The Ascendant

by Peter Parkin

  Linc and his wife, Melanie, lived in the neighborhood because it was just the place to be. The place to be seen and the place to brag about if someone asked where you lived. Eyes always lit up as soon as Highland Park was mentioned. It was a status symbol, bragging power for those who felt they needed it—almost the same as driving a Bentley.

  Linc didn’t really care about the fact that there were great schools where he lived. As far as he was concerned, he’d never need those schools.

  Kids were not in his plans. They had, however, been in Melanie’s plans when they first got married ten years ago, and he’d led her to believe that he wanted them, too. But, that was a lie. He needed her in his life, and it was easy to convince her that he was excited about being a father one day.

  Linc was a lawyer then, and Melanie helped him launch his senatorial bid.

  She was the classic trophy wife—blonde, beautiful, and smart. Sweet and caring as well, but Linc didn’t give a shit about that side of her. All he cared was that she looked good, talked good, and walked good. Melanie was the perfect image for him.

  She’d never seen it coming. Melanie actually thought he was one of the good guys—the silly girl.

  Linc inherited his father’s law practice after he died. He’d been one of the most successful corporate lawyers in Texas and a specialist at mergers and acquisitions in the oil industry. It was a practice that set Linc up perfectly when he decided to take a run at the Senate. He had an instant network of rich donors, folks that he’d taken care of quite nicely in the years since he won his seat. And, they’d continued to take care of him.

  He sat down on the chaise lounge on his patio, waiting impatiently for Melanie to get over her crying fit and pack her fucking bag.

  He had a busy week ahead of him, and he needed her by his side. Speeches at rallies in three different cities. A private jet at his disposal. Adoring followers waiting to hear him speak. And the smiling trophy wife was essential. People needed to see that he had a loving wife, wanted to know that he was happily married and planning a family one day. That’s the façade that Linc carried with him to every rally, and Melanie was expected to do her part. Back him up every step of the way.

  He thought back to his father, pictured him in his mind. A smart man. Linc admired him, and was thankful for the fact that he’d left him one hell of a legacy. It served to put Linc on the launch pad for his political career.

  The law firm was also something he could go back to one day if politics failed him. He’d left the firm in the capable hands of his partners, and his own shares in the firm were now in a blind trust. It was nice to know he had that to fall back on, but he didn’t think he’d need it.

  He was going to be President—could feel it in his bones.

  His father had always treated Linc as if he were his own biological son. A sterile man, but willing and able to be a doting father despite the fact that he was shooting blanks.

  His dad’s connections and money made it all happen.

  A very exclusive sperm bank in New York City, which supplied the wealthy elite with the most high-grade sperm available. Guaranteed to have come from the strongest stock—strongest not only in terms of health and longevity, but also in terms of gray cells.

  The little buggers were future geniuses just waiting to be inseminated.

  And the bank had rules—the sperm would only be sold to the wealthiest and most influential families, only to American parents, and it had to be proven that the maternal recipients came from similar stock.

  Linc was lucky that his mother was also a genius and a southern lady with a heritage that went back further than the Alamo. She had the “right stuff.”

  So, Lincoln Berwick was born.

  And, as far as he was concerned, he was a gift to the world.

  And that world might one day thank Legacy Life Ladder Incorporated for making it possible for the birthing of the greatest leader the free world had ever seen. Well, that gratitude really couldn’t be expressed, of course, because the company was an invisible enigma. Only those “in the know,” had any idea what it was all about. And, it would remain that way.

  In those elite circles, it was nicknamed Triple L. A private company, controlled by an exclusive alliance of influential corporations. In fact, some of the same corporations that were represented by the eight people on Linc’s campaign team.

  Linc shook his head and pushed Triple L out of his mind. He had more important things to do today than reminisce about his immaculate conception.

  He was rapidly losing what little patience he had.

  Time to check on Melanie, dry her eyes, and say the tender little words she needed to hear.

  Linc went back inside, and made the long climb up his grand staircase to the master suite. There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, head resting in her hands.

  Linc didn’t see a suitcase.

  He sat down on the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. With his free hand, he softly touched the purple and red welt that was blossoming under her chin.

  She jerked her head back and shoved his arm away.

  “I’m not going with you. And, when you come back I’ll be gone.”

  Linc stood. His tender approach wasn’t working.

  He glared down at her. “You are coming, and you’re going to play your role as you always do. You’re my loving wife, and you’ll show that.”

  Melanie shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s a nightmare.”

  “I’m running for President. The stress of it all gets to me sometimes. I’m sorry for hitting you. I really am. A little make-up will hide that bruise easily. Pack your bag.”

  She shook her head again. “I want a divorce. You always apologize after hitting me, and then you just hit me again. This time you hit me where it shows. It never ends. I can’t hide how I feel any more than I can hide this welt.”

  Linc picked up a vase sitting on the night table and threw it with all of his might into the dressing table mirror, smashing both.

  Melanie shuddered and started crying again.

  “You’ve picked a fine time to ask for a divorce. Here we are on the threshold of making it to the White House, and you want a divorce?”

  She rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists. “I’ve asked you before, and you just ignored me. I asked for a divorce long before you decided to run for President. But, stupid me, I gave in. You promised you’d change, but, it never lasted long. I’m serious this time. I’ve already talked to a lawyer.”

  Linc reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face up to meet his. “You did what? Are you crazy?”

  Tears flowed down her cheeks, and Linc was happy to see her wince at the pressure he was exerting on her scalp. She whispered, “Please don’t hit me again.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to call that lawyer and tell him you’ve changed your mind. And that you expect him to keep it confidential. That I’ll sue his ass if this gets out to the press.”

  Melanie just stared up at him, body trembling. In a shaky voice, she replied, “You can’t stop me, Linc. I’m entitled to a life, and I don’t want you in it.”

  He grabbed her by the throat, shoved her back on the bed, and climbed on top of her. With his hand still on her throat, he growled, “Yes, I can stop you. Unless you pack that bag and come with me now, and then stay with me until I win the White House, you’ll have an unfortunate accident. Do you understand what I’m saying? You won’t get that divorce, and you won’t live to see anything from me. You’ll die. And, you know what? The voters might like me even better if that happened. I’d get the sympathy vote. The poor lonely widower, losing his loving wife in a car accident.”

  He released his hand from her throat.

  She took a deep breath and sighed; a sigh filled with a combination of sadness and resignation. Stared b
ack at him through teary eyes.

  Linc could see the fear in those gorgeous green orbs, and he was confident she believed him. Believed that he was capable of arranging such a thing, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so. He’d made his case, just as if he were back in the courtroom.

  Melanie pushed up on his chest.

  “Get my suitcase out of the closet, please. And my make-up case.”

  *****

  Linc glanced at his watch. “Okay, Jason, we’ll have to be quick. Melanie and I have to be at the airport in a couple of hours. So, cut to the chase.”

  They were sitting in Linc’s study, a room segregated from the rest of the house down a hallway off the front foyer. He’d made sure the room was completely soundproofed when the mansion was built. Perfect for meetings such as the one he was having right now.

  Jason Reid was ex-Secret Service, and head of Linc’s private security detail. Linc kept this security team totally separate from the one provided by his campaign handlers. Because there were just some things that needed tending to from time to time that the others didn’t need to know about. Linc believed in keeping information compartmentalized, and some information was best kept to a small trusted circle.

  And he trusted Jason Reid. As well, the man and his team were paid handsomely. As far as Linc was concerned he owned their souls.

  Jason pulled a cassette tape out of his suit pocket and handed it to him.

  “Here it is. My recommendation is that you destroy this thing. Burn it. Don’t delay.”

  Linc nodded in agreement. “Any problems?”

  Jason shook his head. “No, went smoothly. I have a question for you, though. What about the ex-wife and kid? Do you think those are loose ends?”

  Linc scratched his chin. “I doubt it. They’ve been divorced for a long time. Probably haven’t kept in touch, since he was a hopeless drunk. But…might be worth keeping an eye on them, anyway. Some electronic surveillance maybe? Put someone on her tail for a bit?”

  Jason jotted some notes down on a pad. “No problem, boss.”

  Linc leaned forward in his chair. “Let’s hope there’s nothing to worry about. If they both happened to die right after John Nichols’ suicide, it might draw attention.”

  Jason nodded. “I agree. We’ll just do some snooping for now. There’s probably nothing to worry about. But, you have to be concerned about whether or not there’s a duplicate of that tape somewhere. That would be worrisome.”

  Linc took a long sip from a bottle of Perrier. “Yeah, might lose a bit of sleep now thinking about that.”

  “Senator, it’s time to move on to those other friends of yours who were with you that night. I know that Nichols was the only one trying to blackmail you, but if the others hear about his death they may step forward if they knew what he was doing. Chances are they probably didn’t know—Nichols was so down and out that they probably never kept in touch with him. But, my recommendation is that you don’t take the chance. And, all of them are so unrelated to each other, except for the West Point connection, that it’s unlikely anyone will connect the dots. That was a long time ago, and a lot of young men attended West Point.”

  Linc crossed his legs and folded his arms over his chest.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Might as well clean house completely. Okay, write these names down: Hank Price—he’s the chief engineer at Boeing in Seattle; Lloyd Franken—a senior astronomer at NASA in Houston; and, Bill Tomkins—CEO of Tomkins, Hatfield Inc., a large investment banker on Wall Street.”

  “How would you like them done, boss?”

  “I’ll leave that to you. Mix it up a bit—can’t have too many suicides.”

  “Will do. Once these are done—aside from Nichols’ ex-wife and kid who probably won’t be necessary—all the loose ends from that little adventure of yours will be tied up. You’ll be able to campaign without all that junk floating around in your brain.”

  Linc stood. “That would be nice. It has been troubling for me since that prick tried to blackmail me, and I’m sure I haven’t been as effective campaigning as I could have been. I shouldn’t have to deal with annoyances like that; I have far better things to do. But, that’s the kind of world we live in now, Jason. Everyone wants a piece of the pie and they’re prepared to make threats in order to get what they want.”

  The senator from the great state of Texas grimaced in despair, and shook his professionally-coiffed head from side to side causing a strand of blonde hair to fall down across his left eyebrow. “You know, Jason, it’s a sad and greedy world we live in now. But, I’m already starting to feel better now that you’ve got things under control.”

  Jason Reid flashed a big smile. “Thanks for your confidence, Senator. And, once you’re elected President, the world will start to look better. I’m sure of that.”

  9

  “I have no interest in getting you busted. I only want what I want.”

  The wooden park bench felt cold on his bum, and even though there was no snow on the ground yet, Sandy was pretty certain that it would appear any day now. After all, it was early December.

  It sure looked Christmassy, though, with the fir trees in the city park adorned with red and green icicle lights. Snow was the only element missing.

  Not that he gave a shit about Christmas anymore, anyway. It was just a light show for him now; nothing more, nothing less.

  He glanced at his watch, then turned his attention back to the man sitting next to him. It was 10:00 at night, and he just wanted to get home. But, first, he needed to get this over with.

  Sandy spoke again to the silent figure wearing a dark black trench coat accented by a woolen toque pulled low over his forehead. “Did you hear me? Hand it over.”

  The man grasped a manila envelope tightly in his left hand. He turned his head and faced Sandy—the first time he’d looked him in the eyes since their rendezvous.

  “How do I know I can trust you to keep quiet?”

  Sandy’s fists clenched as he stared into the eyes of the crooked politician. Boston’s deputy mayor, Christopher Clark, was nervous, he could tell. But, that was the least of his concerns. The information in that envelope might answer some of his questions, and if Clark didn’t hand it over in the next few minutes Sandy was just going to take it from him. Which he knew he could easily do.

  “Coming from someone like you, that’s pretty funny. Is trust an important thing to you? Does the mayor trust you? Do the citizens trust you? I know I did, until the trail of my investigation led to you.”

  Christopher shook his head. “Things just got out of hand; I got in too deep. I don’t like it, but I’m past the point of no return now.”

  Sandy raised his voice slightly. “I’m not your priest. I couldn’t care less about how you feel. You can carry on and do your dirty work, I don’t give a shit. All you politicians are the same. If I tried to bust you, the mountain would be a high one indeed. One I wouldn’t live long enough to climb. So, carry on doing your shit, I don’t care. I just want my answers.”

  “You never told me how you connected me.”

  Sandy shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I have my connections. You forget who I work for, which is just a division of the Pentagon. No surprise, then, that I have lots of shadowy people I can call upon to open doors. So, don’t fuck with me. There are certain people who know I’m meeting with you. If something happens to me, something will happen to you.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I get that. But, my Mafia connections that you seem to know about, it wouldn’t take much for me to set them loose on you. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

  Sandy laughed. “That’s pretty funny. And, you’ll find this even funnier. We found out a thing or two about the Boston Mafia—the Ferrara crime family, run by Paolo Marino. A violent history, mostly amongst other crime families. They tend to leave the average person alone, but somehow, they�
�re able to sniff out insects like you who they can pay off. My connections run in some of the same circles, but on the right side of the law. They have somewhat of a—symbiotic relationship, shall we say? Your friends in the Mafia work both sides of the street, Mr. Deputy Mayor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re not stupid. They know that bread sometimes has to be buttered on both sides. And, you do stand out like a sore thumb. Someday, someone else is going to be puzzled about how you can afford that large house, cottage, and three cars on a deputy mayor’s salary, which I believe right now is exactly $120,000. A nice salary, but not nearly enough to cover what you own. So, I’d be more careful if I were you. Maybe downsize a bit.”

  Christopher crossed his legs and leaned in closer to Sandy. “Are you saying they actually volunteered me to you?”

  “Not to me. To my people. The Mafia may be paying you, but you don’t know them all that well, do you? Sure, all you see are the things they do—the drugs, the prostitution, strip joints, union influence.

  “Your job is to smooth the waters, pave the way for them. You probably look down on them as being the lowest of the low, but you’re more than willing to take their money. And they’re tapped in, Mr. Deputy Mayor; tapped into information. The Mob survives on information—sometimes they use it, sometimes they don’t. But, information is always their trump card so they can play both sides of the fence.”

  He whispered. “Are you trying to warn me?”

  Sandy shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t do you that favor. I’d rather just kill you myself. In my mind, people like you are as low as human beings can get. The Mafia has far more class than you do, and they have a certain honor that they uphold. I admire them for that. I’m accustomed to honor codes myself—sometimes they can be insidious, but in the Mafia’s case there’s a certain regality to it.”

  The deputy mayor shifted farther down the bench. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. And, you shouldn’t be talking to me, either. You know who I’m beholden to, obviously, and those aren’t people you can fuck with. One call from me and you’re history, Professor Beech.”