"You won't get away with murder in the White House."
She was facing him again but something in her was altered. "Yes, we will," she answered with a trace of weariness. "Karp's body will turn up in some obscure park, his own gun in his hand. We'll get away with it.” She paused then added, “We always do."
“And what about me? Should I be expecting a visit from Lily?”
“Of course not, Danny. I’d never do anything like that to you. Anyway...”
“I’ve got the tapes.”
She smiled tightly. “Precisely.”
“Maybe the President will want to handle this differently.”
Becky answered in measured tones. “My husband does what I tell him.”
“This could be a very difficult campaign. Frankly, I doubt he can win now. There’s just too much. The Supreme Court ruled against you. He’s got Karp to explain, the negotiations with Saddam, then Alta and Shanken’s deaths. There’s going to be a lot of heat and the public will either vote for the other guy, or those who are on the margins will just simply stay at home.”
“We’ll win. We always find a way.”
“Has it ever occurred to you, Becky, that you have become a liability to the man?”
“Stick with being a dull witted cop, Danny. It suits you.”
“If you won’t buy that, consider this. He’s trapped. He’s in a jail and you’re the keeper of the key.”
She smiled. “I like that. I’m sure he sees it that way too.”
“No one wants to be in a cage. As you said, there are always options, for him as well as you. Why should he not do absolutely everything he can to win this time? There’s an expression that comes to mind. You can be certain he will think of it. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe he’ll decide you should have an accident.” She looked startled. “Think of the wave of sympathy your funeral would bring.”
The First Lady drew herself up in her chair. “He hasn’t got the guts.”
“Tell me this, Becky. Who gave Lily his order to kill Karp? You – or your husband?”
Rebecca Gordon Tufts didn’t answer, not for a very long time. When she did her mouth was twisted. “Get out,” she said, “While you still can. Just get out of here!”
Powers rose and found his own way out. Only after he was on the street and approaching Marei’s car did he comprehend what he had last seen in those eyes.
Fear.
THURSDAY, August 16
United Wire Service, New York, N.Y.
FLASH FLASH FLASH
Amid a fresh wave of controversy President Richard Tufts will deliver his acceptance speech to the Democratic National Convention this evening at Madison Square Garden. Following it, the First Lady will join her husband on stage. The Vice President and his wife will follow for the traditional photo opportunity. The presidential campaign officially begins tomorrow, when the two couples board a train for a Harry Truman-style whistle stop tour of the Northeast.
Despite efforts to focus on campaign issues, unanswered questions concerning the apparent suicide of presidential chief counsel Martin Karp, and his alleged unauthorized negotiations with Saddam Hussein over the future of Kuwait, are sure to dominate the weeks ahead. His body was discovered early Thursday in Lady Bird Johnson Park just across the Potomac River from the capital. The violent deaths of the First Lady’s personal assistant, Alta Fort, and of Chester Shanken, a shadowy White House security consultant with long ties to the Tufts, are still to be explained. Given the First Lady’s longtime relationship with Karp, the violent death of her personal aide and the pending disclosure of her personal documents, observers are beginning to question if she has become an obstacle to the President’s reelection bid.
MORE TO FOLLOW.....
TWENTY-SEVEN
Poplar Bluff, Missouri, 3:26 p.m.
Powers put gas in the Taurus in Poplar Bluff, then ate a late lunch at a family-run cafe. He’d be home in less than two hours. After leaving the First Lady’s office he initially headed for the airport, then reconsidered and drove south on I-95. By the time he left Virginia, he’d decided to finish the trip by road and swung south across Tennessee then northward into Missouri. He’d needed the time and space but was still uncertain. The television channels all carried virtually non-stop coverage of the Washington scandals. The anchors hardly seemed to know on which story to focus.
“White House sources,” Tom Brokaw intoned, “said moments ago that there was a personal relationship between Alta Fort, one of several aides to the First Lady, and Chester Shanken, a combat veteran and occasional advisor to the White House chief of security. The sources suggest that when Fort attempted to end their relationship, Shanken killed her then either killed himself or was killed by means not yet determined.”
The teenage girl who’d served Powers a hamburger and coffee scowled. “Do yuh think they’ll show Oprah?” She was perhaps 16 years old, heavy in the hips with a very pretty face.
“I don’t know.” She moved off to wait on a table.
The television was showing a reporter in a safari shirt with a carefully combed full head of hair standing in the desert “Somewhere in Saudi Arabia,” according to the caption. “...still unable to confirm the existence of nuclear weapons. Iraqi government spokesman, Taysir Kemal, accused President Tufts of treachery for denying that he was participating in secret negotiations.”
Brokow reappeared. “In Washington, the wife of downed Air Force pilot Major Jeffrey Wolf demanded to know if the release of her husband and the surviving members of her crew was part of the President’s negotiations with Saddam Hussein. The White House insists that communications published today by the New York Times were not authorized by the President nor did he have any knowledge of them. We now have a special report on presidential chief counsel Martin Karp.”
The waitress turned the television off, reconsidered, than asked, “Is that okay? Maybe you were watching it or something.”
“That’s fine. I’m just leaving.”
“Something wrong with the hamburger, mister? You hardly touched it.”
“It was very good. I just don’t have much of an appetite today.”
“Wish I could say that. I’ll eat anything. ‘Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
Southern Missouri Plateau, 5:44 p.m.
Powers stopped the car on the side of the two lane highway and killed the engine. To his right, down at the river’s edge, was Shalom and home. In front of him stood the well maintained four year old sign that read: Shalom, Home of the World’s First Lady, Rebecca Gordon Tufts.
He lit a Camel cigarette and sat smoking. It was foolish to go home, stupid to be here even. She’d send someone eventually. He was certain of it. Her appetite for revenge was very keen. He should contact Carmine and get the package back, maybe stay a week in the safe house he’d arranged. He had Nasr’s number. Perhaps he’d take him up on his offer of safe haven somewhere warm. He’d enjoy getting to know Doctor Kandari.
It was time to be smart, Powers thought. He took a last pull on the cigarette, crushed it out, then crumbled the last pack into a wad. He put the car into reverse, turned around, and drove rapidly away.
Thank you for reading Shadows and Lies. If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends and take a moment to post a positive review. Be certain to consider the author’s other thrillers. Thanks again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ronald J. Watkins was born in Phoenix, Arizona, where he lived most of his life. He is the author of more than 30 books. He now lives in South America. You may visit him at www.RonaldJWatkins.com.
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