“Would this person be at a level where he or she might be able to influence the department’s interest in a certain case? Or better yet, backdate the initial investigation form?”
Again, Carlos was impressed with the planning that had preceded the actual car bombing.
“Our philosophy, Will,” he answered, “is that the only person worth owning is one who can make things happen.”
“Good,” Will said. “If you can have your people verify the McCarthy narcotics investigation, then I think we can put these issues behind us.”
“Done,” Carlos answered, “but let me make one thing perfectly clear, Will. If you plan any more stunts like this without my knowledge, you and I are going to have a problem.”
Will’s initial reaction was, who in the fuck does he think he is? But before he could actually say anything, his political instincts reminded him who Carlos Pendrill was. He was not someone to be toyed with. Will could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand. The two men quickly agreed on next steps and hung up.
In Mexico City, Carlos leaned back confidently in his chair. Barring any further unforeseen events, the next president of the United States was now, most definitely, his.
Greg Larson and John Sterling had agreed to meet early Saturday morning at Barbec’s near White Rock Lake. Larson had gone for a bike ride around the lake, and when he arrived at the popular breakfast eatery, he was shocked to see a long line of people in bike shorts already waiting for a table. He glanced at the line to see if Sterling had arrived yet. No luck. So he wandered to the back of the line, clearly feeling the fatigue in his legs after a fifteen-mile trek from his home and around the lake.
He found himself wishing he didn’t have to ride home after breakfast. Once stationed at the rear of what appeared to be a ten- to fifteen-minute line, he heard a tapping of glass coming from behind him. He turned and, through the window, saw John Sterling already seated at a corner table in the restaurant. Larson made his way through the crowd of Saturday morning regulars and sat down across from the disheveled researcher he had come to respect immensely.
“How long have you been here?” Larson asked once he was seated.
“About thirty minutes,” Sterling answered blandly. “Thought I would read the paper before you got here. It feels like I’ve been out of touch with the rest of the world lately.”
“You’ve been out of touch with the rest of the world for twenty years,” Larson joked.
“Eat shit,” Sterling laughed. “You should be happy. I’ve been camped out in front of my computer screen just getting to know the Hawkins family.”
“Glad you brought that up, John. Find anything interesting?”
“I’ve got to be honest. I’ve been striking out. In fact, until this morning, I didn’t have anything new to report.”
“Why, what happened this morning?”
Sterling handed the Metro Section of The Dallas Free Press to Larson. There on page two was the story about the Hawkins campaign’s investigation into Jack McCarthy’s alleged involvement with a large-scale drug smuggling operation. As Larson read the story, his smile appeared to get bigger by the minute.
“This is friggin’ fantastic!” Greg exclaimed. “Drug smuggling at presidential campaign headquarters. That, coupled with the Pendrill connection, is the thread we pull that begins the unraveling of our illustrious senator. We’ve got to get more on this McCarthy. We might be able to use him to our advantage.”
“I’ve got to tell you, Greg. I’ve been looking into the entire campaign staff for quite some time. They’re all pretty clean.”
“Well, obviously this McCarthy has some skeletons. His own employer is looking into his dealings. Keep digging on him. This is the kind of lead that will help us reach the promised land. A chink in the Hawkins armor! Let’s deal that pompous fucking family a serious setback.”
The two men agreed to reconvene the next day. The rest of breakfast was filled with friendly banter, both men understanding that the break they were looking for had just landed in their laps.
twenty-six
Will Hawkins was feeling more confident than he had in days. The plan to eliminate the leak of his involvement with Carlos Pendrill was well under way. He had effectively managed the communication of the plan to Carlos, something he hadn’t been looking forward to. Pendrill had agreed to enlist his high-level contact in the Dallas Police Department to help explain the McCarthy car bombing which, if things went according to plan, would happen sometime that morning. And he was now waiting for a call from David Ellis to finalize the details surrounding his alliance with The Future State Foundation. Life was good.
Just at that moment the phone rang. Stephanie was transferring David Ellis to Will’s private line. Will felt a twinge of frustration at the sound of Stephanie’s voice. He should have fired her ass for incompetence, but he and John Rollins had decided that if they never acknowledged the incident with Stephanie, the infamous phone call would never be identified beyond McCarthy and Bess. Will quickly shifted his attention back to the ringing phone. “Will Hawkins,” he answered in a firm voice.
“Senator Hawkins, it’s David Ellis.”
The two men exchanged pleasantries before they got to the meat of the conversation. Will broke the ice. “David, I’ve thought a lot about our alliance. I think the timing is right to announce it to the press.”
“I would have to disagree,” David stated. “The key to this announcement is timing. If we don’t make the announcement in conjunction with some significant environmental event, we run the risk of getting lost on page two or worse. And that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
Will didn’t immediately respond. Lost in his private thoughts surrounding the impending environmental disasters, his silence, while unintended, had the desired effect of making David Ellis nervous. Ellis was also quiet, trying to brainstorm a recovery strategy with Hawkins. He’d been playing the take-it-or-leave-it part for so long, he hadn’t considered what he would do if Hawkins got frustrated and told him to pound sand. But at his very height of insecurity, Will broke the silence.
“I agree, David. Let’s wait for a worthy event that will ensure maximum press coverage surrounding our announcement. But we can’t afford to wait too long.”
Confidence quickly restored, Ellis again went on the offensive. “I’m glad we can agree on the strategy. But I will tell you when the time is right. I’ve spent the last several years managing the press to my advantage, and I’m not willing to turn over the reins of the foundation’s future to some press-secretary lackey you hired less than six months ago.”
While his assessment of the Hawkins campaign’s press credentials were accurate, Will was not about to let Ellis speak to him that way. “Mr. Ellis, I, too, have spent the past several years managing the press. I am more than willing to work with you on the timing of the announcement. But,” Will’s voice rose, “if you ever fucking talk to me like that again, not only will I immediately dissolve any association we may have, I will actively pursue any and all opportunities to bury you and the publicityseeking machine you call The Future State Foundation.”
Ellis was stunned and appropriately put in his place. He was also ready to respond, but, before he could utter the first line of his counterattack, John Rollins burst into Will Hawkins’s office unannounced, without knocking and obviously distraught. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Will knew that whatever news he was delivering, it clearly took precedence over the banter that was taking place in his conversation with Ellis.
“David,” Will stated quickly, “I’ve just received an emergency interruption that requires my immediate attention. I apologize, but I’ll have to call Monday and reschedule the remainder of our discussion.”
Before Ellis could respond, he heard the distinct click of disconnection. While it pissed him off to be dismissed so quickly, he was also relieved because the conversation with Hawkins had him on his heels. A delay in the conclusion of their discussion would clearly allow
him to further strategize an amicable resolution.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked Rollins, clearly frustrated by the interruption.
“We missed McCarthy and got his girlfriend.”
Hawkins was stunned. The confidence he had gained during his morning conversations with Pendrill and Ellis escaped him like air leaving a punctured balloon. He was nearly hyperventilating.
“When did it happen?”
“Just now. We had a spotter down the street to verify the hit. There was nothing he could do but watch.”
“Fuck!” Hawkins screamed. “We better figure out something quick, or we’re dead!”
Jack McCarthy had his hands on his knees, watching the blood from his face drip off the end of his nose. His mind was racing to assimilate what he had just witnessed. The small piece of material lying next to his right toe looked familiar: a piece of his sweatshirt that Carrie had been wearing this morning.
The reality of the situation hit him like a gut punch from a heavyweight boxer. He began to vomit, realizing that pieces of the woman he loved were strewn all over his front yard. He fumbled for the phone and dialed 911. After what seemed like forever, the dispatcher finally came on the line.
“My car exploded. My girlfriend … she’s gone. Please hurry.”
Jack hung up and began to sob. He staggered to the front porch and sat on the step. He tried to focus on what had just happened. Cars don’t just explode.
Then, for the second time in less than five minutes, the retching that accompanied an overwhelming realization hit him. The car had obviously been rigged to explode! It had been meant for him.
The campaign knew he knew.
They had planned to kill him and got Carrie instead. The anger that instantly grew inside of him was unprecedented. Without hesitation, he knew at that moment Will Hawkins would pay for this. Every waking moment would be dedicated to avenging Carrie’s senseless death.
Jack could hear the sirens. The police and the now-useless ambulance would be here in seconds. He was contemplating his next steps when it dawned on him that he had to reach Steve Bess. If they had gone after Jack, they would surely go after Steve as well. Or, had Steve Bess betrayed him? Yesterday, that didn’t seem possible. But today, he wasn’t sure who to trust.
As Jack continued to stare at the ground, he noticed two black boots directly in front of him. The first officer had arrived and was looking down at Jack impassively.
“Sir, are you with us? I mean, are you capable of responding to any questions?”
Jack nodded slightly. “I’m here, I just don’t understand.” Then he began to sob.
The next hour was a whirlwind of activity. Police, paramedics, and lab specialists were everywhere. The cuts on Jack’s face were treated, and a number of police representatives asked him a multitude of questions, different questions that were intended to get at the same answers, questions that were designed to trip him up. Why did he feel like he was on trial here? He’d just lost a woman he loved dearly, and they were treating him like he was a criminal. It was all very frustrating, but he was too emotionally drained to fight back.
As his mind went in and out of focus, Jack noticed a very petite, attractive female walking toward him. The only reason he had noticed her was that she didn’t seem to fit in. She headed straight toward him, very businesslike.
“Mr. McCarthy, I’m Kate Anson. I’m the homicide detective assigned to this case.”
Jack was speechless. He’d never thought about a woman, much less a beautiful woman, being a homicide detective. She began again, with the same basic line of questioning. Obviously, she’d already been briefed on his previous answers, and she was looking for a way to get a different answer, to get some new information that had yet to be uncovered. The police tactic of trying to wear down a witness—a suspect!—was beginning to piss him off.
Jack looked up at the detective and said, “Look, Ms. Anson, I’ve been through a lot this morning, and I’m pretty fucking tired of answering the same questions over and over again.”
“Well, Mr. McCarthy, I’ve just arrived at the scene, and I’m in charge of this investigation. So, I’ll ask as many questions as I like as many times as I like, and you’ll answer them.”
They stared at each other with contempt.
“In fact,” she continued, “the questions for you have just begun. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill neighborhood incident. You’re going to have to accompany me downtown.”
“Am I under arrest?” Jack asked, surprised.
“Not yet, but that could change.”
Jack stood up silently and followed her to an unmarked car.
twenty-seven
Will Hawkins was still trying to grasp the unbelievable fact that he had caused the death of an innocent bystander. He felt as if he were losing control of the situation. John Rollins was pacing back and forth across the office, waiting for Will to regain his composure. After several moments, Will began to speak. “We’ve got to get our hands on McCarthy. It won’t be long before he figures out that the bomb was intended for him.”
“I agree,” Rollins added, “but how do we pry him away from the police without calling attention to ourselves and before he tells them what he knows?”
Both men sat in silence, looking for an answer. “I think I have something,” Rollins finally blurted out. “But we’ve got to move fast.”
“I’m open to anything. What are you thinking?”
“Well, Pendrill has a police contact in the narcotics division, right?”
“Right.”
“What if we get in touch with this contact via Pendrill and have McCarthy detained within police headquarters based on his alleged involvement with a very powerful, Dallas-based narcotics ring? Then before they have a chance to question him, two of our guys, posing as DEA agents, pick him up for a transfer to their own holding facility. Then we have him.”
“What do we do once we have him?”
“We make him disappear. Then we plant a story in The Dallas Free Press regarding McCarthy’s abduction by some of his high-powered drug friends and, well, just another casualty of the Dallas drug wars.”
“That’s going to be highly embarrassing to the Dallas Police Department and complicated for Carlos.”
“Yeah, that crossed my mind,” Rollins continued, “but the stakes are that high. Pendrill will be pissed. But he’ll conclude that potentially compromising his contact in narcotics is ever so much more appealing than McCarthy telling the world the conversation he overheard.”
“Then what?” Will asked, too numb to contribute to the plan.
“We issue a statement from you,” Rollins said in a frustrated tone. “We acknowledge to the world that the campaign made a bad choice. We briefly discuss our screening process prior to entering into any employment agreements but that the process had obviously let this one slip through the cracks. But the clincher will be how shocked and disappointed you are that you could be so naïve. That you befriended a talented young man and were betrayed by him. That this incident has solidified your resolve to fight drugs in a manner not seen from a president in the last thirty years: your increased commitment to making a difference on the war against drugs.”
Rollins was staring at Hawkins, silently urging him to pull it together, to understand that it wasn’t over but that they had to move quickly.
“Do you think it can work?” Will asked in a monotone voice.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
Jack McCarthy and Kate Anson were just pulling on to Central Expressway, heading south toward downtown. They had yet to say a word to each other since getting into the car.
Kate spoke first. “So, Mr. McCarthy, do you have any idea why someone would rig your car with explosives? It’s not exactly a run-of-the-mill response to a simple neighborhood dispute.”
“You can call me Jack.”
“All right, Jack. Do you know why someone would want you dead?”
The tone of her voice indica
ted that she believed he knew something. This was not the type of incident where you could play dumb and people would believe you. Jack sat in the passenger seat, silently trying to focus on what he should do next. His options were limited. The police were treating him like a suspect. He had nowhere to turn. At that instant, Jack decided to roll the dice and confide in the beautiful homicide detective sitting to his left.
“As a matter of fact, Ms. Anson, I have a real good idea who would want to eliminate me.”
Jack spent the next five minutes summarizing his involvement in the campaign—the innocent way in which he overheard the candidate’s outrageous plan and how he had confided in Steve Bess. Saying Bess’s name sent a sudden chill through him like an electric current.
He blurted out, “We need to call Steve Bess! He was the only other person who knew the story. He is in serious danger.”
“Or,” Kate responded, “he could be on the other side.”
Jack nodded, knowing he’d already thought the same thing. “But if he’s not involved and I don’t warn him …”
Kate handed Jack her cell phone without either of them saying another word. Jack dialed Bess’s home number. It rang endlessly. Jack was about to hang up, wondering why the answering machine hadn’t picked up, when a faint woman’s voice said, “Hello.”
“Jenny?” Jack said questioningly. She didn’t sound like herself.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Jenny, it’s Jack McCarthy. Is Steve home?”
Jenny Bess began to sob.
“Jenny, what’s wrong? What’s going on there?”
As he was asking these questions, Jack and Kate were staring at each other, knowing something terrible was about to be communicated.
“Steve’s dead, Jack. He had a heart attack at the club this morning. He was gone before the paramedics arrived.”
Jack tried to remain calm. “Oh my God, Jen, what can I do to help?” He was trying to act natural in this surreal situation.
The Labyrinth Campaign Page 10