Electing To Murder (46 page)

Mac looked to his right at Wire who stared hard at Foche, every muscle in her body tensed, her hands rolled into fists. Mac had a long discussion with her on the flight back. She didn’t like the idea of giving Foche a deal. However, Mac sensed he finally convinced her that Foche was simply an instrument being played by Pope and that Pope was their true target. Kristoff’s utterance of Pope helped but in and of itself wouldn’t be enough. They needed confirmation. “Dara, Foche carried out an order. Pope is responsible for Sebastian’s death. He gave the order, Foche was simply the instrument.” She understood in her mind that was the case, but in her heart? If given the opportunity, she’d have killed Foche right then and there with her bare hands.

Mac walked to the right side of the bed. “Mr. Foche, my name is Detective McRyan with the St. Paul Police Department. At the end of the bed is the woman who shot you, her name is Dara Wire. She is working with us on this investigation and is a former special agent with the FBI.”

Mac took a picture out of a manila folder. “This is Nicholas Kristoff, your friend and I think your boss.” Mac took out another photo. “This is now what Kristoff looks like as of last night.” Out of the manila folder came three pictures of Kristoff dead on the ground.

Foche’s face twitched and his eyes closed and Mac could see them moistening. In reviewing Foche’s and Kristoff’s files they received from the French government, it was clear the two men were close, like brothers, with Kristoff being the older brother, the man Foche looked up to.

“How was he killed?” the Frenchman asked as he looked at the close-up picture of his dead friend’s face.

“After he killed Heath Connolly at the Watergate in Washington last night, Ms. Wire and I chased him through a neighborhood near George Washington University Medical School. As Kristoff reached his car, this man, who’d been laying in wait, killed him.” Wire, now standing on the other side of the bed, placed a photo of Paolo on Foche’s lap. “Your friend was killed by a professional assassin, a man named Paolo. Have you ever heard of Paolo?”

Foche nodded.

“He works for hire, right?” Wire asked.

Foche nodded.

“Paolo is expensive and very good, right?”

The Frenchman nodded.

“He’s also dead, by the way,” Mac added matter of factly. “We,” Mac pointed at himself and Wire, “shot him.” Mac moved to his sales pitch. “Right now, the world thinks you’re dead, Mr. Foche. The media thinks you’re dead. My government, other than the people in this room, the attorney general and the FBI director, thinks you’re dead. As long as that’s the case, the Bishop thinks you’re dead. However, if you don’t tell me who the Bishop is, we will bring you back to life and sooner or later the Bishop will have someone kill you just like he killed Kristoff, just like he killed Peter Checketts, Anatoly Khrutov, Viktor Domitrovich and Gabriel Martin. Just like he had you kill Jason Stroudt, Adam Montgomery and Sebastian McCormick. I believe your attorney Mr. Hisle has explained this to you, correct?”

Foche nodded.

“And Mr. Hisle has explained to you that if you don’t make a deal with us, you will go to prison for the rest of your life, correct?”

Foche nodded.

“So do you have any questions?”

“What do I get in return for the name of the Bishop?” Foche asked looking Mac in the eye.

Mac pulled out a sheet of paper, a deal. “A new name and identity, fifteen years in a relatively comfortable federal prison and then you go into the loving arms of our Witness Protection Program if you so choose.”

“Fifteen years?”

“Non-negotiable,” Mac answered coldly. “You killed two men. That’s a life sentence for each. I’d eventually prove you killed at least one more person if not more. And by the way, in return for this deal, you will tell me everything, every minute detail of those murders, the planning, who else you killed and when. You will tell me everything, you will tell me about every-single-body you ever dropped for the Bishop, every one. So fifteen years it will be. After that, you will remain in the United States and under our protection if you so wish or you will be free to go. Do you understand?”

Foche nodded.

“Okay, Mr. Foche, I’ll ask you just one time. Who is the Bishop?”

Foche sat back against his pillow and closed his eyes, giving the deal one last consideration in his mind. His eyes opened, he looked at Mac and said: “The Bishop is Christian Pope.”

Mac looked at Wire who nodded.

Mac turned to Lyman: “Counselor, here is the deal in writing, signed by the attorney general of the United States.”

Lyman slipped on his glasses and read through the document and looked to his client, “I’d recommend you sign. It’s the best deal you’ll get.”

Foche signed the deal.

“Okay then,” Mac said. “Let’s get the video equipment set up and we’re going to start walking through everything.” He pulled a folder out of his backpack. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

C
hristian Pope stepped out onto the long deck of his Clearwater Beach, Florida, mansion that overlooked the deep blue water of the Gulf of Mexico. It was going to be a beautiful day, the sun now well up in the eastern horizon, heating the area around his pool below and the beach another hundred yards out in front of him.

He enjoyed Florida in the fall. There were fewer visitors and the beaches were quiet. For a man who demanded privacy, it was ideal.

His breakfast was superb, eggs Benedict. The company had been excellent as well, with the lovely Veronica. He looked down at his pool as Veronica and her naked lithe model figure glided easily through the water, taking a morning swim. She waved for him to come down and he thought that in a few minutes he just might.

Pope lifted the fine china coffee cup to his lips and took a long sip of the warm Colombian coffee and once again assessed the events of the previous evening. He’d enjoyed Veronica with the relief of knowing that Connolly and Kristoff were taken care of. That Paolo was eliminated was even better. There was nothing left to tie any of the events of the last week back to him. Everyone who could was gone. He was free and clear.

It was a relief.

Yet, despite his good mood, he knew that he’d stumbled and stumbled badly. He would have to bide his time and live to fight another day four years from now. He was still young, only fifty-two years old. He was as fit as a man could be, in excellent condition, fifty-two going on thirty-two, his doctor told him a month ago. There were many years remaining to accomplish his ultimate goal. Until that time would come he would enjoy the fruits of his riches, such as Veronica, who was always available to him when he came to Florida. However, she could wait a few minutes more. Pope went to his desk, opened the humidor and took out a fine Cuban cigar and clipped the end. He struck a large match and lit the cigar, walked back out onto the expansive balcony and looked out to the ocean, the waves crashing gently against the white sand beach fronting his estate.

Christian Pope was not necessarily a household name. He’d generally remained an anonymous billionaire. From time to time he would surface, give an interview and discuss the state of the economy and particularly energy issues. This past election season he’d appeared on television more than usual, exclusively on the friendly FOX News or the FOX Business Channel, discussing politics, the economy and in his view what impacts Vice President Wellesley’s or Governor Thomson’s policies would have on the price of oil and gas.

However, other than the occasional television appearance, Christian Pope maintained a low profile and preferred a certain amount of anonymity. He was extremely wealthy but the American public really had no idea how massive his financial portfolio really was. Pope laughed when Forbes recently listed him as being worth just over $13 billion. Forbes was only off by a mere $27.4 billion dollars give or take, and for now, Pope was just fine with that. That was because Forbes only knew of the businesses that his father Jackson was involved in. Because of the complicated web developed by Pope to hide his interests, Forbes merely assumed that Pope continued his family’s oil and gas businesses and was quietly living off of those earnings, which of course he had and which still constituted a significant component of his wealth. It was his knowledge of oil and gas that brought him into the media light from time to time to discuss energy issues and the political component to them.

That veneer of oil and gas served as cover for the rest of his financial largesse. Forbes nor anyone else had any inkling of his other worldwide interests in banking, hedge funds, casinos, military contracting, technology or real estate, nor would they, not right now. Only when Pope was truly the wealthiest and most successful person in the world would he then reveal the vastness of his financial empire and let the world truly comprehend the power and wealth that he’d obtained.

Yes, he had a bad week but the mess was cleaned up and it was time to move on.

He looked down to the pool.

Veronica waved to him again.

It was time to join her.

* * *

The Judge stood outside the polling place for Governor Thomson and his wife, leaning against the limousine, sipping a Grand Brew coffee. Three cigars were in his suit coat pocket and before the day was out, he’d have smoked all three and given out a hundred more. Nevertheless, he imagined that if anyone bothered to take a close look at him right now, they would see an expression of extreme satisfaction.

Judge Dixon would go out of presidential campaigning a winner, a big winner. He only had to think back to last night to realize how big.

Three days ago, Arizona was not even on his radar, other than for thoughts of a spring golf trip. It was counted as deep red on the electoral map, the vice president ahead by anywhere from seven to ten points in recent polling. The Democratic Primary campaign was over by the time the Arizona Primary had rolled around in the spring. The campaign made one cursory four-hour stop and the governor gave a couple of quick speeches, shook some hands and collected some campaign checks. However, in Dixon’s campaign calculus, Arizona was conservative in general, governed by a very conservative governor focused on her border and didn’t seem like a good bet to pile in limited campaign financial resources, especially given the other states that were closer in the polling and richer in electoral votes. After their quick spring visit, the Judge never gave Arizona another thought throughout the entire election.

Then on Sunday morning the scandal broke. The polls massively swung in their direction overnight. Florida, Missouri and Arizona, among a few other states, suddenly came into play just as Iowa, Wisconsin, Ohio and Virginia turned dark blue, locks for Governor Thomson. On the last day, the campaign hit all three, welcomed by massive and enthusiastic crowds and from what Dixon had seen in this morning’s polling, they would win all three. If they’d had a few more days, the Judge thought they could have really swung the election to a landslide, especially down the ballot. That would really be what they had to watch today, how much impact the scandal would have down the ballot.

If they had two more days, they could have experienced the Pope effect.

Dixon began to calculate what the impact of Pope’s involvement would have been on the electorate, one of the richest men on the planet trying to fix the election. Pope was fairly anonymous himself, but everyone knew Pope Oil and Gas—P. O. & G. Christian Pope’s wealth would have spoke volumes as would’ve his politics. People often thought the rich bought politicians. In this case, a very wealthy man actually had bought the election but for the investigating of McRyan and Wire.

He wished he could have used Pope. He wished he could have leaked that to the media somehow, let that message get out to the electorate. Of course, had he done that, he’d have had Mac, Wire, the FBI director and attorney general all over him. Heck, he wasn’t even supposed to know. He couldn’t even tell the governor. Wire said Mac would be furious if he found out that she’d even told him. So he said to himself, just take the win.

The pundits would speculate about what might have been, but the Judge didn’t care. If the playing field was level, had Pope not done what he did, he was confident they would have won the election. It would have been tight and they would have gone late into the night, but they would have won. He would not lose any sleep of those who said that but for the scandal, Thomson wouldn’t have won. The Judge viewed that as bullshit and he’d make that argument every day of the next year if he had to. He took a cigar out of his suit coat pocket and twirled it in his fingers.

Thomson emerged from the polling place and he and his wife turned back for a moment and posed for pictures for reporters and he made a few perfunctory comments before returning to the motorcade.

“Would it be bad form for me to smoke one of those right here?” the governor asked, admiring the cigar, desperately wanting one, jovial in the fact that he would win today, he would be president of the United States.

“It would, but you know what?”

“What?”

“I have a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue back at the house. I’ve been saving it for the right occasion, Governor. Tonight is the proper occasion but I think we ought to go back, have a good lunch and allow ourselves one little touch off that bottle.”

Thomson slapped the Judge on the back as they climbed back down into the limousine. “Will our two friends who saved this thing for us make it back tonight?”

Dixon thought of what Wire and Mac were doing and looked at his watch, “They’re still working the case. I have a good feeling that there will be more developments today.”

* * *

The interrogation of Foche took all day. Given his condition, he required two lengthy rest breaks but he told them everything. Foche was the driver of the Suburban that killed Martin in Milwaukee. A man named Vigneault, who died in the car chase in Milwaukee, was in the passenger seat. In addition to killing McCormick and Montgomery, he also killed Stroudt.