by Peter Parkin
Sandy chuckled. “You just don’t get it, do you? Let me spell it out for you. The Mafia knows about all sorts of things. The Kennedy assassination, for one—who did it, who was behind it. And, contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t them.
“They also know about 9/11. They know that one day it might blow up, but in the meantime, it’s information they hold in their hip pockets. Keeps them safe.
“As I said, they use information like currency. They’ve been leveraging those things for decades, in all the right circles.
“And they know about something else, too. But, this something else they know about hit too close to home, right here in Boston, and it was far too brutal even for them. More than half of the victims were children, for Christ’s sake. The Mafia is very family-oriented.
“They picked up rumblings about the Quincy Market massacre. And there’s an anger burning in their collective belly over that one. Their intelligence network told them you paved the way for some things to happen. That you know more than you’d be willing to admit. And that you’re a prostitute who also works both sides of the street yourself. You were paid off handsomely, by all accounts. By someone. You probably don’t even know who was behind it. But, I want to know.”
Sandy could see that the deputy mayor was now licking his lips. A dry mouth was usually the first clue to an anxiety attack.
“Yes, Mr. Deputy Mayor—I was never able to let this go. For over two years I’ve been digging, as I’m sure even someone like you would have been doing if your entire family had been slaughtered. We were banging our heads into brick walls until we made the Mafia connection. And it was apparent that they didn’t approve. They gave you up—yes, your secret employers gave you up. They sympathized with my cause, supported it, and led us in the right direction. Because, they have this honor thing going on, and it’s what’s allowed them to prosper for at least a century.
“And, all you elected assholes did was try to give me a medal. You make me sick.”
Christopher swallowed hard. “Am I in danger?”
“I’ll be honest with you, even though I don’t give a shit. I don’t think they would have hesitated to kill you over the Quincy Market attack, because it makes them want to puke. But, since information is currency, I’m guessing that’s the only thing that will keep them from doing that. Once we came knocking, though, they felt an obligation to help. Because of their honor code. So, they tipped us off to you. That you might be the conduit to what really happened.
“They told my people that if for some reason you didn’t cooperate, to let them know. I don’t know what that means—maybe they’d just have a donut and coffee with you.”
Christopher stood. “I’ve heard enough. You’re shaking me down, making this shit up. I don’t believe that you or your operatives have talked with the Ferrara family. You’re just taking a flying leap. Somehow, you got a tip about this and you’re trying to scare me. You know nothing.”
Sandy got to his feet as well. “I have a few specifics that they’ve allowed us to use against you. A certain union leader who you’ve made payments to, money laundered from the Mafia. Transactions traceable to you with the use of a little muscle. Also, a condominium project on the east side which bypassed construction codes, and for some reason missed having safety inspections done during its various stages of erection. Should I go on? You see, they despise you so much, they’re willing to give up certain things, things that can’t be traced back to them, but can be traced back to you.”
The deputy mayor’s face went white, yet he still clutched tightly to the manila envelope.
Sandy held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Suddenly Christopher raised his right hand and gestured with his index finger. Then, he whirled around and ran like a scared rabbit through the deserted park.
But, not as deserted as Sandy thought.
His invisible antenna went up and he spun around just in time to see a figure hurling towards him out of the darkness. Pulse pounding, he leaped on top of the bench to get a height advantage.
The dark figure lunged, something shiny in his hand swinging in an arc. Sandy danced down the length of the bench, but the knife managed to catch his jacket, slicing an opening at waist level. Sandy’s foot lashed out at the man’s head, catching him square in the forehead knocking him to the ground.
He jumped off the bench, bringing one foot down on the wrist of the hand holding the knife. But, the man didn’t stay still. He arched his back and brought both knees up into Sandy’s crotch.
The pain surged through his groin as he fell back against the park bench.
The assailant was on his feet now, swiping the knife in an arc—towards Sandy’s throat this time.
Despite the crippling pain in his groin, Sandy’s forearm reacted on pure instinct, knocking the man’s hand upward. Then, with his other hand, he grabbed the thug’s forearm and bent his arm backwards. Working both hands in unison now, he jerked the arm violently, pulling the shoulder out of its socket.
The attacker screamed, but only for a second. Sandy’s lightning punch to his Adam’s apple silenced him. The man went down, clutching at his throat.
Sandy left him there. He had something more important to do.
He turned and ran down the park pathway. The deputy mayor had a bit of a head start, but not that much. The fight hadn’t lasted long. And Christopher Clark was a bit on the dumpy side, so running probably wasn’t his strong suit.
Sure enough, once Sandy rounded the bend in the path he saw Clark. In less than a minute he was right behind him. He could hear the fat man huffing and puffing. Sandy shot the palm of his hand out and pounded him hard between the shoulder blades. That was enough to send the politician down, flat on his face.
He leaned down, ripped off his toque, and grabbed him by what little hair he had. Yanked him up and flipped him over onto his back. The deputy mayor was sputtering some nonsense, but Sandy just ignored him. He reached down and pulled the manila envelope out from under his arm.
Giving a two finger salute, he stared down at the bureaucrat in disgust.
“Don’t forget that I’ve lost my family, Mr. Clark. Nothing will stop me from getting to the bottom of this. I want justice. It sounds like you were just the paid gopher in this, so you’re not important to me. Don’t make the mistake of making yourself important to me.
“And you may want to check on your loyal bodyguard back there. I think he’s choking to death.”
10
“I have to be back in Washington tomorrow. A couple of important votes in the Senate that I need to be present for.”
Meagan Whitfield smiled knowingly. “Any issues that we’d be excited about?”
Linc nodded. “Yeah, one’s a defence appropriations bill. Some new stealth fighter jets that are long overdue. I’ll vote in favor of that, of course. And the other one’s that namby pamby bill the Democrats have been pushing hard for—free tuition for first year university students. I’ll nix that one, or, at the very least, vote in favor of tying it up in amendments.”
Meagan nodded. “Good. Well, the defence bill should pass easily—polls show that fear about terrorism and Russia are way up there still. Congress has no choice but to pass spending bills on defence right now.”
Bob Stone interjected. “Yes, but we need to do more. The number one concern from the latest polls we’re getting is the economy. Security is number two and fading fast. Needs some stoking.”
Linc gazed out the window. As always, his eyes landed on the Texas School Book Depository. He loved that landmark—motivated him to do whatever was necessary.
It was only the three of them meeting in his Dallas office this time. There was no need for the other six members of his team at every meeting. Meagan and Bob were the key players, and the rest deferred to them to represent the entire team at occasional ad hoc meetings.
Linc nod
ded at Bob. “I agree. The Democrats are making the economy the boogie man. And, it’s an easy case for them to make. Stock market’s been tanking, unemployment is way up, and interest rates are still crushingly low. People are feeling it. They’re talking about tax increases on the upper five percent, something the middle class just loves to hear.”
Meagan stirred some cream and sugar into her coffee. “The Dems are gaining traction. And even your Republican opponents are starting to hum the same tune. They’re starting to sound just like Democrats, for God’s sake. We’ve branded you as the candidate of safety, security, and intolerance of the Middle East. We started stoking that mood about three years ago now. The trouble is, once things calm down for a while, the average simple-minded voter starts forgetting how terrified they were. They forget the images, start worrying instead about their jobs and their mortgage payments.”
Bob played with his pen, and Linc could tell that the wheels were turning in his head. “How did your speeches go over the last two weeks?”
“I was pleased. Big crowds, lots of noise. The press were out in full force. As you know, I hit three cities the first week and five last week. I’m exhausted, but it was worth it.”
“I’ve seen the transcripts of your speeches. You’re still using Tanya as your writer?”
“Yes, she’s really good.”
“Well, she’s gonna have to get better. You’re jumping around a lot, straying from the terrorism theme. You need to stick with that as your main message. You’re the only candidate who’s had that in his arsenal, and we need to keep strengthening that brand.”
Linc shook his head. “I disagree. While that’s important, I notice the eye rolls and yawns in the audience when I go on about that too much. I can’t just talk about that alone. As Meagan said, that’s not the number one worry for people right now.”
Meagan rapped her spoon on the table. “You misunderstood me, Linc. I was only stating the obvious. It doesn’t mean we can’t change that, bring the terror threat back up to the top spot again.”
“True. But, I’m feeling some pressure from the Republican executive, and a few high-profile members of Congress. They’re afraid that the Republican Party is going to continue to be branded as the ‘war party.’ They want to move away from that and recreate the perception that we’re the party of economic prosperity—bring back those Reagan years in voters’ minds.”
Bob shook his head. “The economy’s fucked. The only thing that will keep the country from collapse is defence. This global economy nonsense was a mistake right from the get-go. It’ll only work in our favor if we control the monetary supply and natural resources. This globalization crap has forced us to play the war card. We need perpetual war, war without end. And if things don’t happen that cause us to go to war, we have to make those things happen. I hope you understand this.
“Are you aware of what would happen to us if the world became a peaceful place? If we didn’t control what other countries did, how they spent their money, how they sold their resources, who they traded with? Do you recall the predictions of disaster that came out with Libya’s preparations to start using an Arab currency for oil trades? All the Arab nations would have followed if we hadn’t put an end to that.
“And this BRICS Bank crap started by Russia? If we hadn’t worked with the Saudis to collapse world oil prices, that bank would have become a reality. Containment is the key to America’s prosperity, and if we let up on that it will be a disaster for this country. Our economy is far too fragile and our $20 trillion debt is crushing us.”
Meagan nodded. “He’s right, Linc, you know he is. So, get back on the program. Fear is the only way we can keep the economy going. It’s a house of cards ready to collapse if we pause to take a breath.
“And, remember this, while the Republican Party has some noble ambitions, we’re using them only as the vehicle for your election. You’re not a Republican. You know who your backers are, and the party is as oblivious to that as they are to most things. We’re hijacking the party for the good of the country.”
Linc clasped his hands together. “I know—you both make a lot of sense. And, I’m a loyal soldier in the cause. But, remember that old saying: “First, get elected.” That’s what I’m trying to do, and we have to be realistic about our tactics. Once I’m in office I can do whatever the hell I want. But, I have to get there first.”
She rubbed his shoulder; a rare sign of affection which Linc knew was forced.
“We’re on the same team. I know where you’re coming from. But, you need to be differentiated from all of the other candidates. Fear will do that for you. They’re all humming the economy tune and, while people are listening to them, after a while that will become a tired refrain.
“If you’re humming that tune, you’ll just disappear in the crowd despite your charm and good looks. Our angle is fear, and we have to play it all the way to the White House.”
“Okay, well, we’ve had some ads running. They’ve been focused on the patriotism thing, all that bullshit. Seems to work with a certain segment.”
Bob poured himself another coffee from the pot on the table. “Yeah, I’ve seen those. They’re good. Shows that professor guy throwing his medal back at the general. Very effective. I read that he attended West Point just like you. Did you know him?”
“Yes, I did. He was in the Honor Guild for a while, but then got demoted back to the regular student body. A weakling—couldn’t handle the stress. I didn’t have any use for him. Not surprised when he performed that spectacle on stage. Loved attention, loved to be different.”
“Well, nothing wrong with that. But, did you light a fire by showing him in that ad? Does he have any reason to talk about you to the press?”
Linc shook his head. “Nothing to talk about. He’s a loser. Anything he said about me could be countered by us talking about how he couldn’t cut it in the elite of West Point. I’m not worried about him.”
“He does important work at the Lincoln Lab. Would it be beneficial if we arranged to have him lose his position? Make him look like even more of a loser in case he spoke out against you? I mean, he can’t be happy about how you’ve used him in that ad.”
Linc shook his head. “No, for now I think it’s best that we let sleeping dogs lie.”
Meagan looked at Bob. “I think we need a new ad. More graphic. Stir up some memories. Reinforce the idea that only Senator Berwick can keep America safe, remind them of how dangerous it is out there.”
She started counting on her fingers. “We’ve had 9/11, which most people have forgotten about, and most of the millennial voters weren’t really old enough to be all that scared when it happened. Then, we had the Boston Marathon bombings, and the Quincy Market massacre. Several mass shootings in clubs, theaters, and malls. There have been horrific slaughters in Paris and Belgium. Germany, too.
“But, all of that just rolls off people. The European attacks have had very little effect on Americans. They just shrug and go back about their business. The only ones that have really had some impact are the ones that have happened on our own soil. And, the gold medal attacks so far have been 9/11 and Quincy Market. Those had the greatest horror factor. But, it’s been too long. Ancient history. Quincy was over two years ago, and 9/11 was a hell of a long time ago now.
“We have to stoke the fires. In the absence of another attack soon, I think we need to do an ad which combines some graphic images of 9/11, interspersed with the dead bodies and pools of blood on the promenade of Quincy Market. What do you guys think?”
Bob gave a thumbs up. Linc nodded his approval.
Meagan smiled triumphantly. “Okay, I’ll get going on that. Then we’ll gauge the polls to see if it helped. If the effect is minimal, then we’ll have no choice but to consider a fresh attack.”
Linc stood. “Sounds like a plan. And, I’ll tell Tanya to start strengthening the fear angle in my spee
ches. We’ll be a double-threat.”
*****
Sandy threw the manila envelope onto the dining room table, and removed his shredded jacket.
He cursed as he examined it, while at the same time thanking his lucky stars that the knife hadn’t shredded his abdomen instead.
Walked over to the bar and poured himself a scotch neat.
He knew he was going to need it.
If what was in that envelope matched his anticipation, he knew he’d be having a sleepless night.
So, might as well be drunk.
He carried his drink over to the table and sat down. Took a long sip and broke the seal on the envelope.
Sandy drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then pulled out the handful of papers contained inside.
He stared at the top sheet. Leafed through the rest.
His fingers started to tingle, and an annoying cramp started making its presence known in his stomach.
The pages were all blank.
He sighed, leaned his head back, and gazed up at the ceiling.
He’d been played—by people more sly than he was.
Christopher Clark had only wanted to know how much he knew, where he’d gotten his tip from.
And once he’d learned what he needed to learn, Sandy was supposed to die in that park.
Sandy sighed again and rested his head in his hands.
Astonished at how he could have been so naïve, so stupid, so careless.
He was lucky to be alive.
Then the phone rang.
11
Bill Tomkins rolled his chair back, spun it around, and gazed out the window of his twentieth-floor office.
It was a corner office, of course, because he was the boss. And while he had a massive living room area that he could stretch out in, he didn’t do that very often. It was odd, he thought, that with the ridiculously large office he had—1,000 square feet, the size of an average apartment—he usually only used about ten percent of it.
