The Labyrinth Campaign (13 page)

As Jack exited the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, Carrie was rummaging through his jeans, still on the floor next to his side of the bed.

“What are you looking for?” Jack asked.

“Your keys. I’m going to Café Brazil for some real coffee and takeout empanadas.”

“Sounds awesome,” Jack said sincerely. “I could use a little grease in the system.”

Carrie smiled. “Drink a few beers with your new buddy Steve last night?”

“Just a few,” Jack said, recalling more than just a few.

Steve Bess was struggling on the treadmill. His thoughts were currently focused on just how bad he was hurting. He used to be able to drink all night and work out the next morning without a bit of trouble. Now, he’d been on the treadmill for less than fifteen minutes and he felt nauseous. Just when he thought, fuck it, he spotted a female body coming his way that would stop a freight train. There was no way he was going to wimp out with the PowerSport girl anywhere near him.

“Hi,” she said. “Would you like to try a sample of our new isotonic drink, PowerSport? It definitely helps during a tough workout.”

“Well, at this point, I need all the help I can get,” Steve responded.

The woman reached to her tray and handed Steve a sport bottle of the fruit-punch-flavored drink.

“This will do the trick when you’re finished with your workout,” she said, smiling. “How much longer are you going to go?”

“Probably about fifteen minutes,” Steve responded, setting the drink in his treadmill cup holder.

Before he could think of anything else to say to this incredibly effective distraction, she smiled and moved on to the next customer. Steve
watched her for the next few minutes, and then she was gone. The second half of the treadmill session was going much faster than the first.

Jack watched Carrie as she walked to his car in the driveway. He couldn’t get over how close they’d become in the past few months. It made him feel guilty for not being able to confide in her. But as he watched this beautiful woman climb into his car, he knew there would be a right time to tell her his troubles; he just wasn’t sure when that would be.

At the same moment, Steve Bess took a giant swig of his PowerSport sample.

Carrie turned the key in Jack’s Saab. Instantly, the vehicle erupted in an explosion that rattled the gingerbread houses for two blocks around. Jack watched the surreal scene, not realizing that the window he was looking through no longer existed and that his face was covered in blood from the multiple glass fragments that had shot in his direction.

Steve Bess was suddenly feeling weak in the knees. He reached for a railing to steady himself and missed. He was dead before he hit the floor.

W
ill Hawkins reclined in his office chair, feet on his desk, with his phone tucked under his chin. His usually confident demeanor was less apparent than normal. Carlos Pendrill was the recipient of this early afternoon call that provided some startling news. Will was a firm believer in always delivering a solution in conjunction with a problem. Therefore, he hadn’t immediately made Carlos aware of the fact that Jack McCarthy had overheard the two of them discussing their accident plan. But now that the problem had been solved, it was easier to communicate the breach in security that had allowed McCarthy to overhear their conversation that evening.

Carlos began the conversation. “I thought you were only going to call me if there was an emergency. You were so fucking adamant about it.”

“Well,” Will responded hesitantly, “we’ve had a few problems come up that I thought you should be aware of.” “Go on,” Carlos said bitingly.

“I’m just going to cut to the chase,” Will hurriedly continued. “Jack McCarthy, one of my campaign staff members, happened to overhear our phone conversation the other night.”

Before Will could continue, Carlos exploded on the other end of the line. “What the fuck do you mean he happened to overhear our phone conversation? I thought you were in your office on a secure line.”

“I was. But my secretary forgot to hit the scrambler and then left her desk, which allowed McCarthy to pick up her receiver and listen in.”

“Jesus Christ, Hawkins. This is a fucking mess that needs immediate attention.”

“Calm down, Carlos. It’s already been taken care of.”

Carlos was silent on the other end of the line.

“In addition to McCarthy overhearing our plan, he also went to our Assistant Chief of Staff Steve Bess and shared what he heard.”

The other end of the line was still silent, except for some heavy breathing.

“John Rollins came to the same conclusion you did; this situation needed immediate attention. So, as of this morning, both McCarthy and Bess have been silenced.”

“I like the sound of that, Will, but I have to ask exactly what do you mean by silenced?”

“Steve Bess’s official cause of death, without question, will be ruled a heart attack. He was given Dizanene in a sports drink sample at his health club. Dizanene is a—”

“I know what Dizanene is. It’s a poison as lethal as strychnine, but it dissolves in the bloodstream in a matter of minutes, giving the impression that cardiac arrest was the cause of death.”

Will involuntarily shuddered. It made him uncomfortable to think that Pendrill was so casually aware of an agent of death that he himself had only heard of a few days prior.

“What about McCarthy?” Carlos pressed.

“He’s also out of our way, but his untimely death was anything but natural,” Will quipped. “It would have been beyond coincidental to have two relatively young men on the campaign staff die of natural causes on the same day. So we created a more complex scenario to cover our tracks.”

“I’m not looking for a suspense novel here, Will. How did he die?”

“We rigged his car to explode the next time he turns the key. In fact, it should have happened this morning.”

“You what? How in the fuck do you plan on covering up an asinine move like that?”

“We have friends in the press,” Will said in a calm voice. “We leaked a story to our contact yesterday, explaining that the campaign was investigating Jack McCarthy’s involvement in a major drug smuggling operation. We’re obviously supposed to be keeping it very hush-hush, but a small story ran in the metro section of this morning’s paper. The minor damage this will do to the campaign will clearly validate our lack of involvement.”

Carlos was calming down. Though he still wasn’t happy about the method, he had to admit to himself he was more than a little impressed.

Will continued, “And this is the point where I was hoping to get a little help from you.”

“Oh, really,” Carlos responded sarcastically, “and what might that be?”

“Would it be fair to assume that you have a contact in the Dallas Police Department’s narcotics division?”

“That would be a fair assumption.”

“Would this person be at a level where he or she might be able to influence the department’s interest in a certain case? Or better yet, backdate the initial investigation form?”

Again, Carlos was impressed with the planning that had preceded the actual car bombing.

“Our philosophy, Will,” he answered, “is that the only person worth owning is one who can make things happen.”

“Good,” Will said. “If you can have your people verify the McCarthy narcotics investigation, then I think we can put these issues behind us.”

“Done,” Carlos answered, “but let me make one thing perfectly clear, Will. If you plan any more stunts like this without my knowledge, you and I are going to have a problem.”

Will’s initial reaction was, who in the fuck does he think he is? But before he could actually say anything, his political instincts reminded him who Carlos Pendrill was. He was not someone to be toyed with.
Will could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand. The two men quickly agreed on next steps and hung up.

In Mexico City, Carlos leaned back confidently in his chair. Barring any further unforeseen events, the next president of the United States was now, most definitely, his.

Greg Larson and John Sterling had agreed to meet early Saturday morning at Barbec’s near White Rock Lake. Larson had gone for a bike ride around the lake, and when he arrived at the popular breakfast eatery, he was shocked to see a long line of people in bike shorts already waiting for a table. He glanced at the line to see if Sterling had arrived yet. No luck. So he wandered to the back of the line, clearly feeling the fatigue in his legs after a fifteen-mile trek from his home and around the lake.