Sam Bourne - The Chosen One

‘So you got him out of the way. Sent some bait into that strip club, led him away and that was that.’

Waugh said nothing.

Maggie pressed on. ‘And you did all that to save Stephen Baker?’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. We needed to keep him in post. So that he would veto the bill.’

‘Why didn’t you save yourself the bother, and just let Chester win?’

‘Could have done that. Trouble was, our main asset there was the love-child. We weren’t confident that that was sufficiently proprietary – that it was going to remain exclusive. Too many moving parts, too many people sniffing around. Rumours had been circulating for years. With Baker, the Pamela information was hermetically-sealed. No one knew.’

‘Except Forbes.’

‘Right.’

‘So you sent a team into New Orleans, brought them out by private jet. You’re like your very own CIA.’

Waugh pretended to look offended again. ‘I like to think our quality control is rather superior to theirs.’

‘It wasn’t such a smart plan, though, was it?’ Maggie persisted, beating back the discomfort. ‘You bumped off Forbes and the next minute, the whole blogosphere’s lighting up with claims that Baker’s Tony Soprano.’

‘Call it the law of unintended consequences.’

‘He’s facing impeachment!’

‘I think you’ll find things are back on track now.’

‘You mean, the-’ She shook her head, too numbed to complete the sentence. So even this latest boost to Baker, the story of the Republican senator and the pneumatic lobbyist, had come from Waugh and his pals. They were behind everything. Maybe even that demo on Sunday, that had seemed to come out of nowhere. At that, Maggie’s fatigue and pain was replaced by a sudden onrush of anger. ‘So why Stuart? And why Nick? Why did you have to kill them?’

‘Now, now, Maggie. Don’t play the hysterical woman. You can do better than that. With Stuart, we were left with no choice. Not after that phone call you had with him.’

‘Me? What phone call?’

‘The one where Goldstein – you know, “the man the President listens to more than any other” – threatened to urge Baker to resign. “Better to leave with some dignity,” he said. No, no, no. We could not have that. Not until the banking bill was dead and buried.’

‘So you killed him?’

‘The coroner’s report says he took his own life.’

A nauseating wave of guilt passed over her, as she imagined, yet again, Stuart lying dead in Rock Creek Park. She had been ready to believe he had taken his own life – just as this fucker, Waugh, had wanted her to. She flexed her muscles against the restraints, but the plastic ties cut into her flesh, allowing her no movement. Waugh was right to have bound her: if she could, she would have smashed her fist right into his face. How would that be for ‘playing the hysterical woman’?

‘As for Nick,’ he continued. ‘I’m afraid that was your fault. You involved him. He found out about this-’ he gestured at the smooth, noiseless interior of the jet, ‘-and New Orleans. The line that led you to us. We couldn’t risk him publishing that in a newspaper. No way.’

‘So why not me?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I asked you before and you didn’t answer me. Why not kill me? I know that you wanted to because, like I said, you tried.’

Waugh gave her the hint of a smile. It was chilling. ‘I repeat, we’ve come to realize, Maggie my dear, that you’re more useful to us alive than dead. At least for the time being.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Because you’re going to work for us. Negotiate the deal. Isn’t that your forte? Maggie Costello the great negotiator? Besides, we know you’re close to Baker; you’re one of the few people he trusts. All that “integrity” you both share.’ He released a smile, short and nasty. ‘In ten minutes this plane will land in Washington, DC – and you’re going to see the President.’

Washington, DC, Monday March 27, 20.16

The car hummed along sleekly, gliding down George Washington Memorial Parkway with its view of the Potomac, now glittering in the moonlight. They had taken away her phone, so she couldn’t call ahead. She would have to turn up at the visitors’ entrance to the White House and explain herself.

As they had untied her, she had considered delivering a delayed, but richly-deserved response to her imprisonment, hoiking up a big ball of spit and launching it into Waugh’s face, but had baulked at the futility of it. Whatever small satisfaction it would have provided, the meat-heads would have paid her back with interest.

Besides, Waugh had not let her go without a warning. Standing on the tarmac in the corner of Reagan National Airport that was reserved for private jets, waiting to step into one of the two glistening limos that had pulled up just a few yards from the aircraft, he said, ‘Maggie, I haven’t been chairman of our little fraternity for very long. There are some of my colleagues – in Frankfurt or London or Dubai – who will say I should have been firmer with you some time ago. But I’m trusting you to live up to your reputation: to achieve better terms than I could. That’s why I told you everything. So that Baker doesn’t nurture any delusions about defying our will. I trust you to convey what I have said so that he understands he has no choice in this matter.

‘And if there are any heroics, he will pay and you will pay. Severely. And so will those you love.’ He had fixed her then with those chilly eyes, holding the look for two, three, four seconds. ‘I don’t think you doubt that we can do it. So God speed – and don’t disappoint me.’ With that, he stepped into the Lincoln and drove away, leaving her with just one of the bodyguards for company. She cast a quick, sideways glance at the man. Could she outrun him? He was muscle-bound, meaty; she had broken ribs and was utterly out of condition. He’d catch her in no time. She was going to have to be cleverer than that, and bide her time.

The guard then looked left and right before speaking into his lapel: ‘The Principal has departed. Repeat, the Principal has departed.’

That tiny moment stayed with Maggie as they took the 14th Street exit off I-395 and headed into downtown Washington. The Principal . Roger Waugh had his own secret service detail as well as his own version of Air Force One on which she had just taken an involuntary ride. This man for whom no one had ever voted and whom hardly anyone had ever seen, conducted himself as if he were the true power in the land, with the elected President of the United States a mere puppet whose strings occasionally became tangled and needed straightening out.

The dread thought weighing on Maggie as she saw the familiar landmarks emerge from the dusk was that when it came to the true balance of power in this country and the world, Waugh had spoken the truth.

She yawned, long and hard. She wanted desperately to fall into a deep sleep, one that might clear her head, allowing her to make a fresh start on this strange, awful riddle, to find time to think, talk to Uri and make a plan.

Uri.

Waugh had been explicit, leaving his warning hanging so that there could be no doubt. You will pay , he had said, and so will those you love . They had been at JFK: they must have seen her with Uri. The thought of that chilled her.

They had not hesitated to kill Stuart and Nick, when faced with the mere prospect of a disruption to their plans. How much more determined would they be faced with total exposure? And yet she was able to hold that threat over them: they had handed her that weapon. But that was what so few people understood about information. It was indeed a weapon – a sword whose blade was double-edged.