by Stephen Frey
The reality that the defense department was also a priority for the Grays had also been made clear to Rockwell. So it would be logical to assume that the Grays would assist those entities as well. The Keystone Systems case was a perfect example. The “not guilty” verdict in the trial had been a seventeen-billion-dollar win for a top DOD contractor as well as the Pentagon. The stock price had shot up in after-hours trading.
“The Bailey Energy trial is the first and only setback we’ve had. But the juror in question committed suicide this morning. Apparently, his second family spurned him as well.”
“Hear, hear!” one of the men shouted. The other three men echoed the first and stamped their shoes on the wooden floor in unison.
“What about our most important target?” asked another.
“JD is back in Virginia,” Rockwell answered. The shouting and stamping had shocked him, as it always did. He couldn’t see it coming with the blindfold on. “He’s tracking Victoria Lewis as we speak.”
“He must succeed.”
“Especially after the announcement she made in Richmond.”
“We cannot allow Ms. Lewis to insulate juries from us. Given its proximity to Washington, DC, Virginia is vital to our interests.”
“And if she’s successful in Virginia, other states will follow. I’m hearing that New York and California are monitoring Project Archer with great interest.”
“JD’s mission may not stop Project Archer,” Rockwell warned.
“But it will most certainly throw a huge wrench into the project’s momentum.”
Rockwell couldn’t argue with that.
“You have confidence in this … convicted felon, Mr. Rockwell?”
“We pried him out of prison, and we pay him well,” Rockwell answered. “I remind him from time to time that I could send him back to prison whenever I want.”
“Is JD loyal?”
“There’s no such thing as loyalty among felons, only short leashes.”
“But they aren’t all convicted murderers. They aren’t all convicted of torturing a young woman to death over a period of days.”
Rockwell shrugged. “True,” he agreed. “But JD possesses another talent which we may require at some point.”
“What talent are you speaking of?”
“Before his conviction, he was a Marine sniper. According to his records”—this piece of data had not come from the Grays—“he’s one of the most accurate snipers in the world.”
“I don’t know,” one of the men grumbled. “We want those who are malleable, Mr. Rockwell … not necessarily psychopathic.”
“In this endeavor,” Rockwell replied deliberately, “we must accept evil with good. We must use angels from behind all fences if we are to achieve our overall objective of social, business, and military control. Does anyone disagree?” When no one did, he continued. “Good, because given how quickly you want me to expand this effort, I’ll need more individuals like JD.”
The room went silent for several moments.
“Do we know when Project Archer will go operational?” one of the Grays asked. “Ms. Lewis made it sound as if it would be soon.”
“Tomorrow,” another answered.
“That soon? How do you know?”
“I have information coming from the Virginia Supreme Court. Chief Justice Eldridge seems to know as much as Victoria Lewis about this project.” The man chuckled. “Though Eldridge has no idea that we know exactly what he knows.”
No wonder, Rockwell thought to himself. That was how they were so informed about Project Archer. They had a Deep Throat inside the Virginia Supreme Court. And why did that surprise him? It shouldn’t. It seemed like they could get past any door they wanted to.
“Let’s get to the Angela Gaynor situation,” another of the Grays suggested.
“Who’s Angela Gaynor?” Rockwell asked.
“No need for so many questions, Mr. Rockwell,” one of the men snapped. “We’ll make sure you know what you need to know.”
“We don’t like questions,” another piped up. “We’ve told you that from the beginning, Mr. Rockwell. We will ask questions. You will give answers. Don’t make us remind you of that again.”
CHAPTER 8
VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA
Angela Gaynor walked barefoot beside Trent Tucker through the afternoon mist. As her gaze shifted to the sea from the edge of the dry sand, tall swells appeared from the fog just before they crested, rolled, and crashed in a chaos of foam. She hadn’t seen Trent in months, and the intimacy of the mist created a perfect setting for their reunion.
She was the Commonwealth senator from the state’s Fifth District, and she worked tirelessly for her constituents, as she was this afternoon—potentially compromising a treasured personal relationship for their benefit. At least it was a nice place for the meeting.
“Have I told you yet how great you look, Angie?” Trent asked. “You’re so thin these days.”
Angela had been in a dogfight with her weight ever since she could remember, and as a child, had hated the season of swimming suits and bare skin. The name-calling and teasing had been relentless during summers, even from her cousins who were nice to her the rest of the year. Just the memory of it still made her wince.
She’d been overweight as a child. No, she’d been fat, very fat. A year from celebrating her fortieth birthday, Angela could finally admit that to herself.
It wasn’t as if she was really skinny now. She wasn’t and never would be. Trent was being nice. But at five six and 135 pounds, she was doing just fine, thank you very much. Keeping the weight off, especially from her hips, was a constant struggle, and chocolate was her archenemy. She hadn’t had a single scrumptious taste of it in seventeen years.
“You must be sticking to that lifetime chocolate ban.”
Angela put her head back and laughed as warm salt water from a dying wave washed over her feet. “How can you read my mind?” she asked as the wave hissed, hesitated, and then receded into the ocean. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“Because we’ve been best friends ever since we could see over the hoods of the tricked-out Lincolns in the ghetto. And we still are.”
She glanced up as if looking at a seagull. Until two years ago, Trent had been a star power forward with the NBA’s Washington Wizards. He was six ten, almost a foot and a half taller than her.
“Are we really?”
“Of course. Who knows me like you? And who knows you like me?”
“I suppose.”
“When we get together, it’s like we saw each other yesterday, even if it’s been awhile, like it has been this time. As soon as I saw you coming down the beach, everything came rushing back.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been better about keeping in touch,” she apologized guiltily.
Getting away for an afternoon was a rare treat these days. He’d reached out to her several times in the last few weeks, but she hadn’t found time to call him back until yesterday. And now she had a favor to ask him.
“It’s okay. It used to be me who took forever to call back, flying all over to play ball. Now it’s you because of this big political gig you got. Hey, that’s the way it goes. It’s the ebb and flow of life.”
“You’re so cool.”
He smiled his huge, infectious smile and spread his long arms. “Thanks, gorgeous.”
She loved him dearly, always had. The only thing she regretted about their relationship was that, in all the years they’d known each other, he’d never once asked her out on a real date. She would have said no immediately, of course, because ultimately, he would have dropped her to move on to his next conquest. That was simply the way it went for a man as coveted by women as Trent Tucker. Then they wouldn’t have been friends anymore. Her pride would have precluded friendship after that. And not being close to him was too terrible a prospect for her to consider.
She muted a soft laugh. She would have liked one chance to turn him down, just to se
e his reaction, just to see his shock. And to find out if she actually could, to find out if she had the same willpower when it came to him as she did with sweets.
She wondered if any woman had ever turned Trent down. At least since he’d become a national sensation in college at the University of North Carolina where he’d led the Tar Heels to an NCAA basketball title. Those sharp, handsome facial features and wide shoulders way up there in the clouds had broken more than a few hearts around the country, his teammates had told her over the years, when she’d gone to his games. And, occasionally, the parties afterward—for a little while, until she couldn’t take watching the girls throw themselves at him anymore.
She’d always wanted him. There. She could finally admit that, too, now that she was almost forty. The thing was, she’d want him for good if it ever got started.
“So, what young hip-hop sensation are you woo-wooing these days?” she asked.
Trent grimaced. “First off, I don’t woo-woo anybody.”
“Okay, then what hip-hop babe is woo-wooing you?”
“I’m done with singers,” he answered flatly. “I’m tired of having to tell them how good they sound even when they don’t. Nobody ever told me my shot looked good when I missed.”
“Then it must be some hot, young actress.”
“No more starlets, either. Man, talk about mentally fragile.”
“Well, it has to be someone like that.”
“Why?”
“You’re always dating some young, gorgeous celebrity. I read about you in the magazines while I’m slaving away on my treadmill. I see the pictures. I know who you’re with. Give me a break. Everyone does.”
“Well, I’m on hiatus right now. And I’m definitely done with girls in their twenties. Guess I’m finally feeling my age, Angie. The drama’s not worth it anymore.”
“That just dawning on you?”
“I’m sticking with women my own age from now on,” he said, as if he’d just reached a monumental decision.
“Bull. I’ll open People next week, and there she’ll be, on your arm. Some bombshell who’s still getting carded. Even after all your talk.”
“Nah.”
“It’s amazing that none of those women could ever pin you down.”
Trent grinned. “They all turn off like a switch the second I say, ‘prenup.’” He reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder. “You never got married, either. Why not?”
That brief touch had felt so good. It had sent waves all around her body. “My situation’s different. I don’t have men throwing themselves at me all the time.”
“I don’t have—”
“Don’t even try,” she interrupted good-naturedly. “Hey, I get it. It goes with the turf. You’re an NBA star.”
“Was,” he reminded her. “And, hey, you’re a celebrity, too.”
“Maybe in my little local world. But not on the national stage like you. Besides, I don’t have time for a private life.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about all the stuff you do, how hard you’re working. And the people here love you.”
“I hope so.”
“You know you’re the only black state senator Virginia’s got. Other than you, it’s a pretty pale slate in the General Assembly.”
She slipped her fingers into his and pulled him to a stop. It always amazed her how long those fingers were. A basketball in his hand must have felt like a tennis ball did for most people.
“I gotta ask you a question.”
“Uh-oh,” he muttered, turning to face her. “There’s that tone. What did I do?”
“Nothing, stop.”
“I’ve heard it too many times. Come on.”
“Will you marry me?” She laughed loudly when his eyes went wide, like he’d stuck his finger in a socket.
“Um … Angie, I’m probably a permanent bach—”
“I’m messing with you, Trent. Chill out.”
He broke into that light-the-world-up smile. “I knew that.”
“Sure you did. You should have seen your face just then. You’ve been worried I was gonna ask you that question ever since we were teenagers, and don’t even try telling me you haven’t.”
“Maybe I was worried I’d say yes if you asked. You ever think of that? If I was ever gonna marry someone, it would be you.”
“You just had your chance to say it, and I’m not asking again.”
She dug a little trench in the sand with her toe. She didn’t know how to start this.
He slipped a fingertip beneath her chin and lifted it slowly so she was forced to look up at him. “You’re stressed, Angie. A woman who grew a construction company from nothing into the biggest outfit in the city, and then beat a good old boy out of his state senate seat should never feel stress. What’s wrong?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.
“When it comes to you, I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
She hated how right he was. “Okay, here’s the deal. Last week some very senior people in the party paid me a visit.”
Grave concern swept across Trent’s face. “Are you getting run out of your senate seat? People in Richmond don’t like a black woman taking a white man’s spot? Is that what’s going on?” He shook his head. “You know, we start to think we’re making progress in this country, and then something like this happens. Well, that—”
“They weren’t from Richmond. They were national people.”
“Even worse. I get the Richmond crew still fighting the Civil War, still thinking they’ll rise again. They’ll never let that die in a thousand years. But people from headquarters shouldn’t be hassling you like that. They should be damn glad you’re doing what you’re doing. They should be kissing your feet for all the sacrifices you’re making.”
“Trent.”
“Don’t let them get to you like that. Don’t back down. Hell, you’ve never backed down from anything in your life, Angie.”
“Trent.”
“I remember you shooting that crackhead who broke into your apartment that night, looking for money to buy drugs when your mother was gone working. You shot him right through the chest. You took care of business that night, you didn’t back down then. Don’t let these people—”
“Trent!” Sometimes he got on these rolls that were almost impossible to stop. He had since he was a kid.
“What?”
“They didn’t come to hassle me. They came to ask me to run for the big one, for the United States Senate. They want me to take on Chuck Lehman.”
For a few moments, Trent gazed down at her as if he couldn’t grasp what she’d said, as if she’d been speaking a foreign language. Finally he grabbed her, picked her up off the wet sand, and twirled her round and round.
“Put me down!” she screamed. God, he was strong. She already knew that, of course. But she’d never felt it before, not like this. No wonder they called his position on the court power forward. “Put me down!”
“United States Senator Angela Gaynor!” Trent shouted into the mist as he eased her feet back to the sand. “Can you believe it? You’re going to Washington.”
“Whoa, whoa,” she cautioned, dizzy from spinning. She’d felt like a doll in his huge arms. “Senator Lehman is finishing his third term. He’s the senate majority leader. He’s an institution in Washington.” She hated getting dizzy. Still, she wanted him to pick her up and do it again. It was so good to feel petite. “The odds of me beating the man are very small.”
“When have you ever paid attention to the odds, Angie? You’ve been beating them all your life, longer ones than this, too. Don’t give me that.”
“I’m gonna need a lot of luck and a lot of help.”
“What can I do?” Trent asked immediately. “Sign me up. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get you to Washington.”
She gazed up at him. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“I … I …” She glanced out to sea again.
The fog was closing in around them. The waves had already broken and were nothing but foam when they churned into view now.
“What is it, Angie? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m imposing.”
“I’d say if you were. No one’s ever accused me of not speaking my mind.”
“Still.”
“Is it money? Is that what you need?” A curious look came to his expression. “It can’t be. I see your Gaynor Construction signs all over the sites in the area.” His shoulders slumped. “Oh, no, is your company having problems? Is that CEO you hired to run the place for you screwing up? Is Jack Hoffman taking you down?”
“Trent, I—”
“You had to hire an outsider when you went into politics, right? So there wouldn’t be any conflict of interest, no chance for any appearance of impropriety when your company did work in this area?”
“Yeah, but—”
“So Jack Hoffman messed the company up, and now you need a loan to bail you out. That’s what this is all—”
“This is not about money,” she interrupted, laughing this time. His loyalty bowled her over. “My company’s fine. Jack Hoffman is doing a great job as my CEO. Earnings are higher than ever.”
Trent spread his arms. “Then what is it? What do you need?”
Angela glanced down at the wet sand as the end of another wave approached. “I need you. I need your reputation. I need your time. Yes, I’m a big fish down here in Virginia Beach and Norfolk. Everybody knows me. But it’s a little pond. Nobody in Richmond or northern Virginia, or any other part of the state, for that matter, has any clue who I am. And that’s going to be a big problem when it comes to beating Chuck Lehman. All the money in the world might not be enough to raise my awareness factor among Virginia voters fast enough when I’m going up against the Lehman machine.”
She glanced up at him as warm water washed over their toes. “But you are a national celebrity. Everyone in the country who’s even remotely a basketball fan knows who Trent Tucker is. Heck, a lot of people who aren’t basketball fans know who you are. You could be a huge help to me in Richmond and Washington.”
“You got it,” Trent agreed without hesitation. “Anything you want from me you got. You want me to do appearances, promotions, or anything else, you name it. I’m yours.”