Access to Power

by Robert Ellis

  The car felt like it was shaking apart but finally stopped. Then Frank shifted into reverse and floored it but nothing happened. He stuck his head out the window and saw the front tire grinding a hole in the mud. When he spotted Olson’s pickup moving down the hill, he gunned it again, his tire spraying muck into the air, unable to find hard ground.

  Olson got out of his pickup and started walking toward him with a crowbar in his hand. Frank ripped open the door and jumped out thinking that he’d just been handed his ticket and was the world’s next dead man.

  “Easy, Olson,” he said as they faced off. “Easy. You look like you could use a drink to calm down. Let’s go get a drink and calm down.”

  Olson glanced at the Lexus, then turned back with the crowbar. “What you did to me isn’t a game, Frank. Not anymore.”

  It hung there, with Olson chewing it over. Frank could see it as he stood there—Olson’s mind churning up the past.

  “Why are you talking to Linda?” Frank asked.

  The churning stopped. Olson’s eyes drifted up the hill and parked on the gravel road that Frank knew was the only way out.

  “Have you been snooping around my office, Frank?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I had a good look. You’ve hit bottom. Killing Woody should’ve been your wake-up call, you crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

  Olson swung the crowbar. Frank grabbed it, drove the big man back and hit him in the face with a closed fist. Olson’s head snapped back. As he lost his balance and fell, he let go of the crowbar and hit the ground with a heavy groan. Frank gave him a look and stepped back. Olson rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath.

  “It never stops, does it?” Olson said in a low voice.

  Frank picked up the crowbar, wondering what he’d do with it if Olson made a move. “What’s that, Olson?”

  Olson looked up at him from the ground. “You ruined me,” he said. “And now you’re doing the same thing to Lou Kay and his daughter. You’d do anything to get Merdock elected, wouldn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Olson grimaced. “The Senate race in Virginia,” he said. “Lou Kay’s daughter. I thought kids were off-limits. And what about the man’s ex-wife? How much did it cost you to pay her off? How low can you go?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Olson didn’t answer, all three hundred pounds of him shaking with anger. It took considerable effort to lift himself off the ground. When he finally got to his feet, he was out of breath and unable to catch the drool slipping out of his mouth. He wiped his chin and turned to Frank’s car, eyeing the left front tire.

  “Dig yourself out of the mud,” he said, walking off. “You ought to be pretty good at it by now.”

  Frank watched Olson climb into his truck and settle in behind the wheel.

  “What about Linda, Olson? What were the two of you talking about?”

  Olson flashed a dark smile, lifting his camera and pointing it at him. He snapped three quick shots off. When he lowered the lens, his smile was gone.

  “It’s the wrong time to be alone,” he said in an ominous voice. “If I were you, Frank, I’d be more careful. It’s dangerous now.”

  Olson held the glance, then turned the pickup around and finally drove off, his words lingering as the sound of the truck’s engine faded slowly over the hill.

  Aside from the murders, Frank had no idea what Olson had been talking about or why he’d brought up the Merdock/Kay race for the Senate. Frank was aware that Kay was divorced and had a nineteen-year-old daughter. But he had never considered them issues and certainly hadn’t done anything to them. What did Olson know that he didn’t? Even more troubling, why was Olson even following the race?

  Frank turned back to his car. It looked like a wreck that had washed up from the river after a flood. The battery on his cell phone was dead and he couldn’t find the power cable that plugged into the lighter on the dash. Somehow he had to dig the car out and get back into town.

  Chapter 40

  Two hours later Frank burst into the war room. Tracy must have heard him climbing the stairs. When he entered, she looked anxious, but ready.

  “What the hell’s going on, Tracy?”

  “The media room,” she said. “Hurry.”

  He followed her inside, watching her grab the remote. Frank turned to the monitor as a picture faded up. Olson had been right. Something unexpected had happened in the Merdock/Kay race and Tracy had recorded the broadcast from MSNBC. Lou Kay’s ex-wife Sylvia was standing before a courthouse talking to the press. In her late forties with blond hair, the image reminded Frank of the tasteless parade of women fighting to be heard during the dark days of the Clinton era. But this piece had something more. It included video of Lou Kay’s daughter, a sophomore at college, being led away in handcuffs by campus police.

  “Lou Kay’s campaign is blowing up,” Tracy said. “His daughter was arrested on Friday in a sex-for-drugs scandal at college. Kay’s ex-wife used it to come forward. She’s saying that she divorced Kay because he beat her.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Frank exploded out of his chair and started pacing. Tracy flinched, her eyes moving from Frank’s muddy shoes and slacks to her notepad.

  “Kay’s denying it,” she said. “He’s calling for, quote, an end to the politics of personal destruction—where have you been, Frank?”

  “With Ozzie Olson.” He saw her flinch again at the mention of Olson’s name. “He knew all about it, Tracy. Why didn’t we? Where’s Linda?”

  Tracy steadied herself against the table. “Editing. She rescheduled. She’ll probably go all night.”

  “But I didn’t do this,” he shouted.

  Tracy looked back at him, confused. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. This is enough to put Merdock over the top, Frank. He’s been trying to reach you ever since the story broke after lunch.”

  “It’s bullshit. You’ve seen the research.”

  Tracy ripped the top sheet of paper off her notepad and handed it to him. “Sylvia Kay,” she said. “Here’s her address. She’s not answering the phone.”

  * * *

  Frank’s Lexus hadn’t survived his meeting with Olson at the end of the road. Although he managed to rock the car out of the mud and limp back into the city, that thirty-foot plunge at high-speed had damaged the steering column and bent the frame. Now he found himself driving a metallic blue Chevy loaned out by Mid-Town Cars & Wagon. The car was a non-smoker. Frank cracked the window open and lit up, checking the new battery on his cell phone as he wandered through a middle-class neighborhood in suburban Virginia. He called Mario, but hit his voice mail. He left a message, filling him in and saying that they needed to meet tonight at the usual spot before the Lincoln Memorial.

  Oakmont Road was just ahead. Frank made a right, counting the street numbers on the mailboxes. Set on half-acre lots, the split-level homes looked almost identical, some in need of repair and others not. When he spotted 621, he pulled over and parked.

  Sylvia Kay’s house was one of the group in need of repair. As he got out of the car and walked down the drive, he saw Lou Kay’s daughter in a bedroom window staring out at the trees. From the blank look on her face, Frank guessed that she had been crying and wasn’t really looking at the trees.

  Keenly aware of the sound of a man and woman arguing, Frank approached the door and rang the bell. The voices quieted and the door snapped open quickly. Lou Kay glared at him from the other side of the storm door. His ex-wife Sylvia was standing behind him, annoyed by the intrusion even though she looked angry and upset and even a little frightened. Kay eyed Frank for a moment and then slammed the door in his face.

  Frank hit the bell again. When the door finally reopened, it wasn’t Lou Kay with his ex-wife. This time it was Kay’s media consultant, Stewart Brown.

  Brown unlocked the storm door and stepped outside. His clothes were tight, his bloated form moving like a man who had just eaten too much din
ner and was mulling over the possibilities of desert. He was sweating, his beady eyes darting between Frank and the front yard.

  “You don’t play fair,” Brown said finally. “I’d been waiting for something, Frank. I just didn’t think it would be this ugly.”

  “I didn’t do it, Brown. And fuck you if you say I did.”

  Brown met Frank’s eyes. “I know we’re fucked, so I guess I’m saying you did.”

  “I want to talk to her. Someone put her up to this.”

  When Frank reached for the door, Brown stepped in front of him and pulled his cell phone out.

  “You’re not talking to anyone,” Brown said. “Get off the property, Frank, or we’ll make headlines because I’m calling the cops.”

  * * *

  The idea of another woman standing before a courthouse unloading gossip on a politician was more than Frank could take. Especially when he knew that Sylvia Kay was lying. Mario’s research on Lou Kay had been more than thorough. Frank knew everything about the man from the time he entered school as a young boy. Kay’s past was so clean, the only thing Mario could come up with was that the carwash he used hired illegals. Every carwash in America hired illegals. That’s why Frank had resorted to talk radio. Mel Merdock was pulling ahead of Lou Kay with smoke and mirrors. Frank’s negative campaign had no basis in fact. He was using attitude the whole way.

  Now someone had stepped into the mix thinking that they could decimate Lou Kay’s campaign with two quick blows. His ex-wife Sylvia was calling him a wife beater on TV. His daughter’s arrest at college had probably been a setup, too. Frank doubted that any of this had been the ex-wife’s idea. Someone had gotten to her. Someone with money who had a vicious streak and didn’t see the full implications of what they had done.

  A wave of fear moved through Frank as he pulled into the lot and saw Juliana on her horse at the Fox Hunt Riding Club. She was alone, passing beneath a gate and riding toward the stable on a magnificent stallion.

  Frank got out of the Chevy. When she spotted him and waved, she looked surprised to see him, then delighted. Frank crossed the lot and watched her dismount. She pulled her hat off, shook loose her hair and smiled.

  “We’re gonna win now, aren’t we?” she said excitedly.

  Frank grimaced. “We need to talk.”

  She read his face and her smile faded. Then she pulled the reins over the horse’s head and started walking toward the stable.

  They entered from the middle. The stable looked new and was large enough to keep fifty horses in a degree of comfort most people never enjoyed. Once they reached the center aisle, Juliana pointed to the left and began leading them toward a stall at the very end. Frank kept his eyes on her as she guided the horse along.

  “But I thought you did it,” she said.

  Frank shook his head. “What about Mel?”

  “He’s not that smart,” she said, thinking it over. “Jake isn’t either.”

  “Smart?”

  She turned sharply.

  “We had this thing turned around, Juliana. The election would’ve been close, but everything was going our way.”

  “I don’t understand what’s wrong. When I saw the news, I couldn’t believe that it was happening. We’re still gonna win, right?”

  She didn’t get it. He tried to keep his voice down.

  “Whoever did this handed Stewart Brown a silver bullet. He doesn’t see it yet, but he will. And he’ll use it. It’s in his nature to use it.”

  Her face flushed with uncertainty. Frank met her eyes.

  “Don’t you see?” he said. “If none of this is true, then they’ve been smeared. If Stewart Brown can prove that they were smeared, then everyone will think we did it. Your husband will be the rich guy who paid Lou Kay’s ex-wife to lie and destroyed his innocent daughter’s life. I couldn’t fix what Stewart Brown could do with that. No one could. Your husband’s career in politics would be over forever. He’d lose this election in a landslide.”

  She didn’t say anything. But as she tethered the horse outside the stall, Frank could tell that she finally understood. Whoever got to Lou Kay’s ex-wife had made a terrible miscalculation. It was a high-risk move that Frank thought could easily backfire and probably would.

  Juliana looked down the aisle. Frank followed her gaze and saw a trainer leading a young girl and her horse out of the stable at the other end. They were alone. Juliana turned away and stepped into the stall. Frank watched her sit on a bale of hay by the window and cross her legs.

  “What if she did it on her own?” Juliana asked. “They’re divorced, right? What if she’s making it up to get back at her husband for something we don’t know about?”

  “That doesn’t explain the daughter,” he said.

  “There’s not much time left, Frank. What if Lou Kay’s people can’t prove they were smeared? What if everyone believes he beat his wife?”

  He stared at her as he thought it over. What was left of the afternoon sun fell through the window casting her entire body in a milky red glow. Her lips were parted, her eyes reaching out to him again.

  “Then we win,” he said, still concerned and in a bad mood.

  Chapter 41

  Olson sat before his computer, highlighting the thumbnail pictures of Mel Merdock doing the dirty deed with his girlfriend. Black hair, voluptuous—when he hit the delete key and the images vanished, it almost hurt.

  He checked the time. 4:25 p.m. If he wanted to make the post office, he’d have to be out the door in twenty minutes.

  He turned back to the monitor and brought another window up. It was a stripped down editing program that had come with the software bundle he’d purchased with the computer. Two time lines appeared on the screen. On the top, Olson had already laid out the pictures that he’d saved of Merdock with his girlfriend. There were thirty, each one carefully selected from his second and third trips through the kitchen window and up those dark stairs. The time line on the bottom of the screen carried the audio track. Olson highlighted the sound and locked it to the picture. Then he named the file Meet Mel Merdock, slid a blank DVD into the computer drive and hit COPY.

  The hard drive chattered like a popcorn popper, copying his short piece of filmmaking onto the DVD. It may have been short, but the byte count on the file was huge. While he waited, he disconnected the microphone from his computer and tossed the script that he’d written into the trash. Then he double-checked the address on the mailer.

  It was time to make a run for it. Far enough away so that he would be safe, but within range so that he could watch until things shook out. He needed to see things shake out, and hoped that he would be close enough to see Frank’s face when they did. Meet Mel Merdock would be a surprise—no doubt an unwanted surprise—but Olson knew that he had to take the risk now.

  The computer quieted and the lights on the drives went dark. Olson ejected the DVD and slipped it into a paper sleeve. As he attached a label, he checked his watch. Time to spare. He slid the DVD into the mailer and sealed the flap. Turning back to the computer, he highlighted the picture and audio tracks and deleted the project files. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. His stomach was growling. After the post office, he thought about getting something to eat before returning to pack.

  Chapter 42

  Frank arrived at the memorial a few minutes early. He lit a cigarette and gazed at Lincoln sitting before him peacefully in the darkness. It seemed out of place with everything so unsettled. When he turned, he spotted Mario hurrying past the Reflecting Pool fifty yards off. He had someone with him. At first glance it looked like Bobby, the photographer Frank had met at the president’s fund-raiser. But when they finally reached the steps and moved into the light, he realized his mistake. They were about the same age, but this kid looked harder, less innocent, the thin and nervous type.

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  “Eddie,” Mario said quickly. “He works with me sometimes. Freelance. My research was good, Frank. Lou Kay
didn’t beat his ex-wife. His daughter was set up, too.”

  “I told you that on the phone. Why did you bring Eddie?”

  “Tell him, Eddie. Everything you told me.”

  The kid stepped forward, then hesitated. It wasn’t nervousness, Frank realized. It was fear. Something had happened and the kid was in over his head.

  “Woody hired me to do negative research on your client. It was on the QT. He said that he was worried about you.”

  Eddie stopped to catch his breath. He had everyone’s attention now.

  “Keep going,” Frank said.

  “Merdock’s got this woman in Georgetown. Her name’s Beth Williams. Young. Sexy. Looks like his wife only she’s got tits out to here. He put her up in a nice house and liked to boss her around. He spent a lot of time over there. Two, three nights a week. Didn’t leave until just before dawn.”

  Frank got rid of the cigarette, his face flushed with anger and frustration.

  “Woody felt the same way,” the kid said in a shaky voice. “He wanted to see for himself, so I took him along.”

  Frank turned to Mario. “We were partners. Friends. Why didn’t he say anything to me?”

  “Let him finish, Frank.”

  Mario’s eyes were burning. Frank turned back to Eddie, bracing himself.

  “We were in the front yard,” the kid said after a moment. “We heard shouting and a door slam. Then a guy ran out from the back. That guy in the papers you beat up in the last election with the porno spot.”