In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) (7 page)

President Kendall glanced at his watch.  In ten minutes, he was scheduled to meet with Rumson.  Their weekly lunch had been cancelled for the last three weeks due to both his and the vice president’s travel schedules.  Outside of a few short meetings about the budget and one on his State of the Union address, this was their first private meeting in several weeks. 

He stepped to the windows overlooking the South Lawn.  There was no mistaking that it was winter in Washington.  There were several inches of snow on the ground and the overcast skies seemed to hint that more was on the way.  He noticed the wind blowing through the bushes, the snow piling up.  And he noted once again that it was difficult to tell that he wasn’t looking through glass but through a very heavy, glass-clad polycarbonate that was designed to withstand the force of a high-caliber bullet.  The Secret Service had assured him that he was safe in the Oval Office.  He shivered.  Despite the glass, he suddenly felt uneasy.

“Hey, Dave.”  Rumson said.  “Before we begin, I wanted to apologize for the meeting several weeks ago.  The meeting with Phil Perry?”

Despite Rumson’s apparent sincerity, the president was wary.  Nonetheless, he smiled back.  “The election meeting?”

Rumson nodded.

“I remember,” the president said evenly.

Rumson sighed.  “Listen, Phil and I only wanted to make sure that the team we put together and the plan we developed were the best.  We thought with everything you had going on that we were being helpful.  But,” he held his hands up in a conciliatory fashion, “we didn’t consult you first or ask for your input.  I’m sorry for that.”

The president smiled again. “Thank you, Tyler.”   

“The reelection team, the strategy, the plan….well, it’s your call.”  Rumson paused.  “Look, things have been a little tense lately, and I want to apologize for that too.  I know you don’t think I’m behind you on Hettinger’s nomination, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken to a number of people over the last few days.”  He paused and smiled.  “I think we have the votes we need.”

“Really?”  The president feigned.  Although the vote wasn’t scheduled for another week, Charles Howell had told him the good news that morning.

Smiling, Rumson nodded.

“That’s great news!  Thanks, Tyler.  I appreciate your support on this one.”

Thirty minutes later, when their meeting ended, Kendall walked back to the window behind his desk.  The meeting had been cordial, and he and Rumson had discussed a number of issues, including the economy and the Global Free Trade Agreement.  He had subtly asked questions, trying to determine Rumson’s position.

“I’m behind it, Dave.” Rumson had smiled.  “You know, I wasn’t a supporter of NAFTA when it was first announced.  I was certain that we would lose jobs to Mexico.  But I was wrong.  NAFTA has been good for the country, and I think the GFTA will be as well.”

Kendall had smiled back.  “I’ll need all the support you can help me drum up on this one.  It’s going to be a challenge in Congress.  Too many lobbyists have already lined up against it.”

“I can definitely help you there,” Rumson had said confidently. 

Yes, he had seemed sincere, the president thought as he stared out the window.  But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Rumson was playing chess.  The problem was, he wasn’t sure what move Rumson had just made.

Vice President Rumson walked out of the Oval Office and, with a brief nod at Charles Howell, turned towards his office.  He ignored the Secret Service agents standing in the corridor.  Matthew Richter couldn’t help but notice the smug smile as Rumson passed by.  He watched as Rumson, spotting the Deputy National Security Advisor, barked an order.  The young woman’s face fell.  Richter knew that the junior staff, the assistants, aides, and interns were afraid of Rumson.  He treated them like servants or like they didn’t even exist.  Most of the agents assigned to protect him complained.  Rumson stopped and said something to Cal Mosby.  Mosby nodded and, for a brief second, the hint of a smile flashed across his face then was gone.

How fitting, Richter thought as Rumson continued down the hall with Mosby trailing close behind.  He glanced over at Sartori and rolled his eyes.  She hid her smile.  God, he hoped he was never assigned to Rumson’s detail.  If anyone ever had to take a bullet for that asshole, he hoped it was Mosby and not him.   

Kendall waved Charles Howell into the room.  When they were seated, he described his meeting with Rumson.

“You know,” Howell said, “the younger aides around here talk a lot.” He offered a thin smile.  “Makes them look important, I suppose.  Anyway, there’s speculation that he’s making a power play.  That he may try to steal the nomination from you and run on his own.”

The president frowned as he thought about the chessboard again.  If that was Rumson’s move, what was his?

As he was leaving the coffee shop, Lieutenant Francis McKay held the door for the woman behind him. 

“Thanks, Frank.”  She had a warm smile. 

McKay paused.  He usually had no problem remembering names, especially those of young, attractive women. 

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

She laughed.  “My name is Jane.” 

McKay sized her up.  She had a pretty face; her eyes sparkled.  There was something sexy about her, he thought, something about her smile, her eyes, and the way she stood.  He noticed that despite the heavy coat, she was slim, athletic.  Still a young man in his late twenties, he started to contemplate the possibilities. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” She flashed her smile again as she pointed down the sidewalk.  He smiled back and they began to walk.  To any casual observer, they appeared to be two friends out for a stroll.

“So, Lieutenant Francis McKay.” 

He was surprised by the sudden change in her voice. “Do I know you….Jane?”

“No.  But I know you.”  She turned and the sparkle was gone.  Her dark eyes bore into him.  “All about you.”

Later that night, after his mother had gone to bed, McKay sat in her living room and wondered what he was going to do.  For the last ten years, things had been going well.  He had built a nice life for himself.  He enjoyed what he did and had plans for the future.  But now, it appeared that some of the things he had done when he was younger were coming back to haunt him.  Now, not only could he lose his job, this could destroy his life.

The woman, Jane, or whatever her real name was, told him that she knew he had been caught cheating on an exam when he was a cadet at the Academy.  She also told him she knew that some powerful forces had intervened at the time and persuaded the commandant to find a way to grant an exception to the Air Force’s zero-tolerance rule.

Although he had worked hard over the years, without the help of powerful benefactors his life would be different.  He wouldn’t be where he was today, part of an elite team tasked with providing safe transportation to the most powerful man on earth.  He would still be here in Newark, New Jersey, working in some dead end job.  Still getting into fights, probably going to the strip clubs and bars every weekend; still flirting with the law.  Like many of his former friends, he was also likely to be married to a woman he could no longer stand, with a couple of kids to support. 

He had grown up poor in Newark and, like many boys in his neighborhood, had gone through the rites of passage of fighting to defend himself and to establish his place in the social pecking order, both on the streets and in school.  As he grew older, his anti-social expressions expanded to petty theft and vandalism.  The paradox, however, was that he maintained a B+ average in school.  Sure, at times cheating helped, but the fact was, he never had to try very hard.  The many aptitude tests he took during his school years confirmed his above average intelligence.

One day, after he broke the nose of a kid simply because the boy had made the mistake of sitting in McKay’s seat, he was sent to the principal’s office.  Again. 

“You, young man, are headed for trouble,” the principal had said.  “I’ve seen many punks like you come through this school.  Some of them are able to rise up and break free of the streets.  But the majority of punks like you go nowhere.  Some end up in prison.  And some.” He paused. “End up dead.”  The principal sat back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then shot forward.  “You know that you have potential, son.  You have good grades.  You can make something of your life.”  He paused again.  “You have a choice to make.” 

McKay was curious.  This wasn’t the principal’s typical lecture. 

“Do you remember Senator Rumson?”  The principal asked. 

McKay nodded, remembering the senator who had come to speak at their school several months earlier. 

“He grew up on these same streets.  He went to this same school.” 

McKay remembered the senator’s speech.  It had struck a chord as the senator described a childhood similar to his own. 

“He would like to meet you.”

“Why?”  McKay spoke for the first time.

“Because you have potential.”

They met after school one day and the Senator had offered McKay a path out.  Rumson had told him that he could arrange for McKay to be accepted into a top college, but that McKay had to meet him halfway.  He had to stop fighting, had to stop breaking the law and, further, had to apply himself in school and demonstrate to his teachers that he did indeed have the capacity to rise above the streets of Newark.

McKay had accepted the challenge and Senator Rumson, Vice President Rumson now, had been true to his word.  He had written the congressional recommendation required for McKay’s application to the Air Force Academy.  Later, the senator had intervened in his life again when he had been caught cheating.  And now, even though Jane had never mentioned the connection, it was clear the Senator was demanding payback.

His normal reaction to threats or manipulation was violence, the coping mechanism he had learned early in life.  But over the last dozen years, he had worked hard to temper that reaction.  While physical domination might work for a teenager on the streets, he had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t work for him now.

When he had asked Jane what she wanted, she had flashed her sexy smile and told him that she wanted to meet with him again tomorrow, before he headed back to Washington. 

The next morning, they met again at the coffee shop and, with cups in hand, began to walk.  It was clear from the bags below his eyes that McKay hadn’t slept much the night before.

“You have a choice to make, Frank.”  The sexy woman was nowhere to be found this morning.  “Your life is over.  At least the life you know.”  Jane was silent for a moment, letting this sink in.  “You will lose your job.  There’s no doubt about that.”  She stopped and turned; her eyes bore into him.  “How you lose your job and what you do next is up to you.”

She started walking again.  McKay hurried to catch up. 

“Wait!  What the fuck do you want from me?”

She walked on, letting him hang in the silence.  It was an agonizing fifteen seconds. 

“We want you to do us a favor.”

They entered a small park overlooking the Passaic River.  She steered him to a bench where they sat and watched as an older couple walked by.  Jane waited until the couple crossed the street before she told him exactly what she wanted.

McKay jumped off the bench.  “You’re out of your fucking mind!”  

Jane grabbed him and pulled him back down.  She was surprisingly strong.

“Sit down and shut up,” she commanded.  “Earlier, I told you that you had a choice.”  She looked as menacing as some of the gang members he had run into in his youth. “Well you don’t.  You don’t have a choice, Frank.”

“For God’s sake, why?”  He was both confused and scared. 

“That’s not your concern.”

“Fuck you!”

He began to stand up again when she squeezed his arm, finding the pressure point in his elbow.  He winced in pain, broke her hold, and jumped up, ready to fight.  She stood and stepped toward him, their faces mere inches apart.  When she spoke, every word was measured. 

“Do not ever try something like that again.  I promise you, if you do, you will experience pain like you never have before.”

His mind was reeling as he drove back to Washington later that day.  Jane had told him that they would meet again in one week.  He considered speaking to his commander, but she had been very clear that if she found out he had discussed this with anyone, anyone at all except her, his life, as well as the lives of anyone he spoke to, would be in danger.  Although he had spent just one hour in total with the woman, his intuition told him that she meant what she said. 

“We’ll be watching you,” she had told him as they parted.

McKay didn’t notice the police car behind him until he saw the flashing lights.  He swore and slammed his hand on the wheel.  As he pulled over onto the shoulder, he was surprised to realize that he was on Route 295 just south of Baltimore.  He must have been driving on autopilot; he didn’t remember leaving New Jersey.

He handed his license and registration to the State Trooper along with his military identification.

The Trooper studied the cards for a moment.  “You’re going a little fast, Lieutenant.  Don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, Officer.  I just got called back to base.”  The lie came without even thinking.  He struggled to appear calm.  He could see the doubt in the officer’s eyes and worried that the policeman would check to see if he was sober or, worse, if he was hiding something.  Not that the policeman would find anything, but still.  He didn’t need the added stress. 

“Are you okay, Lieutenant?”

“Look, Officer.  I spent two sleepless nights in New Jersey with my mother.  She’s been very sick.  Then this afternoon, I got called back to base.  CO said it was urgent.”

The trooper studied him for a moment before a smile crept across his face. 

“We’re watching you, Lieutenant.” 

The trooper stared at him for another moment, then handed McKay’s cards back and left him shaking on the side of the road.

The days that followed were agonizing.  He spent the first few days working out in the gym in the mornings and then going on long runs in the afternoon.  He avoided his friends and fellow officers, saying that he had put on a few pounds and had to get his ass back in shape.  He didn’t want anything negative in his Officer Evaluation Report.  His friends shook their heads, but left him alone.  It seemed that all McKay talked about was his next promotion.

What sealed his fate was a message he received on Wednesday afternoon.  He had just returned from a six-mile run and decided to check his email.  He felt a sense of doom as he read the message. 

I saw your mother today.  Such a sweet lady.  You need to be a good son and take care of her.  She’s all you have. 

When he scrolled down, there was a picture of his seventy-two-year-old mother, looking old and frail, as she stepped out of her apartment building. 
Oh shit!  They’re watching her!
  He realized then that they were going to do whatever they needed to do, including hurting his mother, to force his cooperation. 
Oh God
, he thought, as his face went pale; he didn’t have a choice.