The President Killed His Wife (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 1)

by Steve Richer

  “What’s not clear about my request? I didn’t ask you to strip him naked and sing a Jimmy Buffet song. I just want you to get the man and bring him to Interrogation Room One.”

  “Uh…”

  “You’ve been told I’m the lead agent on this case, right?”

  “Yes but…”

  “But I’m awesome, I know. Now go get the dude, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In their infinite wisdom, the architects had designed a waiting area before the checkpoint so Rogan and his team sat down while they waited for the detainee to be transferred from the holding cell to the interrogation room.

  “This went rather well, no?”

  No one said anything. Rogan put on a happy face but he was getting nervous about how things would go down. He heard footsteps and instinctively stood up. This was really happening.

  Except that the person who showed up was SAC Jason Vanstedum.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Bricks?”

  “My job. Why, you’re interested in helping?”

  The man was fuming. “You can’t just walk in here and request to see the prisoner!”

  “I can’t?”

  “He’s lawyered up. You can’t interrogate him without his counsel, and preferably with our prosecutor present as well.”

  “Now why do you have to be a party pooper?”

  Vanstedum bristled. “Ever heard of Miranda rights?”

  “I’m invoking the public safety exception.”

  “The what? You think the President of the United States is a terrorist?”

  “He sure did terrorize me when I watched TV last night.”

  “You son of…”

  Rogan showed the palm of his hand to calm him down. “I have reason to believe there’s more to this than a man shooting his wife to avoid a divorce.”

  “I can’t allow this fishing expedition. You promised to do this by the book, remember?”

  “I promised to bring out the truth and you agreed that I was in charge. You want to change that? Fine, go crawl on Director Hephner’s lap and ask him to remove me from the case. I’ll be happy to go back to Alaska and see my dog. I really miss my dog.”

  “Bricks…”

  “Listen, the man I want to see used to be the leader of the free world. He was a US Senator. He has a Yale law degree and used to clerk at the Supreme Court, for Christ sakes. I’m not going to interrogate some mentally retarded child in there. I’m perfectly within my right to talk to him any way I please. If you stop me I’m gonna assume there’s something you don’t want me to hear and the next person I’ll investigate is gonna be you. How’s that sound?”

  Rogan stood tall, holding his own against the giant in front of him. From his experience, these upward mobile bureaucrats only understood this type of language.

  “This better be by the book.”

  Vanstedum went away to talk to the officer who had cock-blocked them before and then the team was ushered to Interrogation Room One. They all went into the observation area, so dark behind the two-way mirror. Even Vanstedum was there, undoubtedly to supervise.

  “I’m gonna go in there alone,” Rogan said.

  This time no one raised an objection. They simply stared through the glass into the stark room and waited.

  “What do I call him anyway? Do I say Mr. President or evil shit bag or something?”

  “Technically, he’s innocent until proven guilty,” Gary began. “According to protocol, he should be addressed as Mr. President.”

  Rogan nodded but he still wasn’t sure what he would call him as he continued waiting. And he certainly wasn’t prepared for what he saw, the former President of the United States wearing an orange jumpsuit and shackles.

  Chapter 8

  Rogan felt naked as he walked into the interrogation room. His pistol was back in the observation area and he didn’t have so much as a pocket knife on him. Still, the prisoner didn’t seem like much of a threat. He was 59 years old and had the hangdog expression of someone who was completely beat and overwhelmed by despair.

  Four FBI Police officers were sitting him down and hooking his cuffs to the table and floor. Rogan analyzed the scene before shaking his head.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “It’s procedure, sir.”

  “I have full confidence that if this senior citizen jumps over the table and tries to slash my jugular you’ll come to my rescue in a heartbeat. No?”

  The team leader stared back and then realized there was no arguing with him. With a jerk of the head, he had his men unshackle the detainee. They left, leaving Rogan and the President in the small room which looked even smaller with the grey cinderblock walls.

  “You can’t talk to me. I need my attorney present.”

  “Sure, he’s on his way. In the meantime, do you mind if I do the talking? You can sit there, relax, enjoy the change of scenery.”

  He said, “It’s a waste of time.”

  “Indulge me. You know, dressed like that you’re more attractive than half the cast of Orange is the New Black. Really suits you, Mr. President. Shit, I don’t even know if that’s how I’m supposed to call you. Tell me, what do you prefer?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You know they replaced you already, right? Vice President Hector Dantley is now sitting in your office. I hope you didn’t leave any porn hanging around, guy’s gonna find it and that’ll be another scandal you don’t need. So is it okay if I call you Mr. Rudd?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m Special Agent Rogan Bricks, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. I voted for you, you know.”

  “Like I said, Special Agent Bricks, you’re wasting your time.”

  “I know,” Rogan said with a smirk. “But you have to understand that this is the sort of thing that doesn’t happen every day so there are a lot of I’s that need to be dotted. I’m the dot guy they called. Do you know me? Do you know who I am?”

  He took off his jacket and sat down across from the detainee, clasping his hand softly on the table surface.

  “No, I don’t know who you are.”

  “Exactly, Mr. Rudd. That’s why they chose me. I’m not a Washington dude, I have no ambition in the Bureau or in politics. I don’t kiss ass to get ahead because I just don’t feel the need to get ahead. I’m stationed in Alaska, if you can believe it. Have you ever been there?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I mean aside from campaigning and shaking hands and kissing babies. Oh wait a minute! I remember reading an article about you a couple years back. You came on a hunting trip, near Fairbanks. Did you hit anything?”

  “A nice buck, caribou.”

  “Those are nice! I don’t hunt myself but I buy the meat regularly at the supermarket. I cook medallions in this sauce I make with balsamic vinegar, maple syrup, beef stock, some shallots, garlic, blueberries. Then you finish it off with a little heavy cream, it’s delicious. I’ll write the recipe down for you. Then again, you must have cooks who do that for you. Right?”

  The President hesitated before nodding. “I do. I used to anyway.”

  “Of course. And before you became a big shot, was it your wife who cooked for you?”

  At that, the prisoner straightened up, his eyes hardening.

  “Look,” Rogan continued. “Like I said, I’m not looking to make my career on this. The guy behind the glass, this tall son of a bitch named Jason Vanstedum? He totally wants to nail you to the wall and look like a hero doing it. He probably wants to be Attorney General or something one day. But that’s not me. I just want to understand and write my report.”

  “I need to see a doctor. My lawyer is working on having me see a psychiatrist.”

  “Ah, yes. Absolutely understandable, Mr. Rudd. If I’d shot my wife seven times that’s what I would do too. Autopsy report came back a little while ago. You fired eight rounds and seven of them found a target in the First Lady. First of all, congrats, impressive shooting.
It’s a little fucked up for my taste, but impressive shooting indeed.”

  His phone buzzed as a text message came in but he ignored it. He was certain it was Vanstedum demanding he wrapped things up.

  “If I was the tiniest bit convinced that you had snapped because you couldn’t handle the lollygagging Congress anymore or that you were mad about the Star Wars sequels, I would nod, I would understand, and I would leave you in the good care of your doctor. I would write my report and this would be it. But I don’t think it is. In fact, Mr. Rudd, I think you’re part of a troubling conspiracy and I need your help to make sense of it all.”

  Rudd’s head snapped up, taken aback by this revelation.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “I… I want to see my attorney.”

  Rogan thought about some of the new information the guys upstairs had finally been able to gather from the Secret Service.

  “Why did you specifically request Declan Simonsen to be your principal agent last night? It should’ve been Opal Higgins instead. You asked your secretary who then asked the detail leader.”

  “I like Simonsen. I’ve always liked him.”

  “And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s the only lefty on your protection detail?”

  “No, we just have a good relationship.”

  “Is it a habit of yours to request specific agents?” This time he didn’t reply. “Of course it’s not. We checked. You’ve never demanded anybody special until last night.”

  “That’s not a crime.”

  “Of course not,” Rogan answered. “I wanna help you, sir, but I can’t do that unless you tell me what happened.”

  “You can’t talk to me, I request my attorney be present!”

  Right then, Rogan’s phone buzzed again and there was knocking coming from the other side of the mirror.

  “We are invoking the public safety exception, I can talk to you without a lawyer.”

  “I’m not saying anything, Special Agent Bricks.”

  More knocking, more phone buzzing. Rogan switched off his phone completely at last and turned toward the mirror, pointing to it.

  “You calm down!” He spun back toward the detainee. “Sir, this is obviously far more complicated than you obtaining a firearm and shooting into the visitors’ gallery. I’m convinced there’s more to this and I want to help you. Please, let me help.”

  The confidence in the man’s eyes was gone. He was shaking his head and Rogan knew he was finally getting through to him.

  “I can’t…”

  “You know what’s gonna happen to you if you don’t help me, Mr. President. They’re gonna railroad your ass into death row and whoever’s involved in this is gonna get away with it. Is that what you want?”

  “I can’t tell you anything, I can’t…”

  “You can trust me, sir.” Rogan leaned forward on the table, getting closer to him. “I’m the only one who can help you. You want your children to think you’re nothing but a common murderer? Is that what you want?”

  The President’s eyes watered and he shook his head. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “What choice? Tell me everything you know.”

  The banging on the mirror continued and Rogan knew it was only a matter of minutes before he was forcibly removed from the interrogation room.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Look, I have no stake in this. You need help and I’m the only one who can provide it. Quick, before they take me off this case.”

  There was no longer any knocking against the glass but a second later the door burst open. Vanstedum came in, making Rogan stand up.

  “That’s enough, Bricks!”

  “You leave me alone with my suspect.”

  “You’re violating his constitutional rights, he clearly asked for legal counsel multiple times.”

  Rogan frowned. “The fuck are you doing?”

  Men in uniform came in and Vanstedum pointed to the prisoner.

  “Take him back to his cell!”

  “No, I’m not done here!”

  But the FBI Police officers evidently had their orders. They went to the President, shackles in hand. Rogan had one last chance and he rushed forward, putting his head next to Rudd’s.

  “Tell me something, Mr. President. Please, let me help.”

  Vanstedum was on Rogan, bear-hugging him from behind, doing everything to pull him away while the detainee was getting chained up once more. Still, Rogan resisted as he saw the President waver.

  With an ultimate effort, the prisoner lurched forward and put his mouth against Rogan’s ear.

  “Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol,” he whispered. “Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol!”

  Chapter 9

  It was only the fear of reprisals that kept Vanstedum from hitting the visiting agent, Rogan could sense it. Still, he remained on his guard as they walked out of the holding area toward the elevator.

  “There will be repercussions for this, Bricks!”

  “Really? Like what, you won’t invite me to your Christmas party?”

  “You think being a smartass affords you some latitude?”

  “No, but being asked to lead this case does. We can talk to the Director if you want.”

  Vanstedum worked hard on containing his rage. “You said you’d do this by the book.”

  “The book is hazy. Now you cut me some slack and let me do my job.”

  The perfect exit would have been to slam a door and get away from Vanstedum but he was stuck with him as the group rode the elevator up. Everybody was tense from the confrontation. Gary spent the entire trip typing on his phone and the clicking resounded loudly through the cramped area.

  Eventually, they stopped on the ground floor and Vanstedum stomped out even though it was most likely not his destination. Rogan had to smile.

  “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “I don’t think anybody likes you,” Cass said.

  “I’ll have you know my dog likes me very much. We’re taking things slow but I can see a long-term relationship in our future.”

  Cass rolled her eyes and Wilkinson chuckled.

  They went up to the top floor and returned to the conference room to sort out what they had learned.

  “Gary,” Rogan said as he sank into a comfortable swivel chair. “You take some notes.”

  “I’m on it!” his partner replied, reaching for a legal pad and sitting down.

  “State of the Union address, President gets to the podium, stammers through his speech. He’s nervous, he knows what’s gonna happen next. He waves his bodyguard over.”

  “Declan Simonsen,” Cass pointed out.

  “Right. The President steals his weapon, shoots up at his wife. She’s hit seven times and croaks.”

  “Uh, excuse me?” Gary asked. “How do you spell that? Is it C-R-O-K-E?”

  “It’s D-I-E, kid. Anyway, we also know that he wasn’t supposed to be posted there for the evening. The President made the request, possibly because Simonsen was left-handed, making it easier to pinch his weapon.”

  Wilkinson exhaled. “That doesn’t prove a conspiracy. It only proves premeditation.”

  “At least it proves something.”

  Rogan hadn’t told anyone about Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol yet nor did he intend to. The way the President had said this to him, whispering so no one could hear, had reeked of desperation. If he hadn’t volunteered it more readily it meant the phrase was hiding something ominous, something that could get him into trouble.

  Another sign of a possible conspiracy.

  He let the others discuss the implications while he pulled an available laptop toward him. He opened a browser and did a search for Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol. In less than a second the page returned no results. He tried with different spellings and got the same outcome. Next, he searched through the FBI’s internal databases, entering again different spellings. Nothing.

  “Okay,” Gary said, looking up from his legal pad. “I have everything wri
tten down. What do we do next?”

  Rogan looked at his Rolex, it was already past four o’clock. He wondered how he was still standing after the hectic night and day.

  “Just to be sure, I want a thorough vetting of Declan Simonsen, Opal Higgins, the detail leader. I want formal statements, polygraph since they’re still in the employ of the federal government. I want you to dig into their financials for any irregularities, and their spouses as well. If everything checks out then it will be up to the shrinks. Cass?”

  “The US Attorney will most likely agree with Rudd’s lawyer and have him go through psychiatric assessment. Should take a few days, possibly a month for the entire evaluation.”

  “Excelente. So while the brave souls of the Federal Bureau of Investigations get busy on these interviews and background checks, I’m gonna turn in for the night. Gary, feel free to leave early as well.”

  “Okay but I’m still good. I slept on the plane, remember?”

  “How can your chipper disposition escape me?” Rogan stood up. “Anyone who wants to join me for an early dinner is welcome but be aware I won’t be fun and talkative.”

  Cass looked at him. “I’ll join you if that’s okay.”

  “You’re just looking for a free meal. But that’s all right, come on.”

  She grinned and collected her things. A moment later they were walking out of the conference room.

  “I know a great place we can go for dinner.”

  He groaned. “Trying to sell me on your Ethiopian food again? Oh crap, forgot my coat. Give me a moment.”

  He went back into the conference room where by now everybody was either on a computer or on the phone, and on the way to his trench coat he stopped by Blair Purdie.

  “Listen, I need some of your shrewd intelligence.”

  He looked up keenly. “Yes?”

  “Do a search for Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol, I don’t know about the exact spelling. I did Google, I did the usual databases like NCIC, but I couldn’t find anything. Do it on the down-low, keeping it just between us for now, all right?”

  “Absolutely, my lips are sealed.”

  Rogan nodded, having confidence in this guy. He grabbed his coat and left.