by Steve Richer
The flight took them to Seattle where they had to switch aircrafts. Rogan practically had to carry his partner, half-asleep and heavily medicated. This time they boarded a faster Gulfstream corporate jet.
~ ~ ~ ~
When they got to Washington DC, Rogan had barely slept a wink in spite of his touted gift of sleep-on-tap. He’d dozed on and off but mostly he thought about this strange assignment. Less than 12 hours ago he had been in the process of making crab cakes and now he was about to investigate the most mind-boggling crime in American history.
Gary yawned when he woke up, just as the plane taxied off the runway. He turned his head and looked across the narrow aisle at the older man.
“We’re here?”
“Yeah. Go take a piss if you have to.”
The young agent stood up and headed for the lavatory. “You were right, the pills really worked.”
Rogan wanted to punch him in the face because it only highlighted how tired he himself was. It was just after nine in the morning local time and there was no time to waste. He would have to suck it up.
He looked out the window and saw that it was raining. He was glad to have left his parka at home, trading it for a much smarter trench coat. However, the minute he climbed down the stairs onto the tarmac he regretted it. It wasn’t just rain, it was sleet.
A black SUV was waiting 15 yards away from the plane and the passenger door swung open. Rogan smiled when he saw who came out. It was Cass Carranza, snappy in a dark suit and red scarf, her blond hair in a tight bun.
“You slimy skirt! They’re still keeping you around?”
Carranza grinned and cocked her head as if to say They’re stuck with me.
“How have you been, Cadillac Rogue? Who’s the valet?”
Rogan glanced over his shoulder and saw Gary carrying both their luggage.
“He’s with me. Let’s go inside, this freezing rain’s gotta be colder than Alaska.”
They put the suitcases in the trunk and the two visitors got into the backseat. A second later, a nameless man behind the wheel shifted into gear and they drove away. Carranza turned sideways on her seat to face the others.
“So, what’s new with you? We haven’t talked in what, five years?”
“Oh you know,” Rogan said with a shrug. “I’ve been keeping busy, collecting stamps, solving presidential murders. Speaking of which…”
“Hey, don’t look at me. My ASAC got a call from the Deputy Director, said to pick you up. All I heard is that you’re somewhat involved in this?”
“Where are we going?”
“4th Street. They’re running the operation out of the Washington field office. I’m just really happy to see you again, man. You look good.”
Rogan nodded but didn’t reply. He thought he’d been done with sympathy. He sure didn’t need it from the woman he’d once considered his closest friend.
“So Cass, are you involved in the investigation too?”
She shrugged. “Everybody’s involved, from the janitors to the Postmaster General. I mean, we have protocols in place for the President getting killed but this is way outside what anyone would have ever imagined.”
“Can you fill me in with what’s been going on for the past 12 hours? I’ve been out of the proverbial loop.”
“I’m not sure there’s much progress. First priority was getting everybody’s statement and collecting all their cell phones in case there’s a video of the event. This in itself is a waste of time if you ask me.”
“Why?” Rogan asked.
“We have footage from the TV crews and security feeds already. Anyway, I honestly think nothing is getting done because nobody knows what to do. It’s all I know.”
“Thanks.”
They rode in silence as Carranza turned back forward. After a few minutes, Gary leaned closer.
“Why did she call you Cadillac Rogue before?” he asked, whispering.
“I’m gonna give you a hint: it was because I used to drive a Cadillac.”
“Oh.”
He wasn’t in the mood to elaborate, to talk about how it had almost turned into a scandal when he had broken away from the typical G-Man mold by flashing his wealth.
The prototypical FBI agent was supposed to conform, to be the faceless representative the government, and that meant being decidedly middle-class. It was something Rogan hadn’t been for a long time.
Sometimes he thought that if he hadn’t requested a transfer to Alaska he would have been forcibly reassigned.
In spite of the dangerous weather conditions, the SUV passed everyone on the George Washington Memorial Parkway. This really brought home the urgency of the matter.
“Your SAC told us you were bringing along somebody,” Carranza said once they reached the modern building which served as the FBI’s Washington field office. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen with him but in the meantime you’ve both been booked rooms at the Fairfield Inn one block over.”
“That’s very considerate. I hope they have a spa.”
“Albert here will bring your luggage to your rooms.”
With that, she made a show of giving keycards to the visitors and the duplicates to the driver Albert.
“Aside from the clear invasion of privacy, thank you.”
“Now let’s go inside, the Director is waiting.”
Chapter 4
Even with Cass escorting them into the building, it took several minutes to go through the various security checkpoints. Rogan had bittersweet memories of the place because while at first he’d found ambition, had felt like he’d been on the fast track here in Washington, this is also where he’d been posted when Victoria had died.
He almost asked Cass to stop for a minute on the third floor so he could take a peek at his old cubicle, the place where he’d been sitting when his superior had come by, a softer demeanor than usual, to let him know about the car accident on the Beltway. It had been five years and it still felt like yesterday.
“You all right,” she asked.
“Dandy. Take me to your leader.”
They rode up to the top floor and he had no memory of actually ever being up here. They went by a glass-enclosed conference room where a dozen agents with their jackets off were talking animatedly and going over files.
They didn’t stop there and instead headed toward a corner office. The sign on the door read Special Agent in Charge Jason Vanstedum. Cass knocked on the door and went in without waiting for an answer.
Inside the spacious office, Rogan recognized FBI Director Thomas Hephner standing in the center of a cluster of well-dressed men.
“Sir, I have Special Agent Bricks.”
Immediately, the men parted and the Director took a step forward. He was a short and balding man in his early 60s but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He looked at Rogan from feet to forehead, like he was inspecting him at a slave auction.
“Gentlemen, as I’ve told you Special Agent Bricks will be the lead investigator on this case. Now give us a minute.”
Rogan could feel the hostility around him. One especially tall man, the guy he pegged as Jason Vanstedum whose job he was stealing, was shooting daggers from his eyes.
“You too, Gary.”
His partner filed out along with Cass and the other high ranking agents. He heard the door close and the Director came closer until they were shaking hands.
“I’m glad you could come on such short notice.”
“What’s this about me leading the investigation, sir?”
The old man grinned and motioned for Rogan to follow him to the sitting area.
“Coffee?”
Before the younger agent could reply, he was already pouring two cups. Rogan wasn’t about to stop him. He had avoided caffeine on the plane so he could sleep, for all the good it did him, and now he desperately needed it.
“Thanks.”
It was lukewarm and he drank half of it while sitting down across from his boss.
“I see you’v
e brought your partner along.”
“Is this gonna be a problem?”
Hephner shook his head. “It’s fine. I was serious when I said that this is your investigation. This is your case, you can request anyone you want, anything you need. The resources of the US government are yours.”
“I’ve always wanted to take a ride in an F-16.”
The man ignored the joke. “As you can imagine, this is something never encountered before. A head of state murdering his wife, on live television to boot. The President is currently in custody, in a holding cell down in the basement. Or I should say former President. There’s been a lot of confusion last night but finally Vice President Dantley was sworn in a few hours ago.”
“What else do we know?”
“That’s it.”
“What’s the working theory? Mental breakdown? I can assume President Rudd has been fingerprinted, had his DNA checked to make sure this isn’t some Mission: Impossible-type situation where someone was actually disguised as him.”
At that, the Director smiled. “It’s truly Rudd we have in custody.”
“Okay, just checking. Now I have a much more important question.”
“Which is?”
Rogan put his coffee down and leaned forward, staring at Hephner. “Why me?”
“I would have expected this to be your first question, Special Agent Bricks.”
“Me too. So why? I’m not an All-Star player. I’m from the Anchorage field office. No offense to my friends in the North to the Future state, but this isn’t a hotbed of super crime fighters.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Hefner grabbed a folder from the table and flipped through it after perching glasses on his nose. “Let’s see, you were born in Texas, El Paso.”
“El Paso County, actually.”
“After high school, you floated around, spent some time in Vegas getting lucky at the tables. Then you disappeared for two years in Europe and Asia. Our files aren’t quite precise on the details. What did you do during these two years?”
Rogan swallowed dryly and paused. “Like you said, I floated around.”
“You also emerged with quite a fortune, didn’t you?”
“I do okay for myself. Investing in mineral futures was good to me.”
“According to my staff you’re currently worth $300 million.”
It was actually closer to $390 million but he didn’t correct him. No one needed to know the details, about how he had transformed $10 million into a genuine fortune, getting lucky in the tech startup craze and later the housing bubble.
The Director continued, “You came back to the United States in 1998 and attended Harvard. You achieved your degree in only three years, that’s quite a feat.”
“Partying was out of my system by then.”
“And so you joined the Marine Corps the day after the September 11 attacks. Afghanistan, Iraq, you had your own Force Recon platoon. Purple Heart, Navy Cross, you’re war hero, son.”
“Hardly.”
“You were wounded in a firefight in late November 2005 after which you separated from the Corps. Shortly after your recovery, you joined the FBI. Three years in Salt Lake City and then you transferred to this field office, Counterterrorism Division.”
Rogan balled up his hands until his knuckles turned white. While his career path was of no concern to him, his time in Washington only served to remind him of the woman he had loved so much and how he missed her.
“That’s quite a list of achievements.”
“I could mention ten other guys who have similar track records. In spite of all this, I’m nobody.”
“Exactly, Rogan. I picked you because you’re a nobody. The last thing I need, the last thing this country needs is to have this case politicized. This can’t be handled by the regular boys’ club. I don’t want the media jumping in a week from now saying the whole thing was whitewashed by Washington insiders. We’re doing this by the book.”
“As strange as this is, it’s rather straightforward. Man shoots wife, there’s plenty of evidence it seems.”
“Then it shouldn’t be too hard, should it? Just do a thorough job of tying up loose ends.”
Rogan didn’t reply. Instead he reached for the coffee pot and topped off his cup. He drank it all.
“Sir, do you have a list somewhere in your drawer of all the agents available on short notice to do this sort of work.”
“I’m sure my people do,” the Director replied with a smirk.
“But that’s not the only reason I’m here, is it? It’s not just because I don’t have any political connections.”
“I knew you were bright.”
“You want me because if this thing goes sideways you need some random schmuck to take the fall. I’m expendable.”
“You are, Rogan. And you won’t hurt if we have to let you go at some point.”
“You’d be surprised, I have a fragile ego.”
Hephner stood up and Rogan did the same. “Do this right, son. Take all the time you need, money and manpower are no object. Even though you’re in charge you’ll be briefing me through Jason Vanstedum, just so I’m kept in the loop.”
“Fine. And I don’t wanna have to deal with the press.”
“Of course. Good luck, Rogan.”
He stretched out his hand and Rogan had no choice but to shake it even though he had a feeling he had been tricked into something he would regret.
And he was right.
Chapter 5
“Let’s do this thing,” Rogan said once he was out of the office. “Cass, I don’t know what you were doing until now but you’re on my team.”
“You mean this is real? They’re really putting you in charge of this investigation?”
“I know, right? It’s like they don’t know I used to wet the bed until I was 15.”
Gary perked up. “You did?”
Rogan didn’t answer and simply winked at him.
“All right, bring me to the war room.”
As expected, Cass led them to the conference room they had passed by before. The dozen people inside became quiet instantly. Vanstedum was among the group, the only one wearing a jacket.
“Good morning, everyone. My name is Rogan Bricks and I’m sure you know by now that I’ve been assigned this case. I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes and if I do I apologize in advance.”
Vanstedum came closer and offered his hand to him. “If you need anything just ask, you know where my office is.”
Rogan smiled. The man had balls and tact, he had to give him that. In the most subtle way possible he had reminded his visitor that he was only a guest here and that he had no authority beyond this case. Rogan shook his hand and wondered how long it would take for people to stop him if he slugged Vanstedum.
The SAC left along with a couple of his high-ranking assistants. Good. At last they could work.
“Let’s get started,” Rogan said as he came closer and pulled a chair. “First things first, I want to congratulate everyone for living up to stereotypes.” When there was a deafening silence, he reached to the middle of the table where there was an appetizing plate of frosted doughnuts. “And if anyone could tell me where there’s coffee…”
In less than ten seconds, a chubby man in his 20s presented him with a mug of steaming coffee. This was always a great way to find the brown-nosers in a group.
“Thank you. You are?”
“Blair Purdie, sir.”
“Thank you, Special Agent Blair Purdie.”
“Oh I’m not a special agent. I’m an intelligence analyst.”
“All right, then why don’t you share an intelligent analysis of what we have so far?”
While Rogan ate two doughnuts and drank his adequate coffee, the boy shared what they had thus far. It was a lengthier narrative of what the FBI Director had told him before but the facts were the same.
He finished with, “At the moment we’re collating everybody’s statements.”
“A
ny discernible pattern at this point?”
This time it was someone across the table who answered. “It confirms what we have on video. The President calls over his bodyguard, draws his sidearm, aims up at the gallery and shoots his wife, firing a total of eight rounds before being tackled. She was declared dead on the scene, they’re doing the autopsy as we speak.”
“What about the suspect? Any statements?”
“He said he was sorry and then clammed up, requested a lawyer. The lawyer showed up around three in the morning, they conferred for an hour, and then Special Agent in Charge Vanstedum himself tried to lead an interrogation and it was stonewalled by the attorney.”
Rogan listened and took notes on a legal pad. He was sure they already had 55 versions of this already but writing it down helped him to understand the chain of events.
“Okay, so we know the what. Unless the medical examiner comes back with the shocker that the First Lady was actually poisoned or telepathically killed by aliens or something, it’s a safe bet the President did murder his wife. Now we have to figure out the why. Has the lawyer asked for psychiatric evaluation?”
The dozen agents exchanged glances. Finally, it was Blair who answered.
“We don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It’s pretty chaotic from a legal standpoint. The US Attorney’s office was caught off guard, no one’s really in charge. They all want a piece of the spotlight.”
Cass added, “Hallway rumors are spreading that some people think there’s a conflict of interest because they’re political appointments from the President. It’s a little bit of a clusterfuck.”
Rogan rolled his eyes. “Oh what fine legal minds we have. Doesn’t matter, this isn’t our job. All we need to do is find out what happened. All signs point to the man snapping so it shouldn’t be too hard to button this up.”
“What’s next? You want to try to interrogate the President?”
“Not now. First, I want to see the scene of the crime.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The Hall of the House of Representatives was much smaller in person than he would’ve thought just from seeing it on TV. Rogan walked slowly down the aisle, the tiered platforms on each side. Despite the crime scene personnel still at work taking photographs and measurements, the place was eerily quiet.
