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  Haskin continued. “For a year or two I went by ‘Smith’ but ‘Smith’ is so tired, isn’t it? And everyone thinks you’re a spy. So I picked a different name.”

  Conning was silent. He could have refused her offer. He could have lost the election and become an elder statesman, headed up prestigious foundations, made too much money from ponderous speeches – but he didn’t. Now he was crossing the line because the chance to be President, he believed, no matter how chancy, was worth the risk. When you give up aiming for the top, you might as well just bag it. Besides, she knew about his Tidewater deal.

  Haskin paused, and then said, “Have you considered our offer? I can give you a few details now. One million dollars a month, plus or minus but it averages a million a month, funneled in various ways you needn’t know, about into your Senatorial campaign fund or accessible by your fund upon request. For a Presidential run, we’ll increase that substantially. Do we have an agreement?”

  Conning nodded.

  “Thank you, Senator. Now for this morning, I have a few items to discuss with you. First is something I need right now: the proposed RX-140 tactical missile.”

  “I can’t tilt that award to ConDyne,” Conning said, almost rising from his seat.

  “I know,” she said, “but I do need to know how the missile targets. I’ve heard one of the Defense labs has come up with a new targeting technology, apparently quite effective.”

  “­– yes,” said Conning warily. “There have been subcommittee hearings…”

  “And you have copies of the technical specifications.”

  “Just summaries. I could get those. The Committee has been given nothing more detailed, nothing an engineer could use for…”

  “Summaries will do, Senator. Next Thursday?”

  “Ah –” the Senator hesitated. “All right. Where?”

  “You’ll receive an email at eight o’clock Thursday morning. You will not recognize the “from,” but the text will include the letters “XRGIW.” You will have thirty minutes to attach images of that summary to your response and press “Send” before that address, and your response, will be wiped clean, will never have existed.”

  Conning was impressed. But wasn’t this just a little too Spy vs. Spy? It would have been easier just to hand her a xerox behind closed doors. What game was she playing? Whatever, the money couldn’t be beat.

  “Can we agree on that?” she asked. Conning hesitated. Was this a sting? But then he remembered the potential Tidewater Logistics Supply exposé, and he nodded. What could he do? And there was all that money.

  “Fine,” she said. We’re almost done for today. I do have a few clarifications about our joint enterprise, however,” she said, pulling a small notepad from a pocket and running down a page with a finger. “You’re not going to be President if you’re perceived as corrupt. So first; you will not take any bribes or any other illegal money from anyone. Except us, that is. You will not use the funds we donate in any way that would violate campaign laws. You will break off all communication with Tidewater, now. You will not sell your vote or make any side-deals we haven’t specifically approved.”

  Conning was about to object, but “Sally” added in a softer voice “We’re paying your campaign fund enough, we believe we can insist on your staying out of trouble. You might get caught and then you would be worthless to us. I think we can cover up your past misdeeds, but we don’t want you committing any new ones.”

  Conning stared at her. He felt trapped. What could he do but agree? And after all, ConDyne’s goals for him aligned well with his own goals. And – President!

  Haskin and the Senator said perfunctory goodbyes, and she left his office.

  On Haskin’s way out she passed by the Senator’s wife, who was just entering. Marie Conning wondered who the departing female was. She looked powerful, determined, bitchy. And tall and slim and dressed in black. Would look great with a whip. Just the Senator’s type. She’d had her hands full keeping his hands away from just that type. Sometimes she’d failed.

  The demand “Who was that woman!” almost escaped her lips. But she suppressed it, substituted something more subtle. “Was that Congresswoman Alanov?” she asked the admin, who seemed to be in charge of the Senator’s calendar that day.

  “Oh no, ma’am,” she replied. “That was Ms. Netherton. Sally, I believe. I think she’s from one of the big defense firms.”

  Marie Conning nodded to the admin and walked into her husband’s office with a smile. “Ready for lunch at the 701?” she asked.

  As Sybille Haskin left Capitol Hill, it occurred to her Conning’s staff might think she and the Senator were having an affair. The thought amused her briefly, but then worried her. Sex scandals had a way of getting blown up much more than scandals about money, or drunkenness, or influence. Haskin didn’t get off on sex. She’d tried it once, thought it disgusting – two pigs in the same mud. Power was her sex. The thought of power quickened her breathing, brought out a little sweat, made her hands just barely tremble, left a trace of moisture.

  She thought of a few ways of squashing the rumor of an affair, if there was such a rumor, but none seemed immediately workable. Perhaps it would amount to nothing; Congressional staffs were discreet, leaving the impression that their bosses were purer than mere mortals, would never go to bed with anyone but their spouses, and even then would not practice anything but the traditional American male-on-top, and would pray first.

  Haskin again put away her “Sally Netherton” ID. “Sally” would be gone not long after Thomas Conning became President of the United States; “Sybille” would be gone whenever that identity became inconvenient. She recalled her own birth name with distaste. Never again, she thought, remembering the traumas of grades K through 12, inclusive, how the other kids had taunted her, told her their dads had bombed and machine-gunned people with names like hers.

  Chapter 5: Two and a Half Years Before the Assassination

  Over the next several months, Senator Conning began taking very good notes during meetings of the Armed Services Committee, and those of its subcommittees he belonged to, especially the Readiness and Management Support Subcommittee, and passing these notes along to Haskin, of course anonymously.

  The million a month came rolling in to various funds and accounts, from PACs and SuperPACs and 501-C4s and patriotic organizations and events.

  But to return to the Thursday following their second meeting, and how Senator Conning stayed out of trouble in spite of himself:

  On that Thursday, Haskin received the promised email from Conning and electronically shredded it, saving only a page or two. That poor fool believed he was being useful. He will be, she thought, he will be very useful; but not just now. She would take no chance that any national security leaks could be traced back to him, even though her reselling them to one of several foreign interests would have been very profitable.

  Accusations against Conning, proven or not, would ruin his value before her investment had begun to pay off. The investment of her employers, actually. Mustn’t forget that. Need to touch base with them tonight, tell them everything was going well, that she was earning her keep, “kicking butt,” she called it to herself, whenever she took advantage of a corrupt politician.

  But she wouldn’t use that idiom with her employers. Not “kicking butt,” not ever. They wouldn’t like the image of butt-kicking or rat-fucking or any other kind of physical intimacy, she knew; wouldn’t think it funny at all. They would call her “American” in that angry, superior way they had. Would ruffle their robes with annoyance.

  Chapter 6: Seven Months Before the Assassination

  Congressman Ezra Barnes, in his third term representing Pennsylvania’s seventeenth Congressional district, had been assessing his chances of unseating Thomas Conning from the Senate. The election would be close, he was sure; and if he lost he’d be out of Congress completely for at least two years. And then he’d have to re-start his public career all over again, with the additiona
l disadvantage of being a “loser.”

  Barnes had several sleepless nights. His colleague in the House, Johnny Ownby of Arkansas, had recently announced for the Senate, emphasizing that God had told him to do so, as well as many thousands of Arkansans. And, Barnes knew, the agriculture and livestock industries were contributing to his future salvation as well.

  But Pennsylvania wasn’t like that. At least not the cattle bit. And the God-thing wasn’t apt to win many votes and it would bother him to make that claim anyway, risky to rely on support from outside Pennsylvania, he meant, having nothing against God in particular.

  The time was nearing when he’d have to announce for the Senate or for re-election to his almost-safe seat in the House. What to do? If there was some leverage – something he could hold over Conning – maybe. He ordered his staff to find some dirt, if there was dirt. Not to manufacture dirt, even though other politicians did that. Barnes was honorable, in his way; he’d screw people to the wall, only if he thought they’d deserved it.

  Sybille Haskin and her employers were concerned with the emergence of Ezra Barnes as a viable candidate to challenge Thomas Conning for his Senate seat. They actually didn’t care if Conning was a Senator or not, but they needed him to be President in two years. A defeated incumbent wouldn’t be viable, so he had to be re-elected.

  Haskin’s wide network of information sources, consisting of several superficially innocent people and computer apps, soon became aware Barnes was not merely going to challenge Thomas Conning for the Senate (which she had already assumed), but had ‘something on him’. This intelligence had come from a FOAF who knew someone who worked in Barnes’ office as a sub. As became clear later, however, this intelligence was in error: Barnes had nothing real on Conning. But the sub didn’t know that, and then the FOAF didn’t know that, and eventually Haskin didn’t know it either.

  Her first thought, was her role in the corruption of Thomas Conning had been detected, and leaked to Congressman Barnes. But no, that would have been re-leaked to the FBI and The Washington Post immediately, and she would already have been apprehended. Or had Conning himself said something about the source of his new millions? Or, stupidly enough, had Conning thanked the Chairman of ConDyne for his contributions, to which Conning would have received the cautious, flowery equivalent of “Huh?”

  Being a professional in her business, Haskin immediately decided Barnes was a threat that needed to be removed, permanently. She consulted with her employers, and they concurred.

  Thomas Conning heard a disturbing rumor. In fact, it was the same rumor Haskin had just heard, although from a different source: Barnes’ staff was nosing around. What had they caught the scent of? Not Tidewater, he was pretty sure. Then it must be the ConDyne deal. How the hell did that leak? The woman had been seen, twice, in Conning’s office, but lots of people came and went every day, including contractor reps. What had set her apart?

  And then it occurred to him: his wife Marie had seen her that day. Marie was the suspicious type, especially after the time with that woman in Lancaster, who’d also been about the same age, tall, dark clothing, mean looking, even fierce. Yes, he had a weakness. He’d paid no attention to the young, busty, and slightly overweight blondes in his office who’d tried to flirt with him; none at all. In that way, he had accidentally acquired a reputation for being unseduceable; rare for a politician. But Marie knew better.

  Ezra Barnes was pondering rumors he’d been hearing about Senator Thomas Conning, that Conning had sold his vote and was a minion (great word – have to use it in a speech – but would anyone understand it? Sounds like a fish – better not use ‘minion’). Of whom or what, no one seemed to know. His House staff had sniffed out some rumors, but couldn’t substantiate them.

  Barnes had one possible edge. He’d thought he had an edge anyway, until that very morning. Those rumors that Conning had some ethical issues, was doing something that, if not provably illegal, would at least be contrary to Senate rules and worthy of official censure? Yes, those. Meaty but nebulous. The most likely possibility, whispers had it, was that Conning was selling his vote in exchange for those enormous campaign contributions he’d been obliged to report lately.

  Barnes’ staff had been diligently reviewing Conning’s voting record, both on the floor and, more importantly, in committees. But they had come up blank: the Senator’s votes had been party-line all the way, except for a few when he’d had to accede to the passions and greed of Pennsylvania voters. So there was no corruption charge that could be levelled against Conning, he thought. No angle, no edge.

  Barnes was disappointed. Nevertheless, he made his final decision that day, and informed his staff he would soon formally announce he was running for the US Senate.

  To replace Thomas Conning.

  After Ezra Barnes announced his decision to run, Sybille Haskin asked for a third meeting with Senator Conning, and was promptly granted one. What now? He wondered.

  As usual without prologue or preface, she got to the point. “Ezra Barnes is running for your seat.”

  “I’m confident the people of my state will…”

  “I’m not. I’d hate to lose your services after all my efforts here, our investment in you. Did you know it costs us as much to disguise the funds we’ve been contributing, as the amounts themselves? ConDyne has been very careful in how it uses your information. I’m sure you realize that. Everything you’ve given us could have come from one or more other sources.”

  Conning found that comforting. Always good to know others were as concerned with national security as he was.

  He breathed hard. What was this woman getting at? “OK,” he said, “so I understand your troubles. Do I play the violin now? We all have our problems. But if you’ll just keep the contributions coming – and it will be easier to hide, now that there’s an election campaign – I don’t know what else I could do, or you could do, to re-elect me that my team isn’t doing now, or plan to do before November. We have money, thanks to you, and sufficient motivation.”

  “I’m sure,” Haskin replied. “Yes, I believe you’re working hard. But if you lose this election, ConDyne will see to it you’re exposed, reviled, perhaps put on trial.”

  Conning winced.

  “There,” Haskin concluded. “Does that help you with your motivation?”

  Conning nodded.

  Ezra Barnes thanked his staff for their late nights and eye-tiring screengazing. He didn’t want to tell them their efforts had turned up nothing he could use against Conning, so he didn’t say anything. Too discouraging, he thought. Might lead to a slackening of effort. His staff were left with the impression some of their research had indeed found a wedge that might be useful in the forthcoming Senate race. They mentioned this to their closest friends. Very confidentially, of course.

  Ezra Barnes’ wish not to deflate the spirits of his staff was one reason why in a few months, he would lie in the middle of a parking lot in Grantwood, Pennsylvania, surrounded by distraught supporters and bleeding out.

  Chapter 7: Four Months Before the Assassination

  Sybille Haskin had almost stopped worrying about Ezra Barnes. Then her network of agents and informants, (most of them electronic) once again came up with word Barnes had information that might damage Conning in the election campaign. His own staff had been saying that to friends. It was annoying to her that there was no consensus among the informants, as to what this damaging information might be. Some hinted bribery, some disloyalty, some inappropriate sex. Not with another man, Haskin was relieved to note; Pennsylvania was not California. Yet.

  But – the next hint was Conning was having an affair with a tall, thin, middle-aged woman from a defense contractor. That was, she thought, so absurd as to be laughed off. But she didn’t laugh. Where had that thought come from? She had picked up a hint of desire in Tom Conning’s expression, but she hadn’t responded to it. Hadn’t even shaken hands with him. Conning must meet numerous women every day, so why her?

&nb
sp; After a week of digging, the name “Marie” surfaced. It wasn’t immediately clear if “Marie”, in this context, the Senator’s wife, or someone with the same name, whom he’d been seeing on the sly.

  After another week, there was a consensus among the electrons, Marie Conning had let slip to one of her confidantes that she’d seen a woman in the Senator’s office, who looked rather like the State Department woman with whom the Senator had had a fling a few years before. That is, before the Foreign Service had shipped her off to Ouagadougou to fill a sinecure created expressly for her.

  For several days after Barnes announced for the Senate, Haskin debated the best way to eliminate Barnes’ threat to Conning’s re-election. Perhaps a made-up scandal. Planted money. A rumor of some kind. Paying a hooker to go public with a few salacious lies. With early polls now showing an evenly split ‘likely to vote’ number, perhaps only a nudge would be required. But none of those, she considered, were apt to stick. Barnes was the ultimate Boy Scout, or at least a Junior Woodchuck. In fact, his old merit badges hung on his office wall, under glass.

  On the following Tuesday, with Barnes making headline news and the polls still split, Haskin finally came to a decision: the only way to ensure a Conning win, would be if Barnes were dead, or so seriously wounded he’d have to drop out of the race. But he shouldn’t be killed now; not until it was too late for his party to field an effective replacement. There was ample time to prepare.

  She left a coded message for an operative she’d heard useful things about. She knew him as “Sebastian George.” That wasn’t his real name, she was sure. Only a fool would give his real name when arranging for a job that would involve major State and Federal felonies. Thomas Conning was the only dishonest person who had ever given her his real name, or arranged their deals personally. But he was a fool, which proved her point.

  “Art Armstrong” was one of several names used by Sebastian George, and the one he intended to use in his next job. He had become so used to his various names, he’d stopped thinking of himself as having any particular name at all. There were only a few old friends who still called him “Sebastian” or “George.” Of course, neither of those was his real name, either.