Capitol Conspiracy (27 page)

45

U
NDISCLOSED LOCATION IN
G
EORGETOWN

L
oving had no idea how many times they had repeated the cycle. They tortured him until he passed out. Then they used buckets of ice-cold water and drugs to revive him, and then they tortured him again. He had lost all sense of time, all sense of purpose. He could barely think. All he could do was feel the pain. He had hoped that eventually he would become numb to the hurting, but unfortunately, with each new iteration, his body felt weaker, his resistance lower, his power to tolerate this agony diminished. He had no idea how much longer he could last. But he knew it would not be forever.

He would like to think he was being strong to protect his friends—Ben, Shohreh—but at this time, he wasn’t sure he was capable of any such self-sacrifice. The only thing that kept him in the game was the certain knowledge that if he did tell the General what he wanted to know, the sadist would surely kill him.

Unfortunately, death was beginning to seem very attractive.

For the last several sessions, Loving had gone into total lockdown mode, not saying a word. He had taken the “elusive answer” routine as far as he could possibly take it. There were no more satisfactory answers, and wisecracks were clearly not appreciated, so he just remained silent—other than the constant screaming like a woman that embarrassed him so. But he couldn’t help himself. Even though his work had always put him in the line of danger, he’d never experienced an ordeal like this, nothing so prolonged or intense or…skilled. Never.

At one point, he tried playing dead. He thought he did it well—an Oscar-caliber performance. But the General was not fooled. Physical abuse tended to be stimulating, especially as long as they stayed away from the head and the genitals, and there was plenty of pain that could be inflicted without entering either of those regions. When Loving continued to play dead, the General kicked him and spat on him and eventually injected him with something. Epinephrine, perhaps? Or strychnine, for all he knew. At any rate, playing possum was no solution.

He had also hoped that if he held out long enough, the General would become bored, or would realize that all his efforts would never produce the information he wanted. Unfortunately, the General was a narcissistic little sadist who enjoyed what he was doing and was supremely confident that he would be successful. He would never stop, not till he had what he wanted. Loving would just have to bear it. Hold out until he couldn’t hold out any longer. Or until they killed him in the process.

“You want to blame me. But this is your own doing,” the General said, as he artfully drew a line of blood down Loving’s exposed back with a knife. Loving writhed in agony with each touch. “You invaded my house, my business. You tried to steal my girls.”

Loving knew he should remain quiet, but he couldn’t help himself. “You’re just makin’ excuses. You’re lovin’ every minute of this.”

“In fact, I am not. I have many other duties that require my attention. But I can make no decisions until I know to what extent you have jeopardized my operation.”

“That’s a load of bull, you psycho.”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “Psycho. You dare accuse me of that, of enjoying this? Did we invade your country, you stupid American? Did we destroy your way of life? You complain of what I do to you, but it is nothing compared to the torture you self-righteous Americans inflicted at Abu Ghraib and Gitmo Bay.”

“That was war.”

“And what is this? Do you think my cell was organized just to provide for the needs of those with special sexual interests?”

“I thought you used your sex shop to finance your terrorism,” Loving said, biting back the pain. “But now I wonder if I didn’t get it backward. Maybe the terrorism is the excuse you use to conduct a sick business that gets your rocks off.”

The General touched the cattle prod to Loving’s face, just below his right eye. All at once, Loving’s eyesight short-circuited. The world went black. He screamed.

“I do what I do at the behest of others,” the General said softly. “With their full support and cooperation. But perhaps you already knew that. All the more reason I must know what you know.”

Loving was blind, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “No.”

“Do you know the shooter? The man at Oklahoma City?”

“I’m guessin’ it was Emil.”

“You would be wrong. It was Emil’s brother. A most loyal man.”

“Why isn’t he here for the fun? You must not like him as much.”

“Mikhail is preparing for the next assault. The one that will plunge your pathetic country into chaos. The execution that I have guaranteed will be completed.”

Guaranteed?
Loving wondered, through his fogged and pain-muddled brain.
To whom?
He said he worked at the behest of others. Did that mean the General was not at the top of the food chain?

“How much do you know about my associates?”

“I’ve said all I’m gonna say.”

The General chuckled. “I doubt it.”

Even without seeing it, Loving could sense the prod coming closer to him.

“I tell ya, I’m done.”

“It will go easier on you if you talk.”

Loving hesitated. “You mean you’ll let me go if I tell you what you wanna hear?”

“No. But it will go easier on you. I will kill you quickly.”

Loving pretended that wasn’t tempting and kept his mouth shut.

“I do admire your resilience. You have behaved honorably. You have shown considerably more fortitude than did your former director of Homeland Security. But there comes a time for all things to pass. This is it. You must tell me what I want to know or I will take more than your eyesight. I will take your manhood. Permanently. I will take your fingers, one by one. I will cut off your feet. I will burn you. But I will not let you die. I will never let you die, even when you beg me for it. I will simply whittle away at you, piece by piece, until you have told me what I want to know.”

“If I ever get loose,” Loving said in low tones, “you are a dead man.”

“This I do not doubt,” the General said. “But alas—you will never get loose. Emil? Please assist me. Open the captive’s mouth.”

The assassin stepped forward and grabbed Loving’s head by the hair. With the other hand, he forced Loving’s jaw open. Loving tried to resist, but he was too weak.

Slowly, the cattle prod made its way toward his mouth. When at last it was inside, the General activated it.

There was no way Loving could describe what he experienced. It was as if he had been turned inside out, electrocuted from within. He couldn’t even scream with the damn thing gagging him. And the General did not relent. He did not remove the prod, even as the cold electricity burned Loving’s tongue and loosened his teeth. When at last oblivion did come, he was glad. Even though he knew it was only a temporary respite, he was glad for this one small mercy.

46

A
RLINGTON
N
ATIONAL
C
EMETERY
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

D
irector Lehman stared out the window of his limousine, his eyes hidden by dark black sunglasses.

“Zimmer’s talking to Kincaid,” he announced.

If he had expected this revelation to provoke a dramatic response, he was sorely disappointed. Silence prevailed in the backseat.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard,” Nichole Muldoon said. “And as your deputy director let me say this: Who cares?”

“Kincaid’s the president’s point man on the amendment. The main man, now that DeMouy’s gone.”

“And again I say: Who cares?”

“Zimmer’s obviously trying to pollute the stream. Screw up the passage of the amendment.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied. She opened the side cabinet, checking to see if the brandy snifter was filled. It wasn’t. “They could be talking about anything. Zimmer could be expressing his regrets that Kincaid lost his close comrade.”

“No way. Zimmer’s against the amendment.”

“Is that a crime now?” Muldoon asked, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“No, but it should be.” Lehman continued staring as the limo pulled away from the gravesite. “Damn. I hate having this thing left in the hands of that cluck from Oklahoma. DeMouy, I trusted. I’ve worked with him for a long time. I knew him well.”

“I knew him pretty well myself,” Muldoon replied. “But that doesn’t mean Kincaid can’t get the job done. Look what he accomplished at the subcommittee hearing.”

“Yeah, but that sob sister stuff won’t work twice. The opposition will be ready for it. He’ll have to connect with their brains and their pollsters, not just their guilt.”

“Well, maybe DeMouy taught him a few tricks before he kicked off,” Muldoon said dryly. “He certainly had lots of them.”

Lehman slowly removed his shades. “You know, Nichole—I’m not entirely sure you’re taking this matter as seriously as you should.”

“You mean, as seriously as you want me to.”

“I mean, I’m your boss and I want this damn thing passed.”

“Really? At the press conference you said it was important that you remain out of the advocacy process.”

He gave her a withering look. “This isn’t some damn press conference trumped up to appease the president. This is me, the boss, talking to you, the underling. And me, the boss, is sick of feeling that you’re not pitching for the right team.”

“Carl, you know I’ve always done my job well. Better than anyone else you’ve ever worked with. But you can’t force me to support a law that I don’t, that I think is an extremely dangerous, bad idea.”

“How can you say that? Did you not see the expression on the face of DeMouy’s poor grieving widow? How long are you willing to let the terrorists walk all over us?”

Muldoon unbuttoned the top of her blouse and fanned herself. “Is the air conditioner on? Are you as hot as I am?”

“Don’t even think about trying that sexpot crap. That might work on some pansy-ass FBI guy like Joel Salter, but it will not work on me. Answer the question. How long are you willing to let the terrorists take potshots at our senators?”

“Actually,” she said, ignoring the suggestion regarding her sexuality, “I’m not convinced this had anything to do with terrorists. Or political advocacy of any sort.”

“What are you talking about? What else could it be?”

“There are a million things it could be. And I see no evidence that it’s terrorists. That’s just a conclusion everyone is jumping to. A conclusion that is very convenient for your cause, I might add.”

Lehman gave her a look that could chill Hades. “Muldoon—I am getting very concerned here.”

“Does that mean you want me to undo another button?”

“No. It means I can’t work with someone who opposes my directives.”

“I have never opposed your directives. I have always done everything you wanted done, with great efficiency and effectiveness. That’s why I’m the deputy director.”

“A fact that could change very quickly.”

Now Muldoon was the one conveying the harsh look. “You can’t fire me because I don’t share your political views.”

“No, I would have to come up with some other excuse. But I can fire you. And I will. If you don’t stay quiet and stay out of the way.” His voice dropped. “I don’t like obstacles.”

“I would never do anything that stupid. I’m a career girl, you know. Career comes before politics. Or anything else.”

Lehman gave her a long look, then sighed. “Yes, that part I believe. Just remember—I will not tolerate obstacles. I want no trouble—not from you or Special Agent Zimmer.” His eyes narrowed. “Or Senator Benjamin Kincaid. I want you to keep a very close watch on him and report anything that might indicate he’s not the staunchest advocate this amendment could have. Because if I get any sense he’s wavering—he will have to be dealt with. Immediately.”

“Dealt with?” Muldoon asked.

“You heard me. And you know what I mean.” He paused. “I can think of a lot of approaches more direct than incriminating photos or a poison envelope.”

At the opposite end of the cemetery, a newly minted Cadillac One was motoring the President of the United States back to the White House. But the president was not traveling alone.

Special Agent Gatwick had often ridden in Cadillac One, usually when it was transporting the late first lady. Sitting in the front passenger seat, riding shotgun—literally—watching in all directions for any possible threats. But today was different. This was the first time he had ever ridden in the back of the car with the president. At the president’s request.

“Thank you for joining me, Tom. Is it all right if I call you Tom?”

“Whatever you like, Mr. President.” Gatwick was nervous, and not just because he was riding in an unaccustomed seat.

“Something to drink?” The president opened a side cabinet and withdrew a brandy snifter. It was full. “I’m having one. Just a little one. It’s early yet.”

“Nothing for me, sir. Thank you,” Gatwick replied, although he would dearly love a drink right now. Anything to settle his nerves.

The president poured a drink, then downed it in a single gulp. “Excellent. Imported, you know. Perhaps I can manage one more. Sure you won’t have anything? You seem a little…on edge. Might help.”

“I’m sure.” Was it Gatwick’s fevered imagination, he wondered, or was Blake deliberately playing with him? Either way, it was giving him a serious case of the creeps.

“I thought the two of us should meet,” the president said, stretching expansively across the car seat. “I mean, I know we’ve run into each other on occasion, when you were on duty. But I thought we should have a chance just to…talk. In private.”

“Why is that, Mr. President?”

Blake looked at him as one might look at a small child whose attempts at dissembling are so pathetic as to draw a smile. “Tom, let’s not play games. I know. What’s more—I think you know I know.”

Gatwick looked at his knees and said nothing.

“Emily was a wonderful woman, wasn’t she?”

Gatwick remained silent.

“Wonderful, indeed. So full of energy. So warmhearted. So…loyal.”

The president paused, but Gatwick didn’t take the bait.

“Tom,” the president said, as casually as if he were ordering ice cream, “why were you fucking my wife?”

“Mr. President, I never meant—”

“Oh, please spare me the excuses. We’re both grown-ups. So was Emily. These things don’t happen by accident. They happen because the participants want them to happen.” He stopped for a moment, as if realizing that by interrupting his companion he had stifled the conversation. “Did she give a reason? Or was she just…overwhelmed by your masculine good looks? Because frankly, I’ve been watching you for a long time, and I’m considerably less than overwhelmed. If she’d taken a shot at Brad Pitt—well, who wouldn’t? But you?” Blake shrugged. “It’s kind of insulting, really.”

Gatwick spoke quietly. “She said she was lonely. That you were always busy.”

Blake nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s what I imagined she would say.”

“And she said that you were having…problems. In the bedroom.”

“Well, she hardly needed to add that.” He stared out the window, watching the landmarks of Memorial Drive pass by. “It’s hard being the leader of the free world.”

“I would imagine so.”

“So many people depend on you. So much rests upon your shoulders. It should hardly be surprising if a man suffering under that kind of stress occasionally has…issues.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t patronize me. You took advantage of the situation to put cuckold horns on my head. You’re a sorry son of a bitch.”

“As you say, sir.”

“And I want your resignation.”

Gatwick’s head rose. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m your boss, remember?”

“Carl Lehman is—”

“I’m the commander in chief, Tom.”

“I’m not in the military.”

“If I want you out—you’re out.”

“I won’t resign.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

Gatwick drew in his breath. “You have no direct authority over me.”

“You’re not listening to me, Tom. I’m the president. Your job is to protect the executive branch. How long do you think you’ll last if I don’t want you around? I don’t even need a pretext. I know for a fact that some people in your own office think your protocol changes on April nineteenth resulted in the death of my wife. All I have to do is make a phone call.”

Gatwick’s lips tightened. “You can’t fire me.”

“I would prefer it if you resigned. It would look better.”

“Then let me put it differently. You don’t want to.”

The president slowly drew himself in. “Do I understand this correctly? Are you threatening me?”

“Weren’t you just threatening me?”

“I was managing my branch of the government. That’s my job.”

“Well, I like my job, too. And I intend to keep it.”

“If Carl Lehman knew what you’ve done—”

Gatwick cut him off with a laugh. It seemed he had no choice but to be an enemy of the president. Very well, then. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You won’t rat me out. If I lose my job, I go public.”

“You think that will help you get reemployed?”

“I think that’s a revelation you don’t want in the public forum. It could ruin you.”

“Like hell. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“If the truth came out about your late wife’s hanky-panky, it would, first, make you look like a weak-kneed loser, and second, make your late wife considerably less sympathetic in the public eye. You’re counting on that sympathy to get your amendment passed. And probably to get yourself reelected.”

“Public opinion is already wildly in my favor. On both counts.”

“Because you’re a bereaved husband who lost a wife who had a huge approval rating. If it turns out you’re a—what was your word?—
cuckold,
and she was a tramp—”

“You son of a bitch.”

“I didn’t start this, Mr. President. But I’m not going to sit around and let you walk all over me. If you hadn’t been such a crappy husband, it wouldn’t have occurred in the first place.”

“You twisted sick—”

“Maybe I am partly to blame, and maybe she is. Maybe no one is. But I won’t let you take my job from me. Especially not now.”

“Why not now?”

“Never mind. This is a critical time for both of us. We want to continue to get our jobs done.” He looked the president straight in the eye. “So you leave me alone and let me get my work done, Mr. President. And I’ll leave you alone and let you do yours.”