"Come on, it’ll be fun!" she said as she turned and motioned for Jack to enter.
"Senator Deason," Megan said, "may I introduce Jack Colder."
Max rose and motioned Jack to the seat in front of his desk while extending his hand. "Well, I can’t claim to have read all your books, but my wife likes 'em." he said with a slight accent Jack couldn’t quite place. "Course, she has more free time than I do." A flash of regret crossed Max’s face. "I understand you want some background for your next book. Well, let me say right now though, I don’t think my life is interesting enough to compel anyone to turn the page, much less buy the damn thing!"
"Thanks for seeing me Senator, although I think you’re selling yourself short." Jack said as he shifted in his seat, sizing up the senator and looking for an opening.
"Well, what the hell kind of senator would I be if I did that?" Max said with a grin that oddly didn’t match the serious look in his eyes. "I’ve got a busy day ahead of me Mr. Colder, let’s get to it, what sorts of things do you want to know about?"
"Well," Jack said searching for the right way to ask the question. He must have come up with a dozen ways to broach the subject, but now they had all escaped him. "Let’s see, you’re on the Armed Services Committee, right?"
"Yes," the senator said. Jack could almost see his eyes glaze over at the first question. Max was quickly getting distracted by the tall correspondence pile on his desk.
"How much power does that position afford you?"
"Power?" The word clearly got the senator’s attention.
"Yes, power." Jack pushed ahead. "For example, could it be enough to get an Air Force base commander to cover up a murder, or even several murders?"
"What kinda book you writing there son?" Max said with the thinnest of smiles and a cold glare.
"Fiction," Jack shot back with a serious look of his own.
"Well I dare say it is Mr. Colder. There’s no position in Washington powerful enough to get something like that done."
"You’re also the committee lead pushing the Rebuild America Bill, right?"
"What of it?" the senator’s tone had become wary and his eyes began to dance around the room.
"Well, the key to the success of the program is to use cheap inmate labor, correct?"
"That is one aspect, yes, along with massive job creation for everybody from construction crews to consultants and engineers… the real benefit is America upgrades her sagging infrastructure, you understand."
"Okay," Jack said as he let Max’s canned description pass.
"I’m just brainstorming here, all right… but how about this for a plot." Jack continued. "A CEO of a prison company 'convinces' a senator to push a program through Congress that uses their inmates to rebuild the crumbling infrastructure around the country. This company has prisons in every state and is looking for more revenue. A government contract would be a Godsend. The public goes along because everyone knows prisoners are just sitting back watching Oprah all day and living off the taxpayer–
"Everything’s a go until the CEO discovers they won’t make a dime on what they receive in the contract terms, and he panics." Jack took a sip of his coffee to give his story time to sink in. He watched as Max squirmed just a bit in his chair.
"Then he gets a wild idea. If he can reduce his cost, he can still turn a profit… but how? Then he remembers an old friend in Chicago that works as a geneticist. He pays him to develop a modified virus that will make his prisoners work longer on less food."
Max held up a hand and interrupted Jack’s rhythm. "Wow, that’s fantastic!" he said in a mocking tone. "I’ll be the first one to buy it when it hits Amazon!" Max seemed to struggle to keep his thin smile from turning serious.
"Mr. Colder, you didn’t come here to try out plots with me, did you?"
"No, Senator, I didn’t. I came to offer you a way out of the conspiracy you’ve gotten involved in."
Max leaned back in his chair and laughed out loud. "Are we still talking fiction here? Cause it sure sounds like it!"
Jack stood and leaned over the large colonial desk and spoke in a low deliberate voice. "Senator, I’m not sure just what kind of leverage has been used to make you break about a dozen federal laws already, but I know who has their thumb on you."
Max leaned in to meet Jack; his tone had turned cold and combative.
"Is that an accusation, Mr. Colder?"
"No Senator, that would be a crime… I’m dealing in facts."
"And just what fictional character have you dreamed up to exert this high level pressure on me?"
"A man named William Downs."
Max could freeze his smile in place but he couldn’t keep his complexion from going ashen. The blood drained from his face at the mention of the name.
Jack opened his briefcase and put an envelope on his desk. He was circling his opponent like a fighter that had just found a weakness.
"What’s that?" Max asked trying to regain his composure.
"Photos of bodies partially buried in the desert, whose existence were covered up by the Air Force."
Score it a direct hit to the solar plexus, Jack thought.
Max continued staring at the envelope and wondered just how incriminating they could be.
Jack had him on the ropes. Time for the KO punch.
"Did you know Hank Caswell is dead?
Max bit his lip hard to conceal his surprise that Jack could know such a thing, but could only muster a weak and unconvincing "Who?"
"The man I mentioned earlier, the CEO of ReformCo? He’s dead. A few nights ago. Perhaps murdered during a stay at the hospital. Whoever did it also killed the hospital’s security guard, a father of three. Collateral damage I suppose."
"I don’t know any Carswell person," said Max, more convincingly this time.
"Well the fact remains he knew you… enough to take your calls on his private line." Jack’s heart was racing now, and he was sensing the fight was just about over. So what if that last part was an educated guess, Max had to be pushed to do what was right, and this moment was Jack’s only opportunity.
"Mr. Colder, you are making baseless allegations against a sitting United States Senator. I would think very seriously before you make another one if I were you. The consequences could be disastrous for you and your career."
"Senator, if you are thinking that I in some way seek to profit from the circumstances you find yourself in, I assure you, you are wrong. I only hope to convince you of the fact that you, like Hank Caswell, are in danger if your usefulness to William Downs becomes too, shall we say, entangled?" Jack sat back in his seat and allowed his words to penetrate.
He reached into his case again and pulled out the diabetic kit and retrieved a small refrigerated vial and syringe and placed it on Max’s desk. "As I said earlier, I’m here to offer you a way out."
Max could not take his eyes off the vial, and they grew large at the prospect of what Jack could possibly mean by a way out. Could he mean suicide?
Finally Max looked up and glared at Jack. His eyes darted from the vial to Jack and back again, trying to size up his motives. He had been right earlier. Everyone that walked though that door wanted something. How could he believe him when he said he was only there to help? Preposterous. Everyone had their list of wants and their price. Jack Colder was no different. He might not be a politician, but he sure played the game like one.
"What is that?" Max asked trying but failing to sound indifferent.
"Let’s just call it courage to do what’s right." Jack said, pushing it closer to the Senator.
"Mr Colder, you are mistaken. I may have misjudged your motives, and for that I apologize, but I can assure you I am in no way involved with any conspiracy, have no secret dealings with any CEO named Crasswell, and have never heard of William Downs. And as far as courage goes, I get plenty from a bottle of Jim Beam I keep in my desk drawer over there. You might say it is a requisite for the job."
Jack could see his confident
air returning. Max had taken inventory and concluded he had the superior position. Jack had thought this might happen. He knew from the outset that confronting a U.S. senator in his own office would hardly result in a Perry Mason-type confession, but still he had hoped he could make a compelling enough case to enlist his help bringing William Downs to justice. Time to switch to Plan B.
"Well, sir, I appreciate the time" Jack said as he replaced the vial and syringe in the insulated kit. Before he closed the case Jack slid a dark object into the palm of his left hand and squeezed its protrusion between his fingers.
Max couldn’t see Jack’s slight of hand, but was relieved to see Jack seemed to be giving up his line of accusation. "I gotta say Mr. Colder, you author types have a wild imagination! Let me know when the book comes out!" Max said as he slapped his desk with his palms as if to officially mark an end to their meeting.
He walked around his desk to face Jack. As the two men shook hands, Jack grasped Max’s upper arm, gripping it tightly. That motion activated the device he’d placed in his palm, plunging a hypodermic needle through the jacket sleeve and delivering a dose of serum into the senator’s deltoid muscle.
After a brief struggle, Max broke Jack’s grasp and tried to fathom the stinging sensation in his arm, but it was too late. He looked with horror into Jack’s eyes as Jack helped him to his chair.
"There is no need to panic Senator. As I said, I am offering you a way out. There will be no ill effects from this serum, and soon you will have the courage to do what should be done. You’ll see."
"I’ll have you arrested for this!" Max growled, ripping off his coat and rolling up his sleeve to better inspect the injection site.
"That is your prerogative, Senator." Jack said calmly, bracing himself for the worst. "Of course there is very little evidence that I have done anything to you, and a blood test will find no harmful drug in your system… and then there is the story I will tell if pushed to do so. But I will stay here as long as you need me, should you decide to call Security."
Max’s thoughts swirled about in his head without context, unable to take root in any meaningful way. Jack had caught him completely by surprise. A blur of outrage, fear, and an overwhelming feeling of being trapped in his own body all surfaced and then were surmounted by the next concocted outcome. Physically, he felt no different than he did five minutes ago, except his heart was pounding. But mentally he was a wreck, stunned by the horror of being injected with God knows what.
Max was at a complete loss for words and tried more than once to form a response, but what does one say in such a situation? He was about to make another attempt when Megan rang in to ask if they were about finished; his next appointment was waiting. Jack tried to decipher Max’s expression for any clue to what he was thinking. Would he call out for help? Alert security? Be unable to speak and thus create a larger scene?
To Jack’s surprise, Max barked at Megan to quit hounding him, defending the fact that his meeting was going long, and insisting that she reschedule with the gentleman in his outer office.
After ending his call with Megan, Max turned his attention to Jack. His expression was serious, his eyes piercing. "I want you to tell me exactly what substance you have injected me with!" Max said in a low voice. "I want to know why you did this to me and just what you meant by 'giving me the courage' to do what should be done?"
"I hope you understand that anything I tell you could be incriminating," Jack said as he stood to leave. "Suffice it to say Senator, you will not have any negative reactions from the injection. Soon, you will notice the many decisions facing you are more clear-cut than they have been in the past. You will benefit from this clarity in ways that, even if I tried to explain, you would not now believe. Soon, I’ll be back in DC to visit you again, and of course I will be available by phone should you need to talk. Megan has my number. Good day to you Max."
Chapter 28 A Friend's Farewell
When Washington, DC, had all but disappeared out the jet’s window, Jack called Colleen.
"Miss me yet?" He began, setting the stage to tell her about his meeting with the senator.
"Jack, I’m glad you called, we have a problem. Sam is late getting back. Over two hours now."
"Have you tried calling him?" Jack asked, realizing too late how stupid his question was.
"Of course we have, no answer. He was meeting the last of his interviews… one that would only meet him alone."
"So Kyle wasn’t with him?" again, Jack Obvious was two for two, he thought. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere near where he had intended.
"No…" Colleen said, pausing to let Jack catch up, "he’s here with me. Let me put you on speaker. Kyle was able to pull up the tracking on the cab. That’s what has us worried. Sam’s cab is stationary, Jack! Has been for at least 10 minutes, its parked on a side street in his old neighborhood."
"Wow," Jack said in a low voice.
"We were just about to go out and scour the area and look for him, … unless you have a better idea."
"Uh, hold off on that… Colleen," Jack said slowly as he thought out his plan. "Maybe I do. Are you up for a little fishing?"
"Huh?"
"The cabs have an onboard camera to record meetings, hold two ways, and to video conference… I’m almost positive they can be streamed on the web with the same code that opens the doors."
"Okay…?" Colleen said, obviously not following.
"Kyle, are you there?"
"Yes, I’m here. Hi, Jack."
"Hi, Kyle, here’s what I want you to do. Hire a cab and use both Sam’s phone and yours as the fare contact numbers. Set the pick-up location for a block away from his last known location. The door code will then be texted to both of you. If he’s being held, they already have his cell phone. They will see the text and might just take the bait and show up. I mean, why wouldn’t they, it’s a free limo, right? If so, we can have a conference with whoever has him without putting you in danger. Maybe you can negotiate for Sam’s release."
"And if nobody shows?" Colleen asked, afraid of the answer.
"If nobody shows we’re no worse off, and you are still safe. Call 911 and report the suspicious activity near Sam's cab. In the meantime Kyle, see if you can tap in to the abandoned car’s camera and do some recon on its surroundings."
"Okay, thanks Jack, that's a good idea. We’ll try it. I’ll let you know, but I, I really have to go now…!"
"Wait!" Jack shouted into the phone, but Colleen was gone. Jack frowned as he turned the small palm syringe over and over in his hand. He wondered if the timing would ever be right to tell his story now. He had looked forward to telling her about the first really "007" thing he had ever done in his life, and now the moment was gone.
Jack thought of his conversation this morning with Sam, and how proud he had been of Sam’s desire to do what was right. Now he would surely put his bravery to the test. He was in danger, Jack could feel it, and he was helpless to stop it. He prayed Colleen could come up with a solution.
The jet hit some turbulence and the seatbelt sign lit, bringing Jack back to the task at hand and the obligation he had to Tom’s widow. He pulled his tablet onto his lap and began again on Tom’s eulogy. He had no idea how he would start it. He had been blocked before but in writing fiction he always had an ability to create an escape, or design a solution. This was different. This was real. How could he even begin to sum up a twenty-year friendship, or convey the debilitating guilt he felt for getting his best friend killed.
Up until now, Jack had consciously avoided thinking about how Tom died. He kept the images at bay because they were overwhelming. He pulled his suitcase close and took out Tom’s ashes then put them in the seat next to him for inspiration. "One final trip home, my friend," he said with consuming regret.
The funeral was in two days, and tonight was the remembrance service. Delores and the kids would want answers, and he had none. It was cold comfort that he could have also been killed in the explosion. Jack
decided to avoid anything that might shift attention from Tom. Better to weep with the wounded than climb on the pyre, he thought.
_________________________
Colleen looked on as Kyle accessed the video feed from the abandoned cab, but the image was not comforting. The rear passenger door was open and all he could see was the torsos of several people standing around outside. As they watched, a hand reached in and tried to pull the camera off its mount, causing the feed to go dark.
"Who was that?" Colleen asked.
"No idea." Kyle said, as he struggled to get the picture back.
Colleen grabbed her phone and started to call 911 when Kyle stopped her.
"Hold off with that for a while, Colleen. Look, I know you want to do something, but let’s try Jack’s idea first, okay? Getting the cops over there won’t exactly help Sam right now."
The Premise Page 33
