[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation

by Steve P Vincent

  “It was a pro—had to have been. We do have one thing the cops don’t, though.” Jack held up the cell phone.

  Peter’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

  “Ernest handed it to me as the ambulance crews rushed toward him. He was so intent on me having it, I’m convinced there’s something important on it.”

  Peter inhaled sharply. “And is there?”

  Jack shrugged. “No way to tell. There’s so much on it that it would take a dozen journalists a month to sift through it all.”

  “Well, whatever information he wanted you to have, I hope you get to the bottom of it. Let me know if you want some help.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got other things to worry about.”

  Peter looked over at the still form of his boss, lying on the hospital bed. “Ernest being in a coma has caused some problems.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a few rumblings on the board. Nothing I can’t handle. Just certain individuals taking the opportunity to make waves while Ernest is incapacitated.”

  Jack sighed. “Sounds like we’ve both got plenty to be getting on with. I just wonder if we’ll get anywhere.”

  “What choice is there?”

  “None. I owe Ernest too much to give up. I’ll keep searching through this phone until my thumbs bleed. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Jack sighed and closed his eyes. He was tired. He hadn’t slept properly since the shooting, and it was starting to catch up with him.

  He woke a few hours later, looked around, and saw Peter asleep in the second armchair. After a few seconds’ thought, he decided to try his luck on the voicemails. He plugged his headphones into the phone and dialed.

  “You have no new messages.” The voice was polite and feminine. “To hear all saved messages, please press 3.”

  Jack pressed the button.

  The first message played: “Hi Dad, just wanted to make sure…”

  Time passed slowly as the voicemail messages he listened to—or truthfully, half listened to—blended into one. He found it hard to believe that one man had so much contact with so many people. He dozed off again at one point, because he woke having dreamt of Erin. With a sigh, he pressed a button for the next message.

  “Ernest, we had a deal. Stop being a fool. You don’t have a lot of time left to make the right decision.”

  “Bingo!”

  Michelle sat on a plastic chair in the middle of the hardwood floor of the Georgetown University basketball stadium, home of the Hoyas. She kept a pleasant smile on her face as students, faculty and some members of the public filtered into the bleachers. The usual butterflies that fluttered in her stomach before a major speech were there again, made worse by the uncertainty of the situation. She’d be fine once she was underway.

  When the crowd was settled, the dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences introduced her and gave a brief biography of her career to date. Michelle kept the smile throughout, but her mind was focused on the events of the last few days. She’d planned this speech carefully around her run for Congress, Ernest McDowell’s death, and the fate of EMCorp. McDowell’s ongoing ability to breathe was a significant problem.

  She’d decided that McDowell’s recalcitrance about their deal was too great a risk. With Anton dead, the Foundation cells under control, the war kicking along and the rest of her agenda ready to fly, the last thing she needed was problems from a geriatric business magnate. She’d put insurance in place for the control of EMCorp in the event of McDowell’s death, so she’d ordered Chen to do the job.

  Unfortunately, he’d failed.

  The audience broke into enthusiastic applause. She smiled broadly, stood to approach the lectern then thanked the dean. It was all a blur until she laid her speech notes on the lectern, brushed some imaginary dirt from her dress and looked up. Then there was clarity. She gave a small wave and waited for the applause to subside, then cleared her throat.

  “Good evening. As you know, if not for a fatal street assault, my late colleague Anton Clark would have been addressing you tonight. So first off I’d like to acknowledge his contribution to American public life, and the enormous void that his passing has left. He was a fountain from which torrents of intellect flowed.”

  There was more applause, subdued this time. If only they knew that every significant political event to strike the United States in the last few months was her responsibility—they’d storm the court and probably toss her severed head through the ring. It was a burden she carried gladly. There was nobody else who could put the country on the right path in such a manner.

  “His death is one in a series of dire events that’s afflicted our country, and the world, in recent months. The death of so many Americans in Shanghai, the underhanded sinking of the USS George Washington without a declaration of war, and—in recent days—the mysterious shooting of Ernest McDowell. Worst of all, of course, is the war.”

  She gazed into the crowd and was happy to see Sarah McDowell smile sadly in the front row, wiping a tear from her eye. Michelle knew that the next few lines would be the ones picked up by the television cameras. She glanced over carefully rehearsed words. It was the coming together of the remaining strands of her plan—with a few amendments, after Chen’s failure.

  “These events have led me to ask some important questions of myself. I’ve reflected on what I can do to aid our country in the most desperate crisis we’ve faced since we had our finger over the button, ready to deal with a nuclear force hosted by Castro. All Americans should ask the same.”

  She smiled straight at Sarah. While McDowell’s daughter had been the central plank of Michelle’s insurance policy, even with her father alive she was important. With Ernest McDowell in a coma, Sarah—beautiful and educated—became a massive lightning rod for public opinion. The public, and the EMCorp board, would fall in behind her.

  “I’ve come up with two things. Firstly, I’ve ordered that much of the financial assets of the Foundation for a New America be spent purchasing a significant shareholding in EMCorp in the coming weeks. Despite the attack on Mr McDowell sending the share price tumbling, I want EMCorp to continue being a strong voice for America.”

  Michelle took a deep breath.

  “Secondly, as I seek a mandate from the people to join Congress, I promise that if elected, I will not be joining the legislative sewer that has passed for our democracy in the last decade, for which both major parties are responsible. Instead, and with the support of as many likeminded Congressional colleagues as I can find, I will be a strong and unyielding voice for bringing strength and leadership back to America. It is time to fix the problems and bring America back to greatness.”

  This time the applause was thunderous. She made sure to give each of the cameras a good two-second look straight down the barrel. She held her hands up and waved the applause away, grinning from ear to ear. She waved again, then stepped away from the lectern and approached Sarah. The younger woman was beaming as they embraced. Michelle held the hug, to be sure that the cameras picked it up.

  “Well done, Michelle, that was inspirational.” Sarah’s voice was soft enough only she could hear. “Thanks for the kind words about Dad.”

  Michelle pulled away slightly and nodded. “I just hope he pulls through. His absence is the last thing the country needs right now.”

  Michelle’s timetable had been pushed forward by Ernest McDowell’s double dealings, and complicated by Chen’s failure. With the looming purchase of a huge shareholding by the Foundation, and Sarah’s help, she was well placed to take control of the company when McDowell finally kicked the bucket. When he did, Sarah would become the star at the center of the story.

  Sarah nodded. “I’m glad you’re investing in the company. Though the family business isn’t really my thing, it’s nice to have a friend until he pulls through.”

  17

  “Thanks, Stan. As you mentioned, things are getting bleak on the island. Despite the best
efforts of the US Navy, the Chinese naval and submarine blockade has stopped most shipments of food and medical supplies to Taiwan. While the US has managed to airlift enough food onto the island to prevent mass starvation and people are able to eat at crisis shelters, there’s a growing sense of desperation. This comes as the capital was rocked by another day of non-stop missile attacks, and as reports filter in of Chinese special forces troops active in the hills south of Taipei.”

  Royce Miller, Asia Today, October 11

  Michelle sat back in her seat and watched as Chen’s wife refilled the three delicate bone china tea cups with practiced grace. Not a single drop was spilled, and the whole process seemed effortless. When she was done, she placed the teapot back on the heat mat, stood and picked up her own cup.

  “I’ll leave you two to discuss your business.” She smiled at Michelle. “But I want to thank you again for saving my family.”

  Michelle smiled as she leaned forward to pick up the tea. “No thanks are necessary.”

  The other woman nodded, then left the room. Michelle didn’t speak until the door had closed and she was certain nobody would overhear the conversation, using the time to plan her approach.

  She looked to Chen, who seemed relaxed. “Your wife moves like a ninja, or a ballet dancer, I can’t decide which.”

  Chen gave a small laugh. “It’s hell on the children. They don’t ever hear her coming.”

  Michelle lifted the cup of tea to her mouth and took a small sip. It was a stupid move, and her tongue screamed in pain at the intrusion of the boiling liquid, far too hot for her taste. She did her best to mask any discomfort, but when she looked up at Chen, he had the slightest smile on his face. Scalded, she placed the cup carefully back on the table.

  “Ernest McDowell is alive.” Her voice was matter of fact. “That is unacceptable.”

  “So I saw on the news.” He lifted his own tea and took a small sip, apparently with no discomfort. “Good for his family, but not for your organization.”

  “Indeed. I needed him dead.”

  Chen looked her straight in the eye. “It’s through no fault of mine that he lives. The operation was a success. I inserted, took the shot, and got out.”

  Michelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He’s alive, Chen.”

  “Because he shifted as I pulled the trigger. It was bad luck, and when he fell to the ground he was out of my gun sights. He’s alive by the grace of his God.”

  Michelle sighed. She hadn’t expected this to be easy. Chen had told her explicitly when she’d asked him to kill McDowell that this was the last job he’d do for her. But nor had she expected that he’d fight her so hard. She needed to convince him to finish the job, to march into McDowell’s hospital room and yank a cord or two. Sarah McDowell’s positive reaction to her Georgetown speech the day before had convinced Michelle that she’d have the support of McDowell’s daughter once the old man was dead. Sarah would inherit his shares the moment his heart stopped beating, which for Michelle was good enough. Sarah McDowell was malleable.

  She leaned forward. “I need the job finished. His continued ability to breathe will have unacceptable consequences, to say the least.”

  Her ideal situation had been to control EMCorp through manipulation of McDowell, but failing that, the best option was his death. In recent days she’d instructed the Foundation to prepare to buy up a great deal of EMCorp stock. She’d also put in motion efforts to blackmail, bribe or outright bully other board members onto her side. But with McDowell still conceivably in the picture, every contingency had gone to shit. Michelle had little to show for her efforts a week after she’d told the Foundation cell leaders that she was in the driver’s seat.

  “Ernest McDowell needs to die. I want you to finish the job. Say what you want about deities and bad luck, but you owe a debt to me, and I expect it to be made good.”

  She looked into Chen’s eyes, and his black irises suddenly seemed like unforgiving vortexes that sucked her in and nearly extinguished the flame of her confidence. He leaned forward slightly and placed his tea cup on the table. He lifted his hand to his chin to scratch it. For the first time with this man, she felt like she was not in control.

  His face was completely expressionless. “I don’t see it that way. I told you I owed you two jobs: one for extracting me and one for extracting my family. You asked me to take care of Anton Clark’s computer and I did. Then you asked me to shoot Ernest McDowell, and I did. I’ve repaid the debts.”

  Michelle gave a small laugh. “If I gave everyone I owed favors to the same spiel, I’d be dead in a week. I wanted you to kill him. There’s a pretty big fucking difference.”

  Chen shrugged. “You told me to shoot him. I shot him. Death was not guaranteed. Your instructions should have been clearer. I will not be moved on this.”

  Michelle struggled to contain her anger. “You know as well as I do, Chen, that when you play in the big leagues, sometimes you need to work a bit harder.”

  “I understand, and that’s why I took care of your deceased boss.” His tone was calm.

  “I killed him, in case you forget.”

  “But I removed the knife from your throat.”

  She hated to admit that he had a point. She’d been hoping to convince him to take one last action on her behalf, but his efforts to plant the evidence on Anton’s computer and help her take over the Foundation had been invaluable. Deep down, she’d prefer to leave him and his family alone, but she didn’t have that luxury.

  Michelle knew there was no point pushing the issue further. He didn’t seem like the sort who would change his mind once it was made up. She smiled and lifted her tea. She took another cautious sip and was glad that she wasn’t scalded for her efforts. She swallowed, placed the cup carefully back on the table and stood.

  “Patronage can be revoked, Chen. I hope you’ll reconsider your decision. Please thank your wife for the tea.”

  Jack had one clue to unlock the mystery of Ernest’s shooting—an unidentified female voice. He’d tried to call the number back, but it was disconnected. A burner phone. It seemed hopeless, but he’d made stories and a career out of less. Like a police detective, he knew he needed an overlooked fact, a new angle or a chance encounter. If he pulled the right thread, the whole mess would untangle before his eyes.

  Since finding the voicemail on Ernest’s phone, he’d spent most of the last few days in his office at the New York Standard trying to find that thread. He could do pretty much whatever the hell he liked without reproach at the moment, because his experiences in the last few months had made others treat him with a light touch. They seemed surprised that he was at work at all.

  He’d decided he could do nothing with the mystery woman’s voice for now, and the hours spent trawling through Ernest’s phone had otherwise proven fruitless, so he’d focused on finding some other blemish in Ernest’s life that might explain the attack. He typed the date of the shooting into Wikipedia, but found nothing.

  With a frustrated sigh, he swung back on his chair. He needed a break. He looked away from the computer and up at the television in the corner of his office. It was a good enough distraction as any and better than the scotch he’d sworn off. He lifted the remote from his desk and turned on the TV.

  The screen flashed to life and showed a news replay of a speech given at Georgetown a few nights prior. He knew no easier way to get his mind back on the job than a few minutes of watching this sort of thing, though he had to admit the attractive speaker would keep his attention for longer than usual.

  “Firstly, I’ve ordered that much of the financial assets of the Foundation for a New America be spent purchasing a significant shareholding in EMCorp in the coming weeks.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed, then widened. He continued to listen as he leaned forward in his chair and dug through his pocket until he found Ernest’s phone. As quickly as he could, and while the speech was still going, he pulled up the mystery woman’s voicemail and played it on l
oudspeaker.

  “Ernest, we had a deal. Stop being a fool. You don’t have a lot of time left to make the right decision.”

  He played it again, to be sure. After the second playback, he was convinced that it was the woman on the screen, announcing that her organization was buying shares in EMCorp and that she was ready to shake Congress up. A broad smile crossed his face, and he had to stop himself from cheering aloud when a box appeared on the screen.

  Michelle Dominique

  Director, Foundation for a New America

  He typed her name into Google as he continued to look at the woman on the screen. She was beautiful, black haired, well dressed. The page delivered instantly: a profile, a website for her foundation—a treasure chest that would take him no time to unlock. He wasn’t sure if she was the one who’d ordered Ernest shot, and even if she had, he had no idea why, but deep down he knew this was the thread he’d been looking for.

  A coffee cup slammed—a little too loudly—on his desk. He hadn’t heard anyone enter his office, but the shock was soon replaced with a smile when he spun around in his chair to see Celeste with her own coffee in hand.

  “How long have you been sitting here for?” Her voice was terse as she put a hand on one hip. “You’ve got to sleep at some point.”

  “A while.” He laughed. “Think I just figured it out.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, these guys.” He pointed to the laptop, then up at the television. “Her. She left a nasty message on Ernest’s voicemail, and she’s buying a chunk of the company.”

  Celeste leaned over his shoulder and read what was on the screen. “Foundation for a New America. Looks like your average, run-of-the-mill conservative think tank.”

  “I’ve heard of them, vaguely. Extreme right-wingers. They hang out with the Republicans but aren’t really welcome.”