The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 51

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The remainder of Frank’s term of office was guided or perhaps manipulated by the still nameless men claiming to represent an organization dedicated to acquiring political power. It was obvious to him that they were motivated by wealth, and pushing the buttons of the political process was the best way of achieving their goal. But what troubled him most was the looming threat that if he refused to cooperate, his family could be placed in harm’s way. It had been some time since he had seen his family but kept in touch as often as possible, never telling them about the men who had, for the most part, broken into his life and what their intentions were. The trip to Maine with Betsy was a well-needed break, but he was now planning to fly out west to visit his family. He felt a strong need to reconnect but wondered if he should invite Betsy. Meeting the family could be seen as a serious matter, one she might not want to get involved in. Truth be told, Frank wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her, wanting to avoid any emotional issues. They had done well over the years to avoid such matters while still retaining a strong friendship. Why would he jeopardize that by inviting her to meet his family?

Later that week, Frank found himself in his office pouring over a bill that had just been passed by the house. The Democrats had been trying for years to remove marijuana from the Schedule One list, thus decriminalizing it. They felt that making the plant legal would open it for federal regulation and wanted to apply a 3.75 percent tax. And with marijuana use outpacing alcohol sales, they believed it was time for government regulation. Yet, most Republicans were

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still vehemently against passing any legislation for the plant’s use outside of government and pharmaceutical research. Again, money was the key motivator. But legalization would allow growers and retailers to make use of the banking system—loans, lines of credit, and bank accounts. It could be a boon for the economy, but legislators have a strong tendency to represent not the people’s interests but their own morality, and many times that moral code was misguided by outdated ideas. As he sat wondering how he would vote, he heard a knock at his office door. It was Betsy. She sauntered into his office wearing her usual nearly sheer skirt and silk blouse.

“Hey,” he said. “Come on in.”

His eyes scanned her as they had every time they met. It seemed that while her appearance had matured, she never seemed to age. “How do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” she replied.

He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head as the springs beneath the seat let out an ancient creek.

“How do you stay looking so young?” he asked. “It’s a bit disturbing.”

Betsy comfortably sat on the corner of his desk, crossing her nylon-clad legs at the knee. Even when she wasn’t trying to be seductive, she still managed to.

“Good genes, I guess,” she replied. Frank looked at her with a bit of suspicion. They were both roughly the same age, yet while he seemed to be at the beginnings of falling apart, she remained as radiant as the day they met.

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“Good genes, huh?” he continued. “So, if I looked hard enough, would I find any scars from some plastic surgery?”

Betsy looked away slightly as her lips tightened. “Hey,” she replied. “A girl’s gotta look good, right?” Pushing his chair back a few inches, he put his feet up on his desk and crossed his ankles as he smiled warmly.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

Now he was curious about anything else she may have had altered. As having once been a top journalist for the Post, she certainly had the money for it. It was just a matter of getting her to confess. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Did she have anything done? I’m surprised you’ve never noticed—you of all people.”

Frank didn’t know what to make of this, and for a moment his expression was overcome by a quizzical look. Of all the things one could have altered, what was the one thing only he would notice? He sat up in his chair as he folded his arms against his chest. Betsy seemed to be having fun leading him along with something he would only know about if he were female.

“Tell you what,” she continued. “I’ll give you a hint if you answer a couple of questions for me.” He nodded his head, still trying to figure out the mystery of what else she had gone under the knife for.

“Okay,” Betsy continued. “Who are those two guys in suits who came to my apartment the other day? You’re a senator; you have to know something about this. I just want to know what I’m getting into.”

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He found it impossible to hide his concern, and the sudden change in his expression gave him away. “I thought so,” Betsy said. “So who are these guys— CIA, FBI, NSA? Frank, what the fuck is going on?” He came to the conclusion it was time to tell her, but he would tell her what he thought she should know. He also insisted that the conversation be held elsewhere. If these men could get into his house, they could certainly get into his office, and he suddenly became concerned about the possibility they may have hidden a few listening devices. “Hey,” he said. “You want a tour?” He stood up from his desk and, grabbing his keys, gently took Betsy by the arm and walked her out into the corridor.

“Let me take you on a little tour.” Betsy was not so much frightened as she was surprised by his reaction. It was certainly something he had never done before.

“Frank,” she said. “What the fuck are you doing?” He continued walking her down the corridor while talking about something entirely unrelated. “Have you seen the Rotunda?” he asked. “It’s pretty spectacular. Let’s go there.”

Betsy began fighting against his grip as she began to realize that something was clearly wrong and the appearance of the two men was something she should be highly concerned about. At the end of the corridor, he stopped, and releasing Betsy, he gave her one important piece of advice. “Betsy,” he said. “If I ask you to walk with me, there’s a good reason for it. Don’t ask questions. Just walk with me, okay?”

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Generally, in the nation’s capital, when two people are seen walking while quietly in conversation, it can be safely assumed that the topic involves something highly sensitive. The government doesn’t just keep secrets from its enemies but also from its own people. This is done to protect them from themselves as well as to maintain national security. It is just as important to maintain this security from within the country’s borders as it is from without. A breach of security can come from anywhere.

Walking the maze of corridors, Frank and Betsy finally got to the Rotunda. She had never seen it before and was truly struck by its beauty while thinking of all the country’s leaders who bodies had been viewed there.

“Over here,” he said.

Putting a hand behind her shoulder, he walked her to the center of the large domed area. Looking up at the ceiling, Betsy was spellbound by its intricate architecture and how the lighting illuminated the smallest details. Frank spoke quietly. “What did they say to you?” he asked. Betsy looked at him with a mix of fear and confusion. He had never reacted to her like this before, practically dragging her down the corridor for a conversation about something she should know nothing about.

“Frank,” she said. “Who are these people, and what do they want?”

He stepped in close and, glancing around, spoke to her in little more than a whisper.

“Please,” he replied. “Just listen to me. I can’t tell you everything, and the less you know, the better,

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but I need to know what they said to you. Did they threaten you?”

Betsy had always been tough. As a journalist, she had always believed that in order to get the job done, one should never back down. Now, for the first time, she found herself tearing up. She knew there were groups and organizations that didn’t exist on paper— people whose agenda took priority over human life. Although people have certain constitutional protections, anyone can be made to disappear. What’s worse is that most of these groups are funded by the government, a broader organization dedicated to protecting the rights of the individual. It was with this knowledge that she had long ago come to the conclusion that the United States government doesn’t really care about the people it is supposed to represent. She also understood that when one person’s rights are violated, it becomes much easier to cull the heard by whatever means are chosen. “No,” Betsy replied. “They didn’t threaten me, but they knew who I was. They knew me by name.” Frank hesitated trying to think of how much he should tell her but the only thing he could do was to comfort her.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve met these people before. It’s all politics. There’s nothing for you to worry about. But I need to know what they said to you.” Betsy’s mind had become foggy as she tried to remember the exact words, but she drew a blank. Fear had taken over.

“I don’t remember,” she said.

Frank was growing impatient. If there was a threat to her life, he needed to know, and putting a hand on her shoulder, he drew her in.

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“Betsy,” he said. “You need to tell me whatever it was they said to you. This is important.” Pulling away from him, she stepped back while wiping a tear from her cheek.

“Frank,” she said. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to find out anyway.”

He knew that given the circumstances, Betsy’s journalistic skills might very well get her killed. He could not allow her to get even remotely close to the truth, but they couldn’t talk about it here—not now. “Alright,” he said. “But not here. We need to find someplace to talk.”

The only place he knew where they could talk without being overheard or followed was where they went during the last congressional break—Maine. Although the idea seemed ridiculous, it would be a safe place to say what needed to be said, and the current semester was coming to a close. It was the perfect time—the perfect place.

“I think we should go back to Maine,” he said. Betsy looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Certainly, he had strayed from the conversation, but there was likely a reason.

“Maine,” she said. “What does Maine have to do with this? Are… are you losing your mind?” Glancing around the Rotunda, Frank was still confident that they were alone.

“Betsy,” he continued. “We need to talk about this, and we need to get as far from DC as possible, and Congress lets out soon for break. So if we’re going to talk about this, we need to be somewhere else for it. I’ll take care of the expenses, but we need to

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Maine. I know how this seems, and I can’t tell you everything, but we need to talk about this, okay?” Betsy agreed and, over the next few moments, managed to calm down.

“Just promise me something,” she said. “Please don’t grab me like that again.”

He let out a sigh as his eyes went to the floor. The remorse he felt was overwhelming, and stepping in, he put his arms around her and kissed her warmly on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you kinda caught me off guard, and I guess I panicked a bit. I’m so sorry.” Taking her hand, he walked back to her car, instructing her to drive straight home and not to speak to anyone. This did nothing but frighten her, and she asked that she stay in his office with him and spend a few days at his house. Against his better judgment, Frank agreed.