The Golden Kill by Marc Olden

Author:Marc Olden [Olden, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784087395
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2012-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter XI

“HARLEY, HARLEY, HARLEY,” DRAWLED Maynard Reiss, his voice drawing the words out. “You know and I know that you are gonna end up doing just like you are told, and that’s a fact, bubba. Print Drewcolt ain’t no kinda man to take kindly to hearing no when his heart is set on hearing yes.”

Reiss smiled, two hundred and eighty pounds of flesh on a five-foot-nine frame, an eight-hundred-dollar dark-blue Swedish topcoat making him look like a dark mountain. Both men sat in the back of a limousine moving slowly through the dark, rainy Washington night.

With CCE behind you, Reiss knew, you had all the aces when it came to getting a tight grip on somebody’s gonads. Reiss liked having all of the odds on his side when dealing with anybody on anything. It was the Washington, D.C., disease—obsession with power.

Reiss had gotten the phone call from England and listened politely when told to take no excuses on this next project. Find Canning, no matter where he was, and get results. Lean on him hard, let him know Drewcolt and CCE were calling in all IOU’s. Forget about breaking cover or getting discovered. If Canning didn’t get his ass out of that dinner party over in Georgetown right now, he had better make arrangements with God to hold back the dawn, because tomorrow was going to be agony for him.

Angry at being threatened, and apprehensive at what could happen tomorrow, Canning had left the party and had kept walking at his halting pace until, after a few blocks, Reiss picked him up.

“CCE wants another package, just like the one you delivered tonight.” Reiss’s thick lips stretched in a smile. He could feel Canning stiffening. The white Republican Presbyterian who was used to being obeyed was now being made to obey. He didn’t like it.

“Now, before you say no, Harley, understand something. This comes from the man himself, and let me tell you, he ain’t just whistling ‘Dixie’.”

His eyes flashing, his teeth gnawing nervously at the inside of his mouth, Canning stared at the fat man. “You’re crazy! What the hell does Drewcolt think I’m running here, a two-for-one sale on secret weapons? What happened to the first package?”

“Harley, Harley, Harley, don’t ask, don’t ask. Something happened, and we don’t have the first package, and—”

“You don’t what?”

“Somebody else got it, somebody who shouldn’t, but that’s not your concern. We need another, and we need it badly. You got the connections. We need it like yesterday, old buddy. There’s two hundred thousand dollars more for you, and you can buy a lot of segregated real estate with that.”

Canning looked away from Reiss and stared out of the window on his left, his eyes on the gray sky. No two ways about it. Drewcolt could break his back if he wanted to. He was a fool to think otherwise. A leak to the press, a doctored tape, and it was all over. Number-three man in the White House, and he could be brought down in seconds.

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