by Edwin Dasso
Jack sat on a bench in the rotunda of the Capitol Building, repeatedly glancing down various hallways that intersected with the large atrium. He’d been waiting for over an hour and glanced at his wristwatch again, concerned one of the guards would take notice of him and chase him out.
Wes had told Jack of the congressional connection he’d learned about, so Jack had asked for Wes’s assistance in learning when Schanlon booked a flight to D.C. Wes pulled one of the few strings he had left and was able to give Jack a date. Jack had flown to D.C. the day prior to that date and had stationed himself outside the Capitol, waiting for Schanlon to show. When Schanlon had gone into this section of the building, Jack had entered with a tour group. Fortunately, the tour guide had not noticed when Jack had dropped from the group and had taken a seat.
Jack glanced up when he heard a jumble of voices down a hallway. The voices grew nearer, and he soon spotted Schanlon amidst a cluster of people wearing expensive-looking business attire. Jack thought he recognized a few of the people in the entourage from seeing them on the news. Schanlon conversed with several of them, clapping them on the shoulder and laughing as they walked. When the group neared his spot in the large antechamber, Jack jumped from his seat.
“Schanlon!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the large, marble-appointed room.
The entire entourage stopped, their heads all snapping around in unison toward Jack. Schanlon rolled his eyes and stepped behind his nearest colleague, glaring at Jack from behind the woman.
“You’re a murderer!” Jack called out.
Schanlon hastily scanned the perimeter of the large foyer. “Where’s the goddam security around here?” he shouted.
Jack stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward Schanlon. “George Smithson was an honorable man. He served his country with distinction for many decades…then you killed him! In cold blood!”
Schanlon’s mouth fell open, his gaze darting around his group. He shrugged and held his hands out at his sides. “I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about!”
“You look nervous, Schanlon! Am I getting a little too close to exposing your scheme? You getting desperate? Desperate enough to kill a defenseless, old man? And your own ex-employees?” Jack took another step forward. “Does the name Martin Lankin ring a bell?”
Schanlon shook his head vehemently and pointed at Jack. “He’s crazy!”
One of the older men who was clad in what looked like a hand-tailored suit spun toward nearby security guards and impatiently waved them toward Jack.
“Get this clown out of here! Throw him in jail! Then figure out who the hell he is.”
Several security guards scurried toward Jack. Jack pointed at the man who’d just spoken.
“Does he know about your goals for supracentyl, Schanlon? Have you told him about your plan to create a nation of addicts—just so you can make a little more money?”
The security guards converged on Jack, grabbing his arms and rustling him toward the nearest exit.
“You don’t need to arrest him. I know who this asshole is,” Schanlon said to the man. “Dr. Bass and I know each other very well.” He smirked at Jack. “Don’t we, Bass?”
The man who’d spoken furrowed his brow and glanced between Jack and Schanlon. The guards stopped shoving Jack toward the door, turning slowly and shooting inquisitive glances at the well-dressed man. The man leaned close to Schanlon and whispered something in his ear. Schanlon nodded several times as he listened, finally smiling.
“Stop!” The man stepped away from Schanlon and elbowed his way out of the troupe. “Dr. Bass, my apologies. I’m Senator Cinch.”
Jack yanked his arms free from the grasps of the security guards. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, Senator.” He pointed at Schanlon. “But I don’t care much for the company you keep.”
Cinch turned to look at Schanlon briefly then twisted back to face Jack and smiled broadly.
“Mr. Schanlon is a dear friend of mine. I don’t know what you think you know about him, but I can assure you, he is of the highest moral character—”
“Bullshit!” Jack roared. “If you believe that, either you’re gullible or just as corrupt as he is.”
Cinch’s eyebrows shot up, then a scowl covered his reddened face. “I’m trying to be civil, here, Dr. Bass. Your poor manners are not making it any easier. Shall I have our officers haul you off, after all?”
Jack glared silently at the man for several seconds then took a more relaxed stance, straightening his jacket.
“No…that won’t be necessary. But you should learn a little more about the people you associate with.”
Cinch smiled again. “Is there something you think I should know?” he asked in a patronizing tone.
“Plenty! And I’ve got supporting documentation.”
Cinch turned toward Schanlon, who just shrugged, then turned back to Jack.
“Why don’t I have one of my people give you a call and arrange for you and me to speak…if you promise to behave yourself, that is,” he said smugly.
Jack stared silently at him a few seconds. “Sure! I’ll talk to you.” He nodded toward Schanlon. “But not with him around. Just you and me—one on one.”
Cinch frowned. “Well, after your behavior here today, I’m not so sure about one on one.”
“I promise, I’ll be on my best behavior—I have no beef with you. Just Schanlon.”
“Okay, then. Be expecting a call from my office. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving peacefully so we can get back to business.” He held an arm out toward the exit doors.
Jack glared at Schanlon, who just sneered back at him, then Jack looked at Cinch. “Of course, Senator. I’ll be awaiting your call.”
Chapter 51
Two Days Later
Jack approached the desk agent at the private hangar, gazing around at the opulent waiting area at Leesburg Executive Airport, located about thirty miles to the west of D.C. He’d learned the airfield catered to private jets, especially those used by politicians who wanted to be able to travel from a more discreet location than one of the large, public D.C. airports.
“Yes, sir, how can I help you?” the man at the counter asked cordially.
“I’m supposed to meet Senator Cinch here. Have you seen him?” Jack glanced quickly around the waiting area then returned his gaze to the agent. “Although, I don’t know why he picked this place.”
The agent smiled professionally. “Well, I can’t speak for the senator, but a lot of our customers like to have important discussions in the privacy of their planes housed in our hangar.” He shrugged. “You know—away from prying ears and cameras and such.”
Jack eyed him skeptically for a few seconds. “Uh huh. I’ll just bet.”
“Let me call the senator’s pilot and see if they’re ready for you.” He picked up the phone and quickly stabbed in some numbers. “I have a gentleman here to meet with Senator Cinch.” He covered the receiver and looked at Jack. “What did you say your name was, sir?”
“Bass. Dr. Jack Bass. Like the fish.”
“It’s a Dr. Jack Bass,” the agent said into the phone then listened a few seconds. “Of course. We’ll be right there.” He hustled around his counter and waved Jack toward a door. “Right this way, Dr. Bass. They’re expecting you.”
The shriek of a jet blasting down the runway outside pounded Jack’s ears as the agent ushered Jack across a large hangar. They stopped at the steps of a Gulfstream G280 jet parked near a set of large doors, which were open to the tarmac.
The agent held his hand out toward the steps. “Here we are.”
Jack smiled at the agent. “Thank you.”
Jack crept up the steps, ducking as he entered the cabin, stopping just inside to gawk at the lush appointments. He shuffled down the aisle, turning in a circle to take it all in, startling when he heard the voice from the rear of the cabin behind him.
“Dr. Bass! So glad you could make it!”
Jack spun, creasin
g his brow as he studied the U.S. Senator. “Nice plane,” Jack said with an edge of sarcasm.
The senator smiled and nodded. “I can imagine you feel it’s rather…extravagant for a senator. But when you spend as much time traveling as I do—well…” He held his arms out at his sides and shrugged.
Jack snorted. “Yeah—amazing how generous we tax-payers are.”
The senator frowned fleetingly then quickly replaced the expression with a toothy smile as he walked down the aisle toward Jack. Cinch stopped near Jack, offering his hand.
“Senator Cinch—but you can call me Warren…during this visit.”
Jack looked at the senator’s hand then back at his eyes. He didn’t bother with the handshake.
“Yeah, I know who you are—I’ve been doing a little research since we met at the Capitol. I’ve become quite familiar with the laws you’ve sponsored.”
Cinch shrugged. “I hope you don’t believe everything you read.”
“As a man of science, I’m well-trained in sorting through bullshit in print, Senator.”
Jack spun toward the cabin door as it slammed shut. He twisted back to the senator who was smiling broadly at Jack and holding his palms up toward Jack in a consoling fashion.
“Relax. We’ll have more privacy with the door closed.” He waved at a seat near a coffee table. “Please…have a seat, Dr. Bass.”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“I prefer to go by Jack…Warren.”
“Of course…Jack.” Cinch took a seat on the far side of the table and reached for a highly polished silver coffee urn. “Coffee?”
“No. Thanks. I don’t plan on staying that long. Can we get to it?”
Cinch smiled then poured himself a cup of coffee. “Do you mind if I have some while I listen?”
Jack shook his head. “Knock yourself out.”
The senator waved a hand dismissively at Jack. “Please, Jack, go ahead and tell me whatever you wish. You have my full attention.”
Jack eyed him warily, nodding slowly. An engine started spooling up, and he twisted to look out the window. “What the hell’s going on, Senator? I thought we were going to stay in the hangar.”
Cinch gave Jack a campaign-worthy smile. “It’s a beautiful day for flying…and much more private.”
“Uh huh,” Jack replied skeptically. “And if I say I don’t want to?”
Cinch shrugged. “It’ll be beautiful up in the air.” Cinch casually leaned back in his seat, sipping his coffee while he scrutinized Jack. “So, let’s talk about what I can do to help alleviate your concerns about the pharmacy industry, especially Pharmadosh.”
“Yeah…let’s do that.” Jack slowly sat then snugged the seatbelt around his waist. “But I’m not here for you to alleviate my concerns. I’m here to tell you about the dangerous bullshit they’ve been pulling.” He leaned forward and pinned Cinch with an intense stare. “Then I want to hear what you would do to stop it.”
Cinch’s phone rang, and he took it from his pocket, holding it to his ear and listening silently for several seconds.
“Certainly. I’ll be right there.” He stood and stepped next to Jack, clapping him on the shoulder then pointing at the rear of the cabin. “I apologize. Something has come up that can’t wait. I’ll be back after we reach altitude.”
Jack frowned at Cinch then turned around and shot a fleeting glance at the door at the rear of the main cabin. He turned forward again, staring at the bulkhead.
“Yeah, whenever, Senator.” He leaned forward and snatched up the coffee urn and started to pour himself a cup. “But I think it’s pretty damned presumptuous of you to think I’m okay with flitting around the sky and waiting on you,” he grumbled. “I just want to speak my piece and get the hell off this plane.”
Cinch smiled. “Of course,” he said in a patronizing tone.
Chapter 52
Jack drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat, occasionally sneaking a quick glance at his watch. After a few minutes, he blew out a large breath and stood then paced up and down the aisle, occasionally ducking down to look out a window. He was walking toward the cockpit when the senator’s voice behind him surprised him. Jack turned to see Cinch standing in the aisle smiling at him.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.” He waved at the seats they’d occupied earlier. “Shall we continue our conversation?”
Jack eyeballed Cinch suspiciously then settled into his seat, buckling himself in out of habit. Cinch settled into the chair across from Jack, still smiling broadly.
“Okay, Senator, we’re at altitude,” the pilot announced over the PA system.
“Care for something to drink, Jack?”
“No.” Jack leaned his hands on the table. “Can we cut to the chase, Senator?” he asked impatiently. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I know I am—”
The senator looked past Jack, toward the rear of the cabin, and Jack froze. Cinch gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Jack shot his hands to his seatbelt as he whirled in his seat. Before he could turn completely, a hand firmly shoved him back down in his seat, and a needle pricked him in the back of his neck. He reached up and ripped the hand off of his shoulder then stood and spun.
“Bass, you stupid, gullible jackass,” Schanlon taunted from where he stood behind Chip. He laughed raucously. “You should have just backed off when you had the chance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You are just way out of your league here.”
Jack swayed on his feet, stumbled, and then steadied himself with a hand on the back of a seat.
Chip threw the empty syringe aside and quickly produced a second full syringe from his pocket. “Should I give him the second one, Mr. Schanlon?”
Jack squinted at the syringe in the man’s hand, struggling to keep his vision focused, the unmistakable feeling of sedation clouding his mind. Hit by a wave of dizziness, he spread his feet wider as he grabbed a second seatback to stabilize himself more.
Schanlon cackled like a naughty child. “Nah, Chip—he’s such a lightweight, we won’t even need to use that ‘just-in-case dose’.”
Chip smirked at Jack and dropped the syringe on a nearby seat. “I think you’re right, Mr. Schanlon—he is a big pussy.”
Jack started to wobble, turning his head toward Cinch and glaring at him.
“You phhhucker…” he muttered, drool falling from his mouth onto the table top.
Cinch smiled and shrugged.
“Just business, Jack. Nothing personal.”
Jack lurched toward Chip but only managed to fall to the floor. As he struggled to right himself, Chip slammed a foot into Jack’s shoulder, sending him sprawling between the seats. Jack fought with everything he had to stay conscious, feeling as if someone had removed his brain and replaced it with mud. He scowled up at the men standing over him, then his eyes fluttered and closed.
Schanlon stepped around Chip and took a seat at the table. Cinch poured a cup of coffee, slid it over to Schanlon, then hit an intercom switch on the wall.
“We heading out over the coast yet?” he asked the pilot.
“Yes sir, just as you instructed.”
“Good. Like I said, let me know when we’re 200 miles out.”
Schanlon grinned wickedly at Cinch then stood in the aisle. As he moved toward the rear compartment, he stepped on Jack’s chest. When Schanlon arrived at the door, he stopped and turned to the other two men, waving them after him.
“C’mon, gentlemen, we have a few minutes before we dump that load of human waste.” He pointed at Jack’s motionless form on the floor. “Let’s go have a drink to celebrate.”
Chapter 53
Jack became aware but fought to maintain his ability to think as waves of oblivion gnawed at his consciousness. Stay focused! Think! Where are you? Despite his best efforts, Jack could barely move his head or even open his eyes. That’s all right. Just feel your way through this. You’re a doctor—you’re trained to rely on your sense of touch. He found he ha
d no sense of nociception, unsure if his body was following the commands of his brain. Just do it, dammit!
His arm felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds as he flopped it to his side. He then used his fingers to walk his hand down along his torso. His fingertips touched his belt. He halted. Almost there. He took a breath…at least, he thought he did. Maybe I can just rest for a while. A gray fog shrouded his thoughts. No! You can’t give in! You’ll die! He focused even more intensely, snaking his hand down past his waist, his fingertips probing for his pocket. That’s it! I think that’s my pocket. He wriggled his hand into the opening, but his fingers became entangled in the fabric. Dammit! Concentrate, Bass! He crept his hand back then moved it forward again, his fingertips sliding into the slit. He again used his fingers to haul his hand deeper into the pocket.
His fingers brushed the smooth glass of an auto-inject syringe, and Jack froze. Yes! It’s still there. A wave of drowsiness washed across his mind. Do something! Don’t give in to it! He rolled his head to the side, pushing it against the cold metal of a seat leg until he felt pain. The mental cloudiness lifted slightly.
His fingers slithered down the glass tube until he felt the hard, cold glass against his palm. He stopped. He couldn’t feel his face move but thought he should be wearing a smile. Don’t get cocky—you’re not done yet. He painstakingly crept his fingers down the length of the syringe to the needle, grasping the cover between his thumb and index finger. He tried to push it off the tip of the needle, but his sweaty fingers slipped on the silken plastic of the cover as he fumbled with it. His world rapidly vacillated between darkness and awareness, confusion increasingly clouding his thoughts. A blurred vision of when he had been injected with a strong sedative in Dick Olgent’s office slithered into his thoughts. No! Jack bellowed in his mind. I gave up that time and almost died!
Jack mashed his forehead even harder against the seat leg, pressing until it felt like someone was jamming the point of a knife into his forehead. I cannot…let…that happen…this time. The pain helped him regain some focus. He pushed his fingers down on the needle cover again, thinking he felt the cap slide off the tip of the needle. Ethereal images danced in his consciousness, as occurred sometimes when he was just falling asleep after working a forty-hour shift. Jack was beckoned into the solace those images seemed to offer. A bed. Oh, sleep would feel so good. A tranquil warmth washed over his mind.
