by John Statton
The lush surrounds of the exclusive Charlotte Club managed to keep the rest of the world held safely outside. The Club owned its downtown block, with the Clubhouse set back behind an ornate gated entrance. The building was a stately old southern mansion surrounded by one-hundred-year-old oak trees. Chauffeured cars and cabs competed for space under its portico as they discharged the business community's movers and shakers for long deal-making lunches.
An arctic cold snap brought freezing temperatures to the city but, inside the Club, Billy Ray Lasher and his brother, Samuel, were seated at their favorite dining-room table near both the window and fireplace. Today, however, neither noticed the view, but instead each stared at their lunch companion, who was starting to squirm in his seat.
He was Beauregard Ryan, the powerful president of the North Carolina Senate. His family came from old tobacco money, but the industry was not what it had been, and there was not much money left. The heirs were forced to find gainful employment. A few, like Beau, were able to trade on the family's connections and make their way in politics.
As Beau listened, he thought to himself, Be careful. The two men sitting across from him represented power, not only from their campaign contributions, but from their hundreds of executives and corporations, and from their extensive network of conservative political groups. The Lasher brothers had expanded their original oil and gas fortune over the years by buying up the businesses of old money. They had concentrated their holdings in North Carolina and now held unprecedented economic power in this part of the world.
From Beau’s perspective, the Lashers were instrumental in funding the Republican Party and conservative candidates across the state. There were a lot of people who owed their careers to these two, including Beau. So, when they invited him for lunch without reason, it made him very suspicious. They wanted something.
Billy Ray fixed a dark stare on Beauregard and continued his lecture, “It's time for us to move to restore this state to its conservative principals. Now, y’all have been a commendable leader for us in the Senate, hope you've enjoyed our support.”
“Yes, you've been very generous to me, and if this next election cycle passes the way I think, we’ll have conservative majorities in both the House and the Senate.”
“That would effectively give us control over the state,” said Billy Ray
“Only if you add governor to the list. It's the cornerstone for exercising executive power. We need the seat,” replied Beau.
Samuel almost hissed his line, “That's what we want to talk with you about today. Beau, we've built this so North Carolina can be a paradise for business. But we need a firm hand at the top. We’re going to throw our support to Earl Ravana.”
“Who?”
“Nobody you've ever heard of. He's been the head of our Trans-Southern Shipping subsidiary, a regular in his local Baptist church, an active Rotarian, pretty wife, and two young, photogenic kids. He's who we want for governor, and we want you to support him wholeheartedly,” said Samuel.
They were telling Beau his career was over. Not something he would accept without a fight. He replied, “I guess you didn’t know, I kind of had my eye on that office myself. Why not let your guy have some time in General Assembly first? There is a lot to learn, and I'm sure he’ll be ready soon. I can put in a couple of terms and keep the seat warm for him if you’d like.”
“We would not like. Ravana is our candidate, and frankly Beau you owe us. We are calling in the chit,” said Billy Ray.
“I don't think it’s quite that easy, gentlemen. I've been assembling a team and people’s expectations are being raised.”
“Yes, we know you've been starting to make noise along those lines. This matter has come to our attention. It's the reason why we’re having this meeting,” said Billy Ray.
“We want you to not only stand down but also lend your team to Ravana,” said Samuel.
Beau choked on his wine, the glass half in his mouth. He carefully put the glass down, picked up his napkin, and wiped his lips, all without saying a word. Sitting back in his chair, he regarded the brothers across the table.
“Now, Samuel, you and I go back a long ways, you've always opened doors for me and provided financially. God knows I’d not be here today if you hadn’t influenced the leadership of your companies to chip in their support. I acknowledge my debt to you both.”
Beau looked from one brother to the other, and then continued, “But this I cannot do. I’m committed to being the next governor of this state. I'd rather have your support for my campaign, but I'm going to do it regardless.”
“Samuel, I think I just heard a man commit political suicide.”
“Billy Ray, you’re right. Beau, do you know what you are saying? Do you want to go up against us? You do owe a debt, and we are calling it now.”
The previously cool feelings around the table had dropped to an arctic level, mirroring the temperature outside.
“Gentlemen, my course is set. This looks like the point where our interests and paths diverge. I wish there were anything I could do to convince you I'm the best horse to ride into the governor's mansion.”
“Beau, you disappoint us, and we don't think continuing lunch is going to be appropriate with folks who have crossed over from friends to enemies. I hope you’ll understand, we don't wish to share a table with you any longer.”
“Guys, come on, we've known each other too long for it to end like this. There's been a lot of bourbon between us over the years.”
“That's just the point, Beau; you should’ve thought it through before you made this decision. Now you won't step aside to a very comfortable, honorable retirement in favor of our wishes on the matter. Our trust in you has gone. Good day, sir.”
Beau looked from one to the other and back again, assessing where the conversation had gone so badly wrong. He made his decision and knew he could persevere without their backing. He pushed his chair back and, placing his napkin on the table, he rose and bid them farewell.
***
Later that afternoon the brothers had Rainy on a secure line.
Billy Ray led off, “Damnation, we need to get rid of the ungrateful Beau Ryan. He's going to screw up everything we’re trying to accomplish in this state. We've got labor and the devil on the run. The damn run, you hear me? If only we can put in our team. We need to own the leadership of North Carolina, do you understand, Dolph? This is our test for the big leagues, are you ready to step up and lend a hand?”
Rainy gathered his temper and probed to be sure he understood what had happened at their lunch with Beau, “You’d describe him as inflexible? He's going to run?”
“Hell yes, haven't you been listening to what my brother has been telling you?” asked Samuel. “We need to take him out of the game.”
“Gentlemen, I authorized a look into his complete financial and ethical history, and except for enjoying his drink, he's left essentially no digital evidence of any impropriety. That's one of the values of us 'old timers', we just leave less of a computer footprint. Analog dinosaurs I suppose. Still, I can leave him under deep scrutiny to see if anything comes up we can use.”
“Not good enough,” stated Samuel.
Rainy said, “We can get nastier, manufacture evidence of greed and venality on a scale that would make him unelectable, but it’s going to take time to plant properly. When do you need this to happen?”
“That’s not it either, he needs to go,” said Billy Ray.
“You’re asking for permanent retirement?”
“He's a threat,” emphasized Samuel.
Not caring, because he knew how he would handle the problem, Rainy easily capitulated, “I'll get it done. Now, let's discuss the NetSecure contract.”
“The Ravana campaign signed. Can you control this election for us?”
“You can handle sculpting pre-election public opinion in editorial boards and social media to highlight a tight race. There is not a lot of polling, and any conducted will show very clos
e results. That opens expectations your underdog could win. Thanks to you getting that bill enacted last session for voting system upgrades across the state, over eighty percent of your voters are going to be going to casting votes on one of three systems we've infected and now control. We can guarantee as many close counties as needed fall into your camp. Yes, we are sure you will like the results, it’s a proven system.”
Rainy continued, “I'm making arrangements to provide Blair Beretta as NetSecure’s lead on this project; he’s a key team member from our successful management of the British election.”
“Why not the principal?” asked Samuel?
“She's undeniably the most gifted hacker and team leader of her generation. From what I've heard she is a genius, a Bach or Edison in the cyber-world. But she’s developed a bit of a troubled conscience over using the election management tools. I believe we need a team who will run hard and not shy away from dirty. Mansfield vouches for Blair, but only if you show up to the party and put on a credible campaign. Do you have the right candidate?”
“Oh yes,” said Billy Ray, “Earl Ravana is right out of central casting, he will make one hell of a candidate and a first-rate governor. He's no early peaker; we can ride him the distance. But naturally, he will have no idea of our little assistance; sometimes you just need to leave the candidate in the dark.”
“Fine, gentlemen. I'll make sure Blair will be in touch with Ravana’s staff. Thanks for the contract, NetSecure providing computer system security for the campaign is an excellent cover.”
***
Rainy and Mansfield were engaged in one of their regular encrypted conversations and Rainy informed him the arrangements with the Lashers for the North Carolina gubernatorial race were confirmed. Rainy asked, “Are you still planning on using Blair for managing FIXISIN and SHAVEPOINT to support Ravana?”
“Yes, his early scouting of the necessary state and private systems shows this will be a piece of cake in comparison to the UK. He knows his way around the software and does not have the reservations I've got with Mariana. Frankly, he's a sneaky little bastard.”
“Which makes him fit right in, doesn’t it? Speaking of which, we need you to go operational for this one.”
Mansfield had a bad feeling about what was going to come next.
“For the Lashers’ candidate to step up, we need the president of their Senate to step down, and he's refusing to do it. I need you to reach out to O’Brien; it’s a permanent retirement situation.”
Mansfield could almost see Rainy dancing the Potomac Two Step. By having him make contact and direct the assassin, Rainy kept an important step removed from any actual orders. No responsibility could splash back.
He paused as he thought about what taking this step meant. It would be the first time he’d ordered others killed at Rainy's direction. It would be a line he could not uncross. He knew when he took the job this was one of the possibilities, and now it had arrived. It would firmly fix him in Rainy's orbit. He did not think his hesitation was noticed, and said, “I understand completely. I'll take care of it.”
Later, when writing in his encrypted journal, Mansfield described the conversation and the decisions made. Like many of his talks with Rainy, this bothered him deeply. Undermining American democracy and using murder to remove competing candidates sailed deep into uncharted water. Here there be danger, he thought. He typed his written misgivings in the screen's pixels, I’ve gifted another small but important part of my soul to someone who is very much like a prince of darkness. But by now, after so many moral compromises, there is little of my former self to object. I’ve cast my lot.’
***
On the old US Route 25 leading up into North Carolina’s Smoky Mountains, heading towards Asheville, the turn at mile marker 70 was a noted killer. Leading up to it, the road rose following the contour of the mountain, on one side a gorge and the other a steep hillside. A thin metal barrier lined the outside of the turn, providing more safety through its reflectors than its stopping ability. Behind that a long drop to the tree tops and rocks below.
The problem with this turn was how it came up suddenly, just after most drivers had put on a little speed after cresting the hill one hundred feet before. The road dropped sharply and made a left turn into a side valley. For any with impaired reaction times, such as caused by a little drinking, it made it easy for the highway to claim another auto.
Two days ago, Beau had received a notice from the State Motor Pool requiring him to turn in his car for service. All of the Senate’s members had their pick of cars leased for them. They received excellent care from the local dealership; the annual contract had been renewed for generations. Beau always got a new loaner when he turned in the car, and that afternoon, just before he had to drive to Hendersonville, was no exception.
The dealership's service staff had received an email from the Fleet Manager alerting them the senator would be coming in, and instructing them which new Caddy to provide as his replacement. The staff prepared the selected car and, upon his arrival, they handed the senator the keys in exchange for his. He walked out of the door, and there was Detroit's latest just waiting to be taken for a spin.
He did not see what had happened behind the scenes in preparation for his ride. By accessing the senator's email and the dealership's computer system, Seth manipulated him into a car of Seth’s selection. The service recall notice was faked. The appointment time entered on both the senator's and the dealership's electronic calendars had been done without help from staff.
The night before the scheduled service, a shadow detached from the dark fence and moved into the dealership’s poorly-lit back lot. Seth slid between the rows of cars until he found the right one. He entered the car with a tool that, in a few seconds, ran through Cadillac's wireless key codes until the doors unlocked. Keeping the interior lights off, he found the service access port for the car's onboard computer. He plugged in his laptop, entered the car's system, and dropped in his malware.
Beau could not know the malicious code was waiting until it hit a specific set of GPS coordinates on his return. He’d given a well-received talk at the local Rotary Club and was making a mental checklist of the things he needed to get his lazy-ass campaign manager to do. The chump did not even make it out to listen to tonight's dinner speech, one of the endless small group events Beau needed to attend to try and win the governor’s race.
He felt scheduling for the summer county fair circuit was behind. More importantly, he needed more polling and a better ground game, especially in Charlotte. He absently picked up a little speed as he ascended into the mountains. His mind completely focused on the campaign, the familiar mental autopilot of driving had kicked in to take him home. Without noticing, he sped past mile marker 65.
He felt a little surge of speed as he crested the hill before mile marker 70. It broke into his concentration and focused him on his surroundings and the speedometer. Although he’d taken his foot off of the gas, the car had picked up speed to eighty miles per hour. He stabbed at the brake pedal with his foot without any results.
He looked ahead and saw his headlights reflect off of the barrier. He tried to turn the wheel but without any luck. It had no effect.
At almost the last second, he tried opening the door and flinging himself out. But it was locked. He kept throwing himself against the door in the savage fury of a trapped animal, entombed in a speeding coffin.
The exploding gas tank drew attention to the wreck. The sheriff's office arrived to supervise and quickly established who the driver had been. The body of the senator was placed in an ambulance and taken to the county coroner. They got the badly mangled and burned car hauled up and towed back to the impound lot. Officials scrutinized both body and car for drugs or alcohol, an almost expected result in these cases.
The sheriff and his top deputy were looking over the accident report the next afternoon. Each had a copy of the findings and had gone through it thoroughly. Both were veterans of reviewing a lot of
these summaries.
The deputy remarked, “Damnedest thing, sheriff. The Caddy shot straight off the road and over the cliff. We've got a complete negative on the toxicology screens for drugs or alcohol. They rushed through the autopsy and no signs of stroke or heart attack. I'm reading that the car's systems showed it sped up, no brakes were applied, and the steering did not waver from heading over the edge.”
“Yeah, and it was a clear, dry night with temperatures above freezing,” the sheriff replied. “What are you saying?”
“Looks to me like we've got a driver in a clear state of mind applying the gas and deliberately going off the edge.”
“That's how it reads to me as well,” said the sheriff.
“What are we looking at?”
“I think you know. I got to talk to the family to see how they want to handle this. The senator was an important man in these parts.”
The sheriff's car pulled up to the senator's house and parked along the street. One of the senator’s daughters, grown now, but back to help take care of their mom, greeted him at the door.
He asked if it would be possible to have a few minutes with her mother and she showed him into the senator’s memorabilia-covered study. A frail, elderly woman was sitting up in one of the leather chairs with her legs stretched out on an ottoman, a light quilt covering them. She made to stand, but the sheriff motioned her back gently. He took a seat in the chair opposite, crouching on its forward edge with his hat between his hands.
“Ma'am, I'm sorry to have to come and have this conversation, but there are things we found out you should know, before the rest of the state.”
“I appreciate this kindness, sir. What’s your information?”
“We believe your husband's death may have been suicide.”
There was an audible intake of breath from the daughter at this revelation. The wife and mother just drew herself up and pursed her lips, waiting to hear more.
