by Bob Blink
"Simple," Earl replied. "We don't miss it."
He scanned the three men sitting across from him.
"Spend the next couple of hours going over the material, and we will reconvene this afternoon. Jot down any ideas you think of that might be ways to make the hit. We will brainstorm them later."
"What's this other package?" Abe asked.
"That's your identification and travel money," Earl explained. "All of you have fake ID's and credit cards for a phony company called Petroleum Engineering. The cards are good and with the ID's can be used for rental cars, hotels, etc. Supposedly you are consultants for the oil companies. Just don't advertise that unless it becomes necessary. When this is over and the bills paid, that company will cease to exist. There is also ten grand in cash to cover other expenses. That can be augmented as the need arises."
"I gather we are going to be traveling a great deal," Bo said.
"Jason has a preliminary agenda for Craig based on public reports, but one of his initial tasks will be to hack into whatever databases he can and get more detailed information on her movements. We have to see how she operates at the places she goes, and how protected or not she will be. These trips will also hopefully expose any weaknesses in her security that we can use to make our hit."
Earl looked around the table for additional questions.
"Okay. Have a hard look at the materials you've been given and we will talk after lunch."
Chapter 8
Palos Verdes, California
A very tired Nancy Craig gratefully settled back into the oversized and heavily padded living room chair, wrapping her arms around the decorative pillow that normally sat in the center of the seat. The splendid meal her husband Eric had prepared really hit the spot after days of hotel food as she traveled from city to city in her attempts to woo voters prior to the up-coming convention. Eric had, by necessity resulting from her constant travels, learned to cook for himself, and his culinary skills had clearly improved greatly in the past month or so. Three years older than Nancy, at fifty-two, Eric was a retired professor of English and now very successful writer of fiction novels.
She was home! Not for long, of course, but for the next couple of days she could relax, unwind, and just be herself. And she could sleep. Her batteries badly needed recharging. She had just completed the fourth of the five debates that the DNC had scheduled prior to the convention in July. Then a trio of whirlwind stops in New York, Rhode Island, and Pennsylvania, all states about to conduct their primaries and which were therefore key to her standing as the convention approached.
Home was a large sprawling five-bedroom ranch house that occupied a double lot in one of the more expensive parts of Palos Verdes in Southern California. With only one child, who was currently away at college at Stanford, an hour's flight to the north, the home was considerably larger than they had ever needed, but somehow they'd found it comfortable and just right. With one of the rooms as her husband's writing area, and another as her painting and home office, the remaining three bedrooms provided accommodations, for her son, her husband and herself, and a seldom-used guest room that doubled as a repository for random junk until needed.
"Have you thought about what I asked you earlier?" Eric asked as he stepped into the vast great room and handed her the glass of wine she'd asked for a few minutes earlier. "You need to act on it right away."
Nancy studied her husband as she reached for the wine, missing their being together these past weeks. Black like herself, five-foot-ten, slender and scholarly, his tightly curled short black hair showing ever more hints of graying, her husband of these many years still made her heart beat faster with his simple presence. Lord, she had missed him. She could sense he'd suffered by her absence as well. He had kept busy. He'd shown her the draft of the eighth book in his current best-selling series. It was mostly finished, showing the long hours he must have put in during her absence, but the looks and subtle touches he'd bestowed on her since her return told her how much he'd felt her absence. She knew also, that he was very uncertain about her participation in this whole election thing, and had hoped initially that she would poll poorly, and drop out. He'd warned her that politics was a dirty business, and potentially dangerous as well. Now that she was polling so well, and most likely the winner of the Democratic ticket and potentially the presidency in November if the experts were correct, there was the looming need to relocate to the East Coast, away from the security of their home, and much farther from their son. Los Angeles was a mere hour away from Stanford, but Washington, D.C. was more than five, another thing altogether.
"I will," she said. "As soon as I get back to Washington. I'll have Karen take care of it." She'd didn't really want to be saddled with the Secret Service oversight that her husband had been badgering her about, but she realized it would ease some of his worries. She had had no bad experiences to date to suggest such a move was necessary, and in truth she worried how her current two bodyguards, privately paid for and insisted upon by Eric, would react to such a move. She worried that they might feel she felt they weren't up to the job of protecting her, or that she was in some way dissatisfied with their performance, when nothing could be further from the truth. Jeff and Andy had done a marvelous job, and had managed to do it without getting between her and the potential voters, or making themselves obvious when they went out into the public. She also had control, at least for the most part, as to how they operated. That wouldn't be true once she had government protectors, who she suspected would be more rigid in their approach and expectations as to how they wanted her to operate.
"Good!" Eric replied emphatically. Karen Parker, Nancy's Campaign Manager, an extremely focused and capable young woman who somehow never managed to forget any action she was assigned, would make certain it happened. Given his wife's standing in the polls she was clearly within her rights to request such protection, and while he didn't like the idea of his wife needing armed men around her, he didn't at all like guns despite the actions of some of the characters in his novels, he knew it was the prudent thing to do.
"You did really well at the debate," he said changing the subject, then he wondered why he brought up something his wife would probably like to forget for a while, but then he realized he was curious how things were going from her perspective as opposed to the talking heads on the television.
She smiled slyly. "The people I'm debating have no real experience with it. You can tell it isn't something they have done often. Also, they are too anxious to push their agenda rather than answer the questions they were asked. Have you noticed that when they finish talking you seldom have a clue where they stand on the issue that was raised? That annoys people, and if one of the debaters makes a point of addressing the issue at hand, they stand out."
"Whatever the technique you rely on, you certainly pulled it off. You jumped another couple of points in the ratings after the event."
"It also helps if you have a platform of ideas that are at least remotely doable. Most of those watching know the positions the others are supporting simply aren't realistic and aren't going to happen, even if that candidate made it to the White House. The past few elections have shown that many of their talking points are non-starters. The extremists are starting to lose some of their hold on the party."
Nancy thought about her situation. She knew what many of her fellow party members must sense but refused to accept. A lot of what she wished to see happen was surprisingly close to policies that the President advocated, with small, but critical twists that made them better for the average person and less so for the financial elite of the country. She was well outside the norm for a current-day Democrat, but her message resonated with a great many of the rank and file. The convention was still a few months away, but the general opinion among the media and the party bigwigs was starting to reflect the idea that she was going to sweep the convention. There was surprising conviction, based on polls which she didn't trust very much, that she was going to beat President Pilche
r as well. Basically she was a cautious person, but she was starting to accept the very real possibility she was at least going to mount a very serious challenge to the President's desire for a second term.
"Let's forget about the politics for tonight," she said finally. "I want to take a shower and then maybe . . ." Her grin was sexy and filled with meaning as her eyes shifted briefly toward their bedroom at the back of the house. It had been too long since they'd spent a night together.
Eric had clearly been having similar thoughts, but she knew he'd been holding back knowing how worn out from her trip home. He smiled eagerly when she brought the matter up, and stood to help her out of the chair.
"Go," he said. "Shower. I'll put things away here."
Smiling, she kissed him lightly, and headed for the hall, glancing toward the great room window that showed the sun setting into the ocean a few miles away. When she saw that view and spent an evening such as this with her soul-mate, she wondered if she was making a mistake getting involved in this race for a job which was going to require even more of her time and restrict her freedom.
As she stood in the shower, the spray from eight carefully positioned nozzles flowing over her bare skin, she thought back over her career and how she'd come to this point. Just over twenty-five years ago she'd graduated from law school, and for the next fifteen years had worked as a prosecuting attorney at multiple firms, moving up as she moved slowly relocated westward from the east coast and Harvard, back toward California where she'd been born and raised. Just over a decade ago she'd been presented with the opportunity to become a judge, and over the initial years in that position had envisioned herself one day being chosen to serve on the Supreme Court.
But during the past few years she'd found herself being ever more frustrated with the legal decisions that were being handed down, and the role the courts were attempting to take in the charged political environment that was modern day America. She didn't agree or approve. The country was stagnating and as a result of the growing polarization, key issues were not being addressed, the two political parties spending their time attacking one another and attempting to gain some political advantage that would keep them in power or prevent the other from accomplishing anything worthwhile. In her mind, the country was falling apart, and that had spurred her to make the unexpected jump into the arena. Perhaps with her legal background she could make a change. Clearly people were responding to her message, but until she was elected she would not know if her stated goals could be realized.
She didn't like President Pilcher, although he was far from the ogre her party attempted to portray him. In her mind, he was too connected to the wealthy like most Republican politicians, although he had accomplished some things that she supported, despite the bitter condemnations of her fellow Democrats. From some of the statements he'd made to the media, she knew that the President was aware of her popularity, and had to see her as a threat as would his base, many of which were a bit extreme. Of course, the same was true of some of the Democratic base, and in their own way potentially just as dangerous. Her husband was right, that there were elements out there that might prove a very real physical threat. She shuddered at the thought of being assaulted and suddenly realized she'd made the decision and would definitely make a call to Karen in the morning and ask her to follow through on a request for official Secret service protection.
With a sigh, she turned off the warm streams of soothing water and grabbed the towel she'd flung over the towel rack just outside the large shower. Examining herself as she stepped nude into the expansive bathroom, she was pleased that her smooth black skin was still firm, and that despite approaching half a century old, she remained an attractive and desirable woman. A comfortable five-foot-seven inches tall, and still slim and athletic, mostly a result of good genes than a healthy lifestyle. she was aware that her looks were an asset every bit as much as her brains during her public appearances.
Drying off, she wrapped her hair, shoulder length these days, in the towel and she slipped on her robe. A sexy nightie would be nice, but she'd heard Eric moving around in the bedroom, and she was certain they wouldn't get around to putting something on that would almost immediately come back off. With a tired smile, she stepped out of the bathroom into the large bedroom, seeing Eric smile as she appeared. Tired as she was, and knowing the coming weeks were going to be brutal as she moved around the country campaigning ahead of the various state primaries, she was happy that for a couple of days she could just be herself. What she couldn't know was the danger that was forming against her, soon to be unleashed.
Chapter 9
"Any initial thoughts?" Earl asked when the group reassembled to discuss what they had learned sifting through the documentation Jason had provided.
"I think you have made this task very difficult, if not impossible, by your requirement that this woman's death appear accidental, or a simple misfortune of some kind. We should simply kill her, and let the police mull around and try and figure out who, of all the millions in this country, is responsible. If we are careful, they will never connect the killings to us. Killing her is relatively easy, but the way you wish I don't think is possible."
"What do the rest of you think?" Earl asked, his eyes moving between the three men chosen to carry out Mark's request. "Are you all ready to quit?" Earl didn't know what he would do if any of this team wanted out at this point. Not only would that represent a reduction in manpower, but the idea of having someone roaming out there aware of what they intended wasn't a comfortable thought.
Bo sighed.
"It certainly would be simpler to simply nail her from long range like Abe suggests. No one is really expecting something like that this early in the campaign. I agree, after she wins, which your materials strongly suggest will be the case, then they will get serious with security. Now it is more crowd control. But. . . "
"But?" Earl asked.
"I think you are right about the aftermath. The government would go after this with all the resources it can muster. It would have to prove that no one could go after presidential candidates and get away with it. The odds of ultimately being discovered are unacceptably high."
"Jason?" Earl asked.
"Unfortunately, I believe Bo is right," Jason said. "I've had more time than the others to think about this as I gathered this information together, and an obvious move against Mrs. Craig is going to stir up every law enforcement group in the country. On the other hand, I have yet to see any way of completing a hit that doesn't look like just that. Access is too limited. Even though she hasn't yet been nominated, this woman isn't living a normal life at the moment. There are too many people around her all the time, including a couple of professional bodyguards her husband hired to keep her safe."
"Andy Brewer and Jeff Cartright," Earl noted.
"That's right," Bo agreed. "From the information you asked us to read, neither of them are newcomers to the protection game. Both have considerable experience and have never lost a client. This might be their first political campaign, but both of them have worked for high profile personalities for more than a dozen years. Andy brought down a pair of hit men that tried to take out that singer client of his a handful of years ago."
"And anytime Craig is out of her room, they are with her," Abe pointed out. "They are alert, watching, and directing her movements. When she is in her room, they are in their own rooms on either side of hers."
"The only exception is when she is home," Jason pointed out. "They seem to have time off when that happens, which isn't often."
"She's home now," Earl informed them.
"But for how long?" Jason asked. "Besides, we don't have any kind of a plan in place to take advantage of it, and she has her husband and friends around. That might making an accident impossible there."
"Even if not, what are the odds she will be going back to Los Angles between now and the convention?" Abe asked. "There isn't much time, and she is going to be pretty busy."
"There's mor
e than just the bodyguards," Bo pointed out. "According to the stuff you gave us, she travels with a bunch of other people as well. She's surrounded. She has a Campaign Manager, a Publicist, her Personal Secretary, and that techie guy that runs her website and handles her Twitter and Facebook posts. This is going to be really difficult."
"It is very likely that some of them would have to be taken out with any attempt that comes to mind," Jason added. "That would make an 'accidental' interpretation of Craig's death unlikely."
Earl wasn't surprised by the comments. He had walked through the possibilities himself, multiple times, and hadn't come up with anything he really thought viable either.
"How about we walk through what thoughts you have had, and see if anything surfaces?" Earl suggested.
Jason shrugged. "Okay. We have learned that Craig has a toxic allergy to shrimp. Even a really small exposure would send her into anaphylactic shock. While I can't see getting her to eating a batch of seafood for us, I've read that shrimp is a contaminant found in many Asian dishes. If she has any dinners planned during her campaigning at an Asian restaurant, these politicians are always sampling the local fare with potential voters, maybe we could ensure the contaminant is present?"
Bo was shaking his head. "She has to be very aware and conscious of her allergy and the dangers,"" he said. "I have a friend who is allergic to peanuts, and he is ultra cautious. He also carries an Epinephrine injector in case he is exposed. Craig's bodyguards would know of her allergy, and be prepared to deal with an incident. I think the odds of successfully bumping her off by food poisoning are pretty slim, and might just serve to alert them to the fact someone is targeting her."
Earl nodded. "She's had this condition all her life, and from what I have read she never eats at the various events, even if food is served. She busies herself with communicating, and eats privately either before or after the event. The places she stays are made aware of her situation, and the foods she eats away from home are very selective and designed to have minimum risk for exposure to anything she might react to. Bo is right. A good idea, but in this case difficult to see working, and a failure could give away our intentions."