“But while you thought the clients of this lobbyist were — to use your term, multinational — you also knew they were upset with you. What made you think that Mr. Dahlman’s clients were upset with your legislation?”
“Ron told me as much.” The senator cleared his throat and looked at his lawyer, who nodded. “Approximately three weeks ago, Mr. Dicks received a phone call that threatened the both of us if I didn’t change my vote.”
Caleb Wilkes leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the FBI agent to dig.
“Threatened you? How so?”
“The man on the phone said that Mr. Dicks and I were likely to be physically harmed. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was vulgar.”
The FBI agent looked incredulous. “Did you report this to anyone?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t take it seriously at first. At the time, I didn’t know what was in the contents of this note. I didn’t know that these people represented a foreign intelligence service. When we read that Dahlman was shot, Ron and I both were of course alarmed. Ron especially so. But I didn’t imagine in a hundred years that… ” His voice trailed off. Wilkes could tell the senator was upset.
“Take your time, Senator. Would you like some water?”
“No, I’m fine. You have to understand my position. If the papers get a hold of this, I’ll be part of a scandal. And regardless of the fact that I have done nothing wrong, it will hurt me.”
Wilkes wrote down a question and handed it to the special agent conducting the interview. The special agent looked at Wilkes and nodded.
Wilkes addressed the senator. “Senator Becker, did Ron Dicks have access to classified intelligence?” Wilkes knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to hear Becker’s response.
“Of course he did.”
“How often did he access the CIA’s high security research room in Northern Virginia?”
“I’m on the Select Intelligence Committee. Ron was crucial in making sure that I was informed on all matters pertaining to my work on the committee. He went to that site regularly to get information and would share the top-level findings with me prior to committee meetings and hearings.”
“Do you have any reason to believe he would have shared that information with a foreign national? Or with anyone who wasn’t cleared and appropriately read in?”
“If you’d asked me that question a few days ago, I would have said of course not. Now, I’m not sure what to say.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
Wilkes stayed for a few more moments and then politely excused himself from the interview. The senator seemed truthful. He was a politician, motivated by fear and ambition. But it was Ron Dicks, his senior aide, who had been regularly accessing the classified intelligence that Wilkes now knew contained Ines Sanchez’s name.
Ron Dicks had likely passed that information on to Dahlman, who had in turn passed it on to his ISI handler, Abdul Syed. Syed had gone missing two days ago, just before Sanchez was rolled up. Just before Ron Dicks was killed.
Had Ian Williams given the order to Syed to burn down that part of his network? The value of that intelligence stream to the ISI would be incredibly high. Why would Syed agree to snuff out such a valuable asset? What was worth that price?
Karen landed her aircraft on the runway and taxied up to her hangar. She shut off her engine and finished the checklist as the propeller spooled down. Then she slid open the canopy and removed her headset, long tousles of blond hair falling down over her flight suit.
A black sedan waited in the parking lot behind the chain-link fence. Her father stood next to it, waving. She waved back to him, smiling, and headed his way.
She was glad for the surprise visit. He rarely came out to see her anymore, even when he was home. Especially during a midterm election year like this, his time in Wisconsin was usually packed with town halls and visits to various groups of his constituents.
Karen’s coach and agent both walked with her as she made her way from the plane towards the hangar area.
“That’s your last run until we perform next week. How did it feel?” asked her coach.
“Good. How’d the spin look from where you were?”
“I think you entered it a bit aggressive.”
“It was under control… ”
“Karen.”
“I’ll ease up next time.”
Her coach kept talking while she tried to signal her father through the fence. She yelled to her dad, “Give me five minutes!” The senator, who was on the phone now, nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.
Karen’s agent, a woman in her late twenties who represented several singers, a touring magician, and two actors, said, “Your conference call with the reporters is tomorrow. I was going to prep you with the publicist.”
“Let’s do it tomorrow. I’m tired.”
The agent pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll call you later.”
Aerobatics pilots didn’t normally have agents. Karen was the exception. Her looks and family name had gotten her a book deal, and now she was in talks for a possible documentary series. The agent always seemed put off at Karen’s lack of interest in publicity. Karen saw it as a necessary evil. But it wasn’t rocket science. For the crowds and cameras, she just had to smile and wink and shake what god gave her a little. Her real work was in the cockpit. The agent wouldn’t understand.
In the locker room, Karen changed into tight designer jeans with a few tears in them — to make them more stylish. Karen couldn’t understand why the three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar jeans had holes in them, but it gave everyone a little more glimpse of her tanned thigh. Not exactly something she wanted to show off in front of her father, but a lot of her fellow aerobatic pilots on the circuit were training here this week too, and maybe she’d join them for beers later.
Seeing her come out to the parking lot, Senator Becker said into the phone, “Gotta go, I’ll call you later.”
She hugged her father. “What brings the good senator to town? You weren’t supposed to be here until next week, when I perform. I just spoke to you on the phone a few days ago. What gives?”
“We need to speak about something.”
“About what?”
“Ron Dicks is dead.”
“What?” Her mouth gaped open. “Dad, I’m so sorry. How?” Karen saw the look on her father’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s happening, Karen. Just like you said it would.”
“You think it was them?”
Her father nodded somberly. “I do.”
He forked a piece of rare steak into his mouth and chewed. The two were alone, other than the two local police officers who were roaming the perimeter of the two-acre property. The senator’s two-story home rested on the shores of Lake Winnebago. The police security detail had been arranged after his conversation with the FBI. The authorities were taking the Senator’s death threats seriously, while keeping them confidential at the senator’s behest.
Senator Becker had cooked a dinner of steak, asparagus, and corn on the cob on his Big Green Egg smoker grill. Cooking was one of his hobbies from a life of calm long ago. The red juices of his steak now covered his plate. He broke off a piece of hard roll to sop them up, then stuffed it into his mouth.
Karen looked out over the lake. A summer storm brewed in the distance, brilliant flashes of lightning branching up through the clouds on the horizon.
“I’m trying not to say I told you so.”
“Say it.”
She shook her head, fuming. “I’m very sorry about Ron. But he made poor choices by introducing you to these men. So did that wretched woman you had with you.”
“Don’t bring Jennifer into this. That’s not helpful.”
Karen turned away. Years ago, she and her mother had come home from a shopping trip to then-Congressman Becker and one of his female staffers in a compromising situation, in this very house. That had led to a quick but painful divorce from Karen’s mother.