by Jake Aaron
“This is painful. Sounds like you don’t want to sign my yearbook.”
“At the risk of getting back to business,” Barb looked pleased with herself, “Zimmer apparently dies in his sleep. A terrorist blows up Paige. Kelly disappears like Jimmy Hoffa. Custos claims credit for each. I think we need to reread Arthur Conan Doyle. To paraphrase, let’s eliminate the impossible. The remaining, even if improbable, must be the truth, or something like that.”
“I’m with you. Remember the dog that did not bark? Can we apply that?” Zach inquired.
“Hound of the Baskervilles. I loved that!” Barb exclaimed.
“Not so fast, you would think that would be the title, but that was actually from Doyle’s short story, ‘Silver Blaze.’ I can’t believe I got you on something academic.”
“Very tricky. Mystery writer mystifies reader. Who would guess?… Okay, Alexander the Great, draw your sword and cut the Gordian knot. Absent that, there must be something we’re missing… How about: We’re trying to make things fit together. Maybe they really don’t fit, and Custos is a headline hunter, an exploiter of tragedies.”
“I know you’re smart, Barb. But really, three congresspersons dead in a short period of time? Each was sponsoring large spending bills. What are the odds? There must be some Custos involvement here — somewhere.”
Barb: “Yeah… or Custos is taking credit for independent events. Somewhat implausible. I come back full circle to your gut. Probability is on your side.”
“Wow, agreeing with me? Can I expect a meteor to strike the earth?”
“Ex-Zachly, boss man.”
“Shall we order pizza for a late working supper? Make it a supreme so you get your veggies?”
Chapter 34
December 7
CIA Safe House
General Nate Brown solemnly opened the Friday night card game. “Gentlemen, on this date that will forever live in infamy, let’s all drink to the American patriots who died at Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941.”
“Here, here!” all toasted. Nate tearfully saluted after glasses returned to the table. One of Nate’s grandfathers had died with tragic sinking of the USS Arizona in Pearl Harbor. Not having ever known that grandfather had driven Nate to particularly deep interest and research on the man.
John solemnly spoke, “Recharge those glasses, fellas. And not to detract in any way from appropriately honoring our brave fallen heroes, I propose a toast to three other patriots who followed those at Pearl Harbor to an untimely end: Congresspersons Zimmer, Paige, and Kelly.”
“Here, here!”
“… Nate, you deal.”
_______________
“Sam, off the record and under a blood oath not to leave this room, what can you tell us about the Congressman Kelly case?” Justice Jesus inquired.
“Not much more than you most likely already know. We have no corpus. To date there is no evidence of a radical Islamic element, which some had suspected based on the Paige case and the Allahu Akbar outcry heard at the bar. The working theory is that Ron gave his security detail the slip. He very elusively made his way to the Capitol Escape hotel under an assumed name to meet up with a friend. Hotel camera showed the two leaving the hotel the next morning. They went separate ways.
“He went in a taxi to the airport, possibly to fly home to New Jersey. Paid with cash for a cab. There is no record of his subsequent check-in at the airport or boarding a flight… And you probably know, following this, another credible threat came in warning our Congress against overspending. The public infers the sender took some unfavorable action against the Congressman…
“I’m ready to play some more cards, how ‘bout you?” Sam clearly did not enjoy leaking his own investigation — unless it served a purpose. He knew “off the record” was an absurdity, especially around the Capitol, so he couched his words. He was among friends, though, and had to give them something.
_______________
“Sam,” Congressman John McClain began, “this wine is wonderful. Best I’ve ever had. Why did you pour it before we got here?”
“John, I’m glad it meets your standards. Let me get a bottle from the kitchen… You know I don’t have lobbyists leaving liquor on my doorstep — for my vast wisdom, as you do.” Sam smiled wryly. Returning from a quick jaunt to the kitchen, “Just a minute… Here you are: cabernet sauvignon. It is extremely non-bitey for a cabernet. Glad you like it.”
“Where’d you get it?” Jesus asked.
“Costco,” Sam smiled.
“Maybe you should be in Congress, Sam,” Nate voted. “Quality and a price within reason.” “I know you poured $100-a-bottle wine into that 1.5 liter bottle. You can’t trick a trickster,” John said in disbelief. His body language showed the wine connoisseur did not want to be put on.
Sam replied, “No, I didn’t. I’m not one of those wine snobs who thinks older and more expensive is necessarily better. If I like a liquor or wine, I’ll pay up if it’s worth it. Seems to me, though, there’s a built in bias to expensive whiskey and wine: After someone pays up, who want to say it’s not worth it? Best racket I can think of… other than spending taxpayer dollars to be re-elected to spend more taxpayer dollars… Sorry, John, it’s the ‘cheap’ wine talking.”
John never let a challenge go by without some retort. “And that’s why I’ll be glad to bring some Willamette Valley wine worthy of you next time, Sam… And I won’t misrepresent it’s source.”
“John, I’ll look forward to that… And I’m telling you, on my wife’s honor, I did not misrepresent that wine,” Sam said tongue-in-cheek, setting up Beau.
“… John, last I checked, you’ve never been married.” Beau canted his head in challenge.
“Beau, that’s a story for another day!” Sam closed, drawing laughter for his wit.
_______________
After more alcohol-assisted lubrication, conversation once again turned to events of the Nation’s capital. Nate assessed, “I’m hearing from my legislative aides that the willingness of congresspeople to step up to spend big has really slowed… Kinda backs up what you read in the op-eds in the paper.”
CIA Director Beau Collins kept the conversational ball in the air. “The initial threats against Congress hurt the stock market, but lately the financial averages have been moving up. More overseas money has been flowing into the country. Employment is edging up. Hell, there’s black humor around town that Mickey Cruikshank over at the Federal Reserve is behind the threats against Congress.”
“Watch it with that black humor shit!” Nate belly-laughed.
Jesus smiled and went back to topic, “Sam, I noticed earlier you said credible threats against Congress. How do you know which are credible? The news says there have literally been hundreds of threats to date.”
Sam leaned toward Jesus, “I won’t use that old one about having to shoot you if I tell you… My people tell me threatening a justice of the Supreme Court might be construed as a crime… If I could be 100% certain my ole buddy Beau didn’t have this place bugged, I’d tell you,” he grinned.
“What about honor among thieves?” Beau parried.
“Beau, sorry, you know I’d bug you if I had a chance.”
“Sam, you do bug me,” he chortled.
In his best Darth Vader imitation, Nate looked at Sam and intoned, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
Jesus smiled, “I love you guys, but sometimes you’re as bad as lawyers. No offense to John… and myself.”
John picked up. “Lawyers bother me, too, Jesus. I guess you could say we bug ourselves… Self-loathing?”
Sam’s deflection had been successful. The conversation turned, and he avoided spilling details “off the record.”
_______________
The bantering went on in no particular direction. When John thought the time was right, “I know you guys who tend conservative think of those, like me, who tend liberal, to be non-reasoning bleeding hearts, but there is another side. If you’ll allow
me… our society needs to do something to offset the excesses of capitalism.”
Nate chuckled, “Come on, now, John, this isn’t going to be some kind of Marxist rant, is it? Didn’t that nonsense stop with the fall of the Berlin Wall?”
“No, I’m just saying, do you think it’s right that a CEO earns 380 times what an average worker makes? Really, is the CEO that much smarter, or does he work that much harder? No way! Basically, the CEO is able to take the castle, so to speak, and surround himself or herself with a board of knights that ensure a monopoly. I won’t argue that the castle has not produced wealth in the past, but why should we tolerate these ‘little empires’ that are, in reality, monopolies. They need some reigning in. Furthermore, US CEOs make triple what the top 20 European CEOs make.
“This massive accumulation of wealth at the top contributes to an ever-expanding spiral of assets and power. In the last four decades, that trend has accelerated: US CEOs’ pay increased 125 times faster than worker pay. That’s demoralizing to the worker and the Nation…”
“John,” Sam interrupted, “I’m sure you’ve got your facts right here, but I don’t see how taking down the wealthy with taxes is going to offset the country’s massive spending in any meaningful way. The studies I’ve seen all show that will not work — all day long.”
“Sam, you can’t deny that America’s greatest economic growth took place under a far more equitable pay structure. We can afford our current spending, it’ll be paid for by economic growth as we recover from the Great Bush Recession, or Depression as history will call it… Our spending has not caused the trends we are seeing. It is a reaction to the trends; for example, elders’ wanting to live alone without depending on their families.
“The hard working middle class has lost ground on its standard of living. We must make life better for the dynamo of the economy. The country has been built on the middle class’s back! It shouldered the loads. And we must help the lower class. If we don’t make life acceptable for them, we’ll have rioting in the streets. Our civilization today hangs on a paper thin balance. You all say entitlements; I say necessities!”
“John,” Jesus joined in, “I see many of your points. I hear them from my colleagues all the time. I just struggle with watching the parakeet in the coal mine — Europe — at death’s doorstep. Europe is years ahead of us in going down the increasingly socialistic death spiral. Europe is a basket case! A specific data point we must look at: Britain. As it became more socialist, its economy declined — despite, I’m sure, good intentions. Then, the Iron Maiden, Maggie Thatcher, brought its economy back with major doses of capitalism.”
Beau grinned. “You know, whatever direction you sages send this ship of state, I’m sure I’ll have a job. Spying never seems to go out of style. Nation vs nation, there’s always a need. Even if we had a one-world super government, I think it would be a lot like Communist regimes. To maintain power, the elite would need spies to watch the people, and spies to watch the spies. By golly, I’m in a booming, recessionless industry. Spying just might be a more secure gig than politics! John, you’ve brightened my day, er night, as the case may be. Pass the scotch!”
Jesus scratched his head in deep thought. “Beau, you might be in a growth industry, but sadly, the currency you’re paid in may be grossly devalued when you go to retire. Out of control spending can only be paid for by borrowing or printing dollars.”
Beau nodded, “Sad but true. I think we should stop out of control spending for the children. Or perhaps, the American people demand it.” Use of the hackneyed rationales drew universal laughter. Four smiles slowly returned to neutral. John’s face, however, went to wrinkled concern over the threatener’s warning against excess spending.
Adding to John’s perplexity, Nate quipped, “You know, this assassin gives new meaning to term limits.” Nate remained straight-faced, took in the stunned looks of the other four, and then led three of them in uproarious laughter. John did not join in — as if he could see his future.
Chapter 35
December 11
Georgetown
Fifty-five-year-old Congressman John McClain looked like actor Brian Dennehy two decades ago. He was built like a football player, but moved gracefully like a dancer. He majored in psychology at Penn State before getting his law degree there. Today John topped his breakfast oatmeal with two teaspoons of ground golden flax, two packs of Splenda, and 2% milk. “I will not be intimidated by this terrorist!” he announced as if to convince himself.
His wife Susan came back crossly, “You are just grandstanding. Trying to convince yourself? Don’t let your ego ruin our lives. Zimmer, Paige, and Kelly have died at the hands of this terrorist. Don’t add your name to that list. We’ve worked too hard to have the lives we have. Let some brave junior members of Congress bet their lives sponsoring spending bills. I’m not married to any of them.”
“Honey, I have to resurrect Paige’s bill — soon to be the Kelly bill. Our rust belt constituencies absolutely need the subsidy. I’ve listened in the town halls. People are really hurting. I want to help those folks, my people.” His voice was resonant like that of the late Orson Welles. He sipped his hot green tea.
“John, you’re not on the stump now! You’re talking to me, someone who knows you. You want to help yourself! Being a climber may have been important in your early career. Not now! If you think about your family, you could help us by not associating your name with that bill. Don’t do it! You’ve already put a bullseye on your forehead with the press this bill is getting. Please, I beg you: Back off now!” She angrily threw her cereal bowl into the sink and left the kitchen in tears. Shards of pottery rained onto the kitchen floor. The spoon bounced and clanked onto the window sill.
John had not told her that the numbers were in. This was not the time to back off. The party chairman had a reliable poll taken in John’s Pennsylvania district. Though he had just won re-election, the President’s chief of staff had privately highlighted Pennsylvania as pivotal to the the President’s upcoming re-election. John’s stature and influence in Washington were at stake. Susan, however, would never abide his taking any risk for a president she despised.
John went to his bedroom to get his Jack Victor herringbone navy suit jacket. “Honey, we’ll be okay. We’ve been through worse than this… Oh yes, would you ask Inez to add some of my special skin lotion to her shopping list? I’m out, and my dry skin is killing me. Winter dryness. I’m allergic to other brands, you know.”
“John, I should know better than try to change you,” she squeezed out a brief hug… ”You are going to do what you are going to do! I’ll tell Inez to get your oatmeal-based lotion. Sumoat, right?”
Susan McClain did not mention that she had contacted a divorce attorney. When John was in law school, she had laughed at a neighbor who was the wife of a policeman. The young wife was divorcing her husband because she couldn’t bear to lose him to the ongoing hazards of his profession. Susan laughed at the neighbor’s reasoning. Wasn’t the neighbor losing her husband by her own doing with divorce? Now Susan was there; she understood the un-understandable. The danger to congresspersons seemed unrelenting and unbearable. She did not sleep well. Her digestive system was upset all the time. Every morning after John left, she turned to vodka. She rationalized that she was just a connoisseur of fine brands. She was proud that she could tell the difference between Grey Goose, Ketel One, and Belvedere. She had exhausted all the Ativan prescriptions, John’s and hers. There, too, she found meaning in being able to differentiate name brand pills from generic. All in all, she knew she could not go on with this interminable stress.
_______________
Their housekeeper, Inez, arrived after the Congressman left for his office. She was a refugee from Colombia working on a “green card.” She fled Colombia’s unstable, divisive environment. She was one of at least half a million Colombians seeking refuge outside the country. Thirty-one-year-old Inez appreciated her more secure life in the United States and was
a hard-working helper around the house. She freed up Susan to attend countless social commitments.
After putting breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and cleaning up pieces of the broken cereal bowl, Inez made a list of groceries the McClains needed. “Mrs. McClain, what may I get por you at the market today?”
“Inez, here’s a list… Oh, you need to add Sumoat lotion to that list, por favor. The Congressman needs that for his dry skin. It’s very important to get that one. It’s oatmeal based. His doctor recommended it. Gracias, Inez”
“Yes, Mrs. McClain, I’ll do that. Will there be anything else… before I go to the store?”
_______________
Inez drove to the supermarket, the newest and largest grocery store in Georgetown. She efficiently began to fill her shopping cart. She checked items off her list as she put them into the cart. She did not notice the nondescript man in a black trench coat who entered the store fifty paces behind her. Unbeknownst to her and in a different disguise, he had followed her several days before on a busy street into a Starbucks to clone her cell phone’s SIM card.
Trench Coat, as Zach would later nickname him, could still feel the extra tight skin on his face. The Canadian Preparation H was working well. Its BioDyne yeast extract was doing its magic. The middle-aged wrinkles in his face were not noticeable without a magnifying glass. The tightness around his jawline was accentuated by the bubble gum he pocketed in his cheeks. He had to mouth breathe due to cotton wadding stuffing his nostrils. Oversized dress shoes and several BBs sprinkled in his socks ensured an altered but not unnatural gait. Elevator shoes and padding to create a beer gut further distorted his real profile. He wore a toupee and tinted tortoise shell glasses. His black leather gloves were appropriate for the season.
Many of Trench Coat’s disguise efforts went beyond avoiding witness recognition. While he instinctively avoided direct camera shots, he knew surveillance cameras were more and more omnipresent in the United States. His prior undercover work in London, however, made Washington child’s play by comparison. He also knew identification via electronic images was rapidly progressing in its capabilities. Early FBI facial-recognition software analyzed chin widths and nose sizes. He knew it was only a matter of time before one’s iris patterns were incorporated as parameters. Could contact lenses to alter iris patterns be far behind?