Extreme Measures (23 page)

CAPITOL HILL

S
ENATOR Lonsdale stepped quietly out of her Capitol office and onto the veranda. She stood still and took in the beautiful sight before her. The setting sun was bathing the alabaster columns of the Supreme Court in a brilliant orange glow, but it was lost on her. She was frozen like a love-struck teenager staring at Wade Kline as he stood with his back to her, one hand on the stone railing and the other holding a cell phone to his ear. She’d never seen him with his suit coat off, and her eyes worked their way from his broad shoulders down to his narrow waist and finally his backside. Lonsdale took in a slow breath as she bit down softly on her bottom lip. She may have had crushes like this as a teenager but never such erotic thoughts.

Since her husband’s death she’d had her fair share of lovers, but none this young.
This
, she told herself,
would have to be handled very discreetly.

Kline turned around and greeted Lonsdale with a smile as he held up a finger. “I have to go,” he said. “The senator is here. I’ll call you later.”

Something about his tone told Lonsdale that it was a woman. “Who was that?” she asked as casually as possible.

Kline hesitated and then said, “My wife. She’s up in New York.”

“Oh,” Lonsdale said as she noted that he didn’t tell her he loved her before hanging up. “Do you commute?”

“Yes and no,” he said a bit sheepishly. “I have an apartment down here, but my workload is pretty heavy, so I’m lucky if I get back every couple weeks.”

“Well,” she said as her eyes danced over his body once again, “you obviously find time to work out.”

“It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“Just remember, life can be short. I found that out the hard way with my husband. He worked seventy, eighty hours a week, building his family business and he ended up dropping dead at age forty-five.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s all right,” she said in a lighthearted voice. “He gave me a beautiful daughter and a lot of financial security.”

“I’m sure the beauty comes from you,” Kline said with a smile.

“Well, thank you.” Lonsdale had learned long ago how to take a compliment. “Are you in the mood for a drink, or just a smoke?”

“I’d love both.”

“Good.” Lonsdale walked back inside. “I’m having a vodka on rocks with a lemon twist. What would you like?”

“The same, but let me get them. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll take care of it.”

Lonsdale got him started and then retrieved her cigarettes and lighter and met him back out on the veranda. Kline gave the senator her drink and said, “God, I need this.”

Before he could get it to his lips, she stopped him and said, “A toast.” She extended her glass and said, “To living a life without regrets.” Lonsdale gave him a little wink and then took a sip.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“So how was your day?”

“Pretty shitty,” Kline said in a matter-of-fact way. “In fact… I’d say it was one of the worst days I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.”

Lonsdale set her drink down on the small black bistro table. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“What happened?”

He thought back on the day, regretting rather intensely that he had given in to his more basic instincts and even worse that he been so foolish in underestimating Rapp. When you stripped it all away the man was a Goddamn professional killer. Even if only a third of the rumors were true, he had pulled off some pretty amazing shit. Who were they to think that they would be the ones to take him down? And it would be one thing if they could confine the fight to the justice system, but he’d been foolish enough to cross the Rubicon with Rapp and enter his arena of violence. He thought back on what had transpired in the cramped interrogation room and knew he was going to have nightmares about it for a long time.

He was lucky the psycho didn’t kill him. After choking him unconscious, Rapp had put his handcuffs back on and called for the guards. Kline awoke to find himself in the ridiculous situation of having to say he didn’t know what had happened. Kline had been in a couple of fights in his life. More like scuffles, really. One was in college and one was in his mid-twenties. Both times had been to defend the honor of his hot dates. There were some torn shirts and some minor scrapes, but that was it. No punches connected and the bouncers broke things up before they got out of hand. He remembered going home with his dates, though, and being rewarded for his bravado. There would be none of that this time, although, he had no doubt he could bed the woman standing before him if he so chose. She was gorgeous, elegant, and one of the most powerful women in America, and there was something about the age difference that for the first time in his life turned him on. It would all have to wait, though. It was far too valuable a card to play so carelessly, and so early in this game.

His thoughts jumped to the moment when he looked down and saw Rapp’s cuffs lying in his lap. The absolute terror that he’d felt at that moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. Primal fear gripped him with the sudden knowledge that he was stuck in a ten-by-ten-foot cell with a predator as dangerous as any he’d find in the wild. If he had known Rapp was uncuffed, he never would have poked and prodded him the way he did. He couldn’t believe he had been stupid enough to think he could fuck with him.

And then it was all a jumble of movement and pain. Rapp was on him like one of those big fucking lions that you see on the National Geographic channel late at night, and he was helpless. Looking back on it, he couldn’t say whether it was due to his own incapacitating fear or Rapp’s skills, or both, but the bottom line was that he was completely and utterly feeble. Kline considered himself to be in better shape than 99.9 percent of the people out there, and he’d taken kickboxing classes and even done some sparring, but it had all failed him when he needed it most.

Rapp was choking him with his own tie and speaking to him in his deep, confident, deliberate voice, and what did he do? He wet himself. He wanted to believe he did it after he’d passed out, but he knew he’d done it while he was still conscious, because he remembered the warmth spreading down his leg and thinking that Rapp had stabbed him and it was his blood. Then when he’d come to, he’d felt the wetness and saw the expression on Rapp’s face. It was a look of utter contempt. A look that said, “I had no idea you were that big a puss.” Kline had never felt so emasculated in all his life. He shuddered at the memory.

Lonsdale saw him shake and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Kline shook it off and said, “Nothing, it’s just been a really bad day.” Actually, it probably really had been the worst day of his life, but he didn’t want to appear so weak in front of the woman who held so much sway over his future.

“What happened?”

He skipped over how his day began and jumped ahead a few hours. “It started out with the deputy AG chewing my ass out for a good thirty minutes, and then the assistant AG for the criminal division read me the riot act, and then the director of the FBI called and told me to pull my head out of my ass, and then shortly after that, the AG himself called me and reminded me in extremely unpleasant terms just exactly who I worked for. Secretary of State Wicka’s office left a message for me and finally Secretary of Defense England himself called.”

Lonsdale expected a little heat to come down from within the Justice Department, but not from other Cabinet members. “What did England say?”

Kline looked over the top of his glass as he took a drink and said, “He called me your butt boy.”

“My butt boy?” she repeated, somewhat shocked.

“Yep. He said he knows damn well who was behind this stunt, and he’s not going to put up with some PC attorney from the DOJ sticking his nose in something that was already being handled.”

“I hope you told him it wasn’t being handled.”

Kline picked up the cigarettes. “I don’t think he was in the mood,” he said as he lit the first cigarette and then handed it to Lonsdale, “to hear what I had to say.”

Lonsdale took the cigarette, thrilled by the prospect that it had just touched Kline’s lips. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“From where I’m sitting it seems like I have a lot to worry about.”

Lonsdale set down her drink and reached out and grabbed his arm. “You have to trust me on this, Wade. They’re trying to scare you off this, hoping that it will simply go away, but it isn’t going to go away. This whole sordid mess is going to be in front of my committee the day after tomorrow, and then you are going to look like a hero.”

Kline was silent for a long moment and then after looking around he started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just thought of something my dad said to me years ago.”

“What’s that?”

“He was a lawyer too, and he used to rattle off all the great attorneys in New York, and he used to say to me, ‘Son, do you know what they all have in common?’ And I used to say, ‘They’re all smart,’ and he’d laugh and say, ‘They’re all smart, but what they really have in common is that everyone hates them.’”

“The old adage that you can’t be successful without people hating you,” Lonsdale agreed.

“I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick to our deal,” she said. “The Criminal Division is yours.”

“Not if the White House has anything to say about it.”

“If the president wants to get any of his judges confirmed he’ll go along… trust me.”

Kline took a big gulp from his drink and said, “So what’s next?”

“How about dinner?”

“Oh,” he said, trying to buy a second to think, “I’d love to, but I have plans. In fact I really should get going.”

Lonsdale looked up into his damn blue/gray eyes and thought about kissing him. “But I just got here.”

“You were forty-five minutes late,” he reminded her.

“But I’m a senator.” She smiled. “I have a busy schedule.”

Kline took a step back and laughed in a carefree way. He held his glass up and said, “The most beautiful senator on the Hill.”

Lonsdale blushed. “Flirting will get you everywhere.”

“I’ll have to remember that, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on dinner.”

Lonsdale’s euphoric mood plummeted, but she didn’t let him see the disappointment she was feeling. “I know,” she started, “I have three more functions to attend to this evening, but I would have loved some company.”

“Next time,” he said in a rush. “I promise.”

“Good.” Not wanting the rejection to drag on any longer than it already had, she offered him her cheek, and said, “You’d better get going.”

Kline kissed the smooth skin just beneath her high cheekbone and then retreated. Lonsdale watched him walk back into her office and when he was finally gone, she let loose an emotional exhalation and began fanning herself with her free hand.

R
ALPH Wassen entered the expansive office and eyeballed the dejected look on his boss’s face. He had just passed Wade Kline in the hallway and guessed correctly that Lonsdale’s consternation was due to the handsome boy wonder from the Justice Department. Never one to beat around the bush he blurted out, “You want to sleep with him, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Lonsdale said, genuinely stunned.

“Don’t act so shocked.”

“Ah…” she stammered.

“I knew it.”

She smiled, “It may have crossed my mind.”

“I’m going to win so much money.”

Lonsdale grabbed his arm. “What?”

“We started an office pool,” he said in an exaggerated nonchalant way.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Of course I am.” Wassen turned and went to the bar. As he started to pour himself a scotch on the rocks, he asked, “Well… why don’t you?”

Lonsdale plopped down on the silk Empire sofa and kicked off her pumps. “You know why?”

“No, I don’t.”

“For starters… he’s a little young.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“This one is different.”

“How?” Wassen asked as he collapsed into one of the parlor chairs.

“He owes me his job.”

“Who cares? People do it in this town all the time.”

“He’s married.”

“That hardly matters these days.”

“I thought you were supposed to look out for my best interests?” she asked with a curious eye.

“I am. It’s just that I think you’re in a bit of a funk lately.”

“A funk?”

“You know… a little bitchy.” He took a sip of his drink.

“So I should sleep my way out of it?”

“Basically. No one is going to hold it against you. At least not your base. The jackals might take a swipe at you, but then again it might help your image. The two of you make a striking couple.”

“I’m old enough to be his mother.”

“Technically, yes, but you don’t look twenty years his senior.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“At least not with your clothes on,” he added quickly.

“You are terrible,” Lonsdale said with a scowl.

“Teasing,” Wassen announced as he held up his drink. “You know my motto… You only live once. So, start living. Sleep with him, get it out of your system, and drop all this nonsense with Rapp and Nash.”

Lonsdale was startled. “Where in the hell did that come from?”

“Everybody in the office is talking about it.”

“About Rapp?”

“No, that you need to get laid.”

“Cut the crap for a minute. Why in the world do you think I should let the CIA off the hook?”

“I don’t know,” Wassen shrugged, “because maybe they’re doing the right thing?”

Lonsdale sat there for a long moment and stared at her longtime advisor. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, and I don’t know why you’ve decided to make this your cause. There’s plenty of things to get upset about in this town.”

Lonsdale set her drink down. She was used to Wassen’s pranks, but this was different. Without the slightest hint of humor she asked, “You’re not playing devil’s advocate, are you?”

“No, I’m one hundred percent serious.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong.”

“Have you ever looked at the polls on this issue?”

“Yeah… over ninety percent of the country is against torture.”

“And over seventy percent of the country thinks child molesters should be castrated.”

“The number is not that high.”

“It is if you phrase the question properly.”

“You can do that with any poll,” Lonsdale said dismissively.

Wassen pointed at her and said, “And that’s how they get the ninety-percent-against-torture number. They ask the question in a vacuum. Yes or no, are against torture?” He frowned. “I mean… who the hell is pro-torture?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Did you ever read
A Time to Kill
by Grisham?”

“Yes.”

“Remember… the little girl got raped by the two rednecks and the dad ends up killing them? Would you convict the father or set him free? And stop being a politician for a second. When you were reading the book, did you want the father to be convicted or set free?”

“Set free, of course. But that has nothing to do with…”

“It has everything to do with what is going on!” Wassen said forcefully.

“Are you drunk?”

“I wish.” He took a big gulp. “Ask yourself something. Why is Rapp willing to go before your committee?”

“Because he has no choice.”

“B.S. You know he could spend months screwing with you on this.”

“So?”

“So he’s chosen not to.” He watched his boss shake her head in disagreement and sat forward. “Let me help you understand something. Terrorists are like pedophiles.”

“Excuse me? When the hell did you become a right-wing whack job?”

He shook her off and pressed on. “You ask a hundred people if they’re for torture… you’re only going to get a handful who say yes. You ask a hundred people if they think pedophiles should be castrated… same thing.” Wassen drained his drink, grabbed his boss’s empty glass, and walked over to the bar, saying, “Now you show them a picture of little five-year-old Suzy Jones, and you tell them how she was plucked from her bed in the middle of the night, dragged to some musty basement, and repeatedly raped by this hairy disgusting forty-five-year-old guy who’s already been convicted twice for sexual assault on a minor.” Wassen tossed a few more cubes into each glass. “You tell them how the government has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to rehabilitate this scumbag. You explain to them that the recidivism rate for pedophiles is less than five percent, and then you ask them if they think the piece of human refuse should have his balls cut off.” Wassen put a few ounces of booze into each drink and walked back to the seating area.

As he handed Lonsdale the drink he said, “The numbers flip-flop. Ninety percent say cut his balls off.” He sat in his own chair and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“Your argument makes no sense. People are disgusted by torture.”

“You’re confusing the crime with the punishment. None of those people I just talked about want to actually see the pedophile turned into a eunuch. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want someone else to take care of it.”

“But these men have yet to be convicted. It is completely wrong for one man to carry out a punishment for a man who has not had his day in court. That is what makes our country so special.” Lonsdale shook her head and added, “Your argument doesn’t stand up.”

“You’re assuming that Rapp was trying to punish this man.” He took a sip and said, “I don’t think that is the case. I think he was trying to get him to talk.”

“This is nonsense. We are a nation of laws.”

Wassen help up his hand and said, “Let me finish, before you go into one of those Jeffersonian speeches you senators are so fond of giving. You ask the people if they are pro-torture, and ninety plus percent say no. You then ask them what the CIA should do if they catch a senior al-Qaeda member who has carried out attacks in Afghanistan and Iraq that have killed thousands. You then tell them that the CIA has solid information an attack is looming and this man has information that could help stop it. You then ask them if they are okay with slapping this guy around and making him think he’s about to drown and all of the sudden seventy percent of them are pro-torture.

“Now” – Wassen wagged a finger at his boss – “I can get that number to over ninety percent if you give the people a third option.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell me what’s going on. Just take care of it. I don’t need to know everything my government does.”

“So the options are torture, don’t torture, or stick your head in the sand.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s reality, Babs.”

She shook her head vigorously. “It’s intellectual laziness.”

“Maybe… maybe not.”

“You are not serious?”

Wassen didn’t respond right away. Knowing his boss as well as he did, he knew she was close to shutting him out. He chose his words carefully and then said, “You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, Barbara. People love you. You’re half celebrity, half politician, and you always do well during these hearings. You come off great on TV, but I want to caution you.”

She rolled her eyes in a here-we-go fashion. “Let’s hear it.”

“Mitch Rapp is a good-looking, rugged man. He’s the type of guy Americans hope is out there keeping them safe at night.”

“He’s a thug.”

Wassen shook his head vigorously. “He is many things, and I don’t pretend to know the man’s heart, but he’s no common criminal. Do not underestimate him, or Irene Kennedy, or Mike Nash. These are not stupid people, and despite your personal bias, they are very likeable.” Wassen watched her stand and move to put her shoes on. He had lost her.

“People are sick of this war on terror, Ralph, and when I expose these guys and their illegal ways the American people are not going to be happy.”

Wassen nursed his drink for a long moment and said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Barbara.”