Veil v-1

by Reginald Cook

  Edward turned up the sound.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we’re here today to examine the President’s choice for Supreme Court Justice,” began Senator Hall. “Ours is an awesome responsibility. One that will help decide not only the fate of Judge Patrick, but the direction of our nation. It is a responsibility we do not take lightly.”

  “He missed his calling,” said Vernon. “The prick should’ve been an actor.”

  They all laughed.

  “How many votes does he have with him?” asked Vernon.

  “He guaranteed three,” answered Edward. “That should be more than enough to get the ball rolling.”

  Marilyn pulled out her cell phone. “I’d better catch up on my voice mail,” she told them, moving to a spot on the other side of the room.

  “Judge Patrick,” said Senator Franklin, “Your background in the law and reputation on the bench is well-known and very distinguished.”

  “Thank you Senator,” Fiona responded.

  “But, as you know, members of the Supreme Court must be above reproach, and the investigation and background check performed by the FBI prior to this hearing revealed several questionable contacts of yours.

  Namely, a major player in the Colombian drug trade.” Murmurs erupted in the chamber. Fiona didn’t flinch.

  “She’s a strong one,” said Simon. “I don’t think she’ll break that easy.”

  Simon’s comment annoyed Edward.

  “I’m just saying she’s strong, that’s all,” Simon repeated. “It’s not prudent to underestimate one’s enemies.”

  Edward, about to speak, stopped when Marilyn walked back to the table. A broad smile on her face.

  “Good news?” asked Vernon.

  “Oh, it’s better than that,” she said. “I just spoke to our good friend Mr. Veil. He wants me to meet him at Parklawn. Says he needs my help with a very important matter.”

  Edward’s face lit up. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What kind of help does he need, and with what?”

  “He wouldn’t give details on the phone. He just said meet him at Parklawn right away, and something about a court order. I’d say we hit pay dirt.”

  Edward stood. “Vernon, make sure Simon here has access to several of your best men.” “Simon, trail Ms. London. As soon as Veil identifies the crypt, take them and the evidence to my ranch and contact me. I want to be there when the casket is opened.” All three headed for the door. Edward cleared his throat. “And ladies and gentlemen. Don’t fuck this up.”

  The trio left and he turned back to the hearings, encouraged by the sudden turn of events.

  “We interrupt these hearings to bring you a special news bulletin.” Edward watched a solemn looking, gray haired newsman, adjust his tie and earpiece. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “President William Claymore was shot today as he exited a breakfast reception at the National Gallery of Art. The President was on his way back to the Oval Office to monitor Judge Patrick’s hearing. Witnesses say shots rang out from a car on the street as the President walked to his limousine. The Secret Service gave chase, but no one has been apprehended. President Claymore has been rushed to Capital Hill Hospital and, as of yet, there is no word on his condition.”

  34

  Robert and Thorne listened to the news report on the car radio in their rented Ford Excursion.

  “My God,” Thorne exclaimed. Rothschild can’t be that far gone.” Robert’s head reeled. “I don’t know, but he did it once. I don’t see why the bastard wouldn’t do it again.”

  “There have been no updates given on the President’s condition,” said the reporter. “However, there is new information on the shooters. The D.C. police and Secret Service chased the gunmen, possibly Arab, through Washington into Maryland, just outside of Annandale. The suspects crashed exiting Route 66 killing the driver, but the other suspects, also believed to be from the Middle East, exited their vehicle and began shooting. All three died at the scene. For now, that’s all we’ve been to able to learn.”

  Robert banged his fist down on the dashboard. Thorne cursed.

  “It’s them, Robert. Same group that tried to hit us. What the hell is going on?”

  Robert pulled into Parklawn. “Sounds like Edward Rothschild has killed another President.” He pulled over to the curb just outside the main office, where he told Agent London they’d meet. They drew their guns and exited the vehicle, surveying the area for anything out of the ordinary. Robert counted four groundskeepers mowing the lawn and attending to the grounds. Another two absently picked dead flowers off gravesites.

  “All clear,” called Thorne.

  Robert took another look around.

  “How do you think they’ll come at us?” asked Thorne.

  “I’m not sure, but let’s anticipate the worse. Once we get our hands on the evidence, we’ll drive it to Terence Riker’s lab in Salem, West Virginia. I gave him a heads up, so he’s expecting us.” Riker, the most talented forensic analyst Robert knew, and an avid conspiracy theorist, went back almost as far as he and Thorne.

  “Did you tell him what it’s about?

  “No, but he knows it’s hot. So he’ll be ready for us.” Robert saw Thorne’s mind race. “We can’t take a chance and make that drive,” she said. “We better fly it out. My twin engine is ready at Reagan Airport.”

  “Fine with me. The quicker, the better.” Thorne grimaced, eyes cold with anger, body ready for war. “The President, Robert. Those assholes killed another President.”

  “I know. But this time…”

  A dark blue sedan pulled into the cemetery and made its way toward them. He saw Thorne touch the Mac-10 machinegun hidden under her jacket. He felt the imprint of the automatics under his arms, and readied the Uzi submachine gun hanging from his shoulder.

  Thorne walked across the street and circled around the back of the car. It stopped five feet from where they were standing. Marilyn stepped out, hands raised, all business.

  “I take it you’ve heard the news,” said Robert, lowering the machine gun.

  “Who hasn’t? The entire department is on high alert. Everyone has been called in, so I hope what you need is serious. I’m gonna take heat for disappearing”

  Thorne offered no greeting. Marilyn kept her eyes on Robert.

  “So, what’s so important?” Marilyn asked.

  Robert motioned for her to follow him inside the truck. Thorne stood sentry while he ran down every detail.

  “You’re kidding,” she said. “Don’t play games with me. This is not the day, and I don’t have time for jokes.”

  “I assure you it’s no game,” said Robert. “We think the evidence is hidden in one of the crypts here in the cemetery.”

  “You mean in the mausoleum where the guard was killed?”

  “Right. Rothschild’s men shot him to death. We barely got away.” Marilyn searched his face.

  “This is no bull,” Robert continued. “I wouldn’t call you out on a day like this unless it was the absolute truth.” Marilyn breathed a deep sigh. “So what do we do?”

  “We need you to serve this court order. Then, if the evidence is there, we’ll move the casket to a safe place. Thorne and I will take it from there. From what Charlie showed me, I don’t think we’ll have any problems getting the right people to listen.”

  “Of course now that you know, you’ll be a target. I’m sorry Marilyn, but I didn’t trust anyone else.”

  Marilyn smiled. “I’m glad to hear you trust me. I won’t let you down. Now, where’s that court order?”

  Robert handed her the order and she looked it over. “Judge Bonner.

  How’d you get that old fart to move so fast? He wouldn’t sign a search warrant for me and I practically had a murderer strapped to a victim.”

  “Let’s just say he’s a friend of a friend. We better get started and make sure they understand this is a confidential matter. They can’t be present when the casket is opened.”

  “I understand,” sai
d Marilyn. “Let’s go.” Robert grabbed her arm. “Thanks Marilyn. I won’t forget this.” Marilyn’s smile widened. “Oh, I don’t plan to let you.” They stepped out, game faces on. Thorne scanned the area, both hands gripping the machine gun, “All clear out here,” she said. “But we better hurry.”

  “I’m on it,” said Marilyn. She marched inside the building. Thorne looked over at Robert. “Well?”

  “She’s with us on this.”

  “She’d better be. I don’t need much of a reason to blow her away.” Robert ran his eyes across the grounds, searching. “Let’s just get the evidence and get the hell out’a dodge.”

  “Here she comes,” said Thorne.

  A heavyset man in a dark gray pinstriped suit accompanied Marilyn.

  His eyes puffy and red, he waddled more than walked.

  “This is Larry Welsh. He’s agreed to cooperate fully, no questions asked,” said Marilyn.

  Mr. Welsh sweated profusely. “Did you hear the news? Those towel heads shot the President. I told my wife we can’t trust the bastards, not as far as we can throw’em.”

  “Thank you Mr. Welsh,” said Marilyn. “Now if you’ll just arrange to have the crypt opened for us, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Right away,” said Welsh. “On your way out, stop by the office and sign the release.”

  “No problem,” said Marilyn. “And thanks again for your cooperation.”

  Flustered, Mr. Welsh hustled across the lawn towards the groundskeepers, about a hundred yards away. Robert, Thorne, and Marilyn drove to the mausoleum and parked. Robert looked back at Marilyn.

  “Have you heard anything about President Claymore we haven’t heard on the news?”

  “Not much. It looks like the work of Islamic fanatics, but the shooters haven’t been identified and no group has claimed the attack.” Robert looked at Thorne. “We think it’s the same group that attacked us a few nights ago.”

  Marilyn sat forward, mouth agape. “Attacked you?”

  “Yes,” said Robert. “We’ll fill you in after we secure the evidence, but we think Rothschild may have hired them.”

  “Two Presidents,” mouthed Marilyn, anger in her voice. “I’m gonna make sure I’m there when they haul his ass in.” They got out and went inside. Robert quickly located the crypt with Julie Rice’s name on it.

  “Julie Rice,” said Marilyn. “Who’s she?”

  “She was a friend of Charlie Ivory,” said Robert. “They both lived on the street.”

  “How did you figure it out?” Marilyn asked.

  “What does it matter?” snapped Thorne. “Let’s just get this over with, fast!”

  Marilyn smiled. “Just a little professional curiosity, that’s all,” she said. “No need to get your thong twisted.” The groundskeepers entered, to Robert’s relief. Thorne looked as though she might shoot Marilyn between the eyes.

  “Over here, gentlemen,” said Marilyn, waving them over.

  Four groundskeepers went to work on the crypt, removed the bolts that held the marble headstone in place, and lowered the slab of rock to the floor. They pushed a long wooden gurney into place just below the tomb, less than six inches from the wall, and carefully placed the dark wooden casket on the gurney.

  Robert gently ran his fingers across the top of it. “Ok, let’s get it loaded in the truck,”

  The groundskeepers pulled weapons from their overalls, screaming for them not to move. Robert reached for the Uzi, but froze when he felt the cold tap of steel against his temple. He raised his hands in the air and turned. Marilyn!

  “Well, well, Mr. Veil,” she laughed. “Don’t look so glum. Did you really think you’d get to waltz out of here with one of the few wonders left in this world?”

  “I knew I’d have a problem, but obviously I didn’t think it’d be you.”

  “Better luck next time. Oh I’m sorry, there won’t be a next time.” She kissed Robert on the cheek. “What a shame. I thought I’d get another little taste before we killed you.”

  “You sick bitch,” said Thorne, her hands raised, her face calm. “I knew it’d be your sorry ass.”

  “That’s funny,” said Marilyn, taking Robert’s guns. “If you know so much, then why am I about to kill your sorry ass?” The groundskeepers disarmed Thorne. “That remains to be seen,” she said, smiling.

  Marilyn stomped over and backhanded Thorne across the face. His partner’s head snapped backward. When it returned, the smile remained.

  “Ok, let’s get it loaded in their truck,” said Marilyn. “I’ll call the others.”

  Two of the men quickly rolled the casket outside while the others held them at gunpoint. Marilyn spoke into a small walkie-talkie, and a few minutes later Mr. Welsh, a silencer stuck in his back, walked in, trailed by the weasel they’d run into several times earlier. Welsh, shaking, and sweating profusely, urinated in his pants. Marilyn tossed the weasel Robert’s gun.

  “Well, hello Mr. Veil,” said Simon. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Go to hell,” said Robert.

  “I’m sure that’s in the cards one day,” said Simon, putting Robert’s gun to the back of Mr. Welsh’s head. “But not today.”

  “What about the real groundskeepers?” asked Marilyn.

  “They’re in the tool shed,” said Simon. “None of them will talk, I assure you.”

  Simon walked over to Robert and Thorne. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Simon Lynch. I’ll be executing you today.”

  Simon turned, pointed Robert’s gun, and shot Mr. Welsh in the head.

  “You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that here!”

  “He said don’t kill them here,” said Simon. “Now let’s get everyone tied up and in the truck.”

  Robert wanted to attack but couldn’t find an opening. He looked over at Thorne. Still calm. A good sign.

  Marilyn pulled a large black gun from her coat and pointed it at Thorne.

  “He said not here,” barked Simon.

  She ignored him, and fired.

  A dart hit Thorne in the shoulder. Marilyn turned the gun on Robert.

  “When you wake up, Mr. Veil, you’ll be dead.” She fired into his thigh. Thorne crashed to the floor. He watched the room spin, and didn’t fight it.

  A fog fell over his mind, and Robert fought for one last thought. He thought of Fiona, Jessica and his mother, praying they were safe, and begged God, for one last chance to make things right.

  35

  Robert saw everything clearly. He ran down the street behind a black convertible limousine. A crowd lined up along the sidewalk, waved, cheered, and hurled insults. Motorcycles led the procession and several more men in black suits, white shirts and dark ties, ran with him.

  In front, riding in the back of the limo, sat a beautiful woman in a pink dress and pillbox hat; waving to the crowd. To her right sat a very handsome man doing the same. Robert heard a popping sound. The man stopped waving and grabbed his throat. Robert struggled to catch up to the car, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. He looked up ahead to his right, saw Charlie Ivory’s face at the fence on the grassy knoll, and pumped his arms and legs harder.

  A shot, louder than the others, rang out. President Kennedy’s head jerked backwards to the left, exploding in a mess of blood and brain, some splattering Robert’s suit. Jackie Kennedy climbed along the trunk, reaching for a piece of skull. This time his legs worked, and he pushed her back into the car. He threw his body on top of Jackie and looked over at the President. He was gone.

  “Robert! Robert!” an echoing voice called. “Robert, wake up!” Robert struggled to fend off the clouds, shaking his head like a wet collie. Slumped over, head hanging down, a pungent odor stampeded his nostrils, but not enough to shake the fog.

  The familiar voice grew closer.

  “Robert!”

  Groggy, he struggled to focus his eyes. “Thorne,” he finally whispered.

  “I’m right here, Robert. We’re tied to a pole in s
omebody’s barn.

  Wake up and shake it off.”

  “How long have you been awake?” he asked, the pounding in his brain clearing with each breath.

  “I’ve floated in and out for a couple of days. I’m really not sure.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes. We’ve been here for at least a week as far as I can tell, maybe more. When I woke up it was daylight outside. Then that rat faced fuck Simon came in and gave us both shots, and I blacked out. He’s been keeping us under.”

  Robert took a deep, cleansing breath. “Have you see anybody else?”

  “No, just Simon.”

  Each slug of air brought Robert a little closer to lucid. Thirty minutes later, still sore, his head cleared, and he surveyed the barn. A single lantern hung next to the barn’s double-door, giving it a misty, shadowy feel. Shiny black saddles, on hooks next to the stalls, were emblazoned with gold “R’s” which told him the barn belonged to Rothschild.

  Moonbeams slid in through the slits in the ceiling, flickering on and off as bats flittered about the roof, disturbing the flow of light. Robert heard Thorne grunt and struggle, trying to break free.

  “Damn duct tape. I’ve been trying to weaken it, but the assholes have wrapped it thick.”

  Robert strained against his own bonds, to no avail, when his eyes landed on something that made him pause. The casket.

  Dusty in the dim light, it appeared to be untouched. Wood with gold trim, it sat in the middle of the barn like a monument. Streams of moonlight touched down on it, reminding him of a scene out of the Dracula movies he enjoyed as a kid. He struggled harder against the tape, but it cut into his wrists.

  “We’ll have to make our move when they cut us loose,” said Robert.

  “You mean if they cut us loose.”

  “All of this expensive riding equipment with the gold R’s means we’re probably on Rothschild’s property. If that’s true, he won’t have us killed here. It’s too risky. He’ll have them take us somewhere else and when they do, we’ll make our move.”

  “Got it. And Robert.”