Chapter 90
Chapter 90
M aynard scurried like a rat through the tunnels without being told where to go. He knew them by heart. He rode the elevator, exited on the seventh floor, and turned north. He was wasting no time. He entered the condo quietly and walked directly to the master suite, where the lights were dim. He saw the two figures in bed, but unlike Ladstrom, he did not investigate. That had already been done. By his trusted friend. So Waylon Maynard, respected senator and friend of the people, undressed to his birthday suit and then walked to the bedside where he stood looking down. Having been conquered but still able to conquer.
Right about there, my fist broke his jaw.
Smart and powerful men are not always smart when it comes to their physical desires, especially after they’ve been made to feel less powerful. Add to that a sense of entitlement and a healthy dose of anger, and you have the perfect recipe to convince a six-term senator with bad intentions to stand naked over a king-size bed where two innocent children lay sleeping under a heavy haze of medication. He thought he could get away with it.
My fist convinced him he could not.
I had him tied to a chair at the foot of the bed and limited his movements to facial expressions. When he came to, he was not happy. He was also as naked as the day he was born. Which, once he realized he was being recorded, he liked even less and began touting the magnitude of trouble I was in holding a sitting senior senator and future presidential candidate against his will. Then he said something about how I would not like the federal prison system and how he would use every lever within his power to make sure they put me next to some horrible people. I tuned him out and let him spit all over himself.
Senator Vesuvius oozed hatred for several minutes. Kicking. Screaming. Promising retribution to the third and fourth generation. Add to that a goodly amount of alcohol, along with a little something Camp injected into his system to help loosen his tongue even further, and he was fit to be tied and had to stop and catch his breath. At which point I suggested he might want to consider adding some cardio to his nonexistent fitness routine.
After ten minutes of speaking some of the most evil words I’d ever heard in my life, the senator finally took a moment to look around and realize his predicament. When he saw the picture more clearly, he turned to me. “How much?”
Camp spoke for both of us. “Hundred million.”
“Done. Account number?”
Camp sat typing into his laptop. “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” Amazingly, the senator obliged without hesitation. Gave Camp the account and routing numbers and passcode. Camp, curious to see if it actually worked, entered all the numbers and pressed return. When he checked the account seconds later, it read, “Pending.” He nodded. Almost in surprise. “I think it worked.”
The senator huffed. “Of course it worked, you moron. Now cut me loose. And get the...” He rattled off several cusswords that expressed his great displeasure.
Thanks to Bones, Freetown had set up accounts worldwide. This allowed us to seize assets pretty much anywhere and use them for whatever purposes we deemed necessary. Without government interference. Were we acting above the law? Yes. Of course we were. Something I had no problem with when I was staring at degenerates like Waylon Maynard. Camp was accessing one of our Swiss accounts, and although I highly doubted Ashley would let us, we had talked about giving the money to Miriam, Ruth, and Sadie. I figured we could have that conversation later.
When the word changed to “Executed” and the account balance showed the nine-figure increase, Camp nodded. “Done.”
I pulled a chair up in front of Maynard and turned it around, resting my arms on the back rest and staring quietly while he sat there exposed to the world. He did not like the silence. That was when he really started bargaining. “He told me about you.”
Of course I wanted to know who “he” was, but I waited. I figured it’d spill over eventually.
“Said you could ruin everything.” He laughed. “Which of course you did.” More laughter. “Which we were all so glad to hear. I couldn’t wait for that demented sick man to die.”
I thought that was the pot calling the kettle black, but I kept my mouth closed.
“I was there the day you showed up. Frank finally had Bones.”
There it was. The piece I’d been waiting for. I kept quiet.
“I don’t know how you got to him, but I’m so glad you did. Wish I’d been there.”
This was about to get good. I almost wished I had popcorn.
Maynard began to see the writing on the wall. “I’m one of the seven. Does this make sense to you?”
I nodded, while also slightly amused. Breaking his jaw hadn’t affected how much he talked, but it had definitely changed the sounds coming out. They sounded more garbled. Less controlled. Maynard was coming apart. Fraying at the seams. And he knew it.
“The other six are even now jockeying for position. To secure, expand, and eliminate. If you want to know everything, and I do mean everything, what can you offer me?”
With that, the door opened and Aaron Ashley walked in. Fresh from his press conference. Still wearing his lambswool jacket. Maynard turned, his eyes focused, and all the color drained out of his body. “Aaron, I didn’t know. I swear to—”
Aaron raised a hand while Maynard sat in a cold, frothy sweat. I studied the juxtaposition. One man had spent his life hell-bent on power. Now his house of cards had come crashing down and he sat here humiliated, realizing he was not in charge and all his conniving had come to nothing. His only goal had been to dominate, subjugate, and control. The other man had never grasped for power. Had never assumed anything. He had served. Fought for, with, and alongside. Yet here he stood. He had ascended. Soon to be one of the more powerful men in the world. A striking contrast.
I stood, and Aaron sat in my chair. Eye to eye. Staring at Waylon. I wondered what he’d do and how much physical restraint it took to not physically destroy the man who had paid for and personally violated his daughters. Whatever the case, Aaron didn’t lay a hand on him. Which said a lot. He turned to the table next to him and spun Camp’s computer so Maynard could view the screen. Then he pushed Play.
Having backdoor access to the computers in Maynard’s Virginia farmhouse, Eddie and BP had uncovered a treasure trove of videos of Maynard doing unspeakable things, which, we can only assume, he had stored for his later enjoyment. Maynard’s problem was simple. The current montage would put him in prison for the next thousand years. After several uncomfortable minutes for Maynard, the images switched to the Alaska cabin. Jess had crafted the video in such a way that Ashley was not forced to watch sadistic actions committed on his daughters but Maynard was forced to watch himself commit perverted and demented actions upon the daughters of the very man sitting in front of him.
I wasn’t sure how Ashley refrained from hurting Maynard. But he did. He exercised a restraint I didn’t possess.
When the video looped through a second time, Aaron stood and pressed Return. Doing so transmitted the video to local news agencies. The faces of all the girls and boys had been blurred. Maynard’s had not. In ten minutes, the court of public opinion would be calling for Maynard’s head on a platter. Camp then opened the door, and Bill Stackhouse walked in with local police. About then was when Maynard’s world crashed to a halt. The plan was to allow the legal process to unravel all of Maynard’s hopes and dreams, and then we’d offer him a deal to move him to a facility where very talented people could mine him for information, all while being watched over by my cell-phone friend Steve. Steve said he’d be delighted. Things did not look good for Maynard.
Camp, Gunner, the vice president, and I walked out into the cool night air as Bones emerged from the shadows. Bones was the first to congratulate Ashley. “Congratulations, sir.”
Ashley had aged. And while his strength was returning, he had not escaped the DC swamp unscathed. The internal scars showed on his face. He nodded, made almost no expression, and stared at the three of us. “You three will be receiving a commendation. A medal. Our nation’s highest. I’ll hang it around your neck in my office. You get to touch it. Stare at it. Then hand it back and we’ll keep it for fifty years, at which time, if you’re still alive, you can have it back. Tell your grandkids about it.” He paused, looked each of us in the eye. Ashley had come far. The light was returning to his eyes. “I am in your debt. More than you’ll ever know.”
While Stackhouse loaded a kicking and screaming and naked Maynard, which was not a pretty picture, into a van, I made a phone call. He answered after seven rings. And then, only a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
“In about a week, you’re going to get a new cellmate. Presidential directive. He’s an unlikable fellow. In fact, you won’t like him at all. But if you’ve ever wanted a shot at redemption, this is it. Let me know what you find out. I have a feeling the longer he stays and the more uncomfortable he becomes, the more he’ll say. He’ll use it as leverage. Thinking somehow his information will give him access to more comfort. Eventually it will, but in the short term, he’s yours.”
“He got a name?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
A pause. “Hey, Murph.”
“Yeah.”
“I know I’m on thin ice, but can I ask a favor?”
“You can ask.”
“My daughter. She’s... well, let’s just say she didn’t win the lottery in the dad category, so she’s a bit of a tough nut to crack. Anyway, she’s crazy brilliant smart. Can code anything. Never seen a computer she couldn’t hack. Having some trouble getting into a few colleges because her test scores are subpar.”
“I thought you said she was smart.”
“She is. She hates tests. So she answers a few questions and walks out.”
“So she’s got authority issues?”
“I’m to blame for that. I was never there. Anyway, she can’t afford the good schools. She pretends to be a Georgetown student, wears the sweatshirt, works at a coffee shop, lives on somebody’s couch, goes to lectures, but she’s not. She hacked their system, got herself accepted, awarded herself a tuition scholarship, and is somewhere in her junior year, but she’s bored out of her mind and flirting with darkness and dark people. Can you help her? Anything is better than what she’s doing. I’m afraid if she continues down that path, it’ll be a while before she gets off. By then, it’ll be too late. I’ve tried but she won’t listen to me, which is understandable. I was not, am not, a good dad. She’s had a rough go but she rescued every stray cat in our neighborhood when she was a kid and never met a bully she didn’t stand up to. She’s a fighter. And she deserves a chance. I realize I can’t do anything for you—I have no right to ask you—but she’s my daughter.”
“I make no promises.”
“Thanks, Murph.”
“Stay in touch.”