Electing To Murder

by Roger Stelljes

  He enjoyed Florida in the fall. There were fewer visitors and the beaches were quiet. For a man who demanded privacy, it was ideal.

  His breakfast was superb, eggs Benedict. The company had been excellent as well, with the lovely Veronica. He looked down at his pool as Veronica and her naked lithe model figure glided easily through the water, taking a morning swim. She waved for him to come down and he thought that in a few minutes he just might.

  Pope lifted the fine china coffee cup to his lips and took a long sip of the warm Colombian coffee and once again assessed the events of the previous evening. He’d enjoyed Veronica with the relief of knowing that Connolly and Kristoff were taken care of. That Paolo was eliminated was even better. There was nothing left to tie any of the events of the last week back to him. Everyone who could was gone. He was free and clear.

  It was a relief.

  Yet, despite his good mood, he knew that he’d stumbled and stumbled badly. He would have to bide his time and live to fight another day four years from now. He was still young, only fifty-two years old. He was as fit as a man could be, in excellent condition, fifty-two going on thirty-two, his doctor told him a month ago. There were many years remaining to accomplish his ultimate goal. Until that time would come he would enjoy the fruits of his riches, such as Veronica, who was always available to him when he came to Florida. However, she could wait a few minutes more. Pope went to his desk, opened the humidor and took out a fine Cuban cigar and clipped the end. He struck a large match and lit the cigar, walked back out onto the expansive balcony and looked out to the ocean, the waves crashing gently against the white sand beach fronting his estate.

  Christian Pope was not necessarily a household name. He’d generally remained an anonymous billionaire. From time to time he would surface, give an interview and discuss the state of the economy and particularly energy issues. This past election season he’d appeared on television more than usual, exclusively on the friendly FOX News or the FOX Business Channel, discussing politics, the economy and in his view what impacts Vice President Wellesley’s or Governor Thomson’s policies would have on the price of oil and gas.

  However, other than the occasional television appearance, Christian Pope maintained a low profile and preferred a certain amount of anonymity. He was extremely wealthy but the American public really had no idea how massive his financial portfolio really was. Pope laughed when Forbes recently listed him as being worth just over $13 billion. Forbes was only off by a mere $27.4 billion dollars give or take, and for now, Pope was just fine with that. That was because Forbes only knew of the businesses that his father Jackson was involved in. Because of the complicated web developed by Pope to hide his interests, Forbes merely assumed that Pope continued his family’s oil and gas businesses and was quietly living off of those earnings, which of course he had and which still constituted a significant component of his wealth. It was his knowledge of oil and gas that brought him into the media light from time to time to discuss energy issues and the political component to them.

  That veneer of oil and gas served as cover for the rest of his financial largesse. Forbes nor anyone else had any inkling of his other worldwide interests in banking, hedge funds, casinos, military contracting, technology or real estate, nor would they, not right now. Only when Pope was truly the wealthiest and most successful person in the world would he then reveal the vastness of his financial empire and let the world truly comprehend the power and wealth that he’d obtained.

  Yes, he had a bad week but the mess was cleaned up and it was time to move on.

  He looked down to the pool.

  Veronica waved to him again.

  It was time to join her.

  * * *

  The Judge stood outside the polling place for Governor Thomson and his wife, leaning against the limousine, sipping a Grand Brew coffee. Three cigars were in his suit coat pocket and before the day was out, he’d have smoked all three and given out a hundred more. Nevertheless, he imagined that if anyone bothered to take a close look at him right now, they would see an expression of extreme satisfaction.

  Judge Dixon would go out of presidential campaigning a winner, a big winner. He only had to think back to last night to realize how big.

  Three days ago, Arizona was not even on his radar, other than for thoughts of a spring golf trip. It was counted as deep red on the electoral map, the vice president ahead by anywhere from seven to ten points in recent polling. The Democratic Primary campaign was over by the time the Arizona Primary had rolled around in the spring. The campaign made one cursory four-hour stop and the governor gave a couple of quick speeches, shook some hands and collected some campaign checks. However, in Dixon’s campaign calculus, Arizona was conservative in general, governed by a very conservative governor focused on her border and didn’t seem like a good bet to pile in limited campaign financial resources, especially given the other states that were closer in the polling and richer in electoral votes. After their quick spring visit, the Judge never gave Arizona another thought throughout the entire election.

  Then on Sunday morning the scandal broke. The polls massively swung in their direction overnight. Florida, Missouri and Arizona, among a few other states, suddenly came into play just as Iowa, Wisconsin, Ohio and Virginia turned dark blue, locks for Governor Thomson. On the last day, the campaign hit all three, welcomed by massive and enthusiastic crowds and from what Dixon had seen in this morning’s polling, they would win all three. If they’d had a few more days, the Judge thought they could have really swung the election to a landslide, especially down the ballot. That would really be what they had to watch today, how much impact the scandal would have down the ballot.

  If they had two more days, they could have experienced the Pope effect.

  Dixon began to calculate what the impact of Pope’s involvement would have been on the electorate, one of the richest men on the planet trying to fix the election. Pope was fairly anonymous himself, but everyone knew Pope Oil and Gas—P. O. & G. Christian Pope’s wealth would have spoke volumes as would’ve his politics. People often thought the rich bought politicians. In this case, a very wealthy man actually had bought the election but for the investigating of McRyan and Wire.

  He wished he could have used Pope. He wished he could have leaked that to the media somehow, let that message get out to the electorate. Of course, had he done that, he’d have had Mac, Wire, the FBI director and attorney general all over him. Heck, he wasn’t even supposed to know. He couldn’t even tell the governor. Wire said Mac would be furious if he found out that she’d even told him. So he said to himself, just take the win.

  The pundits would speculate about what might have been, but the Judge didn’t care. If the playing field was level, had Pope not done what he did, he was confident they would have won the election. It would have been tight and they would have gone late into the night, but they would have won. He would not lose any sleep of those who said that but for the scandal, Thomson wouldn’t have won. The Judge viewed that as bullshit and he’d make that argument every day of the next year if he had to. He took a cigar out of his suit coat pocket and twirled it in his fingers.

  Thomson emerged from the polling place and he and his wife turned back for a moment and posed for pictures for reporters and he made a few perfunctory comments before returning to the motorcade.

  “Would it be bad form for me to smoke one of those right here?” the governor asked, admiring the cigar, desperately wanting one, jovial in the fact that he would win today, he would be president of the United States.

  “It would, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I have a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue back at the house. I’ve been saving it for the right occasion, Governor. Tonight is the proper occasion but I think we ought to go back, have a good lunch and allow ourselves one little touch off that bottle.”

  Thomson slapped the Judge on the back as they climbed back down into the limousine. “Will our two friends who saved
this thing for us make it back tonight?”

  Dixon thought of what Wire and Mac were doing and looked at his watch, “They’re still working the case. I have a good feeling that there will be more developments today.”

  * * *

  The interrogation of Foche took all day. Given his condition, he required two lengthy rest breaks but he told them everything. Foche was the driver of the Suburban that killed Martin in Milwaukee. A man named Vigneault, who died in the car chase in Milwaukee, was in the passenger seat. In addition to killing McCormick and Montgomery, he also killed Stroudt.

  He was fully aware of the scheme to rig the Presidential Election and understood the reason he was ordered to kill those four men was to protect Pope’s plan.

  Ten years ago, Christian Pope had rescued Foche and Kristoff after they’d been shunned by French Intelligence due to the failure of a mission in Afghanistan. Once they went to work for Pope, they operated out of an office in the Cayman Islands on the direction of the Bishop since much of his business involved using Cayman banks, businesses and addresses. However, Kristoff also maintained a satellite office in Morocco that Foche didn’t think Pope knew about. The FBI was already working with the US embassy and Moroccan government to access the office.

  Foche was a fountain of knowledge. He’d been active for ten years. Judge Dixon was right about Younger Investments. Foche and Kristoff killed the Hedge Fund manager. In the end, Foche gave them six other bodies that Pope had them eliminate over the years for various business purposes. Two of the killings were in the United States. Others were in Russia, Kazakhstan, Brazil and Chile.

  “So why did people call Christian Pope, the Bishop?” Mac asked towards the end of the interrogation. “There is clearly nothing holy about the man.”

  Foche shrugged. “He said that’s what we could call him. I asked him why and he said he had two good friends when he was kid growing up in Kansas that called him that. They gave everyone in the neighborhood names and because his name had religious elements of Christian and Pope, they called him the Bishop. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I thought it might have something to do with chess,” Wire speculated. “All these shell companies with post office boxes use chess pieces for their names.”

  “That was Pope’s idea,” Foche answered.

  There was one more mystery solved. Wire kept going. “I’m amazed,” she remarked, “that given what you’ve told me about his holdings, his wealth, that it is so much more than oil and gas that he somehow managed to keep that all so quiet.”

  Foche nodded. “He was, what’s your American’s term? Anal?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Yes then, he was anal about his privacy and security. That was part of our job, to help protect his identity from being exposed in those other business ventures. If people came sniffing around, we warned them off. If a warning didn’t work, sterner measures were obviously taken. Once you start unwinding all of his affairs you won’t believe what he’s into business wise, it’s everything and his wealth is far greater than people realize.”

  The entire interview was recorded and a copy was already in the hands of the attorney general’s office. That was an hour ago.

  It was 4:14 p.m.

  Wire and McRyan sat on the tarmac in the FBI plane at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport awaiting their next destination.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “You got off easy.”

  At 8:35 p.m. eastern time, the double doors to the Situation Room were pushed open and President Barnes entered the room and everyone stood up. It was a small group that included Attorney General Gates and FBI Director Mitchell.

  “Good evening, everyone,” the president said and everyone took their seats. The president poured himself a cup of coffee and looked down to Director Mitchell, “Are you ready, Director?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  The president nodded and called the meeting to order and had two screens on the large wall opposite of where he was sitting turned on to reveal the faces of Governor Thomson and Vice President Wellesley.

  “Good evening, Governor Thomson,” the president said to the screen for the governor. “Who from your staff is listening in?”

  “And to you, Mr. President. I have my running mate, Senator Gray with me, along with Judge Dixon.”

  “Very good. Also with us is Vice President Wellesley. Mr. Vice President, who else is present from your staff?”

  “Mr. President, with me is my running mate Governor Griffin and my son and advisor Don.”

  “Very well,” the president replied. “We are here to discuss the completion of the investigation of the FBI, in conjunction with the St. Paul Police Department, into the party behind a series of murders as well as the attempt to manipulate the results of today’s election. We are moving to make an arrest of the man behind this. Given the gravity of the issues, particularly regarding the ones impacting your campaigns, I felt you should be included in this briefing and have the same information as you speak to the American people tonight.” The president pointed to the FBI director: “Director Mitchell, the floor is yours.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Mitchell maneuvered the mouse and clicked to open a picture. “The man behind the attempt to manipulate the results of today’s election is Christian Pope.”

  * * *

  At 8:40 p.m., the FBI jet touched down at Tampa International Airport. Mac and Wire were both exhausted. They could see it in each other’s eyes. Yet they were both at the ready. For the last week they’d been chasing, non-stop, this case and the man behind it. Now they were going to get the satisfaction of putting the cuffs on him. They knew where he was and federal agents were watching from every direction.

  The pilot opened the door and let the steps down. Mac lumbered down the steps after Wire, who’d bounded down them, totally on edge. She wanted justice and was just a few minutes from finally getting it. An agent at the bottom had vests and navy blue FBI windbreakers for them which they both slid on and climbed into the back of a Suburban. Word was out, McRyan and Wire liked their coffee. In the truck’s cup holders were fresh Starbucks coffees. Mac was most grateful, “I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about the bureau.”

  “How long to get to Pope’s place?” Wire asked anxiously.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I can’t wait to put this son of a bitch in cuffs,” Wire said to Mac with enthusiastic determination. “I at least can give Sebastian’s mother that. She deserves that.”

  * * *

  Governor Thomson and Judge Dixon came back into the larger hotel suite to find Shelby and Sally waiting for them. “Unbelievable,” was all he could say as he recapped what he just learned. Then he looked at the Judge, who was not surprised. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Dixon nodded. “Wire told me this morning when she and Mac flew back into town to interrogate Foche.”

  “Wait? They were here today?” Sally asked, dumbfounded that Mac had not told her when they spoke in the middle of the day.

  “Sally, don’t get upset with your boy. To say Foche’s existence was a tightly held secret would be an understatement,” the Judge answered. “Wire told me about it but said that if Mac found out she did, he’d have probably killed her. He wanted no leaks so he told nobody. Mac was deathly afraid that Foche being alive would come to light and Pope would try to get at him. I think Mac has had enough of looking over his shoulder on this one.”

  “This Foche gave them a lot of murders,” Shelby noted.

  Dixon snorted, “That was Mac’s idea, I guess. He insisted Foche’s deal include every single body he and this man named Kristoff ever dropped. Mac and Wire are closing cases left and right, not only here in the States, but around the world.”

  “So where are they now?” Sally asked. “Are they coming here?”

  Governor Thomson looked at his watch. “I think their FBI jet landed in Tampa Bay a few minutes ago,” the governor answered. “They’re going to get Pope.�
��

  “And we’re going to party,” Dixon said with a smile, looking at a text on his cell phone. “Because, Governor, the networks are getting ready to declare you the next president of the United States.”

  * * *

  The television played inside his office, FOX News declaring Governor Thomson the winner in state after state. The election was moments from being called.

  Pope was sitting on his balcony having a post dinner drink when the call came in. He looked at the display on the satellite phone and momentarily questioned whether to take the call. Pope punched the button and said, “Why are you calling me?”

  “Foche is alive and gave McRyan and Wire everything on you. Kristoff was shot by your man but the police in turn shot that man and got a dying declaration from Kristoff that you were ‘the Bishop.’ They have the dying declaration on video and Foche confirmed everything. They’re coming for you right now.”

  * * *

  The FBI set up three blocks away. In addition to the eight agents now watching the house on all four sides, Mac and Wire were meeting up with another twenty agents, as well as four officers from the Clearwater Police Department. The reconnoiter of the mansion revealed a two-man security detail with two house staff inside. The two men on the security detail were strapped with nines but otherwise wouldn’t be a problem, not with twenty agents coming on the property en masse. The FBI’s Local Agent-in-Charge was named McHugh and he didn’t plan anything fancy.

  “Ms. Wire, do you have the warrant?”

  “Right here.”

  “All right then,” McHugh said. “We’ll go up to the gate, present the warrant and get on the property.”

  Mac and Wire jumped into a sedan with McHugh and another agent and they drove the three blocks to Pope’s Clearwater estate.

  * * *

  Pope watched the motorcade come down the street, with police units blocking the road in both directions. He walked across the hall to the back of the house and noticed the Coast Guard cutter sitting off the shoreline.