The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense

by Samuel Marquis

  He said, “I think it was planned all along. Someone wanted regime change in the worst possible way.”

  “Kieger out, Fowler in, is that it?”

  “Exactly. What do you think? Could it be a massive conspiracy extending to the highest levels of government?”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “And making too many bad ones.”

  They shared a laugh. She leaned forward in her seat, wanting to draw him out further with his little conspiracy theory, to see how closely it matched the actual truth. “Okay, suppose it is a conspiracy, who do you think is behind it? The Green Freedom Brigade?”

  “I don’t know. They’re definitely a radical group and they’ve killed people before.”

  “What about Fowler? Do you think she could be involved?”

  “I don’t think so. She looked sincere when she paid tribute to Kieger. I think he really was something of a mentor to her. I guess that’s what surprises me most about her. I thought she was a rabid right-winger, and here she goes praising Kieger. Still, at this early stage, she’s clearly the one who has gained the most from the assassination. As things stand, she’s the next president of the United States and leader of the free world. So she has to be a prime suspect.”

  Skyler decided not to press the discussion further, lest the Cabernet make her blurt out something she shouldn’t. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see how it all plays out. Perhaps there will be a few surprises in store for us.”

  “I’m sure there will be,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure there will be.”

  CHAPTER 49

  THEY WERE SEATED at a table overlooking Santa Monica Bay. For a few minutes, they quietly looked over the four-star menu. Skyler felt deep hunger pangs as she perused the selections: Shanghai lobster risotto, scallops on watercress purée, grilled Szechwan beef, barbequed quail, wok-charred salmon, and other ultra-deluxe California cuisine dishes meant to be savored one bite at a time.

  In the back of her mind, she knew she was taking a grave risk getting involved with Anthony. At the same time, she couldn’t deny her feelings for him. She liked that he was trying to win her over. She enjoyed being with him and the little tingle she felt when their bodies touched.

  A waiter with slicked-back hair done in a ponytail arrived to take their order. Skyler opted for the lobster risotto, Anthony the wok-charred salmon. They both went for a house salad with vinaigrette and Skyler ordered a bottle of Patz & Hall Mount Veeder Carr, a choice the waiter enthusiastically commended.

  As the waiter walked off, Skyler placed her napkin in her lap and said, “Now tell me about some of your films. Perhaps I’ve seen one of them.”

  “Well, my last one was Rhino Man . The story of a genetically engineered half-human, half-rhinoceros that escapes from a laboratory in Oxnard and wreaks carnage on L.A.”

  She threw him a bemused smile. “I don’t believe I saw that one.”

  “How about The Artful Hunter ?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, it’s about a transvestite serial killer who flies his victims to remote wilderness locations and then hunts them down like wild animals. Monumental film. It grossed over two hundred million. And of course we all know that movie grosses and quality are directly proportional.”

  Skyler was amused by his self-deprecating humor. “I’m afraid I missed that one too.”

  He clutched his chest and gave a look of mock hurt. “I’m appalled. I hope you at least saw The Jetsons 3-D . I think it’s my most stunning achievement. It grossed over a quarter billion in the U.S. alone. I still can’t believe it didn’t win a single Oscar or Golden Globe nomination.”

  He gave a wry smile, but Skyler sensed an underlying seriousness to his self-inflicted gibes. She looked at him thoughtfully. “I take it you’re not very proud of some of your films.”

  “Oh, no, they’re great—if you enjoy a hundred million dollars’ worth of gadgets, hype, and flagrant product plugs.”

  Now she understood why he’d gotten burnt out on the motion picture industry and was taking time off to regroup. That’s why she rarely went to see American films; most of them were just too damned moronic, pandering to the lowest possible denominator.

  “Why do you think there are so few good films today?” she asked him.

  “The answer’s simple. Hollywood’s steeped in corporate greed, like a farmer ankle deep in manure. Everything—and I mean, everything—revolves around breaking box office records on opening weekend. To do that, you have to have either sophomoric humor or special-effects overkill.”

  Skyler sipped her wine. I’m liking you more and more, Anthony. I hope I never have to kill you.

  “A friend of mine at Universal told me that what Hollywood creates is mostly product, rarely entertainment, and never art. He told me to get used to it, because it wasn’t going to change any time soon. That was twenty years ago and I didn’t believe him. Until it was too late.”

  “As a consumer,” Skyler said, “I have two possible reactions to American movies. I either hate them, or I really hate them. That’s why I usually see foreign films.”

  “Me too, and I’m an American film producer!”

  They shared a good laugh at the irony. In that blissful moment, she realized how much she missed such a simple pleasure as laughing with someone else. She hadn’t done it very often in recent years.

  “It all begins with formulaic scripts,” he said. “Most of what’s out there is no better than a pilot for a sitcom. Half the time they’re dusting off a 1960’s TV corpse and throwing in the latest special effects for good measure. The directors are just as bad. These days the only necessary qualification is to have a hit music video on your list of credits.”

  “So is that why you left Inverness Entertainment?”

  “I grew weary of it all. I began to lose my mind. I made tons of money, but the downside of Hollywood is that it leaves its victims prone to nervous breakdowns, heart attacks, and suicide. I was one of the lucky ones. I only suffered from the first affliction.”

  They looked up as their salads arrived. The waiter ground fresh pepper onto the crispy Romaine lettuce, refilled their wine glasses, and disappeared.

  “Have you considered getting back in with a more artistically inclined company?” she asked as they began eating.

  “Thought about it. Some of the established indies are doing some interesting, edgy projects. Hooking on with one of them is a possibility, but even they’re becoming predictable.”

  “Maybe you just need a new direction. If your heart is in putting quality films together, you can’t give it up entirely.”

  He considered this a moment. “I know you’re right. I’m just not ready yet.”

  “You know what I think? I think Hollywood needs to rediscover how to make films that are both commercial and intelligent. Get back to quality storytelling and move away from flashy special effects. When it’s all said and done, interesting characters and deep emotions are what people remember most, not fancy gadgets and effects. You could help lead that revolution, Anthony, if you put your mind to it. Leave the terrific stunts and stunted scripts to someone else.”

  “Wow,” he exclaimed. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

  “Of course I do,” she said with a self-assured grin. “I’m a woman.”

  CHAPTER 50

  AFTER DINNER, they went for a walk on the beach. Skyler liked the feel of the cool ocean breeze on the back of her neck. Every once in a while, they stopped and stared out at the dark, mysterious sea. The waves rolled lazily toward the sandy beach, but the occasional big one broke through with a rhythmic roar, a thunderous echo that served as a reminder of nature’s indisputable power.

  As they came upon one of the lifeguard towers, Anthony said, “I can’t believe I spent the whole dinner talking about myself. And I know almost nothing about you.”

  Skyler felt a prickle of anxiety. Though she knew how to navigate through minefields like
these, she always got a little anxious. She had been fabricating her personal history for so long now that it was second nature, but it was still hard to lie face-to-face.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked him.

  “How about where you’re from?”

  “Los Angeles originally,” she said, giving the standard prevarication. “But I moved to Barcelona when I was very young and spent most of my childhood there.”

  “And your parents?”

  “They’re both dead. Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “They were wonderful people. My father was American and my mother Spanish. He was a venture capitalist and my mother was an art consultant.”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, I’m an only child.”

  They took off their shoes and walked on in silence, occasionally slowing down to stare out at the flickering boat lights far offshore. Though still nervous about saying the wrong thing and blowing her cover, Skyler liked the feeling of the wet sand between her toes, the sensation of the cool ocean surf as it swept past her ankles. They heard the bright beat of Jimmy Cliff’s The Harder They Come coming from the north.

  He said, “I’ve told you what I do for a living. But you still haven’t told me what you do.”

  She went with her standard lie. “Actually, I work for the CIA.”

  He came to a halt and looked at her with stupefaction. “What?”

  “I’m not joking—I work for the CIA.”

  “So you’re like a spy?”

  “Actually, what I do isn’t found in any Daniel Silva or John Le Carré novel. I’m in the Domestic Resources Division. Not one of the country’s most closely guarded secrets and certainly not the most glamorous posting at the agency. Still, I have to be a little careful about what I say and who I spend time with. That’s why I didn’t tell you at first.”

  “Are you and I spending time together?”

  “For the time being. After the bombshell I just dropped, I’m surprised you’re not scrambling to make a getaway. That’s the usual reaction I get.”

  “Actually, I find the whole government spook thing intriguing.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Domestic Resources is about as James Bond as the IRS.”

  He laughed and they started off again.

  “So what do you do in the Domestic Resources division? Or is it like off-limits to tell me?”

  She decided it would be best to tell the whole lie. Then, at the end, she could make it clear that that’s all she could say. Real CIA operatives had to do the same thing with their friends, lovers, and spouses so it would be believable. She would throw in the usual technical jargon she gave her few female acquaintances, to make it sound official.

  “We gather information,” she replied. “Domestic Resources is a branch within the National Clandestine Services, which used to be known as the Directorate of Operations.”

  “So what does your job involve? Tracking down spy rings inside the country, that sort of thing?”

  “No, we gather information on foreign countries using domestic resources. Which is a fancy way of saying that we ask Americans living or traveling overseas to report on what they know or see abroad.”

  “And all of this is done in secret?”

  “Actually, we operate overtly for the most part. We do have a commercial cover, for protective reasons, but our activities are more open than other branches of the Company. Our staff members are allowed to identify themselves as CIA officers.”

  “Is that what you are, an officer, not an agent?”

  “Agents are foreigners recruited by our Foreign Resources branch to become spies. Officers are actual employees. That’s what I am. I’m what’s known as a ‘nonofficial cover officer.’ Which means that when I’m outside the country, I’m not officially attached to any U.S. government agency. I’m NOC.”

  “So that way it’s harder to trace you to the CIA.”

  “It allows the Company to deny all knowledge of my activities. Being an NOC is far riskier than working under official government cover since an NOC has no diplomatic immunity and can be arrested and imprisoned for spying. Or consorting with spies.”

  “Sounds scary.”

  “Not really. Most of my interviews are in the U.S., questioning American businesspeople and university professors about the information they pick up on their travels. I use the NOC cover only when the interview needs to be done outside the country. Important cases usually. Sometimes we try and obtain plans on military targets from workers who have built the facilities, but usually we’re after technological and business secrets. Basically to keep us competitive.”

  “Interesting.”

  You’ve been convincing but it’s time for the final pitch.

  “I’d tell you more, but I could get into trouble,” she said. “You know, national security and all.”

  “I understand.”

  She rewarded him with a smile and breathed a sigh of relief that the elaborate lying was over. But she also felt guilty. At dinner he had spilled his life to her, and all she could offer him in return were clever lies. But what else could she do? There was no way she could tell him the truth. How would she even begin? “I just wanted you to know, Anthony, I’m a professional assassin. I just killed the next president of the United States. It’s my job so I’m sure you understand.”

  They strolled onto the pier. Skyler liked the quiet rhythm of the waves lapping lazily against the heavy timber bollards. Green phosphorescent bundles of seaweed slid gently past the dock. The sliver of moon lit up the water just enough to see the mackerel wriggling at the surface.

  After a half hour of pleasant conversation thankfully not involving any lying, they retraced their footsteps, went to Anthony’s car parked on Main, and drove back to her apartment. As they got out, Skyler wished the night didn’t have to end. Anthony was almost too good to be true. He was funny, he was smart, and he was considerate. But what she related to most was his vulnerability. Somehow Hollywood had broken his spirit and he was taking time off to regroup. She could sympathize with what he was going through and saw his soul-searching not as a sign of weakness, but something admirable. It made him seem more human.

  She knew she was falling for him.

  Which made it all so confusing. She wasn’t supposed to fall for anyone. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to her.

  When they reached the doorstep to her apartment, Anthony politely asked, “May I kiss you goodnight?”

  “If you don’t I shall be disappointed.”

  He leaned forward and their lips softly touched. As she kissed him back, she wanted desperately to pull him inside and make love to him. She didn’t want to handcuff him and mount him like she did the lapdogs she used for her immediate gratification. She wanted to make love as lovers did, to feel the emotions they felt. Then afterwards, she wanted to lie around lazily, talking and caressing.

  “Do you want to come upstairs?” she asked him hopefully.

  “It’s been such a wonderful night. Let’s just end it like this.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” she said, though she was a little disappointed.

  He kissed her again and she felt warm all over. “Can we get together tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I’d like that. I might even be able to get the day off. I’ve logged a lot of overtime recently.”

  “That sounds great. I’ll call you.” He kissed her softly on the lips once more.

  “Goodnight, Anthony.”

  “Goodnight.”

  When she went upstairs, she opened the curtain to see if she could catch a glimpse of him. To her delight, he was still waiting for her beneath the street lamp, making sure she reached the apartment safely. He waved up at her, giving a winsome smile. At first, she hesitated to respond because she felt ridiculous. But then, as if under the force of a spell, she returned a smile and her hand passed back and forth across the window. She couldn’t believe it, but the sensation
was delightful.

  Watching him move off, she thought to herself, How could I possibly feel this wonderful? I must be dreaming.

  CHAPTER 51

  BENJAMIN BRADFORD LOCKE saw the stubborn look he had been hoping not to see take root on his teenage daughter’s face—and he knew instantly that he was in trouble.

  “But I don’t think I can do it, Daddy. I don’t want to give my baby up for adoption. I want to raise the child myself.”

  “I don’t see how that’s going to be possible.” He looked to his wife for help. “Tell her, Mary.”

  “Your father’s right. You are too young to have a baby. That is why, when the time comes, you’re going to have to give it to the adoptive parents. That’s what your father and I have decided.”

  “But I don’t think I can do it.”

  Locke couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but held his tongue. Why was she being so stubborn? She had already agreed to go to Sacred Heart, the home for unwed Christian mothers in the fresh mountain air of Summit County. Yet she was clinging steadfastly to the ludicrous notion that, upon the successful completion of the seven-month program, she would keep her baby.

  Of course she can’t keep the damned baby! She’s only seventeen!

  “I don’t want to give my baby away. What if the adoptive parents turned out to be cruel or incompetent? I can’t bear the thought of someone hurting my child. Or not loving it as it should be loved. Or neglecting it in some way.”

  “You can’t keep a child out of wedlock,” said Mary. “It isn’t Christian.”

  “But it is my baby and I’ll be eighteen when it’s born.”

  Locke shook his head with irritation. “Haven’t you embarrassed your parents enough, Susan?”

  The girl started crying.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said quickly, reaching out and touching her reassuringly. “But you have to understand—we are extremely disappointed.”

  “Here, let me handle this,” said Mary.