The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 57

The ceremony had concluded; Betsy’s grave had been filled in, and the mourners had retreated to their respective homes. As one last act of compassion, Frank visited her parents, a handshake for her father and a hug for her mother. It was likely he would never see them again, but all the same, offered any help he could give them. They humbly declined, demonstrating their strength in the harshest of circumstances. The next day, he found himself on a plane bound for Reagan International Airport. The entire affair left him thinking about what really happened that brought Betsy’s life to such an abrupt halt. DC is a violent place, and gang violence is common, but for such a well-placed shot to come from such a distance was rather odd. He wondered if there had been something sinister behind it all, that perhaps the group behind his success had something to do with it. But how would he find out?

A few weeks had passed since Frank’s return. Once again, the nights were long, and without Betsy there to interrupt, they were somewhat lonely. He responded to his new situation by throwing himself into his work, often sleeping in his office far from the noise of DC and the reminders of Betsy’s presence. A number of bills were soon to come to the Senate floor, and he had to read every one of them. It was demanding work, but in light of his plans for the future, his current position served as an effective stepping stone. One night, after reading the bill on daycare funding, Frank found it necessary to return

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home. He needed a shower and a fresh change of clothes, but as he approached the door he found it ajar. They were back, and opening the door, he found the same two men sitting on the couch. One sat, appearing frozen in place, while the other read his copy of Mein Kampf.

“Frank,” one of them said. “Been a while, hasn’t it?” He closed the book as Frank threw his coat down on the end of the couch while setting his briefcase down nearby.

“Look,” Frank said. “I’m going through a bit of a rough patch right now, so can we make this brief?” The man set the book down, commenting that keeping it around was probably not a good idea. “Yeah, well,” he replied. “I read a lot of different things when I have time. So, what do you want?” The second man got up and stood near the wall as he had many times before, almost as a sentinel. “Well,” the man said. “There’s something you need to know. Now, you understand not to talk to people about what we’re doing here, right?” The pieces had come together, but he needed to remain calm in order to obtain the truth. “Well,” he replied. “Of course. Some things are best kept secret. I’m a politician. I know the value of keeping secrets.”

Standing up, the man stepped towards Frank with a stern face.

“Do you?” he asked. “You went up to Maine again with that woman, Betsy, right?”

Frank’s suspicion was beginning to pique, even though he knew how easy it was to trace a person's whereabouts; he believed they couldn’t possibly know anything else.

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“Yeah, so,” Frank replied.

The man grinned slightly, knowing everything that had happened while they were in the woods of northern Maine.

“Frank,” he said. “We had one of our surveillance guys up there a couple of days before you got there. It was so touching, you and Betsy standing on the beach of that beautiful lake.”

Frank’s suspicions began to mutate into anger as he realized what had really happened. “Frank,” the man continued. “You fucking told her everything, didn’t you? In this business, we have an unspoken rule: you keep your mouth shut. I mean, you’re a goddamn politician. You of all people have to understand the value of keeping your fucking mouth shut.”

His anger was beginning to boil to the surface. “Yeah,” he said. “We may not like what we have to do sometimes, but we have to do what we have to do. Sorry, Frank, but we had to take her out. God, a fucking journalist. You spilled the fucking beans to a motherfucking journalist.”

He should have put the pieces together much sooner, but the pain of grief had prevented him from thinking rationally. Now, the only thing that went through his mind was killing both of them. But as a senator, carrying out such a crime would make his life beyond complicated. However, as he stood in front of them, what came to mind was something more than brilliant. He would continue to go along with their plan, and when it was complete, he would take out his anger on everyone, no matter who they were. As far as his current position was concerned, he would continue doing the job, yet in his mind he

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would be planning his vindictive revenge, and he didn’t care who got hurt in the end. For the acquisition of power, he was no longer at the middle of the plan. In Frank’s mind, he was the beginning. The man continued speaking, but in his enraged mind, his sense of cognition had somehow been shut off, leaving only garbled speech and sometimes moments of silence. This would not be easy to get through.

“So, Frank,” the man said. “I hope we’re all on the same page.”

A moment went by as the room became polluted with an uncomfortable silence while he struggled for words, only to manage a few.

“Yeah,” he replied. “We’re on the same page, alright; nothing to worry about.”

The two men were highly trained in psychology and manipulation and easily assessed that Frank could be a liability to the group’s agenda. But the seed of political ideology had been planted, and relatively soon they would get what they wanted. And with the blossoming of Frank’s anger would also grow the roots of fanaticism. They hoped everything he had absorbed over the years made its way into his mind and fueled by his rage might be magnified, becoming the beast they hoped to be birthed as the world grew ripe for the picking. Now, it was an eventuality as Frank’s enthusiasm for power grew -- power he would use to quiet the voice of the group that was so eager to place him in a position of true power. Once this was accomplished, he would see every member flushed out and given their just deserts. But for the moment, he had to be convincing. They knew he was angry, to say the least, but they also realized that he

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would do nothing to jeopardize his career or his future.

“So,” Frank said.

With the room having gone quiet, he assumed the events of the evening had come to a conclusion. “Is that it? You came here to tell me that you murdered the only woman who ever mattered to me, and now you’re just going to leave, right?” They walked towards the door in silence, but moments after opening, it stopped briefly. “Frank,” the talkative one said. “I hope we understand one another now. Never, and I mean never, speak to anyone about what we’re doing. There’s too much at stake, got it?” There were no goodbyes as the men walked down the stairs and once again lost themselves in DC’s heavy conveyor of people. What would they say if everyone knew what Frank knew? They couldn’t all be shot. But certainly he could be.