Primary Storm (23 page)

Now the airport is bigger, there's a three-story parking garage, but any airport that has a stuffed moose in its arrival area still has some of its old New Hampshire charm. I put the Explorer in short term parking and made a ninety-second walk to the sole terminal building. Arrivals were on the second floor, and I did a quick check of the status board and saw that Felix's flight was on time.

So I sat down and people-watched for a while. I thought about the campaigns and the upcoming primary and other things, and I still thought about Barbara and our little make-out session in her hotel room, and I thought about the videos I had seen with her and her husband, and now I felt guilty, thinking about kissing a married woman, even one I had been intimate with all those years ago, and then, thankfully, the status board said Felix's flight had landed, so I could stop thinking so damn much.

I stood up. I would be so glad when next Tuesday would be here and over. Barbara would be gone from my state, to be with her husband, where she belonged, and I would stay here, and, delightfully, so would Annie.

From the arrival gate, people started to stream through, and I liked seeing the happy reunions among them as the plane emptied. Landing alone at night in a strange airport can be such a soul deadening experience, seeing other people's laughs and smiles and hugs. I waited and I waited, and pretty soon, the departing stream of people dwindled down to a trickle.

No Felix.

I double-checked the status board. It was the right gate, and it was the right flight. I then had that niggling feeling at the back of my skull, the one when you think you either made a dumb mistake or, worse, that something bad has happened to the one you are waiting for, and-

There, strolling along like he owned the damn place, was Felix, wearing black slacks and a dark gray woolen coat that went down to his knees, carrying a soft black leather briefcase, and keeping up an animated conversation with two flight attendants, one on each side. The women were laughing at something that Felix said, and he garnered a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them as he stopped before me. The women went on, their wheeled cases being pulled behind them, and the one on the left, a brunette, gave a quick wave to Felix when she was sure that her companion wasn't looking.

"Hi there," I said. Whenever I come back from a trip, I always feel like taking a long shower and brushing my teeth and changing clothes and dumping them in the washer, but Felix looked so fresh and relaxed, it was like he'd had a private cabin, all to himself, on the flight from Chicago.

"Hi, yourself," Felix said, looking at the slim forms of the departing flight attendants. "Need to know something real quick, You still with Annie?"

"As of a few hours ago, yes."

"Ah. And this little job you have for me ... is that still on?"

"Yes, again."

Felix tore his glance away from the women. "Ah, a pity. If both questions had been in the negative, I would have quickly followed those fine airline employees, and such a night you and I would have had. Such a night."

I started walking toward the stairs that led down to the main floor. "And what kind of night would that be?"

"Sorry, I don't want to tease you with what you might have had."

"Really?"

Felix laughed. "One of these nights --- not any time soon, but one of these nights --- you're going to wake up at 2:00 A.M. with a snoring wife next to you, and maybe a squalling baby in the room next door, and a heavy-ass mortgage dragging you down ... and you're going to wake up and say, 'Damn, I should have dumped everything and gone out with Felix that time in Manchester.' And that night will come."

We were now on the main floor, heading to the exit doors. "If and when that night ever comes, I'll make sure to call you."

"That doesn't sound fair."

"What the hell does fair have to do with it?"

We went through the doors and out into the frigid night air, and in the parking lot I said, "How in hell do you look so refreshed?"

"Clean living?"

"I sure as hell doubt that."

Felix said, "Then it must have been the first-class accommodations, out there and back again."

"First class? I'm not sure if I were a contributor to the Nash Pomeroy campaign that I'd be thrilled knowing they were paying for first-class airfare."

He shook his head as we approached my Explorer. "Lewis ... I will make a prediction, here and now. Sometime in the next several weeks, Senator Nash Pomeroy of Massachusetts is going to drop out of the race due to health reasons, and if some enterprising reporter or blogger starts digging, stuff will be found about Senator Pomeroy that will make my first-class tickets look as scandalous as stolen pens from somebody’s desk. I made an oral report to some of his campaign staff and that's the feeling I'm getting. You know, it's a queasy thing, to listen to a grown man cry, a man who's pinned all his hopes and dreams on a candidate that has such a background .... Now, what's this?"

Felix pointed to the PIG scratched on the driver's side door.

"Local outreach from the Clive Wallace campaign," I said, unlocking the doors.

He shrugged as he went around the front of the Ford. "Well, that's one way of getting a voter's attention, but I sure as hell don't recommend it."

Short-term parking was a whopping two dollars, but Felix insisted on paying for it and getting a receipt. "It's so rare that I'm doing something this legitimate, it's pretty much a new experience for me. Expense reports. Can you believe that?"

"Sure, I can," I said, and in a matter of minutes, we were heading east, on Route 101, about an hour out from Tyler. Felix stretched his legs and stretched his arms and said, "Okay, kid. What's the job? Based on your movie reference, I'd guess it's going to be a Watergate-type activity."

"I think so, but without the publicity and the book deals."

"God, now that's a hope. Who's the target?"

"There's an oppo researcher for the General Grayson campaign. His name is Chuck Bittner. Ex-navy. He wants me to make an announcement tomorrow endorsing the general and criticizing Senator Hale and his family."

Felix said, "No offense, my friend, but for a day or so, you were the lead suspect in the shooting involving the senator. Does this Bittner character really think having your endorsement is going to be a good thing?"

I checked the speedometer. Seventy miles an hour, just five miles an hour above the limit. Traffic was very light. We would make good time. "It's not the endorsement part they're excited about. It's the criticism aspect they're more interested in."

"Wait a second. You said something about the senator and his family. What do you know about the senator's family?"

I gave him a quick glance. "Keep a secret?"

"Ha-ha," he said, his voice flat. "Very funny. What's the big secret?"

"Well, it's an open secret among the Secret Service and some members of the Hale campaign, and a few others. Luckily, so far, it hasn't reached the news media, though give them some more time, I'm sure they'll get it. The senator's wife, Barbara Hale?"

"Yes, the blonde. What about her?"

"I dated her in college."

That got his attention. "You're kidding me."

"Not for a moment."

Then he laughed. "Lewis, you ... you are so full of surprises, and this one, this one really tops the list. Dated the future first lady of our great land. I never knew you had it in you."

"Not sure what kind of 'it' you mean, but that's the deal. Tomorrow I'm supposed to endorse Grayson, criticize Hale and his crazed, power-hungry wife, and all will be right in the world."

"Knowing you, I know that's not going to happen. So what else?"

"The 'what else' is that if I don't go out and make this all public, Grayson's campaign will do it without me. It's a win-win for them. I go out and endorse Grayson, the media buzz will hurt Hale. I don't go out and endorse Grayson, and Grayson's campaign makes a big deal about the alleged shooter being an ex-spook with a mysterious past, connected romantically to Hale's wife, and the media buzz hurts Hale. And with just a few days before the primary, there's not enough time for Hale to recover."

"Knowing you and how you feel about Miss Wynn, I think hurting the Hale campaign is definitely off the plate."

"Definitely," I said.

We stayed silent for a few minutes, as Route 101 made its way through Epping, the self-proclaimed center of the universe. "This Bittner character ... where is he tonight?"

"At the Lafayette House."

"How convenient. What can you tell me about him?"

"Arrogant. Assured. True believer in Grayson's campaign."

"What else?"

"Seems strong, in shape. Threatened me."

"Threatened you how?"

"Just said he was in better shape than me, and tried to break my upper arm to prove a point."

“Tsk, tsk," Felix said. "How childish. And what would you like me to do?"

We were now approaching Exonia, home to Phillips Exonia Academy and an obscenely high population of writers. I said, "Your usual and customary approach to making otherwise reluctant people see the error of their ways."

That brought a good laugh. "You've been with me so long, my friend, that I'd think you could do it yourself."

"I could, but I need you."

'Why, thank you. Always nice to be needed. But don't sell yourself short, Lewis. You can be a strong fellow when the circumstances require it."

I passed a lumbering semi going up a slight incline. "It's not strength I'm worried about. It's something else."

"What's that?"

"You'll do it right."

"Meaning you would do it wrong?"

I gave the top of the steering well a small slap. "Yes, I'd do it wrong. I'd go at it wrong, take it to wrong places, and probably go too far. You won't."

'Why do you think that?"

"Because ... because for you, it's professional. For me, it's personal. He wants to use me to hurt the Hale campaign, hurt someone I had fond feelings for and someone I currently have fond feelings for ... and he brought up my past service and tried to use that against me. Ticked me off big-time. So, yeah, Felix, for me, it's quite personal. I know you'll do what has to be done, and I'll be there as well. But I trust you and your abilities. Which is why I need you. And why I thank you in advance."

"And you're welcome, too. In advance."

There was another moment of silence as we went over 1-95, fairly busy at this late hour, and Route 101 had shrunk to two lanes, and the marshlands and frozen sands of Tyler Beach were now beckoning us.

Felix said, "Need to ask you something else."

"Go ahead."

"The fake Secret Service agent. The one ... the one dumped in your front lawn."

I sighed. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"If this Bittner character is desperate to use you to stop the Hale campaign, then there's a good chance this isn't their latest try. Maybe Bittner --- or somebody connected with him --- was behind the whole deal. Getting this Spenser Harris character to talk to you. Lifting your .357 Ruger. Hoping and planning that you'd be at the Hale rally that day. Makes a rugged sort of sense, you know."

"I know. If we have time, maybe we'll chat that point up with Mr. Bittner."

I could see Felix's grin from the glow of the dashboard lights.

"Then that's a plan."

"Just curious, is our fake Secret Service agent still where we left him?"

Felix chastised me. "He's your fake Secret Service agent, and yes, he's still where we left him. And I know I said I would try to find out something about him, but in my spare time I've come up with squat."

"I suppose getting his fingerprints and trying to have Diane Woods do something with them is out of the question."

"Please," he said. "Detective Sergeant Woods already has a very low opinion of me. Why should we reinforce that?"

"All right."

Now we were racing along the clear asphalt of Route 101, approaching the few lights of the low buildings before us that were the heart of Tyler Beach. From the marshland the road then tightened up, narrowed on both sides by rental cottages closed up for the season, and there was not a single lit home or cottage about us as the road rose up to intersect with Atlantic Avenue.

I certainly hoped my new friend James from the Clive Wallace campaign was out there on this dark street tonight, trying to talk to whatever voters were huddled by themselves in the cold and dark.

We stopped at the intersection, crept forward through some parking areas. The Ashburnham House hotel and restaurant was to our right, and it was the only open place within view. I made a left and we went up Atlantic Avenue, heading north, about eight minutes or so from the Lafayette House.

Felix looked at the shuttered homes and businesses, the empty parking lots, the deserted side streets, and he said, "This time of year, and this little slice of paradise, looking like this, could make almost anybody slit their throat. How bloody depressing."

"Buck up. In six months this place will be packed with cars and tourists, and the primary will be a distant memory."