by A K August
He empties his glass and gets up to refill it.
"I found an energy report on my desk a few months ago. I hadn't requested it and didn't have any questions about the appropriations connected to the project, so I didn't know why it was there. I asked Jonathan and could tell he was uncomfortable. He confessed immediately. He tried to justify his actions. Said he redacted a lot of the sensitive things in the reports before sending them to Criterion. I was livid and almost fired him on the spot.
"It was ugly, but he was like a son to me and, like family, no matter how much you disagree or argue, you don't walk away. Plus, his actions were on my behalf; at least that's how everyone would see it, so even if I fired him, I'd still let this happen."
I nodded. "That's when you announced you wouldn't run for another term." I was piecing it together, fascinated. I played my interactions with Jonathan Colby in my head. All of this had gone down weeks before my interview. I remember Colby as upbeat, in charge, balancing the world effortlessly on his shoulders and loving every minute. It was so contrary to what was happening inside the offices of Senator Hart.
"Yes. I told Jonathan he'd let me down and, in doing so, killed our legacy and our political future. It took a bit, but he came to see my side. He was remorseful and said he never believed what he was doing was so wrong. He wanted to make it right. We started to compile evidence against Criterion, but it was hard. Jonathan found several others on the Hill and inside the government also sharing information with Criterion. Some were getting paid off in campaign donations or flat out taking the money in other ways, including boats, vacations, etc. Some were blackmailed. I tried to get them to come forward. As you can imagine, not an easy thing to do in D.C."
"Yeah." I paused as something occurred to me. "I hate to ask this, and I can't stand the concept, but I want to understand. Why kill Colby? You said it was a message. Wouldn't you be more likely to fall back in line if they killed someone you or Jonathan loved? Like Claire?" I cringed the moment it came out of my mouth, but based on his reaction, it wasn't a new concept.
Senator Hart took a deep breath. "I think about that every day; how I put Claire in danger. Yes, they could have hurt her to send me a message, but by killing Jonathan, they got two things: one, the message was received, and two, Jonathan was getting ready to testify. Without his testimony, it's my word against Criterion. There's not much documentation on what Jonathan did that we could compile. It rested on Jonathan telling his story and getting others to point the finger at Criterion. Once Jonathan was dead, everyone hid under rocks, not wanting to be next."
"Now that Tennyson is behind bars, are others coming forward?"
"Unfortunately, no. They're all hoping to stay clear of this mess. Anyone caught in it has likely ended their political or government career."
It was a fantastic story. Criterion caught wind of Jonathan and Senator Hart's plans and killed Colby as a warning. If I'd turned off the camera after my interview with Jonathan Colby, my life would have moved forward, and Criterion would continue to collect the information, no one the wiser.
Since my talk with the Senator, one question niggled the back of my mind. Why did Criterion want the information in the first place? The Senator had theories but nothing concrete.
"Why does anyone want information, Katie?" He'd asked. "Power."
But power for what purpose? It could be many things. They could be selling the information to competitors, either domestic or international. Or they could be brokering deals using the information to gain the upper hand. The only thing the Senator and I agreed was that the money Criterion spent to gather the information had to give them a much larger payout on the other end.
I couldn't let it go and followed the news closely as more information came to light. The media still didn't have the full picture, probably never would unless I or someone else as close to the story came forward. But no one was talking. Speculations about the Senator were all over the news, and my heart bled for what he and Claire were going through, but the Senator said it was unavoidable, and he was prepared to ride out the storm, just happy that his family was safe.
The media linked Mark Tennyson to misdeeds by the Senator, but it was unclear exactly what those misdeeds were, a lot of theories at this point.
Criterion was distancing itself from Tennyson, the CFO making a few statements isolating Tennyson's actions, but I couldn't see how the privately-held company would survive with over 50% of the stock in the company held by Mark. Unless Mark sold his stock, Criterion was forever linked to him. Even if he sold, as a lobbying and public relations firm, their credibility was shot. It was over.
My name had been kept out of it, somehow. I moved out of Claire's house and my mom and dad went back to Arizona reluctantly. I appreciated their desire to parent but reminded them that hovering wasn't their strong suit. They'd raised me to be independent and I needed to start feeling that way again.
◆◆◆
I kissed Anthony's warm lips as I did every morning when I arrived. "I got some good news this morning. You won't believe it, but the documentary just got accepted at Sundance!" The Sundance Film Festival was one of the most respected festivals on the circuit, and almost everything shown there gets some distribution, regardless of winning a prize. If you win, well, you get even more accolades, but I was trying to be humble with my first independent long-form project, just pleased to have it shown at a respectable venue.
I pulled a Tupperware container out of my backpack and removed the lid, smelling the homemade applesauce I made last night. I'm usually eating something while chatting with Anthony. I'm so busy, some days it's the only time I have to eat and lately I'm hungry all the time.
"The festival is in late January, so you have plenty of time to recover. I get two free tickets. Don't make me take Annie, buster! She gets emotional at everything in movies, just show a dog in the frame and she starts crying—and she's a loud crier, she'll embarrass me."
I went on about the festival and getting called to interview. I was still riding high on the little bit of fame I got with the exposé on Criterion I produced, following their rise and fall from grace brought on by greed. Turns out, Mark Tennyson was greedy. He was doing advertising work for a client and the client mentioned that they were bidding on a new project for the government. If they got the job, they'd be a government contractor, and it would be easy to get more work. More work meant they could hire Criterion more often.
Tennyson went to Senator Hart for the list of names that were bidding on the work. Then used Dwyer and his platoon-mates to sabotage the other vendors, releasing false information to the media, creating havoc internally, or just pulling their focus to other things in their company, so they pulled their bid. In the end, Criterion's client was the only untarnished bidder in the eyes of the government.
That rush of controlling the outcome fed into Mark's greed, and he spiraled from there, branching out and approaching companies with information he'd gathered that could help them outwit their competition. Tennyson's greed paid out with increases to Criterion business through his clients, money paid for the information, or merely the power of taking down an opponent. Like any addict, Tennyson's greed grew, and with the growth, so did the risks. Dwyer did the dirty work when Tennyson needed it and he brought in other members of his platoon to assist. When it went too far for the others, Dwyer had no qualms in silencing them. A private Grand Cayman account in Tennyson's name had over a hundred million dollars, and still that wasn't enough for Tennyson.
I never directly linked Senator Hart or Jonathan Colby to Criterion, even though Jackson told me I could and had pushed me to do the article in the first place. But I had enough without it. The FBI investigated Criterion business partners for insider trading. Criterion collapsed. One day everyone received an email from human resources saying the doors to Criterion were locked, the business shut down, and severance checks were in the mail.
The minute the word got out that my documentary contained the last intervie
w with Jonathan Colby, people wanted to know more. I think they will be disappointed that his words aren't more salacious, but I don't care; people will see my doc, and if that can open minds to improve our educational system, I've done my job. I haven't released Colby's murder video and have no intention of telling anyone outside the FBI that I have it.
The FBI mole was still at work as far as I knew but rendered useless, just another person willing to pass information, but there wasn't anyone on the receiving end to grab it. I hope they found him or her. A person like that was probably getting paid; with Criterion finished they'd want to replace the loss of income.
Perhaps I'd get a chance to find him myself. After the Criterion exposé was released, I started getting calls to do more investigative work. I had three projects lined up and was deciding how much I wanted to take on. I'd asked Annie if she'd help me part-time, her researching skills were more robust than mine; together, we could be amazing. She was thinking about it.
◆◆◆
I look at Anthony's beautiful face and wish I could see his eyes. "Okay, the den is done. I hope you like the color, a soft gray with dark blue trim. I know that's not what I talked about last week, but when I went in to get the paint, I saw the combination and just felt it would be perfect. It goes impeccably with your duvet. I had a couple of strong men move your bed down yesterday, see?" I turn my phone toward him to show the finished product as Nurse Teresa walks in to check Anthony's vitals.
"Teresa, tell Anthony that this looks like the perfect room to recover in. I don't think he trusts me."
I show her the picture and she plays along. "Anthony, I agree with Katie. This is amazing. When you run out of walls, Katie, come to my house and redecorate anything you want."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ANTHONY
I take a deep breath as I wake from a good dream. Spaghetti is simmering, using fresh herbs from the garden in the backyard. I can smell the basil wafting past my nose. I walk into the kitchen and wrap my arms around her, breathing in the lilac of her scent. She says she only made enough for two, so I have to fend for myself, which has me laughing as I reach for her and I realize her runner's body is more filled out, her typically flat stomach has a rounded contour. I rest my hand over the belly and profound happiness engulfs me.
Especially since she says I need to take care of my horny pregnant girlfriend before dinner. I'm not complaining.
The tomato and basil scents fade, and at first I think it's because we've left the kitchen, but the antiseptic sting almost makes my eyes water. I have to open them to see what's the cause and get rid of it before her sensitive pregnant nose has to breathe it in.
I squint as the dream fades to reality. I'm not home and she's not here. Foreign furniture and noises overwhelm me. A beeping steadily increases, giving me a headache.
The door opens and a woman in white and pink entered. She checks the monitors and flashes a light in my eyes, which intensifies my headache.
I try to speak. "Where am I? What happened?"
I hear other mumbled voices. Am I still dreaming? I blink and focus. The nurse is taking my blood pressure and a doctor is checking my chart then speaking to me. I can't make out her words. I feel my hand squeezed and I turn slightly, catching sight of a beautiful woman, smiling. I smile reassuringly, even though I don't know her. Is she another nurse? The woman wipes her tears then leans down and kisses me.
Whoa!
Her warm lips are too real to be a dream. My eyes widen in shock as my focus blurs and my eyelids grow heavy. I'm receding into my dream; that's okay. I am happy there.
◆◆◆
I awaken to find the room quiet; the open shades allow sunbeams to drape me in their warmth and happiness. My dream continued where I left off. My girl leaned into my body, moaning as my hands roamed over her hips, her breasts. She perfectly fit against me, like an old baseball glove that cradled the ball or a favorite chair that hugged your body as you settled in. I loved feeling her body molding to mine, the familiarity, the mutual desire to fuse.
Her sounds hit my heart and I knew them all; a sigh as she relaxed, a moan as her body heated, the little gasp she expelled when I hit her spot and triggered her body to spasm. The gasp growing into a long 'ohhhh,' the spasms quickening as she chased her crescendo until she used her words to scream out my name when I send her over the edge.
I wanted to live in that dream, but the world had a different plan. I looked around the room; my head is clearer than earlier when I first opened my eyes.
My body felt weighted down like I had forty pounds of blankets covering me. It was hard to move. A plastic controller lay close to my hand, and my fingers grazed the raised lettering. I pressed one of the buttons and the bed started to rise.
Another button isolated just the head of the bed to help me sit up.
Once I could see better, I pressed another button and a nurse came in a few minutes later.
"Mr. Reece! So nice to see you up!" I recognized her from earlier. She took my blood pressure. "Do you need anything? Maybe some water?"
I smacked my dry lips. Water sounded good. "Yes, please."
I sipped from the straw the nurse held for me until I felt the stickiness in my mouth recede. "How long did I sleep?"
According to her nametag, the nurse, Teresa, hesitated before smiling, "let me have Dr. Paige come in and answer all your questions."
Nodding seems to drain my energy and I rest my head against the pillow.
I must have dozed off because I heard a conversation growing louder in my ears and I had to open my eyes to see the people speaking. Nurse Teresa was back, along with an older woman in a long white lab coat, her graying hair, pulled back in an elegant clip. She must be the doctor.
Doc was talking with the beautiful woman who'd been holding my hand earlier in the day. Next to her was my Aunt Claire. Nurse Teresa touched the doctor's elbow and gestured to me. They all turned and moved to surround the bed, the doctor speaking.
"Anthony, I'm Dr. Paige. How are you feeling?"
"I'm not sure. I feel like I've been sleeping awhile, yet I'm still tired. Everything feels worn out."
"That's understandable. Do you know where you are?"
I nodded. "The hospital."
She smiled. "How about why you are here?"
I opened my mouth, but my mind drew a blank. "No. What happened?"
"What's the last thing you remember?"
I looked at the doctor, her face open but clear, reassuring. "The last thing?" Flashes of tchotchkes, framed commendations, spoons. "I was sitting in my boss' office. It was my first day back from an undercover assignment and he told me I'd be protecting a witness."
I looked around the room, Claire by my head, her hand on my arm, her smile encouraging but sad somehow; Nurse Teresa stood by the beautiful woman, their shoulders practically pressed together in solidarity. The beautiful woman's eyes shone with unshed tears, her hand pressed to her lips as if to keep her from speaking.
The doctor's voice returned my focus. "Anthony, do you know who this is?" She pointed to Claire.
"Yeah." I smiled. "This is my Aunt Claire."
Dr. Paige nodded again. She seemed to do that a lot. "How about the rest of the room? Do you know anyone else?"
I scanned the room again. "You said you're my doctor. Dr. Paige."
"That's a nurse who took my blood pressure earlier. Her nametag says Teresa, but she never told me her name." I pointed to the nurse before shifting my gaze and my fingers to the beautiful woman who was smiling through the tears sliding down her face.
I felt a stirring. I was attracted to this woman, but who wouldn't be? She was a knockout. Long, toned, tanned legs that went on for days. The loose dress she wore stopped at her knees, but my imagination could fill in the blanks. Her curves reminded me of the hills and valleys on my Uncle's farm, their perfect symmetry I could look at forever. She wore her long blond hair pulled in a loose clip, errant strands falling out and kissing the edge of her le
an neck, beckoning me to join them in savoring her taste. But her eyes sent me over the edge, their condensation making the foiled flecks in the milk chocolate of her irises sparkle. I didn't know this woman, but I wanted to.
"I'm sorry, I don't know you."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't move, didn't say anything.
"Anthony," I turn back to the doctor, her expression serious, yet hopeful. "That conversation you remember, sitting in your boss' office, happened five months ago."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ANTHONY
I'm home, although I barely recognize the space. Dad and Aunt Claire visited me in the hospital every day this past week, and while I'm always happy to see them, I feel like we've not had a moment of privacy. The doctors and nurses revolved through my door like Macy's during the holiday season. Uncle Jackson was a frequent visitor and Dad had moved into my house to be in the city and help me with anything I needed.
What I needed were answers. I had so many questions.
I'd been dripped fed pieces of my missing time. I got shot while protecting a witness and in a coma for four months. Uncle Jackson told me the case was related to Jonathan Colby's murder. I barely remembered the case details; I thought Colby had died naturally, an aneurysm or something, but it was a murder? I pressed for more information, but the doctor said it was best for my brain to recover the information in its own time.
Jeff came to the hospital but wouldn't give me any information; apparently, he was briefed by the doctors and agreed with them. I had other friends visit, but with my undercover assignments and the protection detail I'd been on, most fessed up that we hadn't seen each other in over a year. I hated that I'd lost touch with them and vowed to be more available.
My last visitor was the most surprising.
