6:46 p.m.
Director Jameson tossed his cell phone on the desk and leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head. He had not been able to reach Special Agent Cruz for the past three hours. It was unlike her not to take his call, even if it was after hours. After Senator Hastings had called to inform Jameson of the meeting between Hastings and Cruz, Jameson had called her. After several failed attempts, he finally contacted Martin O’Neal, who brought the Director up to speed on everything that had transpired. The last time anyone had heard from Cruz, she was on her way to meet with Senator Hastings.
Jameson had wanted to speak with Cruz personally before going to the President, but Jameson felt he needed to get the President involved sooner rather than later. He called President Conklin on the President’s private number. When the President answered, he sounded distracted. Jameson could hear a sporting event in the background.
“I apologize for calling so late, Mr. President, but I have to talk to you about a matter that has come to my attention.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
The President knew his Director would never have bothered him so late, unless it was important. “Let’s meet in the Oval Office in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
When Director Jameson entered the Oval Office, the President was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, holding a coffee cup. He had recently turned fifty-five and was in great shape for a man of his age. His hair was gray, but showed no signs of balding. He wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, top button undone, and a pair of black slacks and black casual loafers. When he saw the door open, he put the cup on the coffee table and motioned for Jameson to join him.
Armed with the information he had received from Martin O’Neal, Jameson told the President everything that had happened in the last twenty-two hours, starting with the explosion at the tavern. When he had finished, he sat back on the couch and waited for the President. After several moments of staring at the documents on the coffee table in front of him, the President took a deep breath and spoke.
“Do you think these events are related?”
“The evidence would seem to suggest that, sir.”
The President turned his attention away from the papers. “I didn’t ask you what the evidence would suggest. I asked you what you think.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence, sir. These men showed up at the hospital within hours of the explosion. Only a handful of people knew there was a survivor. The media was still reporting that everyone in the tavern had been killed. That means someone high up tipped off someone else and that someone sent a team to intercept Hardy. So, to answer your question, sir, I think these events are related.”
The President pursed his lips and slowly nodded. “And Hastings?”
Jameson thought for a moment before answering. It was no secret that he and Hastings had a strained relationship. They were cordial to each other out of respect for the President. Any accusations against the Senator could be construed as vengeful on Jameson’s part; however, he had to be honest with his boss.
“I believe the evidence—” Jameson stopped himself. “I believe Senator Hastings is somehow involved, either directly or indirectly. I know he’s a close friend of yours and he and I don’t see eye to eye on most things, but I feel I need to be straight with you, sir.”
President Conklin was well aware of how his director and the Senator felt about each other, and knew how difficult it must have been for Jameson to bring this matter to his attention. Chuck Hastings had been a close friend for many years, but the President had great respect for his director, too, valuing the man’s insight and opinion on serious matters.
The President stood and rested his hands on his hips, studying the papers on the table. “All right, but we’re going to need a hell of a lot more than this,” the President wagged a finger at the papers, “if we’re going to go after a man of Hastings’ power.”
“I’ve already begun the process of getting search warrants for The Tucker Group and Senator Hastings.” Jameson gathered the papers and put them in the manila folder.
The President cautioned the FBI Director. “None of this reaches Hastings until we are one hundred and ten percent sure he’s guilty. He’s smart, really smart.”
“I understand, sir.” Jameson stood. “But if Hastings is involved, he’ll know something is up shortly after we raid The Tucker Group.”
“Then we’ll have to be prepared to move fast, Phillip.”
Jameson nodded and left the Oval Office.