“Just look for the red flags.”
Chase turned and looked toward Hank with an arched eyebrow.
He quickly replied, “What—you don’t think I can be objective?”
“Of course, I do,” Chase indulged, and then continued. “As we also look at the various healthcare bills we’ll find there’s a lot of crossover, which complicates the issue. They’ve been chopped up and diced to fall under the Departments of the Treasury, Labor, Health and Human Services, and Education. And who knows where else.”
“Such fun! I’m glad you left out the Department of Sanitation,” Hank grinned. He was becoming more ebullient, as he had shifted to tacit support.
“There’s more to this mixed bag,” Chase said, “including the Department of Housing and Urban Development, Transportation, the Small Business Administration, and the Social Security Administration, not forgetting SSI, SSDI, and Medicare, programs that fall under Social Security.”
“Tackle the Holy Grail? The grand bargain to reform entitlement spending,” Hank teased in response.
“How can we touch entitlements?” Seymour asked hesitatingly.
“We may have to touch some entitlements; it’s unavoidable. They’re everywhere,” Chase cautioned. “Bear in mind; some cuts have already been made to Medicare.”
“Yeah, but that was to help offset the cost of the healthcare program,” Hank shot back, adding, “I know, we’re robbing Peter to pay Paul,” not wanting to give the others time to reply to the obvious.
“This time around, any cuts, especially to the safety net, must be prudent, humane, and thoughtful,” Chase cautioned. “This is not a chop-happy exercise to wield axes.
Noting Noble’s unusual silence during the conversation, all heads moved in his direction.
“I’m just waiting for my assignment,” he acknowledged passively. In reality, he was rolling over in his mind their overall strategy.
“In that case, we also need to tackle immigration and national security,” Chase pointed out. “You would know best where to look within the Departments of Homeland Security and Defense spending.”
Again Noble remained pensive and silent.
The others sat back awaiting his response, as Noble appeared lost in thought.
Then he bolted upright.
“I like it,” he replied, responding to the plan in totality. “I think it could work. It should instill consumer confidence. Small businesses may become less fearful of expanding and restore the full-time worker to its historic level. It could even stop the bleeding of companies moving abroad to reduce expenses, and could even lure some back. It also holds the promise of stimulating confidence in our new president. We don’t have the luxury of ignoring opportunities to save our country.” Noble stopped short, once more retreating to his inner thoughts.
The others waited for the anticipated but.
“But—I have one question. When the tax holiday is over—what prevents everything from reverting back to the old normal?”
Everyone’s attention shifted again back to Chase, eager for the answer.
“I’m glad you asked. Here comes the next step in my proposal. Congress would be required to establish bipartisan commissions to study our long-term proposals and implement our solutions to stimulate the job market. They would have one year to pass the bills or propose legislation. A non-government commission should be established to revamp the tax code. This process would afford us some breathing room to implement change. Everything will be fast-tracked to avoid the bureaucratic morass.”
“It would be easier to find solutions when the economic ship is on even keel and not sinking,” Paolo concluded. Then, noticing Seymour brandishing a huge grin, he inquired, “What’s with you?”
“The optics will be great! Describing some of the spending programs that will be frozen for a year. Once the voters tune in to my infomercials, those programs might even end up in the permanent deep freeze—I love it.”
“Then we’re all on board. I’ll forward each of you the plan in the next few minutes; you’ll find it on your tablet in the Renaissance Project folder,” Chase instructed. “Tomorrow, we get to work.”
Noting that they still had an hour before Jax would arrive with dinner, Hank, Seymour, and Paolo scurried to their workstations.
“Don’t forget the president will be calling in at the end of the week,” Noble shouted out, and then he asked, “Can we be ready?”
“We’ll be prepared,” Chase assured as he followed close behind the others.
34
THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING
“What’s the matter? You’ve been talking to yourself more than usual,” Doris asked, as she entered Max’s office.
“Nothing!” she snapped and hurriedly got off the subject. “What’s that?”
“One of the guards dropped this off. It was left at the front gate with your name on it. Nice gift,” Doris remarked with a mischievous look on her face. “You’ll notice it’s already gone through security.” She handed Max the two-by-three-foot painting, loosely draped in plain brown paper.
Max carefully peeled away the wrapping as Doris explained, “The guard apologized for having to open it, but said he was just following protocol.”
“Thanks, Doris.”
Her secretary took the cue to leave.
Left alone, Max grumbled, “All I need is another mystery to solve—now a secret admirer.”
After placing the paper gently on her desk in forensic style, she rested the painting on the arms of the nearby-overstuffed chair. Then, stepping back, she studied the canvas. The oil painting was of three clowns sitting around a table drinking tea. There appeared to be a signature in the upper-left-hand corner, but it was indecipherable. She continued to admire her new acquisition for several minutes more, until an odd sensation struck her.
“Doris!” she called out. “Please get the Georgetown police chief on the phone.”
Seconds later, she saw the flashing light, but skipped the intercom button and went straight to line one.
“Chief, Natalie Salvatore, the director’s sister, filed a police report sometime last month reporting a break-in. All that was reported stolen was an art collection.”
“Yes, Deputy Director, it’s been given top priority. Although I did inform Mrs. Salvatore that, given the value of the collection, the chances of tracing it to a fence would be highly unlikely.”
“Thank you, Chief; I appreciate that you’re handling the case. Would you please email me a copy of the list of stolen items?”
“I’ll get right on it. I’ll have it to you in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Not for now, thank you. I’ll wait for the report. Enjoy your day.”
Almost as soon as she hung up the phone, her computer screen beeped with the incoming email. In a flash, she retrieved it and eyed the list of stolen items. Halfway down the list was the description of one of the paintings; it read: Three clowns drinking tea.
Max was bowled over. Why would the thief, Natalie’s thief, be sending this to me? Whoever is doing this must be somehow connected to Simon. This person has to be carrying out Simon’s last wish. But what’s the endgame? She continued to deliberate a bit longer, until she decided it was time to become an art enthusiast.
It took her about an hour plodding through the Internet, looking for anything that resembled clowns drinking tea—What she discovered was incredible. She texted Noble immediately. No sooner did she hit send, Doris stuck her head back in the office.
“The Buffalo police chief is now on the phone. What’s with all the chiefs today?”
“Thank you, Doris.”
“This is Deputy Director Ford.”
“Yes, Deputy Director, I thought your office would like to know that we’ve recovered a body near the Long Point National Wildlife area in Norfolk County, Ontario. It’s about ninety-four miles down the Niagara River from the Peace Bridge.”
Max tried to hold back all hopes. “H
ave you identified the body?”
“According to the coroner, it’s pretty badly decomposed. However, the height, hair color, and clothing they salvaged would suggest that we found your Simon Hall.”
Max still wasn’t going to allow herself to believe he was dead until she saw the corpse for herself. “Chief, I want you to seal the body and send it to our forensic lab in D.C. without delay. I want our coroner to conduct another forensic autopsy.”
“It’s already been sent to…”
She cut him off. “Stop it now. Whatever the destination, please redirect the body to Washington. It’s an essential part of our overall federal investigation that’s still open. I want it here by tonight, if at all possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s not been closed on our end either. But I’ll follow the protocols we’ve established with the SIA.”
I hate it when they call me “ma’am.” “I’ll report back our findings. Thank you for your cooperation, Chief.” She hung up the phone and texted Noble again. Damn you, Noble; call me.
She fixated a while longer on the painting until she looked up at the wall clock; it was 6:58 p.m. In two minutes, Stanton would place his daily call and ask her to meet him at the Blackfinn. But tonight, she would repeat what was becoming a blanket excuse; she had “had an exhausting day and was heading home.” It had been a couple of days since she had been out with him, but, all told, they had spent an unusual amount of time together in the last month. Of course, it was always dependent on the president’s travel schedule, but Max started to wonder if POTUS spending so much time in house was best for her relationship. Too much of a good thing, kind of thing, she thought. On cue, her cell rang.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself. How about a nice cold beer to soothe your nerves?”
“Not tonight.” She kept the conversation brief, but did inform him about the painting and the body that was recovered.
“Let’s pray it’s Simon.”
“I’m sitting in on the autopsy tomorrow morning. It will be grisly, but our coroner is the best in his field. I personally need to be sure it’s him.”
“You sound frustrated. What’s the matter, babe?”
“It’s Noble! He should be the one officially to identify Simon’s body. Not being able to reach him at a time like this is inexcusable. Something’s going on with him. It could be personal or professional; either way he’s not confiding in me.”
“Your concern sounds personal. What’s going on between you two?”
“Piss off.”
“I repeat: What the hell is going on with you? Your mouth is starting to sound like one of my agents.”
“I am an agent. Stop looking at me through your rose-colored glasses.”
“Max, can’t I be concerned about you? It’s obvious the job is getting to you. Talk to me.”
“I can’t talk about it tonight. I‘m tired and you’re right, frustrated. I’ll call you tomorrow after we confirm the autopsy results.”
“Max, chillax. And I love you.”
After a slight hesitation, she muttered, “Love you too. Gotta go.”
He’s right. I’m not myself. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t avoiding Stanton, just creating a little space between them. With Noble away to parts unknown, La Fratellanza missing, Simon possibly resurfacing, and Stanton overly available—it was becoming more than she could bear. The only thing for certain was that she wanted to avoid the mysterious person in the hoodie. Max was positive that if her stalker appeared again, Stanton would insist on protection and she would lose the battle—one more thing she was not prepared to face.
35
UP IN SMOKE
Max arrived back in her office early the next morning after a restless night’s sleep. Something was bugging her. The crimes against the families of her suspected members of La Fratellanza were too clean. She reviewed the case files again. Since the first series of crimes, nothing else had occurred. “I’m missing something,” she uttered and then thought, Could it really be Simon playing around with them? Could he be planning something on a larger scale? Max clasped her ears and shook her head, as though somehow it would rid her mind of such crazy thoughts. Then, as she reached for the forensic reports from Natalie’s break-in, Doris buzzed her.
“Hank Kramer’s secretary is on the line. She asked to speak with Noble.”
“Thanks; I’ll take it.”
“This is Deputy Director Ford.”
“I’m in terrible mess,” said the frantic voice on the other end of the line.
“What can I do to help you?”
“I assumed Director Bishop was a friend of Mr. Kramer, having visited him many times at the White House. And I was hoping he could help me.”
Max explained that she was filling in for Noble while he was traveling and assured her that she would be happy to assist her in his absence.
The secretary appeared to calm down, having solicited Max’s support. “Mr. Kramer’s office was raided by the local police and they found narcotics hidden behind a file cabinet.” She swore that Kramer had never been involved with drugs of any kind.
“I’ll promise to investigate the matter thoroughly. It is essential that you don’t discuss this with anyone other than the local authorities, if you want to help Mr. Kramer,” she instructed, all the while thinking, Is this the missing piece to the puzzle? She ended the call, having reassured Kramer’s secretary that she’d investigate and keep her informed.
Now, I’m convinced someone is targeting the members of La Fratellanza and their families. Max scurried out of her office with the pile of case files and headed to the conference room. As she breezed past Doris, “Hold my calls” was all she had to say.
Then, in her usual analytical style, she began to lay out each element of the cases. She used the virtual keyboard and rapidly typed each of the criminal events as they occurred, along with gnawing questions—questions only Noble would be able to answer. After completing the list, she sat back and began to analyze the data, looking for a verifiable clue.
Paolo Salvatore Stolen Art
Who knew the importance of the art?
Amanda Ridge (Noble Bishop) Identity Theft
Who would have access to her SSN?
Chase Worthington Money Siphoning
Why siphon money from his bank?
Seymour Lynx Obscene phone calls
Why obscene phone calls?
Hank Kramer Narcotics possession
Any record of him using/selling drugs?
Max studied the display screen intently for a period of time. Then, her mouth gaped open as though she had just been punched in the solar plexus. The clue to the mysterious crimes was right in front of her. “Somebody’s definitely messing with us. But it can’t be…”
In mid-thought, she hastily used the mouse pad to underline a series of letters. Again, she stared in disbelief. This is too easy, Simon wouldn’t make it so obvious, she reasoned. Then she admonished herself. Simon is dead. But maybe the crimes aren’t sheer coincidences. Without hesitation, she grabbed her xPhad and texted Noble. “This is a ridiculous way to communicate,” she complained aloud. Then, in exasperation, she tossed the smartphone down on table.
36
BEYOND THE GRAVE
It was late in the evening when the secure phone rang in the reception hall, but the group appeared to take little note of the intrusion as they continued to tap away at their keyboards at their workstations. After all, Noble was the only one allowed to answer the phone. But it didn’t stop them from being curious as to whether it was the president on the other end of the line.
Noble unobtrusively left his workstation to take the call.
“Yes,” he responded to the caller.
“Director, you need to call Max. She’s sent you several text messages, and she needs to talk with you now.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The guys were engrossed in their
research and tallying the numbers. An opportunity presented itself. “I’ll be back shortly,” Noble shouted from the opposite end of the room, and then he left the facility.
Standing on the other side of the metal doors, he inserted his xPhad into the secure sleeve and placed the call.
“Max, what’s up? I just received your text messages.”
“Noble, I hate this means of communicating with you. You’re being as elusive as Simon was. I need you to be more available!”
“Max, relax. What’s going on?”
“Why does everyone tell me to relax? It could be that I’m dealing with a dead body and a stolen painting!”
In an attempt to calm her down, he replied, “One at a time, please. What do you mean a dead body?”
Max inhaled deeply before explaining the call she had received from the police chief in Buffalo. “Based on the description, it could be Simon. I’ve arranged for our coroner to conduct the autopsy. It’s scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
“Good call, Max. We need to control the situation and we need confirmation. Please, God, let it be him.”
She heard his last comment and assumed it was not meant for her ears, but directed to the man upstairs.
“Now, what’s this about a painting?”
“I received a gift today that was dropped off at the front gate.”
Odd means of delivery, he thought, but coaxed her to continue. “And…”
“It’s an oil painting,” she hesitated, and then said, “of three clowns sitting around a table having tea.”
“We had a painting like…” He stopped short. He dreaded where this was heading.
“Yes, I’m sure it’s the painting from your parents’ collection that was stolen.”
“It had very little value, if any. Why would someone steal it in the first place and then send it to you?”
“You’ll have to wait a moment for that answer. First, you’re wrong.” Max loved to take the rare moment to stump Noble. “The painting is titled The Unwrit Dogma. It’s an original oil by Newell Convers Wyeth, the great American painter and illustrator, and the father of the famed Andrew Wyeth.”
Redemption Page 20