Forgotten Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  Ian’s eyes snapped up and brightened with gratitude, “Yes. Marigolds. You remember?”

  Eugene shot up, scowling at the man on the couch.

  “Fingerprint him. Run him through the entire system. Everything. If he had that pass, he was vetted at some point. It shouldn’t be a great chore to pull his records.”

  “Jesus, Genie, really?” Morgan moaned. “I have no reason to hold him.”

  “Figure one out, Morgan. I’ll expect to hear from you today. No more than a couple of hours.”

  Eugene headed for the door with his brain on overdrive. Ian Francis’ words triggered an elusive memory that made Eugene nervous. Of course, this could all be in his imagination – though most would agree Eugene had little of that – but he had a feeling that something important had transpired.

  Morgan called after him. “The woman he ran into isn’t pressing charges is she?”

  “No.” Eugene paused in the doorway. “But you never know. People want to hold someone accountable for the smallest things.”

  Eugene glanced back at the pathetic man in the old blue suit, but when he inadvertently met Morgan’s eyes, he couldn’t hold the man’s gaze. Eugene Weller did not want his compassion questioned by the likes of Morgan. As he left the room, he muttered: “Get me the information.”

  Outside the door, Eugene took a moment. He rotated his neck aware now that his muscles had tightened to the point of pain. He pulled at his jacket as he concentrated on loosening the ones that locked his jaw. Retracing his steps, he passed the glass offices where the man was no longer yelling at anyone and the angry woman was staring at her desk, exhausted by whatever had upset her. He went past the receptionist who was fielding phone calls with a voice so expertly modulated that Eugene wondered if she was able to shake it when she got home. He went down the short hall, opened the door to the longer hall and walked out of camera view. It was only after he was back in the main building, stepping briskly through the crowds of people doing business there, that he realized his shirt was wet under his arms and he stank like a common man.

  …the defendant named judges and United States covert government agents including Attorney General Eric Holder claiming he was a victim of voice-to-skull mind control technology at the hands of the U.S. government. The judge dismissed the case promptly, stating Banks was “wholly incredible and delusional”. – TruthStream Media

  CHAPTER 3

  “Tea, or something stronger?”

  Ambrose Patriota sat easily in a regency style chair upholstered in gold satin and exquisitely embroidered with brown unicorns. Josie sat opposite him on a couch with rolled arms, covered in burgundy fabric shot with golden threads. The upholstery was pulled so tight it looked like a bad facelift – all sheen and no shadow. There was a low mahogany table resting on claw and ball feet in front of her. Inlaid occasional tables were scattered around the office. The focal point of this political man cave was an impressive desk whose ancient origins Josie couldn’t begin to imagine.

  The walls of Senator Patriota’s private chambers were covered with black-framed citations and photos of a career that spanned four presidents, one English queen, ten prime ministers in various countries, and an untold number of dictators. There were a few well-chosen pieces of art: one Chagall and two Picassos. This opulence would have been suspect had Josie not checked him out after being invited to testify.

  Ambrose Patriota was to Greek-Americans what John Kennedy was to the Irish. Money, ambition, and PR fairy dust were all it took to turn a young, Greek, son-of-an-immigrant into a powerful senator. As a young man he had spent a number of years turning a once modest family shoe company into money with a capital M before stunning the business world by joining the military. Ten years, one honorable discharge, and one perfectly orchestrated campaign later he was the governor of Texas. In the next blink he was the go-to-guy in the senate. Soon he would be president. Josie couldn’t help but be intrigued by him; charmed was another matter. Men with this much power made her nervous, but her wariness was a precaution not a prejudice.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Ambrose Patriota raised his index finger and the young woman awaiting Josie’s pleasure faded away. The senator sat back, unbuttoned the jacket of his dark suit, and lamented: “Always a drama around here, I fear. If it’s not someone trying to kill us, it’s someone trying to touch us, talk to us, sway us, or degrade us. I apologize for what happened.”

  “I’m not sure what you have to be sorry about,” Josie suggested.

  “Our lack of security for one. Our people are better trained than that. I’m sorry you were the one in the way.”

  “Senator, I wasn’t in the way. That man came at me for a reason.” Josie moved, itching to be out of the office, eager to talk to the man in custody. Sadly, the rules of this place were as unforgiving as the couch she sat on and Ambrose Patriota was kindly dismissive of her desires.

  “I’m sure it seemed that way, but I fear you are indulging in wishful thinking. You came to talk about a personally horrifying experience, anything people say to you here will be interpreted in that light.”

  Josie returned his smile, but it was not as practiced as his. Her expression clearly indicated she did not like to be patronized.

  “What he said was very distinct. I did not mistake it. He knows where Hannah is.”

  “Truly?” One heavy brow rose to challenge her. “That man told you specifically that he knows where Hannah is?”

  Patriota hit Hannah’s name a little hard and Josie realized that he was trying to put it in context. It both amused and frustrated her that the essence of her testimony was forgotten so easily. Before she could point out that it seemed his hearings were an exercise in futility, she saw things click into place like lucky sevens.

  Hannah.

  Albania.

  Hearings.

  Jackpot.

  “Ms. Bates – Josie – please, don’t get your hopes up that this man knows anything about your ward,” Patriota said.

  “That man pushed his way through a hundred people and came directly to me. His exact words were, ‘I know where she is’. That statement is specific to my testimony. This isn’t about hope. This is about follow-up,” Josie insisted.

  “Of course, of course,” Ambrose assured her. “My chief of staff is doing exactly that, but your faith is misplaced. That man has no answers for you.”

  “I’m not talking about my faith in him but in you. I believed your promise to do everything you can to help the victims of Eastern European crime. Unless, of course, this has all been a waste of time and you were pandering.”

  “I only pander on Wednesdays,” Patriota teased. “In all seriousness, the authorities are interviewing him. However, as an attorney, you understand that what people say they know is often very different from what they do know. That man may have been moved by your testimony so he made something up thinking he could make you feel better.”

  The Senator leaned forward slightly, raising his palm as if to show her there were no tricks up his sleeve.

  “In Washington, as in a courtroom, people can become fixated on their fantasies. They believe they have the singular ability to expose a great and important truth. They show up in any public forum: at schools, at rallies, and especially at political gatherings. They will speak to anyone who will listen. They are adept at choosing just the right words that will make someone as passionate as you clutch at the straw they are holding.

  “They believe in atrocities and conspiracies. They come here to save the world by speaking out and sometimes by threatening those of us who serve the people. Washington is its own unique and not always logical world. It takes an old hand like mine to steer through it.”

  “I am not naïve, Senator, but I am not going to turn a blind eye to a possible informational thread,” Josie argued. “I simply want proof one way or the other that he wasn’t talking about Hannah.”

  Patriota leaned back in his chair, seeming both annoyed and amused by her
tenacity.

  “When I was a young Senator I thought as you. I wanted to listen to everyone. But I learned quickly that this job is like triage. I must weed through all the problems, and the broken people, and the desperate tragedies until I find the one thing that is possible to save and nurture.”

  He sighed at exactly the right moment. He gestured just emphatically enough as if this would prove his dismay.

  “It used to be there would be a handful of these poor souls running around, getting it into their heads that they had something to contribute to the process or a solution to a problem. In reality, they are the problem.”

  “It must be difficult to deal with concerned citizens,” Josie noted, her gaze even and her smile small.

  Patriota’s eyes flashed. He was unhappy to be challenged in this way but too practiced to lash out.

  “I am not easily shamed, Ms. Bates, because I am a realist. People like that man are not your concerned and curious American citizen. If he were, he would have gone through channels. He would have engaged the services of someone able to articulate the problem and manipulate the system appropriately. He might have sought out a lawyer, don’t you think?” His eyes crinkled as if he enjoyed calling ever so politely on to his personal carpet. “Although if he had done that there might have even been more drama. Politicians and lawyers, we are cousins, are we not?”

  “I suppose the difference is that a lawyer gives the benefit of the doubt,” Josie pointed out.

  “Often for a price higher than a politician’s.” Patriota threw back his head and laughed, pleased to make a joke at his own expense. “I find a lawyer’s outrage is often equal to either her billing hours or the interest of the press. I am not being disrespectful, but we in Washington can’t be as democratic as a lawyer. I applaud all who step up to the table, but I know not everyone will get to sit down. There simply aren’t enough places.”

  “And you decide who gets a chair?” Josie asked.

  “This is what I am elected to do,” Ambrose said candidly. “Government has limited resources. Most constituents are happy if their lives are not disrupted. However, some human beings are sensitive to outrage. The right voice raised at the right moment is as combustible as an open campfire in a dry wood. That person will get my attention, and I will determine how to best deal with him or her. Your gentleman was only crying wolf. Wolf criers, I dismiss.”

  “If I did that, I would have dismissed half my clients. I would have dismissed Hannah when I first met her and she would have been railroaded into jail.”

  “Apples and oranges, Ms. Bates. These folks, the ones who burst in looking like they haven’t slept or eaten for days because they are so consumed with the import of what they alone know, have only nonsense and noise to offer. That detracts from the real business of our government.”

  “Which is what?”

  “To maintain and protect the state. It is not about the individual, Ms. Bates. If it were, we would spend our careers ineffectual, broken hearted, and despairing.”

  Suddenly he smiled broadly and the effect was nothing short of glorious. Again, Josie was stung by the idea that she had known him. Before she could grasp the memory, he maneuvered the conversation toward a conclusion.

  “You’ve drawn me in, Ms. Bates. If we had all the time in the world we would debate the purpose of the constitution, the intent of the founding fathers, individual freedoms versus the good of the whole. But we don’t have that time and we are really only talking about a slight ruckus.” Patriota touched the arm of the couch as if assuring her that they were friends again. “You’re far too young to have had enough experience to accept the fact that almost all things truly are what they seem.”

  “That’s cynical, Senator,” Josie suggested.

  “No, no, no.” He sat back again, waggling his finger. “That is an honest assessment and an efficient use of both my brain and my time. But that doesn’t–” The office door opened, interrupting him. “Ah, our debate is about to be settled. Eugene. What news have you brought us?”

  Josie looked over her shoulder. Sounds of a busy office skittered through the open door only to be silenced when Eugene Weller closed it again.

  “Everything is taken care of, Senator.” Eugene paused beside Josie and shook her hand. “Eugene Weller, Ms. Bates. Senator Patriota’s chief of staff.”

  Josie took his hand thinking he looked a bit like a Wyeth painting. Eugene Weller could have been the corner grocer, the town pharmacist, or an insurance salesman were it not for his well-cut suit and obvious influence.

  “Eugene is one of the most competent staffers you will find on the hill,” the Senator announced proudly. “I hope he is also the most loyal.”

  “Always, Senator.”

  Eugene slid his hand from Josie’s grasp. His palm was moist; his smile disappeared too quickly. The man was not as confident in his position as Ambrose Patriota gave him credit for.

  “Eugene is quite modest. I know ten senators who would steal him away from me given half a chance. Luckily, this is government and no one can entice him with more money. Though I fail to see why he hasn’t fled to the private sector. With what he knows about the goings on here he could command quite a salary and probably add to it with a few bribes to keep him silent. Isn’t that so, Eugene?”

  “I’ll write a book someday, Senator,” Eugene answered.

  “You’ll wait until I’m dead and buried, I hope,” Patriota countered. “So, tell us what you have found out.”

  “The gentleman’s name is Ian Francis, sir.” Eugene paused as if waiting for a reaction. None was forthcoming. “He holds a Canadian and American passport. He worked as a consultant to the Defense Department at one time and he was a professor at Texas A & M many years ago. Mr. Francis is not drunk. He is confused. It appears he has fallen on hard times and, perhaps, suffers to some degree from mental illness.”

  “Drugs?” Patriota asked.

  “No. Nothing was found on him.”

  “Weapons?”

  “No, sir. He had a senate pass. It had not been renewed since the early nineties but security sent him through. A misunderstanding,” Eugene assured him.

  “You see. It is as I said.” Patriota was pleased.

  “But did you ask specifically about me or Hannah?” Josie pressed.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything more to tell you.”

  Josie was fully aware that his was a non-answer but there was no time to pursue it further. The senator planted his palms on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. He buttoned his jacket. They were done.

  “There. Taken care of. I believe there is a reception where we are expected. A small thank you to those who have put themselves out to enlighten us.”

  “You’ll only be able to stay ten minutes, sir.” Eugene moved in on Patriota. “This has set you back twenty on the schedule and you’re due at–”

  “We’ll make it. We always do, Eugene.” His attention turned to Josie. “It was delightful to spend time with you. Shall we?”

  But Josie still sat, looking intently at Patriota as he stood over her. She got to her feet slowly.

  “Senator, I have to ask. Have we met before?”

  “I’m sure I would have remembered.”

  He stepped back and swept his hand toward the door. When she hesitated, when it seemed she would press the matter, Eugene Weller held her coat out.

  “Perhaps I could talk to Mr. Francis,” she suggested as she took it. “If you could get me to your security offices, I’ll take it from there.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Eugene answered. “Protocol is being followed. And, of course, we must be concerned with Mr. Francis’ rights. You are a guest of Senator Patriota and have no official capacity here.”

  They moved in unison, Eugene holding open the door of the senator’s inner sanctum. Patriota went first. Josie followed only to take one step back for the two she had taken forward.

  “What will your people do with him?” she
asked Eugene.

  “If everything checks out, he’ll be escorted out of the building. His pass will be revoked.”

  “Will they take him out the front of the building?” Josie prodded.

  “We leave those decisions to security.”

  Eugene muttered an apology and went around her, quickening his step so that he could beat Patriota to the doors that lead out into the main hall. Josie admired the choreography and the dodge. She had no choice but to follow them. In the hall, the senator shook her hand once more and took his leave easily. He wouldn’t remember her name in another ten minutes but in that moment she was the focus of his attention.

  “It has been a pleasure, Ms. Bates. I do hope that Hannah will find her way safely home.”

  “I intend to see that she does,” Josie answered.

  “I doubt there isn’t much you want that you don’t manage to get,” Ambrose said.

  “That is a true statement, Senator.”

  “You see, even politicians tell the truth once in a while. I will keep you in my prayers. We will do what we can.”

  Josie took his prayers and his promise with a grain of salt. She didn’t need either. Government’s wheels turned too slowly to help and if God were smart he would watch over Hannah like a hawk. If he didn’t, Josie would make sure there was hell to pay even in heaven.

  The senator withdrew his hand but Josie clasped his in both of hers, feeling the need to keep him close. For the first time, Patriota seemed to see her in all her complexity. There was something in his expression – something so fleeting Josie would be hard pressed to describe it – that told her she was not imagining this nagging deja vu. But he was impatient so she said the first thing that came to mind in order to keep the dialogue going.

  “I could help that man.”

  Ambrose Patriota’s countenance turned brittle. Like a children’s game, his left hand came atop hers. The senator, she was sure, always made sure his hand was on top. It was that person who made the rules and dominated the play. With a slow smile, he let her go.

  “Security will do anything that is necessary. Isn’t that correct, Eugene?”