by Bob Blink
"You did a great job," Mark had said when they settled into the deep leather chairs in Earl's private study. The heavy doors were locked closed and the household staff had retired. The Secret Service team that was overseeing his protection were patrolling the perimeter of the house, with only one man inside and he was well away from their private meeting at the President's direction.
"For a while there, it didn't look like it was going to turn out that way," Earl replied, a sly smile on his lips. "Every opening we thought up seemed to be blocked one way or another. You politicians lead a confined life. Not sure I could stand having people crowding me like that all the time."
"One of the downsides, I agree," Mark replied and then asked, "All of the people you brought into this have been paid and are satisfied?"
Earl nodded. "Taken care of. I'll settle up with you after you are out of that public position. Too many eyes on you at the moment to be moving large sums of money around right now. Why, are you worried about something?"
"Three people we have little control over know what really happened. That sort of makes me nervous."
"They all think this was my idea. We know them, and they aren't the type to talk about such things. Earl recounted who the people were and where they'd gone after the job was done."
"I don't know about this foreigner. Abe you said his name is?"
"Ibrahim actually," Earl said.
"He doesn't sound as safe as the others. He's in Vegas, partying away his money. What if he gets drunk and spouts off to some hooker?" Mark asked.
"Small chance of that," Earl said. "We got to know him pretty well, and this isn't the first time he's been involved in off'ing someone. He knows what not to talk about. Why, you want something to happen to him now?"
Mark waved his hand as if to push aside the suggestion. "No, that might stir up trouble we don't need. We got away this time, let's not test our luck. I just wish there weren't those loose ends out there."
"Well, life's like that. Always a gamble. I believe our buddy Abe will be leaving the country in a month or so. He's partying now, but Jason said he'd lined up an oil job in Venezuela, so that should help settle your mind. Anyone he talks to down there is unlikely to have access to an ear up here."
"Hmmm," Mark said, then after some thought added, "Is everything else shutdown?"
"I cleaned up the cabin. Took a couple of trips, but I wanted to do that alone so no one else knows we were ever there. I have been negligent on shutting down that fake business that I created to support the credit cards and job histories of the team while we were tailing the woman. Wanted to be certain we didn't need it again. It been more than long enough. I need to make it disappear."
Mark nodded. "Make that happen next week."
"Done," Earl agreed.
"I'm going to hang onto the phone for now," Mark said. "Just in case we need to talk. Once the election is behind us will be soon enough to ditch them, but I think it best that I get it to you some other way than send it with CC. He's seen enough, and one more such item might get him to thinking. Has he said anything to you?"
"Nothing, but he does seem a bit pensive," Earl noted. CC was one of the agents that had come on the trip and was on duty. Earl had had a chance to speak with his son on several occasions.
As the President pushed aside his woolgathering his thoughts turned to another person who had been around during all of this, and while Cindy shouldn't have picked up anything to be concerned about, he realized he would feel better if she wasn't so close anymore. Admittedly he was getting a bit tired of her, at least his nighttime performance suggested as much. Maybe it was age, or the heavy schedule supporting campaigning on top of normal responsibilities, and just maybe it was the cute Asian that he'd met last week. He'd think about it, and how he might smoothly slip out of the relationship if he decided that was what he wanted. There were risks there as well however. If Cindy believed she was being tossed aside, there were potentially other things she could reveal that wouldn't be favorable this close to an election. It might be wait until after November to make changes.
Chapter 20
Philadelphia, PA
Kevin Martini looked every bit the FBI agent that he was. He was tall, slightly muscular, with clear blue eyes and short brown hair, and a confident stride. Today he lacked the dark suit that was the standard uniform of the Agency and was dressed instead in worn and comfortable looking Levis, a pullover wool shirt under a thin windbreaker that hid his ever-present .40 S&W Glock automatic, and dark brown and black NuBalance tennis shoes. He was a bit off his normal stomping grounds being formally assigned to the Los Angeles office, but the city of Philadelphia was no stranger to him as he'd been raised here as a boy, and while his parents had both passed years ago, he had members of his extended family in the city. In fact, the restaurant he was entering belonged to a distant cousin, one of the reasons it had been chosen for today's meeting. No one would be able to monitor anything that was discussed inside the establishment. He was also the former partner of Karl Baxter, who, twenty-plus years his senior, had been his mentor during his first years in the Bureau.
He spotted his lunch date near the back of the room and headed directly toward the semi-dark booth, sliding onto the bench across from the lone occupant.
"G'Morning Karl," he said, examining his longtime friend who he hadn't seen in almost two years. It was sad that it took business to bring them together these days.
"Kev," Karl answered with a smile and a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
Karl knew that Kevin was looking him over carefully, noting the changes that an additional year and a half had wrought, and checking for any lingering effects of the two surgeries he'd been through since the last time they'd been physically together. The random emails they exchanged didn't allow such changes to be noted.
"Well?" Karl asked, wanting to get the official verdict from his former partner.
"You're looking good," Kevin admitted. "Actually better than the last couple of time I saw you. The cloud of pain is missing from your eyes. The knees are fine I take it?"
"Good as new," Karl answered truthfully, if not a bit smugly. "You were right and I should have had them done some time ago. It was foolish to put the replacements off for so long."
"No cane?" Kevin asked, looking around for the wooden stick that had bugged his pal for so long.
"It's long gone too. Months ago. I get around like a normal person theses days."
The agent nodded, happy for his friend. The discomfort had been getting bad when the other finally agreed to go in and have the knees worked on.
"I hear you are also employed again these days," he said.
"That is true," Karl replied, playing along. "Very handsomely paid as it turns out. Mr. Craig is very free with his money it seems. Not because he has so much of it, although he clearly is well enough off, but I get the very sincere desire to find out if what everyone is telling him about his wife's death is true, and if not, what really happened. He is determined, and I wouldn't want to be the individual responsible if he discovers that it wasn't an accident as he's been told."
"And what about you?" Kevin asked. "Do you share his doubts and belief there might be something amiss in the investigations that concluded so expeditiously?"
Karl scratched at his balding head.
"I really don't know. I've read everything you provided. I also talked with the Vice President the other day. There is something. My fingers itch and my sixth sense warns me that all is not so straight-forward as the incident seems to be. But it is too early to draw any conclusions. Like you, it is just a gut feeling. But it is one I wish to pursue and resolve, now as much for me as for Mr. Craig."
"The Vice President," Kevin noted with a bit of surprise and respect. "What took you to her?"
"We both have been in this business for a considerable time, and both of us know that the perpetrator is usually the person who stands to gain the most. That's assuming, of course, that there is a perpetrator. To me that
means someone high in politics. Someone whose plans would be pushed aside or have to be abandoned if the former candidate had won come November. The President is the most affected, but the VP also has a bone in the pot. Yet, she has apparently abandoned the game, clearly stepping aside and walking away from the election and ensuring she won't have a place in the next administration. That suggests she knows what went down and was soured by the event, knows the President had a hand in it and doesn't want to be tarnished by it, or simply no longer believes that politics is the way to see her dream realized, and her departure from the scene has nothing to do with Craig's death."
"And what did you learn?"
"Nothing really. Well, I'm convinced of two things. She knows nothing about any plot to have Mrs. Craig killed. She lacks the politician's poker face and ability to lie effectively. She's a very open and I believe caring person. But . . ."
"But?" Kevin asked.
"But she recalled something while we were talking. Something I said jogged a memory of some sort. Maybe it was related, and maybe not. For a moment I thought she was going to tell me, but I could almost see her mind close down and push away the incident, whatever it was. I gave her my card. Maybe it will bear fruit, and maybe not."
The Agent nodded. Special Agent Martini had been the senior agent investigating the shooting of the former presidential candidate. After the investigation had been completed by the Bureau, as well as the parallel investigations by the Secret Service and the local police department forensics squad, he'd taken his report back to senior management at the FBI, where the decision was made to close the case. Kevin Martini hadn't been of a like mind with his superiors, but one didn't advance within the Bureau by bucking the decisions of one's superiors.
On his way back to Los Angeles where he was normally assigned, he'd made a side visit, for the Bureau but one he might have made on his own if it hadn't been directed from above, to visit Mr. Craig, and to explain to him the gist of the Bureau's findings and their conclusion as to the motivations behind the shooting of his wife.
"So the Bureau agrees with the local police that Nancy was killed by accident," Eric Craig had said after Agent Martini had completed his report.
Agent Martini had nodded. "That is correct."
Eric Craig shook had his head and had said, "I feel that something more is at work here. That explanation seems too pat. I was hoping the FBI would find something that might alieviate my doubts."
Martini had hesitated, but he wasn't supposed to reveal his own doubts. Then stepping out of character had said, "My intuition says that you are correct, and the conclusion that has been jointly reached is overlooking something. There are no facts, absolutely nothing I can put my finger on after a great deal of careful reading of the reports to support my feeling, but I believe my gut is not mistaken. However, there is no way that I, or another member of the FBI could pursue this any further since an official closure has been issued."
"You are telling me there is nothing more I can hope to see done," Eric Craig had replied, the disappointment clear on his face.
Then the Agent had passed across a small printed business card.
"What's this?" Eric Craig had asked picking it up off the glass table top.
"That is the name of one of the most effective investigators in the country," Martini had said. "I strongly suggest you employ him, and ask him to take an independent look at this incident. If there is something to be found, he will find it."
"He's that good?" Craig had asked.
"He will fool you when you meet him. He doesn't look like what you will expect of a person doing his job. Do not underestimate him or be put off by his appearance. Those who have discounted him have often wished they had known better. He was my mentor, and the most effective FBI agent I have ever known. He is also more dangerous to his enemies than one would think."
"So what do you do now?" Kevin asked, pushing aside the memories from that meeting. Karl had obviously been called, and ultimately that led to this meeting.
"I'm going to Los Angeles," he said. I probably should have done that first, but I need to walk the crime scene. I was wondering what support I can expect from you? Plus I wanted to get your take on the whole thing. I decided we could do that far more effectively face to face, and not leave any record."
"From the Bureau, nothing," Kevin answered honestly. "From me, whatever I can do that doesn't reveal my part in your efforts. It is a breach of my position to have gotten involved as I have, and I could be fired and even prosecuted if it became known what I have done."
Karl nodded. "Hence this place for our meeting," he said with one of his characteristic grins. "I guessed that we wouldn't be getting support from the home office, but glad you made it clear. It's going to increase the difficulty of this whole thing. People will have been talked to by multiple investigations and wonder why someone is going over the same stuff again, and some might even have been warned against talking about the issue at all."
Kevin smiled. "Didn't want to give you something too easy. Feared you might get bored." Then he added, "I do have friends and contacts within various organizations that I can approach for some help should we undercover matters that need confirmation or looking into. But those resources are limited and will be skittish if what we ask is too pointed and obviously against the current management directives on this matter."
"Maybe those people won't be necessary," Karl said quietly.
"I sense that you don't think so," Kevin said.
"If any of this turns out to be other than it seems, or that the various agencies have reported, then this killing is something other than advertised and was performed with care. Money was spent, I suspect a lot of it, and there would have had to be a team with multiple participants, not a lone shooter. They also would have most likely had access to a certain amount of inside knowledge."
Kevin was slowly nodding his head.
"I see you have been having similar thoughts."
So how do you proceed?"
"I'm going to Los Angeles and have a long look at the murder scene, at least what I can without alerting anyone official what I'm up to. Then I plan to backtrack through Mrs. Craig's recent travel itinerary. If there was someone behind this, and it was a plot against her, then something will surface somewhere along the way. There's no way to be careful enough to hide every movement."
"You see why I told Mr. Craig to hire you," Kevin asked.
"I just wish I knew what Mrs. Yano chose not to reveal. I get the feeling whatever it was she doesn't believe is related to this incident, but ultimately it would make the resolution much easier."
"What if you find something?" Kevin asked.
"I'll be keeping you informed," Karl promised. "We'll discuss what to do if something meaningful surfaces."
"Who do we tell if we are convinced the investigation was flawed and must be reopened, the Director or Mr. Craig?"
"Mr. Craig," Karl said without hesitation. "He's footing the bill. It was his wife. He deserves to know first."
Chapter 21
Washington, D.C.
Cindy watched as the President pushed aside the covers and stepped naked from their bed and headed toward the bathroom. A few minutes later she heard the shower running, and knew it would be a while before he returned. She sighed. Their lovemaking hadn't been up to par of late. She certainly hadn't been satisfied by the session they'd just concluded, and was pretty certain he hadn't been either. She'd made a half-hearted attempt at some of the kinkier things he liked, but today even that hadn't gotten his fires hot. That seemed the norm of late, and whether it was an indication of the pressures of the campaign or an indication their relationship was nearing the end she couldn't say. Of course there was Jessica Liu to consider as well.
Jessica was five years Cindy's junior, a petite five foot three, and sexy as hell. She could see how she'd drawn Mark's attention, but was there anything there? Was the woman the cause of what was happening, or was she just insecure? Time would tel
l she decided. There was little she could do if that were the case.
She was bored, and knew when Mark made it back to the bed after his shower he would be interested in sleep, not another round of abortive sex. Almost wishing she could simply leave and head home, she looked around for something to do. She spotted Mark's iPhone on the end table and wondered if he had any fun games on the thing. Her own phone was in her purse in the entryway way down the hall. Naked, and not inclined to get dressed just so she could walk down there and retrieve it, and not even considering wandering down there nude, she cursed. It wasn't that anyone had ever come into the Presidential Quarters without knocking and getting permission, but she simply feared that the one time she did something like that there would be an emergency and she'd end up surrounded by gawking Secret Service guys.
She glanced again at the President's phone. He had never warned her about playing with it, but a phone was a lot like a toothbrush. You left other people's stuff alone. It was private. She fought a battle with her conscience, one that had never served her very well over the years, and not surprisingly won. She reached over and lifted the phone off the end table and brought it where she could see the screen. Surprisingly it was unlocked, but she'd expected as much. Mark had a real problem with passwords, and given all the security around him every day he simply hadn't elected to protect the thing.
"Who is going to mess with the President's phone?" he'd said once day when she'd noticed the fact.
She had no intention of scanning anything personal, although the little devil in the back of her mind considered a quick peek to see if any calls, incoming or outgoing, were directed to that little Asian witch. Somehow her conscience won this time, and she scrolled through the various screens to see what was available.
Clearly the President wasn't a heavy user of his phone. There were only three screens with Apps, but then when would he have time for such things. The bottom of the third screen was filled with official looking App icons which she decided she definitely needed to steer clear of. Between the heavy schedule he had every day and the hour and a half he diddled with social media, what other Apps would he need. The third page of icons had several official looking icons she decided she'd better steer clear of. Then, surprising her, she spotted a familiar icon buried in the middle of the other useless crap on the second screen.
