Hell on Wheels (27 page)

“Senator Aldus,” one of the men said in an accent that was no accent at all, “you need to come with us now.”

“Ron,” Aldus turned toward the blatantly curious man seated across from him. He was very careful to keep his own expression bland. “We’ll have to discuss this later.”

“Er…sure,” the New Jersey senator scrambled to his feet, making no attempt to hide his nosiness as he eyed the two automatons who were moving in to flank Aldus.

He waited patiently until Ron left with Janice close on his heels before standing, and slowly and carefully closing the double buttons on his ultra tailored, Hugo Boss suit. Shooting his gold-linked cuffs, he regarded his stoic companions with all the audacity of a U.S. senator.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his tone not-so-slightly condescending, “just what the hell do you think you’re doing barging in here and ordering me to—”

He thought the vein in his temple was going to explode when Man in Black I interrupted him. “We’ve been instructed, senator,” was it his imagination or was that a sneer on the guy’s face when he used that title? “to escort you to the White House immediately.”

He opened his mouth, and it was then that Man in Black II decided to pipe up. “You should know, sir, we’ve also been instructed to take you forcibly, in handcuffs, if you refuse to come peaceably.”

Cold sweat instantly popped out on his forehead and dampened the armpits of his shirt beneath his suit jacket, more slid nauseatingly down the small of his back. Despite that, there was a definite chill spreading through his veins.

“What is this in regard to?” he asked, but could think of only one thing that would bring the Secret Service to his door with orders to escort him, forcibly if need be, to the White House.

Those
fucking
files.

He hadn’t heard from Johnny since they’d learned of Rocco’s death, but he hadn’t really expected to until tonight. Johnny had promised that Miss Morgan and former sergeant Weller were as good as dead. With the menacing tone of vengeance ringing in Johnny’s rough voice, Aldus had believed him.

Now, he felt the weight of the prepaid phone like a lead brick inside his jacket pocket.

Was it possible Johnny had failed? Had the files been found?

It was the only thing that made sense. And for the first time in Alan Aldus’s entire gilded life, the threat of personal doom loomed like a poison-fanged monster in front of him.

***

Frank glanced around the Oval Office and shook his head.

Not only had he never thought to be sitting in this room with its antique furniture, plaster reliefs, and genuine oil painting of, you guessed it, that’d be the original GW, George Washington, he certainly hadn’t thought to be sitting in this room with the strange amalgamation of folks surrounding him.

President Thompson was seated at his desk, looking very stern and powerful. His Joint Chiefs, including General Fuller, were arranged here and there. Some seated on the sofas in the center of the room, some standing along the walls. General Fuller was actually pacing, looking mad enough to take the entire country to DEFCON 1.

Ex-CIA agent Dagan Zoelner was beside the door. He’d unflinchingly answered the questions the president and Joint Chiefs had thrown at him, his personal integrity evident in every well-thought-out word. Now, Zoelner was looking for all the world like he’d rather be any place but there, and his position indicated he’d take the first opportunity to vamoose himself. Frank noticed the man’s one good eye never stayed still, constantly darting about. It caught every subtle move, every vague facial expression on everyone in the room. The guy was certainly wound tight, like most spooks, but Frank had to admit to being a little intrigued. Zoelner’s file—he’d read it on the flight to DC—was something of a page-turner.

Then there was Ghost, leaning against the back wall, still dressed in his biker leathers with dried blood streaking down his shirt, looking completely out of place. Not that Frank was all that tidy, but,
shit
, the least Ghost could’ve done before meeting the
president
was change his fucking shirt. Of course, he supposed the guy wasn’t all that concerned with his current lack of hygiene.

Ghost had something entirely different plaguing his sleep-deprived brain, and Frank was sure he had a pretty good idea just what that was as he caught the guy sneaking another surreptitious glance at Ali—who was doing her level best not to slide right off the stiff little high-backed chair she was sitting in. The woman had been through hell and back in the last couple of days. She’d been mugged, shot at on two separate occasions, bruised, battered, and all of that was on top of losing her brother.

After learning of her situation, the commander-in-chief demanded to hear the details from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, which had earned her a place at this meeting.

Frank was grateful to the president for allowing her to take part, because the poor woman deserved to see Senator Aldus brought to his fucking knees more than any of them.

And speaking of…

A loud knock heralded the senator’s much-anticipated arrival.

“Come in,” President Thompson commanded, his voice smooth and authoritative. No doubt that tone helped inspire confidence among the people of the nation. Frank had to admit, it even worked for him.

When two Secret Service agents escorted a tall, middle-aged man into the room, he forgot all about Zoelner and Ghost and Ali, because he instantly recognized the senator. He’d seen Alan Aldus on the nightly news a time or two, extolling this or that accomplishment or, more often, ranting about the failings of the opposing party.

He remembered thinking even then that the guy looked just a bit too slick for comfort. Turns out, his instincts were right on the mark. Senator Aldus was nothing more than an arrogant asshole with good diction and a fancy suit.

Frank hated guys like that.

“Senator Aldus,” President Thompson said, “we have a few questions to ask you.”

“I’m not saying anything!” Aldus barked, jerking his arms free of the agents’ grasps. “I want my lawyer!”

“Oh, you’ll get your lawyer,” General Fuller hissed, his voice as harsh and gravelly as Thompson’s was calm and smooth. Right at that moment, Fuller looked very much like the badass commando he’d once been. “In fact, I bet you’ll be spending so much time with your lawyer over the next few months you’ll get sick and tired of the man’s face and beg for one glimpse of our ugly mugs.”

Aldus’s ugly mug turned a very abrupt shade of crimson, and Frank wondered idly if the man was going to have a coronary right on the spot.

He hoped not. That would be too easy. Aldus deserved to pay for what he’d done.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk,” President Thompson soothed, steepling his long fingers under his very presidential looking chin. “We don’t really need you to, considering we’ve got all the evidence we need to bring you up on charges of treason.”

“Treason!” Aldus sputtered, white spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth, standing out like two truce flags against his cherry-red face. “How dare you! I
love
my country!”

“You love your country so much you sold illegal weapons to its enemies?” President Thompson looked genuinely perplexed. “I’d hate to see what you would’ve done had you
hated
your country.”

“They weren’t our enemies when I sold those weapons,” Aldus hotly declared, amazingly unaware that he’d just been maneuvered into a confession.

Frank really had to admire President Thompson’s skill. The man must’ve been one hell of a lawyer before he decided to throw his hat into the political ring.

“They only turned into our enemies after you stupid, slow-moving politicos failed to sufficiently arm them against the Afghan Taliban. I was doing what needed to be done, goddamnit! What you all,” Aldus swung his arm to include the entire array of Joint Chiefs, “were too scared to do.”

“Really?” General Fuller demanded, interrupting whatever President Thompson opened his mouth to say. Frank was surprised when President Thompson just folded his hands and leaned back in his chair, apparently willing to pass the interrogatory ball to Fuller. “And how did that work out, senator? Did those weapons you sold the Pakistani tribesmen help eliminate the Taliban?”

“Well…” Senator Aldus hesitated, and General Fuller jumped into the gulf. “No!” he barked, slamming his big fist down on the president’s desk. Ali nearly jumped out of her seat at the resounding
boom
, and most of the Joint Chiefs shuffled uncomfortably. Even Frank lifted a brow at the general’s audacity. He couldn’t help but glance at the president’s face to gauge
his
reaction, but Thompson didn’t seem to notice the impertinence. His expression remained supremely calm, totally impassive.

Interesting.

“They didn’t help eliminate the Taliban, because you’d know if you weren’t so goddamned arrogant,” continued Fuller, his face contorted with rage, “that what the Pakistani tribesmen care most about is money and land, not peace or religion or any ideology. They don’t give a shit about the Taliban, except, oh wait! Because, lo and behold, the Taliban were more than happy to
pay
them to use those weapons you so patriotically supplied them with. Only they paid them to kill our soldiers!”

“But, but…” Senator Aldus sputtered.

“But nothing!” Fuller bellowed, and Frank could only cross his arms and stand in awe of the general’s righteous fury.

The man must’ve been a veritable monster out in the field.

“If you hadn’t been busy sitting around fantasizing about yourself as the God of War, you’d have taken more time to read all those shiny dossiers that crossed your desk, and you’d have known what we,” General Fuller threw his big arm out to encompass the room, his chest full of medals jangled with the motion, “have known for years. Which is that Pakistan is the epicenter of Islamic terrorism. My God man, the British government has estimated something like eighty percent of the terror threats they receive have Pakistani connections. And what about Bin Laden? I can verify, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was no surprise to any of us military brass that he was found there. So good job, senator. Like the president said at the beginning of your visit, you armed our enemies.”

Frank watched, fascinated, as Aldus’s eyes darted around the room, searching for some way out of this mess.

Sorry, ol’ chap, but you’re completely fucked.

“I have contacts,” Aldus gushed, all his fight suddenly vanished as he scrambled to find leverage, any leverage. “I’ll give you the names of those who helped me if you guarantee to take the death penalty off the block. I have documents to back up my claims. I’ll tell you who hacked into the Black Knights’ computer system to plant that false assignment to Syria.”

False assignment to Syria…

Frank suddenly felt the very real need to plant a nice fat piece of lead in the senator’s traitorous heart. Unfortunately, the Secret Service had scowlingly disarmed him before allowing him entry into 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Touchy sonsofbitches.

President Thompson steepled his fingers, seeming to consider with extreme care the senator’s generous offer. They’d been discussing just how to go about getting the names of the senator’s cohorts, now the man was offering them up without so much as a fight.

Spineless.

Frank fought the urge to spit on the floor in disgust, but that antique rug probably cost more than his entire life’s savings were worth.

“I don’t know, Senator Aldus,” President Thompson demurred. The man could certainly act, which probably served him very well in his position. “What do you think, Miss Morgan? Your life has been turned upside down by this man’s actions. Do you think we should offer him a deal?”

Ali, whose spine snapped ruler straight upon being personally addressed by the leader of the free world, knew the score. She’d been thoroughly educated by the president and the Joint Chiefs on the likely outcomes of the senator’s trial before the prodigious man’s arrival.

Life in prison was the steepest sentence the senator would receive. Thankfully, Aldus was the only person in the room who didn’t already realize that.

“Perhaps, Mr. President,” she said, and Frank watched Aldus almost wilt with gratitude. The guy actually seemed to deflate inside his designer suit. “If he answers some of my questions, honestly, I have no problem with you offering him a deal.”

President Thompson regally inclined his salt-and-pepper head.

Frank watched Ali’s slim throat work, and he feared she might just puke again—the damn woman had the gastric fortitude of a broken fire hydrant—but then she courageously turned her attention to Aldus.

“Did you have my brother tortured in order to obtain the whereabouts of those missing files?” she asked, her voice firm and true as a struck bell.

Frank would’ve slapped her on the back for having balls the size of Texas if he wasn’t so keenly interested in the senator’s answer.

“Yes,” Aldus looked ready to faint, his bloodshot eyes glued to Ali’s pretty face as if she was his anchor in a storm, his only salvation.

“Bullshit!” Ghost shouted and everyone, including Frank, jumped at the unexpected explosion. “They never questioned us about files. They never questioned us about anything!”

“I swear I’m telling the truth!” Senator Aldus actually put his hands together in front of him, pleading. “I’m not lying. I hired them to get the location of the files from Morgan, but they never did and then you escaped and Morgan was—”

“Looks like you didn’t get your money’s worth again, senator,” Fuller grumbled. “Guess that’s what happens when you try to negotiate with terrorists!”

“Pete,” President Thompson’s voice was remarkably cool. Frank had never in his life heard anyone use General Fuller’s first name. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d even realized the general
had
a first name. He guessed he’d always kind of assumed Fuller came straight from the womb replete with a buzz cut and sidearm. “Please, let Miss Morgan continue.”

“I don’t have anything more to ask, Mr. President,” Ali whispered, her big eyes bright with tears. “I just wanted to know for sure who was responsible for killing my brother.”