The Election (22 page)

His telephone rang, and he noticed the call was coming in on his private number that only a few agents in international countries knew. It had to be Juan.

“Juan,” Charlie said as he answered the call. He laid his glasses on his desk and rubbed his sore eyes.

“Hello, my friend,” Juan responded.

Charlie checked the number. Juan was calling from his apartment in the northern section of Bogotá. The call traveled through three different telephone circuits before it rang to Charlie's desk. Charlie knew the call couldn't be traced. But, just in case, their conversation was encrypted.

“Have you found Raoul?”

“Yes. He and I had a professional meeting of sorts.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said the name of the man who hired him was Winston.”

“Winston?” Charlie asked rhetorically. “Did he say anything else?”

“That was it.”

“Are you certain he was telling the truth?”

Juan chuckled. “I'm certain.”

“Good,” Charlie replied. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

Juan hung up, and Charlie pushed the intercom button on the telephone. He dialed Assistant Deputy Director McCullough's office.

“George,” he said when the assistant deputy director answered the call. “I need you in my office immediately.”

In less than thirty seconds George was at Charlie's door. “What is it?” he inquired as he entered the room.

“I have a name I need you to check out. You're the only one, other than me, who will know this name, and we need to keep it that way. You need to handle this personally. I'm still not certain who we can trust.”

“Does it have to do with the Thompson murder?” George asked.

“Perhaps, and that's why you must keep it top secret. The name is Winston, and that's all I have. Just that one name.”

“Do you know how many people there must be in the country with Winston somewhere in their name?”

“I didn't say the assignment would be easy. It has to be someone with unlimited wealth. Start there. Let me know what you find.”

 

Madison County Criminal Justice Complex, Jackson, Tennessee

The guard on duty found Jed at 6:00 a.m. Tuesday when he made his rounds. There was a note lying on the bed addressed to Jed's wife. He apologized for all the pain and agony he had caused, and asked her to forgive him.

 

FBI headquarters, Washington DC

Saul Sanders consulted his calendar when he arrived at his office. It was Tuesday, and the presidential election was exactly two weeks away. Maybe then he could get rid of that thorn in the flesh, Armacost.
Things will be better when the Federalists are in charge
. Saul saw the light flashing for his private line. Only Randolph would be calling it, and Saul knew it had to be urgent. He closed and locked the door to his office before answering it.

“Saul,” Randolph began when Saul answered the phone. He didn't have the time or the courtesy for an appropriate greeting. “Our problem is larger than we thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reed is using the photographs of Raoul Miguel Flores and the F-PAC documents for negotiations with the prosecutor. It won't be long before Reed shows those to somebody who will know what they mean. We can't take the chance that he does that before the election. If he does, it won't be long before that road leads to us. We must act quickly.”

“Do you want him eliminated?” inquired Saul eagerly. He wanted to make certain that Randolph recognized his loyalty.

“I do. But Milton and Pierce wouldn't agree to it. Milton thinks that Reed only wants to help his client and doesn't know the significance of the information. All we need is to make sure he doesn't show it to anyone before the election. We need you to help us with that.”

“I have just the man for the job,” Saul responded.

“Good. We need to move quickly before he discusses it with anyone else.”

“I'll call my contact as soon as we hang up.”

“And Saul, I need you to do one other thing for me,” Randolph said.

“What is it?”

“I need you to eliminate the other problem we've been watching.”

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Somehow, miraculously, Jed survived. The bed sheets were not strong enough to break any bones in his neck. He had fallen unconscious and hung from the sprinkler pipe, his toes barely touching the floor, until the guard discovered him. Jed was still unconscious.

Jake parked his car in the parking garage south of Jackson-Madison County General Hospital and entered through the revolving door that led to the main lobby. He stopped at the information desk across from the entrance and asked the volunteer working there where he could find the McClellan family.

After receiving directions, Jake found Ruth in the waiting room outside the critical-care unit. She was sitting alone on a yellow vinyl couch with her face buried in her hands, sobbing.

“What happened?” Jake asked as he sat down beside Ruth and placed his arm around her.

“Sheriff West said he tried to commit suicide,” Ruth answered. She laid her head on Jake's shoulder. “I just can't believe it. The last time I saw him was last Monday in the visitin' room.”

She raised her head from Jake's shoulder and righted herself on the vinyl couch. “I didn't stay the whole time, and I left cryin'. I didn't even visit yesterday. I just couldn't take it no more.” She hesitated. “This is all my fault.” Ruth buried her head in her hands again and sobbed. Jake didn't know how to comfort her. He simply placed his hand on her back and patted it.

Jake knew Ruth wasn't to blame. If anybody was to blame, he was. If he hadn't been trying to be a hero, he could have prevented Jed's suicide attempt. All Jed had needed was some realistic hope. Why hadn't he told Jed about Jesse Thompson being his father? Or about the $2 million he'd squeezed from Mrs. Thompson? If he had, would Jed still have attempted suicide? He wouldn't have had a reason to.

Jake's plan had been to tell Jed this morning about the photographs, the money, and about his meeting with Drake. But, in his attempt to control every minute detail, he had waited too long. And that delay had resulted in Jed's current condition.

“What are the doctors saying?” Jake asked when Ruth's weeping subsided.

“They're not sure if he'll live. If he does, he'll prob'ly have brain damage from the lack of oxygen. It's still too early to tell.” She wiped her eyes with the tissue she was clasping.

“I'd like to go see him,” Jake said.

“I think that'd be great.”

Jake stood with Ruth, and they walked past the nurses' station and down the sterile hall toward Jed's room. The entrance to each room looked identical to the one next to it, but it was easy for Jake to identify Jed's room before reaching it since it was the only room in the hospital with a sheriff's deputy posted on either side of the door. The deputies recognized Jake and nodded permission for him and Ruth to enter Jed's room.

Jake followed Ruth into the room. Jed was unconscious, with an IV in each arm and a tube down his throat to help him breathe. In his mind Jake searched for words to describe Jed's appearance, and he kept going back to the same description.

Jed looked dead.

Were it not for the regular
beep beep
of the monitors, Jake would have thought Jed really was dead.

Certainly, his spirit was gone. Physically, he may have been lying in that hospital bed, but spiritually, he was dead. He had lost hope and given up. It was as simple as that, Jake knew.

Naomi was sitting in a chair by the side of Jed's bed. When Jake gently touched her on the shoulder, she looked up at him and smiled. She seemed to have a strange peace about her, and he couldn't understand why. With everything that had happened in her life, how could she be at peace?

Then Jake remembered something Naomi told him when she was in his office.
“God's in control. We're gonna be OK.”

Looking at Naomi, Jake realized for the first time that his life was missing something. He had filled his life with money, his law practice, and even his family. But there was still something missing. Naomi had no personal possessions to speak of, yet she was at peace. Jake knew she was poor. Her only child was accused of murder, and now he was lying in a hospital bed almost dead. How could she be so peaceful? What was it that she had that Jake didn't?

Jake asked himself if it really could be her belief in God. He knew all about the Christian faith. He even told anyone who asked that he was a Christian. But the thought of God being in control of every event that takes place seemed implausible to him. If God really was in control, then why did horrible things happen to good people like Naomi McClellan?

No,
Jake finally told himself.
There must be some other explanation for Naomi's peace.
He was not ready to accept Naomi's notion that God was in control.

He looked back at Jed's listless body. The sight of him lying there barely alive was sickening. Jake couldn't even approach the side of the bed. He turned away and started to leave the room. Ruth touched him on the arm, and he gazed into her face.

“We're going to make it through this, you know,” she assured him.

“I know, Ruth, but I should have seen this coming, and I didn't.”

“Don't blame yourself. I don't, and I know Jed don't. You just keep workin' to clear Jed's name.”

He started to tell her about the money but decided against it. It didn't really matter at the moment. Jake knew Drake Highfill wouldn't go to trial against an unconscious man. It was time to close the file on the
Jedediah McClellan
case, at least for a while.

“I'll check on you again tomorrow, Ruth,” Jake said as he left the room and walked toward the front door of the hospital. The closer he got to the exit, the quicker his steps became. He had to get out of there.

 

Reed residence, Jackson, Tennessee

Jake arrived home just past six o'clock. The kids had no doubt already eaten supper without him, again. He pulled into the garage, put the car in park, and laid his head against the steering wheel, trying to gather himself before he went inside. He didn't want his children to see that their daddy had been crying. He was supposed to be strong, not weak, he kept reminding himself. He had to at least act like there was nothing wrong, even when there was. After a few minutes of isolation he was ready to face his family.

Jake knew that the sound of the opening door would signal his children that he was home. It did, and they raced to greet him before the door was completely closed. As they hugged him around the legs and waist, he felt the warmth of their bodies. He knelt down so he would be at eye level with them.

“How was your day at school, Courtney?” he asked.

“It was good, Daddy. I got an A on my math test.”

“I knew you could. I told you that all you had to do was take your time.” He pulled Courtney close and gave her an extra squeeze.

“What about you, Brett?” Jake asked as he turned his attention to his middle child. “Did you have a good day?”

“I didn't have to go to the principal's office.” Brett announced.

That was how Brett measured whether a day was good or bad, Jake knew. He grinned.

“Jeremy, did you have a good day at kindergarten?”

“It was fun. We painted with our fingers.”

“And how was your day?” came a voice from behind the children. It was Rachel, and Jake was glad to see her.

“Terrible,” Jake replied.

“What happened?”

Jake glanced around at the children, who were listening to every word their parents were saying.

“I'll tell you later…”

By eight thirty the children were bathed and in bed. Jake sat with Rachel on the couch in the great room. The only light in the room came from a small lamp on top of the Wurlitzer piano.

“So tell me why your day was so terrible,” Rachel prodded.

“Jed McClellan tried to commit suicide today.”

She gasped. “How? Why?”

“He tried to hang himself by making a noose with the bed sheets in his cell. I'm not sure about the why, but I suspect it was because Jed couldn't stand the thought of another day in the CJC.” Jake swallowed hard. “And it's my fault.”

Rachel's brow creased. “That's ridiculous, Jake.”

“It's true. It's my fault that Jed is lying in the hospital on his deathbed.” Jake didn't tie the bed sheets together and make the noose for Jed, but he certainly didn't do enough to stop it either. He began to weep and was finally able to release his pent-up emotions, which now fully erupted. Jake sobbed uncontrollably.

Rachel moved even closer and put her arms around him, holding him as he cried. “You can't blame yourself for what happened to Jed,” she said softly after a few minutes. “He's a grown man and made his own decision.”

Jake wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You don't understand. Jed came to me before any of this started and asked me to help him with a problem he was having with Jesse Thompson. I didn't really believe Jed would do anything to Jesse. So I didn't try very hard to help. Then the other day I discovered some information that helped Jed, and I haven't told him yet. If I had, he probably wouldn't have tried to kill himself.”

Her voice was solemn. “You can't be sure, Jake. You don't know what's in a man's mind. You've done the very best you can to help Jed.”

“I went to see Jed today at the hospital after I heard about the suicide attempt,” Jake said, still trying to compose himself. “He looked awful. I don't know if he's going to live or not. What will I do if he dies? I'll always believe I was responsible for his death.”

“Stop blaming yourself,” Rachel instructed sternly. “Did you see any of Jed's family at the hospital?”

“Ruth was there, and so was Jed's mother.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Are they blaming you?”

“No,” Jake admitted.

“That's what I'm talking about. They're not blaming you, and you shouldn't blame yourself either.”

Jake thought about Rachel's admonishment, and he also thought about seeing Naomi at the hospital. What was it about that sixty-year-old woman that intrigued him so much?

“It was strange, really,” Jake explained, awe in his voice. “Jed's mother seemed completely at peace with the situation. She wasn't blaming anybody. I can't understand how she can be so calm.”

“Maybe the doctor told her that Jed was going to be OK.”

“No, the doctor told them he wasn't sure if Jed would recover. She was in my office the week after Jed was arrested and said something that has really stuck with me. She said, ‘
God's in control. We're gonna be OK.'
” Jake thought about Naomi's words. “I can't comprehend what that means,” he admitted.

Jake and Rachel talked for over an hour. Jake needed it. Before he realized it, it was ten o'clock.

“Let's go to bed,” Rachel suggested. “A good night's rest, and you'll be able to think more clearly.”

“That sounds great.” He was tired. “You go ahead, and I'll be there in a few minutes. I want to watch the news first,” he said as he reached for the remote.

 

Rachel changed into her pajamas and knelt beside their bed, as she did every night.

“God, I don't always understand why things happen, but I know that everything that happens fits into your plan. That's why I know you're in control of what has happened to Jed. I pray you will be with Jed and his family. And God, I pray that you will take care of Jake too. Give him strength, and help him through this time. But, most important, I pray that Jake will accept Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.”

 

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Naomi looked around room 8 in the critical-care unit as she entered for the last visiting time of the day. The front wall to the room was solid glass, and Naomi could see the hospital staff at the nurses' station. She knew the transparent wall was so that the staff could have visual contact with Jed at all times. The head of Jed's bed was on the rear wall and monitors flanked either side. Naomi sat in a green vinyl chair to Jed's left.

The room was quiet with the exception of the regular
beep
of the monitor attached to Jed, recording his vital signs. Naomi wasn't sure what purpose the monitor served medically, but the constant sound confirmed to her that Jed was still alive.

She pulled her chair closer to Jed's bed and peered over the cold, metal rail into his seemingly lifeless face. A tube ran from his nostrils, around the back of his head, and into a valve in the wall behind the bed. Oxygen constantly flowed from the tubes into his nose. A larger tube protruded from his mouth into a similar valve behind the bed. Naomi couldn't see the end of the tube that was in Jed's throat. But the doctor told her that Jed had damaged the passageway leading from his mouth to his lungs when he hanged himself, and he needed the tube to help him breathe. Naomi took Jed's big, calloused left hand and placed it in hers. She squeezed it, trying to help Jed hang on to what little life he had remaining.