The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)

by Steve Richer

  Joseph opened his mouth to speak but this extra effort was the only juice he had left. His head fell, he was dead.

  Cass shot twice more as the SUV sped away but it still fired back. “Jesus, come on!”

  Seeing her point, he grabbed the revolver and went to the car. They both got in and Cass put the car in reverse. Rogan shot his last rounds toward the enemy but soon they were out of sight.

  “You’ll never know how happy I am to see you,” he said.

  Then something mystifying occurred to him. How had she found him so fast?

  Chapter 20

  Rogan took a moment to catch his breath, to calm down from the scary high of combat. He ran a hand through his hair and that’s when he realized he had lost the ball cap. He cursed under his breath, leaving evidence behind was never a good idea, but going back wasn’t an option. Besides, if anyone wanted to make a case against him he was certain they wouldn’t be above good old fabrication.

  “Thanks, Cass.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend. I mean, he was a friend?”

  “Yeah, old acquaintance. He was helping me think things through.”

  She made a turn but kept them under the acceptable speed limit. She blended into traffic and they headed south.

  “When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me when you joined the Avengers. You were on the scene quick like Iron Man.”

  She looked at him sideways. “And that’s after you knocked me over the head too.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You’d better be sorry, hurts like a motherfucker.”

  He nodded. “We’re gonna talk about that, but first I wanna know how come you were able to swoop down and save the day. I wasn’t leaving breadcrumbs behind.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said.

  He couldn’t look away as she was still holding her gun on her lap. Was this a subtle way to let him know he was at her mercy?

  “Wanna share, Cass?”

  “I will. While I talk, why don’t you reload my gun.”

  She handed it to him and for the first time since getting in the car he relaxed. She opened her coat and he reached for the spare magazine clipped to her waist.

  “So, tell me. You snitched on me after I took your car?”

  “Not exactly. I called my partner to come pick me up. I didn’t have a choice but to tell him. Wilkinson was the one who reported you. And of course, the car was LoJacked. That got us all the way to Baltimore. Local PD has a new gang initiative and that includes surveillance cameras at convenient hotspots. From there, it was easy to follow you to New York. Do you know how many cameras there are when you pay the toll at the Lincoln Tunnel?”

  “You didn’t just follow me to New York, you followed me to the exact spot where I was having my meeting.”

  “It’s a good thing too, don’t you think? A minute later and you were dead, Rogan.”

  By now he had finished reloading the weapon but he didn’t give it back to her just yet.

  “How did you find me?”

  She exhaled. “The moment Wilkinson uttered your name the Bureau went apeshit. The Director has made you a top priority.”

  “Who squealed to him, Vanstedum?”

  “Who else? Anyway, the President thing is taking a backseat. You have your own dedicated satellite. That’s how we tracked you. I convinced Vanstedum that since we’re friends I’d be more useful trying to apprehend you and that’s why I came up to New York. When I heard they were coming up to snag you, I headed your way so I could warn you.”

  It made sense, Rogan thought. “But those guys in the SUV, they weren’t FBI.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Shit, only confirms my theory…”

  “Let’s talk about that. And about the head. I definitely want to talk about getting knocked unconscious in a ditch, in the freezing fucking cold.”

  She swerved angrily around a yellow cab and they drove toward Midtown.

  “I can understand that you’re upset.”

  “Upset? You’re gonna have to find a word that is a little more precise, Rogan. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  “I did this for you.”

  “For me?” she sneered. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “You know what? Yes. It was out of the goodness of my heart. If I had asked you for the keys you would have given them to me and right now you’d be locked up. So yes, I did this to protect you and don’t give me shit about it, all right? Thank you for the warning and the last minute save but I won’t apologize for knocking you out. And I left you a blanket.”

  She looked sharply at him. “A blanket?”

  “See? I’m a good guy.”

  “A blanket.”

  She bristled with outrage for a few seconds and out of nowhere the two of them burst into laughter. When they were done, she was still shaking her head.

  “So tell me about your theory. Obviously, I’m totally involved now. And you owe me.”

  “You’re right.”

  He told her everything. He told her about Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol and Dickie Joseph’s theory about a secret cabal running Washington.

  “Jesus,” she said. “A shadow government? You’re not gonna start talking about alien abductions and some lunatic conspiracy about the UN taking over America or something, are you?”

  “You left out chemtrails. But I’m just telling you what I know so far. Hell, after you see the President killing his wife on TV, anything is possible.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just a lot to absorb.”

  Rogan nodded, feeling the same way. He gave her back her service weapon and she holstered it.

  “The aircraft I jumped out of? Were you able to track down the tail number?”

  She shook. “It was leased, some outfit out of the Bahamas. It will take some time to get more details. It’s probably a dead end.”

  That figures, he thought. “By the way, where are you taking me?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “What do you mean, nowhere?”

  “I’m just driving around. It’s only a matter of time before your own personal satellite pins us down. Any suggestions as to where we can go?”

  He stayed quiet for a moment. He couldn’t risk going back to his safe house. As far as he knew, it was blown and was already crawling with federal agents. He would never go there again and he had to say goodbye to the $180,000 he’d left in the safe.

  “We’re going to the Bronx.”

  “Anything fun to do in the Bronx this time of year?”

  “Getting ourselves a clean getaway car.”

  His plan was to ditch this car, take the subway to evade the satellite, and then go to a warehouse he owned. The car he kept there would most probably require a quick tune-up but then they would be home free and full of ammo once more. Then again, this would only work if the FBI hadn’t set up roadblocks at every bridge and tunnel.

  “Okay,” Cass began. “After that, what’s the plan?”

  “Back to Washington.”

  “That’s crazy, Rogan.”

  “That’s where the fuckers are. Besides, we need to ask a very important question to a very important man. We need to talk to the President again.”

  She looked at him as if he was insane. He figured she might have a point.

  Chapter 21

  Leaving New York City wasn’t a grueling and nightmarish event even though they were coming up on rush-hour. They didn’t have to deal with the toll gates and roadwork those coming into the city had to contend with, six lanes becoming two. There were no police roadblocks and the gray Honda disappeared into the crowd, becoming completely anonymous.

  There was a moment of tension when they got onto the New Jersey Turnpike as they had to come to a stop to pay a few dollars, but the attendant didn’t so much as glance at the two people in the car. The gas tank was half empty but Rogan was determined to leave the state before filling
up since New Jersey didn’t allow self-service stations. They sure didn’t need another human in a position to identify them.

  Still, there was nothing about the two of them on the radio. That was good news, the FBI wanted to keep things hush-hush for the time being. Or perhaps it was because this whole investigation was at a standstill. The cell phone he had confiscated from the murderous pilot had been a dead-end and the same was true of the jet, having been leased by faceless offshore company.

  He glanced sideways at Cass and she looked stoic, not a trace of nervousness on her face.

  “You’re gonna have to give me your secrets on stress management,” he said.

  “It’s called ulcers. Keeps things bottled up.”

  He laughed heartily and she put on an FM station. Of course, in this day and age it was easier to stumble upon commercials than actual music. She bobbed her head to a fast food restaurant’s jingle.

  “We need to find where Butrymowicz lives.”

  She understood that it was an order and she quickly went about turning on the laptop and using the Internet from the cellular phone. Gerald Butrymowicz was the attorney representing the President and he was their best chance to make contact with the President to find out more about what was going on.

  “I have an address in Georgetown,” she said.

  “I didn’t see that one coming. A high-priced Washington lawyer in Georgetown? Talk about living up to stereotypes.”

  “And we all know you hate stereotypes, don’t we?”

  “Damn straight. It’s the only reason I ever chose to drive a Cadillac. Almost considered wearing cowboy boots too.”

  “You’re gonna have to tell me about this one of these days, Rogan.”

  “Tell you about what?”

  “About your fortune. About you.”

  He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road so she wouldn’t see him fuming. “There’s nothing to tell, you already know the details. I was a bum, picked up a few tips, invested wisely, and it paid off. I got lucky.”

  “Bullshit. For those of us in the FBI, that’s called holes. There are holes in your story, buddy boy.”

  “Oh there are?”

  “Buying some stocks on a whim, a week before an announced merger, that’s getting lucky. But you’re not lucky, you’re Beverly Hills rich. Even with the best financial tips, you need serious seed money to pull something like that off.”

  “Drop it, will you?”

  “You can tell me anything, you know.”

  “I said drop it, I had some savings.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I was a male stripper, gigolo on Sundays.”

  He winked at her and she burst into laughter. That was his first time coming up with that explanation and he deliberated if that should become his official cover story. Surely nobody would dare doubt it.

  “What?” he asked. “Don’t you think I have the body for it? You should see my moves.”

  She went on laughing and he liked the new relaxed atmosphere. He liked her when she laughed.

  They picked up some food as they drove through Maryland. It wasn’t so much because they were hungry but more of a way to stay awake. Besides, it wasn’t much of a road trip if you didn’t have some sort of unhealthy snack within arm’s reach.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was late when they drove onto the historic streets of Georgetown with the old townhouses built almost directly on the road. They turned onto N Street NW and Cass found a tidbit on the web about how JFK used to have a home nearby. They drove nearly half a block from that house before they reached their destination.

  “I should’ve been a lawyer,” she said as she gawked out the window.

  Rogan was loaded, was used to luxury houses, and even he had to admit the home was beautiful. The red brickwork and clean lines made it look classy. He wasn’t sure he would ever purchase a Federalist-style home but it was hard not to admire.

  They found a parking spot away from a street lamp and got out of the car. Rogan straightened up his clothes to make sure he was presentable because the last thing he needed was to have the cops called on him before being able to state the reason he was here.

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked down the brick sidewalk and looked around instinctively. There was one person walking a labradoodle but the area was otherwise deserted. Most of the row houses had their lights off. It was understandable, it was close to midnight. But the lights were still on where they were going.

  Rogan took a deep breath as he climbed the porch and rang the bell. It took almost five minutes for someone to answer.

  “Yes?” It was a woman in her 50s wearing a bathrobe.

  “Mrs. Butrymowicz?”

  “We’re not doing interviews. Good night.”

  She pushed the door closed but Rogan applied pressure of his own so it remained open.

  “We’re not the press, ma’am. We’re FBI and we need to talk to your husband now.”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “With the lights on?” He immediately regretted his snark. “Please, your husband is gonna want to hear what we have to say. It’s important.”

  With a resigned sigh, she opened the door further and let them in. They remained in the foyer and Cass flashed her credentials.

  “Thank you so much for doing this.”

  “I’ll get Gerald.”

  She disappeared around the corner, leaving the two visitors standing there. They both looked around with curiosity and professional interest. The inside of the house was incongruous with the exterior. It was decorated in a decidedly modern style with furniture bordering on artistic and bright colors. It reminded Rogan of an episode of Miami Vice from the 80’s, or perhaps the house in Beetlejuice.

  “It’s like a clown exploded in here,” Rogan whispered.

  “It’s called art. Besides, I thought this was all the rage with you rich people.”

  “My dog would never forgive me.”

  They straightened up as Gerald Butrymowicz came down the glass staircase. Unlike his wife, he was still dressed, wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and no shoes. His hair was disheveled, giving him the appearance of a student pulling an all-nighter. He was in his late 50s but right now he looked much older.

  Rogan had never met him but he knew him from reputation. He had been an undersecretary in the Justice Department after a stint as a prosecutor before going back to his law career. However, instead of going after a cushy job in lobbying or corporate law like most Washington insiders, Butrymowicz had jumped into the trenches, becoming one of the most sought after criminal lawyers in DC.

  “You FBI?” he said in greeting.

  Only on my mother’s side, Rogan almost said. “Yes and… it’s complicated.”

  Cass flashed her badge again. “We have reason to believe President Rudd is being framed.”

  The lawyer didn’t move a muscle. After long seconds he said, “I guess you’ve earned yourselves the right to come into my house.”

  He led them to the den, another room inspired by Andy Warhol’s crazy nightmares with a triangular red couch and cubic zebras painted on the walls. The federal agents sat on the couch while Butrymowicz crashed on a fluffy blue chair shaped like an oyster shell. He crossed his legs.

  “As you probably understand,” Rogan began. “That’s why we couldn’t call ahead or meet you at the office.”

  “I appreciate that but at the same time I’m wondering about this framing business. Even I’ll stipulate that the President shot his wife. It was witnessed by the whole Congress.”

  “That’s why we’re here. Something is definitely going on and we need the President to tell us what.”

  Again, the attorney was pensive, staring at the visitors with pure calm. Then, “Get out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Get out my house.” He stood up and pointed at the exit. “You’re just wasting my time.”

  Rogan stood up and Cass followed his example.

  �
��We are on the verge of a major breakthrough here.”

  “No, you’re just being sneaky. You came here thinking you would do the interrogation through me? I admit it’s original but next time try this tactic on some rookie straight out of law school.”

  “That’s not what it is.”

  “Enough, I’m tired and I have a long day tomorrow.”

  Rogan took a step forward, deciding to be bold. “I’m digging too much, I’m getting close to the truth, and the Director of the FBI tried to have me killed earlier today. The powers that be don’t want me to find what the President knows. If you have some contacts in law enforcement, make discreet inquiries and you’ll find my name on the wanted list. Rogan Bricks, B-R-I-C-K-S. Wouldn’t want you to get the spelling wrong.”

  The man didn’t move, just standing there trying to figure Rogan out.

  “He’s telling the truth, there’s a task force established to bring him in.”

  “I’m telling you this to show that I’m serious about finding the truth. You can call it in, throw me out, I can’t stop you. But I think we both want to find out what’s going on. I’m not a loon, I was called to lead this investigation only I wasn’t expected to find anything. That was before the President whispered something to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol.”

  “My God…”

  “What?” Rogan asked eagerly.

  “He told me the same thing but I haven’t been able to find anything.”

  “Then congratulations, your life may be in danger.”

  Chapter 22

  The plane landed perfectly in spite of the icy runway. The pilot told Shiloh they were on schedule but he failed to mention that he had revised that schedule three times as they crossed the Atlantic. In any case, she got out of the Gulfstream no longer even thinking about the long flight.

  She shivered from the Arctic front sweeping through the District of Columbia and tightened her black trench coat around her. Underneath she was wearing a dark pantsuit and even though it was better than her customary dresses it still wasn’t enough. At least she’d had the good sense to wear boots instead of heels.