Gospel (67 page)

The commentator's voice was warm and pleasant, his slight Massachusetts lilt sounding not unlike Kennedy himself – noting the notables, spanning the manicured beauty of Senator Raymond Douglas' Virginia property and focusing on the two most important people at this relaxed Thanksgiving get together.

Tom Bradshaw had been resplendent in navy knit sweater and khaki wool pants, his smile mesmerising, his handshakes double pumps. His wife, in long-legged ‘Katharine Hepburn' style trousers and a pale blue cashmere knit, moved about the fresh green lawns the picture of elegance – her long, ice blonde hair defying the easterly breeze and her flawless smile never leaving a face that was cast from proportional perfection.

This was obviously the raw material from what must have been turned into a news magazine piece or a public broadcast documentary. The
camera moved from side to side, the commentator stopping to ask for fresh ‘set-ups', the light checked, the sound measured, the introductions practised, and the obliging subjects all smiles as they spoke about the amazing progress Tom Bradshaw was making in the all-important war against drugs.

David sat transfixed on a single chair set up in the corner of the Fairmont's Oval Room, under that famous iridescent sky and cloud mural, where this whole charade had begun many months ago. Behind him sat Dick Ryan and Tom Bradshaw, with at least ten secret service agents standing just outside each of the expansive double doors that circled the room like gateways to another world.

When the camera swung to Melissa Bryant Bradshaw once again, as she moved down the lawn to a group of three men, it was as if David were there, watching from a tree beyond the gazebo, sipping his own cocoa on this unusually pleasant November afternoon and witnessing the conspiracy take place before his very eyes. And then, as the film makers re-focused on a new couple in the foreground – a couple identified as Senator Raymond Douglas and his young wife Jessica – Ryan leaned forwards to grab the remote and punch up the audio until . . .

The sound seemed to split, so that the commentator's questions and the Douglases' amicable responses faded into the background, and a new dialogue, coming from the group of four behind them, rose with a crispness that seemed to fill the entire room.

‘We all knew this day would come,' she said, the slight delay in audio making the whole experience somewhat surreal. ‘And that the only way we can assure total control is to follow our plan to its ultimate conclusion.'

‘I understand, John,' said the man David knew to be Robert Doyle, who was captured in frame directly opposite the first lady in waiting. ‘But now that the time has come, now that we have had such success, I think we should at least consider alternative courses of action. After all, the man has become beyond popular. We did not foresee his incredible success three years ago when we first talked of . . .'

‘Killing him? Yes Luke, yes we did. In fact we were counting on his popularity to enable my rise to the required position. Nothing has changed, Luke, and if you have a problem with that then . . .'

‘No.'

‘Good. Besides, there is no rush, we have six months at the outset. Our timing is of utmost importance. We have a year until the next Federal election and the last six months of it will be used to consolidate my position. Matthew shall keep you informed as to the timing of our next meeting. Until then you must continue your work as usual. And I must say, you are all doing a stellar job. It has been a pleasure, gentlemen. As always.'

Bradshaw paused the tape – just as the Douglases left the foreground, leaving Melissa Bryant Bradshaw's perfect image now frozen on the steady screen before him. And then they said nothing, just sat and listened to the Tchaikovsky which flowed through the Fairmont's sound system like a melodic breeze, completing the atmosphere that spoke of tranquillity belying the true conspiracy that played out before them.

‘How long have you had it?' asked David, still facing the screen, his back to the two men behind him.

‘Eight months physically,' said Bradshaw. ‘But it wasn't until three days ago that we discovered its significance. As soon as I woke from the coma we attempted to come up with a scenario where they may have been seen in public together – where they may have connected as a group under the guise of innocence.

‘The three Gospel members were invited largely as a matter of coincidence. But I have no doubt Melissa seized upon the opportunity to consolidate her plans. They were there so that I might show my appreciation for their efforts in the war against drugs,' said the Vice President. ‘Irony at its best, don't you think?'

David shook his head, still mesmerised by Melissa Bryant Bradshaw's slightly blurred image on the static screen before him. ‘But how could you have had that information for eight whole months and not known about it?' he asked. ‘I mean, why didn't the filmmakers alert you to it sooner?'

‘Because they never listened to the underlying track,' offered Ryan. ‘The documentary was taken largely as a PR exercise: “Vice President Thanks Anti-Drug Campaign Supporters” and so forth, and this footage was dedicated to the interview with Ray and Jessica Douglas. The background conversation was unwittingly recorded at the same time – and my tech guys were able to strip and enhance the audio, giving us a clear recording of their treasonous intention to murder.'

David said nothing.

‘You have to understand, David,' Bradshaw went on as if needing to explain himself. ‘My wife was very discreet. As soon as I woke late last Wednesday evening, I realised this would have to be handled . . . carefully.'

‘But she paved the way for Ramirez,' argued an increasingly frustrated David, turning his chair so that he faced the two men behind him. ‘Who walked on in and “killed” you, Mr Vice President – right before your very eyes. They were in this together, she might as well have put a bullet to your head and . . .'

‘I know,' said Bradshaw. ‘I know.'

They paused then, looking at each other, each considering how close Melissa Bryant Bradshaw had come to pulling off the seemingly ‘impossible'.

‘So you had no idea she . . . ?' David began.

‘Yes and no. In fact, when I think about it, she actually gave herself away on that very evening. We were speaking of GIV and she gave an off the cuff comment about Panama and Philadelphia – the start and finish point of GIV's drug distribution business. There is no way she could have known this if she had not been involved. But unfortunately I did not react quickly enough at the time – or perhaps refused to consider my wife was a professional drug dealer, the very nemesis I had fought so hard to destroy.'

David nodded then, and looked at them both, Vice President and CIA Director, best friends, national leaders, no doubt just at the beginning of their influential careers.

‘There is something else,' said David after a time.

‘Ask away,' said Bradshaw.

‘Well, I have read about your wife's career – about her turning down the role of Governor of New Hampshire so that she could marry you and support you and bear your children and play bridesmaid to the political powerhouse that became Tom Bradshaw, “President in Waiting”.

‘If she had these dreams – these maniacal aspirations, then why didn't she just accept the Governorship in the first place? Why didn't she rise to power legitimately? Why didn't she simply follow in her mother's footsteps, honour the system and make her mark the democratic way? It seems to me,' David went on, now perched on the edge of his seat, ‘that she went to a hell of a lot of trouble, took an uncountable number of risks – and all for something she could have achieved legitimately.'

Bradshaw nodded, as if acknowledging David's logic to be both reasonable and valid. But then he looked down at his feet, and shook his head, and took a deep breath before lifting his head again to face David eye to eye.

‘Do you know how many Governors progressed to the Presidency, David?' he asked.

‘Not exactly, but I know there have been quite a few – Jefferson, Roosevelt, Wilson and more recently Reagan, Clinton, Bush . . .'

‘There have been seventeen – seventeen Governors who made it all the way to the top job.'

‘Well,' David began, ‘considering we have only had forty-four Presidents, I would say that those are reasonable odds. Correct me if I am wrong, Mr Vice President, but I believe only fourteen Vice Presidents have made the step up so . . .'

‘Touché, David,' said Bradshaw, managing a half smile. ‘But now tell me this. How many Governors have
not
made it to the White House?'

‘God, I don't know – thousands.'

‘And do you recall their names?'

‘Of course not.'

‘But if I asked you to recall the name of the beautiful woman who captured the hearts of the nation when her popular, young, energetic, good looking husband was gunned down in his prime you would say . . .'

‘Jackie Kennedy.'

‘That's right,' said Bradshaw, now perched on the edge of his seat as well.

‘So you see, David,' Bradshaw went on. ‘To understand it all, you have to know how my wife thinks. She is the ultimate political tactician. Every single decision she makes and has made – including marrying me – was undertaken with a greater goal in mind. She had seen her mother work for decades to build her career, eventually making Governor and White House Chief of Staff, but she also knew that at sixty-one, Maxine's ride was nearing the end of its journey.

‘And so she weighed up the odds and at some point decided her chances were better with me,' Bradshaw shook his head again. ‘For Melissa, this was a no brainer. The Governorship route to the White House was an outside chance, but I gave her the name, the access, the media exposure
and the public's devotion all wrapped up in one perfectly prepared public relations package. Her career gave her the groundwork, my career brought her the notoriety, and my death gave her the opportunity to fulfil her ultimate ambitions – sympathy vote and all.'

‘So,' said David, ‘you think if Jackie Kennedy lived in an era when Americans would have considered a female President, she could have taken her husband's role as . . . ?'

‘If she had had Melissa's legal and political training, there would have been no question,' interrupted Bradshaw. ‘No question at all.'

‘Is that why the President considered her as a viable option for Vice President?'

‘Absolutely,' said Bradshaw. ‘The President is a shrewd man, David, and that is not a criticism. In all honesty, Melissa was his best option. Maxine was the obvious choice but exhaustive polling showed she was seen as “cold, safe, predictable”. President Latham knew he needed to duplicate my popularity with someone of near or equal youth, drive and enthusiasm – and when Melissa made the suggestion well . . .'

‘He saw the ballot papers writing themselves,' finished David.

‘Exactly.'

David looked at Ryan then, who seemed happy enough to sit and observe, as if realising this was the Vice President's time, to elaborate, explain, justify. But David had a question for the CIA Director, a detail still to be clarified.

‘So how did you get the Vice President out of Boston?' asked David of the CIA Director. ‘How did you pass a living man off as dead? How did you fool a nation into thinking their number one hero was . . . ?'

‘That was easier than you might think. Once Mrs Bradshaw agreed the autopsy was an unnecessary intrusion, her motives no doubt just as selfish as mine, I suggested the use of a private CIA jet to transport his body home to Virginia. There were only three people on board besides myself and the Vice President – a CIA doctor and two very discreet agents. I even faked the family funeral – something I was forced to do despite the obvious distress caused to Tom's family in Ashburn.' Ryan looked at Bradshaw then, as if in apology, and the Vice President nodded as if to acknowledge there was no need for regret, before signalling for his best friend to go on.

‘I knew someone had tried to kill Tom,' continued Ryan. ‘And I needed
the time to work it all out. I also knew the culprits would go underground if they knew Tom was still alive so I played out their charade, in order to catch them at their own game. You have to remember the Vice President was in a coma,' Ryan went on, now shifting in his seat. ‘And could have died at any point. I guess you could say I was hedging my bets, praying to God he would wake up and tell me what the hell really went down.

‘The public have accepted that keeping this from them was in their own interests – that it went towards preventing Ramirez from extorting members of Congress, and if they can forgive us then . . .'

‘And the President?' asked David. ‘When was he told of this unholy mess?'

‘A little less than a week ago – after which he told me of Mrs Bradshaw's grandiose proposals. He flew to Virginia immediately. In fact he was by Tom's side when he woke.'

David nodded, and they sat there in silence for a moment longer, until he broached the issue he truly needed to resolve – if for no other reason than for his own peace of mind.

‘And after all this,' he said at last, ‘how can you allow her to go unpunished? That is something I cannot understand, and doubt I ever will.'

‘Don't you see, David,' said Bradshaw. ‘This is not about me, or you, or even Melissa and Ramirez. We reveal the truth, we lose the election. There is no doubt about that. I am a popular man, David, but I cannot withstand the negative publicity which would spread from this truth like a disease determined to eat away at all the good we have done – and intend to do.

‘The American people have forgiven me many misgivings,' Bradshaw went on. ‘But I could not ask them to vote for a man who did not recognise his own wife for what she was – a murderess in his very own bed – and one set on assuming power so that she might continue her sadistic strategy of autocracy.