by John Statton
“Look, it's a dangerous corner. It has been for years. But here is our thinking; this was not accidental due to drugs or alcohol. If your husband had been drinking, as we all know he did on occasion, we would have expected to find alcohol in his system, but he’d been meeting with Baptist Rotarians earlier in the evening, and had gone dry.”
He added, “Now, these cars have a little black box that can tell us about how the car operated, and it’s designed to survive impact and fire. We were able to recover it. It shows as soon as the senator crested the hill, he sped up and aimed for the barricade. There was no record of him ever touching his brake.
“Out of respect to the senator's memory, I wanted to offer you an option. We can file a report listing the probable cause as a suicide, or we can attribute it to an accident.”
Her voice got firmer, “Suicide or accident, are those the choices? Did you know my husband was locked in battle with the Lasher brothers? Does it matter they argued a few weeks ago and he felt threatened? Isn't this just a little convenient he’s now gone, and they can muscle their way into controlling the governorship?” Her voice crescendoed on the last accusation.
“Ma'am, with respect, there is nothing to substantiate such a charge. I've got to deal in the facts as they are, and this tragedy has no possible links to the Lashers,” he said.
With a quiet, sad voice she replied, “Of course not, sheriff. I'm sorry to have troubled you. A wife’s grief has colored my judgment. We appreciate your thoughtfulness in attributing this to an accident. I'd hate to mar his name; he left such a legacy.”
The daughter quietly showed the sheriff out. In the background, a TV was turned to Asheville's WLOS News 13. Their field reporter launched into an interview with the local Republican Party head. The reporter had her microphone in his face, the camera in for a close-up, and his name, Richard Cory, displayed across the bottom of the screen. “This opens up the race,” he said. “A lot of us were supporting the senator, and now we’ll have a little reconsidering to do. I’ve got to say, I've heard positive things about Earl Ravana from out around Durham. We all know this will be a tight race, but we’re confident we can turn close districts in the conservative’s favor.”
#
Chapter 9
Still Crazy
June 2015
Sander faced the new sun as he stepped forward and turned towards the gathering. “Paul loved wine, and beer, and, well, most hard liquor too. One of his talents was being able to keep his enjoyment of quality alcohol from interfering with his professional life. He would love to take Lucille out on the winding roads of the North Bay and discover a new winery. These were never places open for tasting, but he’d somehow charm his way inside the door, and the owner would inevitably start bringing out his best for this great new friend. It was just the kind of guy he was.”
Sander stopped and looked around the family and friends gathered at Paul's memorial. Early that morning they had left their cars before sunrise and, using flashlights, climbed the trail rising through the oaks to a flat meadow overlooking the town of Sonoma and the valley's vineyard-covered landscape, which spread out beneath them. An early morning hawk rode a developing thermal over the meadow, its wings outstretched, soaring.
He caught hold of his raw feelings. These were Paul's people; this was his tribe. It was nice to see Mariana had made it. He could see her standing in the back next to Paul's nieces. He did not try to catch her eye.
With pain in his voice, he continued, “Who could forget his ever-present Hawaiian shirts, I think he had the vastest collection ever assembled. Or his ability to turn a phrase, especially as it related to drinking. Who could forget a Paulism such as: “You can't fall off the floor.” He was the total, dedicated, professional geek, some would call it obsessive, and we just knew it was how Paul rolled. All we’re left with is trying to make sense of a horrible accident. One of the things he loved so much, his beloved Lucille, was the cause. For any of us here today, all of us who loved him, it's hard to understand.”
With that, each of the guests had their turn at invoking memories by stepping forward and sharing a story. Mariana joined in and talked about her first day in her prestigious Socially Responsible Computing seminar, where this big guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt was seated next to her. “I didn't finish my sandwich and had rewrapped it and stuck it under my seat. Suddenly this stranger leaned over, introduced himself with surprising charm, and asked if I’m going to throw it away, could he have the rest? It was the start of a lot of nights when Paul would show up at my place expecting to be fed. What else? I fed him. It was like taking in a stray puppy.”
She stepped back, and the group stood in silent contemplation, several watching the hawk spiral. Sander placed a simple velvet bag carrying Paul’s remains on the cairn at the edge of the hillside. Any of those who wished stepped up, said a silent goodbye, and scattered some of the ashes to the wind.
***
While on their way to the memorial, Mariana and Sander were each gearing up for the meeting to come. What do you say to your old lover after nine years? Awkward undercurrents of stirred up emotions seemingly flowed between them, even though they studiously avoided contact at the beginning of the ceremony.
Mariana remembered how they had split up. The raw emotional edge still cutting after all those years. It was after the welcome home from London, after the intense “I missed you” hug, and the even more intense, gasping sexual release following the hug.
She was left adrift for a moment, in bliss at the reunion, then a feeling of resigned loss pervaded her thoughts. The painful path forward asserted itself. Lying intertwined after making love, she acutely felt the need to get her decision off her chest. “Sander, I've got something to tell you, it's not going to be easy.”
He responded with a sleepy, “What?”
With a voice shaking with a repressed sob, “I can't see you any longer, I have to move out and cut off our relationship.”
Her words sliced through his drowsy state, and he was instantly alert. “What the hell, Mariana?”
She continued, “I want to explain, I need to do this because I love you.” Her voice just composed enough to say, “I've done some questionable things for our national security, things I can't ever talk about, and bad people could always get to me through you. As long as I’m with you, you’re in danger. I’ve got to go because I love you.”
He stood up and walked in a frustrated circle, “So, we run the risk.”
“No, you don't understand. I know things people will kill to either know or protect. You’re in danger as long as I carry this secret. Because I love you, I'm ending our relationship.”
“Wait, don't I get a vote in this? It's my life too, and I need you.”
“Sander, I know, but I'm working for the dark side now. I know this is the only way to keep you safe. You’ve got to respect my decision in this; it’s formed by things you can't know for your safety. We have to end.”
***
The next evening, she came home to an empty house and found his first edition, author signed copy of 1984 propped up on the keyboard and monitor in the study.
Opening it, she saw the inscription on the flyleaf, My Love, I wish there could be no secrets between us, but I know this is not possible. I can see the price you’re paying, but please do anything you can to avoid creating the world described by Orwell. I care about your happiness more than anything in the world and will return if you ever say it’s safe and want me back. With all my heart, Sander.
Upon reading his words, she sat dejectedly. With one tear after the other, all she could do was cry for the walls she’d erected around herself to keep her secrets and to make him safe.
***
Sander brought different memories to the meadow. He smiled as he recalled how they met. It had been a welcome reception for the new interdisciplinary Socially Responsible Computing seminar. He was a cocky senior and had arrived early. She was helping to move some chairs, wearing black slacks and
a white shirt—she’d taken off her jacket. He mistook her for someone working with the caterer and asked for a plate of vegetable slices to be brought to the table when she got a chance.
Deciding to have a little fun with the guy, Mariana returned carrying a tray. With a flourish of a hand and an “It's my pleasure, sir,” she placed it in front of him with exaggerated care.
Sander raised his eyebrow at her response and struck up a conversation. He was soon regaling her with tales of how he was going to be a major technology attorney and had been selected for this prestigious new interdisciplinary program. He even remarked it was too bad she couldn’t sit in on the seminar sessions and hear the things he had to contribute.
Mariana had made encouraging noises at the rare moments he slowed down. Every word of his designed-to-impress monologue just digging him deeper.
Suddenly Sander spotted the seminar's leader, Professor Wainwright, heading towards them. He excused himself from their conversation with a hurried, “Great talking to you, but I need to say hello to someone.”
Sander stepped out in front of her and stuck out his hand. “Professor, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Sander Bonham, and I'm looking forward to taking your seminar.”
The professor almost dismissively shook hands, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bonham, but I need a minute of Ms. McAllister’s time. I’d like to be a co-author contributor to her paper on countering power grid cyber-intrusion.”
Mariana gave him a smile over her shoulder as she departed with the professor. Sander knew instantly he was both an ass and he was hooked. It took him the better part of the first semester to get her to go out for coffee.
***
As the ceremony ended, the attendees did not linger and returned down the trail to the rest of their Sunday. After a few minutes, it was just Mariana and Sander staring at each other from a short distance. They edged closer, and then turning by unspoken agreement, sat on a nearby bench erected as some long-ago Rotary Club project. Sitting quietly next to each other, they contemplated the view.
“Hello, Sander,” she said softly.
“Hi. It’s been a long time, you look well,” came a tender-voiced reply.
“Well enough, all things considering. You were there when it happened? I think I read that in a news story.”
“Yeah, we’d just been drinking and chewing over some things bothering him at work. We walked out, he got in the car, and I walked away. The next thing I hear is an explosion, and I'm on the ground. He was just gone.”
“He always kept the queen in such high-quality shape,” Mariana mused.
“I know. It’s almost like one of those hits from The Godfather movie; I didn’t know it could happen.”
“But who guns down programmers? No matter how bad their code,” she said with a small, tired smile.
“I agree, the cops are supposed to be looking into it, but he had no natural enemies. Hell, car maintenance was always at the top of his budget. Maybe a new-car salesman felt like he set a bad example and put out a hit?”
“I think he would agree they should be at the top of the suspect list. It had to be just a terrible, horrible accident. Nothing else makes sense.”
“Mariana, I have to confide in someone, and you knew the two of us best. I’m concerned because Paul was freaked out about his work stuff. Maybe there is a kernel of truth here; maybe he was killed, a hit to keep him quiet.”
“What could he know that would be so dangerous? He worked for the damn phone company for Christ’s sake.” She put some denial of her own secret telco activities into her words.
“I don’t know, but Paul was trying to convince me that the government had engaged in an enormous capture of US citizens’ domestic communications; email, phone, everything. He thought he found evidence of this huge dragnet. Hell, if he’s right and it came out, the people involved are likely going to prison. For a long time. Keeping him quiet is a sizeable motive.”
“You think this is like a spy movie, when people get scared they have others rubbed out?” She shifted the conversation away from the data capture discovery.
He brought it right back. “Look, there are strict legal guarantees against domestic eavesdropping without a warrant. At no point did I see in the law it’s OK to install a splitter in a fiber-optic line and start reading our email.”
With that revelation, Mariana knew exactly what had been done and discovered. She had a sinking feeling Sander had it right, and a pretty clear idea who had authorized and carried out the installation. She doubted her organization would stoop to murder, but they dealt with a lot of shadowy agencies that trained a lot of killers. Sander’s point about prison would provide the motivation. Paul’s death solved an exposure problem for whoever hoovered up all of the illegal data.
Damn, she thought, If NetSecure was even indirectly involved with Paul’s death then I feel absolutely ill. He was one of my deepest and longest friends. Do I need to start thinking about Sander’s safety again? I went through the hardest thing I’ve ever done to keep this man safe. I loved him then, and in some way, I love him now. It makes me want to scream because it seems I’m frustratingly incapable of keeping him out of danger.
“Sander, you know I work in the world that could have reached out and killed our friend if it was motivated enough. I can't tell you it's not like a dramatic espionage movie,” her voice caught, “because sometimes it is like the movies. The awful parts.”
“Jesus, Mariana,” Sander exclaimed, still relatively softly. “What is this all about?”
“You can't ever know. If it’s what I think it might be, you can't ever try to find out. To do so would mark you as someone they might want to deal with, permanently.” Her hand reached out and grasped Sander’s arm with intensity. "I'm not fucking kidding. This is very real. People do dangerous things to preserve their secrets.”
“Yeah, well I believe in the sunshine principle when it comes to secrets hidden in the dark. If bad is happening, then, you know, I need to step up and shine a little light.”
“I understand, it's always been part of who you are. But I'm telling you, doing it this time could be dangerous. These guys are intense customers.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
“I'm not going to do anything reckless like lay out a lot of unfounded accusations. I'm going to do it like any competent attorney, take this slow and build a case. When I’ve got it correct, I'll have them dead to rights.”
“It's the dead part that scares me, and it should you too. Is there anything I could say to turn you away from this inquiry?”
“Not only is this in service to our friend, but it’s the biggest professional responsibility I've faced.” He stood and looked down at her. “Mariana, come on, if Paul’s right, this is a huge step towards a totalitarian state. East German Stasi kind of surveillance. There is no way our society would stand for this if it were made known.”
She leaned back and glanced up, he was outlined by blue sky. “I wouldn’t be too sure. I think people like their illusions of security. I think everyone already has a sneaking suspicion the government is reading his or her emails. In fact, I bet they’d encourage it if they thought for a minute it would keep them safer. Most people willingly trade off freedom for security.”
“Freedom is hard, I'll give you that. If you see something, you have to say something, you can't be a spectator.”
She stood and together they turned and looked out over the valley. Their conversation faded and they went silent. Each taking in the view and feeling the sun warm their face. It promised to be a hot summer day, but not quite yet. For now, the cool of the morning lingered on the meadow.
Sander spoke first to break the companionable silence.
“I've missed you,” was his simple, plain statement. Rendering himself vulnerable in his love for the woman standing next to him. Acknowledging the wide rift in his life that had never closed.
It was a surprise to her when she heard hersel
f gently respond, “I've missed you too.”
They turned to each other, arms reaching out, embracing in a fierce hug. Emotions warred within each of them; longing, love, pain. Mariana buried her head against his shoulder. Sander held her with strength and caring. Then, as if surprised by that much of a reacquainting, that much shared vulnerability after so long, they pushed back and parted. Nervously excusing themselves from further revelations, and with glances back, each left the meadow by separate trails.
Mariana drove back to the NetSecure company apartment in San Francisco where she occasionally stayed when in town. Located on the thirty-second floor of a new residential building, it had an impressive view of Treasure Island and the Bay Bridge. It was there, after dark, she sat outside on the balcony, in the Adirondack chair, bundled up in a warm jacket and blanket tossed over her legs; a custom she and Sander had discovered in a small restaurant down the coast where people waited like this for the tables inside. She looked out at the moonlight on the water and reflected on the past years, and her decision to leave their relationship. A difficult path to walk back down again.
She still loved him but was stopped by the logic of her first decision, the need to keep him safe. Time and circumstance had not changed those fundamentals. Her secrets were going to keep them apart. With this reaffirmation, she felt the familiar pain that always resulted from unlocking this door and peering at what might have been. It was time to go back inside.
***
The next day, Mansfield stopped by the Hall of Justice shortly after she got in. She looked up from her desk as he briefly knocked and strode in. He’s not a “management by walking around” kind of guy, thought Mariana. It was always hard to tell what his presence portended.
