Sam Bourne - The Chosen One

‘We are.’

‘So: seems like you’re the main man on this Baker stuff. You’re leading the troops into battle.’

‘I’m humbled by that description, but yes. I started this fight and I mean to finish it.’

‘Well, good for you. That’s the kind of fighting spirit we need in our party. Too many pussies up there in DC who were ready, once Baker won last fall, to shut up shop and hang out the gone fishin’ sign. That’s why I want to help.’

‘Glad to hear that, sir.’

‘Here’s the thing. You know that cesspit down in N’Awlins is run by Democrats. So, surprise surprise, they’ve canned the investigation into Forbes’s death. That particular truth a bit too inconvenient for those liberals!’ Another gale of laughter came roaring down the phone.

‘I hear you, Governor Tett.’

‘Despite everything the Lord has rained down on that Sodom of the South, there are still a few good, God-fearing men down there in New Orleans. And one of them’s been watching things very closely. Kind of my eyes and ears down there. Found out something mighty interesting too.’

Franklin flashed a thumbs-up at Cindy, sitting opposite him, watching MSNBC on mute. He could hear a rustle of papers on the huge lump of oak he imagined served as the Governor’s desk.

‘Let me just get my reading glasses here a moment. OK, here we go.’ He made a murmuring sound, as if skim-reading, enjoying the suspense a tad too much, Franklin decided.

‘He noticed a woman down there, snooping around. Claimed to be press, but was doing her own thing. My man kept a close eye on her. Even followed her to some kind of sex club.’

Franklin felt his shoulders tense with embarrassment: Governor Tett had gained national fame during his first term when he had been covertly filmed in a variety of strip joints. The killer sequence – shown by Jon Stewart every night for a week – had Tett rewarding a particularly buxom performer by slipping a twenty not into her garter belt, as convention demanded, but directly into her underwear, twanging it forward and, it appeared on tape, taking a peek inside as he did so. Everyone had written the Governor off, assuming he would be impeached or turfed out by the voters, whichever came first. But Tett had gone on the Christian Broadcasting Network, sobbed about his shame, called to his saviour to rescue him and begged for forgiveness. After that direct appeal to evangelical voters – instantly dubbed ‘the Tett offensive’ – his poll numbers went up. He’d been reelected last year, against the national trend which saw Baker win his landslide.

‘Turns out this woman’s not press at all,’ Tett went on. ‘She called herself Liz Costello of the Irish Times . But that ain’t her real name. She is, in fact, Maggie Costello.’ He stopped, like a comedian who’s delivered his punch-line.

Franklin waited for a moment, then realized Tett was not going to go on. ‘I’m sorry, Governor. The name’s ringing a bell but-’

‘I thought all you Washington insiders knew each other!’ ‘I’m not a Washington insider, Governor Tett. I’m a-’ ‘Aw, come on. I’m just jerking your chain. Maggie Costello was, until this week, a foreign policy advisor to one Stephen Baker. President of these United States.’ ‘Oh, that’s good.’

‘You didn’t think I’d disappoint you, did you?’ ‘That’s very good,’ Franklin replied, resolving to keep this information to himself until the moment was ripe. ‘When did she get down there?’

‘I don’t know that yet, but I’m checking that for you. Question you gotta ask yourself is: was she the dustbuster?’

‘Dustbuster?’

‘Clean-up artist! Did Baker send her in after Forbes was taken out, you know, to cover their tracks?’

‘I see.’

‘Or maybe Baker put her in there to find out what the hell happened to Forbes – because he didn’t know! It all depends on whether we think Baker had Forbes killed or not.’

‘Yes.’

‘And we don’t know that, do we?’

Something in Tett’s tone made Franklin uncomfortable.

The Governor wasn’t done. ‘I mean, the only man who knows the real truth of that is the man who ordered the killing of Vic Forbes. Am I right?’

Franklin didn’t answer the question, which he suspected carried more than a hint of accusation. ‘Of course, Governor, it may turn out that Forbes did take his own life after all.’

‘Yes, Senator Franklin, it might. But it might be too late to matter by then. Too late for Baker, I mean. And whoever gets that head on the trophy wall, he’s going to look pretty good in three years’ time, ain’t he?’

‘Well, I’m not thinking about that, Governor.’

‘You should, Senator. You should. And when you do, you remember your good friends down here in the great state of Louisiana, won’t you?’

‘I will certainly not forget this kindness, Governor Tett. One last question: where is Miss Costello now?’

‘We have that covered, Senator. Remember, I have sympathetic counterparts across the entirety of this great country of ours. Governors with eyes and ears everywhere, each one of them with state troopers at their service, just like me. That’s a lot of ground we got covered.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Put it this way, Senator. Wherever Miss Costello goes, there’ll be someone watching. Always.’

Aberdeen, Washington, Friday March 24, 15.24 PST

‘I see you’ve already made yourself at home here.’

Maggie heard herself panting. ‘You gave me quite a start.’

‘Did I? I am sorry.’ The voice was old, but steady. In the basement gloom, Maggie could still not make out a face.

‘My name is Ashley Muir, from Alpha Insurance,’ she brazened. She thought about extending a hand, but fear got the better of her.

‘Yes. So Mrs Stephenson said.’

Maggie’s breath came in heavy, pounding gulps.

‘I have to tell you, I don’t like people coming down here. Not without me.’

She looked over at the door. Desperation made her cut the politeness. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Ray Schilling. I am the principal of this school.’

A wave of relief broke over her. ‘Oh, good. I am glad to hear that.’ She smiled an absurdly wide smile. ‘Can we perhaps talk in your office?’

‘So you can understand my wariness, Ms Muir.’

‘Completely,’ Maggie said, enjoying the warmth of a mug of coffee in her hand.

‘We didn’t have many journalists last summer – Stephen Baker was a student here for such a short while. But those that did come: devious people, Ms Muir. Devious.’

‘Devious,’ Maggie agreed.

‘So when I heard this story about insurance claims and whatnot, well, I thought “Here we go again”.’

‘Of course you did.’

‘Not that you’d have found anything there, even if you had been looking for it.’ The Principal, white-haired with a long, narrow face, gave a self-congratulatory nod.

‘Why’s that?’

‘I removed that file myself as soon as Stephen – excuse me – as soon as the President entered the race.’

‘Removed it?’

‘Only to a place of safekeeping, Ms Muir. I wanted to be able to look reporters in the eye and tell them that the file was not here.’

‘That showed great foresight, Mr Schilling.’

‘Thank you. And now it isn’t here at all.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Did you know that they begin collecting material for a presidential library from the moment the oath is taken?’ He spoke slowly, a function, Maggie had initially assumed, of his age. Now, she realized, it was simply the speech of a man who had spent a lifetime addressing young people.

‘I didn’t know that, no.’