Just the Truth

by Gen LaGreca

  "Not for me they don't." Her face, he sensed, held curiosity, even astonishment, but he could detect no sign of wavering. "Now clear out your desk and leave."

  Six years later, watching Laura on the screen in President Ken Martin's office, Zack felt his indignation rise again. She had become an annoyingly strong voice against the president's historic voter-reform program. She looked so sure of herself that all he wanted to do was smash her!

  Zack had settled some of the score already, he remembered with relish. His peculiar knack for using nefarious operatives to uncover dirt with which to bury his enemies had proven especially fruitful in Laura's case. Over a year ago it was he who had discovered her affair with Reed Miller. He had learned about the affair from a former colleague at Taninger News, who dated Laura's assistant. It was Zack who had exposed the affair through his media friends in order to embarrass Laura, to sow discord within her family, and to dilute the impact of her defense of Reed Miller. Zack later learned that Reed had jilted Laura. When he tossed that extra treat out, his media kennel barked excitedly and came running to devour it.

  Now she was stirring up trouble again, but with his current job, he had more effective means to deal with her. Laura churned his anger. Or was it fear that was tightening his hands into fists? Fear of what? Before such a thought could fully form, he dismissed it. Zack was not inclined to question his feelings. He knew only that he had them and, given a chance, would act on them. As Zack watched that same implacable face he despised on the president's monitor, he could feel his own face reddening with indignation at the way he had been cast out, demeaned, humiliated six years ago—

  "Arrogant bitch!" He had muttered then . . . and again now.

  When Martin and Darcy suddenly turned to him, he realized he had spoken aloud.

  "What do we do about her?" Martin asked, bristling. "She'd gladly destroy the nation's future for her ratings!"

  "I'll take care of her," said Zack.

  "Bigmouths like her are stirring up anger and distrust in our voters," Martin added.

  "That's all the more reason to go ahead with Operation Topcoat," said Darcy.

  There was no reply.

  "Well?" Darcy persisted.

  "Is he ready?" asked Martin.

  "He's ready," said Darcy. "We've already announced in the Bureau of Elections that more programming will be done. We've described it as merely some patches and updates."

  "Can he do it in time?"

  "He assures us he can," she answered.

  "Do we have the money set aside to pay for it?"

  "We had budgeted for it," said Darcy.

  "But it's . . . bolder . . . than anything we've ever done before," injected Zack.

  "The upcoming election is a historic moment for our country. We're at a crossroads. Will we continue to make progress or will we regress?" Darcy asked insistently.

  Her chin looked set in stone while Zack's lips looked loose and quivering.

  "Can we trust him?" asked Martin.

  "I hate to trust him. He's such a bastard," said Zack.

  "We know his type. Money buys his soul," said Darcy confidently.

  "He's got no soul to buy," said Zack.

  "If anything goes wrong, we can smash him in a minute, and he knows it," said Darcy.

  "If the plan backfires, you're sure he'll be the face of Operation Topcoat in the eyes of the world?" asked Martin.

  "It won't backfire," said Darcy. "But if there's any question—any at all—he'll take the fall. That's as it should be," said Darcy. "What's wrong with sacrificing one rogue in service to the future of our party and our nation—"

  "And of our place in history," added Martin, his face lifted, inspired by Darcy's words.

  Zack said, laughing nervously, "But if anything goes wrong with him taking the fall—"

  "We've been very careful. Nothing will go wrong," Darcy interrupted.

  "Darcy, I know you're all in." Martin turned to Zack. "But I'm not sure about you."

  Zack's face twitched nervously. The last thing he wanted was to lose the trust of the man who was now frowning at him.

  "Are you sure you're on board, Zack? Can I count on you?"

  "Remember," said Darcy, "the means are just the mechanics. We mustn't dwell on them because the end is so important, so great, so right. Just stay fixed on the goal! It justifies any means."

  Zack rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away any doubts. Then, in a gesture fit for a barricade, with his arms outstretched, he announced, "By God, I'm all in!"

  "Do we have your green light?" Darcy asked the president.

  "Do whatever you need to do," said Martin, evading her direct glance.

  "Including Topcoat?" she persisted.

  Martin rubbed his chin, pondering the matter.

  "This just in!" A news alert sounded from the monitor where Laura was continuing her broadcast. "A new Taninger News poll shows a shocking drop in President Martin's approval rating!"

  Martin and his aides turned to the screen.

  "The president is now polling at only 38 percent approval," said Laura, "and experts are warning that if this continues, Ken Martin will lose reelection . . . "

  The president whirled to Darcy with a panicked look.

  "Well?" she asked, waiting.

  Ken Martin tried never to commit to anything definitively, especially to something that could go awry and be traced to him. His aides knew that they had come as close as they would get to his stamp of approval on Darcy's proposal when Martin smiled wryly and said, "It's showtime."

  Chapter 5

  Decades ago, in the heady days of its development, it was named Meadowlark Gardens. But there never were any meadowlarks in the Washington, DC, public housing project, only crows snaring mice that used the project for their playground. And there never were any gardens at Meadowlark Gardens. The city's ambitious landscaping plan to perfume the grounds with flowers and provide a parklike setting for residents fell victim to weed-whacking budget cuts before it could sprout. The only color splashes and aromatic whiffs to be found were in the bright orange dumpsters overflowing with uncollected trash in the alley.

  Meadowlark Gardens had suffered the same fate as other city housing projects, the fate of high-sounding programs seeded in the hothouse of public agencies that ended up as hotbeds of corruption, crime, and despair. After drugs, gangs, and murders had overrun it, the Washington, DC, housing project was condemned and evacuated, its remains as lifeless as a cemetery.

  A reporter doing a story on the city's bygone housing projects had described Meadowlark Gardens as a ghost town where a murder could occur without an echo, without a witness, without a sound escaping from the dusty walks and hollowed buildings.

  As the standards for public officials changed, so did the places where they held their most important meetings. In keeping up with the times, two such officials found the abandoned Meadowlark Gardens useful.

  That last Monday afternoon in August, Darcy Egan and Zack Walker exited a cab several blocks away and walked to the quiet ruins of Meadowlark Gardens. They walked past a stripped car, through a deserted alley strewn with empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and candy wrappers, and into a courtyard.

  The alley formed one side of the rectangular courtyard, and the backs of three of the project's residential buildings formed the other sides. Darcy and Zack arrived for a meeting that would have no cameras, no recorders, no written coverage, no electronic trail, no reporters, no entries in a visitor's log, and no other staff present.

  "This is an historic moment in which you and I are called upon to secure America's future," said Darcy, stirred.

  "Yeah," said Zack, distracted.

  He turned full circle to observe the setting. It made him uncomfortable. In the center of the courtyard were the remains of what once had been a playground: a slide, a swing, and a covered bin containing soccer balls, jump ropes, and other equipment. Nearby, a picnic table with benches sat, rusted and neglected. To illuminate the area, the planne
rs had splurged on several outdoor light posts with Mediterranean-styling, giving the cozy feel of lanterns. Now their glass panes were broken and the bulbs removed. Charred walls from old fires darkened the four-story buildings like wounds from past assaults. Outside one stood a discarded mattress, its inner springs protruding from a hole in the center. Another building's partially unhinged door stood ajar between two broken windows, one patched together with duct tape. A tool kit containing a roll of the duct tape still rested on the sill inside of one of the windows, either forgotten by the building's handyman or left there in anticipation of making further repairs.

  To Zack, the buildings looked like scarred bodies. The broken windows and damaged doors were like glaring eyes and gaping mouths protesting his intrusion on their turf. He glanced nervously at the structures as if waiting for a boogey man to fly out from one of them.

  He jumped at the sudden sound of an approaching car, his mouth opening to form its familiar O-shape. Then the engine stopped. The driver had evidently parked in front of one of the buildings, out of their sight.

  "Don't be so jumpy!" warned Darcy.

  "Is that him?"

  "It's him."

  "What if it's not?"

  "You know he ignores our directions to park a safe distance away and walk here."

  "If he insists on driving all the way, he could park in the alley, where we could see him, but he parks where we can't see him, just to freak us out," whined Zack.

  "He gets his kicks out of getting on our nerves. Ignore it," Darcy said, looking derisively at Zack.

  They waited for their visitor to walk from the front of the building where he parked to the courtyard in the back where they stood.

  "Are you sure about this?" Zack asked his colleague.

  "These are challenging times, and they call for innovative methods."

  "I can't believe we're paying this creep $400 million."

  "I'm no fan either, but you have to admit, he's an absolute programming genius. You know his background and credentials. He's indispensable to Topcoat."

  "I don't trust him."

  "You don't need to," said Darcy. "We have all the power in this situation. In the past, I would've said we shouldn't do this. But that was then. Societal norms have shifted, so now, we need to shift, too, Zack. We have a terrific cause. If we need to modify our approach to fulfill our destiny, so be it."

  Zack sighed warily.

  "Grow a spine, man!" Darcy's voice rose impatiently. "We're being called on to save democracy."

  "You mean, you have to throw a monkey wrench into the spokes of democracy in order to save it?" asked their visitor. He'd overheard them as he slid through the partially unhinged door of the building with the broken windows and suddenly appeared, like the boogey man Zack had dreaded.

  "You mean, we have to line your pockets to save democracy. That's the real outrage!" Zack charged.

  "And so it is." The newcomer smiled, bowing slightly in greeting.

  Wearing a polo shirt, baseball cap, and sunglasses, he approached his clients, who were dressed in business suits. He had the look of a young man in his twenties and spoke with the cynicism of someone in his fifties. His actual age was somewhere in between but toward the lower end of the range.

  Intelligent eyes behind the sunglasses mocked them.

  "Let's get on with our project," said Darcy.

  "Yes, our project to preserve the gains of your party over decades of working for the people, who are about to spit you out at the ballot box. Isn't that what we're here to discuss?"

  "You mock our ideals when you have none. You mock our public service when you give none. Why do we put up with you?" Zack said, annoyed.

  "Because you need me. There are others who can do the job, but they have scruples. You need someone who can do the job and has no scruples. That narrows the field," said the man with the sunglasses, "and it raises the price."

  "If you can wipe the smirk off your face, we can get down to business." Darcy snapped. "We decided to go ahead with Operation Topcoat."

  "Of course, you did."

  "There's still time, right?"

  "Barely, but yes. I've been waiting to hear from you. What took so long?"

  "We gave it careful consideration. Unlike you, we do have scruples," said Zack involuntarily. Somewhere on the edge of his awareness, he wondered why he needed to justify himself to this rogue.

  "You had to deliberate, of course," said the man. "That makes you feel prudent. Besides, it takes a little time to convince yourselves that black is white."

  "It's not that simple. The ends may be white, but in the real world, the means to reach them come in shades of gray," Zack replied.

  The man smiled contemptuously.

  "It's funny, you know. You think that you have the highest ends, and I have the lowest. You want a place in history, and I just want a big pay day. Yet our means are the same, aren't they? Here we are, sharing the same means to these wildly different ends. Odd, wouldn't you say?"

  "We're here to engage your services, not your smart-ass mouth!" said Darcy.

  "And Silk is in on this?" asked the man. For obvious reasons, his clients used code names. For reasons unknown, they chose fabrics for their designations. The one the man had mentioned referred to their boss.

  "Silk is all in," said Darcy.

  "When do I meet him to confirm that?"

  "You'll work with us."

  He glanced at Darcy, then at Zack. "I can't restrict myself to Velvet and Leather." Those were Darcy's and Zack's code names, respectively. "I also need Silk in my wardrobe."

  "You'll deal with us, and you'll like it!" Darcy barked like a pit bull protecting its master.

  "I'll have to meet Silk at some point."

  "Do you want the business, or not?" Darcy demanded.

  The man conceded. "Okay. Here's the deal."

  His smile faded. The mockery disappeared. His eyes widened in intensity and his face acquired a serious look. It was as if a gear had turned on the power of a mighty engine. He paced. He gestured. He spoke in detail about his project while his customers listened. His words flowed unfalteringly as his mind flashed thoughts at the speed of spark plugs firing in high gear.

  "First I'll do cosmetic upgrades. You told me you've already executed our first step by announcing to the top guns at the Bureau of Elections that upgrades and patches are coming. That will serve as a cover for you, should you ever be called out for having done additional programming after the certification." His self-assurance suggested he had done significant thinking about the matter. "I'll make various updates that will be useful, but not necessary. I'll streamline operations and give more detailed instructions to the programmers, to the users, to the people tabulating results. I'll make the program more user friendly.

  "Then, after I do the window dressing, I'll get to the heart of the matter. I've already drawn up the plans. I'll concentrate on key undecided districts in swing states. There will be a minimum of adjustments, but they will profoundly affect the outcome. The interventions will be highly subtle, yet enormously effective. That's the beauty and brilliance of my plan!" His voice rang with pride, admiring his own work. "I've got it all mathematically worked out. I know exactly what to do, how to do it, and how to hide it in thousands of lines of computer code—no one will ever find out. With my fixes now and in future elections, you and your buddies will be in power for the next hundred years."

  Darcy's eyes danced excitedly.

  "Who knows about this at the Bureau of Elections?" asked the man.

  Darcy replied, "People know that a company is coming in to do some minor updates and patches. There will be just one tech specialist on the inside who'll know more than that. You'll work with him."

  Zack turned to Darcy. "What'll we do about the busybodies in Congress who have oversight of what we're doing and who ask too many questions? Like Senator Bret Taylor."

  "Stall, stall, stall the eager beavers," the man answered for Darcy. "Then, after the ele
ction, when you won't have to face the voters again for a few years, you'll have the upper hand. Then, you can squash or ignore any attempted investigations."

  "Is everything secure on your end?" asked Darcy.

  "A leak can only come from your end, Velvet. Everything's tight on my side." The man spoke with supreme confidence. "If there are no leaks on your end, we have nothing to worry about."

  "Certain members of the press like to pry and would love to upset the apple cart," Zack warned.

  "Don't worry. I've anticipated that, and I've taken precautions. I'm handling the bulk of this myself. Any programming and technical expertise that I need from others is broken into small fractions of the total job. No one I work with could possibly know who the client is. No one on my end can possibly piece together the whole picture. It's only from your end that an outsider can learn anything. Is your side tight?"

  "It's just me, Leather, and Silk in on this," Darcy said. "And the insider at the agency who will work with you as you install the program into our system."

  "The importance of secrecy, accuracy, and on-time delivery is paramount," said Zack in a lecturing tone. The chance to assume the air of a superior dictating a work order to an underling was like a soothing salve that gave a temporary relief to his discomfort. "Are you sure you can pull this off?"

  "I'm sure, Leather."

  "You'll absolutely lay low. You'll be super careful and not let any of this get out. Right?" Zack said, persisting in his grilling.

  "Of course," the man said coolly. "I burrow underground. I dig my den out of sight and out of shooting range. Foxes hide in foxholes, and I'm as cunning and sly as they are." He flashed a charming smile. "You don't call me the Fox for nothing."

  Then, Frank Foxworth nodded to take his leave and walked out of the courtyard.

  Chapter 6

  After attorney Sam Quinn filed a Public Disclosure Request on behalf of Just the Truth, demanding a full list of SafeVote's contractors and expenditures, the friction between Laura Taninger and the Martin administration intensified.