Capital Offense

by Kathleen Antrim

  Carolyn nodded. No wonder they related so well; they both had suffered at the hands of men. Carolyn considered Katherine more than a kindled spirit. She viewed her as a strong ally for the future, because Katherine wielded her computer skills like a weapon.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  September, 1999 – Washington, D. C.

  Carolyn pulled her pumps from her feet, and settled into the seat of the limousine next to Warner. Life has definitely improved, she reflected. With Katherine minding Warner’s Missouri office, Carolyn spent more of her time in D.C. Since the last election, Warner hadn’t done anything without consulting her first. Finally, they were equals in their marriage.

  Warner stretched, then leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  She studied his handsome profile. Their relationship had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. And her elevated status to confidant and consultant gave her hope that their personal relationship might be salvageable. Maybe all the ugliness was behind them.

  “I’ve summarized some topics you might want to address with a few key players.” They were on their way to a reception in the East Room of the White House with the party leadership and other dignitaries.

  His eyes remained closed. “That’s good. Have you written it down?”

  “Of course. It’s all right here.” Carolyn pulled a document out of the leather portfolio next to her. “We need to push for more funding for the war on drugs. Congress talks a big game, but nobody’s coming up with serious programs.”

  Warner took the file from her. “I agree.” Within minutes, he read through the typed pages, loading the information into his brain like a computer. That skill still amazed her. She knew that even under the influence of a few cocktails, he would be able to articulate their agenda eloquently.

  “Any questions?”

  Warner smiled at her. “Not one. As usual you’ve handled it all. I’ll make sure to spend time with Alex Major.”

  Alex Major was the chairman of their political party, and his support would be crucial to securing the nomination for president.

  Warner kissed her cheek. “What would I do without you?”

  His compliment warmed her. “Warner, I-”

  His gaze met hers.

  Could they move beyond their mistakes into a real marriage again? A warning flashed in her mind- too soon too fast slowdown.

  “Yes?”

  She shook her head and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s nothing.”

  ***

  “Can I get you a glass of champagne?” Warner asked as they entered the party.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Feeling buoyant, Carolyn turned her attention back to the party. It was imperative that she spend time mingling. There were senators, Congressmen, various foreign diplomats, the most prestigious members of the press, and, of course, the president and first lady. She mentally took notes. It wouldn’t hurt to be seen on the society page attending a gala at the White House.

  Carolyn saw Warner’s friend, Senator Richard Young of Georgia, coming toward her. A tall man with jet-black hair, cut military style, and dark brown eyes, he wore a colorful cummerbund and bow tie, giving him an air of confident youthfulness. The bright blues and reds stood out against the conservative lines of the tuxedo. She had to admit he was strikingly handsome.

  “Hello, Carolyn.” he said. “How are ya’ll?”

  She smiled broadly, concealing her discomfort. Just his “hello” put her on edge, though she wasn’t sure why. “Just fine, thank you. And you and your family?”

  “We’re all fine. One of the kids has the flu, though. So Dixie had to stay home tonight.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Carolyn realized that regardless of Warner’s friendship, being objective about Young was impossible. Whether Warner admitted it or not, he was their biggest obstacle in running for the presidency.

  But this was a good chance to get to know the competition. Carolyn reminded herself. She clicked through her mental catalogue of information on Young. His family had a longstanding history in politics. That fact alone gave him a serious political edge. His father and grandfather had both been senators. He had much of the party brass on his side and a great political image. Moderate in his political positioning, he and Warner shared many ideals. Their voting records in the Senate were almost identical, both supported welfare reform, cutting defense spending, increasing funds for education, environmental protection, and lower taxes for middle America.

  Strategically, she had to admit. Young was the clear front-runner for the nomination.

  Somehow, she realized, his voter appeal needed to be neutralized, although she had no idea how to accomplish that feat. First, she needed to know and understand more about their adversary.

  As Carolyn and Young talked, they were joined by a man she’d never met. She gauged him to be about five foot nine, with thinning dark hair slicked back, cold gray eyes, and angular features.

  “ Carolyn Lane. I’d like to introduce you to Winston Cain,” Senator Young said.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Cain.”

  Their eyes met. They’d never been in the same room together, had never even spoken directly, but each was well versed on the other. Edmund Lane made sure of that.

  “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Lane.”

  “And what do you do?” Carolyn asked, knowing his resumé already. According to Edmund and Warner, Cain had some of the finest retired intelligence operatives in the world on his payroll.

  “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” Winston responded, laughing. Richard laughed with him.

  They’re quite comfortable with each other, Carolyn noted, sensing a stronger tie between the two men then just a chance meeting at a reception. But why was Young so chummy with a man like Cain? Was it a result of the years his family had been in politics? Or was the distinguished gentleman from Georgia more than surface charm and a flashy wardrobe?

  Warner joined them, handing Carolyn a glass of champagne.

  “Good evening. Richard.” Warner shook Cain’s hand warmly. “Winston, how’ve you been?”

  Winston met Warner’s gaze. “Well, thank you. How’s your father?”

  Surprised by Warner’s familiarity with Cain, Carolyn watched as the three men talked. They appeared to be a very cozy group of cronies. But the true enigma remained Richard Young. Carolyn promised herself that she’d figure him out. She couldn’t afford not to.

  ***

  Jack ran his finger along the inside of the collar of his tuxedo shirt, then took another sip of his club soda.

  Carrie Masters, a twenty-something correspondent, strolled toward him with a glass of champagne in one hand.

  “Quite a party,” Carrie said. “It always amazes me to see so many power brokers all in the same room. It has to be a security nightmare.”

  “I’d say so.” Jack agreed as he surveyed the crowd, taking note of who was talking to whom. Lead stories often started with an overheard sentence or phase.

  “Did you have a tough time getting in?” Carrie asked. “Scratch that. With your family history, you probably don’t have a hard time getting in anywhere.”

  Jack shrugged. He’d given up long ago explaining that he lived in the trenches with the rest of the media troops, scrapping for a story, spending years cultivating sources. What did it matter, anyway?

  “I guess they’re used to seeing me periodically.” His father had nothing to do with his A-list party invitations. If anything, due to his insistence on reporting the full truth, many politicians considered him a traitor. He’d worked doubly hard to be accepted and receive invitations to most Washington functions. Now, with his journalistic reputation well established, he was rarely overlooked. “How about you?”

  “My editor had to pull some strings.”

  Jack knew her type all too well, a pretty face with a mind like a bulldozer when it came to news. She was relatively new to the Washingto
n scene, but Jack had no doubt that her ambitions would take her far.

  “Isn’t that Senator Lane with his wife Carolyn over there?”

  Jack followed her gaze. “Yes.”

  “I gather the Senator is on the fast track to the White House. Who are they talking with?”

  “Senator Young. I’m not sure who the other guy is, though.” In fact, Jack did know the man’s identity to be Winston Cain, but due to security issues couldn’t admit it. Why was Cain at the party? he wondered.

  Carrie squinted in concentration, no doubt committing the scene to memory. “I’m going to check him out,” she said distractedly.

  She made a beeline toward the foursome. The direct approach, Jack thought. Interesting. He looked on as Carrie shook hands with them. The group immediately dispersed, leaving Carrie standing by herself. So much for visiting with the press, he thought with a chuckle.

  Carrie sulked back over to him.

  “Looks like you broke up the party,” Jack said.

  “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Who’s the other guy?”

  “Winston Cain. Does the name ring a bell?”

  “I’m not certain,” Jack said, skirting the issue. It wouldn’t do to admit knowing a former CIA operative like Cain.

  The infamous Winston Cain, Jack thought. Plenty of rumors had floated through the intelligence network about the man. None of them flattering, he reflected.

  “Would you care to dance?” Carrie asked.

  “Sure, why not.” Jack took her hand, and they approached the dance floor.

  “You’re quite a dancer.” Carrie said. “Is there anything that you don’t do well?”

  “Kids.” Jack answered. “They scare the hell out of me.”

  She laughed.

  The music ended.

  “How about we go somewhere, get a drink, and something a little more substantial than hors d’oeuvres to eat?” Carrie said. “You’d still be working, and we could have some fun.” She linked her arm through his. “I know the perfect spot.”

  “Oh really, where?”

  “My place. I could whip up some pasta and I make a killer martini.”

  He hesitated only a moment. “Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I’ve got a night of writing ahead of me.”

  Carrie pouted. “Gee, you must have seen something at this party that I missed.”

  Jack kissed her cheek. “Just the usual run-down. See you at the next event.”

  “Keep playing hard to get, and I might give up.” Carrie said with a forced laugh.

  ***

  Later that night. Jack stood next to his car. enjoying a cigarette.

  “I got your note,” a voice from behind him said.

  Jack turned. “Thanks for coining.”

  “I don’t know how much I can tell you.” Randall Kipp, a CIA counterintelligence officer, said.

  “How and why was Cain at the party tonight?”

  “Technically, he attended as Richard Young’s guest.”

  “Technically?”

  “Yes, only the Secret Service knew because they didn’t arrive together. Young’s office arranged it. It was kept very quiet.”

  “Why was he there?” Jack asked. Cain was tied to his father’s suspicions of the Lanes. But where did Young fit in?

  “Possibly to generate business for his firm, but we’re not sure. Cain’s into the social register. Maybe he just wanted to be seen at another White House function.”

  “Did you guys watch him?”

  “Of course. We wanted him out of there, but you know how it is. The White House is the Secret Service’s domain. They didn’t want a scene.” Kipp said.

  “Who’d he talk to?”

  “Cain logged twenty-two minutes with Young, fourteen with Warner, and thirty-six with Carolyn – they danced twice.”

  “Thorough as ever, I see,” Jack said.

  “We try.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  Kipp smiled. “Nice try.”

  “Not even a hint.”

  “You know, I can’t divulge conversations.”

  “So what does this little get together mean?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” Kipp said. “The election is around the corner. I hear Lane and Young are both contenders. If there’s any correlation, that may be it.”

  Jack took a final hit off his cigarette. Thirty-six minutes with Carolyn Lane. Cain’s attendance meant something. But what?

  TWENTY-NINE

  The next morning. Jack Rudly shook Winston Cain’s hand as he entered Cain’s office. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, it has.” Jack said taking a seat across from Cain’s desk.

  An Asian woman lounged in an overstuffed leather chair across the room. A long stem red rose lay across her lap. She appeared to be reading, but Jack felt her cold gaze sweep over him. Cain did not introduce her.

  “I hope you’ve come looking for employment. My agency could use your skills.”

  Jack arched his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “You need a good writer?”

  “Mr. Rudly, obtuse doesn’t suit you. You know very well that I’m referring to your ‘other’ skills.”

  “Ahh… my training at Langley.”

  “Actually. I was thinking more of your years of field experience using that training.”

  Jack shrugged. “Maybe we could do business. Of course, I’ve got particular tastes.”

  Cain smiled. “Like what?”

  “I’m interested in working on your project with the Lanes and Young.”

  Cain pressed his intercom. “Mr. Rudly is leaving now. Show him out.”

  The Asian woman stood, her wide-set eyes alert and intense.

  “That was a quick interview,” Jack said. “Do I get the job?”

  Cain glared at him.

  Two well-dressed men entered the office. The woman nodded toward Jack.

  Jack rose. “We didn’t even discuss salary.”

  ***

  Carolyn’s stomach fluttered when the plane lifted off taking flight toward Missouri. Washington was glowing on her. It seemed that her presence in D.C. was not only good politically, but also personally. She and Warner had shone at the party, drinking champagne and dancing long into the night. Warner’s arms around her as they glided across the dance floor had felt wonderful.

  She had finally gone back to their townhouse for some sleep. Warner, however, had stayed on for conversations with the party leadership. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay up all night. She glanced over at her husband. He’d been out so late he hadn’t changed, and they’d had to race to make their early flight.

  Did she dare hope that they might one day be a real couple again? She sighed. What was life without hope?

  Suddenly feeling restless, she got up from her seat and began pacing in the aisle. So much planning to do, strategy to develop, so many critical areas that required her attention.

  She glanced at Warner, who had fallen asleep. Even in a first-class seat, he looked cramped and uncomfortable. His seat wasn’t reclined, she realized. Carolyn pressed the button on the arm of his seat, pushing on the back until it reclined.

  Warner adjusted his body to the new position. His arms relaxed allowing his jacket to fall open. A note fell out of his breast pocket onto the floor.

  Carolyn picked it up and read it. Her face flushed red. Pain sliced through her, knocking the wind from her chest. She held the back of the seat for support as she waited for her body to relax and respond at will. She’d been a fool, yet again. Fool, fool, fool. The words pounded in time to the ache that throbbed in her heart

  She re-read the note.

  Dear Warner,

  I’m glad we had one last night together. I understand that, for now, we must say goodbye. But remember, I love you, and I’ll be waiting for your return. Good luck, my future Mr. President.

  Love -forever and always, Cindy

  Humiliation rocked Carolyn. Getting her bearing
s, she lowered herself into her seat, and snapped her seatbelt into place. Warner certainly had a talent of putting things into perspective for her. A perspective that he would pay for – and pay for dearly.

  PART III. DAMNED BY VICTORY 2000-2001

  “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” -

  Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

  THIRTY

  January, 2000 – Jefferson City, Missouri

  “Drugs are killing our children. Crime is overtaking our sheets. Global warming is destroying our environment. Hunger and homelessness are out of control. We are the greatest nation on earth, yet we are plagued by problems. And I ask, why?” Warner squinted from the glare of the spotlights.

  He continued his speech. “Then I look at the current administration. And I begin to understand. Billions are spent every year on defense, in a world we already dominate. Billions that could help correct these problems. But Washman won’t cut defense spending, for these are his friends. And when he raised your taxes, and still didn’t balance the budget, he gave tax cuts to these same friends. Well, I say enough! It’s time to take back our country. It is time to correct these wrongs!” Warner pounded the podium with his fist.

  Strobes flashed, a signal to the crowd, who whistled and applauded.

  “This is why I feel it is my duty to pursue the office of President of the United States of America.”

  The crowd roared.

  Carolyn stood behind him, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Energy and excitement bubbled under her skin, but she contained her emotions under a veneer of serenity and composure. She relished the crowd’s response. This was Warner at his best, making eye contact with those in the front rows, gesturing for emphasis, and carrying the crowd along on his passionate rhetoric.