Kimball took a seat opposite the bed. The Hardwick brothers maintained their positions with guns in hand, the mouths of the suppressors inches away from the temples of their quarry, that of the senator and his wife.
The senator looked into the mouth of the barrel and could feel the power of the weapon. And then he looked Stanley in the eye, once again recalling the man and the wickedness of his personality. “Jeffrey Hardwick,” he said.
“Actually I’m Stan. Jeff’s the one holding the gun to your wife’s head.”
Jeff smiled and waved his weapon the same way a friend would greet a close associate because he was happy to see them. But the action was committed simply out of cruel enjoyment.
“Why are you here?” asked the senator. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you killing off the Pieces of Eight?” asked Jeff.
The senator gave him a questioning look.
“I’m not killing anyone,” he stated. “You people are nothing but a dark part of my history that I just want to forget.”
“Exactly,” said Jeff. “And what better way to do this other than by assassination?”
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Really?” Stan pulled out a folded photograph, a copy, from one of his cargo pockets and tossed it to the senator. “Open it,” he said.
The senator’s hands shook as he picked up the photo and peeled it open. It was a print of the old unit, the Pieces of Eight, posing when they were in their prime. There was Walker and Arruti, faces he never wanted to see again, Kimball and that crazy drunken Irishman. What was his name? And of course there was Grenier and Hawk and the Hardwicks. They were young and brash and full of the piss and vinegar of true warriors who romanced thoughts that they were the meanest bastards to ever walk the planet. The thing was, they were and they knew it.
The senator examined the photo, the memories of when he was a part of the presidential circle flooding back. He could recall with cloudless detail the moments he conferred with the president regarding missions as to who was to live or die, or where to send them in order to kill for the good of all nations by preserving and justifying our nation’s right to operate not only as the policeman of the world, but as judge, jury and executioner, as well. The Pieces of Eight had served them admirably.
Scrutinizing the photo with what could have been construed as scientific examination, the senator became aware of the faces circled in red marker and the letters within: I-S-C-A-R. And then he traced a finger over their images with a soft touch.
“That’s right,” said Stan. “They’re all gone, you son of a bitch.”
“You think I had something to do with this?”
“Who else?”
“For what possible reason?”
Jeff looked the senator square in the eyes, both firing off solid gazes of determination. “Several years ago you supported the act to assassinate a U.S. senator, yes?”
Senator Shore quickly glanced at his wife, who managed a look of surprise.
Jeff pressed the point of his suppressor against the woman’s temple, causing her to mewl. “The one thing I don’t have, Senator, is patience. So answer my question. Several years ago you supported the act to assassinate a U.S. senator, yes?”
The senator looked over at his wife who lay there as a wide-eyed doe while waiting for his delayed response. Then finally: “Yes,” he said. “I did.”
She closed her tear-filled eyes and turned away from him.
“Senator, were you keeping deep, dark secrets from the old lady here? Not good.” Jeff clicked his tongue in mock chastisement. “You naughty, naughty senator.”
“For chrissakes, Hardwick, Senator Cartwright was a monster who didn’t know his limitations. That man eventually got to the point where he thought he was more powerful than the president and was willing to bring the man down, along with anyone else who stood in the senator’s way. The process of democracy meant nothing to the man. It was either follow him to the end or fall where you stand. The man ended careers through blackmail rather than tact political lobbying.”
“Senator, I didn’t ask you why you thought the action to be justified. I simply asked you if you were a factor on deciding whether or not the senator should have been assassinated. And the answer — justified or not — is yes. You conspired and sanctioned the assassination of a powerful political figure serving within the United States Senate.”
To the senator’s left his wife began to sob uncontrollably.
“Honey?” When the senator reached for her she shunned him, shrugging her shoulder away from his touch. “I’m sorry.” And then he confronted Jeff with a firm tone. “Get to the point.”
“It’s a simple equation, Senator, and not a very hard trail to follow.”
“Your… point?”
“I’m getting there,” he said. And then: “Right now you’re the leading candidate in the polls to succeed President Burroughs as the new Commander-in-Chief, yes?”
“If you say so.”
“I don’t say so. The polls say so. You have a double-digit lead over your next opponent and the leader of the opposing party is very weak.”
“So.”
Stanley snatched the photo from the senator’s hand. “So, the skeleton inside your closet about you conspiring against Senator Cartwright and sanctioning his assassination would doom your run as the next president of the United States.”
“Nuts like you come out of the woodwork everyday,” he said. “People like you — those within the Pieces — never had a background or even existed per say. You’d just be cast off as doomsayers and idiots. No one would believe you.”
“That doesn’t detract from the fact that we’re still a threat, yes?”
“So you think in order to cover up my past oversights that I need to destroy the source, is that it?”
“Bingo.” Stan tossed the photo back at the senator. “And there’s the source: the Pieces of Eight. The group you sent to murder a United States senator.”
Shore examined the photo. “And what are the letters all about?”
“You tell us,” said Jeff. “It’s your game. Apparently you’re spelling the name Iscariot.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the senator, and then tossed the photo toward the foot of the bed.
“Iscariot,” said Stan. “The betrayer of Christ.”
“I know who Iscariot is. I just don’t understand the concept of the lettering in the photo.”
“Neither do we, but apparently you’re not going to give it up and tell us why, are you?”
“There’s nothing to give up. I have nothing to do with anybody within the Pieces of Eight getting killed.”
Kimball rubbed his chin thoughtfully. During the interrogation he studied the senator with close examination and noted the man’s responses through micro-facial expressions. So far he could not find a crack in the senator’s argument for his defense, and believed him to be telling the truth.
“As long as we exist, Senator,” said Jeff, “then we will remain a threat to your candidacy as long as we remain alive. Therefore, it makes sense to eliminate that threat, yes?”
“Again, you guys never existed in the eyes of the proper government body. Even to this day only a few know of your existence—”
“Which certainly narrows down the field of suspects greatly, don’t you agree?”
“But you’re the only one who stands to lose quite a bit if news of this hits the media,” added Stan. “And you know how much the media loves fodder.”
“Do I have to say this again? Something like this would be immediately disavowed by Bush and me, should it come to light.”