The Labyrinth Campaign (28 page)
“Absolutely,” Greg said excitedly. “I’ve got Jack McCarthy right here. We’re going to record his testimony. I’ll write the first article of the series. We’ll contact the FBI. And then we have to find Ian McKay and Kate Anson before the bad guys do.”
Johnson responded, “That reminds me, a guy with a British accent left a message on my voicemail saying he had some information for your story.”
“Anything else?” Greg said.
“Yeah, he left his cell number,” Johnson responded, reading the number into the receiver.
“Tom, save me the space, and I’ll be in touch.”
When the line went dead, the man sitting in the service van parked on Commerce Street outside of the
Free Press
building thought to himself how predictable people were. He had guessed it was only a matter of time before Larson would contact his boss at the paper. What was next was also on his mind: Six outsiders now knew the truth. Five would soon be reunited in Denver at
The Denver Morning News
or some other location according to his tracing equipment. The sixth was right upstairs. Two quickly assembled jobs could clean up this entire mess.
But something was nagging at him: It was Will Hawkins who was in deep shit, not him. Not to mention that setting up two jobs in the next few hours was not going to be a simple process. Then in an instant, he knew what to do next. He crawled from the console in the back of his van into the driver’s seat and slowly drove away. Fuck it, he thought. Camelot for the next millennium would soon be officially finished.
Hours later, Jack McCarthy finished recording his incredible story. As he hit eject, Marc Hoffman, the local FBI chief, reached for the disk.
Almost simultaneously, Greg hit send on his borrowed laptop, and his first story in a series was electronically sent to Tom Johnson at
The Dallas Free Press
. The FBI had graciously agreed to keep a lid on the story so that the world would get this news the old-fashioned way, via the newspaper. Jack and Greg looked worn but relieved. The two men shook hands and followed the FBI agents to the vehicle that would take them to a safe house. Medical treatment was awaiting Greg. When they reached the safe house, Ian and Kate were already there.
P
endrill’s elite group of terrorists had been completely isolated from any news associated with the phenomenon that the media had dubbed “Terrogate.” While the entire US political system was being scrutinized from top to bottom, the four Mexican nationals were holed up in a small town in Washington, planning their final act of ecoterrorism.
As the foursome approached the guard shack at the Columbia River hydroelectric facility, each member of the team was keenly aware of his or her specific assignment. The woman was made up to appear as if her car had rolled off an embankment, and her injuries had left her wandering aimlessly in the desolate area. The team leader had veered off to the left to hide behind a large boulder and wait for an opportunity to take out the guard. The other two men hung back, waiting for Phase I of the plan to be executed.
As the woman got closer to the shack, it became apparent that there was no one manning the station. The woman broke into a huge grin and waved the others toward the first rendezvous spot. As the four gathered, clearly pleased with the absolute lack of security, the leader smiled and stated in perfect English, “This may be our easiest target yet.”
The target was the dam itself. With some strategically placed extreme-temperature explosives, the dam would produce easily detectable cracks
on its exterior, warning the world hours or days before the structure would actually give way. The subsequent collapse would send a hundred-foot wall of water barreling down the now-uninhabited narrow canyon as hundreds of news cameras from around the world chronicled the event. It was the terrorists’ grand finale before returning to Mexico to collect their bounty.
The four terrorists approached the massive steel door that was the entrance into the facility. There was still no sign of any security or maintenance personnel. The woman held a penlight for the leader as he pulled a sophisticated toolkit from his backpack. He immediately went to work on the industrial lock. Less than two minutes later, a distinct clicking sound indicated they had gained access to the power plant.
The four terrorists moved swiftly down the narrow passages toward the center of the facility where they were to place the explosive charges. The leader raised his right fist to halt the group. They all listened for any indication that their presence had been detected. Everything was quiet except for the pounding of their own hearts, which sounded like a jackhammer to each of them individually. The leader consulted the blueprints that indicated their destination was less than thirty meters away, around the next corner. He signaled for them to move slowly toward the dam’s epicenter. The terrorists proceeded cautiously to their destination.
As they reached the core of the dam, a floodlight illuminated a small unit of elite US Marines, all with automatic weapons aimed at one of the four terrorists. The reflex was the same for each of them; they spun on their heels ready to retreat but were met by a second marine squad, weapons trained.
A voice on a bullhorn commanded, “Please drop your weapons, raise your hands, and back slowly up against the wall.” All of the terrorists were seemingly complying when two of them swung their automatic weapons toward the second set of marines. Before the second terrorist had even fired a shot, both marine units selectively opened fire. The ensuing firefight lasted less than five seconds. When the shots ceased, all four terrorists were dead.
J
ack McCarthy sat alone on the balcony of his recently purchased Vail penthouse. It had been just over twelve months since he and Kate had escaped from the Hawkins family’s slope-side mansion, and the autumn air sent chills of memories down his spine. As Jack gazed up at North America’s premier ski destination, he couldn’t stop thinking about Kate.
After the story broke, Jack and Kate had returned to Dallas. The media frenzy surrounding their arrival was comparable to that surrounding the Kennedy assassination in 1963. Endless questions and interview requests, most of which were denied, began taking their toll on both of them. This, coupled with Jack’s guilt surrounding Carrie’s violent death, forced him into isolation.
He told everyone, including Kate, he just needed to sort some things out. By the time he had, it was too late: Kate, devastated by his callousness, withdrew from him.
Jack sat in the crisp mountain air and pondered all that had happened. Bo and Will Hawkins had been indicted for murder and conspiracy to commit murder, along with a host of other charges, and were currently awaiting trial. Jack’s testimony was complete; he had chosen to submit it electronically to avoid the media rigors of the trial. President Hughes
resigned before impeachment proceedings could get underway. The speculation in the media was that he had traded his testimony against the Hawkins men for what was left of his freedom. Richard Willis, Hughes’s vice president, easily won the Republican nomination but was soundly defeated in the general election by Ray Langston, the US Representative from Oregon. After winning one of the most closely chronicled elections in world history, Langston named David Ellis, leader of The Future State Foundation, as his secretary of the interior.
And, finally, Carlos Pendrill was apparently in hiding somewhere in central Mexico, evading the extradition ruling that would put him on trial in the US for masterminding the series of devastating environmental catastrophes.
Jack hoped that the American public was sufficiently sickened by the shocking revelations surrounding this tragic episode in our country’s history and would demand an end to the big-money candidates and their vicious campaigns that focused on discrediting the competitor versus communicating a candidate’s platforms and values. And, in fact, campaign reform legislation was already in process on the Hill, focusing not only on financial reform but also on message ethics in an effort to restore credibility to the US political system.
Jack had declined the offer to rejoin WPC, the agency where he had achieved such success. The haunting memories of a simpler time and the loss of a woman he had loved precluded him from ever even considering a return.
Ian McKay had returned to England. The ransom he had sought for his niece had materialized from a very unlikely source, Esther Hawkins, Will’s mother, had gladly given the money to Ian. She was so disgraced by the actions of her husband and son that she had spent the last year donating the Hawkins family fortune to any worthy cause she could find.
Kate Anson had returned to work on the Dallas police force. After months of constant ribbing from the guys at the station, her work life had gotten somewhat back to normal.
Jack’s next career was looking to be much more lucrative—and tumultuous. He had just signed a book deal with a major publisher to chronicle
the entire incident. The $10 million advance he had received was the largest in publishing history, and it afforded Jack his luxurious new digs. His three compadres had rebuffed his offer to share the wealth; Greg Larson had already signed his own book deal, Ian McKay had declined on principle … and Kate had simply not responded.
As he looked up at the ski slope across the valley, he couldn’t help thinking that he was living a dream that was funded by a nightmare. He was semiretired, writing a book, and living in a slope-side penthouse, yet all he felt was emptiness.
He thought about Kate constantly. He was embarrassed by how he had treated her, and she had not responded to any of his overtures. He knew in his heart that he needed her, but he also knew that it was time to move on.
Jack glanced at his watch and realized Ian McKay would be arriving soon. While Ian had declined any of the proceeds surrounding the unsavory events of the past year, he did agree to an annual, all-expense-paid trip to Vail to visit with his new friend. Jack heard a car door slam outside, but when the doorbell rang, it still startled him; he hadn’t had many visitors recently. Jack opened the door and greeted Ian with a handshake and a hug.
“It’s good to see you, Ian. Where are your bags?”
“Down in the car,” Ian said, an odd smile playing across his face.
“Well, let’s get them so we can go have a beer.”
As the two men walked down the outdoor corridor, they chatted about Ian’s trip to the States. They stood side by side, waiting for the elevator that would transport them to the ground floor. When the elevator door opened, Jack was stunned. Standing in front of him was the one person he’d never expected to see. Kate Anson was more beautiful than he had remembered. For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them spoke or made a movement. Then, simultaneously, they reached for each other and embraced. No one said a word, but all of them knew Jack and Kate needed each other. Then Jack smiled and took Kate’s hand, and the three of them headed back toward the penthouse that suddenly, Jack realized, felt like a home.
Mike Sweeney graduated with a degree in journalism from Colorado State University, where he developed a strong passion for advertising. He began his career in the ad industry in Dallas, later moving to Los Angeles before returning to his roots in Colorado. Spending a significant amount of time on planes over the years allowed him to complete this novel, written because he always said he would and finished with the support of many. Mike is the chief executive officer of The Integer Group. A native Coloradan, he currently splits his time between Evergreen and Chicago. Mike lives with his wife of nearly twenty-five years, Pat, and is father to Jack; stepfather to Janci and Spencer; Poppa to Madison, Pearl, Lucian, and Clara; and a friend and colleague to many.