“Are there any suspects?” yelled another reporter.
“We cannot comment on that at this time, ma’am,” answered Pops.
“Does that mean you don’t have any suspects identified?”
“Ma’am, I’m not sure if I stuttered just now, but I’ll tell you again, we are not prepared to name any suspects,” Pops answered directly.
“Was he robbed, or was this an assassination?” asked an Austin-American Statesman reporter.
Pops glanced back at Brahman, as if asking him why Brahman put him in front of reporters to answer dumb questions.
“I will say once again, and for the last time today, we are not prepared to discuss any specific details of the case. It is still under investigation.”
“We understand the senator had a girlfriend. Can you confirm or deny this?” asked the same reporter.
The veins in Pops’ neck bulged as Brahman cringed.
“Son, his family just buried this man. Didn’t your papa and momma teach you any manners? We are done here,” said Pops flatly. He turned to Brahman and they walked away.
When they reached the governor’s Suburban and got in, Brahman asked, “Is that true, Pops?”
“Smitty, that dude had girlfriends all over Austin. We are following up on all of them.”
“Damn, just what we need, another scandal. Do you think a jealous boyfriend or husband may have done this?” Brahman asked.
“All his damned girlfriends we know about so far are the professional kind.”
“Oh, great, even better. Does his family know?”
“I doubt it, but somebody knows. That damned reporter made sure everyone knows now,” Pops answered.
“Do you think that has anything to do with his murder in any way?”
“Too early to tell, Smitty. But, when a man has secrets like that, he opens himself up to a lot of potential consequences. There’s a motive out there; we just have to find it. And it may or may not have something to do with his bad habits.”
“What’s your gut say, Pops?” the governor asked.
Pops didn’t answer right away as he turned to peer out the window. Then he said, “Looking at everything, Smitty, including the legislation he was working on, relationships with lobbyists and, of course, the pimps or jealous boyfriends of the girls, looks to me like a calculated assassination and not a crime of passion. We usually have physical clues in those cases. This was a professional hit.”
“Did he owe money to anyone?”
“In fact, he had made twenty-six thousand dollars in cash deposits over the last three months into an account his wife wasn’t a signer on. All the deposits were small and under the federal limits for reporting.”
“This story keeps getting worse, Pops. I don’t like the sound of any of it.”
“I’m afraid it’s just getting started,” answered Pops.
Chapter 18
“[The founding fathers] conferred, as against the Government, the right to be left alone―the right most valued by civilized men.”
- Justice Louis D. Brandeis (1856-1941)
U.S. Supreme Court Justice
Governor Brahman had just hung up the phone. He was sitting at his oversized walnut desk when an aide walked in.
“Governor, there are six men in the lobby with the U.S. Department of the Treasury demanding to see you. Three of them have guns…”
“What?” exclaimed a bewildered governor.
“DPS and two Rangers are with them asking them what they need, but they are demanding to see you personally,” she said.
“Get Pops on the phone and see where he’s at. If he’s in Austin, get him over here right now. Make them wait about fifteen minutes just for the hell of it, then tell the guards to escort them up.”
Fifteen minutes later, Brahman heard footsteps and chatter as the contingent of Treasury Department officials and his interior guards and staff made their way up the broadleaf pine floor steps to his office.
“Good morning, gentlemen, and to what do I owe this completely unexpected visit from Treasury?”
Appearing annoyed because he had to wait, the lead federal agent began, “Governor, my name is Sam Couch, U.S. Department of the Treasury, IRS. I’m here today, sir, to serve you a summons.” He handed Brahman a document.
“Pardon me just a moment, sir, while I take a look at what good news you have handed me.” Brahman reached for his reading glasses.
You are hereby summoned to produce all related 1040 personal income tax records for the period of 2007-2017 within 30 days of….
Brahman looked up at the agents. “So, gentlemen, if you want to audit me, why not just send a letter? You waltz in here without an appointment, interrupting the business of Texas to deliver this personally?”
“Sir, I’m just following orders.”
“Whose orders specifically?” asked Brahman.
“My superiors,” answered the agent sarcastically.
“And who might those be?” asked Brahman again.
“Well, sir, you can start at the Secretary of the Treasury and work your way down. Everything is in the summons. Consider yourself served.” The agent turned his back to Brahman to head out of his office, having to wait until the others made way.
Just as Couch and the federal agents were exiting the governor’s office, a black SUV pulled up and stopped right in front of the large plantation-like white columns.
Pops Younger grabbed his cowboy hat on the way out of the SUV, along with four other Texas Rangers. They quickly climbed the steps into the mansion.
Just as the federal agents were about to complete the journey down the steps, Pops and the Rangers met them at the foot of the stairs.
Somewhat startled by the sight of five Texas Rangers standing in their path, Couch and the feds stopped just a few steps above them.
“Who in the hell are you and what the hell do you want?” demanded Pops.
Couch knew exactly who was confronting him.
“Sir, we are federal agents here on official business with the governor. Now, if you will step aside, our business is done here and we will be on our way,” answered Couch.
The Rangers didn’t flinch or move one inch out of their way.
“I’m told you didn’t have an appointment to see the governor,” snarled Pops. “You best be on your way. I don’t have much hankerin’ for carpet-bagging federal agents, especially ones that are attached to the slime bucket some refer to as the IRS.”
“Personally, sir, there’s nothing more I would like than to mix it up with you cowboys who are personally responsible for the deaths of federal agents. However, since I’m a guest in this house, we will be on our way,” shot back Couch.
Pops took a couple more chews on his tobacco, then fixed that famous steel-blue-eyed stare on Couch, replying, “Son, ain't you a typical Yankee? Comes into the governor’s house uninvited, then considers himself an invited guest. Obviously you ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.” Pops took a step to the side, opening a path for Couch to walk through.
Couch began to walk past Pops, then paused to stare back right in Pops’ face.
“Boy, you keep eyeballin’ me and I’ll pluck each one of ’em out and feed ’em to the crows,” laughed Pops.
“Old man, I’m sure we will cross paths again,” blurted Couch, motioning his squad to leave.
“Damn, boy, I surely hope we do! Whenever that might be, wouldn’t be soon enough!”
The federal agents stalked out the front door to their waiting cars as Pops, the Rangers and the DPS officers followed to make sure they left. Then Pops turned around and walked back into the mansion. He took a step to go up, then saw the governor coming down to meet him.
“You saw all that?” asked Pops.
“I did. I would have paid for an admission ticket to see it again,” answered Brahman.
“That was one tightly wound little S.O.B.,” Pops said to the laughter of the Rangers.
“I can’t tell if the dumb ass didn’t k
now how to size a suit. Damned thing fit too tight on him, if you ask me. Is that what they call a metrosexual?” asked Brahman as they continued to chuckle.
“A metro what?” asked Pops.
“Never mind; let’s just say he was a little light in his footwork!” laughed Brahman.
“Sure wouldn’t mind meetin’ up with this smart ass again sometime soon, maybe under different circumstances,” replied Pops.
“Now, Pops, be careful. Some might take that the wrong way,” Brahman said as the laughter really started to roar.
It took a few seconds for Pops to figure out what the joke was but, when he did, he set them all straight, “I mean I’d wipe the floor with that scumbag Yankee’s face!”
“Well, now I’m dealing with this,” exclaimed Brahman, handing his summons to Pops.
“This ain’t no coincidence, Smitty.”
“You know, Pops, I didn’t used to believe in many conspiracy theories, but Johnson’s administration fixed that for me,” Brahman stated.
“You know you can’t trust a snake no matter what. It’ll bite you. That’s what a snake does. That’s their damned nature, as it is the nature of the federal government to be inherently corrupt!” echoed Pops.
“Thanks for the entertainment today, Pops.”
“You’re certainly welcome, sir.”
Chapter 19
“Crisis is the rallying cry of the tyrant.”
- James Madison (1751-1836)
Father of the Constitution, 4th US President
Author of the 2nd Amendment
Nils Ottosson sat in his black Range Rover at the guard shack, located at the northwest gate on the corner of the White House grounds, waiting for clearance to enter.
Annoyed that he wasn’t immediately let through, he asked the guard, “What the hell is taking so long? I have a meeting that starts in three minutes.”
Equally annoyed at the impatience of the visitor, the uniformed Secret Service officer replied, “Sir, your clearance comes from the president’s chief of staff. Apparently he has been in a meeting with the president.”
“Yeah, that’s the meeting I’m supposed to be in!” smirked Ottosson.
The guard just stared ahead icily, waiting for a response to come over his headset from inside the West Wing. Two more minutes passed.
“Well?” said Ottosson, putting his hands out palms up.
“Well, what?”
“I said I’ve got a meeting.” Ottosson glared at the guard.
“Look, you asshat, you’ll get in when you get cleared. You think you just waltz into the White House because you say so?”
There were now three other guards surrounding Ottosson’s black Range Rover, all with fully automatic weapons hanging from straps on their shoulders.
The guard stopped and listened to his headset carefully before breaking into a broad grin.
“Mr. Otter?”
“It’s Ottosson.”
“Whatever. We have been informed that your meeting has been cancelled,” smiled the guard.
“What?” Ottosson yelled.
“You will need to back up your vehicle and make a three-point turn and exit,” said the guard, even though they could have let Ottosson inside the gate onto the White House grounds to make a U-turn out the other side of the gate through the exit side.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! I sat here for nearly twenty-five minutes.”
“Take it up with the West Wing, sir.”
“Son of a bitch! I will.”
“Have a nice day,” smirked the guard.
“Go f- yourself,” Ottosson shot back almost under his breath, wanting to say it louder, but not fully convinced he wanted the guard to hear it.
Ottosson backed out and got on his cell phone as he turned the corner to go around Lafayette Park, then north on 16th Northwest.
Four cars behind Ottosson on 16th was a dark gray SUV with two people in the front seat.
“His meeting was not on the White House calendar,” said Will Turnbow to Zach Turner, who was driving.
Without losing his focus on the target four cars in front of him, Zach replied, “Not surprised. I bet he’s been here lots of times and no record of it in the logs.”
The Range Rover swung to the left a few short blocks farther down the street and pulled into the valet parking in front of the Jefferson Hotel as Ottosson, still on his own cell phone, got out and headed into the lobby. The valet tried to speak with him. Ottosson glared at him and rudely walked right by him.
Zach pulled over to the right a block away. Without saying a word, Will got out quickly as Zach kept normal speed with the traffic and passed The Jefferson, then took a quick left two blocks farther down.
The Jefferson has one of the most iconic and quaint bars in all of D.C., known for years as a place for D.C. power brokers, congressmen and women, lobbyists and administration officials to cut backroom deals. The bar is also famous for scandalous trysts with senators and other high-ranking government officials. In the bar area are some private overstuffed alcoves where a private conversation, or more, is possible.
Will walked into the lobby and headed straight for the bar, passing by Ottosson, who was already sitting in one of the alcoves with a beautiful dark-haired woman.
Will walked to the far end of the bar so he could face the alcove, positioning himself on his chair so he could see the legs of the woman sitting with Ottosson.
A few minutes later, Zach walked in and took a seat at a small bar table. He also took a seat that could see the entrance of the alcove where Ottosson was sitting. The men didn’t speak to each other, or give anyone any inkling that they knew each other. The bar was almost full, although it wasn’t even 5:00 yet.
Zach glanced down at his phone to see a text from the Bunker.
“512,” said the text.
“512,” said Zach very softly into his watch, almost in a singular motion, as he took a sip of the bourbon the waitress had just delivered to him.
“5-1-2,” came the casual soft reply on Zach’s tiny unnoticeable earpiece, from a man with a full dark beard in a black suit who had just walked into the hotel. He carried a brown soft briefcase, and went straight to one of two elevators.
Exiting on the fifth floor, the bearded man went straight to Room 512, pulled out a room card key, and used it to enter Ottosson’s room.
“Beard is in,” he said into his watch as he quickly pulled on latex gloves.
He went straight to the room safe in the closet, placed a piece of electronics about the size of a mini-iPad on the door and, after a few entries, the small safe door unlocked.
Inside the safe was some money, which he quickly counted at more than ten thousand dollars in two-thousand dollar bundles with marked denomination bank straps and two cell phones. He plugged another device into both phones, taking thirty seconds to decode the passwords, then began downloading the contents of each in less than a minute. He placed them carefully back in the safe in the exact same spots he found them and closed the door.
Next, he went to the small desk where a laptop was sitting closed. He opened it and powered it up. Taking the same device used on the cell phones to decode their passwords, he plugged the device into a USB port on the laptop.
“Encrypted,” he spoke into his watch softly.
“How long?” answered Zach again, the bourbon glass to his face.
“Not sure,” came the reply.
Hearing the conversation on his tiny hidden earpiece, Will kept a keen eye on the alcove to make sure Ottosson remained occupied.
“Three minutes.”
Suddenly Ottosson stood and walked out of the alcove.
Will threw a twenty on the bar for his drink and walked out of the bar, scanning for Ottosson. When he got to the elevators, Ottosson wasn’t there. Will prayed he wouldn’t have to kill the man.
“Two minutes,” came the message from Room 512.
Will looked above the elevators where it indicated what floors the eleva
tor cars were on. Thankfully, the old hotel only had a bank of two elevators. One was stopped on the tenth floor; the other car had just left the lobby and was headed up.
“Lost him. Elevator headed up now.”
“Exit 512. Exit 512, abort!” said Zach nervously.
“I need one minute.”
“You don’t have a minute. Exit 512. Abort now.”
Zach and Will held their breath as the elevator approached the fifth floor.
“Elevator just passed fifth floor, clear to continue.”
Relieved for a moment, Will looked around. Where did Ottosson go, he thought?
Will walked back toward the bar.
“Beard is clear of 512.”
“Wait at elevator,” said Zach. He worried that others at the bar might think he was having a conversation with himself when he was speaking into the undetectable ear mic in his left ear. When he took a glance, all the patrons appeared to be consumed in their own conversations.
Will saw the men’s restroom and walked in, finding Ottosson at a urinal as he walked up to one of the other two urinals.
Ottosson zipped up, washed his hands, exited the bathroom and headed back to the cozy alcove where the woman waited for him.
“Restroom,” said Will softly, not sure if someone was in the stalls.
That was all Zach needed to hear. “All clear for 512.”
“Confirmed, re-entering 512. Three minutes.”
The waitress came over to Zach, standing in his path and obstructing his view of the alcove.
“Holding in lobby,” came the reply from Will.
A few long minutes of silence followed.
“Exiting 512. All clear,” finally came the word from the fifth floor.
The man with the beard and black suit waited for an elevator, then came down to the lobby where Will was sitting in a Victorian chair, pretending to read the days edition of the Washington Post.
Will watched as the bearded man went out the front doors with his briefcase slung over his shoulder and took a left heading north on the sidewalk. Waiting a few minutes, he neatly folded the newspaper, got up and walked out of the lobby, turning the opposite way and walking south in the direction of the White House.
Purge on the Potomac Page 9