“I’m going to remain neutral on the merits of the NFA’s beliefs and intentions,” Uzi said. “I don’t want my personal views to affect our discussion one way or the other. But tell me more about the NFA’s leadership base. What motivates these people?”
Though Bishop was a good six inches shorter than Uzi, when the man looked up at him and their eyes met, even in the darkness Uzi could sense the fire that brewed there.
“What I hear you asking is how aggressive they’d get, right?” Uzi gave a slight nod, and Bishop continued. “These people want to win. They’re respected members of the community, every one of them. Their backgrounds are clean, at least as far as law enforcement is concerned. Some have ties to fringe groups but their association is unofficial, carefully protected.”
“But you know about them, these connections.”
“I know about them, but I don’t know the specifics. And don’t ask me how I know.”
Uzi glanced around the park, always on guard, always exercising caution. He lowered his voice. “I assume you had a defection from within their ranks.”
“You understand the situation well,” Bishop said.
“So you don’t know who these ‘fringe groups’ are.”
“No.” Bishop’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m better off not knowing.”
“I hear you,” Uzi said. “How about some perspective, then. How does all this tie in to President-elect Rusch?”
“It’s a miracle Rusch made it this far.”
“What do you mean by ‘made it’?”
“That he won the election. Rusch is a problem. When his sister was killed three years ago, he went through an epiphany. He suddenly realized what we’d been preaching for the past fifteen years. That guns kill.” Bishop wiped at his nose with a gloved hand. The temperature had dipped to the high thirties, and standing around was making it feel several degrees colder.
Bishop turned and started walking again, headed toward Independence Avenue. Uzi followed. “Rusch was a major challenge to the party. He was VP in a conservative administration that successfully defended against another 9/11. The economy was humming along and there was a steady growth in employment. They’d held the White House for eight years, but Whitehall was a goner on term limits. With his approval rating still in the seventies, they knew they had a strong shot at another four years — and Rusch was their ticket. But he had to be corralled. The main power brokers in the party sat him down and explained it all to him. They told him they needed him to be a team player or his career in politics would be over.”
“But Rusch came out against the gun lobby.”
“Big time. He played ball, rallied the party behind him. But the peace didn’t last long. He didn’t intend to make it a campaign issue, but a reporter with the New York Times asked the question during one of Rusch’s rallies in October. Remember?”
“Typical campaign chatter, that’s all that stuff ever is. I usually ignore it. Anyone can spin or promise anything to get elected — and the media plays right into it. Character is what counts.”
“The reporter asked Rusch where he stood on gun control. He couldn’t lie, because he knew the issue would come back to bite him in the ass later. So he danced around it. But during the last debate Gibson pressed him on it and Rusch officially came out against the gun lobby. At that point, a week before the election, there was nothing the party could do. He was their candidate.” Bishop sniffled, rubbed his hands together. “The media made a big thing of it, of course, but it was nothing compared to what went on behind the scenes.”
“And you know this, how?”
“Don’t ask me that. But if it makes you feel any better, my sources are solid. And I always verify what they tell me. The last thing I want is to start rumors or say anything I’d have to go back on later. It would destroy my credibility. And in this business, credibility is everything.”
“Go on,” Uzi said. They had crossed Independence and were headed toward the brilliantly lit Washington Monument.
“What no one knew is that the National Firearms Alliance got involved. They’d given three million dollars to the Republicans over the past several years, and that bought them a lot of influence. Like I said before, the NFA became a clandestine leader of the conservative right wing. They pushed Rusch to the edge but couldn’t get him to budge.
“Problem was, the NFA needed the right-wing as much as the right wing needed them. And in the end, both were powerless to stop Rusch. If he lost, the conservatives were out of power. If he won, they were scared shitless that he’d team with congressional Democrats to pass strict new gun laws. And with three Supreme Court judges about to retire or kick the bucket, you can bet Rusch’s appointees will see things the way he does. The long debate over interpretation of the Second Amendment would be settled. Rusch would see to that.”
Bishop let his theory hang in the thick air as his shoes crunched against the walkway.
Uzi felt his heartbeat kick up a notch, his body suffusing with euphoric anticipation. It was an emotion he hadn’t felt in several years — and even then, he’d only experienced it a handful of times — the sudden realization that he had stumbled onto something far larger than the original mission he’d been assigned. He tried to keep his voice even and restrained. “So you’re saying it’d be in their best interest if Glendon Rusch wasn’t in the picture.” He had chosen his words carefully, making it seem like a casual remark rather than a suggestion of motive for assassinating the man who had been elected the next president of the United States.
Bishop glanced sideways at Uzi. “They don’t pay me enough to draw such conclusions.”
They pay me enough. Uzi shook Bishop’s hand, and then headed off into the darkness.
Uzi went back to his office, too wired to go home. Forget about eating or sleeping. If there was validity to what Bishop had said, he knew the best place to be was at his desk, tapping away on his keyboard.
He exited the elevator, held his ID card in front of the sensor, and the electronic lock clunked loudly. After pushing through the thick glass doors, he made his way down the hall. A hint of movement by Hoshi’s cubicle brought him to her desk.
“I didn’t mean you should finish that report tonight,” Uzi said.
She looked up, her eyes glazed from concentration. “I had nothing better to do. Might as well work.”
“A beautiful woman like you has nothing to do? Impossible.”
The skin flushed beneath her high cheekbones. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You need something, don’t you.”
Though the sentiment behind his comment was genuine, he did, in fact, need her assistance. “You feel like going on a mission with me?”
She leaned back in her chair. “What kind of mission?”
He raised his eyebrows, then indicated that she should follow him. They walked over to his office and sat down beside his computer. “I met with your pal Bishop. He made some rather interesting assertions. I figured I’d dig a little, see what I could uncover. Other than the guys in cybercrime, you’re the only other person here who knows her way around a computer network.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Uzi pulled a laptop from behind his desk, taking care not to mess the papers that were arranged in their bins according to due date and level of complexity. He plugged it into an outlet and booted up. “You take the laptop and I’ll be on my terminal. Let’s see what we can find out.”