Bloody Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  “You’re kidding? What in the world is on that CD? Did he tell you?”

  “Yes, he did. But I went home and looked at all of it. It focuses on one particular politician and goes into detail. I want to tell you what’s on it, but not on the phone. Is there any way we could meet tonight? Even for a few minutes after work?”

  “Tonight is hard. I’m going straight over to Gonzaga because Bobby is playing in some preseason games. You could come over to the gym if you want. Believe me, we can find privacy there. We’ll just move down the bleachers away from everyone. They’ll be screaming their lungs out anyway.”

  “I remember those games. Sounds like as good a place as any. I’ll meet you over there. At six or six thirty?”

  “Six thirty would be better. Halfway up the bleachers.”

  “I’ll find you. Talk to you then.” And I clicked off. Prestige Systems’ security couple would have fun tonight with a crowded gym to cover. They might have to bring some backup.

  _____

  I glanced up from the computer screen at the knock on my open office door. There stood Danny, Prestige Systems’ Bennett alongside, and Casey behind him. I ignored the feeling inside me when I saw Danny and beckoned them into my office.

  “Please come in, gentlemen.”

  Casey closed the door, and all three approached my desk. I didn’t bother to offer them chairs because this really wasn’t a social visit.

  “Did your security team get some good photos last night?” I asked Bennett. “It was kind of close surroundings in the library. George and I were over in a corner.”

  “Matter of fact, that worked to our advantage. It’s actually easier to conceal surveillance in a library. Almost everyone is sitting or standing around, bent over a book. And it was an entirely different population. That will help us match faces.”

  Deciding I really couldn’t ignore Danny’s presence any longer, I glanced up at him. He was watching me with those dark eyes. “How’s that facial-recognition software working? Casey told me you were using it.”

  “We’re making progress. With last night’s selections sorted, we’ve made some matchups. We’re also looking at military photos of men who’ve served in the same locations I did. We’ll run that database once we’ve narrowed down the field.” He looked at me intently. “Casey said you learned something from that researcher George Trudeau last night? Can you share that with us?”

  “I’ll do better than that.” I opened a file folder on the side of my desk and took out three sets of printed pages. “I made you all a copy of some of the information on that CD. George told me that Eric never put this information in his notebook where someone could find it. He placed it only on the CD and gave the CD to George for safekeeping. I sat up last night and put all of that information in chronological order. Listed everything. Everything he’d learned about the Epsilon Group and possible corruption here in the U.S. and abroad. Money laundering and the people involved years ago. Rumors of bribes, past and present.” I handed one to Danny, one to Bennett, and another to Casey.

  Danny scanned the first page quickly, then glanced back at me. “Did he say why he gave this to you, Molly?”

  “He wants me to follow through on Eric Grayson’s wishes and make this information public. Somehow. You’ll notice some high-powered politicians are mentioned, as well as lots of rumors. I’m thinking of releasing it to several news agencies—simultaneously—and perhaps some politicians. Together they’ll have the resources to investigate thoroughly. It’s time to throw the spotlight on Ryker’s corruption. Did he take bribes? Was he involved in money laundering? Let the press find out.”

  Danny scanned the second page, then caught my gaze. “Pretty sensitive stuff. You did good.”

  “I didn’t do anything. George and Eric did all the work.”

  Danny smiled that crooked smile I was really fond of. “Yeah, you did. You got George to trust you.”

  “Do you plan to go out this evening, Ms. Malone?” Bennett asked. “I’d like to advise my team. It would be good if you were someplace different. Someplace that would intrigue this guy to follow you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ll be at Gonzaga High School for a basketball game tonight at Loretta’s invitation. Her son is playing. So if the intrigued watcher is there, your guys are going to have their work cut out for them. High school gyms are big and filled with yelling people who are jumping up and down.” I smiled. “Better bring backup.”

  Bennett and Danny exchanged glances and Bennett said, “We’ll be ready.” With that, he and Danny started for the door, which Casey had already opened.

  Startled at their abrupt departure, part of me wished they would stay longer. Then Danny paused in the doorway and glanced back at me. “Don’t worry, Molly. We’re gonna find this sonofabitch. I swear.” He was gone before I could reply.

  Wednesday afternoon

  I noticed the message light flashing on my cell phone as I returned to my desk chair. I checked the screen and pressed to listen. Samantha’s drawl sounded.

  “Molly, I’ve heard from my mice concerning the name Quentin mentioned in his notebook. They think it’s Spencer Graham. He was Ryker’s chief of staff years ago during those early days as Ryker started to move up in Congress. After a few years, Spencer Graham became a lobbyist and has some very influential clients. He’s quite wealthy now. Also, he may have a connection to that Epsilon Group, because he’s often seen with Ambassador Holmberg when he’s giving speeches. I hope this helps. Take care.”

  Her line clicked off, and I leaned back in my chair and sorted through deep memory. I had only faint images of the people surrounding Edward Ryker all those years ago when my husband Dave was fighting for his political life. No images of Ryker’s staff came into view. So I turned to my computer and brought the screen to life. Now that I had a first and last name, it was time to consult the online encyclopedia at my fingertips.

  I entered Spencer Graham’s name into the Google search box and watched as the screen filled with several websites to choose from. I chose Graham’s official site and examined the photo that accompanied his consulting firm’s website promo. Silver hair, in his sixties, and a salesman’s smile. It brought back no memories. He looked like half of the older politicians, hangers-on, and hacks that filled Washington’s streets every day.

  Wednesday evening

  I quickly refilled my coffee mug and escaped from the kitchen. The noise was deafening. Since this was a spur-of-the-moment entertaining event, the senator’s Hill staff was unable to schedule our normal caterers, the wonderful team of Marian and Rosemary—organized geniuses in the kitchen, and quiet. Instead, a flamboyant Argentine tyrant showed up with his army of lackeys, bowing and scraping. The maestro—El Jefe—ruled supreme. He even banished Luisa from her own kitchen. I’d never seen Luisa mad before, but she stormed upstairs after a fiery exchange en Español. Albert had whispered that she was pacing around in their suite on the third floor, talking to a relative in Veracruz. I planned to leave the Russell abode before guests arrived. Albert could fill me in tomorrow.

  Casey stood in the doorway of my office when I returned, a package in his hand. “Danny gave me this when he arrived and asked that I give this to you. He says it’s the original version of the photos this guy sent you.”

  I took the package, reluctantly. “I really don’t want to see these again, Casey. It’s been hard to get those images out of my mind.”

  “I think you owe it to Danny. After all, the photos you saw weren’t the real ones. They were faked, deliberately to shock you and arouse that reaction. Danny found the originals, he said. With the date stamp on them.”

  “Okay, okay. But can you stay here? That way you can throw them in the fireplace afterwards.”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  I opened the clasp on the envelope and slid out the file folder inside. Hesitating for a moment, I open
ed the folder and saw an 8 x 10 photo of Danny standing with a group of men. But this time the group showed several men in military uniforms. Navy whites. One was an admiral with a lot of braid on his shoulders. On the bottom of this photo was a time stamp. Edward Ryker was nowhere to be seen.

  Beneath this photo I found the one showing Ryker standing beside Danny. On this photo, however, someone had used a marker to show exactly where the photo had been doctored. There was no date stamp on the bottom of this photo.

  “You can see how it’s done, Molly. That guy is good. Good enough to fool most people. But the photo lab guys can spot a fake.”

  I felt a muscle deep in my chest let go. Something that had been held tight relaxed at last.

  “You’ll see that’s exactly what he did with the rest of those photos,” Casey said.

  With that encouragement, I turned to the next photo, the awful one with the piles of dead bodies. This time, the photo showed Danny and the other soldiers kneeling behind a pile of rifles, pistols, and various other weapons. I deliberately did not even glance at the fake photo, but slipped it behind the original and turned to the last one. Danny stood holding a string of fish rather than a severed head. So did the rest of the men. I saw the date stamped below, and it coincided with what Danny had told me of his tours of duty. He’d never gone into detail about the missions, and for that, I was glad.

  I closed the folder. “You’re right. I can see that they were faked. All of them.” I paused for a second. “Tell Danny ‘thank you.’”

  “It would be better coming from you, don’t you think?”

  I handed him the folder. “I know. Would you burn this, please? I don’t want to see it again.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure. But think about what I said, Molly.” He looked at me with that brotherly expression again as he left the office.

  I did think about it as I settled into my desk chair. Danny deserved to hear it from me. I picked up my personal phone and scrolled through the directory for Danny’s number. My finger hovered for a moment, then I pressed the text message. One of the perpetual feuding voices in my head, Crazy Ass, made clucking chicken noises while the other, Sober and Righteous, urged caution. I keyed in a text message. “Thank you for sending the original photos, Danny. It really helps.”

  My finger hovered over the keys again, but I couldn’t think of the right words, so I pressed “Send.” Even though it was a cowardly text instead of a phone call, I still felt better. I took a sip of cold coffee and was tempted to get some more, but I really needed to return to these spreadsheets, so clicked on the mouse, bringing them to life on my screen again.

  I was just about to enter new expenses when I heard the phone buzz with a text message. It had to be Danny.

  I clicked on the phone and read: “I’m glad. I don’t want you hurt. Enjoy the game. The Prestige team will be there in force. By the way, Bennett told me they found the same type of listening device in Congresswoman Wilson’s townhouse when they were installing security. She told them a ‘friend’ advised her to check. I’m betting that was you.”

  I stared at the text. My instincts had been right. Quentin Wilson was being monitored. And whoever was doing it knew his whereabouts. That means they knew Quentin had gone to Samantha’s home that night. The night he died.

  A myriad of thoughts started bouncing around my head then. Who were these people or person? Clearly they were able to gain access to Wilson’s townhouse while he was on the Hill. Memories danced in my head—walking into my own home and finding that an intruder had entered and gone through my computer documents and desk drawers. My home was bugged, Quentin Wilson’s home was bugged, and Natasha Wilson’s phone was bugged. Who were these people?

  I had no answers, simply more questions bombarding me. Work was waiting. I clicked on the computer mouse and returned to Senator Russell’s expense spreadsheets. Only numbers could chase away nagging thoughts. A heavy dose of numbers.

  sixteen

  Wednesday evening

  “Here, help me eat this popcorn,” Loretta said as I climbed into the bleacher section where she was seated, halfway up the Gonzaga side of their gym.

  “Thanks, I only grabbed a banana, so I’m starving now,” I said as I sat. I’d dashed to my home and changed into a sweater and jeans before leaving to meet Loretta.

  “Good, because popcorn is one of my weaknesses. Here, take it and save me from myself.”

  She handed over the half-filled box, and I greedily dug into the crispy popped kernels. “Which one is your son Bobby?”

  “Dark blue shirt. Number thirty-three.” She pointed toward the group of tall, lanky boys racing down the basketball court. Their white-shirted opponents had the ball and were closing in on Gonzaga’s basket fast.

  I checked the scoreboard. Gonzaga was not in the lead. Arms and elbows clashed beneath the basket as shots went up and missed, then tried again and were blocked. A Gonzaga guy stole the ball and dribbled like mad down the court toward the opposition basket. The pack was right on his heels, the sound of sneakers squeaking on a polished wood court. Fast stops. I’d forgotten that sound. That’s what I loved about basketball. It was nonstop action until a whistle blew, like right now. Foul against Gonzaga. One of the opponents got a free throw. I watched the player go through his own personal routine of preparation for the shot. Bouncing the ball, again and again, then letting it fly. Swish.

  “Damn! That kid is way too good. He’s killing us with free throws,” Loretta complained, then sipped her cola.

  “Hey, Father, say a prayer for us, okay?” a balding man on the bleachers ahead of us called loudly.

  I looked over and saw a man in clerical collar and Gonzaga jacket climb the bleachers, carrying a popcorn bag and a cola. “Don’t worry, I will,” the sandy-haired, bespeckled man replied with a smile as he went past us, climbing higher into the nosebleed seats.

  “We could use some prayers,” Loretta said, shaking her head.

  Another whistle blew and the official called time-out for Gonzaga. I decided this was as good a time as any to update Loretta. Plus, it would get her mind off the game. The other team was ahead by a lot.

  “Listen, Loretta, I wanted to tell you what I learned from George the other day.” I glanced over both shoulders. “Should we move down a little, just to be careful?”

  We both scooted down the bleacher row a few feet, so there was no one close by. I’d noticed that the gym was only half full; obviously preseason games didn’t have the same draw for attendance.

  “What did George tell you?”

  “Basically, the CD has all of my brother-in-law’s research into Ryker’s corruption. All meticulously detailed by Eric. The disc also has those other names you saw earlier, Dunston, Holmberg, Montclair, and Kasikov. Eric goes on to list allegations of money laundering that even touched the Epsilon Group. Years ago the group had a developing nations investment fund in Europe. It was run by a Russian who had ties to Kasikov. This guy, Breloff, was implicated in a money laundering scandal in Europe. Ryker, Dunston, and Holmberg withdrew their investments in the fund. Breloff was supposed to be indicted, but charges were suddenly dropped. No links to Montclair or Kasikov were ever established, but the Epsilon Group closed its developing nations fund soon afterwards. Montclair and Kasikov were on the governing board. Breloff disappeared from the scene.”

  Loretta stared at me, her dark eyes wide. “Good Lord, Molly. Do you think that Epsilon Group is actually involved in money laundering?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no proof Montclair or Kasikov knew what was going on. But it raises a lot of suspicions. But the disc also contained all the allegations made against Ryker starting back with that mining company years ago. Eric and George gathered a lot of detailed information. Listing different people who’d talked ‘off the record’ about their personal knowledge of Ryker taking bribes. They even found a copy of a letter that someone w
ith the mining company wrote years ago, alleging the same.”

  Loretta looked at me. “What are you going to do, Molly? I can tell you’re chewing over something.”

  “George said he was giving me the disc because I would follow through on Eric Grayson’s wishes. I would find a way to make it public knowledge. But I haven’t decided exactly how yet. Last night I made a file and copied all the allegations and charges and listed them in chronological order. So it will be easier for people to investigate. My first instinct is to give the information to the press. Distribute it to multiple media outlets anonymously. But Ryker, with all of his cronies and his accumulated wealth, might be able to trace the source of the information back to George and me. And who are we to accuse the most powerful member of the U.S. House of Representatives? Chairman of the House Financial Services committee.”

  Loretta shook her head. “Molly, I’ve heard enough stories about that man. You need to be careful.”

  “That’s why I think I may need to give the information to some politicians at the same time. They could find allies in Congress to confront Ryker. He’s made many more enemies in all those years since he set out to destroy my husband Dave.”

  Suddenly a loud buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. “Good Lord, the game’s over.” Loretta looked up, shocked.

  A skinny teenaged boy in a Gonzaga uniform came bounding up the bleachers, long legs sprinting over seats. “Hey, Mom, Brian’s having the team over at his house for pizza after the varsity plays. Joe said he’d drop me back at home. Okay? Homework’s already finished.” He flashed her a winning smile as only teenaged sons can when they’re trying to wheedle concessions from their moms.

  Loretta nodded. “Yes, you can, but you’d better be back before ten thirty. And where are your manners, young man? Say hello to my friend Molly Malone. Molly, this is my youngest, Bobby.”