She could see Martin tense. His back became rigid, and the beginnings of a glare materialized in his killer blue eyes.
“I thought we had decided that subject would be taboo,” he said, still maintaining control.
Darlene had hoped to keep Victor Ochoa out of this discussion, but now she could see that unless Martin simply threw her out of his office, it wasn’t going to be possible. She pressed on, ignoring his tight-lipped reminder of “their” agreement, and extracted an unmarked envelope from her purse.
“The girl who framed Russ is dead,” Darlene said, handing Martin Angela’s photos.
Martin began flipping through the articles, notes, and snapshots. Darlene watched him for any reaction. She had expected more.
“Okay, what’s this all about?”
Darlene told him about Double M, from his first contact with Kim to the horrible recording of threats made to a young prostitute to their meeting at the movie theater and, finally, to the arrangement for Darlene to meet with Dr. Lou Welcome. She also recounted Double M’s warnings about a dangerous shipment of corn, Lou’s concerns over William Chester’s fields, experimental work with DNA taken from mutated termites, and finally, Lou’s suspicion that the John Meacham mass slayings and other tragedies and near tragedies were somehow connected to Chester Enterprises’ GMO corn.
What she left out was her trip to Philadelphia with Lou. At the moment, there was no predicting how Martin would react. Now, he craned his neck back and stared up at the ceiling, processing what was clearly a lot of information. The creases across his forehead deepened. His lower lip bulged as he ran his tongue across his bottom teeth—a nervous tic predating the days when the two of them first started going out together.
Does he believe me?
Abruptly, Martin rose from the couch and walked to a window overlooking the Rose Garden. Several tense minutes passed. When he turned back to her, his expression appeared to have softened.
He’s seeing me, she thought. I feel him finally seeing me.
He returned to the sitting area, but this time took a seat next to her. After twenty-five years, there wasn’t a posture or body position she couldn’t read. This one, his face tight and his weight pulled back from her, she did not like at all.
“Okay … okay … let’s talk,” he said.
He leaned back more, his leg crossed, his elbow on his knee, one hand nearly concealing his mouth. For the briefest moment, Darlene felt guilt for having burdened her already overtaxed husband. But like Martin, she, too, possessed a love of country and a responsibility to protect Americans from harm.
“Go on, Martin,” she said.
“I want to help you out, here, honey. I really do. But I’m flat out of ideas. So why don’t you tell me exactly what I can do?”
She hated his tone and blank look. It was as if she had become an intrusion on his day. “Ignore me if you wish, Martin, but please don’t patronize me. You know exactly what I’m talking about and what I want you to do about it.”
Martin then nodded. “It seems you’re asking me to issue some sort of presidential edict I really have no authority to do, and stop a shipment of corn.”
“Precisely.”
“And even if I could, even if I had that sort of legal clout, why should I?”
“Because there is strong evidence to suggest the corn on that train isn’t safe,” Darlene answered.
“Strong evidence? Oh, please, give me a break, Dar. You’re being naïve. This is all about someone’s petty attempt at inconveniencing a competitor. I happen to know about this corn—a good deal about it, for that matter. I know that it has been thoroughly tested, and found to be perfectly safe. For crying out loud, Dar, your friend Russell Evans is the one who signed off on it!”
Darlene felt as if she had been punched in the gut. It was half a minute before she could speak. Why hadn’t Double M told her?
“What is it you know about this corn, Martin,” she managed, forcing a modicum of calm back into her voice, “that makes it so easy for you to discount what I’m saying?”
Martin stood and turned his back to her, hands resting on his hips. For those few prolonged seconds, it felt like he was her president, and not her husband. Eventually, he turned back with new resolve on his face—the look of a man about to compromise. “What I’m about to tell you, Darlene,” Martin said in a stern voice, “cannot ever be repeated. It cannot leave this room. Is that agreed?”
Darlene felt her chest tighten as her pulse began hammering. “I’m your wife, Martin. You can tell me anything you wish in confidence.”
“That corn is going to save my presidency, and I’d feed it to our family for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s that safe.”
Darlene sat silent and breathless.
“The economy is killing us,” Martin continued. “Americans need jobs, and as things stand, I have no way to come up with them. It’s as simple as that. Forget about Democrats or Republicans. When it comes to employment, we’re all independents. If I can’t get Americans back to work, my presidency—and everything I stand for and was elected for—is over. One term and I’m through. If I’m lucky, history will paint me as a failure. More likely, I won’t be painted at all. And I am no failure, Darlene! I’m not about to let the American people down.”
Darlene felt herself beginning to shake. “Martin, what have you done?” she asked.
His gaze at her was level. His jaw set. “I cut a deal with the Chinese,” he said matter-of-factly. “They’re on the precipice of a major food crisis, and they know it. The wealthier Chinese are demanding more meat in their diets, which requires more corn to feed the livestock. The new Chinese wealth is spiking food demands all over the country. Corn has become the key commodity feeding the world. It’s in all our processed foods. Feeding corn to livestock that was built by evolution to eat grass is what allows us to eat meat any moment of the day that we want it. Forget the foreign oil debate. We’re more dependent on corn for our survival than on any single commodity. The Chinese government realized they simply cannot meet the growing demand using traditional agriculture practices.”
“But why this corn? Why not just increase exports?”
“Because we can’t grow enough of the stuff,” Martin replied, as though the answer were obvious. “Genetic engineering is the only way to make truly high-yield corn. To meet future global food demand, farmers need to grow corn at a rate of three hundred bushels an acre. That’s almost a two hundred percent increase from current yields. The Chinese see the long-term value in what we’re proposing to trade. This revolutionary corn—the corn on your train—will virtually guarantee China’s food security through the next millennium. Ours, too. The Chinese government understands that the fastest way to lose control over their citizens is to allow them to starve. And it will happen, unless the food demand is curbed … or met.”
Darlene felt ill. Her husband was not only in bed with the Chinese government, but he was in bed with Chester Enterprises as well. She opened a bottle of water and drank without using a glass. “What are you trading?” she asked, her voice breaking nevertheless.
“The technology to make this corn,” answered Martin. “The corn shipment you’re so concerned about is the first of many planned exchanges with the Chinese. We’re giving them enough corn to meet the food demands of a city the size of Beijing, along with the technology to produce high-yield corn on their own.”
“You mean the tools to mutate termites and create potentially dangerous food,” Darlene snapped.
Martin began pacing. The tic below his lip grew more intense. “What is with you, Darlene?” Martin fired back. “There is nothing wrong with this corn. Why do you think I have the USDA! They have tested it. It was approved by my personally chosen Secretary of Agriculture for human consumption.”
“Don’t be so quick to discount me, Martin,” Darlene said, anger making her voice shake.
“I’m not discounting you. I’m trying to make you understand. There’s a difference.”
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“And how are the Chinese going to save your presidency?”
“Exports support U.S. jobs, and imports displace them,” Martin said. “The Chinese control what and how much they import. If they ease up on the throttle just a few clicks, our economists have predicted two hundred thousand new U.S. jobs in half a year. That number is more than enough to change the public’s perception of our economy. It will bolster confidence, increase consumer spending, and create even more U.S. jobs. Ultimately, with the tentative agreements we have in place, this corn is going to create two million new jobs. That’s how it’s going to win me the election. Or maybe you don’t understand how politics really works.”
Darlene averted her eyes. She hated being belittled, and was incensed at how easy it was for her husband to make her feel that way. “You’re the president,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “I trust you to do what’s best for the American people and the citizens of the world.”
“I’m glad you have confidence in me.”
“But what if Lou Welcome is right about John Meacham and the other messed-up people in Kings Ridge?”
Martin sighed. “Are we back to that?”
“Do you know how many Chinese there are?”
“Of course I do! Don’t insult me.”
“Then don’t play politics with this. Make sure it’s safe. Stop that train.”
Martin went red. “I already told you that the corn is safe!”
“This isn’t just about an election,” Darlene retorted. “Believe it or not, there are more important things in life than winning elections or your precious legacy!”
“Like what?”
“Like me!”
Martin seemed not to have heard her, but he did uncross his arms and softened his expression once more. “Honey, let’s not do this,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry for what I said about you not understanding politics. I just hate seeing people take advantage of you.”
Darlene pulled away. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Martin sighed again. “It means this Double M, whoever he is, clearly knows your weakness and your commitment to good nutrition for all. Bottom line is this guy is a radical. He’s a crackpot, using you to get to me. And you just bought into it.”
Darlene’s bubble of self-control burst. “I saw those mutated bugs, Martin!” she shouted, no longer caring whether the Oval Office was soundproof or not. “They’re monsters. They can’t be considered food.”
Finally, Martin looked as if he were listening. “Where did you see them?”
Darlene sucked in a breath and regretted making the disclosure. “Victor drove Dr. Welcome and me to Philadelphia. We met with an entomologist there. That’s how I knew the insects had to have been mutated.”
“Victor drove you and some strange man to Philadelphia?” Martin’s rage could be felt. “I swear I’m going to have that fucker run out of the service.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Then don’t you dare go behind my back again, Darlene. You don’t know what you’re screwing around with. You are way, and I mean way, out of your league here.”
“I want you to talk with Lou Welcome,” Darlene said.
Martin reddened even more. “I’ll do no such thing! You just told me he was a drug addict and an emergency doctor, not a nutritionist! The only arrangements I’m going to make are for you to leave town to have a visit with Lisa until this whole train thing is over and the corn is where it should be—in the ground and on the dishes in China. You need to get some perspective on things, Darlene. Leave the politics to me. I want you out of this. No more investigating. No more talk about Russell Evans, Lou Welcome, or your jaunts to Philadelphia. Is that understood?”
Darlene moved as far away from her husband as she could without actually leaving. “Or what?” she demanded.
“Or I promise you that Victor Ochoa will need to find a new career, and it’ll be your fault when it happens. And if your doctor friend gets in my way, I’ll have him hounded until he melts like hot butter.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Darlene said in a near growl.
“Don’t test me.”
Darlene and Martin locked eyes, with neither yielding. In many ways, Darlene knew Martin better than he knew himself. Although they often disagreed, Darlene had never known the president to lie to her. His threat to fire Victor, she believed, was not veiled or lacking teeth. He meant what he had said, and would do as he had promised. Darlene felt certain that was true.
But at some point during their argument, his eyes had betrayed him. At some point he hadn’t told the truth.
If only she knew what lie he had told.
“Just do yourself a favor, President Mallory,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“When they ask for someone to write your legacy, don’t recommend me.”
CHAPTER 47
“Who is this?”
Kim could barely hear the caller above the din of rush hour noise.
She blocked her ear with one hand and moved away from the traffic and closer to the buildings. It had been a brutal day at work, and she had chosen take-home salad from Panera Bread over dinner with a potentially interesting congressman from California.
“Kim, it’s Doug, from Bar None,” the caller said.
“The bartender?”
“Yeah, Doug the bartender.”
Kim became hyperfocused. Why would he be calling? How did he even know her phone number?
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Some guy in the bar wants to buy you a drink. He gave me your number and paid me a hundred bucks to call you. Sorry to bug you, but the truth is I can always use that kind of cash.”
Kim tensed. “Is it … the same guy from before?” she asked.
“Look, you’ve come in here lots of times with a bunch of great-looking women, and I’m not sure I could pick any of you out of a crowd. People buy people drinks all the time here. I’m just a messenger.”
“Could you tell me what the guy looks like?”
There was a pause. “Well, actually, I can. He’s old.”
“Old? Can you see him?”
“Not at the moment. It’s pretty busy right now. He said he’ll be sticking around for another fifteen minutes. Longer if you promise to show up. Okay? I got to go.”
“Okay,” Kim replied to a dead line. “I’ll be there.”
Not Double M, she thought.
No longer feeling exhausted, Kim called Darlene.
“Hey, there,” Darlene said, answering her phone on the first ring with an unusually somber voice.
Something was wrong.
“You okay?” Kim asked, already headed toward the Bar None.
“Actually, no, I’m not. Want to talk?”
“Actually, we’ve got to talk.”
She told Darlene about the bartender’s call.
“If it’s not Double M,” Darlene said, “it’s probably someone with a message from him. You’ve got to go there right now.”
“I’m already on my way. What about you?”
“I’ll call or else meet you there as soon as I can. And Kim,” she added, catching her chief of staff just before she ended the call.
“Yes?”
“You be careful.”
* * *
WHEN KIM arrived, Bar None was enjoying another packed night of deep-pocketed patrons. Spotting an opening at the bar near where Doug was serving at Mach 2 speed, she wormed her way onto the stool and waved for the bartender’s attention. When he finally came over, he seemed unaware that he had just minutes ago called her cell phone. He just stood there, waiting impatiently to take her order. The jukebox was blasting a song from the country trio Lady Antebellum, and a dozen young and beautifuls were vying for his attention.
“What can I get you?” he called out.
“I’m the woman you just phoned.”
Recognition dawned. “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Here you go.” He handed Kim an open Amstel
Light, along with a cardboard coaster.
She left the beer on the bar and flipped over the coaster. To her surprise, there was no writing on the bottom. Her heartbeat began to accelerate.
“Edwin told me you’d do that,” said a gravelly voice at her elbow.
Kim snapped her head right and saw a cadaverous-looking man in a nicely tailored suit and striped bow tie. Tall and stoop shouldered, the man, well into his seventies, she guessed, extended a bony hand. He had a road map of narrow veins covering his sunken cheeks, and bushy white eyebrows hovering above a set of intelligent chestnut eyes.
“Who are you?” Kim asked.
“My name is Shank, Norman Shank,” he said. “I am a friend of Mr. Edwin Chester, and also his attorney.”
No business card. Kim doubted she would find a Norman Shank in any listing of area lawyers.
“Go on,” she said.
“My instructions were to contact you precisely in the manner I am doing. Regrettably, I am afraid that something terrible has befallen Edwin.”
“Edwin?”
“Edwin Chester, the son of William Chester of Chester Enterprises.”
“The seed giant?”
“Yes,” Shank said. “He is also the man you know as Double M.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Kim asked, glancing around for anyone who seemed interested in them.
“According to my understanding, everything that Edwin has to say is contained in here.” Shank handed over a large sealed manila envelope. “You see, for some time now, Edwin has instructed me to phone him every day at three o’clock in the afternoon, sharp. If he failed to answer my phone call, I was to send him a text message. Difficult thing, teaching an old man like me how to text. In any event, if Edwin failed to respond to my text within an hour, I was to assume that he was either dead or incapacitated. In that event, I was to contact you via Doug, here at Bar None, and hand-deliver this envelope.”
“Double M is dead?” Kim asked, struggling to remain composed.
The lawyer smiled sadly. “The likelihood is that the most dire misfortune has, in fact, befallen him. Once I have done as he requested here, I will set about to learn what has happened, but we must think the worst.”
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