Veil

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 ownership for life. Six months later, Suraya sent word. It’s a go.

Edward set up control of the White House. Suraya and his associates 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-fashioned 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. Nobody’s gonna fuck this up! Nobody!

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 asses on a stick.”

Nobody 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 glass 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?