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

by J Russ Briley

  Robert looked at the agent and said, “Could you excuse us?” The agent nodded and left the room.

  “Don and Peter have been great.” Tracie said defensively, referring to the Agents in the house. “They’ve taken care of everything.” She got quiet for a second. Her eyes shifted away from Robert’s. She blurted out, “I called your father. He took care of...”

  “You called my father?” Robert interrupted. He could feel his blood pressure rise, again.

  “You haven’t told me what’s going on. I haven’t heard anything from you about what’s happening. Not one word!” Tracie snapped accusingly. Her voice rose in pitch and volume. “Something’s really wrong. You’re scared. I can tell, and you haven’t told me anything. All I’ve known all day is that there’s some threat that’s bad enough for us to have the Secret Service in our home. Your father knows more than I do!”

  “What did he tell you?” Robert’s voice rose to match her volume.

  Tracie yelled at him. “That doesn’t matter! You’re not listening!” Her comments were punctuated by increasing emphasis. “I can’t take this, and I shouldn’t have to, Robert! You’re incredibly inconsiderate when you get wrapped up in your own little world. Did you stop for a moment to think about what would be going through my mind?”

  Robert tried to calm his voice, but it didn’t work. “Tell me what Father said. I need to know what he told you.” Robert stood facing her.

  Tracie jumped up from her chair. “Listen to yourself! You don’t even care that I’m terrified. You should be talking to me, but you’re more worried about what people are saying than what I’m going through. I’m taking the boys, and leaving now. If you can bring yourself to have a real conversation with me, call. James! Andrew!” She called out, turning away from Robert.

  “Coming, Mom!” They each answered.

  “Alicia! We’re going!” Tracie yelled.

  “Tracie, you know there are things I can’t tell you about in this job. Look, you need to stay here, in this house. It’s safer. Turn around, please, and listen to me! I’ll tell you what I can, but I need to have you look at me.” Robert didn’t know what to do. He trailed behind her with his hands outstretched.

  “You’ll ‘tell me what you can’?” Tracie repeated sarcastically. “I’m your wife, Robert. I shouldn’t be the last person on your mind. The kids and I should be your first priority. I’m not going to listen to another fabrication designed to keep me in the dark, and sitting here knitting, or something. Besides, anything you tell me now would be too little, and too late. You should have thought of that earlier.”

  “Tracie, I couldn’t talk to you earlier, but I am talking to you now.” Robert felt like he was arguing with a rhinoceros—an angry rhinoceros.

  Tracie turned momentarily to face him. “Can you actually tell me what’s going on? Can you promise to keep me informed, and actually call me occasionally during the day?”

  Robert stared blankly at her, trying to think of something he could say that would satisfy her. He knew that what he was going to say wouldn’t justify the need for agents in their home. His delayed answer was too slow for Tracie.

  “Forget it, Robert.” Tracie turned and stamped toward the door, talking as she went. “Don is going with us, as well as Alicia. Peter will stay with you. Don says another agent will join us on the way.” The boys showed up, and Tracie started pushing them toward the door. “I’m sorry, Robert,” she continued almost in a whisper, “but whatever this is about, I can’t risk my children. I’m taking the gun, but I’m not going to hide in this house from some mysterious threat. It’s pretty annoying that you can’t seem to tell me anything, but that your father seems to be able to do so. It seems as though you just don’t want to tell me anything.”

  Robert gave it one last try. “Tracie, if you’d just tell me what my father said, I might be able to fill in some blanks. I don’t know what he thinks he knows, but...”

  “Robert, the point is that you should have called. You should have wanted to call me. You should have been worried sick about us.” Tracie closed the conversation with her glare. She and the boys grabbed their bags, and headed out the door.

  Tracie slowed down just outside the door, and turned to look at him. Her face suddenly softened slightly. “Take care of yourself, Robert. I, at least, care about what happens to you.” she said. She touched his face with her hand. Her eyes were red and tears were pooling in them. She reached up and kissed him lightly, then turned away. “Come on boys. Say goodbye to your father.” The deep freeze was instantly back.

  “’Bye, Dad.” Andrew called out without looking back. James didn’t say anything.

  Robert stood in the open front doorway. Agent “Peter” stood behind him as Tracie, the kids, Alicia, and Agent “Don” pulled away in Tracie’s Volvo station wagon. Robert waived, but none of them were watching. Turning to go into the house, Robert looked at Peter.

  “Agent...” he began, realizing that he didn’t know the man’s last name.

  “Karelonski.” Peter replied.

  “Uh, huh. Peter, Agent Long, you guys up for some takeout?” Robert slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 44

  When Grady finally woke up his thick, dry tongue didn’t seem to fit in his mouth. Flipping on the light and gazing around the room, he remembered the cheap, roadside motel. It looked worse now. Glancing at his watch he was shocked to see it was just after eight o’clock.

  “Jesus, did I crash, or what?” It didn’t really matter, but he’d wanted to get where he was going before dark. It was too late for that now. Reaching for the cell phone he immediately regretted not getting a smartphone with a data plan. It was going to be harder to look up phone numbers and other information he was used to having at his disposal without one. He dialed the service, and had them look up the Great Pines B&B in Henniker, New Hampshire, then transfer him.

  “That wasn’t such a good idea,” he realized. “I just breached my own security plan. Now they know where I’m going.”

  “Great Pines B&B, this is Sue,” a voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Sue! Colonel Barlow here,” Grady responded.

  “Hello, again, Colonel. Coming to visit?” Sue asked immediately.

  “Can you squeeze me in tonight?” Grady asked.

  “Yes, we’d love to have you. What time will you be arriving?”

  Grady gratefully sighed. “Late. Can you put the key under the mat?”

  “Certainly, Colonel,” Sue told him. “You’ll have cottage number three. How long can you stay?”

  “About a week. Will that work for you?”

  “We might have a conflict the day after tomorrow, but we could have a cancellation. If not, you can have the manager’s guest room.”

  “Thanks, Sue. You’re a gem. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

  “We’re having Lingonberry stuffed waffles.” She told him.

  “My favorite.” Grady answered. “Thanks, again.”

  Grady hung up. Great Pines had been his and Keisha’s favorite hideaway. The trees were big and numerous, and the individual cottages felt like honeymoon retreats. Sue was the owner of the B&B, and a wonderful innkeeper. The “guest room” she had offered him was actually in her own house. She, Grady, and Keisha had become fast friends on their first visit. Sue had invited them to dinner at her house each time they’d stayed.

  One of the best features about the place was its proximity to Pats Peak, a neat little ski resort that had a slope for every style. Keisha liked the blue runs. She and Grady would ski together until she tired out, or until his need for adventure took him to the double diamond. That run was a cut of trees under the lift. Compared to the Rocky Mountains Grady had skied none of the slopes were steep, but the icy crust made the runs difficult—even treacherous.

  Grady felt a catch in his throat, thinking about his and Keisha’s getaways to the slopes and the Inn. Even toward the end, when Keisha couldn’t walk well, they visited to see the
snow. The little cottages held lots of good memories. Good enough to overcome the wave of sadness Grady felt whenever he remembered his wife.

  Grady cleared his thoughts. Back to business. He jumped in the shower, dried off, and put on his clothes again. They weren’t too bad for not having been cleaned, but that wouldn’t last. As he checked out, he asked the clerk for directions to the nearest Walmart or Target. An hour later, his stomach full of pizza, the rental car’s tank full of gas, and the rear seat full of jeans, shirts, socks, sweaters, underwear, and personal care items, Grady was on his way again. He had two hundred and fifty miles to go before he would be tucked away in the trees of New Hampshire.

  Chapter 45

  Blair had been listening to the recording of Robert’s voice, talking with the evidently not dead Grady Barlow. The voices reverberated in Blair’s ears. His teeth locked together as he drew a mouthful of dark beer from the bottle. Ending the recording for the second time, he set his phone down on the bar.

  No word had come from his two men assigned to pressure Barlow. It should have been a simple task: push Barlow back in the direction of Stoker. Get him and Carlton thinking that Stoker and Karlovich were the NSA connections they needed to find, and they’d blow the whole thing wide open. Carlton had gone to the NSA and met with Karlovich. That part seemed to be working. Unless he was an idiot, Carlton had made that connection.

  The Barlow incident was another story. It had been a complete failure. The plan had gone entirely wrong. At first he’d thought Barlow had been killed, which was unnecessary, but recoverable. Now he had voice confirmation that Barlow was still alive, and it was likely that Blair’s operatives were dead. That was just as well. He’d have had to remove them himself after their inept handling of the affair. Now he had to figure out how much exposure they’d had.

  He took another swig of beer, and began punching in a number on his phone. Blair never used speed dial or stored contacts in his phone. The only memory he trusted was the one in his head. He erased all recent call history every night, and sometimes during the day, as well. He insisted others do the same.

  Agent Carey’s voice came through the phone. “Yes.”

  “Find Barlow. Just find him, and don’t lose track of him.” Blair commanded.

  “Right.” Carey responded.

  Blair added, “Any headway on Karlovich?”

  “He made the connection. I’m not sure what his next move is, but I’m on top of it.” Carey said.

  “See that you stay on it, and find Barlow.” Blair ended the call. A raucous group of salesmen with hideous ties came through the front door of the bar, prompting Blair to rise from his stool and walk to a booth in the back.

  The red and white gingham tablecloth covering the table typified the Italian restaurant. It was a stereotyped place, with fake columns on the walls framing painted grapes and villas on hillsides. Blair had broken his rule, visiting this restaurant five times. He liked it. The food was good, the place was convenient, and the ever-changing servers didn’t seem to recognize him. His booth seat allowed him to see arrivals, but the shadows protected him from being viewed.

  A menu, bread, and fresh beer arrived quickly. He didn’t wait long for the waiter to return and take his order. Veal Picatta suited him tonight. When the waiter left, Blair picked up his phone and punched in another number. It rang several times.

  “Yes?” A man’s voice answered.

  “Is this a good time?” Blair asked.

  “Make it quick.” The man’s voice was strong, but sounded out of breath.

  “Barlow is alive. It’s confirmed, and Carlton knows it.” Blair reported.

  “I haven’t heard of any NSA activity.” It was an inquiry as much as it was a statement.

  “There was a meeting.” Blair answered, “He’s slow on the uptake, but the pieces are coming together.”

  The phone was silent for a prolonged period. Finally, still slightly out of breath, the man spoke again.

  “Locate the other gentlemen.”

  “I’m already on it.” Blair assured him.

  “You need to stay on top of this better. No more surprises. This needs to stay on track—our track. Our strategy.” There was a pause, but Blair knew better than to interrupt. “I want to deliver a message. I’ll have the particulars in an envelope at the office. Send one of your couriers to pick it up at 9 a.m.”

  “Right.” Blair confirmed.

  Gregg abruptly ended the call, and placed the cell phone on the nightstand. He turned to the naked woman kneeling on the floor next to the bed. Gregg’s large girth rose up from the sheets in a pale mound of bare flesh.

  “I’d like you to do something for me.” He told her.

  “Of course.” She smiled suggestively, and leaned toward his legs and stomach.

  “Yes, that, too,” Gregg confirmed, “but in a moment.”

  The woman leaned back, her smiled tinged slightly with apprehension.

  “You’ve been frequently visiting Senator Farrell.” Gregg continued smoothly. “See him again. Make it tomorrow night. You’ll be getting a ride from an associate of mine. He’ll pick you up at your favorite restaurant at eight. You’ll get instructions from him then. Do whatever he tells you to do, Carol.” Gregg’s smile seemed more menacing than genial.

  The woman tried to hide her surprise and anxiety.

  “Yes,” Gregg confirmed. “I know all about whom you see, and when you see them. You didn’t think your distinguished client list came by mere luck, did you?” Gregg enjoyed his power. He also enjoyed the woman’s mixed expression of subservience and fear. He smiled.

  “But, I don’t call the Senator,” Carol stammered. “He calls me.”

  “That won’t be a problem. You just do what I tell you to do, and you’ll continue to enjoy all the fine rewards a girl like you should have. Now, I think it’s time for you to show a little gratitude for my generosity, don’t you?” He grabbed her hair, pressing her head forward, and her face down.

  Chapter 46

  Terri and Marty sat in a large, noisy bar, open to an equally boisterous restaurant. His beer was half gone; she was on her second.

  “Like the wings?” Terri had been making idle conversation for some time, trying to loosen Marty up. Marty had been gradually getting more sociable, responding with the occasional syllable.

  “Sure.” Still ill at ease, Marty couldn’t comfortably make eye contact with Terri, but he was at least trying to sound casual. He felt better being with her than being alone, but his mind was still cluttered and confused. Seeing the chicken wings reminded him of Christen. She and her friends practically lived on them.

  “I like the way they add that little bowl of red pepper oil on the side. It really spices it up.” Terri was her upbeat self.

  Marty drifted off again. He hadn’t felt this lost since his divorce. Life had been a disaster for him back then. The last lawyer session followed by his wife’s departure had left him in a mood that could only be called suicidal. She’d taken the money, the furniture, the car, and his daughter. She’d even taken custody of his dog. For years, Marty acted as though he was still married, unable to accept his life and move on.

  Fortunately his daughter had shown that she missed him, and still cared for him. They seldom saw each other, but she wrote long e-mails pretty regularly, texted him, and sometimes there was a phone call.

  Now life had brought him a fresh private hell. With Christen’s life in the balance, he felt it was more than he could take.

  Terri watched, looking for some way to break the mood. “Hey! Are you in there, or should I go pick up some guy in the bar?” She teased.

  “Sorry, I drifted for a minute.” Marty answered, attempting to rejoin the conversation, but looking decidedly glum.

  “What were you thinking about?” Terri asked.

  “Nothing, just a billboard story.” Marty attempted a smile.

  “What’s a billboard story?” Terri leaned forward onto her elbows. Her blouse opened just e
nough to be enticing. Marty didn’t seem to notice.

  “You know...that’s when you see something that spurs a thought, which leads you to something else, then the next thing, and so on. Before you know it, you can’t remember how your brain ended up where it is. It’s like seeing billboards on a freeway.” Marty explained.

  “So, again,” Terri pressed, “what were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing, really.” Marty wanted to change the subject.

  “Nothing. Well, that makes me feel special.” She made a pouting face. “It’s not fair! You have to tell me about at least one of the billboards.” Terri insisted, sitting back and crossing her arms defiantly.

  Marty concentrated for a moment. “I was thinking that she gave away my dog.”

  “What?” Terri leaned forward again. “Your dog? What dog?”

  Marty took a deep draft from his beer. “When my wife divorced me, she insisted on taking the dog.” He said quietly. “Two months after our paperwork was final, she gave the dog away. She did it out of spite.”

  “Now that’s depressing.” Terri said, shaking her head. “I’ve heard of things like that. Women take their husband’s golf clubs, then sell them. Guys throw their wife’s shoes in the garbage.”

  “Yeah, she did it out of spite.” Marty repeated.

  “Another one?” Terri asked, gesturing toward the empty bar glasses.

  “You buying?” Marty asked automatically.

  Terri caught the eye of the bartender and ordered another round. “Well, Marty, that was years ago. What’s bugging you this week?”

  “Nothing.” Marty said, wishing she’d stop talking.

  “Try again, Tough Guy.” Terri pushed.

  “Remember when I said I was short on sleep? I guess I meant it.” Marty answered gruffly.

  Terri looked hurt. “I thought I was your friend? Friends talk. Friends tell each other what’s bugging ‘em.”

  “You are my friend, Terri.” Marty gave up the attitude. He felt tired, but he didn’t want her to leave. “You’re my only friend.” He muttered. Marty almost regretted saying that. Then he thought, ‘What the hell.’