Access to Power

by Robert Ellis

  “Eat it,” he said, shouting. “Eat it, you greasy prick. Eat it.”

  Chapter 61

  On his own again, Raymond drove through Georgetown at 3:00 a.m. with his tape player just changing sides. Tape 5, side 2 in the series included, keeping your client happy even when you’re not, how to turn rejection around and finally close that big deal, and mastering the art of a winning smile. As much as Raymond loved the series, every time he listened to tape 5 he wished that the author had taken the time to expound on the issues in greater detail.

  Closing the deal. There had to be something more to it than calling it an art.

  Raymond knew that the reason most people blew it was because they over-thought the process. This was the moment when something invariably went wrong. The moment when he had to keep his eyes and ears open, ignore the negatives and make his big push forward. The author likened this step to a football game as well. Every close game came down to a final drive. This was the time to review your ultimate goal, take another look at your plan, and make sure that you were ready before you stepped out onto the battlefield.

  Raymond made a left at the corner. As Frank’s house came into view, he shielded his eyes from the glare and hit the brakes. The street was lined with news vans. Cameras and lights were set up all over the lawn. The night was bright as day.

  Raymond ejected the tape, returning the cassette to its case and gazing through the windshield. He counted twenty-five video cameras mounted on tripods. More than fifty people were camped out, drinking takeout coffee and smoking cigarettes. Whatever the story, it had obviously spread beyond the local affiliates.

  Raymond’s eyes moved to the house. The windows were dark and the metallic blue Chevy that he’d hoped to find parked in the driveway was gone. When he saw a man getting out of news van, he pulled forward and rolled down his window.

  “What’s going on?” Raymond asked, yawning as if he lived in the neighborhood and was late getting home.

  “Morning news,” the man said, jerking his thumb at the house. “He worked for the president. Past tense. We’re waiting for him to come home.”

  The man smiled. Raymond nodded and smiled back, then idled off. The press would be keeping a close watch on Frank. Getting to him would be more difficult now.

  Ignore the negatives, he thought to himself. Get those voices out of your head. The press was nothing more than an occupational hazard that couldn’t be helped. And they definitely looked preoccupied. Their attention wouldn’t be on the house, but on the street as they waited for Frank to return home. Who were they to interfere with his plans?

  Raymond made a left just past the house and parked around the corner. Olson’s night-vision goggles were in the glove box. Slipping them into his pocket, he got out of the car and started down the street. Ever since Jake had given him the go, he’d been considering his options. On the drive over he’d narrowed his choices down to two. In either case, Frank’s house had to be scouted tonight. He had to see the place just to make sure.

  The moon was out. Raymond stopped at the corner and gazed up the street. The news vans blocked his view of Frank’s house and were providing perfect cover. Crossing the street, he scanned the neighboring property. The house was dark. Several days’ worth of newspapers were piled up by the front door. As he moved to the far side of the drive, he noticed the dew on the lawn. The grass was matted and he spotted a fresh set of tracks leading into the backyard.

  The press never seemed to respect their boundaries. They were always getting in the way. Always making his job more difficult than it needed to be. Raymond lifted his pant leg and checked for the knife that he kept sheathed just above his right ankle. Then he walked down the drive, cutting into the yard and around the house. The property was densely landscaped. Keeping to the shadows, he could see Frank’s house on the other side of the fence. No one seemed to be around, and Raymond wondered about the tracks he’d found on the neighbor’s lawn. Through the trees he could see the aura of the camera lights and hear the sound of the press chattering away as if they were at a party. When he turned back, he scanned the property a second time but still didn’t see anyone.

  Without making any sound, Raymond finally stepped out from behind the tree and moved toward the fence. He stopped and listened. He could hear something moving in the darkness. He turned and looked across the yard at the back porch. It was a dog. He was trotting down the steps and seemed rushed. After taking a quick shit in the pachysandra, the beast scampered back up the steps and vanished into the house through a doggy-door.

  The dog was a definite complication. Raymond hated dogs just as much as they seemed to hate him. It was visceral on both sides. Although he’d shot them on numerous occasions, it had always been messy and unnerving. Dogs were hard to stop. Even with a slug in its chest, a dog could keep coming, keep barking and biting. For Raymond dogs were the stuff of nightmares, and he often woke up in the middle of the night with his heart pounding in his chest.

  He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Something caught his eye as he looked back at the house. The windows were dark, but he thought that he could see a small bead of light in a window on the second floor. The light faded, then glowed. When he realized that it was the head of a cigarette, he ducked out of the moon light and below the line of the fence.

  Frank Miles was home. He’d probably been watching him from that window since he’d stepped out from behind the tree.

  Raymond dug the night-vision goggles out of his pocket and slipped them over his head. As he peeked over the fence and adjusted the focus, he saw Frank staring back at him from a chair by the window. The image was clear and vivid and he could see the entire room. Raymond waited for five minutes, but Frank’s eyes never moved away from him. When he finally backed away from the fence, he saw Frank stand up and follow his progress through the neighbor’s yard.

  His body shivered in the cool night air. Frank Miles had known that he was here all along. It was almost as if his next target had been expecting him. Waiting for him to show up.

  Raymond hurried back around the neighbor’s house and across the street to his car. He noticed the Chevy parked on the next block and thought about those tracks he’d seen on the lawn again. As he drove off, he tried to assess the damage in giving his next victim such a clear warning. There wasn’t any, he decided, because Frank Miles wasn’t capable of guessing what he had in mind. Raymond didn’t like him. He didn’t like his face, or the way that he had been staring at him. It was a strong face, just like the one he’d seen in the diner when Jake thought that he had the guy cornered. It was a face much like the one he liked to think he wore when confronting his victims. Jake had been right. The guy was an asshole who liked to screw with people’s heads. It would be a pleasure taking him out.

  Chapter 62

  Frank slid his bottom desk drawer open and looked at the gun. A Glock .45 with an extended clip. He checked the office before touching it. Tracy was at her desk keeping an eye on the callers in the conference room. His interns were busy on the phone, tracking spots between the campaigns and the TV and radio stations—everyone panicked because now they were only one day out. Tomorrow voters would be at the polls. When he looked in Linda’s office, she was still on the phone with her client in Colorado. They’d been at it for over an hour. Things weren’t going well in the Rockies.

  Frank picked up the Glock, keeping it hidden behind the desk. He admired the simplicity of its design. He liked the weight—the way it felt in his hand. As he checked the mag, he noticed his hand quivering slightly from too much coffee. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He hadn’t even gotten close. He’d been sitting by the window trying to drink his way past all that had happened when he saw the man with spiked gray hair step out of the shadows and approach the fence. After that all he felt was terror.

  Frank glanced outside at the office parking lot below. The press had followed him to work and reestablished their base camp on the sidewalk. Without the cover of night
, Frank had been caught climbing his fence in the backyard this morning. He’d made a run for it, but they were ready for him. Cameras had been rigged on shoulders and it turned into an ugly foot race with the Armani-clad reporters shouting questions at him as he reached the car. The scope of their interest had widened. They were asking about the murders and why the president had really fired him. It was clear to Frank that someone in the U.S. Attorney’s office was setting the table and had leaked information. Things didn’t look so good.

  Frank looked back at the gun in his hand, wondering if he would have to use it or not. It was a .45. One loud pop was all it would take, if it came to that.

  He heard Tracy shriek from her desk, calling out his name.

  He looked through the glass and saw Merdock and Jake marching though the war room with their attorney in tow. Frank lowered the gun and pushed the drawer closed. Norman was with them, providing security, Frank guessed, along with two geeks in khakis who looked like typical campaign losers but might be trouble.

  Frank stepped out of his office. He’d expected a telephone call, not a personal appearance. As they came closer, Merdock pointed a shaky finger at him.

  “You’re trying to sabotage my campaign,” Merdock shouted. “You’re fired. This is my attorney.”

  The attorney turned to Frank. He was the same man Frank had spent an entire afternoon with when scouting his office for Merdock’s last set of campaign ads.

  “Frank Miles?” he asked unnecessarily.

  Frank nodded slowly as their eyes met. Merdock’s attorney was short and stocky like a pit bull terrier still not recognized by the American Kennel Club. He was pushing sixty and everything about his grooming appeared meticulous. Judging from the client list the man had shown him last month, Frank guessed that he had been well fed over the years, and that the tan he sported came from the tennis courts rather than a chaise longue.

  The attorney held his needlepoint eyes on Frank as he handed him a court order.

  “This is a writ of seizure,” the pit bull said. “A writ of seizure ordering you to turn over everything pertaining to Mr. Merdock’s campaign for the U.S. Senate.”

  Frank looked the papers over as the two geeks in khakis dispersed, one gathering videotapes, the other opening a briefcase and sitting before the computer at an intern’s desk. The computers were networked. They could access any data they might want from the entire system.

  Randolph walked in, nodded at Frank but kept his distance as if he were a neutral observer. Then the attorney cleared his throat, his tail still up and the hair behind his ass standing on end.

  “These men are authorized by the court to recover everything, whether it be stored on paper, computers or videotape without interference by you, your remaining partner, or any of your employees.”

  The pit bull’s words had an understated weight about them. Merdock’s voice was more shrill.

  “I’m going to sue your ass off,” Merdock said, still pointing that finger. “After my press conference this afternoon, you’ll be finished.”

  Frank glanced at Merdock. He could tell that his former client was delighted with himself and the situation Frank was in. Standing with Jake and using their attorney and Norman’s hulking figure for cover, the two brothers looked like bookends dressed in expensive suits. Both of them cocky and showing big smiles. Frank looked back at the court order without saying anything. He checked the signatures and began reading it from the top with everyone watching him. The pit bull seemed annoyed by this and took a step forward.

  “It’s a writ of seizure,” he said. “There are no conditions. You have no say whatsoever in the matter.”

  “Did you hear that?” Jake added. “You’ve got no say, big shot.”

  Frank didn’t react to either one of them, continuing to read the document until he was finished. When he looked up, he noticed the pit bull shaking slightly, and guessed that direct confrontations like this weren’t exactly a part of his normal routine anymore.

  “Harry,” Frank said to his intern in a calm voice. “I want you to watch the guy on your computer. Tom, keep an eye on the other one. Make sure that they only take what’s theirs. I want a complete inventory. If there’s any question, any doubt whatsoever, I want to know about it before they take it.”

  Merdock and Jake smiled as Frank seemed to be giving in to their power play. Frank glanced at Linda standing by the fax machine and Tracy seated at her desk. Then Merdock noticed the callers working the phones in the conference room with the door closed.

  “What’s going on in there?” he asked in a loud voice.

  Frank looked at him steadily. “That’s not part of this order, Mel.”

  “But what are they saying? I demand to hear what they’re saying.”

  Merdock lunged for the door knob. Frank met his hand and squeezed it before pulling it away. The glint in Frank’s eye was quiet and dangerous, and Merdock and his attorney took a step back.

  “Try your radio on the way home,” Frank said.

  Merdock rubbed his hand like it might be broken. When they got started with their search, Frank stepped into his office, followed by Randolph, who closed the door. They didn’t speak. The detective moved to the window, glancing outside at the press as he lit a cigarette. Frank pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, keeping a sharp eye on the war room. He didn’t need to see the press. They had followed him to work and it had paid off for them, simple as that. Frank knew every camera would be rolling as Merdock and Jake packed their Lincoln with files and videotapes. The story had a new, unknown dimension about it. Merdock would have a full house at his press conference. The president would be there to back him up. Frank would be skewered in public this afternoon and he knew it.

  Randolph sat down on the couch and sighed. “I know a judge,” he said quietly. “We could probably get them to stop.”

  “I don’t want it stopped. Not yet anyway.”

  Randolph shrugged like he didn’t get it. Frank turned back to the war room, keeping watch by the glass door.

  “People with money pay others to do their dirty work for them,” Frank said after a moment. “When they show up themselves, they’ve usually got a reason.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “Pretend you’re a detective. Take a look for yourself.”

  Randolph smiled and shook his head, moving in for a closer look. Grimes stood by the lobby door, leaning against the wall and grinding his teeth as he stared at Jake.

  “Looks like my partner got tired of waiting in the car,” Randolph said.

  “Take another look.”

  Randolph turned back to the war room. After a moment, Frank saw the change on his face. He was seeing what Frank was seeing. It may have been subtle, but the confirmation was there. Merdock and Jake looking around, searching the office casually, here and there.

  “They’re still looking for the pictures,” Randolph said. “You think there’s any chance your partner made contact with Olson?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “You don’t have them, do you?”

  Frank gave him a look without saying anything.

  “Then they’re covering their bases just to make sure. Someone with Merdock’s image gets caught in an affair and there’s pictures to prove it. TV loves that shit. I guess they always will. I’m sorry, Frank. I should have seen it before. I just kept thinking that there had to be something bigger going on.”

  “You’ve found something?”

  The detective nodded. “Their friend with the hair. His name’s George Raymond. He used to work for Merdock’s father. When the old man died, Raymond moved to Baltimore. He’s got a wife and two sons who think he sells mutual funds. His neighbors say that he keeps to himself and likes to listen to all those self-help tapes. And that’s fine with them because everybody in the neighborhood told Grimes that they think he’s a head case. The guy’s nuts.”

  “What’s the U.S. Attorney think?”

  “He loves the
good life, Frank. The Merdocks can give it to him. You’re still it.”

  Randolph’s pager buzzed. He opened his jacket and checked the number.

  “That’s him now,” the detective said.

  Frank grabbed the phone before Randolph could reach it. “Let me ask you something before you check in. After Woody was murdered, you searched his house, right?”

  The detective shook his head and shrugged as he thought it over. “For the pictures?” he said. “We thought it was a robbery, remember? We thought it was about cash and credit cards. It happened here in this office. There wouldn’t have been a reason to search your partner’s house.”

  Frank released the phone, listening to Randolph make his call as he stared through the glass into the war room. The conversation was brief. The U.S. Attorney wanted to see Randolph and Grimes in his office, but wouldn’t say why.

  Chapter 63

  It was a modest Victorian set close to the street within walking distance to Capitol Hill. Frank parked in the drive. As he walked to the front door, he dug into his pocket and fished out the spare keys that he’d found in Woody’s top desk drawer.

  There were two locks on the door. Frank started with the deadbolt, found the key and turned the lock. When the lock in the handle clicked with the second key, he tried the door but it wouldn’t budge. Frank went back to the deadbolt, turning the key in the opposite direction. This time the door opened. Either Woody hadn’t used the deadbolt when he closed the door, which Frank doubted, or Raymond had already been here. Raymond had picked the lock at their office and wouldn’t have had any trouble getting past these. But he probably wouldn’t have taken the time or risk to lock the deadbolt on his way out. Instead, Raymond would have turned the lock on the handle and simply pulled the door closed.