was asking for it,” Susan said between laughs.

  “Honey, you’re an inspiration to liberals and women everywhere,” Andie said. “There’s been people wanted to slap that man for years.”

  Susan laughed even harder and struggled to catch her breath. Tears drew lines down her face, a mountain of stress leaving her body with each one. “Stop,” Susan begged as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. She managed to breathe deep and slow the laughter.

  “Alright,” Andie said, smiling. When Susan had regained her composure, Andie took a handkerchief from her purse and said, “Here, take this. Your makeup is shot, girl.”

  “Thanks,” Susan said. She looked at the handkerchief when she was done and held it out to Andie with guilty eyes.

  Andie looked at the rag and said, “Keep it.”

  Susan smiled and shoved it in her purse. She looked at the hotel and the line of cabs outside. Susan turned back to Andie and asked, “Wanna go get a drink somewhere?”

  Andie grinned. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 33

  Paul Giordano sat on the edge of his wife’s hospital bed, gently squeezing her hand. The doctors had worked a miracle to save Emily Giordano’s life after the bombing, but they were not able to save t
he couple’s unborn son. And earlier that morning, after a week of tests and surgeries, the Giordanos were informed that Emily would never be able to bear children.

  “We’ll just take it one day at a time,” Paul Giordano said softly. Emily cried for nearly two hours after the doctor told her and Paul the news. She stopped only because there were no more tears left. Paul stopped after two minutes, because he couldn’t afford to let any more fall. He needed to stay strong for his wife, which, right then, was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

  Giordano stood up slowly, careful not to disturb Emily, who had finally drifted off to sleep. He walked out into the hall and eased the door closed behind him. After a deep, audible breath of relief, Giordano leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, exhausted. It had been the worst day since the bombing. The doctors originally expected Emily Giordano to be released from the hospital on Saturday, but the surgical complications that left her barren also extended her stay for at least another week. The daily visits were wearing on Giordano.

  They wore on him because they were stark reminders of how much his life had changed in one horrible moment. His wife was alive, and for that, he thanked God. But his son was dead. And for that, he cursed God. Where in God’s divine plan did it call for Edward Paulo Giordano’s life to end before it even began? Giordano had given up on finding a suitable answer to that one. And God’s plan or not, Giordano vowed to make those who were really responsible pay for what they did. He stood up and headed for the exit.

  The darkness surprised Giordano when he got outside. Time that seemed to stand still while he grieved and comforted his wife hit fast forward as he headed for the parking garage. He turned his cell phone back on and saw that he had two missed calls and one voice mail. He retrieved the message and listened. When it was done, he dialed the number back.

  “Paulo,” Vincent Cesaretti answered, “tell me you can do it. Please?”

  “What the fuck, man? I’m off that gig,” Giordano said.

  “Aww, you killed me. I told Akerly you were solid,” Cesaretti said. “This one’s right up your alley, pal. Trust me.”

  Giordano stopped walking so the rising anger at his friend’s unknowing insensitivity wouldn’t distract him so much that he got hit by a passing bus or a speeding ambulance. “I’d like to help you, Vince, but Emily’s still in the hospital. I was planning to spend my day off with her, if that’s all right with you.”

  There was a brief silence while Cesaretti registered Giordano’s frustration and weighed that against the need for his friend’s help. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask if there was someone else qualified.”

  “To babysit? Any rookie with a badge can work crowd control,” Giordano said.

  “It’s an open area, and there’s already been threats,” Cesaretti said. “We need a counter-sniper for this one, Paulo, and nobody’s better than you.”

  “Nobody but Hancock,” Giordano said.

  “Nope. Snapped his trigger finger playing basketball Thursday,” Cesaretti said. “Like I said, there’s nobody better than you for this job. So, will you do it?”

  The caring husband thing to do would be to stay with Emily all day. But the prospect of going high and hidden while cradling a Remington M24 SWS again, even for just a few hours, was something Giordano needed. He sighed in resignation. “I’ll do it,” he said. “But tell Akerly he owes me.”

  Chapter 34

  Joel stepped into the dimly lit, musty tunnel beneath the Waldorf-Astoria. It was almost cold, despite the heat above ground. Walking down the stairs from the hotel parking garage, Joel didn’t expect to find an ancient steel rail car and a busted track on the other side of the door. It appeared that some type of construction or destruction was ongoing, though no one was working after eleven o’clock on a Friday night.

  “Track 61.” Mitchell Evans’ voice echoed from Joel’s right, making him jump. “That was FDR’s,” Evans said, pointing to the rail car as he came up beside Joel. “His private transport to the Presidential Suite.”

  “Interesting,” Joel said, though he didn’t mean it. “Is there a reason we’re meeting down here and not in the hotel bar or something? It wasn’t because you wanted to give me the free history lesson, was it?”

  “Same reason Roosevelt came in through this way,” Evans said. “No onlookers.”

  A low rumble grew in volume from deeper in the tunnel. Joel looked to see where it was coming from. The answer came a few seconds later with a rush of air and the streaked lights of a passenger train hurtling down the adjacent Metro-North track. The noise prevented further conversation until the train was gone.

  “So what do you want me to do about Susan Williams?” Joel asked when there was silence again.

  “We don’t want you to do anything,” Evans said.

  “But she has the list,” Joel said. “And she knows about the report.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Evans said. “She hasn’t pieced everything together. Besides, she can’t prove what she does know, and I don’t think she’ll try to after tonight.”

  “What about her friend, the reporter?”

  “We’re watching her,” Evans said. “But she’s not the one we’re concerned about.”

  “What do you mean?” Joel couldn’t believe Evans’ flippancy about the whole situation. “What if that bitch writes an exposé about the whole thing?”

  “What whole thing? You mean a story about how you were banging some chick to get her to change a report to say bad things about the terrorists who bombed New York? That whole thing?” Evans shook his head. “No, Mr. Simpson, we’re not worried about what a former reporter for the piss-ant Washington Times thinks.”

  Joel fumed. He wanted to snap Mitchell Evans’ pencil neck right then and there. He despised the man and his constant abuse, treating Joel like an idiot child to be played with and taken advantage of. “Then why the fuck are we down here?” Joel barked. “Since you seem to have a handle on everything, what do you need me for?”

  Evans smiled, amused by Joel’s lack of composure. “Have you heard of the Complicity Doctrine?”

  * * * * *

  “Everything’s in place.” Keith Swanson stood in the upper lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria by a vacant table at the front of the hotel. The noise level in the room was enough to prevent nearby visitors from easily listening in on his phone conversation, but not enough to keep him from hearing the person on the other end. “Yes, sir. Will do.” He ended the call and pocketed the cell phone. He took one step towards the center of the lobby and stopped.

  Joel Simpson walked into the main lobby from the direction of the hotel elevators. Two feet behind him, another man followed Joel. Keith saw the man say something to Joel before turning for the exit. Joel didn’t acknowledge the man, but went directly to the concierge desk. Keith casually approached the desk, smiling when Joel turned and saw Cogburn’s chief of staff. Joel didn’t return the smile.

  “You looking to book a tour?” Keith asked.

  “Cab,” Joel said. “What are you still doing here?”

  “I was getting ready to ask you the same thing,” Keith said. He nodded to the exit and asked, “Was that your lawyer?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy you walked out with from over there,” Keith said. “I figured he must have been your lawyer the way he kept talking at you when you looked like you couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  “How the hell should I know who he was? He was already in the elevator when I got on,” Joel said. “I didn’t talk to the guy.”

  Bullshit, Keith thought. “If you say so,” he said. “Hey, I meant to ask you—you still going to meet that broad’s boyfriend tomorrow? I mean, after what she pulled tonight, I bet she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

  “Sir, your taxi will be here in two minutes,” the woman at the counter informed Joel.

  “Thank you,” he said, moving away from the desk. “I’m still meeting him,” Joel told Keith, “but
I don’t think Susan Williams is going to be part of the discussion. He thinks he’s meeting Bill, but I’m just going to hear what he says and promise to pass on his concerns.”

  “But you won’t,” Keith said.

  “Of course not.”

  Keith shrugged his shoulders. “That’s too bad,” he said, grinning. “That chick had a nice ass. At least you got to cop a feel when you pulled her out of the room.”

  Joel rolled his eyes and opened the hotel exit to wait for his cab.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Keith said. “Try to stay out of trouble,” he yelled as Joel left.

  Keith waited until he saw Joel’s taxi drive away before he went outside. He moved away from the entrance, retrieving his phone and shooing a cabbie who was trying for Keith’s business. He dialed a number and waited.

  “You were right,” he said into the phone. “No, ma’am. Not for a second....I’ll let him know.” Keith hung up and walked back to the eager taxi driver. “I’ll take that ride, after all,” he said as he got into the back seat.

  Chapter 35

  Susan pulled down a bag of granola from the kitchen cabinet. She hoped the aspirin and water would help her with the mild hangover-headache, but she needed food to help settle the morning-after-drinking stomach churn. Two nights out in five was not what she planned, and definitely not what she needed.

  It wasn’t long ago that Susan spent nearly every night of the week out at a hotel bar or a pub somewhere. It took the caring intervention of a friend to point out where her routine was taking her, and she ratcheted down her alcohol consumption ever since. The past week would have been enough for anyone in Susan’s situation to fall off the wagon. In a sense, the hangover was welcome. It was a physical reminder of one of the primary reasons she slowed down in the first place. At least Andie was there to keep her out of trouble.