Bloody Politics

by Maggie Sefton

Then he stepped behind one of the massive columns, slipped off a curly gray wig and woman’s raincoat, and stuffed them inside the Redskins jacket he was wearing beneath. Leaving the National Gallery shopping bag behind the pillar, he walked down the long flight of steps to Constitution Avenue.

  _____

  I fumbled at my cell phone, trying to bring up the directory. Then the phone rang in my hand. Danny.

  “Molly? What’s the matter? You ran out of there like you were shot out of a cannon. Was he there? Did he approach you?”

  “He was there. But I didn’t see him. I … I heard him.”

  “What?”

  “I kept looking around, but I didn’t see anybody that looked like those guys. Then it was time to go, and I started walking up the steps. The gallery was almost empty. And then I heard him … somewhere behind me … whistling. He was following me … whistling ‘Molly Malone.’”

  “Son of a bitch,” Danny muttered.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the fear of those moments return. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life, Danny. I just panicked, and I ran out of there as fast as I could.”

  “You did exactly right, Molly. You got the hell out of there and away from that sick sonofabitch. But we got a photo of him. It’s Trask, all right. We were watching everybody who left the gallery and spotted an older woman come out carrying a shopping bag. But instead of walking down the steps, she went behind one of the columns outside. A few seconds later, Trask stepped from behind the column and walked down the steps. And we got a clear shot of his face.”

  I stared out the window of the cab, watching traffic flow past on Constitution Avenue. “The old woman! That was him?”

  “He’s clever, I’ll give him that. But we’ve nailed him. Now we just have to flush him out. Listen, where are you now? Where’s the cab?”

  “Uhhhhh, looks like we’re on Constitution just passing Sixteenth Street.”

  “Have the cabbie drop you at the Willard. I don’t want you going home alone without me. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can get my car. Stay in the lobby around a lot of people. Or go to the bar. I’ll be right there.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “I’m already gone.”

  Later that evening

  Raymond stood beside the expanse of window in Spencer’s office and stared into the darkened streets below. Nighttime traffic flowed along Pennsylvania Avenue, lights illuminating buildings on either side. Traffic lights—red, yellow, and green—headlights, and flashing orange signal lights brightened the night like early holiday decorations. Blinking, twinkling, all along the avenue to the very brilliantly lit white ornament at the top of the tree—the U.S. Capitol. Shining alabaster white.

  He took a deep sip from the crystal glass. Spencer’s Premium Scotch. Once more, the golden heat coated his throat. It was the only thing that could. “Funny. I never get tired of this view,” he said to Spencer, who stood beside him.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Spencer swirled the Scotch in his glass.

  “You’ve had this office for, let’s see … nearly twenty years, right? When I came, you were in another smaller place on Sixteenth. Damn, that’s been twenty-five years.”

  “Yeah. Long time ago. Ryker was just starting his third term in Congress.” He took a deep drink.

  Raymond couldn’t miss the edge in Spencer’s voice. Those old memories weren’t so fond anymore. He turned to face his friend and colleague. “How’s Ryker taking it? Being forced out, I mean.”

  “Not good. But he’s got no choice, and he knows it. He has to resign the chair of the House Financial Services Committee if he wants Montclair and the group’s protection, get help in fighting any bribery or other charges that come up.”

  “It’s gonna be hard for him to give up that power. What if he refuses and tries to hang on?”

  Spencer turned away from the view, and a hint of anger flashed across his face. “Then he’ll do it alone. He’ll get nothing and neither will his family. The press will tear him to pieces, no matter what. He’s finished in Congress, anyway. There’s nothing left for him to hang onto. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Raymond watched another emotion flash across his old colleague’s face. Fear. He’d heard it in Spencer’s voice on the phone. Now he saw it on his face. “What are you going to do now? Take a vacation?”

  Spencer stared into his glass. “Yeah, Montclair thinks I need to get out of D.C. for a while. He’s inviting me to his place in the Bahamas. Take it easy for a few months, lie in the sun, relax. Then he’ll try to find a spot for me in one of his consulting firms in London.” He glanced back at Raymond.

  Raymond could see the panic banked in Spencer’s eyes, and felt his own warning bell go off inside. He could read the writing on the wall. “Well, it sounds like he didn’t go ballistic. That’s good. I was afraid he would when he found out Malone was the one behind the leaks.”

  “Yeah. I was surprised too.” He abruptly turned and walked over to the liquor cabinet across the room. “Let me refill that for you. Listen, Raymond, I’ll call you once I get settled in there. And make sure you call me if you need anything.”

  Raymond glanced around the office, the luxurious furnishings, so familiar after all these years. “Will do. And thanks again for the Scotch. It’s the only thing that eases the cough.”

  Spencer reached over and poured until Raymond’s glass was half full. Then he looked at Raymond, genuine concern in his eyes. “You need to get that cough taken care of. We won’t be needing those higher-level services for a while. So this would be a good time for you to go to one of those medical resorts or something. See a doctor. Hell, get a massage or something.”

  Raymond laughed softly, then took a deep drink of the best medicine he knew. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking I might do that,” he lied. “Relax, sit in the sun, like you said. Winter’s coming here. It’ll be rain and snow and gray for months.”

  Spencer settled into the leather sofa and glanced around his office. “You’re right. Winter’s coming. It’ll be good for us both to get away. I’ll let you know once I settle into a place in the Bahamas. You might want to come out and bask in the Caribbean sun.” He caught Raymond’s eye. “You’re going to clear out your office, right? Computers, files, everything.”

  Sinking into the loveseat across from him, Raymond felt his insides sigh as he relaxed into the leather. “Don’t worry. It’ll be swept clean. I’ll let you know when it’s done. I’ll call Trask on the way back to Virginia. We’ll start tomorrow.”

  Spencer glanced at his watch. “Damn, it’s past ten o’clock. I’m sorry to call you here so late. Why don’t you stay at the Willard tonight. I keep a suite there for visiting clients.”

  Surprised and a little touched by his colleague’s considerate gesture, Raymond smiled. “That’s nice of you, Spencer. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll call them and authorize everything. They’ll bring you anything you need. If you want a steak tonight, just ask for it.”

  Raymond started to laugh, until that cough began to rise in his throat. “I’ll think about it. As long as there’s some of this Scotch, I’ll be fine.”

  Spencer grinned, one of his old familiar grins. “There’s a whole case of it there, Raymond. My private cache. Oh, and if you want any adult company, I can arrange for that too.”

  This time, Raymond started laughing and didn’t even try to stop. Damn the cough. A few years ago, he’d have taken Spencer up on his offer. Right now, however, an evening’s entertainment might kill him.

  _____

  “Keep the change,” Raymond said as he handed the cabbie a large bill, then climbed out of the taxi.

  “Good evening, sir,” the Willard bell captain greeted as he sped down the steps to meet him. “Will you be staying with us tonight?”

  “Yes, I will. No luggage,” Raymond said a
s he slowly walked up the carpeted steps to the Willard’s old-fashioned grand entrance.

  The bell captain quickly sped around him and was up the steps and already holding open the polished brass door. Might as well enjoy all this, Raymond thought. It would be easier to get an early start on clearing out his office tomorrow.

  Remembering that he hadn’t yet called Trask, Raymond reached inside his suit jacket for his cell phone as he walked through the door into the Willard’s large foyer, which opened in several directions. He stopped and was about to scroll through his cell phone’s directory for Trask’s number when he glimpsed not one, but two familiar faces. Very familiar faces.

  Molly Malone and Daniel DiMateo. They were walking out of the Willard bar and heading toward the front doors. Raymond couldn’t help but stare.

  Well, I’ll be damned. What are they doing here? Wonder if Trask’s around?

  Raymond poised his finger over the cell phone again, pretending to be busy, while he watched Malone and DiMateo from the corner of this eye. They actually stopped not that far from him. Malone smiled up at DiMateo, and he gave her a quick kiss before they walked outside.

  Raymond watched them through the glass as they stood at the bottom of the steps. They made a nice couple. An attendant brought DiMateo’s car around and Raymond watched them drive off.

  He pushed Trask’s number and listened to it ring a couple of times before he answered. For all he knew, Trask was outside somewhere.

  “Hey, I called earlier, but it went to voice mail.”

  “Yeah, I was with Spencer. Listen, we’re gonna have to break down the office tomorrow. Spencer wants it cleared out completely. They’re folding their tents. They sure won’t be needing our services. So we need to get those computer hard drives out and destroyed. Bring a truck with you tomorrow. We’ll need it. I’m going to get there by eight.”

  “Okay, will do. I kind of figured they’d go to ground, what with old man Ryker getting hammered. Those reporters have dug up stuff from thirty years ago. He’s gonna be in court for years. Hope he has a good lawyer. The committee will probably help him with that.”

  “Yeah, as long as he does what he’s told and resigns. That’s what Spencer’s doing too. He’s heading out of Washington, out of the country.” That’s what he hopes. Raymond had a bad feeling. “And we’re gonna have to get out of here too. After we clean everything, so there’s no trace.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Hey, did Malone go anywhere tonight? Did you follow her?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Escort dropped her home, but she left right after that, walked to Wisconsin, then took a cab to the National Gallery. I figured she was going to meet someone. She waited down in the café over an hour, looking all around, but whoever it was didn’t show, so she left. She ran off to get a cab before I could follow her. Probably went home.”

  “Nope. I just saw her leave the Willard bar with DiMateo, so they must have met. Who knows? Maybe he was supposed to meet her at the gallery. Funny you weren’t following her. You’re usually right on her tail.”

  “Well, she kind of ran out of there real fast. So I just let her run.”

  Raymond picked up on the slightly amused sound in Trask’s voice. “That’s not like you, Trask. What happened? Don’t tell me you made contact.”

  Trask laughed softly. “Not exactly. The gallery was closing, so it was empty, and sound really echoes in those marble halls. I couldn’t resist. She was on the stairs just ahead and couldn’t see me. So I started whistling that little Irish tune. You know, the one about the lass that wheels her wheelbarrow through Dublin.”

  “Molly Malone. Damnit, Trask! You broke cover just to taunt her? You know better than that!”

  “Relax. She never saw me. But she heard me, all right. She started running up those steps fast. By the time I got outside, she was already flagging down a taxi.”

  “Congratulations, Trask. You just succeeded in scaring an unarmed woman in an empty building at night. What’s next, frightening little children in the street?” Raymond didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

  Trask just laughed.

  “Well, Malone didn’t stay scared for long. In fact she and DiMateo looked pretty happy when I saw them a few minutes ago.”

  “For now.”

  Raymond didn’t like the sound of that. “Leave ’em alone, Trask. This is over. We’ve finished this job. Nobody has any reason to look for us. Unless you give them one.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Raymond.”

  Trask’s voice had that smug sound Raymond had been hearing lately. Clearly, Trask wasn’t taking advice. “Whatever. Make sure you get a good-sized pickup truck for tomorrow, okay? We’ll need it. See you at the office.” Raymond clicked off before Trask could reply.

  twenty

  Saturday morning

  Larry Fillmore pulled his cell phone from his pocket and stared at the name. He quickly stepped away from the sidewalk bordering the National Mall as a group of tourists approached, tour guide in front. November did not bring a slowdown in tourists visiting from all over the world. Washington, D.C. was a twelve-month, 365-days-a-year tourist destination.

  “Hey, Spencer. It’s good to hear from you. I’d left a few messages. When I didn’t hear back … well, I wondered. What’s happening? With Ryker, I mean?”

  “You can see it on the news like everyone else. He’s fighting a losing battle.”

  Spencer’s voice had a flat tone that Larry hadn’t heard before. It chilled him. “Jeeez … is he really gonna resign?”

  Spencer snorted. “He’ll have to. The press isn’t going to let him go. They’ve found people from the past who’re willing to testify against Ryker now. They’ll finish him off. There’ll be nothing left but a grease spot on the pavement. If he’s as smart as he used to be, he’ll retreat to the Montana ranch and huddle with his lawyers. Try to stay out of jail.”

  How the mighty have fallen, Larry thought to himself, but all he said was, “Damn.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up. Listen, Larry, sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I’ve been pretty busy. I’m putting everything on hold over here at my office for a while. I’ve sent my other clients to associates, because I’ll be taking a leave of absence. Spend a little time in Europe, change of scenery, you know. So … I won’t need your assistance on any more research assignments, if you know what I mean.”

  Larry stared out onto the nearly empty green expanse of the Mall; the Capitol and the Lincoln Memorial anchored each end. In between, the Washington Monument stood tall and proud like a sentinel. Keeping watch, perhaps.

  Larry knew exactly what Spencer meant, and that little chill spread inside. “Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem.”

  “Oh, and Larry, my advice is to forget about any of those past projects. Erase them from your memory. You just concentrate on taking care of Congressman Jackson and staying in his good graces. And it wouldn’t hurt to be nicer to your staffers. You don’t need to make any more enemies than you already have. Understand?”

  “Yeah … I understand,” Larry said, as that chilly feeling turned cold.

  “I thought you would. You’re smart, Larry. So, keep your head down and stay out of trouble, okay?”

  “Okay,” Larry said obediently, but Spencer had already clicked off.

  Larry looked around at the tourists parading by. Young and old, they looked happy as they walked across the grassy green, laughing, talking, and taking photos. It was sunny outside, but there was a hint of winter’s cold on the breeze that brushed against his face as Larry silently joined the tourists who were heading across the Mall.

  Saturday afternoon

  Raymond stood in the front room of his office, empty now except for the desk and chair. Bright midday sun shone through the front window. The office building Raymond had been watching as it slowly took shape was now finished. An
d it did indeed block off part of his view, just as he thought.

  Trask’s voice came from the hallway behind him. “Okay, those file cabinets are emptied. I’ve got it all in trash bags, ready to take the last load to the incinerator.”

  “Did that guy who works there give you any trouble?”

  “Naw,” Trask shook his head. “I slipped him three hundred bucks this morning when I brought over the first load. Told him I’d give him more this afternoon. He’s even staying around to make sure no one else comes along to get in the way.”

  “Good. Here, give him something extra.” Raymond dug out his wallet and removed several bills, then handed them to Trask. “That should ensure his cooperation and a poor memory afterwards. Did you strip the computers and destroy the files?”

  Trask stuffed the money in his pocket. “Yep, circuit boards, memory, storage—you name it, all smashed and burned in the incinerator as well. Empty shells, monitors, dumped into trash bins behind a movie complex on Georgia Avenue.” He jerked his thumb toward the back room. “Shelves are empty. All that’s left is the table and couple of chairs. Oh, and your little fridge.”

  “Good, good,” Raymond said. He walked over to the desk and sat down in his worn desk chair. “Thanks for bringing the sandwiches. I appreciate it.” He gestured to the empty fast-food bag.

  Trask sat on the edge of the scarred walnut desk. “I figured you wouldn’t take time to eat. How’s that Scotch holding out?” He pointed to the silver flask Raymond had filled just this morning.

  “Okay. I’ve got enough to last me till I get home tonight.” He gave a small smile. “I’ve got to clear out a small file cabinet at home, but that’s all. I’ll have a little roast in the fire pit outside tonight.”

  Trask looked at him with that concerned expression Raymond had spotted from time to time. “You also need to get that cough taken care of. It’s a lot worse.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m gonna take care of it. Spencer suggested I go to one of those resort health places. Maybe I will. There’re some in Mexico.”