by Bob Blink
As he ate, he considered the letter CC had unexpectedly brought from the President. It was a heady task he had ahead of him, but not something that surprised him overly much. He'd been watching the polls the past month or so, and seeing Mark dropping behind, he'd wonder what action his best friend would be taking to turn the matter around. Mark hated losing. Always had. Clearly something had to be done. Earl felt warm inside that Mark felt comfortable asking him to handle something like this. Most men wouldn't have a friend they could simply ask to commit a crime for them, let alone murder someone with such a national presence. Well, they had a long history together, from the early days in the military where they had met, through a number of years wildcatting in the oil fields. They'd broken more than a few rules, and both had left a few bodies buried in unmarked graves. Earl knew he had, and suspected a couple that Mark almost certainly was responsible for. If a careful toll of obligations was to be taken, Earl owed Mark more than the other way around, but when this was over, Mark would be the one in debt.
He thought about his son Chris and the surprise visit. He knew CC had been disappointed not to be enlightened as to the contents in the letter he had been carrying. But what they were planning was a criminal act, and it was better the boy wasn't party to that, especially given his position in the Secret Service. Besides, Chris has demonstrated in the past the inability to hide a lie very well. With luck, they would be successful and Chris would never know what it was about, and if things went wrong, they would most likely be dead. Earl couldn't be sure about Mark, but he knew for certain he wouldn't survive if their plans were uncovered. He hoped that didn't happen because he wasn't sure how Chris would feel about it. CC was his only son, and he'd hate to lose his affection. CC had two sisters, but they had long ago departed. One lived on either coast, which suggested they disliked one another every bit as much as they hated their father.
Mark had left the decision whether to enlighten Chris up to Earl, but had made certain things very clear. He had very specifically outlined how CC was to carry back Earl's response. It was to be done with a simple nod in response to a specific question. The President was under watch all the time, and couldn't be certain if someone might remember later if they were careless. Once the communication gear had been smuggled to the President, a task for CC, then Earl and Mark could communicate directly, if sparingly. He'd be forwarding the phone on a private flight in a day or so for CC to pick up at the DC airport so he wouldn't have to make another hard-to-explain trip to Texas. It would be up to his son to figure out how to get the gear to Mark unobserved.
Earl had some work to do on the phones before that could happen. There was a bit of set up to do, and he had to program the special SIMs that he'd been provided with. Nominally the special encryption key was input and stored within the phone, but to ensure he and Mark were in synch, he'd asked their friend to allow the phones to store the encryption key on the SIM, and to read it from there into the phone on power-up. He had ten of the SIMs for each phone. They were identical in function except for the phone number and he planned to program each of them with a different encryption key, then number them. He and Mark would start with SIM #1, but at key points or if something suggested they might have been compromised, they would advance to the next numbered SIM, which should re-establish their security. An additional feature of the phones was the automatic voice alteration, so that someone listening couldn't use any standard form of voice identification software to establish their identities. Earl would include a brief note with the box of SIMs to explain the plan to Mark, but otherwise it looked and acted like the President's own cell phone, other than an extra App that would trigger the security features and initiate a call to the partnered phone Earl kept.
Pushing aside his empty plate after having somehow eaten everything without tasting a thing, he considered another of the guidelines that Mark had included in his wishes. The President hoped that Craig's death could be made to appear accidental. If it were thought to be intentional, that would unleash a shit storm of investigations and inquiries that would complicate the whole election. They might even stumble on who was behind the hit, and that would be more than counterproductive. The request made sense, but greatly complicated implementation. It would be so much easier if a sniper could be positioned to simply take her out. He didn't have any idea at the moment how to go about meeting this requirement, so he'd have to put a team together and see what they could jointly come up with.
At the top of his list of potential co-conspirators was Jason Thompson. Jason was a Texan like himself, an expert in all manner of electronics, as well as skilled with explosives, a skill nurtured by a stint in the US military. Jason was in his mid forties and a couple of years more than two decades younger than Earl. He was also was a storehouse of ideas on how to get away with minor crimes. They had often discussed how they would pull off hypothetical jobs, although nothing had ever come of the brainstorming. At least Earl had never joined Jason in any of the misadventures he was certain the man had pursued. But unless the man had changed, Jason would be in need of money, he always was. He did well enough with this illicit computer activities, but with three kids and as many ex-wives, he was generally short on cash. Jason had a suppressed conscience, so he would likely be agreeable to participation in a bit of murder for hire. He wouldn't need to know of the President's involvement. Earl would make him believe it was his own idea to ensure his friend's re-election. And, if he could bring Jason on board, he was certain the man would know of others that would be more than willing to join on for the appropriate financial consideration. If he couldn't entice Jason, there were a couple of other possible candidates, but he was less sure they would be game for this kind of thing, and he'd have to be a lot more circumspect in approaching them. He had to keep in mind that Mark wanted this finished before the Democratic Convention where the party candidate would be picked, and that was a mere four months away. He figured that gave them only three months to plan and execute, since too close to the convention would garner too much attention.
"You look lost in thought," Ginny said as she reached past Earl and picked up his empty plate. "You want more?"
Earl shook his head, annoyed that he'd been so focused he hadn't heard Ginny approach.
"No, I've got to go see if Gus can get the Cessna ready for a bit of a trip," he said.
"You be careful," she said frowning. Ginny didn't like airplanes, especially small ones since her husband had died in an airplane crash. Earl loved that little plane of his, but she couldn't help but worry every time he flew off somewhere in it.
"Always," Earl replied with a small grin.
He stood and headed outside, glancing across the grounds toward the long car shed behind the barn. The shed provided shaded parking for several of the ranch's vehicles as well as for the vehicles of the employees. It was also equipped with a well-equipped mechanical shop for repairs of both automobiles and farm vehicles. And planes, he added as an afterthought. His four-seat Cessna 182 was parked at the one end of the long structure, just opposite the shop.
Jason now lived just outside Fort Worth, about three hours flying time in his little plane. Once again, making the trip in his own vehicle and landing at one of the unstaffed airports outside of town would leave little record of his visit. Technically, he should have a flight plan, but it was easy enough to avoid all that.
Spotting Gus, he stepped off the small porch and headed toward his foreman.
Chapter 6
Fort Worth, Texas
Earl glided the Cessna to a smooth landing, the wheels making contact with the runway with only the slightest of bumps, then watched as the houses sped past on his right and the row of privately owned hangers on his left. The trip to the Weatherford Airport just outside of Fort Worth had taken a bit less than the anticipated two hours and fifty minutes flying time, indicating he'd had a bit of favorable tail wind for the trip. He had chosen the small private airfield both because he'd been here a couple times before, although
it had been several years now, and because it was without a control tower that would create any kind of formal or official record of his visit.
His speed rapidly bled off, and by the time he was halfway down the runway he was able to focus on where he'd taxi and park the plane while he was here. Without a tower, manned, and controlling arrivals and departures, he had to watch and listen to his radios for other potential traffic, but as he'd seen from the sir, no one else appeared to be in the area, and nothing on the radio suggested anyone was preparing to land or take off at the moment.
Earl taxied with calm assurance, and came to a stop next to a pair of similarly sized planes at the far end of the field. He could have parked considerably closer to the rows of hangers, which was where he'd be going next, but he wanted his plane to be less noticeable. Should something go amiss with their plans, it was unlikely that many weeks later someone would recall his plane and tail number, but whatever actions he could take now to minimize anyone recalling his visit were worth a little extra effort. There was serve-yourself gas available, but he had sufficient to make the return trip, and he didn't want a credit card record to mark his visit after all the effort he'd put into selecting an airfield where he could remain anonymous.
With the plane secured and ready for him when he returned, he turned and began walking toward the hangers. He didn't know any of the owners, a plus given the semi-covert nature of his visit. Many of the hangers were privately owned, but he had learned the last time he was here that a number of the owners had somewhat older vehicles that could be rented for a reasonable price allowing visiting pilots to make runs into Fort Worth and the surrounding area. Hopefully, one of those individuals would be present today and he could arrange a cash transaction that would provide him temporary wheels for his visit into the city to see Jason. If not, he has a list of local taxi companies who he could call, even though that would potentially leave some kind of record that someone from the airfield had gone to a specific address in Fort Worth. Extra cash could silent tongues, but it couldn't erase memories that could potentially trip him up later. As unlikely that someone would ever have reason to look, or that such a record would be locatable weeks from now, he'd prefer to avoid the possibility.
"Can I help you?" a voice from inside the shaded cavern of one of the hangers with the wide doors wide open which had suggested someone was currently present and had drawn him in that direction.
Earl spotted an older gentlemen wearing stain-smeared mechanics coveralls and carrying what looked to be a piston from an aircraft engine. He smiled and said, "I was told by a friend a while back that there were usually a few cars that could be rented out from people while I was here."
The man's head was already bobbing up and down. "That's correct," he agreed. "It depends on who is around, but earlier I saw Fred in his hanger a couple of doors down. He has an old Ford Taurus he rents out. Might be a couple of others, but it's pretty quiet today. You plan to be here long?"
Earl shook his head. "Just visiting an old friend. He had a fall and is in the hospital." Earl had made up the lie before setting off, even checking on the names of likely hospitals in case his story was questioned.
"That's too bad," the oldster replied. "I hope he's okay. You head on over there," he emphasized his meaning by pointing with the hand that held the piston, "and see if you can find Fred. If he's not there, come on back. I can call around for you."
"Appreciate it," Earl said, and with a friendly wave, started off in the direction he'd been pointed.
Fifteen minutes later, Earl turned onto the road outside the airport that headed east into Fort Worth. The car he was driving had seen better days, and was very much in need of an engine overhaul based on the amount of oil smoke it generated, but it should make the ten-minute drive to Jason's place and back without any complications. Rolling down the windows to allow the outside air to drive out the heat that sitting parked had built up in the old wreck, he thought ahead toward the upcoming meeting.
He and Jason had been in periodic contact over the past few years. Once Earl had ended his days of bringing in producing oil wells, and became more of an owner-operator of the multiple oil fields he now owned with Mark and a couple of other partners, there wasn't a job that fit Jason's skill set. Besides, during the slow periods, Jason had learned that his hacking skills brought in more money, at considerably less physical risk and effort, and he wasn't actually looking to return to his earlier type of work. While not a truly talented hacker, Jason was surprisingly adept given his background. Once or twice when Earl had had need of someone with Jason's computer skills, and he had sought the younger man out.
His residence wasn't difficult to find, even though Earl had only been in the area once before. The tired, somewhat rundown rental located in the low end of a middle class area of town, which was badly in need of paint on the trim, hadn't gotten better in the two years since his last visit. The yard had deteriorated to the point the grass that had been spotty the last time Earl had seen it was now mostly dirt, with small patches of brown, dried out weeds.
He pulled into the empty cracked driveway and parked. There was no sign of Jason's old F-150 pickup. It could be in the garage, or he could be away at the moment, which might mean Earl had made a wasted trip, something that he'd worried about during the flight from El Paso. Fearing the worst, he rang the bell, and for extra emphasis knocked solidly on the door. He could hear no sounds from within and was about to conclude that Jason wasn't going to answer, which would greatly complicate his planning, when the door finally opened.
"Earl?" Jason's raspy voice asked. "What are you doing here?"
Earl examined his old friend, who appeared to have aged a bit, but otherwise wasn't much different than the last time he'd seen him. In his mid-forties, his perpetually messy dark hair was a shade grayer. A little over six feet with the scarred, thick powerful arms of an oil rig worker, he looked nothing like the typical image of a geeky computer hacker. His face was showing his age more than before, the crooked and mashed nose that had seen more than its fair share of bar fights grabbing one's immediate attention. He was barefoot, with a pair of former jeans now trimmed into shorts with stringy bottoms, topped by a dirty T-shirt displaying a series of mathematical symbols that must be some kind of clever saying, but which was lost on Earl. It was apparent that things hadn't been going particularly well for Jason of late. That could bode well for the offer Earl wanted to make, so long as Jason wasn't back at the booze.
"Could use some help on something," Earl said, "but we need to talk inside."
"Oh, yeah. Come in," Jason said, standing off to one side making a passage while he held the torn screen door open.
Given Jason's current appearance, Earl expected a messy interior with trash strewn around the room, but he was surprised to find the room relatively neat, although the ancient furniture didn't look any better than he remembered. He was pleased to see his careful glances around the area failed to pick out any sign of empty bottles or beer cans.
"You look a little worn down," Earl said honestly, curious what Jason would answer.
"Been a rough summer," his friend replied. "Hurt my back and my sciatic nerve flared up. Made it hard to do much for a couple of months. Better now, but it wasn't a pleasant experience."
That explained the walker pushed against the wall, Earl decided.
"You better now?" he asked. He needed Jason mobile and fit for what he had in mind.
Jason nodded. "Haven't had any trouble for more than a month. Still worry every morning when I wake up that it might come back, but so far no problems."
Watching Jason carefully, Earl asked. "Are you still bending the rules," he asked.
"A bit," Jason admitted, "although I haven't managed anything major since the spring. Sort of feeling my way back into things at the moment. Why, do you have something?"
Earl could sense a hint of eagerness in Jason's eyes, suggesting he needed an influx of cash. Not desperate yet, but needy for certain. That was
a good thing and would help motivate him to come on board with Earl's scheme.
"How far are you willing to go with things?" Earl asked.
"I don't know," Jason replied honestly. "Probably depends on how much money is in it for me." Jason knew Earl was rich, so he clearly was hoping to bias what Earl would offer.
"Say, for half a million," Earl replied bluntly. He knew that Mark wouldn't have trouble with the amount, clearly willing to offer considerably more to get his problem resolved, but Earl figured to test the waters with the offer.
Jason's eyes widened at the amount.
"Who do I have to kill?" he asked, somewhat jokingly, but Earl could tell he sensed that something of the sort was probably involved.
"Would you be up for that, should it be required?" Earl asked bluntly.
Jason's pale blue eyes met Earl's.
"That's what this is about isn't it? You want me to kill someone for you."
"I want you to help me kill someone," Earl corrected him.
"Both of us would do it?" Jason asked.
"Us, and a couple of others I figure."
"You are serious, aren't you?" Jason said slowly.
Earl nodded, all the time watching Jason.
"Whew," Jason said. "I guess so then, since it's not just me, and if you can convince me we can do it and get away with it. No point if we are going to end up in prison."
"The intention would be to make it look like some kind of accident so no one is even looking for a killer."
"Maybe the person disappears, and no one even looks?" Jason asked hopefully.
