Finally, Rollins got around to the question Larson had been waiting for.
“Greg, I have to ask you; what do you plan to do with the information that you have so deftly uncovered?”
“I don’t know, John. What do you think I should do?”
“Well, Senator Hawkins is a visionary. His economic and ecological platform is just what this country needs. So I was hoping to not let a college roommate, regardless of his identity, get in the way of that. The future of the US will be a lot brighter with Will Hawkins at the helm.”
“You forgot to mention his strong stance on drugs, John. The next president, who professes to be the savior of urban America, was the college roommate of the world’s most notorious drug czar. Do you or don’t you believe that’s news?”
“It’s clearly news, Greg,” Rollins responded. “The question is whether or not it’s relevant.”
“Relevant to the broad platforms surrounding the campaign? Probably not. But my fear is that Senator Hawkins is beginning to believe his own bullshit and is going to end up believing he’s invincible, that he can get away with anything.”
Rollins stared at the floor. The journalist had just put his finger on a worry Rollins had been grappling with for months. But the time to act in that context was behind him; he had worked way too hard to quit now. And the lure of twenty-four hour access to the most powerful man in the world was intoxicating, too close to allow it to slip away.
“Greg, all I can tell you is that Senator Will Hawkins’s political career is in your hands. The platform he has set is just what this country needs, and you have to ask yourself: What is more important, the story or our future?”
Larson said nothing.
“Greg, I think the best thing to do is let your conscience be your guide. I’ve arranged for the Hawkins’s other plane to take you back to Dallas this afternoon.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Greg replied, “but I’m fine catching this afternoon’s American flight out of Eagle.”
“No need, Greg. It’s already set. Someone will meet you downstairs in forty-five minutes.”
“John, as much as I appreciate the offer, I’m not taking the senator’s plane. I’m already regretting the fact that I rode up with him.”
John Rollins stood unsteadily. He was pale and clearly not feeling well.
“Greg, you will be returning to Dallas on the Hawkins jet. If force is necessary, then that can be arranged.”
Larson also stood. His reaction was one of confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s simple, Greg. Senator Hawkins’s campaign cannot afford the negative publicity you are suggesting. The Hawkins plane will leave Eagle airport this afternoon with you on board, and it will explode somewhere over southeastern Colorado.”
Larson was completely still, and before he could react, a large man slipped up behind him and, with a single, barehanded blow to the neck, dropped him to the ground, unconscious before he hit.
forty-two
Jack McCarthy and Kate Anson entered the imposing office of a mountainside mansion in Vail belonging to Paul Anton, one of the wealthiest industrialists in the western United States. Anton was a quiet, reserved billionaire with strong ties to the Republican Party. His Vail vacation home, while understated on the exterior, had one of the most lavish interiors in the entire valley.
Jack and Kate were momentarily stunned. The office was bigger than most apartments and had a view of the Gore Range that took their breath away. The only thing that made their entrance even more memorable was the fact that President Robert Hughes sat behind the exquisite antique desk opposite the doorway. As they stood there motionless, the president stood and waved them to his side of the room.
“Mr. McCarthy, Ms. Anson, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I think I speak for both of us,” Jack said, “when I say the feeling is mutual.”
With a quick gesture from Hughes, the two Secret Service agents who had escorted Jack and Kate vanished without a word.
“Now that things are a little more intimate, I’m going to get right to the point,” Hughes said. “Though the experts on my staff and I don’t put a lot of credence in the note you most skillfully passed in my direction, I think it is fair to say that if there’s even the slightest chance that there is any truth in your claims, it would be a mistake on the administration’s part not to investigate further. So please, for my own edification, tell me in great detail why one of the wealthiest men in the world, who already has an extremely legitimate shot at the White House, would engage in such madness?”
“Sir,” Jack began, “I can’t tell you why Senator Hawkins is doing what he’s doing, but I can tell you with 100 percent confidence that he is behind this current string of unimaginable disasters.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I overheard him discussing the entire plan. These so-called accidents are not coincidental—nor are they accidents.”
Jack went on to recap in great detail everything he had heard that evening outside Hawkins’s office. But not even the president, a man with access to all the world’s secrets, was prepared for Jack’s final statement.
“And, sir, the worst part of this maniacal plan is that his partner is Carlos Pendrill.”
The president, known for his quick, nimble mind, was speechless. No one spoke for nearly a minute. Finally, Hughes uttered just two words.
“Not possible.”
“Mr. President, as much as I’d like to agree, I can’t. Not only is it possible, I know for a fact it is true. Will Hawkins and Carlos Pendrill have unleashed a reign of terror on the US with the sole purpose of ensuring that your administration is damaged by the events and that Will Hawkins becomes the next president of the United States.”
The president paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then grabbed the phone and asked Richard Wright to come to his office immediately. Wright was one of the president’s oldest friends and was not only the secretary of state but also the president’s most trusted adviser. Wright entered the office just minutes later and was given the abbreviated version of the still unimaginable story. When the briefing was over, his response was very similar to the president’s.
“It can’t be true. It makes no sense for Will Hawkins to engage in homicidal—shit, genocidal—behavior to get something he has a better than fifty-fifty shot of getting anyway. I don’t see the logic. Therefore I have to reject the premise.”
The room was again quiet as everyone contemplated what to say next.
Kate spoke first. “Gentlemen, the story Jack has told you is true, yet you refuse to believe him. You’ve obviously done a background search on Jack and decided he’s not a whack job; otherwise, we’d already be locked up. Yet your denials are so vigorous, it’s obvious you want to convince us we’re mistaken. So what gives? It feels as if you’re hiding something.”
Richard Wright erupted. “Who the hell do you think you are, accusing the president of the United States of hiding something?”
“Mr. Wright, you know who I am. I’m a trained detective who has spent years gathering evidence as well as observing and participating in verbal gamesmanship. I don’t believe you two are giving us the whole story.”
“Well, you’re wrong!” Wright exclaimed. “The political damage the president is suffering due to these so-called accidents is incalculable.”
“If I may,” Jack interrupted. “We’ve gone to great lengths to get here. We’ve been stalked and shot at; we’ve stolen cars and inadvertently led another man to his death, all because we believed there was one man in the world who could help us. That’s you, Mr. President. But if you won’t, then we’ll take our chances in going public, because this story must be told. The madness must be stopped. And like it or not, it’s the hand Kate and I were dealt. So, are you going to help us or not?”
“Jack,” President Hughes said, “as much as I admire your courage and as much as I would like to help, I can’t.”
At that moment, a hidden side door opened, and in strolled Bo Hawkins. His presence overwhelmed Jack and Kate, and by the time Jack recovered and turned to address the president, Hughes was gone.
“Jack, Kate, you’ve stumbled on to something much bigger than you can imagine,” Wright said. “You see, Will Hawkins actually has been systematically sabotaging President Hughes’s campaign via environmental terrorism, which was news to us—and his father, by the way. But now that the plan has been exposed, Mr. Hawkins, here, has come forward with some even more damaging information regarding the president. For that matter, it’s information that would be very damaging to the very institution of the presidency and would more than likely have a significant impact on the entire global economy.
“You see, our president is actually a convicted felon. Nearly fifty years ago in a small border town in Texas, a woman of disrepute died while in the company of President Hughes, who at that time was in the drilling business and was being entertained by Mr. Hawkins at the time. He was tried and convicted of negligent homicide in the county court but given a second chance by none other than Mr. Hawkins. He used his connections to gain release for President Hughes and was even able to have the conviction erased from the books.
“Now, you can imagine what information of this type would do to American credibility worldwide, not to mention President Hughes’s legacy and personal reputation. So you see, with no hope that this election would proceed according to his wishes without his intervention, Mr. Hawkins has inserted himself into this very awkward situation.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Kate said. “Our president has killed someone, and you’re discussing his legacy and reputation and referring to this as awkward? And you, Mr. Hawkins; you’re trying to blackmail your son into the White House. All of your asses are mine when we get out of here.”
“That’s the issue, Ms. Anson,” Hawkins said in his slow, Texas drawl. “I can’t let you out of here. I’ve personally accomplished just about everything there is to accomplish in this great land of ours, but being president isn’t one of them. Too many skeletons in the closet, if you know what I mean. But my son can become president, and I will die fulfilled. And I’ll be damned if the ridiculous antics of a couple of amateur spies are going to get in the way of a real American legacy—the Hawkins legacy. So, as much as I hate to say it, no one who knows you will ever see you alive again. And, to add insult to injury, your clandestine trek here has done a great job of covering your tracks for us. In fact, most people already believe you died in that car explosion down in Denver. Poor bastard.”
Hawkins turned and left by the door he had entered. Jack and Kate were ushered out of the office by the Hawkins security team, who had entered as if on cue.
Greg Larson was shoved into a windowless room in the Hawkins mansion. As the lock clicked behind him, Greg realized he was not alone in the small room. Ian McKay was sitting on a small wooden bench, legs crossed, staring at Greg.
“Who are you?” Greg asked, startled by Ian’s presence.
“Sergeant Major Ian McKay, British Special Services.”
“I’m Greg Larson. I’m a writer for The Dallas Free Press.”
The two men shook hands, still trying to comprehend the other’s presence.
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” Greg said.
For the next twenty minutes, Greg and Ian exchanged their backgrounds and the events that had led them to be incarcerated together in the bowels of a house owned by one of America’s wealthiest families.
“If we can figure a way out of here, we have enough evidence to decimate one of the world’s most powerful families and turn the Democratic party upside down,” Greg said.
Ian nodded. “That should have been my plan from the beginning. But I was thinking about my niece. This was, in my mind, some level of compensation for growing up without a father. Now look where I am.”
“Let’s not focus on how we got into this predicament; let’s figure out how we get out of it.”
They brainstormed. Finally, they landed on what seemed to be a long shot at best. Ian would fake serious illness. Ian thought he could jab his finger and squeeze out enough blood to give him one significant cough of blood to sell the idea. When the guards intervened to help him to his feet, Ian would try to take them out.
“This plan is so ridiculous, it actually might work,” Greg said.
Jack and Kate had never felt more helpless. “I cannot believe this is fucking happening,” Jack said angrily. “We have evidence regarding mass corruption at the highest levels of the US government, and we’re locked in a goddamn janitor’s closet. We have to find a way out of here.”
Kate nodded. “But even if we were to find a way out, we’d immediately be shot as intruders going after the president. The Secret Service does not mess around. The agents who know what’s going on will kill to protect the president’s reputation, and the ones who don’t will kill to protect his life.”
Jack thought for a moment. “What if we use the Secret Service to our advantage?”
Kate stared silently.
“Look around. This room is full of equipment that could create or at least simulate a bomb. We could wire me to look like a suicide bomber and at least get the agents to escort us out of the house. After all, they’ve dedicated their lives to protecting the life of the president at all costs.”
“That’s creative, Jack, but what about me? There’s no reason they would have to take me with you.” The tone in her voice seemed to fluctuate between fear and anger.
“Okay, umm … You helped me wire the bomb. Now you’ve decided you don’t want to die. You’re the demolitions expert who will help them defuse the device.”
Kate’s shoulders sagged. “This is crazy. Our chances of success are probably in the same range as winning the lottery.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Silence.
“Okay, let’s get started. Once they have us outside, we’ll just have to take our chances that we can outmaneuver the agents. My guess is only a couple of them will ultimately accompany us to shield the rest of the team from what’s really taking place here.”
Kate and Jack began scouring the storage room for the appropriate materials.
forty-three
The office in the Hawkins mansion was silent. Father and son each stared off in separate directions, contemplating the predicament the family legacy had been exposed to. It was obvious that neither wanted to be the first to speak.
Finally, Bo Hawkins broke the silence. “I never liked this plan of yours. I know it’s not something you ever considered sharing with me, but I didn’t get to where I am by waiting for information to come to me.
“Our current issue is that a small army of people know you’re dirty, and that is unacceptable.” The longer Bo spoke, the angrier his tone became. “What the hell were you thinking? As a matter of fact, what the hell was I thinking, letting you continue once I understood your intentions?”
Will gave his father a glare of frustration. “Well, it doesn’t appear that your little blackmail plan is exactly knocking one out of the park.”
“I didn’t have a plan, goddammit! My knowledge of the president’s past was merely precautionary in case you couldn’t win this thing on your own, which clearly you didn’t believe you could, based on your actions. Now, before we continue our discussion, don’t you ever fucking speak to me in that tone of voice again, because the next time you show me that type of disrespect will be the last time.”
The look in his father’s eyes made Will look away, trying to hide his fear.
After a brief silence, Bo spoke again. “Now let’s finish our little father-son chat. Admittedly, it was a mistake on my part to let your plan continue once I had an idea of what you were contemplating. But I believed if we distanced ourselves from the president and his past, our secrets could remain safe. I also believed that a close race avoided all scrutiny. But now we, or should I say you, are in de
ep shit, and our only way out is to eliminate our four friends, and stop these damn fool accidents immediately.”
Finally Will spoke in nearly a whisper. “There’s one more accident planned. But it has the potential to make everyone forget the others.”
“It must be stopped!” Bo screamed.
Will’s shoulders sagged as he nodded in agreement.
Bo stormed out.
As Will Hawkins sat alone in the spacious office looking out at the grandeur of the Rockies, his thoughts were a thousand miles away. The question of the moment was how to position the ending of the ecoterrorism plot with Carlos Pendrill. There was no simple answer. But the clock was ticking, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that bombing the dam in Washington was a big mistake. Finally, after much internal deliberation, he reached for the phone. After a couple of rings, the familiar gruff reply that signaled Pendrill was bothered by the intrusion resonated on the other end of the line.
“Carlos, Will here.”
“What the hell do you want? I thought we were to avoid all contact.”
“I’ve been thinking …”
“That’s always fucking dangerous.”
“We cannot destroy that dam,” Hawkins said in a tone that sounded more like a plea than anything else.
Pendrill laughed out loud. “Are you losing your stomach for terrorism, Willie?”
“No, I just believe we’ve achieved our objective. The damage to the president is done; David Ellis has made sure of that. My inner circle has determined that Hughes is on the ropes. And I believe that any loss of life is no longer necessary.”
“Your weakness sickens me, Will. You should have understood your lack of intestinal fortitude before you agreed to the plan.”
The Labyrinth Campaign Page 17