The Election (32 page)

Claudia's crying increased in volume, but Jake refrained from intruding on her privacy.

“I've made some mistakes in my life,” Milton said, “and I'll have to pay the price for them. My only hope is that you, Claudia, are not forced to pay for them as well.” Milton stared somberly into the camera for several seconds before continuing.

“Mr. Reed,” Milton continued, “I'm a partner with two other men. Their names are Pierce Montgomery and Randolph Winston. The name of our partnership is the Federalists. What I'm about to tell you will surprise and shock you, but every word of it is true. Please use this information as you see fit. I don't care what you do with it. It can't harm me since I'm already dead.” Milton smirked slightly at the morbid humor. “The reason this information is important to you is because it will help you prove the innocence of your client, Jedediah McClellan. You see, my two partners and I ordered the assassination of Jesse Thompson. Your client had nothing to do with it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning…”

For forty-five minutes Milton bared his soul. He described how the Federalists came into existence. He talked about the relationship with Edward Burke, the fund-raising scheme, and, most importantly to Jake, the murder of Jesse Thompson. He explained the Federalists' plan to take over the world. Milton didn't leave a single stone unturned.

“One last thing, Mr. Reed. You need to be careful. Randolph Winston is ruthless, and he will not let anything stand in his way of obtaining world supremacy. He will kill you if he has to.”

When Milton paused, as if to emphasize his last statement, Jake understood the warning.

Milton concluded by stating, “Good-bye, Mr. Reed. I hope you are able to use what I have told you. Claudia, if you're still there, good-bye, and remember that I love you. You are the only woman I have ever truly loved…and I wanted to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

When the screen went to static, Jake pressed the Off button and laid the remote on the table. He and Claudia didn't speak during Milton's tape, and Jake didn't know what to say now. True to Milton's prediction, Jake
was
both shocked and stunned. He'd known it wasn't Jed who had killed Jesse Thompson, but he'd never dreamed the murder was part of such an elaborate scheme as the one described by Milton McAdams.

He leaned back in his chair and studied Claudia. Had the videotape of Milton provided the answers she needed so desperately? Her gaze was still fixed on the television screen.

“Claudia, do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Jake asked, suddenly feeling a depth of compassion he didn't know he had.

She turned her head from the empty television screen toward the sound of Jake's voice. “No, but I'll be all right.”

“I'll be glad to help arrange a place for you to stay. You need to rest after the day you've had.”

“That's very generous, but I don't think it will be necessary.”

Although he'd only met her an hour ago, somehow he felt her pain, her uncertainty, her confusion. And he was concerned. “What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?”

She took a shaky breath. “I'm not sure what I'm going to do right now, but I'll be fine…really.”

“Are you sure? Because based on what Milton said, it seems that your safety may be in jeopardy.”

“I don't think it can be in any more jeopardy than I've already experienced today.” Claudia smiled slightly, as if trying to lighten the serious situation.

Jake smiled too. If all she said was true, then she was right.

“Seriously,” Claudia continued. “I'll be fine. I think I'm going to go home.”

How well Jake understood the draw of home. He escorted her to the front door, thanked her for coming so far to bring him the tape, and said good-bye. He watched as she crossed the street and departed in her silver Infiniti Q45.

Then he retreated to the conference room and rewound the tape of Milton McAdams. He watched a few minutes of it again, trying to piece everything together. The F-PAC documents. Ms. Lacy's photographs. The note beside Courtney's bed. The videotape. The things Milton McAdams described caused Jake to shiver as the reality of it all began to sink in.

If the remaining Federalists find out that I have this tape, they'll kill me. Or, worse, they'll kill my family.

Jake's gut instinct was to take the tape of Milton and destroy it. But he couldn't. If Milton McAdams was telling the truth—and Jake was convinced he was—then Jake had to do what he could to stop the Federalists and their evil plan. But how?

He stopped the tape, rewound it to the beginning again, and ejected it from the VCR. Tape in hand, he returned to his office.

“Madge,” he called, “hold all my calls.”

“OK. What did Ms. Duval want to see you about?”

“I can't tell you right now,” he replied as he started to close the door to his office.

“Was it about Jed McClellan?” she inquired.

He closed the door, pretending not to hear her last question. Removing a few books from the bookcase behind his desk, he exposed a small wall safe. Only he and Barrett knew it existed. He spun the combination lock until the door opened and then placed Milton McAdams's video safely inside.

 

“She's leaving Reed's office now,” Saul Sanders heard Agent Osborne say. Saul was in his office at his house, receiving regular updates from Osborne and Moyers. Guessing that Claudia would head to Jake Reed's office, Saul had directed the two agents to conduct a stakeout at Jake's office. They had been in position less than an hour when his hunch paid off.

“She's empty-handed,” Bill continued. “I don't see either of the packages she retrieved from the Atlanta airport.”

“I bet she left them with Reed,” Saul replied. “Those packages are more important than she is right now. Stay out of sight, and tonight see if you can find them. We'll take care of Ms. Duval later.”

Saul knew it was a gamble to let Claudia escape, but a calculated one. He guessed that the packages were delivered to Jake Reed, and Claudia Duval was no longer an immediate threat. The damage to Burke and Randolph—and to Saul himself—was contained in what he believed Claudia left with Attorney Reed.

Saul knew he had failed Randolph miserably up to this point by allowing Claudia to reach her destination. His only hope of redemption was in locating and delivering to Randolph the mysterious packages.

After he hung up with Bill, Saul slowly opened the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of liquor he kept for moments such as this.

Law offices of Holcombe & Reed, Jackson, Tennessee

After the video was secure, Jake thought about the information he now possessed and became enraged. He wanted to scream at someone, or hit someone, because of the terror they had made his daughter go through. The problem was that he didn't know who to hit. Then Jake remembered that the only person he had given a copy of the bank documents and the photographs to was Drake Highfill. That meant Drake must have a connection.

Jake dialed the number for the district attorney's office. “This is Jake Reed for Drake Highfill,” he said when the receptionist answered the telephone.

“Hold a moment,” she replied.

In a couple of seconds Drake Highfill was on the other end of the line. “Jake, what can I do for you?”

“I suppose you heard that my daughter is in the hospital?”

“I heard about that from Sheriff West. How's she doing?”

“She's going to be OK,” Jake replied, and then it was time for the attack. “You realize it's your fault?”

“My fault?!”

Jake could hear the surprise in the usually obnoxious attorney's voice.

“How's it my fault?” Drake nearly screeched.

“You're the only person to whom I gave the photographs and a copy of the documents from Jesse Thompson's bank. The animal that attacked my daughter left a note saying if I told anyone what I knew, then the next time I wouldn't be so lucky. Who do you think told him that I knew something about the murder?” The rage in Jake's voice began to build.

“I don't know,” came Drake's meek defense.

“I do. It was you. You told him, didn't you, Drake?”

“I didn't tell anyone,” Drake insisted. But there was a quiver in his voice.

Jake went in for the kill. “I don't believe you. There's no other explanation than the fact that you told someone. Was it Vice President Burke? Was that who it was?”

Drake did not respond.

“It doesn't matter,” Jake continued. “Whoever it is, I want you to tell them something else. Tell them that it takes a real big man to attack a little girl. Bunch of cowards. They wouldn't come after me. They had to attack my daughter. And you can tell them something else. Tell them I know about their secret.”

“What are you talking about, Jake?” The old haughty Drake was back. “Why don't you just settle down and go home and rest for a while? It's obvious that the attack on your daughter is making you crazy.”

“I'm not crazy. I've never been saner. You call whoever you talked to before and tell them that I know all about the Federalists and their arrangement with Ed Burke. They'll know what I'm talking about. And you tell them to call me immediately. I want to meet the person who would attack an innocent, defenseless nine-year-old girl.”

“Jake, you're crazy. I don't have any idea what you're talking about.”

“I didn't expect you to admit to it, Drake. You just do what I told you.”

Jake slammed the phone down without saying good-bye, leaned back in his chair, and took a deep breath. He'd wanted to scream at someone all day, and Drake Highfill was definitely a deserving recipient.

 

The Lowell Thomas State Office Building, Jackson, Tennessee

Drake Highfill wiped the cold sweat from his forehead as he replaced the telephone receiver. The palms of his hands were clammy, and both arms were shaking nervously from the startling revelation he'd just received from Jake Reed. Jake was right. His phone call to Vice President Burke had started the chain of events that had resulted in the attack on Courtney Reed. Now Drake was in too deep, and he knew it. He could only think of one thing to do, and that was to call Ed Burke and tell him about his conversation with Jake Reed. He calmed himself for a few more minutes and then dialed the number he had been given to reach Vice President Burke.

Ben Tobias answered.

 

En route to New York City

Ed Burke and his campaign staff were thirty thousand feet above central Kentucky on their way to a campaign rally in New York City. Ed still wanted to steal the state from Mac Foster. He was sitting with Ben Tobias in his private cabin in the rear of the jumbo 747.

Just then Ben's phone rang, and he answered it. Clasping the phone with both hands so the person on the other end of the line couldn't hear his conversation with Ed, Ben said quietly, “Drake Highfill is on the phone. Do you want to talk with him?”

Ed remembered Randolph's admonishment and thought for a minute about not taking the call, then decided he needed to. Based on his last conversation with Drake, he knew Drake wouldn't call unless it was important.

“I'll talk to him.” Ed reached for the telephone. “Drake,” he boomed into the receiver, “is everything OK down there in Jackson?”

“I don't know, sir,” Drake admitted. “I just received a very strange telephone call from Jake Reed. Perhaps you can make some sense of it.”

“What did he say?”

Drake gave a verbatim account of his conversation with Jake Reed. The color left Ed's face when Drake mentioned his name and the Federalists in the same sentence.

“Did he say why he wanted someone to call him?” Ed asked after Drake finished.

“No, sir. He didn't. Just that he wanted to talk to the person who had attacked his daughter.”

Ed wasn't certain, but he assumed Randolph had hired someone to scare Attorney Reed. If so, Randolph had made a tactical mistake. The attack had caused just the opposite reaction. Now Jake Reed was on the offensive. He was attacking rather than backing down. Ed couldn't afford to allow Jake to make random telephone calls like the one he'd just made to Drake Highfill. He didn't need any bad press this close to the election.

“I'll take care of him,” Ed advised. “And Drake, don't say anything to anyone about this. I'll handle it.”

“What was that all about?” Ben asked when Ed terminated the call.

“There are a lot of things going on that I haven't told you about, Ben. And I don't have time to discuss it with you now.”

Ben's brows furrowed. “Ed, you've got to tell me!”

“After the election, Ben. After the election. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

Ben was astounded, and his face tensed. “You want me to leave?”

“That's exactly what I want you to do. I'll tell you all about it after the election.”

Ed watched as Ben slung the stack of reports he was working on into the seat beside him and stormed out the door into the main cabin of the airplane. He slammed the door as he left, and Ed locked it from the inside.

After Ben left, Ed was alone in the rear cabin. He wasn't prepared to handle this type of situation. If he called Attorney Reed, that would be an admission of his involvement with the Federalists, because Jake would know that Highfill had called Ed. If he didn't call, then Reed might contact the media, or worse, the Republicans, and that was the last thing Ed needed. Ed was certain of one thing, though. Attorney Reed had damaging information that had to be neutralized. As much as he despised the thought, the only real option was to call Randolph.

 

Apollyon Associates, Inc., lower Manhattan

All Randolph's time was now spent confined in his office at Apollyon headquarters in Manhattan. He hadn't been to his own home since the night Milton was murdered. He had eaten some and slept even less. He knew that whatever Milton left for Claudia had made it to Attorney Reed because of the incompetence of Saul Sanders and his agents. But he also knew that Edward Burke was comfortably ahead in the race for the White House. The pressure from both realizations weighed on him, and he looked haggard from the wear of it. Of the two, what drove Randolph more was the conviction that, at all costs, Burke had to win.

The prohibition against Burke calling Randolph directly had long since been repealed, so Randolph wasn't surprised to find Ed on the other end of the call that rang into his private line early Friday evening.

“Randolph, I've received some troubling news from my contact in Jackson. He told me that someone attacked Attorney Reed's daughter. Do you know anything about that?”

Randolph was too exhausted to disguise the truth from Ed any longer. “Somewhat,” he replied. “I ordered that Reed be neutralized, but I didn't specifically direct how it was to be carried out.”

“Well, you may have awakened a sleeping giant.”

“How so?”

“I know you told me not to talk to Drake Highfill anymore, but I just took a call from him. He said Reed called him and said he knew all about the Federalists and my arrangement with you. He didn't say how he knew, but he was insistent that we had something to do with the attack on his daughter. Whatever he knows is dangerous, and we must do something before he goes to the media.”

“Everything is under control, Edward,” assured Randolph. “Don't you do anything. I'll handle it.”

“Just like you've handled everything else, Randolph?” Ed quipped.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Randolph's voice was icy.

“It means that I'm tired of the way you ‘handle' things. If you had simply left Reed alone, he would have never realized the importance of the information he obtained from Jesse Thompson's widow, and we would not be in this mess. But now he knows that it's as valuable as gold, and he intends to use it.”

His own exhaustion and Ed's insolence caused Randolph to react in a way entirely out of character. His comments were usually calculated and carefully selected. But he was beginning to detest Edward Burke as much as Ed detested him.

The words simply came out. “Just like Thompson tried to do.”

“What are you talking about, Randolph?”

“Thompson tried to use the connection between the Federalists and you for his own gain, and it cost him. He was skimming money from our F-PAC accounts at his bank and tried to extort twenty million from us to keep our connection with you a secret. We couldn't let that happen.”

“You mean that you had Jesse Thompson killed?”

“Not just me. Pierce and Milton were involved.”

“And Milton?”

“I did that one all by myself,” Randolph bragged.

“You idiot!” Ed screamed. “Are you insane? Don't you see what you've done and what you've caused me to become? I'm an accomplice to murder.”

“Don't act naive with me, Ed. You knew this was a dangerous game when you decided to play it. We're ten days away from world supremacy. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that why you jumped at our offer to buy the presidency for you? So don't act like this is some great revelation. All the obstacles to our goal have been eliminated, and that is exactly what you wanted.”

“But I didn't know one of those ‘obstacles' would be my friend.”

“Is that melancholy in your voice, Edward?” Randolph asked sarcastically, but his voice quickly changed to anger. “You're as weak as Milton, and I can't tolerate weakness. If I didn't need a puppet in the White House, you would be the next to go. It seems as though Mr. Reed will get that distinction, though.”

“You can't continue to kill people. That road will eventually lead back to us.”

“By then it will be too late. You'll be president, and I'll be untouchable.”

“This is not what I bargained for, and I'm getting out. I'm going to withdraw from the race. That is the only way to stop you.”

“That's very noble,” came Randolph's sarcastic response. “But you're not going to withdraw. It would take someone with courage to take such an action, and you don't have any. You don't think I chose you because you were strong, do you? You were selected because of your weakness. Because you could be manipulated and bought and corrupted. And besides, if you do withdraw, it will mean certain death for you, your wife, your family, and everyone around you. I've planned for every contingency, Edward, including the possibility that you might get nervous one day. No, you're not going to withdraw. You're going to do exactly what I tell you to do. And I'm telling you that you're going to continue just like this conversation never took place. Do you understand me?”

Intentionally, Randolph used a tone of voice that one would use if giving instructions to a wayward child. Randolph knew Ed would respond accordingly. And he was right.

“I understand, Randolph,” a weak voice said, “but I don't like it.”

“I don't care if you like it. Just do what you're told.”

Randolph slammed the phone in Ed's ear.

 

En route to New York City

Ed slowly closed the lid on Ben's wireless telephone. He tossed the phone on the leather seat across from him and rubbed his face and hands with his palms. For a moment the only decent ounce in Ed emerged, and he thought of calling Jake Reed to warn him of Randolph's impending assault.