The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (2 page)

Ernest snorted. “Usually it’d be easy, but we can’t even threaten to disrupt his re-election in a few months’ time. He’s retiring.”

“Wouldn’t be easy even if he wasn’t.” Peter shrugged. “We’ve got nothing. He’s clean.”

“Hate it when that happens.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Ernest stared into space while Peter occasionally sipped his whisky. He wondered how it had come to this, after all this time. He’d built EMCorp—the largest media company in the world—from the ground up. He’d thought it was impregnable, but now it was beset on all sides. He felt old.

Ernest’s reverie was broken by the buzz of the plane intercom. The sound pierced to the very heart of his bad mood and made him want to strangle the pilot with the phone cord. Peter placed his drink on the table and rose to answer the phone.

Peter spoke in a series of pauses. “What is it? Sandra? What’s wrong?”

Ernest’s interest was immediately piqued when his wife’s name was mentioned.

“Ohio?” Peter frowned. “Why was she there? An attack? Be sure that she is.”

Ernest’s heart pounded as Peter hung up. “What is it?”

“It’s your wife.” Peter paused. “She’s been admitted to hospital in Ohio.”

“Which one?”

“Sandra.”

Ernest glared. “Not which wife, Peter. Don’t be an idiot. Which hospital?”

“It’s in Columbus. She’s alright, but she’s had another severe panic attack. She’s insisting on seeing you.”

“We should go.” Ernest sighed. “Why the hell was she in Ohio?”

“Charity gig. We can’t for a few days, Ernest. We’re meeting Mahoney in Washington tomorrow. Once that’s done, we’ll go and see her.”

Ernest stood and his back staged a protest in the form of sharp pain. He paced as he processed this new information. He’d hated these last few weeks most of all because, just when he had things figured out, the game would change again. Sandra would have to wait.

“Doesn’t she fucking understand what we’re dealing with here? The last thing I need is her going off the deep end again.”

“The tabloids will get a hold of it and have a field day. But at the least we can keep it quiet in Ohio and give Sandra some peace.”

“Owning the only major paper there helps.” Ernest scratched his chin. “Okay, let her cool her heels. But I want to be out of Washington as soon as possible.”

“I’ll make sure we’re fueled and ready to leave Dulles tomorrow night, as soon as we’re done with the senator.”

***

Michelle Dominique’s guilty pleasure was the ten-minute casual snooze she took after silencing her wailing alarm clock. She liked that the simple press of a button granted time to reflect on the day ahead, safe in the cocoon of self-denial that although the day was close, it hadn’t quite arrived.

Today was different. She’d slept in and the day was well and truly here. Michelle watched the clock with one eye open, the rest of her body coiled under the covers. She dared it to grind the last painful minute to 11am, and when the alarm started she pounded the snooze button several times. Ten more minutes. On most mornings she’d wake much earlier, but she’d had a very interesting night.

She sighed as the bed’s other occupant started to stir and she felt a hardness press against her back. For him, seemingly, the ten-minute snooze was an excuse for mischief. She searched her memory for his name, but it abandoned her, probably in response to the tequila the night before. He pressed in closer.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” His hand cupped her breast, too hard. “Was hoping you wouldn’t be working today and we could get to know each other.”

She closed her eyes. This was the part Michelle hated. While she was happy to indulge in what her grandmother called the physical trappings of Satan, she hated the next morning. She just wished the split could be as free and easy as their efforts the night before. She had work to do.

“Why? I’ve got to get moving.”

His hand started moving south. “Come on, babe, there’s always time for a quickie.”

“I thought that’s what last night was supposed to be.” Her voice had all the innocence of a former St Augustine’s choir girl’s.

His hand froze and he gave little more than a grunt in response.

“You can call a cab, or there’s a bus stop out the front.”

Not wanting to entertain his advances any longer, Michelle stretched her legs out and committed the crime of rising before the second alarm. She stood and walked to the shower, earning a sigh of acceptance from the man. Yet again, she promised herself that, one day, she’d pick a man based on him being something more than an attractive Neanderthal. One day.

It was just easier this way, she’d decided long ago. Michelle Dominique. Single. Hates cats and children. Her job was demanding and she had planned a future that was more demanding still. She was in no hurry to settle down and have it all end in the horrible drudgery of suburbia.

She closed the bathroom door and untied the mess that was her post-sex hairstyle. Her reflection worried her. Too thin. She’d been working too much lately and had probably lost a bit too much weight. Her face looked hollow with stress and lack of sleep. She vowed to look after herself better.

“Just a few more months.”

She showered and completed her morning routine. Once out of the bathroom, she was pleased to discover that her companion had gracefully exited. Careful not to dislodge the towel holding her wet hair in place, she dressed in a black dress and blood-red pumps, then looked in the mirror again and nodded. Good enough.

Michelle walked to the kitchen and opened her fridge. Though she had a nice enough apartment, the food situation was bleak. Some beer, a bottle of milk and a jar of pickles. She was just not home enough to make stocking it worthwhile. She sighed, grabbed the milk and some muesli from the pantry and combined them to make a dismal breakfast.

As she ate, she checked the news on her iPad. It was the usual leftist rubbish and propaganda, though the stories from the right of politics depressed her as well. She flicked through it all very quickly, getting across the major items. She was about to close the browser window when a small item caught her attention.

“Oh Ernest, Ernest, Ernest.” A small dribble of milk escaped her mouth and ran down her chin. She swiped at it. “You’re in a bad spot.”

She knew that Ernest McDowell was in trouble in the UK, but the scandals engulfing him at home in the United States were about to get much worse. She closed the browser and opened up Skype. She dialed the first name in the contact list: Anton. It took a while to connect, and she smiled at the thought she might have woken him.

Her smile grew when he answered the call wearing nothing but a towel. “Hello, Anton, sorry to disturb you.”

He frowned, and the light above him reflected off his shaved head. “An email wouldn’t have sufficed? And wipe that smile, or I’m going to think you planned this.”

“Seen the news?” She lifted another spoonful of muesli into her mouth.

He raised an eyebrow. “What in particular?”

She swallowed and gave a wide smile. “McDowell will be fronting the US Senate next month. Told you so. Democrats want a piece. Republicans aren’t any better, either.”

He seemed to consider the news for a second or two. While they were in broad agreement about most things to do with the Foundation for a New America, the topic of Ernest McDowell had divided them in recent months. She wanted him on the hook, Anton didn’t see the point. Maybe this would convince him.

“So?” Anton was clearly unimpressed. “He’ll just take his lumps.”

“He could be an asset if we handle him correctly.”

“I remember the last time you said that. Cost us four lives.” He shook his head. “No. You need to focus on China and your Congressional campaign.”

Michelle grimaced internally, but did her best to keep the expression on her face even. He was right to point out that she’d compromised an entire cell in Houston on what, in hindsight, had been a hunch. But that was the risk in the high-stakes game they played. The fallout had been contained and the organization had moved on. But she conceded the point—for now.

“China is under control. My flight is booked and the assets are in place. Don’t worry about that. My Congressional campaign is going fine, as well.”

Anton smiled. “Now you’re talking. Relax, though, while your campaign is on track, we need to think about the others who are running. McDowell is a distraction.”

She wasn’t going to win this, but tried one more time. “He’d make it easier. Having the influence of his company under our belt would all but ensure success. Every candidate we put up would stroll across the line.”

He started to say something, but seemed to reconsider. He frowned, and enough lines formed on his forehead to tell her she’d broken through and he was considering her point. “I’m not convinced, but let’s talk about it more in Shanghai. He could be handy, but he’s also the sort who’d out us and take the flak, just for fun.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Michelle was happy enough that McDowell was back on the agenda. “I’ve got to get ready for my flight. I’ll see you in Shanghai.”

“I can have my assistant work up the forms and courier them to your office. You’ll have them by the end of the day, and then it’s up to you to sign them.” Winston Clay raised an eyebrow. “As long as you’re sure, Jack?”

Jack wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. He’d decided at some point during the meeting that he really didn’t like Clay, who was one of the better divorce lawyers in New York. Though he needed him, he was tempted to tip over the coffee table and storm out of the room. Instead he continued to sit and listen to advice he didn’t want to hear, which also cost him a fortune.

Clay stood and extended his hand across the coffee table. Jack stayed put, sinking further into the leather armchair that probably cost more than he—a minted Pulitzer Prize winner—earned in a month. After a few seconds, Clay dropped his hand and retook his seat. Jack reached up, scratched his nose and stared out the window behind the lawyer.

Clay sighed. “If you still have doubts, Jack, there are options that fall well short of divorce. Not that I’m trying to put myself out of business, you understand, but could counseling work? Time apart?”

Jack leaned forward and took hold of the glass of scotch on the coffee table. He threw back the remains with a flick of his wrist, then put the glass back. Morning drinking was for losers, but he didn’t care much right now. He’d replayed the events of that terrible night a million times in his head, and it made less sense with each pass.

He’d thought Erin would be fast asleep by the time he got home. Instead, he’d found her upright in bed, surrounded by a hundred tissues and an empty bottle of red. Blind drunk on wine and antidepressants, she’d told him everything. How she’d slept with the neighbor, many times, but was now laden with guilt.

The next day, with sunlight flooding their room and a clearer head, she’d recanted. Jack had tried to speak to her about it, but after her denials he’d given up and left the house a shattered man. While he’d first spoken to Clay a while ago, having to stay for so long at the Wellington Hotel and losing the China gig had convinced him to proceed.

Jack shifted his gaze down slightly, and looked straight at Clay. “I’m sure, Winston. She slept with my neighbor, got drunk, admitted to it, got sober and then denied it all again. She hasn’t given me any reason to think there’s any hope, or that she even gives a damn.”

Clay shrugged. “Your call. I just want you to be across your range of options before you pull the trigger. You need to think about your finances, handling the fallout…”

“Give her half. I just want it over with. It’s done.” To say those words broke Jack’s heart again.”

“That’s quite unusual, Jack.” Clay’s eyes narrowed. “You need to protect your interests and—”

“I understand.” Jack sighed. “You’ve done your job, now do what I ask.”

He’d built a life with Erin. They’d pursued careers, supported each other, consoled each other and loved each other. Now he simply wanted to be done with it. With her. He wanted to retreat into a dark hole with a bottle of nice scotch, and wake up only after the decade or so it would take to stop hurting.

Clay nodded and stood for the second time, hand outstretched. “Okay, Jack.”

Jack stood and shook his hand. “Thanks.”

“And Jack, on a personal note, some advice free of charge. Clean yourself up, get a massage. You look like shit.”

Jack gave a thumbs up to Clay and walked to the door. He deliberately didn’t look around at the oak bookshelves or the six-figure artwork in the office. He’d made that mistake last time and felt enraged when the bill had come. It was all paid for by sad men and women who’d had their lives together guillotined, with Clay the executioner.

***

Ernest wondered how many of his tax dollars were paying for the office of Senator Patrick Mahoney, Democrat for Massachusetts. The office looked as if it had been painted by a drunk spinning around on a chair and then furnished by a child. It hurt Ernest’s sense of good taste. He and Peter sat opposite the senator, a bullfrog of a man who spilled over the sides of his chair. Between them was a hardwood desk, which had apparently belonged to a Kennedy. Or so Mahoney said.

Ernest took a deep breath and leaned forward. “So what you’re telling me, Senator, is that the US Senate is ready to destroy my company?”

Mahoney smiled. “That’s about the sum of it. Your enterprise has become a little too big, a little too powerful, and now you’ve trampled on the civil rights of Americans.”

Ernest bit his lip, but couldn’t resist. “Unlike drone attacks, indefinite detention without charge or all-pervasive electronic signals interception and intelligence?”

“All perfectly legal, Ernest.” Mahoney smiled like a shark. “The conduct of your company, on the other hand, was not. That necessitates a reaction.”

The allegations against EMCorp in the US were as serious as those in the United Kingdom, if Ernest was being honest. Though, to the best of his knowledge, the company had dealt with and disclosed all misconduct, it was an almighty assumption. It was also a gamble, given the looming inquiry. If more illegal activity emerged, he’d be scuttled. Ernest wondered if the company had just become too big for him to control, even as he did his best to fight Mahoney and his ilk.

Ernest felt his face flush. “I’ll concede that we’re in a bit of trouble, Senator. But I didn’t think you and your colleagues were quite so stupid.”

Mahoney frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“I suspect you don’t. You’re probably daft enough to think that it’s policy and good governance that gets representatives re-elected, Senator.”

Mahoney leaned back in his chair and Ernest felt his anger grow. He hoped that the other man would tip back just far enough to fall over and maybe snap his neck on the way down. No such luck—Mahoney continued to stare straight at him and started to tap his finger on the armrest.

“I know the public like their bread and circuses, Ernest. Who manufactures them is largely irrelevant. Though it’s currently your company, you’re not indispensable.”

“You’re wrong. Who manufactures the content, and with it the message, is very important. While I respect the right of our duly elected representatives to destroy one of the greatest bastions of freedom that the American people have, they should know that I have an almighty bark, Senator, and quite a substantial bite.”

Mahoney smiled. “I’m retiring from public life at the coming election. Given it’s only a few months away, I’m not sure which is more underwhelming, your sense of self-importance or your threats. Both are at odds with reality.”

“I don’t agree, Senator. It’s entirely plausible that you’re done with public life, but I’m yet to meet a thirty-year veteran of the hill who doesn’t care about his legacy.”

Mahoney raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“The key to securing your achievements is sitting in front of you, and you’re doing a pretty good job of pissing him off. I’m also doing all I can to fix the issues that EMCorp has had and I can assure you there won’t be a repeat.” Ernest knew this was his chance. He let his words sink in before he continued. “Back off, remove the noose from around my neck, and you’ll have friendly smoke blown up your ass for the next century.”

Mahoney seemed to consider his offer for a moment, then shook his head. “Not good enough, Ernest. I get more out of destroying you than working with you. I’ll be a hero.”

Ernest looked to Peter for support.

Peter sat forward. “Need we remind you, Senator, of the generous donations that came your way following the
Boston Chronicle
endorsement at the last election?”

“The support surely was appreciated, son, but I’ve got the public baying for blood.”

Ernest sighed. It was time to cut to the chase. “What’re you proposing?”

“An understanding. If you dig your heels in, it will end in sanctions against your company, including its dismantling, and destruction of your own wealth and influence. But all I really want is a scalp to hang on my wall.”

Ernest said nothing; he knew where this was going.

“Instead, I propose that you come before the committee and announce you’re stepping down as head of the company. Whoever takes over—I don’t care who it is—promises to fix the problems. You lose the power, but your company is intact and I get my scalp.”

Ernest was in awe of Mahoney’s gall. He’d tried reason, he’d tried bribery; he had one option left. He looked at Peter and gave him a slight nod. He watched as Peter searched for a single piece of paper from among his notes and day planner. Once he found it, he calmly placed it face down on the desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept your proposal. I didn’t really want to bring this up, Senator. But we’ve uncovered some…anomalies in your past.” He knew exactly what was on the sheet of paper: nothing. Despite months of looking for something, anything, to bury Mahoney, he was clean. Ernest had nothing he could use against the senator except a blank sheet of paper and his reputation for smear.

Mahoney sat in silence and his face drained of color. Ernest was surprised, and wondered what it was that he and Peter hadn’t managed to uncover.

He pushed home his advantage. “I’ve got the largest army of dirt diggers on the planet. They’re very good at it. The ball is in your court, Senator.”

Mahoney shook his head. “You can’t prove anything. Besides, I can’t just halt a committee hearing, son. There are other members you’d have to ride roughshod over.”

Mahoney was right, but Ernest had planted a seed of doubt. He laughed. “Oh, I don’t want to stop it. I want to make a mockery of it and destroy its conveners.”

Ernest only wished he was as confident as his bluster suggested.

***

Michelle sipped her coffee and grimaced as it assaulted her taste buds. She wondered why she kept faith with the company when she was disappointed every time. She’d walk in, order a grande from the overly cheery staff, and sit down in one of the comfortable chairs. Lulled into a false sense of hope, she'd take a sip, then curse.

Anton laughed. “I know how much you love Starbucks.”

She sneered at him. “Yeah, like cancer.”

Anton made a face, the small benign tumor he’d had cut out a few months ago apparently still a sore spot. “No need to get personal.”

Michelle snorted and looked up at the entrance again, irritated. She was jet lagged from the eighteen-hour flight from New York to Shanghai, via Chicago, and was in no mood to wait. Once the meeting was done, she was going straight to her hotel room to get some sleep.

“Where is he?” She knew it was a pointless question, given they were situated in the back corner. If he had arrived they’d have seen it.

“How should I know? He’s your man.”

“No, Anton. He’s not mine, or yours, or ours. That’s the point.”

He rolled his eyes. “Relax, I didn’t mean it literally.”

She was about to take further issue when the door chime sounded. She looked up and saw an Asian man in full business attire. He stood in the doorway and as he scanned the tables he looked ordinary in every way. Most importantly, he wore a red and black striped tie. Michelle raised her hand and gave him a small wave.

“He’s here.”

The Chinese man saw her, gave a small nod and moved to the counter to order. Michelle and Anton waited in silence. Michelle used the time to gather her thoughts and Anton wore a poker face. The meeting was mainly to reassure Anton about the man she’d selected to complete the operation. The next few minutes needed to go well.

Michelle stood and held out her hand as the man joined them with a cup of tea in hand. “I appreciate you joining us, Chen. This is my colleague, Anton.”

Chen shook her hand. “Good afternoon, Michelle and Anton. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the enablers of my vengeance.”

Michelle smiled again, and after the two men shook hands she gestured Chen toward the vacant chair and sat in her own. She glanced at Anton, who now sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin cupped in his hand. She knew this look. She’d seen it dozens of times. He was going to pounce.

“Are you prepared to die?” Anton’s tone was casual, as if he was asking how the tea tasted or what the weather was going to be like.

Chen showed no expression. “I am trained to do the job, and I will live up to my commitments. That’s all you need to know.”

“I beg to differ. Great piles of my organization’s money and effort have been poured into this mission, which is key to our broader agenda. I’ll ask whatever I please.”

Michelle didn’t speak, but watched Chen lift his tea and sip it. A lot of her influence within the Foundation had been staked on the selection of Chen Shubian for the operation. She’d found him on the Darknet, carefully cultivated his fury, then connected him to the Foundation’s server. Since then, she’d worked painstakingly with Chen to plan the operation, including the selection of others to assist him.

While her position as number two to Anton gave her a lot of power within the Foundation, he didn’t suffer fools or mistakes. Since she’d joined a decade prior, she’d seen how ruthless he could be to friends as well as foes. If, at the end of the meeting, Anton had any doubts about Chen’s commitment, a Foundation for a New America wet squad would make the Taiwanese man disappear. Better that than a messy operation.

Anton continued. “You were chosen by my associate because you have the skills and commitment to achieve our objectives. I don’t care about your motivation and you shouldn’t care about ours. We’re a happy alliance of convenience that will result in thousands dead, vengeance done and a world changed. But I still insist on excellence.”