“I’m sorry.” she said. “I can’t. There’s an official dinner engagement. And unfortunately, the rest of my trip has been booked for me. Carolyn’s schedule is very demanding, and I’m going to be working nonstop to keep up with her. I was lucky to get away for a few hours tonight.”
“I guess this is good-bye then. I’ve really enjoyed seeing you again.” Jack forced a laugh. “I’ll miss your sanity in this crazy place.”
She reached into her shoulder bag, and quickly wrote her home phone number on the back of her business card. “Call me if you’re ever back in Jefferson City. I promise to take your call this time.”
“I will.” He leached into his pocket for his card. Shit, where were his cards? “I’ll leave my number at the front desk for you. Call me if you ever come to Washington.”
She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for showing me a little bit of New York.” she said, then turned and walked away.
He watched her slip into the crowd and vanish. I should have told her about the story. Maybe she’d understand the obligation I feel to finish what my father stafted.
Either way, a replay of the past hung on the horizon. The damage to their relationship would be irreversible if she found herself caught between her employer and his journalistic priorities. Yet, he had no idea of how to convince her that he didn’t have ulterior motives. And until he did, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
Jack called her every day for the balance of the convention. Most of the time, he was only able to leave a message. On the last day he sent her flowers with a card telling her how nice it was to see her. Katherine called to thank him on hotel voice mail.
The New York Times
Lane-Young the Ticket
Jack arrived back in Washington on the first airline shuttle of the morning. He tossed his luggage onto a chair in the sitting room of the two-room suite in the hotel he’d been calling home for the past few years, then placed a call to Pat Mead, his editor. Unable to get though, Jack left a message saying he was in town.
Jack booted his computer and logged onto the Internet. He quickly found the news stories regarding the plane crash that Erma had referenced. One article referred to Ron Spietzer’s disagreements with Warner Lane regarding union busting. All four people on the aircraft had been private pilots. A mechanical failure was listed as the cause of the crash. The case was closed.
A compelling story was forming, but what did it amount to? Jack couldn’t prove anything yet, but Erma had given him plenty to question.
From a plastic box that served as a portable filing cabinet Jack retrieved a file labeled: Rudly, Bill. The folder contained legal documents and one large envelope – the last communication his father had sent to him before his death. He read through the notes and documents again, most of which dealt with Carolyn Lane, Mortimer Fields, and Adam Miles. At the end of the notes the word
Jack reviewed the facts as he knew them on a separate sheet of paper, listing the players and their roles – Bill Rudly, Adam Miles, and Mort Fields. Adam and Mort had been members of the Council. Bill wasn’t a member. Bill was in politics. Adam and Mort were businessmen. Bill regularly disagreed with the Lanes. Adam and Mort were initially friendly with Warner, Carolyn, and Edmund Lane. Adam had a disagreement with Edmund: Erma felt this had to do with Carolyn and some men from Washington. From the documents in his possession, it appeared that Mort and Carolyn were in business together. Both Mort and Bill had disagreements with Carolyn. According to the documents, Adam Miles disapproved of Mort and Carolyn’s partnership.
All of these men shared two common denominators. One, they were dead. And two, they’d had a conflict with the Lanes, specifically Carolyn Alden Lane. This is crazy, Jack thought. None of these deaths were suspicious, except possibly Fields’s. But the police officer at the crash sight was confident it had been an accident. And what about the plane crash?
“Damn.” Mort Fields was the link, and now he was dead. Frustration swept over him. He didn’t want to let his father down. There had to be another way to unravel the truth.
He flipped his notepad to the list of questions he’d had for Mort and read through them. Tell me about your partnership with Carolyn? Why, specifically, did it end? Why’d you go to my father? Who’s in the Council? What does the Council do? What’s their agenda? The list went on and on.
Obviously, he needed to head back to Jefferson City. It would be easy to arrange another trip there after the convention. He smiled, his thoughts shifting to Katherine. He wanted, no, needed, to see her again.
Finally, at around four-fifteen in the afternoon. Jack received a return call from his editor. “Hey, Rudly, how ya doin‘?”
“You want to explain your letter?” Jack asked.
