The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  The receptionist punched on the keyboard, then looked sad. “I’m sorry, sir, but she’s already checked out. Are you Alex Beria?”

  I am today, he thought. “Yes, I am.”

  She bent down then popped up holding a sealed white envelope. “She left this for you.”

  “Thank you,” Vasquez said. He opened the envelope and unfolded the note inside.

  Dear Alex,

  As I said in my email, the second half of the money must be wired before noon today if you people want the deal to go through. No money, no deal. I’ll call my bank this morning before I go to the Capitol.

  If you need to reach me, call my cell.

  Tabby

  Vasquez returned the note to the envelope, shoving them both into his suit jacket pocket. Whipping out his cell phone, he turned around and headed toward the door.

  “Mr. Mazniashvili? This is Tyson. Aristocrates has flown the coop, and she’s trying to change the terms of your deal.”

  CHAPTER 108

  MID-OHIO VALLEY AIRPORT

  PARKERSBURG, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 10:40 A.M.

  “What is taking so long?” Rikki half screamed.

  Dave gripped the Cessna’s yoke and took a deep breath. “Once we get clearance from air traffic control, we’ll be on the ground in Charleston in 35 minutes.”

  “We should have just driven,” she shot back.

  Sheriff Vaughn fidgeted in the backseat, holding a cell phone to his ear. “Uh. Maybe not. My deputy says the State Troopers still aren’t letting him back on the road. There’s a report someone stole one of our cruisers and they’re detaining him until they get to the bottom of it.”

  Dave cracked an I-told-you-so grin. Rikki harrumphed and stared out the side window.

  The plane’s inboard radio squeaked. “November-Three-Seven-Six-One-Whiskey, you are cleared for takeoff.”

  “Roger, Tower,” Dave replied, staring through his sunglasses at the runway. “Thanks.”

  Dave slowly taxied down the runway, aligning the Cessna with the centerline. Gently pushing the throttle forward, the engine and propeller roared ever louder, and he used the rudder pedals to maintain his runway alignment.

  “I gotta go,” the sheriff said before hanging up.

  The plane sped up. Carefully monitoring his instruments, Dave applied back pressure to the yoke when his airspeed hit 55 knots, causing the nose to lift. Rolling forward, he felt the plane exhibit its tendency to turn left, so he applied the right rudder to counter it and then pitched the plane up to 75 knots to climb off the runway.

  As they banked higher, the barren, tree-covered rolling hills spread around them in every direction, broken only by sparse patches of mostly middle-class housing and the thin gray ribbon of Interstate 77 that paralleled their course to Charleston.

  “Okay, guys,” Dave yelled over the roar of the plane. “Hold on tight!”

  CHAPTER 109

  CHARLESTON TOWN CENTER MALL

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 11:00 A.M.

  Tabatha strolled through the boutique, browsing the latest fashions from New York. Soon enough, price will be no concern, and I’ll be able to enjoy everything I’ve deserved but couldn’t afford.

  Selecting a sexy red dress, she held it up and examined herself in a mirror. She smiled, thinking of how it would look on her, and how men would react when they saw her in it.

  I’m still hot now. But I’ll need some touch-up work in a few years. A little dermabrasion here. Maybe a neck lift and a tummy tuck, too. Birthing those two hellions was murder on my stomach. I’ll need to fix that now that I’m officially a free woman again!

  Her cell phone rang. Who’s calling me from a 917 number? “Hello?”

  “Mrs. McCallen? Dmitri Mazniashvili here.”

  Her nose crinkled. “Who?”

  The billionaire was struck speechless. “Uh. I’m Alex Beria’s boss.”

  Tabatha folded the red dress over her forearm. “Well, it’s about time you people got in touch with me! Where has Alex been? Why hasn’t anyone called me! And where do you get off sending some goon to my room last night threatening to kill me?!”

  “What?!”

  “Don’t act like you’re deaf! I have half a mind to call this thing off, and if I ever see the bald son-of-a-bitch who was choking me last night, I swear to God I’ll kill him.”

  “M-M-Mrs. McCallen. I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I assure you our organization had nothing to do with anyone who may have threatened you last night.”

  “Oh, he threatened me all right! Choked the hell out of me, too! Why, I swear … “

  “Mrs. McCallen!” Mazniashvili said loudly, “I will apply my full resources to determine who assaulted you last night. And when we find that man – as I assure you, we will – I will let you kill him in whatever stomach-churning manner you find most enjoyable. But right now, you and I have an extremely important business transaction to discuss.”

  Tabatha exhaled. “There’s nothing really to discuss. If you wire the other twelve-and-a-half million dollars to my bank account before noon, I’ll march into Governor Vincent’s office and do your bidding. If not, I won’t.”

  “We will get that taken care of, I assure you. But it’s taking us a little time to do it.”

  “Time’s a luxury you don’t have. You have the routing information for my account?”

  “Yes.”

  Tabatha smiled and her posture relaxed. “Fine. I’ll call the bank at a quarter ‘til noon to make sure the second installment has arrived. But if the money’s not there, you can kiss this deal good-bye and I’ll keep the first installment.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Watch me.”

  CHAPTER 110

  PRIVATE AVIATION CENTER

  CHARLES E. “CHUCK” YEAGER AIRPORT

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 11:35 A.M.

  Rikki and Dave jogged through the small civilian aviation terminal, as Sheriff Vaughn did his best to keep up, huffing and puffing as he speed-walked behind them.

  Rikki grinned. I guess kicking the snot out of Russians is his forte, not cardio.

  A Charleston Police Department cruiser waited outside the terminal’s entrance. Quickly exiting through a glass door, the three walked toward the cruiser.

  “I take it you’re the three people the mayor wants me to pick up,” the twenty-something cop remarked.

  “Yes,” Rikki replied, climbing into the passenger seat as Dave and Vaughn climbed in the back. “Let’s hit it! The meeting starts in 25 minutes!”

  The cop slammed the car into drive. “We’ll be there in ten,” he said, a glint of determination in his eyes. The tires squealed, throwing a trail of smoke in their wake, as the cruiser barreled downhill.

  CHAPTER 111

  KANAWHA BOULEVARD EAST

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 11:45 A.M.

  Driving her black BMW east on Kanawha Boulevard, Tabatha made her way upriver toward the Capitol. Her cell phone lay beside her with the speakerphone on.

  “And you’re absolutely positive that money is in the account?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. McCallen. We don’t receive wire transfers of $12.5 million every day. It was deposited into McCallen Resources’ account 10 minutes ago.”

  “And that’s the company account I set up last week, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Tabatha breathed a sigh of relief. 25 million dollars and a free woman to boot! Life couldn’t get better unless I saw that thick-fingered goon who choked me last night jogging down Kanawha Boulevard right now. Then I could run his ass over, and life would be perfect.

  “Thank you very much, Alicia. I’ll be in touch.”

  Tabatha ended the call. Three seconds later, a 202 area code number rang in. She smiled smugly. Must be another big shot from Petromica, making sure Momma is happy. Beca
use if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!

  “Hello?”

  “This is Tyson Turner from Petromica. The second installment has been wired to you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Turner, thank you. I’ve enjoyed doing business with your company.”

  “Now you must make it to the governor’s office in time to vote. Where are you?”

  Tabatha glanced at the dashboard. “My GPS says I’m a mile away.”

  “Wonderful. You just need to drive down California Avenue and enter the Capitol through the governor’s parking area in the basement.”

  Tabatha stiffened in the driver’s seat. “I most certainly will not.”

  “What?! Why not?”

  “I’m not the governor’s dirty little secret,” she said. “He’s not sneaking me in through the basement. If he wants my vote, he can be seen in public with me for a change. Today, I’m strutting my pretty little ass through a main entrance. And if he doesn’t like it, too bad.”

  The man took a deep breath. “I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of this situation. People are trying to keep you from arriving here by noon. You’re in danger!”

  “Ha! I’m in no more danger now than I was last night, when your goon tried to kill me.”

  “Mr. Mazniashvili shared your concerns with me. I don’t know what happened last night, but we had nothing to do with it.”

  “Whatever. The bottom line is you people have paid up. If you don’t want me rolling around with Luke any more, that’s fine by me. He was always a terrible lay, anyhow.”

  The tension at the other end of the call was palpable. Tabatha relished it. “So what entrance do you plan to use, Mrs. McCallen?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied flippantly. “I haven’t decided. Just make sure the red carpet is rolled out for me when I get there. After all I’ve been through, I deserve that much.”

  She ended the call as she drove past the white marble front façade of the Capitol. Noting that all the parking spaces along California Avenue were filled, she kept driving east on the Boulevard. Seeing a few empty spaces on the westbound side, she made a U-turn and pulled into the first available one.

  I deserve that much, at least!

  ***

  The Charleston police cruiser blew through the stop light, sirens blaring and blue lights flashing, as it turned onto Kanawha Boulevard. “I’ll swing around to the East Wing and drop you off right at an entrance.”

  Rikki glanced down at her watch. Only eight minutes until the Electors met.

  The cruiser flew east down the Boulevard past the front of the Capitol overlooking the Kanawha River. The street that ran perpendicular to the Boulevard along the east side of the Capitol was California Avenue, and the cop pulled onto it.

  Looking over, Rikki saw another uniformed Charleston cop leaning against the side of the marble Capitol. Standing beside the East Wing entrance closest to the Boulevard, he wore a relaxed smile while talking into a cell phone.

  “There she is!” Dave screamed, gesticulating wildly at that entrance. Rikki looked away from the cop and saw Tabatha entering the building. Her long red hair and the stately way she walked left no doubt to her identity.

  Their driver honked the horn and squawked a warning blast with his siren. The cop at the entrance glanced over at the cruiser with an inquisitive look.

  “Stop that woman!!!” the driver screamed, pointing at Tabatha. Dave, Rikki and the sheriff slung open their doors and raced after her, as did the driver.

  The officer at the door sprung into action, his eyes as wide as Frisbees. Hurling open the thick glass-and-steel door, he yelled, “Halt!”

  ***

  Tabatha was twenty feet inside the door when the cop told her to stop. She kept walking down the Capitol’s main corridor that ran through the Rotunda and connected its two wings.

  Remain calm. Maybe he’s not talking to you.

  Those delusions shattered when the thick door slammed against the marble surrounding the entrance, and the cop yelled, “The female subject just entered the East Wing and is heading towards the Governor’s Office! Requesting backup!”

  Kicking off her high heels, she sprinted down the corridor with all the speed her long muscular legs could generate, dashing past oil paintings of the state’s governors that lined both sides of the marble hallway.

  “She ran cross-country!” Dave screamed. “For God’s sake, somebody tackle her!”

  Uniformed Charleston city cops raced into the Rotunda from Kanawha Boulevard and the back side of the Capitol, converging on Tabatha from both the right and left, but she ran right by them with her long strides, blowing through the Rotunda.

  Fifty more yards! You can do it!

  Tabatha flew past the Secretary of State’s door, and the public entrance to the Governor’s Office loomed twenty yards ahead. Smiling widely, she cranked up the pace with the most energetic finish line kick of her life. Reaching the end of the corridor, as she prepared to turn into the Governor’s Office, a burly Charleston cop flew in and violently tackled her like she was a running back trying to vault into the end zone.

  She flailed on the marble floor, trying to dislodge the cop from her back. “Get off me! I have to get in there! Don’t you know who I am?!”

  The cop’s hefty body barely budged, and he remained sprawled atop her. A bevy of other officers quickly reached the scene. Some grabbed her arms and legs, while others formed a human barricade across the Governor’s Office entrance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the tackler replied with a grin, breathing heavily as he spoke. “You’re Tabatha Pettigrew McCallen, and you’re under arrest.”

  “For what?!”

  An officer in the barricade unfolded a document. “This warrant says you’re charged with the misdemeanor offense of adultery.”

  Rikki rushed up to the pile, squatting down so she could stare Tabatha in the eyes. “For starters. But when we searched your house this morning, we found the Trade Secrets Protection Addendum you signed with Petromica. So by the time we get back to St. Marys, we’ll have bribery and accessory before the fact to first degree murder added to the list.”

  Tabatha lunged at her. “You fucking camel jockey! You don’t know anything!”

  Rikki smiled menacingly. “Maybe not. But I do know the $25 million Petromica wired into that account you set up is now safely in an escrow account owned by McCallen Resources that neither you nor Petromica can access.”

  “What?! You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, yes, I can. Jack appointed me as his company’s trustee, and I can do whatever is necessary to protect that money for his heirs. And nothing would be more prudent than to get it away from your greedy little hands. Because if you had anything to do with Jack’s death, under state law, you won’t inherit a dime of his money! Everything will go to his two boys.”

  The cops lifted Tabatha from the ground, cuffed her hands behind her back and began frog-marching her toward the closest exit.

  “What’s going on here?” Governor Vincent stood in the doorway to his public reception area, looking confused. A bald man with a massive frame and meaty hands stood beside him.

  “You!” Tabatha yelled over her shoulder. “I’m not going down alone! If I go down, you’re going down too, Luke! You’ve got some nerve having that monster try to kill me last night! As soon as I make bail, I’m gonna track him down and cut his balls off, I swear to God!”

  The cops rushed Tabatha outside but her profanity and threats remained audible for at least another 50 yards. Television camera crews circled her like sharks in bloody waters.

  Sheriff Vaughn tapped their police escort on the shoulder. “You mind taking me down to Kanawha County’s courthouse? I need to be there when she’s arraigned so I can argue for a high bail and hopefully drag her crazy ass back to Pleasants County this afternoon.”

  The cop nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  “Could someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Vincent repeated, this time more emp
hatically.

  Rikki stepped toward him and extended her right hand. “Mr. Governor, I’m Rikki Gudivada, Pleasants County’s prosecutor. You and I need to have a private conversation.”

  Vincent grew silent and his lips tightened. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Let’s go back to my office and talk.”

  As the governor slowly trudged past the receptionist’s desk, Rikki turned to Dave. “I’ll be right back. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Dave looked over at the bald man who had been standing beside the governor just a moment ago. He was leaning against the doorframe for support and his face looked red.

  A State Capitol guard walked up to the bald man from the crowd. Smiling sheepishly, he tugged on his shirt sleeve. The bald man glanced at him and his eyes went wide.

  “Hey, Mr. Bowen,” the guard said. Looking around furtively, he leaned close to Bowen and asked, “How did your granddaughter like that squirrel you got her last month?”

  “Squirrel?” Dave exclaimed. His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Bowen clutched his chest and collapsed on the marble floor, shaking violently. Two Charleston cops knocked the guard out of the way, hovering over Bowen’s prostrate body. “Somebody call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

  Dave stepped away, and a crowd of hyped-up Republicans led by Gil Dean swarmed around him. One of them held out his hands, palms up. “So now what are we supposed to do?”

  Gil stepped into the breach, holding a big green book. “According to the Code, ‘If any of the Electors fails to attend at the time appointed, the Electors present shall appoint an Elector in place of each one so failing to attend, and every Elector so appointed shall be entitled to vote in the same manner as if he had been originally chosen by the people.’”

  One of the men looked at Gil, who nodded curtly. “In that case,” the Elector said, casting a quick glance at the clock on the receptionist’s desk, “since it’s noon and Tabatha McCallen is not here, I nominate Gil Dean be appointed to replace her.”

  “I second that motion, Senator Boggess,” another blurted.