The Election (33 page)

But the urge soon evaporated. Instead he sat there, thirty thousand feet above the earth's surface, feeling sorry for himself.

 

FBI headquarters, Washington DC

Saul Sanders shook the glass tumbler that a few seconds earlier was filled with an imported Scotch, and the slightly melted cubes of ice rattled against the side of the glass, and each other. It was the third such glass he had converted to empty in the last fifteen minutes, and the bottle was still over half full.

Earlier in the day he had felt victorious over his nemesis, Charlie Armacost. But now one of his most loyal agents was dead at the hands of Armacost's subordinates. Although he still had two agents in place, he had not been able to prevent Claudia Duval from reaching Jake Reed.

He had failed. Worse, he had failed Randolph Winston. Randolph was ruthless, and Saul knew it would not be long before he would pay for his failure. Just as Jesse Thompson, Milton McAdams, and undoubtedly countless others had paid for theirs.

Saul filled a fourth glass when the startling sound of his telephone ringing caused him to slosh some of the intoxicating liquid onto the top of his desk.

It could only be Randolph, Saul knew. So he sipped his Scotch, staring at the phone, not wanting to answer it. Perhaps if he avoided it, reality would never find him. He knew, though, that inevitably he would have to face Randolph, or someone hired by Randolph, so he lifted the receiver from its cradle after the fourth ring.

 

Apollyon Associates, Inc., lower Manhattan

After his telephone conversation with Ed Burke, Randolph made his next move quickly, dialing the number for Saul Sanders. Saul's incompetence was virtually unbearable to Randolph, but he still needed him. At least for now. Saul's wages for his incompetence would come after the election, Randolph decided, and he relished the thought of it.

“Saul,” Randolph began in much the same condescending tone of voice he'd used with Ed. “You've disappointed me. I just got off the phone with Burke, and he told me that Reed now has enough information to link Burke with me. We don't know what it is, but obviously the information came from Milton in the package delivered by Claudia Duval. Do you understand how grave the situation has become?”

“I understand,” Saul replied meekly.

“I can't tolerate failure, Saul. Not only did you allow Ms. Duval to arrive at Jake Reed's doorstep safely, but apparently, you did a poor job of scaring Reed. Otherwise, he would never have told anyone about the Federalists. Your services are unacceptable.”

He paused to see if Saul would try to defend himself.

There was only silence on the other end of the line.

“But I'm going to give you an opportunity for redemption,” Randolph said magnanimously.

“What is it, Randolph?” Saul asked.

Randolph heard the mixture of hope and anxiety in Saul's voice.

“Let's be certain of one thing. I cannot tolerate any more mistakes. If you fail me this time, there'll be no more chances.”

The only way to convince Saul to carry out this final assignment would be to give him hope, as false as it might be, that all would be forgiven, Randolph thought.

“I'll do whatever you need me to do,” Saul replied. “I realize the importance of Burke's being elected, for all our sakes. Just tell me what it is you need.”

“Reed must be eliminated, and it must be done immediately. Whatever Milton left with that woman made its way to Reed, and he intends to use it against us. I can't let that happen. Whatever it takes, I want Reed eliminated.”

“I'll take care of it,” Saul responded confidently. “I still have assets in place, but if I have to, I'll handle it personally. Don't worry, Randolph, I'll take care of it.”

Randolph knew this would be Saul's last assignment for him. Soon, after Burke's election, he would arrange for Saul's demise. It had taken years to assemble the resources for Saul's destruction, but Randolph maintained a few key contacts of his own.

At some point in the not-too-distant future, Saul would be met with an untimely heart attack, a mysterious one-car accident, or perhaps a “self-inflicted” gunshot wound. How it happened wouldn't matter to Randolph. Only that it was done, and that a failure had received his reward.

As he ended the call with Saul, Randolph smiled at how easy it had been to manipulate Saul into complying with his need to eliminate Jake Reed. Saul would do whatever it took to kill Reed, simply because Randolph wanted it done. The FBI director's loyalty was now driven by a desire to survive.

And Randolph knew that was the greatest motivation of all.

En route to Mount Pleasant, Mississippi

The drive from Jackson through the autumn-colored terrain of southern Tennessee and north Mississippi to the sleepy community of Mount Pleasant, took Claudia almost an hour and a half, but it was worth every second.

She stopped in front of the red-brick, ranch-style house. It was just as Claudia remembered it. The small, covered front porch, the one-car carport, the faded brown shutters. Fifteen years ago they meant something completely different to her, but now they evoked emotions in her that she never thought she would feel again. Two grand oak trees and a tall pine tree watched over the small house from the backyard, beckoning her closer.

The gravel and sand crackled beneath the slow-rolling tires as her car crept down the driveway and stopped behind her mother's car.

Claudia put the car in park and sat there, soaking in the beauty of something old that was now a new beginning. After several minutes she overcame her emotions, exited the car, and walked to the door. The distance was only about twenty feet, but it had taken her fifteen years to walk it.

“Mother, it's Claudia,” she said as she opened the door and walked in without knocking. She was finally home.

 

Jackson, Tennessee

Agent Simon arrived in Jackson an hour after Claudia Duval had left and began his systematic search for her. His first stop was the Holcombe amp; Reed offices. Not seeing her rental car parked anywhere nearby, he checked the parking lots of several hotels on the off chance she might still be in town. Without the manpower that came with a full-blown investigation, he knew his chances of locating her were slim. Officially there was no investigation, and it was incumbent on him to tarry alone in the search for the mysterious woman, and Osborne and Moyers.

He also checked the McKellar-Sipes Regional Airport to see if the Bureau airplane assigned to Saul Sanders was still there. It wasn't. He checked with the rental-car companies at the airport to see if any employee recalled seeing two men matching his description of Osborne and Moyers. The desk clerk at the Enterprise counter recalled renting a blue Chrysler Concorde to someone matching the description of Bill Osborne. After Jerry flashed his FBI credentials, the clerk gave him the car's tag number, and with that lead Jerry began searching Jackson for their rental car. Again, a slim chance of success.

By midnight he was exhausted and needed a place to rest. Although he still had the key to the old jewelry store, and the rent was paid, he couldn't afford to be seen there. Any activity at the old jewelry store would be certain to arouse suspicion. So he checked into Room 125 at the Sunset Motel on Highway 412. It was off the beaten path, and he used his fake identification when he registered to make sure no one could identify him. Safely in the room, he called Charlie Armacost and George McCullough.

“No sign of the woman, or Osborne and Moyers,” Jerry advised when Charlie answered with his speaker phone.

“Sanders's plane returned to Langley at seven fifteen eastern time,” George added to the conversation. “But the only person on board was the pilot. He wouldn't talk to any of our people about where he had been. I'm sure Sanders had already warned him about talking. If we assume that he took Osborne and Moyers to Jackson, then they're still there.”

“I agree,” Charlie said. “If we're right, that means they still haven't found what they're looking for. But what is it? If she's nowhere to be found, then she either must have given whatever it is to Reed or at least told him about it. I think we have no choice but for you to talk to Reed. You've got to convince him that he must turn it over to you, and you've got to talk to him before Osborne and Moyers do.”

“I agree,” Jerry replied. “I'll get some rest tonight; then I'll locate Reed in the morning. I just hope we're not too late.”

“Me too,” Charlie responded. “Me too.”

 

Henderson, Tennessee

“We searched the entire office and found nothing,” Moyers reported to Saul Sanders early the next morning. He and Osborne had retreated to a motel in Henderson, fifteen miles south of Jackson. Based on the reports they received from Memphis and Saul, they knew that Charlie Armacost would have agents looking for them. Staying in Jackson was out of the question.

“We were in the building for almost four hours last night,” Al Moyers continued. “We looked in every desk, every filing cabinet, and every closet, and we didn't find anything that resembled the packages we saw her with at Hartsfield.”

“Perhaps he took them out of the building,” Sanders suggested.

“I don't think so,” Bill replied. “We watched him when he left yesterday afternoon for that very purpose, and he didn't have anything in his hands. Either she didn't give him anything, or he's got it hidden better than we think.”

“The packages have got to be there,” Sanders reasoned. “It doesn't make sense for her to go all that way and not give one or both of the packages to Reed. Besides, Reed told Burke's contact that he had something linking Burke with the Federalists. That call came in after she left his office. That's too coincidental. He wouldn't have called if he didn't have something, and it had to come from Ms. Duval.”

“We didn't find it, but we'll look again tonight.”

“Keep looking until you've searched every square inch of that building. And whether you find anything or not, Winston wants Attorney Reed eliminated.”

 

Reed residence, Jackson, Tennessee

Courtney had been discharged from the hospital shortly after lunch, and Jake was glad to bring her home. Over twenty-four hours in the hospital had been long enough. Jake and Rachel helped Courtney as she gingerly walked up the short flight of steps into the house.

“Jake, someone's pulling into the drive,” Rachel said.

Jake turned and saw the two cars as they approached. “You go ahead and get Courtney settled,” he told Rachel. “I'll see what's going on.”

Jake could see Deputy Butch Johnson and another man as they exited their respective vehicles simultaneously and walked toward him.

Jake emerged from the garage. “What's going on, Butch?”

“This guy is with the FBI,” Butch announced. “He said he needs to talk with you. We checked him out, and everything came back legit.”

“I'm Special Agent Jerry Simon with the FBI,” the man said as he unfolded his credentials and showed Jake his identification badge.

Jake bristled immediately. “FBI? What do you want?”

Ever since Jake had discovered his office was bugged, he'd had little use for the FBI.

“Mr. Reed, we know that a woman visited you yesterday with vital information that may have an impact on the outcome of the presidential election.”

Jake rested his foot on the rear bumper of his car and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said defiantly.

“Are you denying that she was in your office yesterday?”

“I can't tell you when, or if, a client visits my office. That would violate attorney-client confidentiality.”

“Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Reed. We have reason to believe that you have possession of information that is pertinent to an ongoing investigation. I'm demanding that you turn that information over to me immediately.”

Jake still didn't know whom he could trust. His intuition was that this visit from an FBI agent was in response to his phone call to Drake Highfill yesterday afternoon. If he was correct, there was no way Jake would give him the tape.

“Do you have a search warrant, Agent Simon?” Jake knew he didn't and knew he couldn't get one. It was Saturday, and the agent would have a difficult time finding a judge who would sign the warrant, particularly since Jake hadn't committed a crime.

“Don't be foolish, Mr. Reed. You're in over your head. Look at what happened to your daughter,” Simon said, waving his hand at Jake's house. “They'll do worse than that if they think you can do anything to interfere with their plan. These men are ruthless. If you help us, we'll make sure you and your family are protected.”

Jake planted his feet firmly on the ground in an immovable stance. “How do I know you're not the one who terrorized my daughter?”

“You don't. But do you think I'd be standing here talking with you about this if I had been?” The agent paused. “Let's be honest with each other, Mr. Reed. We both know that you have something I need. The question is whether you're going to give it to me or not.”

Jake almost relented. Almost.

But his haunting distrust of the FBI wouldn't let him comply with the agent's request. After all, the FBI had bugged his office, and based on what Claudia had said, they had also kept her under surveillance for weeks. And worse, had almost killed her. The answer was no, Jake told himself. There was no way he could entrust the Milton McAdams tape to the FBI. The tape was too important.

“Like I told you when this conversation started, Agent Simon, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have possession of anything that might be of interest to you. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go inside and check on my daughter.” He turned to Deputy Johnson. “Butch, get this guy off my property.”

Jake turned his back on Agent Simon and began walking toward the door that led from the garage into the house.

“You're making a big mistake,” Simon called as Jake pressed the button that operated the garage door. It began to descend, blocking Simon from entering the garage. Simon crouched as the door lowered and shouted at Jake one last time. “You're making a big mistake!”