“The people who know me wouldn’t dare underestimate me because of a few campaign exploits, even if the publicity does go national. Those people in power are not stupid. They appreciate the political necessities of getting elected.” Peter inwardly cringed at his own words, but he knew he could sell the angle to men whose cynicism made him look like a Boy Scout. His father was rapidly becoming one of them in his old age.
“Don’t sell me that line. There was far too much of your personal life portrayed in a very cheap way for my comfort. If that show raised my eyebrows, just imagine what some of your financial backers are going to think.”
“They’ll think what a clever way I have of backing my opponent into the corner where I want her so she’ll join our camp.”
“And when are you going to give up on that dream? I swear, your mind doesn’t function properly when it comes to that woman. Put Rick on the phone. Maybe I can talk sense with him. And one more thing… Do not underestimate Madeline Grace.”
Peter gladly handed the phone over to Rick, who’d returned to the room with two travel mugs of coffee. Peter stood and glanced out the window, grimacing at the reminder that his father was not entirely wrong about the craziness. The walk outside was littered with reporters, cables and cameras, and the street was filled with vans.
Rick took the phone and put the judge on speakerphone, motioning for Peter to stay and listen.
“I heard from a friend about a new rumor that’s going to turn into a story,” the judge said. “He doesn’t know the origin. It’s aimed against you, Peter—a direct hit against your past exploits in the military. They’re calling into question your views on guns and they’re looking at who’s financing your campaign. Two hot buttons all wrapped up in one neat package.”
“What do they have?” Even Rick’s voice scowled.
“Apparently something about a campaign contribution from some special operations associates of his who were reputedly in favor of loosening the gun laws in this state. The story angle is to make it look like his old military buddies are backing him for looser gun laws.”
Peter leaned on his desk. Now this was interesting. Naturally there were questions raised by some in the other party and the media about his stance on the issue given his affiliation with the special ops outfit.
“The cachet of the special services military background will continue to haunt him, both for the good and bad,” the judge said.
“It’s not like I was a lifer. I was in for the standard run in special ops and was only assigned a handful of missions,” Peter thought out loud.
“Yes, but it turned out they were high-profile missions and in this climate people are impressed—one way or another,” the judge countered. His father was still not comfortable with his military service. He’d been against it all along. In the post-Viet Nam War military they had a different kind of enemy to fight. It had been tougher to figure who their enemies were, and their friends, too. They were all too often changing roles. Peter had figured it was the perfect training ground for a political career.
“Don’t worry, Judge. Our campaign strategy will continue to emphasize PJD as Middlesex County DA. It’s worked so far—after all, it’s a state election. He has a good record.” Rick sounded sure, but Peter knew better.
“You’re right about that. Maybe the campaign finance and gun issue will put the sex scandal with him and Madeline back into perspective,” the judge replied. Rick snorted at the likelihood of that happening. Peter agreed with Rick, but silently. Maybe his father’s age had put him out of touch, or maybe the world was changing too fast for the old man. Rick frowned at him.
“Your son’s chief assets are his charisma, intelligence and toughness. Judge, he’s a born leader and once we get that across, we’ll have nothing to worry about,” Rick finished. The judge had said the same things about his son often enough in the past. Peter remained silent.
“Then this won’t be a problem,” the judge said.
“It shouldn’t be.” Rick said his good-byes and hung up.
“Which won’t be a problem? The sex scandal or the campaign finance-gun law scandal? Don’t you just love politics?” Peter sat back down and looked at Rick.
“What?” Rick knew there was more.
“I need to make some calls and talk to the special ops friends in question. But, as far as I know, neither Sam nor Acer do any business in Massachusetts.”
“I think you should ask them to rescind their contributions,” Rick said. While Rick contemplated him, Peter stared back hard at his friend.
“They backed me with their money out of personal loyalty. I’m not going to throw it back in their faces.” They were silent together for a full minute. Peter waited for Rick to draw the same conclusions he had already come to.
“Okay. You probably couldn’t distance yourself far enough from them or your special ops past to make a difference anyway. We have to come up with another spin.” Rick contemplated Peter’s cool demeanor as his boss sat listening. The man was too inscrutable sometimes. “What do you think?” Rick asked.
“What about the truth?” Peter suggested. He immediately started punching the buttons on his wireless. He was sitting at his desk right in front of his desk phone.
“I already placed some calls and couldn’t get a hold of either of them,” Rick informed him. Peter merely smiled, spoke quietly into the phone, then disconnected.
“Ah, but you don’t know the magic words. I’ll get a call back shortly,” Peter said. Rick rolled his eyes at the intrigue. There he goes again into James Bond mode. He knew better than to share that thought out loud. It was no joking matter. But it all made Rick extremely uncomfortable just the same. If there was one thing they really had to worry about for his candidate’s political career, this was it. Whatever made him, the damn campaign manager, uncomfortable could easily translate into big-time distrust among voters.
When the wireless rang a minute later, Peter answered it instantly and nodded to Rick. It was one of them, one of his special ops buddies, Rick assumed. While Peter talked to his old buddy and they cleared up the problem, Rick realized how little he knew of that part of his friend’s life. If the truth be told, he’d always been a little afraid to ask much about it. Peter clicked off and turned to him. Rick waited.
“So who’s behind it? That’s the real problem. Someone knows a lot, knows where my weaknesses are and how to exploit them and what’s more, has the balls to attempt it,” Peter said.
“It’s the mayor.” Rick flicked the tip of his pen up and down and looked at his friend with a serious frown.
“The mayor? Explain,” Peter demanded.
“He’s crafty enough.”
“But is he nasty enough?” Peter was doubtful.
“He’s got a lot at stake. The right governor could make his job easier and the wrong one could make it a living hell. And he seems to have access to a lot of information. I think he figures if he knocks down you or Madeline, the other will naturally fall—like dominos in succession—and pave the way for his party. All the publicity you and Madeline are getting has left his party in the cold. They needed to do something.”
“Could be, but I’m not convinced. He’s not well connected to the national organization.” Peter shook his head. “If it is Mayor Torini, the judge won’t be pleased. It means I failed in one part of my mission—to avoid making an enemy of the mayor. I don’t care so much, but the judge will.”
“Now you’ll have to face the mayor head-on and duke it out with him,” Rick said. “A full-out war with a guy who’s won his share.”
“Damn, that won’t be pretty. I’m not looking forward to that.”
Rick looked up at him, puzzled. “You getting gun shy?” Then understanding dawned on Rick. “No, let me guess. You’re worried about Madeline getting caught in the line of fire. Damn you and your prissy little girlfriend who has to be protected at all costs. Forget about her. Let her fend for herself. Let her and her little drill sergeant campaign manage
r and their fancy pants from DC figure it out for themselves. If they can’t handle it—if they can’t take the heat—then they don’t deserve to be in the race, let alone win it.” Rick stared his boss down. His heart pounded with his own boldness, but things had to be said. He couldn’t sit by and watch his campaign self-destruct—not to mention his friend—all over this woman. He threw his pen across the room. He did not understand it. He prayed that someone would put him out of his misery if he ever behaved like this over a woman.
“Don’t jump down my throat, Rick. I agree. They’ll have to fend for themselves,” Peter said. They both got up. That was too easy. He didn’t trust Peter on this one, not entirely. Rick retrieved his pen and felt stupid for throwing it. He should apologize. He settled for a contrite look in PJD’s direction. It wasn’t like he exactly relished the ugly side of politics. But he decided to keep that bit of self-knowledge to himself.
“Time to gear up—put on the helmets and flak vests and get the big artillery ready to fire.”
Peter smiled, but he most definitely did not look happy. And there certainly was nothing remotely funny or even amusing about the situation. Rick could almost see his friend’s mind going into battle mode. PJD’s smile was one of confidence.
“What do you propose we do exactly?” Rick asked him. The man looked ready to salute, Peter thought.
“I’m going to have some old friends of mine find out who the mayor has been talking to for the last several months. Your mission is to check with your source and find out who the mayor’s wireless company is. Be subtle.” Peter issued the order in a clipped, battle-ready manner. Rick grimaced and moved toward the door.
“I don’t know if I should be impressed or alarmed, boss. You know they say this is how Nixon got just before he took a turn down asylum lane.” Peter laughed as Rick left, and then ratcheted it up to a mad howl to further annoy him. After all, what good was going for broke and putting it all on the line if you couldn’t have fun doing it? He hit the same buttons on his wireless that he had before, and this time he got an answer right away.
“I thought you’d be calling back. You alone?” The man said.
“Yeah.”
“No need to explain.” Peter listened to the sharp alertness of the voice he remembered and had relied on so heavily. It was as if he were transported bodily to a different time and place. Turkey. Years ago. Maybe Rick was right about his mental state.
“Good. We need a spin. Preferably the truth and something believable at the same time. Oh, and something that won’t hurt either me or Madeline,” Peter ordered.
The man’s deep chuckle was a relief to hear. “You still think you’re the commanding officer, eh? Well, yes, sir. I think we have something.”
“Let’s hear it, man. It is good to hear your voice, Sam. Damn good.”
“Likewise.”
It was easy to come to an agreement with Sam. He would send out a press release stating that he refused to take back his campaign donation. Rick would help get it published, and Peter would only address the issue when asked directly. There would be no press conference and no press release from him. They would wait until the story was a full-blown issue or about to be, before they bothered.
“Is Acer in the country?” Peter asked.
“Yeah. He’s in big demand. Kind of wish communications had been my specialty,” Sam said. Peter laughed at the almost genuine wistfulness in Sam’s voice. There wasn’t a more diehard weapons specialist than Sam to be found in any unit back then—and probably now.
“I need to make contact,” Peter said.
“I’ll have him call you. Is your line secure?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he can tell me.” Peter was reluctant to end the call after all these years. They both paused.
“I expect an invite to the inauguration—or the wedding, whichever comes first.” The man’s laughter followed Peter’s explicative before he pressed the red button to end the call. But there was a smile on his face in spite of everything.
Rick picked up the ringing desk phone later that day. Peter saw the puzzled frown on Rick’s face and knew who it was. Acer. Rick turned to him with the receiver outstretched.
“This has got to be for you.” Rick shook his head and headed for the door.
Peter took the phone. “Where you going?”
“Not far. I have other things to do besides play war games with you.” Rick left.
Peter spoke into the phone. “Isn’t this a little conventional for you?” Peter was glad Rick wasn’t there to see him grinning into the phone.
“Good to hear you too, smart ass. I’ve already secured this line. I happen to be in the neighborhood. Let’s meet.”
Peter’s pulse jumped at the prospect, both with anticipation and apprehension. His desire to see his old friend won out.
The small park along the Charles River was far enough outside of town to be deserted this early on a Saturday morning. Peter sipped his Dunkin Donuts coffee as he strolled away from his undercover car. It was always his routine to get an early morning coffee at the local establishment. The black Camaro convertible belonged to his chauffeur, and he used it whenever he needed to—or wanted to—get away. The ten-year-old Bruins T-shirt and drugstore sunglasses were his own. Madeline had referred to it as his incognito look. He had to admit he was somewhat excited to have the occasion to retrieve the costume from the mothballs. Peter looked out at the sky. It was a good thing it was sunny out or he’d look ridiculous in these sunglasses. Then he smiled when he realized he probably looked ridiculous anyway. That was why he fit in. He shook his head, thinking how Madeline would be amused at his antics. But he knew the value of image, and he knew even more about the value of caution.
“If anyone does recognize you, you’ll be in real trouble trying to explain yourself. You always did love the cloak-and-dagger part a little too much, Rock Man.” The man had approached him quietly as he lifted the sunglasses off his freckled nose, squinting with a broad smile and a gold tooth where the gap used to be. Hearing his old nickname caused Peter a quick jolt of delight and he allowed himself a chuckle.
“To hell with it.” Peter embraced the man who had saved his life—more than once.
“That’s what I like to hear. Don’t want our political leaders getting paranoid or anything,” Acer said.
“Tell me a story. Why shouldn’t I be paranoid?”
“Oh, you should be. The mayor talks a lot to the press. On his personal wireless. Wish I could say which way the information is flowing, but the calls are both ways. And he’s got contacts everywhere, but he does favor one in particular—or I should say they favor him. More calls in than out. Looking into monetary exchanges at this point. If they’re exchanging money over the wires I’ll find out. If not we’ll have to do a banking sweep,” Acer finished, no longer smiling.
Peter frowned, but more in contemplation over the matter. “No surprises I guess, except that they would bother to expend such extravagant resources on a relatively insignificant pol like myself.”
“Maybe the mayor and whoever he’s collaborating with know what we all know—your potential and ambition to go all the way in this game,” Acer said.
Peter gave his friend a skeptical look at that comment. “People with potential and ambition are a dime a dozen in this business. I haven’t actually done anything yet.”
It was Acer’s turn to look skeptical, and Peter felt a swell of appreciation for his good friend and his no-holds-barred brand of loyalty. The smallest of smiles escaped, though Peter had to be careful because he knew Acer was in a very serious mode at the moment.
“Or maybe it’s just that the mayor has more to lose than we can see on the surface. There was one other interesting connection—between him and a certain ex-senator’s wife.” Acer delivered the coup de gras with meaning. Peter snapped his head up to look Acer in the eye. That kind of thing could really make a man dangerous. They both knew it—from their shared experience. Peter frowned and had to admit�
��he pictured Rick acting as his conscience, pointing the finger at him—that he knew it from his personal experience as well.
Be wary of a man with a woman for a motive.
“So she’s at it again. How much can you tell me?” Peter needed this.
“As much as I know, which ain’t much at this point. How far do you want me to go?” Acer had his deadly serious game face on. War game, that is. Peter knew that he was talking wire-tapping—or the wireless equivalent, which was equally illegal.
A number of thoughts flashed through his mind in the instant it took him to decide. Not the least of which and the most unwelcome, was that of Madeline telling him he always figured the ends justified the means. This thought was immediately followed by the realization that she was right about him. He did let her play his conscience, because there she was. He knew the frown showed on his face, but it was only Acer.
“No. We’ll have to set him up. Let him think we know more than we do. We’ll assume the worst and make him prove us wrong. I’ll have Rick drop some hints. Can you check on her current status? I need the situation with her husband, her finances—and her mental health.”
“Sure, but it’s not really my thing. He’s retired from the U.S. Senate is all I know. How about if we have Sam look into that? It will be just like old times.” Acer was smiling now. Peter knew he was being teased.
“Yeah. We’ll assemble our old special ops team and have them run the campaign from here on in. Real subtle. Next we’ll take out a full-page ad in the Globe saying vote for me cause I know all about spying, deception and all that cloak and dagger stuff, and me and my friends will do a great—if secretive—job of running the state.”
“You forgot to remind them about all that privacy they thought they had.” Acer chuckled.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 15
