The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 33

In a matter of a few months, both Frank and Betsy graduated from George Washington University, each with a degree in pre-law. Their parents had flown in to witness what they considered an historic event, as no one else in their families had earned a college education. As his parents looked on, they watched him walk onto the stage to receive his diploma. His

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mother's eyes teared up as his father swelled with pride, knowing that his son was on his way to making his mark on the world. What he didn’t realize was how that would be accomplished. Frank had already been accepted into law school, while Betsy was soon to begin a Master’s program in journalism. The challenge of graduate school proved to be a constant battle and afforded little time for the two of them to spend time together. Still, they managed. But it was during spring break that he was again approached by the men he once found in his apartment. This time they offered him something he could not ignore—money. Returning from class, he was again surprised to see them in his living room, with one paging through his copy of Mein Kampf. Once again, one man did the talking while the other stood by as a display of authority. “Frank,” he said. “You don’t mind us stopping by again, do you?”

He seemed to be implying that he had a choice when, in fact, he had none.

“What is it now?” Frank asked. “Here to check up on my grades?”

While his sarcasm was noted, the man reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and, removing a thick envelope, handed it to him.

“We think you should have a better place to live,” he said. “This place is a bit of a dump, don’t you think?”

Frank took the envelope and, opening it, saw a thick layer of large bills. His suspicion was immediate. “What’s the catch?” he asked.

The man gestured to his partner with a smile.

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“There’s no catch, Frank,” he replied. “We just think you should be in a place that’s conducive to studying. You’re a graduate student now. Time to take a step-up, right? Plus, you want Betsy to see you in a nice place, don’t you?”

Frank was incensed. He knew they were keeping tabs on him, but he didn’t think they would have their eye on Betsy.

“Have you been watching us?!” he yelled. “You piece of shit!”

The man interrupted, trying to convince him that their observations had been limited only to her background and basic surveillance. “Frank,” he began. “We don’t do that. We’re not interested in the positions you two use. We couldn't care less. Our concern is who you associate with. We don’t want anyone holding you back, and a woman can definitely hold you back. Do you understand?” Frank was close to throwing the money back in their faces, but a moment of hesitation changed his mind. He understood that the direction he was headed in required a bit of guidance, and sometimes that meant gathering information on those one associates with. Now, he was fully aware of exactly what these people wanted. If he did become president, he would be dancing from their strings, taking orders from a group he had almost no contact with and no knowledge of. Frank now resigned himself to a future he was unsure of. Did he really want this? Or, would there someday be a way of circumventing their intentions and taking the lead with his own agenda? He silently concluded that there is always a way and that he would acquire the power and position he wanted, no matter what the cost.

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“I think you’re right,” he said. “This place is kind of a shithole. It’s always drafty. In the winter, it’s colder than a witch’s tit. You’re right, I need to step things up—get some class.”

The man nodded with a slight smile. “I thought you might agree,” he said. “And don’t worry about Betsy. We’re not going to go near her. But she is hot. Nice choice.”

The time for small talk was over, and as the two men walked out of Frank’s apartment, he mentioned one more thing.

“Oh, I have to insist on one thing,” Frank said. “I choose the apartment.”

The man stopped at the top of the staircase and, looking back, spoke only two words. “Of course.”

Turning back, the men resumed their course and, leaving the building, disappeared into the flow of DC’s human traffic. He immediately locked the door and, turning back to his living room, began a methodical search for anything that could resemble or contain a camera. When he found nothing, he conducted a similar search of his bedroom and bathroom. Still, he found nothing. He was still angry that they had even mentioned Betsy, feeling they had intruded just a bit too far. Sitting on his couch, he wondered how he might keep their prying eyes at bay. He did have some right to privacy, didn’t he? By the time his search was complete, he had uncovered no cameras or microphones but decided that once he was in a new apartment he would cover the windows with black burlap curtains. This he hoped would stave off any prying eyes as he

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continued to study and live his life. Again, he would tell Betsy nothing of what had just transpired. The less she knew, the better off she would be.