Death of Secrets

by Bowen Greenwood

  He should have gone on to a staff job at the White House, or perhaps even a seat in the President’s Cabinet. But instead his candidate encountered a serious scandal, and needed someone to blame. Tilman found himself fired and his reputation blackened. He never managed another campaign. He left the trenches behind and founded Electron Guidewire.

  Tilman knew a bit about electronics, but that wasn’t his real area of expertise. His real specialty had always been making the political system work. The company he founded made most of its money selling gadgets to the federal government, and that was where Tilman excelled. His contacts from the political days proved to be his most valuable asset as one after another he found the right ear to bend in order to make a sale.

  Because it was so valuable to him, Tilman never entirely left politics behind. He gave generously to candidates, he maintained his contacts with old campaigners, and he consulted regularly with politicians who needed advice, whether about his old experience in the arena or his new expertise in electronics.

  It brought a grim smile to his face as well. The bastards who’d sold him out were now making him rich. Every time a Congressional subcommittee authorized the purchase of one of his products, it felt like payback.

  He’d been there when Vincent ran his first race for public office – a seat in the State Senate, and made sure that Electron Guidewire contributed to the campaign committee. The race for U.S. House which followed had enjoyed the maximum legal donation from EG, as well as Tilman’s support in the defense and intelligence communities, bringing in still more financial support.

  By then, their relationship had changed. Rather than teaching Vincent, Tilman could enjoy the spectacle of his lessons being applied. The young protégé had learned very well. His election to Congress not only proved it, it validated all the time both of them had invested in their relationship. The victory had been sweet, and the two men had shared it as old friends.

  "It’s going to be a close vote, Tilman. This much surveillance power is a political hot potato, but the intelligence community loves it. Question is, can you deal with all the bad press the NSA’s getting about privacy right now?"

  Tilman grinned. "You just have faith in the old master, Mike. No one knows how to work the system like I do. I’ll have ‘em eating out of my hand after I get a chance to sit down with all of them."

  Behind the grin, though, the political professional-turned-businessman fought back a snarl. There were people on the Judiciary Committee who had history with Tilman – history dating all the way back to his last campaign. Some of those Congressmen had been there to help point the finger at him, and turn him into a scapegoat. They would not do it again. Not this time.

  Unaware of his friend's anger, Congressman Vincent allowed himself a laugh. "You always were a salesman. The used car industry missed a great opportunity when you went into politics."

  "So," Tilman asked, patting him on the back. "Coming out with me tonight?"

  A frown spread across Michael’s face. "I can’t tonight. Something else going on."

  "Whatcha got? Fundraising reception, meeting with media consultants, what?"

  Mike stopped walking, eliciting minor grumbles from folks behind him who had to step around him to leave the room. "Some personal stuff, D.W. Let’s go grab lunch."

  ***

  Kathy picked up her phone and checked the voicemail. After listening to two friends suggest outings for the weekend, she played the third message. "Officer Sam Franken calling, with the DC Metro police department. I’m trying to reach Katherine Kelver. Miss Kelver, please contact me at your earliest convenience to discuss the report you filed regarding a possible homicide." He reminded her of the date of the incident and gave both his office and cell phone numbers before hanging up. Kathy hung up the phone.

  She muttered, thinking that whatever Mike wanted as far as police involvement, it didn’t look like they had a choice anymore.

  She picked up the phone again and dialed the cell number Franken had given her.

  "Franken, Metro PD," she heard after two rings.

  "Officer Franken, this is Kathy Kelver. You called me regarding the report I filed."

  "Right, glad you called, I’ve been waiting for you. I need to discuss that with you, can you come to the precinct office later this evening?"

  She hemmed and hawed. "Honestly, Officer, there are a lot of things going on in my life right now that make it impossible for me to predict whether I’ll be able to make it to your office tonight."

  There was a pause, and then Franken said, "Well, I suppose I could meet you down there, I’m off duty right now but I could come in."

  "Look, I don’t have transportation, and I have urgent business that requires me to be available. Couldn’t I just met you someplace closer to me? I’m on Wisconsin Avenue."

  She heard a sigh over the phone and then the officer named a coffee shop in Georgetown. Kathy agreed to the meeting.

  She set down the phone and walked over to the couch to wake John. He cracked an eye and grunted.

  "What’s up?"

  "The police are looking for me about the body. I have to go meet them. Wanna come?"

  "I better. Let me grab a quick shower before we go. I’ll be right back."

  While John cleaned himself up, Kathy placed a call to her roommate’s cell number. Her boyfriend Tony answered, Kathy asked for Colleen, and told her she wouldn’t be able to make their planned lunch.

  "That’s OK, Kathy. I’ll go have something with Tony. How ya doing otherwise? Enjoy spending the night at work?"

  "Um, I didn’t actually end up sleeping there, Colleen," Kathy replied. "I’ve got a really long story to tell you, and most of it you’ll have a hard time swallowing. I think I’d better not tell you on the phone. Let’s try for dinner instead of lunch, maybe. If I can get free, I’ll give you a call."

  "Now wait just a minute, Kathy. What kind of story is this? Are you OK? Don’t just leave me hanging like that."

  "Yeah, I’m fine. It’s been a close shave, though. It’s really too much to tell you over the phone."

  "Kathy, what’s going on? Does it have anything to do with that flash drive?"

  "Yeah, as a matter of fact, it does. Look, Colleen, I have to leave, but before I go there’s one other thing. Speaking of that flash drive, I have a name that might go with it, if that might be any help. Eric Harrison."

  Kathy could practically hear her roommate biting her lip. "Harrison? That name actually sounds familiar, but I’m not sure from where. I’ll think about it and get back to you. Call me when you know about dinner."

  "I will, Colleen. And be careful, OK? I don’t think it’s safe to start sleeping in our room again yet."

  Colleen harrumphed. "To listen to you, I’m afraid to even go outside. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry."

  John came out of the bathroom just as Kathy hung up, dressed and ready to go. They set out on foot. Before long they found their way to the small coffee shop Franken had specified. The place was crowded and cramped, but she saw Officer Franken across the room. She and John went over and took seats at his table.

  "Thank you for coming, Miss Kelver." Franken turned to John and asked, "You are?"

  "John Lincoln."

  "Miss Kelver’s attorney?"

  John’s eyes widened and he gave a short bark of a laugh. "Me? This look like an Armani suit?" He indicated the blue jeans and dirty shirt he’d been wearing since last night.

  "Whatever." The cop turned back to Kathy. "Miss Kelver, I’m going to be honest with you. Due to the complete lack of a body or any evidence of a crime at the location you specified, my chain of command believes I should issue you a citation for calling in a false alarm. Unless you can provide any further corroborating evidence of your story, I’m going to have to do that."

  Kathy’s jaw dropped. "What? You can’t do that! If you had any idea what I’ve been through over that…" She stopped, and thought about Mike. If she started telling the cops this story, she’d e
nd up getting him involved. Besides, would this fat slug even believe her?

  Heck, she thought. I don’t even believe this myself.

  "Yes?" Franken asked.

  She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing now. Maybe later…"

  Franken bit his lip. "That doesn’t do me much good with my shift commander."

  Kathy shrugged. "I’m sorry. I just don’t have anything I can show you, but I might find something more out soon."

  "You sound to me like you’re looking for something specific."

  Her eyes shifted away from his and over to John’s, where there was no help for her. "Nothing."

  "Miss Kelver, if something’s going on you should tell us. If you know of a crime, you’re required by law to assist the police."

  "I already did that, and you want to give me a ticket!"

  "Not if you can prove there’s a crime. It sounds to me like you might be able to. Or at least you might have some information I should have."

  She shook her head emphatically, but didn’t say anything. She was thinking of Mike. He had very strong feelings about keeping control of all this information. The cop stood up. "OK, then. I’ll talk to my commander. You may get a citation in the mail." He walked away after throwing two bucks on the table to pay for his coffee.

  ***

  Nathan Jacobs joined Mike and Tilman for lunch, easing into a chair and waving at the waitress for a cup of coffee. His memories of the hearing were unpleasant ones.

  The public and the press just hated his agency these days. That bothered him. He did the work because he wanted to serve people. But no one seemed to believe he was doing that. It seemed like everyone in that hearing saw the NSA as a threat, not a protector.

  Jacobs said as much, and Tilman nodded. "Yeah, well, the screeching about privacy intrusions went on forever, but in the end we’re going to be able to beat that."

  Mike grunted. "Not like I’m a hundred percent comfortable with how much electronic snooping you guys do."

  "Worth it, Mike. Better this than another September 11th." Tilman responded.

  "I know, I know, I've heard that a time or two," the Congressman replied.

  Jacobs chimed in. "Look, we all ask ourselves questions about it now and then. I know I do. I mean, how much surveillance do we really need? But what we do makes a difference."

  "Hey, you know I’m on your side. I’m just saying…"

  The businessman nodded. "Yeah, I know. National Security costs a lot, and not just money."

  Jacobs asked Tilman, "What can we do to improve our odds of getting this through?"

  Tilman replied, "I'm going to educate some people about the cost-benefit analysis. It’s slated for bright and early Monday morning."

  Vincent rolled his eyes. "What is it about the power breakfast that Washington likes so much?"

  Tilman patted him on the back. "Don’t come if you don’t want to. The main people I want there are the opponents."

  "That’s a relief. My scheduler was throwing fits. I have a PAC fundraising breakfast too that morning, she didn’t want me to have to shuttle between them."

  "Speaking of her, what’s got your schedule so busy tonight?" Tilman asked.

  Mike took his time replying. Tilman was just going to prod him when Mike finally spoke. "I’m in way over my head," he said, looking down into a lunchtime beer.

  Tilman kept silent, waiting for his friend to go on, but Jacobs asked, "What’s wrong?"

  "OK, this will sound crazy, I know. I wouldn’t believe it myself except that I’ve lived it."

  Jacobs raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Try me."

  "Thing is, Nate, it’s a lot more up your alley than mine. You guys know that girl at the club, Kathy?"

  Tilman grinned. "Of course! Anything involving her can’t be all bad news for you."

  "Well, yeah, it does have a silver lining. I’m getting to know her a lot better. But listen, she found this flash drive. She was walking home from work two nights ago and found a guy who’d been shot, and she goes to help him and the guy hands her this flash drive. She goes for help, calls 911, comes back and the body is gone. Then all of a sudden people are breaking into her dorm room, trying to kill her, and since she’s dragged me into it they’re trying to kill me, too, in the process. It’s like James Bond or something. They broke into my house last night, for pity’s sake! And we can’t even read whatever’s on the flash drive to see what’s so bloody important about it."

  Tilman gritted his teeth and clutched the edge of the table. Nathan gasped. "You got broken into? Was anything stolen?"

  "No, but the whole place is full of bullet holes! Bullet holes, Nathan! I had a gunfight at my house last night. I’m not crazy and I’m not pulling your leg! It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever seen."

  Both his friends blinked at the same time, and simply stared at him. Nathan was the first to speak. "Um, Mike… I don’t mean to be a jerk, but the girl is a cocktail waitress. Has it occurred to you that she’s got, like, drug trouble or mob trouble and concocted this flash drive story to get you to get her out of it?"

  Michael sighed. "Yeah, that would be possible, except for two things: one, I know the girl, and she’s aboveboard. You’ve just got to take my word for that. Two, the guy who came after us last night asked her specifically about the flash drive."

  "Seriously, Mike," Tilman said. "This is bizarre. You haven’t spoken to the police, have you?"

  Mike shook his head. "I haven’t yet. You taught me better than that. Control the story.

  "It’s taken me a while to get a grip on all this, you know? And I keep thinking I’ve got to manage this flawlessly, or I’m going to wind up all over the front pages with some kind of destructive headline about ‘Congressman and cocktail waitress in gangland shootout.’ But I decided this morning that I need to just call the cops and take whatever happens like a man. It’s a good job, this, but I’m not exactly ready to die for it, y’know? And after last night, it kinda sunk into my head that whoever these people are, they’d have no compunction about killing me. At least if I tell the cops, they’ll have some idea where to start if I get shot."

  Tilman shook his head. "Listen, Mike, I don’t want you to go down the tubes. A lot of people don’t want you to go down the tubes. First and foremost, you’re a good man, and it’s rare to get one of those in Congress. I’d like to see you stay.

  "Second – and don’t get mad, in no way am I suggesting this is more important than the first – your career is something more people care about than just you. You’re under thirty years old, wealthy, good looking and smart. The party sees you as an investment, and so does a lot of the political community. Having come so far at such a young age, there’s a lot that you might accomplish yet. You’re a real rising star, Mike, and I think you know it, even if you’re not going to admit it. If you blow your career now, lots of people are going to be mad.

  "You know what I taught you from day one," Tilman concluded. "If you don't control how the news comes out, you lose."

  Mike scowled, and Tilman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His younger friend always struck the balance between idealism and pragmatism somewhat differently. "None of which is to suggest you should let yourself get killed. Of course. But I’m sure between the three of us we can work out a way that involves you not getting killed, but also not going to the cops and ruining your career. Besides, if everything is as you say it is, this is probably way above MPD’s head anyway."

  Nathan spoke up now. "Tilman, I understand where you’re coming from about this. A lot of parties have pretty high hopes for Mike’s career, and frankly my office happens to be one of those parties. He’s a friend, and it’d be nice to have a friend rise to high places. But he’s also my friend, not just the NSA’s. And as a friend, that story of his tells me he’s in real, honest-to-goodness life-threatening danger."

  Nathan turned his gaze to Mike. "I think you’ve got to go to the cops. I mean, look. Whatever that flash drive is, you don’t go around
shooting at people for nothing, especially a member of Congress. To be honest, your James Bond idea is probably right on. It sounds like something espionage related, either government or corporate. That makes it actually my business in a way. I’d talk to law enforcement if I was you."

  Tilman snorted. "Are you kidding? Nathan, no offense, but working with the NSA, you of all people ought to appreciate the concept that you can’t trust the government. Mike, if you go to the law, a year later you’ll be getting a call from The Man saying ‘Vote for my budget or your constituents learn you’ve been chasing college girls at a night club with a bad reputation.’"

  Nathan sighed. That was a hard point to rebut after some of the recent revelations about government surveillance programs and their political ties. He felt it himself. If he let his mind wander at work, he found himself conscious of the stuff on his own computer he wouldn’t want the NSA looking at.

  Tilman continued. "Listen, Mike, between the three of us, we can think up something that’ll keep you safe and keep your career safe. To me, the obvious thing would be to pull yourself into a hole for a while – hide, and be impossible to find. Your first instinct was right, you can’t go to the cops. And you’re also right about being in over your head. If you can’t fight and you can’t call for help, the only other two options are ‘run’ and ‘hide.’ I’d try hiding first before running."

  "That makes sense," Mike said, looking down into his beer. "That’s the best I’ve been able to come up with too. I guess I’ll have to think up a good place to hide. Don’t be surprised if I’m not around for a while, guys."

  "Of course, there’s the small problem of being in session," Jacobs reminded him.

  "Yeah, missing a few roll call votes won’t help much," Mike admitted. "But it’s less of a scandal than going to the cops would be. I’ll have to work on that part."

  After a few moments of nervous silence between the three of them, Tilman muttered, "All this kinda makes me feel guilty for worrying so much about my own problems."