With that, Carrie straddled his lap, grabbed his face, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. “As you can tell, I’m totally committed to clearing your mind of all the details,” she said, laughing.
“And you’re doing a damn good job of it,” Jack said as he stood and led her toward the bedroom.
The next morning, Jack woke slowly, realizing it was very light in the room. He turned to kiss Carrie and realized she was gone. He looked at the clock. It was 8:07.
“Shit!” He hadn’t slept past 6:00 in months. The last thing he wanted at the campaign office was for others to sense something was different or wrong. As he lay there willing himself out of bed, Jack thought that while he had slept a solid nine hours, the bulk of his sleep was filled with dreams of a sinister candidate and the terrible things he was doing to get elected.
What could he do? Whom could he talk to? Involving others was dangerous—to him and to them. But he didn’t feel capable of going it alone. He needed a confidant: someone he could bounce things off of someone who could help him figure out how to address the situation quietly but ultimately put a halt to the planned atrocities.
There was really only one answer: Steve Bess. Over the past several months, Steve had become his mentor, adviser, and a very close friend. Obviously, Steve was in the dark, just as he was. There was no way a man of Steve’s integrity would ever be party to something this outrageous. But it was dangerous. The last thing Jack wanted was for anyone close to him to get hurt because he’d listened in on that psychopathic conversation. But counter to that feeling was the thought of innocent people being hurt or killed because he was unwilling or unable to make the tough call.
At that very moment, Jack knew in his heart he had to stop them. He also knew he couldn’t do it alone. He would tell Steve Bess everything he knew, and together they would find a way to do the right thing.
While Jack was agonizing over his predicament in Dallas, Sgt. Maj. Ian McKay was meeting with his superior and friend, Col. Charles Cavanaugh.
Cavanaugh said, “I don’t understand, Ian. You’re in as good shape as you were twenty years ago, and I know you love your job.”
“I did love my job, Charles. I just don’t have the same fire in the belly that I used to. Training these guys so that they can risk their lives on a regular basis is starting to get to me. The last thing I want to do is get soft in my old age and be responsible for one or more of these kids not coming home.” Ian was lying; he actually felt sick when he thought of someone else training his boys.
“Ian, is there anything I can say or do that would change your mind?” Charles pleaded.
“I’m afraid not, Charles. I’ve made up my mind, and I know it’s the right decision.”
“Well then, Major McKay,” Cavanaugh said in a booming voice, “I will support your decision.”
As Cavanaugh stood, he snapped off a formal salute and then hugged McKay as a father would a son. When he stepped back, Ian noticed the moisture in Cavanaugh’s eyes. It was enough to almost send him over the edge. Ian saluted back and left without saying another word.
When McKay returned home, his sharp mind had erased the emotional moment felt only twenty minutes earlier, and he was ready to go to work. His plan was extremely well thought out but not without its risks. The first step was to finalize his false documents: passport, UK driver’s license, and credit cards. Once he had established a new identity, it would be time to travel to the US. Once there, he would go to Dallas and begin monitoring Sen. Will Hawkins’s every move. What was his daily schedule? What was his travel schedule? How did the senator’s security detail work? What were their schedules? Did they have tendencies that offered openings?
Ian knew that he had to treat the surveillance as if he were planning to assassinate the candidate. He needed to get close enough to Hawkins to slip him a note without any of the security detail noticing. The best option would be in a crowded area: walking on a busy street, strolling through a crowded airport. Or—he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner—at a campaign rally or speech. American politicians loved to grip-and-grin with their supporters. It was perfect.
Then, once Hawkins was aware of the problems Ian could cause in his race to the presidency, Ian would contact him with the offer: his silence in exchange for $25 million cash. Not a massive dent in the Hawkins family fortune but still extremely difficult for the senator to find and hide in a short amount of time. Once the offer was agreed to, Ian would arrange a meeting to make the exchange, and then he would disappear. The money would give Lizzie the life she deserved, and Will Hawkins would spend the rest of his life wondering if he would ever be publicly accused of murdering a British soldier so long ago.
twenty-one
Greg Larson sat in the conference room at The Dallas Free Press lamenting the fact that he still hadn’t had a major breakthrough on the Hawkins series. He silently waited to meet his newly assigned researcher. The last one had been more interested in smoking dope than uncovering big news. Larson was kicking himself for even taking the campaign assignment.
His frustration hit an all-time high the moment John Sterling, his new researcher, entered the room. Sterling was a tall, lanky man with a ponytail, multiple earrings, and a Coors Light T-shirt that had probably been new when Clinton was in office. Larson’s reaction was immediate. “Shit, I need a researcher, and they send me another Olympic bonging champion.”
Sterling’s response was just as quick. “Fuck you, Mr. Prima Donna. I always heard you were an arrogant prick, and now I know it for myself. What if I just take my pot-smoking, computer science PhD back through the door and leave your ass wondering how you’ll ever find a meaningful story on our illustrious senator from Highland Park.”
As Sterling turned toward the door he had just entered, Larson spoke. “Hey man, I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me to say.”
Sterling stopped, turned, and smiled. “I actually wasn’t going to walk. Chambers would have had my ass. But I appreciate the apology anyway.”
Larson laughed, “You know Chambers?”
“Yeah, I’ve been working on projects for him for years. He tells people I’m the best researcher he’s ever known. Truth is, I’m the only one that will put up with his shit.”
Larson laughed again. “You know, I think you and I are going to get along just fine. Now if you don’t mind, we need to get to work.”
The two men spent the next forty-five minutes discussing story angles that had not been previously covered. Larson said, “Let’s go deep. I want to talk to his friends from grade school. I want to meet his first girlfriend. I want to know if he ever cheated on an exam. I want to know if he fucking inhaled.”
Sterling nodded in agreement. “There has to be something on this guy. Nobody can be this clean. And if there is something there, I’m just the guy to find it.”
“Good,” Larson stated emphatically. “Get to work and see what you can find. Let’s meet in a couple of days, and we’ll see what you’ve come up with.”
“I’m on it.”
The two men shook hands as the researcher reassured Larson that he would find something.
After Sterling left, Larson remained in the conference room contemplating this highly frustrating situation. He had accepted this assignment believing that he could generate a meaningful story, regardless of what others at the paper believed. This was his chance to regain the limelight. His name had been out of the journalistic upper echelon for quite some time, and he needed a breakthrough. He knew he couldn’t live on his investigative reputation indefinitely. This was a business of results, and he knew in his heart there was something in Will Hawkins’s past that he could leverage. And once he had it firmly in his grasp, he would request and get a one-on-one interview with Will Hawkins that would change the face of American politics for the new millennium.
Larson rationalized to himself that his mission involved more than just personal reward. He had never respected Will Hawkins for his politics. Hawkins, in
his mind, had gotten to where he was today because of money, and that’s not what the Founding Fathers intended. Being president of the United States was supposed to be about leadership, ideas, and the people, not money and power. Larson realized that there had to be a better candidate out there. That’s why he was determined to rain on the Hawkins parade.
Jack McCarthy and Steve Bess shook hands inside the front door of Bob’s Steakhouse, a longtime Dallas eatery. After a short wait at the crowded bar surrounded by a throng of Dallas’s elite, they were led to their out-of-the-way table for two.
The small talk continued for another five minutes until Steve said, “Jack, what’s up? When you invited me to dinner, it sounded important.”
“It is, Steve. I’m not sure where to start, but I stumbled on some information regarding the campaign, and I’m not sure what to do next.”
Jack proceeded to recap the entire portion of the conversation he had overheard: the call from Carlos Pendrill; the plan to execute a series of environmental accidents that would taint the current administration and solidify the alliance with David Ellis’s foundation. When Jack had finished his five-minute overview of what he had heard, Steve Bess was silent. It was as if the life had been extracted from his rigid body. When he finally did regain some composure, his reaction was grounded in doubt.
“Jack, do you know what you’re saying? Are you absolutely sure of what you heard?” Jack remained silent, but his eyes bored in on Bess, reaffirming the validity of his story.
“Holy shit,” Bess said, shaking his head in shock. “This is the type of information that could create worldwide instability. The political system that much of the world admires and desires, gone in the wink of an eye. Jesus, what in the hell does he think he’s doing? He has to be stopped.”
“I agree,” Jack said, “but we’ve got to remain calm and take control of the situation. That’s why I called you. So do me a favor and provide that calming influence I was expecting from you.”
Steve took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. “You’re right. Nothing has happened yet. We just need to intervene before anything does. Got any thoughts?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I do. But to be honest, none of them are very appealing.”
“Run them by me. We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Well, my first thought was to go to the president, but,” Jack started to laugh, “I have a feeling my word against Will Hawkins’s would leave something to be desired.”
“I agree; we’d both be labeled crackpots before we could ever get out of the Oval Office. That is, if we could even get in.”
Jack continued, “My next thought was to approach the chairman of the Democratic National Committee, but I’m sure we’d meet the same resistance.”
“I agree,” Bess added quickly.
“So then I thought maybe an approach that was closer to home was in order.”
“And?” Bess added, questioning.
“I thought about Bo Hawkins. The stakes are awfully high for him to ignore this type of information.”
“Again, I agree, but we’re talking about his son here. I think his first reaction will be to defend him.”
“Which leads us to John Rollins,” Jack said. “He’s the logical choice. He’s our boss, and he has the credibility to approach Bo Hawkins and put a stop to this madness.”
Steve Bess interjected, “You’re right. He may be a madman on the job, but he’s an ethical guy. I’ve worked with him for fifteen years, and the one thing I would trust him to do is the right thing.”
Jack and Steve continued the discussion for another forty-five minutes. They strategized every angle, determining the best way to approach Rollins. When they had exhausted their discussion of every possible reaction they might encounter, they agreed that Steve would approach Rollins the following day in an effort to maximize reaction time to the events that were most assuredly under way. Steve left the restaurant, and Jack paid the bill.
As Jack drove home, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Sharing his problems with someone else had been a truly cathartic experience. But he wasn’t ready to share this information with Carrie. It was too dangerous, so he was actually relieved when he pulled into his driveway and realized she wasn’t there.
twenty-two
Sgt. Major Ian McKay was having dinner with his niece, Lizzie, and her mother, Patricia. McKay was dreading the interrogation that would ensue when he told them he was leaving the service. So instead of addressing the situation head-on, he had taken them to a trendy restaurant, a place well beyond any of their means, for a celebration.
After more than an hour of small talk, while Ian consistently encouraged both women to “drink up,” Patricia finally said, “Ian, we’ve waited patiently all evening for you to tell us what’s going on. Now what’s this celebration all about?”
Ian fidgeted nervously. “Great news, girls: I’ve decided to leave the service. I’ve had enough. So, I’m packing it in and following my dream to see the world.”
The reaction was just what he had suspected: stunned silence mixed with looks of shock, sadness, and disbelief. Lizzie was the first to regain her composure. “But Uncle Ian, I thought you loved your job. In fact, just last year you told me you’d die a British soldier. What happened?”
Patricia added, “And what do you mean ‘following your dream to see the world’? You’ve always said the only good reason to leave England was to fight a war. My God, I don’t know what to say.”
Ian feigned a mixture of anger and frustration and said, “I thought my two favorite women in the world would be happy for me. This is supposed to be a celebration.”
Patricia, believing she’d hurt Ian’s feelings, quickly retreated. “It’s just that you caught us by surprise. If this is what makes you happy, then by all means, let’s celebrate.” Patricia raised her glass and toasted, “To Ian McKay, the best pseudo brother-in-law, uncle, and friend a girl could ever have.”
The three raised their glasses in a silent toast, and Lizzie asked excitedly, “If you’re going to see the world, where are you going first?”
“Well, believe it or not, my first adventure is to America. I’ve been planning my itinerary for a while, and I actually leave the day after tomorrow.”
Again, the two were shocked by the news of the nearly immediate departure.
“Jesus, Ian!” Patricia blurted out. “How long have you been planning this? I’m starting to feel like you’re hiding something from us.”
Ian was caught by surprise, but he quickly recovered and explained, “I haven’t been hiding anything. I broke the news to Charles last week, and I called to set up this dinner with you two the next day. I’m just ready for the next chapter in my life, and now is as good a time as any to start.”
Lizzie eagerly broke in. “Well, tell us about your plans. Where are you going? How long are you going to be gone?”
So Ian began the explanation of his journey. Flying to New York, where he would stay for a few days, he would then catch a train to Washington, DC, where he would stay a week and soak in every historical attraction the city had to offer. Then on to Dallas.
Patricia asked, “What’s in Dallas?”
“Well, I’ve always been intrigued by the Kennedy assassination. And if I’m touring America, Texas is one of a handful of states that I want to be able to say I’ve been to. And …” Ian was struggling to come up with any other good reasons why he would be visiting Dallas, but Patricia broke in and saved the day.
“And,” she said smiling, “you obviously know a woman there.”
Relieved, Ian lied, “You got me.”
And before it was necessary to continue, Lizzie interrupted, “Isn’t Dallas where that presidential candidate Will Hawkins is from?”
Ian’s heart raced, but his exterior remained unfazed. He was about to respond when Lizzie continued, “I think he is so impressive. And so good-looking.”
Ian’s emotions got the better of h
im. “He is not impressive. He is scum. He’s just another rich politician using his money to buy power. He is everything that is wrong with democracy in this world.”
Ian’s outburst caught the two women by surprise. They had never known him to be so emotionally involved in politics.
Lizzie spoke first. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ian. I was just making conversation. I really don’t know that much about him.”
Ian relaxed. “No, honey, I’m sorry. My political viewpoints aren’t appropriate at a dinner with you two, celebrating the biggest life change I’ll ever experience. I shouldn’t have overreacted.”
“Enough said,” Lizzie responded.
As the three finished dinner, Patricia and Ian exchanged glances, both knowing that the other was fully aware there was more to this situation than the surface conversation had indicated.
Greg Larson and John Sterling had planned on meeting at the Greenville Avenue Bar and Grill at 9:00 p.m. Larson arrived early and was sitting at the long, half-empty bar when Sterling entered. Larson’s reaction to Sterling’s appearance was similar to their first meeting. But this time Larson refrained from any sarcastic comments, remembering that Sterling was no pushover.
The two men shook hands, and Larson asked, “Did you find anything?”
“Patience, my man, first things first,” Sterling responded while signaling the barkeep to bring him a beer.
After what seemed like an eternity to Larson, the beer arrived, and Sterling turned toward him on his barstool. “I think I’ve got something you’re going to be very interested in.”
“Go on.”
“After our last conversation, I realized that the bulk of our Hawkins research has focused on his life in the US. So I chose to immediately investigate his years at Oxford. It actually wasn’t at all difficult to identify when he was there and then find someone else who was there at the same time. Once I found someone, I introduced myself as a government representative conducting an official candidate background check.”
The Labyrinth Campaign Page 8