In the safety of his D.C. office, Corbin Jackson was trying to formulate a plan to determine who was sniffing his tracks. A sharp knock on the door shocked the former president out of his thoughts. Only AG Smart knew he was coming here, but he would never risk coming here himself. It would be an almost certain loss of any remaining secrecy about his part in the plan, or his cover for his previous affair. Either one would surely end the AG’s career, and likely get them both killed. Another knock, more insistent than the first, left him no choice but to answer.
He felt the color drain from his face as two men in suits shoved FBI badges in his face and barged into his small office.
“Mr. Jackson, we need to ask you a few questions,” said the taller of the two men. His voice was gruff, and there was a definite lack of respect on his part. He jerked at his black, thin tie, as if he knew it wasn’t exactly straight.
“What’s this about?” Jackson snapped, trying to remain calm. The fact that they didn’t address him as “Mr. President” left no doubt that this would be a serious line of questions.
“We have reason to believe you are connected, or at least know people who are connected, to several dead bodies here in Washington,” said the smaller man, who wore an ill-fitting polyester blend black suit with a black tie identical to his companion’s, “and all these corpses are tied to China in some way. I’m sure you can understand our concerns about your frequent trips to mainland China.”
“This is ridiculous!” Jackson blurted. “Unless you have a warrant, get out of my office, NOW!”
“We’ll be back with one, but you would be better served by cooperating with us than by delaying things. That is, if you have nothing to hide,” the small guy said.
“Get out NOW!” Jackson yelled, shoving them out of his office and slamming the door behind them.
Jackson was in a state of sheer panic, but he knew he had to get in touch with his Chinese bosses. He just wasn’t sure how to do it without the whole operation blowing up in their faces. If the FBI had already made the connection between him and the Chinese, they surely had tapped any and all of his phone connections, and his e-mail, too. He poured himself a neat whisky and stared at the glass for ten minutes, trying to calm down and come up with a plan, both at the same time, which was very inefficient.
Finally, he decided to call his old friend, Senator Frank Mitchell, to ask to meet with him “to catch up on what was going on in the Senate.”
He got through to Senator Mitchell on his cellphone. “Hey, Mitch, you got time for a drink?”
“Depends. You buying?” the senator asked.
“I’m buying, but let’s meet in my office,” Jackson said. “Can you do that?”
“Let me see if I can shake loose for an hour or so,” Mitchell said. “How about I come down around, say, three o’clock?”
“That sounds good,” Jackson said, and he felt some of the terrible tension flow out of him. He sank into his chair and leaned against the tall back, feeling relieved, although he didn’t believe for a moment the senator would be able to pull him out of this mess.
True to his word, Frank Mitchell strolled into Jackson’s office at five minutes to three o’clock.
“Hello, Mitch.” Jackson rose quickly, somewhat refreshed from the power nap he squeezed in right after he spoke with the senator on the phone.
“We need to go get a drink, Mr. President.”
Jackson pointed at the well-stocked bar, but caught himself before he said anything. “You pick the place, Mitch,” he said, smiling at his quick grasp of what Mitchell was getting at.
Collecting his briefcase and a jacket, he followed Mitchell to his silver Lexus, which was parked in a No Parking zone just outside the entrance to Jackson’s office building. They got in.
“Hi, Clancy,” Jackson said to the chauffeur, whom he’d known for years.
“Hello, sir,” Clancy said, glancing out his side mirror before easing out into traffic. All three men kept an eye out all around them constantly, checking to see if they were being tailed. They didn’t appear to be, so Mitchell had Clancy stop at a well-known and upscale bar a few blocks away from Jackson’s office.
Clancy let them out at the door. “Just call me when you’re ready to leave, sir. I’ll find a spot nearby.”
“Thanks, Clancy,” Mitchell said. “We won’t be long.”
As Clancy drove off, Mitchell steered Jackson through the broad glass doors and into the semi-dark bar. He led the way to a small round table near the back wall so they could keep an eye on who came and went.
“We may have a problem…” Jackson started, but Mitchell stopped him as a waiter came over to take their orders. Jackson ordered a Glenfiddich single malt whisky on the rocks; Mitchell ordered a Vesper Martini, channeling his James Bond and Bond girl Vesper Lynd from Casino Royale. They chatted until the waiter returned with the two drinks.
“Now, then, Corbin, what’s so damned important?” Frank scowled at Jackson, and the former president felt his previous tension start to creep back into his temples. He took a sip of the scotch, then he rested his elbows on the table and started his tale.
“Two FBI guys came to my office right before I called you. They said they had some questions for me about my time in China. They made it clear they suspect there may be a connection between my travels and the mess back here.”
Mitchell glared at him. “First of all, they don’t suspect shit; they know!” he half-whispered fiercely. “They’re fishing for evidence now, and you’re just stupid enough to give it to them!”
“I didn’t tell them anything, Mitch, I swear! I told them to get the hell out of my office unless they had a warrant because I had nothing to say to them!”
“And just how long do you think it will be until they get one, Jackson?” the senator asked through clenched teeth, his lack of respect and full-blown anger showing as he spat out Jackson’s last name and no title.
Jackson, whose teeth threatened to chatter, said, “Look, I’ll lay low for a bit, but I need to get word to the Chinese about what happened. I need you to deliver that message.
Mitchell was ominously quiet for a moment, then he started to smile. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we just get back in my Lexus and drive it off a bridge into the Potomac? What do you think these Chinese thugs will do when you tell them the FBI is up your butt and knows about your connection with them? You idiot, you won’t live fifteen seconds after you spill your guts to those yellow-faced goons, and the same goes for me if I carry that screwball message for you!”
All the color left Jackson’s face as it began to dawn on him Mitchell was right. The Chinese would never let them live, knowing they could testify about Chinese involvement.
“What can we do, Mitch?” Jackson was back in the throes of panic.
Mitchell shook his head and wondered how such an airhead ever got himself elected president of the United States. He also wanted to kick his own ass for becoming involved in a complex scheme with such an imbecile, even if the potential payoff was almost unimaginable wealth.
“Look, Jackson,” he said sternly, “let’s think through this. The reality is that these guys may have nothing to do with the FBI. The timing’s too convenient. They are likely joined at the hip to the same people that have been all over us for the past few months. If they are FBI, they’ll be back at your office within an hour with a warrant.” He glared at his partner in crime. “And they won’t find anything, right?”
“Right,” said Jackson, but he didn’t sound too positive about it.
“Okay. If they aren’t FBI and are on a fishing expedition, we may just have time to do some fishing of our own. Either way, the last people on earth we want in on this are the Chinese. The minute they find this out, you and I are going swimming in concrete shoes. Do you understand?”
“I do now,” Jackson said, his voice trembling. “Thanks, Mitch.”
“Don’t do anything but go back to your office and wait,” Mitchell ordered. “Either the FBI will show up with a worthless warrant or I’ll get instructions to you some way. Your office, your car, or your apartment―those are the only places you will be until you hear from me. Is that clear?”
Jackson nodded that it was, but he had never been so frightened in his life. For the first time in a long time, revenge and money seemed unimportant. All he wanted now was to get out of this alive.