Once Jack had spent some time out west he would see about possibly reassigning Jack out there permanently, if not convincing Jack to resign outright and find a better life for himself out there with Sara. Lord knows the boy has suffered enough, Collins thought to himself paternally, he deserves to be happy.
Jack blindly made his way out of the Hoover Building, moving more from memory of the layout than actually seeing where he was going. He mounted the motorcycle and sped away, not bothering this time to check to see if he was being followed. A part of him welcomed the next attempt now. A part of him was raging inside, screaming for vengeance for his brother —no matter who or how high up in the conspiracy they were.
He did not head for his apartment, nor the Lavender where Sara was working with her accompanist on a new number for her last show there before leaving for Las Vegas. He had told Collins that he wanted to be alone and alone is what he wanted right now, with only one exception.
He stopped at an internet café just long enough to send a seven-word e-mail. Not bothering to wait for a response, he left the motorcycle behind and started slowly walking toward his destination.
He wandered around for nearly two hours, purposefully walking away from where he intended to end up on several occasions. He knew that he needed the time to process his brother’s death and to consider what, if anything, he could do next.
When he finally arrived, he took a seat on a park bench and looked around. He could easily see both the Lincoln and Washington Monuments as well as most of the White House and the dome of the U.S. Capitol building.
It was surprisingly warm in D.C. for January. The sun, hanging in the clear blue sky, had brought out many to enjoy their lunches, joining the tourists taking in the iconic sights.
Jack watched the people, all blissfully wandering about without a single clue of the peril hanging over each and every one of them; going about their lives as if nothing at all were wrong. He could run out there among them and shout out warnings and they would all dismiss him as a deranged madman. He could offer the proof he did have, what little there was, and they would still dismiss him.
There’s nothing I can do, the thought slammed into him, nothing at all. At least not within the legal bounds of a sworn officer of the law. Darkness enveloped him. He’d killed before in self-defense of his life and of others in the line of duty. Those deaths troubled him, but at least they had been justified.
But for the first time in his life he was faced with the very real possibility that he would have to take lives; some being a threat to all he held dear and others turning out later to have been completely innocent but having to be killed anyway to ensure the conspiracy was truly stopped.
He’d lost nearly all he held dear. Now he feared that before this was over he would lose his very soul. He put his head into his hands, leaned forward and silently wept.
FOURTEEN
President-elect Arthur peered contemplatively through his window at the massive gathering of press outside his office’s building. They are a necessary evil, especially as long as no better way existed to reach out to the American people in great numbers. But he could just as happily do without them as a group.
His strength, which had helped propel him to the White House, had always been in direct face-to-face meetings with people in much smaller groups. With a last disgusted look at the growing circus below, he turned away from the window with a sigh to face the growing circus in his own office.
“Bill,” his Chief of staff said, “the leadership of both parties in both houses have confirmed they will hold a quick vote to confirm whoever you select to replace Cashman. They all have said the vote will be unanimous if your selection is Paxton.”
“It’s the right choice and the right move to make, Bill,” Soors broke in. “The polling in your favor before the elections was higher with Paxton than it was with Cashman. No one would doubt your margin of victory would have been the same or even greater if Paxton had been on the ticket in the first place.”
“I don’t doubt that, Georgina,” Arthur replied a little gruffly. “And I don’t doubt that he will make a fine Vice-President. I just question the speed that the House and Senate are ready to move at to confirm him. It seems only right, since the voters were not given a say in the choice, that there be a confirmation process that doesn’t appear to be anything more than a rubber stamp.”
“A noble sentiment, Bill,” Soors replied piously, “but with the sudden loss of Cashman it would be better to assure the American people that there is stability in the highest office in the land. Unless, of course, you are willing to risk allowing the Speaker of the House to take over should something happen to you before a prolonged confirmation process is over. The voters rejected the presidential candidate from the Speaker’s party after all. I’d say ensuring that their will trumps any concern over expediency.”
Arthur turned away from Soors again, seething inside. Once I’m sworn in, regardless of her standing as a major donor to the campaign, she will stop addressing me by my first name, in public and in private. “Very well,” Arthur said in complete control, with his back to her, keeping his displeasure with Soors out of his voice. “Inform the leaders from both parties that I am nominating Paxton so they can get started on the vote. Have Paxton come over so I can speak with him before we address that mob down there. I’ll make the announcement of his selection after I conclude my statement about Norman.”
“He’s already here,” Soors said. “I’ll step out and get him.”
The statement didn’t surprise Arthur in the least. While he waited for Paxton to come in, he began wondering how he could go about carrying out his presidency without Soors’ involvement. For a brief moment he took some small joy from wondering just how far the Secret Service would go in their service to a sitting President.
***
“The loss of Norman Cashman is more to me than just the loss of a man who no doubt would have been one of the best vice-presidents in this country’s history,” Arthur said an hour later, standing in front of the gaggle of press with his staff standing behind him. Paxton and Soors stood off to his left.
“It is the loss of a man who might have gone on to be a great president in his own right. But more importantly, it is the loss of a great American and my very dear friend.” Arthur paused to quickly dab at a tear in his left eye. “But, as we have so often done before in our nation's incredible history, we will persevere. I feel it is imperative to the country to carry on with this new administration at full strength. To that end, I have asked Kellen Paxton, who has served as the Governor of Ohio with distinction, to serve his country during this trying time as my new Vice-President, and he has accepted his country's call to serve. I have been assured by the leaders of both parties that he will be confirmed by vote later this evening. I present to you the next Vice-President of the United States, Kellen Paxton.”
Paxton, a young-looking man despite the grey that peppered his black hair, quickly stepped up to the microphone, pausing to shake Arthur’s hand as the two posed briefly for the photographers. After Arthur stepped away, Paxton began his speech by speaking of his friendship with Cashman, his sorrow at his friend’s untimely death, and what he foresaw as his job in the Arthur Administration.
It was by all accounts a great speech, heartfelt and sincere. But Arthur stood there listening and found himself wondering if he’d made the right decision by taking Paxton and not holding out for someone else, or at least making the man go through some type of confirmation process first. After all, he knew for a fact Norman had never spoken more than five words to Paxton in his entire life. Paxton could be engaging in political grandstanding, of course. Small wonder why Soors favored him as she clearly did, but it was not the right kind of start Arthur wanted with his new Vice-President.
***
How many hours had passed while he sat alone on the bench, Jack could not say. Time, as well as a few other things, had lost meaning to him this day. Eventually he’d gotten up a
nd begun walking around aimlessly. His appointment, assuming his message had gotten through to begin with, was still some hours away. He was passing the open door of an Irish pub when Arthur’s press conference began. The TV was on and the volume just loud enough to be heard out on the sidewalk.
He stopped and stood listening to the words spoken by Arthur and Paxton. Both men sincerely expressed sorrow at the loss of Cashman, although Arthur’s voice had carried some sense of the pain he was feeling inside, while Paxton seemed to be forcing it a little.
But Jack watched knowing that one or the other, or even both, could be involved in the conspiracy that had killed Cashman and his own brother. He had enough evidence to know at least one of them was involved, but nothing to tell him which one it was.
Could it be Arthur? The very one who’d used Cashman to get elected and now had brought in an ally in the conspiracy to help overthrow the government and hand over the country to an old enemy? Or was Paxton the ultimate goal of the conspiracy? Had Cashman been removed and Arthur talked into replacing him with Paxton? Was Arthur an unwitting cog in the conspiracy’s vast machine?
Even before Paxton had finished his statement and had begun to take questions from the reporters, Jack had turned away from the pub and resumed his walk. There was still time left, still time to find the answers he needed to prevent a disaster and arrest the conspirators so they could face justice in a court of law.
But even as he searched for a legal solution, in the back of his mind he’d already begun working out the problem of deciding which one of them he’d have to shoot down in cold blood on Inauguration Day.
***
Collins entered the office that had served as the clandestine headquarters of the conspiracy. Soors, Cavanaugh, and Wells were seated in their usual positions at the table. Someone else sat at the far end, his or her features concealed from Collins by the darkness.
“We've still been unable to find out what, if any, information Del Rio accessed and what pertinence it may have to the matter at hand.. He was able to cover his tracks very well.”
“Is there any possibility of discovering this information within the next seventy-two hours?” Cavanaugh asked.
“None,” Collins replied. “Nor have we been able to determine if his brother was even able to make contact with him before the Los Angeles was sunk. The window of opportunity for any such communication was very small indeed. I doubt it happened at all.”
“Yet,” Soors broke in, “the very next day he began looking into areas that concerned all of us. If his brother did not contact him, then exactly who put him on our trail so quickly?”
“It might have been Karpov himself, as a backup plan, before our friends began tracking his movements,” Wells theorized.
“Why would Karpov reach out to Jack?” Collins asked, unaware of the Del Rio’s connection to the others in the room.
“That is of no concern at the moment,” Soors said coldly, drawing an amused look from Wells. “Do we know his present whereabouts?”
“He left the Hoover Building a few hours ago,” Baker replied. “His exact location is unknown. However, I am certain he will return to his apartment soon. He is going to catch Flight 219 from Reagan International tomorrow for Las Vegas.
“Why would he be leaving town now?” Wells asked, surprised. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to turn tail and run when the going gets rough.”
“There is a woman he is very close to,” Baker explained. “She had offered the trip to him before he became involved in this matter. I understand she has been trying to get him to move out west with her permanently. I have done all I can to encourage him to do just that.”
“I must agree with Charles,” Cavanaugh said. “I find it hard to believe he is just going to walk away from this, especially now when he must suspect the reason for his brother’s demise.”
“Perhaps he feels he doesn't have enough evidence,” Baker responded. “Or he may believe that he can do more from outside the Beltway. And that is assuming he actually knows anything. I assure you all, if he suspected something he would have brought it to me and we would know everything that he knows.”
“Either way,” Soors interjected, “we're too close to our goal to take any unwarranted chances now. We all understand your reluctance to do this yourself. Nonetheless, no more soft-pedaling with drive-by shootings. I want a team at his residence waiting for him with orders to shoot to kill.”
“We risk that team getting arrested and exposing our involvement,” Collins said.
“By the time any investigation could lead back to us, it will be too late. You have your instructions. Carry them out,” Cavanaugh ordered.
Collins shot a look in Wells’ direction, and while he could tell the man also disagreed with the decision, he also knew that he was outvoted here. Collins nodded, pivoted, and walked back out of the room.
The man, and it had been a man, who’d sat hidden in shadow stood up and buttoned his jacket after Collins left the room. “Del Rio has proven to be a difficult man to dispatch,” he said quietly. “Nor do I share Director Collins’ confidence that Del Rio would share his knowledge with him. And I can’t say I am comfortable with Del Rio alive and well out west. He would be a constant threat to my Presidency.”
“What exactly do you propose we do, aside from taking him out at his apartment?” Wells asked, curious to see how far this man would go.
“If he should somehow survive the attempt,” the man replied as he headed for the other exit from the room, “he will certainly get on that plane. Should he board it, he will have nowhere to go.”
“Are you suggesting we have a team shoot him on the plane in front of over a hundred witnesses?” Cavanaugh asked, incredulously.
“Not at all,” the man replied. “I was just thinking how no one has ever survived when a bomb blows a jetliner out of the sky.” He left as silently as the shadow he had concealed himself with.
“What’s another hundred or more innocent deaths on our hands?” Wells asked sarcastically as the door closed behind the man.
“So be it. If the first team misses him at his apartment, I want a second team in place at the airport to see to it that plane never reaches its destination should he board it.” Soors was proving herself the Ice Maiden.
FIFTEEN
Jack had waited for a few hours beyond the appointed time, but Karpov had not shown up. He checked the e-mail account and found no answer to his request for the meeting. Given what had already occurred, Jack had to assume that those that had been hunting down Karpov had finally succeeded.
The old man had been good, but even the best can be beaten on any given day, he thought bitterly to himself. And now there was only one remaining. One man left to stand in their way. One move left to make.
The sun was just rising in the east. In just over seventy-two hours, Arthur and Paxton would be sworn in and the deed would be done.
He’d taken a taxi back to his apartment, having the driver stop a few blocks away so he could enter the parking garage across the street. He needed to retrieve his ‘go bag’ from the trunk, since it contained much of what he would need to see him through the next three days.
He watched the building carefully for several minutes before slipping in to the rear pedestrian entrance. His car, the classic convertible Mustang driven by his late mother, was parked on the third level, so Jack quickly made his way up the stairwell.
Stepping out onto the level, he quietly closed the door behind him and spent several more minutes looking around. Only when he was certain that he was alone did he walk toward the car. Popping open the trunk, he grabbed the go bag, lifted it onto his shoulder, then gently closed the trunk.
He caught sight of his reflection in the polished shine of the paint. He looked like hell on a very bad day, and he felt even worse than he looked. He heard the soft footstep behind him even as he saw another reflection appear behind his own.
“Agent Del Rio?”
Jack spun around q
uickly, drawing his gun as he turned, and found himself facing an armed man whose own gun was already out and swinging into position to fire. Throwing his left forearm up to deflect his attacker’s gun arm, Jack felt the angry whiff as the bullet just missed his left ear and buried itself in the wall behind him.
Seeing a car with two men inside race out of one of the parking stalls on the other side of the building and head directly for him and his attacker, Jack brought his gun to bear and fired point blank. His attacker gasped, his eyes widening in horror before slipping to the floor, dead before his body made impact with the cold concrete.
Wasting no time looking at the dead man, Jack rolled over the back of the car to his right and wormed his way around to the front even as a hail of bullets slammed into the rear of the car he’d taken refuge behind.
But no one’s shots came anywhere near where he was hiding. Taking advantage of his temporary reprieve, Jack worked his way to a point where the wall only rose halfway between the floor and the ceiling and quickly rolled over the top of the wall to drop down to the next level. Another spray of bullets peppered the wall where he’d rolled over.
He started for the exit, intending to use the ramps to make his way out of the building, but hearing the pursuing car, Jack realized the mistake he’d almost made and turned for the stairwell, heading up the stairs, not down. Even as the door closed behind him he heard the sound of a speeding car go by.
His intent now was to go all the way to the top of the building and gain access to the roof. From there he felt sure he could make the jump to the building next door, and they’d never think to look for him in there. With luck, they’d get to the ground floor and assume he’d gotten out and was running away. But that hope died quickly when he heard the slamming of brakes and skidding of tires followed shortly by the peeling of those same tires on concrete.
Of course, he thought bitterly, there had been a lookout at the entrance that had started up when they attacked, and no doubt reported when I didn’t come down that way at all. He heard a door slam and the unmistakable sound of footsteps running up the stairwell he was in.
Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames Page 35