Steve Martini - The Enemy Inside

Still, his words today made the women’s correctional facility at Pleasanton sound almost idyllic. There were nights when she lay awake, unable to sleep, wishing that they would pull this cord, put her out of her misery. At least the worrying would be over. That was the worst part, wondering if and when the world would cave in on her. They would remind her first of how far she had to fall, and in the next breath tell her she had nothing to worry about. She often thought this must be how they lived in the old Soviet Union, constantly in fear, wondering when they might come for you.

“Please. Sit down. You will worry yourself into an early grave,” he said. “In time you will learn to trust us.”

“That’ll be the day,” she told him.

“Believe me, we have absolutely no interest in doing you any harm whatsoever. Why would we? Think about it. We are invested in you, long term,” he told her. “We are like partners in a business enterprise. Simple as that.”

“If that’s true, I’ll be happy to sell you my interest cheap,” she said.

“Sounds like you’d like to retire?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Sorry, but it’s not that easy,” said the man.

Dealing with the devil never is, she thought.

“We gave money to your last campaign. A lot of it. I’ll bet you didn’t even know that.”

“I didn’t,” she said.

“The donations were not in our own name, of course. The media, to say nothing of the federal election commission, would have made a big stink over that. But it was support nonetheless. Come, sit down.”

“Save the pleasantries. Can we keep this short? What is it you want? I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Make time.” he said. “After all, I’m not one of your fawning constituents looking for a photographed handshake to put on my mantel.”

She took a deep breath, released some of the muscles in her back, dropped her shoulder, and slowly turned around to face him.

“That’s better. I came here to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“It’s possible that the press, some of the media types, might be contacting you now that Serna is no longer with us,” he said.

This caused a spike in the adrenaline already running through Grimes’s body. He saw the startled look in her eyes.

“Why would they be calling me?”

“The two of you ran in the same circles. She plied the Capitol, came in contact with you regularly. It’s only natural.”

“She came in contact with a lot of people,” said Grimes.

“Yes, but she managed money for two of your campaigns before she registered as a lobbyist.”

“I thought you said that’d been taken care of? That the records were purged.”

“We thought they were,” he said. “Seems we were mistaken. Some old tapes containing FEC reports on campaign funding apparently got out. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing illegal about any of it. She just shows up as the campaign finance chair on two of your early reports, that’s all. That’s it.”

Grimes put a finger to her lips, as if to seal them as she thought and looked away from him off into the distance. Those records placed them in the same universe, the circle of hell that led Serna to Maya Grimes’s life of sin. If she found it, so could others.

“It’s not important,” he told her.

“That means they know we had financial dealings,” said Grimes. “If they start poking around and somebody finds out we had a falling-out, they’ll want to know why. One thing leads to another.”

“Relax! We’re confident they don’t know anything.”

“Where did these tapes go?” she asked.

“Purchased by some Internet news group.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “It happened more than a year ago. I’m sure it’s nothing. For all we know, they have probably thrown them out by now.”

“You’re telling me everything, right?”

He raised two fingers. “Honest injun,” he said.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” said Grimes.

He looked at her, arching an eyebrow as if to say, “What else is new?”

“I’m just trying to give you a heads-up. I’m not saying they will call. Just that they might, ask you a few questions.”

“And what do I say if they do?”

“Don’t deny it, the fact that she worked on your early campaigns, that’s all. Just tell them that you and Serna were friends way back in the early part of your career. Ancient history,” he told her. “She helped you run a couple of your campaigns and that’s it. But don’t bring it up unless they do. If they are doing an obituary on her, it’s only natural that they might contact you. I didn’t want you to panic if they should mention the campaign stuff. That’s all.”

“Still, I don’t understand why they would call me,” she said. “There are plenty of others who were closer to her. It’s not like we were friends. What if they know we had a fight?”

“They won’t.”

“What if they know about Ginger and Spice?”

“They don’t. Trust me, how could they know?”

“You found out.” Grimes almost spit the words at him.

“Yes, but we had the means.”

“So did Serna.”

“That was your fault,” he said. “You were careless. Now stop worrying. They know absolutely nothing. Of that we are certain.”

“How can you be sure?”

“If they contact you, just give them a few happy remembrances, how much she’ll be missed, what a great person she was, and hang up. That’s all you have to do. It shouldn’t be difficult. Just a little white lie. Think of it as campaigning,” he said.

“You said there was still a problem. Some loose ends. Plural,” said Grimes.

“Yes, well, leave that to me. Forget I mentioned it.” He didn’t want to load her up with too many worries at one time. There was no purpose in telling her they had failed to bag Alex Ives, or that Ives and his boss were the ones digging for dirt, and that she might be hiding in the hole where they were shoveling.

The Washington Gravesite was stepped around gingerly like a poisonous serpent by any shrewd politician in the Capitol. It had a bite that was toxic and it seemed to be growing another rattle every year. Grimes didn’t need to know about Ives or the story he was working on. If she had known, she would have panicked. That and the girl. Ives, no doubt, would by now have told his lawyers about the little Asian beauty. They definitely had some mopping up to do.

“How serious is it?” she asked.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. You just take care of the items on your agenda. You have two up this week. Make sure the votes go the right way.”

A pained expression crossed Grimes’s face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“There’s a problem with the appropriation on the Siderail Software deal,” she said.

“What kind of problem?”

“I need one more vote. I was counting on Mendez. Senator from Arizona.”

“I know who Mendez is.”

“He won’t return my calls,” she said. “He’s avoiding me. His assistant says he has problems with the item, something about a manufacturer back in his state who wants a piece of the contract. Mendez won’t vote for it unless he gets a guarantee.”

“It’s too late for that,” said the man. “We need that bill.”

“Without Mendez I can’t get the item out of committee.”

“Don’t worry about Mendez. When the vote comes up he’ll be on board. But you should have called me. I can’t help you unless I know,” he said.

“How are you going to do that?”

“Leave it to me.”

Before he could say anything more, a man came into view walking quickly toward them. He was carrying a brown bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of Coke in the other. In his twenties, he had on a dark pair of slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. His collar was open. He had that hurried look, one of the sea of civil servants punching the clock for lunch. He plunked himself down on the other end of the bench and started opening the brown bag.