Veil. Part 14

15.

Edward's chauffeur, on his instructions, drove around the Beltway, biding time. An hour and three brandies later, anxiety subsided, his trembling hands relaxed.

President Claymore's dossier outlined his two biggest secrets.

Charlie Ivory, dead, he could handle. The Middle East oil opened another matter.

Suraya Khomeini, arms dealer from Iran, sent him an invitation five years earlier inviting him to a private reception at the United Nations.

Edward eventually agreed to attend, and the large, imposing Iranian told him a pulsating, enriching tale.

Israeli researchers perfected the ground breaking science, molecular nanotechnology, and stood a few short steps from being able to manufacture inexpensive oil, without exploration, drilling or refining.

The technology provided the breakdown of structured matter, allowing the manipulation of molecular codes, and the production of natural resources the way a tree produced leaves. Israeli oil, for pennies on the dollar, would dominate the global market, and neuter every other country in the region. Israel named it Project Genesis, a new beginning.

Suraya estimated Genesis would be up and running in less than seven years, and asked Edward for help. He named his price. Prime oil land owners.h.i.+p for life. Six months later, Suraya sent word. It's a go.

Edward set up control of the White House. Suraya and his a.s.sociates planned Saddam Hussein's downfall. The President of the United States, (Charleston, if Edward succeeded) with strong support from the Senate and Congress, would step in to "help a wounded nation" by providing weapons, military advisors, and humanitarian support. Suraya and his partners would enjoy access to cutting-edge military technology and weapons, including an advanced nuclear program. A unified Muslim front backed up by nuclear weapons, would aggressively attack Israel.

Edward's part of the deal would be done. World War III could begin.

Edward ordered his driver back into D.C. proper, called Marilyn, Vernon, and Simon, and ordered them to the club right away. He'd light a fire and get them to find the evidence. He'd be clean. Then it wouldn't matter what President Claymore knew.

Edward stomped the foyer's marble floor like a bull. Patra, the club hostess, greeted him. "Your guests are waiting in private dining room number three."

He gave a gruff thank you and continued through the lobby. The club's old-fas.h.i.+oned elevator, complete with sliding gate and red paisley couch, inched to the third floor. Edward played the situation over in his head. The elevator stopped, he flung open the gate, took a few steps, then paused in front of an antique mirror.

A Rothschild stared back at him, bold, strong, in control. n.o.body's gonna f.u.c.k this up! n.o.body!

Marilyn, Simon, and Vernon, seated at the far end of the room, looked puzzled. Edward tossed his coat on a small couch behind Marilyn.

"I was in the middle of an important briefing at the Pentagon," hissed Vernon. "Don't you think this is a little dangerous?" Edward, hands on his hips, glared at them. "Have you confirmed Charlie's death?"

"Yes," said Marilyn, "I saw to it myself. Two hits, one in the stomach, one in the chest. I used a .30 caliber long-range rifle with armor piercing rounds. He's gone."

"What about the body?" asked Vernon.

"I don't know what they did with it. I checked the emergency dispatch logs. There were no calls from Veil's apartment. No cell phones either. They must've disposed of the body or hid it somewhere.

It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter," said Simon, sneering.

"No it doesn't," she said, cool and matter of fact. "A bullet riddled body would raise questions Veil couldn't answer, especially after Patrick Miller's death. He did us a favor."

"I agree," said Edward. "Which brings me to my next question." Marilyn looked down at the table nervously and cleared her throat.

"There's one problem."

They all waited.

"It seems Mr. Veil and Thorne videotaped Charlie. I watched them for about thirty minutes waiting for a clear shot. They asked questions and he talked. By the time I fired they were finished."

"I'll have their places searched. Maybe we can squash it right away," said Vernon.

"Tiss, tiss," said Simon. "Are you sure you couldn't have killed Charlie before they finished the tape? I mean, you heard what they were discussing."

Marilyn's face contorted. Simon chuckled.

"Enough," snapped Edward. "What about the evidence? If we get the evidence, the tape won't matter."

"We can track down the evidence," said Vernon. "At this point Veil is the only one who can lead us to it, so for now, he'll have to stay alive.

Simon can trail them, and call in if he sees something. I'll have a team ready to go at a moments notice."

"And I'll see to it that no more videotapes are made," Simon added, looking in Marilyn's direction. Her eyes narrowed.

Edward slid into a chair and cupped his hands on the table. "The White House knows about Charlie, and quite possibly, what we're up to."

The trio, their jaws on the table, looked horrified.

"How? What?" Vernon stuttered.

"I met with President Claymore this morning. He hinted that he knew about Charlie. How much, I'm not sure. Others in the White House might also know."

"Then they could already know about all of us," said Marilyn, panic in her voice. "And you called us right over here. Are you out of your mind?"

Edward leaned forward and backhanded Marilyn across the face. The slap stunned her, shocked Vernon. Simon smiled.

"Calm down," Edward growled, not missing a beat. "We can still get this situation under control. I need Robert Veil and his partner dead. I need that evidence found and destroyed, and I need it done right away.

If we wait much longer, President Claymore isn't the only one who'll have our a.s.ses on a stick."

n.o.body moved or spoke for several minutes. Edward searched their faces. Marilyn grinded her teeth, Vernon thumped the table with his fingers. Simon calmly sipped a gla.s.s of ice water, and watched the others.

"This changes everything Edward," said Vernon. "It's one thing to cover up an old mess that should've been handled a long time ago. Now we're digging the hole deeper. I don't like it Edward. I don't like it one bit."

"I agree," Marilyn said, sill angry, but under control. "This means somebody's looking over our shoulder watching our moves." Edward remained calm. "It's too late to reconsider," he told them.

"So let's talk about the problem at hand. Veil and the evidence. Get rid of both and we'll be in the clear. No one can make a move on us if we destroy the trail completely."

Vernon sprang to his feet. "We don't know where the evidence is Edward," he growled. "We don't even know if Veil does either. We can't just snap our fingers and make this go away."

"You're the Director of the CIA, Vernon. I suggest you and Miss London use your resources more effectively and take care of it. I'll handle the President."

"You'll handle the President? Just what does that mean?" Marilyn asked.

"That's my problem," said Edward, cold and firm.

Marilyn joined Vernon. "I'm sorry Edward. I'll give back the money. I'm out."

"I'm afraid I have to agree," added Vernon. "This has gone too far.

If we don't cut out now, we'll burn with you. It's not worth it." Simon, enjoying the ruckus, said nothing.

Edward slammed his fist on the table and pointed at them. "Let me tell you this," he said. "You can't get out. It's too late. The only way out is to kill Veil and destroy the evidence. It's the only way." Vernon walked to the door. "I'm sorry Edward," he said. He looked at the others, then left the room.

Marilyn's eyes stayed fixed but she didn't speak. "Goodbye Edward," she finally muttered, and followed Vernon out of the door.

Simon sucked his teeth and examined his nails. "Don't worry," he said, tossing a brown Bogart brim on his head. "I'll track Veil and his partner. Those two are just panicking. They'll come back." He cleared his throat. "You know, in light of the new developments, I think a more appropriate compensation is in order."

He walked to the door all smiles. "I'm sure you'll come up with an amount we can all live with. Let me know and I'll sell the others." He tipped his hat, bid Edward a better day, then left.

Edward looked at the bar, but decided he'd had enough to drink. He called Patra and told her to have his car ready. He'd call Simon later and make them a new offer. He checked his watch. Three-thirty. Four hours before Judge Patrick's reception. He headed for the snail-like elevator.

What more can this day bring?

16.

Robert divided up the brochures he found in Charlie's room with Thorne and searched his half. Neither found a trace of the old man or a clue to the evidence, in the mausoleums or the cemetery office files. The longer they searched, frustration mounted. They decided to make another pa.s.s and examine one crypt at a time. Robert went back through Lexington Cemetery in Virginia, but found nothing.

While Thorne continued the search, Robert went to Judge Patrick's estate. Lost in thought walking the grounds, he didn't notice Agent Sams next to him, a huge German Shepherd by his side.

"Just thought I'd let you know we've covered the entire estate. It's clean."

"Thank you Agent Sams. But do you think it's possible you can search it again?"

Agent Sams looked puzzled. "That'll make six times. I think five is more than enough."

"I understand, and you certainly don't have to take orders from me.

But please. Indulge me. For the judge's sake." Sams looked around the estate at his team. "Okay Mr. Veil, but after this I have to pull some of my men to get ready for the reception tonight."

"Thank you Sams. I know it's overkill, but this guy has slipped through one of the biggest manhunts in history." Sams' face twisted. "And don't think it doesn't have us heated. I'm gonna hang this guy's b.a.l.l.s from my rear view."

"You'll have to beat me to them first," said Robert.

They laughed, then Sams stared at Robert, like he had something on his mind.

"Anything else agent?'

"I'm curious about something."

"Oh?"

"Yes. How is it you and your partner get the run of the farm? I know you worked for the CIA and did a stint in the Marines. I've just never heard of such a thing."

Robert considered the question. Not the first time he'd been asked.

"It's cla.s.sified Agent Sams. No offense, but let's leave it at that." Robert headed to the main house. His mind drifted away from the Bear, to Iraq. From Rothschild, to Iraqi Freedom. One of his a.s.signments during the war was a clandestine operation, code name: Scorpion. Their mission: a.s.sa.s.sinate Saddam Hussein and any heirs to his dictators.h.i.+p. Intelligence on Saddam's whereabouts proved sketchy.

Instead of the monarch, they found members of Saddam's family including women and children. Their orders clear, no prisoners, the mission failed, sabotaged by him and Thorne. That, with their refusal to execute a group of scientists, and the bra.s.s had had enough. He and Thorne walked out on the government and never looked back.

Connected and well trained. Bounty hunters. Guns for hire.

Robert spotted Fiona standing on the balcony over looking the backyard, and saw the strain on her face. She waved. He answered with an encouraging smile before she turned and disappeared inside the house.

Robert didn't want to add to Fiona's problems, but something gnawed at him. Something he needed to address.

He crossed the patio and slid through the back door into the kitchen, where Caroline, Fiona's chef, prepared lunch for the federal agents.

Just beyond the kitchen, Robert admired the most elaborate family room he'd ever seen. Pool and ping-pong tables, a two-lane bowling alley, a vintage jukebox, arcade games, and just about every other toy a grown boy needed to stay entertained, surrounded a mammoth entertainment center with a sixty-inch plasma screen.

"I do love sports," said Fiona, behind him. He turned around. "My father turned me into a sports fiend," she continued. "I think he really wanted a boy."

"He could've adopted me anytime," said Robert, noting how lovely she looked in a sleeveless black sundress splattered with lime green flowers. "And you're certainly no boy."

The compliment drew a smile from Fiona, who blushed. "Thank you Mr. Veil. I didn't think you noticed such things. You're so caught up in your work."

"You're right. I do get caught up in my work. But I notice most things, Judge Patrick."

"Please call me Fiona."

"Ok Fiona, I do notice most things, especially the beautiful, and you should call me Robert." Flirting with a potential Supreme Court Justice.

I'm definitely moving up in the world. She seems to be in a better mood.

This is as good a time as any.

"Fiona, we have a problem."

"You mean it can get worse," she said, laughing. "How could there possibly be more?"

"I think the reception tonight is a bad idea," he told her. "You'll be far too exposed and I don't think you should take the chance." Fiona's light-heartedness melted away. "You want me to cancel on the President? The President of the United States!"

"Yes," he said, firmly. "It's just too dangerous. And it might be a good idea to send Jessica to stay with a relative, at least until the confirmation hearings are over."

Fiona walked to the pool table, tears streaming down her face. Robert followed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be alright, I promise you. We just have to take extra precautions."

"To h.e.l.l with you and your precautions," she said, knocking his hand from her shoulder. "I can't wave this off, it's crucial. Every member of the judiciary committee will be there."