Capitol Conspiracy (29 page)

Hardly a few seconds had passed before a page delivered a folded written message to Ben. He opened it.

SO WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME, A COMMUNIST? IS EVERYONE WHO OPPOSES THE AMENDMENT A COMMUNIST? ARE THERE
205
COMMUNISTS IN THE STATE DEPARTMENT?

Ben didn’t need a signature to know who had written the note.

“Mr. President!” Several senators rose at once. The vice-president scanned the assemblage.

“Mr. President,” Bening said, “I have not yielded the floor.”

“I realize that,” Vice-President Matthews said. “I hope you also realize that many senators want to speak today.”

“I would not think that I would have to instruct the president of the Senate on the rules of Senate procedure.”

Matthews looked down with narrowed eyes. “I would not suggest the senator from Colorado take it upon himself to instruct the president of the Senate on anything. I would suggest, however, that this might be a very good time for the senator from Colorado to yield the floor.”

Ouch. Ben winced, feeling Senator Bening’s pain.

Bening’s eyes roamed the senate floor till they lighted on a friendly face on his side of the aisle. “I will yield to the junior senator from Montana.”

Ben nodded. Another Republican, natch.

“Very well. The floor recognizes Senator Potter.”

Potter rose. He was one of the younger senators, tall, dark-haired, athletic. Despite still being in his first term, he had made a splash during the recent Supreme Court nomination. During the process, Ben had learned that, among other things, the man had a conscience and was capable of crossing party lines to do what he thought was right. Even if they disagreed on an issue, Ben had to admire that.

“I want to thank the senator from Colorado for his courtesy,” Potter began, “and I want to thank the vice-president for his. I know the job of orchestrating a senate debate is no small chore, especially when passions are as enflamed as they seem to be regarding the matters now at hand. I want to commend the president of the Senate for the firm hand but good heart he has shown today.”

Ben wanted to barf, and he was quite certain Christina was already doing so. Simple courtesy to one of the top men in your party was one thing, but this blatant sycophancy seemed over the top, even on a day when the cameras were rolling.

“I want each member of the Senate gathered here today to look into his or her heart and ask themselves the question: What is the real issue before us? Because I think we all know, whether we favor this amendment or we don’t, that there is more being debated, more pending before us, than the simple matter of a proposed constitutional amendment. I would suggest, ladies and gentlemen, that we are discussing nothing less than the future of this nation.”

He turned slowly, Ben suspected, so the single camera could capture his youthful good looks from the best angle.

“When this nation was still new, some of the earliest Congresses had to determine what course would be taken to defend the country from her enemies. Armies, navies, spies, alliances, moneylending—these were the types of issues our Founding Fathers had to consider when determining how to keep this nation safe. They did not have to deal with ricin poisoning, or snipers, or bombs capable of destroying entire cities. But if they had”—here, he extended his hand in the patented Clintonesque thumb and forefinger gesture that was not quite pointing, because pointing was too in-your-face—“I feel certain that they would have met the challenge. And just as they did not hesitate to draft the Constitution in such a manner as to keep all Americans safe, so they would not have hesitated to amend it when it was necessary in a technologically advanced society to ensure that those selfsame Americans would remain safe.”

There was some stirring in the gallery, some whispering on the floor. These were not new arguments, but Potter was delivering them with vigor and persuasive charm. Ben could imagine what the whispering was about. He would not be surprised if Potter’s name were floated as a possible running mate to replace Vice-President Matthews. Perhaps, in four more years, he might be ready for a presidential run himself.

“I am particularly moved by Senator Bening’s reminder that we are a nation at war, at war against the insidious enemies of freedom that use terrorism to gain an unholy advantage. We all know that special measures have to be taken in wartime, and this amendment is in total conformity with that tradition. But I will remind the Senate that any emergency state declared pursuant to this amendment is a temporary condition enacted only so long as it is absolutely necessary to keep this nation secure. I think most Americans will agree that this is a rather small price to pay to ensure that the fundamental liberty of this nation is maintained. A vote for this bill is a vote for a free America—the kind of America we want our children to grow up in, a landscape unscarred by the destruction and pain of terror.”

Presumably in the effort to maintain some semblance of fairness, the vice-president next recognized a Democratic senator, Byron Perkins of Arkansas.

Perkins was angry, or perhaps more accurately, Ben mused, had decided that the angry young man image was one that might score well on television.

“First of all, I want to say that I am disheartened and dismayed by the blatant attempts of the distinguished senators from Colorado and Montana to ramrod this amendment through the Senate by evoking fear rather than intelligence. They deplore the fear-inducing tactics of terrorists, but are effectively trying to instill terror themselves. Their approach may be less violent, but it is in spirit identical to that practiced by the maniacs and sadists behind April nineteenth.”

At least a dozen senators rose, most from the other side of the aisle. “Mr. President!”

The vice-president looked down. “Will the senator from Arkansas yield?”

“I will not!” Perkins replied. “I have barely begun.”

“Then would the good senator from Arkansas at least care to observe the standard rules of decorum and courtesy that have been honored by this legislative body since it began?” This came from the elderly senator from New Hampshire, Emerson Thomas. He had not been recognized by the chair, but he was so old no one was likely to slap him down.

Perkins was not cowed. “I am offended by the suggestion that I have done anything inappropriate, or even out of conformity with the standard procedure of Senate debate.”

“In the Senate, sir,” Thomas cackled, “we can disagree without being disagreeable.”

The vice-president intervened. “Gentlemen, let me say that I think we are very likely going to be discussing this matter for some time. Passions are high and fevers are hot. This is a controversial matter, so regardless of what you think might be the standard procedure of the Senate, I would like to ask every senator to make an extra effort to maintain civility and respect for one another at all times. Please refrain from invective and personal attacks. We don’t always have to agree with each other—but we do have to live with each other.” He took a breath, and with what appeared to be some regret, added, “Senator Perkins, you may continue.”

He did. “I agree with the chair’s remarks,” he said, although, Ben thought, you couldn’t tell it from what he was saying before. “But I will not yield and I will not be silenced by the climate of fear being created by those who support this bill. I am sure that if we were not already on Red Alert, they would have put us there today….”

Ben was distracted by another page silently dropping a note onto his desk as she passed by. He opened it.

He was invited to a nearby conference room by the leader of the opposition to the proposed amendment.

According to the note, he wanted to make a deal.

48

225 B
LEEKER
S
TREET
W
ESTBURY
, M
ARYLAND

T
he problem with having a torrid passionate affair with a danger addict, Jason mused, as he staggered off the side of the bed, disoriented and practically limping, was that eventually you would run out of ways to simulate danger. Eventually she would want the real thing. She would need the real thing to get off. And even though Jason was happy enough to send Belinda into multi-orgasmic paradise to the best of his ability, this was not a time when he was willing to court real danger.

Tonight’s sexcapade had been successful, but he had gone about as far with her as it was possible to go without leaving a mark. Belinda was still being interviewed by reporters and police officers. He couldn’t afford to do anything that would create suspicion. He shouldn’t be here at all, really, but given a choice between taking that risk and finding out what would happen if Belinda didn’t get her sexual jollies, he had decided a surreptitious romp in the hay was the best course. Her suggestions that they “do it in the road” or some similar public place, however, just weren’t going to happen.

She was insatiable. He knew she would be back in an hour or so, ready to go at it again. The woman must be part rabbit, for God’s sake. He’d heard of women reaching a sexual awakening, but this was ridiculous. How was he going to keep the excitement level at the fever pitch she needed to get off? He was running out of ideas.

He decided to comb through the garage. Some sort of bizarre garden apparatus might be just the thing to stimulate that oh-so-familiar squeal of passion….

Rakes, hoes, snow shovels? No, somehow he just couldn’t see it. Trowels, shovels, spades—ugh. This place was a pit. Obviously, Belinda never came out here. Not that he blamed her. He had never been much for home gardening. Why waste life doing something you could pay a grateful teenager to do for you?

The garden hose. What would he do with it? Tie her up with it? Splash her down with it? Both at the same time?

Underneath a workbench, he found a metal lockbox about the size of a nineteen-inch television. What would the late senator have done with that? The dust told him that it had been untouched for days, so he knew it was nothing Belinda used regularly. Curiosity overcame him. What was the big secret?

There was no way he could open the lock, but it was looped through a fairly thin piece of plastic. Maybe he could sever the whole thing off the box and not have to worry about the lock.

It took a while, but a combination of wire cutters and a very strong wrench enabled him to pry open the box at last.

There were no tools inside. For the most part, it was papers. And photographs. The papers were largely in English, but some were photocopies of documents written in another language.

He picked up one stack of photos. All at once, his jaw dropped. They were obviously surveillance photos, and he knew who the primary subject was, too. How could he not?

Oh my God,
Jason thought, his hand to his mouth. How could he ever have guessed—

He pushed himself to his feet, staggering, unsure what to do next.

What had they done? he wondered, as he slammed the lockbox shut.

Good God—what had they done?

49

U
NDISCLOSED LOCATION IN
G
EORGETOWN

T
he first thing Loving realized, when he regained consciousness, was that his blindness was only temporary. For that he was grateful. But since he was still tied to the chair, and it could only be a matter of moments before the General returned, how long could he expect that to last?

The second thing he realized was that there was a tugging at the tape strapping him to the chair. Someone was cutting him loose.

“Please do not move,” the voice behind him said. “The door is open. The General could return at any moment.”

“Shohreh!” Loving whispered under his breath.

“Do not move. It is hard to cut your bonds with one arm still in a sling.”

“How did you find me?”

“I have been here for some time,” she said, still working. He could feel his bonds slowly loosening. “I was waiting for an opportunity to slip inside. This is the first chance they have given me to be alone with you. I was able to persuade Miss Magda to provide a list of all properties held by the General. After giving her a taste of what would happen if she did not.” She paused. “I am…sorry for what you have had to endure on my account.”

“Never mind that. Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“What? I told you to call Lieutenant Albertson at—”

“I thought it best that we handle this ourselves.”

Loving wanted to argue, but his brain was too muddled, and at the moment, the one thought that was uppermost on his mind was getting out of there before his torturers returned. “How’s it comin’?”

“Almost there.” Loving felt a final thrust from behind the chair. “Done. You are free.”

Loving started to rise. His muscles ached from being bound so long, making it difficult to move. He was cut in about a thousand places and—he suddenly realized—naked. He searched the room for something he could use to cover himself.

“Stop!” she hissed. “They’re coming back. Make it seem as though you are still bound.”

Loving heard the approaching footsteps on the other side of the doorway. Even though his instinct was to bolt, he returned to the chair he had come to hate so much. Shohreh hid somewhere in the back behind a table.

The General was smiling as he entered. “Ah, you are awake. Perhaps you have had some more thoughts about whether you would like to talk to me?”

Loving quickly sized up the situation. He could burst forth and tackle the General, but Emil was right behind him, holding his gun. There was no way Loving could get to him before a bullet stopped him cold. It would be a suicide run.

“Maybe I’m ready to talk. Whaddaya wanna know?”

The General eyed him suspiciously. He was probably caving too quickly after resisting so long. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take long for the General to realize that he was no longer tied to the chair. Especially if he started again with the cattle prod.

“What do you know about my operation?”

“Which? The kiddie sex or the kiddie terrorism?”

The General pursed his lips. “Whichever brought you to me.”

While Loving considered his answer, he saw Shohreh emerging from the shadows. Somehow, she had made her way to the front of the room, near the door. She seemed able to move without making the slightest sound. She was inching toward Emil, as if she thought she might attack him from behind. Seemed foolhardy to him, when Emil had a gun and she had an arm in a sling. But there was no way he could stop her without exposing them both. The best he could do was buy her some time.

“I was lookin’ for the terrorists behind Oklahoma City.”

“And you think that was my group?”

“I think you played a part. But your operation is much too podunk to have done it alone. You needed help. Inside information.”

“And where do you think I obtained this information?”

In fact, Loving had an idea, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. “I dunno. I was tryin’ to find out when I lucked into your little sex slave house. And that’s really all I know.”

“And who have you told about this?”

“No one. I never had a chance.” Shohreh was very close now, just behind Emil. He had to hand it to her—she knew how to move quietly. “Didn’t report in to the senator, didn’t call the police. No one knows.”

The General folded his hands. “I believe you. Now then. Was that so hard? If you had only told me this sooner you could have spared yourself much misery.”

“Yeah. But now you’re gonna kill me.”

“True. But that was an inevitability the moment you entered my house. The pain you have experienced here was not. Emil?”

Loving watched as Emil raised his weapon and carefully pointed it at Loving’s face. He knew he couldn’t escape.

Shohreh, if you are going to do something, this would be a good time….

He had expected that at best she might try to wrestle the gun away from him, giving Loving time to get into the fight. Instead, she seemed to fly forward, lifting off one knee and switching to the other in midair, kicking the gun out of his hands.

The General whirled around and started toward her. That was Loving’s cue. He burst out of the chair that had held him so long. His entire body ached, but he put that out of his mind so he could do what he needed to do. What he wanted to do. He grabbed the General in a neck hold, twisting his head sideways. The General tried to resist, but Loving had him in a lock.

Emil stopped, unsure whether to save the General or fight Shohreh.

Loving looked up at her. “Can you keep Emil busy for a moment or two?”

“Quite easily.”

“Good. I’d like a moment alone with the General.”

“Do not be foolish,” Emil said, holding his hands between him and Shohreh. “I have talked to Mikhail. I know you are trained in the art of Muay Thai. That will not help you. I have fought the most skilled—”

He didn’t get any further. Shohreh silenced him with a swift kick to the jaw.

Loving almost smiled. And this was the woman he’d told to wait outside so she didn’t get hurt.
Sheesh.

Loving held the General’s head tightly between his hands. He forced the little man backward, towering over him, pushing him against a wall. He bashed his head back hard.

The General’s eyes seemed to roll about in his head. He was obviously more accustomed to dishing out pain than taking it.

“Do you remember what I said?” Loving growled, leaning into the man’s face. “What I said I’d do if I ever got loose.”

“Yes,” the General said. His left eye was twitching. “But I do not believe it. I do not think you are a killer.”

Loving could feel the damaged teeth in his sore mouth clenching tightly together. “You—hurt me. You took away my dignity. I—thought I could take anything, but”—his hands pressed tighter together against the man’s head—“I think you deserve to die.”

The General seemed to deflate, to grow smaller right before Loving’s eyes.

“Go ahead, American. You come from a nation of murderers. What’s another death to you?”

“You cut me! You hit me with that prod again and again.” Loving gasped for air. “You’ve ruined the lives of countless children. You should be destroyed. For the sake of humanity.”

“Then do it!” the General shouted. “Do it!”

Loving took a step back, slowly bringing his respiration under control. “But you’re right, damn it. I’m not a killer. And I won’t become one for a sick bastard like you.” With a single powerful thrust, Loving slammed the General’s head against the wall again. His knees gave. He crumbled to the floor.

Turning, Loving saw that Shohreh had thoroughly dispatched Emil—and recovered his gun.

She was pointing it right at him.

“Hey now—what’s this about?”

“Move away,” Shohreh said evenly.

“Move? But—” Loving glanced at the General’s crumpled body. He was barely conscious. “Wait a minute. What are you thinkin’?”

“The same thing you just said. He deserves to die.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Move away!”

“Shohreh!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Loving. You have done so much for me!” Her voice lowered. “But I will, if I have to. To get to him. Now move away.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will be forced to kill you.”

No wonder she wouldn’t call the police. One look into her eyes told Loving she meant what she said. Reluctantly, he stepped aside.

Shohreh crept down beside the addled General. She took his collar in one hand and pressed the gun against his face. “Do you know who I am?” she shouted.

The General’s eyelids fluttered. “Little Djamila.”

Loving did a double take. “What?
You’re
Djamila?”

Shohreh’s eyes became glassy, as if focused on some distant point. “That was my birth name. Back in Iraq. Before the war. After my parents were killed, I was lost, alone. I tried to survive, but the chaos was too great. I—” Her fingers tightened around the General’s throat. “This man said he would protect me. Care for me.”

“I did!” the General protested. “I fed you, clothed you. Without me, you might have died.”

“I did die. You killed me. Djamila died a thousand times over at the hands of your filthy customers!” Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “When I was too old to be of service to his clients anymore,” she told Loving, “he allowed me to join his cell of assassins. Finally I found the strength to leave him, but even then he lured me back to Oklahoma City. After that last betrayal, I knew there could never be peace for me. Not so long as he remained alive.”

“Shohreh,” Loving said, inching closer. “Think about this. You don’t want to be a murderer.”

Her eyes were cold black dots. “I do.”

“Then you’ll be no better than him.”

“I would never do the things he has done to me. And hundreds of other children.”

If he could just get close enough to get that gun away…“Shohreh, you’re making a mistake.”

“Perhaps, but there is no choice.” She pulled back the hammer. “This is for Djamila.”

“No!” Loving sprang forward, but he was much too late. The bullet burst into the General’s face point-blank. The wall was splattered with blood and brains.

Shohreh stepped away, dripping. “I will go with you,” she said, handing Loving the gun. “To the police. Whatever you think should be done.”

Loving took the gun and carefully emptied it. “You know that you’ll go to prison. Maybe for the rest of your life.”

Shohreh nodded slowly. Then, at last, her eyes turned back to the dead and motionless figure of the man who had tormented her for so long. “It was worth it.”