One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1)

by J Russ Briley

  Mary’s reflexes were so fast that Christen couldn’t even see what was happening. Mary’s right hand swung down and around. The force of her body turned with the hand, crushing the Coke can against Christen’s cowering head. The thick top edge of the can sliced into her scalp.

  Christen plunged back into the couch, her leg jutting out in the movement, kicking the fallen TV tray into Mary. With her left hand, Mary thrust the tray off to the side as she swung her right hand backward across Christen’s face with the mangled Coke can. Christen lay flat out on the couch, unconscious.

  “Think this is a God damned game?” Mary slapped the tray away as its spindly legs got in her way. She marched into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water and a first aid kit. She threw the water into Christen’s face. Christen jerked up, sputtering, as water mixed with blood streamed into her eyes.

  “Clean yourself up.” Mary tossed the first aid kit onto Christen’s stomach and left the room. “And straighten that room up!” She yelled from the kitchen.

  Christen clutched the bright red and white kit and fought her sobs, trying to keep quiet. She was still on the couch with her knees pulled up, rocking slightly when Mary came back with a commando knife gripped in her right hand.

  “Don’t move!” Her voice demanded compliance.

  Christen stared at the knife. Its six-inch blade had a mirror finish edge, the tip rising in an arch to an unbelievably sharp point. The knife came closer as Mary reached forward and grabbed Christen’s shirttail, yanking it out of her pants.

  Christen’s mouth opened but she choked back the scream.

  Mary thrust the blade under Christen’s blood stained shirt and pulled at the knife. The finely honed edge sliced through her shirt halfway up. Again, Mary thrust the knife under Christen’s shirt up to her shoulder and pulled it back, cutting the shirt open to the arm. Christen felt the cold steel against her skin, the edge threatening to slice her open. A third time the flashing blade came at her, going up the shirtsleeve and slicing it away. Mary pulled Christen’s shirt to the side and grabbed the shoulder strap of her bra. Tugging it toward her, Mary pulled the bra strap, jerking Christen up with it, and cut through the elastic with a swipe.

  She pushed Christen back into the couch. Mary’s voice was filled with malice. “Now get rid of those clothes and take a bath. You smell.”

  Christen pulled vainly at her blouse trying to cover herself as the sobs burst out. Mary had moved away around the corner, tossing a sweatshirt and sweatpants into the room.

  “Wear these. Take off your clothes and get cleaned up...now!”

  Mary’s yell snapped Christen’s eyes open. She knew she had to obey and started sitting up. Mary’s look told her to move faster. She undid her pants, pulling them down to her shoes. She untied her shoes and pulled them off, placing them by the couch and taking off her socks, placed them in the shoes. One leg at a time, she pulled her pants off.

  “Toss them over there.” Mary pointed at the wall with her knife.

  Christen could not fight back the tears, but she managed to hold back the sobs with only halting breaths chocked back. Mary had cut the shirt and bra so that they would come off around the handcuff and chain. Christen pulled the shredded shirt over her head, the collar catching on the cut in her cheek and making her wince. She was alarmed at the amount of blood, her blood, on the shirt as she tossed it over. The bra was covered in blood, too. Christen looked up pitifully.

  “All of it. You’re filthy.” Mary’s face held only anger.

  Christen reached back and undid her bra. The remaining strap fell off her shoulder as she pulled it off and tossed it onto the pile. Bending down she pulled her panties down past her knees and then off. The blood had washed down her stomach to stain the lace edge around the top of her satin finish underwear. The water and blood mixed to spread the pink-red stain everywhere. She tossed them onto the pile and stood awkwardly naked before Mary. Her hands moved to try and cover herself as she hunched forward.

  “Well?” Mary looked mad as ever. “Take the clean clothes and the kit. Get in the shower and get cleaned up.”

  Christen collected the sweats and first aid kit and very slowly walked to the bathroom. She stumbled as the handcuff pulled at her wrist. The chain was tangled in the legs of the TV tray and she bent down to clear it. As soon as she entered the bathroom, Mary bent over and with one hand, snatched up Christen’s blood stained clothes and disappeared into the kitchen.

  In the door-less bathroom, Christen looked into the mirror with tears flowing down her face. The cut across her cheek had slowed its bleeding. It was about an inch long and just below the cheekbone. The cut on her head was just outside the hairline and the blood was still oozing out. It made a tiny stream that ran down her temple, just in front of her ear, and down her neck. Reaching the smooth curve of her collarbone the blood pooled in the line above it. The splashed Coke and water made it all look worse. Her young, beautiful face looked like she had been thrown through a window. A dark bruise was already forming under her right eye. Turning on the water in the sink, she tried to splash some water on her face. The pain shot through her head. She collapsed forward onto her elbows and cried uncontrollably into the sink.

  Chapter 38

  Marty just sat at his computer. He hadn’t moved and he wasn’t doing anything. His screen was blank except for the time-out notice, and the request to re-enter his password. Once his phone rang. He didn’t answer it. He just let it roll over to voice mail.

  Marty had seen Carey before. Carey had been at one of the early OPOV committee meetings, but that wasn’t what tugged at him or jumped his pulse. It was his voice that Marty had heard during the conversation at the airlock. It was the same voice he heard at his house. The same voice that said it would come back if he failed. The more he thought about it, the more he knew. He could hardly believe it. He turned it over and over in his mind. Finally, he stopped denying it. Carey had been one of the two men that had attacked him at home.

  His stature, his walk, even his trousers looked the same as the guy in the non-pinstriped pants. He had only really seen the guy’s eyes, and it had been dark. Maybe too dark, Marty thought, and tried to shake off the idea. Men’s pants all looked alike, didn’t they? He was grasping at straws, paranoid, and recoiling from shadows. He understood he was becoming desperate, but those eyes he had seen were the same. He became more and more sure. Carey had looked at him in the same way that night—like he was less than human, or a bug that could be squashed.

  Over and over again Marty considered the possibilities. What had Carey been doing at the NSA, and who was the VIP who had been with him? How could Carey be one of the men who had his daughter? His mind was reeling and he couldn’t think. He had to get out of his cubicle for a few minutes. He grabbed his coffee cup and left, moving toward the snack room.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Terri watched him go. She headed the same way, looking casual, and following some distance behind him.

  Marty was standing at the coffeepot when Terri walked in.

  “Hey, whatcha workin’ on?” She tried to let her usual carefree humor come through her voice.

  “Nothing.” Marty answered her sourly, barely acknowledging her presence.

  “Well, I’m a sucker for scintillating conversation, and yours certainly is unique today, but I really must get back.” She retorted stiffly. She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and poured herself some decaf. Acrid steam from the long overheated coffee filled her nose.

  Marty guiltily realized what a jerk he’d been. He wondered what he could say without giving away his total lack of composure. He needed to act normal. If he gave himself away it would get Christen killed.

  “Sorry, I’m just...” he began.

  “Crabby.” Terri shot back. “Boy, you’re going to have to snap out of it. If you need sleep that much, you’d better take some time off, and get it. Relax.”

  “Sorry, Terri.” Marty apologized again. “So, any idea who the VIP was?�
� Marty tried to sideline her, and at the same time change the subject to something he wanted to ask anyway.

  “How should I know? Why don’t you check the department schedule?” Terri sounded like she was still offended. She dumped some sweetener and powdered creamer into her cup, stirring it with a plastic stick.

  “Just wondering. You seemed interested.” Of course, why hadn’t he thought of the schedule? Marty started back to his cube with Terri following.

  Terri's face brightened. “I have an idea. You want to go have a drink after work tonight? Maybe watch the game? Relax a little?” She had never really socialized much after work with Marty, but her naturally outgoing personality blended with the invitation.

  “No, thanks. I have some stuff to do tonight.” Marty responded robotically, distracted by his thoughts.

  “Like what? Microwave dinner, get the mail, and maybe do some laundry?” Terri realized she was pushing a little hard, and decided she would stop if he turned her down again.

  “No, I have something important to take care of. I’ll take a rain check if that’s okay?” Marty knew he was sounding obnoxious, considering that Terri was just trying to be nice. He didn’t want to upset her, but he was headed into a nasty funk, and couldn’t pull himself out.

  “Sure, anytime.” Terri gave up. Going into her cube, she sat down at her computer.

  Marty did the same. He signed on, and pulled up the department meeting schedule. It was there. Lobby conference room, two p.m. to three, Bill Karlovich, Larry Felder and Frank Shell, plus two guest badges for Deputy Attorney General Robert Carlton and Agent Paul Carey. Marty wondered what the Deputy Attorney General would be doing at the NSA with an agent in tow. He had heard of Carlton. Marty kept up with D.C. politics through C-Span, but it was the death of the Attorney General headline that had put Carlton’s name in the public eye. Otherwise Marty would never have heard of Robert.

  What about “Agent” Carey? Was he FBI? Marty tried to remember what Carey’s title had been at the time of the OPOV Committee meetings. He felt ridiculous for his suspicions. How could the FBI, or any federal agent for that matter, be abducting his daughter? But there was something about Carey that was giving him a bad feeling. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Carey had been in his house last night.

  Chapter 39

  Robert had been silent during the drive to his office. Had Hunt expected Robert to ferret out Karlovich as a suspect? Had Karlovich killed Chris? Was he trying to cover up infiltration and control of OPOV? Why would he want control? There were too many pieces of the puzzle still missing for Robert to make any sense of this mess.

  Something else was bugging him. Robert found himself thinking about Agent Carey. Obviously Carey had been to the NSA in advance of their visit that day. He must have been through the airlock in the past, since it let him through so quickly. Additionally, Karlovich and the security guard had both known Carey’s name on sight. They didn’t bat an eye when he joined them on the tour, or in the meetings. But Agent Long had been left outside without a second thought.

  “Am I jumping at shadows now?” Robert wondered. He walked through the sequence in his mind. He decided to pose a question to Carey.

  “Agent Carey.” Robert asked slowly.

  “Yes, Sir?” He answered from the front seat of the car without turning around.

  “You’ve been to that division of the NSA before.” Robert voiced it as a statement.

  “Yes, Sir.” There was no inflection in his voice. Then he volunteered, “I was in a meeting there during the initial security support committee session.” Carey answered matter-of-factly.

  That was logical, Robert thought, but did it follow that both the guard and Karlovich would have known Carey by name? He was beginning to wonder whose side Carey was on. Robert asked no more questions, deciding to wait until his lawyer’s brain could come up with more evidence to support the direction his mind was going. Then it occurred to him that the guard had prepared two badges: one for Carey, and one for Robert.

  “But I didn’t tell Karlovich that Carey was coming,” he thought.

  Sitting in his office Robert continued thinking about Agent Carey. He was convinced now that Carey was hiding something from him. The whole visit with the NSA had rubbed him the wrong way. Had Hunt expected Robert to stumble on Carey’s familiarity there? Robert shook his head. There was more. There had to be. He simply couldn’t see it yet.

  Robert felt exhausted. He was tired of coming up against impossible questions, with unimaginable answers. What he needed were results. At this point he didn’t see much hope of getting any. In the last week his life had spun out of control, and in the process he’d lost two friends. He needed help, but from whom?

  Picking up the phone slowly, he hesitated. The phone rang in his hand, making him jump slightly. Lorraine’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Mr. Carlton, it’s your wife.”

  Robert hit the button. “Tracie, what’s up?” He asked curtly, his mind still flooded with questions.

  “Robert, there are two men finally at the door, claiming they are with the Secret Service.” She sounded upset. “You told me to call.”

  Robert glanced at the clock, feeling disoriented. Why had the Secret Service taken so long to get to his house? He’d assumed that they would have arrived while he’d been at the NSA. Quickly coming back to the present, he tried his best to sound reassuring.

  “That’s great, Honey. Hang on a second.” Robert set the phone down on his desk, and went to see Agent Long outside his door.

  “Robert?” Tracie was saying, not realizing that he’d walked away from the phone. “Robert? Robert?” Her tone was rising, and her voice getting more stressed. By the time he was back, she was on the verge of hysteria.

  Robert hit the speaker button. “Tracie, I’m back.”

  “Were did you go? Did you hear a word I said?” Tracie was almost shrieking in her anxiety.

  “Sorry, Honey. I went to get Agent Long. He is here with me.” Robert answered soothingly.

  “Mrs. Carlton, this is Agent Long. I’m here to make sure you are set up securely with the agents we’ve sent to be with you and your family.” Long sounded calm and controlled. “Could you tell me the ID numbers, names, and verbal codes of each agent please?”

  Tracie had the information written down in front of her, and repeated the data to Long, sounding calmer.

  “Very good, Mrs. Carlton. Next, can you tell me the distinguishing visible physical characteristic of each man?” Long continued.

  “The taller man has a light brown mole on his left eyelid, and the shorter man has a ‘V’ shaped scar on his left thumb. They pointed these out so I could see them through the peep hole.” Tracie told him.

  “Very good, Mrs. Carlton. I can confirm for you that those men are our agents, and they have been assigned to you, and to your household. Please let them in, and they will instruct you regarding their procedures. They will let you know what they are doing at each step as they secure your home. If you must leave the house, one agent will be with you at all times. We would rather you not leave, and that you not split up the family. If an errand needs to be run, let one of the agents know, and he will instruct you in the proper procedure. Do you understand, and are you comfortable with this information, Mrs. Carlton?” Agent Long seemed experienced at handling distressed clients. Under his professional management it was clear that Tracie was becoming less scared, and regaining more common irritation.

  “Yes, I do understand what you said, and no; I definitely am not comfortable! How in the world do you think any of this could be ‘comfortable’?” Tracie was actually building some anger, now that her anxiety was wearing off.

  “I understand, Ma’am. This is a very stressful situation for you, but the agents are there for your family’s safety and security. Let me get you back to Mr. Carlton. Thank you, again, for your cooperation.”

  Long indicated he was done, and Robert picked up the handset.
“Tracie, I’m back on.”

  “Robert, what’s happening? I think you’d better start giving me some straight answers—and I don’t want any of this ‘national security nonsense.’ I’m not an idiot. I know when something’s gone wrong, and if our family has to be protected I have a right to know what’s happening.” Her anger was growing stronger, but Robert heard an edge of fear lingering in her voice.

  “Tracie, you’re right; you do have a right to know. I can’t talk about this over the phone, but I’ll explain everything when I get home. In the meantime, Let the agents in, follow their instructions, and try not to worry. I have a few things left to do here, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “You’d better hurry, Robert. I don’t like this, and I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. You know how I hate...”

  “I understand.” Robert cut her off. “I’ll do my best to explain when I get home.” Robert repeated, and then hung up. “Thanks, Agent Long.”

  “Our pleasure.” Long answered. He left the room and closed the door.

  Robert knew he was in for it when he got home, but he felt better about Tracie and the kids now. He honestly had forgotten all about them, again.

  Robert knew what he had to do, He hated resorting to it, but he’d run out of options. He took a deep breath, and then called his father.

  His father’s private secretary answered, and asked him to hold while she connected him.

  Waiting, Robert hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake.

  Besides being a top executive at one of the largest oil companies in the United States, Robert’s father had become increasingly politically powerful over the years. With that power had come more wealth, which had bought more influence. Vacation homes, yachts, lavish parties, and VIPs were everywhere in his life. He was one of the men who ran the country from behind the scenes. His position at his company seemed almost a disguise for his Washington D.C. lobbying. No, actually, Robert thought, it was a disguise.