One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1)

by J Russ Briley

  For the Internet “connected” public, the promise of One Person, One Vote was an addictive drug of power and participation. It was the ultimate social media, and an expression of narcissism. OPOV was the opiate voters could not resist. They couldn’t see the implication of responsibility that came with it; they only saw the ability to be heard. They eagerly voted for Tom Baxter, the man who would make them the most important American voters in history.

  Action had followed the Senator’s induction as President. Once the software had been put in place, regional tests of OPOV had been flawless. The software was still in beta-mode, but the national trial was now at hand. It was to be tested on a minor bill currently before the Senate. The issue itself, although relatively insignificant, would affect each voting district in the country. Everyone would have easy access to consistent voting methods and measurement. It was the first chance to see if it was truly workable to have the people actively participate in legislation. The operation had been running smoothly to this point.

  Robert’s long trail of distracted thinking was suddenly snapped in two.

  “Robert!” Tracie’s voice broke in from the hall. “Be a dear, and unload the car for me. I’ve just got to change out of this dress.” Her voice trailed off as she climbed back up the stairs, still talking. “Tonight went beautifully. Everything came together so well. Did Alicia get the boys back? Are they tucked in, and asleep? I wonder if they had a good...”

  He couldn’t hear the rest, as her voice trailed off somewhere in the house. He sat up with some difficulty, shaking off the effects of the awkward nap and wiping off the wet side of his mouth. The car trunk was probably full of table ornaments or place cards. Mementos that dignitaries wanted to keep, but felt too important to handle themselves. The custom was to discreetly ask the hostess to send the object to them. Tracie always had a load of this stuff to mail.

  “Yes, your Highness.” He muttered as he stood slowly, feeling the stiffness still in his neck. The imperious air Tracie carried after these events irritated him. The good news was that they’d both drop into bed soon, and he wouldn’t have to deal with it for long. Opening the trunk he found four hideous table centerpieces and a dirty dinner plate. With a sigh of resignation, the acting Deputy Attorney General of the United States of America began unloading the collected junk. It was a great way to spend a Friday night. Just as he finished unloading, he remembered he’d forgotten his promise to pick up the laundry and make Tracie’s car appointment.

  Chapter 10

  Blair’s dark eyes peered through the night vision binoculars, watching the women’s dormitory. The grounds were quiet. The darkness was broken here and there by a few lights, bleaching the landscape beneath them, and shining over Utah’s crystalline snow.

  Blair’s phone alarm chimed and he lowered the glasses. He spoke clearly to the two young looking men sitting behind him in the car. “Seven. She should be heading back from dinner. The kid in the adjoining room will be going to her evening yoga class. Follow the plan. Improvise only if necessary. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The men answered.

  “I don’t want any deviations. You two make sure you fit in. This is going to go quickly, and quietly. I want to see smooth execution.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The two men exited the car. The fuse for the interior lights had been removed, making their departure from the car virtually unnoticeable. As they walked past a small U-Haul truck, they appeared indistinguishable from the other college students coming and going from the dorm. Their ski parkas, jeans, and general attitudes fit the scene. The Friday evening activity was light. Students not already on dates or leaving for parties were holed up in their rooms with computers and televisions.

  Another man inside the lobby doors at the main corridor pathway stayed in Blair’s view. He, too, was dressed like the dorm kids. Leaning against a wall just inside the main lobby door, he seemed to be waiting for a ride. His backpack sat on the concrete garbage receptacle nearby.

  Two minutes later he picked up the backpack, following the girl headed to yoga class. His job was to make sure she didn’t return unexpectedly.

  Blair watched as his two other operatives timed their entry with that of an arriving coed. They passed through the pitifully inadequate security with her, holding the door for their unwitting accomplice after she punched in the dorm code. Good move, thought Blair. She’ll think they’re nice Mormon boys. He turned over the engine, rolling slowly toward the U-Haul, keeping his car’s lights turned off.

  Christen sat at her desk in her room. The frosty air falling off the windows made the floor cold, but her burley wool hiking socks were cozy. She tapped a pencil to her music mix as she tried to get into reading her class assignment. The room around her lacked personality. She was new at the school, and so far she’d only collected some candles, mugs, and a poster for décor. The orange and yellow retro beanbag chair was her pride and joy.

  There was a scratching at the door, almost a metal sound, but it was so faint it didn’t capture Christen’s attention. Her ear buds were playing loudly, drowning out the noise of typical dorm activity. Christen didn’t react at all as the door handle turned and the latch clicked open. She noticed the door swinging open from the corner of her eye. Thinking she must have left it unlocked, she wondered which friend was dropping by. She turned, smiling, and saw the two young men walk in, quickly and quietly.

  The smile dropped from her face as she jerked up from her seat. Her chair rocked back on two legs, threatening to crash to the floor, as she asked, “Who are you?” She could tell from their faces that this was no “friend of a friend” drop-in surprise. One man clamped his hand to her mouth, locking his shockingly strong arm around her. The other swiftly closed the door, then deftly moved to catch Christen’s chair, setting it upright.

  Christen spun on the ball of her left foot and brought her right knee up sharply into her assailant’s groin. It had no effect against his protective cup. It did affect his reaction to her. Her quick spin had placed her face to face with him. His arm behind her clamped down hard across the base of her shoulder blades, pinning one of her arms. His free hand grabbed her by the hair and crushed her face into his chest.

  Christen flailed at his back and legs with her free hand and feet, but she was too close to strike hard, and she couldn’t reach up to attack his face.

  “I see you’ve had some training.” He whispered into her ear. “So have I.” Yanking her hair and head back harshly to the point where her throat could barely draw breath, he pulled her neck ever so slightly further backwards, his eyes burning down at hers. Her air was cut off and her knees buckled and bent under the pressure. “Now, Miss Torrance, you need to listen to what I’m going to tell you.” Christen’s eyes widened in pain. His partner grabbed her hands and pulled them behind her with a twist of her elbows.

  A weak gasp came from her collapsed throat.

  “We’re not here to hurt you.” He continued in a quiet, deliberate tone. “Cooperate, and we won’t have to. We’re going to walk with you outside, and put you into a car. You’re going to walk normally, and say nothing. You will hold my hand, and this gentleman will hold your shoulder. We will not hesitate to hurt you if you cause trouble. If you behave you will be brought back very soon, as if nothing ever happened. Nod if you understand.”

  The severe angle of her neck continued to cut off Christen’s air. She could hardly do more than grunt. Christen nodded as much as she could, her eyes tearing.

  “Fine. I’m going to slowly relax my grip, and I don’t want you to make a sound. Don’t move. I don’t want to even hear you breathe.” As he raised her head, he pressed his forehead into hers, staring into her eyes. “Understand?”

  Again Christen tried to nod.

  “Good.” He slowly let go of her hair as he moved his head away. “Put on your shoes, coat, and gloves, and we’ll go.” His harsh eyes contradicted his youthful face, making him look severe in the fluorescent lighting.

  When he loose
ned his grip and let her go, Christen made a lunge for the door. Instantly she felt the air knocked out of her, and her body thrust backward into the other man. The lightning fast impact against her sternum left her helpless, her breath coming in short spasms. Her legs lost all strength, and she sagged.

  “That was the last chance you get, Miss Torrance. Next time you won’t leave here standing up.” The other man pulled her back and down into her chair as she collapsed. She gave no resistance as he put on her shoes and pushed her into her coat.

  Christen was no longer fighting back. She did as she was told. She walked beside the first man, her hand held in his strong grip, as his partner followed behind her down the stairs with one hand clamped on her shoulder. The light blue sedan sat almost invisibly under the deep shadows. The two men took Christen to it, opened the door, and pushed her into the front passenger seat. Deftly, they used two plastic tie wraps to bind her hands together behind her and then a third around a rope secured about the seat. Fastening the seat belt across her chest they acknowledged a nod from Blair and stepped back, closing the door.

  Blair calmly jabbed the needle of a small syringe into her left thigh. Her weak scream faded as the warm drug swept through her body. Her head rocked backward and she was out.

  The sedan pulled away without lights. Blair left them off until he was out of view of the dorm. Christen’s abductors went back into the dorm, quickly and efficiently removing all of Christen’s belongings from her room, and loading them into the U-Haul. All the surfaces in her room were wiped clean. The key to the door was left sitting on the desk.

  Lew checked his watch, and left the corridor outside the yoga class. He headed toward the Student Union building’s coffee house and one of the Internet terminals. He had Christen’s official forms ready to transmit from her e-mail account to student housing and the administration, explaining her departure and directing applicable refunds to her accounts. There was an e-mail thanking the Residence Advisor for her time, and a few to new acquaintances. No one would miss the quiet freshman. The grey days of winter were a common time for homesickness to set in. Her departure would be attributed to the all too common “winter blues” that regularly affected new students.

  Blair headed down Foothill Drive, away from the University of Utah, taking care to not ride alongside another car, or to get caught next to a vehicle at a light. The slow, cautious driving looked normal on the slick, frosted roads.

  They were well beyond Salt Lake City, and headed east on I-80 when Christen slowly began to regain consciousness. “Why are you doing this?” Christen’s voice was thick and garbled. Drool oozed from her lips, and water pooling in her eyes blurred her vision. “Why?” She couldn’t maintain her thoughts, and drifted back into the drugged sleep.

  Blair ignored her, watching the road as he drove.

  Despite the snow and ice, the drive time was under an hour and a half. They’d traveled a little over fifty miles. Christen’s hands had long since lost their feeling. She had been leaning against them the whole trip, the plastic straps biting into her delicate wrists. She had become half-conscious a few more times, but her unintelligible protests were ignored until she kicked at Blair sluggishly with her foot. His response was to stop the car and put a strap around her ankles.

  Nearing a side road outside of Henefer, Blair dropped the car’s speed, and switched off his headlights before making the turn and approaching a small cabin. He also flipped a switch that deactivated the brake lights as he drove. He proceeded slowly, using the moonlight to judge the road’s edge through the blanket of snow. Nothing but trees surrounded three sides of the cabin. The trees extended for more than a quarter of a mile, but Blair moved toward the building cautiously just the same. It was dark and tiny. No sign of life came from it. Even when Blair stopped by the door and it opened, no light shone outward. A large woman with black hair stepped out and opened the car door. Without a word, she released Christen’s safety belt, pushed the girl forward, and with a pair of dikes clipped off the tie wrap that held Christen to the seat. Pushing her arm in between Christen’s elbow and body, she pulled the girl up and yanked her bodily from the car. Christen’s tied feet dropped to the ground. Noticing the bound legs, the woman shoved Christen into the snow. She then turned to push the car door quietly, but solidly shut. Christen watched through her blurry eyes as the car pulled away, snow crystals flying into her face from the tires. The woman dragged her into the cabin, her ankles banging against the threshold.

  It was pitch dark inside. Christen couldn’t see a thing, but her captor seemed to know exactly where she was going, and what she was doing. Christen could feel the warmth of a heater, the soft cushions of a low couch or futon and the cold steel of a handcuff on her right wrist snapping shut. The plastic tie wraps about her wrists were now completely clipped off and her arms fell forward to her sides.

  A strangled scream gushed from Christen’s throat as her cramped shoulders seem to pop out of their sockets, and the blood rushed into her released wrists. The woman ignored her groans.

  “Why are you doing this?” Christen asked. She was recovering from the drug rapidly now. The shock of snow and cold air outside had snapped her awake.

  A surprisingly soft voice responded from the dark. “Sit still.”

  Christen’s tangled feet awkwardly crossed each other as the strap around her ankles bit in. She could see the woman’s silhouette as she approached the open door and closed it. When she switched on the lights, Christen’s startled eyes had trouble adjusting.

  “What are you doing to me? What did I do?” Christen began sobbing uncontrollably.

  The woman’s short jet-black hair sat unkempt on her head, her clean pale skin gave a startling background to her dark brown, almost black eyes and heavy eyebrows. Looking directly at Christen, she said in that eerily soft voice, “You’ll be staying here until a job is finished, then you’ll be released. You will call me Mary. I will call you Christen. You will sit or sleep where you are sitting. The chain will give you plenty of movement between here and the bathroom.” Christen looked toward the bathroom and saw that the door was open, or that it might have been removed.

  “Pay attention!” Mary’s change in voice tone snapped Christen’s attention back, as Mary’s hand grabbed her jaw and twisted her head back to face her. Mary let go of her face, and continued, “If you feel the need to exercise you may use that bicycle machine. If you cooperate, you may use the TV. Your chain won’t reach my bed or the kitchen, only this room and the bathroom. I am a talented fighter. I can give you real pain without damage, so don’t test me.” Mary leaned down, her face closing in on Christen as she raised her right arm. With a lightning fast blow from the heel of her hand, she hit Christen solidly at the base of her sternum.

  Christen was launched backward into the sofa cushion, her breath gone once again. It seemed impossible to catch. As she sat there gasping for air that would not come, Mary stood up tall, this time with what seemed to Christen a demonic smile of pleasure.

  “Do you understand now?”

  Christen frantically nodded her head as her gaping mouth clawed at the air for breath.

  “Good. We’ll work out the finer points of living together later.”

  Chapter 11

  “Good evening, Bernard.”

  “Good evening, Senator. I trust the day went well.”

  Senator Gregg handed his overcoat and hat to his butler. “It was excellent, thank you. The dinner was successful.” His gloating smile indicated he’d had a sumptuous meal laced with deal making that had been particularly in his favor.

  “Would the Senator care for a drink this evening?”

  Gregg briefly glanced at the aging butler. “Yes. Any messages?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Bernard turned to the antique hat stand and raised a small silver tray. It held a heavy glass of expensive single malt Scotch, and a small piece of white paper folded in half. Turning back to the Senator, he offered the contents of the tray. “Your room is prepare
d, as well, Sir,” he commented in his very precise British accent.

  A satisfied smile came over the Senator’s face as he picked up the glass and note. After reading the note, he placed it back onto the tray. It was from his wife, Evelyn.

  “Tell Mrs. Gregg I will be flying out to the ranch next Friday for the weekend. I’ll see her at the airport. Please give her my flight schedule.”

  “Very good, Sir.”

  The Senator turned. Leaving the elliptical entryway, he headed up the curved wood and iron stairs to the bedrooms of his impressive townhouse.

  “Will that be all, Sir?” Bernard asked from the entry.

  “I’m not sure, Bernard.” Gregg called over his shoulder. “I’ll ring if I need you.” With that, the conversation ended. Bernard watched as the Senator slowly scaled the finely finished stairs, framed by the delicate, ornamentally carved wood wall panels. Putting the silver tray back on the stand and checking the locks on the heavy mahogany side lighted beveled-glass entry door, Bernard proceeded to the stainless steel and marble trimmed kitchen in the back. He shredded the note into ever-shrinking, precise halves between his fingers as he walked.

  Finally upstairs, Gregg took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. It had been remodeled into a suite with an opulent bath, keeping as much of the historic Federalist high styling as possible. The home had been finished in several different period styles, as each section had been added to the original building with its own character. Antiques filled every room, sitting on tapestry rugs and framed by heavy brocade drapes wherever the style permitted. The townhouse bedroom was trimmed with dark woods, ornamental plaster, brass, opulent materials, and deep green leathers. Old aromatic cigar smoke and cedar sticks from the fireplace filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only firelight and a patch of hall light flowing in from the door and its Palladian transom. Pulling off his coat, Gregg hung it on a brass valet stand in the corner.