The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  “Don’t be so sure,” Vaughn shot back. “Never put anything past a Roosky.”

  “Aye-aye, sir!” Rikki giggled.

  “And stop hanging around Dave so much. I think that smart ass is rubbing off on you.”

  CHAPTER 94

  11 SUNNYSIDE CIRCLE

  MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 4:45 P.M.

  “You’re not as stupid as you look,” Vasquez sneered. “It took you a while to come clean about stealing this election, but I’m glad you wised up and cleared your conscience.”

  Marcus Boley lay in a pool of his own vomit, moaning and coughing and clutching his testicles piteously. Petrenko kicked him in the crotch again for good measure. Marcus promptly cried out and dry-heaved again.

  “No marks to the face,” Vasquez softly told Petrenko. “We want the world to know Mr. Boley is making this statement voluntarily. Isn’t that right, Boy Wonder?”

  Marcus wallowed on the kitchen floor, struggling to breathe. Once oxygen returned to his lungs, he sobbed loudly but nodded.

  “Good,” Vasquez said, strolling into the dining room. “Bring him in here and put him in front of the camera. We want this done quickly.”

  Petrenko roughly grabbed Boley and dragged him into the dining room. Kicking him in the small of his back, Petrenko said, “Get up and sit down. Now.”

  Boley slowly stood and Petrenko pushed him down into a chair at the head of the table. A digital camera connected to a small, sophisticated-looking microphone faced him.

  Vasquez returned with a wet washcloth, a hairbrush, a towel and a freshly-pressed golf shirt. “Clean yourself up. It’s show time.”

  Once Marcus was deemed presentable, Vasquez sat down within arm’s length of the camera. Petrenko burned holes into Boley with his eyes and cracked his knuckles.

  “Are you ready to unburden your soul?” Vasquez asked wryly.

  Boley glared at him, but nodded, placing his right hand on the table in front of him. It appeared to be fidgeting nervously.

  “No funny business,” Petrenko warned, as he tapped the pistol holstered beneath his left armpit. “Just spill your guts and we’re out of here.”

  Vasquez held up his finger, drawing Boley’s attention. After focusing the camera, he hit the remote and pointed directly at Marcus. “We’re rolling,” he mouthed.

  “My name is Marcus Boley,” he said, his right hand quaking slightly as he pointed to his chest with his index finger, then slowly moved both of his hands downward and rested them on the table. “I am the Berkeley County Clerk. By my actions, I have illegally influenced the presidential election results, causing Governor Royal to be credited with hundreds of votes that were not cast. In so doing, I have thwarted the will of West Virginia’s voters and stripped Senator Wilson of five electoral votes she should have won.”

  Vasquez de-activated the microphone with the remote. “I’m impressed. You are a quick learner. Now explain exactly how you deceived everyone, and we can let Congress decide how to deal with this mess.”

  “And don’t forget, Boy Wonder,” Petrenko spat. “No doctors, no cops, no calls to 911. You can’t remember anything about the people who recorded your statement. Deviate from that script an inch, and not only will you watch me kill your wife and daughter; I’ll also tie down your sister, jam a gag in her mouth, then spend a week ass-raping her until she bleeds to death or dies from dehydration, whichever comes first.”

  Right hand continuing to twitch, Boley’s lower lip quivered and he nodded twice.

  “Now then,” Vasquez said. “Where were we?”

  CHAPTER 95

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 7:05 P.M.

  “Your move, David.”

  Dave scanned the chessboard, trying to figure out what trick his father had up his sleeve. Why in blazes did he move that rook over there? Delicately fingering his knight’s head, Dave hesitantly lifted it from the board and moved it to another position without actually letting go of the piece. Seeing his dad begin to smirk, Dave reconsidered the move.

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with our new prosecutor,” his dad said without looking away from the board. “How’s that going?”

  Dave scowled and asked, “What are you trying to do? Throw me off my game?”

  “Like I’d need to cheat to beat you,” his dad guffawed.

  Finally deciding he could safely move a bishop without imperiling his king, Dave did so. “It’s been good. She’s so witty and gregarious. We have a lot of fun together.”

  His dad nodded, moving a knight toward the middle of the board. “That’s important. Everyone eventually gets old and fat. Life’s more tolerable if you enjoy the company of the person you’re with. God knows you never had that with your ex-wife.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” Dave muttered, staring at the board. What the hell? What’s he trying to pull with that knight? “I’m just glad that long national nightmare is over.”

  Glancing over at his dad, Dave noticed he seemed to have virtually no stress in his life. Did that stem from choosing the right mate? Or was he just lucky enough to be born that way?

  “Tell me something, Dad.”

  “Okay,” his dad replied, his fingers dancing atop a pawn.

  “When you were dating Mom, did you ever do anything stupid?”

  His father cocked an eyebrow. “Well, son … Stupid is a relative term. One man’s stupidity is another man’s highest level of intellectual functioning.”

  “You know what I mean. Something you look back and say, ‘That was boneheaded!’”

  “Well, would you consider breaking up with your mom ‘boneheaded?’”

  Dave gasped. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m afraid not. You see, we’d been dating about six months. I was young and feeling trapped, so I told her I needed my space and broke up with her.”

  “Wow,” Dave remarked. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, fathers don’t typically brag about their own stupidity. In any event, your mom handled it very maturely. No crying or screaming like a lot of women; she graciously wished me luck and went on her merry way.”

  “So what happened to bring you guys back together?” Dave asked.

  “Well, I’m many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Usually, that is. So it didn’t take me long to realize I’d made a terrible mistake. I mean, I missed your mom so much I ached to be with her. The problem was, by the time I figured it out, she was already dating someone else.”

  “No way. Who was it?”

  Dave’s dad frowned. “That’s not germane to the point of this story, which is to address your question about whether I’ve ever done anything ‘boneheaded.’”

  “Point taken,” Dave conceded. “Please continue.”

  “So I was feeling sorry for myself, wishing I hadn’t acted so hastily. I hoped she would forgive me and take me back, but I was terrified that if I asked, she might say no.”

  “That would have sucked. There would have been no Dave running around!”

  “That’s right,” his dad noted dryly. “Everything always revolves around you, huh?”

  “Forgive me for viewing this story through the prism of my own self-existence.”

  His father rolled his eyes. “Eventually, I mustered up the nerve to walk that plank because I realized I’d look back and regret it if I didn’t have the guts to try.”

  “Way to go, Dad!”

  “I convinced her to meet me after school one day, and I begged her to take me back. And after letting me twist in the wind a few seconds while she glared at me, your mom busted out laughing and said, ‘I wondered when you’d finally realize what a good thing you had.’

  “And the rest is history.”

  Dave leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. “That was a great story, Dad. Thanks for sharing it with me.”

  His father grinned, slid his black queen forward d
iagonally and declared, “Checkmate.”

  Dave’s eyes frenetically dashed back and forth across the chessboard, seeking an escape from the trap his dad had laid with the knight and rook.

  Well, shit. The old man outsmarted me again!

  CHAPTER 96

  CHARLESTON CENTRAL BAPTIST CHURCH

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 11:30 A.M.

  Luke Vincent sat on the front pew with his left arm comfortably draped around his wife’s shoulders when a deacon stepped to the pulpit.

  “Reverend Hall is on our mission trip to Peru, and our guest speaker today is Reverend Dennis Mincer. I’ve heard him preach many times, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy his sermon today.”

  A short man with a bad comb-over and a brown moustache stepped forward, shook the deacon’s hand and then stood behind the pulpit.

  “Friends,” he began with a heavy drawl, “I want you to know how blessed I feel to be sharing the Word of God with you today.”

  Vincent eyed the pastor suspiciously, trying to figure out if he had seen the man before. Something about this guy seems familiar.

  “As you know,” the preacher continued, “Williamson’s much smaller than Charleston. When I was growing up in the hollers of Mingo County, I’d always get excited when my parents would take us to Charleston. It was The Big City for us, and as far as we were concerned, we might as well have been going to New York City.”

  The preacher smiled warmly and a few people chuckled. “And when I was a seminary student, I wanted to preach in a big church after graduation. I was good at preaching. Soon enough, I figured I’d have my own TV show, spreading the Gospel around the world. I convinced myself any congregation would be lucky to have me as a preacher.”

  A-ha! Vincent realized. This guy looks like Tim Conway’s character, Dorf!

  The preacher smirked and shook his head. “Of course, that was my opinion. My daddy used to say: ‘Dennis, if I could buy ya for what you’re worth and sell ya for what ya think you’re worth, I’d be a rich man.’”

  A wave of laughter swept through the congregation. Looking around, Vincent saw people smiling, paying close attention.

  Wow. This guy might be nerdy-looking, but he really is good at what he does.

  “My biggest problem,” the pastor confessed. “Was I wasn’t a good listener. I was awfully good at listening to myself, but not so good listening to what God was trying to tell me.” The preacher paused, allowing that notion to sink in. “Ever since The Fall, people have been weak and frail. Prone to selfishness, stubbornly clinging to our prejudices and scornful of God’s discipline; to watch us in action is to marvel at God’s patience and unconditional love.” He lightly gripped the lectern with both hands. “In his first letter to Timothy, Saint Paul opined that the love of money is the root of all evil. And while I’m not smart enough or godly enough to quibble with Saint Paul, I think we bring many of our problems upon ourselves by thinking we know best instead of submitting our will to the Lord’s.”

  “Amen,” Donna Vincent whispered, nodding her head and smiling.

  “The way I look at it, our persistent desire to chart our course, to do what we want instead of what God wants, is an example of Satan using our flawed nature to subject us to temptation.”

  The pastor smoothly swept his gaze toward Vincent. The governor was startled by the weighty presence of the man’s eyes, and the sermon’s seemingly personal turn.

  “Temptation comes in many forms,” the preacher said, his eyes fixed on Vincent. “When we should be exercising, we’re tempted to be lazy. When we should be sharing our good fortune with others, we’re tempted to keep it for ourselves. When we should be faithful to our spouses, we’re tempted to pursue illicit trysts and satisfy our carnal urges. And when we should accept responsibility for injuring those we love most, we want to shift the blame elsewhere.”

  The preacher inhaled. To Vincent, it seemed he was focusing his energies squarely on him.

  “Examine this list and ask yourself this,” he thunderously challenged. “When confronted by such temptations, can you identify even one instance where man’s shortcoming is not based on a desire to nurture his own selfishness instead of heeding the will of God?”

  Silence permeated the sanctuary. Standing before the congregation, the preacher slowly scanned the room before smiling wanly. “I didn’t think so.”

  Vincent felt his wife gently place her hand on his thigh. Glancing over, he was struck by how Donna glowed with a peaceful sort of beauty.

  From my first campaign when I had to sit down at a spaghetti dinner with the Knights of Columbus, she was right there with me.

  When I had to climb into a dunking booth for a school fair on a cold afternoon in November, she was right there with me.

  When I ran for State Senate the first time and lost, she was right there with me.

  She gave birth to our children. She comforted them when they scraped their knees. When they needed help with homework, she gave it because I was usually politicking somewhere.

  When I’ve needed help, love, encouragement or support, she has always given it to me. If I lived a thousand lifetimes, I could never find another woman so giving and selfless, and I have repaid her kindness and love by lying down with another man’s wife whose body is beautiful but whose soul is dark, calloused and empty.

  I am a fool.

  Vincent looked up. The preacher smiled at him and nodded.

  “Though we’re stubborn and self-destructive, we still have hope. In First Corinthians, Chapter Ten, Verse 13, Saint Paul wrote, ‘No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.’” Reverend Mincer paused. “We’re all children of the flesh, subject to temptation. But we can resist temptation if we ignore that selfish voice in our heads and seek God’s assistance. We must recognize the people and situations that cause us to falter and avoid them. Because no temptation, however seductive, is worth the pain it causes or the risk it poses to our souls.”

  Luke Vincent closed his eyes, hoping no one would see them watering. As the preacher closed out the service, Vincent knew what he had to do.

  It will probably cost me the vice presidency, but it’s the right thing to do. For once, I’m going to do what’s right. I can only pray God will help me live with the consequences.

  CHAPTER 97

  PLEASANTS COUNTY PARK

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1:40 P.M.

  The sun shined through the empty trees overlooking the small park positioned on the edge of St. Marys. The temperature was up in the fifties, as Dave and Rikki began their hike.

  “So what job will you get if Governor Royal ends up winning?” Rikki asked.

  Dave shrugged. “Possibly chief of staff, but more likely a ‘counselor to the president’ position like Karl Rove had.”

  Rikki’s face turned sour. “Don’t end up like that dirtbag, plotting and scheming behind the scenes like Rasputin.”

  He rolled his eyes. “The man was a genius. The press and the Dems hated him because he was effective. Don’t believe everything CNN spits out.”

  Rikki playfully pushed him. “I don’t. But you could use a little less Fox News, yourself.”

  “Touché.”

  They slowly ascended the path, snaking through the woods in a direction running parallel with the Ohio River, walking past a few picnic shelters. “So why not attorney general?” she asked, her voice rising above the sound of their footsteps hitting gravel.

  “I’ve never really practiced law on a full-time basis. Jonathan needs an AG with hard-core, real world legal experience. He can find somewhere else to stick a political hack like me.”

  Rikki’s phone rang, and she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon,” Sheriff Vaughn said. “I have
big news for you.”

  “Ooooh! I like the sound of big news.”

  “My buddy ran Beria’s picture through the biometrics database. We got a match.”

  “Fantastic! What do we know?”

  “His real name is Yuri Petrenko,” Vaughn replied.

  “Yuri Petrenko,” Rikki repeated, staring at Dave.

  “He came here five years ago, obtaining permanent resident status after his employer sponsored his immigration application,” the sheriff said. “The company was Assurant Information Systems.”

  Rikki nodded and relayed the information to Dave.

  Dave’s lips tightened. “Yet another Mazniashvili outfit. Credit reports, data mining, even the voting machines used in Mingo County.”

  “Prior to coming to the Land of Freedom and Opportunity,” Vaughn continued, “Comrade Petrenko served with distinction in the Motherland’s military. The Spetsnaz, actually, where the most ass-kicking Rooskies end up. No humanitarian missions to Somalia for him! I’d bet he had at least a little sniper training, too.”

  Rikki’s eyes widened. “You’re probably right. Thanks for the update. I’ll re-examine things in light of this information and call you later.”

  “That’s fine. I’m at home watching the Steelers game and eating a couple dozen of the chocolate chip cookies my wife is baking for her book club meeting tomorrow.” He barked a quick laugh, and Rikki thought she heard his wife nagging in the background. “Call me.” Then he hung up.

  “So what do you think?” Dave asked.

  “We need to do some more research if we want to get that search warrant.”

  Dave nodded. “Let’s get a move on then. We’ll just walk straight through the graveyard and down Barkwill Street to the courthouse. Five minutes, tops.”

  Rikki punched him lightly in the arm. “You act like I didn’t grow up here!”

  “Sorry. I’m still not used to being around you without flinching. My bad.”

  376 MAPLETREE LANE

  MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2:35 P.M.

  “Just who do you think you are, buddy?” the man asked. “I’m watching the game!” He stood on the front porch in a Washington Redskins sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.