No True Justice

by H. L. Wegley

  She slid her arms around Lex. “I wish we could just go somewhere quiet, by ourselves, and forget what’s going to happen for the next several weeks or months.” She pressed an ear to his chest.

  His heart was still beating, strong and rather fast. Yesterday, there had been no guarantee it would be beating at all.

  “If we could do that, where would you want to be today?”

  “Y’all really wanna know?” She slowed her drawl to a crawl.

  He smiled. “All one of me? I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t.”

  She resorted to her coy smile. “I’d want to be with you and the boys in a big Bayliner, throttle wide open, flying across Lake Billy Chinook with the water sizzling under the hull … and no helicopters in sight.”

  “I thought you were afraid of water.”

  “Only of being under water. But some frog prince came along and cured me of that. Well, cure might be a stretch. He reduced it from a phobia to a rational fear.”

  “Frog prince? What happened when you kissed him?”

  “He took me on a wild boat ride. Can we do that again, minus the pyrotechnics?”

  “Sorry.” Lex shook his head. “We can’t buy a boat until we pay for those nice people’s boat we stole, the one that got blown to bits.”

  “Lex, I think the Great Swamp should pay for that boat.”

  “Yeah. He needs to pay for a lot of things.”

  Chapter 35

  Max Carr had heard nothing from Blade Sikes since they had invoked plan B and found KC Daniels involved, helping Saint and James.

  Kidnapping was a serious offense. This little exercise in persuasion, by nabbing James’s kids, needed to come off without a hitch or there would be serious repercussions.

  Any further appearance of failure in Blade’s plan and Max would cut the whole black ops team loose and dissolve all ties to himself and other senior-level FBI.

  But who could he blame if plan B failed? To be sure, President Gramm had enemies, but blaming them would give all the right-wing conspiracy nutcases enough fodder for a stack of stories and, at the top of the heap, would be the charge of interfering with a presidential election. That charge would hit too close to home, the office of the Director of the FBI or his deputy, Max Carr.

  Plan B must succeed, and he needed a progress report from Blade. Though their last call hadn’t ended on a positive note, Max needed to reach Blade before activities of the day started. 9:00 a.m. in DC was 6:00 a.m. in Oregon.

  He keyed in Sikes’s number.

  “Hello.”

  Static crackled through his speaker. Not only was that unusual, it was hard to hear Blade’s voice.

  “Sikes, have you got thunderstorms in your area?”

  “No, I thought maybe you did in DC.”

  He didn’t reply. Something wasn’t right. Max couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe things weren’t going well with plan B. “What did you do with Ms. Daniels?”

  “She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking. What do you want done with her?”

  “We can’t allow her to talk. Get rid of Daniels, Saint, James, and the kids.”

  “To say Daniels death will be investigated is an understatement. On whose authority am I doing all this killing?”

  What was Blade asking and why? It was almost as if he was trying to—maybe Max wasn’t talking to Blade.

  That thought sent a shiver between his shoulder blades. A muddle of thoughts swirled in his mind. One thought separated from the mixture, self-incrimination. Max had done a thorough job of that in his last few sentences.

  “Well?” The man on the other end was waiting.

  Max needed to end the call. But if this really was Blade, Max didn’t want to do anything rash and upset all their plans when they were so close to completing them.

  If he could just ask the right question … “Who are you going to have kill the kids?”

  “I’ll do it. Can’t ask one of the wimps.”

  That didn’t work. What did Blade know that an imposter wouldn’t? “How’s Kirby doing?”

  “Kirby’s dead.”

  “What about Petrelli?”

  “Dead too.”

  “Who’s alive out there?”

  “I am.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Funny, I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Max terminated the call. It wasn’t Sikes. If the man could be believed, the team members were dead.

  From the start of the mission nearly everything had gone wrong. Was the team jinxed? Was there something protecting Gemma Saint? Something that jinxed anyone who targeted her?

  Regardless, the primary purpose of the mission had failed. Not just one, but all the witnesses were still alive … according to the man impersonating Blade Sikes.

  Blade’s failure would cost Max his promotion and his career. If he stayed in DC, he’d be relying on the DOJ’s protection to keep him out of prison. He’d had that protection in the past but, since President Gramm’s election, DOJ cover-ups were being exposed. Staying might cost Max his freedom.

  It was time to invoke Max’s personal bail-out plan. But he had never let a person cross him and get away with it. And it galled him to think that the first to do so would be Ms. Saint, a young intern at U.S. News Network, who had been shoved into WITSEC to bind and gag her.

  A nobody like Gemma Saint should not be allowed to end the career of the Deputy Directory of the FBI without paying a steep price.

  And you will pay, Ms. Saint.

  Chapter 36

  Three weeks later, Washington, DC

  Their mission was simple. March into DC and convince the House Judiciary Committee of the conspiracy against the President. Then get home. Gemma had a wedding to plan.

  As their limo rolled down Constitution Avenue toward the Capitol Building, the thought of sitting before a Congressional committee and being grilled sent Gemma’s heart galloping. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she really blew it and no one believed her. What if the whole thing turned out like Marsh McDowell’s trial?

  Gemma placed her sweaty hand in Lex’s cool, dry palm. Lex, when he wasn’t teasing her, always seemed to be able to calm her.

  He glanced down at their clasped hands, where an engagement diamond sparkled on Gemma’s ring finger. He smiled.

  Lex’s shoulder pressed against hers when the limo driver turned left onto 17th Street.

  This wasn’t the way to the Capitol or the house office buildings. “Sir, where are you taking us?”

  The driver’s eyes appeared in the rearview mirror, peering into Gemma’s eyes. “I thought you knew. President Gramm wants to see both of you before you meet with the Judiciary Committee.”

  The president? She looked up at Lex.

  He shrugged. “It’s news to me too. But, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I guess he does have a lot at stake here. It’s only twelve months until the conventions.”

  “Yeah.” Lex said. “Gives him about ninety days max to tell the world if he’s going to run again … or not.”

  They turned again and passed through two security gates before the driver stopped near the entrance to a building on their right.

  “If I was the president and you were the first lady, I couldn’t put you through that jungle they call an election. I’d bail, Gemma.”

  “I could take it, Lex. It couldn’t be any worse than the things Blade and his men said to me.”

  “Maybe not. But the whole world didn’t get to hear those things.”

  Beyond the entrance, a familiar building profile peeped over the top of the nearest building. Around all the buildings were gardens, grass and trees, a park-like setting.

  They were sitting beside the West Wing of the White House.

  The driver unbuckled and twisted in his seat to face them. “Just show them your passes and ID. They’ll take you to the Oval Office where the president is waiting to see you.”

  Gemma slid out of the limo and
waited for Lex. “I don’t know what to say to the President. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “He asked to see us,” Lex said. “He’ll tell us why and then you’ll know what to say.”

  A young man in uniform met them at the door.

  Then a pleasant receptionist greeted them in a lobby that was smaller than Gemma had imagined. But, filled with smiling faces and light-hearted chatter, the West Wing seemed like a friendly, comfortable place to visit or work.

  After checking in with ROTUS, another young man escorted them down a hallway and around a corner to the Oval Office door.

  Gemma had seen the president at an event, while she worked for Marsh McDowell, but had never met him. That looming event sent her heart into double time.

  When they entered the office, a smiling President Gramm stood and walked around his desk to meet them. He stopped near the presidential seal woven into the carpet and shook their hands.

  His warm smile faded. “Gemma, Lex, I feel so terrible about what my Justice Department did to you. From your reports in The American Motto, it appears that if the conspiracy had succeeded, you two wouldn’t be here and I would not have sought re-election.”

  That sounded promising. “Mr. President, does that mean you are going to run again?” Gemma asked.

  “It means I’m seriously considering it. But there’s more to that than the conspiracy.”

  Lex nodded. “You mean having to deal with bureaucrats like Max Carr, the great swamp?”

  President Gramm chuckled. “Irony of ironies. It’s a wonder some political pundit didn’t decipher that before now.” Again, his smile faded. “The swamp analogy is a good one. Sometimes the swamp is a large alligator bent on eating you alive. At other times, it’s a horde of mosquitos, acting in concert, wanting to suck the political life blood out of you. But my concern is more for Mandie than me. There are constant threats. Most are stopped by the agents before reaching her ears or eyes, but not all. Then there are the disgusting rumors spread about her. Rather than defend the truth, most people in the media just fan the flames. And in this Internet-driven climate, everyone seems to be flaming. How could anyone do that to the First Lady of the United States? Mandie is the kindest, gentlest, most gracious woman I’ve ever known. And, if I do say so myself, for our age she is one hot babe.”

  The President’s smile returned. “Another reason I wanted to meet you two is to thank you. I don’t know if our FBI is slipping or if it’s you two and your brilliant boys, but—”

  Gemma waved her hand with the engagement ring. “They’re almost my kids. And they are brilliant. Don’t ever try to play chess with them.”

  “I certainly won’t. I get my fill of playing strategy games while sitting behind this desk. But I have a feeling that before all the dust settles on this investigation, you two will be back and I may get a chance to meet those twins. If I do, any advice?”

  Gemma laughed. “Don’t let them point a squirt gun at you.”

  “Yes, I read about that. Incredible.”

  The young man who escorted them in appeared in the doorway. “Mr. President.” He motioned to Lex and Gemma.

  The president nodded. “It’s time for you to head down the street to the committee meeting. I’ll be praying for you. Half of the committee will be your friends, as will the chairman. The other half—well, that’s why I’ll be praying for you.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Lex and Gemma had been sworn in and sat side-by-side in the conference room. They had been seated in a row of small desks, each equipped with a mic.

  Lex and Gemma faced a row of committee members in seats elevated above where the two sat.

  The committee chairman, Congressman Willard Wyatt from Georgia, sat at the center.

  A curtain drawn across the back covered the wall.

  Gemma would not be intimidated by the fact that she had to look up at the committee members above her. They were no better than she was. Maybe she needed to do something to demonstrate her feelings on that subject.

  As her sense of empowerment swept over her, she glanced at Lex.

  Alarm spread over his face. “Gemma, whatever you’re thinking, I’d recommend cranking down the intensity. It scares me when you look like that.”

  “Like what? I need to know so I can learn to intimidate you.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Chairman Wyatt opened the hearing with a rap of his gavel. “We’ve all read your written statements so let’s go straight to the questioning by committee members. We will start with the gentleman from Illinois, Mr. Bane.”

  Bane’s thinning gray hair hung shaggy over his collar, giving him a seedy look. His leering eyes added to Gemma’s impression of the elderly man.

  She’d seen the same look in Kirby’s cloudy eyes.

  Congressman Bane glanced at his notes, then studied Gemma’s face for a moment. “Ms. Saint, tell the committee why you were placed in WITSEC.” His eyes roving over her made a clear statement. He would like to join her in WITSEC, but it wouldn’t be protection that he offered.

  Gemma shuddered and looked at Lex.

  He mouthed the words, “It’s okay, Gemma.”

  “Mr. congressman, the DOJ, more specifically, the FBI, said that my testimony in Marshal McDowell’s trial in district court had implicated Joseph Castellano in election fraud and certain other crimes. They convinced me that he would never forget, that he was vindictive, and that he would retaliate. In short, that he would kill me.”

  “That must have been terribly upsetting for a young person. Thank you, Ms.— “

  “Now, congressman, do you want to hear the real reason the DOJ put me in WITSEC?”

  The gavel came down. “Ms. Saint, the protocol here is that the committee members ask the questions and you answer, not the inverse. Do you understand?”

  “What I understand Mr. Chairman, is that this gray-haired gentleman, and I use that term loosely, has been leering at me since I walked into this room. Then, when I started my testimony, he started treating me like a child. Now, he’s trying to prevent me from telling the truth to this committee.”

  Wyatt’s gavel came down with a crack. “We will take a ten-minute recess. And you, Ms. Saint will come with me.”

  The frown on Chairman Wyatt’s face said Gemma had blown it. But had she disqualified herself? She was about to find out.

  After she stood, Lex hooked her arm. “Stand your ground, Gemma. But you might want to dial back that temper of yours a few degrees.”

  He grinned.

  Gemma didn’t.

  Should she punch Lex or kiss him? He could be so exasperating. But Gemma had a bigger issue standing a few steps away with his hands on his hips.

  As she approached the Chairman, he pointed to an exit door, then turned and strode through it.

  Gemma followed.

  The door led to a hallway where a few people walked by, seemingly oblivious to them.

  “Gemma, you must keep your emotions under control.”

  “But that old goat is—”

  “We know about that ‘old goat’. His behavior is catching up with him and may end his political career. However, that’s not on today’s agenda. But your behavior, young lady, already caught up with you. You must act respectful toward the committee members and follow our protocol for taking testimony, or I will have you escorted out. If you mind your manners, you will get to tell any part of your story that you feel is necessary. I assure you. When other members of the committee question you, they will elicit the whole story from you and Lex, giving you some freedom in telling it … or so I’ve been told. Now, can I expect your cooperation?”

  “Yes, sir.” She would act respectful, but it would be just that, an act.

  When they entered the committee meeting room Gemma was the girl coming back from the principal’s office after getting spanked, or whatever principals were allowed to do to kids these days.

  Lex had taken his seat, and his eyes roved over the notes he’d placed on his desk.
>
  She focused on him as she walked to her seat, though a hundred pairs of eyes were probably watching her, studying her cheeks, which were probably glowing pink.

  One pair of eyes were undoubtedly, leering. Half of the other eyes hoped she would stumble and fall on her face. The remainder were what kept her going. They were the people silently rooting for her. The men and women who wanted truth and justice and believed President Gramm was the nation’s best hope for getting it.

  In a few moments, Chairman Wyatt pounded the gavel and called the meeting to order.

  “Mr. Chairman?” The old goat’s voice.

  “Your time is up Mr. Bane. We now go to the congresswoman from New York, Ms. White.”

  The rather large woman from New York seemed to have an oversized estimate of herself. And her reputation as an opponent of President Gramm was well publicized. She had focused on Gemma’s story about being taken by the FBI undercover team in their black operation.

  “How do you expect me to believe your story, Ms. Saint? I’m inclined to disregard your written testimony.”

  “You’ve never let truth get in your way before.” Gemma paused.

  Ms. White drew a sharp breath.

  Gemma continued. “Your reputation precedes you. Frankly, I don’t expect much out of you, congresswoman.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” the congresswoman glared at Wyatt. “Are you going to let her—”

  “Ms. White, think about it. She answered your question with precision. Please confine your questions to the facts, not your personal feelings and, perhaps, you won’t get testimony that you don’t like.”

  The sour expression on the congresswoman’s face told Gemma to steel herself for what was coming.

  “Frankly, Ms. Saint, I find your story not believable. You must have fabricated it. How could you have killed a trained, seasoned FBI professional?”

  Gemma blew out a blast of air and frustration. “Congresswoman, I’m not at all happy that I had to do that, but thanks to corruption in the FBI, I took out two FBI team members, one with a squirt gun and a sand wedge, the other with a .38. And, if you still have doubts, I’m quite capable of taking you—”