The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense

by Samuel Marquis

  “And suppose I say no.”

  Patton took another deep pull and blew perfect smoke rings. “Jesus, I haven’t lit up since ninth grade. It’s a good thing I quit smoking then ’cause this tastes pretty fucking good right now.”

  Schmidt gave a weary smile and their eyes met. You’re not evil, Franz. You’re just another lost soul who’s drifted astray. Like three-quarters of the people in this crazy world. I’m lost too. Sometimes I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or why I’m even fucking here.

  When their eyes moved off one another, Schmidt seemed more trusting. “All right,” he said, “I’ll talk to you if you promise to keep that gorilla away from me.”

  Patton blew another perfect smoke ring. “The big boss man gives me the willies too. We got ourselves a deal.”

  Schmidt gave a little nod. “I wanted to cooperate from the beginning, but I just don’t know how this could have happened. I have never even been to Colorado though I hear it is beautiful.”

  “You’d be right about that.” Patton took another drag. “Look, Franz, I’m going to be honest with you. I think your hair was planted. For one, we haven’t identified you in any of the building security tapes. For another, I’ve been checking up on what you’ve been doing the last couple of years.”

  A flicker of hope crossed the accused man’s face. “And?”

  “Looks like you’ve been keeping your hand out of the cookie jar, your nose to the grindstone.”

  “Any other clichés.”

  “Not at the moment. Now for the bad news. Our DNA experts in Washington tell me the odds are one in a gazillion that the hair found at the two separate crime scenes doesn’t belong to you. So one of two things had to have happened. Either you were in the Union Plaza Building in Denver last Sunday and you’re lying to us. Or—and this is what I think—your hair was collected at another location, preserved, and later transported to the crime scenes. Either way, you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

  Schmidt sucked hard on his cigarette, his cheeks turning to shallow craters. He blew the smoke out in a rush and gave a heavy sigh.

  “There’s more, Franz. Ballistics indicate our shooter is somewhere between six foot and six foot three in height. That’s you—you’re six two. Then there’s your criminal history as a weapons dealer.”

  “I wasn’t a weapons dealer. I was a federally licensed firearms seller.”

  “You broke the law, Franz. You sold California-banned Uzis and high-capacity magazines. To a jury, not only are you knowledgeable in firearms, as a professional assassin would be expected to be, you’re a lawbreaker. When you throw in the statutory rape thing, it looks pretty bad.”

  “I didn’t rape anyone. It was consensual. She said she was nineteen.”

  “Try telling that to a jury.”

  All at once, the blood left Schmidt’s face. “I want a lawyer,” he croaked.

  “You don’t need a lawyer, Franz. You need me and I’ll tell you why. You’re innocent. That hair was planted at the crime scenes by someone else, and if you think real hard I believe you’ll remember who it was. I want you to think back—let’s say, to the last few months—and see if you can remember anyone who had the opportunity to collect samples of your hair. Especially criminals. Are you hanging out with any these days?”

  “No. My friends are mostly artists and musicians.”

  “Well, who’s been to your apartment?”

  “Just friends. Some of them may have been busted for drugs, but none of them are involved in any criminal activity that I’m aware of.”

  “What about cleaning people? Do you have anyone clean your apartment?”

  “No, I do it myself.”

  “Anybody angry at you? Someone who might want to get back at you? Someone with ties to a subversive group?” When the answers were no, no, and no, Patton stamped out his cigarette irritably in the ashtray. “You’re going to have to try harder, Franz. Somehow, someone intentionally collected perfect strands of your hair. To do that, this clever asshole either had to recover them intact from some surface or article of clothing—or he had to distract you somehow and then rip them out.”

  A light seemed to go off in Schmidt’s brain. “Wait, what was that last part?”

  “I said the hair may have been pulled out forcibly.”

  Schmidt’s mouth opened wide. “Oh, my God. It was...it was her.”

  “Who?”

  “That woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “The woman that night. My God, I should have known.”

  Schmidt fumbled through his pocket for a cigarette, but the pack lay on the table. Seeing his desperation, Patton grabbed the pack, lit up two cigarettes, and passed one to Schmidt.

  Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Talk to me, Franz.

  “It happened about three months ago in L.A. I was there visiting a friend, but he left the bar and I stayed behind with this woman. We talked and danced for a while then went to her apartment. She was...crazy.”

  “What do you mean crazy?”

  “She handcuffed me to the bed and fucked my brains out. At first, I thought it was all in fun, a sex game. But then I saw the hate in her eyes. She was on top and she was trying to hurt me. It was like she was reliving some kind of twisted fantasy.”

  “Okay, I understand you had sex with this woman. But what about the hair?”

  “She pulled it out when I…”

  “When you what?”

  “When I came.”

  Patton’s lower jaw dropped. “She what?”

  “There’s no other way to describe it. She tore a clump of my hair out during my climax. I thought it was some weird sadomasochistic thing in the heat of it all.”

  “What happened after you were finished having sex? Did you see her put the hair in a baggie, envelope, or something?”

  “No, she just went to the bathroom. But I saw the little clump in her hand. I thought she was keeping a trophy or something. She scared the hell out of me. I tried to put her out of my mind. She kept me cuffed to the bed, like an animal. Like I said, at first it was exciting, then it was like I was being raped.”

  “You’d better not be messing with me, Franz. This sounds pretty far out there.”

  “How could I possibly make this shit up? You know what she said to me beforehand. She said, ‘I’m going to hurt you, but you will like it.’ Like she had the line memorized or something. It was fucking weird.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Her apartment was somewhere in Venice Beach. We drove there in her car.”

  “Where in Venice Beach?”

  “I don’t know. It was the only time I had ever been there.”

  “Do you think you could find it?”

  Schmidt considered this a moment, his mind reaching back. “I don’t know—maybe.”

  “Did she ask where you were from? There must be a reason she chose you.”

  “I might have told her I was visiting from the Bay Area, just down for a few days. But I don’t remember for sure.”

  Suddenly, Patton hit on an idea. He pulled out the wanted poster from his pocket. “Franz, I want you to take another look at this. When I showed it to you before, I believe I told you it was a man. But suppose I said it was actually a woman. What would you say then?”

  Schmidt stared at the picture for several seconds.

  “Well?”

  The big German shook his head and shrugged. He wasn’t sure.

  “Come on, Franz. You’re telling me you haven’t seen that goddamned woman before?”

  Patton pushed it closer to his face. Schmidt looked at the poster again, harder this time.

  “Talk to me, Franz. We need a break in this damned case.”

  “Okay, okay, it could be her,” he said finally. “It could be that crazy bitch from Venice Beach.”

  CHAPTER 81

  “NO ONE PROMISED the road to America’s rebirth would be easy,” declared Benjamin Bradford Locke, staring out the wind
ow of his sanctum sanctorum at Cheyenne Mountain and massive Pikes Peak beyond. Under the current dire circumstances, the mountains looked cold and uninviting, an omen of bad things to come.

  “You have failed to do your job and to keep Fowler in line,” Truscott responded harshly, his cavernous eyes as black as a starless night. He sat in front of Locke’s desk. The other chair was occupied by Colonel Caleb Heston, who, like Skull Eyes, wore a conservative, charcoal-gray, double-breasted Brooks Brothers suit.

  You think you can do better? thought Locke acidly as he turned away from the window. His gaze fixed momentarily on the stuffed buffalo head on the wall before landing back on Truscott.

  “We are a high-level organization, and as such, we have strict rules that must be followed and exacting performance standards that must be met. Mr. Chairman, you have failed to meet those standards.”

  Locke dismissed the accusation with a wave of his hand. But he knew that Skull Eyes was right. Failing to secure Fowler’s loyalty was an onerous dereliction of duty. But if he admitted the president-elect was a lost cause, he would be acknowledging complete failure.

  That he could not do.

  “As I told you this morning, Fowler’s on board with the program,” Locke stated firmly. “Her new public persona is just an act. She’s behind all our core issues.”

  Skull Eyes pounded his fist into his armrest. “I’ve heard enough of your lies!” He fixed Locke with a livid stare. “We’re holding an emergency meeting of the Committee to discuss the Fowler situation, and to decide whether you’re fit to continue as chairman. Frankly, the colonel and I are extremely skeptical. We know you withdrew a half-million dollars from the master account without authorization to pay off Gomez.” His jaw tightened, as though to underscore his most important point. “That money’s not for you to do as you please. It belongs to the Coalition!”

  “You were dragging your feet with Xavier. I decided to go ahead and pay the balance. I’m not about to have Gomez out for my blood.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “I am the chairman and have full authorization to disburse payments for services rendered on behalf of the organization.” You and the colonel, on the other hand, have no such authority and yet you engaged the services of the Apostle without my knowledge! he wanted to add.

  “But I am the contact with Xavier,” Skull Eyes persisted.

  “You were the contact. From here on out, I will be in direct communication with him. After all, it was his prized assassin who placed one of my organization’s buttons at the scene of the crime. The second that happened that made Xavier and Gomez my problem, not yours.”

  “You’ve become too volatile, Benjamin,” the colonel said. “At this critical juncture, we need more discrete and focused leadership.”

  Locke felt his whole body fill with indignation. He wished Dubois were here to run interference and divert some of the attention away from him, but he was on his own. “Listen here, Cassius and Brutus, because I’m only going to say this once. I am the chairman and there can be no successor without my approval.”

  “We’ll see about that,” hissed Truscott, standing up from his seat.

  The colonel rose too. “You have let us all down, Mr. Chairman. The time has come for you to pass the torch to more capable leadership.”

  “You can’t do this to me—I am the chairman.”

  “That will be the Committee’s decision,” Skull Eyes said harshly. “And whichever way the vote goes, you’d better goddamn live with it.”

  CHAPTER 82

  WHEN THEY LEFT, Locke rose from his chair and stared out the window. How could everything have gone so wrong? His family was falling apart, he was under investigation by the FBI, a traitorous AMP employee had made off with secret records, Phase Three was an unmitigated disaster, and now, to top it all off, it looked as though he would lose his Coalition chairmanship. A mere week ago, he had been the gatekeeper to America’s social and economic renewal. But now...now his whole world was crumbling around him.

  How could God allow such a thing to happen?

  It was all too much to be a test of his faith. It seemed as if the Almighty was picking on him, singling him out for cruel and unusual punishment. With a heavy sigh, he turned from the window and sat down at his desk. He listened for the voice of righteousness that always spoke to him in times of trial and tribulation, but he heard only silence.

  A deafening silence.

  After a time, he reached into his drawer and pulled out a leatherbound volume of the Old Testament. He felt utterly alone, an island of purity among a sea of unrepentant sinners. Scanning the contents, he debated reading Malachi for a moment before settling on Psalms. He went to Psalm 12, and though he knew it by heart, he read the words aloud.

  Help, Lord, for there is no longer any that is godly

  For the faithful have vanished from among the sons of men

  Everyone utters lies to his neighbor

  With flattering lips and a double heart they speak

  Do thou, O Lord, protect us

  Guard us ever from this generation

  On every side the wicked prowl

  As vileness is exalted among the sons of men

  He closed the Good Book and prayed for his once great nation. Until its citizenry reclaimed the values of personal responsibility, hard work, honesty, and love of the family, there was little reason for hope and America would continue its downward spiral and allow China, India, and other emerging nations to rule the world. And until a popular conservative leader arose, one who rallied the masses like the Great Communicator, his once-great nation would be a veritable wasteland devoid of economic opportunity and moral enlightenment.

  Something had to be done about it. He could not abandon the fight, not when he was so obviously on the side of righteousness.

  But what should I do? What in the world should I do?

  CHAPTER 83

  HE STEPPED OUT the rear door of the study, leaving it cracked part way. After relieving himself in the bathroom, he walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The mingled aroma of pot roast and freshly baked bread rose to his nostrils, beckoning him forward.

  When he stepped into the kitchen, his wife glanced up from the small television she occasionally watched while preparing dinner. This morning, he had gotten down on his knees and begged for her forgiveness for shoving her to the floor and violently spanking Susan, but she still hadn’t forgiven him. It was unholy and reprehensible to use physical force on a woman and he knew he had been gravely wrong. As he expected, she gave him a chilly glance before returning to her A&E special and vegetable cutting.

  “Where’s Susan?” he asked, hoping not to get drawn into a verbal sparring match.

  “She’s spending the night at Jeanette’s. She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I don’t blame her. I feel terrible for what I’ve done.”

  “You can tell her that when she comes back tomorrow.”

  “I will, I promise,” he said, and he meant it.

  At that moment, they were interrupted by Benjamin Jr., who tromped into the kitchen carrying a can of Mountain Dew.

  “You two have to see this,” he snorted. “Fowler’s lost her mind. Quick, turn to channel four,” he barked to his mother.

  She scowled at him. “Do it yourself.”

  He gave a wounded look and stared at them both. “What’s gotten into you two?” He shook his head dismissively, reached for the remote on the kitchen table, and flipped the channel.

  President-elect Fowler appeared on the screen behind a podium smothered with microphones. She was speaking without a prepared script to a large crowd gathered in front of a municipal building. A small caption that read SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA flashed at the bottom of the screen.

  “...like the great Theodore Roosevelt, I believe in a government limited in size, but not in what it can accomplish for its citizens. A streamlined, but active, government that addresses your concerns about the economy, educatio
n, the environment, and family planning. I want to increase the power of the Departments of Labor, Education and Interior, not shrink them. Jobs, the education of our children, and the preservation of our natural resources are three of the most vital responsibilities we have before us, whether we are Republican or Democrat.”

  The crowd applauded and Locke stood there openmouthed.

  “Some have said there isn’t room for reform in the Republican Party. My response is we must make room. That’s why I support national licensing of handguns. That’s why I support using surplus revenues to pay down our national debt and rescue Social Security. That’s why I believe in continuing to maintain health care coverage for all Americans and in campaign finance reform...”

  Locke’s nose wrinkled. How could I have misjudged her so badly?

  “...will not call for a constitutional amendment banning abortion. As far as I’m concerned, Roe versus Wade is established law. It is for the Supreme Court to decide whether it should be overturned, and no other body. After careful soul-searching, my belief is that it should not be overturned, that every woman deserves the legal right to decide what to do with her own body...”

  Locke recoiled in anger. How can she possibly rescue America’s soul when she is no longer anything like the woman we groomed to assume the mantle of leadership?

  “...separation of church and state is fundamental to our way of life. We don’t need prayer in public school and we don’t need the Ten Commandments posted in every classroom. In 1980, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that posting the Ten Commandments was unconstitutional, and I stand by that ruling. We need to teach our children the time-honored secular values of hard work, respect, and tolerance without invoking specific religious doctrines in school. We need to spend more time with our children, be more intimately involved in their lives, not look to our churches and schools as our babysitters...”

  Again, the crowd cheered. Locke gawked in disbelief, thunderstruck at this brazen assault on everything he and American Patriots stood for. But Fowler wasn’t just distancing herself from religious conservatives, she was taking on the entire Republican Establishment!