by Rick Pullen
Tomorrow, he knew, would be another day with both sides once again engaged in partisan combat. But for today, he could enjoy the moment.
“Mr. President.” The intercom on his phone startled Harvey for a second. “Mr. President, the vice president is here to see you.” “Send him in.”
The Oval Office wall opened up. “Mr. President,” said Daniel Fahy. “Mr. Vice President,” said Harvey.
The men embraced and patted each other on the shoulder. Harvey returned to his chair behind the big desk, and Fahy eased his back into the visitor’s chair on the other side.
“You look good sitting there,” Fahy said.
“It was an extraordinary trip. I’ve got to hand it to you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I could say the same to you. I wouldn’t be here had you not put my name before Congress.” Fahy ran his hand along the arm of his chair, feeling the rich fabric.
“No-brainer. With the original ticket up in flames, I needed someone whose integrity had never been questioned. You were the perfect choice for this town.”
Fahy crossed his legs in a more relaxed position. “We both know who we have to thank.”
“You’re right about that. In fact, you were right about almost everything from the very beginning. How you planned this, how you were able to predict what would happen next, going all the way back to September—it simply astounds me.”
“You need to remember, I’ve been watching crooked politicians for nearly a decade. People are predictable. I know how to exploit that to my advantage.”
“And they call you the Boy Scout.”
Fahy winced. “Not my choice of descriptors, but it’s a label the media gave me years ago. I just decided to never give it back. They almost had me convinced.”
“I still can’t believe we pulled it off in time. Having McCauley jump-start it with Rikki the way you did really paid off.”
“We had to assure the story got out before Election Day.” “How did McCauley do it?”
“He was an actor in college and worked undercover before we started working together. He’s a natural. And I gotta say, your plan to nominate him as FBI director is a brilliant move.”
“JFK and Richard Nixon set the example. They were constantly at odds with J. Edgar. That taught every president since then to keep the director close at all times. Thanks for the recommendation and for attesting to his loyalty.”
“Teamwork.”
Harvey shook his head and smiled, then laughed loudly. “What a business. What a way to run a country.” “The world,” Fahy reminded him.
“You know what you—we—managed to do, don’t you? You and I overthrew the government—”
“And nobody knew,” said Fahy, completing the sentence.
Harvey stared at his vice president. There was an unspoken covenant between them—a secret to be kept. He reached into the side drawer of his ornate desk and withdrew a box of Cohibas. “Cuban?”
“Love one,” Fahy said.
They both lit their cigars. Fahy savored the flavor and then spoke. “There still was a degree of luck involved in all of this. Your ex-wife turned out to be an unexpected asset. Being able to observe this whole affair unfolding at a very close range—much closer than we had expected—proved quite useful.”
“It did. And she never knew,” Harvey said. “Mr. Vice President—I like the sound of that—that proves to me just how agile you are. You’ll be a great asset in the years ahead. But I do wonder about Rikki. Should I worry? Is this something we need to address?”
“Mr. President, he was better than I thought. After he helped us get rid of Bayard, he figured out on his own the connection between Patten and the drug cartels. He’s a funny guy. I’d bet he thinks he’s doing god’s work. No, I don’t worry about him. The only loose end is his accomplice.
Someone named Red. Not sure who he is. He’s eluded us so far, but he knows what Rikki knows.”
“That could be a problem.”
“Not since you appointed me to head your new Presidential Commission on Campaign Finance Reform.”
“Not the first time you’ve been appointed to investigate yourself, now is it?”
Fahy smiled broadly and took a puff on his cigar. The men looked at each other in silence. Fahy exhaled a long blue streak, the aroma of smoke mixing with the smell of fresh paint and the scent of chemical toxins from the newly laid carpet with the inlaid presidential seal.
Afterword
There is nothing to stop the flow of illegal funds into federal elections. Congress refuses to curtail the flow of secret money into the system. Presidential aspirants from both major political parties are more than willing to wink and turn a blind eye at financial transparency.
Thanks to the US Supreme Court’s 2010 ruling in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, it is now impossible to trace the origin of these political campaign funds.
The possibility that drug cartel money has already infiltrated our elections is very real. No fingerprints. No trail. No problem.
Our elected leaders prefer it that way.
About the Author
Rick Pullen is an award-winning magazine editor and former investigative reporter for several newspapers who has worked in Washington, D.C. for most of his career. He lives in Fredericksburg, Virginia.
In 2015, he was a finalist for editor of the year. He was also named to the “Folio 100”—the one hundred most influential people in magazine publishing.
This is the first in his “Naked” thriller series. To learn more about Rick and his upcoming books, visit his website at www.RickPullen.com.