A Primary Decision

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  When she looked out into the audience, she saw her family. Will and her father sat stoically, as usual. Sean was clapping. Her mother was teary-eyed. Everything she had expected.

  Her gaze moved toward the press wing. Jon was smiling at her. When he caught her eyes, he mouthed, “Well done.”

  She basked in his approval.

  25

  Sarah tightened her scarf against the January chill of D.C. as she stepped out of the taxi and hurried toward her office building. Her new job was even more intense than she’d been forewarned.

  Her father was indeed right. Protecting the rights of an entire nation was a big job. But after her time in the DOJ’s Criminal Division and the long vetting process, Sarah had gone into it with eyes wide open. She recalled the ancient saying, “Be as wise as a serpent and as innocent as a dove.” With the current presidential administration, she definitely had her hands full.

  With her role now, Sarah had had to recuse herself officially from the Polar Bear bombing case and anything having to do with American Frontier. But Jon and Darcy had promised to keep her quietly in the loop, and she could still give them her input on any theories.

  Carson was the small fish, if he’d only made the connections and handoffs that he admitted to. She frowned. Not that the man hadn’t done multiple dirty deals before, per all the rumors. But until now, he’d never been caught. It would be nice to see him tucked behind bars, like Sandstrom. But the big fish were the ones they most needed to catch.

  Jon was doing additional digging behind the scenes, so she knew the facts that had sounded so sensationalist—as news about events occurring in Washington often was—were the truth. President Rich had received $25 million from the Big Oil companies for his reelection campaign, with American Frontier providing the largest share of the funds but Sandstrom himself cajoling other oil companies to buy in. Frank Stapleton, the GOP kingmaker, had been at the hub of Rich’s campaign. Shortly after Rich was elected, American Frontier had easily secured exclusive drilling rights in the Arctic without going through any of the usual red tape that could take months. That meant Stapleton also had a lot to lose publicly when all the connections were made.

  And privately, if her, Jon, and Darcy’s guesses were right.

  Besides that, Jon had been strangely quiet. She knew what that meant. In his brilliant mind, the pieces related to the $25M still weren’t completely adding up.

  Also, Darcy hadn’t been able to obtain a sample of Stapleton’s DNA. There was no way to force him to contribute one without revealing the cards in their hand. Then he’d lawyer up and would be far harder to touch.

  In her gut, though, Sarah was convinced Stapleton was exactly who they thought—Justin Eliot’s birth father. But how exactly would she approach her skeptical older brother with the possibility? Without more to go on?

  NEW YORK CITY

  Stapleton called on Will in his Worthington Shares office.

  They’d barely exchanged the usual morning pleasantries before Stapleton got to the point. “Will, you and I have been friends for a long time. I’ve recently heard a rumor that your sister and a couple of her old colleagues are continuing to pursue the Polar Bear Bomber case—off the books, you might say.”

  Will watched as Stapleton clicked his pen, an irritating habit and sure sign that Stapleton was nervous.

  “There’s no need to do so,” Stapleton said. “The case is closed. The guy’s dead, and all evidence is in. Any continued digging for rabbit trails will eventually come to the press’s notice. For AF’s sake, I want to ask you—as a friend—to advise your sister and the others to back off. There’s nothing to be gained other than unwanted attention for AF as we’re trying to get ourselves back in the good graces of the world.”

  “So you’re concerned about the stock prices. The media attention. Is that all?” Will studied Stapleton. “Or is something else at stake too?”

  The typically even-keeled Stapleton lost his cool. “Of course there are other things at stake here, Will,” he exclaimed.

  At the outburst, Will’s office door opened. Drew poked his head in. Will waved him off but knew Drew would hover close by outside his office.

  “You know President Rich isn’t happy,” Stapleton said in a lowered voice, “and that means I get phone calls. None of us can afford any more media attention right now.” He clicked his pen again.

  “First of all, I’ve never been able to tell my sister what to do, and I won’t this time either.” Will paused. “But I will talk with her.”

  Stapleton held up his hand. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  Will nodded. “Done.”

  Stapleton got up from the chair opposite Will’s desk. “Oh, and let me know what she says, will you?” he asked casually. He clicked his pen, reached for the notepad on Will’s desk, scribbled something, and laid the slip of paper on the desktop. “I’ll be in Marina di Portofino for a few days.” He grimaced. “A forced vacation with the wife, you know. Her birthday. This is the number. My cell doesn’t always work well there.”

  Will didn’t promise anything but stood to shake Stapleton’s hand.

  Drew entered as Stapleton exited.

  Will sat back in his chair.

  “Why the frown?” Drew asked.

  “Because something’s not right.” Will pondered, his analytical mind tracing back over every detail of the conversation.

  He saw Stapleton’s pen.

  A Mont Blanc Ballpoint pen.

  He stared at the slip of paper Stapleton had tossed on his desk.

  Blue ink.

  The exact same combination as Jason Carson’s pen.

  Will gestured toward the paper. “Take a look,” he told Drew. “But don’t touch it.”

  Drew raised a brow.

  Grabbing his cell, Will called Sarah.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Sarah’s cell buzzed. It was Will.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he began.

  “Then don’t make me wait.”

  “I remember two pens.”

  She frowned. “Pens.”

  “Mont Blanc pens,” he said curtly.

  “Two? Jason Carson and—”

  “Frank Stapleton.”

  “Stapleton?” Her brain scrambled to connect the dots. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. He just paid me a little visit, trying to get me to tell you and your friends to back off the bombing investigation. He used the pen right in front of me.”

  “Used it? As in, on paper?”

  “A note he gave me with a phone number. I still have it, untouched.”

  “Don’t touch it. I’ll call Darcy. I’m sure she’ll be right over.”

  NEW YORK CITY

  Will stared at the phone, then raised troubled eyes to Drew.

  “So,” Drew said, “Sarah thinks there’s more going on than she’s saying.”

  Will frowned. “Exactly. And I intend to get to the bottom of it, sooner rather than later.”

  26

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  It was late afternoon when Darcy phoned Sarah.

  “It’s a match,” Darcy declared. “Same ink, from the same type of pen as Carson’s.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Darcy scoffed. “To quote the guys in the lab: ‘We tagged it with rare-earth thenoyltrifluoroacetonates by inductively coupling plasma mass spectrometry and instrumental neutron activation analysis.’”

  “Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

  “And that mouthful says there’s no shadow of a doubt. Exact match. The warning note Sean received. The suicide note. Stapleton’s note to Will.”

  “And the handwriting?”

  “Similarities in style, though we couldn’t match with a high probability since the note Stapleton wrote for Will only had numbers on it.”

  Sarah sighed. “So we don’t have enough to go after Stapleton.”

  “Not yet,” Darcy said, “but we will. I
have our handwriting experts going through any public documents we can find with Stapleton’s signature, matching it against the notes.”

  A SECURE LOCATION

  “Checked some of my sources,” he told the man late that evening. “Applied a little pressure. Looks like Stapleton’s got a bigger role in this than we thought.”

  “And?”

  “One of my contacts said a guy delivered some C-4 on a cash deal to a man matching Stapleton’s description.”

  “When?”

  “A couple days before the bombing.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, curiously. He also paid for the assembly and delivery of a bomb and a bag full of the parts left over.”

  “Extra parts?” the man asked.

  “Yes. My contact identified some of them. What he could remember matches what DHS and the FBI found in the Brooklyn apartment.”

  “So part of Stapleton’s plan—and whoever all is involved in this—was to frame that troubled young man from the start.”

  “Sure. Probably seemed foolproof. Justin Eliot had enough history of mental illness that anybody could believe he went over the edge.”

  “He went over the edge, that’s for sure,” the man agreed, “but you can bet it was with some help.”

  “This is getting messier by the minute,” he said. “I may have come across another connection as well. You’re certain you want to proceed?”

  There was a slight hesitation. Then a curt, “Yes. I’ll do what I need to do.”

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Late that night Sarah stared at the wall of her bedroom. She’d been adding up the pieces for hours. Stapleton was likely in much deeper than they’d originally thought. Had he written the suicide note? Stashed C-4 and AF building fragments in Michael Vara’s apartment to frame Justin and set up the suicide? How had he known about Justin’s continued friendship with Michael? Had he been tracking Justin even after his mother’s death?

  She checked the time. Darcy was a night owl. She wasn’t likely to be asleep yet.

  “Hey, did Carson say who delivered the backpack, instructions, and disposable cell phone to him?” Sarah blurted out as soon as Darcy answered.

  Darcy laughed. “Hello to you too. And nope, he and his lawyers are dancing around answering that question. They’re working hard to assign the blame in this to Sandstrom, who’s already wrapped up.”

  “You think it could be Stapleton?” Sarah asked. “They’re protecting him since he’s linked closely to the president? The reelection money?”

  “So you’re saying Sandstrom, Stapleton, and the president have been working together as a sort of unholy trio? And Carson thinks that if he stays mum about Stapleton, Stapleton and the president will protect him?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Mmm.” Darcy pondered a minute. “If it was Stapleton, then he not only set up the bombing but picked his own son to bomb the building.” She exhaled in disgust. “That’s just sick, almost beyond belief.”

  Sarah plunged on. “And he would have had a cell phone number to contact Justin, if he set up that disposable phone Carson delivered. Carson said he showed up to deliver the money, but Justin wasn’t there, right? So what if—”

  “Stapleton called Justin and changed the location to the top of that 30-story building?”

  “Maybe because he didn’t trust Carson?”

  “Well, would you?” Darcy asked.

  “So Stapleton had Justin followed, or called the cell number to change the location.”

  “But then that means whatever happened on the top of that building either caused Justin to jump—”

  “So maybe Stapleton told Justin he was his father, and the kid couldn’t handle it? Went ballistic and decided to end it all?” Sarah suggested.

  “Or he was pushed or herded that way, more like it. That’s pretty sick too. Meet your own kid, tell him you’re his father, then herd him off the roof to his death?” Darcy exhaled. “I’ve processed some cold people in my line of work, but that . . . wow.”

  “Either way, if Stapleton had anything to do with the suicide note, he had to know Justin was going to die,” Sarah reasoned. “Maybe Stapleton wasn’t on the rooftop. Perhaps he just arranged for another party to meet Justin there.”

  “Seems more likely, but still sick,” Darcy threw in.

  “You and I both know that guys like Stapleton rarely do their own dirty work. But they’re also smart enough to use different people for various aspects of the job, so no one person can connect all the dots.”

  “Since Carson talked about the cell phone, we’ve had a team searching for it. It wasn’t in Justin’s pocket or anywhere near his body.”

  “But you’ll find it.”

  “Yes, we will. And we’re searching for more video footage of the building.”

  A SECURE LOCATION

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” the man asked.

  “Yes. We’ve got to get eyes on any surveillance of people going in and out of that building. See if any cameras in that building or surrounding ones recorded images of Stapleton entering or leaving.”

  “Starting the day the goods were delivered to Stapleton through the time of Eliot’s death,” the man clarified.

  “Agreed.”

  “And one more thing.” The phone went silent for a minute. “I need you to check on something else. See if during that time, or even a day or two before, Stapleton made any visits to the White House and, if so, exactly who he talked to.”

  “You got it.”

  27

  NEW YORK CITY

  Will was used to getting late-night calls from his sister, but this one moved him from a sluggish state to full awake within a minute.

  “The ink on Sean’s note and Stapleton’s note was an exact match,” Sarah reported. “The elements of the ink are a unique mixture, found only in a very high-end pen. Specifically a Mont Blanc Ballpoint. The lab techs said it’s one of the most expensive ballpoint pens in the world.”

  “Sounds like Stapleton,” Will whispered as he made his way out of his bedroom and to the kitchen, leaving Laura sleeping. “But Carson? He doesn’t have that kind of money.”

  “Not unless it was a gift. Maybe from Stapleton?”

  “So you’re saying—”

  “Will, there’s something else you need to know.” There was a slight pause. “It’s also a match for the ink on the suicide note.”

  “Wait.” He grappled to process what his sister wasn’t saying. “You’re saying Stapleton—”

  “Just shut up and listen,” she said.

  So he did. He knew better than to argue with his sister when she was in that mode.

  Finally, when she’d finished filling him in, he sat back in shock. Rebuttals raced through his mind. “So you have a DNA test that backs this up?”

  “Not yet. That’s been tricky. We haven’t been able to find a DNA or blood test sample on file. It was required for some of his positions, but mysteriously, all records have gone missing, Darcy says.”

  “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You think Frank Stapleton might have gotten some teenage waitress pregnant, bought her a house, and taken care of her and the kid for years to keep her quiet? Then, after she dies suddenly of some congenital heart defect, the kid becomes a recluse and loses the place, because he no longer has income from the anonymous source. When Stapleton and Sandstrom need someone to bomb the AF building to take the heat off the oil fiasco, he hires his own kid, who has mental and emotional problems. Is that all?” Will whistled. “Look, I know Stapleton can be a wily ol’ fox, but that’s . . . just crazy.”

  “But what if it’s true?” she insisted. “Think it through, Will. What other conclusion could we come to?”

  The wheels turned in his head as he considered the options.

  “See?” she said triumphantly after silence reigned for several seconds. “Told you.”

  “But what about the girl’s parents? Did he buy
them off too?” he argued.

  “He didn’t have to. They were killed right before she had her baby.”

  Silence again.

  “A little convenient, huh?” she asked him.

  He gave an exasperated exhale. “So now you’re saying Frank Stapleton killed the girl’s parents, or had them killed, so they wouldn’t reveal who he was, if they even knew? No. Now you’re way over in Candy Land, sis.”

  But what if she’s right? Will’s gut constricted. At last he said aloud, “I don’t think it’s Stapleton’s style to get a teenager pregnant. And he’s not a killer.”

  “But he did potentially make one mistake we know about,” she argued. “Writing that note and leaving it with you.”

  “I still can’t believe he could get away with a kid out of wedlock all these years. No one knowing about it, as much as he’s in the press. Or that he wouldn’t say something if he had a connection to the bomber in any way. Especially since he’s the AF board chair.”

  “Will, you’re still an innocent, aren’t you?” she exclaimed. “You think Stapleton would risk his reputation to say, ‘Oh, by the way, the Polar Bear Bomber is my son. I funded him and his mom for a lot of years’?” She took a breath, then gained steam again. “Why does it bother you so much about Stapleton—that he’s likely not on the up-and-up—other than the fact he was your mentor?”

  He sighed. “Maybe because I’m loyal. And one of my faults is seeing the best in people.”

  “Except yourself,” she corrected. “Yes, sure it’s a fault to look blindly for the best in people.” Her voice softened. “But it’s a good thing too, Will. Remember when I was at university, and there wasn’t much direction in my life? You kept telling me you believed in me and that I’d find my way eventually. Well, now I have.”

  Will laughed. “You’re giving me some credit now, after years of putting up with you, for you turning out all right?” he teased.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she teased back. Then she sobered. “But you know it’s true. This is my way to give back a little and to take down the people who not only tried to take down my family, but have likely done a lot of things to hurt others behind the scenes too. People who don’t have the clout to fight back or stand up for themselves.”