Lethal Politics Page 4

  "Your shot, Arturo," the President said, and watched as his competition expertly brought down both his targets effortlessly.

  Attempting to push other thoughts out of his mind, especially the second reason behind the meeting here at Camp David, Mark managed to hold his own through the rest of the set, actually gaining a point before the end, but still losing the set by two birds. The last round he tied his old friend, who smiled as he set the expensive shotgun into the gun rack.

  "I had best get started on lunch," he said, as he headed off toward Laurel Lodge, where the dining facilities were located.

  Mark shouted his congratulations, the protective electronic ear muffs robbing him of the normal sense of how loud he was speaking. He stripped them off as he scanned the area, noting that the Secret Service team had changed shift while he and Arturo had been shooting. He could have let someone else clean up the weapons, but he felt it proper he take care of his own gear, and after checking a second time to ensure the weapon was unloaded, slid it into the hard sided carrying case. He was doing the same with the weapon Arturo had used when one of the agents wandered over.

  "Agent Campbell," the President said, greeting the young man. "I see you got to get out of Washington as well."

  This was all for show. The President had known very well that CC would be on the trip when he scheduled the meetings. The trip to Camp David was a chance for them to meet somewhat informally, and for CC to pass the results of his visit in Texas to the President.

  CC nodded, and scanned the clear sky. "I have always enjoyed coming up here," he replied. "I saw that you missed a few, but so did your competition," he added.

  "Arturo missed those birds on purpose," Mark replied. "You know that also. You've watched him shoot before. We know how he shoots, and even handicapped by an unfamiliar weapon, he wouldn't have missed that many. He was just trying to let me save face. But this shows how out of practice I'm getting. I know my handgun skills will be even worse. My experience says those degrade much faster than long gun skills. Have you made any progress with my request for the White House pistol range?"

  CC nodded his head slightly and spoke simultaneously. "Yes," he replied. "They aren't exactly enthusiastic, but the range can be built in the area we discussed. Plans are being drawn up while we are out of town and can be reviewed sometime next week. I believe the biggest hurdle is adequate ventilation. It is likely you will be requested to use TMJ bullets while you practice down there. They won't leave any lead residue to concern people. It won't be finished as soon as you requested, but it will happen."

  The President had expected the answer, and knew that if anyone was watching or somehow monitoring them, the nodding gesture would be interpreted as part of CC's response to the question about the range. It worked with either possible response the young agent might supply. The slight nod of the head would be seen as an answer to the question as to whether he had anything to report, Yes, I have news, and the verbal addition would be what he was reporting, Yes, they are going to go ahead as you wish, or No, they don't like the idea and you are going to need to take action if you are really serious about this.

  In actuality, the nod was his father's response to the missive CC had delivered, and the verbal comment was what was being done about his request for a pistol range. A negative response from Earl would have been almost impossible to imagine. So Earl understood what he wanted and should even now putting things into motion. The President would have been surprised at any other answer. He and Earl had a special bond and owed one another a great deal. They'd bent the rules together more than once in the past. He didn't like that Earl would have to the heavy lifting, and ultimately the removal itself. The President felt better doing his own cleanup, but that wasn't simply going to be possible given the present situation. At least he hadn't thought of a way. He had asked Earl if he could think of an approach, but didn't hold out much hope. But that aside, now it was all very real. He breathed out a bit, then smiled at CC.

  "Good," he said finally. "I'll be glad to be able to practice again, the non-verbal message being essentially ignored as if it hadn't been delivered beyond the clear acceptance in the President's eyes that only CC was close enough to notice and realize the "good" was meant as much for the private message as the range effort.

  CC wished he knew what had been in the note he had delivered to his father. He had expected to be brought into the matter after his father had read what Mark had sent him in the private note, but that wasn't the way it had turned out. Apparently the President had left it up to his father who had decided how it would be handled.

  "You don't need to know about this matter," his Dad had explained. "Given your position, deniability is best. I'll have a few chores for you to do from time to time, like deliver several items to the President that I'll have flown to you in DC."

  The trip itself had been a novelty. He had rented the private Learjet, and despite his visions of a sexy private stewardess, it had just been himself and the pilots for the brief trip. Apparently they felt he could handle serving himself from the well stocked private bar in the passenger area. He had flown with his father on larger private jets before, but that had involved a number of people and he hadn't had anything to do with making the arrangements.

  From the way his father had acted, and how he'd explained he was to carry his response to the President, with the subtle nod and nothing spoken, he suspected that the two of them were engaged in one of their semi-legal money making schemes again. CC wasn't really surprised. He'd seen enough in the past few years to understand the warped morality that infested Washington, but whatever this was, it was something major. He had become accustomed to a certain look his father had when such plans were afoot. As rich as the two of them were, he couldn't see the need for such activities, but for them it had always been somewhat of a game. He wished he wasn't involved at all, but also wished his Dad had enough trust to have brought him fully aboard on the plans.

  CC's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an approaching helicopter.

  "Sounds like the Vice President is arriving," he said, glancing over towards the landing zone just a short distance from the range where it would land. Marine One was there already, fueled and available should the President need to make an immediate return to DC.

  Mark nodded, his mind far away, thinking about what Earl would be doing. He had have to put such thoughts aside with his guests arriving, and frankly he'd have no actions to take for a few days until Earl was able to obtain the communications they would need for their infrequent coordination chats. Earl would be putting together a team of reliable people who would have no problem completing the task, but those people would have to have time to consider how the removal could be done. He expected a week or so before anything solid developed.

  "Let's go greet Toshiko," he said, knowing once his VP stepped off the plane he'd have plenty to occupy his mind for a while. Besides, it wouldn't be long before the others arrived as well, and he wished a few words with her before that happened.

  Chapter 5

  El Paso, Texas

  Earl hit the garage light switch before the auto timer on the automatic door would shut off the small light illuminating the windowless area where he parked his two vehicles. The garage door closed solidly with an audible thump, and as he walked back toward the rear of the dirt-splattered five-year old Buick Enclave, the small light over his head snapped off as he expected. He was bone tired after so much driving, but now this essential task was successfully completed, which meant he could move forward with everything else on his extensive list. Had he been unable to acquire the necessary communications gear, they would have been thwarted before even getting a decent start.

  He opened the rear gate of the crossover SUV, pushing the suitcase he'd never used this trip forward into the rear area, and opened the small built-in compartment that held a few tools, charging cables, rags, and other travel essentials, and lifted out a small black case that held the items that he'd driven all the
way from El Paso to Los Angeles and back to retrieve. He wasn't sure if he'd been hiding the contents of the small case or not. If anyone had checked they would have only seen a matched pair of the newest model iPhone, seemingly not yet activated. He could have explained if the issue came up that he wanted to minimize the possibility of anyone who broke into the car making off with them while he was having dinner. That said, he'd rather no one was at all aware that he had such phones. That might matter at some point in the future. He didn't normally use Apple products, although his good friend the President did, and that was what had driven the model phones he'd been given.

  Closing the car's rear hatch, he stretched his tired back and started for the door into the private wing of his ranch house. Ten years older than the President, Earl was tall and thin, rangy was the word most people used, with light brown hair that was now more gray than brown. The same could be said for his close cropped beard. His brown eyes were still sharp and intelligent, missing little, even when he was as tired as the current trip had left him.

  It was a bit less than a twelve hour drive between El Paso and Los Angeles. He'd left the evening before just after eight, which put him at his destination early in the following morning, just as local businesses were opening. He'd only spent an hour and a half meeting with his old friend and picking up the two phones and associated gear before jumping back on the road for home. With the rush hour traffic he'd had to fight, and then a couple of quick meals, he'd gotten home just over twenty-four hours after departing. He supposed he could have checked in somewhere and slept, but part of the reason he'd driven was the lack of any means by which his trip could be tracked, now or later. Checking into a hotel risked creating a record, however nebulous, that he didn't want.

  The east wing of his sprawling ranch house was his private domain. The smallest of the three wings that stretched out from the roughly square core of the main structure, it was closed off and meant to be off-limits to staff and everyone else when he wasn't present, or anytime the doors to the main areas were closed off. For all the staff might know, he could be there, but working on something alone. The rear door from his private garage opened into a wide hallway with a series of doors along either side. On the left the closest was a door that led into his private quarters, and a bit further on, a door that led into his business office. The office also had a pair of wide double doors that were left open to the main living areas when he was present, and the status of the doors were what marked for the staff whether he was to be considered present. At the moment, they were locked closed.

  To his right was a large windowless utility room for gear storage, a washer and drier, and two walls of cabinets filled with a surprising array of gear. Along one wall was a heavy-duty gun safe where he stored his personal arms, along with a loading bench with several styles of presses for making custom ammunition.

  Earl stepped into the utility room, flipping on the lights as he entered, and closing the door behind him. He walked over to the electrical panel on the north wall, and opened the front cover. Several dozen carefully labeled electrical breakers in three vertical columns offered control of power through the east wing and private garage. In truth, the breakers were not what they seemed. Each of the pseudo breakers were simply status units, and rather than interrupting power to the indicated hardware, they simply sent a control signal to hardware located in the main power distribution area in the front of the house. Instead of a messy array of current-carrying wires behind the panel, a simple low voltage signal wire fed into a control unit. A single twisted pair of wires carried the status to the unit which actually activated real breakers in the remote panel. That panel initiated the action indicated by the labels on the faux breakers. It would take considerable time and effort for anyone looking to realize this panel was a fake.

  Earl selected four of the breakers and flipped them to the off position. They four didn't connect to any hardware elsewhere, but unlocked the panel so he could easily swing the whole unit off to one side exposing a hidden safe securely imbedded into the reinforced concrete pillar behind the wall. The safe was an extremely expensive jeweler's safe and if found would require someone with special skills to be breached. He had another, much more basic safe in his office, hidden, but findable, but that one didn't hold anything he considered critical.

  Earl spun the dial, unlocking the door, and set the phones and the wrapped package that went with them in the interior. There were other items already present, things that were especially important to him, or which could be used to influence certain individuals should the need arise. Checking to be certain the new additions were secure, he closed and locked the door, then rotated the electrical panel back into place, noting the distinct 'click' that indicated that the latch had closed. He flipped the four breakers back into their locked state.

  He stood in place for a moment and considered the phones he'd acquired. They were specially altered by a company that created high-level encryption gear for the government's various covert agencies. The algorithms used were of the highest quality, and even NSA would require the programmable key, or access to multiple transmitted messages and a lot of time and luck to break the code. He should not have been able to get his hands on them. In theory, distribution of the phones was carefully controlled, but in truth the agencies that received them had no intention of letting anyone know who, or how many agents were actively using the devices, so no one really knew how many were in use, and where, at any given time. That was important for his intended plans for them.

  He had gotten the restricted devices because both he and the President were very close to the individual who owned the company that created them. That man owed the two of them considerable favors, and when Earl had shown up in Los Angeles with a special note from the President requesting a pair of the phones, he had readily complied. He understood that while it should never happen, if anyone asked, he knew nothing about a pair of the phones having gone missing or being used in an unexplained manner. He was to play dumb, lie, and admit to nothing. The President's special mission was a "need to know only" type situation, and no one the President failed to inform about the phones had such a need.

  Leaving the utility room, he headed across to his quarters, deciding he needed a shower, a beer, and a good night's sleep, in that order. Maybe he could start on the beer before the shower. He was hungry, but not so much he wanted to make his way into the kitchen area and scrounge something up, and he had a goodly supply of brew in the refrigerator in his study. There was too much chance he might encounter his cook or one of the other residents in the main area, and he wanted to be rested before he faced anyone.

  After almost forty hours without rest, Earl had expected to sleep until at least noon, but a working ranch could be surprisingly noisy, at least his could, and by six the next morning the activities outside had him thoroughly awake. He decided he might as well get out of bed, see what was happening, and fill the hole in his belly from lack of adequate nourishment.

  "Good morning," Ginny Holt said when he stepped into the kitchen a short time later. "Gus thought you were around. Said he saw lights in your room last night."

  Earl smiled and breathed in the heavenly smells of the kitchen. Ginny was his cook and overall Head of the Household. She coordinated all things associated with running the house itself, including calling in additional maid service when a cleaning was deemed necessary. In her mid sixties, she was ten years a widow, but as active as someone in her forties. She was also an exceptional cook, which was important because she single-handedly did the cooking for all of the ranch hands. A large, less grand dining hall extended into the west wing, opposite the formal dining area he had passed getting here.

  He'd walked out of his bedroom and then through his office, and then across the spacious living room to get here. The heavy double doors of the office were now wide open indicating he was present. Entering and leaving the east wing that way and leaving the door to the east wing hallway secured, closed off the area he conside
red his personal space. An open hallway was an invitation, but very few would venture into his office unless they had business there and he was present.

  "Morning, Ginny," he replied. "Was Gus looking for me?"

  Gus Willis was the ranch foreman, responsible for most everything outside of the house itself. That included the hiring and firing of all the ranch hands, they had between six and eight living on the ranch depending on the time of year. As well as seeing to the care and feeding of the dozen horses they maintained on the facility, and making sure that all competitive shows were supported. Earl was a rider himself, with a couple of medals for his performances on his cutting horse, a six-year old that he rode frequently. He tried to ride him in all the local shows, but only managed about half of the more distant competitions, at which time Gus had one of the trainer's riders support the horse show.

  Ginny shook her head. "He just noted that you were away, and that now you were back," she added. "What can I get you for breakfast? You look to be starving."

  "Whatever is handy," Earl said. "Just set it at my table. I'll be right back. I want to have a look outside."

  He stepped out of the kitchen door, noting that one of the large diesel trucks was hitched to the six-horse trailer. There must be a horse show coming up that he'd forgotten about. Two of his better horses were being led toward the trailer from the barn across the way.

  "Where are you heading?" he shouted toward one of the hands.

  "Reno," came the reply. "The show starts this Friday."

  Earl nodded. Now he remembered, but he's had no plans to attend that one. Another long drive just now didn't appeal. They'd be taking half of the horses, and three or four of the hands to help the trainer and rider when they got there. It would be a bit quieter around here for a few days. He watched the flurry of activity for a few minutes, and seeing Gus was more than busy enough, decided he could check in with him later. He stepped back inside and hurried over to where Ginny had already placed his breakfast.