The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 52

A few days later, they again made the trip to Maine. As before, the flight was uneventful, and there was no sign they were being followed. But instead of renting a car and driving the six or so hours north, Frank decided they would take a connecting flight to Bangor. From there, he rented a car and drove the rest of the way. Betsy was still wondering why they couldn’t have their conversation elsewhere. There were plenty of places to go—a hotel, an open field. Even the Rotunda at the Capital Building seemed like a good place. However, she did enjoy being at

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the cabin. There was something about the Maine woods that was good for her soul—something healing. But this time was different. They were on their way to a different kind of escape, and Betsy was not simply uncomfortable about why they were going but terrified. If this was the only way he could guarantee the privacy he wanted, then what he had to say must be far more important than she could ever realize. Even as a journalist, it was unlikely that she had ever happened upon something of this magnitude—especially in politics.

Unpacking their luggage, they settled in for the coming night. However, as before, Betsy walked down near the beach and, removing her shoes, dipped her feet into the warm lake water. Watching her from the porch, Frank made his way down to join her and, standing next to her, commented on the pristine scenery that lay before them. The mountains of northern Maine stood jutting towards the evening sky as the moon rose up over the western horizon. It was something one might see within a wooden frame hanging on a wall of the Fenimore gallery next to more modern works. The landscape before them was nothing less than art in motion, accentuated by the quiet chirping of nearby crickets. Now seemed as good a time as any, and Betsy, having decided to break the silent beauty of the surrounding palette, briefly asked why they were there. “So, what is it that’s important enough that we have to come all the way up here?” she asked. “Don’t misunderstand me, Frank. I love being here, but don’t you think that this is a bit much?”

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Frank nodded in agreement. He knew that his actions bordered on the irrational but he also believed that the circumstances that drove him to this were just as irrational.

“I know,” he replied. “It seems a bit nuts, doesn’t it?”

A moment went by as he considered where to begin. Starting at the beginning is not always a good idea or sane, especially when what one is about to reveal is quite insane.

“Well,” he continued. “There are a few things I can’t tell you, but what I can tell you is that the two men who confronted you represent a group of politically motivated people, probably wealthy. I think they may be a special interest group. I’m still not sure, but I don’t want you getting in their way. These people mean business.”

This wasn’t much of an explanation, and Betsy, with her journalistic instincts, wanted to know more. “So,” she said. “What do these people want?” Rather than tell her the truth, Frank was forced to be vague.

“What does any special interest want?” he asked. “They have the right to be represented, right?” Betsy was clearly becoming irritated at his attempt to evade the topic, and turning to him, demanded to know what they wanted. Try as he might to be evasive, Frank had been backed into a corner. “Do you remember the guy who had the heart attack while I was running for Senator?” he asked. “Yeah,” Betsy replied. “He wasn’t doing too badly in the race either. Why?”

He hesitated as a moment of shame overcame him. “Well,” he said. “They were responsible for that.”

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Betsy’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open. Now she understood.

“Are you fucking me?” she said. “Did they put up the money to fund your campaign too?” He simply nodded his head, unable to find the words to explain any further.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said. “Frank, these people are dangerous. If they can arrange for your rival to have a heart attack, what else could they do? What if that guy had died?”

Frank had always known the group they represented could be dangerous, but ever since he found out about their involvement in his former rival’s health, he unconsciously pushed the entire matter to the back of his mind. This was something he thought was best forgotten.

“If he had died I don’t think they would have cared,” he answered. “They don’t seem to have much in the way of morals.”

Betsy was trying to process what she had learned – that the man she had known since college may have been installed into a congressional seat by nothing more than money and a lust for power. “So what do they want with you?” she asked. Betsy already knew what they wanted. At this point it wasn’t difficult to figure out, but she also knew that when it comes to power, anyone’s life could be in danger. She needed to find a way to distance herself from Frank if there was a chance her life was in danger. She was certain he would understand, and it would only be for a few months, just long enough for the pressure to lift and the men in suits to disappear. However, Betsy had oversimplified the

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matter, and the matter was about to become very complicated.