As it turned out, they were correct. With a $500 cash deposit and an agreement to check back with the manager in forty-eight hours, Jack and Kate had a luxurious room overlooking Gore Creek.
“This place is beautiful,” Kate said with a hint of girlishness in her voice.
“Yes, it is. I just wish my first chance to stay here was under different circumstances.” Oh shit, Jack thought, wondering if his comment might have somehow hurt Kate’s feelings.
“Tell me about it,” Kate said, allaying his concerns. “Now, how are we going to get to the president?”
At the end of an hour of brainstorming, they had a game plan—a weak one, but it was the best they could do on short notice. Simplicity seemed to be the best approach. Once the president and his entourage arrived, Jack and Kate would wait for the right moment and approach a Secret Service agent with a note. The contents of the note would outline everything that had transpired.
They were counting on the fact that President Hughes’s son had gone to the University of Colorado at the same time as Jack. Though they had been only acquaintances twenty years earlier, Jack had stayed in touch with Bill Farmer, who was still quite close with Hughes’s son. The story for the Secret Service would be that Farmer was also in Vail with his fiancée and would love a chance to visit the president if he had a moment. The contents of the note had their Sonnenalp contact information. Jack’s biggest fear was being recognized before gaining access to the president, but it was a chance they were going to have to take.
With the note written and more than twelve hours until the president and his entourage were to arrive, Jack and Kate decided to relax and spend an evening in the quaint village. Step one was to buy some clean clothes, so they wandered through the village visiting the type of stores one might expect to find on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.
“This feels like a dream,” Kate said excitedly. “It’s a mix between an alpine village and a mall in Dallas.”
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Jack responded. “All you need here is time and money.”
After making purchases at Ralph Lauren’s Polo store and Gorsuch, a high-end, alpine Neiman’s, the two returned to their room to clean up. Jack showered and changed quickly and turned the bathroom over to Kate. Thirty minutes later she emerged, and Jack turned to see one of the most stunning women he’d ever set eyes on.
“Wow, you look great,” he said with a surprised tone.
“I know it’s shocking, but I do get dressed up once in a while,” Kate said, laughing. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”
The couple wandered out into the village in search of a restaurant. Within minutes they had a table at a place that looked both quiet and somewhat private. The service was impeccable, the food and wine exquisite. For nearly two hours, Jack and Kate forgot about their current lot in life and enjoyed each other’s company immensely. When the check arrived, Jack quickly plunked down three $100 bills, and they wandered back out into the village. The streets were relatively quiet, and Jack led Kate past the fountain plaza and down some stairs to a small parklike area adjacent to Gore Creek. As they strolled toward the pedestrian bridge, Kate stopped to look in the window of a shoe store that had closed hours earlier.
Jack walked up beside her and said, “Didn’t you get enough shopping earlier today?”
“A girl can never have too many shoes, Jack. You should know that.”
They both laughed, turning toward one another. Without another word, they leaned in toward one another and kissed, very gently at first, and then with more passion, as the isolation, anxiety, and loneliness of the past days thrust them into an emotional storm that made the moment all the more intense.
When the kiss ended, Jack took Kate by the hand, and they strode silently back to the hotel. As they entered the room, an awkward feeling told each of them that this was neither the time nor the place to begin an intimate relationship. They both wanted to, but the events of the past few days that had brought them together were not the foundation of a lasting relationship, or any type of intimate relationship for that matter.
Without a word, Jack grabbed the remote control and flipped on the TV. Channel 9 was a Denver-area affiliate, and the 10:00 news was just beginning. Both Jack and Kate were barely listening, contemplating how to let each other down easily. Those thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the male anchor introduced the top story of the night: an explosion in the parking lot of a downtown Denver hotel.
“A car rented to Jack McCarthy, alleged drug trafficker and former staff member of Senator William S. Hawkins’s presidential campaign, was been completely destroyed, presumably with him in it.”
“Oh, my God!” Kate cried as they rushed toward one another. As they embraced, she trembled. “We killed him. It was our fault.”
“We did,” Jack replied coldly. He would have at least expected Hawkins’s people to verify it was him before rigging the car. Beneath the fear summoned by the vicious act, Jack felt a layer of absolute determination. Hawkins, you fuck, I’m taking you down.
thirty-seven
Greg Larson drove his Jeep Grand Cherokee down Lemmon Avenue toward Love Field. As he veered right, crossing Mockingbird onto Marsh Lane, he spotted a number of private jets and finally saw the entrance to the private terminal. He parked his car in a guest space and entered the small building located at the far east side of the airport grounds. Upon entering, Greg was greeted by a man in a black suit, a black tie, and a white shirt with sunglasses hanging around his neck. The prototypical security guy, Greg thought to himself.
The agent clone spoke first. “Greg Larson, I presume?”
“Dr. Stanley,” Greg joked, unable to help himself.
When the man did not react, Greg wondered if he had blown the famous line uttered more than a century ago in Africa. Before he had time to question himself further, the man continued.
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a quick check of your bags.” “No problem, I fully expected it.”
The bodyguard thoroughly examined both Greg’s briefcase and his duffel bag. When he was through, he ran each bag through an x-ray machine as a double check.
“Sir, you’re the first one here, but you’re free to board whenever you like.”
The bodyguard escorted Greg out onto the tarmac. As they approached what appeared to be a commercial airliner, Greg realized and kicked himself for expecting that he was riding to Colorado on an ordinary private jet. This plane looked like a custom 737, and he couldn’t wait to check it out. He ascended the stairway to the entrance of the jet and was greeted by a male flight attendant whose nametag read “Rick.”
“Mr. Larson, welcome aboard. Our scheduled departure is in twenty-five minutes. Senator Hawkins and his team should be arriving shortly. Let me show you to your seat.”
The two men entered the plane, passing the cockpit on the left, then went through a short hallway and into the main salon. Greg was in awe. He had never seen anything remotely like this, and they were only in the main cabin. Rick mentioned that the private quarters were in the rear portion of the plane.
“Wow,” Greg said quietly. “It’s like a tour bus on steroids.”
“It is pretty amazing,” Rick responded. “But you get used to it.”
As the two men walked down the aisle, Greg was checking out everything. The main cabin had separate seating areas with what appeared to be mahogany walls separating them. Each area was appointed with leather couches, leather chairs with accompanying ottomans, coffee tables with built-in phones, laptops, and scanners, and a wall of four televisions designated London, New York, Dallas, and Tokyo. The second “den,” as Rick referred to it, was where Greg was supposed to sit.
“Pick any seat,” Rick instructed. “This flight will be relatively empty.”
Greg chose the chair next to the window and settled in. As he stared out the window, he contemplated his interview strategy. How would he confront Will Hawkins? What would the senator’s response be? As the moment arrived,
would Greg have the wherewithal to go the distance? All of these questions nagged at him as he noticed three Lincoln Town Cars pull into the parking lot. His heart started to race as Senator Will Hawkins and his entourage exited the vehicles.
Then the adrenaline rush hit him. This was the moment he had waited for since his last Pulitzer. At that very moment, he knew with 100 percent conviction that he was going to nail Will Hawkins’s ass to the wall.
Nevertheless, as Greg watched the entourage confidently cross the tarmac, a sick feeling hit him square in the gut. They were so confident, almost cocky. It appeared to be the Camelot of the next millennium. He couldn’t help a slight feeling of awe. He fervently wished for another time in history that represented hope. But he knew in his heart that Senator Hawkins was a fraud—very polished and a fabulous speaker—but without a shred of sincerity.
The entourage entered the plane. Hawkins was not in front, as Greg had expected. Instead, three men, almost clones of the man who had first met him in the terminal, entered first. It was obvious they were trained bodyguards. When they were satisfied there was no threat, Senator Hawkins strode in. Greg was surprised at his presence: handsome, smiling, clearly in control. Will Hawkins could have just as easily been entering a crowded auditorium. His gait was fast and deliberate, and he walked straight toward Greg.
“Greg, I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you with us on this trip. A journalist of your reputation covering my campaign is an honor and a huge opportunity. Now, having said that, it’s only a bonus if your coverage is favorable.”
Greg started to interrupt with a reporter’s obligatory no-guarantees speech, but Hawkins continued before he had a chance.
“Of course, there are no guarantees. But I do believe you are innately fair, and I am confident that the facts will speak for themselves.”
Greg was thinking to himself what a surprise was in store for Hawkins and his staff. The two men continued their chat for nearly five minutes, covering topics ranging from fly-fishing in Colorado to Hawkins’s stance on a range of public policies. At an appropriate breaking point, Will Hawkins excused himself to visit with other guests and finally adjourned to the back cabin that had a private bedroom and study.
On cue, a female flight attendant, who could have easily passed for a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, asked Greg what he would like to eat and drink during their flight. While the cuisine sounded delicious by any standard, he passed on the food and ordered a double Grey Goose on the rocks, then reclined, settling in for the two-hour flight. As the plane lifted off the runway at Love Field, Greg couldn’t help smiling. He knew he was on his way to the most explosive interview of his career.
Ian McKay was standing next to the US map artwork in Denver International Airport described to him two days prior. As he scanned the crowd, waiting for his contact, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten to this point in such a short amount of time. Everything had happened so quickly that his normal, methodical approach to planning had been marginalized. At that moment, Ian realized he had no definitive contingency plan and had not made any arrangements should he not return home to England. He was actually contemplating walking away when he spotted the men he was looking for. They were dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties, and both had sunglasses dangling around their necks.
They walked right up to Ian, and one man said, “Do, re, mi.”
Ian responded with the agreed response from the song in The Sound of Music: “Fa, so, la.”
The man asked quietly, “May I see your ticket stub, please?”
It struck Ian as funny. He sounded just like a ticket agent at the gate.
Ian laughed and said, “I don’t have a ticket.”
The two men looked at each other, frustrated. “Mr. McKay, you had explicit instructions to reach Denver International Airport anonymously. Exactly how did you get here?”
“I drove.”
“Sir, this is a violation of our agreement. You were explicitly told not to rent a car.”
“I didn’t. I bought a very used Honda Accord from a sleazy used-car dealer who didn’t seem to care that my name was Tom Cruise.”
The two men smiled as Ian handed them the bill of sale from College Motors with the buyer name of Tom Cruise.
“Follow us.” They turned and walked toward the west exit of the airport.
Once Ian was settled in the back of the customized Chevy Suburban, the second man, who was in the front passenger seat, turned and began the lengthy instruction phase during the two-hour drive to Vail. Ian was going to be staying in the guest quarters of the Hawkins family estate. It was imperative that no one see him during his entire stay in Vail. He was to stay away from all windows, and tomorrow morning at exactly 8:00 a.m., they would bring Senator Hawkins to him. Their expectation was that the meeting should take no more than ten minutes. The senator would bring a large, nondescript duffel bag with the agreed amount of money.
Ian’s mind wandered. What was he thinking? He felt as if he were walking into a lion’s den. But he rationalized that Hawkins wasn’t crazy. Paying the ransom was the prudent, easy thing to do.
“Mr. McKay,” the man interrupted his thoughts. “Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry,” Ian responded. “Could you go over that last part again?”
“I said, once the transaction is completed, we will drive you back to DIA, and we don’t expect to ever hear from you again.”
Ian nodded, and the rest of the trip passed in silence.
thirty-eight
Jack and Kate were positioned at side-by-side windows in their room overlooking the quaint chapel across the street. They hadn’t left their positions for well over an hour. President Hughes was staying right up the street at a stone mansion once owned by the Webster family of dictionary fame, and it was imperative that they know when the president and his entourage decided to visit town. Their plan was predicated on being there as the president strolled through town so that they could identify a Secret Service agent on the periphery who was isolated and therefore approachable.
Jack had spent hours crafting the note they hoped would reach the president. It was well thought out, with enough proprietary information to provide some level of authenticity to the many eyes that were sure to scrutinize it. But the content of the note was irrelevant if the initial approach was not flawless.
The plan was simple: Jack and Kate would both approach an outlying Secret Service agent and explain that Jack had attended college with the president’s son and was hoping to get a brief chance to say hello. Kate was the diversion. They hoped that with the appropriate attire and a disarming smile, she would be able to preoccupy the agent just enough to take the note and pass it along to his superiors later.
About twenty minutes later, movement up the street got their attention. Four men, casually dressed but looking out of place, were slowly moving down the street, scanning up, down, and side-to-side. It was clear that the larger entourage would be along shortly.
Jack and Kate jumped back from their positions; being observed looking out the window would be a dead giveaway. Within a minute, they both were prepared to exit the hotel. By the time they reached the lobby, the president and his team were passing the valet entrance of the hotel, about to take a right toward the heart of the village.
Jack and Kate stood still, watching along with the rest of the tourists and locals who had noticed the commotion. Once the main group had rounded the corner, the twosome began scanning the street for an agent bringing up the rear. It turned out to be quite simple, as four more agents brought up the rear. After watching for no more than ten seconds, the choice was obvious: The young agent closest to them, though doing his job, was obviously spending an inordinate amount of time observing Kate.
Once the rear escort team had passed, Jack and Kate casually followed. For the next five minutes, they were just two tourists window-shopping at all the fine establishments Vail had to offer but always keeping their Secret Service target
in view. When the president finally entered a store and the various agents took their positions, they knew this was their chance. They approached the target together, Jack speaking first. “Excuse me, I know this is quite unorthodox, but …”
“Sir, please move on. I am on duty and unable to converse with civilians.”
“But my friend went to school with Dan Hughes, the president’s son,” Kate said, “and he just wanted you to pass along a message.”
“Ma’am, I am unable to—” The agent paused, taking another look at Kate. He appeared to relax just slightly and said, “I’m sorry I interrupted, please go on.”
“As I was saying, Bill, here, went to school with the president’s son, and when we realized he was here I encouraged him to try and say hello.”
Jack said, “I know this sounds odd, but I wrote the president a note, hoping you’d give it to him.”
Kate smiled at the agent. “We were hoping if he wasn’t too busy he might take five minutes for a quick visit.”
Jack jumped in, “I told her there was no way. It was nearly twenty-five years ago. But she talked me into it anyway. If you’d just give him the note, that would be great.”
The agent was still looking at Kate when Jack handed him the note. They both thanked the agent profusely and wandered off, window-shopping as they went. The agent had taken the note and put it in his pocket. Now all they could do was wait and hope.
The day shift at South Carolina’s largest nuclear facility was just ending. Doug Flannery was walking down the hall toward the main chamber when Rick Cortez was exiting, shedding his hardhat and protective eyewear.
“Doug, where you headed? It’s time to get a beer.”
“Yeah, I know,” Flannery told his top supervisor and best friend. “But I’ve got a strange reading on cylinder four up in the control room, and regulations say I got to check it out.”
The Labyrinth Campaign Page 15