Extreme Liquidation: Caitlin Diggs Series #2

by Gary Starta

  Jeremy Jacobsen, host of News Exchange, sat in his news anchor’s chair moments before broadcast. Today, he would abstain from witty pre-show banter with his audience. A glass of water before him consumed his attention. The production crew, too absorbed in their conversations, noticed nothing amiss. They all figured Jacobsen would transform into his alter ego once the red light flashed.

  Jacobsen had garnered numerous Emmys over the years for his satiric portrayal of a left wing extremist news anchor. And although his show aired on a comedy station, millions of viewers tuned into Jacobsen’s daily fake news program, giving it greater credence than reality-based network fare . Why not? Jacobsen was an easy sell. Show after show, Jacobsen could be counted upon to catch politicians in compromising situations. Whether the subject was hypocrisy or scandal, Jacobsen’s humorous spins and biting commentaries never failed to bring his live studio audience into hysterics. A jubilant home audience joined along, sharing the same belief: politicians were public officials, deserving nothing less than scrupulous observation. And fortunately for Jacobsen, his political targets never failed to do the unbelievable or say the unthinkable before rolling cameras.

  Tonight, Jacobsen would forego video clips. He had a live target to bait. Republican Senator Harlan Ralston would willingly enter a coliseum with a lion—Jacobsen—all to promote his new pro-war novel. Barbs would be launched against the Senator. The audience would expect nothing less.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, as always, welcome to News Exchange. A place where opinions count as long as they don’t oppose mine.” Audience laughter. “I would like to begin the show with a segment called Book Speak. For newbies to the Exchange, a prominent author takes a seat across from me and shamelessly plugs their latest novel. I happened to take a glance at national book sales earlier this morning and let me tell you people, these plugs are working splendidly. That said, I claim responsibility for making ‘Schemes, Scams and the Scumbags Who Run Them’ number one. Author Janice Stone if you’re out there watching, and I’m sure you are, don’t feel obligated to cut me in on your royalties. A simple gift card will do.” Jacobsen paused to flip a page, although he was obviously reading from a teleprompter.

  “To my chagrin, I may create another bestseller today. I say chagrin, because I don’t readily agree with the book’s philosophy. But who am I to cut and run and duck an issue?” Audience laughter. “For that reason, I’ve challenged my next guest to defend his viewpoints tonight on our Book Speak segment. Let’s all welcome ultra conservative Senator Harlan Ralston to the Exchange.”

  Ralston entered the sound set from the left. He carried a copy of his book Terrorists Don’t Use Turn Signals—Why We Must Stay in Iraq in his right hand, in his left, is a cup of water.

  Jacobsen ran to greet the senator. “Please, sir, let me take the book. I see you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy. I admire your courage.”

  “Taking the book from you was not that hard, Senator.”

  Audience laughter.

  “No, Jeremy, you misunderstand me. I applaud you for allowing me to come on your show and promote the war effort, something you abhor.”

  “Senator, with all due respect, you simply can’t come on and promote the war effort.” He paused and adjusted his tie. “You have to earn your right to your opinions on my show. My audience, and more importantly—me—want to know how you support a war most people feel we have already lost.”

  The Senator grinned and sipped his water.

  “How about we begin with an easy question, Senator? Explain the title—Terrorists Don’t Use Turn Signals.”

  “It’s an analogy of sorts . You see, some people are demanding an exit strategy––to yield to terror. To these citizens, I respectfully say, terrorists don’t use turn signals. Meaning, they don’t supply us with memorandums or information about their agenda. They live in the dark. That means America must stay alert and maintain a show of force. We must continue our vigilant watch over vulnerable areas like Iraq where anti-American factions might take hold. If we fail, we may find ourselves in a stranglehold. So I say, don’t yield or waver to those who don’t use turn signals.”

  “Senator, I guess it depends what highway we’re talking about. Are we referring to Iraq or the highway to hell?”

  Audience laughter.

  “Terrorists are on every highway, Jeremy . It’s unfortunate, but true.”

  “Let me counter you. Some people believe terrorism and the war have nothing to do with each other. Besides, even if they are connected, will continued failure to win the war make terrorists any more fearful of us?”

  “The President tells me we’re winning .”

  “But everyday soldiers come home in body bags. How is that winning, sir? But for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right.” Jacobsen paused to ponder, laying his index finger upon his chin. “How long will we have to win the war before we can begin liquidation? When will we finally see that turn signal, the one that tells us enough is enough?”

  The crowd fell silent. Both the Senator and Jacobsen appeared upset.

  Ralston hedged. Shifting his weight in his chair, he reached for another sip of water.

  “Senator, I am sometimes reminded of an old joke at times like these. It goes like this. A liberal is alone in the forest. No conservatives can hear him. If he speaks, is he still wrong?”

  A smattering of laughter erupted. The Senator’s face turned crimson.

  “Listen, I’ve answered your question, Mr. Jacobsen.”

  “Could you please clarify, I don’t think our audience is entirely convinced we’re winning.”

  “I’ll simply say this—might makes right.”

  “Do you mean, right as in conservative? Or do you mean, right as in correct?”

  “I mean might means right damn it!” The Senator hurled his cup to the floor and grabbed Jacobsen in a stranglehold. Ralston’s exit strategy had taken him from his seat and deep into enemy territory. Towering over Jacobsen, in a fit of unbridled rage, his hands are clenched around the news anchor’s throat.

  As Jacobsen’s face turned beet red, the cameras panned out. A command from the control room demanded a cut to commercial.

  ***

  Caitlin Diggs hastily packed a bag. The film clip has played repeatedly over her television and the internet. She paused to read a web page. Jeremy Jacobsen, satirical news host, escapes with his life. Stagehands manage to wrestle conservative Senator Harlan Ralston off of him before serious damage can be inflicted... A handful of electronic media outlets have sported before-and-after photos on websites, suffice it to say, the makeover does not favor Jacobsen.

  Diggs has resumed packing, tossing a green top into a suitcase. Celeste has followed the top into the container, quickly converting it into a bed.

  “Celeste, you have your own bed. And no, you can’t come with me to New York.”

  Diggs believed she had covered all bases. But panic struck as the plane began to roll down the runway.

  Rivers reacted immediately, seated to Caitlin’s left.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re breathing heavy.”

  Diggs ignored her partner’s comment, explaining their agenda for the second time. Rivers would interview Senator Ralston, holed up in an expensive Manhattan hotel after being released from a NYPD jail cell. Diggs would visit the television set of News Exchange to try and make a connection to the Salinger case.

  “I’m convinced the Senator was drugged, Deondra. You’ve got to convince him to volunteer a blood sample.”

  “I would expect his cooperation. After all, it would help clear his name.”

  “I’m not so sure he will see it that way. Politicians are all about damage control. He might not want to risk making his wound any deeper. That said, I’m confident you’ll employ your best people skills to convince our angry senator.”

  Rivers cast a defiant stare at Caitlin. “Are you mocki
ng me?”

  Diggs became aloof, lost in the clouds floating by her window seat. She could not answer her partner because she was too busy obsessing over the item she had forgotten to pack. As if she were an addict, Diggs pined to wrap the fuschia robe about her body. It had become her regular sleeping attire. Now, she would have to live without it, at least for a day. A few days ago, she would have welcomed a distraction to try and forget about her new psychic abilities. She had cursed them. Her abilities had made her lie, or at least censor the truth. She had fretted over the fact she could not tell Dudek about her visions. More deceit.

  But that anger had turned into something more powerful: inquisitiveness. Ever since her abduction, she wondered about the robe and how it might help her to understand her paranormal abilities. She would risk exposing her secrets to Dudek—or even Hainsworth—if the robe could answer her questions. This pursuit meant more to her than anything else. Even Ross Fisher’s cryptic answering machine message failed to elicit such passion.

  The reporter said he had wanted to discuss their future. Diggs wondered if that future meant a case or perhaps a romantic intention. She could not deny her attraction to him, despite the fact Fisher had never officially apologized for his bizarre behavior three months ago. At that time, he had asked for her forgiveness. Diggs still wondered exactly what he was alluding to. He seemed sincere enough in Oklahoma, where he worked as a humble reporter for the local paper.

  But now he had been promoted to TV journalist, in the nation’s capital, no less. She wondered about his motives. None of these concerns took precedence over her personal quest. Her heart pounded in response to her separation from the robe. Utilizing Zen breathing techniques, she willed herself to relax with little success. She spent a near sleepless night in a New York City hotel, waiting for the following morning and her subsequent interview with Jeremy Jacobsen.

  Jacobsen capitalized on his near death experience. With his arm in a sling and a brace about his neck, Jeremy taped a promotional spot for his next live telecast.

  Diggs leered at the news anchor as he removed the phony props from his person.

  “Okay, Agent Diggs, I’ll answer your questions now. I hope my audience appreciates how far I go to get at the truth. I know my healthcare provider sure won’t.”

  Diggs ignored Jacobsen’s banter. She had already interrogated his production staff. No one would admit to spiking the Senator’s drink. Tired and frustrated, Diggs decided to follow the Senator’s game plan. She lunged at Jacobsen’s throat—figuratively, not literally.

  “Tell me why you drugged the Senator, Jeremy.”

  “What did you say?” A curious smile flashed across his face.

  “Why else would you drop all charges against Senator Ralston? I saw the tape. He nearly killed you. So if you didn’t initiate his bizarre behavior, you’ve got to tell me who did. Or maybe the Senator has paid for your silence. Either way, I think you’re dirty.”

  Jacobsen casted a paranoid glance about the set. He spoke in a whisper.

  “I did it. But I didn’t expect it to turn out this way.”

  “I suggest you explain quickly if you don’t want to be hauled out of here in handcuffs.”

  “It was supposed to be a truth serum. A man contacted me via mail. He sent a vial of what he called a ‘serum.’ It arrived in a padded mailer with no note. I put a few drops in a pitcher of water.”

  “I want this mailer, the vial and the remains of the water.”

  “You’ll need a warrant.”

  “I’ll need no such thing. Give them to me or you’ll be broadcasting your show from a jail cell.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll give them to you. But not one word about this to the crew.”

  Diggs fought to hide her contempt. Jacobsen only cared about his career.

  “The anonymous supplier of the serum told me it was critical I administer the drug to the Senator. He said it could end the war. I agreed. Every day I poke fun at warmongers, but in the end, the only result I get is a chuckle or two. I was told it would coerce the Senator into telling the truth—to admit staying the course is wrong.”

  “Looks like what you were told and what happened were entirely different. Let’s recap. You believed a person who refused to identify himself. You administered an unknown drug sent to you via mail—and then hoped everything would turn out all right?”

  “We need these warmongers to speak candidly about the war and concede it’s wrong. I thought extreme measures might be justified.”

  Diggs ignored Jacobsen’s attempt at justification with a wave of her hand.

  “I don’t need the perpetrators to learn I’m on to them. So if they contact you again, say nothing, but get in touch with me. Here’s my card.”

  “So I’m not going to jail?”

  “Not today, Mr. Jacobsen.”

  ***

  Tara’s dilemma kept her awake at night.

  She had men on her mind. Usually, Tara juggled two or more men with ease, never allowing feelings to get in the way of physical gratification. She felt an immediate attraction to Tony the moving guy. For nearly two weeks, she awoke with Tony on her mind; but then Peter came along. He suggested the red string bracelet she now wore might signify a fated attraction. Perhaps he would be her soul mate. Still, physical longings were hard to ignore. To put it simply, Tony was a babe. Peter’s sensitivity also competed for a spot in Tara’s heart as well. When had she become so in tune with her feelings?

  She walked about the empty apartment, pining for contact. But Celeste was away, probably snuggling comfortably with Ms. Petersen’s cat Christopher. Tara had convinced Caitlin it would best to keep Celeste at Petersen’s, for the cat’s safety, after the break in. So where could Tara find solace at three in the morning? She flicked the kitchen light on. Something called her into the adjacent room. She entered Caitlin’s bedroom. The robe hung on the backside of a closet door. Tara wondered why her sister hadn’t taken it with her. She had not failed to notice her sister’s obsession with it. She knew the robe was more than a piece of evidence. She sensed her sister had been using it as a psychic tool. She began to wonder if this tool could provide answers. Maybe it could help her decide between Tony and Peter. She reached out her hand, touching it gingerly as if it were a hot pan. Minutes later, she was stripped naked, wrapping the fuschia robe about her. She wandered back into her room and immediately fell asleep. Then the visions began.

  She is naked save the robe, but she feels no shame. A man clad in black lusts for her body. Above her head hangs an upside down cross. Black candles faintly light the room. She takes a knife into her hand. She is about to slice her wrist...

  Then the vision ended abruptly. Tara awoke in a sweat. Somewhere a man in purple cursed the force that severed the connection. It seemed the twenty-six dollar red ribbon fastened about Tara’s wrist had paid for itself.

  ***

  So he did value damage control above everything.

  Agent Rivers silently congratulated Caitlin. She had been right. All Senator Ralston cared about was protecting the future—to be more precise, his future. Maybe politicians possessed a gene that makes them believe they can wrestle their way out of any scandal. For them it’s merely a waiting game—eventually all misdeeds will be forgotten.

  “I may run for President, Agent Rivers. I need this situation to blow over. I am planning to publicly apologize to Mr. Jacobsen. Most of America holds this man in the highest regard. Hell, even serious journalists wish they were Jacobsen. If you try to implicate Jacobsen in this most unfortunate circumstance, it will only work against me. I’m sorry, but I won’t help you convict a man who has graciously agreed to drop charges against me. Besides, even the district attorney is in agreement. “

  “But how do you explain your behavior? You told me a few minutes ago you were a passionate man, but not a violent one. Don’t you want the truth? Look, senator. You’re only fooling yourself here. You felt drunk during that fit of rage, didn’t you? I can explain and confir
m if you give me your blood.”

  “How could you possibly know I felt drunk?”

  “I was infected by the drug. It’s like a virus. I caught it from Salinger.”

  The Senator’s jaw dropped.

  “We may very well be mired in a conspiracy, senator. Our main focus is not on Jeremy Jacobsen. We need to find the men responsible for Greg Salinger’s death. A few drops of your blood may save the lives of your colleagues.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought you would be more astute, senator. You and Greg Salinger were both targets because you support the war. I suspect whoever is behind this won’t stop until our foreign policy changes.”

  “We simply can’t bend to terrorists and stop the war.”

  “I’m not saying that, sir. My only interest is to preserve life. Give me your blood and let me do my job.”

  “And you’ll keep my cooperation out of the press?”

  “I promise, but it’s not for your benefit alone, senator. You see, I agree with the district attorney that it’s best not to press charges at this time. It’s like any kind of disease. Logic dictates we find a cure before we spread an epidemic of fear.”

  Chapter 16

  Assistant Director Dudek already knew what pathologist Ed Hoyt would find before he entered the lab: nothing. Despite Agent Diggs’s efforts to retrieve the package believed to have been used to mail what Jeremy Jacobsen thought to be “truth serum. In actuality, it only contained a vial and a few milliliters of tainted water. No prints or evidence of any kind tracing the origin of the drug maker could be found. Andrew Dudek wasn’t psychic, but he did have an innate sense when it came to instinct. It told him to take a plunge today. He entered Hoyt’s lab, finding the pathologist mulling over some data with Agent Rivers.

  Although they had spent the last two hours conversing about nothing other than the effects of psychotropic drugs, the pair always felt a judging eye upon them. Lab colleagues stopped talking when they passed in the halls, leading Hoyt to suspect his romantic liaison with Deondra remained a hot topic of conversation at the water coolers. Agent Rivers didn’t suspect anything. Deondra knew she and Hoyt were considered the FBI’s hottest couple. And although Deondra resembled a celebrity, she didn’t need to be scrutinized like one.