by Ty Patterson
‘She’s tough,’ Mease warned, though he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.
‘She sure is. Farley and Parsons have been prepping me all day. We’ve been doing mocks. You caught me in between.’
‘I’ll listen in,’ the strategist nodded to a neighboring room. ‘Usual protocol.’
He had access to Rubin’s private elevator, and no one questioned his presence. In any case, Schillum ran a tight ship and only the most trusted and thoroughly vetted had access to the floor.
‘Wish me luck.’
‘You don’t need it … President Rubin.’
He thumped the candidate on his back and left.
* * *
‘If this goes south,’ Ronning said beneath her breath to the burly man beside her as she and her crew rolled up to Rubin’s building, ‘I’ll have your ass.’
‘You’ll have to join the line,’ Cutter mumbled as he lugged a large case that contained lighting equipment.
‘I said I would never interview him.’
‘You changed your mind. It happens often in journalism.’
Ronning glared at him and swept into the building’s lobby. She smiled at the head of security, who introduced himself as Ricky Schillum.
‘Gene Salter,’ she introduced the cameraman and then the rest of her five-person crew. ‘And this is Tony Vecchio, my man Friday.’ She pointed at Cutter.
The security head checked their faces against images that the TV host had sent ahead. He beckoned at his team, who inspected every piece of equipment.
‘No phones, wallets, no personal stuff, no recording equipment other than the cameras.’
‘That’s what we agreed,’ she said, smiling.
Cutter got wanded and patted down expertly. His shoes were inspected before he got waved toward an airport-style security gate.
Up an elevator and onto a thickly carpeted floor.
‘No recording until the interview starts,’ Schillum warned the arrivals and handed them over to the campaign manager, who introduced himself as Scott Farley.
‘We spoke before,’ Ronning beamed, giving him the full treatment, turning him to putty.
‘You’ve got an hour to set up,’ he stuttered and ushered them into an enormous living room with views of Central Park. ‘Will this do?’
‘This will do.’ The TV anchor checked out the room critically, conferred with Salter, and pointed to a corner. ‘Mr. Rubin will be there. That will give us the best view and backdrop.’
‘Remind me again,’ she whispered to Cutter, who was making himself busy helping the crew set up the cameras, lights and broadcast equipment. ‘What’s this for?’
‘The biggest scoop of your career.’
‘The number of times I’ve heard that.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Is it dangerous?’
‘Not for you.’
She looked at him shrewdly. ‘Cutter, just what’s going on? In all these years, you’ve never asked for such a favor. To be tagged as my crew. Who were those women with you?’
‘They are helping out on this assignment. I can’t tell you more. You’ll see it go down yourself.’
‘You didn’t introduce them. You know I can check out who they are.’
‘Ellen, after this evening, you’ll be flooded with offers from rival networks. The world will be at your feet. Forget those women. Think big.’
‘Is Rubin involved in something?’
‘Patience is a virtue,’ Cutter said nobly and skipped out of the way of her discreet kick.
* * *
‘Mr. Rubin,’ Ellen Ronning began the interview, ‘why should the citizens of our great country trust you?’
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Cutter watched from the back of the room as Ronning started her background questions. His early years. Family life. She was known for painting the big picture before going for the detail.
Farley was in front of him, standing next to Rubin’s chief of staff. Schillum had upheld his side of the agreement. Just one security guard in the room, a suit near the door, who was engrossed with the interview.
Cutter drifted to the exit and bent his head to the sentry. ‘Bathroom?’ he whispered.
‘Outside. Turn right, follow the hallway and right again.’
He nodded his head in thanks, held his breath and pressed hard on a section of his jacket’s lining near the bottom. The guard’s pupils dilated briefly, then returned to normal. He stood aside without resisting when Cutter nudged him and stepped into the hallway.
It worked, he marveled.
Beth Petersen had called it Zombie Gas, a nerve agent that temporarily took away a victim’s will. They remained conscious, aware of what was happening, but couldn’t act on their own. They would obey orders blindly, which was why she’d given it the imaginative name. She had injected him with an antidote so that he could use it without being affected.
Two guards outside. One at the elevator and the other near the entrance to the interview room. One camera in the ceiling, but there would be others. No sign of Schillum. There’s got to be a control room from where he’s watching. On this floor, since he’ll want to be close to Rubin. Other staff were likely to be there, huddled around a screen.
* * *
‘I’ll search the floor,’ he had told Difiore and Quindica. ‘A conspiracy of this scale and for so long … Rubin’s likely to have something incriminating, maybe in his study, his bedroom or somewhere else. Mease might be there, too.’
‘You’re hoping!’ the detective had said scornfully.
‘If I find nothing, I’ll confront Rubin. On camera. With the world watching.’
That had got their attention.
* * *
I’ll have to get past the guards first. Interview Room Man was hard-faced and barely acknowledged Cutter. He stared at the wall impassively, his hands crossed behind his back. Former cop or military, Cutter guessed from the man’s posture and buzzcut. Elevator Man was younger and had nodded to him. I’ll go at him.
He walked past the older sentry and pressed another lining pocket. Went down the hallway in the opposite direction, as if deep in thought. Slapped his forehead with an exclamation and returned. Brushed Interview Room Man with his shoulder; he took a step back without protest.
He’s down.
‘Hey,’ he smiled conspirationally at the second guard. ‘I’m looking for the bathroom.’
‘Down there, sir.’ The sentry bobbed his head at the far end.
‘This is some place.’ Cutter shook his head admiringly. ‘This carpet, heck, it’s softer than my bed at home.’
‘Yeah,’ the man chuckled. ‘Mr. Rubin spent a lot on it.’
‘You’ve been with him a long time?’
‘Ricky hired me. I’ve worked protection details with him.’
‘Where is he? I thought he would be watching the interview.’
‘He is.’ The man glanced involuntarily to his right.
‘Security room’s over there?’
‘I can’t tell you, sir.’
‘You know,’ Cutter lowered his voice, ‘I’m Ellen’s assistant. I’ve been with her for a long time. You heard about that movie deal she signed?’
The guard nodded.
‘They’ve started casting.’ He took a step back and sized up Elevator Man thoughtfully. ‘You’re just right for some of the scenes. You’ll get credits too. I can pass your deets on—’
‘Chaz Huntington, but everyone calls me Hunter,’ the suit tried to control his excitement. Hollywood. Fame. Babes on his arms.
‘Even that name.’ Cutter shook his head admiringly. ‘I’ll tell Ellen the moment this interview is over. She’ll want to talk to you.’
‘I can’t socialize, sir—’
‘Oh, come on. I can see several doors here. We can slip into one of the rooms. Ten minutes, that’s all. Ellen meets every hire. She’s a quick mover. She’ll say yes, come on board. I’ll guarantee it.’
‘Well …’ Hunter was torn. ‘There’s an empty room. Down
there.’
‘That one, where the hallway turns off?’
‘No, sir, that’s Mr. Rubin’s study. No one goes there.’
‘It’s locked?’
‘No sir. We cover the entire place. There’s no need for locks. You see the door before that? We can meet there—’
‘Great. I’ll take Ellen there, accidentally,’ he said, making air quotes, ‘once we finish the interview. That’s your cue. You come after us and that’ll give us time. Best ten minutes of your life. Hollywood. That’s where you belong, Hunter, not here, standing in hallways.’
‘You’ve got to go, sir.’ The guard licked his lips nervously. ‘Dieter’—he cocked his head at the older sentry—‘will notice. Ricky might spot us on the security cameras.’
‘I’m off,’ Cutter assured him and pressed his lining.
Hunter was out by the time Cutter reached the end of the hallway. He went to the bathroom, checked that it was empty and washed his hands. He wiped them on his jeans as he emerged. Walked the entire length of the hallway, gesticulating as if thinking aloud. He would say he was going over a speech he had written for Ellen if anyone accosted him.
Two rooms on his side of the elevator, the study and the spare room. Three more flanking the living room. He tried a door and found a large dining room. The other one was a bedroom the size of a tennis court. Last one’s the security room.
He returned to the study and slipped inside silently. He held his breath and waited. No pounding footsteps, no shouts of alarm. Schillum’s watching the interview. He’s ignoring the camera feed.
Cutter went deeper inside. More soft carpeting. A coffee table next to a window with Central Park views. Chairs. Newspapers and magazines. To his left was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with hard-bound copies, paperbacks and journals on a variety of subjects. A gleaming walnut desk on which was a computer, a notebook next to it. He flicked through it quickly. Media appointments, interview notes. Nothing incriminating. He opened drawers and searched through legal pads and diaries.
‘Who the hell are you?’
He turned slowly at the voice.
Doug Mease.
105
‘Doug.’ Cutter grinned disarmingly, realizing as he approached why he had missed seeing the man.
A deceptive-looking wall, on which hung a large painting, had given the impression the room ended there. It didn’t. Around it was an entertainment area in which a TV played silently. A couple of couches, one misshapen, indicating that Mease had occupied it.
‘Who are you?’ the former accountant repeated in growing anger.
‘You don’t know me?’ Cutter asked in surprise, then removed his fake nose, cheek pads and the chest padding beneath his shirt. ‘I’m sure Sheller must have mentioned me to you and Rubin.’
Mease’s jaw dropped. Alarm spread over his face. He lunged at his couch, for his phone.
Cutter caught him before he could yell. Clamped his palm over the man’s mouth and punched him in the belly.
We don’t need any other proof, he thought triumphantly as the ex-convict sagged into his arms.
He released more nerve agent and temporarily turned Mease into a robot. Searched the study for anything that would act like a wedge and found a cue stick. Wondered momentarily why it was in the room and then spotted the folded pool table against the wall.
He pushed Mease out and directed him toward the living room, head bent, as if the two were in deep conversation.
He held his breath when he opened the interview room and got the felon inside quietly. Parsons and Farley didn’t look his way, their attentions on the interview.
He jammed the cue stick beneath the door handle and only then noticed the door could be locked from the inside. Turned the knob to secure it and looked up to see Salter and two more of the TV host’s crew looking his way. He frowned at them furiously. Message received, they turned back to their work.
He directed Mease to the back of the room and stood him against the wall. Straightened his clothes and patted his hair into place, nerve-agented Parsons and Farley, grabbed a chair, ignored Salter’s whispered hiss of protest—and stepped in front of the lights.
‘Ellen,’ he smiled at the journalist. ‘I have a few questions for Mr. Rubin.’
106
Ellen Ronning showed why she was one of the best journalists in the country.
She didn’t miss a beat, didn’t pause, didn’t appear flummoxed.
‘Mr. Rubin,’ she turned smoothly to the presidential candidate, ‘you know I usually conduct these in front of live audiences. We don’t have that in your home and decided to improvise. Meet Cutter Grogan. You might have heard of him. He calls himself The Fixer. He’s made the news most recently for being an NYPD informer.’
The billionaire recovered swiftly. ‘This is a surprise, Ellen. No, I haven’t heard of Mr. Grogan. I don’t watch TV, and the only news I follow is that of my campaign,’ he said with a laugh.
‘Mr. Rubin, you did time at Otisville,’ Cutter asked him.
‘Yes, I covered that with Ellen. I’m not proud of who I was and what I did,’ he explained, ‘but I’m a different person now. I believe every one of us can choose a new tomorrow.’
‘Did you really?’
‘Yes,’ Rubin exclaimed. ‘I’ve lived my life in the open. No secrets, nothing to hide. That wouldn’t have been possible’—another chuckle—‘with the amount of coverage I get, the reporters and paparazzi chasing me.’
‘Do you know Doug Mease?’
‘Mease?’ Rubin frowned. ‘That name … nope, it doesn’t ring any bells. But I meet a lot of people—’
‘He was a convict at Otisville, too. You and he were close.’
‘Mease? Doug Mease? Oh yeah, now I remember.' Rubin laughed uneasily. He glanced at Farley and Parsons as if for support. None came. ‘It’s been a long time since I heard of him.’
‘You haven’t met him since then?’
‘No.’ Rubin gave Ronning an irritated look. ‘Ellen, is this going somewhere?’
‘It is,’ Cutter interjected before the reporter could reply. ‘Do you know Jeff Sheller?’
‘Ellen—’
‘Answer him, Mr. Rubin. My interviews are no-holds-barred. You knew that when you signed on.’
‘I don’t know this person, Sheller, whoever he is.’ A thin line of sweat on the candidate’s face. ‘I don’t see what all this—’
‘Sheller was a leader of a gang of white supremacists, the Rising Lions. He—’
‘I don’t know him. I quit all that after I left Otisville. Ellen, we talked of this—’
‘Did you really?’ Cutter asked softly. ‘Sheller was a dangerous criminal. He served his sentence in ADX Florence. Your friend Mease met him there—’
‘I don’t know anything of that.’
‘Mr. Rubin,’ Ronning caught on. She gave Cutter a speculative look and leaned forward. ‘Are you still a white nationalist? Do you believe people of other races, ethnicities, origins, are inferior?’
‘What?’ Rubin thundered, then quickly controlled himself. ‘Of course not. I find these questions offensive. I’m surprised Scott allowed you to ask them.’
‘No one tells me how to run my interviews, Mr. Rubin.’
‘You have lost contact with Doug Mease.’ Cutter raised a finger. ‘You don’t know Jeff Sheller.’ He extended another digit. ‘Do you know he died? He was killed in a shootout a couple of days ago. In Melrose. In a property one of your companies owns.’
Rubin turned white. He grabbed a glass of water and drank it. His eyes searched beyond the bright lights of the camera, trying to find his campaign manager or chief of staff.
‘It’s news to me—’
‘Sheller organized attacks on businesses owned by people of color. You went on TV and condemned them. That timing … you seemed to know when those events would happen; you were ready, prepped—’
‘This is preposterous,’ Rubin composed himself. ‘This interview is over, Elle
n. Your CEO will—’
‘Are you a white nationalist?’ her eyes glittered. ‘Is your campaign fake?’
‘NO!’
‘Really,’ Cutter scoffed. ‘Sheller confessed to the cops that he—’
‘I DON’T KNOW HIM. I’VE NEVER MET MEASE AFTER OTISVILLE.’
‘Funny you should say that. He was in your study a few moments ago, watching the interview. There he is, at the back.’
Rubin rose out of his chair, as if stung, when a camera light illuminated Mease.
His mouth opened. No sounds came. He swallowed. ‘That’s … He’s … Doug and Jeff,’ he burst out, ‘it was their idea.’ His face whitened as he realized the importance of his words.
‘INTERVIEW’S OVER,’ Schillum roared as he crashed through the door and burst into the room with several guards. ‘TURN THE CAMERAS OFF. GET OUT. NOW!’
Cutter caught Ronning by the elbow and hustled her out as the room exploded with yelling.
‘Leave it,’ he barked at Salter when the camera-man tried to gather his equipment. ‘Move, quickly.’
His message got across. Ronning’s crew gathered behind him and got into the elevator. Rubin came into view just as the doors shut. Haunted. Yelling. Gesticulating furiously, surrounded by his protection detail, and then they were going down, being hustled out of the building and into their van.
‘Drive!’ Cutter ordered. ‘OnePP. Don’t stop for anything. Cut through lights.’
He allowed himself to relax when they were several blocks away. Found Ronning’s eyes on him.
‘You knew,’ she accused him.
‘We suspected,’ he countered.
‘We?’ Her forehead cleared. ‘Those women—’
‘You never met them. You can’t mention them. Are we clear?’
She nodded slowly and looked behind.
‘You thought they would shoot us?’
‘It was a possibility. Schillum … I didn’t know how he and his men would react. That was good thinking,’ he congratulated Salter. ‘You turned the cameras on them. That stopped them from being more aggressive.’