Gospel (38 page)

‘It is done then,' she said, moving to her drawing room window, pulling back the thick cream-coloured curtains and looking out across the silver blue waters of the Potomac and beyond.

‘Yes.'

‘As we discussed.'

‘Yes, his death will be ruled accidental – auto-erotic asphyxiation.'

‘He was a liability. That car was unforgivable.'

‘If anyone investigates it will indicate he drained his miniscule bank account in order to make the purchase, putting himself heavily in debt.'

‘What about the boyfriend?'

‘Gorton will move on. Their relationship was in its infancy. Our listening devices indicate Mark did not mention his extracurricular income, nor his involvement with the business.'

‘Good,' she said moving to the drawing room mirror and re-applying her lipstick. ‘Speaking of the business . . .'

‘The dispatches stopped last week,' he said, taking her lead. ‘The clients will already be starting to feel the pinch. I will begin my lobbying of parliamentary notables tomorrow. I'll start with the relatives and move on to the actual clients by mid next week.'

‘Just make sure you do not humour their pleas for leniency. As Tom would have said, an addict is an addict – and time is running out. The good news is President Latham called this morning. He likes my proposals and sees no reason why my nomination should not go before the House within the week and, that being the case, I need our majority vote confirmed as a matter of priority.'

‘Of course,' he said. ‘Congratulations.' He saw her smile then, and she looked at him as if urging him to ask: ‘What is it?'

‘I was just thinking,' she began, walking towards the window again, past the voluminous library shelves and the silver-framed photos of her family that took pride of place on the whitewashed window-side cabinets. ‘It's almost funny. We have been so efficient, so successful in our pursuits that now, I wonder if we needed the business after all. Perhaps I would have secured their nomination without the extra pressure.' Another smile
of self-satisfaction. ‘Still, it is nice to have the luxury of certainty and we shall reap the benefits of the collateral further down the track.' She paused then as if mentally ticking off the questions she needed to ask. ‘What about the wife – you are sure she knows nothing?'

‘Positive. The interview was merely a piece of propaganda – a pathetic effort to gain her husband some ground.'

‘She doesn't concern me. But Cavanaugh is another issue. He went up against Senator Haynes and Rudolph Haynes is one of the most influential men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and from what I've heard Cavanaugh can't be bought.'

‘You're right. He's a potential problem, but I've dealt with worse. Men like Cavanaugh require a more subtle approach – something a little closer to home.'

‘He's inquisitive and determined, the longer he is on the case the more he'll dig,' she said.

‘Don't worry, I'll have him under control before your nomination is announced. I believe there is a way to use Cavanaugh's stellar reputation to our advantage. I mean, if Montgomery's own attorney doesn't believe in his client's innocence then . . .'

‘You think you can get Cavanaugh to turn against his client?'

‘I think I can make him see the benefits of altering his approach to the defence.'

‘A change of plea? From not guilty to . . .'

‘Guilty. That's the idea.'

John smiled. ‘Interesting. That would be a coup. It would certainly enable us to cut to the chase and save us the trouble of some messy, drawn out courtroom debacle. Not to mention silencing Montgomery and his ignorant wife for good.'

‘Not to mention.'

They smiled.

‘One last thing,' she said, delighted at this new suggestion and determined to clear up one other important matter. ‘You are sure Ryan has aborted any investigations into the business.'

‘Yes. Bradshaw was his only ally. And after this week there will be no business to investigate. Luke and Mark are gone, the Gospel is reduced to two and we are impenetrable.'

‘Of course.' And then she turned slowly and walked towards him, directly in a path of light now casting beams through the large cedar-framed windows.

He moved slightly to his left so that he might face her front on, and found he had to blink. For in that moment it was as if he was witnessing something supernatural – a spiritual premonition or vision. She was glowing, the light trailing behind her like an extended halo with millions of tiny particles of dust dancing like fairies in and out of the confines of her aura, as if paying homage to the queen before them.

‘You have done a magnificent job, Matthew,' she said, placing her hand lightly on his right shoulder, the very first time she had deigned to touch him.

It was a completely asexual gesture – which was fitting, considering their business identities and her persistence that her gender be disregarded when it came to her role as John. And perhaps that was why Ramirez was so surprised at the shiver of delight that surged through his entire body at the slightest hint of her touch. Was it sexual? Almost certainly. But not in the ‘usual' sense. No, this was something greater – a rush of endorphins triggered by the simple power of association with this woman. Like a transferral of pleasure made all the more rapturous by his knowledge that he was her sole surviving ally in their brilliant, ambitious, revolutionary conspiracy.

‘We shall make a great team, you and I,' John continued. ‘And when this all comes to pass, the end will justify the means.'

And then it struck him – the irony of it all. Her
means
, as she put it, were the exact opposite of her predecessor's – Bradshaw always choosing the path of idealism, John plotting silently as she took the road of exploitation. But despite their differences, when all was said and done, the pair were actually exactly alike, for they were both the ultimate politician, both the ideal leader, both the perfect candidate, and
both
a Presidential sure thing.

As soon as Matthew had left, John went to her window and took in the view again. She was drawn to the winding Potomac – the ‘Nation's River' that began as a small spring at the Fairfax Stone in West Virginia, and expanded its width to more than eleven miles as it reached Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. It was symbolic she knew, of her plan, which started out
as a simple idea and, like the Potomac, glided and curved to a fullness no one could have comprehended.

And then it came to her – a memory of that day by the Potomac in Virginia. It was last Thanksgiving at a party at the estate of Senator Ray Douglas. An unofficial/official occasion Tom Bradshaw organised as a ‘thank you' to his supporters and more specifically those who had been active in his growing campaign against the narcotics industry. There were no press, just a small official government documentary crew who were allowed to hover and capture Bradshaw and his ‘friends' at one of those rare occasions of orchestrated ‘downtime'. It was, in effect, a PR exercise wrapped up as a relaxed get-together that would soon be edited in-house with appropriate snippets beamed to every news program around the country. It was a time for giving, after all.

How ironic, she thought, that they should meet there, all four of them, right under the Vice President's nose to discuss the ‘progression' of their business and the details of what was from then to be known as ‘phase 2'. She and Ramirez had discussed it at length, of course, but that sunny afternoon on the banks of America's most ‘patriotic' waterway was the first time she had revealed the specifics to Mark and Luke. They were shocked, to say the least, especially considering the man she was discussing was within earshot, pumping palms, patting backs and tossing back iced teas with some of the most powerful identities in the country.

‘We all knew this day would come,' she had said, an appropriately interested look on her flawless face. ‘And that the only way we can assure total control is to follow our plan to its ultimate conclusion.'

‘I understand, John,' said Luke at the time. ‘But now that the time has come, now that we have had such success, I think we should at least consider alternative courses of action. After all, the man has become beyond popular. We did not foresee his incredible success three years ago when we first talked of . . .'

‘Killing him? Yes, Luke, yes we did. In fact we were counting on his popularity to enable my rise to the required position,' she had said, looking to all the world like someone who was simply having an interesting conversation with three of the country's most dedicated and accomplished public servants. ‘Nothing has changed, Luke, and if you have a problem with that then . . .'

‘No,' he had said.

‘Good,' she had replied, touching him lightly on the elbow in a friendly gesture of interest.

‘Besides,' she said with a final smile. ‘There is no rush, we have six months at the outset. Our timing is of utmost importance. We have a year until the next Federal election and the last six months of it will be used to consolidate my position.' She was basically telling them they would assassinate the Vice President next May, half a year from that sunny afternoon in November.

‘Matthew shall keep you informed as to the timing of our next meeting. Until then you must continue your work as usual. And I must say, you are all doing a stellar job. It has been a pleasure, gentlemen,' she said, before turning to walk across the grass towards Bradshaw. ‘As always.'

‘The Potomac,' she said to herself now as she watched the waterway that was her inspiration, flowing lazily towards its Washington Tidal Basin. ‘Gathering place,' she said, remembering the strangely appropriate English translation of its American Indian name.

‘Not long now,' she said. ‘Not long now.'

‘D
id you kill Vice President Bradshaw?'

‘No. No, I did not,' said Montgomery.

‘A simple “no” is not enough, Professor,' David shot back. ‘Tell us,
convince
us why we should believe you?'

‘Because the very idea is ludicrous.'

David sat back in his seat and looked across at the man before him. The arrogant façade was gone, shattered, at least temporarily, by David's clinical description of the fate that lay before him. The colour had drained from his face, his posture had slumped to that of a man facing the horrors of defeat, and his eyes, while still wearing the spark of wariness, carried a new glint of determination – the dire need to save his own life.

‘I am your attorney, Professor, I
want
to believe you, but so many don't. So you are up against it even before we begin. The FBI don't think the idea is ludicrous and . . .'

‘Of course not, but unlike you, Mr Cavanaugh, they are not in the business of truth.'

Ironically David knew his client was most probably right, but he could not tell him that now – not yet, not while Mannix was meeting with Ryan and while David was still unsure as to where he stood with this complex man before him.

‘They have evidence against you,' David went on, determined to start by establishing the facts, ‘the falling out with Bradshaw, the Vice President's reneging on health research funds, his pull of support on the US Surgeon General's job, your alleged affair with the wife of one of Bradshaw's oldest . . .'

‘None of which prove I murdered him, Mr Cavanaugh.' Montgomery paused to take a deep breath, his face bearing the expression of a man at odds as to how to describe the complicated situation that led to his predicament – the life of a ‘professional political surfer' in a massive sea of similar men and women all jostling for position at the top of the wave.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,' he began. ‘Life on Capitol Hill is not black or white, it is not even grey, it is a multitude of colours depending on what is required at the time. Tom Bradshaw and I were friends in the sense that we understood each other. He
knew
me, because in many ways we were alike – we were humanitarians with ambition – that awkward dichotomy that requires a man to forgo his scruples in the bloody fight to get what he wants. The truth is, I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am. I am an arrogant son-of-a-bitch who craves power like a baby yearns for milk. But I am also a brilliant man with an exceptional mind in the business of
saving lives
– not
taking
them.'

Montgomery paused, taking a sip of his iced tea.

‘Tom Bradshaw and I both wore our flaws on our sleeves, and we both used them for betterment. My motives were more self-serving, granted, but I was plain about them and Tom respected that. He knew me, and I knew him.'

‘So there was no falling out?' asked David.

‘Of
course
there was a falling out. The bastard pulled my funding, he gave some second-rate physician her fifteen minutes of fame by parading her in front of the press as a
possible
next US Surgeon General at a time, I might add, when the President was being criticised for a lack of women in senior government positions.'

‘So Dr Weiss was never going to . . .'

‘Not a chance in hell.'

‘And Jessica Douglas?'

‘Was sleeping with half of the Pentagon and then some. Forgive me, my dear,' Montgomery said, turning to Karin. ‘But Jessica was a mere
distraction as they all have been. Tom knew of my infidelities, and Senator Douglas knew all about Jessica. He is in his seventies, for Christ's sake. He took what he could get.'

‘I don't understand,' said Sara, speaking up for the first time. ‘You're saying that the falling out was temporary – a common glitch in your ongoing relationship?'

‘Exactly, my dear,' he said. ‘It was all part of the game. Bradshaw and I knew where we were headed but we – both of us – had to justify the conclusion by doing the required dance along the way. It's called politics. He knew what I was capable of, which means he knew I was the best man for the job – which leads me to my point.