Is the first lady trying to overthrow the president? Award-winning writer Kathleen Antrim's fictional response to this shocking premise is at the heart of her chillingly convincing political thriller, CAPITAL OFFENSE.
Preview of Capital Offense
PROLOGUE
March 22, 2001ÛSan Francisco, California
ÏWhat's deadlier to a country than war?Ó a low, gravelly voice slurred.
ÏWho is this?Ó Jack Rudly cradled the phone against his ear and checked the time: 2:58 A.M. A streetlight outside his hotel room window cast a shadow of dancing leaves across the ceiling.
ÏWhat's deadlier to a country than war?Ó
ÏI don't do riddles.Ó Jack slammed down the receiver. ÏDamn drunk.Ó He watched the shadows dissolve into darkness, then spring back to life as gusts of wind bent the tree branches outside the window. He turned on his side, pulled the sheet up over his shoulder and tucked his face in against the pillow.
After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked over at his laptop. He still needed to finish his article on trade with Japan. Sailboats twirled around on his screen saver. Who was he kidding? He'd never fall back to sleep. Too many projects to think about and deadlines to meet. Jack rubbed his eyes. He loved being a journalist, and even years of sleep deprivation didn't deter his passion.
The phone rang again. He snapped up the receiver. ÏWhat do you want?Ó
ÏDoes 202Ò555Ò1416 sound familiar?Ó
Jack sat up and activated the tape recorder he kept plugged into his phone. ÏAre you calling from the White House?Ó
ÏVery good, Mr. Rudly. You know the private White House lines. Don't bother checking it out. The number's not mine.Ó
ÏWho is this?Ó The gears of the recorder spun slowly.
ÏWhat do murder and the White House have in common?Ó
ÏMurder? That's a bit far-fetched, isn't it?Ó
ÏOnly if I were making it up.Ó The man hiccupped.
ÏLook, you got my attention by using a White House number,Ó Jack said, Ïand that bought you about a minute of my time. Tell me who you are, or I'm hanging up.Ó
ÏYour father would understand the mess I'm in.Ó
The nape of Jack's neck prickled. ÏWhat does this have to do with my father?Ó
ÏAn honorable man, your father. The last of the honorable politicians. A great senator. He understood the link between murder and the White House. Too bad he had to pay the highest price.Ó The voice hesitated. ÏHe's not the only one.Ó
Jack worked the muscles of his jaw. ÏWhat're you talking about? My father died of a coronary. He wasn't into games, and neither am I. So cut the crap.Ó
ÏThey're going to kill me now. It'll be headline news.Ó There was a pause. ÏIs he the reason you became a journalist?Ó
ÏWho's going to kill you?Ó
ÏScotch is a man's drink, you know. Your father and I shared a love of scotch, especially Glenlivet.Ó
ÏA lot of people drink Glenlivet. That doesn't prove you knew my father.Ó
ÏNot with three twists, they don't. Boy, did your dad know how to ruin perfectly good scotch with too much lemon.Ó He laughed. The sound was brittle and sad. ÏYou're talking to a dead man. We've deceived an entire nation, you know. Your father would never have done that. He's still a legend on the Hill.Ó
Jack's stomach knotted. He slammed the door on his emotions and his father's memory. ÏLeave my father out of this. Why'd you call me?Ó
ÏYou've got to stop the murders,Ó the voice said.
ÏWhat murders? You're not making any sense.Ó
ÏGoddamn it. You're not listening. Men are dead. I'm next.Ó
ÏI can't help you if I don't know who you are.Ó Jack heard the frustration in his own voice. ÏI need facts from a credible source, not lame ramblings from a drunk and disgruntled government employee.Ó
ÏThis was a mistake,Ó the man said. ÏYou make a lousy last option. I thought you'd understand. For God's sake, you're his son! I know he taught you better than this. He cared, he truly cared. How can you dishonor his memory?Ó
ÏFuÛÓ Jack reigned in his anger. ÏIf this is so damned important, then meet with me.Ó
ÏThat's not possible.Ó
ÏWhy not?Ó
ÏI'll be dead soon.Ó
ÏThen meet me now.Ó
ÏHaven't you heard a word I've said? It's not safe. You'd be at risk. Serious risk. Hell, you're already in the cross hairs. Meeting with me would pull the trigger.Ó
ÏThen call the next guy on your list. Good night.Ó Jack leaned over to hang up the phone.
ÏWait!Ó
Jack hesitated.
ÏYou know the lookout on the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge?Ó
ÏI can find it.Ó
ÏThirty minutes.Ó The man paused. ÏBe careful. They're watching you. Try to stay alive, Jack Rudly. You've got a job to do. And revealing your father's murderer is only part of it.Ó
Jack inhaled. His father murdered? Bullshit. Or was it?
ÏYou want to know how I know? I'm one of them. I helped. I'm a killer. But I'm not helping any more.Ó
ÏHelped who?Ó Jack managed, but the line was dead.
