Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “Find out about this Ottosson guy. Who the hell is he?” bellowed Zach.

  Holding the phone over the mic of his headset, another Turner employee yelled, “He’s a lobbyist for CIS. Apparently some kind of playboy in D.C., too.”

  “This is already starting to smell,” Zach stated. “It’s not like Noyner to be on a lobbyist’s jet. I don’t get it.”

  “Bartlett is doing a statement from the Oval Office tonight at 8:00,” said Will.

    

  The eyes of the nation were on the East Room of the White House as everyone waited for Bartlett to stroll down the red carpet to the podium with the presidential seal.

  This was the first opportunity for Bartlett to address the nation since her inauguration, and she was looking forward to the opportunity. Dressed in a powder blue pantsuit, she walked up to the podium, looking somewhat stiff.

  “My fellow Americans, it’s not lost on me that my first opportunity to address you as your president is on this very solemn day. We have lost Chief Justice Clarence Noyner of the Supreme Court to a terrible accident while he was fishing off the coast of Florida.”

  Bartlett tried to feign sadness and real emotion but, try as she might, it was hard for her to hide the fact she had been openly critical of Noyner for many years.

  “I would like to thank the proud men and women of the U.S. Coast Guard who braved some very bad weather for two days in the Gulf of Mexico to finally locate and recover Chief Justice Noyner’s body. My heart goes out to his immediate family and to his extended family at the Supreme Court.”

  Bartlett reached down under the podium for a tissue and dabbed her right eye, although no tears were visible.

  “Justice Noyner and I had our differences for sure, but he was a principled man from Texas with very humble beginnings who became one of the great legal minds of our time.”

  She paused and looked around the room. A controlled environment, this was not a press conference where the president took questions.

  “We have lost a great man, a great public servant, and an outstanding Supreme Court justice. We have lost a man known to many as The Lion of the Law. God bless his family and God bless America.”

  “No questions. No mention of an accident investigation, no mention of an inquiry and no mention of an autopsy. What the hell?” asked Will, looking around the group in Turner’s Bunker who had stayed to watch the broadcast.

  “It’s the cremation that bothers me the most,” said Zach. “Hell, the last two or three pop stars that died unexpectedly had autopsies ordered and here the chief justice of the Supreme Court dies, supposedly by accident, yet no autopsy and a very quick cremation?”

  “Makes no sense to me, either. Why do it this fast?” Will agreed.

  “You know, I could be thrown off the scent I’m getting on this if they had just done an autopsy. The immediate cremation just doesn’t sit well with me.” Zach looked both perplexed and suspicious.

  “A couple of news commentators noted that his body was in the ocean for two full days. A lot could have happened out there to it,” remarked one of the other men.

  Zach stood up to pace a few steps back and forth while lighting a cigar. “I can understand under those conditions the family not wanting to do an open casket funeral; that makes perfect sense for that reason. But we all know autopsies are performed every day on remains likely in worse shape than the judge’s.”

  Taking a cue from Zach, Will looked at the rest of the crew and said, “Keep digging, boys. We want details. What happened on that boat? Who else was on the boat? Why the CIS jet? Who knows anyone on McCray’s staff?”

  While Zach’s crew was discussing their next steps, CNN was already profiling likely replacement nominations to the Supreme Court by President Bartlett.

  Chapter 13

  “What luck for the rulers that men do not think.”

  - Adolf Hitler

  (1889-1945) German Nazi Dictator

  Nils Ottosson walked into the vintage 1760-era bar King’s Pub in Alexandria, Virginia around 6:00 p.m. He walked up the wooden stairs to the rear of the narrow second floor toward two men in suits sitting in the back smoking cigarettes.

  “Gentlemen, nice to see you,” said Ottosson, pulling a chair from the next table to sit with them as he looked around to verify that nobody else was up on the floor.

  “We have already poured this for you,” said the first guy in a Russian accent.

  “Ahh, McCallen 25! Very fitting,” replied Ottosson.

  They raised their glasses to toast.

  “To democracy! Great work, gentlemen!” congratulated Ottosson.

  “To Florida and big game fishing!” laughed the Russian as they clinked glasses and downed the rare scotch in one gulp.

  “I don’t know how the fishing trip could have gone any better. I mean, you should have seen it. It was flawless. It was totally unsuspicious to everyone on the boat. Noyner flopped around the boat like a gaffed tarpon!” said Ottosson as the other two joined him in laughter.

  They stopped laughing as a bar maid walked up the stairs to see if they wanted another round.

  As soon as she left, Ottosson got serious and asked, “Do we have anything to worry about in Texas?”

  “Texas was easy. A few bucks here and there, a few transcribed texts and, of course, a few married politicians with mistresses, not to mention the occasional married closet homo,” one of the men, speaking with a heavy Russian accent, grinned. “And, if all else failed, promising the disappearance and dismemberment of a child to the parents always seemed to work.”

  “We have a few loose ends. Nothing to worry much over,” said the second Russian.

  Ottosson raised his eyebrows, concerned.

  “Look, there are two or three who needed some additional coaxing. Those Texas politicians are a different breed. Remember, everyone has an Achilles heel. Hell, some just took cash. A few others we had to show some pictures of beheaded children, courtesy of our friends south of the border,” the Russian said proudly.

  “No loose ends, gentlemen. If you even think for one second that there is a remote chance any of your new found friends in Austin will get squeamish, then you know exactly what you will have to do.”

  “Not a problem. There are two we persuaded reluctantly. One’s wife had already found out about his mistress, so that ship had sailed. He no longer has a vested interest in our business.”

  “Then deal with him,” Ottosson ordered.

  “We will. That state senator is due for an accident.”

  Again, the three raised their glasses in toast.

  “Did the wire transfers reach your accounts?” asked Ottosson.

  “It is a good day indeed,” replied the first Russian as he nodded.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Good luck to you both.” Ottosson stood and shook both their hands before putting on his full-length wool coat.

  As soon as Ottosson walked out the front door and began walking down the sidewalk on King Street, he pulled out his cell phone.

  “Ottosson here. There is one task left in the Texas project. As soon as that last task is completed, eliminate our Russian problem,” he said into the phone in a quiet tone while looking in every direction making sure nobody could hear him.

    

  The next morning, the ABC affiliate in Austin reported on the 7:00 news broadcast that State Senator Jeffrey Milsap, the Senate president pro tempore, was killed in an apparent robbery attempt while walking to the parking garage near the Texas Capitol building the evening before. Even though Milsap was shot in the back of the head, execution style, reports were circulated that it was a botched robbery attempt.

  Chapter 14

  “Look at my arms, you will find no party handcuffs on them.”

  - Davy Crockett

  Frontiersman, U.S. Congressman, Hero of The Alamo

  (1786-1836)

  “This body has been lying here awhile, Detective,” said the Austin cop.


  “The Texas Rangers are on their way,” replied Austin Police Department detective Jason Edgar. “You ever met Pops Younger?”

  “Nope, but I would love to,” the cop said.

  “You’re going to get your chance. That’s a Texas state senator there with a bullet through his head. Pops is en route. He’ll handle this one personally, I guarantee it.”

  “Gotta text some buds,” said the excited beat cop, looking down at her phone. “They’re going to want to be here.”

  Three minutes later, a black Ford Excursion pulled up to the scene as officers let it through.

  The rear door on the passenger side opened, and one foot clad in black hornback alligator boots hit the ground. Then came the next, and the law enforcement legend stepped out from the vehicle while he put his silver Stetson hat on in one motion.

  Pops Younger strolled to the crime scene confidently as the throng of Austin beat cops, detectives and Texas state troopers all snapped to attention.

  An aura seemed to surround Pops as he walked to the crime scene. The lawman had a distinctive, bold-legged gait that was probably as famous as that of John “The Duke” Wayne.

  “How old is he really?” whispered one cop.

  “Hell, he’s gotta be a hundred!” answered another.

  “He’s taller than I thought,” said someone else.

  “That man is ten feet tall, I guarantee you that,” said a trooper.

  “I will never forget that scene on the Laredo bridge facing down the Mexican federales,” said an EMT, referring to an indelible moment seen live worldwide as Pops became the epicenter of attention at one point during the Texas Crisis.

  “That dude was legendary,” offered another.

  “Was? You mean IS. He’s been a legend for fifty years at least,” said a police sergeant.

  As Pops approached the body after talking to two detectives, all the cops immediately became quiet, straining to listen to every word he uttered.

  “I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all,” said Pops. The scene of the state senator’s murder was two blocks from the Texas Capitol building. It was as if Pops already knew that the accepted motive didn’t make sense in the first few seconds. The crowd of police and Texas Rangers watched a body draped in a white sheet as it lay on a sidewalk leading into the Capitol garage, partially stained with blood in the area near the head. Police were keeping the press three blocks away from the scene.

  Pops walked over to the sheet and pulled it back. He got down on his knees, along with another gentleman who was dressed in a badly wrinkled suit.

  “The news channels are all assuming this was a robbery gone bad but, sir―his wallet, car keys and cell phone are still on him,” said Edgar while he chewed gum, loudly smacking his lips with every other chew.

  “Detective, how many robberies do you see where the victim is shot assassination-style in the back of the head and all the victim’s valuables are still on the body?” asked Pops, who was visibly annoyed by the detective’s loud gum-chewing.

  “None, sir. You and I both know this ain’t no robbery.”

  Pops glanced over at the detective. “Son, you trying to quit smoking or quit dipping?”

  “No, sir. Why?”

  “What the hell, son, are you in the seventh grade? I can’t hear myself think over that incessant smacking. Get rid of that damned bubble gum.”

  The detective was about to snap back at Pops until he looked up to catch those steel-blue eyes staring a laser-like hole right through him, indicating the tall Ranger wasn’t up for a debate on the issue. The detective tossed the gum into the bushes, but dared not say anything disrespectful to Pops.

  “Ballistics will come back and tell us this was close range. From the looks of the entry and exit on the skull, looks like a 9 mm to me,” noted Pops.

  “We’ve already interviewed any folks that were in the area last night,” said the cop. “Nothing. Hell, his body lay there on that damned sidewalk until someone called at about 5:00 a.m. The Capitol log shows he left about ten minutes to ten last night.”

  “I want everything on him taken into evidence. We can tell his kin they will get it back after the investigation,” said Pops.

  “They already know, sir. The local news has been broadcasting this since about 6:00. His kin already know, unfortunately through the news.”

  “Who called this in?” asked Pops.

  “It was an anonymous tip,” the detective answered.

  “What was said exactly?” Pops focused intently on the detective.

  “They informed the TV station that State Senator Milsap was killed during a robbery attempt. They also said whoever called it in had some kind of accent, but they didn’t know what kind, except that it wasn’t Spanish.”

  “Hell, they identified the victim on the call?” asked Pops incredulously.

  “Yeah, they either saw it happen, I guess, or recognized the body.” The detective shrugged.

  Pops got up and pulled his hat down nearer to his eyes for a few seconds before calmly contradicting the detective. “The killer or killers called this in.”

  “Seriously? You think the perps called this in themselves?” asked the detective, curious as to how Pops came to this conclusion so quickly.

  “This was an execution, son. This was no robbery,” said Pops flatly as he motioned with a head nod to another Ranger, who knew instinctively Pops had as much information as he needed. The Rangers began walking back to the SUV.

  The detective didn’t even get a chance to ask another question. This wasn’t his crime to investigate. The Texas Rangers, who operate strictly at the pleasure of the Texas governor, can take over any criminal investigation in the state at any point.

  Many of the cops on the scene took their cell phones out to get a picture or movie of the legendary lawman as he strode past them. Within minutes, Twitter showed Pops’ images at the scene of the murder.

  “I want all the records off his cell phone and six months of call detail records. Also, get his office computer, home computer and laptop,” Pops told the other Rangers in the vehicle as he got comfortable in the SUV.

  Within minutes, Pops’ images at the crime scene were broadcast nationally.

    

  Twenty-four hours later, a vehicle with four Texas Rangers and a lieutenant from the Texas Department of Public Safety pulled up to the small, one-story ranch house on Pops’ Hill Country ranch. Pops had a nice office at DPS headquarters in Austin, full of a lifetime of hunting trophies and collectible antique guns, but he was hardly ever there. Instead, he preferred to stay at his ranch forty-six miles west of Austin and conduct business there.

  Pops was never much of an office guy. He preferred to be out in the field with his men and had a distinct distaste for the administrative responsibilities of his job. Over the years, the half-dozen Texas governors he served under had all given him carte blanche exception to any rules that required him to be at DPS headquarters eight hours a day.

  Pops simply produced results, and he had the unwavering devotion of the Texas Rangers, DPS and law enforcement throughout Texas.

  “Pops, take a look at these,” said the highest-ranking Ranger as he laid out printed photographs taken from State Senator Milsap’s phone.

  “I’m guessing these pics ain’t his wife?” asked Pops.

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay, these are all different women. Do we know who they are?”

  “A few of them are known to city. Most are professionals. We’ve already talked to two of them.”

  Pops reached into a cigar humidor on his desk, pulled out a cigar, and began to chew slightly on the end of it without lighting up.

  “I want you to get their cell phone records, too, and do a cross-match on them,” responded Pops.

  “I’m sure they will all show what his phone does, sir, that they were communicating to Milsap for meeting places and sending these lewd photos back and forth to him.”

  “I deduced that al
ready, Bob. What I want to know is who else they might have had in common. Who else were any of these gals talking to that might have also known Milsap? Also, interview every last one of them. Were all these gals pros?”

  “We don’t know for sure yet. We’ll find out.”

  Pops leaned back into his leather chair, lit up the cigar he was chewing, and took a very deep draw on it, letting out a large cloud of cigar smoke.

  “Wasn’t Milsap one of the senators who changed his vote on the independence referendum at the last minute?”

  “Yes, sir, he was. He ticked off quite a few politicians,” shot back a lieutenant. “You think somebody got to him?”

  “Well, if they did, he delivered for them in the vote. So why kill him now?” asked Pops. “I want to interview his wife.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pops felt his cell phone vibrate. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at caller I.D. to decide if he wanted to answer it.

  “Younger,” was his simple greeting.

  “What’s it look like, Pops?” asked Governor Brahman

  “It ain’t no robbery, Smitty, I can tell you that. Somebody simply walked up behind him and put a bullet in his brain. Smells to high Heaven.”

  “Damn, does his family know yet?”

  “Probably. Hell, the news was reporting it live before the Austin PD ever got there.”

  “Execution?” asked the governor flatly.

  “That’s my bet right now,” replied Pops after a few seconds to consider the governor’s question.

  “It couldn’t be worse timing.”

  “How so, Smitty?”

  “I’ll have to call a special election to fill that seat. That will take at least forty-five days, which is way beyond when I was calling for a special session on the referendum,” Brahman said.

  Pops continued to chew on his cigar, rotating it a few times. “You expect the referendum vote to be that tight?”

  “Possibly. Are you saying…”

  “Smitty, I ain’t prepared to say anything yet except how he was killed. But, if you are telling me that vote could be delayed, that could be a possible motive.”