The Successor Page 15

  Graham ran her fingers through her hair. It was one thing to approve a plan to work with Cuba’s military to engineer a coup. Quite another to approve assassinations of civilians, even if they were members of a Communist regime that had been committing awful atrocities against the Cuban people for half a century.

  “It’s actually a crime to do that now,” Bixby spoke up. “For the president to approve assassinations of any kind. Not to mention civilian assassinations.”

  She knew that. It was a function of the new politically correct landscape where people thought they had the right to know everything their government was doing. Which, in her opinion, was wrong. It would be just like every shareholder knowing everything she was doing. Sometimes you couldn’t tell people how you made the money because then you wouldn’t be able to make it. Some things had to be done in the dark and you just hoped they never came into the light. “Do you have proof President Wood has done that? Ordered assassinations?”

  “We’re working on it. We’re almost there. Our contact inside the Pentagon is scared to death to say anything, and he should be. Even more scared to make a copy of a presidential assassination order. I think you can understand. We think he’ll get us what we need, but we’re trying to find other ways to get confirmation of it, too. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

  She had a feeling she knew what was coming.

  “We think President Wood has recruited a very prominent individual from the private sector, as well. A man who—”

  “Christian Gillette,” she broke in.

  Bixby gazed at her, dumbfounded. “How did you know?”

  Graham’s expression turned grim. “I have friends on both sides of the aisle in Washington.” Actually, Senator Dorsey had told her himself that the man he was interested in was Christian. He’d told her the night she’d been at his town house months ago, and several times since. That he needed to follow Christian closely, and he needed Graham to help him with that. That he couldn’t arrange it himself—or have Bixby arrange it—because if that was uncovered, he’d be expelled from Congress for spying on a U.S. citizen. But he’d told her in no uncertain terms that he needed to know everything Christian did before he did it, everywhere he went before he went. “You don’t get where I’ve gotten without that kind of help, especially when you operate in a very regulated business like insurance.”

  “Well, of course but…” His voice trailed off.

  She appreciated that he didn’t press her for how she’d gotten her information. It was a sign of respect, probably newfound because she’d known about Christian working with President Wood before he’d told her. “A lot of people in this country think President Wood is doing a damn good job, Grant.”

  “No one can look at what he’s planning to do in Cuba and approve of it,” Bixby said. “You can’t target civilians for assassination, you just can’t. And the order is very clear, according to our contact. These people are not to survive the coup. There’s to be no chance of them somehow reforming and retaking control. No trials for human rights violations because there won’t be anyone to try.”

  “Sometimes a president has to do things the public doesn’t approve of.”

  “You mean like introduce legislation to force big insurance companies to offer health insurance to inner-city populations for next to nothing.”

  Graham had been watching the tractor in the distance as it moved around the field, slowly making the uncut rectangle in the middle smaller and smaller. “What are you talking about?” she asked, catching a triumphant tone in his voice.

  “President Wood has been quietly working with several congressmen from inner-city districts in New York, Houston, and Los Angeles on this legislation for the last three months. It’s designed to boost his support with Hispanics without pissing off whites. At least, not in the short term,” Bixby said. “He’s already got the black vote, of course, but he’s trying hard to increase his support with the biggest minority group. He didn’t get as much of the Hispanic vote last time around—they usually do vote conservative. But he’s trying to change that. And he won’t really piss off whites with this thing. The only whites who’ll know what’s going on are the executives at the insurance companies. Like you,” Bixby said, pointing at her. “I mean, ultimately you’ll end up raising your rates on everybody else to pay for this, which President Wood knows. They’ll understand how bad it is when their premiums go up or companies start charging them for their health benefits because carriers are suddenly charging so much. But by that time Wood will already be reelected. It won’t matter then. He won’t care what whites think at that point.”

  “Are you serious about this?”

  “Absolutely. I can confirm that President Wood is working with these guys, a couple of black guys he’s gotten close to in Congress, to introduce the legislation. We’ll show you the preliminary draft. We lifted it out of one of their offices last week.”

  “How far along is the president with this thing?”

  “Another couple of weeks and he’ll announce it. That’s so there’s enough time to get it passed and start implementing it before the election.”

  “What are we talking here?” Graham asked. “What kind of premiums?”

  “I believe I heard that under the proposed plan a single mom will be able to buy full coverage with only minor deductibles for a hundred dollars a month. Each kid she has will be covered for just another twenty-five dollars.”

  “What?” That was absurd. No one could offer health insurance at those rates and make any money, especially to people in the inner city. “The carriers simply won’t do it.”

  “They won’t have a choice,” Bixby retorted. “If they don’t comply, they’ll have to pay a penalty tax of some sort, which will be just as expensive as offering the coverage or not be allowed to operate in the state in which they refuse to make the offering available. Not be able to sell any insurance in that state. Not just be barred from selling health insurance.”

  Graham thought it over. The insurance industry would fight it hard, but ultimately there’d be a compromise—or Wood might just win flat out. Plus, he had the majority in both houses at this point. However it turned out, the president would gain a lot of points with inner-city voters, especially, as Bixby had suggested, Hispanics. “What does President Wood want Christian to do for him as far as Cuba goes?” she asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  She shrugged. “How would I?” She was still digging, still taking advantage of the fact that Bixby and Dorsey hadn’t gotten their stories straight.

  “You just told me you knew they were working together.”

  “All I know is that Christian met with President Wood not long ago and that the whole thing was very hush-hush.” Dorsey hadn’t told her this. This had come from another source—the one Dorsey wanted to know about. “Even how he got to wherever they met was kept quiet. I don’t know exactly when it was or where it was, and I didn’t know it was about Cuba.” Graham could tell it was killing Bixby not to ask her how she knew Christian had met with Wood. “It’s the first time they’ve met since Wood almost chose him to be the vice president.” She knew Bixby was aware of that—Christian almost being Wood’s VP—as this was another thing Lloyd had told her. And at this point she was really just messing with Bixby. Now he couldn’t figure out what Dorsey was telling him and what Dorsey was telling her. It was beautiful. “How did Lloyd find out about Wood almost choosing Christian to be his vice president?” This would tell her how much they really wanted her help.

  “Are you going to help us?”

  “I don’t know, Grant. Christian’s made a lot of money for me at Everest over the last ten years. I get the feeling he may get caught up in what you’re trying to do to President Wood. If you could prove he was somehow passing information about the coup and the assassinations to this general, to this Zapata character, I suppose he’d have a problem as well.”

  “A big problem,” Bixby confirmed.

 
“Am I right? That this isn’t just about President Wood?” Graham had sensed over the past few years that Lloyd wanted Christian’s head, but he’d never explained why. “That Lloyd wouldn’t mind seeing Christian crash and burn, too?”

  “Priority number one is Jesse Wood,” Bixby said firmly. He hesitated for a few moments. “But you’re right, Senator Dorsey would love to see Christian Gillette go down in flames, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story.”

  Graham crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her jaw out. “I’ve got plenty of time. You’re the one with the plane to catch.”

  After a few seconds Bixby gave in. “Look, Christian’s been a pain in the ass to the establishment for a while. For starters, a few years ago some senior people inside the government, inside a very clandestine cell of the intelligence sector, were carving a cutting-edge technology out of a secret government research group. So they could move it into the private sector and clean up financially.”

  Graham had heard rumors about those kinds of diversions—government insiders secretly transferring federal research projects to friends in the private sector, then getting shares of stock in the company so they could make tons of money in the IPO—but, until now, she hadn’t heard of a specific example. “What did the research deal with?”

  “Nanotechnology, specifically on the bio side. It was unbelievable, it would have been a blowout IPO with just a year or two more of development. A lot of people were going to be paid back for a lot of years of crappy government wages when they could have been in the private sector making millions all their professional lives. Anyway, Christian screwed that whole thing up. He found out about what was going on and ruined it. Pissed a lot of people off and cost a couple of men their reputations.”

  That sounded like Christian. Black-and-white—no gray. By the book or bye-bye. “I can see him doing that.”

  “Well, the establishment didn’t like it,” Bixby retorted angrily. “And what made it really hard for people, what people couldn’t understand, was that his father, Clayton, was a big conservative before he died in that plane crash.”

  “I remember,” she said, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. A slight breeze had picked up. “They were talking about Clayton being a lock to win the Republican nomination for president at some point.”

  “The men in charge thought Christian understood that, thought he got it, so they couldn’t understand what the hell he was doing by getting in the way of a little payback to their friends.” Bixby looked around.

  As if he thought there might actually be microphones out here, Graham mused, wondering how people could become that paranoid. Maybe that was just what happened to you when you’d been in Washington for so long.

  “There’s more,” Bixby continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember a guy named Sam Hewitt?”

  Graham rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Samuel Hewitt was chairman and CEO of U.S. Oil for a long time.” U.S. Oil was a Texas-based energy company, the biggest industrial company in the world. “He was the only person ever to be the Forbes most admired executive more than once, I think.”

  “Exactly right,” Bixby confirmed.

  “Hewitt died a couple of years ago, didn’t he? Of a heart attack or something?”

  “Well, that was the official story.”

  Graham glanced up. “Oh?”

  “I know you remember Senator Massey from Texas.”

  “Sure,” she agreed, wondering where all this was leading. “Massey was actually Lloyd’s mentor. He was the one who got Lloyd interested in politics in the first place. Got Lloyd to consider running in that first race.” She put a finger to her chin, trying to remember the news account she was thinking of. “Massey drowned in a boating accident or something.”

  “He was fishing at a lake in Oklahoma, by himself. The lake was way back on a friend’s property, in a very remote area. He did die by drowning, but he was murdered, just like Sam Hewitt was murdered. There was indisputable evidence proving murder in both cases,” Bixby said. “Nothing the public ever heard about, of course. The bottom line is that Hewitt and Massey were working together to keep Jesse Wood out of the White House. They’d gotten hold of something that they were certain would destroy him. A film clip or pictures of him, and they were going to release it to the press.” Bixby paused for a few moments. “But they were murdered first…and Christian Gillette was involved.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Graham said firmly. “Christian would never be involved with something like that. It’s not in him.”

  “If you don’t believe me,” Bixby said sharply, “then I suggest you talk to my boss. He has the details. He spoke to Samuel Hewitt just before he died. He’s also seen the evidence that proves Hewitt and Massey were murdered.”

  Graham gazed across the fields. The man had finished cutting and was steering the tractor back toward the barn where they were heading. “I will talk to Lloyd.”

  “He was hoping you’d want to. In fact, he was hoping you’d come back to Washington with me tonight. He was hoping you might be able to stay a few days as he’s, well, free.”

  Graham knew what that meant. It meant the senator had enjoyed their night together after the state dinner. Enjoyed the two other nights she’d spent at his house in Georgetown since then and wanted more. “I may be able to help Senator Dorsey,” she said, “may be able to get him the information he needs on Christian Gillette. I’ve arranged for someone to be very close to Christian.” She watched a smile creep across Bixby’s face. Suddenly he seemed like a completely different man.

  “Great,” Bixby said happily. “So, will you come back to Washington with me?”

  11

  “JIM MARSHALL is waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, Debbie, send him in.”

  Christian switched off the intercom and closed the file he’d been looking at. It was a file he’d been handed on his way out of the lodge at Camp David by a man President Wood had introduced him to—Dex Kelly—after they had left Richard Hart on the porch. Kelly had informed him that the contents were strictly for his eyes only, that he was to look at it only when no one else was around. The file wasn’t thick—just five pages—and he’d gone through it twice in the last ten minutes. Not extensive, but what was there—a summary of President Wood’s plan for Cuba—was incredible. Sensitive information about how the initiative would be carried out—coordinating with both the Cuban military and the civilian sectors—and who would be involved. Including the name of the civilian Christian would meet with soon—a surgeon named Nelson Padilla—who was clandestinely working with a general in the Cuban army, code name Zapata. According to the file, the doctor was heading up a group called Los Secretos Seis, which included high-level civilians from several of the major ministries who would take over after the coup had been carried out.

  It had surprised Christian to actually see a name in the report because he hadn’t officially committed to helping President Wood yet. He had every intention of doing so, but it seemed odd that Wood’s people would jump the gun like that. Of course, you could never really be sure what was going on when intelligence people were involved—he was well aware of that because the CIA had used two of Everest’s portfolio companies as conduits. Secretly paying intelligence officers in foreign countries using portfolio company accounts to transfer the money. Maybe the name of the Cuban doctor wasn’t real. Maybe Wood was using Christian as a decoy, hoping someone would get the file and see the name, sending them off in the wrong direction.

  His eyes narrowed. The file even mentioned the city where he would meet Dr. Padilla: Miami. Well, that was going to change. Quentin Stiles would see to that. No one would know where the meeting would take place until the last minute—that was how Quentin worked. And it sure wouldn’t be in Miami. Who knew how many people had gotten this file? If Dex Kelly and the president didn’t like that, too bad. He was willing to take chances, but not stupid ones.
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  Just as Christian locked the drawer, the office door opened—sooner than he’d anticipated—and Marshall appeared. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed as if the other man had glanced at his hand as it moved away from the handle. “Come in.” Christian motioned toward the chair in front of his desk as he slipped the drawer key into his pocket. “Have a seat.”

  Marshall was older than Christian—fifty-one—and Christian had always sensed that Marshall was uncomfortable reporting to a man eight years his junior. Marshall looked his age—he had a full head of hair, but it was completely silver. He was tall and distinguished-looking, and, until the last year, he’d been a solid performer. The Everest portfolio companies he was responsible for had always done fine—nothing spectacular, no grand slams like Laurel Energy—but they’d always hit singles and doubles, as people in the firm referred to solid but not outstanding results.

  “How are you, Jim?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Marshall answered in a subdued voice.

  As if he knew what was coming.

  As Marshall sat down in the chair in front of the desk, Christian couldn’t help wondering again how well Marshall and Allison had gotten to know each other in the last few months. Christian knew it wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy, either. Allison was right, he hadn’t been paying much attention to her lately, so it wasn’t as if he could say anything about her looking elsewhere for attention—if there was anything going on between her and Marshall, or her and anyone else for that matter. Still, he didn’t like thinking about the possibility that she and Marshall had become more than just friends now that Marshall was divorced. A few times in the past she’d mentioned having a thing for good-looking, older men. Marshall fit that bill. A bit plastic-looking in Christian’s opinion, but he could see how women might be attracted to him. “Thanks for coming in,” he said.

  “Sure.” Marshall fiddled with his cuff links for a second, making sure they were fastened securely.