Election

by Brandt Legg

  And what about me? Hudson thought. I’ve spent my life trying to help people, trying to fix everything, desperately hoping it would all make up for the mistake we made so long ago. I’ve been trying to erase something written in blood, trying to forget and simultaneously never forget, until I atoned for it. How long to cleanse that? And there’s only one thing left to do, the only way to get close to being back to good. One final gesture. Free Rochelle. And I can only do that if I’m President. Schueller wants me to win so I can somehow defeat a global conspiracy I don’t even know exists, but I have to do it to get her out of prison. Saving her is the only way to save Gouge and the Wizard and . . . and the only way to save myself.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Schueller asked, hugging his dad.

  Hudson realized there were tears in his eyes and quickly rubbed them away. “I won’t quit,” he said, grasping both of Schueller’s shoulders and staring into his son’s eyes, seeing himself at that age. “I won’t back down.”

  “Good.”

  Hudson hugged his son harder and whispered urgently into his ear instructions for getting hold of the Wizard. “If you have nowhere else to go, and I’m dead, he’ll help you.”

  Schueller pulled back, a little shaken. “Okay, but I won’t ever need him. You’re gonna live forever.” He looked past his father at the agents in the distance, not sure he believed his own words.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Vonner stared at the report on his computer. “What the hell is Hudson doing in Cleveland?”

  “Visiting Schueller,” Rex answered, not bothering to look up from his own computer.

  “Just like that? No warning?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know everything about Pound. His entire life, personality profile, every move he makes is filtered through my systems. I eat and sleep this guy. I know.”

  “Okay, so what are they talking about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It isn’t possible to record every conversation, but we have film. I’ll review it, body language, facial movements, if we’re lucky some lipreading, etcetera. Don’t worry, everything will be dissected. He’s not meeting with a head of state, another politician, or God forbid a lawyer. It’s his pot-smoking kid.”

  Vonner kind of grunted and flipped to the next report—Bastendorff. It had come in from one of Rex’s teams. Rex hadn’t even had a chance to look at it, too distracted by NorthBridge. He’d become consumed by tracking them on the DarkNet, amazed by their skills at acquiring data and funds while at the same time avoiding detection. Rex had admitted that even with all his experience and limitless resources, he felt lost in the woods. But bit by bit, millisecond by millisecond, Rex was getting closer.

  “Bastendorff thinks he can beat us again,” Vonner said, grabbing his scotch and heading to his exercise bike.

  “He might,” Rex replied absently.

  Vonner, ready for a fight, looked over at his most trusted fixer, but quickly saw Rex was wrapped up in three massive screens filled with moving code. Bastendorff had beat them before, but they both lost in 2016. Vonner, knowing Bastendorff wanted the Democrats to win the White House in 2016, had readied himself for the general election. However, he hadn’t realized the secretive billionaire was also manipulating the Republican primary until it was too late. This time, Vonner had played both sides by backing multiple presidential candidates from each party. Hudson had always been his first choice, but too much was at stake to let it rest with one novice.

  Even Vonner couldn’t have predicted just how popular the hardware store owner would become. Vonner worried though that Hudson might be peaking too soon. He appeared to be running away with the election. In politics, one never wanted to be on top too long. Given enough time, anyone could be knocked off.

  Melissa greeted Hudson warmly, as usual, when he returned home. She’d done a quick trip to Vegas to give a speech to a convention of top women executives.

  “I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow,” Hudson said as she met him in the driveway.

  “I thought I’d surprise you,” Melissa said, kissing him quickly. “But as it turned out, you surprised me. Where were you?”

  “I made a mad dash to Cleveland.”

  “Cleveland? Is Schueller okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Hudson said as they walked inside. “I, uh, needed to see him. I miss them both so much.”

  “You’re still getting over Colorado,” Melissa said, squeezing his hand.

  “Yeah . . . I’m kind of a mess.” He reached into the fridge and grabbed a Coke.

  “And you’ve been spending too much time with Fitz. You have enough bad diet habits of your own without borrowing any of his.”

  Hudson didn’t laugh at her good-humored dig. He stared at the wall-mounted cordless phone as if it was a gun pointed at him.

  Noticing what had his attention, Melissa asked, “Expecting a call?”

  “No,” he replied absently.

  “Are you okay?”

  Hudson hugged her and whispered in her ear, “Let’s talk out back.” Then he held a finger to his lips.

  She gave him a strange look, grabbed a coat, and followed him out the sliding glass door to the back yard. Dark, cold, and expansive, the backyard was fenced. He knew the Secret Service had two agents patrolling the other side, but he didn’t know where they were. Hudson led his wife to the center of the lawn where two large oak trees grew. He stopped just past where the floodlight’s glow faded to shadow and stood inches from her.

  “I think our house is bugged,” he said, so quietly that she barely heard him.

  “Who would do that?”

  “Vonner.”

  “What? Why?” she asked, stepping back as if to give the idea space to find validity.

  “I don’t know. Why did he choose me? Why does a guy like Vonner do anything?”

  “But our home?” She looked back toward the house.

  “I know it sounds crazy at first, but when you stop and think about it, Vonner has a lot riding on me.”

  “Yeah, like the future of the free world.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So are you saying we shouldn’t be offended? Because I am. It’s creepy, Hudson. What have we said in there? I mean . . . does he listen to us having sex?” Her voice raised. “Does he watch? Are there cameras?”

  Cameras hadn’t occurred to Hudson. “I guess that’s possible, I don’t—”

  “How did you discover this?”

  “I had a hunch after Vonner seemed to know about some things I only discussed here.”

  “So you don’t know for sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Hudson didn’t know how to tell her about what the Wizard had told him without getting into the whole Rochelle situation, and he knew she would think Fonda was just messing with him.

  “But maybe you’re just being paranoid.”

  “No.”

  Seeing Hudson get defensive, Melissa said, “I believe you, I really do, but let’s find out and get them removed.”

  He looked at her blankly. It had never occurred to him that this problem could be solved so easily.

  “Do you remember last year,” Melissa began, “when I did some work for Conner Moore, just before he was indicted for that fraud case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The FBI was monitoring everything he did, and he had a guy find all their stuff and clean it up.”

  “But he still got indicted.”

  “That’s only because he found it too late. I can get the guy he used. It’s not just a guy. It’s a big security firm.”

  “Yes. Definitely. I want them to do the house, my office, my phones . . . your car.”

  “I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”

  “But not from here.”

  “No, not from here. Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean I’m an airhead,” she said, giving him a friendly shove.<
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  “Oh, I know that,” he said, pulling her to him.

  “Hey, none of that. I’m not having sex in that house again until we know it’s clean.”

  Hudson laughed, something he hadn’t been able to do in a while. “How about out here then?”

  “Have you forgotten who’s on the other side of the fence?” Melissa said, smiling. She always made him feel better. He knew at that moment that soon he’d have to tell her about that night so long ago, which now threatened everything.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The next morning, his last day off before getting back on the trail, Hudson, surrounded by his large security team, headed to one of his hardware stores. He’d been planning to work on a speech and catch up on position papers at home, but couldn’t bring himself to stay around until Melissa’s contact “took care” of the place. Fonda’s warning about his office also being bugged kept him out of there.

  Why am I even here? he asked himself as a campaign aide met him in the parking lot.

  “Looking for a little normal?” the man said, almost reading his mind.

  “I don’t know what that is anymore,” Hudson replied, motioning to all the Secret Service and Vonner agents. However, he realized his aide was right. He needed a dose of reality, a few hours of his old “normal” life, in spite of the Secret Service’s trying to discourage the idea. “Hell, if I listened to all the security people, I’d be living in a bunker.”

  The aide nodded and gave him the news of the day: Thorne had predicted that NorthBridge would take over a major American city if Pound won the nomination; an oil tanker hijacked off the east African coast; an earthquake in Mexico, significant death toll expected; numerous demonstrations against the 3D system in a dozen states . . .

  Hudson lost the rest as he wondered, How did they get 3D up so quickly? Schueller had voiced his suspicions that the government had been waiting for an excuse to put 3D in place for years. Hudson realized much more clearly now that little by little, privacy had been traded for security.

  Fitz had called. They’d all be back on the trail in the morning; latest poll numbers; a few more endorsements had rolled in; they’d lost a couple of others they had been courting; three fundraisers on the schedule. Vonner’s backing gave Hudson the luxury not to feel pressured about bringing in funds, but, at the same time, it was vital that no one be able to say that Vonner was paying the bills. Hudson’s popularity had taken care of that. In spite of Fonda Raton’s assertions, Hudson was raising more cash, even without Vonner, than any other candidate.

  Fitz had also said something in passing which was deeply troubling to Hudson. “Each cycle, the elections get crazier. Each month, the news gets wilder. It’s clear that even after you win, this will always be known as the year of the political assassinations.” The call had ended before Hudson realized the implications of the statement and how much it bothered him. And his campaign manager’s next statement was even stranger. “What can top this for grabbing the public’s interest? I guess revolution is next.”

  Trixie appeared holding a phone. “It’s Gouge.”

  Hudson didn’t want to take it, but he had to. “Hey,” he said, and as always happened whenever he spoke with Gouge or the Wizard, he was, for a moment, instantly taken back to their good times and teenage adventures.

  Then the memories inevitably turned dark as they flashed to that terrible night which had ended his carefree youth.

  “Fonda Raton is all over me,” Gouge said.

  “Not on the phone,” Hudson said, annoyed. “Can you get to our friend?”

  “You mean in person?” Gouge asked.

  “No, I mean can you talk to him? Safely?”

  “I think so.”

  “Gouge, you can’t think so, you have to know.”

  “Okay, okay. I can.”

  “Good. Do it. And don’t talk to anyone else for any reason.”

  “Got it.”

  Hudson turned back to his aide, still hovering fifteen feet behind him, and resumed the morning briefing. He then made a series of campaign-related calls, but the whole time he felt himself sliding back through the decades to Rochelle.

  Later, Melissa phoned and told him that the team of “sweepers,” as she called them, had found bugs in the phones and one in the living room, but nowhere else in the house, and no cameras. He felt relieved, even though the feeling of being violated remained and his distrust of Vonner had grown. Melissa pointed out that they couldn’t be sure Vonner had done it, and they debated whether they should confront him about it. She voted yes, but Hudson was still undecided. He didn’t tell her why, but he wanted to see what the Wizard thought. A part of him also wished he could ask Fonda Raton for advice, but that would be suicide.

  The sweepers also said neither of their cars had been bugged, which he assumed was for the simple reason that they’d only used them a handful of times since he’d announced his candidacy. By the end of the day, the sweepers did find listening devices in the SUV he’d been using since he’d been back in Ohio, and another one in his office.

  That was too much. Hudson called Vonner.

  “Did you bug my home and my office?” Hudson asked angrily as soon as Vonner answered the communicator.

  “Of course I did,” Vonner said charmingly, as if he’d been doing Hudson a favor. “You’re running for President of the United States. Too much at stake, not the least of which is your life. It helps our security.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “The man who is going to make sure you become king.”

  “By any means necessary?”

  “Hey, Hudson, this is life in the big city. The biggest city.”

  Hudson wasn’t ready to give Vonner another pass, but he also wasn’t ready to quit. He had started to truly believe he could win—that he was going to win. Not just the nomination, but the whole thing. “You should have told me, dammit.”

  “How do you think you got this far?” Vonner asked, a smile still in his voice. “You think your Captain America routine has done all the magic? It’s nice, but I’ve done the heavy lifting. This only looks easy. Don’t start thinking it actually is.”

  Hudson could hear the ice cubes clinking in Vonner’s glass as he spoke. “You want to do something like that again, try asking me first.”

  “Really? Do you want me to ask you every time we do anything gray? I know you prefer things black and white, but anything important happens in the gray areas.”

  “I guess everything is gray in the shadows.”

  “Except in the darkest corners.”

  “I’m sure.” Hudson had to remind himself that Vonner was not the enemy. They’d all been paranoid about NorthBridge, and Vonner had taken him from a guy looking for a bank loan to the frontrunner for the Republican nomination. “Do it again, or anything like that, without my consent and I’m out.”

  Vonner suppressed a laugh. “You have my word.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Snow flurries filled the night sky as Schueller and Florence sat at a concrete picnic table in the dimly lit interstate rest area. Florence stared at her brother while she zipped up her down vest against the cold. “You look like hell.”

  “That’s better than I feel,” he said, taking off a knit cap and rubbing his head. She saw the reddish-purple circles around his eyes, the strain in his expression.

  “Is Dad okay?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What does that mean?” Florence had already been through too much in the campaign and seen dangers too close, too graphic, to take that kind of response lightly.

  “He gave me a name to contact in case he dies.”

  Florence wasn’t sure how to react. The risk of his being killed during the campaign was not news. It kept her up nights. But she knew her brother, and had never seen him this stressed. “What is it, Schueller? You’ve got me here at some freezing rest stop after driving half the day because the phones aren’t safe, Skype, email, text—nothing. What’s going on?�
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  They’d both shaken their Secret Service details. It was easier than most people would think because the Secret Service assumed you wanted their protection. Schueller felt oddly safer without them as the darkness enveloped the area. The light snow was still visible in the pool of yellowish light cast from the nearby restrooms and streetlights, part of a series of pale lights which illuminated the parking area.

  “Vonner. I was right about Vonner.”

  Florence searched her brain for all the warnings and dire predictions Schueller had made about their father’s sponsor.

  “Vonner is part of the Illuminati,” he added.

  She almost laughed at the words, but it was too serious. “You’ve finally convinced Dad of your whacky beliefs?”

  “It’s not just me.”

  “I know. But Schueller, supposedly a group of wealthy families have controlled global events for centuries? Come on. The Illuminati isn’t real.”

  “Maybe not. But what if, like most myths, this one is rooted in fact? I’m not saying they’re some secret sect with candles and rituals and all that nonsense. It’s not even close to that simple.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You may still think I’m crazy, but Dad doesn’t.” He stood up and fished the last cigarette from a pack in his coat pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply. The first drag was always his favorite. All the while, he watched silently as Florence took it in.

  “Dad believes you?”

  Schueller nodded, exhaling the smoke away from his sister. She’d long given up trying to get him to quit, but if even the smell of it got anywhere near her, she would go ballistic. Schueller glanced back over to the parking lot as a black van pulled into a nearby space. A guy in a dark suit got out and headed toward the restrooms. Schueller’s eyes didn’t leave him until the man disappeared inside.