Veil

37

U nbelievable, Edward thought. What happened to the evidence? How did things go so wrong? “Why did you let them go?” he bellowed, struggling to recapture his composure.

“I have my instructions,” said Vernon.

“Instructions! What instructions? I give the instructions around here!”

Vernon looked smug and arrogant. “Not exactly.”

“Look Vernon. Don’t let this little setback go to your head. I’m still running this show. Now, let’s get back to my office.”

“There’s nothing left to take care of, Edward. It’s over.” Edward felt his strength return. He walked over to Vernon and stood face to face.

“Are you coming or not? We have work to do. Don’t forget, you owe me everything you have, even your stinking life. Now, for the last time, are you coming?”

“I’m afraid not, Edward.”

Enraged, Edward whirled around and stormed toward the door. “First you blow it and let Veil get away, now this. I’ll…”

“Stop Mr. Rothschild and bring him back,” Vernon ordered.

Two agents blocked Edward’s path.

“I’m sorry, sir,” one of them said. “You’ll have to stay inside.”

“Get out of my way,” Edward snapped, trying to force his way by.

“Dammit, let me by!”

One of the agents strong-armed him back to Vernon and threw him to the ground in front of the casket. Edward jumped to his feet.

“Vernon,” he exclaimed. “What the hell is going on here? Let me out or you’ll curse the day you were born!” Vernon looked at his cell phone. “I already dread that day.” He handed Edward the phone. “It’s for you.”

“Who in the hell is this? He placed the phone to his ear. “Hello.” He heard only silence.

“Hello. Who’s there?”

“I guess you’re not at the top of the food chain after all,” the familiar voice said.

Edward felt dizzy. His legs wobbled. President Claymore!

“I really wish you’d found that evidence, Edward. It would’ve given me great pleasure to take it and have you tried for treason, murder, and anything else I could come up with.”

Edward couldn’t speak. He looked over at Vernon, who stared back with a blank face.

“I know this comes as a shock, Edward. I wanted to stop you sooner, but my directions were to let you find the evidence first. By the way, Ian Goldberg and your other Cosmos Club cronies send their regrets.”

“Mr. President,” said Edward. “There’s no evidence I’ve done anything.” His head reeled. He struggled to regroup. “Although I may have, Mr. President, been out of line from time to time.”

“Yes you have, and I’m sure you know things will be extremely different from here on out.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I agree. Things will have to be different.” There it is. The weakness. He’s going to let me go.

“You know, Edward, I can forgive almost anything. You’ve been a thorn in my flesh the entire time I’ve been in the White House, and you’ve done some pretty despicable things.”

“Mr. President, I’m sure…”

“You tried to have me killed, you bastard!”

“Mr. President, it wasn’t me. It…”

“Don’t deny it Edward. Your friends in the Middle East gave us all the details. Suraya was especially accommodating. He says you hired the death squad. Something about oil, remember? Vernon verified everything.”

Edward looked at Vernon. The Director smiled.

“Mr. President, there’s been a mistake.”

“Yes, not taking care of you a long time ago.” Edward hung his head, closed his eyes, and took a long, deep breath.

“You’ve got me, Mr. President. I admit my intentions concerning the oil, but I did not hire anybody to kill you.”

“What about President Kennedy, Edward? What about him?” Edward looked at the empty casket. “I have no knowledge of President Kennedy’s killers or conspirators, Mr. President. I’m just as curious as you. I wanted to find the truth.” President Claymore didn’t answer.

“Mr. President. Sir. Mr. President.”

“Listen, you self-serving son of a bitch,” snapped the President.

“You took something this country will never get back. You didn’t pull the trigger, but you killed him just the same.” Edward gritted his teeth. “Sir, the country was never that innocent, and neither was Kennedy.”

“No, Edward. No he wasn’t. But whatever he was, he didn’t deserve assassination.”

“Who deserves to die is a question for those who have power over life and death, Mr. President. Those in power decide. Who are we to criticize? Who are we to complain?”

“Edward, I have no hope for men such as you, but life and death are God’s decisions.”

“Men are instruments of God, sir.”

More silence.

“Goodbye Edward. I hope hell holds the answers for you.” The phone went dead and Edward handed it back to Vernon. So I won’t get the oil fields. So what.

“I’m going to my office, Vernon. Remember, you’ve disappointed me, and I won’t forget it.”

Edward tried to force his way past the agents but was pushed back.

He spun around, angry. Vernon pointed a gun at his head. “Leave us,” the Director said, calm and matter-of-fact.

“Vernon, what’s going on?”

The men left. Vernon steadied his aim. “Don’t look so surprised Edward. You played the game and lost. You know the rules better than anyone. In this game losers die.”

“You were there too! You’re as guilty as I am!”

“True,” said Vernon. “Life’s a bitch, huh?” Edward watched Vernon’s finger flex back on the trigger. He saw a flash, and something burned in his throat. He grabbed at it with both hands, elbows out, and dropped to his knees, choking and struggling for air.

He looked up at Vernon, pleading, begging. The gun discharged again, and the bullet tore through his skull.

He saw his father and grandfather, standing in a fog just a few feet away. Edward reached out for them, but they turned their backs.

You’ve failed.