Veil v-1

by Reginald Cook

  “And I’ll see to it that no more videotapes are made,” Simon added, looking in Marilyn’s direction. Her eyes narrowed.

  Edward slid into a chair and cupped his hands on the table. “The White House knows about Charlie, and quite possibly, what we’re up to.”

  The trio, their jaws on the table, looked horrified.

  “How? What?” Vernon stuttered.

  “I met with President Claymore this morning. He hinted that he knew about Charlie. How much, I’m not sure. Others in the White House might also know.”

  “Then they could already know about all of us,” said Marilyn, panic in her voice. “And you called us right over here. Are you out of your mind?”

  Edward leaned forward and backhanded Marilyn across the face. The slap stunned her, shocked Vernon. Simon smiled.

  “Calm down,” Edward growled, not missing a beat. “We can still get this situation under control. I need Robert Veil and his partner dead. I need that evidence found and destroyed, and I need it done right away.

  If we wait much longer, President Claymore isn’t the only one who’ll have our asses on a stick.”

  Nobody moved or spoke for several minutes. Edward searched their faces. Marilyn grinded her teeth, Vernon thumped the table with his fingers. Simon calmly sipped a glass of ice water, and watched the others.

  “This changes everything Edward,” said Vernon. “It’s one thing to cover up an old mess that should’ve been handled a long time ago. Now we’re digging the hole deeper. I don’t like it Edward. I don’t like it one bit.”

  “I agree,” Marilyn said, sill angry, but under control. “This means somebody’s looking over our shoulder watching our moves.” Edward remained calm. “It’s too late to reconsider,” he told them.

  “So let’s talk about the problem at hand. Veil and the evidence. Get rid of both and we’ll be in the clear. No one can make a move on us if we destroy the trail completely.”

  Vernon sprang to his feet. “We don’t know where the evidence is Edward,” he growled. “We don’t even know if Veil does either. We can’t just snap our fingers and make this go away.”

  “You’re the Director of the CIA, Vernon. I suggest you and Miss London use your resources more effectively and take care of it. I’ll handle the President.”

  “You’ll handle the President? Just what does that mean?” Marilyn asked.

  “That’s my problem,” said Edward, cold and firm.

  Marilyn joined Vernon. “I’m sorry Edward. I’ll give back the money. I’m out.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree,” added Vernon. “This has gone too far.

  If we don’t cut out now, we’ll burn with you. It’s not worth it.” Simon, enjoying the ruckus, said nothing.

  Edward slammed his fist on the table and pointed at them. “Let me tell you this,” he said. “You can’t get out. It’s too late. The only way out is to kill Veil and destroy the evidence. It’s the only way.” Vernon walked to the door. “I’m sorry Edward,” he said. He looked at the others, then left the room.

  Marilyn’s eyes stayed fixed but she didn’t speak. “Goodbye Edward,” she finally muttered, and followed Vernon out of the door.

  Simon sucked his teeth and examined his nails. “Don’t worry,” he said, tossing a brown Bogart brim on his head. “I’ll track Veil and his partner. Those two are just panicking. They’ll come back.” He cleared his throat. “You know, in light of the new developments, I think a more appropriate compensation is in order.”

  He walked to the door all smiles. “I’m sure you’ll come up with an amount we can all live with. Let me know and I’ll sell the others.” He tipped his hat, bid Edward a better day, then left.

  Edward looked at the bar, but decided he’d had enough to drink. He called Patra and told her to have his car ready. He’d call Simon later and make them a new offer. He checked his watch. Three-thirty. Four hours before Judge Patrick’s reception. He headed for the snail-like elevator.

  What more can this day bring?

  16

  Robert divided up the brochures he found in Charlie’s room with Thorne and searched his half. Neither found a trace of the old man or a clue to the evidence, in the mausoleums or the cemetery office files. The longer they searched, frustration mounted. They decided to make another pass and examine one crypt at a time. Robert went back through Lexington Cemetery in Virginia, but found nothing.

  While Thorne continued the search, Robert went to Judge Patrick’s estate. Lost in thought walking the grounds, he didn’t notice Agent Sams next to him, a huge German Shepherd by his side.

  “Just thought I’d let you know we’ve covered the entire estate. It’s clean.”

  “Thank you Agent Sams. But do you think it’s possible you can search it again?”

  Agent Sams looked puzzled. “That’ll make six times. I think five is more than enough.”

  “I understand, and you certainly don’t have to take orders from me.

  But please. Indulge me. For the judge’s sake.” Sams looked around the estate at his team. “Okay Mr. Veil, but after this I have to pull some of my men to get ready for the reception tonight.”

  “Thank you Sams. I know it’s overkill, but this guy has slipped through one of the biggest manhunts in history.” Sams’ face twisted. “And don’t think it doesn’t have us heated. I’m gonna hang this guy’s balls from my rear view.”

  “You’ll have to beat me to them first,” said Robert.

  They laughed, then Sams stared at Robert, like he had something on his mind.

  “Anything else agent?’

  “I’m curious about something.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. How is it you and your partner get the run of the farm? I know you worked for the CIA and did a stint in the Marines. I’ve just never heard of such a thing.”

  Robert considered the question. Not the first time he’d been asked.

  “It’s classified Agent Sams. No offense, but let’s leave it at that.” Robert headed to the main house. His mind drifted away from the Bear, to Iraq. From Rothschild, to Iraqi Freedom. One of his assignments during the war was a clandestine operation, code name: Scorpion. Their mission: assassinate Saddam Hussein and any heirs to his dictatorship. Intelligence on Saddam’s whereabouts proved sketchy.

  Instead of the monarch, they found members of Saddam’s family including women and children. Their orders clear, no prisoners, the mission failed, sabotaged by him and Thorne. That, with their refusal to execute a group of scientists, and the brass had had enough. He and Thorne walked out on the government and never looked back.

  Connected and well trained. Bounty hunters. Guns for hire.

  Robert spotted Fiona standing on the balcony over looking the backyard, and saw the strain on her face. She waved. He answered with an encouraging smile before she turned and disappeared inside the house.

  Robert didn’t want to add to Fiona’s problems, but something gnawed at him. Something he needed to address.

  He crossed the patio and slid through the back door into the kitchen, where Caroline, Fiona’s chef, prepared lunch for the federal agents.

  Just beyond the kitchen, Robert admired the most elaborate family room he’d ever seen. Pool and ping-pong tables, a two-lane bowling alley, a vintage jukebox, arcade games, and just about every other toy a grown boy needed to stay entertained, surrounded a mammoth entertainment center with a sixty-inch plasma screen.

  “I do love sports,” said Fiona, behind him. He turned around. “My father turned me into a sports fiend,” she continued. “I think he really wanted a boy.”

  “He could’ve adopted me anytime,” said Robert, noting how lovely she looked in a sleeveless black sundress splattered with lime green flowers. “And you’re certainly no boy.”

  The compliment drew a smile from Fiona, who blushed. “Thank you Mr. Veil. I didn’t think you noticed such things. You’re so caught up in your work.”

  “You’re right. I do get caught up in my w
ork. But I notice most things, Judge Patrick.”

  “Please call me Fiona.”

  “Ok Fiona, I do notice most things, especially the beautiful, and you should call me Robert.” Flirting with a potential Supreme Court Justice.

  I’m definitely moving up in the world. She seems to be in a better mood.

  This is as good a time as any.

  “Fiona, we have a problem.”

  “You mean it can get worse,” she said, laughing. “How could there possibly be more?”

  “I think the reception tonight is a bad idea,” he told her. “You’ll be far too exposed and I don’t think you should take the chance.” Fiona’s light-heartedness melted away. “You want me to cancel on the President? The President of the United States!”

  “Yes,” he said, firmly. “It’s just too dangerous. And it might be a good idea to send Jessica to stay with a relative, at least until the confirmation hearings are over.”

  Fiona walked to the pool table, tears streaming down her face. Robert followed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be alright, I promise you. We just have to take extra precautions.”

  “To hell with you and your precautions,” she said, knocking his hand from her shoulder. “I can’t wave this off, it’s crucial. Every member of the judiciary committee will be there.”

  “They know what’s at stake. They’ll understand.”

  “I’ll look like a coward,” she said, raising her voice an entire octave.

  You’re supposed to watch out for me, not bury me.”

  “I’m trying to protect you. Save your life.”

  “I want you out of here,” she screamed. “Now!” She picked up the cue ball and hurled it into a trophy case. The glass exploded. Fiona marched into the den and slammed the door behind her. Several agents scrambled into the room. He put his hands up to let them know everything was okay.

  “Is everything alright Mr. Veil?” asked Agent Sams, as the others panned out and inspected the damage.

  “It was an accident. Everything is under control,” he told them.

  Agent Sams gave Robert a knowing look, ordered his men outside, and holstered his gun. “Mr. Veil, this has been hard on all of us. But I think we need to keep things as routine for the judge as possible.” Robert understood. Secret Service agents were trained to protect, but were also skilled at making those they protected feel as normal as possible. He thanked the agent.

  Agent Sams turned to leave, then hesitated. “It’s no secret most of us resent your involvement.”

  “I know. It’s been a long standing feud.”

  “Well, the boys in the trenches, myself included, want you to know we understand. We’ll be there when, and if, you need us.”

  “That’s a change of heart for you.”

  “The past is the past,” said Sams. “Let’s just say making sure the judge lives through this takes precedent. When this is over we can go back to status quo.” He smiled and left the room.

  Thorne walked in and admired the smashed trophy case. “Well, I see you’ve got everything under control.”

  “What about you? I’m sure you’ve got it all under control and Julie Rice is sitting outside in your car, with the missing evidence.” She shot him a go to hell expression, picked up the cue ball and tossed it on the pool table. “No,” she said. “I didn’t find a thing. In fact, I feel further away than when we started.”

  “What about the cemetery brochures?”

  “I checked the records at each, looked at the mausoleums of several.

  Dry so far. Not a sign of Charlie anywhere.”

  “That makes sense,” said Robert, aggravated. “After all, we’re looking for fly shit in pepper.”

  “Not really,” said Thorne.

  Robert moved in closer. He needed good news.

  “Charlie knew he was going to contact us, to bring this whole thing out, right?”

  Robert nodded.

  “He was smart,” she continued. “A vile little fucker, but not stupid.

  There has to be something we’re missing. A clue he knew we’d find if something went wrong.”

  “You’re right,” Robert agreed. “We’ll have a look at the cemeteries again. The brochures are the key. The evidence is in one of them, I know it. After the reception we’ll check.” Robert cracked a smile.

  “You were right about this one, huh?”

  “Fool, don’t get me started.”

  “Look at it this way,” said Robert. “It can’t get much worse.” Thorne cracked a smile. “Well, hold onto your butt’ cause it is.” She crossed her arms and stepped closer. “My friends at NSA tell me there’s been a stirring high in government circles. A revelation about President Kennedy’s assassination. They mentioned you, me, Charlie, and Rothschild.”

  Robert stroked his chin. “Did your friends say how far up it goes?”

  “To the top,” Thorne answered.

  Robert’s face asked the question. You mean?

  “President William Jefferson Claymore,” she said. “And get this.

  The President met with Edward this morning. Something about his son Charleston’s bid for the White House. They weren’t sure, but my contacts say Edward left the meeting a little, how shall I say, sullen.

  They also said Edward’s trying to get his hands on a large parcel of offshore real estate.”

  Robert furrowed his brow. “Real estate?”

  “In the Middle East,” Thorne clarified. “A very large oil field somewhere in the Middle East. The State Department’s about to piss their pants.”

  “That’s not possible,” said Robert. “I don’t care how much money that arrogant asshole has. None of the Arab countries would ever sell an oil field to an outsider. Why would they? It’s their base of power.”

  “Because this asshole’s son is about to become President. Word around the intelligence water cooler says Edward intends to orchestrate a mass exchange of nuclear technology in return.”

  “Israel would never stand for it,” said Robert. “And if I recall, I’ve heard Rothschild speak out about the protection and security of Israel from the Palestinian threat.” He smirked.

  “Obviously he’s full of shit,” Thorne answered. “You know how hypocritical these guys can be. Everything is a means to more. The real issue here is how this plays into our situation. With so much at stake, he’s gonna be hell warmed over.”

  Robert paced the room. “Let’s rattle the trees. Confront Edward directly. Bluff. We’ll tell him we have Charlie on tape, and the evidence, and see what falls out. We expose the Kennedy plot, and the Middle East bullshit will take care of itself. His son won’t get close to the White House.”

  “That’s your plan? Suicide?”

  “It’s better than being sitting ducks,” said Robert. “We’ll smoke’em out. Rothschild’s not working alone and we need to find out who’s with him. It’ll buy us some time. He wants the evidence, that’s why he didn’t kill Charlie at first. That’s why he won’t kill us, at least not right away.”

  “It’s risky,” said Thorne, stroking her hair. “But you’re right.

  Besides, you know me. If I have to die, I might as well go out in a blaze.”

  “Then it’s agreed. We’ll shake’em up, then burn’em down.”

  “What about the judge?” Thorne asked. “We still have to baby-sit.

  What if they think she’s involved?”

  “It’s already too late. They know we’re watching over her, if not, they will soon, and they’ll keep an eye on her just to be safe.”

  “Do you think we should tell her?”

  Robert looked over at the trophy case and the pile of broken glass.

  “Not at the moment,” he said. “I’ll tell her when I think the time is right.

  We’ll be taking a big chance when we do.”

  “It can’t be any bigger than it is now,” said Thorne.

  “She’s a member of the bar, a judge,” said Robert. “We’d be providing her with kn
owledge of a crime. The assassination of President Kennedy no less. She might feel compelled to tell what she knows.”

  “Well, maybe she’ll be more compelled to keep breathing,” Thorne answered, peering out of the window at the agents checking the grounds.

  “I’ll handle that phase,” said Robert.

  “Well then, let’s hop to it,” Thorne said, full of confidence.

  Robert looked at Thorne and remembered the battles they’d fought together. Bullies, war, even the deaths of parents.

  Thorne stared back. “Don’t worry partner,” she said, with the conviction of a fighter pilot. “I wasn’t with it at first, but now I am. I want it as much as you do. We’ll win, or take every last one of them with us.”

  They clasped hands, feeding off each other’s energy. They let go and Robert looked toward the den. “I have to get her ready for tonight.

  Make sure her mind is settled.”

  “Go to it big boy, I’ll check on our friends outside. Where’s my room in this place?”

  “Upstairs, the second to the right, next to Jessica’s.” Thorne slapped his shoulder, cut through the kitchen, grabbing several sandwiches from a platter, and hit the back door. Robert heard her bark orders as she chewed. The agent’s dogs barked back anxiously, as though they understood.

  Robert, hesitant, went to the den, stopping at the door to collect his thoughts. He understood Fiona’s frustration. She and Jessica were being forced to live like caged animals. She asked him to leave, but that was the stress talking. It didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  If something happened to Fiona or her daughter, he’d never live it down.

  His mother had a long memory.

  He knocked on the door. No answer. He let himself inside. Fiona lay stretched out on a big green sofa, fitful and restless. She turned toward him, eyes red and swollen.

  “I’ll be so glad when it’s over,” she said, fighting the sobs.

  Robert knelt at her side and used his hands to untangle her disheveled, golden locks. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive, that wasn’t my intention. We’ll go to the reception tonight and deal with it. You concentrate on dazzling the President and the crowd. I’ll worry about everything else. We can discuss the rest tomorrow.”