Max Collins - Fate of the Union

Miggie said, “Doesn’t have to be. The same Barmore firm that paid Blake off sold the Capitol all the PVC pipe for its recent ductwork.”

“Call Ackley now, Miggie,” Reeder said urgently. “Make sure they’ve checked any newly installed or replaced ductwork.”

Rogers cut in: “And after you do that, call AD Fisk and tell her to speak to the President — the State of the Union address isn’t that far off. We could still be in danger of its being compromised.”

“Compromised” was a hell of a euphemism, Reeder thought, in a world with Senk in it.

Miggie asked, “What are you guys going to do now?”

Rogers looked at Reeder.

Reeder said, “We’re going to go have a chat with billions of dollars.”

When the Falls Church detective in charge had completed her interview with Adam Benjamin — in a room identical to the billionaire’s previous one, minus such small details as a dead bodyguard inside the door — Reeder and Rogers were waiting.

The no-nonsense fortyish detective — who Reeder had never met but guessed had never caught a crime scene quite like this one before — reminded them to stick around for a full debriefing, then gave them a solemn nod and went off to check on the crime scene team.

Reeder and Rogers entered and found Benjamin in a wing chair in the corner, now in a gray suit and unbuttoned white shirt without a tie, looking exhausted. A straight-back chair left by the Falls Church detective was positioned in front of him.

Coming over with a smile, Reeder said, “I told you it’d be a long night,” and sat. Rogers perched behind Reeder on the edge of the bed, not unlike the way Benjamin had earlier, in that other, bloody, unfragrant room.

“It has been that,” the weary but composed Benjamin said. “I appreciate you stopping back to check on me.”

“Not at all. This is Special Agent Rogers. I know that you know who she is, since she saved your life the other night, but you haven’t actually met.”

Benjamin rose, came over, and shook her hand. “I’m embarrassed that I haven’t expressed my thanks before. I guess I owe you just about everything.”

“Doing my job,” Rogers said, nodding, smiling politely.

The folksy billionaire returned to his chair, eyes traveling from Reeder to Rogers and back. “You seem to have a somewhat... official demeanor, this trip. Is there something I can help you with, where this tragedy is concerned?”

“Nine people died,” Reeder said. “So it’s a tragedy, all right. But that could be just a drop in the bucket.”

The crudeness of the cliché made Benjamin flinch. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Special Agent Rogers and I have uncovered a probable plot to blow up the Capitol Building.”

He winced, frowning and smiling simultaneously. “You can’t be serious.”

“Does sound fantastic, I grant you, and I believe we’ve short-circuited the plan. These deaths, I should say murders, including this incident tonight, indicate a rather grandiose effort to tie off loose ends before shutting down a terrible, even mad plot.”

A micro-expression tightened Benjamin’s eyes. “You’re actually serious?”

“It’s not a night ripe for joking. Evidence strongly indicates that trusted employees of yours were in on this plot. I would like to think that you aren’t part of it.”

Benjamin’s eyes and nostrils flared. He seemed about to lash out, but then he settled himself. Leaned forward.

“Joe, I quite honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. What employees? How could any of my people... blow up the Capitol? It’s insanity. How would that even be possible in this day and age?”

“In this ‘day and age,’” Reeder said, “many insane things have become all too possible. Technology can work miracles, and cause devastation. Take, for example, this crazy substance called Senkstone.”

Benjamin tilted his head, a loyal dog who didn’t quite get what he was supposed to do with that last command. “Never heard of it. What sort of substance?”

“A plastic explosive more powerful and dangerous than any before it. Your high-up employees Frank and Lynn had a company — well, several companies actually — but this one is called Barmore. Researchers in their employ figured out how to stabilize this explosive and what we’ve discovered suggests that they planned to use it — Senkstone, Senk for short — to replace the Capitol Building with a crater.”

Some fury came into his frown. “And that’s why they were murdered? Was this a... black op? The CIA, operating on our own soil, killing Americans without a trial? Or Homeland taking a page out of the Company’s book? I don’t care what they might have done, Joe, they deserved the usual procedures of arrest and trial. If you’re soliciting my help in some sort of cover-up, you’ve come—”

“No. We believe the man who carried out these wholesale executions tonight — and a number of others, over several months — is the one tying up loose ends. For some group — terrorists either domestic or foreign. Or possibly an individual with an agenda.”

Benjamin took off the black-framed glasses and stared at Reeder for a long time: he was trained in kinesics, too.

“Joe, you can’t mean... you surely can’t... suspect me in this? You think a man whose views are centrist, a concerned individual considering a run for the presidency, would want to destroy the Capitol ? How much more insanity do you expect me to listen to, Joe?”

Reeder ignored the rhetorical question. “Elmore and Barr were neck-deep in this conspiracy. I thought they might be at the head of it, but then somebody had them killed. The killer himself is clearly a mercenary. Who hired him?”

“... Me?”

“Well, suppose... this is just a hypothetical now... you discovered this crazy plot by these true believers of yours. Maybe they’d drunk a little too much of the Kool-Aid and convinced themselves if they could reduce the government to rubble, the right man — Adam Benjamin — would step in and begin again.”

He shook his head vigorously, put the glasses back on. “If that were true, I would never condone it. Never in a million damn years.”

Reeder smiled, just a little. “No, but you might hire someone to remove the evidence — including human evidence. Because if any of this came out, even if you were wholly ignorant of a crazy plot launched by your followers? You couldn’t get in the White House on a goddamn tour.”

The former small-college professor gazed at Reeder with cold disappointment, as if his top student had handed in a grotesquely substandard paper.

“That’s an interesting scenario, Joe. Ridiculous, preposterous... but imaginative, at least.” The thin lips peeled back in a contemptuous smile. “Might I suggest a far more simple solution, even assuming this absurd Guy Fawkes plot has any reality? Have you considered that I was indeed the target tonight? Just as I was at Constitution Hall?”

“I’ve considered it,” Reeder said.

“And have you considered that the logical people to want me, and my closest confidants, liquidated are not in the middle — where I am, and for that matter you are — but on the far left, and the far right. The fringes. If such a demented scheme exists as to destroy our beloved Capitol Building, God forbid, it was born on the lunatic fringe... one side or the other, or both ... in a dark wedding of the damned.”

“Wow,” Reeder said. “I bet you write your own speeches.”

Benjamin’s expression turned hard and cold. “Please leave me, Mr. Reeder. I’m afraid I must ask you to go as well, Agent Rogers. It’s indeed been a long and exhausting evening. And I hope, with a good night’s sleep and this horrible evening put into context, the two of you will come to your senses. I may even be gracious enough to accept your apology. But not tonight. Not tonight.”