And Bradley Chilcott was no idiot.
Jack placed his gun on the couch next to him and folded his hands in his lap. “Look at me, Brad.”
Chilcott turned slowly, rotating on the balls of his feet like the world’s oldest and most out of shape ballet dancer. It was clear he expected to have his head blown off at any moment. When he saw that Jack wasn’t even holding his gun, he wrinkled his forehead in confusion.
“You look awfully uncomfortable standing all stiff and tense over there, Brad,” Jack continued. “Let’s not be so formal, since we’re getting to know each other and all. Feel free to take a load off. Have a seat at your desk if you’d like.”
Chilcott’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. It was obvious he thought Jack was trying to trick him somehow. But he moved, ever so slowly, behind his desk and sat. The chair creaked and groaned.
They stared at each other for a moment and then, more comfortable behind his desk and emboldened by the changing circumstances, Chilcott tried to take control.
“First of all,” he said, “I have no idea what you’re referring to with the paranoid fantasy you seem to be having about my involvement in the kidnapping of some little girl.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so, but I’m not finished. The second thing I wanted to say is that I consider myself a reasonable man. If you stand up and get the hell out of my house right this minute I’ll consider not pressing charges. I might be willing to overlook this entire incident.”
Jack pretended to consider the man’s words. He put a serious look on his face and paused for a moment.
“That’s quite a generous offer,” he said, “considering I broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. That’s a pretty serious ‘incident.’”
Chilcott held Jack’s gaze steadily.
“You’re willing to just let bygones be bygones, is that it?”
“As I said, I consider myself a reasonable man.” The words came out hesitantly, Chilcott’s air of authority already beginning to fracture.
“Well, as much as I appreciate your very kind offer, I think I’ll have to decline. I worked hard to get in here and I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m not leaving until our business is finished.”
“Wh-what business is that?” Chilcott had never put his whiskey glass down and now he lifted it to his lips and took a sip that was more of a gulp. His hand was shaking badly.
“I’m here to help you.”
“Help me? How could you help me? Other than by leaving, that is.”
Jack smiled. He opened his briefcase and pretended to search for something. Then he muttered, “Ah, here we are.”
He withdrew a small, battery-powered microcassette player and tiny tape. Closed the briefcase. Used it as a small table upon which he placed the tape player.
He looked at Chilcott and smiled. “These things aren’t too common anymore. I had to go to a couple of office supply places before I found one. Everybody uses computer flash drives and similar devices now, but I guess your sadly departed friend Mike Hargus was more old school than that. But it’s okay, we all have to adapt and overcome sometimes, isn’t that right, Brad?”
Chilcott had gone silent again. He stared at the tape player like he’d never seen one before. His concern about what might be on the tape was palpable.
“Anyway,” Jack continued, “I suspected you might begin to experience sudden memory loss during our impromptu meeting, so I came prepared to address your amnesia.”
Chilcott’s eyes darted between the tape player and Jack’s face.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
“Imagine my surprise,” Jack said, “when I searched your chief of security’s body following our…disagreement…and found this little insurance policy.”
He looked sadly into the lieutenant governor’s eyes and said, “I hate to have to break this to you, Mr. Lieutenant Governor, but Mike Hargus didn’t trust you very much.”
He pressed the “Play” button without waiting for an answer and the sound of two voices filled the room. The speaker built into the cassette player was small but adequate, and the voice of the man leading the taped conversation clearly belonged to Bradley Chilcott.
“I’m telling you,” Chilcott said on the tape, “all we have to do is snatch that Tolliver girl and Sheridan will be putty in our hands. Killing is what he does, and once we have possession of his girlfriend’s daughter, he’ll have no choice but to assassinate Studds. Piece of cake. You can take that to the bank.”
Hargus seemed unconvinced. “There’s got to be a better way.”
“We’ve been over this, and there is no better way,” Chilcott insisted. “And the plan is perfect. Studds dies, the Tolliver kid disappears forever, and we get out from under an untenable position with regard to our future.”
Jack pressed the button to stop the tape. “There’s much more, of course, but I won’t bore you with all the messy details. I’m sure you’ll just forget them anyway, what with your memory problems and all.”
Chilcott sat frozen at his desk. He stared into space with his jaw hanging open.
Jack said, “Given the fact I was such an important part of your plans, please tell me you remember me now. I’ll be extremely hurt if you don’t.”
Bradley Chilcott deflated. He looked exactly like a life-sized balloon folding in on itself as the air was released. He hung his head, dropping it lower and lower, until it hung inches above his crossed arms on his desk.
“I can’t believe that two-timing, untrustworthy son-of-a-bitch secretly recorded us without me knowing.” He was mumbling and his words were hard to make out.
“I know, I know,” Jack commiserated. “Sometimes it seems as though you can’t trust anyone in this day and age. But look on the bright side,” he added. “That’s one guy who’ll never double-cross you again. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. Not in this lifetime.”
Chilcott’s head dropped onto his desk and he began wheezing as he struggled to breathe.
“Asthma,” he rasped weakly. “Stress induces it. I have an inhaler in my top desk drawer. Please let me unlock the drawer so I can breathe again.”
Jack raised his eyebrows, amused. “By all means, Brad. Knock yourself out.”
Chilcott reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a key ring.
Picked through it with trembling hands.
Found the one he was looking for and inserted the key.
Yanked the drawer open and dropped the keys on his desk.
Lifted out a Glock 19 semi-auto pistol and pointed it at Jack.
Said, “Don’t think for one single second I will hesitate to use this on you, Mr. Sheridan.”
His voice was suddenly clear and strong.
And filled with deadly intent.
42
Jack sat unmoving, legs crossed at the knee, gun still on the couch next to him.
He cleared his throat.
Smiled.
Said, “Well, this is quite the miracle cure, isn’t it? I’m so glad you’re feeling better. You had me terribly concerned there for a minute. Sudden-onset asthma. Very serious. Very scary.”
Chilcott ignored Jack’s remarks. “Now you listen to me,” he demanded. “You’re going to hand over that tape and any others you may have, right now. Then I’m calling that policeman outside and turning you over to him. I’ve been assaulted in my own home and I’ll not stand for it.”
“You want me to hand over the tapes.”
“That’s right.”
“The ones where you incriminate yourself, not just in a kidnapping but a murder-for-hire plot as well.”
“You heard me. Do it!” Chilcott’s gun hand was shaking like the weapon weighed twenty pounds, and his voice cracked from the strain of the situation.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you die, right here and now. It’s a clear case of self-defense. You broke into my home and attacked me and I had no choice but to defend myself.”
Ja
ck again pretended to consider Chilcott’s words. He pursed his lips and paused a moment and then nodded. “You make a compelling case, Mr. Lieutenant Governor.”
“I thought you might see it my way.”
“But I’ll have to pass.”
Chilcott’s face reddened and he blew out a breath angrily. “This gun is loaded,” he threatened.
“I believe you.”
“There’s a round in the chamber.”
“I believe you.”
“Then what the hell is wrong with you? You don’t think I have what it takes to pull this trigger? Is that it?”
“Let me ask you a question,” Jack said calmly. “Do you really think I would have gone to all the trouble of outwitting your loyal bodyguard outside and breaking in here, then waiting around for hours for you to return—hours, Brad—without searching your office thoroughly? Without searching your desk thoroughly? Do you think so little of me, Brad?”
A flicker of doubt crossed Chilcott’s face. “This drawer was locked,” he said, thrusting his jaw out defiantly.
“So was your house, and yet here I am.”
“Last chance. Eject the tape from the machine or die.”
“See, the thing about your gun,” Jack continued, “is that it feels the same in your hand as it always does because it is the same. Mostly. Same magazine, filled with 9mm rounds. It’s the same weight as always, right, Brad?”
“What are you babbling about?”
“But there’s one critical difference between your gun as it was when I entered this office and your gun as it is now. Would you like me to elaborate?”
Chilcott’s hand was now shaking so badly he clamped his left hand on top of his right in an attempt to steady the weapon. He stared at Jack, saying nothing, his eyes large and panicked.
“You see, Brad, the thing about that gun you’re holding is that I’ve removed the chambered round and replaced it with what’s called a snap cap. Ever heard of them?”
Chilcott stared, his face turning white.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ You see, Brad, snap caps are exactly the same as standard 9mm cartridges with one critical difference: they contain no primer and no bullet. So if you pull that trigger, do you know what’s going to happen?”
Still no answer.
“Nothing’s going to happen. That weapon you’re holding will do you no good in terms of killing me. It’s of absolutely no value to you in your current situation. My gun, however, will still fire, and roughly a half-second after I pick it up off this couch. I’m afraid I win, Brad.”
Chilcott’s confusion was plain. It was obvious to Jack he didn’t know enough about his weapon to know whether Jack was telling the truth or trying to con him.
Jack sighed. “Go ahead. Just pull the trigger and get this over with. We have important matters to discuss and I don’t have all day.”
Chilcott clamped his jaw shut and ground his teeth together. Then he jammed his finger into the trigger guard and squeezed.
Click.
“I told you,” Jack said.
With an inarticulate groan of rage, he threw the weapon at Jack.
It sailed across the room and missed him by three feet, smashing off the wall to Jack’s right and dropping harmlessly to the floor.
Jack never moved.
“Now that we understand each other,” he said quietly, “allow me to place my cards on the table.”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Chilcott mumbled.
“No, Brad, I’m not. As much pleasure as doing so would bring me, I am not going to kill you. Probably.”
A tiny glimmer of hope shone in Chilcott’s eyes as he raised them to Jack’s. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiled. “It means you’re going to kill yourself.”
43
“What?” Chilcott was dumbfounded. “I could never kill myself! Why in the hell would I do that?”
“At last we’re getting down to business. Here’s the thing, Brad. What I just played for you is a snippet from the original tape I took off Mr. Hargus’s body. Unfortunately for you, there are now multiple copies of this tape out there in the world. Even as we speak, one is making its way to the editorial board of the New York Times. Another is headed to the FBI.”
Chilcott’s face paled further.
“Both tapes should be arriving at their destinations—” he made a show of glancing at his watch—“just about now. When that happens, I think it goes without saying your life will…change. Your political career will be over, obviously, and with you publically declawed I doubt your long-suffering wife will stick around for longer than, oh, maybe five minutes. And shortly after that you’ll be on your way to prison.”
Chilcott had closed his eyes and he rested his head heavily in his hands.
“Unless I’ve very badly misjudged you,” Jack said, “you would rather die than suffer the kind of utter, abject humiliation in your future.”
Maryland’s lieutenant governor moaned, the sound low and hopeless and pathetic. But then he stopped.
Opened his eyes.
“Wait just a goddamn minute,” he said. He gazed at Jack with a bit of the cunning he’d previously exhibited. “You’re full of shit.”
“Really. How so?”
“You can’t afford to send those tapes to the authorities. You’re mentioned prominently in them. Hell, you’re the whole reason the tapes even exist! The minute the FBI hears your name you’ll be on your way to jail just like me. Except for one critical difference. I’ll go to Club Fed and you’ll do hard time, because I have influential contacts and you don’t.”
Jack was amazed at how quickly Chilcott’s entire demeanor had changed. Again. The second he’d sensed a loophole he could use to his benefit he pounced, and now he looked strong. Relatively speaking.
It was time to dash his hopes. “Please, Brad, try to keep up, will you? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“What are you talking about? I’m right and you know it.”
“You’re not thinking things through. It’s perfectly understandable, given the strain you’re under, but your reasoning is faulty.”
“How?” He tried to sound resolute, but some of the doubt had already begun creeping back into his voice and his demeanor.
“Think about it. I know you researched me extensively. You discussed that research at length with Hargus on the tapes. Thank you for that, by the way. I couldn’t figure out how either of you had ever become aware of me, but finding out you worked at the CIA answered that question for me. I’ve done more than one contract job for them.”
Silence.
“Anyway, given your experience in the intelligence community, I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you that I might have a few contacts of my own inside the same community.”
More silence, although this time when Jack glanced at him, he swallowed heavily.
“One of those contacts is an NSA employee named Ron Earl. Ron is what most people would consider a technological prodigy. Ron makes Bill Gates look like the village idiot. Ron also works for me occasionally on a contract basis, and do you know what he was able to do?”
Chilcott shook his head mutely. Jack didn’t know whether the gesture was an admission that he didn’t know what Ron Earl had done for him or an acknowledgement that he was well and truly fucked. Either way, Jack took the gesture as an invitation to continue.
“Mr. Earl was able to digitally remove all traces of my name from the recordings, as well as all traces of the Tolliver’s names. He assures me our identities are completely unrecoverable. Now I’m no computer whiz, Brad. Between you and me, I’m lucky to get the damned thing to boot up. But when someone like Ron Earl tells me those names are gone from the tapes, I believe him.
“So,” Jack continued, “when the authorities review the tapes, all they’re going to hear is you convincing your chief of security to kidnap someone’s daughter in order to blackmail the mother’s boyfriend into assassinating Maryland
Governor Jim Studds. Our names will come through as nothing more than static. White noise.”
Chilcott had begun breathing heavily again and Jack hammered the final nail into the coffin.
“Wow,” he said wonderingly. “Can you imagine how that’s going to play on CNN? What a gold mine for them, Brad, am I right? They’ll air those tapes over and over every hour for days. Weeks, probably. They’ll devote entire programs to dissecting the information on them. And then, once your criminal trial starts, they’ll do it all again. You know what vultures the media are. They’re relentless. But of course you’re well aware of that, aren’t you, Brad?”
The lieutenant governor’s eyes were wide and bloodshot and he struggled to gulp down panicked breaths.
He deserved no less.
Jack checked his watch again.
“Yeah,” he said. “My guess is they’ll be here to take you away sometime around seven or eight o’clock tonight. Certainly no later than nine. By eleven you’ll be the lead story on every news broadcast from here to Afghanistan. And the coverage will only get more intense from there.”
He smiled chummily at Chilcott, whose eyes had glazed over. He didn’t appear to be listening. “That’s a pretty good deal for someone who craves the spotlight as much as you. Hell, the best publicist in the world couldn’t buy that kind of coverage, am I right, Brad?”
Chilcott shook his drooping head. His steel-grey politician’s hair hung in a sweaty tangle over his forehead. Jack thought he could see a tendril of drool dripping down the man’s chin, but it might have been a trick of the light.
“Buck up, Brad,” Jack said encouragingly. “There’s a way out of this.”
The man seemed to have gotten very tired. He didn’t move.
“BRAD,” Jack said sharply, and Chilcott jumped in his chair. His nerves were shot. “Listen to me and try to pay attention.”
The murderous politician raised his head, slowly and only with seemingly great effort, the muscles in his neck straining. Finally he met Jack’s gaze with hopeless eyes.
Jack reached into his briefcase and lifted out a small round plastic container filled with pills. He lifted the container. Displayed it to Chilcott.
Trigger Warning Page 19
