Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

“And he had the nuclear codes. Real nice. So what’d he get?”

Frank stared at the ripples in the water for a few moments before answering. “He got the death penalty, Jack.”

Jack stared at him. “Bullshit. How’d they manage that?”

“A little tricky from a legal-technical point of view. They prosecuted him under the murder-for-hire statute. That’s the only one where the trigger man rule doesn’t apply.”

“How the hell did they get murder for hire to stick?”

“They argued that Burton and Collin were paid subordinates whose only job was to do what the President told them to do. He ordered them to kill. Like a Mafia hitman on the payroll. It’s a stretch, but the jury returned the verdict and the sentence and the judge let it stand.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Hey, just because the guy was President doesn’t mean he should be treated differently than anybody else. Hell, I don’t know why we should be surprised at what happened. You know what kind of person it takes to run for President? Not normal. They could start out okay, but by the time they reach that level they’ve sold their soul to the devil so many times and stomped the guts out of enough people that they are definitely not like you and me, not even close.”

Frank studied the depths of the pool, then finally stirred. “But they’ll never execute him.”

“Why not?”

“His lawyers will appeal, the ACLU will file, along with all the other death penalty opposers; you’re gonna get amicus briefs from all over the planet. The guy took a tidal wave plunge on the popularity scale but he’s still got some powerful friends. They’ll find something wrong on the record. Besides, the country might agree on convicting the scumball. But I’m not sure the United States could actually execute some guy they elected to the presidency. Doesn’t look real good from a global perspective either. Makes me feel kind of queasy too, although the asshole deserves it.”

Jack scooped up handfuls of water and let the warm liquid run down his arms. He stared off into the night.

Frank looked keenly at Jack. “Not that some positives haven’t come out of all this. Hell, Fairfax wants to make yours truly a division head. I’ve gotten offers from about a dozen cities to be their chief of police. The lead prosecutor on the Richmond case, they say, is a shoo-in for the AG slot next election.”

The detective took a sip of beer. “What about you, Jack? You were the one who brought the guy down. Setting up Burton and the President was your idea. Man, when I found my line was tapped, I thought my head was gonna explode. You were right though. So what do you get out of all this?”

Jack looked at his friend and said simply, “I’m alive. I’m not practicing rich-man law at Patton, Shaw and I’m not marrying Jennifer Baldwin. That’s more than enough.”

Frank studied the blue veins on his legs. “You heard from Kate?”

Jack took another swallow of beer before answering. “She’s in Atlanta. At least she was last time she wrote.”

“She gonna stick there?”

Jack shrugged. “She’s not sure. Her letter wasn’t all that clear.” Jack paused. “Luther left her his house in his will.”

“I’m surprised she’d take it. Ill-gotten gains and all that.”

“Luther’s father left it to him, bought and paid for. Luther knew his daughter. I think he wanted her to have... something. A home’s not a bad place to start.”

“Yeah? A home takes two if you ask me. And then some dirty diapers and infant formula to make it complete. Hell, Jack, you two were meant to be together. I’m telling you.”

“I’m not sure that matters, Seth.” He wiped off the thick droplets of water from his arms. “She’s been through a lot. Maybe too much. I’m kind of connected to all the bad stuff. I really can’t blame her for wanting to get away from it all. Wipe the slate clean.”

“You weren’t the problem, Jack. From what I saw everything else was.”

Jack looked across at a helicopter roaring its way across the sky. “I’m a little tired of always being the one to make the first step, Seth, you know what I’m saying?”

“I guess.”

Frank looked at his watch. Jack caught the movement. “Got somewhere to go?”

“I was just thinking we need something a lot stronger than beer. I know this nice little place out by Dulles. Rack of ribs long as my arm, two-pound corn-on-the-cobs and tequila till the sun comes up. And some not-so-bad-looking waitresses if you’re so inclined, although being married I will only watch from a respectful distance while you make a complete fool of yourself. We take a cab home because we’ll both be shit-faced and you crash at my place. What do you say?”

Jack grinned. “Can I get a rain check on that? It sounds good though.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Seth, thanks.”

“You got it.” Frank stood up, rolled down his pants and flopped across to put on his shoes and socks.

“Hey, how about Saturday you come out to my place? We’re grilling, burgers, fries and dogs. Got tickets to Camden Yard too.”

“You got a deal on that one.”

Frank stood up and headed to the door. He looked back. “Hey, Jack, don’t think too much, okay? Sometimes that’s not real healthy.”

Jack held up his can. “Thanks for the beer.”

After Frank left, Jack lay back on the cement and stared at a sky that seemed filled with more stars than there were numbers. Sometimes he would awaken from a deep sleep and realize that he’d been dreaming about the most bizarre stuff. But what he’d been dreaming about had actually happened to him. It was not a pleasant feeling. And it only added to the confusion that, at his age, he hoped would have been long since eliminated from his life.

An hour-and-a-half plane ride due south was probably the surest answer to what ailed him. Kate Whitney may or may not come back. The only thing he felt sure about was that he could not go after her. That this time it would be her responsibility to return to his life. And it was not bitterness that made Jack feel such was imperative. Kate had to make up her own mind. About her life and how she wanted to spend it. The emotional trauma she had experienced with her father had been surpassed by the overwhelming guilt and grief she had endured at his death. The woman had a lot to think through. And she had made it very clear that she needed to undertake that exercise alone. And she was probably right.

He took off his shirt, slid into the water and did three quick laps. His arms cut powerfully through the water and then he pulled himself back up on the tiled apron. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his shoulders. The night air was cool and each droplet of water felt like a miniature air conditioner against his skin. He again looked at the sky. Not a mural in sight. But neither was Kate.

He was deciding whether to head back to his apartment for some sleep when he heard the door squeak open again. Frank must have forgotten something. He looked over. For a few seconds he couldn’t move. He just sat there with the towel around his shoulders afraid to make a sound. That what was happening might not be real. Another dream that would flicker out with the sun’s first rays. Finally he slowly got up, water dripping off him, and moved toward the door.

Down on the street, Seth Frank stood next to his car for a few moments admiring the simple beauty of the evening, sniffed the air that was more reminiscent of a wet spring than a humid summer. It wouldn’t be that late when he got home. Maybe Mrs. Frank would like to hit the neighborhood Dairy Queen. Just the two of them. He’d heard some good reports about the butterscotch-dipped cone. That would finish off the day just fine. He climbed in his car.