by R. B. Conroy
Alex shook his head. “Unbelievable! We have Moretti’s Chief of Staff and right hand man snorting coke at a party. If the media gets ahold of this, it will explode like a time bomb!”
The big Italian’s eyes narrowed, “Eddie Moretti’s popularity has been slipping lately due to the economic crisis. A scandal this size, involving Ramsey, would kill his chances of ever being re-elected.”
“Can I hold on to these photos?”
“They’re all yours, Alex and here’s the memory card.” Louie handed him the small card. “I would suggest you make duplicate copies and put them and the card in a secure location—somewhere Ramsey and his gang would never suspect.”
“I have an uncle who was a Green Beret in Nam. He lives way out in the country and his house is like an armed camp.”
“Sounds like a good place.”
“But what about you, Louie? Won’t Ramsey suspect you? After all, he saw you at the party. I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
Louie grunted a couple of sarcastic chuckles. “Are you kidding? They think I’m stupid, a dufus. There’s no way those guys would ever believe that a big dummy like me would understand how to take pictures with my cell phone. And besides, there were probably over a hundred people at that party and anyone of them could have taken these pictures.”
Alex stood and walked over to warm his coffee. “You know, I just heard on television the other day that President Moretti is coming to Chicago next week for an international economic summit; over eighty countries will be there.”
“I know, it’s been all over the local media. Do you have Ramsey’s cell number?” Louie queried.
“Yes, he gave it to me at our recent meeting. He wanted me to be able to reach him right away if I changed my mind on the TARP situation.”
“Good, then I would suggest that you call him right away before he has a chance to send another assassin after you.” Louie pushed back his chair and stood up. “I must be going back to Elmwood Park so I can attend the noon mass at Saint Celestine.”
Alex turned. “How can I ever repay you?”
“You already have, Alex—a thousand times over. My job is everything to me and after the buyout, my head was on the chopping block, but you wouldn’t let it happen. You stood up for me and saved my job. I’m forever in your debt. Bless you, mio amico.”
The two men shared a quick embrace. Louie smiled warmly and hurried out the back door and though the garage to his truck. Alex watched him guide the old truck onto Vawter Park Road and slowly disappear.
Chapter 44
Clad only in his housecoat and slippers, Ben Ramsey pushed his arms to the sky and yawned mightily. The cool summer breeze felt good on his face on this Sunday morning as he walked down the stone pavers in front of his three story home in Arlington, Virginia. He paused at the end of the walk, leaned over and pulled the Washington Times out of the narrow cylinder. Ben liked living in Arlington. It was just over the Potomac from DC and close enough to the White House so he could be there in fifteen minutes, but far enough to give him and his wife the feeling of being outside the hustle and bustle of the nation’s capitol.
He turned and walked back toward his house, pausing briefly to take a look at the front page. The main headline read: Economic Woes Continue for Administration. He frowned and then scanned the rest of the first page. His eyes froze on a smaller heading at the bottom right of the page. Second Indy business leader killed. “Hot damn, they got him,” he murmured. He hurried to his front porch and sat down on the edge of a cast iron chair to read the rest of the article. He felt a vibration on his side and quickly slid his phone from the terrycloth pocket. The secure line to the President was flashing, he quickly answered.
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Good morning, Ramsey.”
“Well, we’ve got one problem out of the way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Crane’s gone; I just read the headline in the Times.”
“Read the article dummy, Crane has not been killed.”
Ramsey quickly searched the article. “Oh my God!”
“Good job, Ramsey.”
“Listen Ed, this is shocking to me. Vito’s mob buddy said this hit man was one of the best.”
“He must not be too good. He got the wrong man. This is devastating, Ben. We took a terrible chance here and got nothing.”
Ben was shaking. “I just don’t understand. I can’t imagine what went wrong and how Vito got killed.”
“The paper says it was an accident, but we both know better than that. I want you at the White House first thing in the morning so we can try and figure out what to do about this mess. I’m leaving for Chicago later in the morning, so don’t be late.” The phone went dead.
Ramsey fell back against the iron chair, his chest heaving. Shaken and disoriented, his phone rang again. He checked the unfamiliar number and answered. “Hello.”
“Morning Ben, Alex Crane calling. Are you surprised?”
“S…surprised, why would I be surprised?”
“Cut the crap, Ramsey!” Alex wasn’t a hundred percent certain he had been the target of a murder plot when he dialed Ramsey, but the nervousness in the top aide’s voice took away any doubt. “We need to talk, Ben. Now!”
“Listen Crane, you’ve got your nerve calling me at my home on Sunday. I have nothing to talk to you about.”
“Oh, I think you do. It seems as though I came across some pictures of a man who looks exactly like you and he happens to be doing a little blow at a party on Rush Street.”
“What are you talking about? I…I don’t do blow, you’re reaching here, Crane.” Ramsey was beside himself; he stood and paced back and forth on the small porch, running his fingers through his hair.
“The pictures are very clear. There’s no mistake about it—it’s you!”
Ramsey slipped a handkerchief from his robe and wiped his brow. He felt weak and vulnerable. He knew he was taking an awful chance when he snorted coke at those parties. There would always be someone trying to make political hay off such a situation. His actions that night were reckless and foolish and now he was apparently going to pay for it. Crane had delivered him a couple of hard body blows. He felt he had to punch back. “You’re bluffing, Crane; I want to see those pictures.”
“Any time Ben, you name the place.”
Ramsey was now certain that Crane had the pictures. He spoke almost inaudibly in response to Crane’s open-ended invitation, “What do you want out of me, Crane?”
Smelling blood, Alex moved in for the kill. “Listen close, Ramsey. Here’s what we are going to do. As you know, President Moretti is coming to Chicago this week for the economic summit and I want you to arrange a…”
………
“Now here are the latest pickings from the Political Grapevine.” It was the bottom of the six o’clock hour and Fox News Anchor, Bret Baier, was starting his daily segment on politics. He continued, “It seems as though President Moretti has decided, at the last moment, to take a break from the International Economic Summit in Chicago on Tuesday afternoon and enjoy a game of golf with an old friend, as he so aptly put it at a briefing this morning. The President will travel to nearby Indiana and play a round of golf with Alex Crane, the Chief Executive Officer of Midwest Consolidated Bank, the largest banking conglomerate in the Midwest. Crane, a political moderate, has donated to both parties over the years. No one is certain of the reason for the sudden change in plans, but as Moretti’s top aide, Ben Ramsey, joked this morning, ‘The President never passes up the chance for a game of golf.’ This will be the thirty-first time the President has played golf in less than a year in office. President Bush by contrast, played twenty-four times in over eight years in office” Baier paused and shuffled some papers, “In other news….”
Chapter 45
It was almost noon on Tuesday and Alex was making final preparations for his outing with the President at 1 P.M. Strom Winslow had informed him, t
hrough an e-mail earlier that morning, that Josh’s funeral would be on Wednesday in his hometown of South Bend and Vito’s would be on Thursday in Elmwood Park, Illinois.
Monday had been a very busy day for Alex. He had called his secretary, Erica, early in the morning to tell her that he would be staying at the lake to attend Josh and Vito’s funerals. Later in the morning, he had gone to the local CVS Drug Store to make duplicate copies of the Ramsey pictures. After leaving CVS, he made a stop at the local bank where he maintained a checking account and a small safety deposit box. Alex placed a set of the radio-active pictures in the secured box and then headed to Uncle Ned’s to give him another copy of the pictures, along with the memory card, for safe keeping.
Upon arriving at Uncle Ned’s, Alex was pleased to find that Nicky seemed to be tolerating her stay with his eccentric uncle very well. Ned reassured him that he was taking good care of Nicky and that he would hide the sealed envelope Alex had given him in a safe in his basement. The safe was in a small room hidden behind a fake cabinet. Then, with an AK47 dangling from his shoulder, he led Alex to the basement, showed him the safe and gave him a copy of the combination. Alex winced as he watched a big wad of chewing tobacco splash on the cement floor. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna get near that envelope, I guarantee you that,” Ned grunted as he swiped his shirtsleeve across his frothy mouth. Alex thanked his indelicate uncle, hurried upstairs and reassured Nicky he would come for her soon. Then he climbed into his SUV and drove the hour back to his lake home.
Tuesday morning, Alex received a final e-mail, followed by a reaffirming cell phone call at 9:00 A.M. from Hal Withers, an aide to the President. Withers instructed Alex that the President planned to arrive at South Shore Golf Course at approximately 12:15 P.M. that day. Then, after hitting a bucket of balls and chipping and putting for ten or fifteen minutes, he would be ready to tee off at 1:00 P.M. sharp. Withers indicated that the President would not have time for a luncheon and would eat something on the way there. He said the President was very much looking forward to this opportunity to spend a little time on the golf course and out in the fresh air. The lack of any mention of Alex’s name during the entire planning process of the impromptu outing was telling. It was obvious to Alex that the President did not want to meet with him and resented the intrusion into his busy schedule. But the very fact that he was coming screamed at Alex that he had the most powerful man in the world back on his heels. He grinned a wry grin as he tossed his golf shoes and bag in the back of the Escalade and closed the hatch.
Chapter 46
The surroundings were almost surrealistic as Alex followed the Sheriff Deputy’s car into the parking lot at nearby South Shore Golf Club. He was stunned by the total lack of activity around the popular course. The parking lot was empty except for several law enforcement vehicles: sheriff’s cars, local city police cars, and several unmarked FBI vehicles. The local media in the resort area had been going crazy with this story for the past day and a half. The greater Lake Wawasee area was buzzing with excitement at the very thought of the charismatic President of the United States playing a round of golf right here in their backyard. But when the County Sheriff announced early Monday morning that the area for five miles around the golf course would be cordoned off, he meant business. Accept for an occasional official vehicle coming or going, even the always busy State Road 13, was dead quiet.
The Sheriff’s Deputy led Alex to a predetermined parking spot near the clubhouse and signaled to Alex to pull in. Alex pulled in the spot as ordered, turned off his engine and just sat in his vehicle for a moment reflecting on what was about to happen. It was 12:10 and the President would be arriving in about five minutes. Never in his wildest dreams did Alex think he would ever be in a situation like this one. He was about to play a game of golf with the President of the United States alone, with only the Secret Service men there to guard the President. It was almost overwhelming; he wished Nicky were there to give him a hug or a word of encouragement. It was so difficult to face this awesome situation totally alone—no one to talk to, no one to bounce things off of. The President, on the other hand, would be surrounded by all of his usual support personnel and large security force. He would be in his element and confident. But Alex’s life experiences had prepared him well for such a situation. Raised on a farm by a stern father, he was taught at an early age to be tough and independent. He knew what he had to do today and he would do it. He didn’t doubt that.
Alex was shaken from his thoughts by a tap on the driver’s side window. He turned to see one of his golfing buddies smiling through the window. It was Hank Zimmerman, a Colonel at the nearby State Police Post. He had evidently been assigned as security for the big event. It made Alex feel good to see a familiar face. He quickly got out of the car and shook hands aggressively with his old friend.
“You ready for this, buddy?” Hank barked.
“I guess so.”
“I hear Moretti’s a pretty good stick. He’s gonna kick your butt.”
Alex laughed. He loved hearing the friendly jostling from Hank. It made him feel normal, if only for a moment. “That could be,” he replied.
“Don’t give him any shots, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Well, I’d better go. It looks like the big guy is here.” Hank nodded at the long procession of black vehicles moving south on State Road 13. Alex watched as they started to filter into the mostly vacant parking lot at South Shore. Hank gave him a high five and hurried away.
Alex walked calmly to the back of his vehicle and opened the rear hatch while still watching the vehicles navigate their way into the parking lot. It was, indeed, an impressive sight. Suddenly, a long black limo appeared and pulled to a stop near Alex. He watched with rapt attention, waiting for the President to step out of the impressive limo at any moment and greet him. Alex lifted his bag out of his trunk and stood watching, but still, the President didn’t appear. After what seemed an eternity, the limo pulled away and a nondescript black security vehicle pulled forward. The back door swung open and a smiling Ed Moretti jumped out and pushed his hand toward Alex.
“You must be Alex. Hello, I’m Ed Moretti.”
“Why…uh hello Mr. President; how nice to meet you.” The two shared a quick handshake. Alex thought he was much taller in person than he appeared on television and there was an aura about him—he exuded charm and charisma.
“It’s Ed, please call me Ed.”
“Okay, Ed.”
While the two were sharing their greeting, another man got out of the car on the far side and hurried around to greet Alex.
“Hello Alex, I’m Hal Withers. We’ve talked a few times over the past couple of days.” He smiled and extended his hand and the two men shook.
“Nice to meet you, Hal.” Alex turned toward the President. “I was expecting you to be in that big limo.
The President chuckled, “Can’t be too careful these days. We do things like this quite often.” He leaned down, looked in at the driver and raised his thumb in the air. The trunk flipped open and the President walked behind the car to change his shoes.
Withers quickly took over. “The President is going to the range. He likes to hit balls for awhile and then practice his chipping and putting. And he likes to practice alone.” The aide paused, as if gathering himself. “And, as you requested, the two of you will be riding in an electric cart, no caddies. And he wants you to drive since he doesn’t know the course.”
Accustomed to calling all the shots, the deference to Alex’s request for a cart seemed difficult for the arrogant aide to spit out. The President preferred a caddy, but Alex wanted them alone with no one else around. “The President will see you on the first tee at 1:00 sharp.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Withers. I will do a little putting and then go to the range when the President is finished.”
Alex was stunned by the brevity of the exchange. The media had reported that the President was having “a golf game with an old friend”. What a joke!
he thought. The cold shoulder by the President was numb-ing, but in a way, it was appropriate. This was a difficult situation for the President. This was no time for unnecessary niceties.
“See you at one.” Withers smiled.
Alex forced a grin and nodded. He lifted his bag and headed for the practice green for some chipping and putting.
When Alex arrived at the vacant putting green, he glanced back at the parking lot. The President was leaning on his bag and surrounded by members of the traveling media group who had just arrived. They were pushing and shoving one another, trying to get closer to the President. Alex almost felt a little sympathy for the man. A few seconds later, John, the course owner, pulled up in golf cart and strapped the Chief Executive’s bag on the back. The President jumped aboard. The owner gunned the cart and headed for the practice range, much to the dismay of a long-faced press corps. Three carts full of Secret Service were in close pursuit, with each man scanning the nearby landscape looking for potential problems.
………
Alex left the practice range and arrived at the first tee a little before 1:00. It was a hot, muggy August day with the temperature nearing 90. The course owner had provided the golfers with his fancy Club Cart for the occasion. Alex locked the foot brake and stepped out of the cart. He lifted a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead dry and squinted into the bright sun. The President was near the clubhouse talking with reporters one last time before he teed off.
At Alex’s request, there would be no reporters near the men while they were golfing. The President excused himself from the pesky reporters and walked briskly toward the first tee. Withers hurried ahead of him and strapped his large bag, embossed on the back with a large American Flag, on Alex’s cart. The President arrived shortly thereafter. Withers nodded and hurried back toward the clubhouse.
