Veil of Civility

Chapter Thirty-Five

David Kemiss hung up the phone and dialed another number.

"I made the necessary calls. There'll be a federal warrant releasing McIver into your custody by morning," he said, as he poured two fingers of Glenmorangie into a glass and turned towards the window behind his walnut desk. With his office located on the fifth floor at the corner of Delaware Avenue and C Street, he could see the entirety of the Upper and Lower Senate Parks from his window. With the sun setting behind it, the waterworks of the Senate Garage Fountain glowed orange and the cherry blossom trees swayed in the light breeze; within the next month their pink and white flowers would be at full bloom.

"And what am I supposed to do with him once he's in my custody?" Castellano asked, over the secure connection.

Kemiss was certain Castellano already knew the answer. "This has gone on long enough, Seth. No more hired guns." He took a sip of the amber-colored spirit in his glass and listened as Castellano took a deep breath.

"Unless you want this entire thing to unravel at our feet," he continued, "you need to take care of this guy personally this time. You're a creative guy, I trust you'll find just the right place and time to make sure Declan McIver is no longer a problem for us. Any idea what he was looking for?"

"It appears that the owner of the security company somehow got our men to fill out DOJ paperwork."

"That could have been disastrous. I thought you said this guy, this Jack Turlington, was a professional soldier?"

"It doesn't matter what he was. He's dead. McIver saw to that and now I've got the paperwork, or rather I had the paperwork."

"Still, McIver's seen it. Any chance that he was able to transfer it to anyone?"

"I don't think so. He didn't have it that long and he was running the entire time. Besides, it really doesn't matter. Turlington was paid in cash and now that he's dead, he can't talk about who hired him. Either way you look at it, it's a dead end. What about the wife? What do you want me to do about her?"

"According to your interview with her at the hospital she didn't actually see anything, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll deal with her later when she surfaces from whatever hole her husband has hidden her in."

"I found out earlier today that she mentioned a fishing cabin to a neighbor. The lady didn't know where it was, but it can't be too far away. There are probably two dozen rivers and at least a handful of lakes within a short drive of Roanoke, but we'll find it. I've got people on it now."

"Good. Call me in the morning once you're done and we'll get this thing back on schedule."

He set the receiver loudly down on its cradle before turning back to the window. He watched as the flashing lights of a Capitol police car patrolled the closed off section of Delaware Avenue, its driver shining a spotlight into the grove of cherry blossom trees at the edge of Upper Senate Park. Kemiss didn't like the idea of killing innocent people, but if he played this right than there wasn't an office in the land that was out of his reach. After all, it had been the war hawks in the previous administrations that had brought them to this point. Their constant imperialistic attitude towards other sovereign nations was what had set men like Ruslan Baktayev and those allied with him against the United States and set the stage for the continued acts of terrorism being suffered around the world. In the last year alone there had been three successful attacks on US embassies abroad and one had resulted in the death of a prominent ambassador. Bringing the kind of attack that was planned to the home front after nearly twelve years of avoiding any serious disasters on U.S. soil was a natural progression and with the electorate's distaste of lengthy wars and the expenditures that came with them, the success of such an attack would be a devastating blow to right-wing candidates and could all but ensure the victory of the opposite party in coming elections. And with the renewed vigor of leadership during a crisis under his belt, he'd be poised to regain much of his former prestige. What else could happen, a full scale invasion of Chechnya? He nearly laughed at the idea.

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. Could a man not get some peace and quiet? Who would it be this time? Certainly it wasn't some petulant voter wanting to take issue with him over a piece of legislation; constituents were only given the switchboard number and more often than not asked to leave messages. The few constituent phone calls he took were scheduled for only a few times a month and normally only lasted for a maximum of half an hour. It was probably some overly dedicated reporter looking for quotes about the latest sleazy story to ooze out of the beltway. Who did he have to pretend to be outraged by now? He had staff that was supposed to handle such things. He glanced at his watch as the line stopped ringing.

From outside the office he could hear a male voice; he quietly stood and walked around his desk. Apparently someone was still around. He'd thought that he was alone and that his conversation with Castellano couldn't be overheard, but perhaps that was too much privacy to ask for in Washington. He should have been more careful. He didn't recognize the voice but it had to be one of the interns who were constantly buzzing around during the day. Their faces were a blur to him and he had to be reminded of their names constantly, but they had their uses. He stepped through a set of double wooden doors and into the outer room where his secretary normally sat. Sitting at her desk was a thin young man with gelled hair and glasses.

"Thank you for calling," he said, as he hung up the phone and looked up at Kemiss. "I didn't realize you were still here, Senator. Sorry."

"Working late, are you?" Kemiss asked, making a motion with his hand for the boy to say his name.

"Colin Bellanger, sir."

"Right, Colin. A bit late to be answering the phones isn't it?"

"Sorry, sir."

Kemiss knew the boy could have easily overheard the conversation just by sitting where he was, but what could he do about it? This was how secrets became headline news. Castellano had started out sitting in the same chair fifteen years earlier and had probably overheard his share of private exchanges as well. That relationship had certainly blossomed so Kemiss quickly decided the best way to handle Bellanger was the same approach; give him exactly what people who applied to be interns wanted; a foot in the proverbial door.

"Why don't you put the phone through to the switchboard and come talk to me for a bit. I like getting to know the new faces around here, especially the ambitious ones that like to work late."