ENEMY WITHIN THE GATES

by Richard Drummer

  “I’ve become a politician—a damned good one. Now you need to accept how things are done and stand by my side. This is not a game. This is for control of the most powerful nation in the world, and it is within my grasp.” She paused, clearly for effect.

  Jordan expected a shallow show of sincerity to finish the argument. She was not disappointed.

  “Please, honey,” her mother asked with rehearsed kindness and concern. “Trust me on this. In the end, it really does work better for everyone.”

  Jordan was through. The two tasks she had come to accomplish were now complete. She knew that attempting to change her mother’s mind would be an exercise in futility. But the meeting also answered the question; what if? What if her mother was wavering? Not sure she wanted to go forward with her plan. Willing to consider another way out. Well, now she knew. Nothing could deter the senator from her collision course with destiny.

  What frightened her to the core was that she knew many people would blindly follow this woman and her fractured logic. They would enable a horrible nightmare to play out simply because Senator Katherine Karlson looked them square in the eye and swore it was the right thing to do.

  The piper played, the mice fell into step.

  Jordan had a brief vision of the country under her mother’s leadership, and it sent a shiver of dread down her spine.

  “I was hoping you would come to see reason,” Jordan said sadly. “I know now that you won’t, that you can’t. I’m sorry, mother, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you do this. And I will not allow you to imprison me again—your own flesh and blood—just so you can dance in the light of the grandest lie ever told. Goodbye.”

  Jordan stood and stared across the table at her mother. One final glimpse of the woman who had been the sun of her universe. She paused, memorizing every detail of this moment, then turned and walked toward a back exit.

  “It can’t end this way, Jordan,” Karlson called to her. “You can’t walk away like this.”

  Jordan reached the exit and turned back to her mother. “Watch me,” she said defiantly.

  She pushed open the door and walked out. . .into the waiting arms of two of the senator’s agents.

  Karlson sat alone in the cavernous room, stunned into silence. Raw anger raged, screaming at her core, drowning out any rational thoughts. Her gut churned, head pulsating in a fog-shrouded pain. It was like the worst Sunday morning hangover she’d ever endured. She willed herself to rise, but her muscles did not respond. The conversation looped back in her mind’s eye. She squeezed her temples, straining to block it out. She had failed. Jordan was forcing her to now take actions she truly detested. It wasn’t her fault. The kid should have seen reason by now. Instead, she mucked up things even further by walking away, defiant and oblivious as ever.

  This night was to be her defining moment that would put the lock on the election. It should have been a slam dunk success story. Only now, through no fault of her own, she was being relegated to nursemaid running cleanup. Karlson swore she would never let the kid forget what she put her mother through.

  There would still be the issue of those meddlesome geek friends of hers. The potential backlash from any one of them opening their mouths was too dangerous to ignore. There was far too much on the line to second guess how to deal with the problem. Her security detail only needed to track down one of them. A little forceful persuasion would make them reveal the location of the rest. The remaining problems would be identified, located, and eliminated. She doubted such urchins of society would be greatly missed.

  A sharp rap on the door brought her thoughts back to the moment. One of Karlson’s personal security detail entered the room and walked swiftly toward her.

  “Senator, Mr. Lawton is looking for you. Everything is ready in the main ballroom.”

  All thoughts of self-doubt were discarded as she rose from her seat. “What is the status of my daughter?” she asked, walking with the broad-shouldered agent toward the exit.

  “I have confirmation she is in our custody. She’s being taken to the location that Mr. Lawton specified.”

  Such cold words to describe the handling of her one and only child, she thought. She promised herself to check on Jordan’s condition after giving her speech. Tonight would solidify her position and guarantee success. Karlson could afford to relax a little once she had the unconditional support of the unions. This election was already won before a single vote had been cast. And it was showtime.

  48

  Ethan, Murray, and Mark sat in a hotel room a short distance from the main ballroom. Under normal circumstances, it would have been the least desirable and last room to be sold when the massive convention center was utilized. It was noisy, with nearly non-stop foot traffic. But for Murray’s purposes, it was the room of choice.

  The three of them had spent the afternoon rolling in audio and video interfaces. It was easy blending in with the chaotic stream of workers as they prepared the main ballroom for the Katherine Karlson dinner. All were so busy setting up the rented PA, lighting, and stage equipment that no one paid any attention to them. With over twelve hundred guests in attendance, this would be the biggest show ever hosted by the facility. This made it very easy for Murray to deliver and set up his array of equipment completely unnoticed.

  They worked efficiently, each with their own list of tasks to complete.

  Mark sat in a corner donning a large headset as he monitored a radio transmission. His face was illuminated by the pulsing green volume indicators of a digital recorder.

  Murray read off a list of cable inputs and network IP addresses. Ethan located each corresponding plug and connected them.

  Mark suddenly stepped away from his table and slid off his headphones. “They have her,” he said solemnly.

  Ethan froze while Murray hurried into a seat at the audio console. “Did we get what we need?” he asked, adjusting sound level inputs.

  Mark nodded. “Yeah, yeah, we got everything.”

  “Good, cross your fingers, guys. Now the clock is ticking. Ethan, have you finished making those connections back there?”

  Ethan broke out of a momentary stupor and rechecked all the inputs of the routers, hubs, and audio cables. “Yes, everything is good to go. Did you ever make contact with the company running the sound?”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t pan out like I wanted. I was hoping to work with them and tap into their system. The guy in charge is a bit of a prick. He won’t let me anywhere near the controls. We’ll just have to work around him. That won’t be too much of an issue since I tracked down one of his former employees. I found out the equipment he’s using, along with their network addresses.”

  “What else do you need me to do?” Ethan asked, trying to remain useful.

  “You could help Mark do the editing we talked about. You know what we need.”

  Ethan nodded, then went to Mark’s console and donned a pair of headphones. He booted an audio software editing program and began playing back the captured audio files. The recorded sound waves danced on the video monitor. He labeled each of the clips and started cutting and pasting them together.

  Murray ran down his list of connections, pinging each address to ensure all systems were active on the network. He stopped abruptly at the one that would hack him to the convention hall soundboard. There was no reply.

  It was too early to panic, but nonetheless, it caused a stab of self-doubt. Everything being attempting tonight depended on this one connection. He grabbed his notepad and reviewed the instructions, verifying he’d followed them to the letter. Yes, all done correctly and in the proper sequence. Then what was the hangup? He looked at his watch as a nauseating wave of anxiety swept over. This was cutting it way too close. The system was supposed to have been ready for final checks ten minutes ago.

  He powered the entire console down and back up, hoping the minor glitch would correct itself. Still no change. He cringed and re-entered all of the network addresses. Maybe a single digit was
off somewhere. He tried to ping again. Nothing happened. Now he was in trouble. The entire plan teetered on the brink of failure. A bead of sweat coursed down his temple. He had just sent Jordan into the hands of her mother. Getting her back and vindicating everyone depended on this connection. Depended on him!

  “Damnit,” he mumbled aloud, staring at the tangle of cables as he searched for the source of the problem. The full weight of the entire project bore down on him, making every breath harder to inhale. Memories of past mistakes suddenly filled his mind and obscured his view, making it even harder to formulate a solution. He was now suffering a full-on panic attack. His judgment was impaired all the more. Wave after wave of self-doubt and insecurity slammed him further down a dark chute. He felt like a drowning man, knowing the end was upon him but refusing to inhale that fatal lungful of water and get it over with. He heard the rumble of applause and cheering through the walls from the main ballroom. The show was beginning.

  He was failing! He looked over and watched Mark and Ethan working diligently on the audio editing program. Their part of the master plan would soon be complete. His piece of the puzzle, meanwhile, the keystone of the entire project, sat idle. Dead in the water. Dead, as in no connection, as in. . .shit! He rushed to the back of the console and re-checked all of the wired connections that Ethan made. He manually traced the cat five cables from output to input. Holding each one and following its course, he verified it was plugged in and terminated in the proper receptacle. He didn’t find anything wrong. Nothing stood out that could cause the problem. He was down to the last few cables when he saw it. Two jumpers connecting the mixing console into the wireless hub were reversed.

  “Oh my God,” he exhaled, praying now that the simple mixup in Ethan’s connecting job was the only issue. He stood over the laptop and attempted to ping the connection again…nothing! Not a goddamned thing! He was sure that should have been it. A depressing message displayed over and over; NO RESPONSE.

  “Wait,” he yelled out loud, remembering the system would not initialize without the proper connections at startup. He closed out of the program and rebooted the computer. His hands clenched and unclenched as the laptop took its sweet time restarting. Finally, the welcome screen appeared. Slowly, carefully, he entered the ping command and the address of the house console he wished to connect into. This time he was rewarded with a new message; ‘reply from remote server successful.’

  Murray closed his eyes and blew out a sigh of relief. He dropped into the seat and entered the instruction sequence to seize control of the house system, drumming his fingers impatiently while waiting for the acknowledgment message. Such a simple problem that caused such anguish. He knew that Ethan was not to blame for the mistake. In his haste, he hadn’t gone back and verified all the work himself. My fault, not his, Murray admitted.

  The computer beeped as the new program screen opened. A broad smile of relief spread across Murray’s face as he pressed the enter key one more time. Done!

  His console was now live and connected to the main controls of the convention room. It was also invisible to the users sitting at that other console. Murray had done it! He glanced over at Ethan, who looked up, made momentary eye contact with a nod, then returned to his screen. Murray thought how close he’d come to a full crash and burn on the entire project. This was one small detail that didn’t need to be shared with the rest of the group. He pushed one of the audio channel sliders forward and announced, “Here we go.”

  49

  Karlson was led around the back of the massive convention hall via a service walkway. She entered a sizeable curtained-off staging area that served as a dressing room and found the refreshment table. Gene Lawton caught sight of her and hurried over as she popped the top of a diet soda.

  “Katherine, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! We’re behind schedule and need to get you on stage.” Lawton’s expression was once again a few degrees south of his usually unflappable demeanor. Although he was doing his best to appear in total control, Karlson could see that the ordeal was taking its toll. She was confident that she could get both their heads back in the game with a little horizontal interlude. The thought aroused her. She imagined throwing him down on a table and taking all that she needed to satisfy her unexpected craving. All in good time, she reassured herself, all in good time.

  Karlson pulled out her speech notes as an audio tech clipped a lapel microphone to her gray herringbone Armani jacket. She eyed Lawton slyly as she flipped through the pages, verifying they were in order. They would be utilized more as props. Karlson always memorized her speeches like a movie script. She could also read from the teleprompters if necessary. Technology had forever changed the political landscape, and these were the tools of a convincing statesman. The speaking and literary skills of the founding fathers themselves were Jurassic by comparison. Very few, if any, would ever have survived their first televised debate.

  The audience of over twelve hundred were pleasantly stuffed and tipsy after being treated to an evening fit for royalty. Union representatives, business owners, and political contributors were indulged with some of the finest food and drink that money could buy. Though this evening’s fare might be a typical meal for the wealthiest attendees, most of the union delegation and the smattering of blue-collar guests could never afford such amenities on their simple working man’s wages. These people were here only because the union needed to show a united front to its candidate. The lucky recipients were only too happy to oblige.

  Karlson catered the event with the very best culinary cuisine from her favorite suppliers. It was a masterpiece of a meal, and it cost the senator nearly $200 per person to wine and dine them. But the $5k per plate charge more than covered the luxuries being enjoyed by her supporters.

  Gene Lawton watched in awe as Karlson prepared for the speech. It seemed that the woman could walk through the screaming winds of a hurricane and exit the other side with hardly a hair out of place. He was also wary of such controlled callousness. She had shown her claws on enough occasions for him to expect the unexpected. Lately, he’d been devoting more and more time to a backup plan of self-preservation. His personal assistant was currently holding a resignation letter drafted by Lawton over the last two days. In it, he wrote of learning about the Jordan West situation only recently and was personally outraged. ‘In clear conscience, I cannot continue in my position as campaign manager,’ the letter read. With a phone call, Lawton would instruct her to put the envelope on the senator’s desk. More of the blame for this entire affair could be shifted to others, including Governor West’s assistant, Riley Comstock. If that wannabe wanted to see action, then she’d get it, and a lot more than she bargained for.

  The stage producer positioned Karlson at the base of the stairs. Lawton came and stood next to her, offering a nod and a thumb’s up. Pulling off their modified plan would be a tremendous accomplishment. The odds were stacking up against them, but he was now prepared for whatever came. He accompanied her up the steps and slid behind the curtains.

  The owner of a medical equipment company was finishing his speech on the future of socialized medicine in America when he caught sight of the senator. He nodded at the cue, then began his introduction.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, since her explosive entry into the political arena, the people of this nation have borne witness to the rise of a natural leader. Her first term as a California senator signaled the start of an amazing career that would bring us to this day, this place, and this next great challenge. There is one and only one candidate who has shown the intellect, creativity, resourcefulness, compassion, dedication, and determination to guide us through the dark days ahead. Our country now calls on every one of us to follow her lead. It is time to take America back from the elite billionaires who have manipulated our flawed system to serve only themselves. It is time to put a leader in the oval office who believes in sharing the fruits of our collective labors. One that reaches out to other nations with a promise to end world hunge
r and poverty. One who believes that all countries should become one united world community. She knows what needs to be done and stands ready to lead us down that bold new road. She is here with us tonight and is asking for your support. Please welcome the brilliant statesman, the courageous fighter, the bright shining beacon of hope that now lights our way. I give you the next president of the United States. Senator. . .Katherine. . .Karlson!”

  The room erupted in thunderous applause. Cheers and whistles echoed shrilly as Karlson stepped out into the bright lights of the stage. With hands held high, she waved to the clamoring crowd. A pair of twelve-foot video monitors on either side of the stage had been displaying photographs of Karlson hugging destitute children as she toured the slums of the world. They now flashed and filled with her live image. At this moment, Katherine Karlson was bigger than any rock star. She was in her element and made the most of every second, allowing their adulation to continue unabated for all of three minutes.

  Karlson smiled brightly, affectionately, pointing to key supporters in the audience and returning their applause. She walked back and forth, blowing kisses, bowing her head, and mouthing her thanks. Then, as the sounds of the enthusiastic audience began to wane, she took her place behind the podium.

  She gazed out over the smiling faces of working stiffs and wealthy supporters, savoring the moment as the last of the applause slowly died away. This was the pivotal milestone of her career, her life, and for the country as well. Few others would ever know such power and distinction. She stood at the pulpit, ready to receive the scepter. Ready to be the catalyst of change for a nation that so fiercely guarded its freedom yet so freely empowered others to make the critical decisions that could take it away.