would be in the next clay’s paper. He turned to the stage as his father, William Rudly, the senior senator from Missouri, began his address.
His dad captured the crowd’s attention with his usual enthusiasm and wit, and Jack smiled. Back in the states from a stint in Kuwait during Iraq ’s invasion, his schedule allowed for only a three-day visit home before heading to Iraq to interview Saddam Hussein.
With time so short, his father had asked him to attend the fair. Bill Rudly claimed he needed an honest opinion on how his speech would be received by the press and insisted that only Jack could give an accurate assessment. Jack knew, of course, that his dad just wanted to spend as much time as possible with his son. and would have said anything to assure his company.
The crowd applauded. The older Rudly’s blue eyes radiated an intensity and alertness that allowed him to size up situations and people with an uncanny accuracy. Even as mischievous young men. Jack and his friends never got away with a lie where Bill Rudly was concerned.
Jack had inherited his father’s blue eyes and intuition, but his youthful indiscretions were his alone. He rubbed the small scar over his left eye, a reminder of a barroom brawl in Turkey. As an investigative journalist, he often found himself delving into the seamy side of life, and the ability to defend himself had become a necessity. So, at six-foot-two-inches and one-hundred-eighty pounds, he worked out regularly. Regardless of the physical challenges he posed for his body, however, sleep was an illusive commodity. Nothing seemed to curb his overactive mind.
He swore that insomnia had forced him to become a journalist. While the rest of the world slept, he was wide-awake, keeping watch. Bill Rudly, however, didn’t agree with the practicality of this notion and disapproved of Jack’s career. This was the first in a long list of topics on which they disagreed.
As the son of a foreign diplomat-turned-senator, Jack had grown up all over the world and spoke five languages, making him not only a valuable man in the field of foreign journalism, but also a person much sought- after by government intelligence agencies. For a man of Jack’s talent and contacts, these careers were easily integrated.
Jack didn’t mind the special assignments, even though it meant that some of his stories never went any farther than Langley, but when it came to certain sectors of the world, his father objected. Iraq was one of these sectors. Jack reminded Bill that even if he wasn’t on the government payroll he’d still travel to places like Iraq to cover the news as a journalist, but his father detested the added risk to his son.
Jack had spent six years in the Middle East. He not only spoke Arabic, but could assimilate into the culture. And his established contacts made his visits invaluable to the intelligence community.
Bill Rudly pleaded with his son to reconsider this assignment. He knew that the U.S. would never tolerate Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait, that war was imminent. His pleading had turned to anger when Jack ignored him.
Jack lit a cigarette. At thirty-five, it amazed him that his father still tried to tell him what to do. Yet, here he was looking for advice. Advice. Jack thought, the real reason for his visit. He’d been offered a position in the States with the
Straightening from the fence post, Jack saw Carolyn Alden Lane and her father-in-law, Edmund Lane, walking toward him. They were in an intense discussion and didn’t see him as they approached. Edmund’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants. His white hair glistened in the sun.
“This can’t continue to happen,” the senator’s wife was saying. “Something’s got to be done about Patrick Dunfey. He’s making too many waves too close to the election.”
“You worry about Warner. I’ll handle Dunfey.” Edmund Lane said.
Jack interrupted, “Hello. Carolyn.” He tilted his head toward the senior Lane. “Edmund.”
Carolyn’s head snapped up. “Hello. Jack.” she said quickly, obviously embarrassed by the chance they had been overhead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. How rude of me.”
Edmund shook Jack’s hand. “How are you, son?”
“I’m fine. Just visiting my father for a few days before going abroad.”
“How nice,” Carolyn said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here in Missouri, but I faithfully read your articles. Your coverage of the protest in Beijing was impressive. I wish I’d known you were going to be here. We could have had you speak.”
“That’s nice of you. Carolyn. But I really wanted to keep this trip low-key.”
Carolyn smiled in understanding. “I wish I could stay and talk longer, but unfortunately duty calls.” She extended her hand. “It was good to see you. Jack.” She turned to Edmund. “I’ll call you later.”
They watched her walk away.
“So, today we’re treated to speeches from our favorite senators,” Jack said. “I see Dunfey’s been giving Warner a hard time.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not your concern and certainly not the press’s concern either.”
“Don’t worry, Edmund, this is strictly off-the-record,” Jack reassured him, surprised by Lane’s abrupt change in attitude. “I’m here for pleasure, not as a journalist.”
“Don’t give me that crap. You Rudlys are all alike. Just remember, boy, you stick your hand in a badger hole, you’re liable to lose a finger, or worse.”
“Is that a threat?”
Edmond ’s glare settled on Jack. “Take it any way you please. Just stay out of the Lanes’ business.”
Jack stared dumbfounded as Edmond strode away.
“What did he want?” Bill Rudly said as he approached.
Jack turned toward the sound of his father’s voice. “I’m not sure. He was fine one moment, and when I asked about Dunfey, he got testy. Did you have a run-in with him?”
“Just the usual politics.”
“Didn’t sound like the usual politics. This sounded personal. What’s going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you. Don’t worry about it.” The senior Rudly started for the car, parked directly behind the amphitheater in the VIP lot.
Jack followed. “I am worried about it.”
Bill stopped. “I don’t want you anywhere near those people, do you understand? You have no idea who you’re messing with. They’ll not take kindly to your investigations, and I don’t want you hurt. End of discussion.” He swung around abruptly and continued on to the car.
Surprised, Jack paused, then caught up a moment later. “Look, either you fill me in, or I’m on the case, which could cause us both some embarrassment.”
Bill Rudly opened his car door and lowered himself into the seat behind the steeling wheel. He’d given his driver the day off in order to have private time with his son. “I do my best to respect your career. I expect you to respect mine. I repeat: discussion over.” He pulled the car door closed leaving Jack to walk to the passenger’s side and get in.
“No way,” Jack said angrily. “You know I respect your career, but this doesn’t fall into that category. We’re talking about the Lanes and a threat that was tossed in my direction. I deserve an explanation.”
Bill rubbed his forehead in agitation. “There’s corruption in that family. I’m sure of it. And it’s poisoning Missouri. I won’t say any more than that.” He turned the key in the ignition.
“What happened between you and Edmund Lane?”
“Edmund knows I’m on to them. That’s why he’s got his dander up. I told him I wouldn’t let him and his cohorts use the political system for their own agenda. He didn’t like that.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. Edmund’s not used to any opposition, let alone back talk.”
Bill moved the gearshift to reverse and placed his arm on the back of the seat. “When I’ve got something substantial I’ll let you know.”
Anger flashed across Jack’s features. “I’m your son, for God’s sake. Not some member of the press who you have to watch your words around.”
“This has nothing to do with your profession.”
“Bullshit. You don’t trust me because I’m a journalist. You’ve made that abundantly clear, and you can’t pass up an opportunity to let me know it.”
