The Inner Sanctum

by Stephen W. Frey

  The reverend was unsympathetic. “He is a United States senator. One of the most recognized black men in this country. He needs to give us respect, publicly.”

  Holmes said nothing. Pitts had broken into his sermon voice, and Holmes knew this was a subtle signal not to interrupt.

  “Walker likes the title ‘senator’—no, cherishes it,” Pitts interrupted himself, “and all that goes with it. Derek, LFA has become a most powerful organization in Maryland, the state that gives him the title of senator. I could turn many of his voters against him, at least half a million, and take the title away. He is in a dead heat with Coleman right now. If he lost LFA, he would lose his seat. He must realize that I hold the power, not him. All I ask is that he give us the respect we are due.”

  Holmes was tired of this conversation. They had engaged in it one way or another every day for the last week. “Why do you want him in your pocket so badly?”

  “Because of what he could do for us. Think of it.”

  “Reverend, we’ve done fine without him so—”

  “He could take us to the next level,” Pitts interrupted the younger man. “He could bring us into the major leagues. Perhaps help us go national. He should be doing all he can to help his people.”

  “I think he is, but he needs to win the election to keep doing that. That is how he can best serve us.”

  “He needs to recognize his power base, as do all politicians.”

  “Let Walker win in November,” Holmes said gently, “then try to forge the relationship.” It was his job to counsel, even if the reverend did not agree. That was what Pitts had said at the beginning of all this.

  “I won’t have a stick after the election, Derek. No leverage. He could ignore me at that point.” Pitts pointed a finger at the younger man. “You worry me sometimes. You need to be more politically astute.”

  “I’m as politically astute as anyone,” Holmes retorted. “I can’t believe you said that. You told me to always voice my opinion, no matter what, as long as I was in your presence alone. That’s what I’m doing.”

  Pitts looked at Holmes defiantly for several moments, then his expression softened. “I’m sorry, Derek. You’ve always been my strongest adviser. I appreciate that.”

  Holmes tried to swallow his resentment. “Why have you become so obsessed with Senator Walker?” There was still a trace of annoyance in his tone.

  The reverend put his head back and closed his eyes.

  “Reverend Pitts,” Holmes persisted. “Why?”

  “Have you reviewed our finances lately, Derek?” The reverend’s tone was measured.

  “No. I believe in division of labor. That isn’t my area of expertise, so I stay away from it.”

  “We have a thousand dollars in the checking account. That’s barely enough to pay for this limousine tonight.”

  Holmes’s mouth fell open. “Just a thousand dollars? How is that possible?”

  “It takes money to run this organization, Derek. Lots of it. We’re growing so fast that congregation donations aren’t enough to sustain us. Someday they will be, but not yet.”

  “All the same, I don’t see the connection between our need for cash and Malcolm Walker.”

  The reverend hoped he wasn’t as transparent as he felt. “Our backers, the people who gave us seed money three years ago and who have kept us afloat since that time out of the generosity of their hearts and the courage of their convictions, have made it known to me that they want concessions from Walker now, while I can influence him. They have withheld their monetary support until I can forge that closer relationship with the good senator. They don’t share your view that it should wait until after the election. They want it to happen before.” Pitts paused for a moment. “We have to get that money soon, Derek. Very soon. I have a lot of people depending on me.”

  Derek Holmes was quiet as he analyzed what he had just heard. He had never met these angels the reverend constantly referred to, and as far as he knew, neither had anyone else at LFA other than Pitts. Now he wanted answers, because suddenly he realized the angels’ motives might not be as pure as had so often been advertised. “Who are these people, Reverend Pitts?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we get their money.”

  Holmes shook his head, trying to understand the reverend’s consistent avoidance of the question. And then suddenly the awful truth became clear, and Holmes turned away so the reverend wouldn’t see the shock in his eyes.

  But Pitts had seen Holmes’s expression and sensed that the younger man had made the connection. “Derek,” he said gently. “Sometimes we all have to compromise ourselves in the short run to attain our long-term goals. Compromise and contradiction are an inescapable reality of our existence. A part of life we can’t avoid. We just do the best we can, and get on with it. That is what I do. That is what you must do.”

  Chapter 17

  The Corsica River was only ten miles long, but was broad and deep enough in its channel to allow even large sailboats access at low tide. The Corsica snaked its way west out of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, emptying into the Chester River, which itself emptied into the Chesapeake Bay a few miles farther west. At its headwaters the Corsica was only a small stream, but like most rivers here, as it became tidal, it widened quickly until it stretched several hundred yards across in most places.

  Jesse stood next to David on the sailboat’s bridge as he carefully steered the thirty-seven-foot Dickerson through the choppy waters and the darkness, navigating by moonlight and a yellow running lamp at the bow. They had rented the exquisite craft—decked with teak and trimmed with mahogany—this morning at a Baltimore marina and had enjoyed a beautiful Saturday sailing the Chesapeake. Now they were headed to a place on the Corsica owned by a friend of David’s to stay the night.

  The original plan for the day had been to return to the marina by dark, but the weather and the wind had been perfect, and by late afternoon they had found themselves far down the bay—too far from the marina to make it back by dark. David had made a quick call to his friend on his cellular phone, and now they were navigating the Corsica, scanning the banks for the lights of the house.

  David had been less than forthcoming about what to expect from his friend’s home, but had promised running water and—because Jesse had made it clear that they would not be spending the night together—separate bedrooms. Jesse had been hesitant to accept another invitation to be with David so quickly, but it had turned out to be an excellent opportunity to learn more about Sagamore. And, she had to admit, she had enjoyed a wonderful time.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Jesse,” David said softly. “You’ve been awfully quiet for a while.”

  She pulled up the collar of the cardigan sweater draped over her shoulders. The air had turned cool since sunset. “I was just thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “Sagamore and the fifth anniversary. The things you told me the other night at dinner. Things you told me today.”

  “Don’t get too worked up about all that. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, really.” He flicked a mosquito from the back of his hand. “Look, it’s a good place to work. They expect a lot because they pay a lot. It’s just capitalism.”

  “No no, I’m glad you told me. It didn’t scare me off.” She put her hand on the boom to steady herself as the boat swayed from side to side with the chop of the river. “I don’t get scared off easily.”

  “Good.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I probably won’t get an offer.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” David squinted through the darkness, trying to locate the next buoy upriver. He turned his face toward her for a moment to speak, his eyes still focused on the dark water ahead. “Red right returning, correct?”

  “Aye.” David
had proved to be a good sailor. “Do you really think Sagamore will make me an offer when I finish business school?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “But based on what I saw during my visit, the firm is looking for blue bloods. Like you. I don’t fit the profile. I didn’t go to an Ivy League school. My family doesn’t belong to a country club. I don’t even know how to order wine. You saw that the other night.”

  So Jesse assumed he had led a privileged life. Well, he wasn’t going to volunteer the truth. Not yet, anyway. “You don’t have to be able to choose wines, just stocks. And Elizabeth thinks you can. As long as Elizabeth likes you, you’re in.”

  “She’s an incredible success story.”

  “That she is.”

  Jesse bent down to check the compass heading. “Tell me about yourself, David.”

  His pulse quickened. He didn’t want to tell her about the Glen Owens row house, stickball in the street with a taped ball, shoplifting his lunches, and his mother’s polyester pantsuit collection. He might become much less interesting to her if she knew. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where you’re from, where you went to school. All the normal stuff.”

  “Why? Is this a beauty contest?”

  “No,” she laughed, “it’s the third degree.” She straightened up from looking at the compass. “If I didn’t trust you, I’d think you were hiding something.”

  “You’ve figured me out. I’m really a double agent from Berlin,” he said in a bad German accent. “And being a portfolio manager is my cover. What’s your deep dark secret?”

  But she was unable to smile at the accent because of the question. “I told you everything this afternoon. I’m the youngest of nine children. We didn’t have much when I was growing up. We weren’t poor, but we always wore our clothes until there wasn’t much left of them. My dad worked almost every day of his life to keep food on the table. Until he died when I was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He was a wonderful man, David. I still miss him.”

  “I’m sure.” David thought of his own father for a second, buried in the trash-strewn Glen Owens graveyard.

  “My mother’s life was and still is the neighborhood Catholic church,” Jesse continued. “She’s always putting together a benefit, organizing a trip, or just cleaning up the place.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It’s a large congregation. Father McCord can use all the help he can get, and she loves doing it. I don’t know what she’d do without it.” Jesse paused. “Sometimes it’s hard for her to make ends meet, though. That’s another reason I’d like to start making a good bit of money as soon as I graduate from business school. I want to use some of it to help her out.”

  “You and your mother must be very close.”

  Jesse nodded. “We are.”

  “Did your mother remarry after your father died?”

  “No.” She felt strange not telling David the truth, but she didn’t want to think about Joe Schuman right now. Didn’t want to have to go through it. She was enjoying herself too much to ruin the mood. “Hey, once again I’m the one doing all the talking.”

  “Mmm.”

  They fell silent in the serenity of the tranquil river. There were no other boats on the water at this hour and only a few lights glimmering from shore through the dense forest covering both banks. The only sounds were the lapping of water against the Dickerson’s hull and the faint hum of the small motor—they had furled the sails at the mouth of the Corsica to avoid having to tack all the way up the narrow channel. Directly above them hung a full moon, ringed by a hazy halo.

  “Beautiful out here, isn’t it?” David observed. The moon was vivid in the black sky.

  “I’ll say.”

  To port, an osprey plunged into the water after a fish. Jesse cringed. Instantly she was back at Neil Robinson’s river house, crashing through the woods with the predator in pursuit.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She brought her hands to her chest. Her heart was racing.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine,” she said again, this time more firmly.

  “Okay. Look, will you take the wheel, Jesse? I appreciate your giving me the chance to play captain, but you’re the one who really knows how to sail, and I’m having kind of a difficult time seeing the markers. I wouldn’t want to run us aground. I doubt the marina would appreciate that.”

  “All right.” She was still breathing hard.

  David moved aside to let her steer. “When did you learn to manage a sailboat so well, anyway? Christ, at one point this afternoon you had us heeled over so far I was sure we were going to tip. But I have to admit, it was fun going that fast.”

  “A friend taught me,” she said as she wrapped her fingers around the chrome wheel. Todd had taught her in the fall of their senior year in high school. They had explored the bay every weekend in a small sailboat he and a few friends had purchased, and she had become an expert. It was on one of those weekends that she had fallen in love for the first time.

  “Would this friend happen to have been the guy you were with at the branch the other day when I picked you up to come to Sagamore?”

  “You mean Todd?”

  “If that’s his name.”

  “Todd’s a good person. You’d like him.”

  “I’m sure,” David said dryly.

  The river chart hung next to the wheel. “Hey, we’re running out of water here,” she said, pointing at it. “Pretty soon the Corsica is going to be ten feet wide and three feet deep and we’re going to be stuck in the mud. Where is this place, anyway?”

  “I’ve only been to it once before, and that was by car.”

  “Oh, great. We’re going to be sailing up and down the Corsica all night.”

  “Don’t worry. The house shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “Why not?”

  “There aren’t many homes on this river, and…” David paused as they glided around a bend, then pointed across the water. “And my friend said he’d make certain to leave the lights on for us.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “There?”

  “Uh huh.”

  A hundred yards away was a long pier, brilliantly outlined by lights, jutting out into the river. Moored to it were several powerboats and a seventy-five-foot Alden sailboat.

  As Jesse steered the Dickerson toward the pier, the house lights came into view far up the hill. “My God, how big is that place?” she asked.

  “Seven bedrooms, six baths,” David answered. “You could play a football game in the basement.”

  “Whose house is it?”

  “Martin Broadbent’s. He’s a member of Sagamore’s executive committee. It’s his summer home,” David said, winking at Jesse. “As they say, it’s good to be king.”

  As the Dickerson pulled alongside, David took the stern line in hand and jumped up onto the pier. He quickly pulled the sailboat to a stop, lashed the rope to a pylon cleat, then did the same with the bow line, making certain there was enough play in the ropes to allow the boat to rise and fall with tidal changes. Then he knelt down and lifted Jesse up onto the dock. For a moment they stood on the pier facing each other.

  Finally, David lifted his hand and gently touched Jesse’s cheek. “Thank you for a great day.”

  “Thank you.”

  Slowly, David leaned forward to kiss her.

  She had enjoyed the day very much and knew for certain now that he was someone she could be quite interested in. But just as the kiss was becoming passionate, she broke away. She couldn’t risk the opportunity at Sagamore. “We’d better get up to the house. It’s late, and we shouldn’t keep anyone awake just in case they’re waiting up for us.”

  “Uh huh.” David smiled to himself as she took his
hand and began pulling him up the pier toward the house. He had seen that spark of interest in her eye. Just as he had seen it that night when they first met at the cocktail party.

  * * *

  —

  “Good evening, Elijah.”

  Pitts hated these meetings. “Good evening.” He was not a man who was comfortable exhibiting deference, but it was necessary in this case.

  “I don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief.”

  “All right.”

  “I need a favor, Elijah.”

  Pitts cringed. The man always insisted on calling him by his first name, a subtle reminder of who wielded the power in this relationship. Everyone else addressed him as Reverend. “What is that?” he asked quietly.

  “We’ve discussed this situation before.”

  “Malcolm Walker.”

  “That’s right. Do I sense irritation, Elijah?”

  “No.” But his tone was unconvincing.

  “You knew I would call in this favor sooner or later.”

  “Mmm.”

  “LFA is in desperate need of cash,” the man pointed out. “I will inject more once you have completed this task.”

  The checking account was already overdrawn, and the next payroll checks had to be cut in a few days. Pitts needed money immediately or everything would be lost. The organization would die just as it was becoming real. Someday they wouldn’t need this despicable patron, but for now he was their lifeline. “What do you want me to do?”

  * * *

  —

  The store smelled richly of fine leather, but Roth took little notice as he approached the sales clerk standing behind the glass counter.