by Peg Herring
To get past the gatekeepers, she invented a story about a suicidal brother with PTSD. The receptionist, a sweet-faced woman with glasses the size of New Jersey, gasped in sympathy and promised the senator would see Robin if she could wait. They’d squeeze her in between appointments.
It took almost two hours of listening to canned music and checking the news on her phone, but eventually Robin was escorted into Delacroix’s office, a second-class space with mismatched furniture and no windows. Along the wall, books and papers lay stacked on chairs, on tables, and in corners. Many were marked with sticky notes and colorful arrows to locate spots he wanted to return to at some point.
The senator was as baby-faced in person as he looked in his pictures, with a lock of hair that refused to stay off his forehead. He’d taken his jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and he stood to shake Robin’s hand with a friendly, no-nonsense manner. “Please, sit down, Miss Jackson. I understand you need help with medical benefits for a veteran.”
Robin glanced over her shoulder as she took a seat in front of the senator’s desk, making sure the receptionist had left the room before she spoke. “Actually, no.”
He looked surprised. “I must have misunderstood.”
“I lied,” she admitted. “What I’m looking for is proof that Senator Buckram is corrupt.”
Delacroix glanced at the door, then at Robin, then at the phone console on his desk.
“Please don’t call security yet. Give me two minutes.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. “I’ve got no weapons and I have no intention of hurting anyone. Please let me tell you why I’m here.”
He nodded, but his eyes remained wary. Robin leaned forward, speaking quickly but softly. “I’m part of a group that tries to curb the influence of men like Buckram. We work behind the scenes, and we have a good record of convincing them to change their ways.”
That isn’t a lie. We’re one for one, as far as we know.
The senator was unconvinced. “Miss, I can’t—”
“No one will know you helped us.” She met Delacroix’s gaze. “He’s going to kill the veterans’ bill you introduced. He’ll claim he’s taking the moral high ground, but you know that’s complete gibberish.”
Delacroix shook his head. “We can’t force an elected official to change simply because you or I disagree with his position.”
“He hasn’t got a position and you know it. The reason he’s stalled this long on the decision is to see if your side can outbid the other side.”
The senator’s face seemed to age a decade. “I won’t plot against a fellow legislator. The bill will proceed or it won’t. If it doesn’t, we’ll try again.”
“Listen to me. He’s being paid to kill your legislation. It won’t even be considered unless we stop him.”
Delacroix’s expression became even more morose. It was time to offer reassurance.
“We don’t hurt people.” Robin held her hands up, palms out to emphasize her point. “We just insist they face their misconduct and reconsider the paths they’ve taken.”
An eyebrow quirked as he considered her words. “How do you do that?”
She paused, unwilling to give up the cautious agreement she saw in his eyes. “Our methods are unorthodox, I admit, but the senator will not be harmed.” She waited, giving him a chance to think it through. “You know he’s as crooked as a tree branch.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Something tangible we can present to Buckram, something that proves his wrongdoing.”
A rueful smile appeared on the man’s face. “Don’t you think if I had proof I’d have used it?”
She leaned back in her chair. “Not necessarily. First, you have your career to consider, and whistle-blowers are seldom popular. Second, you might know something that isn’t convincing by itself, but we put together bits and pieces from many sources.” Seeing the slightest of nods, Robin went on. “And finally, you’re a person of conscience who doesn’t want to destroy another man’s career. That’s noble, but we aren’t looking to destroy Buckram. We’ll give him every chance to change the way he operates. All we ask is that he represents the needs of the people and not deep-pocket special interests.”
And get off the drugs, Robin added to herself. There was no need to share that with Delacroix.
After a long pause the senator said softly, “A man named Nathan Blume is a big supporter of Buckram. He claims to be a businessman, but his business doesn’t always smell so good, if you know what I mean.”
Robin felt a little thrill of triumph. “My source mentioned Mr. Blume.”
Delacroix fiddled with some papers on his desk. “I accidentally saw a text message Buck received the other day. He’s a bit of a Luddite, and he was having trouble sending a photo from his phone. While I was helping him with it, a message showed up on his screen.” He blushed. “I didn’t mean to read it, but there it was.”
“They do just pop up.”
The reason for the blush became clear as he went on. “I forwarded the message to myself. It wasn’t ethical, but I needed time to think about what it meant.” Reaching for a folder at the corner of his desk, he searched through its contents until he found what he sought. “I thought we could use it to prove he takes bribes, but my advisers say it isn’t specific enough. If I share it, I open myself to criticism for snooping in another official’s private correspondence. If it helps you...” He handed Robin a sheet of copy paper. It was a screenshot he’d printed of a message from Blume to Buckram: SD-20K on defeat.
“If I read this correctly, someone—SD—offered to pay Buckram to work against your bill.”
Delacroix smiled ruefully. “You’re taking it the way I took it, but there are a dozen other possibilities. I think SD stands for Soldier Distress, a private group that claims they fund research for traumatic brain injuries.” His tone turned disgusted. “They spend a lot more on administrative salaries than they do on research.”
“Yes, my br—informant mentioned groups like that.”
“SD could mean other things,” he warned, “from South Dakota to ScanDisc. But my guess is that Blume works as intermediary between Buckram and those who bribe him, to blur the money trail.” He gestured at the paper she held. “That doesn’t mention my bill. It’s just something I felt in my gut.”
Folding the paper, Robin put it into her purse. “This will help when we approach the senator.”
He reached across the desk in an unconscious gesture, as if he wished he could take back what he’d done. “You won’t tell him where you got that?”
“No.” Standing, she put out a hand. “I admire your efforts to serve your constituents with integrity.”
Delacroix smiled grimly as they shook hands. “A lot of Americans don’t believe there’s such a thing as an honest politician, but we’re here. We just don’t make as much noise as the dishonest ones.”
Chapter Nine
After talking with Delacroix, Robin called Chris and told him about the message taken from Buckram’s phone.
“I know about Buckram’s old friend Blume,” Chris told her. “A real piece of garbage. Let me work on this for an hour or so.”
While she waited for Chris’ call, Robin wandered the hotel room. Cam was hard at work, adapting the van they’d bought, and Em had taken the dog for a walk. The mutt didn’t seem to mind Em’s slow gait, and she claimed they’d practice their role in the caper along the way.
Robin took the time alone to do some tidying up, stuffing her dirty clothes into a plastic bag and going over what she’d brought for the still-tentative KNP for the thousandth time. As she passed the window, she stopped at the sight of a familiar-looking black car. Her breath caught in her throat as one of her inner arguments began.
There are lots of black cars in the world, Robin.
Yes, but that detective, Wyman, drives one that looks a lot like that.
You’re suddenly a car expert? You don’t even know a Ford from a Chevy without c
hecking the logo!
She stood there for some time, but in the end there was nothing to be done. She’d be crazy to leave the room and try to get a look at the driver. Motels weren’t allowed to give out information about who was staying there, and they hadn’t used their real names anyway. After a while she went back to folding clothes, and when she looked again, the black car was gone.
It couldn’t have been Wyman, she told herself. There’s no way he could know we’re in Richmond.
After half an hour of biting her nails then reminding herself she didn’t bite her nails anymore, Robin got the call from Chris she’d been waiting for. “Buckram received a $20,000 donation to his re-election fund last week from Nathan Blume. It looks like he’s serving as middleman so Soldier Distress doesn’t appear as a Buckram donor.”
That was when Robin stopped telling herself the KNP was tentative. Cam was almost finished with the van. Em and the dog were ready. She’d rented a storage unit in an out-of-town facility. It was time to act.
***
Just after seven p.m., Buckram left his building by the back door and started down the alley, his steps purposeful but not hurried. He looked behind a few times out of habit, but his posture was relaxed. It was clear he’d done this many times without attracting attention.
Four blocks away was a small park surrounded by a low wall of red brick. Buckram entered through a wrought-iron gate, and as Robin followed, she smelled some sweet-scented, early-flowering shrub. A brisk walk down a path that cut diagonally across the park led to a small fountain where water spilled noisily onto water. Buckram stopped there, apparently to enjoy the evening air. Robin slid into the shadows, crouched down, and crept forward, her phone in one hand.
Buckram walked around the fountain twice before a woman approached from the opposite side of the park. For a drug dealer, she was surprisingly normal-looking in jeans, a puffy coat, and expensive boots. It took Robin a second to shake the stereotype formed from watching too many cop shows.
The woman joined Buckram with a casual nod of greeting. She was more watchful than he, no surprise given her profession’s inherent risks, and her gaze flickered to all sides. Taking his cue from her, Buckram examined the darkness, head tilted as he listened for sounds in the night. Though Robin’s haunches were starting to burn, she lowered her face and let the darkness and her clothing hide her from sight. Satisfied they were alone, the woman said something to Buckram, who answered with a question.
Robin couldn’t hear the conversation, but she video-recorded the meeting. Buckram gave the woman something, money, she guessed, and in return received a packet he slid into his coat pocket. Though they used their bodies to shield their actions from view, the clandestine nature of the exchange was obvious.
As soon as their business was concluded, the woman melted into the darkness. Buckram returned through the gate he’d entered, passing Robin’s hiding place without once glancing her way. His step was light, and he whistled as he walked.
He’s gotten away with deceit for so long he can’t imagine he won’t keep doing it.
She’d prepared two messages for Cam, a go and a no-go. Scrolling to the one that said, We’ll do it, she hit send. Sliding her phone into the zippered pocket of her jacket, Robin followed the senator out of the park.
When Buckram entered the alley leading to his building’s back door, an old woman wearing a long, dark coat and a wildly colorful scarf came toward him. Beside her was a scruffy-looking dog of mixed breed. “Nice evening,” the woman said in the casual way of neighbors. The dog jerked on its leash, trying to sniff the newcomer, which caused the woman to lurch sideways and bump Buckram’s arm. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Cuddles gets excited when we take our walkies.” Hardly bothering to nod in response, he moved on.
A gray van sat parked ahead, its motor running. As the senator neared it, Em let go of the dog’s leash and the mutt bounded back the way he’d come. Alerted by the sound of paws on cobblestone, Buckram turned, picking up his pace when he saw the dog coming at him.
He wasn’t fast enough. The dog jumped, knocking him against the brick wall of the building. As its intruding nose snuffled at his coat, Buckram flailed at it. “Get down! Go away!”
The dog ignored the command, licking noisily at the gob of beef base Em had smeared on his sleeve moments earlier. Setting its front paws on Buckram’s arm, it licked at the sleeve as the angry man slid along the wall in a vain attempt to escape.
While the senator shoved at the dog, Cam approached from behind and grabbed his arms. Catching up at a run, Robin punched Buckram hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Fumbling at the holster at his waist, she took his sidearm and stuck it into her jacket pocket. Next she located his phone and took that too.
While the senator fought to get breath back in his lungs, Cam lifted him off his feet and propelled him through the open van doors. As soon as Cam stepped back Robin closed the doors, hearing the latch click a half-second before Buckram’s shoulder hit the other side. The force of it shook the van—and Robin’s confidence—but the doors held.
After a quick look to assure there were no witnesses, Robin threw herself into the driver’s seat. Cam got in the passenger side, watching nervously as she missed the ignition several times before successfully inserting the key. As they pulled away, Em gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Less than four minutes later Robin, Cam, and their unwilling passenger turned onto the freeway ramp and headed out of the city.
The back of the van sounded like it was under attack from gremlins. Between blows at the door that no longer had an interior latch, Buckram promised the full weight of the Commonwealth of Virginia would descend on them, along with the FBI and Homeland Security. “You’ll rot in prison! Hell, you kidnapped a government official. They might even send you to Guantanamo.” Robin forced herself to concentrate on driving. Cam seemed to have retreated to a place in his mind where sound didn’t penetrate.
When they reached the storage unit Cam got out and made certain no one was around. Removing the padlock, he opened the overhead door. After Robin backed the van inside, he pulled the door closed and set a block in the latch so the door wouldn’t open.
Without interior illumination the space was inky black, and they moved around using headlamps. A lawn chair was already in place at the back. A video camera and a stack of documents were laid out on an empty cardboard box, within easy reach. They were ready. With a deep breath, Robin pulled her mask back on and switched on the trouble lights. “Let’s do this.”
When Cam opened the doors Buckram barreled out like a rampaging gorilla, sending the chair flying against the wall. The lights blinded him and he stopped, shielding his eyes with a hand. “What the hell is this?”
Robin turned on the device at her throat and spoke commandingly. “Pick up the chair and sit in it.”
Buckram peered into the lights. “You’re crazy! I won’t—”
“Bozo.”
Cameron stepped into the light, completely covered by his ski mask, canvas jumpsuit, dollar-store tennis shoes, and brown garden gloves. He set the chair in place with a firm clank, took Buckram by the shoulders, and set him in the chair as easily as if he were a rag doll.
Robin approached with duct tape in hand. When the senator tensed she warned, “Sit still, or Bozo will show you how.”
Glowering, Buckram let her tape his arms to the chair. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, Senator, we do. You’re going to confess your crimes to us. Then you’re going to atone for them.”
“Crimes? What the hell are you talking about?”
Robin consulted her list. “Let’s start with Nathan Blume, who paid for that Lamborghini you’re driving.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is so.” Cam’s voice came from the shadows behind. “It’s an Aventador two-door coupe worth $400,000. That thing is sweet!”
At a gesture from Robin, he suppressed his rapture over the senator’s car, and she went on. “
You can’t afford that car. It’s an illegal and unethical gift.”
The chair rails scraped on the uneven concrete floor as Buckram’s weight shifted. “I make investments—”
“You take bribes. You’ve broken every promise you made when you got elected to the state legislature.”
His expression turned pious. “I do what’s best for my people.”
“You do what’s best for Nathan Blume and his cronies.”
He set his jaw. “I have great respect for Mr. Blume’s business acumen.”
“He’s been investigated for everything from money laundering to murder.”
The senator closed his eyes for a moment. “He’s an acquaintance. I don’t really know him that well.”
“He’s paying you to work against the new veterans’ center.”
Buckram tried to raise a hand, but because of the duct tape, he managed only a finger. “It would be a waste of taxpayer funds. We have excellent veterans’ centers in other parts of the state.”
“Not within three hundred miles of the proposed one.”
He leaned forward to make his argument. “That’s a good thing. People pay better attention to a doctor’s orders if it takes a lot of effort to see him.”
“That’s the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard.”
His face took on a superior expression. “That’s because you don’t understand human behavior like I do.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Robin tried to get back on track. “You’re a crook who takes money from other crooks. Illegal contributions—”
“My friend,” Buckram interrupted, “you don’t understand the way things work. I comprehend the system extremely well, if I work it better than the next guy, that just proves how much smarter I am than everybody else.” The finger waggled again. “I’ll bet you’ve got no proof I’ve done anything illegal, so if you call me a crook in public, I’ll sue you into the poorhouse. And let me just say this: I believe in hitting back as hard as I get hit—maybe harder.”