Lethal Politics

by Bob Blink

  Fred was distracted, looking at something on his phone, a violation of protocol, but not an unusual action when things were quiet like this. Don had left just over a minute ago, so he'd have a little time, but there was no time to delay. A quick glance showed the President intent on his target, and no one else in sight. CC pulled his weapon, quickly stepped over behind Fred, and clubbed him solidly alongside the temple. The single blow didn't put him out, but a second was sufficient.

  Holstering the weapon, CC dragged Fred into a small alcove a short distance away. It was dark, and given the lack of personnel this time of night would go unnoticed long enough for CC to carry out his plan. What happened afterwards was not clearly formulated in his mind, but he wasn't going to think about that just now. Quickly he hurried over to the door of the range, and stepped inside.

  "I've seen you shoot better," CC noted as he stepped into the range. The President nodded, apparently not surprised by CC's breaking of protocol by entering uninvited into the area. He set the .45 down on the flat table in front of him, the slide locked back and the empty magazine removed. He set the magazine next to the pistol and the partially emptied open box of cartridges. CC noted the condition of the weapon with the now empty magazines and decided he could ignore it.

  Mark nodded. "Too much on my mind," he admitted.

  "Dad's dead," CC accused. "You know that, don't you? Why didn't you say anything?" They could talk freely. There was no one else in the range and no sound would transmit outside the room.

  "When? How? I was just advised of it a short time ago, and told to keep it secret for now. That includes not revealing what I was told to anyone, including you, his son."

  "What were you and Dad thinking?"

  "I don't know. There seemed to be a way to retain the Presidency, and for a while it appeared we were successful. If not for bad luck, this situation would never have happened."

  "You got Dad killed," CC hissed softly as his hand drew his service weapon from his belt. He pointed the Sig at the President and even though his hand wasn't anywhere near as steady as usual, missing at this range would be a sheer impossibility.

  "CC," the President cautioned, his eyes panicked, backing up a half step in response to the threat.

  "No!" screamed CC. "You can't talk your way out of this. My Dad is dead. And it's your fault."

  CC raised the deadly handgun a bit higher, centering on the President's chest. He appeared ready to act when the President's eyes shifted to one side causing CC to do the same. The agent had returned early from his bathroom break, and seeing Fred missing had come to check on what might be happening. Clearly he was seeing CC with his duty weapon leveled at the President. Too late to back down now, CC thought, and turned his head back toward the President, his onetime friend.

  Except the brief distraction had changed things. The President was in motion, his hand coming up from his belt. It wasn't a particularly fast draw, and certainly not smooth and practiced, but the problem was reflex time. The President was in motion, and while CC only needed to pull a trigger, the time it took his brain to put the thought into action was simply too long. The President had been wearing his short barreled .45 in addition to having the gun's larger brother which he had been shooting which was still resting on the table. As soon as the smaller weapon cleared the holster, the President fired a coordinated pair of shots into CC's chest. The agent was punched backwards minutely by the impact, and somehow his hands lost their grip on his own weapon, which allowed the Sig to clatter to the floor. There hadn't been a need from CC to wear any kind of body armor here in the White House, so the two shots were mortal. CC looked at his former friend, noting not horror, but a certain satisfaction in his eyes, but unable to speak, CC died as he dropped to the floor.

  The agent rushed into the room, placing himself between the body on the floor and the President, his own weapon drawn against any other threats.

  "What happened?" the agent asked.

  "He tried to kill me," the President replied. He realized a little acting was required, and sat down shakily in the nearby chair, looking at the gun in his hand, which he set down hard on the table.

  "I heard that. But why? I thought he was your friend."

  "His father was apparently involved in the killing of Nancy Craig. His role in the killing was discovered and he was killed a short time ago. Somehow CC learned of it. I think CC felt his father died because he was trying to help me win the election, and somehow I should have known and stopped him. He was incoherent with rage. I can't believe he would have attempted such a thing under any other circumstances."

  Mark had been wondering what to do about CC and whether in his grief he would give him away ever since learning of Earl's death back in Texas. The son presented a very real threat to his situation and who knew what he might do once he realized what certain events had meant and why he'd been excluded from their activities. Now CC had solved the matter for him. It couldn't have gone any better had he planned it. The agent had witnessed CC's screaming accusations, but had conveniently missed the parts that would have thrown a different slant on the encounter.

  "The FBI Director is going to be unhappy," the agent said.

  "What do you mean?" the President asked.

  "CC was a suspect. There is evidence that he was the inside contact for his father. Several of us were tasked with quietly watching him, not only to be certain he didn't threaten you, something considered unlikely, but in case he made contact with some of the others that were involved in their conspiracy. That opportunity is obviously lost now."

  "Wait a minute. Where's Fred? You didn't come down here with CC and me earlier."

  "I'm Dan. We haven't met before. I am only recently assigned to the White House. I have been wondering myself where he went."

  Belatedly the agent got on his communications net and called for assistance, explaining that an attempt had been made against the President. Within minutes the lower level was swarming with agents, both Secret service and FBI. Finding the unconscious and bleeding agent that CC had attacked earlier only confirmed what the President and Dan claimed had happened.

  Chapter 38

  Washington, DC

  "And that's the way it is," the newscaster finished up as the screen faded to the channel logo.

  The President huffed as he turned down the sound, leaving the picture showing like the other monitors that were turned to the competing channels. The announcer annoyed him. The man acted like he was trying to emulate Walter Conkite, the news icon that Mark has listened to as a kid. All the channels had been running specials all morning, enamored with the surprising revelation that the death of Democratic candidate Nancy Craig had been completely mistaken, and that she had been killed as part of a conspiracy to steal the presidency for the Republicans.

  "I'd like to know where they got this story," FBI Director Crampton said as he was ushered into the room just as the President was turning down the monitor's volume. "There's a leak, but how do you find it in this town."

  Mark turned to his friend. "At least you've managed to hold back the fact that I was the one forced to shoot CC. The reports all say he was killed in the act of trying to kill me, implying that one of my Secret Service protectors was responsible for putting him down."

  "There are only a couple of people aware of exactly what happened, and if that information becomes public we will know pretty much where to look for a leak. I'll see someone in jail for violation of the Secrets Act if that happens."

  "It certainly wouldn't do my standing in the polls much good," Mark remarked. "And this close to the election it would be hard to regain any lost ground."

  "How is that going?" Crampton asked.

  Mark shrugged.

  "It's hard to tell. Joe tells me that it is far too soon for any meaningful polls, but the various organizations are reporting everything from massive gains for the opposition, to their holding pretty much unchanged. My own standing might have dropped by up to twenty percent, and it might actual
ly have climbed a bit. I don't think we'll know anything meaningful until the actual votes have been cast. It's going to be interesting going into this election."

  The President wasn't happy about the last minute upheaval and the fact he could no longer be certain of the win that had been solidly assured just the day before. On the other hand, he had survived the worst that might have happened. With Earl and CC both dead, there wasn't anyway he could see that his involvement would become known. It would be upsetting if he lost, after the sacrifices he and his friends had endured, but if that happened, he would at least walk away without fear of legal repercussions.

  "What about the competition?" Brad Campbell asked.

  "They have gone ballistic as you might expect. The DNC conspiracy network has a new theory every few minutes. I knew about this all along, or, I was part of the planning and in fact encouraged my old friends to go after Nancy Craig. I heard one theory where this was all funded by the Republican Party, and another that it was a Chinese plot to control the election out, that beside the point my administration has given them the most trouble they've seen in years. Meanwhile, the conservative news pundits are out there screaming that it wasn't my fault as proved by the fact they killed Cindy who must have somehow discovered what was going on."

  "What do you think?" Brad asked.

  "I think Earl thought he was doing me a favor," Mark replied. "He always has tried to pay back some debts he felt he owed for things I did for him a long time ago, not to mention he stood to rake in considerably more money with the programs I have been pushing compared to some of the things Mrs. Craig was advocating. I don't know if he would have ever told me what he'd done had all this worked out as he apparently envisioned." The lies came easily to the President. He'd had all night to think about how he'd respond to certain questions. He felt good to try bout his answers to a friend, before he had to face the more critical probing of the various news media. I just wish I'd known more of what you did. Maybe we could have saved CC if I'd known you were aware of his involvement. I don't think there would have been any way to stop Earl from making his stand."

  "I wasn't comfortable that you could conceal what you knew around your friends," Brad said apologetically.

  "What about the phones? Did you find CC's?" The phones would have been conclusive proof that Earl's son had been the local contact. Mark would have liked to plant his phone somewhere that would be tied to CC, despite the fact that would most likely result in problems for Phil Grossman, but there simply hadn't been any way to make that happen. The Secret service and FBI had been all over everything as soon as they'd learned of the situation.

  "Haven't found either of them, Brad admitted.

  Of course they hadn't. Mark was certain that Earl had disposed of his after their discussion somewhere out on the plains where it would likely never be found, and the one they were crediting to CC was reasonably safely hidden in his quarters until a really safe opportunity to ditch it presented itself. "Have your people found anything in CC's apartment that might lead to the missing co-conspirators?"

  "We believe there are still individuals out there. There could be more than the two we have been hunting, but everything we have up to now says otherwise. There's been nothing new, and we will continue to look until we find them. This is the kind of assault on our government that cannot be allowed to go unpunished."

  "Let's hope you can find them soon. The public uproar isn't going to die away so long as anyone involved in this business remains free."

  Mark wasn't particularly concerned if they found Jason or Bo. It would be best that they did, and the two went down in a blaze of gunfire, unable to answer any questions about the events that led up to the various deaths. However it turned out, he couldn't see himself affected. Earl had assured him that both men believed the whole conspiracy was of Earl's making, and they would have no reason to point any fingers his way.

  "We are trying to follow the money," Brad explained.

  "What money?" Mark asked, then he realized that Brad was referring to the compensation that Earl had paid the three men.

  "We have verified that Mr. Ibrahim Fatani received several large payments in the last months of his life. Those were almost certainly for the killing of Mrs. Craig, and then more recently for the killing of Miss Moore, which we believe he handled alone. Unfortunately the payments came from offshore banks who aren't particularly cooperative, and we haven't been able to learn much coming at things from that direction. Now, however, knowing that Mr. Campbell was the man with the money behind this whole thing, we hoped to locate some kind of documentation or records that show not only the corresponding amounts being sent to Mr. Fatani, but also similar amounts being dispersed to other individuals. If that works out, we will have leads on the remaining members of the team."

  Mark was glad Earl had wanted him to postpone repayment from him. Those transfers would be proving very embarrassing indeed about now.

  "What if that doesn't work?"

  "We have another team focusing on former employees of Mr. Campbell from his oil field days. While Mr. Fatani wasn't a former employee, he was an oil field worker, and it could well be that the others were as well. One of them might have even recruited Mr. Fatani for him. I'm sure we will find other alternatives as we dig deeper into this case. It's only been a day since both Campbell's were killed. It's unfortunate that the news media has been so zealous with regard to this case. The two people we wish to find must have been alerted to these recent developments and are probably going to ground even now."

  Chapter 39

  Highway 20, Lousiana

  Jason was no longer in Fort Worth, or even in Texas for that matter. He had left the day before after some serious thought regarding Earl's visit, although he had departed very early in the morning before either Earl or CC had been killed, and was completely unaware of the recent developments that might prove critically important to his future. His reasons for going were simple. Bo had been completely out of contact since they had left the cabin and had no idea how things had changed and that they were at risk of being found out. There was also a personal aspect to his trip. If Bo was captured, there was every reason to be concerned that he might reveal their names to the authorities, with the obvious very undesirable consequences.

  So he had packed a week's supply of clothes, his best laptop and a few printouts of roadmaps to help guide his travels. He had also brought the little 9mm with an unopened box of spare ammunition, not really wanting to, but uncomfortable traveling without some form of weapon just in case things didn't go as smoothly as he hoped. With a bit of luck he would find Bo, pass along the situation, and be able to return by the end of the week.

  Finding Bo could prove to be problematic. They'd already discovered he wasn't packing any kind of cell phone, so he'd have to physically locate him. His friend had indicated he'd gone off to compete in a variety of shooting events somewhere in the Southeast. Jason reasoned that Bo's specialty and greatest interest was in long range shooting, so he surfed the Internet to see what events might be scheduled and where. The number of such events was surprising, but he soon found that there were two one-thousand yard meets in the next three weeks. The earliest was only a few days away and was located in Swainsboro, Georgia. The next was in Ferguson, North Carolina roughly a week later. If Bo was participating it stood to reason he would be attending one or both of these matches.

  A check of Google Maps showed that the drive to Swainsboro was almost a straight shot to the east. Roughly a thousand mile drive, he would be passing through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and finally into Georgia. He'd been in all of the states before and had a rough idea what the places were like, and decided that he'd split the drive with overnight stops in Jackson, Mississippi, and then again Atlanta, Georgia. The final day he would continue on into Swainsboro, and hopefully find his friend practicing during the days before the actual competition.

  The days passed smoothly enough as he listened to music using his iPhone to pat
ch music through the car radio via the auxiliary port. He would have liked to follow the news but the antenna was long gone on his vehicle and there was no reception, and the cheap hotels he selected had no Internet service. He decided he would catch up once he settled in somewhere after locating Bo.

  He finally reached the small town where the shoot was going to be held and almost checked into the first place he spotted, but then decided lunch was first in order, then finding out if Bo was in town. If he was, it made sense to locate in the same establishment, and if not he'd have to consider what his next move should be. An hour later he parked well away from the shooting line at the range where the competition was scheduled to be held. More than twenty shooters were on the line getting used to the unfamiliar surroundings, checking the impact of wind across the long distance to the targets that looked ridiculously far away to Jason.

  The crack of the rifles was sharp and disconcerting, so he wandered into the small shop set adjacent to the parking area and purchased a set of electronic earmuffs. They were much more expensive than he wanted, but had the desirable feature of allowing him to communicate with someone while others were shooting. The muffs would clamp the sound when shots were fired, but amplify and allow normal voice conversations to continue. Then he went in search of his friend.

  Bo was settled in at the fifth position he checked. Jason found a seat where he could watch, not wanting to disturb his friend while he was focused on his shooting. The rifle was a huge thing, with a silver un-blued barrel that had to be two and a half inches in diameter if not three, and a full three feet long. This massive chunk of steel had an impressive action fitted to the back, and a stock that somehow managed to contain everything while being trimmed to make it shootable. Not to be outdone, the telescopic sight had the largest objective he'd ever seen on a rifle. It boomed suitably as well, indicating Bo wasn't shooting twenty-twos.