On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  Catherine exited with a little less vigor. She supposed they could have called ahead first, but the odds of their prey scampering were a little too high. She couldn’t entirely blame him.

  The ranch house was grand, old, and weathered and situated on a sprawling piece of acreage, which included a sparkling lake at the end of a dusty path.

  A dog barked. Some chickens squawked from somewhere behind the house, but everything seemed quiet otherwise.

  An elderly woman came out, wiping her hands down her floral apron. “Well now, who might you all be? I wasn’t expecting guests.”

  Lauren introduced them both. Mrs. Hickory’s expression became immediately guarded and then her gaze flicked to Catherine.

  “You’re that DC journalist? Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to be all the way out here.”

  “We had something important to discuss with your husband, Mrs. Hickory, so we thought it best to do so in person.” Catherine smiled warmly. “I hope it’s not an imposition.”

  “Oh no, not at all.” The woman looked askance at the mere idea she was failing at being hospitable. “You girls can come inside and wait a bit. Fred’s out and about with his adviser. But they’re due back soon. I could make you a tea or coffee.”

  She bustled inside, and they followed, closing a wood-framed screen door after them. “Oh, and ignore Buddy,” she said. “Despite his size, he’s all bark.”

  A giant, lumbering black, white, and brown dog shuffled up to them, his heavy tail thumping on the floor.

  “A Bernese mountain dog,” Lauren identified, edging past. “I guess he looks tame enough.”

  “Mmm.” Catherine eyed it. She lifted a finger. “Sit, Buddy!” She gave a sharp motion.

  Buddy’s rump dropped instantly to the floor like a sack of flour.

  “Jesus,” Lauren muttered. “One day you’ll have to teach me that.”

  “Can’t teach a gift.”

  Catherine told herself it was rude to preen.

  The kitchen was a picture-perfect country postcard—bright, rustic, and filled with the aroma of the freshly baked date loaf sitting on the sill. Corn curtains adorned the unpainted window frame.

  Mrs. Hickory was pouring them both coffees when the door banged at the front of the house. “Ah. He’s home.”

  “Helena, honey, whose truck’s that?” came a bellow down the hall.

  Two sets of footsteps sounded. One heavy, one light.

  Senator Hickory’s smile fell as he caught sight of Lauren and Catherine.

  Catherine’s own polite smile in reply was washed away when his political adviser came into view. A cocktail of anger, humiliation, and pain clenched her stomach. Lauren’s hand slid to her thigh under the table and gave a small squeeze.

  Michelle Hastings.

  Catherine recalled her at the State Fair. She had laughed in Catherine’s face when she’d assumed the woman had been there to see her. She’d called Catherine arrogant. Catherine could see why. The answer had been right in front of them the whole time. She’d been there for Hickory, watching him give his speech.

  “Well…” The senator’s wild, white caterpillar eyebrows shot up. “You two. This is a surprise.”

  “Hi,” Lauren said.

  Catherine simply stared at Michelle, whose face was impenetrable as ever.

  Mrs. Hickory took in the awkward circular standoff, then excused herself to let them “do your politics thing.”

  Hickory gestured to the woman behind him. “My political adviser, Michelle Hastings.”

  “We’ve met,” Lauren said, her words clipped.

  “Why, hello again, Cat,” Michelle drawled. “Ms. King.”

  The old man’s gaze slid from them to his adviser and back again. “Know what? I’m just gonna go wash up. I’ll let you all get reacquainted.” He slipped out, his footsteps receding into the distance.

  “Together again,” Michelle said as a door banged shut at the end of the hallway. She looked at Lauren. “Plan to threaten me again with being used as a piñata?”

  “It was more a metaphor than a threat.” Lauren ran her fingertips casually over the table. “But hey, if that’s your kink, I could arrange it.”

  Michelle snorted. “So evolved. Class act, cowgirl.”

  “Better a cowgirl than a schemer who fucks someone to get ahead. Real class act there.”

  “You know,” Catherine cut in, eying Michelle over her coffee cup, “I learned the hard way not to underestimate Lauren. I recommend you call a truce now before she stops playing nice.”

  “That’s her playing nice?”

  “Oh, it is.” Catherine sipped her coffee, cupping it in her hands to hide the tremble in her fingers.

  “Fine.” Michelle pulled up a chair and sat opposite Catherine. “What do you two want?”

  “I take it you were at the State Fair playing adviser to Hickory? And seeing me there was really was a coincidence?”

  “Yes. I had no idea you were there until I saw you.”

  “So why talk to me?”

  “Because your story matters more than our past or anything else.”

  “My story.”

  “Yes. You can’t let it go. It’s important.”

  “This is a tired old path we’re treading.” Catherine’s laugh was dry and empty. “My God, why am I even listening to this?” She made to rise.

  “I haven’t lied to you even once over this.”

  “And what is ‘this’? I can’t even see the story. It’s a jumbled mess. Give me something to work on.”

  “All right, Wave’N’Go.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The next big thing. Ansom’s biotech data-chip product soon will be marketed at young people as a lifestyle option so they don’t need to carry wallets. MediCache was phase one to get the government interested. Wave’N’Go is phase two, to get the masses on board and not fearing the tech. And to help it catch on, it’ll be free initially.”

  “So, this is all creepy, vapid, but still voluntary. Where’s the news story?”

  “Catherine.” Michelle’s tone sounded so disappointed, so mocking, that Catherine felt the censure down to her bones. “You know what this is as much as I do. I know you do. I read your Hickory story. Don’t play some deeply uncurious member of the masses now.”

  Catherine inhaled. “All right. Whatever this is, it does feel like a slippery slope.”

  “You’re right. It is the beginnings of a slow creep, a loss of citizens’ rights, but it’s so subtle no one’s noticing. It has to be stopped, and I know you have the ability to do that.” Her gaze flicked to Lauren’s skeptical face. “Both of you.”

  Frowning, Catherine said, “If you believe all this, why are you Hickory’s adviser? He’s positioned himself as the go-to man for MediCache.”

  Michelle’s voice dropped to barely audible. “Temporary adviser,” she murmured. “I’m around Hickory for as long as he’s selling MediCache. That doesn’t mean I agree with him. We don’t always get a say in our assignments, do we?” She leaned back in her chair. “I believe you know how that feels. How was it writing gossip in LA? Fulfilling?”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” Catherine thudded her coffee cup to the table. “It is insanity to listen to you again. Once burnt—”

  “You did get my message, I assume?” Michelle interrupted. “The Mexicans on the border? Was I wrong?”

  “How could you be wrong? Since your company most likely paid a group of Mexicans to agree to be fake arrested, pose for photos, and used for a political stunt to promote MediCache.”

  “Well, that is thinking outside the box, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Your genius idea, I suppose?”

  “All I can say is it was a win-win for several of my clients.”

  “Who are?”

  “I c
an’t say.”

  “Well, it’s a simple process of elimination,” Catherine said, “working out who benefited in all that publicity and posturing. Ansom, of course, and…” She paused. “The FBI, possibly? As for Hickory… How involved is the good senator in all this?”

  “Not relevant.” Michelle’s face became a blank slate.

  Lauren snorted. “I’d say it’s plenty relevant if you want a story done. Like, you know what’s really relevant? The fact you work for a sneaky little company called the Fixers.”

  Michelle’s mask slipped a bit.

  “Yeah, so much for a top-secret consultancy company.”

  “Who told you that name?”

  “Not telling,” Lauren said. “Answer Catherine’s question. How deep in this is the senator?”

  Hickory entered the room again and glanced at them all. “How deep am I in what?”

  “Senator.” Catherine spun to face him. “Have you heard of an organization called the Fixers?”

  “No.” He glanced at Michelle, eyes widening, and gave a mighty headshake. “Never heard of them.”

  “Really.” Catherine dragged out the word.

  “Yes. Now, thanks for stopping by. Ms. Hastings will show you out.” Hickory waved toward the door. “And next time, call first and make an appointment.” He fumbled through his wallet and slapped his business card on the table.

  Lauren scooped it up, then climbed to her feet. Catherine followed suit.

  Michelle smiled, and it was that same maddening smile Catherine had once thought was interesting. It wasn’t interesting; it was all kinds of wrong.

  They stepped outside, and Lauren shoved her hands in her pockets. “Can we just get to the pointy end of all this BS?” she asked, turning to Michelle. “Just tell us: why would you go against your own employer by directing us toward this story?”

  Michelle sighed and peered at the cloudless blue sky. “Walk with me,” she said, and headed off toward the lake at the edge of the property.

  She came to a stop at a decaying boat ramp and glanced from Lauren to Catherine, who had followed. “Look, I get what you think of me. That’s fair. But I have been careful on this to try and point you at the story without lying, but also without betraying anyone. It would be dangerous for me to come right out and leak to reporters. My clients are important people. You have no idea how powerful. I won’t cross them—not directly. But I can certainly nudge someone capable of seeing the truth and hope that certain dots will be joined. That’s all I’ve been doing.” She gazed at Catherine. “The chip is a threat to everyone. Nothing else matters.”

  Catherine studied her. “Why didn’t you just tell us all this at the fair?”

  “Like you’d have believed a word I said if I’d gone in with a charm offensive. You’d have walked immediately. The only thing I could do was tell the truth and try to get your interest piqued in the story.”

  “And how involved is Hickory?” Catherine asked.

  “Peripherally. But I still won’t talk about him.”

  “You’re his adviser. How can we not talk about him?”

  “Only an adviser on paper. That’s why he thinks I’m here. I’m actually undercover, keeping an eye on the bigger picture.”

  “Which is?”

  “The chip. I’m shaping its rollout, watching progress, enhancing promotion, reporting market reception.”

  “For Ansom.”

  Michelle sighed. “I can’t officially confirm clients’ names, so you can stop asking.”

  “All right, forget clients. Let’s talk colleagues. How does your IT guy Douglas Lesser fit in?”

  “That knuckle dragger? He wrote the software the Ansom chip talks to whenever it’s scanned.”

  “Knuckle dragger?” Lauren peered at her in surprise. “I’ve met him. He’s got an overblown ego, sure, but he’s educated, articulate. Why call him that?”

  “Have you seen his app?” Michelle sounded incredulous.

  “My Evil Twin? Yes. Why?” Lauren asked.

  Michelle gave a mirthless laugh. “You really can’t see it? Take another look.” She glanced at Catherine. “Just stay on this story, okay? I’m not overselling how important it is. If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s you. Or did I misunderstand how good you are at your job?”

  “So good at my job you ruined my reputation in one simple sting,” Catherine said with ice in her voice. “On that note, tell me who it was. Who paid to bring me down? Can you do that at least? It’s ancient history.”

  “That’d also breach client confidentiality. I can’t.” She gave Catherine a half shrug.

  Her lack of concern set Catherine’s teeth on edge. This is pointless. Without another word, she turned on heel and retraced her steps toward the truck, snapping to Lauren as she passed her, “We’re leaving. Our source is unhelpful to the point of useless. There’s no story here.”

  They were halfway up the path when Michelle called after them. “Wait.”

  “Something to add?” Catherine said snidely but kept walking.

  “Cat!”

  Catherine didn’t even pause in her stride.

  “Catherine. Please!”

  She stopped and turned.

  Michelle caught up with her. “I’d like to help, but I just can’t.” She lowered her voice. “Our company works on complete discretion. Don’t you get that? That’s its selling point. If even one client found out there was a media leak, it’d be disastrous. That’d be it. End of the company.”

  “Tragedy. And you know damned well I never reveal my sources. I didn’t last time, either, when everyone was baying for blood and demanding to know how I got my facts so horribly wrong. I could have hung you out to dry. I never said a word.”

  “I remember.” Michelle’s voice was soft.

  For a brief second, Catherine thought she heard regret before she remembered the devious actress she was dealing with. “Then it’s simple: give us what you have, or we don’t write a word.”

  “This could end me.”

  “We’ve just established I don’t break confidences. It’s your turn to put your neck on the line. Prove to me how much you really care about this story.”

  “I could call your bluff.” Michelle’s chin lifted. “You always cared more about the story than yourself.”

  “True. Once. Now I have other priorities.” She shifted her gaze to Lauren. “Actually, it might be a relief to get back to what we’re supposed to be doing here. We do have a wedding to plan. You think this is fun for me? Dealing with you again, when I could be doing that instead?”

  Michelle took her measure. She glanced at Lauren, who merely shrugged.

  “What she said.” Lauren folded her arms. “We’ve actually been dying to settle the whole chicken or fish debate. Oh, and what do you think, Catherine?” She sounded fascinated at the thought. “DJ or wedding singer?”

  “DJ,” Catherine said after a thoughtful pause. “Mrs. Potts did give us some interesting names. What do you think about DJ Oprah Spinfrey? Do you think Mrs. Potts is trolling us, or…?”

  “Fine.” Michelle raised her hands in surrender and glared at them. “You win. But you can’t use a word I say, on the record or off it. You can’t.”

  “We won’t.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Catherine took in a deep breath. Moment of truth. “Let’s start with that ancient history. Who brought me down?”

  “I suppose the short answer is, you did.”

  “What?”

  Michelle sighed. “It was something you wrote. Remember in late 2012, the FBI announced it was creating its Next Generation Identification database?” She glanced at Lauren. “The NGI’s a national biometrics database which contains personal information about criminals and suspects—not just their names, but their identifying marks and features, pal
m prints, eye scans, voice, tattoos, scars, limps, piercings, eye color—you name it. All the things criminals can’t hide or change. The FBI was very proud of its pet project. It was the jewel in its crown.”

  “I remember,” Catherine said slowly. “It had issues, though. How do you know so much about it?”

  “Because my now-colleague, Douglas Lesser, helped build it.” Michelle gave Catherine a searching look. “Do you remember how many columns you wrote blasting the NGI just after it was announced it would be built?”

  Catherine blinked. “I don’t know. A couple. Are you saying that’s why? The FBI wanted payback?”

  “You didn’t do a few columns. You wrote ten. Each more scathing than the last. Each arguing that gathering human biometric data into one national library was a terrible idea, an idea that breached an American’s fundamental right to privacy, especially as some of those in the database were only suspects, not guilty of anything.”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “I remember making that case.”

  “The line that was particularly effective, and that was starting to make some high-level senators wobble, was what happens if innocent, law-abiding people get swept up into the database? How would they ever get out? Would they be there forever? You also asked whether people in the database would be easy to track or even stalk. And what of identity theft?”

  “Keep enough data about someone in a file, and sooner or later someone else might find it and use it against them.” Catherine nodded. “That’s identity theft on a worrying scale. You can’t just cancel a credit card if that happens. You can’t simply change your name. If someone misuses or alters the file holding all your physical identifiers, then what do you do? How do you even prove you’re you, if someone changes what’s listed as your unique characteristics?”

  Michelle looked impressed. “I liked that column the best. It was an intellectual argument that had no counterargument. And I wasn’t the only one to notice.” Her look was hard and long.

  “They were just columns,” Catherine said, feeling faint. “I didn’t dwell on them.”

  “You mightn’t have, but a lot of people did. They were persuasive. You were starting to turn the tide of public opinion. Doubts were emerging. Senators were raising questions. You were becoming seriously inconvenient to some very powerful people.”