The Dirty Secret (19 page)

Rikki was reviewing a file when it felt like an earthquake had hit her office. The conference table shook violently and a loud thud reverberated in her ears.

Glancing up, she saw Jack grinning at the end of the table. Two bankers’ boxes full of documents jostled atop the conference table in front of him.

“There you go,” he proudly declared. “Every damn piece of paper those bottom-dwellers have demanded.”

“Congratulations. And you’re only two days late.”

If Jack detected the sarcasm, he did not show it. Resting his hands on a box, he exhaled. “Man, I’m relieved that’s over! One big document search down. One to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“My staff still has to dig out the rest of our production logs for Petromica. But it’ll be a lot easier now that we’ve dealt with this crap. We’ve already found the logs; we just have to get ‘em organized and copied.”

Rikki pushed her chair back and rotated her body to face him. “How long will that take?”

“I’m going home to work on it this afternoon,” he replied. “Then I’m taking the boys to the high school playoff game against Williamstown.”

Rikki winced. “Ouch. Are you glutton for punishment or something?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”

“Haven’t they beaten our football team like 50 straight years?” she gently asked.

“Ah. You mean
The Curse
. Well, what if this is the year we manage to break it? Don’t you want to be able to tell your kids you were there to see it in person?”

“Jack, I don’t
have
any kids. And at the rate I’m going, I don’t see any coming my way.”

McCallen shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t blame me when you’re 60 and those rugrats science helped you squeeze out at 50 think you’re lame because you missed out on the end of The Curse.”

“Consider yourself absolved,” Rikki quipped. “And besides, I have too much stuff to do. I’d planned to review some criminal files this afternoon, but I suppose I’ll put that off and switch gears so I can finalize your discovery responses. Since you finally brought me the stuff you were supposed to, that is.”

“Thanks, Rikki. You’re a lifesaver. Even though you’re a Democrat, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Just doing my job, Jack. Now get out of here and go home so you can get some work done and take your boys to the game tonight.”

Jack smiled and walked behind her, heading for the door. As he passed her chair, he bent down and gave her a little peck on the top of her head. “Thanks again. Don’t work too hard and get home at a reasonable hour. Everybody needs sleep.”

Rikki belly laughed. “Not me, Jack. I’m like
Supergirl
or something.”

“Yeah, right,” McCallen retorted as he marched toward the exit. “Keep telling yourself that and eventually you’re going to crash and burn.”

Rikki silently stared at the door for a while before setting aside the burglary file. “Hey, Martha!” she yelled. “Can you bring me our draft discovery responses in the Schoolcraft case? I need to get all this stuff copied and mailed out before the post office closes.”

The secretary peeked into the conference room and saw the two boxes on the table. “In less than two hours? You really
do
think you’re Supergirl, don’t you?”

Rikki snorted, rolling up her sleeves. “You don’t think I can do it? Well, just sit back and watch me then!”

CHAPTER 37

VIENNA, VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 10:45 A.M.

Yuri Petrenko paced across his living room, pressing his phone up to his non-mangled right ear. ESPN’s college football pregame show played in the background on mute. “So is everything a go?” he asked.

“For the most part,” Bowen replied. “Perkins got it all loaded in his office. He even shoved a dashboard camera in Pete Warner’s face when that turncoat came sniffing around.”

Petrenko chuckled softly. “Good, good. Anything else you need from me?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have access to a squirrel, would you?”

The Russian stopped dead in his tracks. “A
what
?”

“Never mind,” Bowen mumbled, sounding dejected. “We probably couldn’t get it here in time, even if you did.”

Petrenko shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He was becoming convinced these West Virginians were insane. “Why in the world do you need a
squirrel
?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bowen said curtly. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it over the phone. I’ll take care of it.”

Petrenko rolled his eyes and held the phone at arm’s length from his mouth, as if fighting the urge to scream. Five seconds and one deep breath later, he said, “Fine. If I stumble across a squirrel, I’ll let you know. If you need anything else, call me.”

“Ten-four. If all goes well, everything will be taken care of by tomorrow morning.”

“Keep me in the loop. And good luck with that whole squirrel thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll need it.”

CHAPTER 38

CHARLESTON CIVIC CENTER
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1:10 P.M.

Two huge screens hung on the wall behind the stage, one on each side of the podium, projecting the red, white and blue Royal/Johnstone campaign logo as GOP activists gathered for the recount training. Standing behind the podium, Dave sensed the crowd was growing agitated. He had waited 10 minutes to accommodate late arrivals, and he knew he could wait no more.

“Okay, folks,” he said, adjusting the podium’s flexible microphone. “Let’s get started. For those who don’t know me, I’m David Anderson. I’m with Governor Royal’s headquarters, and I’ll be coordinating our recount efforts. As you can probably tell from my accent, I was born and bred here in West Virginia. So
please
… Don’t look at me like I have three heads just because I work inside the Beltway now.”

Dave heard some sporadic chuckles, and that laughter helped him relax. As if on cue, the ballroom doors swung open, and Dave saw a familiar face enter the room.

“Well, well, well,” he said with a smirk. “If it isn’t my good friend and mentor, Senator Jack McCallen. Glad you could finally join us, Jack.”

Hearing his name, Jack froze in place. Dave watched the senator gaze up at the stage, trying to identify who had busted him for showing up late. Meeting his eyes, Jack’s startled look transformed into recognition. “Dave Anderson, you son-of-a-gun!” he exclaimed with a beaming smile. “You mean to tell me that
you
are the most qualified man Governor Royal could send to oversee this thing?” He shook his head, feigning disbelief. “Man, we’re
really
in trouble now.”

Dave laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. Good to see you again, Jack. Now, if you’d sit down and at least act like you’re going to behave, I’ll continue.”

Jack side-stepped behind a long row of people, making his way to his seat. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks. As I was saying, I’m a state native. And unlike most people from Washington who may tell you, ‘I’m here to help,’ I really
mean
it.”

More laughter met the jibe, a little louder this time. “During this seminar, we’ll explain the procedures that are
supposed
to be followed during the recounts. As we all know,
some
of the county clerks around the state – all shifty-eyed Democrats, of course – may try to play loose with the rules if they get a chance. But by-and-large, I think the last thing most people want to happen is for West Virginians to look as stupid as the folks in Florida did back in 2000.”

A chorus of vigorous nods followed. “And the best way we can avoid looking like idiots is to avoid
acting
like idiots,” Dave said. “That’s why the Secretary of State
strongly suggested
that all 55 counties start their recounts on the same day – to give everyone time to become familiar with these procedures.

“That’s also why the Secretary of State
strongly suggested
county clerks should work closely with the county chairpersons of both political parties: To make sure the people appointed to work on the recount enjoy broad respect in their communities. People will be less likely to criticize the results if they trust the folks doing the counting, and I think it’s in our whole state’s best interests for this thing to go off without a hitch.”

Dave raised a glass of water to his lips. “But no system is perfect and inevitably there will be some bad apples slip through the cracks. And if you’re assigned to work with one of them, you need to understand the rules and fight back when they push the envelope unfairly.”

Looking down at the audience, Dave saw a collective sense of determination in their eyes. Although a few seemed distracted, most were focused, and that sight boosted his confidence in Royal’s chances for success.

“With that being said, I intend to help this process by doing what folks from D.C. should do more often when they venture outside the Beltway, and that’s to know when it’s time to
get out of the way
. So let me make way for our top lawyer in West Virginia – the man who convinced the Mingo County Commission to do the right thing last week – Mr. Mack Palmer.”

As the muscular, slick-headed lawyer crossed the stage to the lectern, the crowd went wild. The forceful arguments he had advanced for Royal in Mingo County had turned him into a nationally recognizable figure, and a cult hero to Republicans in West Virginia. That admiration was reflected by loud whoops, fervent clapping, and a standing ovation.

“Thank you very much,” Palmer began. The crowd remained on its feet, continuing to clap, while Dave quietly slipped off stage. “Really, you’re too kind.”

Dave sat down along the back wall where he could watch the presentation while slipping out to take a phone call if necessary. He sat down just when the crowd decided that Palmer had been sufficiently showered with adulation.

“As you all know,” Palmer said, “Monday’s a big day. In order for Governor Royal to hold on to his victory, we must be on top of our game. Although the procedures vary slightly – depending upon whether your county uses optical scan machines, the new DRE touchscreens or good old-fashioned paper ballots – I’m here to give you a general overview. We’ll focus on the different voting systems in greater detail during our breakout sessions this afternoon.”

Palmer stepped back from the podium and turned toward a projection screen. As he moved, the stage lights glistened off his bald head. Hitting his remote, the campaign logo onscreen disappeared, replaced with a black outline of West Virginia against a light gray background. The symbols “153 CSR 20” were superimposed across the map in royal blue.

“According to the regs,” he said, flicking the remote. “Governor Royal can only have one official representative in each county. That person is authorized to ‘observe the recount proceedings, including observing each ballot as it is read in a hand-count process. They may view and examine the tally sheets and ballots, but may not handle the election material.’”

“Because the final outcome may turn on legal issues,” Palmer explained. “Governor Royal has designated the attorneys assigned to each county as his official representatives. As much as we value the involvement of local officials in this process, when fights start breaking out over the proper application of the regulations – as they inevitably will – we need to make sure the person speaking for the campaign is well-trained for those battles.”

Palmer continued through his presentation. “The county clerks will assign two-man teams – one Democrat, one Republican – to work together on the recount. To speed things up, there will be multiple two-person teams in each county working on the recount at the same time. One team examines each ballot individually, announcing the voter’s choice, while a second two-person team writes down the results on individual tally sheets. Each pair of two-person teams will work on one precinct at a time, and they are supposed to pause after every twenty votes to double-check the tally sheets. If those don’t match, they recount the last 20 ballots and check again. If necessary, they go back and start the whole precinct over.”

Palmer returned to the podium. “We’ll go over the specifics in the breakout sessions. But regardless of what ballots were used in your county, what you’re looking for is a clear expression of the voter’s preference on each ballot. Did the voter mostly shade in an oval on an optical scan ballot? What does the VVPAT reflect? If the ballot demonstrates who the voter chose, we want the recount to reflect that preference.

“On the other hand,” Palmer cautioned. “We don’t want this process to deteriorate into a battle of wishful thinking, where the Democrats claim certain ballots reflect votes for Senator Wilson where none exist, and we respond by similarly imagining votes for Governor Royal.”

Palmer hit his remote and a new slide appeared. “If you think a Dem has called a vote for Wilson where none exists, dispute that opinion. According to the rules, ‘If a ballot is questioned, the deputized team shall reexamine that ballot and reach their finding. Any ballot questioned shall be marked to provide for its identification at any future contest of the election.
If a
majority
of the deputized team cannot agree on the intent of the voter’s markings on a ballot, it shall remain questioned and the votes for that ballot
shall not
be recorded.
”

Palmer’s arms dropped to his side. “No ifs, ands or buts. A majority of the two-person team examining the ballots is
two
. So if
both
workers on the team don’t agree on the voter’s intention, then no vote from that ballot is recorded. Period. That ballot is marked and identified so we can argue about it later if there’s a contest after the recount is over.

“Now we don’t want you folks to act like no vote for Wilson counts unless every single microdot on an oval is shaded in,” he clarified. “Be reasonable. Follow the Golden Rule and ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ Don’t hold their voters to a higher standard than you hold ours, because we don’t want the Dems nitpicking about ballots reflecting votes for our guy either.” Palmer rested his left hand on the lectern. “Questions?”