The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  “Hi, Jake.”

  “Hey, Pam.”

  “Sorry I missed you last weekend.”

  “I was a little under the weather,” Jake said, looking closely at her. “So what's the good news?”

  “You're clear; I got Chaney off your back, at least officially.”

  “Chaney, your CYA-ing boss?”

  “Ex-boss now; he's been suspended and I've been reinstated. And I've put in for retirement as of the end of this month.”

  “And he's off my back? That's a relief. I've been on edge, maybe even paranoid since you left last time.”

  “I can understand that, but now you can ease up some, I think.”

  “Okay. Now tell me the whole story. Last I knew, you were suspended and that asshole was pissed off at you and maybe coming after me.”

  “Right. So when I got back to DC that night, I called his boss and told her the whole story, sent her copies of my video of our conversation and my objections; remember, I'd logged those.”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, she set up a meeting with me for Tuesday after she met with Chaney on Monday. And I gave her a full sworn and notarized statement, with copies of my objections and his diagram.”

  “Of where to put those Marines.”

  “Right.

  “And we got a few anonymous videos of the whole thing, from the time I walked up to you until I left in the helicopter. And another showed Norm using his drill, with some resistance at one point; we think that's when he hit Danuski's neck.”

  “Oh, geez; I remember him doing that, but I had no idea what that was. That was the one named Ron, right?”

  “Right. Your memory is better than you think, I guess.”

  “Hell, I've seen him being dug up a lot in my dreams since then.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And that other guy pointing his gun at Norm, yelling at him.”

  “Oh, Babcock.”

  “What was with him?”

  Pam paused and crinkled her brow. “They were lovers.”

  Jake's eyebrows rose. “Gay?”

  “Yup. Babcock and Hunsucker had been together for a few years, and Danuski was trying to break them up.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Used to call them Hun-Bab.”

  “Hun-Bab?”

  “Right.

  “Anyhow, after seeing all that stuff, she called my boss in and tore him a new one, since he'd placed all the blame on me. And she reinstated me and gave him a two-month unpaid suspension, mainly for lying to her on the previous day.”

  “So why didn't you tell me that back then?”

  “Because he appealed, and that took some time, until Mark, the director, cut that off and affirmed my reinstatement and his suspension. That was last Thursday, a week ago. And on Friday night, I headed down here to surprise you on the beach.”

  “Damn; wish I'd been there.”

  “Me, too. So are you feeling better now? You said something about some stitches?”

  “Separate issue. Last weekend I had some kind of flu, I think, four days in bed; couldn't even get any writing done, just a few notes here and there. And the stitches, day before yesterday; did some pretty klutzy things, got some cuts on my shoulder and thigh, and had to get a tetanus shot.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry.”

  “Yup, makes it a little uncomfy to sit the wrong way.”

  “The stitches?”

  “No, the shot; he gave it in my butt,”

  “Not in the arm? I thought that's where they give 'em.”

  “Really? I thought that doc was kind of a sadist.”

  “Oh, yeah; had a few of those myself. The stories I could tell.”

  “I can only imagine. Maybe someday I can pick your brain for some inside info from your time in the Service.”

  Pam smiled demurely. “Maybe someday you can, but not now; after I retire, that's a definite maybe. Could probably fill a book.”

  “I'll cross my fingers.”

  “It's only three weeks away.”

  Just then, Beverly came out of the restaurant, saw Pam and came right over.

  “What can I get for you, ma'am?”

  Pam thought for a moment, then said, “Can you do a cranberry Mimosa?”

  “Sure 'nuff. Jake?”

  “I'll have a white zin, and no, I'm not gay.”

  “Oh, Jake, you always say that,” Beverly said, laughing.

  “And, Bev, can you bring us some menus? You want to have lunch, right, Pam?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Be right back.” Beverly headed back to the restaurant.

  “Do you really always say that?”

  “Yup. It cuts off a common reaction with a joke; something I call joke-jitsu. And I really just like white zin.”

  “Not an oenophile, huh?”

  “A what?”

  “Sorry. A wine connoisseur.”

  “Far from it. And I really don't drink much.”

  “Hmm.”

  “In fact, that T-shirt you're wearing?”

  “It's not mine; I found it in the condo I'm using, kind of liked the name.”

  “Oh. Anyway, Marti and Captain Dave are friends of mine. That's how she pronounces her name, Mart-eye, long I. They live over on the Imperial River, and I've gone to their boat parade party the last two Decembers, and she kids me about bringing a bottle of strawberry zin along, calls it my limeade. She actually uses a different word, one that starts with a K, but that's trademarked, so I had to make it 'limeade.' I take it home and finish it off around August. I've still got about a third of it in my fridge from last December.”

  “It doesn't go bad?”

  “Not that I can tell. But then I'm not a – what was that word?”

  “Oenophile.”

  “I can probably use that.” He made a note.

  “No, Jake, it's o-e-, not e-e.”

  “Oh, thanks.” He made the correction, just as Beverly returned with their drinks and menus.

  “I brought you some ice water and lemon, too, ma'am, and another for you, Jake. And here's the menus.”

  “Thanks, Bev. Oh, Bev, this is Pam.”

  “Hi, Pam. Nice to meetcha.”

  “Hi, Bev. Same.”

  “Hey, Bev, you got a blonde joke for Pam?”

  “Hmmm. Okay, here's one. What's a brunette's mating call?” She paused, looked around quickly. “'Have all the blondes left?'”

  Pam cracked up. “Oh, I love that one.”

  Jake laughed, too. “Another good one from the fabulous Bev.”

  Bev beamed and bowed. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

  Pam said, “And that's a damned good Elvis impression, too.”

  Bev looked at Pam and said, “Thank you, thank you very much, ma'am.”

  Pam said, “Oh, no, thank YOU very much, Bev; I'll definitely get some use outa that one. Made my day.”

  “Cool. Let me know when you're ready to order, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  As Bev walked away, Pam inadvertently (or was it advertently?) brushed Jake's forearm with hers as she reached for a menu, and then asked him, “So what's good here, Jake?”

  -29-

  Thursday, December 15, 2011

  2:30 p.m.

  The Oval Office

  Washington, DC

  The four union presidents followed Emily, Donne's chief of staff, into the Oval Office. Emily carried four sheets of paper over to Donne at his desk, handed them to him and whispered in his ear. Donne looked at her, then at the four standing in front of his desk.

  “Gentlemen, I understand you have objections to signing these releases, correct?”

  They all nodded, but stayed silent.

  “You need to answer aloud, for the record.

  “Richard?”

  “Yes, I object.”

  “Bob?”

  “I object.”

  “Andy?”

  “I object.”

  “Lee?”

  “Me,
too.”

  “Then I have no time to listen to you. Good day, gentlemen.

  “Emily, please show them out.”

  “Follow me, gentlemen, please.”

  Richard objected first, “But, Mr. --”

  “Gentlemen, you heard me. Please leave now.” Donne spoke it quietly but forcefully. “That is a direct order.”

  All four stood their ground, until Donne stood up, all five feet five inches of him, and strode over to them, looking up at each in turn.

  “Richard, leave now. Bob, leave now. Andy, leave now. Lee, leave now.”

  Again, all four stayed put.

  “Emily, get the guards in here and arrest these four gentlemen for trespassing and contempt.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Donne.” She stepped out.

  Again, Richard spoke up. “You can't --”

  Donne cut him off. “Actually, Dickie-boy, I can. You four will be held in our basement cellblock for seven days, incommunicado.”

  Lee turned to the door and spluttered, “Sir, I will --”

  Donne whispered, “Too late, Lee.”

  The door opened and four security guards entered, followed by two Secret Service agents. Donne moved back and leaned on the front edge of his desk.

  “Escort these gentlemen to the cells in the basement. Seven days incommunicado. But treat them well, feed them well and give them appropriate sleeping gear. Thank you.”

  As the guards took the four men into custody, handcuffing them and confiscating their phones, Donne said, “Emily, please put out an immediate press release, Type 3, with these four gentlemen's names in the appropriate blanks. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Donne.”

  The guards escorted the four out of the Oval Office through a different door from the one through which they had entered. Once the door had closed, Donne looked at Emily and shrugged sadly.

  “Geez, Emily, I hated doing that. But I figured those four would be the first to try.”

  “Yup, Gordy. I thought so as soon as they came in.”

  “Well, let's see if that gives us the result we want.”

  “Hope so.”

  “Now, send copies of Directives 127 and 241 down to the four of 'em, and then --”

  “And then we play it like Munich, right?”

  Donne smiled. “You are good, Emily. But not till Monday.”

  “C'mon, Gordy; I know how your mind works after all these years. Four-day wait.”

  “But even if they fall for it, we'll probably have demonstrators outside tonight, so alert the Secret Service and pull in some soldiers per Directives 204 to 209. Full audio and video, containment nets, but no live ammo.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you'll probably want to bunk here tonight.”

  Emily smiled. “Absolutely, sir.”

  “And Harry and Julie, too, if you want.”

  “Nope; they're still back in Macon with their dad and stepmom.”

  “Ah, that should be okay, then.

  “What's next?”

  “Nothing till three; that's the Cardinal from Rome.”

  Donne frowned and drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Well, that should be interesting. Thanks, Emily.” He returned to his chair and picked up a stack of papers; Emily headed back to the outer office.

  -30-

  Five Months Earlier

  Saturday, July 9, 2011

  11:55 a.m.

  Bonita Springs, FL

  “Mmmmmm!!!! Pam moaned. “Ohhh, that's positively orgasmic! Oh, oh, ohhhhhhhh!”

  Jake smiled and said quietly to himself, “Wait for it.”

  Pam continued moaning, smiling at Jake.

  “Good, good,” he whispered. “Still waiting. And --”

  Finally, an elderly woman who had just sat down at the table behind Pam turned around, caught Jake's eye and said, “Excuse me. What is she having?”

  “-- there it is,” Jake whispered, and then replied to the woman, “It's the shrimp and lobster pasta, ma'am.”

  “Thank you, sonny.

  “George, call the waitress. I want some of that.”

  “Sure, Marion. Where's my cell phone?”

  Marion rolled her eyes and waved to Beverly, who came right over and took her order.

  Pam looked at Jake and whispered “'Sonny'?”

  “Guess I look young for my age. Maybe I'll go to a plastic surgeon, get some wrinkles added.” Pam chuckled.

  Jake continued, “So you're enjoying your pasta?”

  “Oh, my god; best I've ever tasted. Really.”

  “I'm glad.”

  “How's your Angus burger?”

  “Great.”

  “But you're just picking at it.”

  “I don't eat a lot; probably take most of it home. With a half pounder, I'll maybe get three more meals out of it.”

  “Three more? Wow – oh, here, have the last bit of this. It really is delicious.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, surf 'n turf.”

  Pam chuckled quietly. “Ready?” Jake nodded.

  Pam speared the last chunks of lobster, shrimp and pasta, swirled up the last bits of the sauce and held the fork out to Jake's open mouth as they both leaned in across the table.

  As he began chewing, Pam said, “By the way, you have great looking teeth. I noticed that when we first met.”

  Jake held up a finger apologetically, chewed, finally swallowed, then said, “Thanks; they go in a glass at night.”

  “No. Really? They look positively natural.”

  “Need proof? Wanna see my 90-year-old redneck impression?”

  Pam grimaced. “Ah, no; I'll take your word for it. But they do look good.”

  “Thanks.”

  After an awkward pause as Pam finished her pasta, Jake cleared his throat and said, “Pam, would it be okay if I use you in the book?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don't know; maybe like Secretary of State. Donne's gonna need a whole new Cabinet and … oh, wait; even better. How'd you like to be Director of the Secret Service?”

  “Oh, no, no.”

  “I'd change your name, of course; last name, anyhow. But I'd love to have a character like you in a senior position.”

  “I don't know, Jake. I --”

  “Look, Pam, you're smart, you're gorgeous, and you sure knew how to deal with that sergeant and those Marines on the beach, so all I'd do is build a character sort of like you. Hmm. But I'd have to ugly her up some, maybe drop your eye candy rating five or six points. And I wouldn't have to use your name; it'd just be between you and me.”

  “Maybe – I guess as long as – I mean – Jake, you've got me speechless, and that doesn't happen often.”

  “Look, I'm sorry. No need to rush this. Just think about it for a while. I just like the idea … and I also like the name Pamela. And remember, it's just fiction.”

  “I know; I just – you caught me totally off guard with that.”

  “I'll do it,” Marion said, turning around and looking at Jake over Pam's shoulder. “I'm sorry; I couldn't help but overhear you. You're writing a book?”

  “Yup,” said Jake.

  “What's it about? Well, if you don't mind my asking.”

  “No, that's fine. It's about – well, a guy buys the US government, declares himself dictator and fixes it all.”

  “Fixes it? For real?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wow. Oh, yes, I'll do it. You can use me and George any way you want.”

  “Marion and George. Cool. Your last name's not Kirby, is it?”

  “No; it's Herman. And no, we don't have a dog named Neil.”

  “I'll bet you get that a lot,” Jake said, writing in his notebook.

  “Not so much anymore, at least not from the kids these days. This is my hubby, George.”

  “Hi, George; I'm Jake.”

  “And I'm Pamela; nice to meet you both.”

  George looked at them vacantly and smiled
, then looked at Marion.

  “They're a nice looking couple. Who are they?”

  “They're new friends, George.”

  Jake said, “Oh, we're not a couple, just friends.”

  Pam got up, gently took George's hands in hers, looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Hi, George. We've never met before. My name is Pamela, but you can call me Pam, okay?”

  “Okay, Pam.” George beamed at Pam, squeezed her hands tightly, tears welling in his eyes. “You're a good daughter, Patty, and I hope you're as happy with your new husband as I've been with Martha.”

  Pam kept her eyes on George's, sighed deeply and finally whispered, “Thank you, Daddy; I hope so, too.”

  Marion leaned across the table and said, “George, it's Marion.”

  “Oh, hi, Marion. Are we heading home now?”

  “No, George, not yet – ah, here comes our meal.”

  Pam gave George's hands a final squeeze and stood up, as Beverly arrived and placed the Hermans' orders in front of them.

  Jake gathered up his things and said, “Bev, we're gonna head out to the patio for a smoke,” looking to Pam for her agreement; she nodded. “Can we take our drinks out there, and get a doggie box?”

  “Sure, Jake; I'll pack up your burger. Anything else?”

  Jake glanced at Pam, who shook her head absently, still looking at George. “Nah, we're fine, Bev; thanks. And don't pack the pickle.”

  Pam touched George's shoulder and said, “Enjoy your meal, George,” and then smiled at Marion. “And I'm sure you will, Marion.”

  “I sure hope so. Nice to meet you, Pam.” She nodded at George, who was meticulously cutting his first conch fritter into four pieces. “And thank you so much.” Pam smiled and nodded as she and Jake headed out to the patio, drinks in hand.

  -31-

  Thursday, December 15, 2011

  3:00 p.m.

  The Oval Office

  Washington, DC