• • • •
The television played inside his office, FOX News declaring Governor Thomson the winner in state after state. The election was moments from being called.
Pope was sitting on his balcony having a post dinner drink when the call came in. He looked at the display on the satellite phone and momentarily questioned whether to take the call. Pope punched the button and said, “Why are you calling me?”
“Foche is alive and gave McRyan and Wire everything on you. Kristoff was shot by your man but the police in turn shot that man and got a dying declaration from Kristoff that you were ‘the Bishop.’ They have the dying declaration on video and Foche confirmed everything. They’re coming for you right now.”
• • • •
The FBI set up three blocks away. In addition to the eight agents now watching the house on all four sides, Mac and Wire were meeting up with another twenty agents, as well as four officers from the Clearwater Police Department. The reconnoiter of the mansion revealed a two-man security detail with two house staff inside. The two men on the security detail were strapped with nines but otherwise wouldn’t be a problem, not with twenty agents coming on the property en masse. The FBI’s Local Agent-in-Charge was named McHugh and he didn’t plan anything fancy.
“Ms. Wire, do you have the warrant?”
“Right here.”
“All right then,” McHugh said. “We’ll go up to the gate, present the warrant and get on the property.”
Mac and Wire jumped into a sedan with McHugh and another agent and they drove the three blocks to Pope’s Clearwater estate.
• • • •
Pope watched the motorcade come down the street, with police units blocking the road in both directions. He walked across the hall to the back of the house and noticed the Coast Guard cutter sitting off the shoreline.
• • • •
The warrant was given to the security guard at the property gate. He read the warrant and opened the gate. McHugh’s driver charged up to the front of the house. Mac and Wire burst out of the backseat of the sedan and followed McHugh who pushed right in the front door. “Christian Pope,” McHugh bellowed. “It’s the FBI, we have a warrant for your arrest.”
A gunshot came from the second story.
“Ah shit,” Mac growled as he jumped up the stairs two at a time, his Sig Sauer drawn. At the top of the steps, Mac turned right down a long hallway, carefully working his way down the hall, Wire right behind him. They found Pope in the last room on the left, sitting in a chair, a revolver sitting on the floor, a gun shot through his mouth and out the back of his head and blood splattered over the glass windows looking out to the Gulf of Mexico.
Mac holstered his gun as he looked at the wound.
In the corner, the television was on the FOX News Channel. Vice President Wellesley was speaking to his supporters, conceding the election to Governor Thomson.
Mac looked away from the television and back to his partner.
Wire, her eyes moist, disgustedly stuffed the warrant into Pope’s dress shirt pocket and muttered, “You got off easy.”
• • • •
Within a half hour, an FBI forensics team took over the crime scene and was collecting evidence, not that there was much to take. Pope committed suicide.
Mac didn’t feel any great joy as he watched Governor Thomson accept his victory. A good man had won and Mac hoped he would be a good president. However, as he watched the governor give his victory speech with the excitement of the crowd oozing through the television, he couldn’t help but feel let down.
After expending so much for the last week, to not have the satisfaction of slapping the cuffs on Pope left him feeling unsatisfied. Pope wouldn’t be made to answer for his sins. He took the easy way out. He was pleased the governor won and he knew Sally would be ecstatic. She looked absolutely radiant, standing in the background, beaming a broad smile and pure joy as the governor gave his victory speech. That brought a small smile to his face. He wanted to get back to her.
Thomson finished his victory speech and Mac turned away from the television. To occupy his time, Mac interviewed the house staff, which consisted of two housekeepers, a man and a woman, husband and wife. Their general responsibilities were to look after the estate year around, even when Pope was not around. The woman generally cared for the interior and the man the exterior.
“How did Mr. Pope seem this evening?” Mac asked.
“Fine,” the wife replied. “He requested supper like he normally does when he stays. He’s never real talkative when he’s here but when I brought up his meal and set it on the table outside his office he seemed in good spirits, said good evening and thank you. It was normal.”
“When did he arrive here?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” the husband responded. “He arrived, told us what he would like for dinner and asked us to show in his guest when she arrived.”
“Who was his guest?”
“A woman, a model, I think,” the woman replied. “Her name was Veronica, very pretty and she usually came around when he visited the house here. She stayed for dinner and the night. She was here this morning, they had breakfast and swam in the pool and she left in the middle of the afternoon.”
“And this was normal when he came here?”
“Yes,” the couple replied in unison, nodding their heads.
“And again,” Mac asked, “today everything seemed normal? He didn’t seem down or depressed. He didn’t seem like a man about to take his life?”
They both shook their heads.
“And when did you take his dinner up?” Mac asked the wife.
“About an hour before you arrived.”
“Did you know he kept a gun in the house?”
The housekeepers looked at each other, fear growing in their eyes.
“Relax,” Mac said calmly. “You’re not in any trouble here. Please just answer my question, did you know he kept a gun in the house?”
“Yes,” the husband replied knowingly. “He kept it in his desk in the office.”
Something didn’t add up to Mac. Pope went from a normal evening to committing suicide in the blink of an eye.
He spent the next few minutes wandering the house, looking in the rooms, checking out the furnishings. On the patio, outside a small den on the main level, he found Wire sitting in a patio chair, looking out to the ocean, alone in her thoughts. Pope’s suicide deflated her, denying her the chance for true justice and justice for McCormick’s mother. It didn’t look like she wanted company at the moment and Mac obliged.
As he walked back up to the second floor, he strolled into the home office, which sat next to the master suite where Pope shot himself. The office was spacious, outfitted with a large wood desk, two soft chairs in front of the desk as well as a large sitting area around an ornate coffee table. Other than the bank of tall windows overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, the other walls contained mahogany bookshelves filled with classic books, fine art and worldly trinkets. Mac walked the bookshelves, admiring the fine furnishings.
The desk drew him in. On top of the desk sat a laptop computer and some random papers. The papers mostly consisted of information regarding the elections, with polling data that might as well have come from inside the Wellesley campaign. Mac was certain that in time it would be found that Pope was pouring millions into various Super PACs in addition to his attempts to manipulate the election results. Not that all that mattered much now.
He sat in the desk chair and turned to look out the windows.
Something was gnawing at him.
Did Pope really just see them coming and knew the end was near, or did he know more?
Sitting next to the desk was a briefcase. He picked it up and put it on top of the desk and opened it. “Well lookey here.”
It was a military-grade satellite phone. “Did you get a phone call?” Mac quietly muttered.
Mac walked back downstairs to the housekeeper and her husband. “Did Mr. Pope rec
eive any phone calls in the hour before we arrived?”
“Not on the house phone,” the wife answered. “No calls that way.”
Mac went back up stairs and corralled the forensics team working the bedroom to follow him. “Tag this and let’s get it looked at,” Mac ordered. “It’s a satellite phone. I need to know if he’s been talking to anyone else and, if so, who.”
The tech took out her camera and started taking pictures.
Mac took out his cell phone and punched the number he was looking for. They’d talked twenty minutes ago and it was time for another conversation. The man answered on the second ring: “Director Mitchell. I had a thought …”
• • • •
Mac sipped his Vodka Tonic and fell back into his soft leather airplane seat. “We did good, Dara Wire,” Mac said, raising his glass.
“We did at that, Mac McRyan,” Wire replied, returning the toast.
They each took a long sip of their drink and silently thought of the events of the last week.
“I’m just bitter about Pope,” Wire complained after a minute. “I wanted that bastard so bad.”
Mac nodded. “You never know, we might still get some justice,” he said, thinking about the last conversation he’d had with FBI Director Mitchell before he got on the plane. Pope had indeed gotten a phone call. The only question was from whom.
• • • •
At a little after 2:00 a.m., Mac pushed his way in the back door of the house and dropped his duffel bag in the laundry room off the back of the kitchen. Despite his three drinks on the plane, he wasn’t ready to be done. In the wine rack on the counter he found a great Pinot Noir. He opened it and poured himself a glass, held it to his nose to breathe in the aroma and took a long satisfying sip, swirled the glass and took another, letting the wine slowly flow down his throat, gently warming his insides. As he set his glass down on the center island, he noticed headlights pulling up in front of the house. Thirty seconds later Sally burst in the back door.
They stood and stared at each other.
“You look so happy,” Mac said with a slight smile. Then his head dropped. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you tonight.”
“You just look … so … tired,” Sally replied sympathetically, but then she smiled. “But I’m so proud of you.”
He smiled tiredly at the compliment. “You know,” Mac said quietly, “four days ago we toasted to life altering events. Then all this happened and we never finished …”
She ran to him and they embraced, kissing each other deeply. He slid her jacket off and tossed it away while pushing her up against the stainless steel refrigerator. He leaned down and kissed her neck while sliding up her skirt and lifting her up. Sally wrapped her thin legs around his waist and moaned as she grinded against him.
He leaned back and pulled open her white silk blouse. He freed her breasts from her bra and dove into them, getting lost in them, breathing her wonderful smell in and reveling in her body’s response to him. He moved his mouth back up to hers, taking her in, kissing her passionately as she ran her hands through his hair. After a minute, Sally let her legs loose of him and pushed him back against the center island. She quickly pulled his v-neck sweater over his head and then kissed him again.
“We should …” Mac panted, “move this … upstairs …”
“Yeah,” Sally gasped, catching her breath, grabbing his hand and dragging him quickly from the kitchen, “… yeah, we should.”
Forty-five minutes later they rested naked on their bed, only covered by the bed sheet. Sally laid her head across his chest, lightly running her fingers over his stomach, tracing around his navel with her right index finger.
They never made it to the bedroom for the first round, giving into each other halfway up the stairway to the second floor. “How the banister held us I’ll never know,” Mac remarked, laughing.
Sally giggled, “That required real trust on my part. My little bare butt was suspended ten feet over the dining room. I could practically reach the chandelier.”
“I work out,” Mac answered confidently. “I had you all the way.”
She turned her face up to his and kissed him lightly. “I know you did. But you know what was even more impressive?”
“What?”
“Your turn around time for round two once we got here to the bed was like what, a minute?”
Mac laughed again, “That was all you, babe. That little twisting maneuver you made with your hips? Oh my God, you have to do that again. Now that was amazing.”
She rolled on top of him and looked him in the eyes. “What a week, huh?”
“What a week,” he replied, running his fingers lightly down her back.
“The Judge offered me a job tonight,” Sally said.
“In the White House?”
“Yes.”
Mac cackled. “Excellent timing, Kennedy. You have me all sexed up and happy and then you spring it on me we’re moving to DC.”
They both laughed happily and then she pecked him lightly on the lips. Then seriously he said: “Congratulations, babe. The White House is an absolutely amazing accomplishment.”
“I was worried about how you would react?” she replied quietly, a little uncertain.
He moved his right hand to her face, holding it lightly, looking her in the eye, smiling, “Honey, I would never deny you this.”
She smiled lightly and kissed him softly, caressing his face with her hands. “I love you.”
“Prove it,” Mac answered, looking her in the eyes. “Prove it all night.”
CHAPTER FORTY
“Justice at last.”
Friday, November 8th
“Go away,” Wire groaned at the ringing of her doorbell. The bell rang again and she pushed herself out of bed. She checked the alarm clock and it was just past 10:00 a.m. Her head was pounding. She quickly grabbed some sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
The funeral for Sebastian was yesterday in St. Paul, a gigantic political affair. It was unavoidable that the service became a political event with speeches by the president, the Judge and other political dignitaries. Those people gave the event a grand levity yet their presence and the size of the crowd attending inside and outside the St. Paul Cathedral seemed to miss the mark in properly celebrating Sebastian’s life. Sebastian’s life was about more than just politics. Politics was the focus of the service and the focus of the eulogies but he meant something entirely different to Wire. He was a friend and confidant. Sebastian helped her off the mat in her darkest hour and it had nothing to do with politics. He was not only a good political operative, but an even better person. Other than the remarks of the Judge, little of that came out in the eulogies. She had walked away from the Cathedral a little let down. The send off didn’t reflect the man.
McRyan must have sensed that as well.
After the funeral, Mac took her, Sally Kennedy and Kate Shelby to his family bar for a small impromptu Irish wake to properly send off Sebastian. The three ladies sat around the table laughing and telling stories about Sebastian while Mac made sure there were plenty of pints of Guinness and Irish Car Bomb shots to go around. That was part of her problem this morning. Between the Irish wake, the three vodka tonics on the long flight home and the two glasses of Chardonnay she drank when she got home, she felt like she’d gone fifteen rounds. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry and she just wanted to stay in her warm bed but the unrelenting ringing of the doorbell pushed her down the stairs.
She angrily opened the front door to find Mac. Wire was dumfounded, “Mac? What the…”
He held up two large Starbucks coffees. “I thought you might need a Bloody Mary and an ice pack but then I thought the better of it and got you coffee instead.” He quickly appraised her condition. “I definitely think I made the right call.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked as she waved him inside.
“I have a present for you,” Mac answered as he walked in, handing her the coffee as he passed by.
“A present?”
“Yeah, but to see it you have to change clothes,” he said. “We have a meeting at the Hoover Building with FBI Director Mitchell.”
An hour later, Mac and Wire were admitted to Director Mitchell’s office. Mac didn’t tell Wire what the meeting was about other than she would want to come and it would make her day.
“Dara,” the director began. “After Christian Pope killed himself, your partner here thought something was off.”
Wire looked at McRyan, who’d never said anything about it to her. “Did he now?”
Mac shrugged, “Call it a hunch. You didn’t get to slap the cuffs on Pope and were pretty disappointed. I didn’t want to say anything about this unless it amounted to something.”
“And it amounted to something?” Wire asked, looking over to the director.
“It did. McRyan here found a satellite phone in Pope’s office which he had us check. It turns out that about fifteen to twenty minutes before you arrived at Pope’s house and perhaps minutes after I gave my briefing to the president and the campaigns about the impending arrest of Pope, Mr. Pope got a phone call from someone. We were able to trace the call.” Mitchell maneuvered his mouse. “The call was made from a burner phone, this burner phone,” the director said, holding up an evidence bag. “It was made from the lobby of the Hay Adams Hotel. We found the burner phone in the garbage can. We were able to lift prints and we also were able to get video of its use. Let me show you who spoke on it and then threw it in there after calling Pope.”
The director played the surveillance tape.
Mac smiled, knowing what was coming.
Wire watched and then her eyes went wide, “No way.”
The FBI director smiled and reached inside his desk for an FBI badge, “Dara, how would you like to be temporarily reinstated for the day?”
• • • •
Mac leaned back against the FBI sedan with his arms folded while he watched Wire and two other FBI agents arrest the vice president’s son, Donald Wellesley Jr., on the steps of his Georgetown condominium. The weasel had once cost Wire an undercover informant and then her FBI career. He’d denied Wire the satisfaction of arresting the man who had been responsible for Sebastian McCormick’s death. However, she got the last laugh, arresting him for the phone call to Pope. Donald Wellesley Jr. would be going to jail.
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