The Labyrinth Campaign (19 page)

As David Ellis and Will Hawkins discussed the environmental tragedy of the previous evening, Will explained his position on the situation. “David, I am as appalled as you are. The fact that we would ever allow toxic waste to travel a route along one of our most cherished waterways is a travesty. And I’m here to tell you, if I’m elected president, protection of the environment will be one of my top priorities.”

“Senator,” Ellis said, his voice trembling with emotion, “I believe you. That is why I’ve committed my support to you. You have my pledge that the foundation will provide unprecedented resources to your candidacy.”

Will, smiling from ear to ear, interrupted Ellis, “David, you will not regret this. Our partnership, and I use that term purposely, will make a mark on the environment that will change our children’s future.”

Ellis responded, “I’m with you, Senator. And as soon as we hang up, I will be arranging a news conference that will formally announce The
Future State Foundation’s support of Senator William S. Hawkins for president of the United States.”

“Thank you, David. Let’s talk soon.” As Will hung up, he looked at John Rollins and smiled, “Well, at least something is going right.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Rollins responded, “because we’ve got a real problem here with your long-lost friend from London. We’ve done some digging. His name is Ian McKay, and he is a Special Ops expert with the British Military.”

The room went quiet as Will pondered the situation. After moments of silence, Will spoke as if he were thinking out loud. “It seems that the appropriate next step would be to arrange for our friend Mr. McKay to accompany us to Colorado where we could quietly discuss the situation and then dispose of him with little or no interference.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rollins exclaimed. “This whole thing is getting way out of hand.” The two men sat in silence, and then John Rollins asked, “Have you ever heard of a labyrinth?”

Will responded coldly, “Of course, what do you think I am, an idiot?”

“No, but I’ve got to tell you that’s exactly what we’re creating here. Each time we enter into another illegal activity, the odds of everything working out as we planned exponentially decrease. We’ve got to clean up what has already been initiated and get ourselves out of this downward spiral.”

Will silently stared at Rollins, showing absolutely no emotion, so Rollins continued.

“It reminds me of a family vacation when I was twelve. We were driving in Northern California and went to visit the Winchester Mystery House. Old Lady Winchester was the heiress to the firearm fortune and had obviously lived life being a few cards short of a full deck. Over many years, she had created this grand mansion where she planned to live out her years. The problem was she was never satisfied with the final product. So she continually added wings and rooms and staircases with no master plan in mind. The result was rooms with no windows, staircases running into walls, and a general layout of a home with no semblance of order.”

“John, I hate to interrupt this compelling story, but where are you going with this? I’ve got a full day ahead of me.”

“Where I’m going with this is that that’s when my father taught me the valuable lesson of the labyrinth. He explained that in life, just like building a structure, a master plan is required. I don’t believe we currently have a master plan. Therefore, by default, we are creating a labyrinth that I’m not sure we will escape.”

Once again, while looking interested, Will stared at John Rollins in silence. While some of Rollins’s diatribe made sense, Will was thinking to himself that regardless of the risk, he could not afford to have a blackmailer around who knew he had killed someone in an alley behind a bar more than two decades ago. It didn’t matter that less than twenty-four hours earlier, he himself hadn’t known the unfortunate outcome of that fateful night. After more silence, Will finally spoke.

“Okay, then, it’s settled; we’ll take Mr. McKay to Colorado and make sure he’s never heard from again.”

Rollins nodded disgustedly, knowing that any further discussion was futile. He was in too deep to get out and at a disadvantage regarding influence. “Well, we’re going to have to be very careful, because another guest will also be traveling with us to Colorado.”

“And who might that be?”

“Greg Larson. This is our opportunity to get Pulitzer-caliber coverage from a ‘skeptical convert’ in the press.”

“Perfect! I’ll be happy to give Larson and the nation’s press an interview that will swing our great nation’s voters.”

Jack McCarthy and Kate Anson entered Denver International Airport with the intention of getting a rental car. They parked the Lincoln Town Car on Level 3 of the west parking structure with no intention of ever going near it again. Their plan was relatively simple but also extremely risky. As they boarded the bus that would shuttle them to the Budget Rental Car counter, they nervously held each other’s hands, posing as a
tourist couple. Their next steps had been scripted on the nearly thirteen-hour drive from Dallas to Denver.

Once they rented any available SUV using Jack’s credit card, they would look for their unwitting accomplice. The plan was to identify a young man traveling alone who might be willing to trade his just-rented subcompact for their more luxurious SUV. The story they had concocted would center around Kate’s ex-boyfriend. They would explain to their target that the ex was very wealthy and very jealous and had reason to believe they were headed to Colorado. If he was willing to trade, not only would they pay for both cars, but would also give him $100 for his trouble. It would take the right individual to make this work, but they hadn’t come up with anything better. And they knew that once they used one of their credit cards, all pursuit would center on Colorado.

As Jack and Kate entered the rental-car building, the first thing they noticed was that it was packed. They smiled at each other, thinking that finding someone willing to trade vehicles had just gotten easier. Jack was scanning the room looking for unwitting targets when the nearby newspaper stand caught his eye. There it was in bold type on the front page of
The Denver Morning News:
“COLORADO RIVER TRAGEDY.”

Jack nearly vomited. He quickly dug out some change and grabbed a paper from the dispenser. He couldn’t believe what he was reading: toxic waste in the Colorado River … and he had known it was going to happen. Seconds later, he heard a gasp from behind him. Kate had just read the headline over his shoulder.

“My God, what’s happening here?” Kate exclaimed quietly.

“It’s our worst nightmare,” groaned Jack. “They’re actually following through on this madness.”

“What do we do now?” Kate said.

“We stick with the plan. It’s more imperative than ever that we get to the president. And he’s only a two-hour drive away.”

They quickly got into line, ready to attack the next and most improbable leg of their journey. As the woman behind the counter handed them their keys, she asked if they needed a map. Jack quickly said no as they headed for the front lobby to find their target.

It wasn’t easy. The first two guys they approached emphatically declined. The second actually added a “fuck off” when they persisted. But as was usual in bizarre situations, the third time was somehow a charm. The young man was clearly hesitant at first but clearly loosened when the offer was raised to $300 cash and a free rental car. The two parties agreed that the young man would just insert his keys in the slot when returning so that a receipt would be mailed to Jack. Jack in turn promised to charge the man’s bill to his credit card upon return, explaining that he was paying for his buddy’s rental. The returns would happen on Thursday, the day the young man was to return to Kansas City. Jack added for assurance that the man should call Budget on Thursday evening, and if everything was not copasetic, he could explain the situation to the rental car company and report the vehicle as stolen.

The man looked around as any suspicious character would, but nobody seemed to care. The keys and cash were quickly exchanged, and the man walked off with a slight spring in his step.

Jack and Kate found their Ford Fusion. “Is it just me, or do all rentals look alike?” Jack asked rhetorically. And off they went.

As Jack and Kate merged on to I-70 from Peña Blvd, Jack blurted out, “We’ve got to get to Hughes and end this nightmare.”

His fatigue clearly showing, he was referencing a meeting with the president as if it were already scheduled.

T
he phone in room 720 of the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin rang twice. Ian McKay snatched the phone from its cradle as he re-entered his room from the balcony overlooking Lake Austin. “Hello.”

“Sir, this is a representative for Senator Will Hawkins. Have I reached the right room?”

“Yes.”

“Sir, we have discussed the terms of your proposal, and Senator Hawkins has agreed, in principle, assuming certain conditions are met.”

“Listen,” Ian said, “I am not here to negotiate. The terms of my proposal are nonnegotiable, and if they are not acceptable to the senator, then I will go to the press. End of story.”

“Whoa, hold on there, sir. These conditions are actually quite minor. They are simply designed to ensure that there is no trail that links any of this unfortunate transaction back to the senator.”

“Listen, you fucking political lackey, the unfortunate part of this transaction happened a long time ago, and you have no idea the heartache and hardship it has caused. But go on, I’m listening.”

“The senator does not wish for this meeting to happen anywhere in Texas. The publicity and scrutiny surrounding his campaign, coupled
with the shock of your initial contact, has him, as you might expect, slightly paranoid.”

“Continue,” McKay responded, slightly relieved.

“The senator is suggesting instead that you meet him in Colorado this Thursday. He’s taking a little retreat to his family home in Vail, and the press has purposely not been made aware of this trip. It is also imperative that you get to Denver International Airport on Thursday by noon without leaving a trail of how you got there.”

“Now, how do you expect me to do that?” Ian asked, clearly irritated.

“Well,” the representative said, slightly sarcastically, “you could fly. You could drive. You could take a bus. There are many transportation options in this great country of ours.”

“Fuck you! I know how to get there; the question is how to get there without using my own name,” Ian blurted out, knowing his documents could never be traced back to him.

“That sounds like a personal problem, sir. I’m just the messenger. Now, once you make it to the Denver airport on Thursday, you’ll see a large piece of artwork in the middle of the main terminal, a colorful map of the United States. One of our representatives will meet you there. After verifying that you made it to Denver without leaving a trail, this person will accompany you to Vail where you will meet with Senator Hawkins. After completion of your requested meeting with the senator, the package you’re expecting will be transferred, and someone will escort you back to Denver. Once this portion of your journey is complete, we will drop you at a downtown location of your choice. That is the last time anyone associated with Senator Hawkins will expect to see or hear from you. Ever.

“Now, just to ensure compliance, Mr. McKay, some of our people have done a little research in the news archives and public records in London. We know where your niece lives; we know where your mother lives; we know every friend and family member you have in the UK. Please don’t put us in a position of needing to use that information.”

“Are you threatening me?” Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir, just communicating that we believe there is recourse. It’s kind of like buying insurance.”

Ian had always suspected, in the back of his mind, that a determined searcher might identify him through the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death. This change of plans was far from optimal, but he quickly assessed that it posed no greater risk than the rendezvous he had actually proposed. And now there were Patricia and Lizzie to consider.

“I’ll see you in Colorado,” he muttered, finally.

Ian heard the click on the end of the other line and knew the conversation was over. While infuriated by the threats, he smiled to himself, believing that he was one step closer to his objective.