Breach of Power (Jake Pendleton 3)

by Barrett, Chuck

  Jake looked at her. "You never told me that."

  "You never asked."

  Fontaine continued. "If Boden sticks to his routine, then we'll have no problems." Jake watched Fontaine turn toward another computer monitor then back toward his video feed. "Boden is leaving the reception now. You have about fifteen minutes before the limo drops him off. He's alone. Kyli's solution for Boden's P.A. worked. She called a taxi and left in a hurry. We have confirmation that she is inside her Tyson's Corner residence."

  "Good. One less thing to worry about," Jake said.

  "Just curious," Fontaine said. "But what exactly was Kyli's solution to guarantee Boden's P.A. would leave and go home?"

  Jake turned the iPad toward Francesca. "You want to handle this one?"

  "One of Wiley's emissaries spiked her drink at the reception. The formula was supposed to induce severe menstrual cramps." Francesca explained. "And start her monthly flow."

  "T.M.I. Francesca," Fontaine said. "T.M.I."

  "You're a handler for an assassination," she said, "and this bothers you?"

  "Men have boundaries, you know." Fontaine laughed. "I'll have the alarm offline by the time you two reach the house. I suggest you leave now."

  "On our way," Jake said. "Nice having you along, George."

  Jake first met Fontaine after CIA director Scott Bentley recruited Jake to assist in the capture of a former Irish Republican Army assassin who was involved in an arms deal with al Qaeda.

  He again worked with Fontaine when he was part of a team who mounted a midnight raid to rescue a captured CIA operative in Yemen. That was the turning point in Jake's life, when he met Elmore Wiley. He didn't realize it at the time but Wiley had been grooming him as an operative for his own organization. Now, he was one of Wiley's most active emissaries.

  An eight-foot high stone fence surrounded Senator Richard Boden's property with remote controlled iron gates guarding the circular driveway. Boden's pie shaped lot was at the end of a cul de sac in a prestigious neighborhood.

  After Fontaine gave them the okay, Jake and Francesca scaled the stone fence, dropped into the spacious back yard, made their way past the oval shaped swimming pool, and to the glass French doors leading to the downstairs living room. Within seconds, Francesca picked the lock and Jake and Francesca entered Boden's residence.

  He locked the door when they were inside. Jake spoke into his headset. "George, we're in."

  Seconds later the security system rearmed.

  Jake looked at Francesca and smiled. "Right on time." He pointed to the front door as headlights from a car illuminated the glass. "Let's get in position."

  Beeping from Boden's security alarm announced the senator's arrival followed by keypad sounds of the deactivation code.

  For the next five minutes Jake heard Boden rummaging around in the kitchen doing his usual routine of pouring himself a drink of water and sorting through his nighttime pillbox. The door to the study opened and Boden walked across the room using only the light from the foyer to guide him. Boden stood behind his desk and flipped on his desk lamp. He jumped backward at the sight of Jake sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

  "You." At first Boden's voice quivered, then Jake noticed it became indignant. "What is the meaning of this? How did you get in here? Get out of here at once."

  Boden turned toward the door as Francesca closed it.

  "Who the hell are you?" He shouted.

  "I'm with him." Francesca pointed at Jake.

  "Sit down." Jake stood and walked toward the old man. "Sit down, now. We're going to talk."

  "You don't intimidate me. Get the hell out of my house…and take her with you." Boden picked up the receiver to the phone, held it to his ear, then slammed it back down. "You cut the line to my phone?"

  "Nope." Jake held up the end of the phone line. "Just unplugged it."

  "I should have had you thrown in jail when you threatened me in New York." Boden shouted. "This time, you're going down."

  Jake noticed the old man tremble. He couldn't tell if it was from fear or rage. "Missed opportunity, Senator. But I'm not here to make threats." Jake smiled. "It's a shame your P.A. couldn't join us. Probably for the best, though. I doubt you would want her to hear what we have to say." He was deliberately taunting the old man. Kyli told him to increase the old man's heart rate so the toxin would enter his bloodstream faster. "I hope she's feeling better."

  "That was your doing?" Boden sat in his chair and propped his cane against the fireplace behind him. The lines on his face looked noticeably deeper.

  "We had help," Francesca said.

  Jake stepped up to the desk and picked up Boden's pack of gum.

  He pulled out the top stick of gum, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. "Now I know why you like this, it's very good. Kind of relaxing." Jake placed the pack on Boden's desk and slid it toward the old man.

  Boden stared at him. Jake knew he was a smart man. You don't make it to senior ranking senator without a certain level of intelligence and grit.

  Boden waved his hand at the door. "I want you two out of here now."

  "Not yet. First I want to talk to you about a little girl named Kim Ly." Jake noticed a twitch in Boden's face. "You knew her, didn't you? Thirteen-year-old orphan girl in Vietnam? Surely you can remember her."

  Boden snatched open his desk drawer and pulled out a .38 caliber revolver. He pointed it at Jake. "You're a fool if you think for one second you can blackmail me. I have powerful friends. You can't get away with this."

  Jake opened his left hand. Bullets.

  Boden dropped the gun. "What do you want? Money?"

  Jake gave Francesca a slight nod. She pulled her gun and aimed it at Boden. He leaned back in his chair. Jake saw the fear in his eyes.

  "Are you going to kill me?" Boden's voice cracked.

  "Try to relax, Senator," Jake said. "I'm not going to touch you. All I want to do is talk to you about a video."

  Boden's hand trembled as he removed a stick of gum from the pack and slowly unwrapped it. He put it in his mouth and started chewing.

  Francesca pushed her gun closer and aimed it at his head. "Ready to talk now, old man."

  Boden unwrapped a second piece and stuffed it in his mouth.

  "So predictable." Jake picked up the pack and held it out to Francesca. "Care for some?"

  She shook her head. "Trying to quit."

  "Please," Boden pleaded, "tell her to put the gun away."

  Jake nodded and Francesca holstered her firearm. Boden had been chewing his gum with nervous intensity when he stopped abruptly.

  Jake recognized the symptoms by the fretful expression that came across Boden's face. Kyli's formula was working. Time to turn up the heat, really get that heart racing. "You see, Senator, we watched this video the other day. Pretty disturbing, if you ask me."

  "Sick is more like it," Francesca interrupted.

  "I saw a 76-year-old man force a thirteen-year-old girl to perform oral sex on him." Jake leaned over Boden's desk. "Made me want to track him down and kill him. Give him a good bashing, just like he did to her."

  Boden's face started sweating. He rubbed his left arm.

  "Now, there's this video out there and I'm not sure I can stop it from going viral on the Internet. And the thing is…you can see the man's face clear as day."

  The old man clutched his chest, squeezing his shirt tighter on his body.

  "What do you think I should do about it?" Jake saw the man shaking.

  "Heart. Attack. Call. 9-1-1." Boden cried out. His shaky hand reached for a bottle on his desk. "I…I need…my…nitro pills."

  Jake picked up the bottle. "These?"

  Boden nodded. "Yes. Please. Give them here." The old man stretched out his trembling hand.

  Francesca walked up and stood next to Jake while he opened the bottle and dumped the contents on the desk. Boden's hands scooped at them as a wave of nausea caused him to double over. He managed to pick up a few and put one in his mo
uth.

  "By now, I can only imagine the pain coursing through your body." Jake said. "You see, Senator. I didn't lie. I told you I wasn't going to touch you." Jake looked at Francesca. "I guess this mission is over."

  Francesca glared at the old man. "This one's for Kim Ly."

  Jake watched the old man convulse.

  Senator Richard Boden's eyes rolled back and he collapsed in his chair, still clutching his chest.

  8

  Four days later Ashley Regan and Sam Connors lay in bed after making love. It wasn't their normal Saturday morning romp. The steamy sex stimulated their appetite for each other until their naked bodies were drenched in sweat. Connors had fallen back to sleep. Regan was almost asleep when she heard her cell phone vibrate on the nightstand.

  Arthur DeLoach.

  She grabbed her phone and padded naked across the room. She grabbed her robe and quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.

  "Mr. DeLoach, what a pleasant surprise." Regan was good at turning on the charm when she needed to and this was one of those occasions. She walked into the kitchen and turned on her Keurig coffee maker.

  "Your book is ready. Be here at 9:45 precisely. Six hundred fifty dollars, cash. As agreed?"

  "Yes sir. I'll be—"

  DeLoach hung up on her. What a grumpy old bastard.

  She looked at the clock. 8:42. She had one hour to get ready, swing by the bank to get the cash, and drive to DeLoach's house.

  Regan walked back to her bedroom and opened the door. Connors was awake.

  "Ashley, why did you get up?" Connors asked.

  "Turn on the coffee pot. I gotta get moving. I'm burning daylight."

  "Come back to bed." Connors lifted the sheets. "We can go for round two."

  "Not now, I have errands that can't wait." Regan slipped on her jeans and a t-shirt. "You wouldn't want me interrupting you during trading hours, would you? No. So respect my need to do things too."

  "It's Saturday. It's not a trading day," Connors said.

  "That's right. And since I can't get anything done during the week because of my job, I have to do it all on Saturday."

  "You're right," Connors said. "You don't have to be get snippy about it. You've been edgy ever since we got back from Europe."

  "I know, Sam. I'm sorry. I just feel…unsettled. Like I can't get back in the groove." She looked into Sam's eyes. "Does that make any sense?"

  "I know just what you need to fix that." Sam said. "How about a 'wine and dine' tonight?"

  Regan's lip curled into a faint smile. Today was the day she'd anticipated since she returned from Europe with the book. She wasn't about to let anything spoil her day. "That would be nice, Sam. It's a date."

  Regan pulled in front of Arthur DeLoach's house with a minute to spare. She used the brass knocker to announce her arrival. Within seconds she heard DeLoach shuffling down the long hallway.

  DeLoach opened the door and gestured her in with his arm. "Come in. Let's talk about your book."

  "Good morning, Mr. DeLoach." Regan was determined not to let her discord with Sam Connors this morning ruin her enthusiasm about the book. "Did you have any trouble with it?"

  "Not really, no. The pages are a bit stiff and fragile, so you'll need to exercise extreme care." DeLoach motioned for her to follow him. "The leather binding restored remarkably well considering where your uncle had it stored."

  Ashley Regan noticed a strong smell of chemicals in the workroom, much stronger than her first visit. Her book was lying open on the table. It looked significantly different than the soggy book she'd found. The leather was supple and soft with a rich new color and the pages were lighter, the writing easier to read.

  "I hope you can read German, Ms. Regan, because most of what is written inside is in German. As far as I can tell the book dates back to World War II. Of course, I'm basing some of that on the swastika branded on the front cover. If I had to guess, I'd say your uncle got this journal during the reign of the Third Reich. This could be a valuable find for you. As family heirlooms go, its contents could reveal volumes about your family history." He picked up the book and ran his hand gently across the cover, hesitating at the hole in the book. "I have no idea what caused this perforation, but it went through clean. I'm afraid these stains are set and won't come out. Looks like blood as best as I can tell. Kind of adds character and mystery to it, wouldn't you say, Ms. Regan?"

  "It certainly has sparked my interest." Regan opened her purse and pulled out the cash. "Six hundred fifty dollars, just as you said."

  "Ms Regan, the format of what's written inside doesn't look much like normal journal entries. It could be a family genealogy, which would explain the format. Family is important and so are roots. I've traced my family line back almost three hundred years. Beyond that, records become scarce and in many cases nonexistent." He took the cash and started to hand her the book. "Wear gloves or wash your hands well before handling the book. The oils from your fingers can damage the fragile pages."

  "I will, Mr. DeLoach." She gently removed the book from his hands, her curiosity to learn the contents almost irresistible. "I promise to be careful with it."

  Ashley drove all the way home thinking of nothing but the contents of the book. At last she would discover why the dead man was clasping the book. The thought of learning its secrets was delicious and she already savored it with anticipation. She parked her car in the driveway and grabbed the book from the seat next to her. She held it to her nose and took a deep breath. She expected the musty smell of leather and old pages, but all she smelled were the organic chemicals DeLoach used to restore it. She delicately pushed the leather binder into her purse, got out of the car, and walked toward her front door.

  * * *

  Ashley Regan and Christa Barnett had grown up together in Charleston. Friends of their parents called them Frick and Frack. They did everything together. Went to school together. Studied together. Partied together. Got in trouble with the law together. But during college they drifted apart and lost contact with each other. Regan went to accounting school at the University of Georgia. Christa, graphic design at University of Florida. Christa was short in stature, barely reaching five feet. Her feisty personality matched her long dyed black hair. Christa was the only person Regan knew, and trusted, who could speak German. Who better to decipher the book?

  Regan hated lying to Sam again but she needed an excuse to get away. Christa was her ticket to translating the book and Sam could never know of its existence. Sam knew Christa was Ashley's best friend so during their 'wine and dine' date, Regan told Sam that Christa was going through a rough breakup and she was going to stay with her for a few days.

  At first Connors protested, but Regan resorted to the oldest trick in the book, sex. When they got home from their date, Ashley seduced Sam in an interlude that made their morning adventure pale in comparison. It was almost stereotypical. For Sam Connors, sex was the ultimate show of love. And after that romp, Regan knew, Sam would be content for a long time to come.

  It took Christa a day and a half to translate all the entries in the mysterious book while Ashley Regan impatiently watched her work. Like a small child on Christmas morning waiting to run out and see what Santa brought, the anticipation was unbearable and intensified with each "oh my God" and "this is too weird" comment that Christa made.

  Finally Christa held up the book. "Sister, this is un-freaking-believable."

  "Don't keep me in suspense. What is it?" Regan nearly shouted.

  "Here." Christa handed Regan the translated copy. "Read and be amazed."

  She studied the translation and realized her work had just begun and, that to truly understand the significance of what she read, extensive research would be required.

  Christa was the first to break the silence. "We can do this," she said. "It'll be like the old days."

  "You know what this means, right? You'll have to take time off work."

  "So what. I'll get someone to cover for me."

&
nbsp; "We'll be breaking the law," Regan said. "If we get caught we lose our jobs for sure. And maybe even go to jail."

  "Ashley. We can do this. Sure, it'll be risky, but that's part of the fun. Right?" Christa smiled. "And you know what the best part is?"

  "What?"

  "We get rich while we're having fun."

  It did sound like fun, Regan thought. And Christa was right. They could get rich. Very rich. And what was the real danger after all? Getting caught and being arrested? They had been arrested before—misdemeanors in high school—but arrested nonetheless. It wasn't like anyone would get hurt. No one's life would be in jeopardy. It wasn't dangerous, just illegal.

  "Well, Ashley? What do you say?" Christa egged her on. "You up for another adventure of a lifetime?"

  "We need to do some research." Regan closed the book. She was already envisioning her forthcoming adventures with Christa, although somewhat remorseful that they wouldn't include Sam Connors.

  "Something else."

  "What's that?" Regan's thoughts were clouded by her good fortune in the ice tunnel in Germany.

  "Buy a map." Christa smiled.

  9

  Scott Katzer opened the doors to the Katzer Funeral Home at precisely 8:00 a.m. so the McClaine family could start making funeral arrangements for Mr. McClaine's 86-year old father who passed during the night after a prolonged battle with prostate cancer. Katzer gave McClaine an orientation package and tour of the facility including a breakdown of the fees associated with each portion of the post-mortem care for his departed father.

  Katzer excelled at developing the calm, reassuring demeanor and sympathetic voice that was crucial for a funeral director. Clients who entered the door were usually grieving and vulnerable which, as his mother had reinforced repeatedly over the years, made them spend more to ensure their departed loved one rested in comfort for eternity.

  Maybe it was a result of the years of his mother's sardonic influence, but the whole idea seemed ludicrous to begin with, Katzer thought, that families would spend several thousands of dollars to bury the dead. In reality, the money wasn't spent on their dead loved one—it was spent to make them feel better. If they could think logically about death, they would realize it didn't make any difference to the dead whether they were laid to rest in a solid mahogany casket with velvet lined interior or a simple wooden box or, for that matter, cremated. Grief, and perhaps guilt, overshadowed their judgment, which his mother claimed was good for business.