Oklahoma defense attorney Ben Kincaid has found himself smack in the middle of more than a few controversies and deadly predicaments–and the unexpected leap from his modest Tulsa law offices to Washington, D.C.’s Senate chamber hasn’t taken the edge off Ben’s knack for stepping into the line of fire. Now the idealistic junior senator is plunged into the thick of lethal intrigue when a shocking campaign of terror against key government officials rocks the nation’s capital.
The nightmare begins with the abduction and murder of the director of Homeland Security; escalates with the killing of the Senate minority leader, who is felled in his office by an envelope laced with weaponized poison; and comes to a shattering climax at the site of the Oklahoma City Memorial, where a fusillade of sniper fire meant for the president claims unintended victims. In all, twelve people perish in the melee, while Ben himself narrowly escapes a car-bomb blast that leaves his best friend, Tulsa cop Mike Morelli, comatose. But the smoke has barely cleared when the stunned nation is sent reeling yet again by the president’s impassioned call to amend the U.S. Constitution with an antiterrorism law that would drastically curtail civil liberties.
It’s a hot-button issue guaranteed to bitterly divide the Beltway and the country. The chief executive has handpicked Ben to help harvest the support that will make the amendment a reality. Shaken by the carnage,
Ben embraces the president’s radical cause, and alongside unlikely new political allies he takes the battle for the controversial bill to the Senate floor. But he can’t ignore his growing suspicion that what’s haunting Capitol Hill isn’t the specter of foreign terrorism but something much closer to home. Now, with his ever-resourceful chief of staff–his wife, Christina–and along with his support team backing his play, Ben sets squares off against what could be the most dangerous Goliath he’s ever challenged.
Capitol Conspiracy is a bravura William Bernhardt performance–bursting into action on the very first page, and crackling with breathless suspense, sharp wit, crafty twists, and timely thrills clear through to the last.
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William Bernhardt is the author of many novels, including Primary Justice, Murder One, Criminal Intent, Death Row, Hate Crime, Dark Eye, Capitol Murder, and Capitol Threat. He has twice won the Oklahoma Book Award for Best Fiction, and in 2000 he was presented the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award “in recognition of an outstanding body of work in which we understand ourselves and American society at large.” A former trial attorney, Bernhardt has received several awards for his public service. He lives in Tulsa with his three children, and readers can e-mail him at wb@williambernhardt.com or visit his website at www.williambernhardt.com.
1
The Oklahoma City National Memorial Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Ben Kincaid stood at the corner of Lincoln Boulevard, still unable to believe he was really about to meet the President of the United States. In his short time as a replacement senator he had viewed President Blake from a distance, even attended ceremonies at the White House—but an actual face-to-face meeting was something else again. Was it only yesterday he was a small-time attorney with a struggling, profitless practice and a shoddy office in downtown Tulsa? It seemed that way. The whirlwind of events that had put him in the Washington limelight still seemed unreal. And the most unreal part was that his meteoric rise to the U.S. Senate was not the most amazing, unbelievable, life-shattering thing that had happened to him recently.
He stared at the gold band on the ring finger of his left hand, incredulous.
Ben Kincaid was a married man.
Major Mike Morelli, standing just beside him, leaned toward Ben’s ear. “Still can’t believe it, huh?”
“No. I was convinced I’d be a bachelor my entire life.”
Mike did a double take. “Ben—I was talking about shaking hands with the leader of the free world.”
“Oh.”
“This is a major event.”
“Getting married is a major event.”
“Ah, the lover. ‘Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad / Made to his mistress’s eyebrow.’ ”
“If you’re going to start with the poetry, I’m disinviting you,” Ben said. “It’s just a big life change, that’s all. After you’ve been single so long.”
“Poor boy. ‘So we’ll go no more a-roving / So late into the night . . . ’ ”
“I think I’m hearing poetry again.”
“You need to relax, Ben. People get married all the time. In fact, some people get married several times. But there’s only one president.”
Ben shrugged. “I didn’t vote for him.”
“You didn’t vote at all!”
“I voted for Christina. Till death us do part.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “You are too sappy for words.”
“I recall a time—” Ben stopped short. He remembered when Mike was in the flush of new love—with Ben’s younger sister, Julia. He and Ben had been college roommates, Mike an English major, Ben studying music, when Mike met Julia. After a whirlwind courtship, they were married, but the union didn’t last long. Julia fled to somewhere on the East Coast and neither of them had seen her in years. Happily, despite this trauma and the deep scars it left, he and Mike had remained best friends throughout the intervening years, as Ben established his law practice and Mike rose to become a senior homicide investigator with the Tulsa Police Department.
Mike glanced at him, a small sad smile flickering on his face. They’d known each other long enough that Ben didn’t have to finish the sentence.
As if he sensed the need for a mood change, Mike’s expression suddenly shifted to a broad and rather naughty grin. “Speaking of your new bride—is she still pissed?”
Ben’s neck stiffened. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“I’ll bet. ‘Hell hath no fury . . .’ ”
“She’s just . . .” Ben drew in his breath, then slowly released it. “. . . Grumpy.”
“Imagine. And all you did was cancel her honeymoon.”
“There were extenuating circumstances. President Blake personally requested that I be here when he visited my home state.”
“But that didn’t satisfy Christina?”
“You know how . . . forceful she can be. Plus, she’s wanted to see France all her life.” He paused. “Plus, the man is a Republican.”
Mike smirked. “Which I guess explains why she’s not standing beside you playing the loyal wife.”
Ben shuffled his feet. “Well, someone had to stay in the gallery with my mother.”
“Senator Kincaid?”
Ben felt a light tap on his shoulder. The man standing behind him was young, perhaps early thirties, sandy-haired. He was wearing a midnight-blue suit, thin tie, and sunglasses, which Ben knew meant he must be one of the dozens of Secret Service agents stationed around the Oklahoma City National Memorial. “Yes?”
“I’m Agent Max Zimmer. I’m here to escort you to the reception position, where the cameras and crowd can see the president emerge from Cadillac One”—he smiled—“from a safe distance.”
But of course. It wasn’t as if the president had asked him here because of his deep personal affection. After that business over the nomination of Justice Roush to the Supreme Court, it was a miracle the man would speak to Ben at all. What he wanted was to be seen at an important Oklahoma event with a newly minted senator with unaccountably high approval ratings.
Ben heard what sounded like the buzz of a bumblebee coming from Zimmer’s coat sleeve. The agent casually raised the sleeve to his mouth, listened for a moment, then spoke into it. “Understood. Samson in five.” He looked up. “Come along, Senator. Time for you and your guest to move.”
Ben and Mike followed the agent to the street just behind the Oklahoma City National Memorial, erected on the site of the former Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, the office complex that was blown to bits by Timothy McVeigh’s fertilizer bomb on this very date, several years before. It was a catastrophic event no Oklahoman would ever forget. Memorial services were held here on this date annually, and this year, the sitting president was in attendance to offer his condolences and help the healing.
And, Ben supposed, the fact that Oklahoma was a borderline red/blue state whose electoral votes were currently uncertain had nothing to do with it.
It was a magnificent memorial, the largest of its kind in the United States, designed to honor the fallen, the survivors, the rescuers, and everyone else whose life had been indelibly changed by the tragedy. Enormous twin bronze gates framed the 3.3-acre expanse within. Because the explosion occurred at 9:02 a.m., the eastern gate was engraved with the time 9:01—the last minute of peace—and the western gate was engraved with 9:03—the first moment of the ensuing horror. A reflecting pool stretched across the center of the memorial between the two gates, a thin layer of water over polished black marble. On one side of the pool was the Field of Empty Chairs: 168 chairs of bronze, glass, and stone, one for each of the people who died in the explosion.
As they walked, Ben saw a face he recognized.
“Brad Tidwell. My senatorial comrade.” Ben held out his hand. “Good to see you.”
The tall, lanky man in the blue suit took Ben’s hand cordially. “Kincaid, you are the worst liar I have ever met.”
Ben’s face colored.
“Seriously. Worst liar in the history of humanity. Which explains why you’ll never make it in politics.”
“Or,” Mike grumbled, “explains why his approval rating is so much higher than yours.”
Tidwell responded with a thin smile that, were Ben in a less charitable mood, he might have called a sneer. “Senator Kincaid has never had the pleasure of conducting an actual campaign. Believe me, if he ever does, his numbers will drop.”
Tidwell was a two-term...
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