Once more there was a sigh, this time the bitterness having receded, simple exhaustion taking its place.
“I don’t know,” Golding said. “I don’t know what they thought I’d find, why they sent me there if they were so scared of me finding it.”
Respecting, acknowledging, even empathizing, with the plight the man was situated in, Ridge tried to force himself not to focus on Golding himself, to keep his sights on the goal of ferreting out what had happened that night, on what so many people seemed intent to keep hidden.
“Mr. Golding, does the name Josh Tarby mean anything to you?” he asked.
For a moment there was no response, as if the man was checking a mental database, before replying, “Only insomuch as I know he was one of the deceased. Beyond that, like I said, I didn’t have a lot of time to dig on this one.”
“Right,” Ridge said, nodding, feeling like the conversation was coming to a close having revealed so much, but ultimately leaving infinitely more questions than when he had started.
Again he rifled through the previous conversations of the day, a snippet of something McVey had said to him springing to mind.
“I was told earlier that CID often works with counterintelligence on cases where they think something fishy might be going on,” he said, realizing the explanation was far from exact, but knowing Golding would recognize where he was going just the same. “Did anything like that happen here?”
This time the pause was more than a full minute, so long that Ridge thought he might have lost the call, was about to ask if Golding was still there, when the man replied, “Give me an hour. I’ll call you back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The interior of the townhouse General Arnold Ames lived in was quiet, void of life, the space in near darkness as he entered. Stepping in through the side entrance from the garage, he passed directly into the kitchen, the area open, with marble countertops and a matching island positioned in the middle.
Tossing his keys and his briefcase, the sack with his uneaten lunch, all atop the island, he stepped directly through, moving by muscle memory, not turning on a single light as he passed.
Moving into the hallway, he shrugged off his coat and opened a small closet, hanging the garment on a hanger and returning it to place, the few sparse items inside all arranged with uniform precision.
To the casual observer, there was no indication of the day he had had, his face the same measure of impassive it always was, his features stony.
What those same individuals would not know, though, was the tempest of thoughts and worries roiling beneath them, things that had started the moment Leopold Donner first called him, had stretched back much further than that if he really wanted to think about it.
When the opportunity had first presented itself, it seemed like a good idea, maybe even the only idea, something that would serve both his interests and the country’s in tandem.
In the time since, that impression had begun to change, a combination of shifting societal pressures and expectations, a new regime about to take power on the Hill.
For a long time, Ames had known his days were coming to an end, though never had he realized how fast that eventuality would come to bear. Now, his only hope was to hang on long enough that he could see things through to an ending he dictated, instead of being cast aside like so many others he had encountered over the years.
And doing that meant shutting down whatever it was Jackson Ridge thought he was up to.
Shutting the door quietly behind him, Ames moved down the hallway and onto the staircase, his footfalls silent against the carpet stairs. One by one he slowly ascended them, ignoring the tightness in his right knee, his mind far too preoccupied to be bothered with a bit of tenderness in the joint.
Coming out on the second floor, he hooked a right and entered the master bedroom, his cellphone beginning to buzz on his hip as he walked directly past his bed and stood before the doublewide window along the wall, the illuminated spire of the Capitol framed perfectly within it.
“Ames,” he said, answering the phone.
“Donner,” came the reply, per usual going through the motions of pausing long enough to make sure both sides were clear and free to talk.
“Go ahead,” Ames said, his jaw tightening slightly at the unnecessary gesture, on the younger man’s insistence on doing things as if he were a character in a spy novel.
“Checking in,” Donner replied.
“And?” Ames snapped, agitation growing a bit higher within.
“And things have gotten worse,” Donner said, delivering the information with no voice inflection at all, as if he were discussing the weather or a local sports score.
“How much worse?” Ames asked.
For a moment there was no response, Ames able to visualize Donner doing the same thing with his face that he always did, scrunching it slightly as if contemplating an answer.
“I just got back to the Capitol a few minutes ago after tailing Ridge on a little errand,” Donner said.
Keeping his focus on the horizon, the lights of the city springing up at random intervals, igniting everything in a hue of unnatural color, Ames said, “An errand to where?”
“Not where, who,” Donner replied.
There he stopped again, almost seeming to be enjoying the moment, making Ames drag the information out of him one little bit at a time.
“Who, dammit?” Ames snapped, his tone letting it be known that he was sick of the cat-and-mouse.
The situation they were in was huge, with the potential to become cataclysmic to both of them. It was hardly the time for Donner to be getting off on the tiny bit of leverage he might have at the moment.
“Terry Whitner.”
With his mouth still open, his face twisted up with anger, it took a moment for the name to register with Ames, another for the enormity of what he’d just been told to sink in. As it did, the look on his face slowly receded, his heart rate climbing in kind.
Though, again, there was absolutely no visual response at all for anybody that might have been watching.
“You sure?”
A smirk was the first response, followed by, “Positive. Trust me, that’s one face you don’t forget.”
To that Ames had no response, knowing that Donner was right. Whitner was somebody they had both only encountered a time or two before, the type of person that every government needed on the books, that everybody who ever ran across him wished they had never met.
Ames also knew that if Ridge was calling on the man, he was digging deep into whatever political capital he had left, mortgaging everything he had accrued in the previous thirty-six years for this one last stab at getting something done.
The fact that it was coming at the possible expense of Ames was something he could not abide, whether Terry Whitner was involved or not.
“Any idea what they discussed?” Ames asked.
“Ha!” Donner replied, spitting the word out free of any mirth at all. “It was a complete fluke that I even happened to hear where he was headed, standing in the man’s front lobby as he exited.
“If I had tried to set foot in the place, he would have spotted me a mile away.”
To that Ames said nothing, wondering how and why Donner had been reckless enough to enter the man’s office, but much more concerned with a host of other things that precluded him from going into it.
“Good thing, too,” Donner added, “because Whitner would have nailed my ass to the wall.”
“Did he see you?” Ames asked.
“No,” Donner replied. “I was parked down the block, barely in sight of the place. Was waiting it out, letting Ridge head back the opposite way, when I just happened to spot Whitner exiting.”
“Any idea where he went after?” Ames asked.
“No,” Donner said. “Hell no. Not a chance I was even attempting to tail that guy.”
Grunting in agreement, knowing that the man was probably correct, Ames turned away from the window. Strid
ing back past the bed, he moved by the first closet, half-full of civilian attire, and on to the second. Jerking it open, he stared at the even row of military dress, the olive greens all pressed and ready to be worn.
Selecting the first one in order, he laid it down on the bed before going back, his attention raised to the shelf up high, the line of caps placed there.
“Where are you now?” Ames asked.
“Sitting outside his office building,” Donner said. “The old fart must be getting twitchy because he just closed the curtains to his office, but I know he’s there. Same for the rest of his staff.”
“You sure?” Ames asked.
“Positive,” Donner replied. “Orders?”
With the phone pressed tight against his face, Ames stared down at the dress uniform, the time for him to play a more active role having arrived.
“Sit tight. I’m on my way.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The chairs had remained in position in front of Jackson Ridge’s desk all day, there being no point in moving them back and forth, the people filling them a revolving door of characters foreign and familiar.
For the second time on the day, the trio of Beckwith, Ellerbe, and Stroh sat in front of the senator, all in the same position they had been hours earlier.
Of the three, only Beckwith looked the same as she did then, her face up and attentive, her clothes free of a wrinkle, the day planner still clutched on her lap. To either side, Ellerbe and Stroh looked spent despite the early hour, both making it clear they were ready to be off the clock whenever Ridge gave them the green light to go.
Seeing that, knowing the looks they wore, the vibe they were trying in earnest to give off, Ridge had no intention of doing such anytime soon, the conversations he had had since their last meeting only serving to heighten the anxiety within.
“Did you get Ms. Tarby settled in?” he asked, opening the debriefing.
For a moment there was no response, both of his aides staring down at their waists, before Ellerbe raised her gaze and said, “Yes. She seemed somewhat embarrassed by the place, but she eventually accepted it, thanked us for the gesture.”
“Embarrassed?” Ridge asked, a crease forming between his brows, the response not what he had expected in the slightest.
“Yeah,” Stroh inserted. “Said repeatedly she didn’t need all that, even went as far as to point out she couldn’t afford such a spread.”
“Afford?” Ridge gasped, unable to hide his surprise at the word. “Did you tell her-“
“Of course,” Ellerbe said, “which only seemed to make her a bit more self-conscious.”
“But she was okay when you left?”
“She was,” Stroh said.
“Walked us to the door, thanked us for everything,” Ellerbe added.
Nodding once, Ridge pictured the woman that had sat in one of these very chairs earlier in the day, the look of anguish on her face. If anybody deserved a comfortable place and a nice meal for the evening, it was her.
Whatever discomfort she felt about the arrangement was almost sure to dissipate soon enough.
“Good,” Ridge said, pressing his lips tight and nodding once. “Thank you both for doing that.”
To that neither verbally responded, Stroh matching his nod, Ellerbe offering a smile.
Falling silent for a moment, Ridge shifted his attention to the afternoon he had had, to the meeting with Murray that had kicked things off and all that had transpired since. Opening his mouth once, twice, to begin speaking, he paused, debating how to best approach things, if he even should at all.
Thus far, everything that had transpired of any real import had done so by his hand. His two young charges had helped secure Ms. Tarby, Beckwith had tracked down a couple of phone numbers, but there was nothing any of them had done that really had anything to do with the situation that occurred in Afghanistan.
With each passing moment, it was becoming clearer that something nefarious had taken place, the kind of thing that people were desperate to keep quiet, so much so they had even shipped Harold Golding all the way to Alaska.
To think those very same people wouldn’t perhaps come after the people sitting in the room for that reason as well would be a blunder he could not abide.
This quest, this final day, was on him. It was a question that had first been posed his direction, any hope or expectation of relief being aimed at the Senator from Wyoming, not the poor souls that had the misfortune of working for him.
“I am sorry today went later than anticipated,” Ridge said, sounding the words out slowly, his gaze shifted to the side before glancing up to take each of them in. “And that I won’t be able to join you, but if you don’t mind, I would like to buy you all dinner.
“Anywhere you’d like, anything you’d like. Susie, you have my personal cards, please put it on there.”
The words, the directive, seemed to be far from what any of the three expected, all looking up in unison, Ellerbe and Stroh void of expression, Beckwith’s mouth parting just slightly.
“Sir?”
Waving a hand before him, Ridge said, “I know it’s terrible I can’t come too, but as you all know, I’m still trying to tie something up, so I should stick around.
“Tomorrow we’ll all grab a quick bite before we go, I promise.”
Again there was no response, the group sitting in stunned silence, gaping back at him.
“Really,” he said, forcing a smile into place, “go get yourselves a nice steak and bottle of wine. You’ve all more than earned it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
No matter how many people might be tucked away inside the suite, the front door closed with the departure of Ashley each evening at six, the end of official business hours. From that point forward, whoever was inside could work with abandon, not needing to be concerned with who might be stopping by.
On the final day of Jackson Ridge’s tenure, the front door stayed open a bit later than usual but was still closed for the night by half past the hour when Ashley was allowed to leave.
Hidden behind the closed gate, his staff begrudgingly doing his bidding and exiting for dinner, Ridge sat at his desk, the ringer on his cell phone turned up high, the device sitting square before him. Reclined in his seat, he tried in vain to push the events of the day to the side for a moment, realizing it was the first time he had been alone inside the suite in years.
Starting to his right, he made a slow sweep of the room, taking in the décor, examining each of the pieces of taxidermy that covered the walls.
While it was true that every last one had been taken by his own hand, the truth was, the newest one to the collection had been added more than a decade before. When he had first taken office, he had spent as much if not more time back home in Wyoming, making up official business when he could, purchasing cheap fares on whatever airline he could find otherwise.
After growing up on a ranch, the bustle of the city seemed like something from a foreign planet, life too busy, the general demeanor too aggressive.
Somewhere along the line, that balance had begun to tip. The trip became long, the flights expensive. Bit by bit he bought into the city life, finding that he rather enjoyed eating at restaurants that served more than just steak and potatoes, didn’t mind fighting the crowds to watch local sporting events.
He even got used to putting on a suit each morning, an eventuality he’d have never thought possible.
A lifetime bachelor, once his parents passed at the start of this term, it was as if he had no reason to go back at all, hiring a caretaker to look after the ranch and retreating to his Washington home full-time.
Which, when he got down to it, was probably what landed him in the situation he was in.
People – especially those in places like Wyoming – believed in a representative democracy, which also meant they needed to feel like they were being represented.
Pretty difficult to convince anybody that was the case from two thousand miles away.
Moving in an unending ebb and flow through his mind, one thought leading to another, Ridge never heard the small knock at the front door, nor did he register the moan of the hinges as it swung up and quietly closed again.
Stopped halfway through his examination of the room, making it as far as a stuffed grouse just taking off in flight before his eyes glazed, Ridge didn’t even realize he had a visitor until they appeared in his doorway, a tall man with square shoulders that nearly blotted out the light from the front office behind him.
Believing he was alone, Ridge flinched noticeably, his head jerking to the side, his shoulders rocking back a few inches. Feeling his heart rate rise, his first thought was to again admonish Susie for entering so silently before stopping, the person standing before him most certainly not his Chief of Staff.
“Good evening,” the man said, his voice firm but low, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Pushing himself up from his seat, Ridge said, “I’m sorry General, I thought I was alone.”
Opening his mouth as if he might apologize as well, the man instead seized on the words that had been said, taking a step forward into the room.
“So, you know who I am?”
Easing himself to the side, a clear path opening up between the two of them, Ridge replied, “No, but I’ve seen enough uniforms sit before my committee to recognize the bars of a general when I see them.”
Moving forward, he extended his hand and said, “Senator Jackson Ridge, it’s an honor to have you here, sir.”
Returning the shake, his grip even more firm than his voice, the man said, “General Arnold Ames, I wonder if you might have a few minutes to talk.”
“Certainly,” Ridge said, extending a hand to the line of chairs that had grown misshapen over the course of the day. “Please, have a seat.”
Circling back around to his own chair, Ridge settled down into it, Ames doing the same across from him, his posture impossibly upright, his hat balanced across his knee.
“You’re probably wondering what brings me by this evening,” Ames began, his focus locked straight ahead, his gaze on Ridge and nothing else.
Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral Page 38