by HN Wake
When his cell phone rang, he was standing in a shadowed doorway on Bowery Street contemplating his fate.
Frank Odom’s voice was demanding, “What have you got?”
Herbie grimaced. He was only sixty days away from a beach in Costa Rica. He had only sixty days to play by their rules, keep his head down. He glanced at the hotel lobby across the street. “I’m on her trail.”
“Explain that to me.”
Herbie’s lips clenched. “I’m closing in on her.”
“How, who?”
No need to put the name Joseph Severino in one of Odom’s file. “There’s some kind of tie with Laura Franklin.”
There was a slight pause before Odom asked, “You see the news?”
“No,” Herbie lied.
“Earlier tonight, Senator Eleanor Gillis announced her run for president. She was at a party hosted by Laura Franklin.”
Herbie didn’t say a word.
Odom asked, “What’s the connection between Mac and Laura Franklin?”
“I’m not sure.” A truck rumbled past, momentarily blocking his view of the hotel. “We pull strings, Odom. That’s what we do. I’m still pulling. I’ll check in when I have something.” He meant it as a final farewell and moved his finger across the phone to end the call.
Odom whispered, “Herbie.”
His finger paused.
Odom was persistent. “I just got off the phone with the Director.”
Fuck. This wasn’t going to be good.
“I understand you have two months before you’re eligible for retirement.”
Fuck a duck. This was definitely not good. Odom was going to threaten his retirement escape. Herbie waited anxiously for the next statement.
“The Director informed me I have either a stick or a carrot to use with you. Either way you need to deliver Mac. On a silver platter.”
Triple fuck a duck. Herbie was completely trapped.
Odom had the last word, “Just bring her in before I have to employ either.”
The small, back bar in the Bowery Hotel was all velvet—eight gold velvet stools, pink velvet armchairs, rose velvet curtains. Hunting dog paintings and golden pools of light broke the heaviness of dark wood panels. A huge mirror was the backdrop to the bar and backlighting under glass shelves reflected through hundreds of liqueur bottles. A bartender leaned against the far corner, his arms crossed over a crisp, white shirt.
Herbie Linen, the only guest in the bar, rested his feet nonchalantly on the brass foot rail and cupped a muddled Manhattan in both hands. He sensed Joseph Severino’s arrival before he saw him. Strong, silent types often had a mysterious presence. In the mirror, he caught Severino’s gaze as he sat down on a nearby stool.
Herbie turned slowly toward him. “They call me Herbie. Sorry to wake you.”
Severino nodded to the bartender for the same drink as Herbie. The two waited as the crisp shirt got to work.
Only once Severino had his drink did Herbie speak again. “Thanks for coming down. That was some kind of party.”
Severino’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silent.
This was one tough cookie, Herbie thought. He said, “They don’t know I’m here.”
Severino shrugged. “Ok?”
“I wanted to see what you’re made of.”
Severino shrugged again. Unruffled by a surprise late night rendezvous or an odd man.
“I wanted to find out how much you knew.”
“I know enough,” Severino said.
“I suspect you do. But one never knows how much they don’t know, do they?” Herbie took a sip, slowed his thoughts and settled in to his story. “I mean one can go their whole life thinking they know everything about someone and it turns out, there is so much not to know. I mean people are fractured, composites of a whole. You can look at them from one angle and they seem straight forward, all clear lines. You twist your neck, look at them from another angle and they are a prism, angles and cross-hatching. Totally different. It can be mesmerizing, all the different angles that make up a person.”
“If you say so,” Severino swirled his glass.
“I find it fascinating that most people don’t put their more complex angles on display. I mean I’ve got some crooked lines, some jags, some zigzags. Not many people see those complicated lines of mine.” He cocked his head, thoughtfully, “Actually, if I had to admit it, I’m not sure anyone has ever seen those complications of mine. I’ve got them locked away pretty tight.” He glanced sideways at Severino.
Severino took another sip.
“So what I’m saying is that you may not know all the angles that are in your world at the moment.”
Severino shrugged.
Herbie grinned. “You’re a good one. Confident. No bullshit. It’s good she’s got you.”
“So let’s skip the flirting and get to your message.”
“Touche.” Herbie took a sip and rolled the glass along his palms. “Here’s the thing with the Agency. They spend the first few years building you up, telling you how great you’re going to be out in the field. How you’re going to gather critical intelligence, how you’re going to be changing the game with what you send up the wires. Then, they post you to some godforsaken place, and you start to really doubt their sincerity. Then you get to your next assignment and it’s even more of a shit hole than the one before and you start to doubt your own competence.” He looked over. “You can see where I’m going with this. Eventually, you’re outwardly critical of the Agency and yourself. You’ve used up all the confidence you had. It’s a slow, noxious process.”
Severino waited.
“Until eventually, you just start counting down the days till you can get out, legitimately get out, with a nice retirement plan and a pension. You have dreams of fishing on some beach.” Herbie dropped his voice. “And that’s right when they sink one last hook into you. They throw you one last mission.”
Severino’s jaw tightened.
“They tell you to find her, bring her in.”
Severino blinked and his nostrils flared.
“The dream of the fishing in Costa Rica,” Herbie whispered, “is just there, just within reach. All you have to do is follow this one last order, complete this one last operation.”
“Who told you? Who gave you this mission?”
Herbie was surprised by the question. “Pardon me?”
Severino spoke slowly, as if to a child. “You said, ‘they told you to find her.’ Who told you to find her?”
Herbie thought about this. “The boss. The top boss told me.”
Severino nodded.
“I need to hand her over,” Herbie said.
Severino swallowed the remainder of his drink, set the glass of ice on a napkin, and stood. “Give me your telephone number.”
Herbie wrote out a number on napkin, slid it along the polished wooden bar. “Also, tell her I know about Thai Consolidated.”
Severino paused, his hand on the napkin, then he folded it neatly in quarters and slid it into his pants pocket. He placed two twenties on the bar—too much for one drink--and spoke to the mirror. “You know her true angles. That’s why you came here to warn her.”
54
New Jersey
The van hurtled east on I-95 toward New York City. A light rain spattered the wind shield just enough to make the wipers whine. The tires were rubbery on the asphalt.
Behind the wheel, Joyce squinted against the streaks and the headlights from oncoming cars. She turned up the volume on a talk show on NPR. “Senator Eleanor Gillis has just declared her bid as a presidential candidate. Leaving a party on the Upper West Side of New York.” The voice of Senator Gillis broke through, “Because I believe the voters are tired of obstructionism and blame. They want a fresh, new candidate with clear, viable policies.” The newscaster continued, “A number of key allies have declared their support for the senator’s bid. Patriot News CEO Fenton Warrick was one of the earliest to go on record with his support.”
In the passenger seat, Mac sat rock still, staring down the highway. This was news. She had not expected the Warrick support. What did this mean? Her shoulder hurt. She leaned her head into it, trying to find respite.
From the back of the van, Isaac said, “You know that stuff is all planned. She must have gotten his support way before she announced.”
Joyce yelled, “He’s fucking blackmailing her, why would he support her? This shit is crazy. I have no idea what the fuck is going on right now.”
Mac stared through the streaks on the windshield. She was trying to account for this new information. It had only been three hours since the plane had made an emergency landing in Rhode Island and then returned to Teterboro. Surely Fenton Warrick was still in the hospital. What did this mean?
From the back of the van, Isaac shouted, “95.” The virus had managed to infiltrate the Patriot News network through the plane’s connection. It was slowly hammering away at security. Isaac had been reporting on its progress in slow, steady updates. “The spider is 95% done. Another 20 minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, they reached the George Washington Bridge just as the rain strengthened, slapping the roof of the van with loud pings. Joyce switched the wipers to the highest setting, and their whine screamed. Far below them the dark waters of the Hudson River churned, whitecaps forming.
From the back of the van, Isaac yelled, “Joyce, pull over.”
“I’m on the bridge,” she protested.
“When you get a chance, pull over. I found the video! I found the video!”
Joyce hit the gas and the van hurtled across the bridge. Entering the city, she wobbled the van over to a parking spot on a slow street. She threw the gearshift into park.
Mac and Joyce hurled themselves over the seat to crouch over Isaac and the laptop screen.
Joyce pleaded, “Play it, play it.”
The rain pelted against the van’s roof.
Isaac hit play.
The perspective appeared to be from a hidden camera—the angle was slightly crooked and the video wasn’t of high quality—on a large, glass-topped desk looking over an expansive office with a wall of flashing television screens. To the left of the screen Senator Gillis sat in one of two leather and steel armchairs behind an outsized rectangular, glass coffee table. The leather was a bright cherry red.
Joyce whispered, “That’s Senator Gillis.”
A thin older woman set down one coffee mug on the glass table then walked toward the camera, her image growing enormous before the coffee cup was placed next to the camera. A giant’s coffee cup.
Joyce whispered, “This certainly doesn’t look like a sex tape.”
On the screen, the mug was moved and they could see the older woman closing the office door.
Senator Gillis took a sip of the coffee and set it down. “So, Fenton. How are you?” The audio was clear. Her voice was steady and strong.
In the van, all three leaned closer.
A deep voice came through the audio, “Well, my dear. We’ve had a busy few months.”
“What the fuck?” Joyce shook her head forcefully.
Isaac reached out and paused the video. “Is that Fenton Warrick?”
“Yes,” Mac confirmed it. “That’s his voice.”
Isaac whispered again, “I bet she doesn’t know she’s being taped.”
“Agreed,” Mac said. “That’s a hidden camera.”
Isaac hit play.
Fenton Warrick voice was louder than the senator’s. “Thanks for making the trip. We appreciate you coming up from the den of politics to our fair city.”
“It’s not often I get a personal invite from the head of a major cable news channel.” Her grin appeared authentic. She did not seem afraid.
“And how is it going in the Capitol?”
“We’re moving into the campaign year so things are heating up.”
Joyce whispered, “Must have been last year.”
Warrick continued, “Well, Senator, I won’t waste your time. I’ll get right to the point. I don’t believe the presidential contest is shaping up in a positive way.”
In the video, Senator Gillis didn’t miss a beat—her smile remained. “What would make you say that?”
“You know my former career was in politics.”
She nodded.
“My instincts have told me for a while that the crop of contenders are lacking. Across both parties.”
She lifted her coffee, allowing him to continue.
“So I screened them,” he said. “In detail. Each has a weakness.”
“I’m sure there are some viable candidates for next year,” she appeased him.
A pause, then an admission. “That can be easily shorn of their stature.”
The statement took her off guard. In the video, her smile faltered. “Pardon me?”
“All men have an Achilles heel.”
“Mr. Warrick, what are you getting at?”
“Senator, we are a news agency. We undertake research continually. We uncover scandals all the time.”
She looked slightly ruffled. “I’ve proven myself to be a clean politician, now.”
“There is no such thing as a clean politician these days. You all need money, am I right?”
“Speak plainly, Mr. Warrick.”
“We will be able to uncover dirt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The less you know, the better.”
“I’m not sure that’s the case,” she insisted.
“Let’s just say I’ve got my top people on this project. My top researchers. My top marketers. My top demographics and keyword folks. Even my head of security is involved.”
Senator Gillis shook her head, looked around the office. She looked back at the desk, changing the subject. “You asked me here why?”
“My point being that the others are not a fit. I believe you are.”
In the van, all three froze.
On the screen, Senator Gillis blinked.
Warrick continued, “You have key characteristics that add up to a viable option. A woman is a plus despite what the polls say. Your record as a ‘come back’ candidate is another plus: you’re hardened but repentant. Your temperament is even and calm. Third plus. You don’t have any recent skeletons in your closet. A plus we’ve confirmed.“
Joyce whispered, “Wow.”
Senator Gillis said, “Mr. Warrick, I’m not sure that’s appropriate—“
Off screen, Fenton Warrick must have raised his hands in compliance, because he interrupted her, “No offense intended, Senator. We run checks all the time on everyone in America. Our checks are better than the NSA. And please do call me Fenton.”
Senator Gillis crossed her arms over her chest, waited him out.
Warrick said, “The only problem is I don’t think you can garner the resources Citizen United has put into play. As a relative newcomer to our national political stage, you would be going up against the institutional designees who will attract all the big money. I believe you already know that.”
Senator Gillis remained still.
“And that’s a shame. Money has ruled you out of the game.” There was a long pause. “Not exactly what the founding fathers intended when they established the country.”
Senator Gillis eyed him.
“But I think I can help with that,” Warrick said. “I would like to make a bet. I’d like to gamble on you. I believe the odds are in your favor.”
Senator Gillis shrugged. “No harm in listening while I’m here.”
Warrick said, “I may not have the funds like the Jew out in Nevada or the Nazi brothers in Wichita—“
Senator Gillis recoiled.
Warrick talked past her resistance. “—you’ll come to know that I speak bluntly. I may not have the funds that the political gatekeepers have in this country. But I have something more important.”
Se
nator Gillis watched him, waiting. Almost holding her breath.
“I have the thumb on the American conservative pulse. Every day. Every minute.”
The silence in the room hung like a cloud.
On the screen, Senator Gillis blinked. The screens behind her blinked in rapid and chaotic movement.
Warrick continued, “Let me be even more blunt. I feed news to 100 million people every minute,” he took a breath. “Senator, that news can be whatever I want it to be.”
Senator Gillis remained silent, clearly thinking through this.
Warrick continued, “We’ve run testing on our audience. I’m confident they will respond the way we manage them.”
“How do you propose to manage them?”
“We sell them a new candidate with new ideas. One who wants to bust up the status quo. One who sees the problems they are facing and one who proposes to help them directly. Find their weak spots, exploit them. We take on one issue after another for a period of ten months. You show them you’re capable of taking on the powers that be in this country. You sneak in. The Trojan Horse. You represent the little guy who feels he is losing as the world evolves. That he is being left behind.”
In the van, Joyce hissed, “I can’t believe it. Guilty Gillis is about to do another deal with another devil!”
Senator Gillis asked, “What issues do you propose I take on?”
“Well, the first one will be cleaning up cable news.”
“What?”
“We explain to them that cable news is screwing up our country and you want to take it down.”
In the van, Joyce spat out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Senate bill 1111 was Fenton Warrick’s idea? Holy shit.”
Senator Gillis asked, “Why would we do that?”
“Because once you pull back the curtain, they’ll see how they have been played by the 1% and they’ll get angry.”
“And?”
“You will be the hero of the every day man. You are Dorothy who showed them how weak the Wizard of Oz actually is. You let them think they’ve gotten control back.”