“Not much, according to Karl, Mr. Bishop rented the car at the Albuquerque Airport a few days ago.” Smith flipped the page on the notebook and said, “On the contract, he listed his place of residence as Virginia. Has a Virginia driver’s license.”

  “Think he’s government?”

  “Could be, or just on vacation as he says.”

  McFadden popped another knuckle. “Who just happened to show up here at this exact moment?”

  “Good point.”

  McFadden winked and grinned. “I say he disappears.”

  “That might not be such a good idea, right now, Clark. Do we want a search going on around the ranch? Someone other than Cora must also know he’s here, especially if he’s government. Drawing attention is…”

  McFadden grunted. “Okay, okay, then what do you propose?”

  “How about just roughing him up a bit?”

  McFadden gave a noncommittal shrug. “All right, run him off, but don’t mess him up so bad he can’t leave by his own power. Don’t want to be seen hauling him away.”

  Smith got up and removed his glasses. He cleaned them on his shirt. “And if he doesn’t run?”

  “Then we’ll know he’s with the government—he’ll have to disappear. You still flying to Washington tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Make sure you personally contact each Scout who wasn’t at the reunion—no exceptions.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  McFadden stood and looked out his office window. “I want them all out of the district by H hour. We’ll need everyone we have after that—can’t afford to lose a man.”

  “I understand,” Smith said as he rose to leave.

  McFadden sat alone, seething over Minerva. Her inviting Bishop to the reunion had caused this problem, and now he had to deal with it. After his marriage to Coleen had ended so tragically, McFadden had sworn off marriage for two decades. When he met Minerva at a party in Palm Springs, he’d only considered her another sexual relationship in a long line of such relationships. Beautiful, great body, fantastic screw. He’d decided he needed an heir. Someone to carry on his work. Little did he know that she was unable to have children. But his life’s plan couldn’t be stopped by something so trivial. He must go on.

  He was surprised how much he’d changed since his younger days. In college, his only interest had been girls and liquor. With his multi-millionaire dad’s money, he could have as much of either as he desired. It wasn’t until after school, working for his father, McFadden realized what he most hungered for—power. He’d been good at making deals and discovered the power of what large sums of money could do to influence people and their politics. Anyone could be bought off with enough money if they thought no one would ever find out.

  He’d married Minerva, a former Miss California, and set about to make all the money possible. Somewhere along the way, his focus on conservative politics began to overshadow all else. He honestly considered himself a patriot, and patriots should always answer their calling and never to anyone else. This country had given him everything a man could ask for, and he wasn’t going to sit still for some California or Northeast namby-pamby liberals to screw it all up.

  Speaking of screwing up, he’d come close to screwing it all up with his first marriage out of college, but his dad had saved him. Not listening to the old man almost led to Clark’s downfall. He’d never made that mistake again. His dad was his hero. The old man taught him about people, and that Vegas trip cleared up his marriage problem.

  In 1976 Clark and Coleen rolled up to the newest addition to the Vegas Strip at 3805 South Las Vegas Boulevard in the car his dad had sent to the airport to meet them. It wasn’t so hot that spring: clear skies and the temperature pushing ninety. Coleen gazed up at the fourteen-story Marina Hotel, all new and sparkling in the blazing Nevada sunshine. Hardly a year old, it stood as the latest jewel on the south end of the Strip’s crown.

  Colleen broke into a wide smile as she studied the big blue Marina Hotel Casino sign out front with the marquee below. They were just across from the famous Tropicana.

  “This is fantastic,” she said before releasing a girlish giggle.

  Clark tipped the driver as the bellhop grabbed their bags. “Like it, huh?”

  “I’ll say. I want to go to the pool.”

  Clark laughed. “Let’s get checked in first.”

  As they headed to the lobby, Clark was well aware of what was at stake this weekend—their marriage. Coleen was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Probably why he’d asked her to marry him so soon after college. She was twenty-two, just a year younger than Clark. Her light red hair sensually flowed across her shoulders. When she took her bra off, the long locks curved around the full ripe breasts, showcasing them in a way that sent Clark’s groin pulsating. He’d been with lots of girls in college, but when Coleen wrapped herself around him, his mind went blank. He could live in her sexual embrace forever.

  Yeah, Coleen had everything he ever wanted in a wife, except there was one problem. She was a drunk. Clark could live with someone who drank a little too much—hell, so did he sometimes. But Coleen pushed way past the point of a little too much. No, she got falling down, stinking drunk. But the worst part was before she went down, she became nasty, real nasty. She’d had problems with her family since she was a teen—issues, she’d called them. The resentment turned to hate when she perceived they were jealous of her successes in beauty pageants. She’d won every one she entered. Besides her looks, her singing voice ensured she’d always taken the most talented award in every contest. Had more than one record producer after her.

  Clark had tried talking her into Alcoholics Anonymous, but she wouldn’t even discuss the idea. Couldn’t get past the first step. Admit she was powerless over alcohol—that her life had become unmanageable. She was slowly becoming a nervous wreck. This trip, he’d have a serious conversation with her, and if she couldn’t behave, well, he didn’t want to consider that option.

  Clark’s dad had paid for the weekend getaway in hopes Clark and Coleen might mend a floundering relationship. His dad had always objected to Coleen. Never wanted them to marry in the first place. Of course, Clark had ignored the old man. But Clark had also come to realize things couldn’t go on like this. Being around a mean drunk was never fun, but living with one had become intolerable.

  Coleen just celebrated her first full year in therapy. Clark couldn’t tell it had done her much good. She still carried all the same old baggage from her childhood and insisted that she could handle her drinking. Well, perhaps the therapy might do some good given more time. But time was in short supply. As Clark’s dad aged, he wanted Clark to start being the face of the company. That included numerous gatherings, parties, and other social events that Coleen must attend. She always showed up all smiles, looking better than a woman had a right to, and winning favor with everyone. But after a few drinks, things began going to hell. Slurred words, dropped glasses, and tripping were the norm. No, something had to change—one way or another.

  After getting settled in their room, Coleen stripped off her clothes. Clark watched her drop the bra and slip off the baby blue panties as she picked up her bikini. He strolled to her and plucked the bikini from her grip and tosses it on the bed. He kissed her long and hard, letting his hand drop between her legs. Clark lay her on the bed and caressed her breasts, licking the nipples with short sucks in between. His hand continued playing between her legs. She pushed him back.

  “Clark, please, let’s get a little sun and a swim first.”

  He grinned. “Let’s do the sun later.”

  She pouted. “Please. If you wait till tonight, I’ll give you a special surprise.”

  Clark knew what that meant. He would wait for that. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  She slipped from underneath him and into the bikini.

  She had a figure made for a bikini. Turning heads and bulging eyes of guests followed her to the chaise lounge, where she and Clark parked themselves beside the pool’s blue water. Women punched their partners to stop gawking. Clark and Coleen had a swim and ordered drinks from the pool waiter. Coleen only had a couple, which wasn’t bad for her. If he could just keep her at a drink an hour, she’d stay sober enough. Right now, she was more interested in having Clark rub her down with lotion. She unlaced the strap holding her top before quickly flopping down on her stomach. The unexpected quick flash of flesh probably caused more than one heart to skip as other men acted like it was no big deal to their wives and girlfriends. Of course, Coleen realized what she was doing—teasing. She so loved to tease, a master of the art.

  After a couple of hours of sunning and another drink, they made it back to their room. Coleen staggered a little removing her bikini, and Clark led her to the shower. That’s where she liked to spring her surprises. They bathed each other, and she rubbed her hand between his legs.

  That mischievous grin showed again. “You like that, Clark?”

  He leaned back against the shower wall as the warm water cascaded around them. His loins wanted to explode with pleasure, but he held it.

  She dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth while massaging his scrotum. Clark almost passed out from pleasure. He held her head as it went back and forth and round and round. Just before he climaxed, she stopped.

  Her face took on a pixie expression. “Now finish it, big man,” she stood and leaned against the shower wall lifting a leg and resting her foot against the opposite wall. Clark loved that pose. He pinned her against the wall, slipped his hands under her hips, and lifted her off the shower floor. When he entered her, a squeal of pleasure escaped her throat. She slowly moved up and down, side to side, and round and round. When Clark’s climax exploded, he let out a loud groan and pushed deeper, pinning her harder against the wall. A moment later, she let out a moan, and her body trembled while she whimpered in his ear. This was why Clark had to find a way to rehabilitate her. He loved her, but the sex was like a power charge. It cleared his mind and reset his attitude like nothing else. Being sexually dependent on another wasn’t something Clark McFadden ever considered. Strangely, he didn’t mind with Coleen.

  They dressed and went to dinner in the Marina Showroom. Tonight, the hotel showcased Bare Touch of Vegas. It was a dinner show. Coleen had the Polynesian chicken, and Clark enjoyed the prime rib. Coleen was charming, and the excitement on her face confirmed she enjoyed the performance. During the show, Coleen had several more drinks in quick succession.

  When her head bobbed, Clark whispered, “That’s enough.”

  She shot him a death stare and ordered another and then one on top of that. Probably just to aggravated him, she lit a cigarette, one of the new bad habits she’d picked up recently. Clark detested anyone smoking a cigarette around him. The tobacco of the useless underclass. Men of distinction smoked a fine cigar or pipe, like his dad. Clark especially hated women smoking. He started to pull it out of her mouth but didn’t want to make a scene. He seethed with anger at how a perfect evening could go so wrong so fast.

  When they arrived back in their room, there was still tension. Clark excused himself to the bathroom for a minute, and by the time he got out, Coleen had ordered a chilled bottle of expensive Champagne. Clark didn’t argue as the waiter uncorked the bottle with a pop and filled the two glasses. He tipped the man and locked the door. At least she wouldn’t be out in public making a spectacle of herself.

  But Coleen was just warming up for the finale. She downed a quick glass of bubbly and gawked at Clark as she slipped into her nightgown. In a hateful tone, she said, “Don’t you ever embarrass me in public like that again.”

  “Embarrass you? You were the one doing all the embarrassing.” That was so like her. Trying to turn the argument around and make him the bad guy.

  She poured another glass and wiggled an index finger at him. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, you son of a bitch!”

  Now Clark was dumbfounded. What in the world was she talking about?

  Coleen gulped the wine in one swallow, half dribbling down her chin and chest. “I know your father paid for this trip, and I know why. Well, let me just tell you I know a lot of things.” She pounded her chest with a finger and shouted, “Things that could get that old bastard run out of town and you with him. Things the cops would love to know.”

  Her words were so slurred he had trouble understanding them. His mind flashed back to a few weeks earlier. He’d walked into his office, and she stood by his desk reading the Thompson file. He shouldn’t have left something like that just lying around. It outlined what bribes had been paid to whom concerning the new government mineral leases—a big mistake…

  Clark rushed to her and grabbed both arms. She dropped the empty glass. As he squeezed, he said, “If you ever say a word about that to anyone, not even I can protect you.” He gave her a firm shake. “Do you understand?” He walked back to bed and dropped on the mattress and unlaced both shoes.

  Coleen just stared at him, still in a fighting mood. Her hands dropped to her sides, making fists as her death glare cut into him. As Clark was halfway finished slipping off his trousers, she said, “We’ll just see about that!” She bolted to the door and was in the hall before Clark could get his pants up or off his foot. He ran after her, the trousers trailing, still with one foot caught in them. By the time he made it into the hall, Coleen stood by the elevator frantically pushing the down button.

  “Get back in here,” he said, advancing toward her.

  She half ran, half staggered down the carpeted hall to the fire exit door using the wall for support. She pushed the door open as Clark caught up. He grabbed her arm, and she twisted and staggered into the stairwell. He followed, and the door shut behind them with a loud click. Clark jerked back on her wrist just as she started down the stairs. She spun around, clawing his cheek with her loose hand. Had to knock some sense into her. Clark gave her a hard slap across the face and lost his grip on the wrist.

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Coleen stood on the second step below him. As she sensed herself about to fall backward, her eyes widened, and she reached out with both hands. In a shrill voice, she cried, “Clark!”

  Clark realized the danger too late. He grabbed for her, but by then, she was out of reach. She fell and did a backward summersault on the non-forgiving concrete steps. She came to rest in a clump against the wall at the bottom; her neck twisted unnaturally, the dead eyes still open and casting an accusatory stare at him. Time stopped for a moment. Clark couldn’t move—or think—or even breathe. He only gazed into the beautiful face with just a trace of blood dripping off her chin from the lip he’d busted.

  Had to get help, had to let someone know. Clark raced back to the room and picked up the phone receiver. His finger was an inch from pressing the operator button. At that second, something caught in his brain—no, she was dead. No one could help her or him except one man.

  Clark woke the old man up with the words, “I just killed Coleen!”

  The wise old businessman calmed Clark and got the details. After Clark finished the story, in a disgusting voice, his dad said, “Christ, what a mess.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Who knows about this?”

  “Just me.”

  “No one saw you enter the stairwell?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  His father’s voice took on that demanding tone. “Think, Clark. Did someone see you or not?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, stay in the room. I’m making a call. Expect a call back in five minutes. He’ll know what to do.”

  Clark’s head was spinning. He felt like he’d be sick. “Who, who you calling? Who’s ‘he’?”

  In a calming voice, his dad said, “Tom, of course,” and hung up.

  McFadden grinned at the memory and took another sip of whiskey as he looked across his ranch below. He turned back to his desk and marked off another day on the calendar. Twenty-four hours closer to H hour.

  The drive back to Cora’s gave Bishop time to think. He had to at least consider the possibility. Could McFadden be involved? How could fixing a flat for a stranger on a lonely New Mexican highway turn into this? An old quote from Albert Einstein came to mind. Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous. Regardless, Bishop had a lead, which was more than that anyone else did. He’d shared his suspicions with Agent Carpenter, but the guy wasn’t buying the idea that a man like Clark McFadden, billionaire, and pals with the speaker of the house, could be involved in such a scheme. His arguments against it did make some sense, especially when he said, “What on earth would he have to gain by doing such a thing?”

  Bishop glanced into the rearview mirror. A wall of dark clouds followed. It was the time of year when cold fronts and weather systems lined up one after another. By the time one blew through, another was building up strength. He switched on the radio and caught a weather report. The first big front of the season was on his tail, and the rain wasn’t far behind. A significant temperature drop was expected during the evening and tonight. If he didn’t waste time, he might make Cora’s before it caught him.

  When he made the turn to Gallinas Peak Road, he rolled down his window—the temperature had dropped 20 degrees since he left. He started the drive up the peak and got about a mile from Cora’s when he saw it. A broken down pickup truck blocked the narrow mountain road. The hood was up, and steam billowed from the radiator. He stopped and got out; the man leaning into the engine area seemed not to notice.

  “Having trouble?” Bishop asked, walking toward him.

  The man raised his head from the hood area and turned. He had a .45 pistol in his hand and pointed it at Bishop. “No, but you are.”

  From behind the truck, two other men appeared. They both carried baseball bats.

  Bishop put his hands in the air. “I think you may be right,” he whispered and took a couple of steps back to put a little space between him and the gun. The words of one of his old Delta instructors came back to him. If you ever find yourself in a fair fight, you’ve seriously miscalculated. Bishop’s weapon was holstered in the small of his back, as usual. But there was no cover, and trying to draw against someone with the drop on you wasn’t smart.

 

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