by Unknown
She thought that maybe John had been inspired to run for president since the state of Vermont had actually birthed two of them already: Chester Arthur and Calvin Coolidge. But, no, Allison was pretty certain John would want to be his own man and put his own stamp on things.
She looked off to the west as she drove and could see the huge body of water that was Lake Champlain. It was 125 miles long tip to tip—actually flowed right into Canada and the boat ride to the 49th Parallel from Burlington was only about forty miles.
John lived in a heavily forested area south of the city, kind of remote even by Vermont standards. The area was laced with paved single-lane country roads, and even a few dirt and gravel ones.
John’s house sat on twenty acres of land—he liked the privacy. Allison knew he wrote novels as a hobby—hadn’t published any yet, but she knew that one day after he retired from politics that would become his next passion. And, being a famous senator, he wouldn’t have any trouble attracting hordes of publishers.
If he lived that long.
John was expecting her. She’d called him yesterday from Chicago, and told him she wanted to pop by. First, she’d phoned his Washington office, but his assistant said that he was relaxing at home in Vermont this week.
He was happy to hear from her, but curious as to why she was making a special trip to Vermont. Allison gave him the cover story of wanting to get his support for a new hotel she wanted to build in the Sugarbush resort area, right on the edge of the ski slopes. He seemed excited about that, and gave her the directions to his house.
Allison could tell, though, that he seemed subdued over the phone. No doubt because of the allegations being waged in the media against him and his connections with Farmington. That sort of thing always haunted politicians, but especially in this case, when he couldn’t really defend himself with Farmington missing.
And, little did he know that Farmington would never be seen again.
Allison knew that time was of the essence. Ever since she’d read the thoughts in Chad Powers’ head—discovered that he’d had the journalist and her own family killed on the very same day—she knew he wouldn’t take a chance on too much time passing between Farmington’s disappearance and Hartford’s fate.
Farmington’s death didn’t need a vote—it was understood as implicit by the Majestic 12 group that the betrayer in their group was going to die. Chad hadn’t said at the last meeting who that betrayer was, but Allison saw it when she picked up Farmington’s thoughts across the table from him.
But, a vote indeed had been taken on Hartford’s fate and he was condemned to die, despite Allison’s pleas at the meeting and her vote against the plot. No one had listened to her. So, his fate was sealed. It was going to happen and she knew it could be any day, or hour, now.
Her thoughts caused her right foot to increase its pressure on the accelerator—in her paranoid imagination, she could see that it may even be happening at this very moment.
She sped down the highway until the elevated countryside hid the massive lake from view. She saw a road coming up and glanced at her notes.
Yep, Pinetree Lane.
She hung a left, and drove down that lane for about a mile until she came to a dirt road with the sign County Road #1. Allison turned right and drove along for about a mile until she finally saw his house. A beautiful Cape Cod style, with three dormer windows and a massive porch. It was red brick with a black tile roof, and it looked magnificent. Fitting indeed for a United States senator.
She knew that John had been a divorced man for the last eight years and, while the tabloids had tried to connect him to many ladies over that time, he’d told her that it was all bullshit and that there was no one important in his life. Neither did he want there to be. He didn’t have time, nor the inclination.
His first marriage had been ruined by his busy life, and that life wasn’t going to change any time soon. He didn’t want to put another wife through that torture—the torture of campaigning, and then the constant bullshit just to stay in office. He didn’t have any children, so, aside from his Senate work, John’s life was uncomplicated. He maintained offices and homes in both Vermont and D.C., but Allison knew Vermont was where he most preferred to be.
Allison pulled around his circular drive, came to a stop and hopped out of her rental car.
He was standing on the porch waiting for her. A martini in each hand, and Allison knew that they’d both be very dry, straight up, Bombay Sapphire, with three olives. They’d indulged together in Hawaii and several times after that. Always just as friends though—it had never developed beyond that.
John Hartford was the ultimate presidential candidate. Tall and handsome, with slightly graying hair and a confident air about him. He was quick on his feet—possessed one of the most adept minds in Washington, and had that reassuring voice reminiscent of how news broadcasters used to sound. Now, all of the news anchors seemed to be women, and most were brain-dead bimbos chosen presumably for their looks alone.
John always reminded her of a beardless Donald Sutherland.
His voice boomed. “Allison, such a treat to have you visit me. It gets kinda lonely out here in the sticks; a rare pleasure to have a beautiful woman pop by.”
She laughed as she bounded up the stairs to the porch. “Oh, John, you’re still the charmer. Easy to see why you became a politician.”
He slipped the martini glass into Allison’s eager hand. “Ha, ha…come on inside. I have some snacky things laid out for us.”
She followed him into the living room—surprisingly well decorated, considering that a bachelor lived there. The house was absolutely charming, and everything was in its place. Neat as a pin. Allison thought that maybe he’d cleaned up a bit after he found out she was coming, but knowing how detailed and efficient the man was, that was probably unlikely. He just liked things to be in their proper place, all the time.
She sat down on the plush couch and John plopped onto the love seat opposite her. Cheese, crackers, and pickles were on the table between them, and Allison helped herself.
John took a small sip of his martini, then cut to the chase. “So, you’re thinking of building a hotel in our beautiful state and you need me to stickhandle things for you? Sneaky girl!”
Allison grimaced. “No, John, that’s not why I’m here at all. I’m here to warn you that your life’s in danger.”
His hand shook slightly, spilling some of the vintage martini in his lap. He glared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid we haven’t much time. I know you’ve received some bad press over this Farmington guy’s disappearance. That must be stressing you out. They’re trying to tie you to influence-peddling on his behalf.”
“Well, that’s just politics, Allison. They know I’m planning to launch my campaign for president as an Independent, so they’re trying to destroy me. If truth be told, my colleagues in the Senate know that I’ve been pushing for years to have that little sleaze investigated for his leaky wells in the Gulf. BP should never have been held responsible for all of those damages and fines. They ran into the billions, for Christ’s sake!”
Allison nodded. “I know that, John. But, you’re still in danger.”
Hartford looked at his watch. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted. My bodyguard is due here any minute now. He’s bringing some papers over for me to sign—declarations and financial disclosures for the presidential launch.”
Allison sighed with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad you have a bodyguard.”
“Yes, well, anyone running for president needs these guys. I have one in Washington and one here in Vermont. Necessary evils.” He took another, much longer, sip of his martini. “But, why do you say I’m in danger? It can’t be any more perilous for me than other politicians.”
Allison took a deep breath. “John, I know you met with Farmington. I know he gave you some secret information that you intend to use in your campaign.”
Senator Hartford s
tared at her. “How do you know that?”
Allison shook her head. “Doesn’t matter how I know. I just know. He told you some things, didn’t he? About a group called Majestic 12? And, of certain information that’s been kept from the American people for decades?”
John nodded slowly. “Yes, he did. But, again, how do you know about this?”
Allison sighed. “I’m one of Majestic 12, John. Farmington’s been killed. His body will never be found. And, you’re next.”
John’s face went as white as a ghost’s. He jumped to his feet and walked to the window. He glanced at his watch again. “Where the hell is Clint?”
“John, did you hear me?”
He turned around to face her. “Yes, I did. And, I don’t know what to say. You’re one of them? I’m shocked. And…wondering why I’m still talking to you.”
“Did Farmington tell you all about the history of Majestic 12? Back when it was established by Truman in 1947?”
“Yes, he did. And I’m horrified by what I was told. The American people have a right to know about these things.”
“Do you recall from history that JFK demanded, unsuccessfully, to know the same kind of information that you now have?”
“Yes.”
“And, you still think that Lee Harvey Oswald killed him?”
John’s eyes went cold. “Are you saying...?”
Allison nodded. “Yes, I am. I don’t know how much Farmington told you, but you’re a bright man and you can connect the dots. The mandate of Majestic 12 was to protect all of the information related to that subject…the one that Kennedy was interested in…at all costs. You can guess what that means.”
John shook his head. “Charles never told me things like that. Only about the truths, the secrets, things that have been lied about, hidden from our people. Don’t you think they deserve to know, Allison?”
“Well, that’s an argument for another day. You’re an idealist, John. There are risks in knowing, but I can’t say that I totally disagree with you, even though I’m a member of the group that was sworn to protect those secrets.”
“And, you’re saying that Charles Farmington was murdered by you guys?”
Alison lowered her voice to a whisper. “A vote was taken, John. You’re to be killed as well. And, it will happen quickly, if history is a predictor. John, you’re well aware of all of the scientists and astronomers who have died over the last few decades. Abnormal statistical death rates. The odds of even half of those deaths being from natural causes are astronomical—excuse the pun.”
John leaned over and placed both hands on the coffee table. His voice was now a growl. “Why the fuck are you telling me this? You’re one of them, for Christ’s sake! How can I trust you? For all I know, you could be the assassin!”
Allison answered softly. “I just discovered that they arranged to have my own family killed five years ago—that car crash was no accident, John. I guess I’ve had a rude reality check. I discovered that the reason my family was killed was because my father was planning to blow the whistle, just like you’re planning. I don’t want this to happen again to a good person. And, you’re a good person, John. You should be our next president.”
Suddenly, the sound of a car pulling up along the gravel driveway.
John cocked his head. “Good, he’s here. I feel like I need him now more than ever. He’s planning to stay for several days, too, so I guess that’s a good thing right now.”
The front door opened and in walked a jovial-looking man carrying a duffel bag and a briefcase.
John walked over and gave him a bear hug. “Great to see you, Clint.” Then, he gestured at Allison. “This is Allison Fisher, owner of Diamond Hotels. She wants our help in getting a resort built here in Vermont.”
Clint dropped his duffle bag and walked over to Allison. He gave her a warm handshake and one of the biggest smiles Allison had ever seen.
“Great to meet you. From my standpoint, there’s no other place in America better suited for one of your hotels. If I can be of any help, let me know. I’m not just the senator’s bodyguard, I’m also his close advisor on all things ‘Vermonty.’”
Allison was getting good vibes from Clint. His jovial face was a paradox against the rock-solid frame he carried. Probably ex-military and, as with most high-level bodyguards, had probably been a Seal, Ranger, or Delta. She was glad he was there. She would leave it to John to decide whether or not to disclose to Clint what she had just warned him about.
The three of them sat down in the living room after John brought Clint a beer from the kitchen.
Clint raised his bottle in a toast. His voice was as jovial as his face. “To new friends! And new hotels!”
They all toasted and laughed.
Then, Allison saw his eyes wander. Not in a lazy careless way, but in an investigative way. Like someone trained in the powers of observation would do. He tried his best to keep it subtle, but it was out of place enough for Allison’s antenna to go up.
She put her drink down on the table and quickly inserted both fingers into her ears. Then, withdrew them in a millisecond, popping her ear drums as she did.
Allison stared into Clint’s friendly howdy-doody eyes.
She had to fight hard to keep her head from jerking backwards with the horrifying words and images that suddenly invaded her brain:
A voice, no longer jovial. “This is a complication I didn’t fucking need.”
An image of her and John being dumped into the trunk of a car.
Then, lying on the deck of a boat, bound and gagged.
Thick sacks positioned beside their bodies.
Yellow plastic rope wrapped around both the sacks and their bodies, uniting them as one.
The sacks imprinted with the word, ‘Cement.’
The two of them struggling in vain against their restraints.
And, the once jovial voice, speaking to no one in particular.
“Yeah, they’ll sink.”
Chapter 27
Helen Carson tried to just concentrate on controlling her heart rate. She’d had problems with blood pressure before, and on and off over the years she’d taken medication for it. During the last few months, she’d noticed a marked improvement—but tonight she was in decline.
She could feel that her face was flushed, although that might have been just due to the burlap sack that was still over her head.
It was hot, darn hot—and the sack just made things worse. Thankfully, one of them had reached under the sack and removed that stinky old rag from her mouth. She figured they must be in an isolated place now for them to have done that. If so, screaming wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good.
Helen was sitting, her arms tied behind the chair back. She knew the house had solid wood floors, because she could hear the squeak of running shoes as the three of them paced back and forth, discussing their plans. The air in the house smelled fresh and clean—whoever lived here took good care of it. Their voices echoed a bit when they talked, so she figured the room she was in was a good size, and probably didn’t have a lot of furniture or paintings on the walls.
Helen concentrated on breathing evenly, through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. Once in a while, she took an extra deep breath and held it for about ten seconds, then slowly exhaled. This helped to calm her down and she noticed that her heart didn’t race as much. But, she didn’t want to do it too often or too deeply, for fear of fainting from hyperventilation.
The older one they called Aaron seemed to be the one in charge. The other two, Brody and Matt, seemed rather stupid and jumpy. Those were probably the two she had to worry about the most, as they’d more than likely be reckless. Although, Aaron, she guessed, was the hardened criminal who might have more to lose. She knew, from the way they talked, that this was his plan and that he’d done it before.
“So, what de fuck we gonna ass for? How mush? We hant disgust that yet.”
“Well, I figure, based on how their house looks, we should demand
100,000 dollars.”
Some shuffling of feet. “Think we could ass more an that.”
“No, if we ask for too much it will take longer. We don’t know how much cash they keep on hand, and she’s not telling us anything. We already asked her that. He might have to mortgage his house, which will take time. The longer we have her, the more risk there is to us.”
The sound of feet pounding on the floor, almost like someone jumping up and down. Helen figured it was the drugged-up Matt.
“Kay, guess thas the smart thin to do. I jus wan some drugs, man.”
“Shut up, Matt. I’m strategicking wif Aaron here.”
Then, Aaron once again. “Okay, we phone and demand 100,000 by tomorrow afternoon. Since we used my truck and my house, my share will be half of that and you two can split the rest. Then, we need to separate and never be seen together again.”
“Thas not fair. We tole you bout him.”
“I don’t care—that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“Brody, is kay. Thas 25,000 fer eash of us. Les do it.”
Silence for a few seconds. “Kay, I agree, les get on wif it.”
“Alright, then. We have their home phone number, so I’ll phone from here. I’ll only stay on for a minute or so.”
“Won their call display thin show yer number?”
“No, mine’s a satellite phone. Can’t be traced.”
Brody again. “Wait a sec. How we gonna get de moneys?”
“I’ve already thought it out. I’ll reserve a boat at the Christina Lake Marina in William Carson’s name. He can pay for it with his own credit card. I’ll tell him to take the boat out of the marina and cruise slowly south.
“I’ll be in a boat a friend of mine owns. I can just take it whenever I want. He keeps it at his cottage dock. I’ll be out in the middle of the lake and will watch Carson with binoculars. Once he’s out and well away from anyone else, I’ll speed up and cruise alongside. He can throw the bag of money into my boat and then I’ll order him to keep cruising around for another forty-five minutes. I’ll tell him he’s being watched. That will give me time to speed back to my friend’s cottage, dock the boat, and get back here to you guys.
