Jack saw the Athene of a gun. He extended his arms, palms turned outward. “Relax, man. You obviously thought I could help, but you’re not giving me much to go on. What did you mean when you said the press was allowing this to happen?”
“Move back.”
Jack quickly obliged.
The gun dangled loosely from the man’s fingertips. “If the press doesn’t report the truth, the people don’t get the truth. Remember, we’re only as far from becoming a dictatorship as the people we elect to represent us. Everything can be changed, and things are changing. The Council is seeing to that.”
Jack’s breath caught. “Tell me about the Council.”
The man laughed. “All, so now I’ve got your attention.”
Jack inched forward. “Who’s involved?”
“We both know who I’m talking about. I’ve allowed this to happen. Good men are dead, I should have stopped it. But I was afraid, so I pretended not to know. God have mercy on me.”
He paused. “You’ll know me, Jack Rudly. One day my identity will be made perfectly clear. Just watch the front pages. The article will be like the one about your father.”
Jack stiffened. “Why was he killed?”
“Your father liked to talk. He said a lot of things that weren’t appreciated.” He exhaled unsteadily.
“How about Fields and Miles? Were they murdered too?”
“You’re on the right track. But I’ve stayed too long.” The man held up an envelope, then placed it on the ground. “I’m leaving some information. After I drive out of here you can get it. But think about it before you accept this, because this will pull you in. And once you’re in, you’ll either bring them down or you’ll die trying. Your father died trying.”
Jack folded forward as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Putting his hands on his knees he steadied himself. Dear God. he’d been right. He should have followed his instincts, ignored his dad’s objections, and intruded into his investigation. If he had, his father might still be alive.
Jack lifted his gaze and watched the car recede into the darkness. After he caught his breath. Jack stepped forward, picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a cassette tape and one sheet of paper. Written on it was:
Jack threw his luggage on the bed and glanced at his watch: 4:10 P.M. “Shit, the day is shot.”
He strode into the bathroom. He would have been in Jefferson City hours earlier, but his departure from San Francisco had been delayed by dense fog. He supposed he was lucky to have gotten a flight at all.
Jack filled a glass with tap water and took a sip. He stared into the mirror and the blue eyes he’d inherited from his father. Pain caught in his throat. His father had been murdered. He should have known. It made perfect sense. How could he have ignored the obvious for so long? Guilt weighted his heart. He’d failed to see the truth from the beginning. He’d failed his father.
He walked back into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and re-read the E-mail he’d accessed by using the password the unknown man at the bridge had given him.
C
“C,” Jack thought, stood for either Cleopatra or Carolyn, or they were one and the same. He stared at the note as if it could provide an answer. He pulled out his recorder and replayed the tape.
A woman’s voice filled the room. “It’s time to collect the last payment from Mort. He’s going to be sorry he pulled his support.” There was a pause. “Once we have that money, we don’t need him anymore. I’m going to need the funds for a special project I want you to set up. If there’s a way to delay paying taxes, that’s the route we need to take. Pull strings if you have to.”
“What’s this project you’re talking about? Is it for the campaign?” a man responded.
“Of course it’s for the campaign.” she said. “Remember the firm we used for Rudly and Fields?”
This question jolted Jack. Did she mean himself, or his father?
“Sure,” the man said.
“It’s time to set up a permanent staff to investigate possible candidates for the nomination. After that’s accomplished, the investigative staff will come in handy for the big campaign, in order to gather ammunition against President Washman and any of his advocates. I want you to set it up.”
“You need to be careful about this. It could ruin Warner if anyone found out.”
“Which is why I trust you to handle everything for us. I want the best. Contact Winston Cain again.”
Jack hit the pause button. He could swear the woman’s voice was Carolyn’s. Her male counterpart sounded like that of the man he’d met at the bridge. Jack realized that the tape proved nothing, but if, in fact, the voice was Carolyn’s, it tied her to Cain. And it certainly added fuel to his questions. He pressed play, and the tape resumed.
