says, then what was it?”
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There was a long silence while Wardwell pondered the question. All of the sudden he slapped his thighs with both hands. “Oh, my God. I didn’t even think about it. The
President’s budget was supposed to be passed today. You take those guys out, and the budget is dead.”
“If the motive was to derail the budget, then why kill all three of them?
Koslowski was in charge of the Appropriations Committee. All they had to do was kill him and the budget would have been dead. Why kill the two Senators?” McMahon prodded. “Well … if they wanted to cover their tracks and not make it look like they were trying to stop the budget, they would have killed more than just Koslowski.”
“Fair enough.”
McMahon paused and tapped his finger on his chin. “Assuming you’re right, why would someone take such a big risk just to stop the budget?”
“There could be a million different reasons. probably, all of them having to do with money. Maybe there was a new piece of legislation in there that was going to cost someone a whole lot of money, or maybe they had just cut funding for a program, and the people who have been receiving that money weren’t very happy about it. The budget is a huge piece of legislation. There could be over a thousand new entries in there that could drastically affect someone or some group’s finances,” Wardwell said. There was a short silence while they thought about Wardwell’s comments, and then Jennings spoke up.
“Yeah, or it could just be a group of Americans pissed off at the way these jerk-offs run the country.” McMahon turned to Jennings.
“All right, hotshot, it’s your turn.” Jennings sat forward on the couch. Her gun hung loosely in a shoulder holster under her left arm. “There are a lot of Americans out there who are sick and tired of the way these guys are running the country. Our own
Counterterrorism Department has reported an alarming rise in threats against politicians over the last eighteen months. If I were an individual who was worried about losing money because of a new piece of legislation, Fitzgerald, Koslowski, and Downs would be the last three I would kill. They were the biggest spenders on the Hill ….
Unless the President has some hard evidence that there’s an ulterior motive behind these killings, I think they’re just spewing political rhetoric.”
“Don’t you think the timing is a little strange?” McMahon asked.
“What timing? That they were killed right before the budget was supposed to be voted on?” Jennings shook her head sideways. “No, I don’t. This afternoon you told me what that Kennedy woman from the CIA had to say about these murders being committed by military-trained commandos. Well, I thought about that for a while and then called my
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old firearms instructor from the FBI Academy. His name is GusMitchell. Have either of you ever met him?”
“Sure, I know him real well,” McMahon answered. Wardwell shook his head no.
“Well, Gus is an old Delta Force commando, so I called him and ran Kennedy’s theory by him. We could only talk for a couple of minutes because he had to go teach a class, but in that short time he said something that didn’t really sink in until you brought this budget thing up. Gus said one of the most difficult things about planning an operation like this would be to pick a time where you were guaranteedthat all of your targets would be where you wanted them.
When you look at these assassinations from the killers’ standpoint, the morning before the budget is supposed to go to a vote is the perfect time. All of the Congressman have to be in town to vote, and all of the Senators stay in town to try to influence the outcome.
Any other day, and these guys are flying in and out of town with little or no notice.”
McMahon nodded his head up and down while he thought about Jennings’s new angle. It might be worth his time to go give Gus Mitchell a little visit. O’Rourke and
Scarlatti were walking down the sidewalk.
Scarlatti had both arms wrapped around O’Rourke’s waist, and he had his arm around her shoulder. The cold night air felt good on their faces.
Liz reached up and kissed him on the chin. O’Rourke smiled and noted it was the first time he had done so in days. Everything had been so tense, so serious, over the last several weeks. It felt good holding on to Liz, but something told him things in
Washington were going to get worse before they got better. When they reached
O’Rourke’s house, they walked up the steps to the front door. The first level of the brownstone was a two-car garage.
Parked on the same side of the street and down about three houses was a black BMW
with dark-tinted windows and diplomatic license plates. The man behind the steering wheel watched as the handsome couple entered the house. He looked up and down the street to see if anyone had followed. As Michael and Liz entered the house, O’Rourke’s yellow Lab, Duke, jumped up from his spot on the kitchen floor and ran down the hallway. Liz let go of Michael to greet the excited dog. “Hello, Duke. How are you? I’ve missed you.” Scarlatti patted him on the side and scratched his neck, while the eighty-pound Lab wagged his tail. O’Rourke said hello to his roommate of seven years and patted him on the head. Scarlatti stood up. “Where’s your ball, Duke? Where’s your ball?
Go get your ball.”
Duke frantically tapped his paws on the hardwood floor and then bolted down the hallway in search of his ball. O’Rourke took Scarlatti’s jacket, hung it up, and said, “Hey, don’t get him too excited. I’ve got more important things for us to do than play fetch.”
