The Next President (35 page)

Then… then he saw it!

Mother of God! Cade had shot Danby deliberately^.

Before he could even begin to guess what that meant, there was a loud knock at his door, and a harsh voice announced, DeVito this is Roth. Open up.”

DeVito stopped the video, opened the door, and a grim-faced Roth entered the room.

“You’re done,” he said.

“As of now, you’re no longer part of Orpheus’ protection detail. You’re to proceed to Washington, where you will be separated from the service.”

“Gee, Arnie,” DeVito asked, “was it something I said?”

“Be out of this room by oh six hundred hours, DeVito I don’t want to see you anywhere near this campaign again.”

“I know what it is,” DeVito replied.

“You’re upset. You miss your playmate, Danby. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Rage flared in Roth’s eyes, but before he could say anything someone else entered the room. DeVito turned to see Orpheus walk in with his Secret Service escort.

“Am I interrupting something, gentlemen?” the candidate asked.

“Mr. Roth has just told me my services are no longer required, Senator,” DeVito informed Del.

“And he’s urged me not to sleep in tomorrow.”

“The director’s decision,” Roth explained.

“I see. Perhaps it’s time I had a talk with the director.”

“That’s your prerogative, Senator.”

“Just as it would be my prerogative to forsake Secret Service protection entirely.”

On that point, both Roth and DeVito started to object, but Rawley held up his hand.

“I haven’t reached that decision—yet. But I will allow no question as to who is in control of this campaign. Each and every detail of it. Mr. Roth, you tell the director he is to call me at seven A.M. tomorrow. We are going to have a discussion concerning all personnel

matters. If he isn’t on the phone to me at that time, and in a damned agreeable mood, I will discharge all of you gentlemen—and how will that look to the public?”

Rawley turned to DeVito

“Special Agent DeVito if I can’t persuade the director to see things my way, you will be the head of my campaign’s new private security team.”

Roth was too busy grinding his teeth to object. He gave DeVito a murderous glance and left. Rawley asked the other agents with him for a moment alone with DeVito They stepped into the hall and closed the door behind them.

“Senator, please listen to me. Roth’s an asshole, but it’d be a mistake—” “Special Agent, I haven’t committed myself to any action except letting everyone know who’s the boss around here. Now, if I can’t even keep control of my own campaign, what kind of president would I be?”

DeVito relaxed and smiled appreciatively.

“Yes, sir.”

“The reason I wanted to see you is there’s someone I want you to check out for me.”

“Who?”

“A man by the name of Garvin Townes.”

“Senator, I can tell you who he is.”

“You know him?”

“Not personally. But I know that three months ago he was appointed to head Treasury’s new Departmental Internal Management and Oversight unit. Townes is Arnold Roth’s boss.”

Rawley hadn’t known that because filling the newly created job hadn’t required the approval of the Senate. But there was no question who had put Townes into place.

“Townes is a presidential appointee.”

“Could be the secretary of the treasury put Townes where he is,” DeVi to responded.

“Yes, possibly.” That would give the incumbent the shield of deniability.

But Del Rawley knew who was ultimately responsible.

J. D. was in his suite with Jenny Crenshaw—not taking advantage of the night of grand passion she’d promised him as a token of gratitude for his heroism. He was staring out a window at Mission Bay. It seemed to Jenny, sitting on a sofa behind him, that he’d been brooding over something all day.

She said, “I really don’t understand you. Your son is cleared of a murder charge. You save the life of the man who will be the next president. I offer to show you a very good time… and you act like your best friend just died.”

J. D. turned to look at Jenny. Her face was smudged with fatigue, but it was still one you could fall in love with at a glance. One you could love until your last breath. And all he could do was lie to her.

“I think I’m feeling what you did the other night, a sense of mortality. How I might have come very close to dying today.”

He saw that she accepted, even sympathized with, the explanation. And why not? It was a plausible lie. He’d become very good at improvising lately:

explosives, lies, whatever the situation required. He looked back out the window.

He couldn’t fool himself, though. He’d fucked up badly.

Saving Del Raw-ley’s life had been a serious mistake. Worse, he’d come to realize that he’d done it not for any noble reason but as a sop to his ego. He’d done it so Evan would be proud of him. So his son would think that he was more than just a killer, someone who did people in without leaving a trace and then sneaked away.

Of course, that hadn’t kept him from shooting Danby, had it?

Evan would have been far better off if he’d simply played the coward and let Prentice Colter shoot Del Rawley. Because the discovery of the second M-100 had convinced him that the second-assassin threat was no mere ploy.

That madman Townes actually was running a contest: first assassin to kill Del Rawley won, loser suffered the consequences. Only in his case, Townes had set things up so Evan would suffer the consequences.

J. D. was sure that his son’s reprieve in the matter of Ivar McCray’s death was only temporary. Townes would have some other card to play. Say, a witness waiting for his cue to come forward and say he had seen Evan filch the incriminating shoes from the Salvation Army store. He should have thought to warn Evan’s lawyer of such a ploy.

J. D. saw only one short-term solution to his problem. He had to eliminate his competition. He had to kill Donnel. Then there’d be no way the second assassin could finish first.

And if J. D. couldn’t find Townes quickly and eliminate him… he’d have to kill Del Rawley, too.

Jenny came up behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders, pressed her cheek against his back. It was of small comfort to him that he’d decided not to fabricate nude pictures of her with the senator. She started murmuring words of encouragement to him, how brave and strong and wonderful he’d been. She was praising him, but she was also feeling sorry for him, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let her get too close to knowing what was really in his heart. To knowing who he really was.

He turned and put his hands on her hips. He smiled briefly and kissed her.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Give me a day or two and I’ll be ready to take you up on your generous offer.”

Jenny repaid his kiss with one of her own and left J. D. alone with his thoughts. He tried to call Ean at his hospital room but the line was busy. He’d no sooner put the phone down than it rang. He regarded the instrument warily, let it ring again, and then picked up the receiver.

‘ “Hello.”

“Mr. Cade, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Not at all. Senator. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Cade, have you ever met the president?”

The question was so unexpected J. D. didn’t know what to make of it.

“No. Never met him. Never even seen him in person.”

“How about anyone else in Washington? The secretary of the treasury, perhaps?”

A sudden jolt of nervous energy rushed through J. D. Had Del Rawley discovered the connection between him and Townes? He continued in what he hoped was a normal voice.

“No, Senator. I don’t know if Ms. Crenshaw told you, but I was averse to politics before I became aware of your campaign.”

“She did mention that to me, yes. Well, I apologize for the late call… but as long as I have you, I’d like to ask if you could join me for breakfast. Say, eight o’clock?”

“My pleasure, Senator. I’ll see you then.”

J. D. hung up, trying to sort out the situation. If Rawley had learned of his relationship to Townes, that had to be the beginning of the end for him.

He’d never succeed in killing the man with anything short of a kamikaze blitz.

But if Rawley had found him out, why invite him to breakfast?

Unless it was a ruse to lull his suspicions.

Unless it was a trap.

Jenny lay in bed, still awake, still bothered by J. D. Cade’s somber mood, when her phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Your humble servant calls.”

Don Ward’s voice was more spectral than ever.

“Don! I’m so glad to hear from you.”

“A pleasure I won’t be able to provide for very much longer, I’m afraid.

The end is so near I can almost foretell the hour.”

“Oh, Jesus, Don. I want so much to see you a ” “No, no, Jenny. Far better that you don’t. I’d only horrify you. I’d rather you remembered me as I once was.”

Jenny started to cry.

“Please, my dear, don’t do that,” Hunter Ward said.

“A broken heart is more than I could endure in my present state… and we both have more work to do.”

Jenny held back her tears and, understanding the implicit warning she’d just heard, she asked, “You have more news, Don?”

“Senator Rawley is going to be smeared again tomorrow … in time for the morning news shows.”

Jenny’s sorrow hardened to anger.

“What kind of smear?”

“The president is going to say that the FBI has been unable to find the as sassin who’s out to kill Senator Rawley because there isn’t one. He’s ” “What!”

“Please, my dear. Allow me to finish.”

“I’m sorry, Don,” she said, chastened.

“The president is going to say that the Justice Department has received an anonymous tip, which they’re investigating with every resource at their command that Rawley partisans staged both the attempt on the senator’s life in Chicago and the attempt on Special Agent DeVito life in Los Angeles to create sympathy for the senator’s candidacy.”

“That’s ” Jenny bit her tongue and forced herself to continue listening.

“That’s what they’re going to claim. Both shots were deliberate misses.”

“What about that super sniper rifle, the one that was found in Marina Del Rey?”

“It turns out that isn’t the genuine article but a copy. A poorly made knockoff. Just what you’d expect from a hoax.”

“What about Prentice Colter in San Francisco, goddammit?” Jenny calmed herself before she went off on a rant.

“I’m sorry, Don. I’m not swearing at you. But this is so infuriating.” She took a deep breath.

“What are they going to say about Colter? That we put a mentally ill busboy up to making an attempt on Del’s life? Or was he supposed to miss his target, too?”

“No, they’ll admit that one was real. But the president, if asked, will say it was the work of a random lunatic. And was possibly inspired by the staged events.”

Despite her resolve. Jenny muttered a torrent of curses under her breath.

“They’re desperate, Jenny,” Don told her.

“They can read the poll numbers.

They know if they don’t do something fast, they’re finished.”

“So now they throw mud at us, attribute it to an anonymous source, and put Del on the defensive. Then they wait until after the election to say “Sorry, looks like that tip was unfounded.” And by that time they’re preparing for their inauguration.”

“As I said, my dear,” Hunter Ward repeated, “we have miles to go before we sleep.”

The Secret Service agents standing at his side didn’t like it, but Del Rawley sat on the balcony of his suite, stared out at the great black void that was the Pacific, and explored thoughts as dark as the night.

Foremost among them: Was the president trying to have him killed?

The president had appointed, directly or indirectly, Garvin Townes to his position in the Treasury Department. Townes’ man, Roth, was heading his protection detail. Townes’ former army subordinate, J. D. Cade, had become part of his campaign. Cade liked to fire rifles.

It was too neat, though, to think that Cade was the man who had tried to kill him in Chicago. Because if he had been… why would he have saved his life in San Francisco?

What kind of a man would be capable of such a contradiction?

Still, it had to be more than coincidence that Cade shared a common history with Townes. Now, the question was what to do with J. D. Cade. Distance him or let him stay close?

With a man who liked to fire rifles over long distances, maybe close was better.

It would be a lot harder for him to slip a weapon past the Secret Service at close range, that was for sure. But then how far could he trust the Secret Service?

Not far enough to tell them he had the handgun DeVito had smuggled to him.

And if Cade turned out to be an assassin, could he, Del Rawley, kill the man who’d saved his life? Yes, he could. Because if Cade was on some kind of kill-him-save-him-kill-him cycle, he was crazier than Prentice Colter. He’d have regrets, but he’d kill Cade to save his own life.

The whole thing would be a lot easier, Del Rawley thought, if DeVito

could come up with something more on Garvin Townes’ background and how he came to have his current job.

The candidate’s thoughts were interrupted when another agent stepped onto the balcony.

“Senator? Ms. Crenshaw’s here. She says it’s urgent.”

Evan Cade stared at Blair McCray incredulously and said, “Dead?”

He had been about to watch the digital video disc that Jeri Perkins had brought him when Blair stepped into his hospital room. He’d come to tell Evan that Deena Nokes had shot the man they’d all sought: the killer of Ivar and the Laneys.

Evan felt a surprising sense of disappointment. It stung him that he’d lost his chance for vengeance. He sat back against the bed feeling he’d failed Pru once more.

Then he and Blair watched the DVD on his laptop computer.

Pru’s tearstained face appeared on the screen and it broke Evan’s heart to see her again. The pain was made worse when he heard her confess that she’d learned her father had been involved in a scheme to make it look like Evan had been responsible for Ivar McCray’s death. Only her father had sworn to her that the plan hadn’t been for Ivar to die; he was only supposed to be framed for extortion. That was what the man who had paid Barton Eaney all that money said he wanted: to send Ivar to jail for a long time for defrauding him in a business deal. And Evan wasn’t supposed to be blamed for any killing; he was supposed to be the hero who tipped off the police to Ivar’s extortion attempt. Then everything went wrong when Ivar died.