Electing to Murder

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“He’s not dead.”

Judge Dixon stood in front of the large flat-screen television set up underneath the stands at Scottrade Center in St. Louis. The next campaign event would start in a mere ten minutes with speeches from local dignitaries who would fire up the crowd for the governor. Until late last night when the polling data on the scandal started to show a dramatic shift in the polls, the campaign wouldn’t have even thought of staging an event in Missouri, let alone their next and last stop of the campaign, Phoenix, Arizona. Missouri and Arizona were in the vice president’s column, he was up by, on average, eight points in each state. But in a mere twenty-four hours, there was a sea change in the race.

The Judge rolled his cigar with his right thumb and index finger while he watched the television footage of the fire at the Watergate. It was a victory cigar now. His left hand in his pants pocket was fiddling with the lighter. Voters still had to go to the polls tomorrow but the vice president’s campaign was fully ensnared in the voting machine scandal. Wellesley was getting killed by the media, his own party and from the looks of the polling data, voters. Alternatively, the scandal had significantly intensified the motivation and enthusiasm of Democrats. For the past two weeks, the crowds for Governor Thomson had been growing larger and more enthusiastic by the day. But today, the crowds were in another world, loud, large, fired up and pissed off. Democrats were frothing at the mouth to go to the polls now. Dixon lit his cigar and let the smoke linger and float around him.

The scandal was having the opposite effect on the other side of the political spectrum. The crowds for the vice president on his last day of campaigning were small, unenthusiastic and you could just feel the pall that had fallen over the campaign. In an absolute rarity, the vice president cancelled his last two events, having thrown in the towel.

The media was in full attack mode and Republican candidates were avoiding the media at all costs. When more Democrats than Republicans are appearing on FOX News, you know people are running for cover. On top of that, all of the Super PAC advertising for the vice president had been pulled and was being applied towards saving representatives and senators down the ballot. The only question now was whether the victory for Governor Thomson would be a landslide or merely a wide victory margin.

The Judge knew the vice president and liked him personally. When the Judge was the attorney general, he’d worked extensively with the vice president, then chairing the Senate Judiciary Committee, and he found him a reasonable and honorable man. But the people you hire reflect on you and you’re responsible for them. The vice president hired Connolly. It didn’t matter that Connolly was forced on him as the supposed genius political mind of the party. The vice president could have said no. He didn’t. Wellesley was now paying the price for that decision.

The Watergate was in flames, once again at the center of a national scandal. The irony of the situation was not lost on Dixon or the governor who now joined him to take in the reporting.

“Once again a Republican’s political career is in ashes at the Watergate,” Governor Thomson remarked as he and his campaign chief took in the news footage around the complex. “Remind me to tell our staff that nobody should live there.”

The scene around the Watergate looked to be one of sheer chaos as smoke continued billowing out of the windows of the complex, the flashing lights of the fire trucks and other emergency vehicles illuminating the scene that was serving as the colorful background for reporting for all of the cable news channels now, the Washington Bureaus taking the unusual step of covering a fire. While Dixon and the governor knew that Connolly had perished, that part of the story was just now coming to light.

“Connolly got what he deserved,” Dixon remarked as he put the cigar between his lips and lit it, letting smoke billow out of him.

“You really think so?” the governor said evenly. “You think he deserved to die?”

Dixon shrugged. “He was already dead, shooting him in the head simply made it official.”

“Kinda harsh,” Thomson teased.

“Wow, you’re defending the guy who called you, and I quote: ‘A deranged liberal intent on taking your guns, your money and your liberty.’”

“We said some pretty nasty, perhaps hyperbolic things about the vice president as well.”

Dixon was nonplussed. “Politics is politics.” The Judge took another drag on his cigar and slowly let the smoke filter out of his mouth. “I never liked Heath but I knew him fairly well and have seen his type come and go for years. Politics was the man’s life, it was all he had. If he didn’t have another race to run, some other candidate to take on, some focus group to test, polling to take and negative advertising to run, he would have just wasted away. On top of that, he was simply a piece of shit. I won’t lose a wink of sleep over his death, not a one.”

“And I hear our people were on the scene of this chaos?”

“Our people?”

“Yeah, Wire and McRyan.”

The Judge laughed a hearty deep guttural laugh.

Governor Thomson didn’t get it. “What?”

“McRyan as one of us,” Dixon shook his head, chortling.

“I know, I know,” Thomson smiled. “He doesn’t work for us but he feels like he’s one of us, ya know. I like him and we sure as hell owe him and Wire. We owe them huge.”

“That we do,” Dixon replied, taking a drag off of his cigar. “That we do.”

“Has anyone actually talked to either of them?”

“I was on with Wire about ten minutes ago. She called to let me know Connolly was dead and that there were two other dead bodies, from one of which she and McRyan got some interesting information that she wasn’t yet at liberty to share, but it will be shocking when it comes to light.”

“And has Ms. Kennedy talked to McRyan?”

The Judge turned nodded towards Kennedy a hundred feet away, standing by herself in the hallway, talking on a cell phone.

“She looks rather animated,” the governor observed wryly.

Dixon guffawed, “Mac’s getting his ass chewed.”

* * *

“Jesus Christ, Mac, please, please, please tell me you weren’t in another shootout?” Sally demanded.

“Weeeelll,” Mac answered, “so we get to the Watergate to question Connolly and then there was a fire, followed by mass panic and one thing led to another and …”

“And you end up chasing a trained killer in the dark through the streets of Washington DC, streets you don’t know, I might add, and oh, let me guess, you didn’t even have a vest on?”

Mac’s head dropped. No, he didn’t have his vest on. His silence answered the question.

“Cripes, you could have gotten your head blown off.”

“Vest wouldn’t have done me much good if he hit me in the head,” Mac quipped back.

“Don’t be flip.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you, a magnet for these kinds of people?” Sally railed.

“I try not to be,” Mac answered. “But they do seem to gravitate to me.”

“Never mind,” Sally growled, equal parts angry and relieved. Mac was always going to run no holds barred into the fire, it was just his nature. Like the scorpion and the frog. “You’re okay? I mean, you’re not lying to me, you’re okay?”

“I’m fine really. Not a scratch on me, although my feet are wet from running through water leaking from fire hoses,” he quipped.

“This isn’t funny,” she cried.

Mac kicked himself for joking. “Sorry.”

“And Wire?”

“She’s fine too. We had each other’s backs.”

“That better be all you have.”

“Hey,” Mac snapped back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sally replied immediately, wishing she could grab the words and put them back in her mouth. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” She exhaled. “It’s just you’re tempting fate.”

Mac closed his eyes and nodded. “I know, Sally, but it’s kind of the job, you know.”

“I know.” He could hear her trying to get herself together on the other end of the line. He realized that as little sleep as he’d gotten in recent days, she was operating on less. She was exhilarated by the campaign, but the lack of rest was taking its toll and catching up to her. “I’m sorry I said that about Wire. I just … you know.”

“I know,” Mac answered. “I know you do. This is all almost over, the election, this investigation, everything. It’s almost over.” He reached the front of the Watergate and it was time to get back to work. “Listen, I gotta go.”

“Call me later again okay and please, please be careful.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mac hung up and exhaled a large breath.

“That went well,” Wire remarked with a little smile, having heard Mac’s end of the conversation on the walk back from Kristoff’s body. They’d been offered a ride but Mac needed the walk to let the adrenaline flow out of his body.

“Oh trust me, I’m not done paying for this yet,” Mac replied shaking his head. There would be another conversation, probably very heated, about this, about taking risks, about almost getting killed. Sally understood the job and knew the risks but it didn’t stop her from venting on occasion when things got hairy. But then Mac smiled and raised his eyebrows, “Of course, it’ll probably lead to some serious make-up sex so things aren’t all bad.”

“So you got that going for you,” Wire led.

“Which is nice,” Mac finished in his best Carl Spackler/Bill Murray voice.

Wire giggled.

They were now cleared to walk back into the Watergate building. Director Mitchell, Attorney General Gates and Agents Speck and Berman were waiting in the now empty lobby for the Watergate East complex. After the perfunctory “glad you’re both okays” were issued, Mac and Wire asked the director and attorney general to join them in an office in back of the Security Desk. Mac closed the door.

“What?” the attorney general asked.

“We know who the Bishop is,” Wire stated.

“Who?” the director and AG asked in unison.

“Christian Pope,” Mac replied.

“Wait a minute. Christian Pope?” Gates asked, completely gob smacked. “As in Christian Pope of P. O. & G., one of the wealthiest men on the planet, that Christian Pope? The Christian Pope?”

“Yes, sir,” McRyan replied and then to Wire. “Dara, play the video.”

Wire started the video replay on the phone. The attorney general and director huddled around as the video started.

McRyan: “Who’s the Bishop! Tell me!”

Kristoff: “Pope.” He coughed and blood spewed from his mouth “Christian … Pope.”

McRyan: “Christian Pope? Christian Pope is the Bishop? Christian Pope of Pope Oil & Gas, P. O. & G. is the Bishop?”

Kristoff: “Yes.”

The attorney general whistled and Director Mitchell ran his right hand through his thick hair. They were as shocked as Mac when he first heard the name.

After a minute, the attorney general spoke. “That’s a name and it will help, but it would be really good to independently confirm that with someone.”

“With who?” Mitchell replied. “Connolly’s dead. Domitrovich and Khrutov are dead. Checketts is dead. Now this Kristoff is dead. Foche is dead. I mean, who is left?”

“Sir,” Mac started. “There is one thing Dara and I have kept from you and Attorney General Gates.”

“What’s that?” Mitchell asked warily.

“Ummm … About Foche.”

“What about him?” Mitchell asked.

“He’s not dead.”

Two minutes ago, the director and attorney general were shocked. Now they were blindsided. “Excuse me, Detective? I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Foche isn’t dead, he’s alive?” Mitchell asked dumbfounded.

“Yes, sir,” Mac replied. “Sorry, but we’ve been keeping that little nugget quiet.”

The anger was evident on both the director’s and attorney general’s faces.

“Let us explain,” Mac said, holding up his hands. McRyan and Wire tag teamed the explanation that when Checketts was murdered they made a quick determination that whoever was behind this would leave nobody behind. The two of them figured that if they reported Foche was dead, they might get something from the man. So far he had not been willing to talk. As with Connolly, getting him to talk would take leverage, something that until now, they’d not had. But now Mac had some ideas on how they could persuade Foche to open up.

The attorney general and FBI director were equal parts shocked, surprised, happy and bitterly angry. They started with bitterly angry.

“I don’t like being kept in the dark, Detective,” Director Mitchell barked, hands on hips. “You do not keep the director of the FBI in the dark.”

“Sorry, sir,” Mac answered, holding his ground. “But Dara and I thought the secret important enough to keep close to the vest. We didn’t want it leaking he was alive and no offense, but everything in this town leaks and to be completely honest, I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

“Trust us?” Gates growled. “Who are you to determine that, Detective?”

“I don’t work for you, sir,” Mac answered plainly. “I work for Charlie Flanagan in St. Paul. I don’t work for either of you nor do I know you. Until we felt confident we could trust you, we kept this quiet.”

“Trust, Dara? You’re really going with that?” Mitchell asked derisively, glaring at Wire.

“I’ve been out four years sir and I’m out because I trusted certain people, namely a former attorney general, with certain information.”

Gates and Mitchell looked ready to have them both arrested.

“You can be angry with us, or you can be happy we still have a witness left that Christian Pope doesn’t know about,” Wire stated.

Mitchell looked at Gates. They were both angry, but they shared a look and nodded.

Mitchell exhaled. “Where is he?”

“He’s safe for now at a half-full hospital out in a suburb northwest of Minneapolis. There is a team of St. Paul cops watching him around the clock,” Mac replied. “However, I think now might be a good time to discuss options for moving him to a safer location and bringing him under bureau protection.”

“He’s awake and alert?” Gates asked.

“He is,” Wire answered. “He should make a full recovery.”

“He’s talking?”

“Kinda sorta,” Mac answered. “He was a little disoriented when he first awoke and uttered something about ‘the Bishop,’ so that’s where I got the name to start with. Once he realized where he was, he shut down and has refused to talk. However, now I think I have a way to make him talk, if you’ll oblige.”

The two men shared a look. They wanted to be angry yet these two managed to pull the investigation off of life support, yet again.

“So what do you need, Mac?” Mitchell asked.