The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)
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“What does this have to do with me?”
“Bahrain, remember? My dead wife – who turns out to be not dead and maybe not even my wife – she was able to dig something up. You made a phone call to your counterpart in Manama to expedite paperwork of Clonmel Analytics. Why? Because you own a piece of the action, don’t you?”
Hephner’s face appeared neutral but he was grinding his teeth. “You can’t prove any of this.”
“You know what else I can’t prove? That you’re a borderline genius.”
“What?”
“They say genius is actually one’s ability to adapt quickly to any given situation. Knowledge is something you get from books and experience, but genius is innate.”
“I suppose you have a point you want to make with these lies…”
Rogan pocketed the paper again and crossed his arms, reclining into his chair. He was about to deliver the death blow and he relished the moment.
“At first, you were very much aligned with your international League of Assholes. The plan was simple, have the President kill his wife in public. Nobody cared about President Rudd, he wasn’t playing ball anymore, no big loss to the faction. The idea was to scare Admiral Gelhausen sitting next to the First Lady. The poor guy would know there’s no escaping from the faction, he had to endorse GOPS, and you guys would continue to get your funding.”
“Conjecture, Bricks.”
“A little bit, that’s why you weren’t afraid of actually having the case investigated. What you said to me last week was true, I was chosen because I was expendable and on the surface I look clean-cut. You might even have wanted me to find something, to eliminate your opposition in the faction along the way. But you played along with them too, that’s why you agreed to have Albert send me to that airplane, when they tried to take me out during the flight. Two birds, one stone, everybody’s a happy camper. Only you had an ulterior motive because you’re a genius.”
“Right, I’m a genius,” Hephner repeated, rolling his eyes.
“You had a secondary objective: my money. That’s why I was truly chosen to lead this investigation. That’s why Marjorie Simonsen fixed things so her husband would be on the presidential detail the night of the State of the Union. I looked into her, you know.”
“Who?”
“Simonsen. She was a civilian secretary 20 years ago before she joined the Treasury Department. The two of you were at the New Orleans field office when you were SAC there. How’s that for conjecture?” Rogan squinted and grinned. “Maybe the two of you had an affair? Doesn’t matter, I won’t press it.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand. As a member of the faction, you knew about Shiloh and me, knew how I cared about her. Cass Carranza probably filled you in about that.”
“A little bit.”
“That was your secret weapon. While Shiloh and me were reconnecting, investigating this whole god-awful mess of a conspiracy, you were laying your trap. All you had to do was wait for the right opportunity to split her and me. By then you didn’t care about the faction anymore. You used the faction’s assets, their people, their boat, but you had your own agenda. It was down to good old-fashioned extortion, making me transfer my fortune over to you.”
The two men stared at each other. Rogan continued. “And in spite of everything it worked, you won. Congratulations, Tom. What do you plan to do with the money?”
“You can’t prove any of this, son. It’s a nice story but you can’t prove anything.”
“You’re absolutely correct. But you know the beauty of the American system? The very system that gave us gems like TMZ and Entertainment Tonight?”
Hephner couldn’t help himself and laughed. “What, you’re gonna call the press? You’ll put this on the Internet? They’ll think you’re a lunatic!”
“It’s possible but can I show you something? Turn that device off, you need to check your e-mail.”
“What?”
“Check your e-mail, it’ll be great, I guarantee it.”
The FBI Director was losing his confidence. He switched off the signal jammer and pulled out his phone.
Rogan was smiling broadly as he observed the man logging into his inbox.
“Jesus Christ…”
Without having to glance over his shoulder, Rogan knew what the man was looking at. It was a series of pictures of Hephner and the blond bimbo earlier. Shiloh was concealed nearby. She had snapped the photographs and sent them.
“Do you see it? She’s hot, right? Apparently, she does very interesting things with whipped cream and baby oil.”
“She’s a hooker?”
“Personal service provider, I believe is the politically correct term. Anyway, she’s part of a prostitution ring operated by the Russian mob currently being investigated by the valiant men of your FBI.”
“This is preposterous, you can’t link me to her from a picture in a hotel lobby!”
“You’re right again. Once again you’re batting a hundred. I told you, you’re a genius. But you see, this isn’t just your run-of-the-mill streetwalker. This prostitution ring? It involves some very high-powered people in Washington. I’m talking chamber of commerce bigwigs and lawyers, a few pastors, half a dozen congressmen, at least one senator, a senior one. When this thing goes public, adding the Director of the FBI won’t seem too far-fetched.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“You’ll be asked to resign in, oh, a matter of weeks. Then what? You won’t be useful to the faction anymore. Are they gonna shoot you in some dark alley? But I forget, you have access to my fortune! Almost what, $200 million after the commission you had to pay? But with the spotlight on you there’s no way you can touch that money.”
Rogan stood up and straightened up his coat. He said, “Face it, Tom, you fucked up. You should have left me in Alaska.”
He took back his phone, winked, and walked away.
~ ~ ~ ~
Rogan crossed the street and entered a Greek restaurant. He ignored the hostess and went to Jason Vanstedum who was just getting up from his booth, his coffee untouched. There were binoculars on the table.
“You catch all that?”
“I saw his expression when you showed him the pictures,” the Washington field office Special Agent in Charge said. “I’m not sure I agree with your tactics.”
“I wish I could have gotten him clean but there was no other way to handle Hephner. Anyway, my… friend has already set up her system to send the photographs to the media. In two days when you finally move in on these politicians and Russian mob, the pictures will go out and the Director will be finished.”
Vanstedum nodded. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Don’t worry about it, you did your job. Might turn out you’re a good guy after all. Now focus your attention to this faction. I don’t care how you do it but please get these bastards.”
“You should stay here in DC, we could use your help.”
“Nah, I miss my life and my dog and the low crime rate of Alaska.”
Shiloh appeared and Vanstedum looked at her. Rogan followed his gaze.
“Thanks, Special Agent Bricks. You’re always welcome here if you change your mind.”
The two of them shook hands. Vanstedum grabbed his binoculars and left the restaurant.
Shiloh came closer. She was still a little unsteady from the broken rib but she smiled anyway.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“He was trying to convince me to stay in Washington.”
“I know,” she replied wanly.
“And I’m about to try to convince you to follow me to Alaska.”
“We’ve talked about this, Rogan. You know I can’t.”
“Not the answer I wanted to hear, but the answer I was expecting.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He reached for her hand and she let him take it. He stared into her eyes as he had in the first week of their marriage. It
was painful to acknowledge that they were parting again, like his life was once more about to fall apart.
But of course, she was doing the right thing. While the faction was still active, she had to stay in hiding as she helped the authorities build a case against these people. And by not being with him she was keeping him safe.
He liked to believe this was really the reason why she couldn’t be with him and yet there was this little voice in the back of his head that told him it was only an excuse to stay away.
“Goodbye, Rogan.”
She kissed him on the cheek. He watched her walk out of the restaurant and it was all he could do not to cry.
Chapter 55
THREE MONTHS LATER
Anchorage was alive. Just a few days before Mother’s Day and the temperature was nice, sunny and in the 50s. Teenagers were walking around wearing only T-shirts and some of the braver ones were sporting shorts.
Rogan remembered being in Thailand and if it dipped below 70 the locals were breaking out the winter gear. But here it was different. After a long and harsh winter, mild temperatures were a good excuse to pretend summer had arrived. He himself had the windows rolled down as he drove.
“What do you think, Glut?” he asked his golden retriever sitting in the passenger seat. “Think we might see women wearing short skirts today?”
The dog barked and Rogan rubbed his head, scratching behind the ears.
“Yeah, I feel the same way.”
He found a choice parking spot right in front of his favorite grocery store, a small establishment that probably wasn’t profitable but offered some of the best specialty items in town.
“So I won’t be long, okay? Please don’t chew the seats and I’ll see about getting one of those good bones you like.”
Glut perked up and Rogan petted him again.
“All right, enjoy the scenery.”
He cracked open the passenger window and left the car. He took a deep breath as he walked toward the store, filling his lungs. He went through the list in his head. The recipe for tonight was miso-ginger glazed salmon on fresh pappardelle with thyme cream sauce. He had no idea if he could pull it off but it would be fun to try.
It was a reward of sorts. Life was going well and it was the first day in three months his shoulder hadn’t hurt. This morning he had gotten word that a bank fraud trial he had recently testified at had resulted in the conviction of his suspect.
Plus Gary Nero had sent him an update about the investigation in the faction. By now it was an international affair. Interpol was involved, as were dozens of police forces around the world. The media had heard about the existence of a shadowy cabal influencing global politics and they had run with it, digging even where the police couldn’t go.
At this point, Rogan was more of a witness than an investigator. And it was fine by him. He was tired of all this. However, he did enjoy watching the fallout. Senator MacIntosh had resigned his seat after his own party had expelled him and launched an inquiry. Katrina Heald was in the middle of a hostile takeover of her company.
Hephner had been assaulted by the press before a congressional committee started asking about his involvement with prostitution. He had resigned in early March. Yi Liao had been arrested by the Chinese government and was set to be executed. The Chinese sure didn’t fuck around, he thought with a chuckle.
As for former President of the United States Christopher Rudd, he was still in jail and would be for the foreseeable future. There was talk of pleading him down to second-degree murder because he had been coerced into killing his wife to save his daughter, but simultaneously no prosecutor wanted to be the one to let a murderer go free. There wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t seen the video of the execution by now.
Rudd accepted his fate. He had sent a letter to Rogan to thank him for everything he had done, for exposing the truth at last. He said he was relieved it was over even though he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
“Hi, Rogan!”
“Mr. Teicher, how are you?”
He waved to the elderly store owner and pulled out his grocery list as he took a plastic basket. He headed toward the fresh herbs and went on a search for thyme.
Yes, everything was going well. The faction was crumbling and soon they would turn on each other to avoid persecution. That’s how it was with these people, he knew. They were always looking out for number one and that meant they had no loyalty. They would lose everything in the process.
Rogan had also lost everything. He’d made no move to get his $300 million back. He hadn’t even looked into it. He realized that he felt good about losing his wealth, like it had been a burden on his shoulders after all. So he went one step further.
He had sold all his real estate and retrieved all the extra cash reserves he had stashed around the world, over $90 million. The most painful was selling his vacation home on the Amalfi Coast. All the money went into his foundation which was now endowed for centuries to come.
When he thought about that, it felt right. He had come into that money by doing a bad deed and that was something he could never undo. So giving away his fortune to charity was tremendously satisfying. All he kept for himself was his car and his house in Anchorage.
He put herbs in his basket and went on a quest for miso. He didn’t even know what the hell that was. Some kind of paste? And in what aisle was he supposed to find this anyway? He put that out of his mind when he stumbled upon the ginger root.
“Excuse me? Do you know if this has any gluten?”
He spun toward the voice. It was a woman, Midwestern accent. She was holding a box of pasta.
“I’m not sure, I think…”
He looked at her more closely. Her silky auburn hair was cut into a pageboy which gave her class, but at the same time she was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and a leather jacket, offsetting the glamour. He stopped breathing when he recognized her.
It was Shiloh.
“I’m sorry, I should stop asking strangers random questions. I’m Kiera, just moved to the area. It’s nice to meet you.”
She extended her hand and he shook it. She winked and he understood everything. Her mission was over and she was starting a new life. Most importantly, she had decided to start a new life here where he lived.
“It’s very nice to meet you too. Say, I know this is crazy, we’ve only just met, but I’m making this new salmon dish tonight and there’s gonna be way too much for me and Glut, my dog. Would you like to join us?”
“I would love to.”
He was still holding her hand and he had no intention of letting go. Ever.
THE END
The sequel is out! Get the new Rogan Bricks thriller Counterblow now
About the Author
Steve Richer has been writing professionally for over a decade, notably for publications such as Askmen.com. He is a devout fan of researching little-known historical events. He splits his time between Montreal and South Florida.
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Also by Steve Richer
Counterblow (Rogan Bricks 2)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
About the Author