by David Hearne
The hundreds of mourners attending Frank’s funeral, heard his grieving parents Nancy and Nicholas, and his pregnant wife Diane, speak of their grief. Their words had individuals from all backgrounds, wiping their eyes and holding their mouths. Sorrow and anger were present in equal measure.
When a flock of doves were released into the sky, Frank’s mother wept openly. Balloons were also released as a symbol of peace and hope for the future, and as a sign of the community’s support for the family, said Frank’s dad.
The graveside service was even more emotional. It had poured just before Frank’s casket was lowered into the ground and now the gravestones glistened from the falling rain. A softer rain now washed away the gloom of the day and hid tears that oozed from swollen eyes.
When it was over, Frank Payne’s graveside service had been a somber affair buffeted by gusts of wind that wisped away the sound of sobs and occasional curses like some supernatural censor.
Escorted by her husband, Katherine hastened back to their limousine. Ira, holding an umbrella, tried to shield Katherine, but the wind-driven rain still sprayed her face with droplets that helped conceal her tears.
By the time Frank Payne’s casket rested at the bottom of the grave, his family, friends and other mourners were back in the sanctuary of their vehicles. But even buffered by metal doors and thick glass windows, a coldness apart from the weather permeated the air of all who had attended the service. Not from the rain or the gray skies swirling over the cemetery. Something spiritual. No one was free of it.
It affected Katherine deeply. Perhaps it emanated from the sadness of the shattered dreams Frank’s death had caused. Or the spreading poison against the murderer festering in the minds of those who loved Frank.
Inside the Senator’s limousine, Ira tried to console Katherine while they waited for Pamela Tutton. Pamela had been Frank Payne’s right hand political strategist and had accompanied the Laforges to the funeral. Ira held Katherine tightly, but his actions seemed in vain as her body continued to convulse in silent weeping. Here in his arms she could grieve safely without fear of exposure or ridicule from the media. The flowing tears were a needed catharsis for the raging emotions she had stifled since Frank had been so brutally murdered. His gaping throat wound, the knife buried deep in his face, and all that blood was a nauseating vision that haunted her.
For the last few days, bitter grief had gripped Katherine. In her tired, agitated state she struggled to suppress an unendurable nightmare of Frank’s restless spirit attempting to escape from his fresh grave. A damp place that grew darker and more permanent as each shovel of dirt and clay blanketed his casket.
Ira held Katherine tightly and whispered, “Sweetheart, you need to get control of yourself. Pamela will be here shortly. You must be strong. It is time to think of the living; of those Frank’s murderers are trying to quiet.”
Katherine shuddered. When she answered, her voice was little more than a whimper. “You’re right.” She shook her head contritely. “But, I feel so guilty that he died for something I started.”
“Frank died for what he believed in,” Ira retorted. “He was not doing this just for you. Honey, you were often marching to his orders. He set the tempo of this race and certainly after all that has happened to both of you, he was well aware of the dangers that hound you. You need to remember that, if what you were doing was not working, you wouldn’t be a threat to them. What you are saying and doing is scaring the shit out of someone, and that means you probably do have a chance to win.”
Katherine managed a calming breath. Looking out a side window of the limousine she blinked through a mist of tears. Suddenly, she saw another face looking back, a face fuller, younger with hair flaying the air as the tempestuous weather flung it about. The rain had become a downpour again, and it thundered on the roof of the limousine. Katherine stoically forced her thoughts away from the lingering image of Frank Payne’s mutilation and the horrible note left pinned to his face. The vulgar harsh note that warned, “QUIT THE CAMPAIGN, BITCH. OR NEXT TIME THIS WILL BE YOU.”
Kat’s reddened eyes tightened as her resolve hardened. Ira kissed her gently on a moist cheek as Pamela Tutton rapped on the limousine’s window. He released the door’s lock and a feminine voice greeted them, “I hope I didn’t delay you too long?”
“Get in out of the wind and rain,” Kat urged, “before you soak all of us.”
Pamela stepped into the limousine, closed her dripping umbrella as she slipped into the plush seat opposite Katherine and Ira. A Secret Service agent peered in the open door, shielded any avalanche of rain with his umbrella, and tersely gave Katherine a status update before he closed the door behind Pamela.
Katherine had always applauded Frank’s choice for his assistant. The petite blond had a reputation for tenacity and perseverance and already had established a remarkably successful career of enviable accomplishments: a former news co-anchor for a major cable network, a successful lobbyist, and a rising name in political circles.
“I thought I was accustomed to rain,” Pamela fumed, brushing her sleeves vigorously, scattering stray droplets from the fabric. “In Seattle we have more rainy days than sunny ones,” she quipped, “but this is a deluge! There’s no way to stay the least bit dry in this downpour.”
In spite of her depression, Katherine laughed softly at Pamela’s remark. Then Kat’s thoughts ran on to the days ahead. If she and Pamela worked well together, could they be the sparks to ignite the campaign?
The limousine lingered just long enough for the Secret Service agents to take their position and give the all clear for the return trip to the hotel. Against the gentle acceleration, Pamela’s head turned and her blue-eyes locked with Katherine’s.
“Senator, I need to tell you -- I admired Frank, and I felt privileged to work with and learn from him. Even more, I want to make those who killed him pay, and the best way to do that is not let them win.” A look of determination hardened her attractive face. “I hope I have read you correctly, Senator that we are going to press forward regardless of this tragedy. Frank would want you to press on with the campaign so those bastards won’t win.”
“Thanks for your candor,” Katherine managed in a broken voice. “You have a big job ahead as my campaign manager. Frank had been a master strategist who understood and mastered the nuances of Washington’s political scene. His job was not an easy one, but I do have confidence that you can handle it equally as well.”
“I’m sure you understand,” Ira broke in, “with Frank’s death, we can expect more such attacks if we continue the campaign?” He paused, let his warning penetrate, and then added. “You understand the danger to you?”
Pamela nodded. “I understand the risks involved, sir. But I won’t let acts of terror from faceless cowards stop what we have begun. Yes, I don’t want to die like Frank, but I also won’t be bullied by these bastards.” She paused, scanned their expressions. “Excuse my strong language! It bluntly expresses my feelings.” She folded her hands in her lap. “And speaking of being blunt -- if you and I are to build a strong relationship, it must be built on trust. You, Senator, must know what I think, where I stand. Which means being brutally open, can we agree on that?”
Katherine did not hesitate. “Yes, I believe we can.”
Pamela twisted in the seat to face Katherine and Ira. “Senator, you are inherently a play-by-the-rules person with a magnetism that communicates well to audiences. They sense your sincerity and dedication to your ideals. They can see you are as dedicated to the voters as you proclaim, and they respond well to you. That is your strength. Do you agree?”
Katherine sighed, nodded. “Yes, I hope it is. Who do you think is behind Frank’s murder?”
Pamela’s expression did not change, but a sudden tension radiated from her. “Oh! Senator, that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Unfortunately, it could be any one of many enemies your campaign has produced. First, I thought it was Big Oil. Because of the note and where Frank wa
s killed. But killing him there at the wind farm, just as well served those at the IRS, the tax attorneys and accountants while casting the blame on some other groups.”
Pamela smiled frostily. “But you certainly cannot exclude Big Oil as being responsible for his death. Your proposals on alternative energy could affect their profit margin, and that threat alone is reason enough to suspect them. Worse, they fear the American people. Critics have said – ‘Where the American people go, so goes the world.’”
She paused, looking for understanding in Katherine’s eyes. When she found it, she plunged on. “That statement may or may not be true,” Pamela affirmed, “but the major oil interests can’t afford to take the chance. In their minds anyone who can fire up the American people against them, make the public buy into your brand of progress, is too great a threat to discount, to underestimate.”
Knowing how to play an audience, Pamela paused, and then plunged on. “You want to know why? Because right now the United States has the level of technology to produce and support alternate fuels as a major source of energy. It’s just that the American people don’t understand the possibility. Not yet. But, if your campaign catches fire, the people will. That’s why your enemies want you quieted. This is where they do want to kill the messenger”
Ira glanced at Pamela and added, “Well, unfortunately our enemies are not just the oil cartels and major oil players. They are all the companies, which support the oil-related world market. Worse, most of Congress has been bought one way or another by oil companies. We’ve come to an era where you cannot find a member of the house or senate that is not receiving major contributions from oil interests. The oil industry has become American’s shadow government complete with free use of our arm forces to protect its products and profits. Our service men and women die to protect their profits, and billions in tax dollars are used to support their industry.” He sighed heavily. “The simple truth is--to stay elected today, you have to coddle oil and be their lackey.”
“It is a very gloomy assessment of our government’s marriage to Big Oil,” Katherine offered, “but as repugnant as it sounds, it is where we are today.”
Pamela ran her fingers through rain-dampened hair as she nodded. “I would better describe it as our government’s capitulation to Big Oil. If they need the strength of our arm forces, tax dollars and the blood of our soldiers to stay in business, then this is an industry that should be nationalized.”
Katherine shook her head. “That will not happen. But if we can support those alternative energy companies that can free us from Big Oil control, then their power will wane as fuel costs begin to drop.”
“Frank’s death was some sort of coordinated attack,” Pamela warned. “The power to the security cameras on the towers was killed just before he was murdered.” She paused, continued thoughtfully. “What you need to ask yourselves is this -- why go after a candidate’s campaign manager rather than eliminate the person who threatened them?”
The question caught Katherine off guard. “I really just felt they thought we would just cave in and go away, and Frank was accessible.”
“Let me tell you why,” Pamela pounced like a cat after a mouse. “Because you’re news. Kill a campaign manager and the public’s interest wanes after a few front-page days. But assassinating an American Senator has much longer lasting and far reaching repercussions.”
A quick hush answered Pamela. She let Katherine and Ira digest the idea, before she plunged on. “What we need to do immediately is augment our security with people outside the Secret Service. It looks like all the agents assigned to us are borrowed Treasury agents who previously worked with the IRS criminal investigation bureau.”
Her penetrating gaze searched their faces. “I seriously doubt that any of them would be willing to take a bullet for any of us. Especially if they feel your national sales tax would eliminate or curtail the current scope of the Internal Revenue Service. They would probably do little to protect you from your enemies. You can bet they worry that their jobs would be eliminated if your national sales tax replaces income tax.” She smiled frostily. “Plus I bet they are hounded and chided by other IRS agents for being on this detail.”
Ira twisted in his seat and stared out the back windshield at the trailing escort car. “Yes, I think it is time to find our own security people,” he agreed angrily. “Don’t look now, but we got guys sleeping on the job in our rear escort vehicle.”
“We need them to understand that the IRS will not disappear,” Katherine said. “Only its collection focus will change. It will become the agency delegated to collect sales tax.” Katherine nodded at her own logic. “I am sure there will be work for all of the fulltime IRS employees.”
“I agree,” Pamela said. “The problem lies with the greedy tax attorneys and accountants who are creating this distortion of what we are trying to accomplish.”
“I think it’s time to approach and sound out our agents about what a national sales tax means to them,” Katherine said. “Hopefully some of it will get back to others in their agency.”
As the limousine sped down the freeway, a hush fell over the three. It did not last long. “None of us are immune to assassination,” Pamela said. “Think how assassinating a controversial American Senator would appeal to extremist groups. They know it would buy them respect from other American political groups, be celebrated by executives in Big Oil and cursed only by the mainstream public. Think of the bragging rights their act would give them!”
Katherine’s eyes widened. “It is disgusting and frightening, but so very real. But I do wonder how they would expect to get away with such blatant…?”
“Oh it’s possible,” Pamela interrupted, “probably the actual killers would be disposed of immediately or die in the attack to prevent them from talking. If it was some radical fringe group, they would take total credit for the attack without divulging where the funding came from. There are so many powerful people that have selfish reasons to kill us, it would be virtually impossible to figure out who hated us the most. Whoever it was would make the chain of evidence stretch so far and in so many directions that it would be impossible to know who really was behind it all.” She shrugged. “For those at the top it would continue to be business as usual. They would face only a slim chance of discovery. But, with you dead, any threat your election posed to their bottom line would be over.”
Katherine pinched her lower lip thoughtfully. “You do argue a strong case,” she admitted.
“There are also other points to consider,” Pamela offered, “but they need to be discussed in detail.” She leaned back in her seat. “Which can wait until we reach the hotel. Yes?”
* * * *
In a common room of their hotel suite Katherine and Ira listened to Pamela Tutton’s recommendations. As Pamela detailed the expertise they needed for their new bodyguard detail, Kat thought immediately of Jim Anderson, her CIA contact in Iraq. Excusing herself from the discussions, she went to the bedroom, and called a special number from her cell phone.
“Katherine, it’s good to hear your voice,” Jim said immediately, and his voice sounded genuine. “I’m not sure what prompted this contact, but I will hazard a guess you somehow need my help.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I do hope you can help me, Jim.”
“Is it about the latest smear story about your old school buddy claiming he rescued you from Iraq a few days before we did?”
Katherine did not respond for a very long second “What are you talking about, Jim?”
“Well, it seems that a guy named Wilson something claims he picked you up in Iraq and sailed you all the way back to Galveston Texas. And to make it juicer, he claims you two were hot lovers?” Jim chuckled on the other end.
“Jesus, that is not funny,” Katherine exclaimed, “That is a major problem.”
“No, not really. There are thousands of people who saw you on television and in person in Iraq during the same time he is claiming you were sun bathing on his yacht
and having a little extramarital affair.”
“Was his name Wilson Lawson?” Katherine asked.
“I believe it was, yes, that was it. Do you know who he is?” Jim asked.
“Yes, he was a guy that I knew as a kid and kept in contact with my entire life. He was the only black man in Charlestown, New Hampshire, probably in the entire county. He was a great guy so, please don’t let anything really bad happen to him. Can money take care of this problem?” Katherine asked.
“Don’t worry. We will take care of the problem, and Katherine, you know better than to ever suggest money as a solution. If you were not with him, which you could not have been, then he is just lying and that can be addressed. So if the problem wasn’t Wilson Lawson, what is it?”
“Wow, under these new circumstances this really sounds odd, but I need men I can trust,” she told him without evasion, “men who can remain cool in dangerous situations. Most of all, men who will remain loyal.”
“Tell me more,” he encouraged. “What is your reason behind this?”
When she started, the words came in a rush. Jim Anderson listened quietly, interrupting only for additional details on specific points and situations. Strangely, when it was all said, she felt cleansed, almost as if she had confessed before a priest. And that seemed almost poignant. Short of dropping out of the campaign, she could expect no absolution.
“You have pen and paper?” he shot back. “Your man is Joshua Fitzhume. Ex-military, ex-Company, soldier of fortune, mercenary, and the best damn recruiter I’ve ever met. We use his services when the Company can’t officially get involved. If he stalls you, have him phone me. He has my number. Now, do you feel any better?”
“Yes, it looks like you are again my savior! And thank you.” Katherine responded.
“Be safe, Katherine.” The phone went dead.
Good God, she thought as she hung up the phone. This is a real war where I need my own private army just to survive. She pushed the absurdity aside and made the call, left the requested message, and waited for Fitzhume to contact her.
