One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Read online

  J Russ Briley

  One Man

  Two Votes

  Publisher Liz Russel Productions L.L.C. ™

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  One Man Two Votes

  Copyright © 2015 by J Russ Briley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, uploaded, downloaded, or stored in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the publisher. Please purchase only authorized electronic or printed editions. Do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at www.jrussbriley.com/contact

  Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Liz Russel Productions L.L.C. and the LRP logo are Trademarks of Liz Russel Productions L.L.C.

  Written by J Russ Briley

  Edited by Liz Russel

  First paperback edition 2015

  ISBN 978-1-943882-00-7 (Paperback edition)

  ISBN 978-1-943882-01-4 (eBook edition)

  Dedicated to my gorgeous wife without whom this novel would not have been possible.

  Prologue

  Without a breeze to break the cool stillness, the multicolored trees massed along both banks of the inlet gave the air an almost claustrophobic feel. The cold water rarely moved, reflecting the trees in mirrored perfection. The dense undergrowth absorbed every sound. Even the insects were quiet.

  Sitting on the porch of the secluded Maryland crab shack, Blair slowly drank his beer. The slight chill in the air caused a cloud of steam to rise from six hot, newly served Old Bay-coated blue crabs. A large stack of destroyed crab shells lay on the other side of the brown paper-covered table, along with a pile of mutilated paper towels. The flavor of the spices clung to Blair’s face and hands. A corner of his index finger, where the cuticle was split, was stinging from the peppery mixture. The little restaurant was a locals-only kind of place, buried in the trees, and overlooking the water from the winding bay. The autumn temperatures were becoming cold, but Blair liked the change from the humid summer weather. Come winter, he would like to sit here by himself as the locals huddled inside. But he’d only visit once; he never went to the same place more than twice a year.

  This crab shack’s specialty was a black pepper seasoning of the cook’s own creation. Blair didn’t order it, preferring Old Bay’s classic mustard and spice blend. The tasty paste covered everything; shells, paper, wooden mallet, his face, and hands up to the wrist. He had removed his watch as part of the traditional preparation ceremony used for eating crabs Maryland style.

  The man across the bench from him was slower in his consumption, with half as many crabs eaten. He was a blue crab rookie, still wearing his watch. His Texas accent was somewhat faded, like his hazel eyes and silver hair. He knew the job he’d been hired to do, and knew how to do it well. The crabs were an awkward distraction.

  “Everything is in place.” His voice was quiet, further disguising the East Texas twang. It had faded from years on the road, but the accent remained. “The initial removal plan is in place, and his security is completely unaware. Our man inside knows his roll, and we have leverage to prevent him from changing his mind.”

  “Make sure he doesn’t.” Blair’s strong low voice came back hard and unyielding. Eating the flavorful crabs had no effect on his unnaturally hard voice tone. “As for the security detachment, keep them in the dark, and quiet. No idle chats; no speculation. I don’t want any water cooler talk. No loose ends.” He looked up momentarily from under his dark eyebrows without lifting his head, then returned to the crabs. He had no accent, sounding generically American. His dark, almost black hair had no distinctive style, and neither did his clothing. He could blend into any crowd easily, except for his black lifeless eyes. But there was no crowd to blend into here. It was early, and with the restaurant almost empty no one sat near them. Blair preferred being isolated.

  The Texan continued. “The observation of the follow-on player has begun, and the informant will be fed just enough to get started. I have someone close to him to drop the appropriate hints.”

  “That’s the part I don’t like. I would prefer a more reliable source to feed the player. I don’t want to use my connections unless I have to.” Blair had some select operatives positioned in strategic places around the world. Most of these recruits met single project needs. Blair had a few valuable and highly developed agents he could draw from, if necessary, but good plans required fewer resources.

  “I think it will work out.”

  Blair crushed another crab claw and pulled the meat out with his teeth. “You have a man that will be assigned to the player’s security?”

  “It could go one of three ways, and I have a person for each possibility. I think it will go to the Secret Service, and I have an Agent we’ve used before set to be assigned.”

  “I agree. The Secret Service is most likely. His father will push for that. Make sure the player stays on the track we laid out, and on schedule. Don’t help him directly unless he strays way off the mark. I don’t want any chance of him, or anyone else recognizing the set up. These guys aren’t stupid. They could pick up on something if you’re not careful.”

  “Sure. I know that. I’ve got it under control.” The accent seemed more noticeable. The Texan was becoming defensive, even nervous.

  Blair continued as if the older man had not spoken. “Only get involved if your man can’t make it happen within the schedule. Understood?” His eyebrows pulled together, frowning in a decidedly unfriendly look, but he didn’t look up.

  “Understood.”

  After a long gap in the conversation while cracking crab shells, eating, and washing down the food with some beer, the Texan moved to the next item. “The informant removal plan is ready. It looks real good.” His stocky fingers played with a decimated crab in front of him.

  It was Blair’s plan. He knew every step. “Just keep within the schedule. Sooner is better...and your men?”

  “All set. It should go down very smoothly.”

  “How about the implementer? What’s his opinion?”

  “He says the spot is right, and his team has pre-laid the cleanup equipment. He didn’t see any problems.”

  Blair’s response was quick. He didn’t raise his voice, but his voice became harsher. “It’s your job to think of every possible problem, not his. The backup plan is not as clean as I’d like. Don’t screw this up.” He raised his head for the first time, his black eyes boring right through the Texan.

  “Understood,” the Texan repeated. His voice was showing the strain. “It will work. There will be no trace. None.”

  “Make sure.” Blair used his foot to push a small black gym bag sitting under the table across the deck boards.

  Feeling the bag hit his leg, the silver haired man’s shoulders relaxed a little. His confidence returned. “Yes, Sir. I know. It will go smoothly.”

  Blair stood up. “I want to start on the player the second the investigation declares it an accident.”

  The Texan started getting up.

  “Sit down and finish your crabs. They’re too good to waste.” Blair order
ed. The deep voice and glowering eyes were uncompromising. He placed four twenties on the table under his beer bottle. “You know our time schedule.”

  “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” The Texan sounded better as he dutifully sat back down, cheered by the indication that the conversation was concluding.

  Blair put a hand on the table, and leaned in toward the Texan for a final low-volume admonishment. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that this is an important one. Timing is key. Your foot is leaning against the first half of your payment. If you fail, not earning the second half is the least of your worries.”

  Blair walked away, leaving the Texan with a knot in his stomach. He knew it was unusual for Blair to meet with him like this, face to face. It meant that this operation had to be flawless. Not a single mistake could be made, and no one could ever know anything had happened when it was over.

  The Texan dropped the crab he was holding back onto the table. As good as they had tasted, he’d lost his appetite.

  Chapter 1

  Edward Bradley saw where the turbulent water rose up, then fell behind a boulder on the upstream edge of a deep swirling pool. He’d entered the river just below the “Y” where two streams converged. One crisp, clear stream came down a wide valley, rushing over smooth, round rocks. The other cascaded down a deep ravine in swirls, brown from mountainside runoff. The fish, preferring to swim in the mixed water, would come to the junction and feed on the insects and worms washing down from the mountain rains. In this late fall weather they were getting hungry, and stocking up for the winter ahead.

  Edward stood in the murky brown water. The trick, he’d been told, was to fish just over the clear edge. He should cast his fly onto the brown water, so that it would float over to the clear side where the fish would see it.

  Facing the big boulder, Edward reviewed what Andy had talked about the previous evening. Below the largest rock, the biggest fish in the lower stream would be hiding. “At least twenty-four inches long,” Andy had said. Edward edged closer to the drop-off. The rocks had been carved out over the centuries by the water, forming a ledge around the pool. The boulder was a good fifty feet beyond that, just between the converging waters. For Edward, it was a very long cast. He looked up and saw Andy pointing toward the rock, waving at Edward to cast toward it. He nodded at Andy, and turning, stepped nearer the edge. Andy climbed higher up the bank, and looked out over the water.

  Edward pulled his line backward forming a smooth “D” loop behind him above the water. Andy had taught Edward the single-handed Spey cast the previous evening. It was much harder than a roll cast, but Edward felt he had mastered the steps. He pulled the line into a curved shape, then used an arched swing to send the line and fly rushing past to curve up behind him. With everything he had, he cast forward. Giving a flick to his brand new Orvis ZG Helio rod, he let the Royal Governor fly land gently onto the water. The floating yellow double-tapered line took the carefully tied fly downstream over the wavelets, but the fly had fallen short by at least ten feet. His target would require a much longer cast.

  “If I could just use my straight line overhead cast I could make this.” Edward mumbled to himself as he slid his booted feet forward over the slick underwater rocks. But he knew the shoreline and scrub brush behind him were too close for a straight cast. He had to make this Spey cast work.

  Sliding his boot as far as possible out in front of him, he tested his footing by tapping the extreme edge of the drop-off. The ice-cold water rushed into and around his legs, trying to knock him down. The soft rubber of his waders held, but the rocks felt tenuous at best. He couldn’t see his feet with all the silt washing down from the mountain. He had to step by feel.

  Edward knew he wasn’t a great fisherman. He had just enough experience to get by. His guide, Andy, was an incredible fly fisherman. He’d put Edward on the track of some beautiful holes the day before. Andy had recommended the Royal Governor fly as a start. If that failed to attract fish they’d switch flies, based on what seemed to be hatching in the area. Edward was looking forward to their evening trip downstream, and to trying out a Brown Drake Andy had tied for him.

  Edward impatiently cast his fly out onto the water again. He’d been enjoying this trip, but if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be in his office. He was here because he’d been told that as the Attorney General he had an obligation to stay healthy, both physically and mentally. He was standing in this icy fall run-off strictly because of his doctor’s orders to “Relax.” Those orders had been specific: one week with clean air, relaxation, lots of sleep and no cell phones, texts, or e-mails. The doctor had not required cold water, or impending winter. Those came as a bonus with the clean air and isolation.

  Edward’s doctor had said that Edward was bucking for a bleeding ulcer, and with that came a host of other problems. The country didn’t like illness in their officials—especially now. Edward’s predecessor had worked as Attorney General for only two years before dying of cancer, leaving the Department of Justice in relative chaos as a new administration transitioned into office. Edward had been brought in as a conservative supporter of the President. His confirmation had gone well, and he’d moved into the job with acumen, but recently there had been tension between him and the President. The President said Edward was too rigid in his interpretations. Publicly he supported Edward’s decisions, but privately the stress between them was running as high as this river ran fast. Arguments, discussions about Homeland Security, and the country’s economic problems were making Edward’s new and old relationships brittle. Edward’s doctor’s orders came at a good time for taking a break.

  Edward made another set of sweeping motions with his fly rod, casting the fly out onto the river. Short again. He pulled up on the rod, and swept the line into the air another time. He tried to concentrate on his technique, reciting his casting lesson to himself.

  “Lift...2/3 and sweep...2/3 and deliver...and drift.”

  Edward concentrated as he focused on the power stroke, accelerating smoothly, but quickly to the 11 o’clock position, and holding there, looking over his shoulder to see the line straighten out behind him. He followed the line down with the rod tip for a gentle presentation of the fly on the water. The bright colored line, pulling the leader and fly with it, landed gently one more time on the water about forty-five feet away. It was closer to his target rock, but still short. To succeed with the big fish, he’d have to place the fly “on its nose”. Edward played out the line as it was pulled along with the current. Sitting on top of the muddy water the fly wouldn’t be visible to a fish, but its shadow might be. Edward tried to re-focus on relaxation as he watched his fly float down the river.

  “It really is a beautiful spot,” he mused, looking up at the mountains and clear blue sky. “Gregg was right.”

  Senator Daniel Gregg, Chairman of the Senate Rules Committee, was also Chairman of a task force that included Edward as a member. They’d chatted, and as soon as Edward mentioned that he was looking for a vacation spot, Gregg had recommended this place.

  “Andy’s Private Fishing Guides, Jackson Hole, Wyoming. That’s where you need to go, Eddie. There’s no better spot anywhere, and no better guide.” Gregg was the “go-to” guy for everything in Washington, and had an unsurpassed reputation for living well, if expensively. Edward hadn’t hesitated to follow his advice.

  Andy, watching from the shore, observed Edward getting closer to the edge of the deep pool. He turned to move up the slope toward Craig Davidson.

  Agent Davidson was hovering above the shoreline, watching Edward and everything around him. Craig came with the Attorney General job, heading up Edward’s security detachment of three men. Craig paced along the rise, dutifully checking the three hundred and sixty-degree view. Eric, the second man on the detachment, stayed with the truck and communications gear. Larry was the night man, asleep back at the cabin. Craig was the only member of the prior Attorney General’s security team to remain on this assignment. The ot
hers had moved to new responsibilities, and he was now the agent in charge. It had been a nice promotion for the 28 year old. Serving as security to the A.G. had been his only assignment since graduating from training, and he took the job very seriously.

  Watching as Andy moved to the top of the bank next to him, he still surveyed the river. Moving closer to Craig, Andy explained where the next fishing hole was located. Both of the men looked up the river briefly, as Andy pointed out the landmarks they would soon be nearing. The bending view turned Craig away from where Edward stood for a moment, as his eyes followed Andy’s hand.

  High on a hill above the river a camouflaged observer watched Andy and Craig. Without moving his binoculars he reached down to a radio controller. At the moment Andy pointed upstream, he pressed a button. The button turned on a green LED light held in the hands of a diver coiled deep in the water hole below Edward’s feet.

  Edward had failed at two more attempts to cast to the rock. His frustration was building. Mustering all his strength he began the sweeping tempo to heave his line further. He took half a step forward, his booted toes hanging over the rocky ledge where the rushing water tugged at his foot. He thrust the rod and fly forward with an audible, “umph,” propelling his line out across the waves. He watched as the line arched outward, the fly racing along with it. Leaning precariously out, stretching as far as he could, Edward tried to get one foot farther. He didn’t notice the black-gloved hands rising from deep in the pool, sliding over the rock and his boot. The hands deftly slipped a line around his ankle, looping the line back onto itself and clipping it with a dull green D ring. Just as Edward’s arm reached its full extension and his fly settled on the surface, the underwater line went taut.

  Edward was yanked off the slippery rock, and down into the pool. He disappeared instantly, his short yell choked off completely in the sound of rushing water. The ripples of his fall were barely discernable among the hundreds of churning wavelets. His fly rod and hat floated half-submerged in the murky water. Drifting rapidly down river, they faded quickly from sight.