"Oh good morning Brenda, how’s life in the maelstrom?"
"Gone from worse to catastrophic I’m 'fraid."
"Now that’s not like you Brenda, where’s that old British pluck you’re so famous for?"
"Could you pop over here Bill? It’s ever so important."
"You mean now?"
"Yes. …Please Bill, I honestly don’t know what to do…"
"About what Brenda?"
"Oh my God, Bill," Brenda said breaking down, "Hank died in the hospital last night… he’s gone Bill."
Bill sat stunned by the news, holding the phone to his ear but not knowing what to say.
After a short pause, Bill said in a soft voice, "I’ll be right over."
The walk over to the corporate offices was a short one. One three-story building just outside the prison’s perimeter fence held the surprisingly few employees that were necessary to run ReformCo. Most of the operation’s functions were either farmed out to the company’s 42 prison properties, or outsourced to other private companies. Only a small staff was needed to handle shareholder services, legal, and accounting, which was located on the first two floors, leaving the top floor for the executive offices.
Bill arrived on the third floor just as a hastily called meeting was starting. Brenda met Bill at the elevator and hustled him past the growing din in the conference room and back to an executive office.
"Thanks for coming so quickly Bill," she said in a hushed voice as she closed the door behind her. "I really don’t know what to do! It looks like a shareholder meeting will be held next week, and I’m supposed to find answers to the board’s questions in that time! The stock is plummeting since Hank’s arrest, and news of his death will probably ruin the company!"
"First tell me about Hank," Bill said trying to calm Brenda. "What happened?"
"They aren’t sure, maybe a heart attack… or stroke, they weren’t very helpful at-all! I called first thing this morning to check on him and they told me he’d died during the night!"
"Okay, try to take a deep breath Bren." Bill said, thinking quickly of a way to head off the disaster. "It seems to me that his death may be a good thing," he said fending off Brenda’s shocked look and stare of disapproval at his suggestion.
"Look, Hank was being held as a multiple murder suspect. Bad press doesn’t come much worse than that. Now, as shocking as it is, his death brings a quick resolution to that PR nightmare. People will want answers to questions we cannot possibly anticipate, but there is one thing ReformCo can provide… the financial status of the company. If we can show we’re still solvent and profitable, the rest of it will fade more easily than if he were awaiting trial and in the news every day. And besides, there’s not a lot we can do to bring him back, right?"
Brenda sat and thought about what Bill said. She dabbed again at her eyes that were red and swollen from crying most of the morning.
"But where to start?" she said through a sob, looking to Bill for direction.
"Well, most of the PR response will be the board’s decision, but you can help by organizing Hank’s calendar, communications, and records of management memos ASAP. The transition CEO will need that to begin crafting a succession plan. Can you make copies of all that in case the originals are confiscated?"
Brenda looked again at Bill with a puzzled stare.
"If my guess is right, we’re only a few steps ahead of the Sheriff’s investigation. You know, the assignation of blame doesn’t stop just because the chief suspect dies."
"Sure thing, of course… straightaway. There’s only his desk recorder, phone records, and journal. He hated using a computer, remember?"
"Yeah, well… that makes it easier. Let me know when you’ve pulled that together, okay Bren?"
Bill left Hank’s office and tried to reach Kyle. The number rang until a notice announced that his mailbox was full. He spent the rest of the morning putting his figures in order, certain the board would want an up to date accounting of Crimson Desert.
Bill’s phone rang again, it was Brenda.
"Yes?" Bill said sharply, annoyed at the interruption.
"Bill? It’s Brenda. I think I’ve found something… and I don’t mind telling you it’s made me a bit nervous."
"What is it?"
"I was going through Hank’s recorder and found a call he must have made very recently, perhaps the day he was shot. Do you have time to take a listen?"
"I’m really swamped here Bren, can I come over later?"
"No, I mean, can I play it for you now, on the phone?"
"Bren…"
"It’s important, Bill. At least I think it is…"
"All right, let’s hear it then."
"All right, thanks. Now, the first voice is somebody I can only surmise Hank placed a call to named William Downs, the voice isn’t familiar though." Hang on and I’ll start the playback…"
"Yeah? I’ve been expecting your call."
"Well, I had to wait for the latest to develop. Looks like your guy in DC got the sheriff to back off, and I’ll take care of another loose end tonight. Just make sure your flyboy at the base understands his role in this means he'll hang with us if any of his crew gets chatty. Not sure what else needs doing, but one step at a time…."
"Damn you Hank, if you hadn’t been so cocky, none of this crap would have been necessary."
"Now hold on William, the lab rat was going to cause trouble whether I sat on him or not. Regardless of how, I got him to show his hand, and that my friend, saved your ass."
"My ass? Let’s not bring me into this… This crapfest is your baby Hank! Let’s not forget, we were handed a gift. This Doc took out our witness and the only link that existed to us, and at the same time gave us the leverage to get him to play ball with this project. So what did you do? You play your damn mind games and push him off the deep end. It’s your fault you’re back in the fire, Hank… don’t forget, I told you I’d hold you to it!"
"Oh, and I suppose Termes was my fault too? What a convenient memory you have Mr. Downs. You and your under-the-table government contracts were about to get very expensive before I came along. I seem to remember an 'ass' that was a good bit more grateful then than now."
"Ancient history, Hank. You can’t expect that favor has any value left with me. Or have you forgotten the cash flow coming your way over the last year? Oh, and none of that matters when you let your power games get out of control and someone gets hurt. You put everything in jeopardy because of it. You got yourself in this, and you need to handle things out there yourself. Call it a friendly warning, old buddy… don’t call me again."
"You know, its funny, William. You’re the second person to tell me that in the last hour. Well, I didn’t listen then and I’m sure as hell not listening now. See, I kinda thought you’d have that opinion some day, …that’s why I took out an insurance policy."
"Oh?"
"Let’s just say I found a someone who knows where your bodies are buried. And unlike you, they’re still grateful for what I do for them."
"There are no bodies, Hank. Have a good life."
Brenda stopped the playback and sat in silence waiting for Bill’s reaction.
Bill let out a low whistle before he spoke. "Wow. Is there anything else on the tape?"
"Just a few older conversations before this one but as far as this call, that’s all there is…"
"Any idea what he meant by insurance?"
"Not a clue."
"When do you think this was recorded?" Bill asked.
"Well, from its position on the tape, it was the day of the killings. Do you think it is important?"
"Sure sounds so, Bren. Any chance you have a number for this William Downs?"
"No, the recording picks up after he dialed and he insisted that his line's caller ID purge automatically."
"Listen carefully, now Bren." Bill said in a low voice. "This is incriminating information if I ever saw it. The law requires you to turn this over to the sheriff immediately
, but the board will want you to destroy it. The best-case scenario is we get it quashed because it is immaterial to the investigation of the gas station murders, but you are in a lose-lose situation here. I’m not sure how you can stay out of jail and keep your job at the same time … I’m sorry Brenda, I don’t mean to scare you but that’s the reality of it.
"You have to turn this over to the sheriff. Make a copy for the board but call the sheriff immediately. Tell him he needs to add it to his investigation. If you don’t you can be charged as an accessory to murder. And another thing, if I read this right, it’s more than possible Hank was murdered. Maybe by this William Downs guy. I’ll look into it from here, but if Hank was killed, …it wasn’t for being a Boy Scout or for playing by the rules, do you get my drift?" Bill hesitated before continuing.
"It will take time because you don’t know when the call was placed, but see if you can find anything in the online phone bill, there must be a record of that call somewhere."
Bill could hear Brenda sobbing but the line went dead before he could think of anything positive to say. He started searching his phone contacts looking for anyone who might have a way to get in touch with Kyle.
Chapter 25 The Seat of Power
October 2016 was a glorious month in DC. With leaves turning as crisp as the weather, the days and their lengthening shadows seemed intensified by gold and reddish hues, and the city began to ready itself for the change to winter wardrobes and appetites.
As important perhaps, October in Washington also meant the long running electoral battles would soon be settled. Almost everyone welcomed the relief from partisan bickering, even the eventual losers, who had seen the writing on the wall for months but were trapped now in campaigns of face saving optimism.
For the vast majority of legislative staffers in Washington, the raging election storm held only casual interest. Most strived to be outwardly apolitical, which was the only sure-fire way to survive a regime change. Unwavering party loyalty may be a requisite aspect of campaign staffs, but those who did the day-to-day business of government were far better off keeping their distance from controversy. Long ago most had learned the singular reality when working for politicians: never stick your head up.
There was always work to be done in the nation’s capitol. Regardless of the time of year, the temperament of the voter, or the party in power, there was always the need for government to continue issuing or amending laws, bolstering bureaucracy, investigating incompetence, or meting out justice. Even if all that could somehow be accomplished automatically, the system would still need bureaucrats. Someone had to keep track of favors granted and owed, called in or forgiven, or on occasion, shirked… which set into motion another necessary facet of Washington life: the retribution machine.
Twenty-nine year old Megan Cantellani was a natural bureaucrat. Not only had she survived three changes of administration, she’d thrived since she came to DC after graduating from Columbia. Working for two different senators, one Democrat and now Senator Deason, a Republican, had been good experience for her.
She took her job seriously and had become close to indispensable in the office of the senior senator from Nevada. Max Deason’s stock had risen quickly since she joined his staff, relying as he did on her contacts and her natural knack for devising strategy. He sat on the powerful Armed Services committee and enjoyed the enviable position of being the swing vote on important matters.
Of course, everyone would love to be the swing vote on such a powerful committee, but no one else had Megan Cantellani as their chief of staff. Max began to be courted by the leadership of both parties, the Joint Chiefs, and even the President himself on occasion, and that was as good as life got for a senator– particularly after just four years on the committee. All a testament to Megan’s prowess at playing the game.
Early on, Megan saw the way the country fought its wars was changing. We were moving from expensive and unpopular occupying forces to surgical strikes carried out by unmanned drones. The senator representing the state where the crews for those drones were based and trained was about to have a new and influential voice in the second biggest expenditure in the budget. And money in Washington, translated to power like nowhere else in the world.
She rose quickly because she was content to be the influence behind the office. Of course, her natural beauty, quick wit, and surgically enhanced figure didn’t hurt her speedy accession either. Over the years, Megan had accumulated an impressive list of the rich and powerful who owed her favors of varying value, and when she realized Senator Deason was considering a change to his chief of staff, she cashed in enough recommendations to get the job.
On the Hill, Megan was widely known as a person who could see a silver lining even in misfortune. Back in 2014, Utah voters had a collective brain fart and replaced their powerful senior senator with a novice to government, one who came in and fired the existing staff and replaced them with cronies from Salt Lake City.
Most new senators objected to the game-playing traditions and the horse-trading of favors among their peers, and the newbie from Utah was no different. But the world’s most exclusive club had a tradition of breaking such freshman exuberance, and the novice ran headlong into the Senate insistence on seniority from his first day.
Every two years, tradition dictated that senior members could claim any office from any senator with less seniority, setting into motion a cascading free-for-all as the recently pushed out did the same to those on rungs below them. Over the many months the office draft played out, number 100 had to conduct business and see constituents in a windowless hole in the basement, trying to appear senatorial and in control while staff ran up and down stairs to their respective offices on other floors.
Megan saw her chance. In short order, she had cut through the red tape and secured extra space for him in an adjoining office formally known as a storage room, and called in a soon-to-be-worthless favor to add some more dignified formal furniture for their conference room.
Megan had chosen wisely. Ferris Langley, the young chief of staff, was very grateful; and when he was asked find candidates for Max, he thought of Megan and of the favor he could nullify by recommending her.
Megan and the Max worked together well, and they soon became a force on the Armed Services committee. Such power gave Megan an unshakable confidence in her ability to command events around her, but even that confidence was not enough to prepare her for a day like the one ahead.
There was a problem on the Metro, and Megan was 10 minutes late getting to her desk. When she arrived, she found two uniformed men sitting outside her office, waiting for the senator. One of the men, an Air Force captain with a nametag that read 'Burns', had a black briefcase chained to his wrist. The other, an E-7 master sergeant named 'Garcia', wore a grim look on his face and a sidearm on his hip. Something about their gloom caused Megan to resist the urge to offer them coffee as she checked the senator’s calendar for the day.
Megan checked the schedule but saw nothing scheduled for the morning, but it wasn’t unusual for changes to be made and not added until later. Thinking quickly, Megan improvised. "Look’s like he has some time at 11:30, between his budget hearing and lunch" Megan said as courteously as possible. "You’re welcome to wait in the conference room if you wish."
"Where is he now, ma’am?" asked Captain Burns in a commanding voice.
Megan said the first thing that came to her mind: "a reconciliation meeting on the Hill, in the Senate hearing rooms…."
"Text him and tell him Colonel Chastain would like him to meet us here in 15 minutes."
"Um…" Megan uttered before she had a chance to think of what to say. "Will he know this Colonel Chastain?" she asked, not sure of what to do.
"Please, …send the text, Miss… now," said Burns.
Megan paused for a moment, resentful at being ordered around in her own office, and then began typing while watching the man adjust the chain around his wrist.
"Max, 2 men from air force
r here. Want you 2 come 2 office now, mentioned Col Chastain. Can you break away?"
Megan sent the text and again looked over at the two men. Neither had moved a muscle and the tension level was rising through the roof. Megan had learned not to ask too many questions of visitors wanting to meet with the senator, particularly from members of the military, but this was very unusual. She tried to scrutinize their visitor’s passes without drawing their gaze. They looked kosher, but she began to have her doubts. She had never heard of anyone being allowed to carry a weapon into these offices and decided to push the issue.
"Excuse me sir," Megan said addressing the man with the gun, "May I see your pass?"
"For what reason, Miss?"
"To check your clearance. It is most unusual for anyone to be allowed to carry a weapon in these offices." Megan searched his face for any signs of faltering but saw nothing but calm.
The Premise Page 28
