Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

  “You got a hanky?”

  Schanlon arched an eyebrow as he appraised Jack. “Why?”

  “So I can wrap your wound, stupid. I don’t want you bleeding to death before we get back.”

  Schanlon nodded tentatively. “Inside right breast pocket.

  Jack fished out the handkerchief and tied it tightly around the hole in Schanlon’s thigh, staunching the flow of blood.

  “Hold that leg still, or it’ll just bleed worse.”

  Jack suddenly felt woozy, as if he was standing on the tossing deck of an ocean liner in a storm. He balanced himself on seatbacks as he stumbled down the aisle, leaning his back against the rear compartment door when he reached it. He took a deep breath and plopped down onto the floor. He gazed down at his blood-covered shirt, wincing as he gingerly touched the bloody gouge the bullet had made when it tore across his skin. He took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the door, exhausted. He dug in his pocket for the syringe Schanlon had given him then held it in front of his face, briefly scrutinizing the clear liquid it contained.

  “Well, Bass, I guess it’s time to see if this shit works.”

  He jammed the needle in his thigh and pressed the plunger all the way, hoping Schanlon hadn’t lied about what the substance was.

  Chapter 60

  Jack awoke with a start, a fog still eddying in his brain, uncertain how long he’d been out. His gaze meandered about the cabin, and his memory slowly returned. He shook his head hard, and his eyes shot wide.

  “Shit!”

  He jumped up and strode to the cockpit door, smashing the pistol butt several times against the metal. “Open up!”

  He backed away, keeping the gun aimed at the door. The lock clicked, and the door opened slowly, the pilot’s eyes bulging as he gazed at the gun pointed at his face.

  “Back up slowly and get back in your seat,” Jack snapped.

  The pilot nodded and turned, sliding clumsily into his seat as he tried to keep his eyes glued on Jack.

  “Strap in!”

  The man wrapped his harness belts around himself and put his hands on the controls. Jack stepped into the cockpit doorway and braced himself against the frame.

  “Put the autopilot on then hold your hands up. You and I are going to talk about the story we’re telling when we get back.”

  The pilot nodded, his gaze darting between Jack and the plane’s instrument panel.

  “Like I said before, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt that you weren’t part of this horseshit,” Jack said.

  The pilot shook his head. “Hey, man, I’m just a corporate pilot—I just fly the damn plane when and where I’m told. I don’t mix with the bigwigs. I’m not part of anything,” he rattled off rapidly.

  Jack scrutinized him silently for several seconds, wondering if he could be trusted. “You ex-military?”

  “Well…yeah…eight years in the air force. Captain in an air transport wing.”

  “Good. I’m a retired army lifer…terminal at lieutenant colonel. I think maybe we can work together.”

  The pilot nodded eagerly. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Jack finished his instructions and looked intensely at the pilot. “Well?”

  “I got it. That sounds like a believable story.”

  “Good—so glad you agree.” Jack still felt exceptionally ill-tempered. “Let’s just leave the mike open, though…just to play it safe,” he said, backing out of the cockpit doorway. “I wouldn’t want you to call ahead and have any surprises waiting for me when we land.”

  The pilot shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m on board with the story. I just want to get off this damn plane and go about my business.”

  Jack smiled and closed the door behind him. Schanlon glared at Jack as he shuffled past Schanlon toward the rear of the cabin. Jack caught the man’s expression and stopped.

  “I’m going back to talk to the senator. You behave.” He jabbed him in the shoulder. “Remember, if you try anything, you can still go for a solo flight.”

  Schanlon stared straight ahead and nodded slowly, his jaw muscles tense.

  Jack stumbled toward the rear compartment, still dizzy from the powerful drugs flogging his brain. I guess I know now what Hank was going through when he took that shot at me. Can’t say I care for the sensation. He threw the rear cabin door open and stepped inside. The senator was huddled in an overstuffed chair, wringing his hands. His gaze shot to Jack.

  “Okay, Senator, the pilot and I have agreed on a story. I’m going to tell it to you just in case anyone asks about what happened on this flight. I’m hoping that won’t happen. Then I’m going to tell you my plans for what you’re going to do when you get back to Washington. Questions?”

  Cinch stared at the top of his desk and shook his head.

  “Good,” Jack said then took a seat across from the senator.

  Chapter 61

  “I’ll go along with your story…but I-I can’t tell you who all is involved—I’d be a dead man,” Cinch muttered.

  “Well, Senator, I guess you should’ve considered that before you went down this road. By the way, what’s it cost a company these days to make a whore out of you?”

  “I’m not a whore!” the senator yelled indignantly.

  Jack stared impassively at him for several seconds. “Okay, prostitute, then. You use any term you want—rationalize it any way you want. I just want to know how much. Call it idle curiosity.”

  “Schanlon’s donating five million a year to my re-election super PAC.”

  “That will become laundered cash in some shell account in Panama?” Jack asked drily.

  Cinch glared at him.

  “Now I know how much a D.C. whore costs.” Jack sat silently and stared at the senator, knowing the power of silence in these scenarios.

  “What?” the senator demanded.

  “I’m still waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “The names of the others involved in this legalized narcotic-trafficking scheme.”

  The senator laughed and shook his head. “Bass, you don’t understand what a nobody you are. This thing is big. These people will squash you like a bug and never think twice about it.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “I suggest you walk away while you still can.”

  “Nothing I haven’t been told before, Senator…and yet, here I am. Alive and kicking. A thorn in the side of schmucks like you and your buddies.” Jack smiled wryly. “And I’ve already died once…the thought of doing it again really doesn’t scare me, so save your threats—”

  “Then maybe the thought of your daughter dying will make you think twice about what you’re planning!” the senator blurted.

  Jack’s hand shot out in a blur, and he grabbed the man by his tie, dragging him across the small conference table. The senator shrieked and struggled to push away, but Jack held him firmly, inches from his own face.

  “You just crossed a line you should never cross with me, asshole. Anything happens to my daughter and I’ll invent new ways for you to feel pain,” he snarled. Jack threw him back into his seat. “I’m through being nice. Give me names, or I tell the pilot to turn around and head back out over the ocean.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Jack laughed uproariously. “You stupid fuck—you’ve already seen that I will. Just like your buddies you mentioned a moment ago, I’d throw you out the door and never think twice about it. Hell, I’d feel good about removing such a scumbag from this earth…and from the government of our country.” He reached toward the intercom button. “What’s it gonna be?”

  The senator sighed dramatically. “Okay, but you’re signing your death warrant…”

  “Just so you know, Senator, I’ve already sent the videos of you to someone who is now preparing them for posting on YouTube and Facebook. If they don’t hear a prearranged message from me every twenty-four hours, they release it.” He stood and stepped over to the senator then poked him
hard in the shoulder. “I may be dead, but what do you think is going to happen to you if I die?”

  Cinch glared at Jack then pulled out a drawer on the desk. “I need a paper and pen.”

  Jack rested a hand on the butt of the pistol in his waistband. “No need. I have an excellent memory. Start talking.”

  The senator named names, and Jack’s mouth dropped open several times as he learned who was involved. He then gave Cinch detailed instructions on what he was to do when he returned to work in D.C.

  Jack stepped back from looking out the window. “Looks like we’re landing. Clear on the plan, Senator?”

  Cinch nodded slowly.

  “I’ll call you in a week and give you more details…then you will execute that plan exactly as I’ve instructed.”

  The senator’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor.

  * * *

  Hank watched from his car as the Gulfstream jet taxied to a stop on the tarmac at Leesburg Airport. He ran into the hangar building when he saw Jack stumbling down the steps of the plane. Hank blasted past the manager in the lounge area, stopping when he was unable to open the locked door leading to the aircraft area. He spun back to the man.

  “Open this fucking door! Now!”

  The man cringed. “Okay. There’s no need to be rude.” He slinked over and unlocked the door, holding it open for Hank.

  Hank nodded once at him. “Thanks.” He sprinted across the tarmac, skidding to a halt next to Jack.

  “Hey, Hank. Glad you could join the party.” Jack wobbled as he looked at Hank.

  Hank grabbed Jack’s arm and steadied him. “Jack! What the hell’s wrong with you? What happened?” He shot a quick glare at Cinch as he appeared in the doorway of the jet. “Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

  “I’ll tell you about it on the drive home. Right now, we just need to get the hell out of here.”

  Hank again glowered fleetingly at Cinch, who had been joined by Schanlon in the doorway of the jet. Hank hurriedly guided Jack into the hangar building.

  “You should probably call an ambulance,” Jack said to the hangar agent as he and Hank rushed by the lobby counter.

  Chapter 62

  Several Days Later

  Every day since his flight with Cinch and Schanlon, Jack had recorded the congressional hearings broadcast on C-Span, then at night, he’d review the tapes. It had been several days and there still was no action on the Senate floor by Cinch as he’d agreed to in his discussions with Jack on the jet.

  Jack fast-forwarded through the day’s video until he saw Cinch appear on the screen. Jack listened to the man ramble until he walked off-screen. Jack turned the TV off then tossed the remote onto the coffee table.

  “You lying piece of shit!” he yelled.

  Fuming, Jack sat and considered his next move. After a couple of minutes, he smacked his palm against his forehead.

  “How could I have forgotten?”

  He dug his phone out of his pocket and brought up the video confession that Schanlon had given back on Cinch’s jet. Jack smiled devilishly when it finished.

  “Maybe you just need a little reminder,” he grumbled.

  Jack pulled up Cinch’s cellphone number and entered a text message.

  If I don’t see you doing what you’d agreed to, the next time you see this video it will be on CNN.

  He attached the video and hit “send” then sat back on the couch and waited. Jack thumped his leg impatiently, peeking at his watch repeatedly as he waited for a response. He checked his phone, huffed, and jammed it into his pocket.

  “You sonofabitch! Why the hell did I ever believe you’d live up to your promise?”

  He jumped from the couch, tired of Cinch’s screwing around.

  “Time to get this posted on YouTube.”

  He walked toward his home office, stopping abruptly when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out and stared at the screen.

  OK. I’ll see what I can do

  Not good enough! Tomorrow! I’ll be watching C-Span!

  I’ll try

  Jack growled as he stared at the response.

  I’m loading it on YouTube now. No show by you by this time tomorrow and I post it! I’m tired of you fucking around!

  OK. OK! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though

  * * *

  The Next Night

  Jack flipped on the TV on the kitchen countertop and poured a cup of coffee. He fast-forwarded through C-Span recordings from the day, watching for Cinch. After a few minutes, he hit the “pause” button when he saw Cinch walk to the podium on the Senate floor. Jack glanced quickly at the time of day posted at the bottom of the screen and snorted.

  “Four in the morning!” He grunted. “Don’t want any witnesses, eh, Cinch? Exactly the sort of political stunt that led to C-Span being created.”

  He watched the video. Cinch hemmed and hawed, shrouding his proposal in a bunch of procedural-language gobbledy-gook. He did mention the DEA, prescription narcotics, and oversight, though. Jack furrowed his brow and stopped the video.

  “Well, I’m not positive—but I think you just delivered on your promise. Now, let’s see if you followed through on all of what you were supposed to do.”

  He hit the play button, listening carefully to Cinch’s words.

  “…and I would like you, my Senate colleagues, to make an expedited decision on my proposal.” His gaze ran back and forth across the Senate Chamber. “After all, there are lives at stake.”

  Jack slapped his knee and guffawed. “What an actor! You’re asking an empty room for an expedited vote. What a con artist!”

  Jack slapped the TV off and drained his coffee cup in a single gulp. He wondered if there might be some procedural point that required Cinch’s request for the expedited vote to be acted on, in spite of none of his colleagues being present to hear it. He snatched up his phone.

  “I’ll call Wes—he should know someone who’d be able to tell me.”

  Chapter 63

  Two Days Later

  Jack didn’t recognize the number on his cellphone when it rang but noticed it was a D.C. area code. He poised his finger over the “accept” button for a few seconds then pressed it and hesitantly raised the phone to his ear.

  “Jack Bass.”

  “Dr. Bass. This is Randall Horton. I’m the Secretary of Veterans Affairs.”

  “Yeah…I’m familiar with your name. What can I do for you?” Jack asked skeptically.

  “We need to talk…about what happened to Senator Cinch.”

  “What?” Jack’s fingers tightened around the phone, and his face grew hot. “What are you talking about?”

  “You obviously have not been watching CNN.”

  “No. I don’t watch the news much—too depressing.”

  “You may want to tune in.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to do that,” Jack replied sarcastically. “You said you wanted to talk—what is it you need to tell me so urgently.”

  “Senator Cinch was assassinated today—”

  Jack jumped from his chair. “What the fuck did you say?”

  “There’s no need to swear at me! I said, Senator Cinch was killed today. He was speaking to a group of elderly at a town hall event, discussing elderly deaths due to prescription opioid overdoses. Someone shot him.”

  “Who shot him? Did they catch the sonofabitch?”

  Horton did not immediately respond. “No…it was a sniper. The meeting was in a park near a retirement village.”

  “Sonofabitch!” Jack began pacing around the room, thoughts flying through his head. “What happens to Cinch’s work—the bills he’s sponsoring?”

  “That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about—”

  “What? What do you want to ‘talk to me about’? Do you even know what I’m referring to?” Jack spurted then was silent for several seconds. “Are you in on this supracentyl thing, too?”

  “Just relax, Dr. Bass.”

  “Rel
ax? That, from a politician! Hah!”

  “I called because I think I can help you,” Horton replied tersely, exasperation obvious in his voice.

  “Yeah? How?” Jack responded, making no effort to conceal his skepticism.

  “Cinch introduced a bill I think you’re interested in—the one to restore some of the powers that were stripped from the DEA, improve drug study oversight, etc. You’ll need someone to keep the pressure on to get it pushed through hearings and on to a floor vote. I can help with that—I have direct lines of communication with the President and the leaders of both houses.”

  Jack wrinkled his brow. “What makes you think I’d have any vested interest in that particular proposal? Who did you talk to?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “The hell it isn’t! You call me out of the blue and say we need to talk about a politician who was just assassinated, then you imply I’m somehow involved with him. I think it’s damn important!”

  “Okay, okay! Calm down. I’ll tell you…but not on the phone. It’d be better if we spoke in person.”

  “You’re head of the VA—did you have anything to do with Schanlon’s experiments on vets with his goddam supracentyl?”

  There was silence for several seconds.

  “I thought so!” Jack exclaimed. “So, why the hell would I ever trust you?”

  There was again silence. “I-I made a bad decision…” Horton mumbled.

  “You think?” Jack said incredulously.

  “Carvin misled me on those studies. I-I want to make amends.”

  “Not gonna bring back the vets who died. It’s a deadly drug and shouldn’t be allowed to endanger the public.”

  “I’m…sorry. I’ll try to help everyone who was exposed during that study.”

  “Uh huh,” Jack replied cynically. “Don’t tell me, let me guess—you’ve seen the light.”

  “I made a mistake, okay? Now I want to fix it. You want to talk about it or not?” Horton snarled.

  “So, talk.”

  “Like I said, not on the phone—in person.”