Access to Power

by Robert Ellis

  “He’s what?”

  It was true. Frank still couldn’t believe that it was true.

  “Brown’s throwing the race,” he said. “I’ve gotta make a stop and see somebody. Get over to RAVE’s office and make sure you get pictures. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  Frank closed his cell phone and slipped it into his pocket, racing back to Washington. Someone he considered a good friend was in jeopardy and he needed to warn him. He needed to protect him.

  Chapter 58

  Raymond watched her get into the stretch limo with her husband. Even though he sat in the front seat with Norman feeling like hired help, the privacy window was down and he wouldn’t miss anything. It looked like Juliana and Mel were still pumped up from the debate. Jake sat beside the bar, facing them as they settled into the backseat. He was holding the papers in his hand, the fax that Frank Miles had sent to Lou Kay in secret. When Juliana got the news that her political hero was a dog, it would be better than sweet.

  Jake had shown him the fax while they had been waiting. He’d given him some idea of what his next errand would be as well.

  It had come to that. Raymond reduced to an errand boy, a sidekick, putting out fires in a plan that had gone to shit from the word go. He blamed her for it. Juliana. She was the one who’d said that they needed to get into politics, not her husband. Hiring Frank Miles had been her idea. Raymond could remember seeing that glint in her eye whenever she talked about him. He’d always known what was really on her mind—the thought behind the thought. And he’d always known that it was total bullshit. If he could have found a way out of this job without damaging his reputation and career, Raymond would have cut bait and run weeks ago. Instead, Jake had given him another mark and raised the ante by a multiple of two. It was a big mark. One that would have to look like an accident when the Metro detectives arrived.

  “Lou Kay is a fool,” Merdock said, all amped up. “He didn’t know what he was saying. That’s when I knew I had him.”

  Juliana took his hand. “You did everything Frank told you to do. You knew all your lines and looked right at the camera. You were wonderful, Mel. We’ve won.”

  Her smiled faded slightly as she noticed Jake’s smirk. He held the fax out for her without saying anything. When she took the papers and switched on the reading light, what was left of her smile vanished into the night with a passing car.

  “We’re gonna celebrate,” Merdock was saying. “What time is the governor meeting us?”

  Jake turned to the driver. “We can celebrate later,” he said. “We’re going home. Turn the car around, Norman.”

  “What’s wrong?” Merdock asked. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Jake said. “The governor had to cancel but sends his congratulations. We’ve got some business to care of, that’s all.”

  Merdock sat back in the seat, nodding like he understood what was going on when everyone in the car knew that he really didn’t. Raymond had always thought of him as an idiot and turned back to Juliana. He looked her over, studying her face and waiting. The fax included photocopies of the check and wire transfer. At first it seemed like she didn’t get it. Like she didn’t see it. But then her eyes drifted to the top of the first paper and found Frank Miles’s fax ID. After that, she turned to the window and her eyes went blank. It was a death stare, he realized, only she was still breathing. Raymond had seen it before, but no one had ever been breathing.

  Chapter 59

  Frank looked through the windshield at the White House, waiting for the guard to open the gate. They were negotiating over the phone, the guard acting as the go-between with the president at the other end of the line. After a moment, the guard lowered the phone and turned to Frank.

  “He says it’s late. Come back tomorrow. He’s in bed.”

  Frank’s jaw tightened. “Tell him to get the fuck out of bed.”

  The guard shot Frank a look and almost yelped. There was no need for him to repeat Frank’s message. The president had heard it on his own. Pressing the phone to his ear, the guard listened to his instructions and finally opened the gate. Then he told Frank that the president would see him in five minutes.

  Frank pulled before the building and parked. He was worried. He’d been dealing with the Merdocks as if they were a regional problem. An isolated glitch. Now the malignancy was spreading.

  He found the president in the White House kitchen pouring a drink from a bottle of Skyy vodka. Dressed in his official bathrobe and slippers, and in a bad mood, Frank guessed that the man had really been in bed when he got the call from the gate. On the drive over Frank had decided to give the president a full briefing. As he spoke, he watched his client and friend sip his drink and pick at a huge roast of beef. Frank remembered that the Prime Minister of Great Britain had been a dinner guest earlier in the evening.

  The president listened without asking questions. When Frank had finished his story, the man turned to him, lifted his glass and took a long pull.

  “That’s not the way the U.S. Attorney sees it, Frank. He says it’s you.”

  “He’s dirty,” Frank said. “Merdock’s paying him off. He’s on the take.”

  The president shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “The U.S. Attorney is a fine man. I made the appointment based on his record fighting crime.”

  “Who wrote that, your lawyer?”

  The president stopped and gave him a long look. “You only get to be president once, Frank. I’ve got legislation that I can’t get passed without a majority in the Senate. I told you that I needed Merdock to win.”

  It was like a nightmare that kept going. A dream with that intense sensation of falling, only this time, Frank wasn’t certain that he’d wake up. The president had listened to everything he’d told him and was writing it off.

  “Don’t you understand?” Frank said. “If you appear with Merdock tomorrow, it could look like you’re involved. It could look like you know.”

  “Know what, Frank? You said that the election’s fixed. That Stewart Brown’s running an independent expenditure. What’s he calling it?”

  “RAVE. The Committee for the Restoration of American Values and Ethics.”

  The president thought it over and seemed to like the name. “Do you think Stewart’s involvement is anything more than political?”

  “No,” Frank said. “He’s throwing the race to get laid. Juliana Merdock’s playing him for a fool.”

  The president shrugged. Frank couldn’t help but catch that the president had called Brown by his first name.

  “Special interest groups crop up like weeds on a hill,” the president said. “They’re faceless. Invisible. If the money went through a fund-raiser, then there’s no way of telling whose money went where. You couldn’t prove anything, you know that. Nothing you’ve said would stand up in court.”

  “Four people are dead,” Frank said.

  The president topped off his drink and sipped it without saying anything. Still, Frank was certain he had seen the man flinch. And there was something about his demeanor. They had worked the president’s campaign together. They had spent countless days and nights on the road together. They’d laughed together, traded their most personal stories together, even gotten drunk together. Now the president was shrouded in a cool winter frost.

  “I was watching the news last night,” the president said in a quieter voice. “And you know what, Frank? It was the same news I’ve been watching for the last twenty years. The same issues going back and forth.” The president turned and looked at him. “People are tired of the bickering. The back and forth. They hate it, and I hate it, too.”

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “I’ve never met the Merdocks, Frank. Tomorrow will be the first time. Maybe they’re who you say they are. Maybe not. In any case, I really don’t give a fuck who they are as long as Mel votes my way.”

  They were getting loud. The door swung open and a man in a suit looked in. The president shrugged and
waved him off without saying anything. When the door closed, Frank grabbed the bottle of vodka and finally poured himself a drink. He found a stool and slid it over. He needed to sit down.

  “We’re talking about my legacy,” the president said. “The future of our party. Our ideas.”

  Frank turned away, sickened. The Merdocks wanted the win so badly that they’d murdered four people who had stood in their way. The president wanted the Senate seat so much, he’d lost touch with reality. If what Brown had done ever came to light, producing TV ads against his own client, it was obvious the president thought that he had enough insulation to talk his way out of it. He didn’t know anyone involved, so how could he say with any certainty what they may or may not have done?

  The bodies flashed before Frank’s eyes. The bottom line. Woody and Olson. Stockwell and Ingrams. He could see the blood. He could see all four laid out on the ground.

  “This isn’t a war,” Frank said. “These people aren’t casualties.”

  “Isn’t it?” the president shot back. “I could change the entire landscape of this country if I win back enough seats.”

  Frank steadied himself, then drained his glass.

  “You’re paranoid, Frank. You’re burned out and you sound crazy. I think that you’re still upset over Woody’s death and you’ve let it get to you. If you want my advice, you’ll take a long vacation when this is over and think about how you’re gonna save your career.”

  Frank jerked his head up. The president was eyeing him like a snake.

  “Juliana called,” the president said. “Your clients know about that fax you sent to Lou Kay. By tomorrow they’ll have copies of the stop orders you put on their media buy. Forget about Stewart Brown. Forget about what you think you know. Who would believe you after this? When it gets out that you’re the one who turned against his own client, you’ll end up losing a lot of business, I’m afraid.”

  The kid with the Coke bottle glasses working for Stewart Brown. Frank suddenly realized that the papers he’d seen him pass to Jake in the theater had been his fax to Lou Kay.

  “What are you trying to say?” Frank asked.

  “I’m making a change.”

  There was a pause big and heavy enough for twins. For some reason Frank couldn’t explain, his eyes zeroed in on the president’s hair. It looked like a bad dye job.

  “You’re firing me?”

  “You need a rest,” the president said flatly. “And I want someone with new ideas. Someone creative. Someone who’s hungry.”

  Frank pushed his drink away, the world crumbling before his eyes. “Someone like Stewart Brown,” he said.

  The president met his gaze and nodded.

  Frank weighed the horror as it settled in beside leftovers from the Prime Minister of Great Britain’s roast beef dinner. So deep. So ugly. The whole thing was rotting, everybody spiraling out of control.

  Chapter 60

  Great men don’t usually go down for great reasons.

  Frank drove with the windows open, the brisk night air rushing at his face as he tried to clear his mind and stay alert. Great men usually go down over something a lot smaller in size. Something that seems like nothing, snowballing its way to a hideous end. False assessments that were made, the enemy underestimated in a moment of overconfidence. A lack of information that seemed meaningless at the time suddenly explodes in your face, reminding everyone that you’re only human.

  The president’s legacy was on the line. And Frank knew that the man would do anything to win his personal war for more power and greater influence. Even if it meant cutting a friend loose and throwing him into the weeds.

  Frank lit a cigarette as he chewed it over. On the barely up side, he knew exactly what he was dealing with now. He’d isolated RAVE as a political scheme engineered by Stewart Brown. RAVE was a stealth operation designed to smear Lou Kay without leaving fingerprints. On the down side, four people had been murdered and Frank’s client was responsible for their deaths. Frank understood with certainty that he was back where he’d started after Ozzie Olson’s murder. The motives for the brutal killings had no more reach than the senseless attempt by the Merdocks to cover up Mel’s affair with the woman in Georgetown.

  Frank didn’t need a sixth sense to guess what would come next. He was in the way of everyone involved, and the U.S. Attorney would make sure that he was removed.

  Frank would be accused of the murders. The case would be based on circumstance and fiction and pressure from above. His character would be called into question, and what he’d done to his own client would be on display for all the world to see. Once his credibility had been thoroughly vanquished, then it would finally be over. No one would believe his side of the story. Nothing he could possibly say would change that.

  Jefferson Drive was just ahead. Frank made the turn and spotted Mario and Eddie waiting for him on the other side of the street. When he pulled over, Mario leaned in the window and spoke in a low voice.

  “He’s been in there for twenty minutes with the lights out.”

  Frank turned to the run-down building and found the window on the second floor. A Mercedes was parked out front.

  “You get pictures?” Frank asked.

  Mario nodded. Eddie held up the camera. Both looked nervous.

  “What about Lou Kay’s daughter and that sex-for-drugs scandal at her school?”

  “She’s just a kid, Frank. They planted the stuff in her dorm room. Even the campus police think it’s bogus. The tip came in anonymously. It wasn’t a lead. Everything’s buried six feet down.”

  The front door opened and Stewart Brown hurried outside lugging the answering machine and cardboard box filled with trash and what looked like mail. Brown was taking precautions, clearing out the office and covering his tracks. Eddie raised his camera, finishing off the roll of film as Brown popped open the trunk and dumped everything inside. Too rushed to notice them, Brown jumped into his Mercedes and sped off into the night.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Frank said grimly. “Go home and get some rest.”

  Frank waited until Brown disappeared around the corner. Then he made a U-turn and began following him.

  He kept his distance, remaining a half-block back. When the Mercedes turned into the drive-thru window at an all-night Kentucky Fried Chicken, he parked on the street and waited, concentrating on his anger and trying to keep his emotions in check. Brown was a master at dirty politics. With RAVE, he’d reached the big time.

  Frank shook it off, watching Brown order a large bucket of chicken and cruise out of the lot. After the Mercedes passed, Frank counted to ten before switching on his headlights and pulling away from the curb.

  He followed Brown onto the Beltway. Fifteen minutes later, the Mercedes rolled up an exit ramp, made a right onto a two-lane road, then another right into a suburban neighborhood. Frank looked out the window at the houses and guessed that Brown wasn’t on his way home. They were small ranch jobs set on quarter-acre lots without trees. Pickup trucks and vans lined both sides of the street.

  Brown parked in the drive of the only house with all its lights on. Frank found a space two doors down and pulled over, killing his headlights. After a moment, he saw Brown step into the backyard carrying his bucket of chicken and a bag of videotapes.

  Frank got out of the car. He could hear a dog barking in the distance as he lit a cigarette and took in the house. The curtains were drawn. The place looked neglected. After three quick drags, he stepped on the butt and started into the yard.

  Brown had entered the house from the back. Frank noticed the grime on a sliding door and saw a happy face sticker on the glass. The door remained open, his view concealed by a thin curtain. A cheap sign mounted on the exterior wall read DIGITAL IMAGE.

  Frank peeked through the curtain. It was an unfinished basement set up like a video editing suite. An editor in his twenties sat before a computer in jeans and a T-shirt. Brown was slumped on the couch with his pants undone and his feet on the coff
ee table. He held a drumstick in his hand and was gnawing the chicken away from the bone in quick ravenous bites. As the editor played back a portion of the spot they were working on, Frank turned to the monitor and watched. It was work in progress, another ad for RAVE, only this time the TV wife was walking out of church with a girlfriend.

  “But why is Lou Kay bad?” the girlfriend was asking.

  A look of amazement washed over the TV wife’s face. “You’ve heard what everyone’s saying. Lou Kay doesn’t respect women. And he’s divorced. Didn’t you see his ex-wife on TV? Joe says that’s all we need to know.”

  The TV wife looked up and saw her TV husband walking out of the church with a TV preacher. Everyone on camera looked like a freak.

  “Hi, honey,” she said, waving her hand with an inflated smile. “Over here.”

  It was garbage. And it was sick. The kind of TV spot that was slapped together in a basement late at night. Unable to contain himself, Frank pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room. When the editor saw him enter, he nearly jumped out of his skin. When Brown finally turned and saw Frank walking toward him, he dropped that piece of fried chicken on his lap and froze.

  “I needed to see it,” Frank said in a voice that rattled. “What are you making, something special for election day?”

  Brown looked him over, beginning to panic. “I’m just the errand boy, Frank. The messenger.”

  Frank grimaced, moving closer without saying anything. He was standing over Brown and watching him wipe the grease off his face. Brown’s hands were trembling.

  “I do the work and you get the credit,” Brown said quickly. “You get the win, Frank. Now knock it off and get the hell out of here.”

  Frank stared back at him for a long time. And then something happened. He could feel the energy inside his body.

  He could feel it melting down. He could feel it releasing.

  He grabbed the bucket of chicken and dumped it on the concrete floor. When the editor bolted up the steps in terror, he turned back to Brown and gave him a hard kick. Brown tumbled off the couch and bounced onto his stomach. He started groaning. Whining. As he scrambled to his knees and tried to pull up his pants, Frank gave him another hard kick and knocked him down again. Brown’s eyes went dead and he screamed. Then Frank seized him by the back of the head and pushed his sweaty face into all that chicken.