Electing To Murder (47 page)

He was fully aware of the scheme to rig the Presidential Election and understood the reason he was ordered to kill those four men was to protect Pope’s plan.

Ten years ago, Christian Pope had rescued Foche and Kristoff after they’d been shunned by French Intelligence due to the failure of a mission in Afghanistan. Once they went to work for Pope, they operated out of an office in the Cayman Islands on the direction of the Bishop since much of his business involved using Cayman banks, businesses and addresses. However, Kristoff also maintained a satellite office in Morocco that Foche didn’t think Pope knew about. The FBI was already working with the US embassy and Moroccan government to access the office.

Foche was a fountain of knowledge. He’d been active for ten years. Judge Dixon was right about Younger Investments. Foche and Kristoff killed the Hedge Fund manager. In the end, Foche gave them six other bodies that Pope had them eliminate over the years for various business purposes. Two of the killings were in the United States. Others were in Russia, Kazakhstan, Brazil and Chile.

“So why did people call Christian Pope, the Bishop?” Mac asked towards the end of the interrogation. “There is clearly nothing holy about the man.”

Foche shrugged. “He said that’s what we could call him. I asked him why and he said he had two good friends when he was kid growing up in Kansas that called him that. They gave everyone in the neighborhood names and because his name had religious elements of Christian and Pope, they called him the Bishop. It’s as simple as that.”

“I thought it might have something to do with chess,” Wire speculated. “All these shell companies with post office boxes use chess pieces for their names.”

“That was Pope’s idea,” Foche answered.

There was one more mystery solved. Wire kept going. “I’m amazed,” she remarked, “that given what you’ve told me about his holdings, his wealth, that it is so much more than oil and gas that he somehow managed to keep that all so quiet.”

Foche nodded. “He was, what’s your American’s term? Anal?”

Mac nodded.

“Yes then, he was anal about his privacy and security. That was part of our job, to help protect his identity from being exposed in those other business ventures. If people came sniffing around, we warned them off. If a warning didn’t work, sterner measures were obviously taken. Once you start unwinding all of his affairs you won’t believe what he’s into business wise, it’s everything and his wealth is far greater than people realize.”

The entire interview was recorded and a copy was already in the hands of the attorney general’s office. That was an hour ago.

It was 4:14 p.m.

Wire and McRyan sat on the tarmac in the FBI plane at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport awaiting their next destination.

A
t 8:35 p.m. eastern time, the double doors to the Situation Room were pushed open and President Barnes entered the room and everyone stood up. It was a small group that included Attorney General Gates and FBI Director Mitchell.

“Good evening, everyone,” the president said and everyone took their seats. The president poured himself a cup of coffee and looked down to Director Mitchell, “Are you ready, Director?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The president nodded and called the meeting to order and had two screens on the large wall opposite of where he was sitting turned on to reveal the faces of Governor Thomson and Vice President Wellesley.

“Good evening, Governor Thomson,” the president said to the screen for the governor. “Who from your staff is listening in?”

“And to you, Mr. President. I have my running mate, Senator Gray with me, along with Judge Dixon.”

“Very good. Also with us is Vice President Wellesley. Mr. Vice President, who else is present from your staff?”

“Mr. President, with me is my running mate Governor Griffin and my son and advisor Don.”

“Very well,” the president replied. “We are here to discuss the completion of the investigation of the FBI, in conjunction with the St. Paul Police Department, into the party behind a series of murders as well as the attempt to manipulate the results of today’s election. We are moving to make an arrest of the man behind this. Given the gravity of the issues, particularly regarding the ones impacting your campaigns, I felt you should be included in this briefing and have the same information as you speak to the American people tonight.” The president pointed to the FBI director: “Director Mitchell, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Mitchell maneuvered the mouse and clicked to open a picture. “The man behind the attempt to manipulate the results of today’s election is Christian Pope.”

* * *

At 8:40 p.m., the FBI jet touched down at Tampa International Airport. Mac and Wire were both exhausted. They could see it in each other’s eyes. Yet they were both at the ready. For the last week they’d been chasing, non-stop, this case and the man behind it. Now they were going to get the satisfaction of putting the cuffs on him. They knew where he was and federal agents were watching from every direction.

The pilot opened the door and let the steps down. Mac lumbered down the steps after Wire, who’d bounded down them, totally on edge. She wanted justice and was just a few minutes from finally getting it. An agent at the bottom had vests and navy blue FBI windbreakers for them which they both slid on and climbed into the back of a Suburban. Word was out, McRyan and Wire liked their coffee. In the truck’s cup holders were fresh Starbucks coffees. Mac was most grateful, “I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about the bureau.”

“How long to get to Pope’s place?” Wire asked anxiously.

“Twenty minutes.”

“I can’t wait to put this son of a bitch in cuffs,” Wire said to Mac with enthusiastic determination. “I at least can give Sebastian’s mother that. She deserves that.”

* * *

Governor Thomson and Judge Dixon came back into the larger hotel suite to find Shelby and Sally waiting for them. “Unbelievable,” was all he could say as he recapped what he just learned. Then he looked at the Judge, who was not surprised. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Dixon nodded. “Wire told me this morning when she and Mac flew back into town to interrogate Foche.”

“Wait? They were here today?” Sally asked, dumbfounded that Mac had not told her when they spoke in the middle of the day.

“Sally, don’t get upset with your boy. To say Foche’s existence was a tightly held secret would be an understatement,” the Judge answered. “Wire told me about it but said that if Mac found out she did, he’d have probably killed her. He wanted no leaks so he told nobody. Mac was deathly afraid that Foche being alive would come to light and Pope would try to get at him. I think Mac has had enough of looking over his shoulder on this one.”

“This Foche gave them a lot of murders,” Shelby noted.

Dixon snorted, “That was Mac’s idea, I guess. He insisted Foche’s deal include every single body he and this man named Kristoff ever dropped. Mac and Wire are closing cases left and right, not only here in the States, but around the world.”

“So where are they now?” Sally asked. “Are they coming here?”

Governor Thomson looked at his watch. “I think their FBI jet landed in Tampa Bay a few minutes ago,” the governor answered. “They’re going to get Pope.”

“And we’re going to party,” Dixon said with a smile, looking at a text on his cell phone. “Because, Governor, the networks are getting ready to declare you the next president of the United States.”

* * *

The television played inside his office, FOX News declaring Governor Thomson the winner in state after state. The election was moments from being called.

Pope was sitting on his balcony having a post dinner drink when the call came in. He looked at the display on the satellite phone and momentarily questioned whether to take the call. Pope punched the button and said, “Why are you calling me?”

“Foche is alive and gave McRyan and Wire everything on you. Kristoff was shot by your man but the police in turn shot that man and got a dying declaration from Kristoff that you were ‘the Bishop.’ They have the dying declaration on video and Foche confirmed everything. They’re coming for you right now.”

* * *

The FBI set up three blocks away. In addition to the eight agents now watching the house on all four sides, Mac and Wire were meeting up with another twenty agents, as well as four officers from the Clearwater Police Department. The reconnoiter of the mansion revealed a two-man security detail with two house staff inside. The two men on the security detail were strapped with nines but otherwise wouldn’t be a problem, not with twenty agents coming on the property en masse. The FBI’s Local Agent-in-Charge was named McHugh and he didn’t plan anything fancy.

“Ms. Wire, do you have the warrant?”

“Right here.”

“All right then,” McHugh said. “We’ll go up to the gate, present the warrant and get on the property.”

Mac and Wire jumped into a sedan with McHugh and another agent and they drove the three blocks to Pope’s Clearwater estate.

* * *

Pope watched the motorcade come down the street, with police units blocking the road in both directions. He walked across the hall to the back of the house and noticed the Coast Guard cutter sitting off the shoreline.

* * *

The warrant was given to the security guard at the property gate. He read the warrant and opened the gate. McHugh’s driver charged up to the front of the house. Mac and Wire burst out of the backseat of the sedan and followed McHugh who pushed right in the front door. “Christian Pope,” McHugh bellowed. “It’s the FBI, we have a warrant for your arrest.”

A gunshot came from the second story.

“Ah shit,” Mac growled as he jumped up the stairs two at a time, his Sig Sauer drawn. At the top of the steps, Mac turned right down a long hallway, carefully working his way down the hall, Wire right behind him. They found Pope in the last room on the left, sitting in a chair, a revolver sitting on the floor, a gun shot through his mouth and out the back of his head and blood splattered over the glass windows looking out to the Gulf of Mexico.

Mac holstered his gun as he looked at the wound.

In the corner, the television was on the FOX News Channel. Vice President Wellesley was speaking to his supporters, conceding the election to Governor Thomson.

Mac looked away from the television and back to his partner.

Wire, her eyes moist, disgustedly stuffed the warrant into Pope’s dress shirt pocket and muttered, “You got off easy.”

* * *

Within a half hour, an FBI forensics team took over the crime scene and was collecting evidence, not that there was much to take. Pope committed suicide.

Mac didn’t feel any great joy as he watched Governor Thomson accept his victory. A good man had won and Mac hoped he would be a good president. However, as he watched the governor give his victory speech with the excitement of the crowd oozing through the television, he couldn’t help but feel let down.

After expending so much for the last week, to not have the satisfaction of slapping the cuffs on Pope left him feeling unsatisfied. Pope wouldn’t be made to answer for his sins. He took the easy way out. He was pleased the governor won and he knew Sally would be ecstatic. She looked absolutely radiant, standing in the background, beaming a broad smile and pure joy as the governor gave his victory speech. That brought a small smile to his face. He wanted to get back to her.

Thomson finished his victory speech and Mac turned away from the television. To occupy his time, Mac interviewed the house staff, which consisted of two housekeepers, a man and a woman, husband and wife. Their general responsibilities were to look after the estate year around, even when Pope was not around. The woman generally cared for the interior and the man the exterior.

“How did Mr. Pope seem this evening?” Mac asked.

“Fine,” the wife replied. “He requested supper like he normally does when he stays. He’s never real talkative when he’s here but when I brought up his meal and set it on the table outside his office he seemed in good spirits, said good evening and thank you. It was normal.”

“When did he arrive here?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” the husband responded. “He arrived, told us what he would like for dinner and asked us to show in his guest when she arrived.”

“Who was his guest?”

“A woman, a model, I think,” the woman replied. “Her name was Veronica, very pretty and she usually came around when he visited the house here. She stayed for dinner and the night. She was here this morning, they had breakfast and swam in the pool and she left in the middle of the afternoon.”

“And this was normal when he came here?”

“Yes,” the couple replied in unison, nodding their heads.

“And again,” Mac asked, “today everything seemed normal? He didn’t seem down or depressed. He didn’t seem like a man about to take his life?”

They both shook their heads.

“And when did you take his dinner up?” Mac asked the wife.

“About an hour before you arrived.”

“Did you know he kept a gun in the house?”

The housekeepers looked at each other, fear growing in their eyes.

“Relax,” Mac said calmly. “You’re not in any trouble here. Please just answer my question, did you know he kept a gun in the house?”

“Yes,” the husband replied knowingly. “He kept it in his desk in the office.”

Something didn’t add up to Mac. Pope went from a normal evening to committing suicide in the blink of an eye.

He spent the next few minutes wandering the house, looking in the rooms, checking out the furnishings. On the patio, outside a small den on the main level, he found Wire sitting in a patio chair, looking out to the ocean, alone in her thoughts. Pope’s suicide deflated her, denying her the chance for true justice and justice for McCormick’s mother. It didn’t look like she wanted company at the moment and Mac obliged.

As he walked back up to the second floor, he strolled into the home office, which sat next to the master suite where Pope shot himself. The office was spacious, outfitted with a large wood desk, two soft chairs in front of the desk as well as a large sitting area around an ornate coffee table. Other than the bank of tall windows overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, the other walls contained mahogany bookshelves filled with classic books, fine art and worldly trinkets. Mac walked the bookshelves, admiring the fine furnishings.