by Peter Parkin
Bill drained his coffee, then walked over to the pot and poured himself another cup.
“Where are you going with this, Sandy?”
“I know I’m being a bit repetitious here, so bear with me. I’m kinda just thinking out loud right now. Something’s not right, or consistent. They tried to kill me the other night for a different reason. Only because I’ve been getting in their way, not because I know about the rape and death of a fourteen-year-old girl.”
Judy jumped back in. “Well, that’s not quite right. This wasn’t the only time they tried to kill you. You said you were jumped that night in the park when you accosted the deputy mayor. And when you impersonated a client at the Triple-L sperm bank, you were hauled away to a place where you were going to be tortured and probably killed. If Vito’s men hadn’t arrived, you would surely have been dead.”
Sandy nodded. “You’re right. But those were unrelated. Christopher Clark had his thug jump me in the park because I was shaking him down. He was just trying to protect himself. I doubt that had anything to do with the campaign. And when that Doctor Schmidt guy saw through my cover at Triple-L, that was a spur of the moment thing. He saw me as an imposter and acted on his own to find out what I was doing there. He was going to torture it out of me, and, yes, I probably would have died if not for Vito.”
Sandy paused for a few seconds before continuing. “By now, I’m certain that video footage from Triple-L has been seen by Linc and his campaign leaders. They know it was me, and they know I had friends who saved my ass. And they certainly know that I shook down Clark to find out about the Quincy massacre. As well, that sketch of me intervening in the Holy Cross Cathedral terror attack is probably a dead give-away. If you guys recognized me, so did Linc. They know that was me.”
Sandy’s gaze scanned the faces of his friends. “So they know that I’m responsible for the disappearance of Clark and that he probably told me everything. They know that I know about how Linc’s campaign engineered the Quincy attack, which resulted in the deaths of my family in addition to hundreds of innocents. If they recognized me as that Bill Brunton guy at the cathedral, they know that I had inside knowledge that they were engineering that attack also. They know I got that info from Clark. In other words, they know a lot.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “Not so coincidentally, then, they tried to knock me off the other night. I’m a royal pain in the ass to them. But, here’s the kicker—I’m a pain in the ass for a different reason than you guys are. It’s obvious.”
Bill cracked his knuckles. “But, if true, does that matter?”
“I think it does, because the perps are probably different,” Sandy reasoned. “The things they think I’m a pain in the ass for, are campaign-related. The things I’ve messed up have been campaign-related. Triple-L produced all of us, as we’ve now discovered. We’re all their products, their superior little creations. Including Linc. Anything to do with Triple-L is beyond his pay grade. I would suggest also that the Quincy Market terror attack and the Holy Cross Cathedral attempted attack were beyond him as well. He no doubt signed off and approved, but the organization of these and the monies paid to Clark came from two top campaign officials—Meagan Whitfield and Bob Stone. They organized those atrocities.”
Sandy could see from their expressions that his friends were following along. “But the rape and death of a fourteen-year-old girl is decades-old history. Do you think for a second the campaign would have invested in Lincoln Berwick if they’d known that a skeleton like that was in his closet? I don’t think the coward who we all know so well would have told them about that. I suspect that the deaths of John and Hank, and the attempts on you guys, were private operations carried out by thugs hired by Linc personally. He wants to keep that scandal quiet, not only from the public, but also from the campaign. Linc knows they’d probably drop him like a hot potato if they knew. Maybe they wouldn’t drop him now, now that he’s so ahead in the polls. But back in the early stages of the presidential race, when these attacks on you guys happened, I think he would have been history.”
Lloyd slammed his right fist into his open left palm. “My God, Professor, I think you’ve nailed it. It all makes sense. Different attacks, from different sources, for different reasons.”
Judy sighed. “I agree. But, what can we possibly do about it? If we go to the authorities about the recording, to try to implicate Linc, do you think they’d do anything about such a prominent politician? Could we trust them? Might that not just put us in more danger? Bill and Lloyd would have to offer themselves up as witnesses to the rape and death of Monica, which would put them in jeopardy. They’d be charged with being accessories. And now that Christopher Clark is dead, we can’t prove that the campaign engineered these terror attacks. We can’t prove anything.”
Sandy continued his pacing. “Yes, we have a dilemma. But we can think this through. It seems to me that public exposure is the best way to go, if we can pull that off.”
Bill picked up his phone, scrolled through his notifications, and cursed. “The prick just made another speech—a victory speech. He’s won yet another primary.”
Lloyd glanced over Bill’s shoulder and shook his head in despair. “We know too much. This man cannot become president. But he’s looking unstoppable. Virtually all of his Republican opponents have dropped out, and the Democrats have lost most of theirs. I think only two or three remain in the race, and neither of those have a chance at beating Linc’s momentum in a general election. It looks like it’s going to be an acclamation. A runaway train.”
Suddenly, a voice from the front hallway. “Well, not quite. There is a solution. He can be stopped.”
All heads whirled around in shock.
There, leaning against the doorway to the living room was the one and only Vito Romano, looking confident and resplendent in a black cashmere suit, white starched shirt, and red silk tie.
Sandy stood. “Vito, what are you doing here?”
“I figured you’d be here, Sandy. Heard you had a little incident at your house the other night, and wanted to check up on you and your friends.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
Vito chuckled. “Sandy, Sandy, you should know me by now. Nothing escapes our scrutiny, particularly pertaining to people we care about. I’m glad to see you’re in one piece. You can fill me in on the details later. But, for now, Judy needs to get better security for her house. The lock on that back door is child’s play. I’ve been listening in for quite a while now. Intriguing stuff.”
Judy laughed. “I’ll deal with it, Vito. But, I’m glad it was you who broke in.”
Vito bowed and flourished with his hand. “Thank you, dear lady.”
Bill walked over and held out his hand. Vito shook it with his usual powerful grip.
“Good to see you again, Vito. But, you just said there was a solution to stopping Linc. Care to elaborate?”
Vito grinned in his knowing Cosa Nostra way. “Glad to, Bill. The solution is this—Dr. Sandford Beech needs to run for President.”
42
“What? You must be joking!”
Vito sauntered over to the coffee table and poured himself a cup. Took a sip, and sighed with appreciation. “Great coffee. Nice and strong. I need that kick today.”
Then he sat down in the armchair across from Sandy. “No, I’m not joking at all. I think you should do it. In fact, I think it’s your obligation to do it. For your country and for what happened to your family. Not to mention the looming danger of a lunatic poised to occupy the Oval Office. I don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself if you don’t do it.”
“I’m not qualified. As well, I’m not a politician and have never had the urge to be a politician. It’s not for me.”
Vito held up his massive hand in the stop sign gesture. “Calm down. Think about it. No one is qualified these days. The current president, who’s reti
ring none too soon, was never qualified. He was an oil executive. Hell, we’ve had candidates who were brain surgeons, pizza tycoons, real estate magnates, military officers—the whole gambit. Being qualified doesn’t matter anymore. Being passionate does matter, however, and you have every reason to be passionate. And angry.”
“I’m a bloody physicist! A widower! And, now, a killer!”
“You killed in self defense. Doesn’t count. And, no one can connect you to it, either. As for being a physicist, well, at least you have the brainpower, which can’t be said about most of the prior occupants of the Oval Office.”
“Vito, this is crazy. Just for the mere fact that, while I’m wealthy, I don’t have the kind of money that can finance a campaign. These things cost big bucks, which I don’t have.”
“Hmm…sounds like a ‘buying statement’ to me. It’s pretty early in our conversation for you to bring up the money part.”
“Well…it’s a fact.”
Vito leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“Here are some more facts. You’re brilliant, and you were educated at West Point, which checks off the patriotism box. You were the product of an elite sperm bank committed to only the best human specimens. You were one of the chosen few, and while you’re doing great work at the Lincoln Lab and MIT, your life deserves more than that. Most Americans can’t compete with your pedigree. You were meant for greatness, and this is one of the greatest things anyone could ever anticipate having on their resume.”
Sandy just stared at Vito, feeling the blood rushing to his face. Couldn’t find any words.
Bill broke the silence. “I’d like to hear more, but, I kinda like the idea. You’d have my vote.”
Lloyd jumped in. “Listen to Vito, Sandy. I’m shocked hearing his idea, but as the seconds tick by, it occurs to me that you’d be a fabulous candidate. And, Bill and I both have great connections and lots of money between us. We could be a big help.”
Judy giggled. “I have nothing to offer, except maybe a friendly face to accompany you at your campaign speeches. As for Vito’s idea, if you can stop Linc in his tracks, even if you don’t win, that would be a victory. Someone else might come up the middle, but at this point I don’t care who’s president as long as it’s not that dangerous man.”
Vito smiled. “I’ll tell you all a little secret. Have you heard about a cabal of powerful people called the Aufsteigen Group?”
Sandy nodded. “Yes. They meet in Palm Springs every year, no media, although the media try their best to cover them. It’s some kind of a secret society, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Probably have secret handshakes and human sacrifices too.” Vito chuckled. “All joking aside, the word Aufsteigen means Ascension—signifies ‘to rise up’ or ‘to soar.’”
“Okay.”
“They’re the backers of Senator Berwick. They believe in supreme corporate power and American domination over the world. Between them, the members probably have a net worth in excess of the GDP of most European countries. They want a puppet in the White House, someone they can own and control. Someone who will be beholden to them and work their agenda.”
“Does the Republican Party know who’s backing their leading candidate?”
Vito shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. Doesn’t really matter. Both the Republicans and Democrats want power any way they can get it. They’d probably just look the other way. And, of course, corporate titans fit nicely within what both parties want to do anyway, so they’d probably just brush it off.”
“But, I find it hard to believe that either party would support terror attacks to scare Americans into voting for them.”
“No. I don’t think so. I hope not. But that’s a tactic that Aufsteigen have chosen to use with Berwick, and he’s benefitting from it in spades. At least from Republican voters.”
“So, what makes you think I could beat him, if Republican voters are giving him victories in the primaries?”
“Those are just Republican voters. They’re less than fifty percent of the voting population of the United States. You’d run as either an Independent or a Democrat.”
“I’m a registered Democrat.”
Vito chuckled. “Sounds like we’re having an actual conversation here. That’s good.”
“Well, I’m just trying to keep an open mind, Vito.”
Vito stood and started pacing the floor, talking with authority as he walked.
“You’d run as a Democrat. They have the party machine that could propel you, and of course party funds to support you if you win their nomination. Not one of their candidates is running away with the primaries. It’s still anyone’s game, and several have already dropped out due to bad results and lack of funds. You could slip in as the fresh face and be welcomed with open arms.”
“How could you know that?”
“One thing you forget, Sandy, is that you’re a national hero. You saved countless lives on that horrific day at Quincy Market—you’re exactly what Americans want as their leader. If you had nothing else at all to offer, voters are shallow enough to vote for a hero alone. You are indeed a bona fide hero.”
Sandy shook his head. “I’m being shown in Lincoln’s ads as an example of someone who’s shamelessly unpatriotic. He’s been running footage of me refusing the Citizen Honors medal, and throwing it into the face of a general, for God’s sake.”
Vito winced, and waved his hand in dismissal. “A good campaign can use that to their advantage. Position it as a sign that you’re someone who can’t be bought, a person with integrity and bravery, able to refuse the pomp and ceremony that other phony candidates embrace. In other words, you’re real.”
“Again, how do you know that the Democratic Party would welcome me as a candidate at this late stage?”
“Because they’ve said they would.”
“You’ve talked to them about me already? Without asking me?”
Vito laughed, a big belly laugh that shook his body all the way up to his jowels.
“I didn’t talk to them personally, Sandy! I’m Cosa Nostra, remember? Not the right image. We deal with politicians through cut-outs. People who we use as fronts, who are indeed the right image. Your name was floated as a possible solution to their candidate woes. They love your pedigree, love your look, and your image. And love the fact that you’re a recognizable hero who apparently has a mind of his own.”
Sandy shook his head, while his friends sat in stunned silence.
Vito sat down again, rested his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his clasped fingers.
“I listened out there in the hall for quite a while. You and I have talked over the last few months about the Quincy attack, the corrupt deputy mayor, the Triple-L sperm bank, and just recently the near-attack on the cathedral. But, I heard you guys talking about the rape and murder of a young girl, and a possible recording that exists. You never told me about that. Lincoln was involved, by the sounds of it, which would be one damaging piece of information if it ever came out.”
Sandy sighed. “Yep, it’s a horrible piece of history. The poor girl died, which was tragic enough, but Linc has been closing loose ends in the last few months. We’re pretty sure he’s got his own goons doing this dirty work for him. Doubt that the campaign knows about it. Two of our colleagues from West Point were murdered, and attempts were made on Bill and Lloyd as well. Judy may be at risk now, if he finds out she has a copy of the recording.”
“I see. Well, we can talk more about that. I’ll need to listen to the recording and you can give me more details about what happened that night.”
Sandy tapped his fingers on the table as he pondered Vito’s words. “We were thinking that maybe we could give the tape to the authorities, hopefully get them to re-open the case. Or, somehow go public with it.”
Vito grimaced. “At this stage, you
can’t trust the authorities. He’s too prominent, and you don’t know who’s been paid off. The recording could just disappear. And, as I heard you guys saying—the recording alone isn’t proof. To re-open, they’d need DNA evidence, assuming they collected it when they found her body. If they ever found her body. And the instant you start enquiring about it, you and your friends would be targets. I understand that Bill and Lloyd were there that night. They’d be in peril. You don’t want to take that chance.”
Sandy looked over at his friends. “No, it’s not worth the risk.”
“The best plan would be to pick the opportune time to release the recording for public consumption.”
“But the media probably wouldn’t do anything with it. They’d probably bury it, too.”
Vito shook his head. “With the right connections, the thing will go viral. And we have the right connections.”
Sandy frowned. “Sounds like you’d be involved if I decided to run?”
“Only in the background, Sandy. The Cosa Nostra can’t be associated with a campaign for public office. We hide in the background for these things. The Mob learned from the Kennedy election. JFK would never have become president without the help of the Cosa Nostra, and then after the election he snubbed us and sent his brother on a campaign to destroy us,” Vito said, shaking his head as if at a sad memory.
“Kennedy and his father were so desperate to wash their hands of the help my predecessors gave him that they went on a rampage against them. We don’t want that to ever happen again. We just want to be involved in helping a candidate who has honesty, integrity, and family values, get elected. If we’re too prominent in the picture, that would either turn off the electorate or cause the candidate to be so embarrassed as to lash out. So, ever since the JFK fiasco, we’re far more discreet.”