The King (10 page)

Chapter 44

Stevens stood up and turned towards the door, gesturing at Francis as the agents came back in. “Take him,” he said.

The two agents, M16s at their sides, picked up Francis – who was sobbing uncontrollably – and dragged him out. Emory Thomas passed them as he came.

“You know this won’t hold up in court, right?” Emory said.

Stevens grinned. “I know. It doesn’t have to.”

Emory shook his head. “Christ, Jon, this is a long way to go to scare someone.”

Stevens shook his head. “This wasn’t about scaring him.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Manipulating public opinion.”

Emory let out a low whistle. “Jon, Jon, Jon...I should have guessed.”

Stevens nodded towards the door. “That guy’s been pulling this shit on the public for years. We may not be able to convict him, but we can ruin him.”

“And soften the story of Russell Scott in the process?”

Stevens frowned. “If Scott was crazy,” Stevens said, “tragedy made him that way. In the end, he was just a man who loved his daughter.”

“And Francis pushed him over the edge.”

“So I pushed back.”

Stevens turned and headed for the door. Emory followed, resting a hand briefly on the big FBI agent’s shoulder.

“Jon,” he said, “remind me never to make you angry.”

Stevens laughed. “I think you’ll remember,” he said, checking his watch. “Now let’s go. I’ve got a press conference to give, and for the first time in my life, I’m looking forward to it!”

THE END

If you’ve enjoyed The King, then please enjoy this excerpt from Rick Soper’s newest book:

The Environmentalist

Chapter 1

“Have you ever been anywhere outside San Francisco?”

It was a simple question. Cindy had known they’d ask, but had hoped to steer the conversation away from it and instead concentrate on the bullet points in her agenda. Having it thrown straight into her face caused her to falter.

She floundered. As her response lagged, her gaze drifted to the monitor under the camera pointed at her, which was showing Fox News Anchor Stone Daniels.

Cindy Allen paused, momentarily fixated on his hair. That kind of perfection belonged on a sculpture in a museum. Him being incredibly handsome just added to the distraction. He was the kind of beauty she expected to see staring back at her from pages of glossy magazines.

But the grin facing her on the monitor was pure evil. It was the beastly look of a creature who’d trapped its prey in a corner with no chance of escape. Every second she hesitated brought that beast’s teeth closer to opening up and biting down on her throat.

All while the whole world was watching.

“So, Miss Allen, what’s your answer?” prodded Daniels.

“Whether or not I’ve ever been outside San Francisco myself makes no impact on the argument at hand.”

“Yes it does! When your goal is to turn the rest of the state back into a wilderness paradise where the animals are more important than the people, then it makes a hell of a difference if you’ve been outside that city of yours or not,” said Nelson Turner.

Like every other Central Valley farmer that Fox brought on the air to oppose Cindy, Nelson Turner was outraged. His sun-soaked face, which looked like battered and broken leather, only made that anger look so much uglier.

“The goal of trying to save nearly extinct species—” Cindy said.

“Maybe they should be extinct.” Turner replied.

“How can you possibly—”

“Darwin said it was adapt or die, and if they can’t adapt then maybe they should die.”

“If we hadn’t changed the environment—” From the second she let the words fall out of her mouth she knew she’d screwed up. A fact that was confirmed by the look on Turner’s face, like a dog who’d just been offered fresh meat.

“And there you have it! If we weren’t around everything would be fine.”

“You’re twisting what I’m saying,” Cindy said.

“That’s because your thinking is twisted.”

“I—”

She was caught, pushed up against a wall, and wallowing in exactly the place she didn’t want to be. While Turner was as a happy as a fox in the henhouse getting ready to eat.

“It’s easy for you to live in your high and mighty mansion up there in San Francisco while you inflict your warped vision on the people who actually live and work in the areas you’re attacking. But the truth is you wouldn’t even last a day in the wild world you want to try and re-create.”

He’d thrown out the hook while Cindy was wallowing in the possible failure of losing the argument, which was why she let her guard down enough to take the bait.

“I’d be perfectly happy to live in that world,” Cindy replied.

Turner scoffed. “I’d like to see you try it.”

Like a car salesman smelling a potential deal, Stone Daniels was all too happy to jump in and continue to instigate. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Then it’s a challenge I’ll accept,” Cindy replied.

“And one you’ll fail miserably?”

“I won’t fail!”

“I’ll be looking forward to hearing how that turns out,” Daniels said as the video on the monitor faded to black.

Chapter 2

Cindy was frozen, the ramifications of what she’d just done echoing through her head. Her eyes locked on the monitor, which continued to show the feed from Fox News. They’d moved on to commercials. Their world assuming its normal pattern, even as Cindy’s had been thrown into turmoil.

Her gaze drifted up to her assistant Bailey, who was trying to smile, but failing. A look that was a confirmation of stupidity Cindy really didn’t want to see.

“Disconnect the camera,” she said without moving her face.

Bailey had worked with Cindy long enough to know her moods, her looks, and the significance of what she’d just done. She didn’t point out they were off the air, that once the feed was cut no one could see them anymore, or any other logical detail Cindy knew she might normally say. Bailey just twisted the cable off the back of the camera and held it up to Cindy, as she pointed the camera away from her.

Free of the camera, Cindy shot up, ripped the microphone off her jacket, and furiously threw it at the ground. Turning, she slapped at the stool she’d been sitting on. The blow was glancing. The stool listed to the side and fell over as if it were moving in slow motion. Cindy pounded the heels of her cute Vera Wang pumps into the ground in a quaking fit of anger.

“Aaaaarrrggggg,” she screamed.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Bailey tried to reassure her.

Cindy shot a look filled with such animosity Bailey winced. Cindy pointed a finger at the door. Bailey didn’t say another word, just sucked in her bottom lip, hung her head, and hurried away.

As the thick studio door closed, Cindy balled her fists, ground her teeth, and stamped her feet on the ground. She wanted to cry, or scream some more, or hit something else.

Instead, she turned on her phone, and was immediately met with the ring from a familiar number.

“Hey.”

“Are you alright?” Stacy Wolfson asked.

Stacy had been Cindy’s therapist for the last seven years and knew better than anyone the box of worms she’d just opened. Cindy had asked Stacy to watch the interview to let her know what she could do better.

“No.”

“You let your anger get the best of you,” Stacy said.

“I know that.”

“You don’t have to follow through with it.”

“And let those Fox jerks make me look like a joke?”

“Cindy, if you let them badger you into an activity you’re not equipped to handle, you’re just setting yourself up for failure,” Stacy said.

“I won’t fail!”

“Cindy…”

But Cindy hit end on the phone. She didn’t want to hear everything that was wrong with what she’d done. She didn’t want to hear that she’d fail. She knew too well the mountain of obstructions she would face in stepping anywhere outside her comfort zones.

Cindy had set herself up, she’d taken the bait, and knew that it was going to bite her deeply if she didn’t confront it.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, and twisted her head around on her neck until she heard a little pop. Lifting up the phone and using a shaking finger to navigate the control screen, she turned her notifications back on. The phone nearly shook out of her hand with the flood of alerts.

It was everything she’d feared and more. There were thousands of notices flashing by on the screen.

The goal of the organization she’d founded, Progressive Impact Group Solutions, was to promote environmental causes and positively influence Green legislation in California. The means by which she attempted to accomplish those goals was through her frequent television appearances, radio interviews, getting magazine articles published, and arranging rallies, protests, and events.

The initial measurement of any of those mechanisms was social media.

A bright progressive lawyer who’d served on a panel with Cindy had told her that in any political issue, whether it be individual elections, ballot initiatives, or votes within legislative bodies, twenty five percent of the people will always be firmly left, twenty five percent will always be firmly right, and whoever could swing the fifty percent in the middle would come out on top.

At the time Cindy wasn’t really sure what he was talking about, but when she’d started paying attention to how things broke on social media after an event, she noticed what the lawyer had explained was dead on. Her core supporters were going to back her no matter what she said. Her haters were going to hate her no matter what. But the middle could be pushed one way or another dependent on her success in communicating her message.

On a great day she might see the metrics break all the way up to the high fifty, low sixty percent range in favor of her. On a horrible day it would break the same high fifty, low sixty percent against her.

Today she was hitting the seventies against her.

Her core supporters were upset that she’d let Turner force her into an unwinnable challenge. Their argument being that they were fighting on the side of the environment for everyone with solid facts and statistics on their side, and they didn’t think that she had to stoop to stunts. While the opposition was licking its lips at the idea of an activist being forced out of the city they usually hid in.

The tweets from her supporters were asking, “What was she thinking?” “She’s letting them push her around,” and “Why would she even consider it?” The tweets from the detractors were having a field day with GIFs, memes, and video clips, filled with her every frown, fault, and stupid look. There were multiple hashtags like, #envirobabegoeswild, #P.I.G.S.inthemud, #shewontmakeit, and #envirochallenged. As well as a whole betting line that concentrated on how quickly and badly she’d fail.

Eventually it got to be too much and she turned off her notifications. The only way to survive the onslaught was to ignore it. After walking to the full length mirror in the corner, she adjusted a loose hair, reapplied her mascara, and checked her teeth for lipstick. She knew it was her beauty that got her invited to be in front of the camera. But once she leveraged her looks to get on television she needed to take advantage of the opportunity, not cause more problems.

She’d been prepared, knew her facts, had the studies that proved what they were doing was working, and knew all of the legislation that was going through the various legislative bodies. Even worked out a few cute little lines and jokes to sprinkle in to make her sound intelligent and funny.

But she’d never been able to use any of it.

Turner had torn into her right from the outset. He called her a spoiled little rich girl, and pointed to the fact that she’d never been on a farm, lived in the country, or worked for a living. He made her look like an idiot who didn’t have any experience in the areas she was trying to influence. She’d known it was coming. It wasn’t the first time she’d been attacked. But still, it had been vicious.

Stacy said the reason the criticisms threw her off every time was the fact there was too much of it that was true. Cindy hadn’t been to a farm, lived outside the City, or had to work, so they were stating facts she couldn’t argue. She felt the guilt of their statements, and no matter how much that guilt pushed her to promote environmental change, it was also a stumbling block preventing her from doing more.

The guilt started with her family’s fortune, which traced back to the California Gold Rush. They’d been the innovators, equipment suppliers, and biggest backers of hydraulic strip mining throughout the state. Strip mining in California was one of the most environmentally damaging events in human history.

Cindy had been clueless to her family’s involvement in that devastation. She’d just grown up with money and never had to give a second thought as to where it came from. Until the day a professor named Ian Benedict had put up a picture of one of her great, great grandfathers during a slide presentation. Cindy had immediately recognized the picture from the library in her family’s mansion. To her absolute horror, Benedict had pointed at the picture and said, “When you think evil, you might think Hitler, Stalin, or even Judas, but that is one of the most evil men to ever walk the face of the earth.”

Allen was a married name from a generation back, so far removed from her ancestors that no one in the class knew it was a member of her family up on the screen. But still, she’d been so crushed by the revelation that twenty minutes after class she still couldn’t move. When Benedict came up and checked on her as he was starting to head out of class, she’d broken into a crying confession of her family’s sins.

Benedict had smiled, put an arm around her shoulder, and comforted her by saying, “None of us gets to choose our family, but we all get to choose our direction,” which sounded even more brilliant with his lilting British accent.

Through her tears, she’d looked up with water-starred vision, and a new, growing infatuation, as he told her a story. “They say that if we could see how we’re remembered at our funeral that we’d all change how we live our lives. A long time ago a man was shocked to see an obituary in the paper for himself that called him the ‘Merchant of Death’. That man had spent his life creating a fortune by selling explosives and hated the way he was remembered in that article. So he decided to change that story’s direction and created a legacy that completely altered how history would view him. That man was Alfred Nobel and his name has become synonymous with the best the world has to offer through the awards that have been given out in his name for over a hundred years. No one remembers the bad, all they know is the good. So it’s always possible to make that choice that will forever change the story.”

That had been her moment. The exact second she’d found purpose. Before that point, she’d been wrapped up in a directionless life filled with the excesses of wealth she didn’t understand. She’d had no purpose other than the youthful ideal of enjoying life. The only reason she’d been in school was she was bored and needed something to do. But the shock of her family’s history filled her with the deep desire to do something about it. She wanted to be like Nobel and change the story.

Cindy took a deep calming breath and looked in the mirror as she said, “I’m doing the right thing.”

She turned and walked to the stool in front of the environmental altar she’d set up. It had been Stacy who’d suggested that in her moments of doubt she should hide in the soundproof studio. Light the forest-scented candles, turn on the waterfall, and lose herself in sculpting the bonsai tree at the center of the altar. It was her quiet place, a calming center, where she worked through her problems.

She picked up the clippers and turned her head as she eyed each individual branch. Putting the clippers into different positions near the branches, she contemplated what a cut might look like before she finally made it. Then she sat back and appreciated what she’d accomplished.

Stacy had told her clipping the bonsai tree was a metaphor for how she should approach her problems. Step back and look at the obstacle in front of her, turn her head and look at the different pathways that might lead her to her desired goal, make a choice, act on the choice, and interpret the outcome.

The problem was Cindy’s very public statement about living outside of San Francisco. Now that the challenge had gone viral, ignoring it would blow a huge hole in her credibility. She could try and spin the narrative in a different direction and hope that her comment got lost along the way, or she could overcome her fears and just follow through.

Her greatest fear was failure. Even worse than that was a very public failure. And that could be her motivation to overcome all her other smaller fears.

But how was she going to answer the challenge?

She got up from her little altar and started to pace around her studio. Three of the four walls in the studio were covered with one large picture of a deep green forest. The trees soared up into a bright blue sky. Moss covered the ground, the rocks, and many of the tree limbs. Bright green ferns poked up everywhere along the forest floor. It was a picture so beautiful she could almost smell the pure freshness of it.

As she walked back and forth in front of the picture-covered walls, she started to get the inkling of an idea. Maybe the answer to her question was staring her right in the face.