Capitol Conspiracy (5 page)

Christina looked at him levelly. “They had someone on the inside.”

“You said it, not me. But…”

“But it’s the only possible explanation.”

Jimmy drew himself up. “Christina, you know how many cases of Secret Service traitors there have been in the history of the Service? None. You know how many FBI agents have gone rogue? Exactly the same number. It just doesn’t happen.”

“Until it does,” Christina said quietly. “Until someone gets so fed up with our foreign policy, they can’t stand it anymore. Or someone gets to them, or gets to their family. Forces them to do something they would normally never do.”

Jimmy looked back at her solemnly. “Our intelligence forces are investigating all those possibilities. And there’s one other you haven’t considered yet.”

That caught Christina’s attention. She was relatively sure she had considered every possibility, even some that a conspiracy buff like their investigator Loving would find preposterous. “What would that be?”

“Remember, the ricin that poisoned Senator Hammond was delivered via a letter he received here in the Senate. In this very office building. We’re recommending that no one touch any mail without wearing gloves. Perhaps even a face mask.”

“I assume the Capitol Police have instituted some increased security measures in the mailroom.”

“That’s just the thing, Chris. They’ve been doing that for years.”

“How did that tainted letter get into Senator Hammond’s inbox if it didn’t go through the mailroom?” Her eyes widened suddenly as the answer came to her, as she realized where Jimmy had been steering her. “Someone hand-delivered it.”

Jimmy nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Not an outsider. Not a Middle Eastern demagogue. One of us.”

Christina escorted Jimmy to the door.

“Chris, much as I enjoy talking to you…I think my bosses would be happier if I could tell them I was giving my reports personally to Senator Kincaid. No offense, but—”

“None taken.” She thought for a moment. “When will you be around next?”

“Tomorrow morning, I assume.”

She nodded. “I’ll have him here.”

“That would be good. No one has seen him since the attack. But I kept telling them—she’s married to him, for Pete’s sake. She must know where he is. He probably checks in with her constantly.”

Christina chose not to mention that she hadn’t seen him since the attack, either.

“I’ll make sure he’s here for your briefing, Jimmy.”

“Great. So…you do know where he is?”

Christina tried to put on a brave face. “Yeah. I have a pretty good idea.”

4

I
NTEGRIS
B
APTIST
M
EDICAL
C
ENTER
O
KLAHOMA
C
ITY
, O
KLAHOMA

B
en Kincaid sat, eyes closed, in the same chair he had occupied for so many days, it felt like a formfitting new pair of pants. It was almost embarrassing to stand; the cheap green vinyl retained the impression of his rear end long after he had risen. So he stayed in the chair, his head resting against the metal guardrail of the hospital bed.

There was not much to think about. The hospital room was not furnished at all, unless you counted the television mounted on the wall. Foliage filled the empty spaces. Ben had never seen so many plants in his entire life, outside of a nursery. All tokens of affection and concern. Funny, wasn’t it—you would send flowers to an ailing female, but never a male. Manly men got plants. As if it really mattered.

He opened his eyes and stared ahead, but he saw nothing, heard nothing of consequence. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioner, already forced to do double-time by the hot Oklahoma weather.

Mike’s eyes were closed, just as they had been every second since they pulled him from the wreckage. He did not move, not even a twitch.

For the first few days, Ben had read him poetry. Started at the front of
The Oxford Book of English Verse
and worked his way to the end, all the way from John Gower to Seamus Heaney. Bored Ben to tears, truth be told, but he knew Mike liked that stuff. The English major to the end. So there was at least a chance he might get some pleasure out of this marathon reading. There was a theory, still unproved, that patients in a deep coma, even those teetering on the very brink of life and death, could still hear and understand. Some said that the sense of hearing was the last to go and the first to recover. And so Ben read and read and read, waiting for some indication that he was being heard.

He never received any.

After a few days, his voice grew hoarse and he gave up the reading. But he remained in the chair, waiting for a sign, praying for the recovery the doctors said was unlikely, and wishing he had not been so stupid as to draw his best friend into the line of fire.

He blamed himself entirely. The attack had been a nightmare. A national nightmare, true, but one he had experienced firsthand and up close. His cheek still stung where the bullet had grazed him. But that was the least haunting memory plaguing him. All those men—dropping right before his eyes. He’d seen death before, even witnessed it—but not like that. Never like that. And the director of Homeland Security—gone. He couldn’t cry many tears about Senator Hammond. If the rest of the world knew what Ben knew about the former Senate minority leader, they would understand. But all those other people. All those public servants, all those innocent bystanders, children. And—

And after all the times Mike had stood by him, all the times he had pulled Ben’s fat out of the fire—

Ben repaid the debt by putting him in the intensive care unit, his right leg and arms broken, his flesh rent in more than a dozen places, his head so concussed that even if he did recover…the doctors were not sure it would be such a good thing.

A Hispanic nurse entered to take Mike’s vitals. She was on the short side, brisk, and efficient. No-nonsense but still friendly. As Ben well knew, her name was Beatrice.

“Get any sleep last night, Senator?”

Was it morning? Ben instinctively clutched his jaw and felt a wealth of stubble. He must look a wreck.

“Not much,” Ben mumbled.

“Still having those dreams?”

Had he told her about the dreams? Why? Must’ve been so brain-dead he didn’t realize what he was saying.

“I…don’t remember.”

“You know,” she said, as she wrapped the blood pressure monitor around Mike’s upper arm, “you might consider talking to someone about that. Not that it’s any of my business. But if I’d been through what you’ve been through…” She shook her head. “I’d want to talk to someone. I’d need to get something off my chest.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno.” She finished with the blood pressure and started the tricky task of trying to take an unconscious man’s temperature. Ben knew wires hooked up all over Mike’s body were monitoring his heartbeat and brain activity and other vital signs, but apparently Beatrice preferred to do some things the old-fashioned way. “The lingering fear that accompanies being in a horrific event. Anxiety. Grief.” She paused ever so slightly. “Guilt.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Ben said with more than a little crust. “I don’t like…talking. Especially not about myself.”

“Suit yourself.” She finished her work and gave Mike’s sheets a little tuck. “Sir, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. But you know—we’ll call you if there’s any change.”

“I know.”

“So…”

“I’ll stay. As long as I can.”

“As you wish.” She started out the door, then stopped. “Oh. Major Morelli has a visitor. I asked her to wait until I finished my business. Do you mind if I send her in now?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Very good, sir. Umm…could I bring you something to eat?”

“I’m fine.”

Beatrice nodded, then left the room.

When was the last time he had eaten? Ben wondered. He couldn’t recall. Perhaps that was why he felt so…feeble. Perhaps that was part of it, anyway.

He stared into Mike’s expressionless face.
Come back,
he thought, as if his mental urging might somehow make the difference.
Come back to us.

“Ben?”

Ben looked up, startled. It took him a moment to focus and make the proper mental connections. “Sergeant Baxter?”

“Would you call me Kate already?” The woman was tall and almost wiry thin. She had dark hair and eyes and, Ben knew from experience, was just as tough as she looked. She had been Mike’s partner.

He mentally corrected himself. She still was Mike’s partner, damn it.

“Kate,” Ben said, rubbing his hands against his face, trying to bring himself back into the world of the living. “How are you?”

“How am
I
?”

“Right. Stupid question.”

They both stared down at Mike, lying quiet and still on his bed.

“You know,” Kate said, “I’ve been telling him he needed to get more rest. But this is ridiculous.”

Ben tried to laugh, but it just wasn’t in him.

“Sorry I haven’t been here more often. But you know, it’s such a long drive from Tulsa. The Turner Turnpike is so boring.”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“Okay, I’m lying through my teeth. I just…I don’t know.” She pressed her wrist against her mouth, obviously trying to stop her emotions from spilling out. “I guess I don’t like seeing him like this.”

Ben nodded slowly. “It just isn’t him, is it?”

“No! Mike is always so full of life and energy and—” She caught herself. “I mean, he’s a sexist pig and I hate working with him and I only do so under protest but…” She let out a long sigh that said more than any number of words might have done.

After a long silent moment, she changed the subject. “Any word from the ex?”

“No.” Hell of a thing, wasn’t it? When you couldn’t track down your own sister. “I don’t know where Julia is. I don’t know if she knows Mike has been wounded. And I don’t really even know if she would care.”

“That’s harsh, surely.”

Ben said nothing. He was much too tired to argue. But he’d been dealing with his younger sister all his life. She had reclaimed her infant son—the one Ben had been raising for her—in a sudden frenzy several years ago, run off with some doctor, and he hadn’t heard from her since. Neither had his mother.

“So is that how you met Mike?” Kate asked. “When he married your sister?”

“Oh, no. I knew him first. We were college roommates at OU. Even played in a band together. I played piano and keyboards and sang badly. He played guitar and sang slightly less badly. Wrote some of our songs himself.”

“Really! Good stuff?”

Ben shrugged. “Very poetic.”

They shared a small smile.

“We were distant for a while, after the divorce. Very messy. But we managed to reclaim our friendship after I moved to Tulsa and started practicing law. We’ve been close ever since. My best friend, really.” He paused. “Best male friend, for sure. He’s saved me a hundred times over.”

“From bad guys?”

Ben stared at the floor. “From myself, mostly.”

Kate was carrying a paper bag. She set it on a table and withdrew a thermos. “I think you need a pick-me-up.” She began unscrewing the lid.

“Thanks, but I don’t really drink coffee. Upsets my stomach.”

By the time she had the lid off, Ben recognized his mistake.

“Chocolate milk?”

Kate grinned broadly. “My favorite.”

He gave her a long look. “I don’t believe you’ve ever drunk chocolate milk. Even when you were five, I’ll bet you were too tough to drink chocolate milk.”

“Well…”

“You’ve been talking to Christina, haven’t you?”

Kate started to protest.

“Don’t bother denying it. I know.”

She passed him a cup. “You can hardly blame a woman for looking after her husband. Especially a newlywed.”

Ben held up his hands. “I don’t care for any. I—”

Kate looked at him harshly. “Drink it!”

Ben took the cup obediently and drank.

“I brought you some coneys, too.”

Ben didn’t argue this time; he just took the food as she offered it. “Bet they aren’t as good as Carl’s in Tulsa.”

“They’ll be much better. My own secret recipe.”

Ben blinked. “They’re hot dogs. You stuck a wiener inside a bun.”

“Hey, I’m a working girl. What do you expect? For me, that’s a secret recipe.”

“I’m not sure I can eat anything.”

“You have to. You look pathetic.”

“Thank you so much. But I—”

“Look, you want to stay in that chair and wallow in sorrow, that’s your business. Waste away to nothing, I don’t care. But you’ve got a brand-new wife, buster. And she does care, you get what I’m saying? So eat already!”

Ben took a bite. Not half bad, actually.

“I talked to the docs out in the hallway,” she continued. “No change, right?”

Ben nodded and took another nibble.

“Prognosis?”

Ben wiped his mouth, then spoke. “Poor.”

“That’s what I thought.” She looked down at her stricken partner again, then pointed to the green vinyl chair next to the one Ben was sitting in. “That chair empty?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She plopped into it. “You know, Ben—this is not your fault. No one could have foreseen—”

“Stop.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Stop.”

“But you can’t go on—”

“Would you please just stop!”

This time, it was Kate who fell silent.

For a moment. “You’re wounded.”

“Please don’t get all psychological on me.”

“I’m being literal.” She touched the side of his cheek.

“Oh. Right. Bullet grazed me. Docs say it will heal. Won’t leave a scar.”

“I’ve seen bullet creases before. I think the doctors are wrong.”

“Whatever. Who cares? By all rights, it should’ve taken my head off. I was lucky. Unlike—”

He didn’t finish.

She decided to change the subject. Slightly.

“Saw the first lady’s funeral on television. A horrible thing.”

Ben agreed. “Saw the start. Couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“Good to see the president back on his feet, though. He looked strong. Grief-stricken, sure. But he still had it together. Some of the rumors going around—” She paused. “Well, it was good to see him back in action, even under these circumstances. I’m glad he’s going to speak to the nation. I think it’s the right thing to do. What everyone needs. A feeling of unity. Strength. Resilience. What do you think he’s going to say?”

Ben shrugged.

“Ben, you
are
going back to Washington, aren’t you? The president is addressing a joint session. I’m no political expert, but I’m pretty sure that means the U.S. senators are supposed to be there.”

“I’m not a real senator.”

“Ben—at the moment, you’re the only senator this state has got.”

It was too sad, too true. With Tidwell killed in the explosion, and the governor hesitant to name a successor so soon after the tragedy, Ben was Oklahoma’s only rep in the Senate.

Kate gently laid her hand over Ben’s. “We need you in Washington, Ben. You go back and do your job. I’ll stay here with Mike.”

He turned slowly. “That’s why Christina sent you, isn’t it? To take my place. So I’d go to Washington.”

Kate’s eyes told him all he needed to know.

Ben waited until Kate had closed the door behind her; then he leaned forward, his eyes on Mike. “I remember when our roles were reversed, pal. After I took that spill at the refinery and ended up in the hospital, out for days. You stayed by me. I may not have known it at the time…but then again, somehow I think I did. And I like to think you know I’m here now.”

He drew in his breath. “I have to go now. But I’ll still be thinking of you. I will not forget—anything. I especially won’t forget that you tossed my butt out of that car before you saved your own. If it had gone the other way around, you’d still be hale and hearty. You took that explosion for me, and the president. You did what you always do. Took care of others better than you take care of yourself. And I won’t forget it—ever.”

He steadied himself with the metal guardrail.

“I will do everything in my power to make sure that this does not happen again. Not to anyone else. Not ever. That’s what you would do, if you were here. So since you can’t—I’ll do it for you.”

He opened the door and handed Kate
The Oxford Book of English Verse.
“He’s all yours now.”

As he rose, he gave Mike one last look.

Come back to us, Mike. Please.