Recipes for Disaster (12 page)

As we drive him back to the airport, the radio stays off.

The five-hour flight to DC gives him plenty of time to prepare his resignation speech.

Forget the sins of the father. The sins of the son are just as deadly, if the goal is character assassination.

Chapter 8

Muckraker

A journalist who exposes the activities of politicians behaving badly is called a “muckraker.” This term comes from John Bunyan's book, The Pilgrim's Progress, which had a character called the Man with the Muck Rake because he was so obsessed with the muck of worldly profit, he could never look up.

When looking down, you may hear a lot, but you miss a lot, too—especially in journalism, a profession where you need your eyes as well as your ears, to see things for yourself.

Today’s journalists don’t rely on either their eyes or their ears. They have the Internet. Why actually get your hands dirty digging for facts when you can just quote some source without determining if the information has been vetted?

Quick and Easy Quiche

(From Toni Meehan, West Bend, Wisconsin)

Ingredients

Box of Stove Top stuffing.

Spinach, broccoli or some other vegetable and/or ham or some other meat

6 eggs

1 12-oz can of Evaporated Milk

4-6 Cups  Cheese (Feta, Jarlsberg or Sharp Cheddar are some choices, depending on whether you want creamy texture and mild, or sharp flavor; Hard cheese should be shredded.)

Salt and Pepper

Directions

1: Follow the directions on the box to make the stuffing, then split between 2 pie plates. 

2: To each shell, add cheese; usually 2-3 cups. 

3: Then add meat and/or veggie, if you like. 

4: In separate bowl, mix 6 eggs with a 12 oz. can of evaporated milk; split between the two pies. 

5: Salt and pepper to your taste.

 6: Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes, until golden brown on top and knife in center comes out clean. 

“The CIA is livid,” Ryan shouts at all of us. 

“I take it they didn’t know about Senator Jennings’ son?” Jack asks.

“On the contrary, Sam Jennings is one of their undercover agents. He infiltrated the Taliban five years ago, under deep cover. Under an assumed name, he began attending a mosque in Detroit. He connected with one of their stateside recruiters, who viewed him as a perfect candidate for the next level of jihad—the disillusioned youth of America. Now, not only has this leak sabotaged his father’s presidential candidacy and a stellar political career, it has also put Sam’s life in danger.” 

“I have friendly eyes and ears within the Pakistani Inter-Services Intelligence. I’ll initiate contact to find out if anything has happened to the young man,” Dominic offers.

“Good idea. I hope we don’t bring more bad news the senator’s way.” Ryan turns to me. “In the meantime, we need to find Chuck the Muckraker, and find out who’s his Deep Throat. You said you’ve met him?”

“Yes, Chuck knows me as a fellow reporter, and Arnie as my camera man.”

“Good. Get close, and use that to your advantage.” 

“Will do, boss,” I assure him.

“Speaking of getting close, Jack mentioned that the Chiffrays have enrolled their daughter in Trisha’s class.”

“Yes, it’s true.” I feel a blush creeping up my neck.

“Well, that’s a lucky break for us.”

“Why is that?”

“The stuff Dominic has been getting from our cousins across the pond certainly makes him a person of interest in regard to our Quorum investigation.”

“You mean, the purchase of the Kensington townhome?”

“One and the same.”

“Couldn’t it have just been a coincidence?”

“Yes, it could have been—except for the fact that he’s also the new leaseholder on the Quorum’s villa in Cabo San Lucas, not to mention his firm also owns Fantasy Island, as you recall. You know what they say: where there’s smoke, there’s fire. That being said, if you get the opportunity to get close to Babette, take it.”

“As of yet, she hasn’t shown up at any school functions.”

“That’s odd. Jack mentioned the Chiffrays were heading up some sort of school fundraiser.”

“They are—that is, Lee is heading up the endeavor.”

Ryan’s eyes light up. “Even better. I’m sure you can find some reason to get cozy.”

I nod, and head out the door.

I don’t need to chase after Lee. My guess is that the fundraiser is his excuse to be near me.

I just wish I knew why.

The official office of 
Truth Be Known
 is a dingy cottage on an alley in Venice. Because he knows me as Brenda Stark, girl reporter, I’m back in my red wig. This time I’ve added a push-up bra and stilettos, as an inducement for Chuck to open up. 

It also helps that I’ve brought along a thimbleful of SP-117, a drug that loosens the tongue, but hazes the brain afterward. He’ll never even remember I was there.

While Chuck is spilling his guts to me, Arnie will download the stroke history of Chuck’s computer, then release a Remote Access Trojan so that we can follow his every move.

We’ve just pulled up in the KKKL-TV van when we notice someone is already on the front stoop. 

Two someones, in fact. They are NSA agents. We know not because of any psychic abilities or my women’s intuition, but because they yell it out before breaking down the front door of the cottage.

Just as they do, a big-breasted, bowlegged blond floozy in a tight white cocktail frock runs out the back. But when the strap comes loose on one of her pink and blue kitten heel shoes, she gets tripped up and falls on her face.

“That’s our man,” I say to Arnie. “Quick, pull up alongside of him.”

Arnie tilts his head, puzzled. “Really? How can you tell?”

“No self-respecting woman wears white after Labor Day, let alone shoes that ugly. And besides, his wig is on backwards.”

“Gotcha.” We’re there in a flash.

I bat my eyes at Chuck. “Nasty fall! Need a lift?”

When he recognizes me, he does a double-take. “Brenda? What are you doing here?”

“We’re about to shoot a segment on the Venice Beach musclemen. You know, show the yahoos that there are ways to pump up other than farm chores.” I lower my sunglasses to take in the vision before me. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you at first. Who knew Chuck the Muckraker had such gorgeous gams!”

“Shhhh, not so loud! I’m incognito!” He puts his finger to his lips as he glances sideways down the block. “Those men are Federal agents! They think I tapped into the NSA’s database, and then leaked the intel from it on my website. Of course, even if I did, I’d be protected by my First Amendment rights.”

“Good to know. Why don’t we call them over and remind them?”

Hearing that, he turns as white as his dress. 

“Listen, you Snowden wannabe, you better jump in before they come over and ask you for a date. You’re much too pretty for the boys of Gitmo.”

He gets it. He tosses his computer bag into the back seat, then climbs in after it. The threshold on the van’s door is high enough that he has to hike up his frock before hopping in, giving me more than an eyeful of his tighty-whities.

Arnie must be blinded by the sight because he steps on the gas, but stops short before hitting the car in front of us.

The syringe with the SP-117 flies out the window.

"Oops," Arnie mutters.

Time to punt. Forcing a smile, I turn to Chuck. “If you’re going to make a habit of playing dress-up, I’ve got to introduce you to Spanx. And this, too. Trust me, it’ll bring out the roses in your cheeks.” I pull out a lip wand labeled 
Cherry Noir
. Smiling, I apply a little gloss on his lips. “So that it spreads evenly, do this.” I smack my lips then lick them.

It’s a custom brand carried only by Acme honeypots. The smack does the job of spreading the color. The lick does the trick of drugging him so that he passes out.

As Arnie roars off down the street, he asks,“Where should we take him?”

Good question. It’s not as if we can waltz him into Acme's offices. And I’ve got the guest-who-won’t-leave staying in the bonus room over my garage, so that’s out, too.

Suddenly I have a brilliant idea. I dial Dominic. “Meet me at your new place. You’re about to host your very first guest.”

Dead silence, then the sputtering starts. “My dear, are you mad? Chateau Fleming is far from ready to receive visitors! There is still much finish work to do. The 
rake facia
 on the cornices is off by a quarter of an inch, not to mention the entry foyer’s hardwood floor has yet to be stenciled with my family seal—”

“Dominic, it ain’t the Queen who’s dropping by. I’m talking … well, torture, if it comes to that.”

“Ah, I see.” He sighs. “Well, at least 
that
 room is complete.”

I’m not surprised. Dominic has a very active social life.

When we get through with Chuck, he’s going to wish he’d gone with the Feds.

In truth, Dominic’s torture room is a pleasure grotto for the senses, with spa, steam room, workout suite, indoor pool, yoga room and massage alcove. 

But when one is blindfolded, even a six-person indoor Jacuzzi spa with forty-four PowerPro luxury jets letting loose with a force equivalent to Niagara Falls can seem as ominous as a waterboarding bucket.

When it comes to making this extraordinary chamber sound like the seventh circle of Hell, Dominic is a pro. I guess it has something to do with spending twelve years in an English all-boy’s private prep school. 

With all the pomposity of Lord Valdemort, he explains to the prisoner the process in which we will extract the information we need. First,  he will be stripped down (yes, the tighty-whities will have to go) and forced to stand for a long time in extreme heat (the sauna room) while being subjected to extreme duress (Metallica, played over a Bose Acoustic Wave stereo system) in contorted positions. (One of Dominic’s new lady friends is a Bikram yoga instructor who doubles as a dominatrix. Just a wild guess, but I presume the mantra chanted most often by her disciples is "I feel the pain!")

If he still doesn’t break, he is told he will be shackled and stretched until his muscles are forever useless (thank you, Bowflex Revolution Home Gym). “Then there is the waterboarding.” As a special effect, Dominic splashes his hand in the Jacuzzi's roiling tub, and the scent of rose petals wafts through the air.

I wish he hadn’t done that, since it sort of defeats the purpose of scaring him in the first place.

As it turns out, Chuck is a bigger weenie than I would have imagined. He whimpers from the moment he is tossed into the sauna. Before a half-hour is out, he breaks. “I don’t know where the information comes from, I swear!” He screams over Metallica’s 
Whiskey in the Jar
. “It’s always anonymous. I got a call from someone telling me where to stand at the Percy speech so that I’d be front and center when that dude walked up to the microphone. Governor Davis’ open mic feed appeared in my YouTube account before I knew it was there. As for Senator Jennings’ son, I was sent the file an hour before the news conference. Of course I was going to confront him with it and leave it up on my YouTube channel. What a scoop! Still, I’m telling you the truth! You’ve got to believe me, please!”