Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

  Considering the question a moment, Ridge replied, “Actually, I was trying to place your face. I’ve seen a lot of brass sit before the committee before, but I don’t believe you’ve ever testified.”

  “No,” Ames said, “never have. In fact, despite working just across the river, this is only the second time I’ve ever been inside one of these buildings before.”

  Although the words were clearly meant to be deliberately vague, Ridge seized on the enormous creases that existed between them, extracting much more from the unspoken than what was clearly stated.

  That meant the man worked at the Pentagon, and given the insignia he wore, it likely meant he was very high in the pecking order. The fact that he had attained such a post and been in such close proximity without having any presence on the Hill also denoted he was likely attached to something designed not to get a lot of public exposure.

  With each bit of information that rose to the surface, the previous surprise Ridge had felt about the unexpected visit seemed to fade away.

  In its place came the realization that this was definitely not a farewell of any kind.

  “You’re here about Josh Tarby,” Ridge said, pushing right past what could have been a drawn-out back-and-forth and cutting right to it, the day, the last two months, even the last thirty-six years, prohibiting him from keeping up the banter any longer than necessary.

  To that there was only a slight flicker of the man’s features, his gaze still intent as his eyes bore into Ridge.

  “Tarby specifically? No, but you’re not far off.”

  Grunting softly, Ridge raised his head an inch or so, letting it be known that he understood, was pondering his response.

  For years he had sat up high in his committee seat and stared down at men such as Ames, having seen how they worked, how they positioned themselves, the subtle tactics they used to gain the upper hand in various situations.

  Already he could see them at play across from him, everything from the choice to arrive in full dress uniform to the seat he had chosen to the fact that he probably couldn’t even tell Ridge the color of the curtains just a few feet to either side of him.

  “Meaning?” Ridge asked.

  “Meaning, I know about the visit you had from Clara Tarby this morning, and I can give you my word that the answer is an unequivocal yes.”

  Again, Ridge recognized that the man was speaking in code.

  After the day he had, that wasn’t quite going to be enough.

  “Yes, to which part exactly?” Ridge asked.

  “Yes, the young man’s death was worth it,” Ames replied.

  “Worth it to whom?” Ridge replied, the cadence between them picking up, a charged undercurrent growing more pronounced with each traded jab.

  “To anybody that might be asking,” Ames replied. “To his mother, and to his country.”

  Another handful of quick retorts all sprang instantly to mind, though Ridge bit them back, as much to let the General’s words hang in the air as to try and dispel any of the tension between them.

  There was no point in even pretending that was a possibility, the tone clear from the outset.

  Having spent decades sitting in committee hearings, Ridge had also developed a few tricks for dealing with men such as Ames, the biggest being to use their own ego against them.

  That meant employing the full use of silence, knowing the man would not be able to sit long without feeling the need to fill it, to assert why he was present and what he wanted out of the exchange.

  “And now having told you that, I am here to ask that you cease any further inquiry into the matter.”

  Giving no reaction, sitting completely motionless, Ridge could feel a small ripple through his stomach and nothing more. In just one sentence, Ames had managed to explain why everything about the Tarby situation seemed to be so much more difficult than it needed to be, why he was exhausting every favor he had looking into it.

  And at the same time, he had inadvertently handed Ridge an entirely new angle to pursue.

  “May I ask why that is?” Ridge said.

  “You may,” Ames said, “so long as you understand why I respectfully cannot answer.”

  Again with speaking in code, Ridge took the answer to mean that it fell under the auspices of being classified, was the sort of thing that was still either ongoing or far too sensitive to be shared.

  Damned if he was going to be pushed off that easily.

  “I’m not a military inquiry board, have no interest in bringing anybody down,” he replied. “I am simply trying to give a constituent closure, use the last day I have in this office for a bit of good.”

  For only the second time throughout the conversation, Ridge saw a small pulse of something move across Ames’s face, disappearing just as fast, replaced by the same wooden exterior he most likely always wore. What it meant, what comment was just beneath the system, aching to be released, he could only guess at, though it wasn’t hard to surmise it was most likely at his expense.

  A fact that only managed to heighten the growing disdain he had for the man, this meeting just one more piece in a day-long puzzle that didn’t make sense.

  “And I hope that my being here has provided that, both for you and Ms. Tarby,” Ames replied.

  Just as with every other sentence that he had made, the words were intentionally vanilla, though there was clear meaning attached to each one.

  Ridge was being administered an ultimatum.

  Something he had never responded all that well to in his life.

  Rising slowly from his seat, hearing the springs moan beneath him, Ridge extended his hand across the desk.

  “Thank you, General, for stopping by. That does provide a great deal of relief to me, and I’m sure it will to Clara Tarby as well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  With the sun hours past faded, any residual glow rising over the city was of the halogen and fluorescent variety, completely void of any warmth. Just days into the new year, that put the temperature a degree or two below freezing, every breath exiting Leopold Donner in a white plume, the edges of his nostrils beginning to harden.

  Resting on the far right end of a metal bench, the seat positioned at an angle so he could see both the corner office of Jackson Ridge and the exit immediately beneath it, he was still wearing the suit, a topcoat on over it, his thinning hair exposed to the cold.

  With his hands buried deep in the pockets of the coat, one was wrapped around the plastic casing of his cellphone, the other curled into a tight fist to stave off frostbite.

  Seated in that position, he kept his focus trained straight ahead, not so much as even glancing over as a second figure appeared, taking up the far end of the bench, her footfalls silent as she approached.

  In his periphery, he could see she was dressed in a long brown coat with a matching hat, appearing to be nothing more than a Midwestern tourist out for a stroll, viewing the Capitol all lit up for the night.

  “Packard,” Donner said, keeping his voice low but conversational.

  “Sir,” Packard replied, folding the leather gloves she wore atop her thighs. “What have we got?”

  Raising his eyebrows slightly, Donner tilted the top of his head an inch to the side. “A lot.”

  Beside him, Packard remained silent, no more in the mood for evasiveness than she ever was.

  “Starting with the fact that none other than the general is currently in the building as we speak.”

  Breaking protocol for maybe the first time ever, Donner could sense her swing her gaze to him, a quick glance over confirming it, adding the aghast look on her face to the mix.

  “I’m sorry, he’s doing what?”

  “Yup,” Donner said, shrugging his eyebrows once before turning to look back at Dirksen. “Wasn’t exactly my idea, but it’s not like I was consulted.”

  That part of the story was underplaying things tremendously, Donner having gone to great lengths to attempt to dissuade Ames from stepping inside, though
his cohort was not to be dissuaded.

  Whether or not it was the right call they would likely know soon enough, noon on the morrow not able to come fast enough.

  “The point of his visit being?” Packard asked.

  “Not sure, exactly,” Donner said. “Like I said, I wasn’t consulted.”

  “If I were to guess, though, judging by the full dress uniform he was wearing when he walked in, I think the idea was to throw around his weight a little, get the senator to stand down from what he was doing.”

  A quick smirk sent Packard’s head back a half inch beside him, her hair brushing against the tops of her shoulders. “I can’t imagine anybody taking well to that. I think he’d have a better chance of making a vanity play.”

  “Right,” Donner said, risking another glance over, “but I can’t imagine him taking well to that, either.”

  This time there was no response, Packard staring intently at the building beside him.

  “Okay,” she eventually said, “what else?”

  Pausing a moment to take inventory of the seemingly benign question, Donner sorted through the various events of the afternoon in his head.

  “Ridge has been busy this afternoon,” Donner said. “After calling out to the Archives for Tarby’s files, he then had a little meeting with Terry Whitner.”

  “Terry Whitner,” Packard replied, a small twinge of disbelief appearing. “As in-“

  “Very same,” Donner said. “That’s what brought the general out this chilly evening as well.”

  On the street nearby an errant car horn could be heard, the general ebb and flow of traffic audible. Along the footpath they were seated on the last few stragglers from the work day hurried toward home, their bodies bundled tight as they moved for the train station across the lawn.

  “Wow,” Packard whispered. “That would do it.”

  “Agreed,” Donner said, jutting his chin out an inch toward the building. “They’re currently in there behind closed curtains as we speak.”

  “Hmm,” Packard replied, already moving past the surprise of his previous statement. “And the plan thereafter?”

  “Depends on how it goes,” Donner replied. “Same standard signal, which is why I’m currently sitting here.”

  “Ah,” Packard replied.

  “And your end?” Donner asked.

  “Ellerbe, Stroh, and a third woman I recognized from the file as Susan Beckwith all just made a dinner run, reentered the building a few minutes ago from the South entrance.”

  Nodding, Donner had already figured as much, knowing that most of the heavy lifting that was being done on this project was being performed by Ridge himself.

  Whether that was just how a situation like this needed to play or the man was actually trying to protect his staff, Donner could only speculate on, not that it much changed his approach.

  “Anything remarkable there?” Donner asked.

  “Nothing,” Packard said. “After our previous check-in, they eventually returned to the office, weren’t inside very long before everybody took off again.”

  Acknowledging the comment in silence, Donner thought on the new information a bit longer, his head bobbing slightly, the data only conforming to the thought he had just a moment before.

  Ridge seemed to be handling things, his staff more or less milling around, waiting in case they were needed, watching the clock.

  Just as they all were.

  Eighty yards away, the side entrance to the building opened, the sound of the door swallowed up by the ambient noise of the city. For a moment, a flare of bright light could be seen before blinking out, the door swinging back closed.

  Through it had passed only a single individual, dressed in complete olive green, his body framed by the overhead security glow above the door. Pausing there, he made a point of standing with his hat tucked under his arm, swinging his gaze in one wide arc before stepping forward.

  From that point on he made no effort to look in either direction, cutting a diagonal path away from the building, disappearing from sight within ninety seconds.

  “I guess we have our orders,” Donner whispered softly, the outcome of the meeting not surprising him in the slightest, only confirming his reasoning for not thinking it was a good idea to begin with.

  “Mhm,” Packard agreed.

  “You know the next step, right?” Donner asked.

  “Mhm,” Packard replied, rising from the bench and stealing away without another sound, walking in the opposite direction as Ames.

  For a moment Donner considered calling out to her to be careful, especially with the possible inclusion of Terry Whitner, but ultimately thought better of it. Joselyn Packard was a pro, that being the reason he had called her. Any attempt at calling out to her would only offend.

  Instead, he remained quiet, sitting and staring at the building, counting off seconds in his head, waiting to see how Ridge might react to what happened next.

  Chapter Thirty

  Less than a minute after General Ames had left, Ridge heard the front door open again, the hinges giving a low moan, the sound more than enough to pass through the charged silence of the office. The instant the sound found his ears, Ridge was back on his feet, still feeling the ire from the meeting a moment before, ready for a second go-round with his unexpected and uninvited visitor.

  Unlike the previous visit though, the man didn’t steal forward in silence, presenting himself in the senator’s doorway, a disapproving look on his face.

  Instead, the door opening was punctuated by the sounds of plastic sacks crinkling and muffled voices, it taking less than a second for the sources of them to be recognized, Ridge’s stance relaxing considerably.

  “Sir?” Susan Beckwith asked, appearing first in the entry to his office, seeing him standing behind his desk.

  “Hey, Susie,” Ridge replied, his voice coming out with a sigh.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” Beckwith asked.

  Behind her, Ellerbe and Stroh both appeared as well, the former carrying a clear plastic sack, the contents visible as a stack of sandwiches wrapped in white paper. To the side was Stroh, a cardboard pallet in hand, four cups of equal height balanced atop it.

  “Actually, yes,” Ridge said, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I thought you folks were going to dinner.”

  “They don’t call it fast food for nothing, sir,” Beckwith replied, her mouth again flickering just slightly, going the unneeded step of alerting him she was making an attempt at humor.

  Just as she always did.

  “May we enter?”

  Feeling his body slump a bit more, not realizing how amped the previous meeting had made him until it started to seep from his body, Ridge waved a hand inside, forcing a smile into place.

  “Yes, of course, of course. Get in here.”

  Falling back into his chair, he watched as the group filed inside, a questioning look on Beckwith’s face, his two aides oblivious as they paused halfway across the room, glancing between his desk and the single round table off to the side.

  “Anywhere you like,” Ridge said, “if we make a mess, Hodges can worry about it tomorrow.”

  This time there was no need to explain the joke, Ellerbe and Stroh both smiling wide as they resumed their seats before him, Beckwith doing the same in the middle.

  The sound of paper and cellophane was loud for several moments as his two young colleagues went about distributing food, the smell of meat and melted cheese permeating the air.

  “Steak and cheese,” Ellerbe said, sliding it a few inches toward the senator but no further, allowing him to accept or reject it on his own. “We didn’t know what you might want, but figured...”

  “A safe bet for sure,” Ridge said, leaning forward and grasping the sandwich, the wrapping warm to the touch.

  Almost eight hours had passed since his abrupt departure from the caucus luncheon, though the time in-between had been so frantic he had barely noticed, his body not once mentioning that it was sho
rt of fuel until the smell of the food before him found his nostrils.

  Only then did the rest of his inner workings move into action, everything clamoring at once for the promised nourishment.

  Across from him, Stroh placed plain white cups before each of them, not bothering to explain what was inside, the ladies beside him balancing their own sandwiches across their thighs and beginning to unwrap, the scents in the room growing stronger with each passing moment.

  “So, about this expected visitor,” Beckwith began, placing it out there as if an innocuous statement, Ridge knowing full well it was an inquiry that wasn’t quite dressed up as such.

  Not responding for a moment, Ridge peeled back the paper on his sandwich as well, grilled meat and mushrooms staring up at him, a healthy slathering of cheese holding it all together, not a vegetable to be seen anywhere.

  Exactly the type of balance he would have at every meal if he could get away with it.

  “No, the man was definitely not expected,” Ridge replied. “Though when I heard the door open again, I thought he might be coming back for round two.”

  To that Beckwith paused, the cut end of her sandwich halfway to her mouth, a single eyebrow raised.

  “He being one General Arnold Ames,” Ridge said, “more or less here to ask – or rather, tell – me to stop looking into the Tarby matter.”

  Without making it the last few inches, the sandwich slowly went back into place, Ellerbe and Stroh each slowing their respective chewing, all three staring in rapt silence, the number of questions each was thinking apparent on their features.

  Ignoring the alluring aroma wafting up from the sandwich, Ridge rattled off the details of the previous meeting, omitting nothing from the thin and disjointed dialogue, sprinkling it liberally with his interpretations, both of the man and what it was he was trying to accomplish.

  When he was done, all three had stopped eating, processing what he’d said.

  Seeing his opening, Ridge dove straight into his sandwich, tearing away a hulking bite and attempting to chew through bulging cheeks.