The Veritas Deception
Lynne Constantine
THE VERITAS DECEPTION
Lynne Constantine
Copyright © 2016 by Lynne Constantine. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Published in the United States by Sailor Dance Publishing.
The Veritas Deception is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9976942-0-8
ISBN-10: 0-9976942-0-3
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For Rick.
Thank you for always believing
There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.
Proverbs 14:12
CHAPTER ONE
Jack Logan had ditched his Catholic upbringing but kept the guilt. He hadn’t planned on blowing his entire afternoon listening to the woman he was interviewing talk about her dead daughter, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the grieving mother that he already had enough for the story. So instead, he bought her lunch and dinner, listening as she painted a picture of the girl she had loved and had failed to save. Now he was behind schedule and would have to work all night. Man, he hated the pieces involving kids. The parents got to him every time, and his attempts at comforting them were as effective as a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound.
His phone was ringing as he approached the door to his apartment, and he jammed the key in the lock. Pushing the door open, he rushed over and snatched it, upsetting the bottle of Bass Ale and spilling the dregs on the table.
“Great.” He clicked the green button. “Yes?”
“Could you sound any more annoyed?” It was his editor.
“Sorry, Max. What’s up?” He sunk into the worn leather sofa and ran a hand through his hair.
“Tried your cell. Went right to voice mail.”
“I was interviewing one of the mothers.”
The sound of papers rustling came over the phone. “You already did your piece on the decision. What’s the angle on the follow-up?”
“The fall out, the casualties left in the wake of the decision to let the show go on.”
A sharp intake of breath. “You’re not saying they should have censored it?”
“No, no. Of course not. But their voices deserve to be heard.” This had been a particularly difficult assignment for him. He wasn’t much of a television watcher, but when the class action suit involving the production company behind Teenage Wasted reached the Supreme Court, he’d tuned in. At first it looked just like another of the ubiquitous reality shows jamming the airwaves—an eclectic group of teenagers allowing the cameras behind the scenes into their world. Within the first five minutes of the show, Jack had sat open-mouthed while a young man retrieved paraphernalia from under his bed, pulled up a porn site on his computer, and began doing what your average adolescent boy did behind closed doors. Cheap shock value but not much in the way of entertainment. It wasn’t until he put the noose around his neck that Jack’s shock turned to horror. So, that was what erotic asphyxiation looked like up close and personal.
The blogosphere went nuts the following day, and YouTube videos of other kids demonstrating their own secret hobbies began to appear. When kids started turning up dead, that’s when it hit the fan. A class action suit was filed against Omega Inc., the entertainment giant responsible for the new show. The Supreme Court decision had been handed down a few weeks ago, and the parents were still in shock that they’d lost. The show went on—more popular than ever. Omega won under freedom of speech protection, which Jack couldn’t argue with, but still, what they were doing was disgusting—perverting the first amendment for their own profit. He was happy to do his part to help tarnish their reputation.
“All right, email it when you’re finished. You still coming tonight?” Max asked.
Jack grimaced. Sally Goldman’s retirement party. He had forgotten.
“Wish I could, but I’m too jammed up with this.” Sally was a great gal. He was sorry he’d have to miss it. He’d send her some flowers tomorrow.
He’d better get to it. He opened his laptop and began to organize his notes. He was starving; he’d barely touched his dinner earlier. He picked up the phone to order a pizza when the doo
rbell rang. He made no move to answer it. It rang a second, third, and fourth time. He slammed the phone down, jumped up and strode to the door, ready to tell whoever it was to beat it. The words died on his lips when he opened the door. Probably best not to piss off a United States senator.
From the first time he’d met Senator Malcolm Phillips, something about him struck Jack as off. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly: the guy’s manners were impeccable, his background impressive. Phillips was perfect. A little too perfect. Everything about him was so well rehearsed that Jack could almost believe an invisible teleprompter fed him his lines. What surprised Jack most was how Phillips’s wife, Taylor, failed to see he was all wrong for her. Of course, he kept this to himself. His opinion didn’t mean anything to Taylor anymore.
He opened the door, and Phillips walked in.
Going no farther than the hallway, he began. “I won’t waste time with pleasantries. I need your help.” His voice shook, and his face was ashen.
“What is it?”
“I scuttled the vote. It was supposed to be a good thing. But he added a gateway. He has to be stopped.”
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
He handed Jack an envelope as he spoke in an uncharacteristically nervous rush. “Take this. You’ll need it to convince Taylor. I didn’t believe it. He told me he would do it. I didn’t believe him but…they’ll kill me.”
This was insane. He hadn’t seen Phillips in years—and now here he was, rambling like a crazy person.
“What are you talking about? Slow down and tell me what’s going on,” Jack said.
“No time. You’re the only one I trust. You’ve got to find Jeremy. Get Taylor to him. They won’t hurt her now, but later…I was so stupid…”
Phillips was pacing now, and sweat had broken out on his forehead.
“Who’s Jeremy? You’re not making any sense,” Jack said.
“Go to Taylor and show it to her.” He pointed to the envelope. “It’s a sealed letter, so she’ll know it’s real. Get Taylor and take her to the cabin.”
How did he know about the cabin?
“I’m the last person Taylor wants to see. She’s not going to go anywhere with me.”
Phillips grabbed his arm.
“They own me. And Brody Hamilton too. You’ll see when they kill me. Then you’ll know.”
“When who kills you?”
Phillips backed away.
“Promise me you’ll get her to Jeremy.” He handed Jack a remote control. “This will get you into the garage. I’ve taped our address to the bottom.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Remember, Jack, no matter what it looks like, I’m not suicidal nor prone to accidents.”
He was gone before a flabbergasted Jack could respond.
Jack shut the door, began to walk away, then turned back and engaged the extra deadbolt. His eyes narrowed as he looked around, half expecting a phantom to appear.
What was Phillips talking about? Did someone really want him dead—someone powerful enough to own two senators? His head began to pound, and he leaned forward to massage his temples. What had Phillips done? Maybe he was nuts, early onset dementia. Jack could only hope. And now he expected Jack to play the hero to Taylor? He wouldn’t blame her if she slammed the door in his face.
He would do some digging. Try and make sense of what had just landed in his lap. He threw the envelope on the table, opened his laptop, and set a Google alert for Senator Malcolm Phillips.
CHAPTER TWO
Senator Malcolm Phillips was 110 feet underwater. He checked the metrics on his dive computer—five more minutes before he was in danger of getting the bends. He had spent too much time in one room of the wreck and now would have to forgo exploring the rest of it. Scuba diving was the only time he truly relaxed. Wreck diving was his favorite. He loved the history and mystery associated with these old Japanese ships. Part of the appeal of this remote Micronesian island was his ability to blend in—nobody knew who he was or paid him any extra attention. After he had landed in Guam, he had called his old friend and borrowed his private plane. He wanted to disappear for a little while. After what he pulled with the vote, he knew it was only a matter of time. He wanted to be as far away from Taylor as possible—to be sure she wasn’t caught in the crossfire. It was easy to get away; she’d never shown an interest in diving, and was used to him taking these trips alone. Knowing he was on borrowed time, he was all the more determined to make the most of this trip. Who would have thought that he would be willing to make such a sacrifice? Before Taylor, he had never done a single thing out of concern for another person. As some would say, miracles never cease.
He began ascending, making a concentrated effort to exhale as he rose. The water caressed his skin, and he surveyed the visual feast surrounding him. Angelfish painted in vibrant blues and yellows swooshed by, oblivious to their glory. The soft whooshing of his regulator filled his ears, and the lack of conversation added to his pleasure—no lobbyists hounding him to push a bill. Closing his eyes, he relished the feeling of floating through the ocean. His relaxation was interrupted by the sound of his dive computer. Beep…beep…beep. What was wrong? He looked at his wrist—the ascent warning. He was going up too fast. Swimming back towards the wreck, he grabbed the rope dangling from the boat above. Now he would need to hang for at least ten minutes. He continued checking his gauge while he held on to the rope, then began a slow ascent when enough time had elapsed. At last, he broke the surface and felt the warmth of the morning sun on his face. After climbing aboard the boat, he slipped the heavy tanks off his back and discarded his wet suit. He was looking forward to a well-earned lunch.
When he reached the outdoor restaurant, a young man showed him to a table overlooking the sea. He inhaled deeply. Salt and diesel combined to make a surprisingly pleasant aroma. He ordered a Yap and made notes in his diving log. His waiter returned with the beer and smiled at Malcolm.
“We have nice fresh fish mister. You want same as yesterday?”
Malcolm nodded. “Let the chef know it’s for me. He knows how I need things prepared.”
“Yes, sir.” He bobbed his head and left.
The buttery fish was delicious and he devoured it. Leaning back with a satisfied sigh, he debated whether to order another beer. Deciding a nap would be even better, he paid the bill and walked the quarter mile to the small hut he was staying in. His throat felt funny. He tapped his pant’s pocket to see if it was there. Deep breath, don’t worry. Maybe he was coming down with a cold. When he reached the hut, he had to steady himself, and he leaned against the door. The scratchiness in his throat intensified, and he became dizzy. The realization that he was having an allergic reaction hit him, and he pulled the EpiPen® from his pocket. He snapped open the case, removed the safety, and plunged the pen into his right thigh. Relax. It’ll kick in soon.
But it didn’t. The tightening around his neck increased, and he managed to croak out a dry, wheezing cough. Staggering to the dresser, he felt around for another Epi and stabbed it into his other leg. The face looking back at him in the mirror wasn’t his, the swelling so exaggerated it rendered him unrecognizable. This couldn’t be happening. Not yet. Dread filled him. Someone had tampered with the food—and his medicine. His shellfish allergy was in his medical file. Grasping the dresser, he pulled the phone toward him as he fell to the ground. When he lifted the receiver to his ear, there was only silence.
CHAPTER THREE
Jack had really thought Phillips was off his nut—on drugs, anything but serious. But when he got the Google alert that morning, he realized with a sinking feeling that Phillips had been telling the truth.
Dead. Phillips had been standing in this apartment less than a week ago. A chill ran through Jack as he grasped the full implications of this news. Phillips had made a powerful enemy, and if Jack decided to get involved, he would be turning himself into a target.
He’d done some quick research on the
bill Phillips had been ranting about. It was fairly innocuous, just broadening the range of vaccines that received federal funding to help those who couldn’t afford them. Sure, maybe someone didn’t want to allocate the money, but to kill over it? That was a few days ago and he’d chalked up the bizarre visit to some medical thing that must be going on with Phillips. But as soon as he got the alert, he knew he had to get to Taylor right away. It was too coincidental. Phillips was dead—reportedly, some kind of accidental death while on a diving trip. He remembered Phillips’s warning about not being accident prone.
Throwing a few things into a duffel, he opened his safe and took out his SIG. He made sure to pack extra ammo too. He went to the hall closet and grabbed his go bag. That would take care of Taylor and him for a couple of weeks. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get Taylor to leave with him. He had a few hours to think about it on the drive from the city to her house in McLean, Virginia. He took the 66 Mustang—no GPS.
Why would Phillips have been murdered? Maybe Taylor would know more; Phillips must have discussed it with her. And what was Hamilton’s connection?
The sun was setting when he pulled up to the house. The massive, black iron gates were closed, and he had to get out of the car to swipe the card reader to open them. He had never been to the house Taylor shared with Phillips, and when he pulled up to the enormous, French colonial estate, his eyes widened. There were five exterior stone arches illuminated by large, round light fixtures above them. A second-story balcony above the first level ran across the entire front of the house. This place cost serious money—more money than senators made. He remembered reading about it a while ago in Town and Country; it had its own basketball court, indoor pool, and home theater. Suited Phillips perfectly, but Taylor? Maybe she had changed over the years. What had happened to the little girl he had grown up with who hated ostentation?
He followed the circular driveway past the front door and around to the four-car garage, per Phillips’s instructions. Using the remote, he opened the garage door. Once inside, he pressed the intercom and waited. Jack had the code to get into the house, but he didn’t want to spook her.
