Breach of Power (28 page)

A
t 1
:45 a.m., Jake saw headlights on Mountain Avenue coming toward the cemetery. One of the things he'd noticed about the western states was most of the roads were oriented either East-West or North-South. And they were long and straight. When the vehicle reached the entrance, it made a u-turn, headed east, and slowed. Jake pulled out his spyglass and searched for the vehicle.

It stopped in front of the Fort Collins Housing Authority. Same place he'd parked. He hoped his vehicle wouldn't raise suspicion. He readied himself. It shouldn't be long now and he would be facing Rudd's blackmailer.

Almost ten minutes passed and no sign of anybody. He remembered Wiley's advice;
Always let your quarry come to you.
He remained silent. Then he heard it. A faint sound at first, steadily growing louder. A shuffle step followed by a clank. Shuffle step. Clank.

The noise grew closer when another sound startled him. He heard a snort and then the sound of hooves pounding against the ground. It grew stronger. The ground felt like a stampede. The blackmailer had startled several deer and one of them was running straight at Jake. He pulled himself flush against the Crane grave marker. The Grandview Cemetery was a regular zoo at night, he thought.

Jake listened. Nothing.

The shuffle step had stopped. Jake knew the blackmailer must be close.

Too close for him to move.

A few moments later the blackmailer moved enabling Jake to get a better fix on the intruder's location. He eased a glance around the stone marker.

His target, shovel in hand.

The dark figure was hunched over a grave. A beam of light flashed across the marker of Michael Patterson Roundtree.

Jake silently withdrew his gun and stepped from behind the Crane monument.

"Arthur DeLoach. I've been expecting you."

The old man jumped. Even in the pale moonlight, Jake thought he could see the distress on the old man's face.

"How? Who are you?"

"I've come to put an end to your grave robbing," Jake said.

"How…how could you know?"

"Wasn't difficult. The Internet is a wonderful tool. You can research anything you want, but it leaves a trail. A cyber trail. And that's what you did. You left a trail. And the breadcrumbs led me here."

"What are you talking about?"

"You never should have tried to blackmail the President."

"What are you talking about?" The old man truly sounded surprised. "I haven't blackmailed anyone."

"Mr. DeLoach, We know about everything. We know you either copied or scanned Ashley Regan's journal when she brought it to you for restoration. We know you've been selectively digging up graves with stolen artwork in the caskets. What you didn't keep in your Charleston home, you sold."

"Sold? I have sold nothing." The old man sounded indignant. "You have made presumptuous accusations. The Nazis were the thieves who stole those art pieces. All I wanted to do is return them to their rightful place, the museums."

"Everything in your home has been seized," Jake said. "All of the art confiscated. Everything you have done has been for naught."

"You've been in my home?"

Jake nodded.

"You don't understand. When Ashley Regan brought me the book, I knew its value. I speak German. I knew what was in that journal. If I hadn't done it, she would have." DeLoach said. "She is the one who would have sold them. I have an appreciation and understanding of great art. These pieces need to be displayed where art lovers can go and enjoy them. If she had taken them then there is no telling where they would have ended up. These pieces don't belong in someone's private collection. They belong to the people. They should be in a museum. Ashley Regan is an idiot."

"Ashley Regan is dead."

"Dead?" DeLoach wobbled on shaky legs. "Oh my. No one was supposed to get hurt. I didn't want anything like that to happen."

"You should have turned this over to the authorities. People have died. And now, you're going to jail."

"I don't understand. I was so careful. How did you know? How did you find me?"

"Like I said, you can't blackmail the President of the United States and expect to get away with it. Those emails you sent were traced back to your computer. A tracker virus was uploaded and we followed you from cemetery to cemetery. Your computer led me here."

"My computer is at home." DeLoach's voice had become somber. "I never sent any emails."

"No, but I did."

The voice came from behind him. Before Jake could turn around, a blunt metal object slammed into his back. He fell to his knees. Pain radiated across his upper back.

"Zula Mae. No." DeLoach yelled.

T
he last thing
he remembered was the old man yelling somebody's name. As he regained consciousness he heard two people talking. Arthur DeLoach and a woman. She must have been the one who hit him from behind. Jake's head throbbed after she hit him with something and knocked him unconscious. His back hurt. His neck hurt. He lay face down on the ground and listened, trying to recap in his mind what had just happened and plan his next move.

He'd never considered DeLoach might not be working alone. In retrospect, he should have. The man was old, very old, and probably incapable of digging up the graves himself. It stood to reason he needed an accomplice with a strong back.

Jake tried to move. The groan was involuntary.

"Should I hit him again, Mr. Arthur?" The woman asked.

"No, Zula Mae. He's had enough." DeLoach responded.

"But, Mr. Arthur. You heard him. He knows everything. We have to kill him."

"Nobody dies tonight, Zula Mae." DeLoach paused. "Are you responsible for sending that email? Did you really try to blackmail the President of the United States?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Arthur," Zula Mae said. "You said those paintings were worth millions of dollars but you're giving them away. I do all the digging and you get all the credit. I want something too. I read your translation of the journal and your genealogy study of the President. If you won't use it against her, I will. If I can't get anything from these paintings, then I can get something from her. She'll pay to keep me from telling the truth."

Jake felt his holster between his chest and the ground. It was empty. Then he remembered, his gun was in his hand when she struck him. He looked up at the woman. She was standing over him holding a shovel like a baseball bat ready to take another swing. Judging by her silhouette in the moonlight she was a few inches shorter than DeLoach but considerably thicker. There was something about their verbal exchanges that sounded intimate. Not like lovers, but companions. A familiarity with each other that led Jake to believe they'd known each other for years.

DeLoach stood next to her holding his gun.

"Put down the shovel, Zula Mae." DeLoach pointed the gun at Jake. "He won't be any trouble."

Zula Mae lowered the shovel.

DeLoach backhanded her across the face.

She let go of the shovel and fell to the ground.

"You idiot," DeLoach said. "I told you I had ensured we could never be caught. If you needed money, you should have spoken up."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Arthur." Zula Mae pleaded. "You're an old man and won't live many more years. What happens when you die? What will I do when you're gone? How will I survive? I'm too old to look for another job. I was only looking out for myself."

"You should have brought your concerns to me," DeLoach said. "Now look what you have done."

Jake started to get up. DeLoach was fast with the gun.

He turned the gun back at Jake. "Stay on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them," He said. "Now, who are you?"

"I work for President Rebecca Rudd. She knows I'm here, as do several others. There is nowhere for either of you to go. If you turn yourselves over to me now, I will help you work out a deal with the President."

From the corner of his eyes he saw Zula Mae move. She grabbed the shovel and swung it at DeLoach. The tool struck him in the back of his knees. The old man collapsed to the ground. Jake's gun tumbled behind a gravestone covered in darkness.

"You will never hit me again, old man," she yelled. Zula Mae slammed the back of the shovel across the old man's forehead then jammed the blade into his throat.

In the darkness, the moonlight shimmered off the blood gushing from the man's neck.

Jake wobbled when he tried to stand. The woman raised the shovel above her head and charged at him. The blade of the tool came crashing down toward him. He rolled sideways as the shovel blade smashed within inches of his face.

He kicked the shovel from her hands, bounded to his feet, and lunged at the woman's midsection tackling her to the ground. She landed against a stone marker with a grunt and fell to the grass.

Jake landed on top of her pinning her to the ground. Her arms swung wildly at his face. He blocked her swings with his arms and yelled, "Lady, stop fighting."

"Okay." She was winded and spoke in choppy words. "Just get off of me."

Jake pulled himself off of her and took a step back. He moved toward DeLoach when Zula Mae kicked out and made a leg sweep, knocking his feet out from under him. He fell to the ground and the woman pounced on him.

They rolled on the grass grappling to gain the advantage. She kicked at his crotch and missed. She turned her fingernails into weapons and scratched his face. He pushed her away with his left arm and landed a punch with his right fist across her jaw. "I said stop fighting. I don't want to hurt you."

She didn't listen and started swinging her fists at him. He dodged the first jab but her second attempt landed a blow to the side of his head. His already throbbing head pounded harder. Every heartbeat felt like a drum beating against the side of his brain.

He'd had enough. He realized he would have to end this with brute force.

He knocked her away with a heavy push, sprang to his feet, and stepped away from the woman.

She pulled herself to her feet still full of rage. Apparently unwilling to stop, she lowered her head and charged him like a bull ready to gore its victims. He sidestepped her approach and with both hands together, fingers interlocked, he clubbed her in the back of the neck sending her crashing headfirst into a monument. Her head thudded against the stone. She fell to the ground and didn't move.

"Damn, you're one crazy-ass bitch." He looked down at her then pulled out his penlight and searched behind the stone marker where his gun fell. After he found it, he tucked it back in his holster. He walked toward DeLoach's body and flashed the beam from his penlight onto DeLoach's face. He saw the old man's throat gaped open from the blade of the shovel. A pool of blood soaked into the grass under the man's head.

Jake leaned over and checked the old man for a pulse.

Arthur DeLoach was dead.

Jake didn't hear as much as felt her vibration through the ground. The same vibration he felt when the deer charged only softer. He turned and the woman was rushing at him with a knife in her hands. The moment called for a split second decision. No more fighting.

He stepped behind the stone marker of Michael Patterson Roundtree, withdrew his handgun, and leveled it at her charging silhouette.

He fired two shots into the center of the target.

Zula Mae staggered and fell to her knees. She sat on her heels. He remembered the Special Forces mantra his old friend Gregg Kaplan always recited—
Two in the chest, one in the head works 100% of the time.

He took aim at the woman's head.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

He stopped, then relaxed his grip and lowered his gun.

Overkill, he thought.

The woman fell over.

Zula Mae, President Rebecca Rudd's blackmailer, was dead.

J
ake Pendleton
, Francesca Catanzaro, and Elmore Wiley sat in the Executive Conference Room located inside the Situation Room in the West Wing of the White House. Francesca had a bandage on her forehead and, since the last time he'd seen her in Nashville, had dyed her hair black. Wiley's arm was in a sling from the injury to his shoulder.

Rudd came in, sat down, and scanned through the documents in the folder. She didn't speak, not even a cordial greeting, just read in silence.

Tonight, the dark circles beneath her eyes were her most prominent feature. A lot had transpired over the past three days. The summit meeting was hailed a historic success. The resultant agreement considered a major step forward in the peace process by world leaders and a needed shot in the arm for the global economy. Rudd's public approval rating rose another ten points overnight. This first woman President now held the highest approval rating any President had ever received.

"Elmore," Rudd finally spoke, "I've always trusted your judgment. You've never steered me wrong. I did what you asked of me in Nashville." Rudd paused. "But now I've had time to consider the recent events and its impact on my Presidency. I have always held this job to the highest standards of honesty and dignity. To remain in office would be tantamount to a gross breach of power."

"Breach of power?" Wiley said. "Ms President, you need to look at the big picture. This country needs you. Right now, the world needs you. You are, hands down, the most influential person in the world. Even our enemies respect you and all that you've accomplished. To give up now would be to betray the trust every American has placed in you."

"Trust I do not deserve," Rudd said.

"Not true, ma'am." Jake spoke up. "Trust you have earned. You are the same woman you were one week ago. You still have the same passion and leadership that put you in this office."

"Under false pretenses, I'm afraid."

"How do you figure, ma'am?" Francesca said. "When you ran for office, were you aware of anything that would disqualify you as a candidate?"

"No, but I have that knowledge now, and it makes me ineligible to be President. And that's all that matters…
I know
. That's what I have to live with. If I don't step down, I would be in violation of my oath."

"With all due respect, Ms President, you're wrong." Wiley's voice sounded angry. "Why is
that
Constitutional requirement for presidency bothering you after three years in office? After everything you've accomplished, it doesn't make sense."

"You wouldn't understand," Rudd hesitated, and then continued. "I am no longer who I thought I was. I love this country and have always been proud to be an American…and now I've found out that it was all just a lie. Not only am I
not
a citizen of the country I love, my biological father was one of the worst murderers in history."

"Are you seriously going to contend that the natural-born citizen clause, something many feel is outdated, is so important that it trumps all the good you've done? Stepping down now is the wrong decision. Nothing good would come from it, only harm. Ms President, this is one of those times where you need to mindfully consider what is best for the country you serve. Put away your personal feelings of recent discoveries and focus on the positive things you have accomplished…and those you have yet to accomplish."

"I think it serves the country's best interest if I'm honest and forthright with what I know." Rudd said.

"Madam President," Jake looked at Wiley then back to Rudd, "then if that's the case I would assume it's in the country's best interest to also disclose that you had Senator Richard Boden executed."

The room went silent. Rudd glared at him. He could tell his statement took her aback.

Wiley pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Jake is absolutely right. Almost every President in history has crossed the line at some point. And, just like you, they've had to deal with their own moral dilemmas. Many, to the detriment of this country. Just glance back in history at how many Presidents have crossed the line or as you put it, a breach of power, and most without any real consequences. Remember George W. Bush and the Iraq WMD debacle? How about Truman and the IRS corruption charges or Warren Harding and the Ohio Gang? Iran-Contra. Watergate. The list is long, and in most cases, trumps the out-dated natural-born citizen clause. In each incidence, the line was crossed because they believed it served the nation's best interest."

"But, I killed my own brother." Tears welled up in Rudd's eyes.

"And saved my life doing so," Jake interrupted.

Wiley looked at Jake and then turned back to Rudd. "Your brother, whom you loved, was about to kill an innocent man and you made the moral decision not to let that happen. You could've let him shoot Jake, but you chose to do what was right.
That's
what makes you a great leader." Wiley paused. "Besides, there was no bullet found in your brother's body."

"What?" Rudd's mouth gaped open. "But you all saw me shoot him."

"Rebecca," the informal nature of Wiley addressing the President by her first name caught Jake off guard, "the
official
autopsy report stated he died from blunt force trauma from the explosion. There is no mention of a gun shot wound at all."

Rudd was silent for a few seconds. Jake could tell she understood the true meaning of Wiley's last remark. "What about the fire?"

"According to the fire marshal's report," Wiley continued, "the explosion was the result of a faulty natural gas valve on the crematorium. Unfortunately your brother and mother were inside embalming a female corpse."

"Abigail Love?"

"Fled the country," Jake said. "She's on the lam and Interpol has already been advised."

"What about the journal? That's what started this in the first place. Where is the book, Elmore?"

"Nothing in it is incriminating." Wiley reached into his briefcase and pulled out the leather journal. He placed it on the table and slid it toward President Rebecca Rudd. "See for yourself."

Rudd opened the book and flipped through the pages. "Why are so many pages faded and illegible? And why is there is no mention of my mother? Why are some of the other entries missing as well?"

"Madam President, there is nothing missing." Jake said. "Everything in the journal was written in pencil and much of it had faded beyond the ability to restore. The book was inside a glacier for over 65 years. What did you expect?"

"And Ashley Regan?"

"Still missing along with her partner Samantha Connors." Jake said. "Apparent boating accident in Butler, Tennessee. Authorities have been searching the area where she was last seen and have found nothing. The sheriff sent dive teams into the lake but nothing will turn up."

"Christa Barnett?"

Francesca spoke. "Ms. Barnett had a regulator malfunction while quarry diving near Athens, Tennessee and was forced to surface without a decompression stop. She drove to Knoxville to seek medical attention. After a few days in a hyperbaric chamber at the University of Tennessee Medical Center, she made a full recovery. She believes that after she translated the journal for Regan and Samantha Connors, they doubled crossed her, took the loot for themselves, and staged the boating accident. She was very upset her lifelong friend betrayed her. Her only crime was translating the book for Regan."

"And the translation," Rudd asked, "what happened to it?"

"Still missing with Regan and Connors." Francesca replied.

"I notice there is no entry for Butler, Tennessee." Rudd said. "What happened to that?"

"Apparently, there never was one." Wiley pushed his glasses up and made a one-handed hair swipe. "Part of the ruse to set up the boating accident scenario."

"What about the emails from the blackmailer?"

Wiley sat back in his chair.

Jake shrugged his shoulders. "What emails?"

Rudd shook her head. "Arthur DeLoach and his 60 year old house keeper?"

"Sad case of double cross." Jake smiled. "DeLoach only wanted to return the art works to the museums but his housekeeper got greedy and tried to cut him out of it. She attacked him with a shovel during a grave robbery in Colorado. He apparently shot her twice during the attack. They both died on the scene." Jake looked at Wiley then Francesca. "There were no emails that I'm aware of. Do you know of any?"

The two shook their heads.

President Rebecca Rudd was silent for several seconds. Finally, "Elmore looks like you've wrapped everything up in a nice clean package." Rudd looked at Wiley. "But I still have to do this."

"Rebecca, if you do this, then you will certainly be removed from office, but not for the reasons you think." Wiley's voice changed. Jake noticed calmness in his tone. "Every piece of evidence pointing to your past says one thing, you were born in Nashville, Tennessee in 1946 to Matthew and Heidi Katzer. There is no evidence to suggest you are not a natural born citizen. If you try to refute it, you'll create chaos for the government and your party. People will lose confidence in, not just you, but the system as a whole. And after you fought so hard to gain that confidence. Your mental competence will also come into question."

The four sat silent for several minutes. Jake could tell President Rebecca Rudd faced a moral dilemma of great magnitude. But this wasn't her first. After the success of the summit meeting, she was a shoe-in for a second term, which meant this wouldn't be her last dilemma either. Wiley had anticipated that Rudd would have a change of heart and gave Jake, Francesca, and George Fontaine meticulous instructions for sanitizing every aspect of Project Resurrection.

President Rebecca Rudd stood and walked across the room with the journal in her hands. She stood with her back to the table and tilted her head down. Jake could feel the tension in the room, not just from Rudd, but from Elmore Wiley as well.

Rudd took a deep breath. She raised her head, and with her back to them, finally spoke. "I guess we can't have the citizens of the United States believing their President has lost her ever-loving mind, now can we?" She turned around and faced them.

"No, ma'am." Francesca said. "This country is fortunate to have a leader like you."

Rudd held up the journal. "Any ideas how I should handle this?"

"I have one." Jake said. "You have a golden opportunity to turn Project Resurrection into a positive."

"I'm listening," the President said.

"Commission a military task force to exhume every casket listed in the journal that hasn't already been robbed. Have them remove the items, catalog and store what they find, then reinter the soldiers' remains. After all the stolen treasures have been recovered, announce to the world what you have found and return the recovered items to the country of origin. It's a win-win. The world recovers what the Nazi's stole from it in World War II and you can clear your conscience by righting the wrongs of Wolfgang Fleischer."

Rudd looked at him without speaking then she faced Elmore Wiley. "What do you think?"

Wiley looked at Jake. "I think Mr. Pendleton has offered you wise counsel."

"I think so too." Rudd walked over to her chair and picked up a portfolio. She looked at Jake and Francesca. "I can't thank you enough for your discretion and dedication. I owe you a debt of gratitude the likes of which I can never repay." She handed the portfolio to Elmore Wiley and turned to Jake and Francesca. "We'll be talking soon."

Wiley opened the portfolio and pulled out a document and a letter sized manila envelope. He held up the document. "I forgot to mention, the President and I have worked out a deal. From now on, your assignments will originate from here, the White House." Wiley handed Jake the envelope. "Here's your next assignment, I'll meet you back at Commonwealth in an hour."

Jake and Francesca left President Rebecca Rudd and Elmore Wiley alone in the Situation Room and were escorted out of the White House.

J
ake opened
the envelope in the backseat of one of Wiley's Black Crown Victoria limos.

"Well?" Francesca said. "Where are we going?"

Jake handed her the letter. "See for yourself."

"Interesting," she said, "this doesn't sound easy."

Jake looked at Francesca and smiled. "When I was in the Navy they used to say,
the only easy day was yesterday.
" Jake pointed to the letter. "We have to make a detour on the way, though."

"A detour? Where are we going this time?"

"Georgia."

"What for?" She asked.

"I need to get my mail."

"For real? What could possibly be in your mail that's so important we have to detour from our mission?"

"A key.”

Y
ou’ve reached
the end of
Breach of Power
. Thank you for taking the time and I hope you enjoyed it. Please take the time now to leave a review on Amazon. Click
HERE
to take to the Amazon review page for
Breach of Power.

D
on’t miss
Chuck Barrett’s next thriller, sign up for his newsletter
HERE
.

L
IKE my
Facebook
Page
.

F
ollow me on
Twitter
.