The Peace Proxy: Part 1

by Cyril Adams

  The Governor’s face blanched as he considered the question. He swallowed before replying in a raspy voice, “We’re done here.”

  Garrett allowed a brief pause before using the adage, “Is that your official statement?”

  The Governor stood rapidly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. He postured to seem as imposing as his small frame allowed. Garrett had worked him into quite a frenzy. This was more like it, now for the crescendo.

  “Get the hell out of my office!” the Governor bellowed. “My lawyers will have an injunction against the Herald in place before you can get back to New York.”

  Garrett relaxed in his chair, as if the Governor had just repeated Julie’s offer for coffee.

  “One last item before I leave,” Garrett began calmly. “Could I get your comments on this conversation?” As he finished, Garrett placed a small oblong device on the Governor’s desk and depressed a recessed button on its side. The device obligingly played a voice recording. The Governor recognized the speaker. It was he.

  “If the contract goes for open bid we’re going to lose it,” the Governor’s voice emanated from the recording device, filling the otherwise quiet room. The Governor also recognized the second voice as Karl Sigler, the owner of U.S. Granite, the company that currently held and, through the recent negotiations, retained the state’s infrastructure contract.

  Karl’s retort was direct, “You’d better figure out a way to keep that from happening, Frank.”

  Irritated, the Governor replied, “I told you never to use my name, jackass.”

  “Whatever, Frank,” Karl countered. “If this deal goes sour don’t think you’re going back to being an honest citizen. You’ve made a lot of money off me. It wouldn’t be in your best interest to become useless.”

  The Governor abruptly collapsed into his chair. As the recording played on, he appeared to shrink into the cushions as if he was some morsel being slowly digested by the overstuffed upholstery. The conversation continued, although, it was clear from the Governor’s appearance he wished it would stop.

  On the recording, the Governor was chastising Karl. “Don’t threaten me, you little rodent. I’ve already told you, if you want to keep the contract, give me a reason to renegotiate it.”

  “What do you mean?” Karl queried.

  “Get the union involved concerning out-of-scope work,” the Governor’s recorded voice instructed.

  “It’ll cost,” Karl insisted.

  “It’ll cost a lot more if you don’t,” the Governor countered. “Make it happen. And Karl…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever call me again on this line, Granite will have an unexpected change in leadership, capisce?”

  The recording ended. Garrett retrieved the device and, giving his best effort not to look too smug, stared expectantly at the Governor. The chair slowly exuded the Governor back into the room. As he brought his hand out from under the desk, Garrett saw it held a small needle gun. The tiny device was as deadly as it was concealable. Now it was Garrett’s turn to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

  Garrett tried to sound calm, but as he spoke, the words roared in his ears. “I didn’t take you for a murderer.”

  The Governor’s eyes widened giving him a crazed appearance as he replied, “I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Richards, unless you insist. My associates have people for that, but I will take that recording.”

  “Sure,” Garrett replied. He casually placed the device on the desk. “Can I go now?”

  “No. I have no illusions that this is the only copy, it just can’t be found with your body. I’m going to call my associates. Then you can go.”

  Governor Weller retrieved a satellite phone from the top draw and placed the credit card size device on top of the desk.

  “Sigler,” he commanded, and the phone obediently established a connection. After several rings, a voice answered through the desk speakers.

  “What now?” The voice demanded. Garrett recognized Karl’s voice from the recording.

  “It’s Weller.”

  “I know who it is. What do you want?”

  “We have a problem,” the Governor explained. As he spoke, the Governor reached across the desk to retrieve the recording device. His motion shifted the direction he was pointing the needle gun away from Garrett’s immediate vicinity. Recognizing this window of opportunity would close in moments, Garrett reacted quickly. He grabbed the Governor’s wrist and pulled him into the desk hard enough to squeeze the remaining air out of his lungs with a surprised squeak. Before the disadvantaged Governor could regain his seating, Garrett dove over the desk. The Governor, Garrett, and the chair hit the floor in a tangled mess, leaving the Governor gasping for air. With the Governor’s attention focused on his next breath, the gun no longer held the same importance it had a few moments earlier, and the impact liberated it from his weakened grasp.

  Karl was still on the line. “Hey, you there?” He queried, concern evident in his voice. Garrett tried to restrain the Governor, who was recovering from the initial shock of the indignities inflicted through Garrett’s desperation. With a surge of strength that surprised Garrett, Weller broke free of Garrett’s grasp as the two rolled across the floor. Weller dove for the gun and achieved his objective. He stood as Garrett rebounded into him. The gun discharged, removing a large section of material from one of the ornate doors.

  “What’s going on over there?” Karl asked alarmed.

  Garrett’s entire concentration was on the hand that held the weapon, leaving Weller’s other hand free to land blows on various parts of Garrett’s body. Eventually, one found its mark and Weller broke free as two armed guards rushed into the room. The older of the two already had his weapon drawn. The younger struggled to remove his from its holster to match his weathered counterpart’s state of readiness. Despite their differences in reaction times, they both shared the distinction of appearing scared witless. That probably makes four of us, Garrett mused. The younger guard succeeded in freeing his weapon and, along with his partner, brought it to bear on the Governor.

  In contrast to his demeanor, the older guard spoke with a calm assurance. “Put the gun down Governor,” he instructed.

  Weller, still grasping at a means to control the rapidly changing situation, lifted the gun toward Garrett. Both guards tensed and pointed their weapons with conviction.

  “Whoa, Governor, put the gun down,” the older guard repeated with emphasis.

  “Just ease the gun down,” the younger guard encouraged.

  Like a slowly lifting fog, the confusion left Weller’s face. “It’s his. He tried to kill me. Arrest him!” He declared as he dropped the gun to his side.

  Both guards visibly relaxed as the elder took on a less aggressive tone. “That’s fine Governor, but we still need you to put down the gun.”

  Garrett slowly raised his open hands, indicating he was willing to cooperate. “I surrender,” he offered to further defuse the situation.

  “Yeah, we have the video,” the younger guard informed the Governor. “He’ll be arrested.”

  The fog that had lifted from Weller’s perception quickly resettled. “The video?” He uttered weakly.

  The younger guard felt obligated to explain. “It’s Saturday. No one turned off the after-hours surveillance.” The older guard correctly interpreted the Governor’s confused response and instantly recognized the situation for what it was. He gave the young guard a small nod meant to stop the other’s babbling. The younger man mistook the signal as encouragement and continued, “It’ll show everything. Lucky, huh?”

  The Governor did not appear to find the news as appealing as the young guard intended. In fact, his pasty appearance indicated he was about to get a second look at his breakfast. His eyes darted around the room as if it was unfamiliar and he could not remember if it contained a hidden exit. Discarding the possibility of escape, his gaze fell on Garrett. Weller’s expression shifted from panic to resolve. He slowly raised the g
un. Garrett dropped his hands and moved into a slight crouch. The arc scribed by the gun did not come to rest on Garrett but under the Governor’s chin.

  “Governor, don’t,” the elder guard yelled.

  The Governor continued to stare at Garrett.

  “This is going to be hard on my boys,” he stated flatly.

  “No!” Garrett protested as he sprang toward the Governor, arriving in time to catch the lifeless body.

  3

  After the circumstances surrounding Governor Weller’s death were confirmed, the interview at the police station was brief. A gangly officer who appeared to be a little older than Garrett took his statement and a copy of the conversation between the former Governor Weller and Karl Sigler.

  “Well, Mr. Richards, you sure are lucky,” the officer concluded.

  “How so?”

  “Those needle guns are designed to circumvent security,” the officer explained. “They’re illegal of course; practically undetectable. If the gun hadn’t discharged, those guards wouldn’t have responded.”

  “I guess I am,” Garrett reflected.

  “What?” The officer questioned, not following Garrett’s introspective reasoning.

  “Lucky,” Garrett replied.

  The officer returned a concerned stare. Satisfied Garrett’s mental faculties were in order, he decided the interview was complete.

  “I think we have all we need. I’ll just check with the lieutenant.”

  The officer walked to a glass-enclosed office, which by design afforded an unobstructed view of the rows of desks used by the patrol officers. Garrett watched as the officer spoke with a stern looking woman whose mannerisms indicated she was more concerned with her computer interface. After a few moments, she looked at the officer who pointed in Garrett’s direction. She gave a curt nod, and the officer returned to Garrett. He informed Garrett the interview was complete and offered a ride to the train station, which Garrett gladly accepted.

  Garrett followed the officer to the motor garage and moved to get in the passenger’s side of the police aircar, but the officer shook his head in disapproval. “Sorry but you’ll have to ride in the back,” he instructed Garrett, seemingly embarrassed. “Department policy.” With a shrug, he pointed to a camera tucked into the ceiling.

  Garrett nodded with a shrug of his own. “No problem. I’m just thankful for the ride.” Garrett’s understanding produced a smile from the officer as he entered the vehicle.

  A beleaguered Garrett slid into the back seat. Checking the time, he numbly deduced he could still make it back to New York in time for this evening’s Christmas ball. Recalling tonight’s celebration, Garrett realized there were only four days until Christmas, and he had not decided on a gift for Katherine. A radio broadcast of the Governor’s death brought his thoughts back to recent events. The report stated, for reasons unknown, the Governor had committed suicide after an interview with a reporter from the New York Herald. It ended with a promise from the Attorney General that his office would look into the facts surrounding the incident. Garrett asked the officer to turn off the broadcast, and he obliged.

  Garrett had diligently forwarded the story to Charlie from his communications band a few minutes before the police arrived. Commonly referred to as a “comband,” the device was essentially a touch screen bracelet about an inch wide. It enabled the user to access the information superhighway with all of life’s essentials. Like most consumers, Garrett wore a nearly invisible paired earpiece for private voice communication. By now, his news agency was running a written exclusive on the net edition.

  The day’s events had drained Garrett both mentally and physically. The last thing he remembered was how fatigued he felt as he slipped into comforting darkness.

  Garrett was enjoying a respite from the day’s events at Arthur’s cabin by the lake. He had always favored this special place where, as a boy, he had discovered the mysteries of the great outdoors. He wrapped the wool blanket around his shoulders as he watched the fire dance along the stone hearth. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which was vaguely disconcerting since he was alone. Arthur must have driven up to surprise him, but the repeated use of “Mr. Richards” seemed out of character. It was getting colder despite the adequate blaze contained in the fireplace. Was the door open? Garrett opened his eyes, and the warm cabin was instantly replaced by the cool night air entering through the open police car door.

  “Mr. Richards?” the officer questioned. “Mr. Richards, sorry to wake you but we’ve arrived.”

  Garrett struggled to comprehend the officer’s meaning. “What?”

  “We’re here, sir,” the officer replied.

  Garrett sat up. The surroundings were not what he had expected. The aircar sat on a landing pad atop a tall building, not the train station as Garrett had expected. Garrett exited the vehicle, the cobwebs clearing from his head, as he did. He recognized the skyline.

  “Are we…,” he began.

  “At your apartment building,” the officer finished. “You fell asleep before we got out of the parking garage. I was going off shift, so I called in and asked if I could just take you all the way. It seemed like you’d already had a rough day.”

  Garrett rubbed his eyes with one hand. “How long was I out?” he asked as he stretched to ward off the last remnants of sleep.

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, thank you, officer…” Garrett started, extending his hand.

  Anxious to be on his way, the officer quickly shook the offered hand.

  “Crandal. Troy Crandal,” Troy informed Garrett.

  “Thank you, Troy.”

  “No problem,” he replied as he climbed back into the vehicle.

  The aircar drive energized with a distinct hum as Garrett began the cold walk to the alcove that housed the elevators.

  “Garrett!” Katherine exclaimed as he came through the door of their apartment. “Are you all right?”

  “I could use a drink,” Garrett replied as she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “I’ll get it. Relax; I’m sure you’re still shaken up.” She moved to the next room and retrieved a bottle of scotch from the bar.

  Garrett walked into the living area and collapsed on the sofa. He watched Katherine pour the scotch into a glass. Oddly, she was only wearing a black bra and panties. Seeing her move around the room brought a small smile to Garrett’s lips. She handed him the scotch and went into the bedroom. He took a long drink and closed his eyes. Governor Weller’s suicide was unexpected, and Garrett knew he was going to face an avalanche of criticism. Memories of the last time his career was in jeopardy pushed their way out of the recesses where he tried to keep them buried. His thoughts drifted back to when he met Katherine.

  After the debacle in which Garrett’s investigation of Senator Rimes’ involvement in questionable real estate transactions was front-page news, the Secretary of State wanted to meet with Garrett. As chance would have it, the Senator and the Secretary were old friends, and the Secretary felt obligated to relay his opinion of Garrett’s reckless journalism to Garrett personally. Garrett had not noticed Katherine before the meeting. Afterward, he was too caught up in self-examination to fully appreciate his surroundings and had therefore overlooked the attractive special assistant to the Secretary of State. A myriad of unanswered questions competed for his attention and even now, two years later, he was still no closer to finding resolution. Who forged the bank records? Where had the witnesses come from and how could they have disappeared without a trace? He was certain it had been a setup to besmirch someone’s character, but Garrett was not sure if he or Senator Rimes was the target. Either way, by the time it was over, both of their reputations suffered considerable damage.

  The Secretary’s special assistant was not as caught up in introspection and noticed the endearing reporter who could barely find his way out of the office after meeting with her supervisor. Garrett heard a woman’s voice asking someone if they would like to join her fo
r lunch. After a pause that was too long to be considered good manners, Garrett realized he was the intended recipient of the question. He looked up to see a beautiful young woman addressing him. She stood half a head shorter than he and had a smile that captivated him in a way he still found difficult to describe.

  “Pardon me?” Garrett responded, still emerging from his contemplations.

  “You look like you’ve had a rough day. Why don’t you join me for lunch?” she replied. Garrett stared back at her, seemingly incapable of responding as he mulled probable career paths based on the day’s events.

  “Come on, I’ll buy,” she offered energetically, as she grabbed his arm and began walking toward the door.

  “Yeah, sure,” Garrett mumbled, as he consented to being led out of the building.

  Over lunch, he found her to have a wry wit that he thoroughly enjoyed, and after he had recovered enough to start using sentences that were longer than two syllables, she found his company equally agreeable. She was particularly attracted to the quiet strength his personality carried so nonchalantly, almost as if he were not aware of it.

  She had grown up on a farm in rural Ohio. The youngest of four, she developed adept negotiating skills at an early age, to steer daily childhood squabbles to her benefit. This had turned her into an extrovert by necessity, and she had the intellect to match her outgoing demeanor. On the high school debate team, she was known for her ability to turn any controversy to her advantage. Her nature was one of competition, both intellectually and physically, but her upbringing had also taught her the necessity of empathy, and she was gracious in both victory and defeat. She attended college on a track scholarship, and it was there she first gained notoriety in politics. At a student rally of the Economic Reformation Party, the president of the local chapter was leading the group in support of a politician running for the United Senate. Katherine was walking by on the way to an academic lecture when she heard the assertions of the young man leading the rally concerning global monetary restructuring. It was this type of idealistic, illogical, and entirely unachievable proposal so readily claimed by the politically uninitiated that she found particularly irksome. It had become obvious to her that the momentum of global economies was such that any claim of rapid positive change was pure fantasy. She stopped and turned toward the rally, refuting the orator’s claim on how his candidate planned to accomplish this Herculean feat. An impromptu debate ensued in which the local president’s assertions on the efficacy of his candidate’s platform were quickly countered and the rally fizzled. It was over in a few minutes, and Katherine was not even late for class.