by Jake Aaron
Chapter 26
November 16
Alexandria, VA
Two federal agents had preemptively escorted Mike Tarbox out of the bar to minimize public knowledge of the incident. They entered the Metropolitan Police Department with the Congressman’s chief of staff as quietly as possible heading to an isolated interrogation room. Mike said he knew nothing about any plan Ron had for “losing” his protective detail or whether Ron was abducted. Nor, he said, did he know where Ron was.
Mike wanted to avoid any personal exposure for being part of a conspiracy. The agents thought Mike knew more than he let on, but they could not prove it. Zach had expected Mike’s initial nervousness, but Mike’s visible discomfort persisted. In any case, Mike seemed to be more agitated than what Zach expected from a seasoned Washington insider. Indeed, Zach found Mike downright hinky.
Mike said he could not be sure of the sequence of events after Ron Kelly passed the cell phone to him to view a photo of his family. Then, he said, everything became chaotic. Mike remembered a flurry of noise, upended tables, and prolonged commotion. Did the shout of“Allahu Akbar” come before the overturning of the table or after? Who shouted the phrase? When did Ron Kelly leave the area? Mike was like a echo chamber for the questions. Each agent felt like Sisyphus at the end of the interview, for all the progress made. One step forward, one step back.
Mike asked the agents whether they had called Ron Kelly’s home in New Jersey. They would not answer. In fact, the “company solution” was not to stir the embers before the situation was more resolved. Better to avoid the wife’s public demand to know her husband’s whereabouts. They foresaw the hypothetical unacceptable cascade following the call to Ron’s wife:
The press: “How did you find out that the Congressman was missing, Mrs. Kelly?”
Mrs. Kelly: “Oh, the FBI that was guarding him called to ask where he was.”
One didn’t have to be in the federal bureaucracy very long to realize: Don’t ask the question if you can’t stand to hear the answer… No, there would be no call to Mrs. Kelly. The Bureau would find out whether Ron Kelly was at home by other means. Within an hour an undercover agent in New Jersey would visit the Kellys’ farmhouse insisting he needed to inspect the inside of the house for gas leaks. The agent would find no indication Ron Kelly was there. For good measure, the agent would visit adjoining farms to seal the cover story if Kelly’s wife ever mentioned the gas inspection to them.
_______________
Before releasing Mike back at his car near the Alexandria bar, one agent advised, “Mike, national security. You will not contact Mrs. Kelly or anyone else about the disappearance or our conversation, nor discuss anything concerning this incident. If she calls you, refer her to us without comment. Understood?”
Chapter 27
November 17
District of Columbia
Michelle groggily awoke the next morning alone in bed at the Capitol Escape hotel. She was disconcerted by the drool next to her mouth. Not very elegant, but perhaps worth the deep, satisfying sleep. She unconsciously ran her left arm under her pillow. Something hard. It was a ring box. She opened it to find a nouveau solitaire two-carat diamond engagement ring. She also found a folded note: “Let’s get married after my re-election. Forever, Ron.” She was totally taken aback.
Then she noticed she was alone. The king-sized bed was untouched where Ron should be. Where was Ron? “Ron? Ron, where are you?” she said in a husky morning voice. Could she have imagined him being in the room last night? She knew her tiredness could play tricks on the brain. Did she imagine Ron’s arrival in the room last night? “Ron, this is not funny. Are you here?”
Michelle became light-headed as orthostatic hypotension told her that she had risen too quickly from the bed. Before she had fully recovered normal blood pressure, she rushed toward the bathroom caroming twice off walls. Opening the bathroom, she faced a fog bank of steam. She instinctively shut off the bath’s hot water. On the floor, she found Ron’s inert body in a semi-fetal position on the floor. The body was purple. Ron’s eyes had sunk into their sockets. Shock took her down on all fours. Next to her left hand was a yellow fluid. As sphincters relaxed, Ron’s bladder and bowels had emptied. His body was still slightly stiffened by rigor mortis, which had been accelerated by the warmth.
Slowly making her way back to the bed, Michelle sat and considered her options. Self-aware enough to know she wasn’t in a good state to make critical decisions, Michelle knew she needed help. Which cell phone to use? She picked her burner phone to call an emergency number Ron had given her. The number was for Ron’s chief of staff.
Even though it was Saturday, Mike Tarbox, picked up the throwaway cell Ron had given him for “off the books” calls. No rest for the weary, he grimaced. He knew about Ron’s mistress and recognized her voice. Her voice was high-pitched and fast-paced. Her distress was palpable. “This is…,” she began and was interrupted.
Mike recognized her first words and cut her off. He was comfortable taking charge, “No names. Watch what you say. Take several deep breaths before talking. Take as much time as you need to gather your thoughts.”
Michelle sighed. “The boss and I are at our favorite place. We have a problem. I awoke alone in bed this morning to find him on the floor in the bathroom — purple, no pulse. What do you want me to do?”
“… Give me a few seconds here…,” Mike replied. He had to contemplate a number of variables. News of a married congressman found dead in a hotel with his mistress would not benefit anyone, except opponents. Ron’s family surely did not need this kind of grief. The office would be hurt. For sure, Mike would like to shop one of his many job prospects with other congressmen before his unemployment was official — bad to appear rushed for a job. Nor did Michelle need the adverse publicity, and she would owe him. Ron had told Mike to consider Michelle and everything concerning her as “Top Secret.” There were professionals who could handle this, Mike concluded.
After a long pause, Mike replied, “Make sure the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is on the door. Close the bathroom door. Order breakfast for two in your room. Avoid use of the bathroom as much as possible. You have an ice bucket, don’t you, to relieve yourself? After room service, no one comes in until someone knocks five times on the door asking, “Do you have the plugged toilet?”
“One more thing, how many times Ron’s age plus or minus something is your location? Take your time. Read me?”
Michelle was puzzled. Then she realized why Mike was asking for a convoluted answer. Ron Kelly had been on the House Intelligence Committee. He had pulled over every one of his inside circle to lecture them on NSA capabilities. “They can always get you with a fine enough net. Don’t make it easy if you have something you don’t want found out by the routine algorithms that you might expect.”
Michelle answered, “Give me a minute.” She calculated on a hotel scratchpad. “Eleven times age plus half a deck. Got it?”
Mike knew Michelle had Ron’s forty-five-year-old age right. He remembered the card she sent two months ago. He used his calculator. Yep, 495 plus 26, room 521. “Got it!”
Michelle ended the call to Mike on the cell phone. She was totally off center. She felt immense shock from the death of Ron. She felt additional shock from the unexpected marriage proposal, which accentuated her feeling of loss even though she never thought she wanted to be married to Ron. The actual prospect of that reality was much different from the hypothetical. Her mind spun on and on as she lay in bed.
Two abrupt knocks on the door and the call, “Room service!,” interrupted Michelle’s spinning mind.
_______________
Mike called the law firm of Ridley, Mark, and Kelly with coded references and no mention of names. Kelly was Ron Kelly’s uncle. The contact at RMK called another law firm: Smith, Lerner, and Phelps. In turn, that firm contacted their fixer. All of this was done on throwaway cell phones.
Bart Stewart was on retainer to fix intractable problems
that came the way of the law firm. Bart was a retired Navy SEAL. He had attained the rank of master chief petty officer. Approaching his 20-year retirement point, the perennial bachelor had an affair with a Navy commander who was a lawyer in the Judge Advocate General Group. She had nineteen years of service and was separated from her husband. When one of her colleagues reported her“improper relationship” with Bart, she felt she had no choice but plead guilty. She expected leniency in today’s permissive society. She knew of several captains and admirals who had not even been charged in similar circumstances. Technically, though, she had crossed the line with adultery and fraternization.
To her surprise, an expeditious court martial ordered her separated from the service. She was not one to go to the media over the injustice. She was proud. The scuttlebutt was that the chain-of-command held her, as a JAG officer, to a “higher standard.” She was angry to the core. She beat herself up relentlessly. As smart as she was, how could this happen? How unfair! She was traumatized by public humiliation and despondent over the impending loss of all retirement benefits. She was not thinking straight. Deep, dark depression set in. She took her own life.
In contrast, Bart got a slap on the wrist. The incident at first numbed him. Then he became bitter. How could his Navy do this to his loved one. His trust and defense of the System collapsed. He had to reevaluate everything he believed in. Instead of continuing in a career he once enjoyed, Bart separated from the service at 20 years. He leased a 47-foot Catalina sailboat to roam the Caribbean. After a year of soul searching, Bart realized he missed the action. He embarked on a new career.
He started his new career with minor investigative work in Washington, DC. As Smith, Lerner, and Phelps became more and more satisfied with his contract work, they put him on retainer. His background made him ideal for occasional “black bag jobs.” His cover was that of an antiques dealer, a new sideline he pretended to enjoy. When he was called away by the law firm for a task, he simply left a sign on the shop door: “Gone to Estate Sale.” It was perfect.
_______________
A dark-skinned thirty-three-year-old, five-foot-two woman arrived at the back of the Capitol Escape hotel ostensibly to deliver dry cleaning. She held a long silk black evening dress, sheathed in plastic, high so it would not drag. It blocked the surveillance camera from recording her face as she approached. In her other hand she carried a tote bag that held a small black box. The black box was a wireless signal disrupter that would block the security camera for her accomplices. She inconspicuously left the tote near a large potted plant and entered the hotel. Forty feet behind her was a man wearing a Stetson hat about the height and build of the former Ron Kelly. He followed her into the building, his security monitor image obscured by the jammer.
Baseball-hatted Bart was fifty feet behind the Ron Kelly look-alike carrying a large tool box. He arrived in an unmarked gray van in the guise of a plumber. As he passed the potted plant, he picked up the tote containing the jammer and entered the hotel.
The Spanish-speaking thirty-three-year-old woman went to the linen room on the first floor. She outfitted herself in a housekeeping uniform and searched out an unused housekeeping cart. The Ron look-alike loitered in an area out of view of cameras on the first floor, pretending to be on a cell phone. He waited for Bart to return. Bart had gone to the stairwell and made several trips up and down the staircase. He followed the florist deliveryman’s protocol of the previous day: randomly jamming different floors’ surveillance cameras.
The hotel security guard monitoring surveillance cameras throughout the hotel saw the periodically disrupted screens. A repeat of yesterday, he shook his head in protest. He moved out rapidly while the staff could see him but proceeded without conviction or enthusiasm once out of view. Here we go again, thought the guard. Stupid cameras, always crying “Wolf!” Anyway, it was guaranteed employment. You still need us guards, even with the fancy-schmancy high-tech gizmos, he sneered. He expected to find nothing and was not disappointed. He returned to his desk to monitor the intermittent camera displays.
Bart joined up with the look-alike. They proceeded to room 521 with the electronic jammer obscuring any view of them. Bart knocked five times on the door, and asked, “Do you have the plugged toilet?” After Michelle let both men in, she felt enormous relief. Misery does love company.
Bart turned off the electronic jammer. He confidently assessed the situation and assured Michelle he had everything under control. He asked her for a quick summary of events and peremptorily cut off her several emotional excursions. He had no idea she normally had ice water in her veins. As she spoke, he formulated a plan.
Bart directed, “Here’s what you need to do. Get ready to check out. Cheerful game face on. Try to slow your breathing: Deeply inhale; count 1001, 1002, 1003, 1004. Slowly exhale; count 1001, 1002, 1003, 1004. Repeat that as often as necessary to calm yourself. My friend here, who can pass as the Congressman, will walk you out of the hotel. The “Congressman” will take a cab to the airport to fly to New Jersey. Remember the Congressman left in a cab to catch a plane to New Jersey, if anyone ever asks. You make your way home by yourself. We never met… Clear?”
_______________
Michelle picked up the express checkout bill under the door on her way out with the Ron look-alike. Her engagement ring was in her purse. She wore a stylish black Ann Taylor tropical wool seamed sheath dress. The look-alike wore Ron Kelly’s shoes and navy blue suit. He topped his head with a Stetson hat. They proceeded to the lobby and out to the portico. After kissing Michelle on the mouth, he waved goodbye and hailed a cab. En route to Dulles Airport, he told the cabbie he was flying to Newark and paid in cash. Michelle went home in her black sapphire metallic BMW 650i convertible.
_______________
The “maid” waited for an appropriate time to take a housekeeping cart into room 521. Her burner cell call to Bart had clued him to mask her arrival with the jammer. Latex-gloved, Bart and the now overalled housekeeper worked together to get the Congressman’s dead body into the cart wrapped in 8-ply polyethylene. The task was helped by the compactness of Kelly’s fetal posture and its increasing pliability. Rigor mortis had been accelerated by the steam from the hot running shower water. They cleaned bodily discharges from the bathroom floor. All used or soiled wash cloths, towels, bedding, the look-alike’s clothes, and the notepad Michelle wrote on went into the cart with Ron’s body. Suited up like workers in a clean room at a semiconductor factory, they washed and bleached applicable surfaces. Fresh wash cloths, towels, and bedding were put in place. Then the two made the room look used. The housekeeper dusted the vacuumed carpet with small amounts of random hair samples from several hair salons to provide misleading DNA.
They had almost finished. The housekeeper opened a bag of Morton potato chips. Bart threw a handful of the chips into the cart leaving the open bag half full. The housekeeper popped a Coca Cola, poured half down the bathroom drain, and put the can next to the potato chip bag on the small round table near the window. Bart inserted a bag of popcorn in the microwave and started the ten-minute timer cooking cycle. Then he turned the camera jammer back on. Finally, shoe covers and the maid’s overalls went into the cart.
The security guard noticed the disruption of signals of cameras on the fifth floor, the third time in the last hour. He saw the outage move randomly, but last on to the first floor. He regarded this as more of the same: problems with electrons. “I’ve been to this rodeo before!” He did not even bother to investigate.
The housekeeper left the room first. She departed the room with the cart. Bart followed. Still wearing transparent plastic gloves, he pulled the lever on the fire alarm at the end of the hall. If the jammer had not worked, he had smoke grenades, tasers, and tranquilizing agents in his tool kit.
The security guard received a call from the front desk asking about a fire alarm, and smoke and fumes reported on the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors. “I’ll get on it!” Maybe an electric problem caused the camer
a glitches and resulted in a fire, he theorized.
Arriving huffing and out of breath on the fifth floor, he saw smoke coming from under the door of room 521. He opened the door with his master key. The security guard keyed his walkie-talkie to talk to the hotel manager. “You can cancel that fire alarm. Looks like one of the maids was taking a break to have a coke, chips, and popcorn. She must have had to run and forgot about the popcorn in the microwave… Yeah, you tell her to take her breaks in the break room!”
The two fire engines arrived at the back entrance. Six firemen headed into the hotel. Despite the desire of the hotel manager to cancel the alarm, fire department policy was to check out the entire hotel. Meanwhile, several firemen from each truck readied hoses and prepared to enter the building when called.
Amidst the chaos, Bart and the housekeeper quietly yielded to oncoming fire crews. Then they exited the building and loaded the cart into his van at the rear entrance.
Bart drove the van to a commercial incinerator where Ron’s body was incinerated at 2100 degrees Fahrenheit along with Bart’s coveralls and other incriminating disposables. He wiped and sanitized the cart. Then he had the van, with cart inside, crushed at a remote junk yard.
The housekeeper faded away from the hotel on her own. She periodically feigned crying and wiped her eyes with a kerchief in case anyone asked why she was leaving early. The kerchief was sprinkled with peppermint oil to tear up her eyes. “Mi madre ha muerto” was ready for the offering. The death of her mother would surely elicit understanding.
The hotel security guard made an entry in his log: “Security cameras on the fritz again. Maid burned popcorn on fifth floor causing false fire alarm.”