“At least, let me explain.”
Katherine pressed the light for service.
“What are you doing?”
“If you won’t leave me alone, I’m moving.”
Jack switched off the light. “Fine, have it your way.”
Katherine glared at him, then she returned her attention to her computer.
Damn, Jack thought, she had it all wrong. And her stubborn streak refused to let him explain. Katherine still believed he’d sold her out in a story about her trapping a German spy who was breaking into government computers. Even though she was never mentioned by name in the article, she’d lost her security clearance and her job. She held Jack responsible for the damage to her career and professional reputation.
The plane landed at La Guardia. Jack turned to Katherine. “It’s been good to see you.” They hadn’t spoken in two hours. He felt badly. If she’d just let him explain.
She gave a curt nod.
An expert at emotional shutdown, he surgically cut Katherine from his thoughts as he rode to his hotel in the cab. He pulled out his notebook, reviewing his notes. The delegates from Missouri and most of the Midwestern states, as well as the candidate himself, were staying at the Inter-Continental, as was he.
Jack registered, then grabbed a shuttle over to Madison Square Garden where the actual convention was being held. He noted that the usual propaganda was in full swing. Reading a program, he reviewed the schedule of appearances. Day one was packed with speeches from Kate Mills, Governor of Texas; Joseph Shiripa, Governor of New York; and Cork Mackney, Governor of California. The second day would feature speeches from various high profile activists, including Carolyn Lane. And the last day would end with Warner’s acceptance speech. Strange, Mort Fields’s name wasn’t on the schedule.
Jack turned away from the stage and battled his way through the crowd. In the lobby, he stood studying the faces and gauging the energetic atmosphere. T-shirts, banners, hats, and buttons all proclaimed Warner Lane for President or boasted the pride of a home state.
He spotted Katherine across the hallway, then lost her briefly in the crowd. Why was she here? Computers were her life, not politics. He ran after her. “Hi, did you ever dry off?”
“You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when I’m right.”
“Right and wrong are often a matter of perspective.”
“My point, exactly.”
Katherine looked surprised.
“Come on. Kate. Give me a few minutes, only a few. If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. No one will stop you. Hell, I’ll even buy you a sandwich.”
Katherine wavered.
Jack pushed. “Look at these lines.” He gestured toward the herds of people at the concession stands. “You’ll starve to death if you stay here. I’m going to head out for a bite. Come with me.”
“I thought I’d just give up all together,” she admitted as she laughed. “I don’t feel comfortable enough in New York to venture too far from the hotel or the convention floor. It was enough of a trauma just to get here.”
Jack felt immense relief. He’d forgotten how much he liked the way she laughed. “Let’s go. I know the perfect place.”
Jack led her out of Madison Square Garden and two blocks down to a deli, where they sat at a table in the corner.
“So what brings you to the convention?” Jack asked.
“I’m here to-”
“What can I get ya?” interrupted a waitress.
“If you’ll allow me, I know you won’t be disappointed.” Jack offered.
Katherine smiled at his attempt at chivalry. “Thank you.”
“Two pastimes on rye.”
Katherine laughed. “You made ordering sound so serious.”
Jack grinned. “Hey, in New York ordering pastrami is serious. It can be a religious experience.” God he’d missed her.
Katherine looked at him expectantly. How to start? he wondered. Just tell the truth. Focus.
“The notes were stolen.” Jack blurted.
“What?”
“My notes. The ones on the espionage story. They were stolen.”
“All this time, and that’s the best you can do?” Anger flashed in Katherine’s eyes.
“It’s the truth. You said you’d give me a chance. So, please, listen.”
Katherine remained silent.
“If it had been up to me that story would not have broken until you consented. I would never do that to you. Shit, I wouldn’t do that to anyone. Gregory White stole the notes out of my desk and broke the scoop as his own.”
He could tell she didn’t believe him.
“Think about it. Kate. If I wanted the story so bad that I’d risk our relationship, then why was my name below his on the byline? For that matter, why was his name on the byline at all?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve thought about that.”
“It makes no sense. White launched his career with that story. My career was already established. I didn’t need it. I’ve never needed to cheat to break an exclusive. I just hope you’ll finally believe me.” Even if they never dated again, he didn’t want her to think badly of him. She mattered; her opinion mattered.
“I don’t know.” Katherine’s eyes searched his face. “Give me some time. This pastrami smells delicious. Let’s just enjoy lunch for now, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jack and Katherine talked little once their meal arrived. She ate with gusto, Jack noted. She was unlike so many other women. Most of which claimed that they were starved, and then only picked at a small salad. He’d decided long ago that this consistently inconsistent behavior was the eighth wonder of the world.
Finally, when the dishes were cleared, they sat in companionable silence, enjoying their coffee.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Jack asked.
“Go ahead.”
“Actually. I’m told that I don’t really smoke. I tend to light them up, take a few drags and put them out. My friends tell me that I’m too impatient to even enjoy a cigarette.”
“Just not happy unless you’re going mach one with your hair on fire?”
He grinned. “How’d you guess?”
“Tigers don’t change their stripes.” Katherine glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to work.”
“For whom do you?”
“Carolyn Lane.”
“Carolyn Lane.” Holy shit. He swallowed his surprise. “As in Mrs. Warner Lane?”
“Yes. I’m her aide in Jefferson City. We’ve been together for years now. She’s also a good friend. Usually, I’m only involved in the behind-the-scenes aspect of campaigning. But after I’d finished up for her at the office, she asked me to come to New York to help. I think she was taking pity on my limited social life in Missouri. I’ve never been to New York before, let alone to one of these conventions. My father’s spent time at them, but I never have.”
Jack’s mind spun. Katherine was Carolyn’s friend? This was not good – not if he wanted to salvage their relationship.
“And, you’re here to cover the convention.” Katherine stated.
“Yes…” Jack hesitated. Should he tell her about his investigation of the Lanes? No, he couldn’t. She might think he was trying to get information from her. Not only would he forfeit any trust he’d regained, but he didn’t know how she’d react. She might go directly to Carolyn. “Just the usual political nonsense.”
Katherine eyed him. “How unlike you. No major stories on the horizon?”
Jack shrugged, his heart sinking.
The waitress approached with the bill. Jack paid it, then they strolled back to Madison Square Garden. The minute they moved through the doors, they were caught up in the frantic pace.
“Have dinner with me?” Jack asked.
Katharine smiled. “You’re pushing.”
“Can’t fault a guy for trying.”
“All right.”
“All right for dinner,
or all right you won’t fault me.”
“All right for dinner.”
Jack beamed. “I take it you’re staying at the Inter-Continental. After the last session tonight I’ll ring your room.”
“Sounds good,” she called out over her shoulder.
FORTY-SEVEN
Jack escorted Katherine to a late meal at an Italian restaurant on West Forty-Sixth Street. It was after midnight when they finally sat down, and they both were exhausted. They ordered, then sat sipping wine, talking only periodically.
“Did you hear about Mort Fields’s accident?” Jack asked.
“Just horrible.” Katherine shook her head. “The Lanes are very upset about it. They were friends.”
“I’d heard he was once in business with Carolyn.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I also heard that he was supposed to speak at the convention, but I didn’t see him on the schedule.”
“He was a last minute addition. His idea, actually.”
“What was he speaking on?”
“Political contributions. Carolyn wasn’t happy about it.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. He was supposed to speak right before her, maybe she thought he’d empty the house. I guess I shouldn’t say that now – respect for the dead and all that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being honest.”
Katherine sighed. “What a day. I am not used to all this political strategy – what you’re supposed to do, what you’re not supposed to do. It’s mind-boggling. In fact. I think it’s a genetic thing; you’re either born with political instincts or you’re not. It’s kind of like being born athletic or not. I was definitely not born with a political gene. Even after all of these years of working with Carolyn, it’s still foreign to me. I’m much better with a computer.”
“Having that gene missing isn’t a handicap; it’s an advantage.” Jack smiled. She had the most incredible green eyes. He felt like he could drown in them. He also wanted to hold her hand, but resisted the urge. Just then, their salads were served, and the moment passed.
They finished dinner at two A.M, and strolled back to the hotel. It looked like a casino, still packed with conventioneers, talking and partying as if it were early evening.
“Let’s do this again tomorrow night.”
“I’m sorry.” she said. “I can’t. There’s an official dinner engagement. And unfortunately, the rest of my trip has been booked for me. Carolyn’s schedule is very demanding, and I’m going to be working nonstop to keep up with her. I was lucky to get away for a few hours tonight.”
“I guess this is good-bye then. I’ve really enjoyed seeing you again.” Jack forced a laugh. “I’ll miss your sanity in this crazy place.”
She reached into her shoulder bag, and quickly wrote her home phone number on the back of her business card. “Call me if you’re ever back in Jefferson City. I promise to take your call this time.”
“I will.” He leached into his pocket for his card. Shit, where were his cards? “I’ll leave my number at the front desk for you. Call me if you ever come to Washington.”
She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for showing me a little bit of New York.” she said, then turned and walked away.
He watched her slip into the crowd and vanish. I should have told her about the story. Maybe she’d understand the obligation I feel to finish what my father stafted.
Either way, a replay of the past hung on the horizon. The damage to their relationship would be irreversible if she found herself caught between her employer and his journalistic priorities. Yet, he had no idea of how to convince her that he didn’t have ulterior motives. And until he did, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
Jack called her every day for the balance of the convention. Most of the time, he was only able to leave a message. On the last day he sent her flowers with a card telling her how nice it was to see her. Katherine called to thank him on hotel voice mail.
The New York Times
August 16, 2000
Lane-Young the Ticket
FORTY-EIGHT
Jack arrived back in Washington on the first airline shuttle of the morning. He tossed his luggage onto a chair in the sitting room of the two-room suite in the hotel he’d been calling home for the past few years, then placed a call to Pat Mead, his editor. Unable to get though, Jack left a message saying he was in town.
Jack booted his computer and logged onto the Internet. He quickly found the news stories regarding the plane crash that Erma had referenced. One article referred to Ron Spietzer’s disagreements with Warner Lane regarding union busting. All four people on the aircraft had been private pilots. A mechanical failure was listed as the cause of the crash. The case was closed.
A compelling story was forming, but what did it amount to? Jack couldn’t prove anything yet, but Erma had given him plenty to question.
From a plastic box that served as a portable filing cabinet Jack retrieved a file labeled: Rudly, Bill. The folder contained legal documents and one large envelope – the last communication his father had sent to him before his death. He read through the notes and documents again, most of which dealt with Carolyn Lane, Mortimer Fields, and Adam Miles. At the end of the notes the word Council was handwritten, but his father left no explanation of the group.
Jack reviewed the facts as he knew them on a separate sheet of paper, listing the players and their roles – Bill Rudly, Adam Miles, and Mort Fields. Adam and Mort had been members of the Council. Bill wasn’t a member. Bill was in politics. Adam and Mort were businessmen. Bill regularly disagreed with the Lanes. Adam and Mort were initially friendly with Warner, Carolyn, and Edmund Lane. Adam had a disagreement with Edmund: Erma felt this had to do with Carolyn and some men from Washington. From the documents in his possession, it appeared that Mort and Carolyn were in business together. Both Mort and Bill had disagreements with Carolyn. According to the documents, Adam Miles disapproved of Mort and Carolyn’s partnership.
All of these men shared two common denominators. One, they were dead. And two, they’d had a conflict with the Lanes, specifically Carolyn Alden Lane. This is crazy, Jack thought. None of these deaths were suspicious, except possibly Fields’s. But the police officer at the crash sight was confident it had been an accident. And what about the plane crash?
“Damn.” Mort Fields was the link, and now he was dead. Frustration swept over him. He didn’t want to let his father down. There had to be another way to unravel the truth.
He flipped his notepad to the list of questions he’d had for Mort and read through them. Tell me about your partnership with Carolyn? Why, specifically, did it end? Why’d you go to my father? Who’s in the Council? What does the Council do? What’s their agenda? The list went on and on.
Obviously, he needed to head back to Jefferson City. It would be easy to arrange another trip there after the convention. He smiled, his thoughts shifting to Katherine. He wanted, no, needed, to see her again.
Finally, at around four-fifteen in the afternoon. Jack received a return call from his editor. “Hey, Rudly, how ya doin‘?”
“You want to explain your letter?” Jack asked.
Pat Mead was the main reason why Jack had joined Today. Substantially older than Jack, he had taken Jack under his wing out in the field, when they’d both been foreign correspondents. Pat had left the trenches a few years earlier to become Special Projects Editor for Today. Shortly thereafter, he reunited Jack.
“I’m sorry for the formality. But the legal department is a stickler for employment files.” Pat’s voice was tight.
“I don’t care about my employment file, and you know it. What I care about is the contents of that letter. My story on Lane’s military service was accurate and the sources were verified. I had authentic medical and military records. So what gives?”
“You and I need to talk. Why don’t you come into the office tomorrow morning, around nine?”
Jack clenched
his jaw. “Spill it. I’m not waiting for tomorrow morning.”
Pat paused. “The brass at the top aren’t pleased with your style.”
“What are you talking about? They hired me for my style. When I signed on, they specifically said that they needed more of my kind of reporting.”
“Then you’re more than they bargained for. Unfortunately I’ve been given the job of issuing you another warning. You’ve already had your hands slapped, and now this is getting serious. You need to back off, or you’re going to see a drastic change in the type of assignments you receive. They’ve got you under contract, they can assign you to anything.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jack’s voice was a harsh whisper. Every muscle in his body tensed.
“I wish I were.”
“And what exactly did I do to warrant this hog tying?”
“You were spotted on a fishing expedition in Missouri, you were warned before to watch your step where the Lanes were concerned.”
Jack sat back in his chair, questions spinning in his mind. How did Pat know he’d gone to Missouri? Neither he nor Maureen had spoken to the office since his trip. And why the backlash? Finally, Jack responded. “This is outrageous, and you know it. I’m a reporter. Remember? Getting the story’s my job. You, of all people, should know what I’m about. I can’t believe you’re going along with this.”
“I know, I know. And I’m sorry. I’m not sure who the players are, but I can tell you that it came down from on high that you were to be cut off at the knees. It was all I could do to convince them you could be reeled in. The brass is about to ship your ass to Siberia. I don’t want to lose you, Jack, you’re the best I’ve got.”
“Yeah, right. I’m the best you’ve got as long as I do as I’m told and only report what the magazine wants me to. That’s the fattest line of bullshit I’ve ever heard. If you’re going to tie my hands like this, then let me out of my contract – fire me.”
“Come on. Jack. You’re not being fair. You know I’m on your side here.”
Capital Offense Page 19