The Inner Sanctum

by Stephen Frey

  “That bastard!” thundered Admiral Cowen. “I need the A-100 program at least six months into production before word of its existence leaks out. It would be too easy for someone to shut it down now. I must have that fighter-bomber.”

  “Easy, Ted.” Finnerty waved a hand at Cowen. “Keep your pants on.”

  Finnerty was as calm and composed as usual in the face of adversity, and it was reassuring, Webb thought to himself.

  Art Mohler picked up his glasses from the table and put them back on. “It’s obvious to me what’s happened. Walker has realized he’s in trouble as far as November goes. He’s seen the polls and knows he’s on the bubble,” Mohler analyzed. “Elbridge is pulling ahead, and Senator Walker can’t stop the express. It’s almost as if we’ve done too good a job with Elbridge. Walker’s going to a scorched-earth strategy with the black budget because it’s the only option he has left. He’s going directly to the American people with black-budget details as a last-ditch effort to show them he’s a true establishment fighter.”

  “But he can’t just babble on about the black budget in front of the national press corps,” Cowen argued. “I know it’s no secret that there’s a black budget, but people don’t know the inner workings of it. They don’t know the extent of it. We can’t have some joker giving away national secrets on network television, for God’s sake.” Cowen turned toward Webb. “Senator, can’t you invoke a gag order under the national security rule black budget allows? Then we could have people there to put the clamps on him when he opens his mouth.”

  “Wouldn’t that look great?” Finnerty interjected. “The Defense Department gestapo marching up to the podium, locking a black senator in chains, and leading him away. Land of the free and home of the brave. Walker would have a fucking orgasm. The press would be all over him for the story. In thirty seconds we’d destroy everything we’ve been building for three years, Ted.”

  Cowen saw Finnerty was right. “But we’ve got to do something. We can’t just let him go on national television and torpedo the A-100 and maybe the entire black-budget process.” Cowen swallowed hard. “Think where that could lead. I mean, forget about the fact that we lose our wealth engine for a minute. There’s the other side of the coin too. I’m sure there are a few people who would love to know what’s been going on here in this room. What if someone really starts digging?” He looked at Webb pleadingly. Suddenly he was nervous. “We can’t let that happen, can we, Senator?”

  A slight smile inched across Webb’s face. “I have a solution.”

  “What’s that?” Finnerty had known Webb for years and recognized the smile. God bless him. He had an answer for everything.

  “Jack, and the rest of you,” he said, making eye contact with all of them, “I’d like to keep that to myself. Please indulge me.”

  The others nodded hesitantly. They trusted Webb implicitly, but Malcolm Walker had suddenly proved himself a formidable opponent.

  “Good. Next on the list is movement in the GEA stock. It ticked up today a few points.” Webb kept the meeting moving forward. “Art, what’s going on?”

  Mohler slowly pulled his chair closer to the table. He was still distracted by the news that Walker intended to lay open the black budget like some skewered pig. He wanted to push Webb on his solution but decided against it. “Uh, it is true that the common share price of General Engineering & Aerospace rose a few points in today’s trading session. The stock closed today at twenty-seven, up three dollars a share from the beginning of the day and up five and a half from its fifty-two-week low. But I don’t believe the activity is attributable to a leak about the A-100. Remember, the overall market has been up in the last week too. And all the defense stocks have gotten an additional shot in the arm on rumors that U.S. budget negotiators have reached a compromise on the size of the defense portion for next year. It’s a smaller amount than last year, but still more than was anticipated.”

  “Art, have you calculated the effect the A-100 will have on GEA shares?” Cowen grabbed another roll of his belly. It was a nasty habit but he’d been doing it so many years he was no longer aware of it. “I know you analyzed that a while back, but I was wondering if you had looked at the situation lately.”

  The room fell silent. Suddenly there was no sound except the symphony playing softly in the background. It was the key question. They had all profited via this infrastructure before, but the GEA transaction was to be the mother lode.

  “I really hate to put a specific figure on it at this point, because you will all hold me to it later,” Mohler complained.

  “But you will give us the figure.”

  Mohler looked up at Webb, recognizing the tone. There would be no further stalling. “My rough calculations indicate a stock price of almost one hundred dollars a share within a year.”

  “Does that take into account any incremental business GEA will pick up from the DOD as a result of successfully engineering and bringing to production as high-profile a program as the A-100?” Finnerty asked.

  Mohler shook his head. “No.”

  “Bear with me,” Cowen said slowly, leaning over the table. “I know we’ve been through this before, but I want to make sure I’ve got this straight.”

  Finnerty suppressed a grin. Admiral Cowen was still new to the game. They had brought him into the circle three years ago, specifically for the A-100 because of the size and scope of the project. Webb could appropriate the money from the black budget, but they had needed someone actually at the Pentagon to approve the contract quickly and quietly within DOD. To his credit, Cowen had immediately recognized the enormous potential inherent in the partnership of a private investment firm and a black-budget insider. After a few stock tips from Webb and Mohler, Cowen had become a disciple. Then they had made him a member. Now he was just as greedy as the rest of them.

  “Sagamore invested a billion dollars in GEA common stock, right, Art?” Cowen asked.

  “Yes,” Mohler answered. “And we paid twenty-five dollars a share.”

  “So if the stock goes to a hundred the way you said it would—”

  “The way I said it might,” Mohler corrected.

  “Sorry, might.”

  “Yes.”

  “It means—”

  “It means,” Mohler interrupted the admiral again, “that Sagamore would net almost three billion dollars on the billion-dollar investment.”

  “How much of that is ours?” Webb demanded.

  Mohler paused. This would raise their expectations to a stratospheric level—something he didn’t want to do—but he didn’t have the nerve to ignore, or even dance around, a question from Webb. For some reason the man scared him. Perhaps it was his relationship with Gordon Roth, or his ability to lock up an Air Force captain and throw away the key for six months. “Scared” wasn’t the word. The word was “petrified.” “Sagamore earns a two percent fee on any profits,” he said. “On three billion dollars that would be sixty million. Half of that remains at Sagamore, half comes to this group.”

  Cowen began to laugh. He was going to be a millionaire and the envy of every other branch of the service with the most advanced stealth fighter-bomber in the world—as long as Malcolm Walker could be neutralized. “Ain’t that some shit,” he said to no one in particular.

  Mohler’s posture stiffened at the obscenity. He hated Cowen’s brash manner. But Cowen had come through on the A-100 project with flying colors. Webb had assured them, against some resistance, that Cowen and the Navy were the best choices for the project that would make them millions, and he had been right, as always.

  “It’s a helluva profit. But we’ve all worked hard and we deserve it.” Webb gestured at Mohler. “You are certain you can suck that money out of Sagamore without raising too many eyebrows?”

  “Yes.”

  Finnerty changed the subject. “How’s Mitchell doing, Art?”

  “All right. Yesterday he made the two-million-dollar transfer to the Grand Caymans account you gave him from one o
f Doub Steel’s local banks.” Mohler smiled. “He’s very predictable.”

  “Does he have suspicions?”

  “They always have suspicions.”

  “The next topic,” Webb interrupted forcefully, “will be the election.” He pointed down at Coleman. “Give us an update, Elbridge.”

  Coleman cleared his throat. He hadn’t spoken since the meeting had started. “There isn’t much new to report. We continue to run strong, especially in the western part of the state and on the Eastern Shore. Senator Walker has a lock on inner-city Baltimore. There really isn’t anything we can do about that. The battle will be won or lost in the Baltimore and Washington suburbs.”

  “Won or lost?” Mohler was suddenly annoyed. “Does that imply that the election is still in doubt? I thought the trend was positive. Last I heard we had gained nine points in the last six weeks.”

  “The trend is positive.” Coleman shot back. “I’m very confident. I just don’t want to underestimate Malcolm Walker. He is a resilient man, as we’ve discussed this evening.”

  Admiral Cowen tapped the table for attention. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I like what we’ve got going here. I’ve heard tonight that we stand to make an incredible profit on GEA, and that’s great, but we need to keep this thing in place. Not only because of the profit potential, but also for patriotic reasons. I don’t want to sound too much like a military zealot, but we must maintain the integrity of the black budget. We can’t allow the liberals to lay it open. That would make it impossible to develop weapons in secret. That could compromise national security.” He turned to Webb. “Senator, it sounds like Malcolm Walker is going to try to drop a bomb tomorrow. I hope you have effective countermeasures planned, because we’re going to need them.”

  All eyes turned to Webb.

  Webb’s expression was steely. “Don’t worry. After tomorrow Malcolm Walker may never call another press conference in his life. He’ll certainly wish he hadn’t called this one.”

  Chapter 22

  Hot water coursed down Jesse’s body, gently massaging and relaxing her tired muscles. A nice hot shower felt so good at the end of a long day. It would put her right to sleep.

  Steam rose slowly from the shower floor, enveloping her, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the tiny droplets pounding her skin. It was hypnotic, and her mind drifted back to the restaurant earlier this evening—and Todd. He had been devastated at her rejection. She had seen it in his face instantly, and his reaction had tugged at her heart. But Becky strongly agreed that Jesse had given the right answer. That Jesse still wasn’t ready to date him.

  Jesse turned off the shower and squeezed water from her long hair, twisting it into a ponytail on one side of her neck. She lifted a large, thick towel from a hook on the wall as she stepped over the side of the tub and dried herself thoroughly. Finished, she tossed the towel onto the sink and moved quickly into the small apartment’s single bedroom.

  The formal dress hung from the top of the closet door by an embroidered hanger, and Jesse stopped for a moment to admire it again. The dress, delivered today to the apartment complex management office, was a gift from Elizabeth Gilman. Also in the beautifully wrapped dress box had been an envelope containing an invitation to a black-tie affair Elizabeth was hosting for the governor. Jesse moved to the dress slowly and touched the material. Silk. It must have cost a fortune. It was, of course, totally improper for her to accept it. Government employees had to adhere to strict regulations with respect to gifts. She gazed at it. Well, maybe she’d wear it to the governor’s affair, then send it back.

  Jesse moved away from the dress, and as she did, she glimpsed her reflection in the full-length mirror standing in the far corner. She put her hands on her hips and pivoted her body to both sides quickly, scrutinizing herself. Slender shoulders, thin waist, long toned legs, and a behind that filled out the seat of a pair of jeans perfectly, even if she did say so herself. Jesse turned to face the mirror. She wouldn’t mind having larger breasts, but then didn’t almost every woman feel that way?

  The Persian cat rubbed against her ankles. As Jesse bent down to scratch its chin, the doorbell rang. Instinctively she covered her body with her hands and arms. Who could that be at this hour? Again the bell rang. She hurried to the bed, picked up her ankle-length terry-cloth robe, and slipped into it as she walked quickly toward the hallway.

  In the middle of the darkened living room she stopped. It was five minutes after midnight. Why would anyone come to her apartment now? She took one more step toward the door and stopped again. Be careful. Neil Robinson’s words. Had the man who had chased her at Neil’s house finally found her? But why would he bother to ring the bell? That could give her time to climb down the fire escape. Of course, maybe that was what he wanted. Someone else could be waiting at the bottom of the fire escape. It was darker in the back. A better place to finish what he had started the other night.

  Jesse moved slowly over the thick carpet to the door and pressed her eye to the peephole. But she could see nothing. It was too dark. She could illuminate the outside light, but then her caller would know she was at the door. The man had been willing to shoot out a car windshield. He might think nothing of firing through a door. For several seconds she stood in the apartment foyer, frozen, uncertain of her next move.

  Finally she shook her head. There was just no reason to take chances at this point. Over the last few days she had convinced herself that the man was no longer searching for her. But that was silly, actually stupid, she realized. No one fired at another person with the intent to kill and then gave up the pursuit so quickly. It would be irrational to think that. It was time to call the police.

  “Jesse.” The voice quietly called her name. “Jesse!” Louder this time.

  “David?”

  “Yes! Hey, can I come in?”

  Instantly she flipped on the outside light, pulled the chain across the lock, turned the deadbolt, and tugged the door open. He stood before her, still dressed in a suit and tie. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Well, that’s a helluva greeting.”

  “Get in here.” She reached out and grabbed his forearm, laughing a relieved laugh as she pulled him into the apartment.

  From behind his back David produced the sweater Jesse had worn Saturday night on the sailboat. “You left this in my car.”

  “And you decided to bring it to me now?”

  “Well, I was working late, and your place is on the way home for me.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “When I take the long way home it is.”

  She smiled. He was quite charming sometimes, she had to admit. “I never should have let you pick me up to go sailing,” she teased. “I never should have let you see where I live. God, you’re probably a stalker.”

  “No, German secret agent, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” She pulled the robe more tightly around herself. “So why did you really come by?”

  “Elizabeth is going to ask you to meet a few more people at Sagamore. If those interviews go well, she’s going to make you an offer right away. You’d join after finishing school. All of that’s off the record, but that’s the deal.”

  Jesse brought her hands to her mouth. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I found out late this afternoon. But she’s going to ask you to meet these people very soon. Several of them are going out of town for a while, and I guess she wants you committed to Sagamore now.” Why, David couldn’t understand. Jesse was bright, but there would be lots of other candidates to choose from. “Anyway, I thought you might want me to go over these people’s backgrounds. Some of them are kind of quirky, and it’ll help to know a little bit about them before you meet them. I realize it’s late, but it sounded as if Elizabeth was going to ask you back pretty fast. Maybe even tomorrow. I’d do this in the morning, but I’ve already got a breakfast meeting and it may go quite some time.”

  “It was so nice of you to do th
is for me.” Without thinking, she kissed him on the cheek.

  “I just thought it might help.”

  “Absolutely.” She held up a finger. “Give me just one minute, can you? I’m going to put some clothes on.”

  “Do you have to?”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, laughing as she moved back down the hallway toward her bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s beer in the refrigerator.”

  David watched her disappear into the bedroom, then walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He scanned its contents, pulled out a Michelob, and set it down on the counter. As he was about to twist off the top, he noticed a dark brown folder lying on the counter next to the stove. In the upper left-hand corner of the folder was a white label marked simply “Elbridge Coleman.” David twisted the cap off the beer, took a long sip, leaned back against the sink, and stared at the file.

  Jesse took off the robe, dropped it on the bed, then quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. A few more interviews. If they went well, she’d be offered a job at Sagamore. At Sagamore Investment Management Group, one of the most prominent firms in the money management business. Sara wasn’t going to believe it. Jesse could hardly believe it herself.

  She sat down at the dressing table, picked up her hair dryer and flicked it on. Instantly the appliance’s loud hum drowned out everything else. And then her heart skipped a beat. The file. It was on the kitchen counter.

  She threw the hair dryer to the floor and ran for the living room. As she turned the corner of the hall, David was coming from the kitchen, beer in hand. “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself,” he said, then took a swallow from the bottle. “Are you okay? You look a little unsettled.”

  “I’m fine.” Suddenly she realized she hadn’t exhaled in what seemed like forever. She let air out through her mouth slowly, trying not to make her alarm obvious.